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bloody-bee-tea · 1 year ago

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Tiny Bee~k 2023 Day 2 - On the dot

Alhaitham is late.

Usually three minutes are not something Cyno would be concerned with but this is different. It’s three minutes after Alhaitham clocks out and if he’s late then that can only spell trouble.

Cyno knows that Alhaitham is very punctual when it concerns clocking out of work; he seems to have an innate feeling for when it’s enough and he’s always right. On the dot, he gets up and declares the work day done, no matter who is talking or what documents are still on his table.

It’s now five minutes after the appointed time and there is still no sight of Alhaitham, even when Cyno rounds a corner to look for him.

That must mean something is wrong.

Alhaitham is not one to come late to their meeting—especially not given how busy they normally are—and if he knew beforehand that he would be late then he would have found a way to inform Cyno, either by message or by messenger.

Cyno’s mind starts to whir. If Alhaitham is late because of something that happened at the office, then it has the potential to upturn their hard-won peace and Cyno should definitely be present for it. If Alhaitham is late because someone had the glorious idea to kidnap him, then they were incredibly stupid and Cyno will definitely be there to bring justice to them. If Alhaitham is late because he somehow overworked himself or otherwise fell sick and didn’t take a day off, then there will be words to be had and Cyno will yell most of them at him.

But for any of these options to be proven true, he needs to find Alhaitham first. Thankfully it’s Cyno’s job to find people and even though he’s more worried than anything at the moment, his matra training pays off.

His mind whirrs, sifting through all the possibilities, and he’s keenly aware of the fact that every lost minute could make the difference should they be faced with an abduction.

So Cyno makes his way to Alhaitham’s office; he makes sure to keep his steps just as hurried as they normally are because it wouldn’t do to tip anyone off that something might be wrong.

He doesn’t need a scene and he doesn’t need reinforcements until he knows exactly what he’s dealing with.

Luckily for Cyno, Alhaitham is a creature of habit and while it’s usually a source of some gentle teasing for Cyno, right now he’s incredibly glad for it, because it means that he can be certain that if Alhaitham was on the way to meet him, he would run into him.

But there is no sight of Alhaitham anywhere and by the time his office comes into view Cyno has to hold back from running.

Still, he stops in front of the door, noticing that it’s slightly ajar, and he holds his breath as he listens. He can make out the sound of shuffling paper but apart from that Cyno isn’t able to get any hints.

There could of course be an intruder in Alhaitham’s office, trying to find—or hide—some documents but to be certain would mean to step into the office.

And so that is exactly what Cyno does. He doesn’t brandish his spear immediately, but he can feel the crackling of electro at the tips of his fingers.

It only fizzles out when he comes face to face with the person in the office.

“Alhaitham?” he asks, his voice incredulous, because Alhaitham is still seated behind the desk, pen and paper in hand and it doesn’t look at all as if he’s aware that his working hours are over.

He must be sick, then.

“Cyno,” Alhaitham greets him before his eyes dart away to the clock. “I didn’t realise it was that late already, I apologise.”

“Alhaitham, are you sick?” Cyno asks, rounding the desk to put a hand to Alhaitham’s forehead to check his temperature.

Alhaitham blinks at him, clearly confused by Cyno’s question and that makes Cyno even more convinced that he must be ill with something.

“What are you talking about, I’m perfectly alright,” Alhaitham finally says, raising his own hand to pull Cyno’s away from his forehead before he pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “What has gotten into you?”

“You’re late,” is all Cyno says, because it’s explanation enough and the grimace on Alhaitham’s face tells him that he knows it as well.

“I apologise,” he repeats, but he offers no explanation at all and that is suspicious in a very different way.

Cyno has convinced himself that Alhaitham is not burning up and his other actions don’t seem to be impacted by a sickness either, so it’s time for another path.

“What are you working on?” Cyno asks, craning his head a little bit to see the paper Alhaitham still has in his hand, but before he can catch whatever is written on it, Alhaitham has put it down on the desk, face-down.

Suspicious, indeed.

“It’s nothing,” Alhaitham says and then immediately amends his own statement, clearly knowing that it’s not enough to satisfy Cyno. “It’s nothing that should have kept me away from you for so long.”

Cyno knows that he should always anticipate it—Alhaitham is from Haravatat after all—but it always leaves him a little bit flustered when he states it so clearly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If it’s something that needs to be done, then let me help, maybe you’ll get it off your desk quicker that way.”

Cyno starts to reach out for the paper, but Alhaitham intercepts him, threading their fingers together.

“There really is no need for it. I’ll review it tomorrow. I simply lost a bit of time, focusing on it, that’s all. We can leave now. Our dinner reservation will still hold, right?”

“I doubt that Lambad gave our table away just because we’re ten minutes late. It’s Thursday after all.”

They always have dinner together on Thursday.

“Then let’s leave,” Alhaitham decides, getting up and walking around the table, trusting Cyno to follow him.

He clearly didn’t count on Cyno twisting around to grab the sheet of paper from the table.

It’s a report for the matra and Cyno turns betrayed eyes towards Alhaitham.

“Is my work not good enough? Do you have to sort through these beforehand so we don’t mess up?”

Cyno isn’t sure how that makes him feel—though the hurt is there, under everything else—and he wants to give Alhaitham a chance to explain.

“It’s not that,” Alhaitham says with a sigh and tugs Cyno close.

Cyno goes, but not quite as willingly as he normally does.

“Then what is it?” he demands to know and shakes the report into Alhaitham’s face. “Because this report hasn’t been to the matra office yet. Are you hiding something?”

Even as he says it, Cyno scans the paper, paying a bit more attention to what it actually says than before. Nothing that is written down would indicate an entanglement with Alhaitham and it only leaves Cyno more confused.

“This is standard matra stuff. Why does it have to cross the desk of the Acting Grand Sage before it makes its way to us?” Cyno asks. “Has—our work not been up to par, lately?” he then asks, wondering if he has been slacking off.

Sure, he spends his free time with Alhaitham, mostly, these days, but he’s reasonably sure that it has no impact on his work. He pursues offenders just as ruthlessly as before and his matra have not mentioned anything to him either.

“Cyno, stop. I can see you overthinking this,” Alhaitham sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, clearly unwilling to unhand Cyno.

“Then explain it to me,” Cyno says, shaking the paper in his face. “What is this doing here?”

“I have been screening all the reports for the matra, lately,” Alhaitham explains as he takes the paper out of Cyno’s hand to put it back on the desk.

“Why?”

Cyno doesn’t like how that hurt feeling is making its way up, making his skin itch with betrayal. If Alhaitham thought he wasn’t doing a good job then he should have said so!

“You’re too stressed,” Alhaitham finally says, leaning against the table and pulling Cyno between his legs. “You’re too stressed, because you’re taking too many tasks on yourself and you’re away too much.” Alhaitham’s gaze darts to the side for a moment. “I don’t like it.”

That brings Cyno up short.

“You don’t—like it,” he repeats, and now his rational thinking comes back online. “I haven’t been on that many day-long assignments lately.”

It’s not a question, but Alhaitham still nods.

“You take them on, even if they don’t require the expertise of the General Mahamatra. Your matra’s never get any experience like that.”

“And you don’t like me being away from you,” Cyno whispers, trying the words out and he’s delighted to see a faint blush on Alhaitham’s cheeks.

“It’s too frequent and not necessary. I have been scanning the reports for their urgency and difficulty and I sort them accordingly before I hand them off to Aarav.”

At that, Cyno sighs.

“He is in on it.”

“I have to make sure my judgement is correct. And he is very capable.”

Cyno can’t even deny that, because otherwise Aarav wouldn’t be his second in command but it still stings that he was going behind his back.

“Wait,” Cyno says, another thought forming in his head. “You hate working over-time. Even just a few minutes.”

“I like having you around more,” Alhaitham easily says and now it’s Cyno’s time to be embarrassed. “I can stand five more minutes of work if it means you’re going to come home with me for an entire evening.”

“You are so—unfeeling, my ass,” Cyno mutters under his breath but he can’t hold back the small smile playing around his mouth and when Alhaitham pulls him in for a kiss he certainly doesn’t resist.

“Just tell me something like this,” Cyno mumbles when they part. “I was worried. I thought someone abducted you from right under my nose.”

“Even if that were the case, I have full faith in my General Mahamatra,” Alhaitham easily gives back, and just like always when he uses that title in that specific way it leaves Cyno a little bit breathless.

“I shall overlook this then,” he decides, leaning in for another kiss. “This once.”

“How generous of you.”

(They do make it to Lambad’s tavern, but it is much later than their usual time.)

#bt writes #haino #cytham #genshin impact #tiny bee~k 2023 #established relationship #fluff #little bit of hurt/comfort #feelings

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victorious-villain · 3 years ago

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Calm Fem S/O Who Goes Crazy

Draken x Fem Reader

Fluff

About: You don't care if people insult you, it doesn't affect you; but when someone speaks ill of Draken, all bets are off. 594 words.

Authors Note: I love Draken so much honestly and I wanted to do him justice. Also, Mikey is a precious bean no matter what you say.

Warnings: Catcalling, people being trash, violence, Mikey whining

You were generally a level headed person. Draken had seen people get in your face and you only blinked, but this was something new.

Draken had always enjoyed just being around you. Granted many a lot of your hang outs were with Mikey, you were a physical being and preferred it over calls (something that was a task to you).

This particular day, this group of boys must not have known who you were with. They began sending vulgar words your way and insinuating things you knew very well what they meant. Mikey and Draken could hear everything, but they knew you'd rather handle it yourself by ignoring things or saying something that shut them down. This was the way you handled yourself as you were not someone who was often violent, with you could sure mess someone up you'd rather not because it was messy(not that anyone knew, you'd made sure to keep it quiet).

This final straw was when the boys commented on Draken's tattoo and his presumed nature.

"Come on honey. If you are scared of that guy over there with that dumb ass dragon on his head we'll take care of him for ya.." You see, when you get angry you shake and you were trembling now. The boys took it as a sign they were on the right track, continuing unaware. "If you come with us he can't hurt you anymore. Its for the best, ditch him babes." His hand made it's way to your shoulder and in one movement his arm was twisted behind his back as you pulled his wrist to you while placing a foot on his back and pushing.

A snap and pop were heard as you removed the arm from its rightful socket. Without a second to waste, you lunged and destroyed the rest of the group. You knew your knuckles hurt but that could wait for later, nobody talks shit about people you care about. Kicking the first man over, he gave a groan as his dislocated shoulder hit the pavement. You reeled your arm back one more time before drilling your elbow into the man's groin. He barely processed what had happened before another hit landed, and another and another.

Finally, you stood and wiped the grime from your face (blood or dirt, you didn't care which) and looked to Draken and Mikey. Mikey's face was pale likely from the beating you'd just given the first man. Draken only stared on in shock, this was not what he'd been expecting. Walking towards the two, you continued to fix your clothes and tuck any stray hairs back behind your ears. Mikey hid behind Draken as to not get caught in any possible remaining anger, and you only gave a sheepish smile.

"Sorry about that, they crossed a line." Draken raised an eyebrow. "What was I supposed to do?!" You questioned, he only gave a small chuckle before taking your hands and grazing over your bleeding knuckles.

"You are supposed to have me so the beatings so you don't get hurt." You only laughed "And leave all the fun for you? Gotta pass on that." Again, Draken only shook his head before turning and walking away "Come on, we'd better get out of here. Plus, we need to get your hands fixed up." Smiling, you followed after jumping on his back and he headed to your house.

Extra: Mikey only could whine lowly as he watched Draken carry you off. "My feet hurt~ man I'm too tired for this. Third wheeling is no fun"

#draken #tokyo revengers #x reader #draken x reader #tokyo revengers hcs #ken ryuguji

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bread-writes · 4 years ago

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Hi! Thank you for writing the lookism content I needddd. I was wondering if you could do s/o flinching during an argument with Johan, Gun, and Goo? I enjoyed the last one :)

I’m so glad you enjoyed the last one! I hope I did this one justice too.

Headcanons under the cut!

→ part 1

Johan, Gun, and Goo Reacting to their S/o Flinching During an Argument

Johan Seong

Johan can be very childish

selfish, even

after all, before you, he’s only ever had Eden and Miro

these kinds of arguments are a little common in the beginning of the relationship

but he tends to mellow out when he finally decided to trust you and open up

arguments with Johan can be about anything, really

that doesn’t mean he’s not trying to loosen up

he just can’t help it

he tends to snap at you without any ill intent

and usually, you’re okay with it

you understand that he’s not used to relying on anyone other than himself

however, you can only handle something like this for so long

on one particularly rough day for you, you just can’t handle his terrible attitude

he’ll probably hit a sore spot or touch on your insecurities when you confront him about his behavior

he’s initially shocked when you blow up at him

it’s all down hill from there

vicious words are spat without a second thought, neither of you willing to back down

his eyes are screwed shut as he begins to lose his already thinning patience

the fist clenched at his side begins to raise

only then do you come to your senses, flinching at the sight of Johan’s whitened knuckles

when he hears no response from you he slowly opens his eyes, mortified when he noticed the slight tremble in your stance

his fist falls limply at his side

apologies form at the tip of his tongue, but for some reason, he just can’t say anything

why does he always push people away?

he’s only pulled out of his thoughts when your hand gently brushes the lone tear that streamed down his cheek

out of desperation, he’ll grab your wrist and trap you in a hug

‘I’m sorry’s and ‘I’ll do better, I swear’ are mumbled into your shoulder

“Just please don’t leave me...”

Gun Jong

as I’ve stated in my relationship headcanons, arguments like these with Gun are few and far between so major ones usually happen at the beginning of the relationship or something horrible comes up

he just doesn’t see the point in meaningless conflict

unless it’s a fight, of course

much like Johan, he’s not exactly an expert when it comes to communicating

sure, he can read you like an open book and can tell when he can and can’t push boundaries

but when the topic comes around to him, you tend to draw a blank

(of course, he does get better with time)

he’s secretive; keeping his work separate from his personal life

as odd as it may seem, while he’s not the best at communicating his feelings (or anything about himself, in all honesty), he’s the master at shifting conversations into his favor

this has led to far more conversations about you then about him

at first you don’t notice

but when your friends brag and complain about their partners likes and dislikes, you begin to grow insecure

what did you know about Gun?

you fall so deep in your thoughts, trying to find something that you know about him

his favorite color?

you don’t know

his favorite food?

your mind comes up blank

maybe approaching him right after he got home from work wasn’t the best...

when you asked him about it, he only brushed past you and around the corner

you decided to try again at dinner

this time, his lips pulled into a small scowl

“Why the hell do you want to know about me so bad?”

you snapped yelling at him, your hand slamming painfully onto the table

throughout the argument, he remained calm

the only sign of his distress being the slight narrow in his eyes.

your throat dries up when he lights a cigarette, glaring at you through his lashes before turning back to his food

you’ve seen that glare before

it was a glare reserved for people he found annoying or was about to beat the shit out of

“God, you’re so annoying... Can’t you just shut up?

you flinched back, a cold shiver running down your spine and the hairs at the back of your neck starting to stand

he tilted his head back up at you after a few moments

he reaches out to you, his eyes widening once you flinch away from him

he blinks dumbly for a few moments raking his head through the memories and conversations he’s had with you

you sat up from your seat, mumbling your apologies while desperately trying to get away from him

he’ll give you space for a few days before deciding to approach you again

while he won’t open up immediately, he will over time, now dropping little facts about himself every now and then

Joon Goo Kim

god, why did you choose to date a literal psychopath

unlike the other two, Goo is very open with his emotions

too an extent, of course

he’s competitive, eccentric

and worst of all, very confrontational

he doesn’t give a damn if you or anyone else challenged him to a fight; a fight is a fight, and he’s in for the thrill

fucking sadist

he could care less about the consequences of his actions, sometimes coming home with a twisted arm or broken rib

all of which he would laugh off before counting the money he managed to smuggle off whoever was unfortunate to cross him

as his partner, you’ve grown used to seeing his battered face entering your home with a bag of money hung over his shoulder

but that doesn’t mean you don’t grow worried for him

of course, this type of behavior has sparked more than a few arguments between the to of you

though none could hold a candle to the one-sided screaming fest currently going on between the two of you

“All I’m asking is for you to be careful!”

he rolled his eyes behind his glasses, letting out an exaggerated yawn as he rolled his shoulder

“Thanks, but I never asked for you to care.”

“Yeah--Well what if you die--?!”

a hand slammed next to your head, nearly shattering the wall

“Are you fucking underestimating me?”

you shook under his now blank gaze, flinching as his hand moved from its position beside your head

the hand caressed your cheek gently whilst Goo sighed from above you

he’s not as soft as the other two, but he is sorry for scaring you

also unlike Johan, he won’t ask for forgiveness right away

he’ll shower you in so many gifts and so much affection that you eventually relent and forgive him

he won’t make any promises about his habits but he will try to keep them under control mostly

haha not proud of this one at all. I literally cannot write Goo--and for what?? Gun’s is so longggg lmao

#lookism #lookism x reader #johan seong #johan seong x reader #gun jong #gun jong x reader #goo kim #goo kim x reader

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kimoralov3 · 4 years ago

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That's Immortality, My Darling

Requested by: Anonymous

Word Count: 2010

Pairing: Loki x fem!black!reader

Warnings: Odin

(Y/N)'s POV

I groaned as I rolled over, trying to block out the light filtering through the room. It wasn't going anywhere, so I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "Loki, I thought I told you to close the blinds before you went to bed last night."

"Sorry darling, it must've slipped my mind. Did you have a good slumber?" Loki asked as he pressed gentle kisses along my shoulder. I nodded, letting out one final yawn before standing up and stretching. "I'll make breakfast while you shower. Waffles sound good?"

"Yeah, waffles would be perfect. Thanks, Love." I bent down and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

----

Gods that shower really woke me up. I thought to myself as I brushed my hair into a bun. Good, it's growing. Maybe I should get it locked up so I don't have to do much to it anymore.

"Darling, you've been in here for a while. Is everything alright?" Loki called from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, everything's fine." I said as I opened the door. Loki was standing there, his hair still a mess, but he was wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt. "Breakfast ready?"

"Yep." Loki wrapped his arm around my waist as we walked to the kitchen. The smell of vanilla and coffee filled my nose, causing me to let out a long sigh. "Sit down, I'll make your plate." I nodded and sat down at one of the bar stools in front of the island. Loki sat a plate of waffles, strawberries and bacon in front of me, as well as a steaming cup of coffee.

"I thought you didn't know how to use the coffee machine?" I joked as I took a sip of the coffee. Perfect.

"I don't, I don't have the patience to learn various Midgardian technologies. I made it using my magic." He explained as he sat beside me. I rolled my eyes, flicking a strawberry at him.

"Y'know, if we're gonna spend the rest of our lives together, you should probably stop shitting on one of my people's greatest achievements." I said as I took a bite out of a piece of bacon. Loki's face fell for a split second before going back to normal. I still saw the look he gave me at my words. "What's wrong?"

"We won't be together for the rest of our lives. At least not for the rest of mine. You'll die before me." He said softly as he traced random patterns on the island counter. I sighed, turning my body so I was fully facing him.

"Loki, look at me." I said as I lifted his head so our eyes met. There was pain hiding behind those beautiful blue orbs, but there was a lot of doubt as well. "You know that that doesn't bother me. I've come to terms with the fact that I'll die before you. Don't let it bother you too much. As long as I get to spend the rest of my days with you, I'll have lived a fulfilled life. Understand?"

"I understand (Y/N), but it still hurts that I'll have to live without you. You've made me a better person. I'm sure this is probably selfish, but I don't think there's such a thing as a life worth living without you."

"I know, but there's nothing we can do about it." Loki looked down, not saying anything before nodding and cleaning our plates.

----

Loki's POV

There's nothing we can do about it.

(Y/N)'s words from breakfast that morning had been playing in my head for about a week now. There is one thing we can do. If only I didn't have to ask him for permission.

"Loki, Thor should be here any minute. Are you ready to go?" (Y/N) asked as she walked into our room.

"Ready as I'll ever be." I said as I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the living room. It was time for Thor and I's annual visit back to Asgard, and this time I decided to bring (Y/N) with me. She'd always wanted to travel, and there is no place better to start than my home planet.

A knock on the door alerted us to my brother's presence. (Y/N) opened the door to reveal standing there, an annoyingly large smile and traditional Asgardian armor on. "Lady (Y/N)! It's great to see you again! I do hope that my little brother is treating you well." Thor said as he hugged (Y/N).

"Of course he is, if he wasn't you know I'd beat his ass." (Y/N) said as she pulled away from the hug.

"Are you two done? Because we need to get going so mother doesn't worry." I said as I wrapped an arm around (Y/N) again. Thor nodded, and we made our way to an empty field so Heimdal could open the bifrost for us. I hope he's become kinder than the last time I saw him.

----

"It's good to see you Heimdal." Thor said as we stepped out the bifrost.

"Good to see you too, Thor. And you must be (Y/N), Thor and Loki have told me so much about you." Heimdal said as he turned towards (Y/N).

"Nice to meet you."

"You as well. The three of you should get going, the king and queen are waiting for you."

As we walked along the bridge, I noticed (Y/N) looking around in awe. So adorable. I tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to look up at me with the most amazing sense of wonder. "I told you that words couldn't do this place justice."

"I knew it would be beautiful, but this is just… I can't even find the words to describe it." She said as she continued looking around.

"If you want, later I can take you on a walk to explore the villages. They all have their own signature thing, whether it be food or clothes. You'll absolutely love it." I explained as I placed a kiss on her knuckles. She giggled and held onto my arm, laying her head on my shoulder.

The guards opened the gates to the castle, mother and Odin waiting there for us. (Y/N) let go of my arm so I could properly greet them. I walked up to my mother and gave her a hug.

"Oh how I've missed you Loki. Have you been eating enough, you seem thinner than usual." Mother scolded as she looked over my body, shaking her head at my supposed weight loss.

"Mother, I'm fine. I assure you that I have been eating properly, (Y/N) makes sure of that." I said once she released me from the hug. (Y/N) walked over to us, bowing slightly towards my mother.

"Oh dear, there's no need for formality. Anybody who can see behind Loki's cold exterior shall be considered family." She said as she pulled (Y/N) into a tight hug. Hopefully she will be soon. I left the two of them to talk while I talked to my father.

"Father, can I speak to you for a moment? Alone." I asked quietly. (Y/N) doesn't need to hear this conversation if it doesn't go in my favor.

----

(Y/N)'s POV

"So you and Loki have been together for 3 and a half years, correct?" Frigga asked as we sat on one of the benches in the entryway.

"Yes ma'am."

"So you started dating him even after everything that happened in New York?"

"Yeah, but he's changed so much since then. He seems more… at peace with himself. He's a lot nicer to other people, and he's more willing to help the Avengers."

"Well, I'm glad that he's changed for the better. He seems to be very happy with you. I won't keep you long, let's go find the boys so they can show you around." She said as she stood up. I nodded, following her in the direction I presume the boys went in. The farther down the hall, 2 voices got louder and louder. What's going on?"

"... This one thing! Just the one! After all you have put me through, this is the least you could do." Loki yelled. "Why don't you want me to be happy?"

"You knew the consequences of falling in love with a mortal! It is not my responsibility to right your wrongs, Loki. You made your bed, now lay in it. That is my final word." Odin yelled back. Are they talking about me?

"But I love her! I've finally found someone that I want to spend the rest of my life with, and you won't let me. Why?"

"Because you-"

"Enough, both of you! You two have been so caught up in your arguing, you haven't realized that Mother and (Y/N) walked in!" Thor interrupted, pointing at me and Frigga. Loki turned and gave me a sad look, but Odin didn't move a muscle.

"What is all this fuss about?" Frigga asked as she looked between the 3 of them.

"Loki is being a foolish child." Odin finally said, finally turning his attention towards his wife.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize wanting to marry the girl I love made me a foolish child." Loki shot back with all the venom he could muster. Marry?

"Odin, if Loki wants to marry (Y/N), you should let him. They are clearly deeply in love."

"How do we know that this will last? This could easily be another one of his tricks in search of power."

"Father, I can promise you that those are not Loki's intentions. He's proven time and time again that he loves (Y/N) very much. Please, grant him this one happiness." Thor attempted to reason. Loki looked at his brother, giving him a small smile. Over the past few years, they had finally built a proper sibling bond, so I'm sure that Loki was very grateful for his brother's input.

"Father I promise, I have no ill intentions attached to wanting to marry (Y/N). Please, give us your blessing." Loki pleaded.

"Fine! But if anything happens, it'll be the three of you all's fault!" Odin shouted as he pointed at Thor, Loki, and Frigga.

----

"I'm so sorry that you had to hear that darling. I was hoping he would say yes, but I should've known he would be difficult." Loki had been apologizing to me the whole way back to our room, but I kept assuring him that it was fine.

"Loki, I told you it's fine. It's not your fault." I said as I gave his cheek a quick kiss. He nodded and sat on the bed. "However, it would've been nice to know that you were proposing." I joked as I sat next to him, laying my head on his shoulder.

"Oh don't act so surprised, I know that you knew. You always know what I'm thinking before I have the chance to think it myself." Loki said as he rubbed my shoulder.

"You're right, but I still want you to ask me officially. And give me a ring." I held up my hand, turning it over. A small one would be nice.

"Once we get married, you can have all the jewels and rings that you want." Loki kissed me on the forehead, laying us down on the bed.

"I don't need jewels to be happy, love. All I need is you."

"And we'll have the rest of both of our lives together."

"What do you mean?" I asked as I looked up at him.

"Us getting married means that our lifespans are connected. That means that when one of us dies, the other one won't fall far behind." He explained as he pushed my hair out of my face.

"I should've known that you would find a way for us to be together for as long as possible."

"For you my darling? I'd search all 9 realms and beyond to find the answer."

#loki laufeyson #loki #loki x reader #loki layfeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x reader #marvel #mcu loki #mcu fandom #mcu #loki x y/n #x reader imagines #loki x female reader #loki x black!reader #lokis-reindeer-games

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kim-monsterlings · 4 years ago

Text

Neo - M Minotaur x F Human (Reader)

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: SFW/Orange, angst, thoughts of insecurities, anxiety, hugging, forehead kissing, mention of feeding reader (please let me know if you want anything else added here!)

Wordcount: 1475

Masterlist

Today… today was finally the day you would meet him. Him, the man you thought could be it, the one, and your stomach fluttered at the sheer thought of running into Neo's wide, welcoming arms. Big and blonde and fluffy, voice sweet like sugar, nothing more than time was left hindering your most desperate fantasy. Nothing more than the nausea, gnawing away at the butterflies; the nausea twisting the fantasy into a nightmare, one you had woken from before on restless nights, sick with the fear of losing the first real- you were hesitant to say love, to confess that the rush of your heart could be that, but nothing else had the power to weaken you like this.

Today marked six months from matching with Neo online. Something you tried only from boredom, exhausted of your town and the loneliness of your too-big flat, and Neo had been your first match. To think you nearly ruined it, intimidated enough by his first message - hi, beautiful x - and you could have missed the late night calls, the morning texts - i had a dream again. you were here, with me - and the care packages he sent when you were ill. The jumper smelling of him had stayed by your pillows since.

The first night he asked to video call, all excuses fell silent at the tip of your tongue. Neo's gentle laugh on the phone twisted your heart, the following whisper softer than he had ever spoken before. "Would you be happier if you saw me first? Whatever I can do for you," he'd whispered. "I'll do it."

Beard scruffy, bundled in a fluffy, brown dressing gown, the minotaur spoke as he would any other night, but you could see his nervous twitches – fingertips rising to scratch the base of his short horns, eyes fluttering low with each smile he flushed with. When he whispered your name so gently, his head canted and expression unmistakably tender, your resolve crumbled and two days later, you answered the call with your camera on. Neo began to talk, only to soften back into his pillows. Nobody had ever looked at you like that before; lips bitten against a barely silenced sigh and a warmth in his bright eyes, a sheen to them. He reached out, his fingers following where you blushed on the screen. "Hi, beautiful."

“Hi.”

"Hi," he grinned, and your conversation lasted until somehow, you both fell asleep. It had been the deepest, calmest sleep of your life, until your name passed the minotaur’s lips on a whisper. Even asleep, he found a way to tighten the vice creeping around your heart. The whisper was your secret and your comfort now against the nerves beginning to crush you.

Online, you could duck away. Online, you could say you had to go, that you had somewhere to be. Online was different, where there was a real connection, one neither of you could guarantee once you stepped into the café. Already late, minutes ticking, blood rushing in your ears, somehow you unlocked your phone, the ringing tightening your throat in the passing seconds.

"I can't do this."

Had he been in range of the window, one glimpse over his shoulder would find you weakening back into the shadows. The very same heartache in your chest sounded in his catching breath.

Here, you could lose him.

"I'll pay you for whatever coffee you've bought, and the train tickets and-"

"Coffee? Love," his voice soothed every nerve in your body, until, "I'm not in the café."

The call ended with your eyes scrunched tight. Awareness prickled your nape, teased goosebumps across your arms, and a gentle brush of knuckles against your back drew a tremor to your knees.

Softer still, a kiss pressed to your crown. "I've never seen someone so beautiful in sunlight. Your hair smells of fruits," Neo whispered, sighing against you. His strong chest nudged closer as he tucked his hand across your waist, lifting a bunch of tulips, soft reds and whites. Just his hand alone seemed so big, so large when you carefully reached for the flowers, with Neo bringing his thumb to your knuckles. "Can't do this, hm? Tell me why, love."

"I'm scared."

"Of?"

The lightest touch of his palm stroked across your hip. Neo tucked you into his chest, where the strength in his body dwarfed you, wide thighs against yours and broad chest to your top. Tufts of bright fur tickled your bare skin where he bowed closer to whisper your name, a prompt, pinching your waist.

"You ambushed me."

He had to decency at least to speak softer, though his short laugh couldn’t be hidden with him flush to you. "I did. I am sorry for it, but," he let the sentence hang, each of you painfully aware that while he misled you, he hadn't been wrong that you would hesitate and try to run. "You're scared I'll leave once we meet. We've met now, love, see? Doesn't it feel good to hear my voice, to feel me?"

Soft petals ran between your fingers. "Thank you for the flowers."

Neo grunted and nosed your crown. "If we find ourselves without a connection, we will be friends, still. I'm going nowhere."

"Close your eyes."

His tracing fingertips stilled, and he swallowed, loud. "Hold my hand."

Flowers curled tight, you turned and squeezed against his palm. Neo's hand curled around yours, darker hair thick on his arm but his palm was smooth and warm against yours. Though he heard your breath rushing from your body, his ears twitching, he only scuffed his boots and held his eyes tight shut.

No photo did him justice. He had called you beautiful, but he was ethereal, sunlight brightening his fluff to look almost golden. Two, little stubs curled back from his temples, one with a bar through the curling tip. Not a word formed as you ran your eyes lower, selfishly taking your time to watch his tail tap to his thigh. He was pure muscle, his clothes straining, and your body warmed at the thought of how beautiful he would be under them, too.

Neo's fingers twitching through yours snatched you from your thoughts. "It's not," he coughed quietly, drawing your hand against his strong stomach. "It's not me, scaring you? I'm bigger in real life than on a laptop, but I," his bushy eyebrows furrowed while he sought a deeper breath. "I'd only want to hold you. I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know."

"You do?" Reaching for him brought you to your toes. His hand splayed across your body from rib to hip, and he tugged you a little closer, enough for him to breathe deep and smile, whispering, "fruits."

From running your fingertips along his soft cheek, your whimper came when he leaned into your palm. Neo blinked down, already mid-sentence and concerned, to suddenly stiffen. In that half a second, the world ceased to move at all. Your heart nearly gave out in the moment it took for him to bite at his cheek and grip you tighter.

"Hi, beautiful. How do you feel?"

"Warm."

Neo's eyes shone. His arm curled across your back and raised you almost from the ground for him to press his lips to your forehead. "Warm in my heart," he mumbled. "Don't be mad. I made us a picnic. But before you-before you accuse me of not trusting you - I do," he rushed out, and rested his forehead to yours. His scruffy beard tickled you as he spoke slower, eyes focused on where you were fighting back a growing smile. "I have a jumper for you as consolation. Or a bribe. Just… I want to spend the day with you."

The smile broke through. “Okay.”

"I- okay?"

With all the strength you could muster, your fingers bunched his shirt and pulled him down. Just by his lips, you kissed him, whispering, "but you owe me two jumpers. Do you have chocolate-"

"Chocolate strawberries, yes. I want to feed you them," he teased, and his low laugh tightened your navel, flipping until you felt almost weightless leaning into him. Neo drew a loose curl from your cheek to tuck behind your ear. "I can't speak for you, love, but I'm not worrying about chemistry anymore. Never was. Let me treat you to chocolate and champagne."

"You brought champagne?"

Neo's thick ears tucked back, and he mumbled nonsense, straightening once again, lips skimming your temple as he rose. "It's a special occasion."

Tucked into his side, your cheek to his chest, the pace of his heart outdid even yours. Neo drew in a deep breath, whispering again – “you're so beautiful, love” - before curling you into his lap at the park, feeding you chocolate strawberries. He was right; there was nothing to worry about.

Hi! Hope you like my fluffy minotaur. There is a possible NSFW to follow this. I think my sweet timid reader deserves some loving. Let me know your thoughts!!

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nhinxsworld · 3 years ago

Note

Hello, I really enjoyed your piece about Gojou's kinks in your masterlist! I was wondering if you write for male reader? Maybe a third year that Gojou likes to punish and degrade in praticular and be possessive over? (Sentimental Gojou?? He's been teaching him since his first year) Reader isn't weak or innocent but he lets Gojou treat him the way he does because he doesn't have anyone else in his life and Gojou has him wrapped around his little finger? Take it wherever you like, I'm sorry if this is too fucked up x

Is this what you wnated Im not sure!!! But i liked the request anyways 🥰 was little confused about what to do about male reader since I myself am not male! but it was fun to try i hope I did you justice on this :)

reader has Inumakis curse!!!

Gojo Satoru x male reader

my list uwu

warnings: manipulation ; non-con/dub-con(?) ; just slight degradation ; yeah im not good at this probably a couple uncomfortable stuff usage of slut etc.

Gojo Satoru loves all his students, he really does yet he still can't help himself but to pick favorites. They've all grown on him, but he can't seem to take his eyes of one specific student.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who Gojos favorites are, it's easy to tell his favorite is his beloved third year.

Picking you up since you're only fifteen, Gojo had a liking the way you just seemed to always search for his validation. For you it has always been Gojo, Gojo, Gojo.

He has his pretty boy, by a leash and he decides how long it is.

The soccerer hums happily when he sees you in the classroom all alone, stepping inside he closes the room, causing you to look up at him.

"(Y/n)~" he calls almost too sweetly and puts his hand on the table pushing whatever you've been doing out of the way.

The rattling of paper, is heard. Before the paper could even land on the floor. He pulled down your mask to reveal your curse pattern, gripping you by your jaw "(Y/n)" he repeats and you look at him, eyes staring at his blindfold where his would usually be, yet you couldn't help yourself but trail from his blindfold to his rosy lips.

Just staring at him not able to say a word.

"Am I not your favorite?" he asks and you just stare at him. Why was he asking that, of course he is your favorite. Who else could it be?

Not allowing you to give him any kind of answer, he presses his tumb to your lips pushing at your bottom lip until, you bought out your tongue to lick and suck at his finger, making him smile.

"Haha of course I am your favorite. Who else would indulge such a dirty boy like you?" he chuckles as he spits in your face making you close your eyes instinctively. "Surely not Yuuta. Yuuta didn't pick you up when you needed someone the most now did he?"

Opening your eyes you shoke your head as Gojo just watches his spit run down your cheek like tears before he whipes it out in your face, his fingers lingering over your curse marks.

"That's right Sensei did." he reminds you once again, that it was him that took you in. It's him who made you, who you are and he can take it all away if he desires.

The older tugs at your shirt "Take everything off."

Starring at him for a moment you unbuttoned your uniform, that Gojo had chosen for you. Like many other choices, Gojo did them all for you.

Stripping of the shirt, taking off the shoes, slipping of the pants, your reached for you boxers too, taking everything of for the man before you. You're just so willing to listen to everything he says.

Pushing you down against the table he hums looking at your exposed body, the room feeling a couple degrees too cold now fully exposed, yet some other parts of your body are burning.

His large hands presses against a bruise on your side watching whince in pain and he just smiles "You see (Y/n), I have nothing against Yuuta. I like him, he is a precious student just like you."

Tracing over the bruise from your training session with the other pupils Gojo just laughs "But I have an issue, if you're getting hurt because of Yuuta."

Fingers digging into your bruise, until he hears you whine "because you're mine, this body is mine and I don't like my property getting damaged."

His, his body, his property, those words seems to spiral in your mind. His, his his, it's something you wished for. You remember clearly, the day you ran to him needing his comfort, his guidance, his touch.

Another laugh escapes his lips as he stares you down "Did my pathetic boys cock just twitch from me digging into his wounds?"

His grip gets even harsher "Or is it because this wound is caused by Yuuta? It's because of me right?"

You didn't answer him, it's none of those two options right? He had made you strip down in classroom, you're just anticipating for something else right? You're not getting off to him hurting you like this right?

A smirk spreads across his face "This bruised is caused by Sensei yeah?" he traces over it slowly as it has taken an even darker colour than before and you looked at him with scared eyes.

You weren't sure when it took a turn into this direction, from wanting to be with him, needing him as figure to guide you through the dark, to now depending your whole existence on him.

"You look so exited." he smiles as he traces careful lines under your eyes "Did you miss me?" he presses against the bruise soflty just to remind me you again of the aching pain "You can't live without my touch can you?"

You're terrified to feel this way, even more terrified the way your cock twitches from feeling like this.

He gives you a look of pity "I've told you, you're mine." Knocking against your head with his finger knuckle "Your dumb brain hasn't understood yet hmm? But your body has, and it's so honest."

"Don't you like it when Sensei talks down on you?" he questioned as he cups your face "I'd call you my pretty boy, but that doesn't make your little cock hard now does it?"

"It only does when I call you a pathetic slut, who is needy of my attention." his voice growls and to your confusion your body does react to those words, supporting his statements.

His hand gripped your throat with an amused yet somewhat judgemental face, he squeezes your neck just tiny bit, until he can hear you choke "You like this too don't you? When I'm mean, when I hurt you?"

It's hard to deny, to shake your head, wanting to tell him no, when you can't speak and you're body giving a completely diffrent answer. A harsh slap to your face, has you feeling it in your lower area.

"Haha~" he smiles "Pitifully cute aren't you?"

"You love sensei so much don't you? Your body grew accustomed to Sensei touching you the way he likes it hmm?" he askes you questions for questions knowing well you couldn't protest against him.

"Remember when you used to whimper around so cutely? When I used to praise you?" the older beams, reminiscing of older times "Sensei is your first hmm? He took such good care of you didn't he?"

"Such good care of you and your body." Gojo hums, pinching and twisting your nipples until they're hard "I had fun."

"It's so honest just for me now." The soccerer sounds proud of himself, proud to have taken such a pure boys first with love and care, just to slowly drift of that road.

Binding you to him with promises and words of love.

You felt a lash like feeling on your body, caused by his infinity "stop..." you choked out and he tilts his head to the side "Stop? You know that doesn't work on me dummy."

"When has it ever?" he laughs as he traces over your curse marks once again "Besides why would you want me to stop?"

"You like being bruised and hurt by me, no?" he continued and you want refuse, tell him no, but all you're able to do is shake you're head at him until he decides to hold your face still forcing you to nod.

"Don't lie to me." he pulls down his blindfold to reveal the sky blue eyes you've fallen in love with "You wanted me to do this, don't you remember?"

"You're such a good boy. I love you so much (Y/n). You're so perfect, I promise I'll be gentle, just tap me when I need to stop okay?"

"(Y/n), can we try something? Ill take it slow."

The first time you tapped against his skin, asking him to stop, with tears running down your cheeks and he stops to kissi your marks "Don't worry baby, haha see I stopped." Yet you failed to notice his cock just growing harder in his pants from the way you're crying.

Cries and taps, rapid taps against his shoulders, that turned into slaps, you're voice breaking from telling him to stop, an activation of your curse until he halts, blood running down your lips, you failed to notice how your curse didn't effect him "Awww no don't cry, it's okay, it's okay. I won't hit you anymore, if you don't like it. I love you, you don't have to do these things, because I like them. Don't worry about me, I give you what you need. You don't seem to like the things I do, maybe we should stop here."

The older had stopped touching you from there on just smiling and waving when sees you, no hugs, no kisses, no praise, nothing comes from him after what had happened making you feel guilty. This is you're fault isn't it?

Gojo always indulged in yours needs, why couldn't you indulge in his.

So the next time you see him you stopped him in his tracks, taking his hands in yours, already felling special as he had let you through his infinity. Bringing his hand to your face, you slapped yourself, and if you could see his eyes widen underneath his mask.

"Hmm? What's that for little one?"

Tugging your neck piece down you looked at him "Hurt me. Love me."

"Remember??" he looks psychotic "you wished for me to do this, I'm indulging in your fantasy. You've placed this curse on yourself, you placed this curse on us."

Gojo never leaves himself unprotected from your curse speech.

The soccerer never lets himself be vulnerable, specially not such technique as yours that is just so easy to block out. You can scream and hurt your pretty throat all you want, he won't be having any of that.

Gojo wraps his hands around yours and bought it up to his cheek slapping himself "Hurt me. Love me"

"That's what you did. I had nothing to do with that." he chuckles "You did that all on your own. I didn't force you, you wanted to be mine and I made you mine. You have to hold responsibility you know?"

Bringing you down to your knees infront of him unzipping his own pants "Don't strain yourself, you don't have to to say anything. Sensei knows, he always knows best for you hmm?"

Pumping his own cock a couple times he forced it into your mouth "Now be good boy."

Hands gripping onto his tight as he just fucks your mouth to his content, just so he can hear you choke and see you cry.

He just can't help himself when his pretty boy looks so lewd sucking him off, like it's the only thing you're made for.

"Hmmm, fuck. Might as well just be my full-time cocksleeve, if you like getting bruised and hurt so much, I'll just have to do it." he chuckled as you felt another lash like feeling against your skin making you moan.

"Awww, such a painslut aren't you?" he smirks as he looks down on you to admire his mess, his hand in your hair forcing down more than you can take "Come on slut, you've done this often enough."

A groan escapes his lips as he pulls you off him allowing you to breath "stop, please...." your voice broken and hoarse and just smiles "Didn't I tell you already not to strain yourself? You're so funny trying to pull these things on me."

No matter what you say, no matter what you do with Gojo it has no use, until it's something he wants himself.

"Or are you just that much of a plain slut? Needing to damage yourself as much as possible?" he asks as you felt the cold sole of his shoes pressed against your cock.

"Pathetically cute." he beams when he sees you're all hard and leaking, just from the way he talks to you and the sole of his shoes pressing against your lenght.

"Oh sensei loves you so much." he grins as he places a stinging slap to your face that stings and burns "And I show it through the pain I cause, I know you need this."

#gojo satoru #gojo imagine #gojo saturo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo x y/n

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duskwood-legacies · 3 years ago

Text

"Your Armageddon"

•Fandom: Duskwood

⚠️->Episodes 5-8 Spoiler!

•Pairing/Character: MC, MWAF (Micheal)

•Word Count: 1.1k

•Genre: Angst

•Trigger Warnings: brief mention of blood and self-hatred, mentions of death

•Summary: MC stands face to face with the place responsible for the legend that calls itself the avenger of sins. Turns out, she was just the final pawn in the MWAF’s wicked game.

-----

Fog strangled the forests of Duskwood in a thick grey, forbidding to let anyone gaze farther than their arms could reach. Wind forced branches to collide, wind that soon swirled into a cruel storm to leave nothing but heartless destruction in its path.

As the world seemed to be taken away by Armageddon, I stood with my feet like rooted to the ground. The raven carved into the wood was almost shielded from my vision. Almost.

“Our origin. It lies here.” A raspy, sand-paper like voice taunted my mind from behind. The unnerving sound chased the hairs on my arms and neck upwards, nausea creeping into my throat.

“Is that why you brought me here, Micheal?” My own heartbeat nearly deafened me.

“Do not call me by my name.”

I shivered as I captured the calm tone inside his words. People possessing such calmness within such madness. They were dangerous. By far beyond dangerous. Rain crashed down like cascades, perfecting the chaos menacing around us, flooding homes of animals and drowning out hopes.

“We are one.” Micheal spoke.

“We…?”

“We. Every Man Without A Face before me, every Man Without A Face to follow after me. We share the same memories of your sins, we share the same curse.” Micheal’s voice darkened with each word spoken.

“But— But this is just a legend-“

“Naive girl.” His calmness began to fade away into the depths of hatred. “We are bound to this universe. We are the avengers for your sins. We are the justice. We are the misunderstood!”

I winced at the sudden loudening of his words. My veins pulsated with hot blood run cold, thoughts going numb with each passing dulled second. My airways tightened with an invisible rope swung around my neck.

“Ask MC.” Micheal’s voice bore into me “Ask. Ask! Ask what’s been haunting you!”

“Why?!” I shouted “Why Hannah?! Why Richy?! Why YOU?!”

I couldn’t see him, but I knew, I felt it. The sickening grin of success, securely hidden under his mask burned on my back, ill sensations diving into my spine.

“Jennifer!” Micheal pressed out, pained inside his neglected soul, relieved to say her name again. “Her death brought this curse upon me! Hannah and Richy watched her life cease from this world! They left her to die, allowed her murderer to run free!”

“They were only kids!” My shout matched a screech.

“Death knows no age!” A tree crashed into the ground behind us. The ominous loud thump hunted ravens out of their shelter, towards the one and only person their loyalty belongs to. My arms flung up and crossed in front of my head to protect my face. Micheal’s furious voice kept burning its way into my brain.

“Her death tore my life apart! Her death allowed the curse to seep into my cracked soul!”

“How is that possible?” I tried to mask my fright with half-hearted compassion.

“You don’t understand?! We were emotionally bound the strongest to those who fell victim to the cruelest of sins! We avenge our loved ones and protect those who can’t protect themselves!”

“By robbing lives?! You are committing sins yourself!”

“That is why we are the victims of our successors. This curse is Duskwood’s hell circle.”

Tears edged my eyes. Memories I couldn’t repress longer found their way back to torture my consciousness. The storm howled louder as the trees whipped into all directions with immeasurable violence. My knees started to feel light under the hectic of the unforgiving insanity those gone-by moments brought back to me.

“Do you feel the sting? The burn? The pain under your skin?” Micheal’s voice mixed psychopathy and lunacy as well as calmness and peace. With a weak spark of agitated success. “Do you hear their voices? Do you see their faces pleading you for help? Do you run from the guilt your sins have brought you? Do you see what monster you encouraged me to become?”

Thunder boomed through the fighting trees. I cried out in despair, broke under the suspense and agony he put me under as I bailed down onto my knees. My hands covered my ears, praying I’d somehow be able to shut his voice out before they reach my brain.

The sweet feelings of his achievement soothed Micheal’s wrath. His mind cleared as he saw his goal unfold in front of him like a dahlia in July.

The sound of branches breaking mixed with the loudness of rain, storm and thunder, becoming clearer and clearer the more Micheal stalked closer to me. I clutched my hands around my ears, with an intensity strong enough to make me hurt myself.

Micheal crouched down behind me. One of his hands grabbed my wrist and moved it away from my ear, easily fighting against the resistance I had attempted put up.

“Answer me, MC.”

I did. Day by day I ran from myself, hated when I saw my reflection, punched a mirror to shatters and watched my knuckles bleed until I could walk again. Every day the images of Richy would restrain my mind with shackles, guilt and helplessness charging and tackling me down the second the image unlocked their door.

“Crying. The silence of the sinners.” Micheal hummed. I didn’t notice I started sobbing.

“You mentioned Hannah and Richy… why me… why are you after me?”

“You have helped murderers. You willingly put people in danger for your own goals. You are powerfully bound to someone who has Duskwood’s blood inside their veins. You are the perfect victim. You are the final sin to separate me from my curse.”

My head pounded with distress. I pleaded for everything to be a nightmare, for the cold of the rain on my skin to be imagined, for the thunder in the sky to be a loud neighbor cutting into my dreams, for the storm to be a mask of my guilt.

The sentences resonated in my mind, bouncing and leaving a dull ache everywhere they touched my being. My parents weren’t from Duskwood. Neither of them had connections to the forgotten village within the lost forest.

My eyes went wide and a sudden inhale filled my lungs as realization came to me.

Jake.

Micheal yanked my head upward by my hair. A thunderbolt struck the tree in half, the spot scared with the raven splitting into two. Merciless heat of fire graced against my freezing skin, a high-pitched ringing consuming my ears. A cold metal blade pressed against my throat as I felt Micheal get closer to my ear one last time.

“This is your Armageddon, MC.”

-----

A/N: Hi!💕 This post was rather unplanned since I didn't want to post too much Angst, but I've had this idea for a while now and reading the story of @neptunee has given me so much motivation, I couldn't resist🤭🌿 I hope the stories don't share too much similarities, I promise if anything appears copied I didn't do it on full on purpose!

#duskwood fanfiction #duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood mc #duskwood player #duskwood mwaf #duskwood mc x mwaf #everbyte studio

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orangepurin45 · 3 years ago

Text

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫!! - 𝐂𝐨𝐩! 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐗 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐏.𝐭 1

WARNING: Guns, some Yanderish themes (Oikawa is protective of Bara-arms), Blood, Drug dealing delivery, 🔞triggering sexual content 🔞, Angst, Fluff?, Slight!IwaOi, Mentions of past humiliation & trauma (high-school bullying)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is my first time writing btw. Happy Reading! if not the exit is over there 👉🚪.

Papers sprawled all over the desk, strings attached each other to another. A loud sip from the bulky man and a paper flip to side then eyes rose up to the photo of you grinning like a mischievous fox with red lips and taunting eyes screaming "CATCH ME IF YOU DARE," vibe Hajime grit his teeth glaring at your dirty face.

L/n Y/n, also know as the dark phoenix, Japan's most notorious drug dealing, homicide, and man-woman torturer and murderer in the whole country.

Everyone fears you.

Everyone obey at you.

Everyone believes you are the end.

Everything they think, you were responsible of all of this.

"Iwa-chan! Chief wants you to-..." Tooru spokes but was stopped by the sound of Iwaizumi's chair screech. He stood up, shadow loom under his gaze as he walks out the door.

"Wait! Iwa-chan I was supposed to...!

SLAM!

Inform you, " he finished, his lips turned downwards at the cold room, his chocolate eyes scanned every detail of the room then stopped to your portrait of your scary taunting face.

"Thanks a lot, Y/n-chan... But I didn't know you were into kind of... mess, " he smiles sadly, tracing his fingers at your photo. Lips tighten softly at the flashback, of yourself and the other 3rd years. How ironic to see your sweet, sweet smile in the memories compare to your now scary one.

"But I'm not letting you hurt Iwa-chan...That's a promise!,"

He points at your portait, eyes of determination and protection to swearing to blood to bone of himself not want his childhood friend be hurt. He turned away as long he lives

He will never let Hajime's life on the line.

Blood splatter, and small packet of white powder in the sachet all over the floor. Blowing your gun, hot steam coming out of the hole. Soft red lips upturned wickedly, your loyal subordinates gathers the small plastic packets inside the black bag.

"Bring it on the trunk immediately," You grinned as they nodded, immediately running towards your car.

Although, all happiness and rainbows has to ended when your car exploded and a familiar gunfire break a loose killing at off your men in sight.

"Oh dear... here we go again," You giggled then smirked, eyes delighted to see the man, who is obsessed of you being arrested.

How cute! 💕

"DARK PHOENIX!!!," Hajime yelled, eyes filled with fury and justice glaring at your calm figure. His teeth angrily clench pointing his gun at you.

"What a pleasant surprise!... I never thought you were such a party pooper, Iwaizumi-san! I'm absolutely...hurt," you pouted furrowing your brows playfully at him, to which he just flinch remembering a memory, looking down at the thought.

But you took this opportunity to snatched the gun off of his Iron grip by sitting on his shoulder then do some acrobatics before jumping off his broad shoulders then before jumping back then throw him on the ground with a headlock.

"You know it was all good~ back in the day! My mom always taught me to take care of what mess it was...And that was me she was talking about, "

He grunt, trying to wiggling his way out of your grasped but no avail the tightness is stronger than he expected. You giggled when you heard him yelped.

“Let ME go this is instant! I’m gonna make sure you’re gonna rot in prison!,”

He shouted, throwing his saliva right at your face at each sentence he threat for you. But you only grinned, eyes in mischief and raising a brow at him.

“Oh please~ Cry me a river! Your the cop here aren’t you gonna do it but instead you’re just laying under me...shame on you Iwaizumi-san,”

Silence ... You saw how he looks down and saw sorrow at his face, seemingly remembers something, you hummed a growing smile on your soft lips.

“Ne, Iwazumi-san Do you remember the day Oikawa-san humiliate me?,”

He snaps out his trace, then looks at you eyes as larger as the china wares.

“You didn’t help me back then, instead you let him do what he did to me,”

Rains started to pour, as the steaming car slowly deflates it’s flame little by little by an hours. Hajime’s heart dropped at the statement.

Yes, It’s true he did only watched.

He just...didn’t know

He didn’t know what to do If he did help you back then.

Because of a certains rumors that you seduce your father, your uncle, other male students in any campus. That’s what Oikawa made up, He thought realising it.

You rejected Tooru because you view him as a brother only and nothing more.

“Isn’t because of Oikawa...was it?,”

“All of that wasn’t true SHUT UP!!,”

Unrealising you let him go and back yourself away from him, giving Hajime to sit up then slowly stood. He saw suprising seeing you hitting your head, slapping and punching your head. Snot and tears and all, pulling your hair out, heavily breathing then whimper and cries. Hajime was about to approach you giving the comfort you deserve, you deserve long time ago that he was going to give if he helped you.

But being a fucked out mentally ill you are, Throwing your head back flash of lightning. Red eyes and nose all bloodshot. Wet Hair stuck on your face.

“FUCK THEM ALL FOR BEING NAIVE ASS BITCH THEY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME!!,”

“Y/n I-,”

All of the sudden a hooded man engulf you in an embrace then took you, jumping in each delivering cubes. But before he left, he shot Iwaizumi by the calf making him grunt then kneel down to hold where the shot is.

“IWA-CHAN!,”

Oikawa runs afront of him, and by anger he tried firing his bullet back at the hooded man but failed when he fired back to disarm him then fled at the scene.

“That bitch had company I see... Iwa-chan are you alright,”

After the rage diminished into concern laced tone, he pulled Iwaizumi up throwing his arm over his shoulder. Gazing in greater concern at him.

Or Love, so to speak.

“Everything will be all right, Iwa-chan I already called back-up,”

Hajime grunt, he unlatch himself off Oikawa suprise at the action he give, he stumbled and winced but he then glared at Oikawa.

His heart ache’d at the facial expression, shattering to him into pieces.

“Get off me I can take care of myself, I’m not some type of baby being taken care of,” He explains, he took a second to look where you feld and the hooded man went, A breath escape his lips and just stumble ahead.

when the back-up came, they help him guide back inside the ambulance.

“I told you I can take care of myself! Lay off!!,”

“Japan needed you Iwaizumi-san...So you’ll be needing our guidance for now,” The medic discipline and explains The Cop as he guided Hajime at the back of the ambulance.

He click his tongue before the paramedics lift him up in ease onto the ambulance.

Oikawa on the other hand, chocolate-colored eyes darkens at the moment of Hajime's pained expression when he taken the bullet that strike his calf.

And the sorrowfulness of his face when he was about to hug you.

His staring directly at your self-hate state as if he was that main guy at a certain love story, but a fucked up one.

He wanted to comfort you so badly that he might forget you'll stab him by the back. He grit his teeth, his knuckles turning white at point of view of your being.

But first he had to make sure you will be torture to hell where you belong.

"Oikawa-senpai! Is everything is going to be alright?"

A turnip head guy pops out, eye'ing in concern at the ambulance where Iwaizumi resides in, left the scene. Tooru took a deep breath, as he face his youngest colleague with that well-covered smile.

"It's alright! There's no need to worry! Cause' He will have the greatest care in the hospital... For awhile I think"

"Oikawa-senpai... Your palms are bleeding"

Kunimi pointed out, staring boredly at the fresh wound that have his blood run down his fingers to his knuckles.

He hadn't realise in mad anger, he clawed his palm so bad at the thought of you gonna ruining Iwaizumi's life.

"Ahhh! My hand slipped in the strawberry jam! My bad hehe"

(；^ 3^）✌️even though it was rather darker than the sweet jam itself, Kunimi could tell it was a lie. He could tell the deep nail marks on his palm and blood mixing under his nails too.

"Uh... Okay I guess..." He pretend to buy it, much of Oikawa's satisfaction.

"Okay back to work! We need to investigate this piece of shit of a burning car!" He grin happily as he skipped towards the steaming car, not caring about the rain pouring down.

Hope you rot in hell Y/n dearest or else one touch on Iwa-chan and you are gone he thought with a deep frown thinking about you makes Oikawa sick upon his stomach but hopefully that one day, you'll be captured and rot in jail.

Or maybe suffer in death sentence because of the multiple crimes you make.

Hope you suffer He thought with sadistic grin.

-End P. T 1-

That was not I expected, but judge all you want all because of the grammar I've been working is still under- construction and I've been using writing stuff like this because of a certain mental stability I've got... Not all that set aside. Thank y'all for reading don't forget to leave a heart or not because due to my ungrateful grammar that make you sick... I'm sorry about that and I apologies for being born... Is all

-orangepurin45

#iwaizumi x y/n #slight iwaoi #first writing #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #x reader #criminalxpoliceau!#Minors don't interact #blood #imnervousethisismyfirsteverwritinghereintumblr #skskskksks #yandere oikawa

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lady-literature · 4 years ago

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no point wishing on stars

aka the jasonette aladdin au literally no one asked for

This is a great big amalgamation of semi-canon miraculous, batman and a heavy dose of bastardized Aladdin but here we go-

The story goes like this:

Jason is our beloved street rat turned prince Boy Wonder and billionaire’s son (not that he’s gotten that far yet).

Marinette is Ladybug, is the Guardian, is our modern-day Jasmine. She’s next in line after Fu to lead the Order, which, I suppose, is like High Royalty for superheroes/magic users.

But before she can take her rightful place, she needs a partner by her side. It’s so stupid rule that says she, as a Ladybug, needs a Black Cat by her side in order to be properly balanced.

The only problem is, she doesn’t want one. Or, well. More accurately, it’s that she doesn’t like the ones offered to her, and she doesn’t quite like the idea of being tied to someone she barely knows, especially not at fourteen.

There have been many Black Cat candidates to cross her path but there has been only one she did not immediately veto. Adrien Agreste may be a Black Cat, but he cannot be hers. He will never be anything more than her dearest brother, and that is not what Creation needs.

Creation and Destruction—life and death—have a certain type of relationship. They are lovers, mated and married in every meaning of the word.

And, for as much as she loves and adores Adrien as her brother in her soul, they will never be like that. She will never want him the way she must should he take up Destruction.

So yeah. Marinette has a problem. And yeah, she has some time to figure it out, but the Order is looking to have her figure it out sooner rather than later. Adrien is a good place holder for now, but if Marinette doesn’t choose a Black Cat by the time she’s twenty-one, Adrien will either have to do, or she forfeits her crown and the Ladybug miraculous (which she would never do, she loves her people and Tikki too much to ever do that).

(wait? Does this mean I made Adrien the human equivalent of Raja?… yes. Yes it does.)

And, to spice this up just a bit more, let’s say Hawkmoth is Jafar, yeah? This little shit is really trying to push his son to be the next Black Cat because he wants power what’s best for his son. So he be out here sabotaging potential Black Cats because he’s an asshole his son is the best candidate at the moment. He could give less than two shits about if Mari and Adrien actually like each other that way, he will shove his son at her until she has no choice but to choose him.

Anyway, so Mari leaves the temple one day. Which is fine, she’s not trapped there or anything, she can come and go as she pleases! (she may have to normally take someone with her and is currently ignoring that rule perhaps, but that’s besides the point!)

So she’s at a market in Gotham, strolling down the street, having a good time enjoying being around normal people, when she notices a boy getting into some trouble.

(I’ll give you three guesses as to who it is and the first two don’t count.)

Jason was stealing from market vendors because the hubbub of the street is distracting and nicking a few scraps here and there is practically child’s play. Only, he miscalculates.

One vendor was paying more attention than he thought.

Mari’s across the street and sees the whole thing. Sees the vendor grab Jason’s hand in a bruising grip and snarl in his face.

She’s in between the pair before she even realizes it, mouth already opening around some made-up story about ill-advised dares and how ‘it won’t happen again, sir’ and ‘here, I’ll pay for that right now, no harm done!’

Jason stares at her utterly baffled and, thankfully, silent until after she’d already grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

Only, she pulls him away down the wrong alley. (Look. Mari’s a real sweet-talker and knows how to smooth ruffled feathers, but she is hardly street smart.)

Jason swears, and it’s the first words she’s heard him speak, and then it’s him tugging her along. Up a fire escape and over the rooftops because Jason likes to think he’s tough, but there’s no way he’s picking a fight with five guys bigger than him and wearing masks.

He likes to keep his heart beating more than he wants to keep his pride unharmed thank you very much.

They end up on a rooftop, panting and like, seven blocks away. Marinette is now very lost and with a strange boy who she doesn’t know. He seems… nice, and she’s a good judge of character, but that doesn’t mean much when they’re still very much strangers.

But then the two just look at each other and suddenly they’re both laughing.

And that, my friends, is the start of a beautiful friendship.

***

During those first few months, she and Jason just seem to click.

Mari starts leaving the temple more and more to meet up with Jason, and on more than one occasion dragging behind her a picnic basket bigger than her. (it’s stupid to let one of her friends starve just because he’s too prideful to take her food. So she plans lots of picnics for them both, and pointedly ignores the way he eats and hoards most of the food she brings.)

He is her friend—though she would be lying if she said she didn’t like him a bit more than what one would consider friendly.

And Jason, who is funny and kind and made sharp by the life he’s been forced into, likes her right back. She is one of the few great parts of his life, a bright spot in the darkness he has called his world for so long, and there are few things he wouldn’t do for her.

It’s… scary—just a bit—how important she is to him.

He tries not to think about it too much.

And it doesn't really matter anyway, because she is good and bright and amazing and he is… there’s nothing he can give her in return. Nothing good, anyway.

She deserves someone better. Someone who could buy her things as pretty as her and take her nice places.

Someone who isn’t a street rat.

And then he learns she’s Ladybug, right up there with Wonder Woman and Robin and all the other amazing people set on saving the world, and he feels he got that much farther from her. How can he ever compare?

Jason doesn’t wish, because wishing is childish and he learned too young that shooting stars don’t exist and he’s come to terms with the fact that this is his life years ago, all right? He doesn't need the burden of hope to weigh him down now.

(but perhaps, deep down, tucked away in the corner of his heart, there might be a thought. Small and scared and aching, he might think, ‘if only I could be there with her, if only i could fly with her, maybe then I’d be enough’)

Six months after he meets Marinette, Jason comes across the Batmobile.

His first thought is, this can’t be real.

His second is, I could buy Mari a real birthday gift with this.

His third thought is less of a thought because he’s already got two tires off by that point and then suddenly Batman is there and Jason is swinging his tire iron.

This then leads—somehow—to him winding up at Wayne Manor with Bruce Wayne and then he learns about Batman and Robin and he gets to be Robin and-

(and what else is a Robin meant to do but fly?)

It’s too good to be true. Wishes don’t come true and good things don’t happen to him unless their name be Marinette but… but Jason’s here and it’s not a dream. He’s no prince but, well… he thinks this might just be as close as you can get.

And, okay. He really does try with the whole secrecy thing, because he can understand why that’s important but, I mean… it’s Marinette, who is Ladybug. There really was never any chance of Jason keeping that particular secret, Batman or no Batman.

And about,,, two years pass like this ig. Mari is almost seventeen now, and Jason turned seventeen recently and the pair are getting closer and closer every day. They’re toeing the line of ‘more than friends’ but neither have really taken that next step.

The pressure is on Mari from the Order because she’s getting older and as much as she likes Jason, knows him but he isn’t a good candidate for Destruction and Mari must think of her people first.

Jason doesn’t get to be hers to keep and that aches but what else is she meant to do? She cannot—does not—want to change him in any way. So they stay, in their strange little limbo, with neither making a move.

And then, the unthinkable happens.

Hawkmoth hears of the boy finally, and is, obviously, furious.

He doesn't care if this boy can be a Cat or not, he’s going to ruin all his plans. So, there’s only one solution. He needs to get rid of him.

(i’ll give you three guesses as to how and the first two don’t count!)

Robin—Jason—dies, and Marinette feels when he does. She doesn’t know why or what happened, but the moment he leaves the world her blood turns cold and she feels sick.

Jason hasn’t even looked at the ring and already Marinette could feel the thread that had begun to tie them together. When she hears of his death—when she learns that he’s gone—Marinette shatters.

She shatters and cries and the world tips just a little, with the force of her sorrow, with the agony of her screams.

(justice is blind, yes, but is she deaf? Can she deny the sobbing of such a being as Creation herself? Can she stand, unfeeling, before the agony she has wrought?)

Marinette does not bring Jason back to life… but she has done something close. Has opened the possibility. Is, perhaps, the reason that six months later he screams and claws and drags himself from his own grave.

He is wrong wrong wrong, but he is also alive.

The league finds him, as they must. And Talia throws him into the pits, as she must. And Jason is reborn, screaming and angry and violent, as he must.

Marinette had known, Before, that Jason would not be a good match for the ring. He was tough and wild and willing to get his hands dirty if that’s what it took, but that was not what his core was. He was familiar with the rust and decay of back alley streets, but that wasn’t where he belonged. He would throw a punch but he didn’t relish the blood on his knuckles after a fight.

Jason was surrounded by destruction, but that’s not what he was.

Now… now the destruction he spent so long dancing with has slipped through the cracks in his mind left behind by the explosion. It ripped through his skin and slithered through into his veins until it settled in his heart like an overly smug cat.

Death and Destruction are inside him, woven in his ribcage and fusing with his blood, pumping pumping pumping its deadly rhythm and Jason is helpless to deny it’s tune.

Jason is a being of Destruction through circumstance rather than design, but make no mistake, that does not make him less.

(in fact, it may even make him more. To be remade from one’s own destruction is a powerful thing, and to be remade into Destruction? Well. There are few things more… miraculous.)

And we all know the next part of the story right?

Marinette mourns and grows and lives.

Jason rages and learns and plans. He’s come far from that street rat of a boy, and farther still from Marinette's petite oiseau.

But, two years after he comes back, when he ventures back to Gotham for revenge, Marinette takes one look at this angry, violent man calling himself Red Hood and she knows. He’s too familiar, even as he stands before her, more changed than she ever thought possible.

She meets the Red Hood when he comes for the new Robin, sweet little Tim who Marinette had grown to like despite herself. (He is not Jason, and never will be, but the boy was too shy and clever and earnest for her to have remained cold to him just because he wore the same colors once worn by the man she loved.)

She loves Tim in the same way she loves Adrien, simply and wholly and uncomplicated.

And then she is there when Jason comes for him.

Their reunion is not the stuff of fairy tales. It is not the beginning of happily ever after or true love.

Their reunion is a punch in the gut because it doesn't matter that he’s alive—except it does, because Mari has never known she could be so happy and so shattered at the same time—she is farther from him than she’d ever imagined she could be.

She reaches out for him, voice cracking around his name—because who else could this familiar stranger be?—and something in her shatters all over again when he flinches back from her touch.

“No,” he says, and it is a million things at once. He sends one last glare to Tim, who is still behind her, and then he’s gone.

***

Jason tries to avoid her.

Marinette allows this for a whole month before the whispers in the streets and the stories Tim comes back to her with, become too much.

She knows he is angry and out for revenge and building an empire out of the criminals that infest their city, but she doesn’t care. He was gone for two whole years and Marinette is tired of not seeing him-hearing him-touching him.

She has missed him like an ache in her chest and she doesn't care if he hates her or is furious with her, she just wants to see him. She needs to reassure herself that he’s alive, that he’s real.

And, it seems, the universe is on her side in this. In her chest, nestled there in the space next to her heart, there is what she can only describe as a compass, pointing to wherever Jason is like he’s her own personal north star.

The first few times, she’s yelled at or ran off. Or he runs off. Either way, for a while, the only moments she’s close to him are short and aching.

But she doesn’t let him run for long, and she doesn’t let him scare her off as she knows he’s trying to do.

Marinette had always been the more stubborn of the two.

Eventually, like a feral cat learning safety (like a hurt, scared animal relearning love), Jason lets her get close. He lets her in, lets her get close again.

The first time she sees him, without helmet or mask, she flings herself at him. Arms around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist, clutching him like her life depends on it. He takes her weight automatically, hand beneath her thighs while the other wraps around her back just as tightly. (he longs for touch, she has relearned, but he is also so frightened of it. She will have to be brave for them both)

The second time she sees his face bare once more, he is still thrumming with energy from a fight, is still high on the feeling of broken bones and blood on his knuckles. The force in his chest, the clawing and raging thing settled just off-center of the very core of him, pulls him toward her and Marinette meets him halfway, her own bright, ruthless force like a magnet in her chest.

They meet in a clash of hands on skin and lips anywhere they’ll land.

It is the first time they fall into bed together.

It will not be the last.

Now, you may be thinking, ‘Lady! This isn’t very Aladdin at all!’ and to that I tell you: I fucking warned you. What part of bastardized-Aladdin didn’t you get?

Also, shh. This is my favorite part!

So Mari is in her own personal little honeymoon stage, right? She practically could not be happier because Jason is alive and he’s hers and, even if he’s more violent and a crime boss, he’s stopped attacking his family at least. Which is good, because Mari really didn’t like the sad look Tim wore every time he brought up Jason.

And, oh yeah. Through a combination of her own detective work and Tikki, little Mari realizes that Jason is her Black Cat. Is the only person her Black Cat could be, not because of destiny—though that had helped—but because of coincidence and the bond the pair forged themselves.

So Mari is, obviously, on cloud nine at the moment and she tells Adrien and Fu who are ecstatic for her, and announcements are going to be made the second Mari tells Jason and what could possibly go wrong?

Well, a lot of things really but the first thing is that, basically, Mari is asking Jason to marry her. Just a bit. And while they both know, in that nebulous way they always have, that they love each other, neither of them have ever actually said it.

And also, they aren’t really dating right now either. Mari’s been too busy trying to just get near Jason again that she hasn’t much been paying attention to normal relationship things like dates or labels.

So when she brings it up Jason is… well, caught off guard is likely an understatement. Which then makes Mari realize what exactly she’s just done and- shit. She’s ruined everything and Jason is going to run away again and the compass in her chest is just going to be a reminder of what she can’t have and-

Jason, who only moments before was terrified and in danger of bolting—because this is a lot and magic-marrying Mari comes with responsibilities and rules and a thousand strings he doesn't know what to do with—now stops and stares at her, babbling and so obviously panicked and something in him abruptly settles.

She starts pacing and he grabs her hand when she passes by close enough, reeling her into his body. She comes easily even in her frazzled state and the vicious clawing thing in his chest sighs contentedly.

“Why?” he asks, and it is a million things at once. Why him, why now, why, why, why?

There are a million ways she could answer, but the easiest? The most important answer is simply this: “Because I love you.”

His breath shudders in his chest at her words and her hands raise to settle on his cheek and the back of his neck, a protection of one of the most vulnerable parts of him, and he leans into her touch like a man starved.

Gods, Jason has loved her for years.

He loved her Before and he loved her in the pits, when all he had was the hate they kept stuffing in his chest, and he loves her now. She is his sun and he will spin around her for the rest of his life. But when it all comes down to it, one simple fact doesn’t change:

“I don’t deserve your love.”

Her hands press harder into his skin, like she can force him to understand through touch alone. “If everyone only got the love they deserved no one would be truly loved,” she counters.

“You would,” he says, quick and quiet and honest. Her breath hitches and he watches her eyes go wide. The hands he has on her hips tighten at the emotions he finds there.

“Oh,” she whispers, already pulling him down to meet her. “Oh you stupid, beautiful man.”

And then they’re kissing and- and it is not the first time they’ve done this, but there is something very different about this one.

They’re kissing, and this time, it feels very much like coming home.

***

And, perhaps, that is not the end.

Because there is still one wish left.

Because Jafar-Hawkmoth is still there, and he’s still murderous, and there a very real chance he’s going to ruin the wedding somehow.

Because there is never truly an end to a story, it just simply stops being told.

But none of that really matters. Our princess and her dearest street rat are together at last, and together they’ll get through whatever happens after the story stops being told.

They’ve always had a thing for impossible odds after all.

#maribat #jasonette #my typewriter #aladdin au

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deewithani · 3 years ago

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Raindrops in the Wind - Chapter 2

Chapter Rating: T

Work Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word count: Approx. 2.1k

Warnings: Justice system abuse, light blood and gore, medical procedures performed by someone not medically qualified, discussion of potentially gross food.

A/N: Again, canon gets blown out of the water, borrowing from here and there to weave the narrative. OC's abound. No Jango in this chapter (he'll be back soon, I promise), we're learning about the reader. I know almost nothing about healthcare, so take that as you will and don't do what the reader does. Milvayne and the underworld are canon, but I took some liberties on my descriptions of the underworld (since I know next to nothing about it outside of this article: https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Milvayne)

Chapters will list their individual ratings, work is rated Explicit (18+) for eventual explicit content.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Word had spread quickly through the underworld on Milvayne, passing from mouth to filth covered ear, each resident hearing the words a multitude of times: from the mouths of bandits, scavengers, old men dying in the gutter, children picking the pockets of newcomers who hadn't yet discovered they came to a foul place even the light of the maker refused to touch.

“Aleda Vole has work.”

The nature of that work was never spoken aloud, and endless throngs of people came and went from Vole's pawn shop, with no end in sight. To you it looked like Aleda was working night and day, the colorful 'Open' sign lit up no matter the time you passed by on your way to another house call.

You had been sentenced to exile here barely a year prior, punishment for your part in a bacta heist that went wrong. It had became increasingly difficult for the clinic you worked for to obtain basic medical supplies, so you and several of your coworkers took it upon yourselves to steal the supplies from a medical supply transport that was scheduled to arrive in Milvayne City. The heist should have went off without a hitch. The proper palms were greased, heads were turned the other way, but if something seems to good to be true, it probably is.

The theft itself was easy. You and your teammates were able to load up everything you needed and leave the dock without a single pursuer following in your footsteps. A not insignificant amount of credits had successfully bought an easy getaway.

What it failed to buy was silence. Someone was a rat.

Several weeks went by, enough that you felt you had been in the clear, when Milvayne Authority officers kicked down the front door of the clinic, arresting anyone unlucky enough to be in the building. A slew of trials commenced the same day and people were found guilty en masse. Every man, woman, and child that faced trial that day was convicted without so much as a second thought, and people were forced over the ledge into the underworld by the hundreds that day.

Since then, you had used your meager medical skills to barter for food, shelter, and literally anything else that was offered to you. It didn't matter if you were paid in half a yard of soiled fabric, it could be turned into something you could use, it could be traded for something else that you may need, or the new item you traded it for could be bartered yet again. It was a shame you had no real medical experience, though. Being able to heal was worth it's weight in gold, but you had been educated in the upkeep and maintenance of technical systems. Unfortunately there wasn't much need in someone repairing holoprojectors or hover-stretchers here. Those things rarely ever came over the ledge, and when they did they were grabbed up by people with a lot more power than yourself.

What enabled your survival is the fact that your job in the clinic had a lot of down time. If it wasn't time for the scheduled maintenance of the equipment, or something wasn't broke, you made yourself busy straightening up exam rooms, stocking, and chatting with the nurses and doctors at the clinic. You watched them perform basic medical procedures and listened in when they explained to their patients the various illnesses and injuries they were experiencing. Because of the continual lack of supplies you saw cuts being stitched by hand, home-made poultices being applied, and injuries being cleaned and dressed. You were even asked to stand in and assist a handful of times, whenever the need of the patients outpaced the staff that was available.

But now here you were, trudging along a muddy path, checking on your next “patient”, an old woman who cut her hand on some scrap metal she had been trying to pull from a pile near her shack. A friend of hers had found you and asked that you hurry to help, as she was bleeding heavily and she heard that you had some antibiotics. It was true, but the vial had been hard to come by, and you hoped that it would be a secret until you absolutely had to use them.

But this is the underworld of Milvayne. The only time secrets are held is when it is beneficial to hold them, and that is a rarity.

The path kept winding, twists and turns bracketed by piles of junk that looked as if they would fall over with a gust of wind, if such a pleasant thing as wind blew down here. The air was stale and all things smelled of rot, as if the odor had wormed its way into the being of every creature that made this place its home. You got used to it, after a time, but occasionally you would be woken from a pleasant dream as a whiff of death passed by your nose.

You finally made it to the door of your “patient”, a shack that was little more than a lean to with a front wall and overhang. Makeshift metal chimes hung from eaves, but unless they were moved by the hand of a passerby they would play no song without the wind to blow through them. They were an odd thing to see here as well. It wasn't safe to leave anything of value outside your dwelling. The common rule was that if it was outside, it was scrap, and anyone could take scrap. Crudely made and as useless as they were, they had value as trinkets. There was little good and enjoyable here, but people loved things they could play, at least as tools to take their minds off the reality of their circumstances.

This peculiar shack stood alone among the debris, short and squat, but solid, it's back crammed against another tall pile of scrap. You raised your fist to knock on the door, but it opened swiftly before your knuckles reached the wood. Before you stood an old woman, petite, back bowed and leaning on a makeshift cane. You stared for a moment, she had a rough, worn face creased by the passage of time, and a strong nose that looked too long for her thin face. Her hair was pure white, and was pulled back in a tight pony tail. You tried to see her eyes, but her eyelids were heavy and swollen. She looked as if she may have been retaining fluids.

The woman before you lifted her cane and let the end drop to the floor, letting out a bang that pulled you back to the present. “Well, honey. You the healer? Don't just stand there”, she said, before turning and moving back in the shack. You followed behind quietly, entering her darkened home. Inside was much more inviting than out. It was only one room, and there were a few piles of scrap in the small space, but the rest was cozy. A small cot was placed against the back wall, covered with a clean blanket and a fluffy pillow, and on the front wall was a stove, cooking what smelled like a very delicious stew you had been served before by other residents of the underworld. Two chairs and a small table sat in the middle of the room, finishing out the rest of the space.

“Your friend said you cut your hand on some scrap, ma'am.” you told her. “I ain't no ma'am, honey, call me Zola”, the old woman replied as she gestured for you to take a seat. You sat down and took her hand, noticing the small bit of cloth she had wrapped around it. It was stained red with blood at the palm, but unusually clean around the top. Her hands were suspiciously clean as well, considering she was digging for scrap in one of the dirtiest places in the galaxy.

You opened your makeshift medical bag and found your small pack of needles and the thread you had made from the remnants of an old blanket you had found peaking out of the mud the first day you had arrived. It was filthy and too small to be usable as much more than a cleaning cloth, but you had painstakingly washed and scrubbed the fibers until they were clean and you could separate them one by one. It had taken you the better part of the week to get enough usable thread, but it had been worth it in the end. Another medic traded you a couple of bent needles for a handful of your thread, and you were able to start the business of survival.

You carefully removed the bandage from her hand, taking care not to pull where it had began to stick to the blood. “This is a deep cut, Zola. I'll have to sew it up. You'll need some antibiotics too, and I've only got a little bit.” The cut wasn't very dirty, but there was very little fresh water to be had here, and you had none on you. You were going to have to sew her palm up as is, and you hoped a shot of antibiotics would keep her from getting an infection.

Carefully you threaded one of your needles and went to work. Zola was quiet while you worked, but you could see her scrunch her face and hold her breath whenever you would push the needle through her skin. The wound continued bleeding as you worked, so you used the wrapping she had bandaged herself with to clean up as you went along. By the time you were through you had placed 7 stitches in the palm of the old woman's hand, and the bleeding had finally stopped.

“There, good as new Zola. I need you to stand up and pull down the top of your pants for me so I can give you the antibiotics.” You filled your needle with the antibiotics and injected them into the top of her buttocks, a place that was least likely to cause her too much pain.

You were worried about the old woman, here alone at the end of the winding path. Afraid that she would meet her end here from whatever was causing the excess fluid. “Zola, you need to see a real doctor about the fluid you're holding. I'm worried that you've got a bigger problem than a cut on your hand. I'll ask around to see if there is someone who can help, but I don't know if I can find anyone. Have your friend ask around. Please.”

“Don't worry honey. I will. I'll be alright until I can find someone. Don't worry about me.”

“Alright, now that I'm finished, what are you going to pay with?” Zola looked up at you and cocked her head to the side. “Well, honey, I don't know what you charge. I don't have any money, and I don't have anything of value I can give you.” You thought for a moment. You hadn't survived here for a year without being flexible with how your clients paid you. Your kind heart wouldn't allow you to not help someone, even if they didn't have any way to settle up with you. You had been left in dire straits from time to time by your personal policy, but your kindness had also won you friends who looked out for you as well.

“I don't do credit, but if you give me a bowl of that stew I'll consider you paid in full. Does it have any meat?”

If the stew did have meat, it was best not to ask what kind. There were very few animals down here, anything not sentient was quickly grabbed and put into the closest stew pot for dinner. The meat in this pot could be anything from a scrap rat to grubs and worms. It didn't matter, though. That bowl was a matter of survival. Jabba the Hutt could be cooking in that pot and it wouldn't make any difference.

“Honey, you may have saved my life today. The least I can do is have you here for supper. Sit down for a while and let's talk. I think I have some information you can use.”

You sat in silence and ate your stew as Zola spoke of her years in the underworld. How she came to find herself in this place. How she found love. How she raised a fine, strong daughter. How they survived. The stew was delicious, and it was a rare treat to hear stories that held more than pain and sorrow.

As you finished your meal Zola rose and walked over to you. She placed her hand on your shoulder and leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Aleda Vole has work. You should go see her.”

__________

Taglist: @latenightsthoughtsnstuff @gummywurme @bobabitch88 @the-empress-strikes-back @tacticalsparkles @rebelpitstop

If anyone wants added to my taglist, let me know ☺️

#jango fett x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars au #order 66 au #star wars oc #star wars original character

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aftgficrec · 4 years ago

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@just-some-spoopy-shit asked: I read a fic where andreil met in Easthaven (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858567) and I was wondering if you knew of any more like this?

Your link leads to the ‘we were together’ series, listed below, and here’s what else I could find. - A

previous recs

‘until you’re all white-knuckled’ here

‘The Waiting Game’ here

you may also like

Batman universe fics where andreil meet in an asylum: ‘It's a Cruel World, Mr. J,’ ‘It's a Cruel World, Mr. J (The Continuation Remix),’ and ‘rotten inside.’ here

Andreil meet in juvie here

Andreil meet in the system here

Andreil meet pre-canon here

Andreil meet pre-canon 2 here

Andreil meet pre-canon 3 here

we were together series by by bazookajo94 [Rated T/M, Collection, Complete, 2020]

part 1: night by night [T, 6689 Words]

“Maybe he’s bringing a friend.”

“That’s even more unbelievable, Aaron.”

“I don’t know, Nicky, and I don’t know why you care.”

Nicky sniffed. “I just feel like if we’re going to be spending a week with someone who Andrew has willingly invited, we should be prepared to meet a potential murderer or, like, a manic pixie dream girl.”

“A what?”

tw: scars, tw: implied/referenced violence

part 2: day by day [M, 7852 Words]

“Sometimes it can help to give pieces of ourselves to strangers, because it feels like they don’t really know us to judge us. Is that how you feel around Andrew?”

“Not really. Am I supposed to feel that way around you?”

“Some people do. How do you feel around me, Neil?”

“I feel like this is a big waste of time, and Andrew isn’t a stranger.”

“Then is he a friend?”

tw: vomit, tw: side effects from withdrawal, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: violence, tw: self harm, tw: blood

part 3: long been forgotten [T, 5259 Words]

“Maybe I’ll sell my kidney,” Neil told Andrew at one point that summer while they had been searching for a place for Neil to live and seeing that nothing was under five hundred dollars.

"Or all of my organs," he amended later, still unable to find sustainable housing for anyone not working forty hours a week. "How much do you think they'd take for one of my lungs? There's two for a reason, right?"

tw: alcohol

white walls by borky [Rated T, 6533 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2020]

Nathaniel Wesninski is a danger to the public, sent to an asylum for treatment ordered by the court of justice. Little does he know he ends up in the company of people who become his family, who accept him as Neil Josten and who believe him when he says he's fine and he doesn't belong here.

Or does he?

tw: dark fic, tw: mental illness, tw: drug abuse, tw: alcohol, tw: vomit, tw: hallucinations, tw: abuse, tw: violence, tw: blood

Palmetto State Asylum by Will_is_my_name_15 [Rated T, 671 Words, Complete, 2019]

Neil is submitted to the PSA or Palmetto state Asylum instead of continuing the run after Mary Hatfords death. LIttle did he know who and what he might find there. Will Neil be alright? Or will his father find him again and make him one of the butchers tragic victims?

tw: homophobia

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hope-remnant · 4 years ago

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The Practice Run Killing Game

Content Warnings: guns, violence, murder, manipulation, ableism, blood, weapons, bullying mention, and Dangan Ronpa, which is probably it’s own warning. This is literally 85% murder. 6.5K words.

My talentswap AU now has its own fanfic! for a full list of my talentswapped characters click [here]

Hifumi never thought school life could be so great. He grinned to himself in his dorm, pushing off the floor with socked feet to spin his desk chair back and forth. The pale blue light of his computer’s screen reflected on his glasses, which he pushed up with one finger and a smirk before typing out a last message to his friend’s stream chat.

JusticeHammer: I’ll be back in a few hours!! Have fun Hina!! <3

In his headphones the stream audio played, ambient underwater sounds from the game itself and the excited voice of his friend, the Ultimate Gamer.

“Bye Justice! You other mods better be on your best behavior now that the boss man is gone, okay?” Hina grinned up at the webcam from her side of the screen, waving with one tanned hand before returning to her game, talking about the strange atmosphere of an alien world.

The chat scrolled by as well, people from all over the world typing out goodbyes to him. Thousands of strangers, but dozens of friends as well, fellow moderators who helped wrangle the random people into order, who would play video games with Hifumi, who would message him and call him.

It was a far cry from where Hifumi had been in middle school, and he couldn’t help but grin again, shaking out his hands as if to shake out an excitement that clung to his bones, that stayed in his heart when he remembered he had friends.

His phone dinged with a soft chime, and he couldn’t help the quiet huff of amusement as he flipped open his phone and typed quickly.

Sakura: Where are you going Hifumi? Do you need assistance?

Hifumi: school council meeting! a weird late night one, no emergencies, dont worry sakura!

Hifumi: see you tomorrow, love you!!!!! :)

Hifumi stashed the phone in the pocket of his blazer- he was unsure what to wear to this sudden late night meeting, when before they had all been just after classes let out. He decided to play it safe and wear his school uniform.

Standing up from his chair, he made sure to plug in his laptop, the stream still running on it, and turned to leave his room. He had seen the interior of the main course’s dorms, they were triple the size, with their own ensuite and everything.

His own dorm was small, the wall space barely enough to fit his multitude of posters. There was a complimentary cork board as well, full of fanart people had made of his little sona, a kirby with a hammer and glasses, which he printed out and posted up on his wall as big as he could get them.

He pulled once on the lapels of his blazer, making the fabric settle properly on his shoulders and snatched his binder of notes he used in student council meetings. He made sure to lock his dorm on the way out, still smiling softly to himself. He toyed with the small ring of keys in his hand, dorm room key swinging as well as a number of soft cute keychains that Hina or Sakura sent him in their years as online friends.

He entered the cold night air, pocketing his keys and rubbing his hands together. Winter had clung harder than he had ever seen it, or Spring was simply apathetic even in April, biding its time. In the dusky light he could see the timid, barely blooming sakura trees that dotted the expansive main campus of Hope’s Peak Academy as he approached. There was no security on duty, the gates locked at the late hour.

Headmaster Kirigiri had given him a pass once he sent an anxious email talking about how the head of security, Sakakura, had been harassing him whenever he tried to go on campus. Even though reserve course students were barred from entering the main campus, Hifumi had privileges as the liaison between the reserve and main courses, and as a member of the student council.

Hina and Sakura had theorized it was because Sakakura was the Ex-Ultimate Student Council Leader, and was now one of the club’s supporting staff members, even if he had only worked at the school for a few years. The man was resentful of having a reserve course student on the council, a first in the school’s history, even though the reserve course was a relatively recent development.

Hifumi was used to people disliking him for seemingly no reason, it was only a problem that he took to the headmaster when it made him late to council meetings.

He glanced at his phone as he passed through the side gate intended for just security. He would likely be a minute or two late, but it wouldn’t make him stand out any more than usual. In his black and white suit he was a dark stain in the middle of any crowd of bright ultimates, who were able to wear anything pertaining to their talent and flaunt the rules.

Sakura wearing scrubs some days, Hina wearing garish merchandise for a game and smirking as the Ultimate Hall Monitor from class 77B could do nothing about it. They had told Hifumi about some of their classmates testing the rules, Enoshima in a sporty tank top, the Ultimate Team Manager getting away with it even in December. Fukawa, who didn’t even notice the rules apparently, and wore oil stained jumpsuits to class, no one able to deter the Ultimate Engineer and Ultimate Mechanic.

Yet here he was, in an ill-tailored suit. When he had been accepted into the reserve program and sent a uniform, his older sister had insisted he try it on, and cooed over him looking all grown up, as if she weren’t just a year older than him. She utilized some of her cosplay skills to try and modify the suit to fit him- they seemed to be made for exclusively skinny kids, then just sized up without concerns for body shape. Unfortunately Fujiko typically worked with skirts and dresses, which were more forgiving of hands more used to drawing and the bad eyesight all Yamadas seemed to have.

Hifumi had to stop for a moment, the breeze rustling past as he stared up at the few stars that began to twinkle in the night sky, faded and choked by light pollution, blurry even with his glasses. Some were simply blocked by the giant building before him, gleaming glass reflecting the lights of the city’s nightlife, aside from one classroom on the second floor, lit up bright white with silhouettes moving across the room.

He held the binder full of notes to his chest and walked into Hope’s Peak Academy, unaware that someone in the school’s entrance hall was hiding in the shadows, watching with eyes of deep scarlet that reflected light like a cat’s would in the low light.

Hifumi hurried up the stairs and down the hallway to the classroom they held meetings in. He saw Kamii and Kurosaki, two ultimates on the council who were dating, walk into the meeting room, Kamii practically clinging to her boyfriend. It was unsettling to see as he approached, considering Kamii thought PDA was impolite during meetings, and usually sat with someone between her and Kurosaki to avoid it. Maybe she was upset by something, but Hifumi wasn’t about to ask her, considering he was acquaintances at best with the council.

He followed them into the room, the last to arrive. The fluorescent lights were glaring and bright as night settled fully outside of their meeting. Everyone was seated aside from their Ultimate Student Council President, Umesawa, who stood at the podium in front of the blackboard, knuckles white as her blunt nails dug into the wood, her white armband standing out against the bright yellow of her hoodie.

After Hifumi sat down, leaving his notes on the desk, he noticed just how unhappy everyone seemed. Some were fidgeting, others talking but not saying much at all, their tone hurried and frightened, and others sat there and stared at the polished wood of their desk as if the world was ending around them.

“Now that we’re all here- you have some explaining to do Umesawa.” Ikuta, a girl with a famously short temper among the upperclassmen ultimates, had her hands on her desk as she stood slightly, her red hair swaying and catching the eyes of anyone who hadn’t been startled by her shout.

“Yeah, Aiko, your emails were really panicked.” Kashiki smiled softly at her friend, but she seemed to be trembling.

Umesawa tugged on one of the bright yellow ears sitting atop the hood of her sweatshirt, pulling down the hood and raising her head to look up at the council. Her eyes seemed to draw people in, one blue and one green, both full of an earnestness that made her a good Ultimate School Council President. Now, though, they were rimmed with red, and usually perfect wavy bob was a bird’s nest, brown strands out of place in any way they could be.

“I called you all here because it was best to be as discreet as possible.” Umesawa said.

Ichino snorted, not even bothering to hide his disrespect, too busy carding his hand through his already messy red hair. “Discreet. Yeah.”

Just when Hifumi was going to ask them all to explain, because these ultimates always acted as if everyone just knows what’s going on instead of learning things like normal people- the door creaked open and someone Hifumi had never seen before stepped inside.

The first thing Hifumi noticed were the gloves. One a perfect, unstained white, carrying a large duffle bag. The other a black that blended into her sleeve. The rest of her outfit was just as puzzling, a bright red tie and a white button up, but with a black cropped leather jacket over it. A black miniskirt and red knee high boots as well completed the outfit. But even then, it was almost at odds with pale violet eyes and long lavender hair, only a small portion of that hair in a braid that she toyed with in her black gloved hand.

“Good evening class.” She said, her voice even and her eyes narrowed.

Umesawa backed away from the podium, staring at the girl. “Who are y-?”

The girl waved off the question, her black gloved hand slashing through the air, making the council president back away further. “Goodness, and they say you’re one of the brightest in the school?” She takes a step closer, heeled boots heavy on the floor. “Pathetic.” She says, a light scolding, a chiming thing that seemed more like a schoolyard taunt than a threat.

But Hifumi could tell this girl was a threat. Maybe she had a dangerous ultimate talent- he knew for a fact that even if an ultimate skill was illegal they could be admitted and given essentially some form of diplomatic immunity while they attended the school.

“Why the hell are you here lady?!” Ikuta snapped, standing fully with her hands on her hips.

The girl put both her hands in the air, as if surrendering, but she was smiling, amusement sparkling in those eyes that seemed to dig into anything she laid them on, ferreting out as much information as she could. “I just want to play a game with my fellow ultimates.” She said, placating and condescending.

Hifumi, who was tired, confused, and could be watching his friend play video games right now, finally spoke up. “Can any of you ultimates ever explain anything, or is being cryptic part of the main course syllabus?”

The girl turned to him and glared, and Hifumi couldn’t help the small squeak of fear that slipped from his mouth when her face twisted into a sneer. It was a dramatic expression, he had seen it in games and shows, but no one had ever looked at him like that, no matter how many bullies he had faced. Like he was less than nothing, his very existence something to be loathed.

“A. Game. That shouldn’t be so hard for a simple reserve course student to understand, right? After all, you don’t spend your time doing anything worthwhile, if you can’t even manage to get into the main course.” The girl’s voice dripped with malice, and she quickly took over at the podium.

Umesawa backed up even more, now close to the window opposite of the door to the classroom, hands tugging her hood back up so she could pull at the fake rabbit ears in nervousness.

“I will keep it simple.” The girl shot Hifumi another look. “Last man standing wins. Go.”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Ikuta stepped out into the aisle between desks, pointing a finger at the girl as she demanded answers. “Just who the fuck do you think you are, demanding shit from us? Are you some reserve course kid? We’ve had enough from Yamada-”

Everyone’s eyes had been on Kotomi Ikuta, they hadn’t noticed the threatening girl at the front moving at all, assuming she had been just as stunned by the rant, until Ikuta was cut off by a gunshot.

Hifumi had heard guns before, in games, in animes, in movies. There were different patterns to them depending on the type, and when he and Hina became really invested in a game he would bother to tell them apart, the distinct rapid pulses, the blasts and thunderous booms from all different kinds of weaponry. He had never heard one in real life, had never been in the same room as a real gun, even though he knew there was a shooting range up on the fifth floor for those whose talents needed such things.

It was louder than he expected, and the noise was what made him freeze. In the middle of the classroom, Ikuta fell to her knees, then slumped forward. Shrill screams and rumbling expletives filled the room.

It took a moment, to properly process all of the information and connect the dots. When he did Hifumi couldn’t stop the sharp gasp, even though all it did was make him notice the sharp sulfuric stench of gunpowder, as well as the metallic tang of fresh blood. Things he had never experienced before.

An ultimate had died right before his eyes, by something as simple as the handgun that rested like it was molded to be in the strange threatening girl’s black gloved hand. The girl’s eyes were alight with something Hifumi couldn’t understand as she huffed through her nose in what might have been amusement.

She dropped the duffle bag in her other hand, the thing spilling open to reveal an assortment of weapons from knives to swords, hammers and screwdrivers, guns of all shapes and sizes. They were real, the flash of silvery metal, the dull gleam of tools with a new use branded onto them right before their eyes.

“If that’s not enough for you, I’ve got more.” The girl smirked, and waved to the still open door. A cart came rolling in, it’s top shelf littered with larger weapons. A chainsaw, a mace, a sledgehammer, all on top of it, all perfectly clean as if even they didn’t know what a dark omen they were, as if they didn’t know their capacity to do harm in the right hands.

At the bottom of the cart there was a large case which the girl pulled onto the floor with ease after sliding her handgun into a previously unseen holster high up on her thigh. She kicked the case with her boot, walking around it and towards the door. “That holds all the motivation you’ll need.”

“Everyone stay calm!” Umesawa ordered, straightening up from where she had been cowering. “No one touch those weapons- someone could get hurt!” Her voice was as sweet as ever, even with the urgency, she took out her phone and flipped it open, only for her face to fall.

Yokō stood up from his place at the back of the room, turning his flip phone around as if to show it off. “No connection.”

Kubo stood up, gesturing broadly to the class. “She can’t stop all of us, just listen to Umesawa!”

But everyone seemed to be getting up, fourteen students all in one room, some paralyzed by fear, others covering their fear with anger. Hifumi stayed seated, staring, unable to process it all at once, afraid.

A student who had been at Ikuta’s side the instant she fell, trying to help her even after a gunshot wound to the forehead, lunged forward and grabbed one of the spilled weapons at random. He ran towards the terrifying girl who had orchestrated Ikuta’s death. The boy, Someya, was holding a shotgun that was almost too big for him to handle. The little plushies on keychains at his belt jingled slightly, at odds with the cold metal in his hands. Before he could aim, someone grabbed at him.

Ichino tried to grapple the weapon away from Someya, but the small boy clung to the instrument of death with a desperation no one in the room had seen before now in a human being. Someya was frantic, eyes glassy with tears, his distinctive blue bowlcut in disarray as he shook his head, saying how she needed to pay for killing Ikuta.

In the chaos Hifumi finally stood, moving to the wall the door was on, his back hitting the wall quickly as he tried to look around. Umesawa still was at the podium, pleading for order. Gōryoku was shielding some of the others who had broken down into tears with his large muscular body, and some other students had approached the front of the classroom.

Someya was facing the door, facing the girl who had her gun in one hand but was toying with her braid as well, as if bored. She hummed an uneven tune, as if bored, as if waiting for a show to start.

“Please!” Someya cried, tears falling as the shotgun was wrenched out of his hands, the gun making a sharp cracking sound as it hit the floor.

Then the katana entered his chest from behind, skewering him. As the weapon was pulled out with a wet sucking sound Hifumi wished he could never have heard, the girl holding the weapon sobbed. “My mother- they have my mother- I’m so s-sorry, I can’t-!”

With a sob that devolved into a scream, Kisaragi kicked away the file of photographs she had taken from the case, the motive set out for them. It showed a middle aged woman bound to a chair, screaming into a gag.

“Karen! Please, listen-!” Umesawa implored, a hand outstretched. “Put down the-!” She let out a small scream when Kirasagi lurched forward, slashing the katana.

The sword embedded itself into the podium. Most of the class either hung back or scattered to grab the motives, and then the weapons.

Hifumi could only focus on one thing at a time, the sounds. The wet thunk of metal sinking into flesh, into the soft organs of the human body, so fragile even if the person had been deemed ultimate. Gunshots, sobbing, deranged laughter, screams and death rattles.

Hifumi staggered under the onslaught of sensory information overloading his mind with no way to filter it, no way to stop it. All he could do was try to get away.

Blood splattered onto his blazer, up his neck and onto his face as another student died. With a short, faltering yell, he pushed someone out of the way of the door and began to run.

The moonlight streaming into the hallways washed them in a pale ghostly glow, as if illuminating perfection, as if a spotlight was needed. Hifumi didn’t know it, but he looked similar to when he spoke to his friends in late night chats, his lights off in his room and illuminated only by the pale glow of a computer screen, tired and giggling.

Pink marred the walls and floors. In the classroom Hifumi abandoned, a boy he had spoken to, someone in a committee with him, was brutally beaten to death with a chair. A girl he knew was stabbed. Another was strangled. The events tumbled together into one big massacre, one big game, one big show, and the girl who pulled the strings to watch this all happen couldn’t help the grin on her usually passive face as she left the scene into her own lair.

Someone stood at her side now, shorter than her, but even more intimidating. A person in a pristine suit and long black hair, almost ridiculous in its length. Their red eyes seemed to gleam as they watched, but their pointed features never twitched from an expressionless mask of disinterest.

“Satisfied, Izuru?” Kirigiri asked once she reached her control room, one of her lackeys nodding to her reverentially and giving her the seat. Another approached her other side, giggling.

“...” Izuru’s eyes slid to the side, towards where the lackey who had been in the chair now cowered, too horrified to watch what he assisted in causing, pathetic. The girl laughing into her hand was small, and with Izuru’s keen sight and ultimate knowledge, Izuru knew that the girl was thirteen at best, too young, yet still an ultimate. She was enthralled by the gore on screen, delighted by it, just as much as she was enthralled by Kirigiri, who put a hand on the young girl’s shoulder, speaking words but never telling her anything.

With a small huff through their nose, Izuru turned and left to see the scene for himself.

Hifumi didn’t know when someone had got him with a blade. They evidently had, from the wound on his arm pouring blood, pink staining his nice uniform, running through his fingers even when he tried his best to stop the bleeding.

He continued to stumble on, mind overloaded with information, with fear, and he couldn’t help but just blank out on all of it. There was too much to process, too much to bear acknowledging. With a ragged huff, he leaned against a wall of lockers, the cool metal a relief from everything, another nothingness to sink into.

The wall of windows allowed in so much moonlight, for a moment Hifumi thought it was day, that any moment so many of the best students in the country would come pouring out of their classrooms. Maybe his friends would be among them, Hina tapping on her phone or the newest handheld console, Sakura making sure they didn’t bump into anyone.

They would see him, and Sakura would hold him. She was so strong, so steady. She could carry Hifumi to the infirmary, could bandage him up and offer him a lollipop with that slight smile she got when she talked to him or Hina. She would fret over him any time she saw him until the bandage was finally gone, she would insist on carrying his bag or his notes for student council-

Hifumi swallowed down a sob, pushing himself onward. Screams echoed down hallways made to carry the voices of the best, the last cries of those who were dead the moment that girl walked into their meeting. It hurt, to keep moving, to keep acting as if just running away would save him, but everything would hurt no matter what choice he made.

All he wanted was to hang out in Hina’s dorm, his best friends at his side as they all rested on Hina’s bright pink bed, Sakura studying late into the night as he and Hina fell asleep against her.

He wanted so much, and he was never going to get it, not now. Hifumi knew he was going to die here, he just knew it. Was this something other people felt, like a blanket of fresh snow, cold and melting deep into his bones as he realized death was coming for him, an unstoppable force? Was this something that had always been there waiting for him, and he only noticed it now when his head swam and pink dripped from his fingers?

In every game, every anime, every manga, the hero managed to get up and keep going. Whether to escape only to save the day later, or to defeat whatever stood in their way. No one expected that of Hifumi. Maybe they would think an ultimate was capable of it, and there were thirteen ultimates he had left behind to tear each other apart.

He heard a high pitched, screaming cackle and the revving of a chainsaw, the cut off screams of a victim, far enough away that he wasn’t in danger.

Hifumi wouldn’t find any heroes here. All he could do was try his best.

The ones who cared for him, his friends, that’s all they had ever asked of him. To try his best, to keep going, to rely on them if he needed to. Hifumi needed them more than ever, Hina’s endless energy and excitement, Sakura’s quiet strength and support. Hina would be in her dorm, headphones on as she kept talking and talking, playing video games for thousands to see. Sakura was studying a new medical journal, sitting on Hina’s bed, out of view of the webcam.

They were so close but so far, and they were all he could think of. Would they send worried texts when he never messaged them goodnight? Would they wait until tomorrow morning, thinking he had been tired from the meeting? Would they use the extra key to his dorm he gave them, and find his room as he left it, as if nothing was amiss? Would he become another muttered rumor, like the supposed death of a girl in the computer lab of the reserve course?

Would anyone aside from Hina and Sakura notice him gone from campus? He was invisible to the other reserve course students. Maybe they would wonder why there was an extra desk in their classroom, and dismiss it just as quickly as a mistake, never remembering him.

Tears welled up in his eyes. It was all too much, the noises, the things he had seen. Hifumi had never seen someone die before. He had never seen someone kill before. He had never seen carnage, or gore, or death. He wanted nothing more than to calm his racing thoughts, but they all piled up and screamed until he reached nothing, slumped against some lockers. His left hand was in his mouth, and he bit down harshly on the joint of his thumb, his right hand clutching where he had been injured.

He screamed silently, throat hurting, tears finally spilling. He was so tired and scared and lost and he just wanted- he didn’t know what he wanted, he didn’t know what to do, it all was piling up, it was washing over him, a tsunami of panic and blood, bright pink and towering over him, until it finally fell and consumed him without even noticing.

Hifumi continued to dig his teeth into his hand, it was something solid, letting him know that he was here. He brought his knees up to his chest, his legs squishing into his stomach. He let go of his wound, his right hand coming up to pull at his short curly hair as he keened. The wet sticky feeling of blood on his hand, in his hair, was so bad but the grounding pull of pain in his scalp was something that kept him from trying to slam his head into the wall or something equally damaging, because he needed anything to stop his mind from screaming, to stop himself from screaming. He began to rock back and forth, crying.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. The moon watched on, impassive in its pale glow. Was time really passing, or had the world ended the moment that girl shot Ikuta? Was the planet still spinning? Would the moon ever set?

“Get up Yamada.”

Chills swept down Hifumi’s spine, he swore someone was talking, but all he could hear were distant gunshots and screams.

“Yamada! Get up!” A polished shoe kicked him in the shin, and Hifumi finally looked up.

Murasame stood before him, leaning on a pitchfork. The dark grey tines were splattered with blood already, dripping down onto the floor. Hifumi stared at the blood, mind numb, lungs and throat pained by the sobs that had wracked his body.

“I can’t kill a guy who’s crying like a baby. Are you a man or not, Yamada? I know you’re just a stupid reserve course, but c’mon. Get up, die with a little bit of dignity.” Murasame rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. He bent down to look at Hifumi like he was nothing more than a bug on the ground, disgusting. His brown hair shifted to cover his face as he leaned, before snorting wryly and standing up straight again, rolling his eyes.

Hifumi choked on another sob, trying to just breathe. He used both of his hands to brace against the lockers behind him, trying to stand. He didn’t know why he bothered, but it was something to do. Maybe Murasame was joking? Maybe he would help Hifumi?

The moment Hifumi was steady on his feet Murasame backed up, swinging his pitchfork up, an arc of pink that glowed in the moonlight following it.

Hifumi ran again. He turned a corner down the hall, still between a wall of lockers and windows, still in a cold empty husk of a school, and he didn’t stop.

He bumped into something- someone, and stumbled back, looking at them. A short person with long black hair and pointed features, deep red eyes that stared at him with nothing behind them. “Sorry!” He shrieked, the habit converging against his fear as he quickly stepped around the person and kept running.

Izuru raised an eyebrow and deftly hid between the lockers as another ultimate passed, this one full of bloodlust, hunting the boy who ran into them. It was different, interesting, but Izuru kept moving. They had more to see than this.

Every breath seared from Hifumi’s lungs, his body ached as he did his best to keep moving. But he didn’t even make it all the way down the hallway. Hacking into his bloodied hands, he ended up falling against one of the massive windows that made up the outside wall of the school. His injured arm burned with pain against the cold glass.

Hifumi whimpered, turning to keep his back to the glass as he heard sprinting footsteps slow and reach him.

“Everyone hated you, Yamada.” Murasame huffed, both hands holding the pitchfork as if it was a staff.

“What?” Hifumi wheezed out, more confused than frightened.

“You waltz in, a useless reserve course, and start telling us what to do. We had a betting pool going on whether you were just that oblivious that you didn’t notice how annoying you were, or if you really were just that annoying.” Murasame sneered.

“Wh-What?!”

Murasame let go of his pitchfork with one of his hands to point at Hifumi accusingly, the tines of the weapon scraping against the floor loudly, making Hifumi flinch away.

“That. Is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so annoying and don’t even fucking know, do you? Handing out orders, trying to get us to help a bunch of teenagers who convinced their parents to blow their money just to attend Hope’s Peak- it’s a wonder no one offed you before now.” Murasame swung the pitchfork back up, both hands on the weapon as he pointed it at Hifumi.

“No- please-!” Hifumi begged, trying to dive out of the way.

The sound of cracking glass echoed around the hall as Murasame chuckled. “Really?”

Hifumi wanted to back away, wanted to run again, but fear paralyzed him.

Murasame just shook his head, pulling back his pitchfork and causing the window to fully shatter. “Get up Yamada. I’m not killing you while you cower. Unlike you, I’m better than that.”

Hifumi made another noise, a whimpered plea even he couldn’t understand, and stood up. He trembled and breathed in the cold night air that rushed through the broken window.

Murasame wacked Hifumi in the head with the side of the pitchfork, toying with him.

Hifumi stumbled to the side, now fully in front of the empty window frame, shards of glass still clinging to the sides. Part of him wondered if he should say something cool. Last words were supposed to be cool, right? That was for heroes, and he had always wanted to be one. He had always wanted too much.

Murasame bared his teeth and stabbed forward, the tines of his pitchfork sinking into Hifumi’s abdomen. For a moment all Hifumi could feel was the force of it, like a gut punch, something he hadn’t been a stranger to back in his middle school days. But sharp pain quickly followed, spreading, and he staggered back, the heel of his shoe hitting open air. He grabbed at the long handle of the pitchfork reflexively, unable to do anything about it.

Murasame lunged forward, trying to grab the handle of his weapon, but he missed. The revving of a chainsaw grew steadily closer, as well the unhinged laughter of an ultimate pushed to the edge. Hifumi’s killer didn’t bother watching him fall, instead running in search of a new weapon.

Hifumi gasped raggedly as he tipped out of the window, the world swinging away until all he saw was the sky. The black of night was endless, the faded stars twinkled, the moon still shined. They wouldn’t change with one boy’s death. They wouldn’t care.

As he fell, all he regretted was not giving Hina and Sakura a better goodbye. He felt the slight scrape of leaves and then his body slammed into the ground, rendering him unconscious.

He wouldn’t wake for days. When the school’s security would find him during their sweep of the grounds, it would be an hour after they already found the unresponsive, unconscious body of Aiko Umesawa, her yellow rabbit hoodie stained pink. She would be taken to a nearby hospital, and she would be silenced before she had a chance to wake.

Hifumi was found later, a pitchfork still stuck in his stomach, and that was for the best, as it staved off the worst of the bleeding as it stayed in the wound. He had sustained a head injury and a cut to his arm, but it was better than the twelve dead students littering the second floor of Hope’s Peak Academy. A dozen bright, beautiful students all dead, their lives destroyed before they could truly live.

The school board of Hope’s Peak knew another factor to the puzzling killing game. Their pet project, Izuru Kamakura, was missing. The Ultimate Hope, the Ultimate Ultimate, was gone and most of the staff who attended to the project were dead or had been enjoying a day off in the peace of their own home, unknowing that their colleagues were being slaughtered like animals.

It had to have been Izuru Kamakura that unleashed this bloodshed. The project ensured that the Ultimate Hope had every talent and skill ever recorded, the school board knew how easily their little project could kill, could hide bodies. They assumed it was a vengeful sign to the board, thinking themselves worth the carnage. The school board thought too highly of themselves. They underestimated just how easy it was to bring an ultimate to a breaking point.

An entire life that culminated in a title, and ultimate, until that was all they were known for. They had to constantly one-up themselves, to constantly prove to others, and to themself, that they were the best. Years of effort, years of blood, sweat, and tears. Everything relied on their ultimate. Their world revolved around it, until they became the embodiment of their ultimate, until their ultimate became them.

When tasked with murder, with letting go of any inhibition and just committing violence, just causing harm, something any human being was capable of, they took to the task with an almost inhuman speed. Some would need a push, but even then, their calculating mind would whir and they would frame everything to their advantage. They would come out on top, they had to. They were an ultimate after all.

But the school board only saw the brightest of their students, children. The blame was placed on Izuru Kamakura, and they quickly moved to cover up any signs of the incident.

Hifumi Yamada would have been placed in the same hospital as his student council president, and would have been silenced just the same, two birds with one stone, but that didn’t happen. The Ultimate Nurse Sakura Oogami demanded the school fly her best friend to her clan’s clinic. She would take care of any medical need, or else she and her girlfriend, the Ultimate Gamer, would drop out of Hope’s Peak permanently, and Asahina would use her global fame to ensure that the reputation of their former school was dragged through the mud.

The school board didn’t care much if the reserve course student died, but it was best if the kid died out of their responsibility, so they used the school’s helicopter to fly Hifumi, Sakura, and Hina all to the Oogami clan’s isolated compound.

Days passed where Sakura tended to her best friend’s wounds, and he awoke. His shifting had roused Hina, who had been sleeping at his bedside, and she ran to get Sakura.

Hifumi couldn’t help but cry in Sakura’s arms, crying himself to sleep within minutes of waking, but this sleep was far more restful. He knew he was safe. He knew he would be cared for. He knew he’d never have to go through something so bad like that ever again.

Two weeks would pass from this incident, and Hifumi would find himself locked in Hope’s Peak Academy, working with the 78th class to bolt over any window and make sure they could never, ever escape. He would agree to lock himself into the building where the worst thing to ever happen to him occurred. He agreed because Hina and Sakura would be at his side. He agreed because he knew they would be safe, together.

Hifumi’s memories of the School Council Killing Game were unclear. He would wake from nightmares gasping for air, never fully remembering the faces of his fellow students who died, only remembering the indifferent moonlight and the gleam of deranged eyes.

When Hifumi would ask Kyoko Kirigiri if they had ever met before, the Ultimate Lucky Student would smile awkwardly, shrugging her shoulders and saying that he must be thinking of someone else, and he would believe her, unknowing of the deep, undying loathing she carried in her heart towards him. Unknowing that she had sworn to kill him with her own hands one day.

#my talentswap #writing #Hifumi Yamada #Aoi Asahina #Sakura Oogami #Kyoko Kirigiri #danganronpa talentswap

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dreamingofscully · 4 years ago

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Grey Canyon 3/?

Rating: Current Chapter: PG, Series: up to Mature Categories: Western AU / MSR / WIP Total WC: 2457 Secrets can keep people apart, or drive them together. All chapters in order: ao3 / tumblr Updated on Mondays and Fridays.

Thank you to @ceruleanmilieu for the beta! Tagging: @impulsive-astrophile @baronessblixen @suitablyaggrieved @today-in-fic

CH 1 / CH 2

CHAPTER 3: “Hiding”

Grey Canyon, Colorado

1885

Even though she chose to live in a house of ill-repute, Dana prided herself on her propriety. She certainly should have yelled and kicked Mulder out of her room at the end of her revolver the moment she realized he was there--and certainly once she heard Clementine was no longer in the hallway. For some reason it didn't feel wrong for him to be there, sitting on her floor in the middle of the night. Still, she was glad the shadows hid her from his gaze and preserved most of her modesty.

“I’m sorry about how we met. You must think me some sort of cad,” he whispered, watching the light under her door carefully. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he rested his bare forearm casually on her bed, mere inches from her leg. She was happy for the thick quilt covering her, but she could still feel his warmth seeping through the cloth.

These past few days he’d been a constant disruption to her usual routine. Quiet mornings reading the paper interrupted by his questions, wondering about her opinion on one thing or another. Causing her cheeks to redden and her thoughts to wander under the intensity of his gaze. Even when she got some peace in her room at supper, avoiding the raucous crowd, she felt his presence in her mind, peering over her shoulder, the ghost of his hand on her arm.

“I should be the one apologizing, shooting at you like that,” she said, not recognizing the small voice coming out of her mouth. It was hard to convey strength without her corset straightening her back, the thick wool of her dress as her armor. Especially when she wore nothing beneath the coverlet except her thin chemise. Warmth flooded her chest at the thought.

He chuckled. “You didn’t aim for me at least.“ His eyes wandered over her few sparse belongings in the room, then he looked back at her. “How long have you been here?”

“About six months, Mr. Mulder.” She drew the covers up to her chin, leaned away from him a bit more. “How… how long have you worked for Madam Hall?”

“Three years now. Wow, has it been that long?” His eyes focused on something beyond her at his words, as he traveled into his past.

“You haven’t said what exactly it is you do here…”

“I am a man of many talents, such as yourself,” he started. Leaning closer to her, whispering even softer so she had to inch closer to hear him. “I’d been searching for my sister. She… went missing about 10 years ago. I left home a few years after that once I’d realized no one cared to find her anymore.” He looked away, but not before she saw the deep sorrow he still carried within him at the loss. After so long?

Meeting her gaze once more, Mulder’s jaw hardened, his eyes watching her intently. “I came across this place, because some information I’d gotten said she was sold into similar circumstances. The madam’s been helping me. And I’ve been helping her. She finds girls that need another chance, I bring them here safely, then escort them elsewhere if need be.”

“Ah,” Dana said, not sure she wanted to understand.

“Not all of them end up working here. Some do. Some only for a time. They’re given a choice, which is more than most," Mulder said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as well as her.

"And so you repeat what was done to your sister?"

"It is nothing like that," he whispered harshly. "The women I bring have no hope, they come from abusive husbands, poverty, worse. I don't know how she finds them but she gives them something they never had before."

His eyes flashed at her, his hands clenched tightly into fists. Gone was the silly man climbing through a window, hiding from the girls chasing after him, pestering her with questions. In its place, a man who hurt, who longed for answers and justice. She felt a thrill trickle up her spine, and she longed to let go of the quilt she held up between them. There was something about him that made her want to confess everything, to tell him what had her hiding beneath this roof, behind the girls that she had come to see as sisters. She won’t, though. Not yet.

"I did not mean to imply that what you did was similar to the men who took your sister, Sir," Scully said, sliding her hand across the blanket to touch his own, to soothe his roughened knuckles. "Only that if you can't find her you can help the women that remind you of her."

He looked at her, eyes wide, then pulled away, shoulders slumping forward. He covered his face with his hands and he shivered, despite the warmth of the room. It all made sense, now, why he avoided the willing company of the women in the brothel.

"You don’t believe that I'll find her," he stood, looming over her, tall and dark in her shadowed room. She knew him now; she was not afraid.

"I think you will try until your breath gives out."

He nodded, and it was difficult to see clearly but she thought he might have smiled.

"I leave when madam tells me, but sometimes I take a bit longer on the journey there, to inquire about a woman who would now be 23 and a stranger. I return with someone else, though." He wiped a hand across his face, blinking as if waking from a dream.

“Why'd you come back now then, if you didn't bring a girl with you?"

"I don't know." He looked at her, moonlight shining in his eyes as he opened the door to leave. "But I'm glad I did."

#grey canyon #my fic #xf fanfic #x-files #x-files fanfic #txf #msr #mulder and scully #au #wip #series #historical au #western

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destroy-the-cannon · 4 years ago

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IT’S HERE!

Hey everyone! It’s finally happening. The long awaited Olivia x MC fit is happening. I’ll leave the rest of my thoughts as the bottom as not to bore you, but I’ll put one tiny thing here: there’s actually no Olivia in this chapter. I know, I know! She’s the whole reason you’re here. But I had to do a chapter without her to set up for something you’ll see in a future chapter. I promise, it’ll prove worth your wait. Anyways, without further ado, let’s get to it!

Tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, queer romance, eventual lemon(s).

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, death, illness. Language.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Paige couldn’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t working towards something. She busted her ass all through highschool, working her way into a scholarship at a decent university. From there, she had concocted a simple, five-step plan:

-Graduate with honors

-Get into a fantastic business school

-Get an amazing, ultra-high paying job

-Pay off debt

-Buy a good house for her parents, and live out the rest of her life comfortably.

But no. Nearly a month after she graduated from college, her dad got diagnosed. As he spent more and more time in the hospital, the bills rolled in. Charge upon charge upon charge, until Paige’s mother had spent up their retirement funds and was looking into getting a second job. So, naturally, Paige stepped up. She got a job working at a tiny bar downtown, and sent her every spare dime to her family, rooming with strangers, because all her friends still lived back home in California.

And then, just as Paige thought her existence couldn’t get any bleaker, it did.

She was sent one final charge, then never any again.

After that, she threw herself into working extra hours at the bar, no longer having the energy to look into jobs anywhere else. For two years, she worked and slept, worked and slept. The only person she ever really talked to was Daniel, a friend who was good for cracking jokes and aimless chatter, but not ideal as emotional support. So, completely on her own, she did her best to heal. She cried till she couldn’t, screamed, cried some more, and did anything she could to try and lessen the complete suffocation that was her grief. Each day, she did whatever she could to wake up feeling a bit lighter, until she felt almost nothing at all. It took two years, but she was finally starting to feel like a person again.

That’s when she met three of the five people who were going to change her life forever.

That day, it was just the men who happened to be in the restaurant. This did make sense, because it was a bachelor party, after all. Not that that was easy to tell, just looking at them. Their clothes ranged from a simple denim-and-white-jeans look to a three piece suit, leather shoes, and a pocket square. Honestly, who still wore pocket squares? Paige shuddered just looking at it. It seemed that she was dealing with a typical group of douchey, overgrown frat boys. It would suck while she was serving them, but usually at least one of them would remember to leave a decent tip. She sighed and strode over, pulling out her pad.

“Hi, what can I-” She broke off for a tiny moment before resuming. “What can I get for you today?” Trying to cover her tracks, she flashed a bright smile.

The reason she had broken off was sitting there, watching her. He wasn’t dressed particularly flashily, in his garnet sweater and khakis, but he had an air of quiet importance about him, something almost noble. His posture was perfect, his hair done with not a strand out of place, a neatly shaved face, a perfectly straight and clean collar. It was the little things about him, things that one didn’t typically find in a crappy downtown bar, that made Paige even warier. He grinned a small, curious grin at her. Before she could respond, the man in the suit began to speak.

“So firstly, I’d like to ask about your wine. I’m assuming there’s a separate list?” Mr. Denim and a (quite cute, actually) guy in a black button down traded amused glances over Sir Suit’s shoulder.

“Sorry, we don’t. We have a good selection of beer an-” He cut her off with a horrified look. She’d never seen such a prim rage before; she had to stop herself from snorting.

“There’s nothing else? I’ve never even heard of some of these labels before! I’d think I’d like to speak to your mana-”

“Tariq.”

The sweatered man, the quiet one, lay a hand on Mr. Suit’s shoulder. His voice was warm, strong, and seemed to contain just a hint of some foreign accent that Paige couldn’t place. He smiled apologetically at her.

“That’s completely fine. We’ll take a bottle of your finest whiskey, and four glasses.”

“Great. Will you be having anything to eat with that?” She was making some strangely intense eye contact with The Sweater (she’d have to try and catch his name) when Tariq cut in obliviously. She was really starting to hate this guy.

“Yes, we’ll each take a filet mignon, medium rare, prepared with a bearnaise sauce.”

Paige blinked. The man smiled blandly at her as though this was a perfectly normal request.

“Sir, the closest thing we have to a filet mignon is the deluxe burger.”

Now it was Tariq’s turn to blanch in horror. “Burger?”

“Sounds great! We’ll take four.” Mr. Denim cut in, shooting a glare Tariq’s way.

“Right then. I’ll go put your order in, and I’ll be right back with that whiskey.”

She turned and made her way back to the kitchen, trying to fight back the smile that threatened to take over her face. Taking out Tariq, this seemed like a group of pretty decent guys. Usually, she expressed nothing more than a vague sort of interest in customers, a kind of unattached curiosity. But listening to them laughing and yelling, she couldn’t help but to want to pull up a chair and join them.

Sighing, she pulled out their glasses and whiskey. She was putting in their order when she felt eyes on her. Without moving, she peered out of the corner of her eye.

The three friends were talking, except for the quiet one. His eyes traced the curve of her neck, and her spine tingled with awareness of his every move. She arched her form just a bit, trying to be as subtle as she could, and his eyes slipped lower.

Just as she was about to turn, his friend elbowed him. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the quiet one smiled and turned his attention back to the group. She didn’t miss how his eyes fluttered back for just a half second, darkening, before he focused back in on the booth’s conversation.

She sighed, and grabbed the whiskey. Oh, well. This was going to be a boring night, but hopefully, in terms of tip, a fruitful one.

* * *

“Excuse me?”

Paige turned to find the sweatered man from before.

“I think we’re about to head out, and I didn’t want to do so without apologizing.”

The bar had emptied out completely, and the two were completely alone. Sweater’s friends were jostling around out front.

“Apologizing?” She frowned. “For what?”

“Well, I know we kept you late, and my friends can be pretty…” He paused. “Demanding.”

“Demanding, huh? Well, it was nothing I can’t handle. I’m used to it by now.”

“Well, be that as it may, I’d still like to apologize. We’re about to head out to a club right near here. Could I buy you a drink?”

“Which club are you going to?”

“Oh, well…” He winced. “We were actually hoping that you could help with that. We’re not from around here.”

“In that case, I know just where you should go.” She scanned him with a critical eye before making a decision. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that would particularly enjoy some wild party spot. There’s a great little secret cove right near here you might like.”

He grinned in relief. “That sounds amazing. I’m getting just a bit tired of the traditional bachelor party antics. Why don’t you lead the way?”

“Sure, that sounds awesome! Let me just get out of this uniform, and we can get going.” She turned to go, then stopped short. “Before we go, can I get your name? I’m Paige.”

She turned to offer her hand, expecting a firm shake. To her surprise, he leaned down and actually kissed her knuckles. An honest to god bow-and-kiss. As soon as he’d done it, his eyes widened in embarrassment before shrinking into a wince. “Sorry, that’s an, ah, custom. Where I come from. It’s tradition. I just- just forgot you don’t do it here. I’m Liam.” He was clearly quite mortified, but Paige smiled. She thought it cute, and made her feel oddly regal. There was something so gentle in the gesture, it was almost reverent. Sweet. Grinning, Paige ducked back into the backroom, changing into an emerald-green dress she kept in her bag. She paused for a moment to check her reflection, fluffing out her hair and dress. Confident, she followed Liam into the night air.

As soon as she stepped out, the first thing she heard was: “Daaang! The waitress is hot!”, quickly followed by a more earnest: “That uniform didn’t do you justice.” Before she could respond, Liam stepped forward.

“Hey. Paige is a guest among us, and I doubt she appreciates you commenting on her appearance like that.”

If he didn’t before, he now had her full trust.

She was pretty used to receiving comments like that by now, and it didn’t particularly bother her. At least these guys didn’t seem to have any cruel intent. She got much worse in clubs or on the street. But it was rare to see another man stick up for her like that. Liam barely even knew her, and yet he was ready to call out his friends for her. Instantly, she found she liked him even more.

The guys stuck their head down and muttered apologies. They seemed sincere enough, and clearly eager to earn a fresh start, so Paige let it go.

“So, the waitress is coming with us?” Mr. Denim piped up, looking Paige over.

“Actually, we’re going with her. She’s picked out our next destination.”

“So she’s our tour guide now.” Denim raised his brow. He didn’t seem malicious, per se, just skeptical.

“Hey, Paige very graciously agreed to show us around, so play nice.” Liam turned to her. “Lead the way!”

“I’d love to, but can I get the rest of you guys’ names first? I can’t be referring to you three as ‘you there’ this whole night.”

“I’m Maxwell! Maxwell Beaumont.” Button Down grinned and shook her hand enthusiastically.

“I’m Drake Walker.” Denim stepped forward and also shook her hand, though much less enthusiastically.

“Great. And you’re Tariq, right?” She pointed at the third man, who was smiling at her in a way that did actually make her just a tad uncomfortable. He nodded, his smile growing.

“Awesome. Let’s get going!” She spun around, and they followed her into the night.

* * *

They emerged from a small swath of greenery into a beautiful little cove. The starlight shone on the ocean, and the whole place seemed mysterious and magical. Like anything could happen.

“We should build a bonfire!” Drake looked happier than he’d been all night.

“I am will not be engaging in manual labor.” Tariq looked like he was about to throw up.

“I forgot who I was talking to. What I meant was, I’m going to go build a bonfire.” He practically skipped off. Paige could’ve sworn she heard a giggle. The men turned to take in their surroundings.

“This place is awesome! Skinny dippiiiiiing!”

“Keep your pants on, Maxwell.”

Liam turned to Paige as the other two bickered. “Thank you for taking us here, Paige. I can tell the guys are enjoying themselves already.”

“Forget your friends. Do you like it here?”

“I love it.” He was completely sincere.

“This is my secret spot, so I’m really trusting you here.” She was teasing, but he looked her directly in the eye as he responded. “I will do everything I can to be worthy of that trust.”

There was a moment there, where he held her gaze. But he looked away and turned his eyes to the sky as he spoke.

“There’s only one problem. How am I supposed to buy you that drink now?” He’d made his tone light as meringue, but there was a tiny crease between his brows.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll just keep owing me.”

“Seems fair enough to me.” They stood together for a second, until Drake called out.

“Guys! The fire’s ready!”

He beamed as he motioned for them to sit. His proud beam suddenly reminded Paige of a particularly peppy golden retriever. She stifled a giggle as she tucked her feet under her.

“Hey, can I ask you guys something?” She had grabbed one of the beers Drake had insisted they get from a convenience store on the way. She sipped from the bottle, trying to appear casual. Maxwell looked up from one of the pop-tarts he had picked up. “What’s up?”

“Well, what’s up with you guys? What’s your deal?”

As soon as she asked the question, the atmosphere shifted noticeably. The air grew thick with tension. The boys traded nervous glances, each one visibly uncomfortable. Finally, Liam spoke.

“Guys, it’s fine. She deserves to know.”

“Are you sure?” Drake’s puppy-like grin had vanished, replaced with a look of guarded skepticism.

“Positive.” Liam nodded, and they all turned to her.

“Okay. Paige, there’s something you should know about us.”

“Alright…” It suddenly occurred to her that she was on a remote island with four strange men who were now all staring at her, and why did she think this was a good idea? She tried to tamp down her growing panic.

“As you know, we’re not from here. But where we are from, specifically, is... Cordonia.”

“Okay. And this is a secret why, exactly?”

Liam shifted again. Clearly, there was more.

“Well, we’re not just tourists. I mean, we’re not really, ah, average citizens.”

Hm. Well, that wasn’t too surprising. Liam’s controlled manner, the way Maxwell kept looking over his shoulder, Tariq’s pocket square. But what, exactly, did this all mean? They were either spies, mega rich, or criminals. She waited for them to go on.

“What I mean by that is… well, we may have left some things out in our introduction. Drake really is Drake Walker, but the rest of us are different.”

Maxwell piped up. “I’m Sir Maxwell Percival Beaumont. Of Ramsford.”

“I am Lord Tariq Nadar, of Larada.” He bowed and leered at Paige in a way that caused her stomach to lurch suddenly.

“And I am Prince Liam Cicero Constantine Rhys, prince of Cordonia.”

Prince of Cordonia. The way he kissed her hand. The way the other men seemed so keenly aware of his every command. His cordial behavior. She had been flirting with a prince. An heir, she guessed.

But, if he was an heir, then that could mean-

Oh, God.

“Whose bachelor party is this?”

To her horror, Liam raised his hand tentatively.

“It’s mine.”

Shit! Ew, ew, ew. Her opinion of him dropped right down to the ground. Of course he was fucking engaged. He had been flirting with her, checking her out, and he was engaged! Fuck that, fuck him. She hadn’t even been that into him, so any disappointment she may have felt was swallowed by anger and disgust. She was almost ready to leave when he jumped in, probably sensing her rage.

“I’m not engaged. I mean, I will be, but I don’t actually have a fiancé yet.”

Oh. She lowered herself back onto the log, smoothing her pinched features.

“But wait. That doesn’t make any sense. Why have a bachelor party if you’re not even engaged yet?”

“That’s what you're concerned about? Not the nobility thing? I mean, I would- ow! Drake!” Drake elbowed Maxwell into silence before turning to Paige to explain.

“Liam’s at the age where it’s finally time to pick a future queen. The social season begins the day after tomorrow, and by the end of it, Liam’s gonna have a bride. They try to win the favor of the king and queen, catch Liam’s eye, demonstrate their queenly abilities through a series of competitions, blah blah blah. We’re throwing a bachelor party now because the next one’ll basically just be a press event with a bunch of nobles he barely knows.”

“Oh.” It was all she could manage to say. What the hell was she supposed to say? This was a huge bomb to just drop on her casually.

“I hope you don’t think we’re trying to fool you. If that is the case, it’s completely understandable-”

“I believe you.” Oddly enough, she knew they weren’t lying. Somehow, in her bones, she just knew. These were genuine nobles, ones she’d just happened to somehow convince to spend the night out together. Her, the broke, tired waitress. Intellectually, she knew this was an absolutely wild and preposterous thing she was doing, but emotionally, that just wouldn’t register. This felt right, like an evening out with three old friends and one Tariq.

But then again, this was different for them. They weren’t used to spending time with people like her. She was suddenly keenly aware of her own casual behavior, how she’d treated them like any old group of people. They weren’t. She started to gather up her things, fussing with her bag. She should leave them. Why would they want to spend time with someone like her?

“Does this mean I should have been curtseying? Bowing? Using your proper titles?”

“Well, personally, I wouldn’t have minded if you had-”

“Shut up, Tariq.” Maxwell twisted towards her. “This night has turned out to be awesome. You’ve turned out to be pretty awesome. And it doesn’t have to end! Let’s stay out! Just keep thinking of us as regular tourists. Don’t go.”

“I-” She stopped. “Okay. I’m staying.”

Her answer seemed to have surprised her as much as it did them. But she meant it, truly. She was having fun, and as weird as this night had turned out to be, she felt like she had made friends. Real friends, not work ones. This night would become a cool story she told at parties, and these people would become ones she’d wonder about and obsessively google for years to come, she was sure. So she didn’t leave. She sat with them, and it was one of the best nights she’d spent in a very long time.

* * *

“Paige! Wait up!” Paige turned to find Maxwell running after her. Her face split into a surprised grin. “Maxwell! What are you doing here?” He bounded up with a bright look about him. “I’m here for you! The plane leaves in like half an hour, and I wanted to catch you before we left.”

It was the morning after the bachelor party, and Paige was trudging to work. The sidewalk was choked with people rushing from place to place, and Maxwell was struggling to hold his ground.

“And why did you need to catch me, exactly?” Surely, from the beam on his face, he wasn’t just delivering a lost earring? Hope started to tickle at her insides, though what it was for, she had no idea.

“I wanted to make an offer. Obviously, it’s totally cool if you want to say no, and there’s no pressure or anything, but I had to ask.”

“Okay…” What was he doing?

“Come with us.” Her expression must’ve been absolutely shocked, and he hurried on upon seeing it.

“Liam looked really happy last night. Like, uncharacteristically happy and smiley. And you seem really cool, so I got to thinking. You could come with us. You’d be sponsored by House Beaumont, and you’d have a real shot at it! It wouldn’t be easy, since you’re not technically nobility, and House Beaumont is kind of-” he stopped himself. “Um, I mean, it would be hard. Is what I’m saying. But cool! Fun! Are you in?”

“Sorry, what is ‘it’, exactly?”

“Oh, yeah, shoot. Liam’s hand in marriage!”

Liam’s hand. In marriage. The sidewalk seemed to spin. She liked Liam just fine, but marriage? There was no way. She knew it, deep down in her soul. She wasn’t going to marry him, and she never would.

She glanced back over her shoulder, back at the bar. The whole place seemed grubby and hollow. Daniel was wiping away at the counter, a faraway expression on his face. He was dreaming of an out. They had dreamed of that out together, on mornings like this.

Paige pictured elegant palaces, glamorous parties, beautiful people. She imagined dancing the night away, drunk on champagne and laughter. She imagined stolen corridor kisses and secret rendezvous in lavish gardens.

She turned back to Maxwell.

“I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes. I’ve got some packing to do.”

Son that was the first chapter! It’s out a bit later than I’d like, but it’s out! Sorry again about the Olivia thing. I promise, she’ll be a key character in chapter two.

I’m really new to publishing my stuff, so if you have any tips or suggestions, please let me know!

#slow burn #enemies to lovers #olivia nevrakis #choices stories you play #the royal holiday #the royal romance #trr au #trr mc #trr #the royal heir #choices fanfiction #choices fandom

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