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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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Everything For You: Part 5

It wasn’t the soft rays of sunshine that poured through the soft opening of the curtains that had woken you in the morning. It wasn’t the space behind you that was still lingering warm beneath your palm when you stretched out.

It hadn’t even been the burn between your thighs that was a reminder of how insatiable and impatient Jake had been last night.

Morning arrived with the sound of someone rummaging in the bedroom, the sound of drawers closing with more force than intended and the string of curses that had echoed in the room as someone had stalked from the walk-in closets to the bedside table, and then further beyond to the door.

You cracked an eye open to spy the person creating the ruckus in the bedroom, breath painfully catching in your throat at the glimpse of Jake as he stood with his back to you. It was as if you were seeing your best friend, fiancé and future alpha in a new light while he stood angrily typing on his phone.

It was as if you had never truly realized how grown up Jake was since he had gone to, and come home from the army. It was unparalleled, how you could have seen Jake all your life, hung on his arm last night and even spent hours trapped beneath his hold while he feasted on your nectar and yet it was just now that you were realizing how strong and herculean he looked.

Not only he was a man who stood over 6’3”, but there was such immense definition in his shoulders and the width of his back that adhered to the strength he carried in his entire body. His appearance of a beast was aided by the dark grey-black which was taut against his shoulders and biceps, the material almost looking too small for his body and you wondered if he hadn’t been aware of his size or if it was a tool he used to intimidate others.

Still, as your eyes were drawn from his shoulders, back and biceps to the length of his legs, your gaze hovered unapologetically on his ass and the cut of his jeans that did him far too many favours. Jake Jensen had always been beautiful to you, even if you wouldn’t have admitted it to out loud, however, now he was the perfected image of sin and seduction.

Your best friend, fiancé and future alpha had grown into every omega’s fantasy. He had reduced every negatory comment and degrading denial of who he could be, to ash. He obliterated every connotation that he would fail, every person that thought doubted him was made to eat crow.

“…if I have to cut off his tongue and make him eat it, I fucking will. I told him exactly what I expect and now he wants to back off and fuck me over-“ You weren’t just rendered speechless and amazed at the sheer size of your alpha, but the growl that built in his throat and the unadulterated anger and rage that he was pouring through the phone was irrevocably stirring.

You should have been fearful, you should have felt like a doe being cornered by a hungry wolf who hadn’t yet spotted you hiding in the trees, but fear was the last emotion you had felt.

At that moment, you felt nothing but deeply seeded-lust.

“I said to handle it!” Jake had ended the call with an animalistic demand and had immediately tossed his phone to the side before he leaned his forehead against the door, startling you when he slammed his palms against the wood.

You hadn’t been able to control the squeak that was ripped from your lips when he frightened you with his vivacious bout of aggression.

“Princess,” he spoke your pet name while his back was still turned to you, his shoulders still taut beneath his dark-coloured shirt, “I didn’t want you to see that.”

Slowly he turned to face you, his blue eyes nearly blown black, his jaw and lips clenching. He looked like a caged animal, a predator who was on the cusp of unleashing incredible damage to anything within his reach.

“I didn’t-“

“Princess,” and yet in the next moment he seemed to be back to normal, “good morning, omega.”

“Jake if you have to go-“ He had cut you off for the second time with a soft laugh, his lips relaxing into a crooked smile and his eyes returning to their bright azure.

“How are you feeling? Tired? Ready for more?” His smile shifted into a boyish grin and your eyes were momentarily drawn to the bulge in his jeans, the obvious protrusion of the head of his cock twitching.

“I need to go home.” You blurt the statement before you had any hope of stopping yourself, shifting back on the bed as he approached you. “Jake I need to go back to my apartment.”

“No.” He set his hands upon the mattress and leaned forward, his gaze dropping from your lips and his intention was made known when he licked his lips, a soft groan falling off his tongue. “No, you’re not going back there. This is home.”

“No? Did you just tell me no? You don’t get to decide for me.” You shifted again, pushing yourself away from him to create distance.

“You’re not going back there, Princess.” Jake had affirmed, crawling on the bed toward you with hunger-driven lust fuelling his every movement. “You are staying here until we move into our place-“

“You don’t get to decide for me. I need to go home, I have things I need-“ You had nearly fallen from the bed, nearly toppled from the mattress when you pushed yourself too far, nearly colliding with the floor while barely clothed.

Jake reacted quickly, he reacted without thought and yanked you back onto the mattress. He had trapped you beneath him, his legs entangling with yours as he pushed himself to hover against you.

He was holding you against the bed while you were staring up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. You wanted to correct him, you wanted to combat this claim that you were here now and you wouldn’t be able to leave although you couldn’t process the words.

You couldn’t think of anything but the feel of his body against yours, the caress of his warmth against your flesh and the penetrating eyes that swept over your face and chest, a studiousness about him. He was holding you down, tension was building and our mind was racing.

“I’m going home.” Your fingers bunched the material of his shirt, gripping his shoulders while trapped against him.

“No.” He answered with assurance, reminding you with one syllable that you were never leaving him.

“Jake-“ You raised a complaint against him, red-hot emotional strife bubbling under your flesh.

“Princess.”

“Jake-“

“No,” he answered again, “you are never leaving me. Your ass is hitched to mine-“

Your hand flew out toward him, striking him across the cheek.

A dull pain bloomed in your palm as the sting from making contact with his cheek radiated across your hand.

You pushed yourself back against the mattress your eyes growing with the shock of you striking him like you had, your mind immediately going to thoughts of Jake retaliating or losing his mind over your attack. You didn’t know what to expect, you didn’t know what he would do considering it was the first time you had ever struck him across the cheek with enough strength to whip his head to the side.

“Hit me again.” He cracked his jaw and licked his lips, blue eyes pouring into yours. “I know you have more in you, Princess. Hit me again. Do it.”

You struck him almost as soon as he has finished speaking, your hand making contact with his cheek again with power you didn’t know you had. Over and over again you struck him in the face, beat him on his chest and slammed the heel of your hand into his shoulders. Every strike was followed by a request for another, every time you had hit him with all you had Jake had pressed you for more.

One after the other until the last strike and your hand had fallen flat. One last strike before you started to sob beneath him, your eyes screwed closed as pathetic mewls and whines had fallen from your lips.

You broke down while he hovered above you, garbled speech echoing in the room synonymous with your simpering. Your fingers had become entangled in his shirt, he was a life raft keeping your head above water despite the depths beneath you. Jake Jensen was the only thing that was keeping you from completely sinking into whatever fresh hell was afflicting you like this.

“You’re okay, baby. You’re okay, I’m here.” His soft crooning, his soft endearments had risen and fallen with every breath that was cast upon you.

His scent was heady and comforting, it was covering you like a blanket with every complicated note that was conducive to who he was as an alpha.

Not just any alpha, but your alpha.

“I missed you” came out broken and jumbled, an entire mess of vowels and consonants that were as hard to detect and understand as an advanced theoretical formula. It hadn’t made sense to you, since there was an obvious disconnect between your mind and your tongue, but Jake had.

Jake had understood what you were trying to say and with a soft exhale of breath and the weight of his forehead against your own, he responded accordingly.

“I missed you too.” His eyes closed, and his body was still pressed against yours as his scent covered and blanketed you. “I missed you every day, every day I wanted to come home to you.”

“I’m sorry…” You whimpered, your lips brushing against his shirt. “Jake I am so sorry-“

“No baby, no…” Jake had recoiled, he pulled away just enough to wipe your tears and trace the trail of tears left on your cheeks with his fingers. He had only pulled away enough to study you with unwavering devotion and need, untarnished passion and love, sweepingly innate connectivity that had always been there.

He had looked at you as if you were worth more than every star in every galaxy, the way that he had cast his gaze upon you with such intense want had left you unable to breathe without feeling utter tension in your chest.

“I am going to give you the best life, Y/N.” He leaned down again, the tip of his nose bumping against your own, his hands reaching for yours to intertwine your fingers. “We are going to have everything we’ve ever wanted, you and me.”

“I fucked up, Jake. I fucked up. I let myself…be used-“

“It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, brushing your hair out of your face, “baby it’s okay.”

Jake had held you tightly against him, even as he switched positions and shifted the two of you closer to the middle of the bed, he had held you. He held you as you clung to him again and began the second round of your breakdown, tears and the feeling of your throat tightening hitting you again.

You were a mess while he held you against him, your cheek pressed against his chest and your tears staining his shirt. It was the second time in a short while that you’d been emotionally overloaded to the point of a breakdown, and the second time while still in the bed that you’d lost yourself to Jake Jensen.

“We’re home, Princess.” He whispered in your ear, crooning as he rubbed your back and jerked the bundled blanket, which was halfway onto the floor and bed, back over the two of you.

He knew he had things to do today, and he knew he had responsibilities waiting for him now that he had taken over, but first and foremost he had to take care of you.

You, his omega and Princess, came before everything.

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sarahowritesostucky · 5 months

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Happy Little Family

📖"Taking Back What's His"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6170

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: You try one last, desperate ploy to escape, but it doesn't exactly work out. And James hasn't come alone. The next time you wake up, you're a long way from home.

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" pchelka = "little bee"

2. Taking Back What's His

(Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

He says something to you, after. Words that might as well be in his native Russian, for how well you take them in. But they're soft, and reassuring—he’s pleased. His body weight moves off the bed.

When you finally open your eyes and blink up at the ceiling, it’s the softest baby pink all around the edges, like smoke curling into your vision. It’s nice, peaceful. Feels good-all-over in that way that painkillers do. You haven’t experienced it since the last time you had sex with an alpha.

Which James unfortunately seems to have figured out was with him, almost two years ago.

“Oh, kotenok, You haven’t been fucking anybody.”

You’re still in the afterglow, mind muzzy, all of your previous panic and fear blunted near to the point of erasure with how nice it feels to float, when you hear James’ pleased chuckle from where he’s getting dressed. He comes back and leans over you. “Hey Sweetheart. Feeling good?”

You frown at him, though it takes a concerted effort to make any expression of displeasure. You want him to know you aren’t happy, that this state he’s fucked you into isn’t real. You want to slap that smug fucking look right off his face. All you manage to come up with is a pouty little “no" that makes James laugh.

“Come here.” He fixes your dress, then helps you up off the bed. He seems to be checking to make sure you’re steady on your feet before he lets you stand on your own. “You good?”

“M’fine.” He knows you too well, knows how intense it can be for you, how strongly you react to him. You avoid his knowing gaze. You’re not completely useless like this. You can still remember everything that’s going on, can still remember June. “Please,” you say again, trying to change the tone of your voice. “Let me give her to Hilde.”

James rolls his eyes. “Right, right. Your friend across the street.”

“Please James?” You look up at him, pink edges all around his face, so pretty. Goddamn him. “She’ll be safe there.”

Again, something passes through his eyes too quickly for you to identify. It might be annoyance. He sighs, and the look, whatever it was, is gone. “Sure thing, Doll. Babies need a lot of stuff. You might as well pack up what she needs.”

You nod tearfully, going to your closet to grab a bag. He follows close behind, sending a clear message that he’s not planning on letting you out of his sights while you do this. James isn’t stupid, you’ll give him that.

In the nursery, June is happy to see you and wants you to pick her up. You talk to her in a sweet, placating voice as you go around the room grabbing different things that she’ll need and stuffing them in the bag. At this point you know to be grateful for the haze. Even as it tapers off, it’s blunting the sorrow that you know would otherwise have you sobbing and your voice clogging with tears. This way at least, you’re able to keep June thinking everything is alright. This way she isn’t scared.

It’s when you’re crouched beside the changing table, stuffing diapers into the bag with James behind you that you get the idea: Downstairs: the kitchen: in the drawer. Your gun.

You stop moving long enough that James notices. “What’re you doing? Come on.”

You stand back up. Yes. You have to do it. This is the only chance you have at getting out of this and not losing June. You lick your lips nervously before turning back around to face him. “I … have to get her bottles and stuff from downstairs,” you say, hoping that the lingering post-coital haze is enough to keep your true intentions off your face. Your eyes flick up to James, who’s squinting at your tits.

“Bottle?” He starts to smirk, and you glare at him.

“Yes. Asshole. I won’t exactly be around to feed her, now will I?”

His face softens at that and he gives you an apologetic look. “Right. Well go on, then.”

You move for the hallway, realize he’s not following you, and turn back in confusion. He’s beside the crib, holding his hand out for June to touch. Your heart leaps from your spot in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m waiting right here until you come back upstairs,” he says, his message clear.

Your pulse picks up, but you force yourself to nod. You’re useless without that gun. You have to get to it. He narrows his eyes at you while June giggles and reaches for his wiggling fingers. “No games.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and turn and head for the stairs.

It’s pure torture to move at a casual speed, especially as your mind is clearing and the fearful emotions returning. In the downstairs hallway, you check once over your shoulder that James hasn’t followed you, then pick up your pace, hurrying into the kitchen and heading straight for the drawer where you keep the gun.

Your eyes tear up as you maneuver past the digital lock that you installed for nothing. June’s still crawling. She never even got old enough to toddle over here. You press the code into the keypad, cringing when it does its quiet little two-tone ‘beep’ at being unlocked. You wait, heart in your throat until you hear the mechanism moving, then rip open the drawer.

Your heart stops and your brain freezes and all you can think is: No. No, no no—

“Looking for this?”

You whirl around, and there he is: standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the sink as he holds your only weapon in his hands.

His face is relaxed, Goddamn him, as he pretends to ignore your horror and instead holds the gun up to flippantly inspect it. “I have to say, Doll, I’m impressed. I would’ve expected some puny girl gun. Ruger, Derringer. But this?” He turns the Skorpion in his hands, and chuckles softly when he sees the cartridge. “Jesus. You really wanted to blow a hole in somebody, didn’t you?” His eyes finally drag up to you, the hand he’s holding the gun with dropping down by his side as he starts walking over, slowly, step by step, eyes boring into you with a growing anger.

Oh shit. Dread curls in your gut but you’re frozen. Bolting now wouldn’t even get you to the staircase. He presses in close, pinning you against the countertop. He brings the gun up and nudges your jaw with it, leaning in and breathing in your face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find it, vorishka?”[little thief]

He’s taunting you with your own failure, and you can’t stop the whimper that breaks from your throat at having your one and only plan foiled so pathetically easily. “James,” you plead, “I didn’t—”

“Shh sh sh. None of that, now.” He’s speaking softly, sweetly, but he’s furious. He drags his lips over your cheek and the barrel of the gun you stole from him over the other. “So what was the plan? How were you going to kill me with my own gun? Pop upstairs and shoot up the nursery?”

“N-no.”

“Ah. Right. You’re smarter than that. You would’ve waited for me to come down and see what the fuck was taking you so long, or put it in the duffle and waited until we dropped the whelp off at the neighbors. Is that it?"

You sniffle and nod, angry at him for being such an all-knowing asshole. “You can’t hold that against me,” you say, trying to defend yourself.

He nods thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose you’re right. I can’t blame you for that.” Your shoulders start to relax, that is until he pulls back to glare at you and holds the gun to you again, this time pointing it right underneath your chin. He looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “But do you know what I can hold against you, Little thief?” Your face pinches in fear, sure that you’re about to be shot, and he digs the muzzle cruelly into your skin, forcing you to look at him. “The fact that that pup up there is ten months old, and I’ve never even fucking seen her.”

Your eyes widen as you realize: he knows. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he beats you to it.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell she’s mine?”

“James,”

“All this time!” he hisses, hurt lancing through his features. “You kept her from me! What gives you the right?”

“I—I didn’t—”

He growls and pushes away from you, several steps back, glaring. “Nothing, is the answer you’re looking for. You had no right to do that.”

You try to edge to the side, but freeze when he straightens his arm and points the gun right at you. “James, wait …”

He aims it at your face, but then lowers it for a center mass shot, which is what really convinces you you’re about to die. “Say goodbye, mamochka,” he says, with steely eyes and his finger curling over the trigger.

It’s a submachine gun that fires in three shot bursts, or fully automatic. Either way, you know you’re about to be riddled with bullets, so you start to hyperventilate. It’s an embarrassing reaction, but at least you have the dignity of knowing what your last words on this earth would’ve been. “Don’t hurt her,” you gasp.

His eyes fill with rage and he pulls the trigger.

… Nothing happens, but you’re bracing so hard that it takes you a full two or three seconds to realize it. Then, when you do realize it, and you see James standing there looking grim but completely unsurprised that you haven’t been shot, all of the breath rushes out of your lungs. You feel like you’re about to faint, which is apparently what he’s waiting for.

He ejects the empty magazine, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really thought I’d do it, didn’t you?” He takes a step forward, but pauses when you flinch back. “What the hell have you convinced yourself that I am?”

You step back again when he moves. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, don’t,” he whispers, mocking you. “Don’t what? Don’t take back what’s mine? The mother of my pup? A pup I didn’t get to see grow or come into this world?” Your breath hitches with emotion and he doesn’t miss it, the bastard. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “You robbed me of that. But I’ll get over it, don’t worry.” He leers up and down your body in its flimsy sundress. “I’ll be putting another one in you real soon.”

You see red. Fury sweeps through you and stings your eyes, roars in your ears. You grab the nearest thing to you, which is the edge of the utensils crock on the counter. It spills over and your hand closes around the handle of the meat mallet. You cry out and swing at him, wanting to smash his smug fucking face to smithereens.

“Woah-ho, easy there.” He laughs and takes a surprised step back, as though you’re nothing but a tantruming child. “Stop being so dramatic.”

You growl and lunge for him again, but cut off in a shriek as someone suddenly grabs you from behind. The meat mallet clatters to the floor as you’re hauled back against the hard body of another man. One big arm wraps around your middle, and the other holds a cloth up at your face, pressing it over your mouth. “Mmph!” you yell out, muffled, and get a huge inhale of chlorine-like smell into your lungs for your trouble. You hold your breath and thrash, but it’s less than useless. The person holding you is large and strong. When you try to headbutt him, it doesn't even clip his chin. You bring your hands up to try and claw at the hand holding the cloth over your mouth, but your nails meet metal instead of skin, and you gasp in another inhale of chemicals as you realize who it is. “Mmph!”

James steps up close, smirking fondly as he watches you fighting the urge to inhale. Eventually he tuts and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Shhh, omegechka. Stop. Stop fighting now. It’s all over.”

“Nngh!”

“Just take a deep breath and go to sleep. Everything’ll be alright, I promise. Just relax.” You whimper as you feel yourself running out of air, knowing that your body’s going to force you to draw breath in a second. James leans in and kisses your forehead tenderly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, just as your vision starts to fade out, “or our daughter.”

The smell of professionally scented, circulating air hits you first, and then the taste of old pennies in your mouth. Then, a gradually increasing sense of awareness of your body in space and time. At first you think you're somewhere very bright, as colors and rainbows dance through your lashes, but the more you blink your eyes open, the more the brightness fades and your vision comes into focus.

And there he is: holding a crystal tumbler and looking like he's been waiting for you to come round. "Well hello there, Sleepyhead,” he says. “Welcome back." He takes a sip of whatever it is he’s drinking, the ice cubes clinking softly against the sides of the glass. He looks totally relaxed.

You sit up straighter in the seat where you’d been slumped, moving your tongue around inside of your dry mouth and trying to remember what happened. And then reality hits you in waves, each one more devastating than the last:

James—He found you.

June—She's not there.

"How're you feeling? Thirsty?"

You blink, dazed, a few lingering specks still floating at the edges of your vision. You look around the room you’re in, clocking your surroundings. Windows, cabin—Shit. You're already on a plane. Pressure builds rapidly at the backs of your eyes as you fight not to cry, thinking of your baby girl left behind, never getting to see her again.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Bucky’s eyes sharpen on you when your stifled sob breaks out and you throw a hand over your mouth. "Steve,” he says, still watching you in concern. “Get her a bottle of water."

“Sure thing, boss.”

And then the worst realization of all: You look over and see the winter fucking soldier walking down the aisle, holding your baby.

They've got June.

Your eyes widen and you make a distressed little ‘meep’ of a sound. “Steve!” you blurt, and he turns to face you. He looks surprised that you’ve spoken directly to him. He’s not wearing his usual black mask, but he still looks huge and intimidating, and it’s like seeing a wild animal right next to your baby—dangerous, wrong. Your mouth works uselessly as you stare at his hands on June’s body: one supporting her head, and the metal one scooped under her butt. You see her back rise and fall steadily through her bumblebee onesie and you realize that she’s asleep. “I-is she okay?” you ask, heart in your throat.

Steve’s eyes narrow at you, but he nods curtly. “She’s fine.”

Across from you, James scoffs, drawing your attention back to him. “He’s going to put her down. There’s a crib in the back. She’ll be fine,” he says, when he sees you stiffen in protest. “You and I have some catching up to do, vorishka.”

“I thought we did that back in my bedroom,” you snap.

“You still want the water?” Steve asks.

“That’s okay.” Bucky keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll take care of her. You just stay back there with pchelka while she sleeps.”

Steve nods, and you can’t help yourself. “Wait! Please. Please give her to me. Steve?” You sit forward with your arms outstretched, but can only watch helplessly as the other man obeys Bucky and ignores you, disappearing back into the next section of the plane. Bastard never did like you.

“She’ll be fine,” Bucky assures you. “Just sit back and relax. We won’t be in the air for too long.”

You hate it, but you do sit back in the chair. James won’t hurt her. You know that. Especially now that you know he knows. You look around the cabin, taking in the wide, leather seats and gleaming wood finishes. There’s a couch, tv, a bar. A fucking electric fireplace. It's the sort of luxury you used to go starry-eyed over; incredibly rich men, fat or old or ugly, tripping all over themselves to spoil you.

… Only, James was never any of those things.

“This is your plane?” you ask, dragging your hand over the arm of your seat.

James smirks. “What? You thought I’d kidnap you and then fly commercial?”

You purse your lips at his joke. “I guess not.” You relax back, trying to get your bearings. It is bad news that you’re already on a plane with him. You’ll be landing at his private airstrip at the Siberia compound, which gives you no middle ground to run. You bite your lip as your thoughts race and you try to think of anything you might be able to do once you get to—

“Stop it,” James says quietly, drawing your attention back to him. He’s giving you a stern look. “You barely got away before, and that was on your own. Now we’ve got our daughter. Anything you try will put her in unnecessary danger and you know that.” He shakes his head, some of that sadness from before creeping back into his eyes. “You’re not leaving me again, omegechka.”

“I’m not?” you echo, stuck in place by his stare, by the memories you share with him, and the fear you have of what he’s planning for your punishment. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m just taking back what’s mine, Sweetheart. You do realize that?” You fail to answer him and his gaze hardens just a little bit. “That’s okay. You’ll see it eventually. This isn’t a bad thing. If you had just stuck around a little longer instead of lying to me and running off, then you would’ve seen it before, and we wouldn’t have to be going through this right now.” He raises his drink to you in a little salute. “You, me, and pchelka? We’re going to be a family.”

You don’t refuse the water he gives you, or the drink that he mixes for you, after. If James wanted to keep you drugged up until reaching Siberia, he certainly could’ve done so without allowing you to wake up on the plane. You’re only conscious right now because he wants you to be. And because you know that, you don’t protest the drink he prepares for you over at the bar. To be honest, a stiff one actually sounds really good right about now.

“Thank you,” you murmur as he hands it over, still unmoored by this drastic shift in circumstances. A few hours ago you’d been safe in your cottage, then suddenly you weren’t. One minute you’re sure you’re about to get a bullet in the face from this man, and the next, he’s got you sipping thousand dollar vodka on his private jet, calmly explaining how he intends to keep you and force you into some twisted form of domestic bliss.

“I had a whole renovation done for her,” he tells you. “Pchelka will have plenty of room to play and grow.”

You frown, hating the idea of your daughter growing up in that cold, Siberian fortress. You don’t care if he’s bought her an indoor waterslide and a herd of ponies. It’s no place for a child. “What does that mean?” you ask grumpily. “That word: chelk—? You keep using it. You can’t just rename my daughter.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he wipes it away fast. “Pchelka means little bee. The outfit you put her in has bees on it.”

“Oh … Right.” You love that set. It’d been another gift at the shower, from Hilde.

“And she’s my daughter too,” James says tightly.

You gulp at the bitterness in his tone, at his eyes boring into you with reproach. It’s silly, but you do feel bad about hurting him in this one way, at least. “Her name is June,” you offer quietly.

His face draws tight with emotion that’s impossible for you to decipher. Mostly you just sense hurt coming off of him, tingeing his scent and making it into something mournful and awful. He stares at you for a long time. “You made me think you’d lost it,” he eventually whispers. “How could you do that to me?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You’re just sorry that I found you.”

“I saw you kill people, James!” you cry. “I saw who you really are. I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

His mouth ticks up at the corners. “Oh, Sweetheart. You’ve got no idea who I am, or what I’ve done for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes gleam and he lifts his drink, tipping back the last of it. “Do you even remember where we met?”

You frown. “Of course.” You’d met him on a yacht, off the coast of Greece. At a party you’d been paid to attend as one of a flock of similarly hired ‘pretty girls’. Five hundred bucks just to sit around and drink cocktails for a few hours and make whoever owned the yacht look like a successful playboy. James had taken one look at you and made it his mission to charm you off of that boat with him. And you’d fallen for it, hook line and sinker. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he says disdainfully. “Don’t know how lucky you really are. I saved you.”

You scoff. “You’re no different from those boat guys. You think you’re so special, God’s gift to omegas, I get it.”

“No,” he grits. “You really don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know! I know what I saw. All over the floor of your goddamn office. I slipped in it for Christ’s sake!”

“Right, right. The men you saw me kill,” he says, referencing the scene you’d walked in on just before you’d faked your miscarriage and fled. “You were eavesdropping outside the door, weren’t you, Little thief?”

You jut your chin out. “Yes. So what?”

“You know, I’d always assumed you heard the entire conversation. Now I realize I was wrong.”

“What?”

He laughs under his breath—at your expense, you suspect. “Who exactly do you think they were?”

“Your business associates. The same sort of underworld, black market scum as you. Only they didn't work for you. You screwed them over and they were there to collect what you owed them, and you murdered them instead.”

James scoffs and smiles angrily, sticking his tongue into his cheek as he looks away in frustration. "Figures," he mutters.

“What?” you snap. “You’re gonna deny it?”

“I’m not denying anything. But I killed them for you.”

“Oh please. Just stop it. Stop lying! I know what you do for work.”

Granted, you'd been a little slow on the uptake back then, too enamored and swept up in the whirlwind romance with your first Alpha that you hadn’t ever stopped to wonder where his money came from, or where it was he jetted off to “on business” every few days. It’d taken a year for you to piece it together, to see the true magnitude of the enterprise he ran, and how dark it really was.

Sitting in front of you now, he doesn’t deny it, which only bolsters your disdain for him. “I don’t want that in my life,” you hiss. “Arms dealing, drugs, smuggling, mercenaries. And apparently human trafficking as well.”

His eyes flash. “They don’t call it that, you know. It’s called the ‘skin trade’.”

“I don’t care.”

He gets up to go pour himself another drink at the bar. “Right,” he snaps, like you’re an idiot. “You’re so fucking naïve, krasotka [pretty (n.)]. So convinced that I’m the devil. But you have no idea how much worse it could’ve been for you.”

“You threatened to sell your own daughter before you figured out she was yours!”

Refusing to be provoked, he returns to stand right in front of you, forcing you to look up at him towering over you. “I knew she was mine from the second I walked in that house,” he says, making your breath catch.

“How?”

He smiles nastily and takes a sip from his drink, then sets it aside. He leans over you with his hands on the back of your seat, caging you in. You can smell the expensive alcohol on his breath as he gets in your face and tells you, “I put that baby in you, moya omegya. She’s a part of me. You think I wouldn’t be able to figure that out? Think an Alpha doesn’t know the scent of his own flesh and blood?”

You tense, fighting not to shrink away. “You’re making that up.”

He chuckles lowly and puts his face right next to yours, cheek to cheek, savoring your reaction. “Sweetheart,” he purrs, “I may not have forced a mating bite on you back then like I should have, but there are other ways to leave your mark on someone.” He dips in to kiss your neck, right over your unbitten glands. “I found you by your scent,” he whispers. “Sniffed you out.”

You shiver at his hot breath on your skin and the deadly soft tone of his voice. The way your body responds to him isn’t anything you can control, and he knows that, but it still makes you flush with embarrassment when he takes a deep inhale in the bend of your neck and hums with satisfaction when he smells the effect he’s had on you. “I wouldn’t have sold her anyway,” he tells you, pulling back and picking up his drink. “I want you to know that. I don’t participate in the skin trade.”

You swallow thickly, watching him watch you as he waits for you to react to him in some way. You don’t know why you believe him about this one thing, but you do. “But you’re aware of it,” you say. “You know it happens, and you don’t do anything to stop it.”

His jaw works in frustration. “I’ve interfered a time or two, when I could get away with it.”

“Well, aren't you a hero.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “I said I’ve done what little I could. These men make a lot of money dealing in omegas, and they don’t take kindly to being stolen from.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he mutters into his drink. “You really can’t.”

There’s something oddly bitter in his tone, like he's working hard not to tell you something. You bite your lip and watch him for a minute. “... How much?” you ask.

“What?” His eyes darken when he figures out what you’re asking. “No.”

“Tell me.”

“It depends,” he grits, glaring at you. "Now cut it out."

Sober, you might have; but half a vodka spritzer after nineteen months of no alcohol has you bolder than you usually would be. You look down at yourself, feigning flippancy. “Well what about me? How much would I go for?”

“Kotenok,” he warns lowly, growling when you continue to press him with a snotty little,

“Come on, I thought you were such a dangerous criminal? You can’t even discuss a little human trafficking with the weak omega you just trafficked?”

He probably knows you’re trying to antagonize him, but he still rises to the bait. He sits back and lets his eyes drag over your body in a way that makes your pulse pick up. “Well,” he drawls, “you just had a baby. So that’s less right there.” Your nostrils flare angrily and he gives you a look. “You’re the one who asked,” he reminds, waiting until you give him a nod to continue. He gives you another onceover, this time lingering in certain places longer, a softer look in his eyes for the softer parts of your body. He almost seems to get distracted. He catches himself overindulging and looks away, like it’s hurting him to consider you this way. “Most people want their omegas untouched,” he says quietly. “Especially if the buyer's alpha, which they usually are. It’s an instinctual thing for us. We’re very driven to possess. We don’t like to share.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you mutter.

His gaze snaps back to you, a painful amount of familiarity in his eyes. “You’dve been a couple million, back when we first met.”

Your eyes widen. You weren't expecting that. “But … I wasn’t even a virgin.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I said untouched, not virginal. Not in that way. Alpha buyers want unbonded and never bred, first and foremost.” He leers at you. “Not that there aren’t some who’ll pay a little extra to pop a girl’s cherry. But that’s not the main thing they’re looking for, when they buy.”

You scowl. “Right. So I guess I’m damaged goods now."

“Oh no, mamochka,” he says seriously. “You’ve only gone up in value in my eyes. Though believe me when I say I’m more than happy to contribute to the depletion of your market value." He raises his glass to his lips, looking darkly pleased. “You’re not for sale, and you never will be. You’re mine.”

You're embarrassed to be the one to break eye contact first, but you can’t keep listening to him talk about how much he likes you and watching him look at you like you’re his most prized possession. With any other man you’d just be disgusted, but James has always had a knack for getting you flustered, and he knows it. There’s always been an inexplicable pull between the two of you, and he knows that, too. It’s the main reason why you've always refused his attempts to bond you. You're terrified of what it’ll be like after, since you already know how pathetically helpless you are around him without a bond.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumble quietly. “Where is it?”

“Just down there.” He nods in the direction behind you, opposite from where Steve had gone with June.

You press your lips together and get up without looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re walking away.

“Don’t take too long in there, kotenok,” he purrs from back in his seat. “Or I’ll have to come in after you.”

In the bathroom, you splash water on your face and lean against the sink, looking at the girl staring back at you in the mirror. You blink, and she blinks, but it feels like you’re looking at another person, someone you don’t know. She looks fragile. Tired, and dazed. June’s been sleeping through the night for months, but it’s been a hell of a day.

You scrutinize your reflection, smoothing your dress and tucking your hair behind your ears, thinking about how you have zero makeup on. Then you scoff at yourself for caring what you look like in front of him. You think about how much you’ve changed in the seventeen months since you ran away. Not just physically, but mentally. You’ve had to be so strong. For June, for yourself. It’s been awful, and lonely, and you’ve hated yourself for not being able to stop missing him.

You sniffle and splash more water on your face, grumpily thinking that postpartum hormones are so much worse than the pregnancy ones. You grab the towel off the wall, but freeze when you bring it up to pat your face dry and get a smell of it.

Oh.

You whimper, unable to keep from pressing it harder to your mouth and nose and inhaling deeply. It’s James’ scent, and it smells so good. It smells like Safety and Love and Alpha. You hear the sound of your own, needy mewl and you gasp, yanking the towel away from your face and tossing it into the sink, trying to keep your shit together. You brace your hands on the counter and glare at your reflection to tell her to stop it, stop it, stop it, but all it takes is seeing your lower lip quiver, and soon your entire face is collapsing in long-repressed sadness. You turn away from the mirror with a pathetic noise, throat aching from the urge to keen.

Why does this have to be happening?! You’ve tried so hard, for so long. To be strong for June, to get over him, to move on! You bury your face in your hands and choke on a wrenching sob. You know you have to be quiet, have to stop, have to pull yourself together before he—

A soft knock comes from outside the bathroom. “Doll?”

You whine and hastily search for a lock on the door, but there is none, and James hears your crying and pulls the door open. “Honey,” he mourns when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You push past him, hurrying in the direction he isn’t blocking. “Leave me alone!” you cry, hating the blubbering in your voice that makes you sound just as weak as James thinks you are. You arrive in a perfectly made up bedroom with no point of egress other than the one you arrived through. You whine in distress, circle around helplessly, and then throw yourself onto the bed when he arrives at the doorway looking worried. “Leave me alone!” you cry, curling onto your side and pulling one of the pillows down to bury your face in. At least it isn’t suffused with James’ scent. You still cry though, unable to keep it in anymore now that you’ve started.

He tuts sadly from the doorway and comes into the room slowly. He stands there for a long minute, silent, before he sighs and his weight comes onto the bed. “Sweetheart,” he says.

“Just leave me alone,” you whine miserably. “Go away!”

“Shh sh sh.” He curls up behind you, arms around your waist and legs pushing in behind yours. He kisses your shoulder and hugs you, but it only makes you cry harder at how achingly familiar it is. “It’s okay,” he murmurs between kisses. He doesn’t try to get you to stop crying, or ask you what’s wrong. He seems to know exactly why you’re breaking down, and he simply devotes all his efforts to helping you calm down in your own time. “S’okay, s’okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he keeps saying, soothing you with a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you now. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”

At first, his placating makes you angry, but not enough to stop your crying, and once that tapers off from sobs to quiet, sniffling tears, you can’t seem to dredge up the anger anymore. It isn’t there.

“You feeling a little better?” he asks kindly, gently tucking your hair behind your ear and then hugging you again.

You whine when you feel his lips against your neck. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice coming out scratchy from all of the crying. You cringe and scrub your face into the pillow in embarrassment. “Just got a little sad.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, giving you a supportive squeeze. “That’s okay.”

You hate how he says it, because it’s obvious that he knows why you were crying: Poor, sad little omega, bawling her eyes out over how much she’s missed her Alpha. He nuzzles into your neck, telling you it’s okay and that you’re allowed to cry. As much as you hate him being able to see into you so easily, you’re just grateful that he isn’t rubbing your face in it right now. The way he's holding you and comforting you feels good. You don’t fight to get away from him.

The two of you lie there together for what feels like a long time. Once you’ve stopped crying and are only giving the occasional sniffle for your runny nose, he goes back to running his hand over your side. It’s a gesture of comfort. He’s not groping you, but even still, you blush at the vulnerability of it. You find yourself glad that you’re facing away from him.

The plane shifts noticeably, and James’ hand pauses on your hip. “Pilot said we’re landing soon,” he murmurs. “Should probably go and get pchelka up.”

You sniffle and fight off the urge of resurfacing tears at hearing him reference June. One day of knowing his daughter and already he’s got a nickname for her. You should be annoyed by that, but instead it just makes your heart squeeze with emotion. “Pchelka,” you whisper, trying out the word.

“Yeah.” He hums happily and kisses your shoulder one last time. “Little bee. Come on. Let’s go.”

You don’t think about how it’s far too soon to have arrived at your destination, until you’re back in the main room of the cabin on the way to where Steve disappeared with June, earlier. You pause at the windows, peering out at the landscape. “This isn’t Russia,” you say, confused. The plane is definitely descending, but you’ve only been in the air for a few hours at most. “James?” you ask, as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Together, you both look out at the looming mountains and turquoise waters below. “Where are we?” you breathe.

James rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs happily. “Home,” he says. “We’re home.”

A.N.: See? Much less Rapey! Plenty more mega-dub con to come though, so don't you angst-lovers worry. Thanks for reading!💖Sarah

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enamoredfaun · 10 months

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perspective isn't my friend but i am trying <3

#welcome home #self insert #self ship #howdy pillar #self shipping #f/o #welcome home mob au #welcome home oc #been very into the whole mob au thing hehehe #my crush for bartenders still lives on very strongly

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years

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Title: New Hire [6]

previous chapter

Pairing: Alpha!Mob!Ari Levinson x Naive!Omega!Reader

Summary: After escaping your demanding, violent father, you get your first job nannying for Ari Levinson.

Warnings: Manipulation, Spanking, Mob AU, Obsessive behavior, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Ari, Dubcon, Darkfic, Breeding, Smut, MINORS DNI, Dead dove: Do not eat

A/N: hello everyone! back from my little hiatus with a brand new chapter of New Hire. i’ve been getting soooo many asks about this series, i’m so stoked everyone’s enjoying it so far! this chapter’s a little long, and… smutty, so… drink water 🤣 divider by @firefly-graphics

This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone but me. Enjoy 😘

You wake with Ari curled around your back, soft snores rumbling in his chest. It isn’t often that he’s not up before you, already waiting downstairs despite your best efforts to beat him there. His hand rests heavily on your hip, his fingers curled underneath the skimpy hem of your new pajamas. You shift, and his grip tightens instantly. Ari mumbles something in his sleep, and you giggle silently, trying hard not to wake him.

Turning in his arms is no easy feat but you manage, resting your palms against his chest. You’ve never really gotten to observe him at rest before; even relaxed Ari is at attention, ready to move to act if the situation were to suddenly require it. His golden hair is tousled, laying messily across his forehead. His lips are slightly parted, and you can hear the sound of his breath whispering though them.

He’s so handsome.

You know your mate is attractive—you’ve known it since you first laid eyes on him. But watching him like this, he seems, you don’t know, softer. Less hard lines and jagged edges. There’s an embarrassed sort of pride that rears its head at the thought that this man had chosen you, out of every other possible option.

You.

Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re tracing the curve of his cheek with the back of your hand. He stirs with a groan, his nose wrinkling.

“Mm, Kitten,” he mumbles, eyes opening to slits. “Wha’ time’ssit?” You giggle, and he lets out a sleepy, frustrated hmph.

“Early,” you answer quietly, laughing again when he groans, pulling you tighter to his chest and burying his face in your hair. Ari heaves a satisfied sigh. He’s comforted by having you so close, you can feel it in the bond.

“Go back to sleep,” he instructs sternly, and you laugh again. “S’too early.” The last few days had been hectic, Liam bouncing off the walls while Ari prepared for your surprise—and while you did your best to forget the sound of a man begging for his life. You feel guilty, mostly because you don’t feel as shameful and penitent as you probably should.

Every time the guilt begins to creep in, you remember Liam’s frightened face, and your own feral panic.

He deserved what he got, murmurs the dark, feral voice living in your hindbrain. Deserved it ten times over. Ari’s warm hands draw you out of your own head, the silky fabric of your new nightie bunching underneath his touch.

“Can hear you thinking from here, Omega,” he chastises you in a voice still gravelly from sleep. “You’re not sleeping.” Your cheeks heat so rapidly, you wonder if he can feel them smoldering against his chest. It’s not that you aren’t tired—you are. Your brain just hasn’t let you get a single moment of rest in since you’d found yourself awake just before sun-up. You just can’t stop turning the events of the last month over in your head, like you’re still trying to get a grip on them.

Something has happened to you in these past few weeks. Something that’s continuing to happen the longer you find yourself in the company of your mate. The slow but persistent eroding of beliefs you’d previously considered to be unshakeable. That right was right and wrong was wrong, and those lines couldn’t be confused or crossed. But now the lines are blurry and runny like paint, and it’s hard for you to tell which is which—if there was ever really a difference.

“Talk to me, Kitten.” You make a surprised noise in the back of your throat, twitching against him as you sink deeper into his warmth. His lips move gently against your temple. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Just… everything,” you say quietly, glad you don’t have to find a way to avoid Ari’s searching gaze, pressed against his chest as you are. “M-my father, and Peter, and…” You trail off, not wanting to mention Clarence’s head becoming red paste on the concrete outside.

“Mm.” Ari hums low in his throat. “Quill is… certainly a problem.” He rolls over onto his back. Ari scrubs a hand down over the scruff of his beard tiredly. You curl up against his side, resting a timid hand on the hard planes of his chest. You remember him the way he was on the playground; determined, stubborn.

“Do you think… he’ll stop now?” You ask hopefully, glancing up at Ari. He leans down to kiss your forehead once again.

“I don’t think so, Kitten.” You can tell he wants to lie, to reassure you that it’s over, but that he can’t quite bring himself to do so.

“Why?” Ari looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to answer.

“Because men in our positions don’t like to give up something for nothing, Kitten.” You feel a cool shiver run down your spine at his words. “And for Quill, sweetheart, you represent quite an investment.”

You can’t stop thinking about it, even after Liam has roused the two of you from your nest of sheets and blankets.

An investment.

Was that all you had been to your father, too? An investment? Something to use to trade up at the most lucrative opportunity? It keeps you distracted all day, long after Ari leaves for work. You try to keep Liam occupied, but fail as he runs circles around you easily while you’re preoccupied.

“Um, can I go over Mary’s house?” He asks you as he wolfs down the peanut butter sandwich you made him for lunch. There’s peanut butter smeared across one of his round little cheeks as he looks up at you with imploring eyes. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Oh? Am I not cool enough for you?” You ask jokingly, and Liam, ever serious, shakes his head. You’re about to ask him what exactly constitutes cool when your phone begins vibrating in your pocket. “Hello?”

“Kitten, are you busy?” Ari’s voice filters through the receiver.

“No,” you reply. “Well, only if you count getting a lesson in how uncool I am from a six year old.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles at your response.

“I don’t suppose you could take a break from that to swing by the office with my work phone, could you sweetheart? I left it in the bedside table, that first drawer.”

“Oh, um, sure. I could do that.”

“Thanks, Kitten.” Ari’s satisfied purr makes a little shiver travel down your spine.

“I guess you get off light today, sir,” you say to Liam, stowing your cell back in your pocket. “You get to go to Mary’s while I run an errand for Dad.” You haven’t been to the office often, maybe once or twice in the months since you’d been hired—not counting your interview. Come to think of it, you know remarkably little about Ari’s business exploits and where his money comes from, despite how easily he wants you to spend it.

It doesn’t take much to get Liam ready to go. You instruct him to pick out two—and two only—of his favorite toys to bring with him while you head upstairs to look for Ari’s phone. It’s precisely where he said it was, in the first drawer in the bedside table. You pick it up gingerly, squeaking a little with surprise as the screen lights up at your touch. It’s locked, of course, but you can still see bits of messages, unchecked notifications.

You don’t mean to look—really, you don’t—but you can’t help it, your eyes drawn down by a new notification flashing across the screen. It’s a number you don’t recognize, and one Ari doesn’t have saved. Your breath catches in your tight throat as you read them, hot tears gathering in your wide eyes.

Unknown Number: It’s a good offer. You won’t receive better, not for an Omega that’s been…used.

Your heart pounds in your chest. What offer? The urge to curl in on yourself grows. Perhaps you are too much trouble after all, more than you’re worth, and Ari’s finally realized it. Your own father hadn’t seen you as anything more than a bargaining chip, and the realization that Ari might be the same makes the blood curdle into shards of sharp ice in your veins. Your stomach rolls as you re-read the message. Used. Is that what Ari thinks of you?

The phone vibrates again and you almost drop it, sniffling.

Unknown Number: I won’t wait long for an answer, you know, Levinson. And neither will Senator Ego.

“Are we going?” Liam’s irritated whine makes your head snap up, and you wipe furiously at your wet cheeks. You hope your smile is convincing as you nod at him, unable to speak. You don’t trust your voice not to tremble and crack, so you refrain from saying anything at all as you pack Liam’s bag with trembling hands. Ari wasn’t supposed to be like your father, he was supposed to be different, better.

Act like a whore, get treated like a whore, your father’s venomous words play on an endless loop in your skull, no matter how many times you try to stop it. It’s the same thing he’d said to you after you dragged yourself back to the trailer from the homecoming after-party you weren’t supposed to attend, your dress muddy from the dirt under the bleachers and Philip Baker’s spend drying on your thighs.

That’s what he’d called you in the driveway too—a whore. Is that what you are?

There’s bile, burning acid in your throat as you walk stiffly up the steps to Frank Adler’s house. House isn’t really the right word for it, somewhere between “home” and “mansion”. You pick nervously at your fingernails after ringing the bell, pulling at your nail-beds until you wince.

“Mr. Levinson, I’ve been expecting you,” Frank greets Liam as he opens the door. Liam giggles and hides behind your legs. “Mary says she’s ‘sourced the part’, and I hope it’s not something I need to be concerned about.” He raises an eyebrow. Liam shakes his head profusely.

“We’re building a secret clubhouse.” He whispers, and Frank nods knowingly. “Don’t tell Mary I told you.”

“I won’t. I promise I don’t go into my own backyard all that much.” He says resolutely, and motions for him to come inside. “How are you?” Frank shifts his gaze to you, and without Ari there to deflect, you’re uncomfortable with the attention. Maybe that’s why he wants to ditch you. Stupid. Naive—

“I’m fine.” The words come out stilted. “Just. Running an errand. For Ari.”

“Of course.” He looks down at Liam’s bag with a squint. “You packed heavy.”

You force a smile. “I like to be prepared.” Frank smiles back at you, and you swallow thickly.

“Of course.” He repeats it, and you look down at Liam.

“Have fun, bud.” He grins up at you in a way that makes your heart ache.

“Okay!”

Your hands are shaking as you get the keys back out of your pocket. Ari wants you to come to the office, but you have no intention of doing that. Hot tears gather in your eyes as you navigate out onto the street. You can’t stay parked at Frank’s, but you don’t want to go to Ari. It’s not even an option to go to your father—and you don’t know where he is, even if it was.

You drive aimlessly for half an hour before you decide on a direction, ignoring the incessant buzzing of both your phone and Ari’s in the glove compartment until you’re forced to shut them off. There’s a twinge of his concern in the bond, but you shut it down quickly, and immediately feel its absence.

The house you’re looking for is on the corner after the next left you take, and you pull haphazardly into the spot out front. You’re still crying, staccato breaths making your chest hurt as you lean your forehead against the steering wheel.

You don’t know why you remember this address, considering you’ve only been here one time. Sessions are normally at the old bank building, since converted into offices, but you’d been here once when the office flooded, and Dr. Nicholson was forced to accommodate you elsewhere. Even so, it stuck in the gray matter of your brain, and now here you were, months later.

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, you wrap your arms around your middle after knocking. You’re considering leaving, fleeing back to the car when the door opens.

“I-I’m sorry. I just, I didn’t know where to go.” Dr. Nicholson stares at you in open shock, before she pushes her square glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’m—I know this was supposed to only be for emergencies, and I, I—” She places a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Please come in.”

—

Ari knows something is very wrong before Frank calls, but seeing his friend’s name appear on his personal phone drives home the worry.

“What’s wrong? Is it Liam?”

“No, no, he’s fine. He and Mary are building some kind of clubhouse outside, and as far as I know there’s no power tools involved. No, it’s your mate. She seemed… I dunno. Upset. Squirrelly.”

Ari’s fist clenches against the desk. “How long ago did you see her?”

“Ten. Fifteen minutes maybe.” He curses.

Ari reaches out through the bond, and he feels you shut him out quickly, tasting only an echo of your fear before the link is dead and cold.

“Thanks, Frank. I’ll check on her.” He’s up and out of his chair before he hangs up.

What spooked you? Obviously seeing him kill a man hadn’t done wonders for your relationship, but he had been making real progress. Martine is waiting outside the office doors, her fist poised to knock.

“Oh! Sir. I have—”

“Leave it on my desk, please,” Ari replies, cutting her off with a grim smile. “I have an urgent family matter to attend to.”

“I see. Yes, sir.”

Ari takes the stairs down to the parking lot, slamming the door too hard on his way into the stairwell. He’d told you about leaving without telling him, about going places alone, unprotected—no. It won’t do to get angry with you, that won’t help him find you. According to Frank, you’d dropped off Liam and left, hadn’t mentioned anything about where you were going or why.

He gets into the car, dialing your number while he slots the key into the ignition with his other hand. It goes straight to voicemail. You haven’t set it up yet, and the robotic default greets him stiltedly.

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message after the beep. Have a wonderful day.”

“Kitten it’s me, it’s Ari.” He lets out a heavy breath. “Sweetheart you’re scaring me. You didn’t come to the office, you’re shutting me out…” He trails off before carding his fingers through his hair. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.” He hangs up, and is dialing again as he pulls out of his parking space. One hand grips the steering wheel hard enough to force the blood out of his knuckles, and the other holds the phone.

It doesn’t even ring this time before it goes straight to voicemail.

“The number you have dialed is not available—”

“Fuck!” He throws the phone into the passenger seat, hard. “Fuck.” He isn’t used to this, the frantic, nervous energy running through his veins, begging him to do something, anything—only he doesn’t know what to do. There are a thousand thousand scenarios, each running through Ari’s mind on their own terrible loop. Could Quill have had you picked up? Perhaps sent your father sniffing around again? He slams a fist against the dashboard. He’d felt your confusion, your upset and pain before you’d cut him out completely, and they stick in his throat, making it tight and uncomfortable.

He isn’t used to feeling this out of control, to not having the pieces adjusted on the board to his liking. Ari nervously fingers the silver chain peeking out from between the undone buttons at the collar of his shirt, poking the Star of David’s points into the fleshy pads of his fingers. Ari tries to calm down, breathing deeply as he pushes the unfamiliar feeling of panic down and away.

There’s still so much of your fear and uncertainty in the bond that it makes his chest ache. He sits there in the car, his eyes shut and hands on the steering wheel as Ari pokes at the bond again. The hard wall you’d drawn down between you was no longer quite as solid, the barest hint of your feelings trickling through the cracks. You’re safe—he exhales a sigh of relief. Not happy, but the turmoil you’d felt earlier had dissipated.

And then, suddenly, it’s like a lightbulb turning on in his head—Ari knows exactly where you are.

—

“You’re overwhelmed. And it makes sense, given everything you’ve told me.” Dr. Nicholson pats your knee with a reassuring smile. “I mean, last we spoke, you didn’t even have a boyfriend, and here you are with a mating mark, and a son, all at the same time. It can’t be easy.” You’d been on her couch for the last three hours, something of an extreme-emergency session to make up for the ones you’d missed in the weeks since your life had turned completely on its head. There had always been a reason to reschedule—Liam needed you, Ari needed you, something needed doing or finishing or starting, and you’d quickly become lost in the shuffle.

Your eyes are still red and puffy from the hysterical tears that had stopped an embarrassingly short time ago, around the first cup of tea Dr. Nicholson had brought for you—you were now well into your third. It’s embarassing, to be told what you’re feeling, but it’s so hard for you to pick through the maze of emotions you’d never really been allowed to acknowledge or share on your own. It makes sense now, to hear her say it. Overwhelmed. That’s exactly what you’d been feeling.

The knock at the door surprises both of you, and you jump, glancing nervously in the direction of the sound. Dr. Nicholson offers you a calm smile.

“I’ll get it. I’m sure it’s fine, you just stay here and relax.” You nod meekly, taking another sip of tea as you mull over your latest enlightenments.

“You’re a people pleaser. It’s okay, lots of us are. Because of the way you were required to manage your father’s emotions when you were only a child, and especially after your mother passed. You deserve to make choices for yourself. What do you want? What are your needs?”

You bite your lip, running your finger around the rim of the mug. You don’t know. Dimly, you’re aware of the sound of the front door opening, but that isn’t what jolts you to attention. It’s like electricity passes through the bond, forcing it all the way open as you gasp—

Ari is here. You know it as surely as you would know he was standing behind you. Goosebumps appear on your bare arms, and you rub them nervously as you listen to the sound of muffled voices with your heart in your throat. The sound of footsteps makes you jump up from your seat in the weathered old armchair. You’re not entirely sure what you want to do with your hands, so you tighten your grip on the handle of the mug until it hurts.

When Dr. Nicholson re-enters the room, her mouth is set into a grim line, tight at the corners.

“I… Well, I wanted to inform you that your mate is here,” she says, and you nod. She’s only confirming what you already know. “I know we talked about some very sensitive things, and I just wanted to make sure you know that you have agency, in your life and in your… relationship. You don’t have to do things just because someone else says you do.” She casts a rather reproachful look down the hallway.

“Thank you.” You scratch absently at the mark on your throat—it’s warm to the touch. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Ari is waiting for you on the porch, his arms folded over his broad chest as he leans against the bannister. His face is schooled into an expression of neutral calm, and if not for the tension coiling tight like a spring in the foundations of the bond, you might have believed it. Your gaze drops nervously down to your shoes as Ari stands up straight, his footfall heavy on the wooden slats as he approaches you.

“Kitten.” He slides a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up. Slowly, he turns your head from side to side, his fingers trailing over his mark as he checks you over. You swallow thickly. “Are you hurt?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“N-no.”

He watches you in silence for a moment, before he turns sharply on his heel.

“Let’s go.”

You try to make yourself as small as possible as you walk back to the car, your shoulders hunched and your head down. You don’t want to draw any attention to yourself, not now when you can almost feel his fury as if it was your own. He ignores the Jeep you haphazardly parked out front, and you’re too anxious to ask him if he wants you to drive it home. Instead, you slide silently into the passenger seat of his car. You watch him make his way around to the driver’s side door as you anxiously twist your fingers together, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You spend the majority of the ride in silence, sneaking furtive glances over at your quiet mate. When he pulls in to the driveway at the house, Ari cuts the engine, but doesn’t get out of the car.

“Why did you do that, Kitten?” He asks quietly, his hands still wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. When he does look at you, cold hard lead settles into the pit of your stomach.

“I thought…“ He trails off, scoffing, and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought something happened to you, that fucking Quill—!” He cards a hand through his hair and blows out a breath.

“I saw the texts.” You mumble quietly, staring at your knees as you clench your hands into angry, fearful fists of your own. “T-the offer you were considering.” The silence that reigns between you is so empty that you feel forced to fill it. “An Omega that’s been used.” You spit the words out angrily as you curl into yourself. “Is that what-what I am to you?”

“Oh, Kitten.” Ari scrubs a hand down his face. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“That seems to be a thing with you.” You clap a hand over your own mouth. Those were not the words you’d meant to say. Something soft and accommodating was supposed to come out, not…that.

“Watch it.” He snaps, narrowing his eyes at you. You’re afraid of incurring his anger, but there’s another emotion there too, one you don’t really let yourself feel as often as you should.

You’re angry.

“You watch it! You—you don’t tell me everything,” you argue. You can tell that Ari is as surprised by your persistence as you are. “Y-you keep secrets from me, and, and you expect me to just… do whatever you want be-because you say so, and—” You know you’re rambling, and Ari holds up a hand to silence you.

“Kitten if you think after everything I’ve done to keep you that I’m letting go now, I… I must not have shown you who I am as well as I thought I did.” Ari braces his arms against the steering wheel, and blows out a frustrated breath. “It’s true, I don’t tell you everything,” he admits. “You’re… you scare easy, Sweetheart. Look at today.”

Your cheeks grow hot. “If I had known what was going on, I wouldn’t have

left,” you say indignantly, and Ari scoffs.

“You can’t do that to me.” He levels you with a hard look. “You know you could have come to me, asked questions, instead of assuming.” You don’t have a response for that. “Kitten I was fucking terrified. I couldn’t find you, couldn’t feel you. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” He shakes his head, and you swallow against the thick lump in your throat. You hadn’t thought, really, about what it might feel like for him to be shut out of the bond, left in the dark without a word. The bright flame of righteous anger burning in your chest dims.

“Quill could have picked you up, anything could have happened to you,” he chastises you. “I can’t protect you when you run from me, Kitten.” He slips a finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him. “How can I keep you safe if you don’t trust me?” The space behind your eyes burns with hot, unshed tears.

“Yes, one of Ego’s men contacted me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But I needed to make sure I knew who our allies were before I responded, Kitten.”

You do trust Ari—or at least, you thought you did. You’d been scared, only thinking of your own self-preservation.

“I do trust you,” you say in a small voice. “I just…” you trail off, struggling to put words to the emotions swimming around in your skull. “My whole life, my parents told me I had one thing to offer. Just one. And when I saw those messages, Ari, they scared me, okay?” You admit, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. “They scared me because I thought he was right. That… that I gave you what you wanted, and you’d be done with me, now.”

“Kitten.” Ari ducks his head until he finds your gaze, and holds it. “I put a man in the dirt for you. Do you really think I’d trade you after that?” Hot guilt warms your face. “If there was even chance that I thought this,” Ari gestures between the two of you, “wasn’t going to work, I would never have marked you.”

Ari is a man of his word, you know that. Every promise he’s made you, he’s kept—it’s more than anyone else has ever given you. You… you care about Ari, enough to not want to hurt him. Enough to try and keep the promise you had made him, that you would let him show you how good life with him could be.

“I’m sorry.” You mean it.

“I know, Kitten.” Somehow, his disappointment is worse than his anger. Ari unbuckles his seatbelt, and tugs the keys out of the ignition. The two of you exit the car, and head into the quiet house. You’re not quite sure what to do with yourself, and you flutter just at the edges of the room, watching Ari move through it. The tension he feels is written in his neck and shoulders. He reaches up to rub stiffly at them with one hand while he opens the fridge with the other. You watch as he twists the cap off of a beer bottle.

“Liam’s going to stay at Frank’s tonight,” he says over his shoulder. “We’ll go get him tomorrow.” There’s only a counter between you, but it feels like a continent. He’s right here, and he hasn’t blocked you from the bond, but it feels like you’re alone. You approach him tentatively, and though he doesn’t stop you, he makes no move to welcome you, either.

“Ari?” He takes another sip from his beer. You place your hand softly on top of his on the counter, and he doesn’t pull away. “I—I should have trusted you, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.” You’re tempted to touch the mark on your throat but you don’t. His gaze softens just a little, and he takes another swallow.

“You mean that?”

You nod. “Yes.” Ari drains the bottle, and sets it on the counter with a sharp click. “I-I really am sorry—” Ari hushes you, holding up a hand. Your breath and the words you were going to say both catch in your throat. Ari grasps your chin, and for a moment he just looks at you. You feel judged, and you can only hope you don’t come up wanting.

“Get upstairs.” He says sharply after a moment of holding your gaze. His thumb passes over your parted lips. “You’re going to show me just how sorry you are, Omega.”

You gape at him for a moment, almost asking if he’s serious, but the hard set of your mate’s jaw tells you that question would not be well received. You scramble up the stairs, but Ari isn’t behind you. You pause at the top of the stairs, waiting for him to come around the curve, but you don’t see him. The setting sun has painted the room in molten orange. You perch yourself at the edge of the bed in a pool of it, fiddling with the delicate pendant at your throat.

When he does walk through the door, he barely spares you a look. He undoes his tie with sure fingers, and begins on the buttons of his shirt. You lick your lips nervously.

“Ari?” The look he fixes you with is icy enough to make you regret saying anything.

“I don’t remember telling you to speak.” There’s a cruel, almost mocking edge to his words that makes you shiver. Your mouth snaps shut audibly, and his lips curl into a cold smile. “Good girl.” He takes a painfully long time with the buttons, slowly undoing each one.

“Kitten you made me very angry today,” Ari says as he folds the shirt over his thick forearm. “Do you know why?” Your tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth as you swallow dryly.

“I… I shut you out,” you say tentatively, and Ari inclines his head, like he’s imploring you to continue. “And I broke my promise.”

“That’s a start.” He lays the shirt neatly across the dresser. “What else?”

“I left without telling you?”

“Kitten you put yourself in danger.” Ari folds his arms across his chest and frowns at you. “Come.” It isn’t an Alpha command, but it doesn’t matter. Your body lurches into motion anyway. You stand in front of him nervously, and Ari fingers the hem of your shirt as his nose wrinkles.

“Take this off. All of it.” He watches you with dark, unreadable eyes. You’ve never seen Ari this angry with you before—naively, you had thought perhaps that he would never be. You’re still nervous to stand there in front of him, and you’re tempted again to speak, but you resist the urge.

It’s a strange and thrilling intersection, your fear of your mate’s reprisal and your body’s response to his need to exert dominance. You cock your head to the side, submissively exposing the side of your throat. Ari makes a low, appreciative noise, trailing his fingers across the healed mark at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You still aren’t used to the wanton heat that is steadily growing at the apex of your thighs at the intensity of Ari’s scent, aren’t used to the wild, rampant need he inspires in you.

You know he can scent it, the way his nostrils twitch and his pupils dilate. There is almost as much being said without words as with them, you realize as you watch him. He’s not going to give you orders or instructions—he wants you to prove how sorry you are, to reaffirm that you’re his, that you want to be. He’s still angry, you can see it in the stiffness of his jaw, the square set of his shoulders. He’s waiting—waiting to see what you’ll do.

Ari doesn’t stop you when you reach for the button on his pants. You peek up at him through your lashes, waiting for reprisal that doesn’t come. The plush bedroom carpeting is soft under your knees when you drop to them, your mate silently watching as you pull his pants down his toned thighs. His cock is already half hard, the thick outline of it through his briefs makes your tongue dart out to wet your dry lips.

You trace the shape of him with your finger, and he throbs under your touch. As you slide the elastic band down, his cock bounces out, shiny precum beading at the tip. A soft, surprised breath escapes from between your lips, and your cheeks heat up with embarrassment when Ari laughs. He’s velvet smooth, veins throbbing hotly underneath the skin as you palm the heavy weight of his cock in your hands.

He hums with approval when you stroke him, straining to touch your thumb and forefinger around his girth. You lean forward, wetting your lips with your tongue before lapping tentatively at his head. Salty and musky but not unpleasant.

Ari is watching you, you don’t need to look to confirm it. You can feel his eyes on you as you lean forward to close your lips completely around the head of his cock. His hips buck softly, forcing him deeper into your mouth. Emboldened, you cup the heavy weight of his sac in one hand, kneading it gently between your fingers. He hisses, pulling away, and the head of his cock slips from between your lips with a soft pop. You sit primly on your knees, watching as your mate palms his cock with a groan.

“Open your mouth, Omega. Tongue out.” You do as he says, opening your mouth wide as your tongue lolls out over your bottom lip. Ari taps his cock against the flat of your tongue, thrusting into your open mouth. He makes a lusty, appreciative noise deep in his throat and strokes your jaw with the back of his hand.

“I wish you could see yourself, Kitten.” He says, pushing in until the head of his cock bumps the back of your throat. You gag around him a little and he curses under his breath, holding himself there for a second longer before pulling out. Your cunt clenches helplessly around nothing and tears gather in the corners of your eyes as Ari repeats the motion, sliding his cock back and forth over your tongue and down your throat.

There’s a growing buzz at the back of your skull, a pleasant hazy feeling that makes your eyelids droop as you nurse at Ari’s dick, tongue moving against his shaft. You tug softly at his balls, and Ari’s hips stutter, a low moan leaving his lips.

“Good, Kitten,” he praises you. The needy, feral thing in your hindbrain purrs excitedly. Alpha is pleased. “Need you just like this.” He thrusts all the way in until your nose bumps the trimmed hair at the base of his thick cock. Ari’s cock is halfway down your throat, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth as you stare up at him with glassy, wet eyes. You struggle to breathe around him, short, shuddering breaths making your vision swim. Ari pulls out, stroking himself with an appreciative groan as he stares at your cock-drunk face.

“Bed.” You rush to obey, clamoring onto the mattress. “Present, for me, Kitten.” It sends a thrill through you, not to be able to see him as you press your forehead to the duvet, though you can feel him behind you. You shudder as he runs a finger down your soaked, messy slit, and he clucks his tongue at you. “Dripping,” he says, laughing. Embarrassment makes your face hot even as your cunt sucks at the tip of his index finger. “Enjoy sucking Alpha’s cock, Sweetheart?” When you don’t answer right away, he delivers a stinging slap that you hear before you feel, the cheek of your ass smarting.

“Y-yes!” He soothes the sting with a gentle pass of his hand before he delivers another one. You squirm, yelping as you press your face into the mattress.

“Do you know why this is happening, Omega?” He asks, the palm of his hand cracking across your ass again as you let out a miserable moan. Ari’s fingers slip between the cheeks of your ass, playing at your entrance as you try to cobble together an answer.

“I-I d-didn’t trust A-alpha,” you whimper. You’re wetter than ever, his fingers making lewd squelching sounds as they slide through your folds. Ari pulls back only to strike you again with another sharp slap.

“And?”

“A-and I—ah!” Ari’s palm connects again, and this time a sob leaks from between your trembling lips. The contrast between the thick fingers playing at your entrance and the stinging numbness is dizzying, and Ari doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, refusing to let up as he lays into you, hard.

“You made me worry about you,” he says, his voice low, angry. Another spank. “You shut me out.” Another, and another until you’re gasping for air, tears soaking into the sheets below you.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry Alpha!” You cry, voice muffled as you wait for another round of harsh spanks that don’t come. Instead, you feel Ari’s arms encircle your waist, and you hiccough as he draws you against his chest. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your face into the hollow of his neck, sniffling.

“This doesn’t happen again, Omega,” he says sternly, even as he presses his face into your hair. “Understand?”

“Yes, Alpha,” you say meekly, lifting a trembling hand to wipe at your puffy cheeks. A low, pleased rumble emanates from his chest.

“Good.” Ari nudges your thighs apart with his hand, cupping your swollen, messy cunt against his palm. You mewl against his throat as he sinks two fingers into your wet heat, testing your readiness. You clench around them eagerly, and he chuckles. “My needy Omega,” he says. “You want me to split you open on my knot, don’t you Kitten?” You nod eagerly, and you can hear the smug grin in his voice. “Beg.”

You run your tongue across your dry lips. “Please, Alpha.”

“I can’t hear you.” You lean away from his neck, your face warm.

“Please—”

“Look at me.” Slowly, you drag your eyes up to his.

“Please, Alpha.” Ari says nothing, but you feel his grip tighten on your hips. It’s the only warning you get before he slams you down onto his cock. The words in your throat die in a ragged moan as his cock forces them out of you. The slight sting of his entry is more than made up for by the delicious fullness that makes you groan as he presses in as far as he possibly can, his teeth bared. Your thighs tighten around his hips, fingers digging into his shoulders as he ruts up into you.

“Kitten this fucking pussy,” he growls, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs your head to the side. “Can’t get enough.” You can already feel his knot swelling at the base of his cock, and the stretch of it makes your eyes roll. Warm, heady pleasure erodes most of your conscious thoughts, and Ari is driving it, pushing you further and further, as far as he can.

Your legs tremble and seize about his hips as you cum, sticky pleasure rolling down your nerve endings like honey as you float. Ari fucks you straight through, holding you tight enough to bruise as he buries himself inside you as far as he possibly can. His thick cock feels even thicker for the knot locking the two of you in place, and you shudder as his teeth slide into the mark at your neck.

He pants wetly against your throat, holding you still as the air cools between you. Ari traces patterns on your hip with his fingers, and you press a soft kiss to his collarbone. After a minute or two, he pulls back, his mouth leaving your throat.

“I really am sorry.” You say in a small voice, and he sighs, his arms tightening around you briefly before relaxing.

“I know, Kitten.” He sighs. “I shouldn’t have kept things from you.” You try hard not to look surprised. It isn’t often that your mate admits wrongdoing, and you know it isn’t easy for him to eat crow. “I’m going to try and be better about that.”

“I promise not to shut you out again.” You rest your head against his chest. “And you promise to be honest with me.”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

to be continued…

Next chapter

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muninnhuginn · 6 days

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putting the mob psycho cast in a severance au would legit be so fascinating

#something about how the characters are all so incredibly influenced by their personal history that stripping that from them leaves little #obviously you couldn't remove powers from this scenario but say for mob would that mean he'd basically go through his whole...#like. share his powers about until it backfires all over again? is it actually that inevitable? or would being surrounded by others help?#and reigen is all bluster + bluffing that I could imagine his innie would be so different it would be jarring. ordinary + earnest. bizarre.#and then teru. if he meets mob from the start then he would entirely bypass his centre of the world deal but may not jump to hero worship #bc that only happened in the first place due to how he defined himself. ritsu would probably lack the ingrained fear of powers but #his jealousy may manifest itself earlier if both teru and mob are there. would he still have the same connection to mob w/o his memories?#anyway anyway. I know severance aus could work for loads of series but I just think this one would be /fascinating/ from a chara study pov #mp100 #severance

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fiendishartist2 · 2 years

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would you tell me, if i was worthy?– mp100 ageswap

"So, what do you think?"

Reigen Arataka, 14 year old con-artist and psychic-in-training, stood in front of his boss and mentor, Shigeo 'Mob' Kageyama. He swished back and forth restlessly, randomly throwing out hand gestures and posing to show off his outfit.

Mob blinked at his student. In his haste to leave for their next job, he hadn't noticed the boy come in. Now that he had, he was growing very confused– although, you wouldn't be able to tell by his blank, tired expression.

Reigen was dressed in a typical middle school girl's uniform, down to his shiny black mary-janes and the red bow on his chest. He even managed to pull his dirty blond middle-part into two stubby pigtails. He smoothed out his blue pleated skirt with a proud grin.

"You look… nice?" Mob said tentatively. Honestly, he didn't know what Reigen wanted to hear because he had no idea what was going on in the first place. Obviously, he answered incorrectly because Reigen puffed out his cheeks and scowled at Mob.

"Wh- yeah, I know! But I'm dressed up for a reason, shishou!" Reigen crossed his arms, pacing absentmindedly with loud clicks of his shoes, "This is my disguise for sneaking into the clients' school!"

Sighing, Mob closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We are not sneaking in, Arataka, I thought I told you this already." He held the front door open for his student and locked it behind them. With that, they started for the train station.

"But those girls said the school wouldn't let us on campus!" Reigen huffed. He was scrambling to keep up with Mob's long strides. Mob slowed down.

"And I said I would handle it." He squinted down at his dressed-up apprentice, "The costume is unnecessary… Where did you even get that?"

As Mob paid for the turnstile, he felt a small hand twist into the back of his coat. Linked by Reigen, they passed through the turnstile together without paying for two tickets. He felt a little guilty for how little he cared about Reigen's subtle delinquencies– wasn't he supposed to be a good influence on the boy? But, he really couldn't bring himself to scold Reigen for sneaking onto the train or scamming a few yen out of his classmates once in a while. He shook his head, tuning back into their conversation.

"Did I tell you that my sister's at college again? She left behind a lot of her stuff when she moved out, and she said I could borrow her old school uniform. Too bad she didn't go to the clients' school, but she did have friends there. I tried asking her about the spirit, but she didn't know anything about it…"

He trailed off as Mob poked at one of his dangling earrings. Did he pierce his ears too? They were big and heart shaped, decorated with glittering rainbow rhinestones. Eccentric, but stylish, in Mob's opinion. Definitely belonged to-

"Oh yeah, that stuff is Hanazawa's. I don't approve of his fashion sense, but he has a lot of cute jewellery." Reigen fiddled with the clips littering his blond hair. He lingered on a shimmering butterfly clip by his ear.

Mob hummed, "That was nice of him, to lend you all of that."

Mob's other employee, Teruki Hanazawa, was a newer addition to the Spirits and Such team. He acted as their PR manager– really, that just meant he manned the website (a horrible neon mess of spaghetti-code and 144p gifs) and talked to clients when Mob was busy with exorcisms. Since he joined, Mob's noticed an uptick in returning clients and a significantly more positive atmosphere in the office. Mob was just happy to have someone else talk in his place, as his own demeanour seemed to put people off and Reigen had a bad habit of overcharging clients. Plus, Teru got along great with Reigen. That was enough for Mob to let the ex-criminal esper work at his office.

Reigen grinned and Mob could only imagine the fuss Teru had made about getting to play dress-up with his employee. He probably set up an impromptu fashion show in his apartment the instant Reigen expressed his idea for his 'disguise'. Mob huffed a low laugh at the image of Teru and Reigen exchanging office gossip and painting each others' nails like school girls.

They took their seats on the sparsely populated train. Mob dug through his messenger bag, pulling out the Mobboy Colour he gladly shared with his student. It would be easier to let Reigen carry it around, but he had a knack for randomly losing things. And Mob won't deny, he liked to pop in a puzzle game occasionally when commuting to the office. Reigen took the Mobboy wordlessly, turning it around to check that his copy of PokeMob Ruby was still inside.

"Did I tell you I almost have all of my gym badges?" His student boasted, face shining as he looked up at his mentor. Mob peered out the window, trying to remember truthfully if he did know that. Reigen turned his attention back to his game, waving his hand around dismissively.

"I had to train a new ghost-type team, but I finally beat the psychic gym. It was no big deal though, with my new super strong team."

Mob peeked over his shoulder, "Is that why you have so many revives?" His face conveyed no emotion, but Reigen gasped and stammered at the accusation anyways.

"Th-that's nothing! Just a precaution, y'know, for when I need it, eventually…"

Mob smiled knowingly, leaning back in his seat. He hummed a faint laugh at his student's theatrics. They made idle chatter for the rest of the ride as Reigen showed off all of his rare and shiny PokeMob.

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

Once they got off of the train, they walked the rest of the way to the highschool. Reigen guided them around the winding residential area with a map on his phone. Mob was a little amazed– he didn't even know his phone had a map.

Reigen paid no mind to the people mulling about the streets, skipping the whole way as he talked his mentor's ear off. He jumped from topic to topic at breakneck speed. As always, Mob tried to keep up with their conversation, but he couldn't help but get distracted. Passing mothers chittered about how cute 'that man and his daughter' were and other teenagers heading to school doled out compliments on Reigen's accessories. It was all very nice in a way that was still new to Mob.

As he was lost in thought, they rounded on their destination. Reigen grabbed onto Mob's sleeve abruptly, dragging his mentor to the front gates of the clients' school before he could protest.

A security guard was stationed at the entrance. He perked up as Reigen and Mob came into view, holding out a hand to stop the pair.

"Good afternoon. How can I help you, miss?" He leaned down slightly, smiling lightly at Reigen. In response, Reigen sent him a smile so innocent it was nearly angelic. He looped his arms around one of Mob's.

"We're gonna need to take a tour of the school, to make sure it's exactly what we want. I'm going into highschool next year." Mob thought about stopping Reigen before he could spin an elaborate lie that would surely get away from both of them, but for now, it seemed to be getting them into the school. And Mob wasn't exactly keen on making a scene by trying to get to the clients another way. So, he sighed and let himself be a pawn in his student's scheme.

Mob cleared his throat, straightening out his already stiff clothing. He tried to remember how his mother held herself– authoritative and serious in a way that lent her an air of untouchability. Judging by how the guard stiffened and peered up at Mob with wide eyes, he overcompensated.

Reigen nudged his arm, giving him a significant look. Mob couldn't read what he was mouthing, but the guard was extending his hand hesitantly.

Mob realised that he was supposed to be giving the man a handshake, like sensible adults normally do. He tried to be firm, but his hands were shaking a little from the pressure.

"Shigeo Kageyama." He greeted, "And this is my…" Mob faultered, unsure what Reigen was planning.

Reigen caught on immediately, "-Daughter!" He cut in smoothly. Mob stumbled over his words for a second– he didn't know that was the angle Reigen wanted to approach this at.

"...Yes, my- uhm, my daughter… A- Ayaka." Reigen's smile strained, growing more plastic the more they fumbled this interaction.

The guard frowned, "I'm sorry, sir, but parents aren't permitted access to campus grounds on such short notice-" Reigen's shiny pink nails dug into Mob's sleeve.

"But-!" He stuttered, eyes frantic with alarm. Mob shut his eyes against the embarrassing scene– it was starting to make his stomach turn watching Reigen grasp for straws. He knew he should step in, but his voice was dead in his throat and all he wanted was to give up on the job and go back to the office.

Then Reigen started to wail.

Mob whipped around to stare wide-eyed at his student. He was crying like a siren, face red and scrunched as tears poured down his cheeks. The ear-ringing sound was punctuated by the occasional hiccup and meek sniffle.

He side-eyed his gawking mentor. When Mob didn't get the message, he stomped on his foot.

"Ah! R-right…" Mob mumbled, tucking Reigen into his side in an awkward hug. Stiffly, he shook his head with a poorly hidden grimace. Mob never claimed to be an actor.

"I'm sorry, Ara- uh!" He swallowed shakily, "Ayaka just gets um, emotional when she's not with me. So…" Mob wracked his brain for anything else to say, but came up empty handed. His face grew hot the longer the silence stretched.

Fortunately, Reigen was a better actor (or liar) than him, "I-if only I didn't have s-s-seperation anxiety!" He punctuated the condition. His fake stutter made Mob surpress a wince– it was a little too put on. Reigen watched slyly as the guard broke out into a sweat.

In response, Reigen squeezed out another round of sobs. Mob was almost impressed that he still had water to shed.

"Oh, why did Mom have to leave us?" Reigen continued dramatically. At least that club he finally joined is teaching him something… Mob thought. Reigen sniffled loudly.

"N-now I can't even be with my d-dad either!" He buried his face in Mob's arm with a final whimpering cry, sealing the deal. Their target was pale and sweaty, with the guilty expression of someone who just made a teenage girl cry.

The guard scrambled to take their names and hand them day passes. He shrunk under Mob's steely gaze, blubbering apologies and platitudes. Unaware of the face he was making, Mob was trying to calm down from the stress of keeping up with Reigen's lie on the spot like that.

As they walked past the entrance and out of earshot of the guard, Reigen pried himself from Mob's side. He wiped his face of crocodile tears, leaving behind a smirk.

"Wow, that guy was easy. All I had to do was fake cry a little and boom!" He brandished the laminated card hanging by his neck on a lanyard, "You're welcome, shishou." Reigen sing-songed smugly. Mob resisted the urge to roll his eyes, choosing instead to pat the top of his student's head.

"Good job." He said, voice flat but sincere. Reigen preened under his praise, swishing his skirt more and more as his walking once again turned to skipping.

"Where are we supposed to meet the clients again?" Reigen popped his head into a random room. Shouting and laughing filtered out of the occupied class and Reigen jumped back, slamming the door in shock. There was already a spitball stuck in his hair.

"The roof. They should be waiting up there for us…" Reigen hummed, joining Mob's side again. He eyed the classrooms suspiciously. Mob flicked away the spitball, floating it into a nearby trashcan.

As they made their way up the stairs, Mob lagged behind his spritely student. Sure, Mob had started working out at that surprisingly welcoming gym down the road from his office, but he had nowhere near the level of energy a fourteen year old possessed. Unsurprisingly, he was out of breath by the time they hit the top of the school.

While Mob caught his breath, Reigen spotted a group of girls sitting in a circle together. They were laughing roughly, in a way that was cool to Reigen and obviously forced to Mob. A bag of chips sat between them and they were passing around a single measly cigarette. It was kind of pathetic, if Mob was being honest.

Nonetheless, Reigen sauntered up to the girls. He stopped just in front of them, a hand on his hip and the other by his chin. Their conversation fizzled out and each girl wore a varying expression of annoyance. Mob frowned.

"Hey, what's up?" Reigen said with a lazy wave. He wedged himself between two of the girls, sitting down and crossing his legs. He perched his chin on his palm, elbow resting on his knee. A confident smirk pulled at his lips.

The girls leaned away from him. One of them rolled her eyes.

"Nothing, just waiting for you to leave." The girl in the middle snarked. Her friends snickered, sharing sharp grins. Reigen laughed along half-heartedly. He leaned back on his hands, desperately trying for the same cool nonchalance the group of girls exuded.

"Right, right." He nodded, "But uh-" again, he smirked, pointing towards their little pile of snacks in between them, "I mean, what are you guys up to? Skipping class? Maybe… hiding from something?" With a raised eyebrow, he shot them a meaningful look. While Mob wasn't the best at social cues, even he could tell what Reigen was asking– were they the clients who had hired them to exorcise the school?

Apparently not, as they quickly became enraged.

The student on his left leaned into Reigen's space, poking him square in the chest. Her pink striped hair extension was coming loose.

"What are you, some kinda snitch?!" She snarled, "Back off, kid!"

Reigen reared back, hands windmilling as he scrambled to explain himself. As a hand landed on his shoulder, Reigen stilled.

Mob squatted behind Reigen, leaning over his shoulder to level the girls with an unimpressed stare. His mouth was pulled into a hard line, his eyes shadowed by his dark fringe. The girls paled. One of them quickly snuffed out their single cigarette behind her back.

"Do you mind if I ask why you girls are out of class?" He asked, monotone voice icy and harsh. They shared a nervous look.

"W-well-!" The girl who had been yelling at Reigen started, fiddling with her single, tame nose piercing.

"And picking on a middle schooler? Is bullying my daughter fun for you?" Mob cut them off darkly. He channelled the glare he had accidentally sent to the front gates' guard. The girl on Reigen's right squeaked– her eyes widened under many layers of black eyeliner.

"Ah! Sir, w-we're so sorry! We had no idea-" the girl with the hair extension nodded along to her friend, "A-and we were just heading back to class anyways! Please don't rat us out!" With that, she grabbed the other two girls by their sleeves and ran to the stairwell. They didn't even take the half-eaten bag of chips.

Reigen stood quickly, brushing his sweaty hands on his skirt.

"I'm guessing those weren't the clients?" Reigen shot Mob an angry pout.

"Shishou, I can't tell if you're trying to make fun of me or not…" He huffed.

"N-no! Of course not-!" Mob's embarrassed scramble to reassure his student was cut off by a pair of snickers.

Two highschool girls hopped off of a set of vents and walked towards them.

"You're the guys from 'Spirits and Such', right?" The taller girl asked as her friend continued to giggle at their expense. Reigen stepped in front of his mentor with a perfect customer-service grin.

"Reigen Arataka, future greatest psychic of the 21st century!" He introduced himself grandly. While he was posing smugly, the clients were red-faced, trying to hold in their laughter. Reigen jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

"And this is my boss, Mob! We're here to solve your supernatural problems, 99% satisfaction guaranteed!" Mob just hummed in agreement, fighting the urge to stare at his shoes.

The clients shared a sceptical look, but explained their dilemma anyway.

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

The spirit was easily taken care of by a disgruntled Mob and overzealous Reigen, spurred on by the cheering basketball players.

Mob wiped his clammy hands on his coat, expression twisting into one of uncharacteristic disgust. Eventually, he managed to tear Reigen away from girls pinching his cheeks and complimenting his outfit. All Mob wanted to do was crash on his couch and fall asleep to a shitty action movie, at this point.

The clients thanked them at the gates, drawing out small novelty wallets shaped like cartoon characters. Reigen was practically vibrating with excitement.

"No need to get those out. I'm not accepting payment." Mob addressed the girls. Reigen bristled at his side.

"What!? But we exorcised that evil guy!" He exclaimed. Mob shook his head, completely ignoring Reigen.

"If anything else shows up, please don't hesitate to contact us. We will take care of it."

The girls thanked him profusely. They put away their wallets with silent sighs of relief– blowing all of their birthday money on an exorcist isn't something either wanted to explain to their parents.

As they walked back to the train station, Reigen could barely hide his annoyance. He crossed his arms, refusing to face his mentor.

"I hope you understand why I did that, Arataka." Reigen rolled his eyes, but let him continue, "Those girls…" Mob's gaze shifted to the sky, tracing the pathways of birds that flew overhead. His eyes shone in the orange afternoon light, distaste glittering in his red irises.

"They needed our help, more than they wanted us to know. Spirits usually scare people who can't fight them, but…" Reigen kicked a pebble and it skittered across the cracked sidewalk, "That spirit was especially upsetting to them. The things it said were very… creepy." Mob's face twisted into a faint sneer.

"It's not right to take advantage of something like that." He placed a tentative hand on Reigen's shoulder. Reigen huffed, leaning into his mentor– he never understood why Mob was so skittish when it came to casual physical contact like that, so he tried to reinforce it every time. Reigen wasn't much of a hugger, but when your only source of genuine care lied in an emotionally stunted power keg, you learned to take whatever you could get.

"Sometimes… we need to help others without asking for anything in return." They boarded the train and took their seats. Reigen turned to look out the window. He sighed.

"Yeah, I get it, shishou." He conceded, "If I'm being honest, that guy did skeeve me out a bit." His earrings clinked together as he fiddled with them.

Reigen wanted to feel sorry for asking for payment, but he really couldn't. The generous cut he earned from each job helped him out more than Mob would ever know. Sure, his parents assured him that rent and groceries and utilities and all other manner of things a middle schooler shouldn't have to worry about weren't his problems, but Reigen wasn't stupid. He could see the instant relief in his mother's eyes when he brought home his paycheck. Sure, it wasn't those girls' faults he was dirt poor, but he couldn't help the feeling of resentment coating the back of his throat. He would just have to suck it up and hope Mob would treat them to dinner for the next week.

Reigen yawned, loud and obnoxious. That was a problem for future Reigen– present Reigen was too exhausted to dwell on anything depressing. Man, fake crying really takes it out of a guy, huh? he thought as he drifted to sleep, head lolling back and mouth wide open as he snored. Drool rolled down the side of his cheek and Mob grimaced at it the whole ride back.

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

That night, Mob bid his student goodnight outside his small apartment. As he made his way to his own shitty flat, Mob wondered if he did the right thing.

He wasn't stupid– he saw the way Reigen's eyes lit up everytime Mob paid him after a job. Not with greed, but a relief that made Mob's stomach twist. Like a massive weight was lifted off of his shoulders with each bill.

As much as Mob wanted to, he was incapable of prying into his student's home life. Every conversation Mob tried to start by subtly hinting at something being not quite right at home, Reigen would talk circles around him until he dropped it to avoid arguing with the boy. But from what he'd observed, it didn't look great. Mob just hoped he was doing enough by treating his student to dinner whenever he got the chance.

Mob shuffled into his home. He shucked off his loafers, slipping into a pair of bunny slippers (Reigen got them as a gag-gift– Mob genuinely likes them) and hanging up his dark coat.

Without changing out of his work clothes, Mob laid down on his couch. He queued up a movie– one of Reigen's B-movies he must have left in the DVD player the last time he came over.

Mob pulled an old, ratty blanket over himself, curling into its fraying fibres. Sleep pulled at his eyelids, the soft hum of his TV luring him to sleep.

Suddenly, Mob's phone chimed.

He knew before flipping it open who it would be; Reigen had added himself to Mob's contacts the second his mentor gifted him his first phone, setting a very distinct ringtone for himself. Whenever Reigen texted, Mob's phone would scream out the theme song to Reigen's favourite anime: Sailor Moon. The opening lyrics had been burned into Mob's memory at that point.

Reigen had texted him a few pictures he took in the gym– right in the middle of the exorcism, it seemed. Mob was across the room, turned away from the camera as bright lights circled himself and the spirit; meanwhile, Reigen was posing in the foreground with the basketball players whose game they had interrupted. He sent three different pictures– although it seemed the only differences were the faces Reigen and the girls were making. Accompanying the photos was a string of texts: 'can we get one printed for the office?' and then, 'i was thinking of starting a bulletin board' and, 'yknow for like showing future clients how many jobs we've done?'. Mob sent back a single thumbs up.

Reigen continued to send Mob pictures he had taken at each of their past jobs, trying to convince his mentor to print them all. He wasn't dissuaded by Mob's clipped responses– a simple 'Okay.' from Mob was the equivalent of an enthusiastic yes from anyone else. Reigen was well adjusted to Mob's 'old woman typing' as he liked to call it.

At Mob's light scolding for being up too late on a school night, Reigen reluctantly ended their conversation. He parted with a final photo from the night– Reigen and Mob, mid-conversation and completely unaware of the camera. Mob had a faint smile on his face. The picture was a little blurry, like Reigen had taken it accidentally while talking animatedly with his hands.

As Mob stared at their happy faces, he felt his heart warm. Just a few years ago, he was isolated from the world; never letting himself hope to have any meaningful connections with another person. But here he was– regularly hunting for the paranormal with Tome, finding a new employee and friend in Teru, building a new relationship to his health with the help of his friends at the gym. And continuing to look after Reigen, finally starting to feel like maybe he wasn't doomed to hurt the people in his care. Like he was finally worthy of being someone to care about in turn.

Mob set the picture as his phone background.

He fell asleep on the couch once again, drifting off to the quiet ambience of his apartment.

#reposting bc i think putting too many tags on the og post broke it lol it cant be searched for on my blog #so im retrying but w/o all of the tags explaining my ageswap au ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ sorry #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #reigen arataka #shigeo kageyama #my fic #dont tag this as anything but platonic or else #ageswap #mp100 ageswap

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