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mylittlemystery · 3 years ago

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Even and Odd

Summary: Korekiyo follows up on his curiosity.

A/N: I got a couple requests to write a sequel to one of my former works, which explains the incredible title, so here’s Shuichi getting his comeuppance. As always, never send in requests expecting them to be filled; I only write those I genuinely feel like writing.

Being pinned against the ground certainly wasn’t how Shuichi had expected to be spending his Thursday afternoon, but one couldn’t exactly predict these sorts of things. A mere stroke of courage had entangled him in this scenario, wrists high above his head clutched within one of the Ultimate Anthropologist’s bony hands, and he was starting to truly regret his instance of naive brazenness by this point in time. “W-wait, Kiyo!” he spluttered, trying and failing to keep his voice steady, a shaky smile playing on his lips. “I’m sorry!” The last word of his sentence broke into quite the surprised yelp at the sudden shock of five fingertips ghosting against his left side, forgoing speaking for clenching down on his bottom lip instead.

“As I said, there is no need for you to apologize,” Korekiyo replied in his typically even tone, feigning ignorance towards his fellow student’s giddy panic. Though his mouth was obscured by his mask like always, the playful smile he was wearing traveled all the way up to his eyes. “I gave you permission, did I not? However…” As he paused his fingers began to pick up speed ever so slightly, lengthy nails scratching the clothed skin as best as they could through their bandages. “I think it’s only fair that I should be allowed to do the same to you, wouldn’t you agree?”

Shuichi couldn’t bring himself to respond for fear of accidentally letting any titters slip, so he instead opted to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid that teasing gaze. He could feel his cheeks burning with an embarrassed flush already, but he couldn’t exactly do anything to stop it from spreading across the rest of his face. He was pathetically ticklish, to the point where a graze in the wrong spot would make him flinch, and the other’s methodical touch was definitely not doing him any favors.

“Hm? Whatever is the matter?” Korekiyo asked as if such an ordeal was perfectly ordinary. “There’s no need to be so bashful; there’s nobody here besides the pair of us…” After a beat of silence, he cocked his head to one side in a display of coyish knowledge reminiscent of an owl. “Then again, you don’t seem to be struggling as much as one would expect from somebody in your position...pardon my assumption, but I can’t help but wonder if you’re enjoying yourself?”

Despite his best efforts to not reveal to the other that the bullseye had been hit, Shuichi’s abrupt pang of humiliation was as clear as crystal in his wide eyed expression. He started shaking his head to and fro rather violently, blissfully unaware of just how little good such an action did, a few strands of his jet black hair moving to lay astray across his forehead.

“No?” Korekiyo echoed as he cocked an impish eyebrow. “I must admit, I find that hard to believe…” Without any semblance of a hint that he might do so, he let the other’s wrists go free. Unfortunately for the Ultimate Detective, this was only so that his right hand could join the left one in tapping along the sensitive flesh.

As soon as Shuichi’s frazzled brain realized that he could move his arms again, his hands immediately flew down to cup themselves over his face protectively. “Nohohohohoooo!” he whimpered most pitifully, his voice slightly muffled by its newfound guard. Although he knew it would be better for his ego if he started fighting off the other’s hands, the plain and honest truth was that he couldn’t bring himself to make it end just yet; he didn’t get to laugh like this very often, so carefree and open, and it was a very refreshing take on his typically tense train of thought. With this basest urge sending smoke up from the pit of his stomach, he meekly tried to curl into the fetal position instead (to no avail, one might add).

At this reaction, Korekiyo let a sly chortle of his own slip. “Kehehe...just as I thought,” he murmured more to himself than anyone else. “You really are shy, aren’t you Shuichi? There’s no shame in liking an activity as innocent as tickling.” His hands started to climb up and down Shuichi’s torso like it was a ladder, paying careful attention to the ribs and hips once he reached them. “Although, it can be quite overstimulating if it goes on for a long duration of time...as I mentioned before, it’s been used as a method of torture in many parts of the globe; such instances can go on for hours, until the receiver is nothing more than a tearful ball of abused nerves. Tickling can be especially torturous for those who are significantly more ticklish than what is considered average, but what’s most interesting from my perspective is what kind of tickling-”

“Dohon’t sahahaay thahat wohohohohooord!” Shuichi cried out unprompted, his entire face now a vibrant cherry blossom pink behind his hands.

“Hm? You mean tickling?” It was clear by both the tone of his voice and his slitted eyelids that Korekiyo was most certainly going to use this tiny tidbit to his advantage. “What about it upsets you? The word tickle, along with all of its variants, is no different than any other verb; this tickles, that tickles, and so on and so forth are just another instance of the many ways humanity has learned to communicate with one another. Besides, I happen to think it’s a rather elegant sounding word: tickle, tickle, tickle…”

Shuichi felt like he was going insane as he listened to the dreaded word sliding off the taller boy’s tongue like a fine silk, his laughter growing higher in pitch and taking on a more frantic intonation as the minutes ticked on. It felt like all the thoughts that dared to try and run across his mind were roughly thrown into a blender, where they were forced to spin furiously until they were nothing more than incomprehensible mush.

“Then again, I suppose if you really want a change of pace, you could simply answer my question from earlier…” With this, Korekiyo’s fingers began to slow down until they were no more than tapping against the quivering body.

Shuichi didn’t take such a reprieve for granted, greedily gulping down as much air as he could through his burning lungs, his basic thinking skills slowly coming back to him. “H-huh?” he gasped lamely once he had enough comprehension to do so.

“Do you have any of these so-called sweet spots?” Korekiyo repeated, a dangerous flame dancing just beyond his pupils.

It felt to Shuichi as though his heart had just swandived all the way down to the soles of his feet as the memory of the terrible question came back into focus for him, his wobbly smile growing even wider than it had been before (he was grateful that nobody on the outside could see this). He was quite sure that even if he wanted to say the truthful answer aloud, his dry mouth and tight throat wouldn’t allow him to do such a thing. With that in mind, he allowed himself to internally writhe at the anxiety-inducing silence.

“I assure you there’s no need to rush,” Korekiyo told the other in a deceptively calm voice, fingertips continuing their teasingly drawn out tapdance all the while. “Take as much time as you need - I’ll wait for however long it may take you to come up with your response…”

Shuichi silently cursed to himself as it struck him just how badly he had backed himself into a corner, his mind racing fruitlessly to find some sort of unseen escape route. When none were uncovered, however, he forced himself to swallow down what small shred of his pride remained. “Th-thighs,” he mumbled at such a low volume that it could scarcely be considered a whisper, unable to recall another time in his life where he had felt quite this humiliated.

Mercifully, Korekiyo did not make the detective repeat the response, and instead shifted his body weight from the waistline down onto the calves. “Ah, I see...the majority of your sensitivity resides within your legs, hm? A rather interesting place, but I digress.” His hands hesitated for a moment above the aforementioned area, knuckles flexing ever so slightly, before they took up a new tactic of gently pinching the substantial amount of muscle as if it were nothing more than an innocuous lump of uncooked dough.

Shuichi couldn’t even imagine holding back his reactions to such an intense sensation in his dizziest daydreams, so it was no surprise that he instantly dissolved into hearty guffaws when it began down here in reality. His hands shot up to tangle themselves among his already frizzy hair, forearms now taking over the role of protection for his face, as his shoes began to dig themselves into the dirt that was resting beneath them. “OHOH GAHAAAD!” he shrieked, seemingly having underestimated just how overpowering this would be for him. “NAHAHAHAHAAHOOOO!”

Korekiyo’s brows raised briefly, as he seemed to be taken aback by such a strong reaction, but his expression soon morphed into one of half-lidded roguishness. “Well, it certainly seems that you were being truthful with me earlier,” he spoke nonchalantly. “I can only imagine how this must feel...kehehe, I wonder just how much more of this you can take? How will you be able to cope with this extensive sensory overload? How long will you be able to hold out under such strenuous conditions?”

The answer was, evidently, not much longer; Shuichi’s hands had soon lowered themselves to clutch at the other’s forearms, leaving his open mouthed grin exposed for the whole world to see. “OHOKAHAY! OKAY! STAHAP, PLEEHEEHEEHEEEASE!” he begged with a sharp note of desperation in his voice. “KEEHEEHEEHEEYO!”

As soon as this plea hung above the pair’s heads, Korekiyo ceased his attack fairly instantaneously. He climbed off of the shorter one and settled himself down in the grass, watching the other’s chest rise and fall with each labored breath and lingering titter. “My apologies,” he began quite sincerely, “I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries…”

Shuichi found himself unable to answer for a little while, as he was too preoccupied with regaining his bearings, but he calmed himself enough to do so in due time. “N-no,” he managed through still abnormal breaths. “No, you didn’t, don’t worry.” A comfortable silence settled between the pair for a few minutes before the detective rolled onto his side to face the other boy. “Like you said, I guess I brought it on myself, huh?” he confessed with a sheepish little smile, not quite able to bring himself to meet the anthropologist’s gaze head on.

Korekiyo merely blinked coyly in response.

A sudden sharp ringing noise snapped Shuichi out of his serotonin induced stupor, and his heart skipped a beat as he remembered just where he was. “Ah, that’s the bell!” he fretted as he hurried to his feet. “We’d better get back to class.”

Korekiyo righted himself as well, standing tall above the other on his limber legs. “I must admit, I found this time spent with you quite enjoyable,” he disclosed in his usual casual manner. “Maybe we should make this a regular occurence between us?” Though it wasn’t actually enacted, a wink was audible in his tone of voice.

The earlier flush hit Shuichi like a freight train once again, and he had to keep quiet for a moment to ensure that he didn’t end up choking on his own spit. “U-uhm...yeah, s-sure! I-if you want to, I mean!” he tried to say as coolly as possible (failing miserably in doing so, one might add), but the renowned light sparkling behind his eyes betrayed just how excited this prospect made him.

Korekiyo’s eyes fluttered shut contentedly. “I would be honored, Shuichi.” With that, he headed back towards the towering building of the school, the detective scrambling behind him to keep up with his lengthy strides.

#writing #fanfiction #danganronpa #korekiyo shinguji #shuichi saihara #tickling #tickle #tickles #tickled #ticklish #my posts

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

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[CN] S2 Gavin and MC in Chapter 9 - Part One

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from Season 2 🍒

I’m focusing on Gavin and MC, not the plot (because the latter requires extensive time and effort that I can’t spare :’>). So I won’t be explaining certain plot points as I’m unsure of them myself

Do read Ch 2 before proceeding! Otherwise you’ll be completely lost from the very beginning:

MC is in her office looking out for trending topics in the news, and she starts thinking about what Grey Rhino does:

At present, Gray Rhino is one of the most active anti-Evol groups. Its members are found all over the world, and consist of tens of thousands of people.

Most of the members are normal civilians or Evol victims, and are extremely against the existence of Evol. Every member seems to have a snake-shaped tattoo on their body.

From what I understand, they have a hand in the “Small Syringes”, the missing plane and the train incident from not too long ago.

One of her subordinates from Black Swan, Zehn, gives her a call

She’s tasked him to take note of Gray Rhino’s operations, because she thinks they’re going to act again

But he brings her news of STF instead: Apparently, STF has a new commander, but he’s a mystery since he hasn’t made a public appearance

MC: Maybe he’s a shrewd old man.

MC sighs and decides that she needs to investigate into the commander of STF

At this moment, impatient knocks are at the door. Even before I make a sound, Minor has already pushed the door open, rushing to me with extreme anxiousness.

I frantically hang up, turning my head and glowering at Minor.

MC: Why did you barge into my office?

Minor creases his brows, gesturing at the phone in his hand, mouthing some words to me.

Minor: It’s-- Bro-- Gavin--

MC: Gavin?

The words subconsciously leave my lips, and my tone is slightly surprised.

MC: Why did Gavin give you a call to look for me?

A voice drifts from the phone in Minor’s hand.

Gavin: Because your phone line was busy.

I was just having a discussion with my subordinate from Black Swan on how to fish for information regarding the commander of STF...

Feeling a little guilty, I hurriedly take the phone.

MC: Looking for me so urgently - is something wrong?

For a while, there’s silence at the other end of the line.

I wait quietly for Gavin to speak. After a moment, his voice returns.

Gavin: MC, has... anything happened to you lately?

This question is very abrupt, and I find it slightly odd. Thinking that Gavin is asking about the “Small Syringes” incident, I respond.

MC: Nothing’s wrong. I occasionally get strange harassment calls... but the rumours of the company being involved in prohibited drugs are slowly clearing up. As of now, work has returned to normal. Come to think of it, Captain Gavin deserves much thanks for helping me clear up the rumours.

I laugh, adding that last line.

After a soft “oh”, Gavin doesn’t continue.

The silence in the air spreads to both ends of the line. Minor, being incredibly tactful, leaves the room. Before closing the door, he mouths a “Boss, all the best”.

I think of the earlier information received. After hesitating for a moment, I test the waters with a question.

MC: Gavin, it’s been a while since we were in contact. How have you been?

Gavin: I was executing a mission.

Gavin’s breathing is very soft, drifting through the phone and into the receiver.

I can even imagine how he looks, pinching his phone with slight force, his right hand subconsciously tapping lightly on the desk.

The gloomy weather is filled with large, dark clouds. The first rainfall of winter, which has been brewing for a very long time, finally starts pattering down.

The synchronised rustling of rain can be heard over the phone. I lift my head to look out the window, and speak to Gavin softly.

MC: It’s raining.

Gavin: Mm.

The thick sound of rain mucks up a memory, and I continue, thinking aloud.

MC: Rainfall in winter is the coldest... When you’re on missions these days, take note of the weather. When you head out, check the weather forecast, remember to bring an umbrella, and don’t catch a cold.

Gavin once again makes a sound of acknowledgement.

Gavin: Got it.

Another wave of silence hangs on the other end of the line. Just as I hesitate on whether to say goodbye, Gavin suddenly speaks.

Gavin: MC, I need your help with something.

Holding the STF-issued provisional visitor pass, a special officer leads me to the reception room.

Collaborative filming between the STF and [MC’s Company Name] has been shelved temporarily due to the gradually increasing amount of work. Other than the “Small Syringes” incident, it’s been a very long time since I came to the STF.

Special Officer: Miss MC, this is the place.

When the door is pushed open, a familiar voice drifts from inside.

Tang Chao: Yo, it’s you again. If you visit a few more times, I’ll be familiar with you. Your name’s MC, right?

Eli: Is that how you should speak to a lady?

Tang Chao: I’m just establishing good relations early. We’ll probably have many chances to meet in the future.

Aside from Eli whom I’m familiar with, I recognise the youth who doesn’t have a filter over his mouth. He’s Tang Chao, Gavin’s colleague, and the one who pretended to interrogate me the last time.

MC: Special Officer Tang, it’s been a long time.

Gavin: Tang Chao! Who allowed you to be here?

With a “bang”, the door is pushed open with force. Gavin strides into the room with a dark expression, placing files on the table with a thud.

It’s been a long time since I've seen Gavin, and I can’t help but take several looks at him.

Gavin is wearing everyday clothes, and in his deep eyes are the coolness and resoluteness that I'm familiar with.

My gaze remains unmoving, and I vaguely spot a white bandage near his sleeve.

MC: Gavin, are you injured?

Gavin: No.

Tang Chao: He’s lying.

Gavin: ...

MC: ...

Tang Chao grabs the files on the table, whipping his head around to greet him before running out into the corridor swiftly.

Eli: I can’t help much by staying here. The two of you can talk.

The reception room, which was in a state of chaos earlier, suddenly sinks into quietness.

I remain standing in place, somewhat at a loss. Gavin, feeling uneasy, turns his head to the side, releasing a soft cough.

Gavin: They talk too much. Let’s go straight to the main topic.

Gavin plays down on the topic of his injuries, but I know that even if I were to ask, he would only keep it hidden.

I sigh inwardly.

MC: You haven't told me what you needed my help with.

Gavin: We met a witness who has special circumstances, and we need your Evol to read his memories.

MC: Special circumstances? Is his memory impaired? Or did he lose part of his memory from fright?

Gavin shakes his head, and only signals that I should follow him.

In the interrogation room, Gavin briefly explains the situation: the incident happened at a station, and the victim died from a bullet

The witness is an elderly man who is blind

I tug on Gavin’s sleeve, and can’t help but voice the doubts in my heart.

MC: Gavin, since this witness is a blind man, how am I supposed to read his memories?

Gavin: Memories aren’t just images. Sounds, scents, and even touch are parts of memories.

MC: I think I understand what you mean. If footsteps are heard, it could confirm the time when the suspect appeared. If a unique scent is stored in the memory, it could also be a lead to cracking the case.

Gavin nods lightly.

Gavin: That’s why I requested for you to come.

He tells her not to be stressed about it

Unfortunately, MC doesn’t get anything out of reading the witness’ memories

MC: I’m sorry, I don’t have much of a clue.

Gavin nods lightly, and doesn’t say anything. This causes me to feel a little embarrassed.

Even though the case has nothing to do with me, I couldn’t be of any help to him.

Thinking about how he’s been handling Evol cases which come one after another, he must be facing an incredible amount of stress.

Walking out the doors of the interrogation room, Tang Chao happens to pass by.

Tang Chao: You’re going off just like that?

Gavin: ...

Tang Chao: Let’s head to the canteen for a meal. There are chicken drumsticks today.

Gavin blatantly ignores Tang Chao, who had extended an enthusiastic invitation. He turns towards me.

Gavin: I'll send you home. Don’t worry about today’s matter.

Seeing him like this, he’s probably planning to focus wholeheartedly on investigating and not intend to have a proper meal...

Sighing inwardly, I pat my hands and make a wilful decision.

MC: Gavin, you haven’t given me my remuneration. How about this. I’ll treat you to a meal, then you can conveniently send me home.

Gavin: No thanks.

MC: ...

Seeing the awkward expression on my face from being rejected, Gavin seems to be in a great mood, and the corners of his lips lift a tiny bit.

Gavin: I’ll send you home, and conveniently accompany you to a meal.

MC: ...eh?

Gavin: Why are you in a daze? Let’s go.

By the time we walk out of STF, the rain has already stopped. It isn’t time to eat yet, and neither of us are very hungry. We simply head to a nearby snack street to find something random to eat.

The road is flanked on both sides with various snack shops, numerous coloured billboards tightly packed together. In this late afternoon drawing close to evening, business is bustling, and people are walking to and fro.

It is the season where autumn ends and winter begins, and the fragrance of roasted chestnuts is in the air. My mind still ponders on the case from earlier.

MC: Gavin, aren’t there any other witnesses in that case?

Gavin: The crime occurred when the station was most desolate. There weren’t other commuters on the platform.

MC: Since the location of the crime is in a place like the station, aren’t there any surveillance cameras nearby?

Gavin: On the day of the incident, all the surveillance cameras nearby were broken.

While speaking, a large white cat holding a Dragon Li cat in its mouth leaps past us lithely, and Gavin slow down his footsteps.

MC: Looks like it’s a premeditated crime.

I have no other ideas after this, and I decide to ask whatever I can think of.

MC: After the murderer committed the crime, what would have been the first thing he’d have done?

Gavin: Get rid of the murder weapon.

Gavin says this casually. Standing before the roasted chestnut stall, the smile on the boss’ face instantly freezes.

I take the freshly prepared roasted chestnuts, hurriedly pulling Gavin away.

At this moment, I realise on hindsight that Gavin had silently footed the bill, and I had accepted it just like that.

Gavin turns his head and sees me rooted in my original spot. His eyes are caged in the tender glow of sunset.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

MC: Gavin, is there anything you want to eat?

At first, he shakes his head. In the end, he seems to notice the downward tugging at the corners of my lips, and can only struggle in front of the oden noodle shop for a while.

Gavin: One serving of fishballs.

MC: Two servings. And add a serving of fish tofu, chicken wings, chikuwa... please add more chilli.

MC: You have to eat more.

While we’re eating and walking, a clear “bang” suddenly resounds from behind us.

With my mind filled with the shooting incident, I’m so scared that I shift half a step backwards.

Gavin: It’s a shooting game.

Meeting Gavin’s teasing gaze, I laugh awkwardly, and an idea surfaces in my mind.

MC: I know! Let’s go and play that! Since we can’t escape from the topic of “shooting”, we might even get some inspiration from the game.

Gavin: ...that’s going a little far.

Despite what he says, Gavin still accompanies me, walking towards the stall. Seeing that there’s business, the owner immediately calls out to us in a lively manner.

I hold the gun, weigh it in my hand, and look at the target set up in front of me.

Gavin glances at me in surprise, and asks suddenly.

Gavin: You’ve learnt shooting?

MC: Mm, an incredible friend taught me.

Gavin: Which friend?

MC: ...the one who taught me self-defence. He’s very skilled, and is a very nice person too.

Gavin turns his head to the side, looking utterly disinterested, as though he doesn’t believe my big words.

After greeting the stall owner, I hold up the gun and adjust my posture. Settling on the target, I squint with my right eye, pulling the trigger confidently.

Bang--

Brimming with confidence, I look at the target, but realise that I’ve barely hit the 7th ring.

Gavin: Looks like his teaching wasn’t that great.

[Note] If you aren't familiar with Gavin’s dates: S1 Gavin taught MC how to shoot in his Rehearsal Date! So he’s basically insulting himself LOL

In a great mood, Gavin watches the faraway target. Unwilling to lose, I fire several bullets, but the results hover around the 6th and 7th rings.

MC: ...it’s been a long time since I practised, so I’m a little rusty.

After saying this, peals of laughter drift from behind me.

I turn my head, and see a high school couple playing the shooting game too.

Girl: Dear, your shooting skills are really good!

Boy: Dear, wait for me to get the biggest and cutest doll for you.

Once the girl hears the boy’s words, she laughs even more.

A wave of melancholy strikes my heart. Just as I think of setting the gun down, I hear Gavin’s voice at my ear.

Gavin: You’re putting too much weight in front.

Suddenly, a familiar warmth presses against my back. Scorching breaths are at the roof of my head. He holds my hand, resting the butt of the rifle on my shoulder.

MC: !

Gavin: Are you ready?

Gavin rests the first pad of his forefinger over mine, applying pressure on the trigger, not leaving a single gap.

I can feel the calluses as he covers the back of my hand with his, and the heart that’s about to leap out of my chest.

I don’t know if it’s the lingering warmth from sunset, or the temperature of Gavin’s body which is causing my face to feel heated.

Bang--!

The bullet slices through the air, hitting the centre of the target with precision.

Gavin: Do you remember the gist of the action?

I nod with force, the scorching warmth of our skin being pressed together causing the temperature of my face to rise.

Under Gavin’s close guidance, the subsequent eight shots all hit the bullseye.

His eyebrows arch upwards slightly, and he chuckles.

Gavin: Do you still want to try?

Seeing that Gavin is hitting the target with every shot, the stall owner seems to get a fright, and immediately waves his hands.

Stall owner: I’m about to close the stall. You should pick a prize quickly.

Gavin: That one then.

Gavin points at the largest pink bunny plush on the counter. Then, he pauses, tossing me a questioning glance.

MC: Gavin, I want that prize.

I point at a golden coloured ginkgo keychain in the glass cabinet.

Stall owner: Miss, the one you chose is a third-rate prize. It’s of little value.

MC: It’s all right. I like it.

I hold up that ginkgo keychain, the fine leaf made of golden wire reflecting a dazzling light under the sun.

MC: It’d definitely look really nice on a bag!

I turn my head excitedly, and can’t help but flaunt it off to Gavin.

The autumn wind is somewhat gentle. The corners of Gavin’s lips are hooked upwards. His eyes, which are watching me, are flourishing with an amber light.

Gavin: Mm, looks really nice.

[Note] Screaming because it’s left ambiguous in Chinese on whether he’s referring to the ginkgo keychain... or her smile 👀

Right after walking out of the snack street, raindrops patter down.

MC: It’s raining again.

I retrieve my umbrella, and Gavin takes it from me naturally. The transparent umbrella is held steadily above my head.

Gavin: It’s getting late. I’ll send you home. Don’t worry about today’s matter. It has nothing to do with you.

Fine rain continuously slides off the umbrella. Gavin matches my pace, walking forward slowly.

Everything in the rain brings with it a certain hazy and humid quality, reminiscent of an image frequently featured in movies.

Gavin: Where’s your bracelet? Why aren’t you wearing it?

MC: The weather has been too damp these days. I was afraid wearing it out would affect its condition.

Gavin: ...oh.

I lift my head, and see a mother and daughter afar off, getting caught in the rain.

I exchange a glance with Gavin. We reach a tacit understanding, and he nods.

We walk over to the mother and daughter, and give the umbrella to them.

MC: This umbrella is for the both of you.

Mother: How could I take it!

With my persuasion, the mother and daughter finally accept this kindness, and repeatedly thank Gavin and I.

I take out an unimportant document from my bag and use it to cover my forehead. Just as I prepare to share a few sheets with Gavin, a shadow suddenly shrouds the top of my head.

--It’s Gavin’s jacket.

MC: No need. It’s just a little rain, it’d be fine.

Gavin: Didn't you say that rainfall in winter is the coldest?

Not allowing for any protests, Gavin holds the jacket over our heads, ensuring that I wouldn’t get caught in the rain.

Gavin: Let’s go. The journey isn’t long. I’ll send you home. Oh yes, don’t leave the house over the next few days. Especially at night.

His expression is incredibly serious, and even a little stern.

MC: Got it.

Gavin’s jacket covers my head. I breathe in, inhaling his unique scent.

But the jacket doesn’t seem to be large enough, and isn’t sufficient for two people to walk while standing side by side. After a moment of thinking, I stagger slightly, standing in front of Gavin.

I lift my head, looking at Gavin’s clean lower jaw and amber coloured eyes.

MC: We’ll walk like this?

A touch of red surfaces on Gavin’s cheeks. He doesn’t lower his head to look at me. Shifting his gaze elsewhere, he feigns coldness in his voice.

Gavin: Mm.

The large jacket covers and carves out a small and narrow world. The sound of rain pattering on the jacket is slightly gloomy, blending with the scent of rain, and the delicate, faint fragrance in the air.

I take a deep breath, looking towards the street.

MC: Gavin, look. The wintersweet flowers are blooming.

[Trivia] In the language of flowers, the wintersweet symbolises independence, perseverance, fortitude, faithfulness, and a loving, noble heart :>

Behind me, Gavin halts in his steps, and peels open a corner of the jacket slightly.

I can’t see his gaze, and can only feel his drawn out breathing and the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

The yellow wintersweet flowers emit a subtle fragrance. In a manner which isn’t overly resplendent or bright, they add a warm lustre to this world.

Gavin: Mm, looks really nice.

His voice is clear and bright. In this indistinct, misty rain, it seems to indicate the direction that I should proceed towards.

In many moments, it’s always been the case.

The red light across the street seems to be exceptionally lengthy, and doesn’t change for a long time.

The waiting time is a little long, and I can’t help but enter a slight trance.

When I was fifteen years old, the rain was just like this.

Seventeen year old Gavin crossed the curtain of rain, and the school jacket he placed on me had carried the scent of an inexperienced youth.

That youthful scent which forever pauses on that rainy day has been breathed back to life in my memory, entwining with the scent of the man that is presently twirling around the tip of my nose.

Like a certain miraculous overlapping.

MC: The rain seems to be getting heavier.

The white shirt which has been caught in the rain is slightly soaked. I seem to see his slim back through the shirt, which has turned half-transparent from being drenched in the rain.

That clean and cool scent, just like the refreshing breeze coursing through this rain, descends on my heart.

The green man lights up, and the passers-by next to us walk across hurriedly. Perhaps this rain wouldn’t stop even after a while.

I summon my courage, and simply grab onto Gavin’s hand, pulling him into a run.

Across the streets, across the pelting rain, across the sea of memories, and walking into a junction belonging to us.

The rain pours even harder, creating flowers of water on the ground, as though urging me to hasten my footsteps.

Urging me to take his hand and walk forward quickly--

Part two: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #this is so so SO much better than I imagined T-T

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bonniearden · 5 years ago

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hello! ❤️ stumbled across your blog and saw your hcs were open! hc for arthur and john x f!reader who gets really bad anxiety attacks during storms/any type of bad weather? was hit with some tornadoes and power outages and winds and i can’t stop panicking :( need the boahs to cheer me up haha

Arthur Morgan and John Marston HC’s: “Comforting Female! Reader During Bad Weather “

Saw this and got to work! I live in the Philippines so we tend to also get a lot of typhoons/storm surges. Tried making it longer to compensate for such a late reply. Hope you’re doing okay, anon. You can do this! Best wishes : )

(tw: Anxiety Attacks)

Arthur Morgan

Arthur noticed.

Noticed how you were no longer breathing right, how you bit at your nails and glanced wearily at the rattling window panes, how your palms wanted to shoot up to your ears and block out the noises that made you shiver with harrowing distress.

Noticed how you tried to shut off your thoughts–tried to keep quiet, but only grew more disconcerted as the quiet soon became louder and louder.

Enveloping you, suffocating you.

He’s about to call your name, yet amidst the shrieking lightning and the thunder’s booming response, all he hears is the sudden choke of your voice–the heavy rising and collapsing of your chest.

A tiny cry.

And he doesn’t even bother to ask.

Arthur crosses the room in strides, arms urgently stretching out as he reached to hold you. Assess you.

His bare palms folded around the apples of your cheeks, warming them up from the wind’s harsh whispers.

“Shh, shh.” He coos. “Just breathe, darlin’”

The man’s rough voice is delicate and quick, easing through his lips in that familiar drawl, “What happened?”

You swiftly grab a hold onto his steady digits, looking down at his feet as you tried to regain some semblance of composure–albeit frustratingly so.

“I-I’m, I don’t know, I feel anxious–”

Outside, the abrupt shrill of the night sky explodes into a cacophony of pouring rain, a bright burst of light painting your silhouettes onto Shady Belle’s creaking walls. You whimper, startling in your spot as you all but jumped at the sound.

Things seemed to click then.

Arthur curses softly, hands immediately guiding you into his giving embrace. “Alright, angel,” He mumbles, firmly speaking over the volume of the storm, “It’s okay, c’mere.”

You seemed to let out a sob at that, “God, I’m sorry–”

The cowboy’s hand goes up to the crown of your head, keeping you tenderly in place.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about. Happens even to the best of us.”

Arthur holds you comfortably, rubbing circles over the withering shape of your form, barely even minding your frightened hands that would grip his coat like an anchor to shore.

“Want me to stay?” He whispers after a while.

You might as well have said please by the way you clung tighter to him.

Though the cowboy knew at that point what had been the cause of your worries, he finds that had it been anything different, nothing would have changed.

Nothing would have changed how he sat you down on your cot, folding up pillows that suddenly felt softer than they did before.

Nothing would have changed how he unlaced your boots and his, palms moving almost reverently.

Ministrations that glided not without rhythm, not without prose.

Muttering sweet nothings whilst he tucked you between his folded legs, chest expanding and constricting as you leaned softly against his broad torso.

Bodies curling into a fetal position.

Nothing would have changed how Arthur’s shoulders instinctively squared around your own–consoling you, securing you: the wordless affirmations of your safety, of his presence.

How he coaxes you to breathe in tandem with his own sweet exhalations. Counting one, exhale, two, exhale…

Stilling your heart, stilling your mind.

Once in a period of general rest, he picks up his sketchbook.

And from his charcoaled grip sprung the images of trees and flowers.

Things that reminded you undoubtedly of spring.

Your busy eyes were swayed by the steady looping and gliding of graphite on paper–

–whilst your ears drew comfort from the clemency of his words–that of which fanned over your cheek and above your shoulder, and sometimes hummed in broken, rough stories.

“Breathe, sweetheart, it’ll be okay,”

Arthur’s thumb drifts over your own, moving back and forth in consistent, subconscious efforts.

Little by little, the storm would dwindle away, its roar growing gentler and gentler as it slowed down to an ambient drizzle.

Your eyes, however, would flutter shut long before it stopped.

Arthur’s palm still yet to be unentangled from yours.

Their combined weight, almost feather like, resting peacefully atop the rise and fall of your chest, as you drifted easily into slumber.

John Marston

It didn’t help that you weren’t in camp.

Camp, where Uncle’s fussing and Arthur Morgan’s reproaching stretched to no end. Camp, where ambient voices shut out your worries and drunken songs reminded you that you weren’t confined in some beaten cabin strewn about the woods.

The night was looming–that much one could tell–but heaven’s downpour of rain stole whatever benefits rest could afford you.

The weather was unsettling, ominous. Dreary–like a steady sea that began to sway just ever so slightly against the sweeping winds.

The hammock you laid in creaked and thrashed in a way that made your stomach churn with bile.

You would throttle in your sleep, helplessly counting your breaths as vertigo wormed its way through your head.

With John already settled in, and the storm outside pouring like hail over the cabin’s rotting rooftops, you chose to silence yourself, holding each and every string of hot air that begged for escape out your trembling lips.

You masked desperately at your panic, actively keeping out any incessant thought about the thundering skies or the pitter pattering that didn’t yield at your pleas.

It hits then. The painfully familiar gasps, the harsh breathing.

Just about enough to startle John awake.

He finds you thrashing upright from your hammock, legs flailing as you struggled to get a firm grip on your fickle sheets.

The force pushes his own bed, effectively chiding a surprised croak of your name from out the depth of his chest. Yanked freshly from slumber, John grows defensive, hands bolting for a gun.

“The hell is it–” He begins protectively, staring at the shadow of your back, expecting some form of response– a shout.

Till he realizes that you weren’t speaking–body too frozen into spot. There are no thieves around (as ironic as that’d be), no angry Pinkertons, nor stray, ferocious animal.

Just you.

John stares for a moment, coming down from his adrenaline high as the echo of the storm clung to the walls.

He’d be uncertain, unsure, yet already rounding your position–immediately coming face to face with the unravelling of a once delicate composure.

The thunder claps, striking the turbulent air, and it sends enough of a jolt through you to have your gaze align frantically with his.

Your fear is something he recognizes almost immediately.

The panic in your eyes an emotion he can so painfully recognize.

“Are you–”

“…you scared of the rain?” He asks unsurely–quietly, but concerned nonetheless. Your only reply is a mix between a gasp and a shaky breath; such an awfully distinct sound that titillated on a sob.

John Marston fumbles for a moment–but he knows that heart-racing weariness. He’s felt it on the days when he was a child on the run, fearing death–feeling anger. He seems to understand.

John kneels to your level, eyes meeting yours whilst he gently places his palm atop the one that was clutching tightly at your undershirt.

“Alright, just–”

He inhales, gathering his composure–guiding you. Desperately trying to mirror what Hosea and Dutch (even Arthur) once did for him.

“Just breathe with me now.”

Nodding with bleary eyes, you curl your hold round his wrist, focusing your attention into following his movements.

“That’s it,” He’d encourage you, his voice scratchy with a foreign tenderness, “You’re doin’ okay.”

“Stay, please.” You choke out after a while. He looks at you, brown eyes the deepest they’ve ever been.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s a natural reaction, a natural urge. John stutters for a moment, though eventually succumbs to the flow of his movements.

He goes with his gut.

When the storm roars just outside the cabin, and twigs smack dead center in the folds of the windows, the man wraps his arms around your waist, and hugs timidly at your form–the feel of his lean frame, a great consolation.

You expect yourself to go stiff with discomfort, instead you find yourself leaning into his embrace, eyelids falling shut as though to suppress the sudden burn that surged from behind your trodden stare.

He squeezes your shoulder, “Ain’t goin’ anywhere. Don’t you worry.”

So John Marston stays, he makes himself spare and stays, that initial uncertainty gradually fading once he grasps the levity of your state.

He does all he knows he can.

He guides you back to lay on the hammock, sitting around edge of its sturdy canvas, back turning to look at you whilst his feet subconsciously rocked the bed to and fro.

John tells you he’ll just be right here, that there was nothing to worry about.

Occasionally, in the moments he thinks he sees your eyelids sinking, he’d bring his palm up to your forehead and tentatively brush away the tiny tresses that clung to its sweat. His voice quietly imitating a few songs he’s think he heard Javier sing around the camp.

They’re dry and awkward attempts, but they fill out the white noise you so earnestly wanted gone.

The ambience of the camp. The feel of home.

When you feel sleep claim you, John lights a lamp and sits it visibly at the front of your makeshift bedding, allowing its warm, orange glow to eat away at the darkness that consumed your room.

He lingers there, swaying you gently to sleep.

You keep your pupils trained to its light, attempting to steady your breaths, as you felt its comfort gradually grow from within you.

–feeling it even more when his weight dips behind the hammock and folds around you just slightly.

“It’ll turn out okay,” He tells you, no longer thinking twice as his arm rests lightly over your waist. Holding you close.

The empty wind drifts by the gap left by two unmet bodies, carrying no sound, but only the chill of the weather.

You don’t shiver, you don’t tremble. You only close your eyes, and think about the comforting weight on your hip, breath calming when your hand perches upon it.

As it is a cold that simply won’t withstand the warmth emulating within you.

A warmth that carried to the break of next day’s mildewed morning, where you find John still asleep next to you, and the light of last night’s lamp still flickering brightly.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 john marston #john marston #john marston x reader #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 matchups #rdr2 fanfic #rdr #requests and match-ups still open!#anon #ask away

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shapeshifting-wildcard · 4 years ago

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A video is uploaded. The timestamp reads January 4, 2017.

This time, it starts in the subway station. People are walking to and fro, snatches of normal conversation reaching Jou's ears as he makes his way off the train platform. He starts to walk around a pillar, heading right (the opposite direction he would have gone to get to the underground mall the other day), but he stops. He glances left, gaze focusing on a young woman just beyond the turnstiles. He glances briefly in the direction he was about to head, before slipping through the turnstiles and catching the girl's attention.

The girl has short brown hair, a dark blue coat, and a white scarf wrapped around her neck. Her eyes look almost red, though maybe it's just a trick of the light in the subway. She smiles as Jou approaches her.

"Oh, what a coincidence!" She brushes a stray hair behind her ear and glances over her shoulder, towards the stairs. "Sorry, but I have some business to take care of at home." Her face lights up as if a thought just occurred to her. "Oh, why don't you come over then? There's... something I want you to hear, too."

Jou tilts his head, but signs "sure."

The girl's face brightens again. "Excellent! Well then, shall we?"

She gestures for him to follow her, and he does. They exit the subway and find themselves in a bustling city square. People move to and fro all around them, going about their day. Jou's attention, however, is drawn to the pigeons trying to go about their day in the square. He glances towards the girl, then to the pigeons, back to the girl...

There is a short interlude of him chasing the pigeons around, brought to an abrupt halt when he manages to pick one up and the girl calls his name.

"What are you doing over there?" Jou looks at her. Her expression is a mix of exasperation and fondness.

Jou glances at the pigeon in his hands, which doesn't seem too bothered about the fact that it's got a human gently cradling it. He glances to the girl, still looking exasperatedly fond. Eventually, she sighs and shakes her head.

"Put that poor thing back, Jou."

Jou lets out a soft sigh and kneels to put the pigeon on the ground... but it instead decides to fly up onto his shoulder. Jou glances at it, then to the girl, who now looks confused. They stare at each other for a moment.

"...Well then. Do you think Boss is going to mind your new friend?"

Jou thinks for a moment, then signs, "He didn't mind the cat or the fox."

She laughs and shakes her head. "I guess not, huh? Still, that's something you're going to have to sort out with him later."

Soon enough, they arrive at the girl's home. The placard on the front reads "Niijima." She leads the way inside, announcing her arrival as she kicks off her shoes. Jou glances down briefly as he does the same, and looks up just in time to see a familiar young woman. Sae Niijima, the prosecutor, looks surprised to see him at first, but quickly offers him a smile.

"Welcome!"

"We ran into each other at the station," the younger Niijima quickly explains. "I thought this would make a good opportunity for him to hear the news."

Sae's attention is drawn to the pigeon still sitting on Jou's shoulder. She shoots the both of them a quizzical look, but the only answer she gets in return is a soft coo.

"So," the younger Niijima says, excitedly making her way over to stand next to her sister, "I only found this out today, but! My sister is getting a promotion to Chief Public Prosecutor!"

Sae lets out a soft chuckle, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. "Come now, that's not something we need to share with everyone, okay?"

"Sorry about that!" She does not sound the least bit sorry. "I can't help but be thrilled for you! It finally feels like you're getting the recognition you deserve for your efforts!"

Jou's gaze drifts down for a moment as she congratulates her sister. Sae sighs, but there's a note of genuine affection in her voice when she speaks.

"Dear me. You came home just to say that to me in person? Thank you, Makoto."

Makoto makes an affirmative noise, before it sounds like something occurred to her. "Oh, did you tell Dad yet?" Jou abruptly lifts his head, staring right at Makoto, but she doesn't seem to notice. "I wouldn't be surprised if he started crying over the news."

Sae shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "Now you're definitely exaggerating."

"He seemed pretty emotional when I passed the candidate selection exam the other day."

"That's true. When you put it like that, maybe it really is possible."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Makoto finally turns to Jou. "You had something you wanted to discuss, right? Sorry, I didn't mean to steamroll the conversation. What did you want to talk about?"

Jou's gaze dips again. He raises his hands to sign, but hesitates a moment. "Doesn't this seem... odd?"

"Odd?" He lifts his gaze enough to see Makoto blink at him. "What are you talking about? Why would this be odd?"

The pigeon lets out a vaguely worried-sounding coo. Jou can be heard softly taking a deep breath, before he keeps signing.

"Didn't something happen to your dad?"

The color seems to drain from Makoto's face. Sae's frowning in confusion, looking between the two teens. Makoto shakes her head quickly.

"Don't! It's... It's not like you to even joke about something like that!"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" There's a bit of a harshness to the way he's signing. Which Makoto seems to pick up on, given the way she flinches.

"I... no, but..."

"Look," Sae interjects, "what's gotten into you? You've stopped making any sense!"

"What are you trying to say to me?"

"Are you... happy here?" There's a noticeable amount of hesitation on his part. He's refusing to look directly at her.

"O-Of course I'm happy!" Makoto says. "Are you telling me that's wrong? There's nowhere else I'd be happier than here, with my famil..."

Makoto trails off, a look of pain and confusion crossing her face as the video ends.

#!drabbles #!long post #!spoilers #((viewable ic))#!event: Third Semester

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bytheangell · 6 years ago

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You’re Not Alone

(Read on AO3) (TW: reference/light description of a Panic attack)

(prompt: Can you write one about Simon forgetting to take care of himself and have him like, run avoid the institute and Shadowhunters like the plague because he and Clary got into a fight about something. He goes running to Magnus for support once Alec accidentally runs into him while on patrol. In the end Alec and Magnus become super overprotective of Simon and don't allow anyone to talk to him unless he okays it first. (Also Simon has panic/anxiety attacks caused by thinking about his fight with Clary)

“Let me come with you!” Simon offered eagerly, by Clary’s side before anyone else in the room had the opportunity to even blink.

“Simon, this isn’t exactly vampire business,” Jace pointed out.

“So?”

“We can’t risk that mark on your head acting up and drawing attention on this one.” Isabelle chimed in this time, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“Good thing it isn’t like you can stop me. I’m free to go wherever I want in the city, after all. If that just happens to be towards Time Square…” He turned to Clary for support, because he didn’t want to leave her side, and surely she wouldn’t mind him tagging along.

The hesitation he saw in her expression told him otherwise.

“...Clary?”

“Just sit this one out, okay Simon? I’ve got it. I don’t need your help.”

---

It’s the first day that week that Simon actually feels like he’s doing alright. Sure, he’s gone out of his way to avoid anything within a 30 minute radius of the New York Institute. Sure, he’s even avoiding the Dumort just in case Alec and the others show up there on Clave business. Sure, his family doesn’t think he’s alive, and he hasn’t spoken to a single person who knows him outside of Jordan Kyle (who got him the temporary residence he’s currently hiding out at) in approximately 6 days, 12 hours, and 39 minutes. Not that he’s counting, because he’s doing alright.

Or he thinks he is, until he sees the flash of red hair in the crowd of people in front of him. Fight or flight. He should run - he’s faster than the girl approaching him, he could be gone in the blink of an eye, before she even realizes he’s there. But instead he’s paralyzed, rooted to the sidewalk, jostled to and fro from the passersby trying to move around his sudden obstructive presence.

She’s laughing with Jace and Alec; the blonde has an arm around her and the other rolls his eyes, but looks down at the two of them with a hint of fondness. Simon lets out a choked noise he doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it. After going so out of his way to avoid her, to avoid all of them , of course they’d end up crossing paths in one of the neighboring boroughs he traveled to keep this very scenario from happening.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until they’re close enough to see him - Jace first, and then the others. Their faces drop one at a time at the sight of him, first surprise, then confusion, and then concern. Simon blinks. He feels his chest contracting as if he can’t breathe, a phantom symptom of something he’s grown to know far too intimately the past week.

Simon’s having another panic attack.

It happened the first time he saw her after their fight, and a few times after when some of the others tried to talk to him about it. Jace had been with Clary the first time it happened, and he tracked Simon down right after. Izzy and Alec tried to get him to talk about it, and finally Jordan, when he needed help finding a place to live. Too many people. Too much concern he doesn’t deserve. He knows they’re only trying to help, but thinking about it is too much and he decided it would be easier to hide than to run the risk of seeing her again right now.

Some good that did.

“Si--” her voice is quiet, lost in the noise of the people around them even as she takes a few hesitant steps away from the Shadowhunters and toward him. He knows it’s his name because he’s seen it leave her lips enough times to know the shape it takes.

Before she gets a full word out he’s off, stumbling in his haste, nearly barreling himself into a dozen pedestrians in his rush to get away. He doesn’t know where he’s going and he doesn’t care - he just needs to not be here .

Simon doesn’t make it far before he spills out into an alley, tucking himself behind a large dumpster, doing his best to ignore the stench of it while trying to calm himself down. He’s useless like this. He can’t focus enough to remember the way back to his new place. He can’t focus on anything except the last time he spoke with Clary, unable to stop the flashes of memory that come.

---

“So, what are we doing today, Fray?” Simon asked, dropping himself onto her bed. “Movie marathon? Chinese? Walk through Prospect Park? It’s gorgeous out, and...”

“Simon, stop. I can’t… I can’t keep doing this.”

“Walks? If you don’t want to go out we can always-” “No, not walks, Simon. This. Us. You . I know…” she frowned. “What happened wasn’t your fault. You don’t have to be so clingy now that I’m back. I’m fine.”

“I know you are. But I thought I lost you, Clary. I thought I lost you, and all I could think of was all the time we missed out on the past few months.”

“I know. I get it, really I do. But you’re smothering me, Si. I feel like I can barely breathe since I got back. Can you just take a break from constant Clary duty for a little bit?”

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

“I just need some space.”

“And what about what I need? I thought you were dead , Clary. Sorry if wanting to be around the one person I have left in my life is a burden to you.”

“ You can’t just have one friend the rest of your life. I can’t keep you busy 24/7.”

“...is that what this is? I’m sorry, I thought you were my best friend, not my babysitter.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you? We’ve always had each other’s backs, Fray. I’ve never needed anyone else as long as I’ve had you around.”

“Well, we aren’t kids growing up any more, Simon. Things are different now. We’re different, and I’m not going to be here forever, so you better get used to that.” To Clary’s credit, she at least managed to look guilty the moment the words, pent up for so long, flood out of her mouth. “... I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“It’s fine. You made it perfectly clear you don’t want me around.”

---

He’s brought back to the present by a touch on his shoulder. He reacts instinctively, startled into a fight-or-flight response that has his fangs out and in the neck of the unfortunate soul who came to see if he’s alright. Simon drinks from the girl for 15 seconds before the blood in his system works to clear his thoughts, grounding him enough that the panic fades and he realizes what he’s doing, pulling back abruptly.

The girl looks young - 16? Maybe 17? - and wearing an apron. The bag of trash sitting in front of the dumpster tells him she works here, and only came out to get rid of the trash when she found him there.

Simon tenses, immediately channeling his encanto. “You were attacked by someone who tried to mug you. They were wearing a ski mask so you can’t identify them. They cut your neck in the attempt, but you’re going to be fine. You aren’t even shaken up by it - you’re surprisingly calm.”

That makes one of us , Simon thinks before taking off again.

He needs help.

---

...but that doesn’t mean he has the sense to go seek it out, not at first. He spends another day on his own until he sees a familiar face again - it’s Alec, alone. And he isn’t in his Shadowhunter gear. Simon knows there’s no reason for him to be all the way out here like this, and he’s nervous. Simon can hear alec’s heartbeat racing from where he stands.

“Simon. Simon, please don’t run again.” Simon hesitates, looking at the Shadowhunter closely, and it occurs to him that Alec didn’t run into him here by accident when he sees the tracking rune (recently drawn) glowing gently on his arm.

Are they hunting him now? He knows that he’s a threat with the Mark on his forehead, and that he’s supposed to be keeping track of everything with the Praetor at the very least, but he’s been off the radar for days now. What if they thought he’d gone entirely Rogue? What if Alec is here to take him in?

He can’t let that happen. He can’t go back right now, not with Clary there. Simon winces, and gives Alec a look that’s only half-heartedly apologetic, before taking off.

He doesn’t know where he’s going until he’s there, coming to an abrupt halt outside of Magnus’ Loft. If Alec is halfway across town when he left him then it’d be quite a few minutes before he’d make his way back here, so he has time. Hopefully. Then again, if Alec is looking for him, would Magnus just turn him right over anyway? Magnus once told him that he could come to him for help, but… well, that was before, and just in general. This is Shadowhunter business his boyfriend is directly involved in.

Simon is still hesitating outside of the Loft several minutes later when the door opens, and Magnus pokes his head out into the hallway.

“Are you coming in, or are you just going to pace out there all day?” He asks, leaving the door open as he disappears back inside.

Simon bites down on his lower lip for a moment longer before following him inside.

“I’m glad you’re here. Did Alec talk to you, then?”

Simon shakes his head. “No… I saw him and took off. You can tell him I’m sorry about that. But I just couldn’t… I can’t go back there right now.”

“Back where?” Magnus questions.

“Back to the Institute. He was sent to take me in for going AWOL, right?”

“No. We wanted to find you to make sure everything was alright. After the other day we were worried. I haven’t heard a lot about what happened, but… well, not to sound too much like a doting guardian, but I know you don’t have a lot of people you can turn to if you aren’t turning to us. I just wanted you to know that we’re here. If you need us.”

“We?” Simon asks, not sure who else Magnus is referring to. Raphael wouldn’t want anything to do with him, he’s certain...

“Me and Alec. You can trust us. You shouldn’t be out there alone, especially not in your condition.”

Simon gives a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

Magnus looks rueful. “...and I was being nice about it.”

There’s the sound of the door handle turning and Simon tenses, getting ready to take off out the balcony, when he sees the height of the man walking through the door and immediately registers it as Alec. The Shadowhunter is speaking before he’s even through the door.

“I found him, but he ran before I could--” Alec sees Simon and trails off abruptly. “Oh, you’re here.”

Part of Simon is tempted to run anyway, despite what Magnus told him. It must be pretty obvious by the way Alec hesitates in the doorframe, frozen as if afraid another step will send Simon fleeing again like a startled cat. He isn’t half wrong.

“I can leave…” Alec begins, and Simon is surprised to find it’s sincere. Alec is willing to turn around and leave his own home (is he living here permanently? Simon realizes that he isn’t entirely positive about that, but it sure seems like he spends most of his time here at least, not that that little detail is the most important thing at the moment) just to keep Simon there. Simon’s eyes are wide, thinking fast.

“Perhaps it’s best if you should-” Magnus starts before Simon cuts him off.

“No, I couldn’t-- it’s fine.” He looks from Magnus to Alec. “I’m fine. Stay.” He isn’t fine, and they all know it. And he isn’t entirely sure if he is really fine with Alec being there, either, but Alec did go through all that trouble to try and find him earlier, so the least Simon can do now in return is not kick the poor guy right back out of his own apartment.

Alec comes into the room fully, shutting the door behind him, and both he and Magnus share a look that questions where to go from here.

“Can I use your shower?” Simon asks. He spent a lot of the past few days on the streets - he is kind of filthy, his hair in knots, his skin and clothing darkened with patches of dirt.

“Of course. There are towels in the closet in the bathroom, right down the hall.” Magnus says without missing a beat.

Simon nods and leaves, using the borrowed time to take a longer than necessary shower, thinking of what he’s going to do, or say, when he gets back out there. He stays in the bathroom until he thinks he’s fine, which clearly isn’t the case when he opens the door quietly and hears the conversation from the living room.

“-I just don’t know what we’re going to do now that he’s here . It isn’t like we can force her to talk to him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, anyway. Poor Biscuit is still recovering from everything she went through on her own…”

“He doesn’t even know the half of it. Maybe if I could tell him-”

“Tell me what?” Simon asks, making his presence known with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

“...you were listening.” Alec states the obvious. “Which means you know I can’t tell you. It isn’t my story to tell.”

“Right. It’s her’s.” Simon can’t even bring himself to say Clary’s name. “And she never wants to speak to me again, so I might as well just leave the city because it isn’t like I’ll ever have another person to talk to here, will I? Not with my family glamoured and Raphael gone and now the lot of you hiding things from me and Clary--”

The words tumble out of Simon’s mouth in a rush, but the moment he says her name it’s too much. His eyes screw shut against the tears he can’t afford to shed again, not here, not in front of Magnus and Alec. It doesn’t matter, because soon his whole body is shaking, hands balled into fists at his side in an effort to hold back the wave of panic he feels over the idea of losing Clary forever.

Alec hesitates, but Magnus is by his side a moment later, hands gently coming to rest on his heaving shoulders. “It’s alright. We’re here for you. We aren’t going anywhere.”

It takes three minutes for those words to calm Simon, so that his thoughts clear enough to process them.

“It’s all my fault,” Simon says at last, the words half-spoken, half-sobbed. “I pushed her too hard… I pushed her away. She hates me now.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She just needs some space,” Alec says, but not before looking Simon up and down with serious consideration. “...have you always gotten panic attacks?” Alec asks, voice low and full of concern.

It isn’t a question Simon expects. He doesn’t realize he’s been so obvious about it and doesn’t have an answer at first.

“I used to get them sometimes. I could usually hide it, or take it out on the punching bag before they got too bad.” Alec offers the explanation freely to fill the silence.

“You?” Simon asks. He runs the entire Institute of Shadowhunters. He kills demons for a living . Simon can’t imagine a world where Alec Lightwood might be brought out of commission by panic or anxiety. He can’t imagine an Alec that isn’t full of eyerolls and snarky confidence.

“Yeah,” Alec huffs out a breath of a laugh, not quite making eye contact. It’s obvious this isn’t something he speaks of often… or at all. “Me. So I get it. If you, you know… wanted to talk or something.”

Magnus is there to talk about his Downworlder problems. Alec is there to talk about his panic attacks, and maybe even about Clary a little. The offers are there, if he can bring himself to take them.

And what option does he have other than going back out onto the streets, alone?

“...do you think I could crash here for a little?”

---

The first test of this newfound, tentative friendship with Alec and Magnus is when there’s a knock at the door the following morning. Simon, asleep on the sofa, hears the insistent banging first. He knows that it can be any number of people before it’d be Clary, but that doesn’t stop the thought from crossing his mind. The next thing he knows he’s down the hall, pressed against the farthest wall from the front door that isn’t barging straight into Magnus and Alec’s bedroom.

“Alec? You in there?!” A voice sounds from the other side of the door now, loud enough to be heard through it and from where Simon hides. Jace. The next to last person he wants to see, aside from the obvious.

There’s rustling from the bedroom and Alec padds out in sweatpants and socks and nothing else, wiping at his eyes. It takes him a moment to notice Simon but when he does his brow furrows. “I’ll get rid of him,” Alec promises with zero hesitation, and Simon looks after him as he hurries the rest of the way to the front door, speaking in hushed whispers that Simon can still pick up on.

“I said it’s under control, Jace.”

“It isn’t safe to keep him here. We don’t know what he’s--”

“Magnus and I got this. I’ll see you at the Institute.”

The door shuts again, and when the sound of footsteps comes back towards him it’s just one set: Alec’s.

“He’s gone, don’t worry. I’ll talk to the others later, let them know you’re alright.”

Simon makes a noise that sounds like it can almost be a laugh, if not for how bitter it is. “I wish I was.” He does, however, ease up off the wall. “Thanks, though.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” “No.” The word is instinctive. He isn’t ready. Even just thinking about it-- no, he can’t talk about it yet.

“We’re here if you do,” Magnus reassures Simon, making his way out of the bedroom after the early wake-up before heading to the kitchen to start breakfast and coffee. Simon settles back in on the sofa while they go about their morning routines, not needing any of that, and not having anywhere else to go.

Magnus lingers after Alec is gone for the day, and looks like he’s debating whether to do whatever it is he has planned at all. Simon can tell he’s stalling.

“I’ll be fine. Really. You guys are already doing more than enough for me, I owe you. Enough to not run away the second you turn your head, I swear.” He’s enough of a burden to Clary and the others… he knows how much trouble he’ll cause if he runs off now. He doesn’t want to be the reason for any more worry than he already has been.

“Alright.” Magnus finally agrees. “Help yourself to the blood. And if you do leave - you’re not a prisoner here, after all - it’d make me feel better if you at least let me know.”

“Okay.” Simon can promise that much. He doesn’t go anywhere, though. He watches some movie on tv, has a little blood to keep his energy up and his head clear, and eventually grabs a book off of Magnus’ shelf to read. He pretends not to catch the flicker of relief in Magnus and Alec’s eyes when they both portal home together later that afternoon and find him still there.

---

It’s several hours after dinner when there’s another knock at the door. The three of them are in the living room, winding down with some mindless reality TV that Simon insists they have to experience at least once, and all three of them tense at the sound.

“You aren’t expecting anyone, are you?” Alec asks Magnus, who only shakes his head.

“I need a less popular place to lay low,” Simon groans, deflecting the spike of fear he feels with humor. If he can joke, he’s fine, right? Good old Simon, up to his normal tricks?

He almost has himself convinced that he is actually okay after Jace’s sudden arrival yesterday, until Magnus goes to answer the door, stopping to look through the peephole.

“It’s Clary.”

That, Simon isn’t ready for.

“No.” He shakes his head, the motion gaining speed with each back-and-forth. Just the thought of her brings their fight back to the front of his mind. He can’t think of her without thinking that she won’t be by his side forever. He hates how much that thought gets under his skin and into his head - he despises how much it’s ruining not only him, but his and Clary’s friendship.

“She knows you’re here, so she has to be here for you. You don’t want to work things through, maybe just hear her out?” Alec tries, but is only met with more vehement headshaking.

“No.” Simon can’t put into words why not. He knows that he should want to, that talking to her again, being her friend again, is obviously something he still wants and needs in his life. But he also knows that if he tries to now it’ll all go wrong. He can barely form a coherent thought about Clary without thinking of an eternity without her since their fight. He almost lost her once, and now he is going to lose her forever , and somehow he doesn’t think he can face her without breaking down entirely.

“I’ll take care of it,” Magnus says, sliding the lock out of place and cracking the door open just enough to slide through.

“Magnus, hey. Is Simon still here?” Simon feels himself ache at the sound of her concern.

“Biscuit, how about we talk out here for a second.” Magnus is gone a moment later, and Simon strains to hear what’s said behind the closed door.

“It’ll be best if you don’t come around for a little while, at least not unannounced, okay? Tell the others, too.”

There is a pause, but the definitive tone of Magnus’ voice makes it clear that it isn’t up for debate. The tension in Simon’s shoulders only fades when he hears the door shut again, followed by the soft sound of retreating footsteps.

“She won’t come back. No one will besides the two of us, not unless you say you want them here. Deal?”

“Why are you doing this for me?” Simon asks instead of replying.

“Because we all deserve a safe space to cope, Simon. I’ve been where you are. Losing the people you love, facing your own immortality…” Magnus trails off with a small, sad smile. “I’m still there, every time I get attached to someone I know will be taken from me one day.” He casts a forlorn look in Alec’s direction that nearly breaks Simon’s heart. “If being alone is what you need right now, it’s what you’ll get. I’d rather kick a few people out of the Loft for a while than have you suffering alone on the streets.”

“Thank you. And yeah, I’d appreciate that. Not forever. I just need some time to process. I hadn’t considered…” Simon looks from Magnus, to Alec, and back, before deciding to talk. “We had a fight because after she got back I got too clingy. But I already lost her once, and I wanted to make sure we spent as much time together as we could now that she’s back. But when she pointed out she wouldn’t be around forever, I just… I don’t know. Something snapped. I just lost my family, Maia left town, Clary is the only constant I have left, except…”

“Except she isn’t. Because no mortal person will ever be a constant for you anymore.” Magnus supplies, nodding slowly. “It’s a lot to accept for someone you love, especially as early on in your immortality as you are. It’s natural, Simon. You don’t have to be ashamed of it.”

Simon huffs. “Yeah, okay, well is it normal to not even be able to look at the one person you actually want to spend time with?”

Magnus sighs, his voice full of the sort of patience that comes with decades - no, Simon reminds himself, centuries - of life experience when he speaks again. “It is when you’re hyper-fixating on the bad, the inevitable, instead of the potential good of the present. It won’t be forever.”

Simon nods, though he isn’t sure he believes him. After all, forever is exactly what he has stretched out in front of him. Why shouldn’t it last forever?

---

Magnus is right, though. Simon stays at the Loft for the following week. It takes him another day to really start talking about it, mostly with Magnus, but eventually with Alec, too. After losing his family, and then Maia, Clary is all he has left. Or so he thinks. Magnus and Alec are both far more understanding than he deserves, and after a few talks with Magnus about how he dealt with this the first few times he faced it Simon starts to think that he might be able to face people again. He starts to realize that, as much as he needs Clary in his life, she might’ve had a point -- he needs more than just her, no matter what he thought before. And maybe he had more all along without realizing it.

The others ask about Simon, Clary in particular, but Alec always checks in with him first to see if he’s ready to talk to any of them. Simon starts by allowing Jordan to come over, if only to spare Alec the duty of reporting about Simon to the Praetor in Jordan’s absence.

“Are you certain?” Alec asks, and where Simon expects to see nothing but relief that he wouldn’t have to worry about that any more, there is only concern.

Simon nods. “Yeah. I can talk to Jordan, stay on his radar again. You’ve done more than enough for me already, you don’t need to keep checking in with the Praetor, that isn’t your job. I owe him an explanation for taking off like that, anyway.”

Alec gives him a once-over before nodding. “Okay.” The werewolf is the first person in the Loft besides the three of them in a week. After that it’s Izzy, and then…

“Clary wants to know if she can come over,” Alec says slowly, a little while after his return home from the Institute one day. Simon’s jaw clenches instinctively. He doesn’t reply for a few moments that stretch into seconds, and then a full minute before he makes a decision.

“Yeah. I want to -- I need to talk to her. But do you think you could stay this time?” With the others Alec and Magnus had made excuses to leave. He appreciated it, but that isn’t what he needs this time around. “Just in case...?” He doesn’t need to say what the ‘just in case’ is. He thinks he’s ready. Magnus said as much days ago, even if Simon made a point of talking to everyone else before Clary. But if he isn’t… he doesn’t want to be alone with her if he is wrong. Would she understand? Would he be able to explain?

“Of course, Si. We’ll be in Magnus’ workroom.”

“Thanks.” Simon exhales a sigh of relief his body doesn’t strictly need, but he feels better regardless.

An hour later the knock on the door sounds, soft and hesitant. It’s Alec, not Simon, who goes to answer it, pausing with his hand on the knob to give Simon one last questioning glance - a last chance to change his mind.

Simon only nods, getting ready to face Clary again for the first time in the nearly two weeks since their fight. It’s been about a week since his last panic attack, and he only teared up a little while talking to Isabelle the other day. He can do this, he thinks to himself. And if he can’t, then Alec and Magnus will be there to help, an unexpected safety net in this current chapter of his immortal life.

Whatever happens next, he knows he isn’t alone. Not anymore.

#simon lewis #alec lightwood #magnus bane #clary fray #shadowhunters #malec #jace herondale #jordan kyle #TW: panic attacks #this was the first prompt I got this year even if it's the second I'm finishing #it took me 500 years to work through and DEFINITELY got away from me a bit - i didn't mean for it to get this long!#elle writes a few deadbeat lines

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somemellifluouswords · 6 years ago

Text

Breaking the Ice

You had managed to bore the boy who your friends had set you up with, having lost them in the wild sea of fueled individuals, painted by the neon lights in the darkened room, as they danced. Body against body, drink after drink, cheer after cheer, and the obnoxious high pitched singing. What were you thinking? Having come to a party of all places, when you knew it wasn’t at all your scene. Having to sit alone, in the kitchen, where every once in a while someone fully intoxicated stumbled in, dropping a dirty hand into the chip bowl in front of you, trying to put a name to the face of the lonely quiet girl sitting at the island, a red solo cup in front of her, filled with some fruity drink, half touched. As the night progressed, the minutes went by unbearably slow.

And so you waited. And waited. After about another five minutes, you’d told yourself it had probably been over an hour, and pushed yourself off the bar stool, the smell of sweat, alcohol and smoke dominating your senses and you thought you just might be sick. Besides, you needed air, and it wasn’t like anyone would notice you were missing. You couldn’t put a name to any face here, besides the boy your friends introduced you to, and them. But you couldn't see any of them, and you didn't think searching fro them in the packed house would do any good.

Pulling open the sliding doors leading to the patio, you breathed in fresh air, instantly feeling your bare legs covering in goosebumps with the collision of cold air. The brittle Autumn leaves littered across the wood crunched beneath your feet as you made your way towards the railing. From where you stood, the moon hit the tops of the trees, casting a silver glow, the sounds of the party inside fading in your ears, as you focused on the peacefulness outside. You could smell Autumn, wood and fire, feel the breeze, hear the leaves wisping atop the wood of the patio, making a slight scratching sound. No one was outside except for you, and to an observer, they would notice the way you seemed at ease, your hair tucked neatly behind your ears, cheeks pink from the cold. They’d notice the way the lantern lights hanging off the roof of the patio hit your face, casting a golden glow against your soft skin.

And with all the observers one could have imagined, you hadn’t in a million years expected him.

The sound of footsteps, profound and loud alerted you. You turned your head towards the other end of the patio, catching the glimpse of a tall broad figure making their way towards you. It was him.

Except, he seemed taller, broader even, and of all the biggest changes he was blonde. Mysterious, and confident, and the slight smirk on his face made your knees go weak.

Grayson.

“You haven’t changed a bit” frozen in your spot, mouth dry you tried to process the tone of his voice. Bitter? Teasing? Pleased? Thankful?

He mumbled your name when you didn’t respond, feeling your cheeks heat up at the way it sounded flowing out of his mouth, his deep gruff voice extremely loud against the noise from within the walls and the peaceful nature you currently stood in. It had only been a few months, and now here he was, before you, and you once again stood under the same roof. You blinked, dropping your eyes to his shoes as he walked towards you, stopping to lean against the railing steps away from you. You chuckled nervously, hoping he’d feel some sort of familiarity by the way you were suddenly shy again, notice how flustered and confused you were. How he still had an effect on you. You hoped his heart did that thing when you got bashful, the thing he always said it did, the thing you never could distinguish but knew it drove him crazy.

“But you have” the words came out of your mouth swiftly, and he savored the way your soft spoken, sweet voice sounded. You raised your eyes to meet his, noticing the way they seemed almost green under the blend of the moonlight and lanterns. He cocked his head to the side, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess so”

You examined his hair, the once dark brown locks now a vibrant blonde, and you wondered what had caused the change. Was it you? Had you left him so angry and confused, that he needed to look different. “It wasn’t because of you” he announced as if reading your mind, smirking when you met his eyes again.

You sighed in relief, smiling at him softly, before turning back to the view of the trees and houses in the distant. “Do you know who ever it is throwing this party?” you asked, proud of the way your voice seemed smooth, hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous and taken a back you seemed. He emitted a sound of agreement, and you glanced his direction. His jaw was clenched, tan face golden under the lights as he stared into the stars, eyes searching for something. “What are you doing here?” he asked, turning his eyes on you, eyebrows slightly wrinkled, lips pursed.

He knew you like an open book. And it was justified. You had been inseparable once. Close, so close. “This isn’t your scene at all” he stated, and instead of defending yourself, wanting to say “things change” you couldn’t, because you couldn’t lie to him. You never could.

Sighing you confessed. “My friends set me up, and he left me …” you winced at how pathetic you sounded, sorry fro yourself. “His loss” the reply came out abrupt and firm, and you gulped taken a back. The look in his eyes was something between anger, and jealousy, but you couldn’t think that, you couldn’t possibly think that. After all, things had ended.

“I’m assuming you came with someone” you spoke carefully, beating around the bush, hoping he hadn’t. “No” he said it so easily, his heart softening when a look of hope flashed through your dreamy eyes, and he knew he was beginning to feel the way about you as he once did. In fact, it had never stopped. And now here you were, next to him, completely alone, and he couldn’t believe it was you.

But it was. And he’d said it himself, she hadn’t changed. She wasn’t the partier, wasn’t loud and an extrovert. She wasn’t the center of attention. She wasn’t seeking fun within the bodies inside. She wanted to escape, go home. She was soft spoken and shy, a book you had to read slowly. She was careful and sweet, bashful and delicate, She was his before, and now she was here with a boy who had no intention of truly realizing how bold and beautiful the quiet demure he’d met really was in everything loud and bright.

But Grayson knew, he always knew. Which was why when he let you go in the heat of the moment, he’d regretted it. Instantly.

He fiddled with the sleeves of his sweater, and you pondered over what to say next. Whether you should tell him you missed him, ask him how he’d been since you had ended a beautiful love story tragically, ask him if there was another girl in the picture, one just not present tonight. Instead, fearing what he had to respond with to all your intriguing thoughts, you settled for release.

“I should get back inside … find my friends” it was awkward, because as you slowly began to back inside he didn’t respond, instead watching his jaw clench again. “I’ll come with you” curious eyes met yours again, and your heart seemed to stop at the way he was looking at you, nodding your head with a blush to your cheeks as he let his eyes roam the body he knew inch by inch, could practically feel the softness of your skin on his digits as he waited you for you to open the door. You turned, pretending to ignore how close he was to you, breathing behind you.

The door wouldn’t budge, and it hit you someone had locked it. You turned, gasping as your back hit the door, his body hovering against yours. He didn’t move for a few seconds, just hovering against you, like he always used to. He stepped back suddenly, motioning towards the door. “Someone locked it?” You nodded. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The front door was locked too, no one was opening it, which is why I came through the back.” You nodded again, tuning around to knock against the glass. No answer. The blinds and windows were all closed, no one knew you were outside.

“I could call my friends” you offered, pulling out your phone. Grayson chuckled sourly, “You really think they’re going to answer, they ditched you after all didn't they?” he shook his head in disbelief. You but your lip, choosing to ignore him, turning around. And the ringing seemed to go on and on, and then it went to voicemail, for every friend you tried. “Told you” he sated, a smirk on his lips, when you turned to face him in defeat.

“If you know whose party this is, why don’t you call them?” you asked with raised eyebrows, tucking your phone into the pocket of your jean jacket. He laughed, the air filling with the sound of his boisterous laugh you had missed. “I would if I had his number” you shook your head, pondering over what to do next.

You leaned against the door, pulling at the sleeves of your jean jacket over your thin white dress, waiting for something to happen. You could feel Grayson’s gaze on you, and you felt cautious, but you knew this was what your heart wanted. To be with Grayson again, even if it was this more intimidating Grayson. This new Grayson, with some slight changes, but still the same Grayson, your Grayson. You knew he wouldn't have changed drastically, he was still the same.

You had missed him. And he’d missed you.

“Let’s sit over there” he nodded his head towards the porch steps, hoping you’d agree. You followed him without a word, and settled next to him. You legs touched, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against your bare legs, and you could feel the way you heart raced rapidly in your chest. His musky scent you had grown accustomed to over the years washed over you. And you wanted nothing more but for him to crash his lips against you, pull you close to him and tell you he loved you. You opted for silence, as you stared off into the dim darkness in front of you, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

“How were you afterwards?” you knew he meant the breakup, and you gulped, knowing very well you had wondered about how he’d been.

“It wasn’t easy” you replied, even thought it still wasn't a breeze, not wanting to admit anything more incase he was completely fine, turning to face him, his eyes already in your direction. They softened, falling to your lips and then back into your eyes. “It still isn’t easy for me” he breathed out. You blinked, nodding your head, letting your eyes fall to his lips, and then behind him, the familiar warmth in your body rising. He was being honest, you could pin point that in a second.

“Were you with anyone after?” you asked carefully, biting your lip, nervous to hear his answer. He shook his head simply, sending a soft sad smile your way. “Even if I tried I wouldn’t be able to”

“This is my first “date”, since … us” you shared sheepishly. “And how’s that going?” he teased, voice deep, letting a chuckle follow. You smiled, cheeks turning red again. “not very well … at all” you whispered the last two words. “Did you want it to?” he asked leaning in closer, eyebrows furrowed slightly. Not in a million years. “No” you confessed, feeling the same giddy feeling he gave you from before, when he made your insides tingle, the butterflies erupt.

What was happening?

“I missed you Gray” you released the words you’d held back. Waiting for his response as he licked his lips, letting the nickname you called him sink in. You hadn’t called him Gray on purpose, it was instinct. “I missed you like hell too” you closed your eyes as his fingers gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers linger there. “I still miss you” he was gentle, leaning in closer.

“Let’s get out of here” he whispered, hoping you would agree. Without a second thought, you nodded. “Please get me out of here Gray”

He led you towards the front of the house, and in an instant you spotted the beautiful blue Bronco, parked at the end of the driveway. Imagnes of you sitting in the passenger seat, singing along to the radio, stealing glances at him as he drove flashed through your head. Along with all the times he’d lean over to press his lips against you, lips or skin, hold your hands, rest his palm against your leg, or pull you onto his lap, your body flush against him in the confined space, while he’d hold you for dear life.

He opened the passenger seat for you, like the gentleman he always was, and you thanked him quietly before getting in. You eyes roamed wearily, processing the vehicle in your mind, the distinct leather smell strong, searching for any remnants your relationship. Until you looked up into the rear view mirror.

A necklace of yours, with a little “G” hanging off the band hung from the mirror, and you felt the memories wash over you. It was a late night, and through the course of the night, the Bronco breaking down once again somehow you had ended up flush against Grayson’s chest, his lips against yours, remembering the feeling of his fingers as he trailed the same jean jacket you wore down your arms. “Don’t want you losing this” he’d whispered, as his digits worked to remove the necklace resting against your skin. You remembered the way he’d taken it off of you, reaching forward, moving your body so it rested against the steering wheel, cheeks flushed, jacket hanging at your elbows. And once he’d placed the necklace into the rear view mirror slot for hanging, he was back to the task of kissing you, chuckling every time you pressed the tow trucker driver would be here.

“You remember when I gave this to you?” He asked. Too infatuated with the former piece of your jewelry before you, you hadn’t realized he’d seated himself in the drivers seat, eyes watching you with a similar look than before. Love.

“Of course” you breathed out, images of him putting the necklace onto you, kissing you softly, telling you he was forever yours, and you forever his. That was years ago. And just a few months ago you’d never put the necklace back on.

“Seatbelt” he announced, leaning forward to buckle you up. His body inches from you, as he pulled the belt, bringing it around you as you pushed back into the seat, afraid that if he touched you by accident you wouldn't hold yourself bac. You released a breath, chuckling nervously when he finished. As soon as the Bronco roared to life, you began to fidget with the hem of your dress, feeling the tension and desperation to fix things between you two, but afraid that wouldn’t be possible.

You drove in silence, not even the radio playing, and every so often you’d steal glances at one another. He watched you in your seat, how it seemed it was meant for you. The streetlights washed away on your bare legs as he drove, your eyes watching the outside, barely meeting his. He wondered if you were thinking what he was thinking.

Could they fix this?

Minutes later you recognized a sharp turn he took, knowing exactly where he was taking you. An old diner, never packed, somehow it had seemed it was a place that only you knew about. Neon lights flowed over your bodies as he pulled into an empty slot, a few faces visible through the large windows, mostly empty booths, including the one in the far corner, that gave you a perfect view of the passing trains, your booth, the one you’d spent sitting hours in, telling stories, laughing and sharing smiles.

“You’re still a strawberry milkshake kinda girl, right?” He asked, turning to face you. For the first time that night, you smiled with ease, unbuckling your seat belt, heart softening at the smile on his face. “Like you said, I haven’t changed a bit”

Upon entering the diner, the greasy comforting smell of salty fries, and the blend of coffee beans for those late night coffee runs was intoxicating, you led you to your booth, out of old habit, Grayson following close behind. You slid into your usual seat, sinking into the cushiony leather, eyes roaming over the place, feeling at ease at how it hadn’t changed a bit at all.

“Now I’ve been waiting for months for you two!” A cheerful voice belonging to one of the waitresses you’d grown fond of appeared suddenly, her eyes widening as she realized the difference with Grayson. “Blonde huh?” She asked, pencil tapping against her notepad, a toothy grin wrapped by her bright red lips. He nodded, a smirk on his face as he looked at you. “The usual my loves?” The waitress asked, patting down a loose curly strand atop her head. You nodded, thanking her.

You listened to Grayson drum his fingers against the table, gently clashing his foot with your ankle boot clad one, like he used to. “I can’t believe we’re here” he offered, his voice laced with hope. “Me either” you breathed out, and before you could say anything more, the waitress arrived, starberry and vanilla milkshakes in hand.

You twirled your star in your milkshake, listening to stories of what Grayson had been up to since everything changed. And you filled him in on everything from your end. It felt odd, having missed out on even the smallest of details, almost as if you hadn’t known the person at all, but you did, and all that you had missed added up perfectly.

Soon you found yourselves back in the Bronco, parked along the side of a barren road, the city lights and stars above equally as bright. And nothing else could be perfect to say, then I’m that moment. Because if this was your only chance, you couldn't let it go. You couldn't let history repeat in a different way.

“I still love you Grayson” you confessed, turning your body to face him completely. He smiled, taking in a deep breath. “Gosh, I thought you’d never say that. I’m still crazy in love with you” he leaned over the console, head leaning against his seat, a smile on his plump lips, the light inside the Bronco casting bronze shadows over your faces.

You gulped, wanting to push for answers. “Why did you let me go?” His face fell, jaw clenched again. “It was in the moment” he replied, truthfully. “Everything happened so fast, and I couldn’t hold you back if I was hurting you.” You pictured the night you left, the angry words that fell from his mouth, and your own. I’m seconds you had told him enough, and he’d agreed. Telling you he was sorry, but letting each other go was best. In seconds years of what was a beautiful love story, had ended, questions unanswered. You’d simply fallen apart. And easily you’d let that get in the way.

Your eyes glossed with tears, an Grayson reached for your cheeks, cupping them gingerly in his hands as if you’d wither away if he pressed to hard. “Hey hey …” he spoke, sweetly as your eyes fell. “Show me those pretty eyes, c’mon babe, don’t be shy now” it was so easy for him to say that, and every time he did you’d look back. And this time was no different. “You hurt me more when you let me go” he clenched his jaw, leaning closer, a remorseful look in his dark eyes.

“Promise me you won’t let me walk out again” you pressed, using your palms to push yourself up the slightest. “I promise. I promise. And … don’t walk out, alright please don’t ever walk out” he was practically begging, thumbs rubbing circles over your cheeks.

And what you’d been waiting for, yearning for sparked. He carefully pressed his lips against yours, molding them together. He was gentle, as if afraid of hurting you. You kissed back, tasting the vanilla off his lips, feeling the desperation, the craving of how bad he’d missed you and wanted you back.

He pulled you over the console, setting you atop his lap. Once again in the confined space, he held you close, afraid he’d lose you again, wither away in his arms. From under you could feel his thick toned tattooed thighs adorned in the dark jeans he wore, wondering how many more dark pictures were permanently on his golden hue of skin now. His lips felt soft and sweet, and he could taste the blend of your own lips, strawberry milkshake, the cherry chap stick you always wore.

His hands worked to your shoulders, gently tugging at the collar of your jean jacket, pulling the slightest as you nodded, mumbling “please”. The tips of his fingers were comforting against the skin of your arms, taking his time to trail up and down, leaving the jacket hanging at your elbows, your own arms struggling to hold your hand up to his chest, his sweater soft under your palms. You pulled back, enough so that he could easily slide the arms of your jean jacket off, as you watched through your lashes, trying to catch your breath, cheeks flushed, lips kiss swollen.

He had missed you. He truly had.

He trailed his fingers through the hair that had fallen against your chest, letting his body rest against the seat as roamed his eyes and lazy fingers over your figure, the way the straps of your dress, an older one he was fond of were crinkled at your collar bone, the fabric lining the outline where it rested atop your sternum slowly withering. Even the three little buttons had become loose. For someone so innocent and quiet, you sure drove him wild, made him helpless without even knowing or trying.

You leaned into him again, desperate for his lips. He kissed you harder this time, hands trailing slowing under your dress, the most delicate skin on your thighs, smiling against your lips as you hummed in content, skin burning with bashfulness. His hands were quick, moving now back to your arms, as he held you still, lips trailing to your jaw, and down your neck, knowing all the spots that made you shudder, knowing the slightest of kisses would have you asking for more. His scruff tickled against your skin, the butterflies in your stomach erupting at the combination of not only his hands, but his lips and scruff agaisnt your skin. He reached your collarbone, feeling your fingers in between his tendrils, gently pulling. The locks were soft in-between your fingers, silky and smooth.

His lips kissed around the thin straps, craning your neck to one side then the other. He let you loose, pulling down the straps of your dress the slightest, letting his lips trail over skin he’d missed.

“Come home” his voice was gruff, sending shivers along your exposed skin. “Come back home” he pleaded. You examined the hazel eyes glowing before you, the pink swollen lips, the face of the one you loved. Everything would be alright.

Without a word you kissed him hard, smiling against his lips, providing him your answer. He released a sound of delight as you bit his lover lip, pulling gently, your eyelashes brushing against his skin, as you caught a glimpse of the tattoo that was hiding. “Wait” he pulled back, setting loose strands of hair behind your ear. He leaned forward, holding onto your waist to keep you close, even when grabbing the necklace that hung before him.

“Never stop wearing this” the cold silver resting once again around your neck, sparking and bright. “Tell me I’m not dreaming” he said, holding you close, his eyes full of love and admiration. You smiled, letting your thumb run circles atop his scruffy cheek.

“No, we’re not dreaming” you whispered in absolute assurance over his lips.

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #dolan twins #dolan twins imagines #dolan twins imagine #imagines

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1800areyouslapping · 7 years ago

Text

The Shimada brothers are strict Masters, watching from their perch. Admiring the pink flush in your cheeks, that as far as they are concerned, they put there. Turning their heads from side to side as if admiring a painting. Leaning forward in your crosslegged position, you whine at the pressure in your belly. You’re so full, that your leg is giggling uncontrollably underneath you. Hands cupped over your pussy, fingers pressing into your sensitive hole.

“Go on, pretty kitty, roll over.” Genji croons from his seat, leaning forward so he can get every last glimpse of your body as you obediently roll onto your front, albeit with a little pout.

“On your knees now, kitten,” Hanzo demands. The same cooing lilt in his voice. He is talking to his pet after all.

The hop up onto your knees jiggles your bursting bladder. Hurts your tummy, causes you to squirm. Ass wiggling to and fro. “Masters I really need to pee,” you inform them, as if they aren't well aware.

“We told you, you do not get to go until your done with all the tricks, kitten,” Hanzo informs you. A long-winded, but obvious, no.

Your response is to kick your legs up and down, and cry about it. The angle your body is at providing for some strange new pressure. You’re so full it’s hurting. Little cramps tugging and pulling at your abdominal muscles. Able to feel the warmth in your bladder through your stomach.

It’s an interesting sensation that reminds you of being full of... something else. If only it weren’t for that pesky overwhelming need to let it all out. Your forehead drops to the pretty, soft rug beneath you, trying to concentrate on keeping it in. Cat ears falling askew, the lock on your collar rattling from all the squirming.

A trickle of pee streams out. You slam your thighs together abruptly in a last-ditch effort to hold back the flood. Your tail getting caught between your thighs. Legs shaking, back arching from the effort. It’s no use, you’re far too full.

“Bad girl, Sis, open your legs let us see your shame,” Genji says.

Opening your legs quickly, so as not to disappoint your Masters, the piss streams out freely, beyond your control. A hot and heavy flow, pooling and soaking into the rug. Wetting the tip of your favorite tail. Making an absolute mess of the rug, the thing will surely need to be thrown out now.

Bringing your hands to your face you cry, “I’m so sorry, Masters.”

Hanzo is the first to rise up off of his seat. Drops down to his knees next to you. Gets right into the puddle, uncaring that his pants are soaking up all the mess. He pulls the tail out from between your thighs and throws it over your back. A few droplets splashing against your cheek. “Tsk. tsk. That’s a very bad kitty.”

“Punishment?” Genji questions, joining his brother down on the floor.

“Of course, all training requires discipline for failure.” Hanzo peels the damp panties off of your ass, leaving them stretched out between your knees. Hanzo traces two fingers over your glistening, wet folds. “Naughty girl.”

Hanzo grabs a hold of your neck, forces you on hands and knees to turn around and face the filth. Leans his weight onto your neck just enough to force your face into the dampness. Rubbing your nose in your accident, ensuring that you’ll never forget the mess you’ve made.

Genji takes up giving you a swift “disciplinary” smack on your ass, and then another one, and another one. Keeps giving you spanks ‘til your cheeks are a mass of swollen, radiating heat, and tiny sporadic little heartbeats. Spanks your pussy. That stings like hell, legs kicking up and down in response. Situates himself behind you, frees his cock and presses his blunt tip to your entrance.

Genji leans forward, sinking his cock into you. The abrupt stretch burns, but it still feels so, very, good. He gives you a few lazy pumps before stilling. His hands gripping your hips as he stays fully seated inside of you. Eyes closed in concentration as he starts to let go.

Hanzo still holds your face against the carpet. “Let us see how you like it when we go where we are not supposed to.”

Suddenly it feels like Genji letting go a steady stream of cum. Nonstop, continuously filling you up with warmth. Brimming over, trickling out of your cunt, despite the fat cock plugging you up. Heat rises in your face, walls clenching down around your brother’s length.

“Oh my god,” you whimper. Covering your face with your hand. Wetness steadily trickling down the insides of your thighs. Genji fucks you hard. Viscous snaps of his hips and the piss making for extremely slick, wet sounds. Salty mess dribbling out from between your folds with every thrust. Your Anija trying to catch his end quickly.

As soon as he’s done stuffing you full of a thicker, slick warmth. Hanzo is ready, entering your messy hole with one swift thrust. Holding your ass as flush with his hips as he can. Fingers digging into the meat of your hip, stinging. Sure to leave little bruises. You gather yourself up onto your elbows. Bottom lip sucked between your teeth as the second stream of piss flows into your body.

Hanging your head you moan. Legs shaking, a shiver careening from the small of your back to your head. Causing your cat ears to fall completely off your head. Genji grabs them for you, places them back onto your head. Gets down on his own elbows so he can coo at you, “I think our kitten likes it. Don’t you pretty kitty?”

“Mhmm,” you say with a timid little nod.

“Brother, get back here or you will miss it.”

Genji’s gone after giving you a brief scratch under your chin. Instead of fucking the piss from your body, Hanzo pulls out. A flood flowing from your cunt, a visual that Genji would have been sad to have missed, your greedy little hole clenching to try and keep some of it to yourself.

Hanzo plunges back in demanding, “fuck yourself on my cock, kitten.”

Without hesitation or question, you lift and slam your hips down. Gyrate, and push back on him as much as the leverage you have will allow. It’s not long before you find the perfect pace. That sweet angle that hits your sensitive bundle of nerves every time. A new pressure arising that quickly begs for release. “Oh-- may I cum Master? May I? Please--”

“You may.”

Your fingers curl around heaps of damp rug, back arching. Losing all of your perfect rhythm as you cum. Hanzo slamming your hips back into his own, helping you get through it with every little bit of pleasure you can get out of it. Holds you flush once more as he cums, spilling the last bit fo himself that he got to give you. His thumbs digging into the redness of your cheeks, causing you to whimper from the sting.

Hanzo sits back, admiring your leaking hole. Much in the same way he was earlier. “Filthy,” he says fondly. An air of pride about how messy he’s made his kitten.

Genji places a hand on his big brother's shoulder. “Good thing our kitten likes water, cause she needs a bath, don’t you think?”

#hanzo x reader #genji x reader #sibling incest #omorashi/kitten play/spanking/watersports #mystuff #drabble

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darksiders-scenarios · 7 years ago

Note

Sorry to bother you, but could you do some comfort scenario where the horsemen try to offer advice for a s/o with really crappy brothers? My family is falling apart because my two brothers are cocaine addicts and dont care about anyone :'(

Never a bother. It breaks my heart when I hear about things like that. I wish I could give you the biggest hug.

War

It was late evening and the sun has almost dipped below the horizon. You were sitting on the top step of your porch, staring at the space between your crossed legs. Behind the closed door, you can hear the muffled argument between your brothers and parents. Your fingers curled through your hair, gripping the strands tightly. You heart hammered against your chest, thoughts dangerously shifting to how far you can run away before night befell the area. Your escape plan was interrupted the moment you felt a new presence. Your gaze snapped up and at once, you met piercing blue eyes. War’s eyes were narrowed, his glare burning through you, as though you were an enemy. You instinctively drew slightly into yourself.

"War?" you started, forcing the beginning of a quake in your body to calm down.

"Why are you out here?" his voice was low. "Did they kick you out?"

You relaxed slightly and shook your head. "No... nothing like that." His eyes remained cold and disbelieving but you dropped your head, too mentally drained to form an elaborate explanation for the horseman. "I just need to take a breather," you said simply. The cold wind whipped through the air, slicing through your exposed neck. Your teeth chattered and you crossed your arms over your chest. The autumn air was bitterly cold and you wished you had brought a coat with you. But you didn't want to go back inside. Not right now.

You jumped when you felt something warm wrap around your shoulders. Something red filled your vision before it disappeared, and you felt it being draped over your front. At once, you felt the bitter cold ward off. Curiously, you looked up and you saw War lowering himself to sit beside you. His wispy, platinum hair tumbled over his shoulders and you remarked that his shoulder cloak was missing. You brought your hand to touch the new layer over you. It was soft and warm, and smelled of metal and earth.

War's attention seemed to be fixated on something distant, but you've known him long enough to know that his mind was currently a raging blur. You dragged the cloak tighter around your body and you sat in silence. You closed your eyes and instantly the voices from inside your home increased significantly. Your brothers' protests and aggressive outbursts overlapped your parents' equally incensed rebukes. And here you were, sitting outside, quietly absorbing all the toxicity from the very people who should've been supporting you. The higher their voices mounted, the tighter your chest constricted.

You barely stifled a gasp when you felt a metal hand touch your back. War was standing up, his palm nudging you to follow suit. "Where are we going?" you asked as you got up. "Come," he said simply, already striding ahead. Dragging the cloak more securely around you, you followed him, hobbling lightly due to your muscles adjusting to the abrupt motion. You walked in silence for the first half hour until you somehow ended up in your local park. The autumn leaves crunched beneath your shoes as you both trudged through straight graveled paths lined with deciduous trees. The old swings were swinging to and fro, creaking softly in the light wind. Night has fallen over the land, and through the darkness you felt the cold dread creeping over you like an icy chill, numbing your brain and you finally let your tears flow, reassured in the knowledge that War cannot see them. There is no avoiding it; it was a losing battle with your brothers. Every day that passed was like the timer on a bomb. You couldn't stop-

You started when you felt War place his hand on the small of your back, nudging you to keep up your pace with him. Your head remained down when he steered you through a narrow pathway but your eyes briefly lingered on the flower hedges and bushes that grew around you. The colours were more vibrant during the day but the sight was more serene at night, an antithesis to the raging storm within you. You let your fingers flutter over the soft petals, feeling their coolness caress your skin, temporarily dissolving a little bit of your uneasiness.

But then you felt the dread creep down your spine again until you were almost rooted on the spot. Your breath became more hurried and along came the onslaught of emotions. As if on cue, War coaxed you forward again, this time he kept his hand on your back. His touch slightly soothed the building tension in your stomach and you regained some strength to take a step forward. And another. And another.

The pathway led out to a wide expanse of grass. The moonlight poured through the openings of the dark clouds, a calming shade of midnight blue washing over the wooden benches and solitary water fountain in the centre. The harsh quiver in your hands diminished slightly and the nauseating sensation in your throat vanished as you stared at the stone resin fountain. Approaching the structure, you slowly sat down on the edge, releasing a long breath that you weren't aware that was trapped in your throat. You hugged the thick cloak tighter around yourself in a mockery of a hug, fingers digging into the skin of your arms and you leaned forward, staring at the space between your feet.

War sat beside you and you felt his unnatural warmth envelop you soothingly. Your eyes shifted to the side and you felt fresh tears flow unchecked down your cheeks. "I-I don't know what you do," you choked out at last. Next to you, the horseman removed his gauntlet and cast it to one side before curling his fingers around the back of your head. "You owe them nothing."

You sighed, drawing a hand over your face. "I don't know, War…" your lower lip quivered, "Sometimes I think I'm going mad. Sometimes I wish that I could do more."

"Their lack of willpower and moral fibre should never cause your sanity to be on the line, young one," the words were soft but there was an edge of sternness in his voice.

You turned your head and your eyes met. For a long while, you just stared at each other, the storm within you calming down significantly under his protective gaze. Reaching out, you shyly placed your hand on his knee and at once, the red rider slid his hand from your head to round your back, shifting you till you were pressed to his side. "Would you like to do this again?" he asked.

It took you a moment to realise that he was referring to the little night stroll. You had to admit, distancing yourself from your home helped somewhat. So you smiled, "Yes please."

Death

Your eyes snapped open. It was still dark and the only light source that poured through your windows came from the stars. At once, you felt your chest constrict and your heart palpitate before you even remembered why. Unconsciously, you began chewing your lips; worry gnawing at you the longer you stared at your ceiling.

“You will break your skin,” Death warned from somewhere in your room. You turned your head to the right. Through the shadows, you made out his large silhouette, kneeling with his back against the side of your bed. The moonlight made his protruding spine appear like the seared end of a blade. When you didn't answer, he tilted his face to the side, his yellow eyes glowing faintly. "You should go back to sleep."

“I… I can’t,” you countered quietly.

‘Of course, you can’t’, Death internally agreed. He could sense your aggrieved soul, pulsating with fear and dread. The closest he could describe it was like navigating through an overpowering fog of exhaustion. Although it displeased him to admit it, he sympathised with you. His hypervigilance over his brothers could be to 'thank' for. Although there were the occasional rifts between his siblings, Death would never question their unwavering loyalty and was confident that they would do little to put the other at risk, as best as they can avoid it that is. But with your situation…

You heard him sigh and you tensed. “Sorry,” you muttered without thinking.

This prompted your supernatural friend to whip his upper torso in your direction. His eyes burned brightly as he stared at you. “Enough with that,” he scolded although his voice held no anger, only a tired annoyance. “It shouldn't be you who should apologise, Y/N.”

You grimaced before turning your head to face the window. Outside, the winter wind was howling, rattling the windows lightly. A near perfect representation of your inner turmoil. The bed shifted and you felt a heavy weight on your mattress, feeling a slight chill beginning to engulf you.

“I’m scared.” The words were barely more than a whisper.

"Of what? Losing them?" it was a rhetorical question and you both knew it, but you nodded anyway, your hair scrapping against the pillow.

“Perhaps you already have, little one,” Death affirmed softly. Your stomach churned sickeningly at his agreement. “Or perhaps, you’ve simply lost the persons they once were.”

You kept staring stubbornly at the window. "I just wish things were the same as before," you protested weakly. You knew it was pointless, that you were only saying it to console yourself. "I think," you fingers curled into fists underneath the blanket. "I hate them sometimes," you gritted out.

"You are embroiled in a situation that you have no control over," Death nodded. "Your anger is justifiable."

The nausea swirled unrestrained in your stomach, dread hanging over you like a black cloud. The stillness of the room was causing you to feel breathless. You pushed yourself up, intending to go to the bathroom but Death instinctively settled his hand on your covered legs from where he sat on the edge.

"It can get ugly and vicious sometimes," you blurted out, staring down at his large hand. "You know how many times we tried to reach out to them," you chuckled grimly. "Too many times I've lost count. But at the same time, they're victims themselves Death…"

"Your family has done enough," Death said. "It is up to your brothers to take responsibility for their actions so that they can rectify their situation."

"It's hard for them."

"They're not children," he retaliated, frowning. "They can recover and it's made possible by knowing that they have a choice to stop," you felt him staring down at you. "Addiction is progressive, little one. Logical, rational thinking will deteriorate. But that is not to say that options are not available to them. They have to make that first step."

Your shoulders slumped and his eyes softened. Your eyes traced the protruding veins and scars on the back of his hand, feeling your throat swell from the mounting pressure of your sadness. At length, you looked at his masked face; his amber eyes were sympathetic and patient. You opened your mouth to formulate a reply but the only sound that escaped was a choked sob. Somehow your fingers were now enclosed around his wrist and were squeezing as hard as though your life depended on it. You lowered your head till your forehead pressed onto his hand. "I wish they did," you whispered, tears spilling down your face at last.

"Enough about them," you felt his other hand rest on your back. "You have to focus on yourself. Learn to detach yourself from the situation. Don't waste your time on anything that does not contribute to your peace."

You nodded weakly and you felt his hand brush your back. "Never once think that you are alone in this fight," he murmured.

Strife

They were bickering again. No, they weren't your brothers this time. Nor were they your parents. Although you didn't understand a word they were saying, the words were spat out with the ferocity and rapidity of a machine gun. Watching them now was reminiscent to observing your own family falling apart. You gritted your teeth. You were brought here with the intention for your anxiety to calm down, to get away from the mess and commotion at home. Not to further intensify it. The longer the heated exchange carried on, the higher your panic. Finally, you snapped.

"STOP."

Both masked faces whipped in your direction, both assuming defensive stances and hands flying to their weapons. They relaxed when they saw no threat but one of them visibly stiffened upon sighting your crestfallen face. "Y/N?" Strife began, taking a step towards you. You were motionless for a while before you felt the pressure building in your stomach. The shock and embarrassment were etched on your face and before you knew it, you turned away, sprinting out of the room, ignoring Strife calling you from behind.

It didn't take long for him to catch up to you and you felt his hand clamp down on your shoulder, slowing you down till you halted. "What's gotten into ya?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. You let him turn you around till you were facing him. Behind him, you saw Death approaching, his eyes also shining with concern. You shook your head, internally berating yourself for losing control like that. "I'm sorry. Forget you saw that."

"Like hell I will!" Strife snapped.

"Easy brother," Death's voice rumbled from behind him.

"I know what I'm doing!" Strife barked over his shoulder, but then softer to you, "Was it something I did?"

'Yes', you wanted to say, but that would be selfish and petulant. You cannot drag him further into your family problems when he was clearly dealing with his own here. Catching sight of Death looking at you, you let your gaze fall to your feet. All of a sudden, the place felt too crowded and you were starting to find it difficult to breathe. As though reading your mind, Strife steered you around. You heard him call something to Death in his language before he began walking with you along the corridor.

"It's them again, isn't it," his statement made you stiffen. It wasn't a question. He knew. "Was it that obvious?"

"You've always been obvious," he grunted, making you wince.

Sudden bright yellow light caused you to shield your eyes with your hands. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even realise that Strife had directed you out of his home. Before you, the plains stretched like a great quilt of golden, brown and green. You kept walking, passing waterfall cascading over rocks and trees of various hues of brown until you reached a large maple tree. Without warning, Strife placed his hands beneath your arms, eliciting a surprised squeak from you, before he easily lifted you to sit on one of the low hanging branches. The canopy above shielded you from the glaring sunlight.

Strife removed his helmet and tossed it to the ground, before placing both hands on either side of your body. "Sooo…." He began, smirking at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Blanket burritos didn't work, putting Death's hair in pigtails didn't work and clearly asking you to envision Valus in a tutu failed… looks like I better think of something else quick."

Try as you did, you almost failed to stifle your giggles. But otherwise, you didn't answer, opting instead to glance at your dangling feet. "Kid…" Strife began, "there's nothing you can do."

You pulled a face. "I know Strife… I just wish..."

"What?"

"That things were different… before the addiction. Before they started withdrawing from us…," you felt your throat clog," Maybe if I was more assertive. Maybe if I was-"

"Now stop stop stop right there," Strife cut you off, his brows furrowing. "Let's get one thing straight first of all," he jabbed you softly in the stomach. "You are not responsible for their choices and actions. You gotta do what's best for you and let them deal with theirs for once."

You gritted your teeth. "They're slowly killing themselves, Strife," you persisted quietly. "Our family's falling apart and I-"

"Quit with the 'I's," he interrupted you again. "You got nothin' to do with this."

You threw your head back in exasperation. "Strife, I know. I'm tired. Frustrated. Of their lies. Of their everything. But there're my brothers. I can't hate them. Yet at the same time, I don't want to ruin their lives."

"You don't want to ruin their lives," Strife muttered disdainfully. "Well, what about your life huh? Sorry kiddo but I don' like to sugarcoat things. Your brothers are the ones ruining their lives with their own choices. Best thing to do is make changes for yourself," he thunked his forehead softly against yours. "Focus on yourself."

You smiled ruefully, but slowly nodded nonetheless. "Are you talking from experience?" you teased, staring into his maroon eyes. Instead of rebuking to that, Strife only carried staring at you, as though seeing something in you only he could see. A few seconds passed before he cheerily said, "F**k 'em," before nuzzling his forehead into yours.

Fury

You grunted when you crashed into the mud again, scratching your arm against the sharp pebbles. Staggering back to your feet, you leveled a glare with the she-horseman's. Hers was the glare of challenge, yours was simply raw anger. Sucking in a sharp breath, you sprinted towards her, right arm flying out and fist ready to strike. Unsurprisingly, Fury was able to dodge and deflect all your attacks with lazy side steps and palm swipes. You punched and struck and kicked but the only thing you managed to hit was air, and this only served to further enrage you.

Fury's heel planted into your stomach and with a swift push, you tumbled back and landed on your backside, once again failing to deliver a single blow on the horseman. Cursing, you barely managed to get back up when a sudden light-headedness caused you to collapse forward. You shut your eyes, hands flying to protect your face as you fast approached the ground. Except it wasn’t the ground you collapsed on. Nor did you even collapse for that matter as you felt Fury's arms encircle you, steadying you back onto your feet.

She took a step back, appraising you. "You're not focusing," she criticised simply. You pressed your lips tightly. "At this rate, you won't last half a day should a lesser demon attack."

"Don't care," you muttered under your breath but Fury's keen hearing was able to pick it up. Eyes squinting, she closed the gap once more, looming over you until you had no choice but to look up. Her gaze was strict but you spotted neither anger nor annoyance in it. "We're here for a reason Y/N," she reminded. "You are no longer on Earth so leave its problems there," she stepped back, readying her fighting stance. "Ground yourself here."

And with that, she ran towards you and you barely had time to block a punch to the face. You both stepped back for a brief second before diving back at each other, fists ready to collide. Despite what Fury said, the scenarios of your brothers wormed their way to your mind, causing your cognition to meltdown.

The blood hummed in your veins as determination and anger took over. Though her blows were more or less painless, it was the contact that infuriated you, each blow was a reminder of your family falling apart. You were determined to persevere. Although it was hard to see the light at the end of this tunnel, you will persevere. You dodged a kick and retaliated with a sloppy one of your own. She easily evaded it but nodded approvingly. "Cease prophesying the unknown," she said, charging at you, the flat of her hand edging closer to your face. It hit your jaw softly and you stumbled back as though it was painful.

Visions of your brothers shouting, lying… endangering their lives. Each memory that surfaced was punctuated in your blows. Harsher and more aggressive. Your eyes were wide but unseeing. You tossed away your wooden stick and charged at Fury, screaming and aiming your fist to her stomach. But redirected it at the last minute to her arm, the force dissolving into a soft press. Your rage slowly melted away. Your vision became blurry and it took you a while to notice the tears streaming down your face.

You stayed that way for a while, both panting, but yours was more erratic and harsh. Your stomach ached and all your muscles were screaming in agony. Fury's hand came to rest on your head and you drew closer into her arms. She held you there, softly stroking your hair and squeezing you gently. "I'm sorry," she murmured. You shook your head, leaning back to meet her gaze. "No… I think… it helped," you panted. "The pressure was building up too much… and this was a practical way to release it," you chuckled weakly. "I'm spending far too much time trying to control something that's beyond my control… I think it's time for me to look after myself."

Fury smoothed your strands. "And you have every right to focus on yourself, sweet one," she brushed a finger along your dirt streaked cheek. "If you don't, then who will?"

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beautifulramblingbrains · 7 years ago

Text

Bound By Honour - Chapter 2

Pairing: Eric/OC *Sarah* Fandom: Divergent/Insurgent Rating: M -

Eric has the best hand in all the factions, but can’t seem to get to grips with his life as a parent to two grown Dauntless members. The honour is passed to Sarah as she battles with the woes of an unruly daughter and a wayward son. Balanced with a intricate web of personal struggles and outsiders, can they stop their family from falling apart?

A/N: This is way shorter than usual as I had to cut this chapter down to run smoothly with the next, so I apologize. Enjoy!

Tags: @singingpeople @equalstrashflavoredtrash @pathybo @beltz2016 @ariwolff14 @lostinthebeans @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @jojuarez26 @tigpooh67 @mom2reesie @lilu46 @murmelinchen

No matter how much Sarah was involved with her Dauntless side of life, once she steps onto the track of Abnegation, a little buzz of familiar warmth spreads throughout her. Paired with her boots and jacket she only wore on her small outings to Abnegation, she felt a little bit more herself.

She greets the people as she passes with a bright smile, bobbing her head as she passed to small chiming ‘Hello’s’ and ‘Good afternoon’s.’ It was a good afternoon, the sun was shining with a few sparse clouds, the people were out in their gray glory, the school to her left buzzed with children in the playground just as the bell rang for them to come back inside. And gosh, she missed the sight of the cube-shaped houses, practically identical to the one she grew up in

Mary’s house is nearer to the council hall, further up the straight track, lined with the same graveled walkway they all had but with small wild flowers left to grow in the small square garden. She’s a few feet from the door, and from the window can see a buzz of life inside; hands flailing and bodies zipping past. A small knock and a rosy-cheeked older woman answers.

“Mrs Patrick,” Sarah sighs as the woman pulls her into her arms.

“Oh, look at you!” The older woman checks her face with motherly tenderness, hands palm side on her cheeks. “Mary! Mary!” she calls loudly. “Your sister is here! Come on in!”

The house always seems to be permanently cluttered with strips of material, measuring tapes, and freakish manikins. Mary’s tailoring had hit an all-time high. Not only did she outsource made-to-measure suits, she fitted children’s clothes, wedding dresses mainly for Amity and tucked in the bedsheets suppose-to-be outfits provided for Abnegation. Mary also had her own team to help her and most of them were here now.

She catches Mary kneeling by a long skirt, a woman wearing it while she snipped and tucked the hem, her mouth holding scissors. “Sarah, if you’ll give us a minute I’ll be right there,” she mumbles.

“Please don’t rush for me.” Sarah liked nothing more than watching her sister work, it was with complete passion. She takes a seat at the table and watches. “Your dress is very pretty,” she ends up commenting to the lady patiently standing.

“It’s not hers.” Mary’s voice is distance as she tilts back to study something and carries on. “And she is mute.”

“Oh. I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” The girl she commented on can barely look at her, a certain mixture of shyness and embarrassment, her eyes flickering across but her head unmoving.

“Anna is my best model. She doesn’t tell me how I should be working.” Mary’s voice is pretty abrupt but Sarah pays no mind. “But she has a good eye and more than enough times guided me.”

“Well, you are doing a marvelous job.”

“The next wedding event we have coming up, Anna will be in charge.”

Sarah could almost hear Eric scoff, saying aloud ‘how could she expect someone mute to be in charge’, and it annoys her. She shakes her head quickly. “I can come back another day if you’re too busy.”

“No, no!” Mary does one final ceremonious snip and leans back onto her feet. “We are done for now. Mrs Patrick, will you help Anna out of the dress while I speak with Sarah?” There’s a muffled reply from the kitchen and Mary quickly moves across, taking Sarah’s hands as she sits down. “I would really like you to stay and talk about something other than dressmaking.” From the flowery white cuffs of Mary’s dress sleeves, down to the ribbons on her boots, there was no mistaking a tailor. The most amusing thing is, is that she is an Abnegation, and had enough style to outlast most of the young girls at Dauntless.

Sarah, the elder of the two, pushes back a piece of her sister’s straying hair, watching her eyes soften as she tumbles back to reality and out of her work. “I have a lot of things other than dressmaking to talk about. And right now I don’t even know where to begin.”

“The most important?”

Sarah smiles. “How is my niece?”

“You are like sandpaper, you know that?” Mary laughs.

“Why?”

“Smoothing everything over.”

“I suppose that’s better than when you called me an egg, at least.”

Mary holds her hand up in the air as if under oath. “I swear by it, that that, at the time, was the best explanation of how you looked. A fried egg on its side was what you looked like pregnant.”

“Let’s not go over this again. It still sounds just as stupid as the first time.”

They fall quiet; but not awkwardly, until Mary sighs off into the room, “That seems a world away.” She perks up quickly, her head snapping back. “Your niece is fine. What about mine - Other than what Mark has already told me?”

“Your niece and nephew are…” She frowns to herself, playing with the cuff of her jacket. “April is smoking and drinking. And, well, you know about Jack. I’m so disappointed…”

“They will figure themselves out, just give it time-”

“No,” Sarah interrupts her. “Not them - well, yes them. But it’s Eric I’m disappointed with. He made this decision without me. He threatened and warned but had never done anything about it before. Now he has. And takes no responsibility for April’s problems! He sleeps soundly at night and I can’t remember the last time I did.”

“He’ll come to his senses.”

“No, you don’t understand. He lets April get away with everything. What she apologizes for is no way near sincere. She tells me to shut up, be quiet, go away, probably bitch when I leave the room. Then we have Jack, a little reserved, easy-going, kind-hearted, and Eric feels the need to send him away as if somehow this will help him ‘grow as a man’ or whatever plans he’s got in his head now.” Sarah’s lips tremble and she stands up quickly to mask it, heading to the window and looking out into the bright sunshine. “It’s tiring.”

“Life pivots unexpectedly at weird times. Look at where we are now and how times have changed. Things will work their way out. We know that better than anyone.”

Her sister is right. Meeting Eric for the first time was horrific. How she had been then, like Anna, eyes cast to the floor most of the time, unable to speak her thoughts, not understanding the mindset of Dauntless and wishing each day away. Then there was what her parent’s put her through at such a young age, shoving her in the firing line as Eric’s assistant when their mother had a fall and their pride was too big to let another take her place. Nobody had told her about him. Nobody had warned her. Nobody but her, through experience, taught her to fight for what she believed in. The decisions and choices she made thereafter, others would probably only read or dream about; their opinions probably varied on what way she should have chosen to live her life.

But unexpectedly, Sarah found that in time she had carved Eric out, realizing that she was probably just as twisted to fall for him, that somehow they worked. He needed her to function, and she needed him to keep the fire burning in the pit of her stomach. He taught her that she was just as selfish and indulgent as him, and she showed him that there was redemption for even the cruelest.

This situation would work its way out. Whatever this feeling was, this uncertainty, she could figure it out.

Suddenly, Sarah flinches to Mary’s touch, dragging her from her thoughts. “I think this calls for an afternoon tipple.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“It’s becoming mandatory.” Mary smiles, her boots clattering against the floor as she makes her way over to a cabinet on the furthest side of the room. “Don’t tell Mark. It’s a present from a customer.” She presents a glass bottle, corked, with clear liquid inside. “I think it’s pear something.”

“I'm supposed to be visiting Mother.”

“You can go tomorrow. If you stay a little longer, Thomas will be making an appearance soon. Plus, you’re not in the best of moods. Jesus, even in the best of moods I still want to knock her from her wheelchair.”

The bubble of laughter erupts from Sarah, Mary joining in while pouring two small glasses.

“...It’s a month. Mark is joining you and leaving on the weekends to be with his family. But you will be staying there.” Eric looks up from the assignment sheet to his son's eyes that dance across the desk nervously. When he hesitates to answer, Eric rolls his lips together impatiently, swiveling in his chair to and fro. Jack has the traits of his mom that it’s almost sickening, and he has to bite his tongue to try and not snap at him to sit up fucking straight.

Jack rubs his hands on his pants before answering, “Yes, sir.”

“Once you have come back, we can have the conversation again about what you want to do. Preferably, I believe with some training, you’ll be right to start working under me. To do that, you have a lot of people to get above.” Jack doesn’t say anything, so he continues. “We should have done this as soon as you had finished initiation.” But apparently, mother knows best...

“Yes, sir.”

Eric kisses his teeth, leaning forward and feeling a little out of his comfort zone. “Have you nothing to say?”

“No. I understand that you are doing what is best for me.” Yep, he was Sarah a hundred times over.

“Let me tell you a little something,” Eric begins, keeping his voice low. “Me and your mom had a rough start, so to speak, at the beginning of our…” He wanders off in thought before saying, “relationship.” Jack’s head quirks up, more interested than he was before - now that it wasn’t something to do directly with him or work. “I held her back. My sole-focus was her for a long time - until you, obviously. But the point is I learned that sometimes you have to give a little and people rise to the challenge. In other cases, when holding back, you realize some people are the opposite and need a push.”

“So, you are saying I’m not like any other person in my family? Mom and April didn’t need to be pushed?”

“No, you are like me.” Eric answers and Jack furrows his brow curiously. “I wasn’t happy with Erudite and my parents weren’t exactly a good example. I got tired of being nothing, considered as nothing. When I got to choose my path, I chose two at the same time; one being Dauntless, and two, I was going to become a Leader. There was no other option for me.” The words sink into his son, his head turning away in thought. “Those experiences of my life and past pushed me into where I am today.”

“Along with others you pushed into the chasm?”

“Casualties,” Eric expresses flippantly. “Dauntless wasn’t like how it is today.” He slouches back in his chair. “I would say motherfucking backstabbers, but the old guy liked to push. Well… he tried to anyway.” Chuckling to himself, Jack doesn’t share his amusement because he doesn’t have the slightest clue who Max is. He was just another faceless rumor. “...That’s a whole other story.”

“I figured.”

“Sort your shit-” He’s interrupted by Betty suddenly popping her head in the door.

“Sarah isn’t on the premises. I’ve tried calling her and there is no reply.”

Of course, Eric doesn’t believe her, instantly picking up his phone and trying himself. He slams the phone down, cursing under his breath and stands up. Not on the premises also meant still no reports on the warehouse. “Dad?” His rampage is halted, throwing his head over his shoulder to his son staring up at him. “You still love mom? Like, that would never change? No matter what?”

This pansy shit Eric loathed the absolute most. He’s almost stunned into silence. But he couldn’t help but get the sixth sense that this question meant a lot more. It was a stupid fucking question, but the underlying meaning was overly important. “I’ve already proved that once in my life already. I can easily say, no matter what.” As he turns and stalks the corridor, he runs a hand down his face. He’ll think more about that later, because it’s already hit seven, and his little wife was still lost on her adventures.This was a first in a long time.

Mary opens her door to Eric leaning against the frame with an impatient sneer. “Eric,” she greets him tightly.

“Where is she?” She opens the door wider, allowing him inside. Mark’s eating his dinner at the table with his young daughter Eliza and grimaces at him in passing. He’s shown towards the living room, finding his wife asleep on the couch, curled into a ball with her jacket and boots still on. “Leave us.” He doesn’t spare a glance, the door clicking quietly behind, and goes over to crouch next to her head. Pushing back the fine hairs that had fallen into her face, he sighs. “What are you still doing here?”

Her eyes open with that blaze of blue that enchanted him from the moment he met her. “You’re a mean man.” Instantly he tries not to smile. “You didn’t know where I was. I bet you have only just found out. You are sending our son away. My daughter hates me. I don’t want to be in charge of that Erudite project thing-”

“Woe is you.”

“And you are smiling still.” She buries her face towards the couch to try and block him out.

“I think somebody has had a little too much to drink, don’t you?”

She pushes back to scowl at him, a pathetic attempt. “I am serious. This is not drunkenness but saddestness.”

Eric snorts. “Right.”

“This is the very, very lowest I’ve been...” The more serious she tries to appear the more he laughs.

“Yeah, I suspect very close to the bottom of the bottle. You’ll regret it tomorrow.”

“...it’s like cold hands have gripped my heart-”

“Enough with the poetics.” She shifts back on his words, gazing up at him. Slowly, a miscalculated hand reaches out, barely missing his eye and strokes his cheek. He could feel his annoyance beginning to radiate. “Sarah-”

“Do you love me?”

Eric sighs through his nose. “If I didn’t, would I be here now?”

“Just answer me.” She mumbles some other incoherent word that he’s not bothered about. It sounded sort of like Jack, but he makes out its probably Jerk.

“Fine. Yes. Of course.” He grabs her annoying hand and lays it flat on the couch again.

“Do you love our children?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“I’m doing this because I love you all. We’ve done it your way since they were born, and now it’s time to do things my way. No harm will come of this, that I can promise you. There is no danger.” He watches her eyelashes flutter, peering off across the room. “He has Mark and I will check in every day. And to be honest, we have to start putting this behind us.” Thankfully she nods because he’d killed for less. But really he was only giving her the reassurances she wanted to hear so he could get out there as quickly as possible. “So, are you coming home or staying here?”

“Home, please. I did try but Thomas turned up, and then Eliza-.”

“But this is the end of this conversation, Sarah. I don’t want to hear it anymore.” She nods again but a little slower, trying to sit up. Her hair sticks out and she wobbles slightly in her seat. “I should be really annoyed with you, but I got a little deja vu and mild semi.” She is definitely slaughtered because she smiles and begins trying to hide it underneath her hand. “Come on.”

Sarah is the last to wake. She appears ready for the day and ignores the way everybody looks at her as she passes. Flicking on the coffee machine, she keeps her back to them.

“You okay, mom?” Jack asks.

“Absolutely fine.” She busies herself with trying to find a mug, then places a sugar neatly into it, still not turning around. She can hear them snickering and the low rumble of Eric’s voice.

“Feeling a bit dazed?” Eric asks this time.

“No, why would I be dazed?” The coffee machine clicks off and she pours herself a decent amount.

“Does your heart still feel cold?” The mirth in April’s tone is unmissable.

“You’re such a dick, April,” Jack mutters.

“What? Mom got drunk for the like, the second time ever, and we can’t talk about it?”

Sarah turns and catches Eric’s eyes, he’s smirking lightly, one arm outstretched in a casual pose with his morning beverage and she gets the fleeting image of throwing it in his mocking face. “I’m fine.” She tries to smile but her head is pounding. “Eat your breakfast.” Then please leave me alone, she thinks, walking over to take a seat in what feels like an almost uncomfortable but discreet interrogation. “If your dad feels it is amusing to share something private that was between us, that’s on him.”

The table bursts into laughter and she keeps herself stoically composed. “We’re all family here,” Eric manages to say between breaths.

“Yes, I know.”

“I bet Auntie Mare was cringing watching you chug.” April peers between her father and brother while Sarah begins buttering toast from the middle of the table. “I can just imagine Uncle Mark’s face and poor Eliza cowering behind him.” She mimes a scared face, peeking up between her hands like a dog.

Sarah keeps her back straight, eyes on her food. “I’m glad you find this funny.”

“It’s fucking hilarious.”

“April, don’t swear.”

“Alright, leave it now,” Jack mutters from across the table.

“Okay, mommy’s boy.” The attitude of their daughter is grating. “Go get yourself laid or something. There’s always some sincere stick shoved up your ass.”

Sarah puts down her knife, snapping her head to her daughter next to her. “Enough.” She, of all people, should know the consequences of drinking and remember exactly what Sarah had to deal with on a regular basis. But it seems her ignorant daughter couldn’t care less.

April merely flicks her hair, nonchalantly commenting, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Bitch,” Jack rolls the word off his tongue, hissing it hatefully towards his sister. “You gonna let her talk to mom like this?” he asks Eric.

“April shut your fucking mouth.” Their father speaks but it falls on deaf ears. His heart wasn’t in his warning as he brushes the handle of his mug with a bored expression.

“What? We can’t have a laugh over mom’s frosty heart as she bleeds for Jack being sent to a death camp?” Their daughter imposes herself more over the table, trying to get somebody to agree.

“You over exaggerate and are beginning to set the rumors true for the color of your hair, blondie. Zip it. Fucking stitch it shut for more than five minutes,” Eric sighs.

“You’ve gone soft, old man. For reputation's sake, I’d be keeping a check on it.” April’s gone too far and Sarah looks up to Eric in a flash, his expression forming into something lethal. That wasn’t a subject to be poked and whatever is about to come out of his mouth isn’t going to be good. So, as always, she stands up, trying to take the attention away...

“Go to work, all of you, ple-” Her efforts are useless as Eric pushes the entire table, pointing a tensed finger at their daughter, and Jack leaves knowingly.

“Get the fuck out of here now!” He follows April all the way to her bedroom, a string of shouted abuse until she’s almost in tears, then she ducks her way past him to the front door. Some things are hissed so quietly and so darkly, Sarah couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying.

The moment she leaves, he turns around, completely livid, red in the face, and his eyes blown. “It’s not nice, is it?” Sarah leaves it as that, beginning to tidy the table.

“Fucking little bitch. Ignorant, selfish, little cunt of a daughter. You know what they say about her?” Now he hovers over her shoulder, following her to the kitchen and back again.

“Nothing would surprise me. And I’d rather not know. I want to keep my image of her untainted.”

“They say wild. That there is nothing she hasn’t done.”

Sarah can’t help herself, turning to him and stopping them both in their tracks. “And whose fault is that? And I bet if that was the rumor on Jack you’d be giving him a damned reward for it!”

“Oh, we going to go at each other's throats too?” He tilts his head and she hates it when he does that in such an aggressive manner.

“I just want you to take some responsibility other than what suits you. But like you said, we are done with this conversation, Eric. Maybe once Jack is out of the way, all your attention can be on setting April on the straight and narrow, giving her just a tiny piece of inspiration other than to chase boys and stay out all night drinking.” She takes a step forward but he doesn’t move. “Do you know that most nights I hold her hair back? The sweetest girl, so innocent, so tired of this-this unrewarded life she has. But no, you pick on Jack, force him… The balance should be equal! You can run an entire faction but my god you are weak when it comes to your children!” She pants for not having taken one breath while he stands motionless, still forever glaring and teeth grinding, but motionless nonetheless. “Don’t you blame me!” She searches his face but there is nothing. “Don’t you dare!” She pushes him, an act so unusual. She may as well have been pushing the wall but she tries again anyway, giving up for a swift thump on his chest.

“Are you finished?” Eric eventually asks.

“No,” she pants, wetting her lips and pushing her hair back. “Okay, yes.” Peering around her to the kitchen counters and then the room, it’s eerily silent. The moment she looks back up into his eyes, she notices his anguish has melted away. “Stop it.” He has that playful look on his face just before he was about to pounce. “Eric…” She tries to sound authoritative, backing her way around the island of the kitchen, eventually bumping into the table the other side.

“Don’t run away now, shorty.” He stalks towards her and she gasps as he pushes her backward, his hands steady on her hips, his mouth violently pressed to hers before she could take another breath. Landing on top of the table with a clutter, pushing whatever was left carelessly to one side, Sarah is already working her dress jacket off while he fumbles at his belt. It’s a rush of urgency, only breaking away for her to pull her underwear to one side for him then to align the head of his cock to fit warmly between her legs. He thrusts forwards and stops to her yelp, receiving a slap across his face.

“And you were doing so well with that mouth of yours,” he mocks her, tonguing his cheek.

It’s always the same. And they both knew this. She draws him back with the same spiteful hand and they kiss slowly. “I didn’t mean to yell at you,” she whispers, her hands skimming the buzzed-cut hair at the back of his head.

“I know… She was baiting, like always.”

“You’re too easy to get a rise from.”

“And you’re not, and that’s why when you do, I want to be in you.” She opens her mouth to reply but he puts his finger up to her lips. “Shh, sweetheart, I’m busy here.”

“You’re a mean man.”

“Know it.”

Two days later and still no apology from April. Eric fairs no better either. Their home is lifeless with two entities avoiding each other; one enters, one leaves. They are equally just as stubborn. But Sarah can’t think too much about it because today is the day Jack leaves.

The warehouse has a buzz of excitement; multiple trucks being loaded, loud voices drifting over one another, willing faces ready to venture into new territory. - All but one. The discontentment is written as plain as day on Jack’s face. Only Sarah sees it, only a mother knows unsaid troubles. She watches him from a distance, Eric holding his son's shoulder, drilling in whatever he can while he nods occasionally. He had a rucksack on the floor, filled with needed personal items and equipment, the same one like everybody else that was leaving.

With her hood pulled, she tells herself over and over not to cry. It’s not for her sake, but for him; she didn’t want to embarrass him and Eric, not in this busy place. But it’s hard to hold it together when he eventually looks up at her, shouldering his bag with his dad in tow, making his way over.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Jack half-smiles when he reaches her, peering at her hands twisting the sleeves of her long jacket.

Jack’s a tall boy, signified in the moment she reaches out for him, pulling him down by the neck and into her arms, squeezing him so tight he groans; all while balancing on her tiptoes. “Don’t forget to call us every day.” She pulls back to touch his face. “Have you got everything? Just don’t do anything stupid. Don’t drink or smoke. Keep with your group. You ring your dad-”

“Mom…” he embarrassingly scoffs, peering over his shoulder. “I’m good, don’t worry.” She hugs him strongly one last time, and finally, lets him go…

It’s blurry while watching Jack shake Eric’s hand and, as per usual, his dad giving him a soft clap on the back. It’s almost murky to hear Eric speak to him over the starting truck engines saying, “Focus, don’t look back” - for whose sake, she didn’t know. She almost can’t feel Eric’s hand in hers as she watches her firstborn walk away with his head down, hop into the truck, and disappear inside.

Everything is numb. But there is a voice, a slight pain while the hand holding hers tightens when the trucks begin to roll off. “Keep it together, sweetheart.” The trucks vanish from sight, leaving a dusty and quiet warehouse with a dozen or so people left. Sarah can’t help but look at her husband with utter loathing, snapping her hand away to which he kisses his teeth and peers off to the side.

“If anything happens…” she warns him. “I will never forgive you.” Be it spur of the moment or what she truly thought, either way, she needed to vent her whole-hearted disagreement with this decision. She leaves him there, walking quickly off before she broke to pieces in front of him. He can do that damn warehouse report himself.

#bound by honour #chapter 2 #beautifulramblingbrains #third installment #eric coulter #eric divergent fanfiction #divergent #insurgent #au #jai courtney #things are not so bad hey #look at me not killing anyone yet

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isuka-akagane · 7 years ago

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A past remembered.

Awakening from an abrupt sleep Aliona was greeted by her Mother and sisters gaze. She felt a little light headed , the sound of the estate different somehow. “Isuka you passed out, please gather yourself for a moment. You may need it for that is to come.” With a tired tilt of her head Aliona sat up; resting an arm in her lap she blinked. “What do you mean mother? Is something amis-” The room went silent as she took note of her altered vocal tone. She glanced down and gazed upon Scaleless arms. Her eyes would go wide as a look of fear and uncertainity came over her.

“I…” She paused to collect her thoughts. “Pray please explain this to me mother , Haruna. Has someone tampered with the teapots once more? Snuck into Miss Trisselle’s stock chamber?” With a shake of their heads Rinko spoke up. “No , my daughter. There is nothing of such here. Only secrets we should have not heard fro. You.” With a light sigh Rinko glanced at both of her daughters. “I will be quiet no longer.”

Aliona looking a mix of confused and shocked simply nodded. “Of course , mother.” Resting down on the couch next to her Rinko closed her eyes. “I’m here mother.” Replied Haruna. “So many years have gone by ever so quickly. So long ago did your father and I run to the beaches of the Ruby Sea , hearing the cries of a storm battered vessel as she was bought to knee by the waves.” Rinks looked over at Aliona.

“My dear little girl. Though you have lived your life with scale and horn as we have…You were not born Raen, AuRi.” She shook her head. “No , you are Miqote. Pure of blood. To which tribe we may never know.” A small gasp would escape Aliona. “B-but how. I..I am very much Auri!” She exclaimed, but as she did her mother raised a finger. “Stranger things have happened, I believe this is a favorite phrase of yours Isuka.”

Blinking at this Aliona would nod. “You see my dear. Your birth mother was a Sunseeker whom was very much with child. We were able to save her from the waters with a few of the crew before the sea took them. ” She would sigh “However it was far too late. Even after taking her and the others to Namai for better treatment she did not hold long.

Haruna lowered her head and patted her mother on the back. "At the time Kiba was roughly two summers old. One summer myself. ” Rinko nods at this and continues. “We were able to save that child…you my dear Isuka. You are Doman born that is for certain.” Looking down at her hands her eyes would glimmer with water. “W-why did you never tell me? Why or how was I Auri to begin with if this was all true?”

“If you would , I would like to take the reigns on explaining that dear.” a deeper voice entered the room as a large Raen stood behind them all. “Tousuke.. my love.” smiled Rinko “So you were able to make it.” With a nod Tousuke ruffled Rinko’s hair. “Indeed I was.” He looked over at Aliona and took in a deep breath. “We were afraid to put it plain. Miqtoe are at best uncommon in Doma, let alone Othard itself. It was my idea to seek out a means to make you appear as one of us.”

Adding to the conversation Rinko would chime in. “Given the begginings of the Garlean problem and the issue at the time that was Sui No Sato’s concern with outsiders… we felt it was the safest option had you ever need to flee there to seek refuge.” Aliona glanced between the three of them , a look on her face that would show she was doing her best to digest and understand all she had been told. “I.. well as was stated stranger things have indeed happened. Should I question the means used to mask my appearance all these years? Also to that I must wonder why it had ceased so suddenly after never once allowing me to know the wiser.

Tousuke looked at his wife and took a breath. "Well , in truth I can not recall exactly what it was. So much has happened since the day of your birth. However I can tell you that it was a vial , or potion of sorts. We offered trade with the Kojin of the area if you know whom they are. In doing so they presented us with a vial and spoke of it having mystical properties willed by the Kami.” He made way to seat himself “The Kojin had always been kind to our people and we felt little need to doubt their claim.”

Haruna spoke up shortly after. “I am sure you are wondering why now of all time the effects have worn off and to be truthful I know not a solid answer , though if I had to guess it may have something to do with your problems and useage of magics of late. Yes, I’ve been keeping an eye on you, before you ask.”

Another small sigh escapes the now Miqtoe followed by silence. Tousuke, Haruna and Rinko all looked at each other with guilt and concerns in their eyes. “Isuka.. we’re…sor-” Aliona raised a hand as to ask her father to stop there. “Father.. everyone please. Apologies are not what I am looking for right now. I’m not angry I assure you. Just..taken a bit back. This is a lot to process at once.”

Tousuke lowers his head at that. “I am..sorry. I am afraid Isuka and I know not what else to do other than apologize.” with a blink “Why are you afraid father? Please tell me?” Tousuke looked up sadly “You and I have never had the best relationship , which I believe lead to your brother feeling as he does toward me. I know I have been far from a perfect father.” He wipes an eye quickly “I fear that you would not want to be part of this family knowing what you do now… and that…” With a small thud Tousuke would find himself hugged rather tightly by the Miqtoe.

“You.. you truly thought I would leave? That I would push you away even further?” Aliona shook her “Spirits above no! Yes, yes I have questions for you, plenty of them , but to leave this family?” She would look over at Rinko “Born of you or not you -are- my mother.” She looked over at Haruna “and you absolutely are my sister, just as Kiba is my brother.” Looking up she smiled

“Rough history or not you are still my father and nothing will change any of this as long as you would have have me.” She chuckles , swishing her brown haired tail.

The four of them stayed quiet for a moment. Only a large hug and some crying could be heard in the estate for some few moments. Aliona wiped her eyes with a sniff. “I-I supposed i’m going to be needing to explain things to Kazarien and Xhera though.” She would laugh lightly. - End

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wtfismylifeanyways · 8 years ago

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Castle on the Hill (Ch. 1)

(Just in case because some of you don’t have AO3)

“Move in with me.” He pulled off his clunky headphones, gazing up to see a familiar blonde standing above him, her usual slicked-back ponytail and pastel pink sweater had gone and been replaced with a darker look, drawing his attention away. She dressed in black, tear tracks staining her usually pale cheeks pink, her eyes sparkled with a look of undeniable sadness and agony, and her hand was curled into fists, her nails digging painful crescents into the pale skin of her palm, and her face was ridden of all makeup.

“Sorry, Betts, did you just ask me to move in with you?” He shut the lid of his laptop, he screwed up his eyes in pure disbelief, his heart beating erratically in his chest he grabbed onto her hand, pulling her down to sit next to him on the bench. Holding her hand in his he looked into her eyes, squinting as he desperately tried to detect some note of humour, but he found nothing.

“Yes, Juggie.” she paused, wiping away stray tears that had dried on her face, “I know that you have nowhere to go, and don’t you dare say otherwise.” She pointed an accusing finger at him sternly as she anticipated his incoming excuses. He nodded, finding no room for disagreement or argument, before standing up, dragging her over to the high school's front gate. He took his hand back, letting it drop to his side, as they walked side by side, her house only a short way away.

They walked in silence, not a single word exchanged, the air shrouded in awkwardness, the only sound being that of their feet slapping against the pavement. Autumn leaves fell in dizzying circles, floating above them in a rainbow of oranges and browns, the wind picking them up and sending them flying back and forth above their heads, the crisp wind sweeping them up and into the air once again. They could hear the crunch of leaves underfoot, the cracking a distant cacophony, birds twittering up above and the muffled barking of dogs spreading throughout the neighbourhood in waves. The sun shone down through the breaks in the branches, the golden beams of light illuminating her soft flaxen hair, the swishing of her ponytail like a pendulum, the calm to and fro lulling him into a calm state, the sweet scent of strawberries idly floating in a ring around her petite frame.

Shaking his head he came to the realisation that they were nearing the Cooper's home, the idyllic stereotypical house stood in a row of equally identical houses, rows and rows of houses filled the Riverdale upper east side, people worked calmly in their gardens, prepping and pruning, children running between the columns of plants and flowers chasing butterflies, parents sitting on porches looking on disapprovingly as they stared on at their neighbour’s houses, judging under the shades of their sunglasses. Her house was a pale blue, doors pale blue, everything pale blue. It was sad, it reminded him of a world he was all too familiar with, a world he wouldn’t have ever wanted for Elizabeth Cooper. Walking up the driveway towards the front door, she stuttered in her steps, her feet tripping on nothing, her breath coming out in a hiccupped huff, she flushed as she continued up the drive. Taking out her keys she urged her hands to cease with their incessant shaking and unlocked the door, pushing herself inside dragging Jughead along behind her, before she started making her way upstairs, Jughead following close behind. Putting her book bag at the end of the bed she noticed him standing hesitantly in her doorway, his beanie lopsided atop his head. She could sense his hesitation, the harsh line of his shoulders, the tense of his jugular in his throat, the flush in his cheeks. She sighed, gazing down at her lap with a faint chuckle.

“It's fine, Juggie. Come on in.” He stepped past the doorframe and she felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart rate jumped in her chest, and her pupils dilated. She had never had been allowed to have a guy in her room before, the realisation like a physical hit to the heart, and Jughead had just broken that very strict rule, shattering her icy shell encapsulating her very soul, opening her up and letting in impossible warmth. He wandered over to her bed, sitting down by her side though careful not to get too close, and took the ‘Blue and Gold’ folder from her hands, peeling the cover off the booklet inside. He poured over the booklet, staring in awe at her beautifully designed paper, his name plastered across the page, his name in every by-line, his heart in every word. She bit her lip as she stared at his face, watching the glow and beautiful expression across his face, the twinkle in his eye as he stared at his own writing, her lip bruising under the pressure of her teeth. She could see him slide the sheets of paper back into the file, the room shrouded in silence, and back into her waiting hands. Before she could react he pressed a hesitant peck to her cheek, the pressure sending flames through her body directly to her heart. She blushed, a smile held back by a bite to the lip. He pulled back, gripping onto her shoulders, and stared directly into her eyes.

“Betts… you’re amazing. This is amazing.” He paused, a genuine smile spreading across his face, “I can’t thank you enough. For everything. For giving me a voice, for giving me a chance, for being a good… friend. Especially for letting me stay with you.” He stuttered on the word ‘friend’, the word being far too mild to describe the growing warmth and closeness developing between them.

“Of course, Juggie. Apart from Archie, you’re my best friend.” She smiled sweetly up at him, her eyes sparkling brightly under the overhead light, not even trying to hide it. She reached down to unpack her things, her hair flowing down and around her face, effectively shielding her blushing cheeks from view.

He smirked, his eyes turning down to look at his splayed palms, and leant back on her bed. He lay down on the soft fuchsia-coloured duvet with his legs bent off the edge of the bed, his eyes closing with a sigh at the almost unfamiliar feeling of the plush mattress underneath him, the pureness of the moment sending his mind spinning in lazy circles, the only thing drawing him out of his thoughts being the sudden feeling of Betty’s fingers threading themselves into his hair. Her fingers pressed soothing circles into his scalp, the wrinkles between his furrowed brows dissipating, the feeling pulling him back under. She watched as he sighed with pure bliss, his eyelids softening as well as his shoulders, the taught muscles relaxing with every press to his scalp. She smiled down at him, watching him splayed across her bed, his face clear of worry and frustration, noticing the smallest upturn of his lips steadily spreading across his face as she felt his hand reach up to join with hers. Her eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks blushing a bright pink, the blueness of her eyes deepening to a pure shade of azure, her heart beat quickening and beating erratically against her ribcage. He felt her fingers still in his hair, his eyes snapping open in concern, only to find her staring down at her with unabashed adoration. He felt his face heat up, unfamiliar nervousness spread through his body, the warm, prickly feeling spreading through every inch of his skin, his body feeling full, his head feeling fuzzy.

He sat up and searched through his bag, the black duffle full of his clothes and an assortment of different items including various photographs and small memorabilia. His homework files sat at the very bottom, the piles of paper packed neatly atop one another, printed pages overflowing from the various folders he had stuffed in his bag. He pulled out a folder before setting it down by his side, the brightly coloured file full of newspaper articles and obituary files, all labelled and sorted in levels of relevance to Jason Blossom’s untimely death. Though he never liked the pompous red-head he wanted to investigate the traumatic incident for the sake of the town, to restore the angelic image of the town which was now shrouded in darkness with the mysterious death, the events that conspired still not adding up. Suddenly, with the abrupt widening of her crystal blue eyes, he watched as she stood up from the plush comforter, with a rushed murmur, she dashed downstairs at the sound of the door unlocking with a resounding click. He jumped up from where he was sitting before he raced down the stairs towards the foyer to find a disgruntled Mrs Cooper staring daggers at the dark-haired boy.

She knew.

#bughead fanfiction #Bughead #Imogen writes #wtfismylifeanyways

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iwantthedean · 8 years ago

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Promised Land

Summary: Dean separates himself from Sam and Castiel while they search for a solution to The Darkness, and meanwhile crosses paths a fellow hunter he has never gotten along with. Pairing: Dean x OFC Word Count: 2215 Warnings: Language, implied smut.

A/N: This is my entry for Mimi’s (@deansdirtylittlesecretsblog) Trope Challenge. My trope is ‘enemies to lovers.’ It will eventually be a choppy sort of mini-series, but I wanted to try and get at least one challenge in on time, even if I’m cutting it close! So here is the first part. Side note, if you read Angeles, this is the story I imagined for Dean and the reader’s character during that story. If you haven’t read Angeles, you can still read this and not be lost at all.

I've done my best to live the right way I get up every morning and go to work each day But your eyes go blind and your blood runs cold Sometimes I feel so weak I just want to explode Explode and tear this whole town apart Take a knife and cut this pain from my heart Find somebody itching for something to start

-- Bruce Springsteen, ‘Promised Land’

“This is my case, Israel,” Dean said quietly as he approached the woman sitting at the bar.

She rolled her eyes, as he expected her to do, and ordered another round for herself. She told the bartender to put Dean’s next drink on her tab, then kept quiet.

“I’m serious,” Dean said, this time a little louder. “I need this.”

Israel snorted. “You need this? You’re going to trail me to this POS bar – and don’t act like you just conveniently ran into me here, I know better. Way better. This is nothing but a slice-and-go vamp case, and the way I hear it, you and Sam have bigger fish to fry.”

She downed her second drink then, wished Dean a good night, and scooted off the bar stool. Dean watched her make her way through the crowded bar, and anger welled up in him. In all the years he had known Israel, nothing was ever easy with her. She was as stubborn as they came – then again, so was he. Regardless of that point, there was some kind of storm every time they crossed paths.

“You are a pain in the ass, you know that!” They stopped in the middle of the parking lot, Dean’s hand with a tight grip on her upper arm.

Israel shrugged his arm off and chuckled; her amusement with the situation angered him even more. “So you’ve told me, several times before. This is my case, Winchester. You want to help decapitate some vamps, you’re more than welcome. My guess is you’d rather become a vamp – again – than work with me though, so I guess I’ll see you around.”

She slid into her car then, that sleek old-school Dodge Charger that Dean had always been secretly impressed with, but never dared to tell Israel that. The engine roared as she drove away, leaving Dean to contemplate if he was going to keep trying to convince her to leave it alone or go back inside for another drink. He opted for the latter.

In the morning, he woke up hungover and feeling as though a layer of sweat was covering his entire body. Dreams of Amara had plagued his sleep the entire night, leaving him with hours of restless sleep. He showered and got dressed, then checked his phone, ready for his daily check-in with Sam.

Something came up. Have fun on the vamp case.

Frowning at his phone, Dean read the message again, and checked the number it was from. Yes, it was actually from Israel. Still trying to figure out what could have come up that she would have abandoned a hunt for, Dean went ahead and dialed Sam.

“Hey, Dean. How’s the vamp case?”

“Uh, taking a new turn, actually. Listen, Sammy, is there any way you can find out where Israel’s at right now, without her knowing that I’m looking for her?”

Sam paused for a moment. “Probably. She still have the same number?”

“Are you kidding me? She’s a dumbass about that, she always has the same phone and the same number.”

“Nice to see you two still hate each other,” Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can dig up. Need help on this case? Cas and I can –”

“No. I’m good. You and Castiel keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll keep my distance. We agreed this was best, remember?”

Sam nodded, though Dean couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I remember. I’ll, uh, keep you updated about Israel.”

“Thanks.”

Dean ended the call and started packing up his things. He wasn’t ready to check out of the hotel yet, but once those vampires went down, it was probably he was going to need to get out of town quick.

Although it was normally months if not a year or so between meetings with Israel, Dean crossed paths with her again just a couple of weeks later. They showed up at the same police station at the same time to question about the murder of several well-to-do businessmen in the area.

Israel smirked, that same smirk she always had when she knew that he was irritated with her for one reason or another. It irritated him even more.

“We can’t really have a knock down drag out in this parking lot, so you’re going to have to make a quick choice. I gave you the vamp case –”

“Much to your convenience,” Dean interjected.

“—so you’re going to leave me with this one.”

Dean took a deep breath and looked around. “How about you tell me where you had to go in such a hurry that you let me take that other hunt, and I’ll consider letting you take this one?”

“You mean after you had Sam track me, he didn’t tell you where I was at?”

Dean looked shocked for a moment and Israel took his hesitation to her advantage and headed into the police station. Dean cursed and pulled his phone from his pocket as he got back into the Impala.

“I thought you were going to tell me when you found Israel,” he nearly-growled at Sam.

Sam cleared his throat. “Right, well, she was unavailable to do that hunt with you and it was a personal thing. She wasn’t in any danger, so I let it go.”

Dean frowned, his free hand on the steering wheel. “But you do know where she was?”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam gave Dean the information he had, and once Dean was in the know, he decided he would have done the same thing in Israel’s position.

That didn’t mean, however, that he was going to let her just take this hunt from him.

An old-school stakeout on foot got Dean enough information to figure out what motel Israel was staying in. He would have much rather driven, but figured she knew well enough to spot the Impala from miles away.

The Charger wasn’t in front of her room, so he picked the lock on the door and let himself inside. Wherever she was, she had been dumb enough to leave her laptop and all of her notes on the case right out in the open. Dean took a seat at the table where Israel’s things were laid out and started reading through her notes.

She had managed, it seemed, to get quite a bit of information from the police about the men who had been killed. She was mapping out their connections, and just when it seemed that Israel was on to something, it all stopped.

“What the hell …” Dean whispered under his breath.

He searched through the paper pages strewn over the table, but the before he could process anyone else was in the room, he was on the floor in a chokehold.

“Are you kidding me?” Israel seethed. “Breaking and entering isn’t a new offense for you, Dean, but I never thought I’d be the victim of it!”

Israel was quicker and perhaps stealthier than he was, but Dean was stronger. He took hold of the arm around his neck and peeled it away, holding tight to her wrist. He maneuvered so that he was kneeling over her, sure that he looked absolutely idiotic trying to grab for her other arm while Israel waved it back and forth out of his reach. He made a lunge for her free arm but she dodged him, socking him across the chin instead.

Dean groaned as he rubbed his chin and tasted blood on his tongue. Israel stood to her feet and made to kick him, but Dean hooked his arm over her knee and dragged her towards him. That was a mistake, since she was able to throw and connect two more punches at his face before he threw her over his shoulder.

“Enough, Israel!” Dean bellowed as she kicked and punched at him before he dropped her onto the bed. “Enough!”

She stood from the bed and shoved him away. “Tell yourself that, you mother fucker! You broke in here and Lord knows you were going to steal my research and my hunt!”

They were both breathing heavy; Dean took a moment to really look at her. The overhead light was dim, so he sidestepped to the bedside lamp, holding his hands up in surrender so Israel knew he wasn’t coming at her, and turned the lamp on.

“What the hell happened to you?” Dean asked, his voice far more gentle than any tone he had ever used with Israel before.

She cleared her throat and self-consciously ran her fingers over her split lip. Her face was beginning to swell, from some kind of beating, and there were bruises around her neck. Her clothes were sullied with dirt and grass and leaves. Dean guessed there were more injuries he couldn’t see.

Israel cleared her throat as her breathing slowed. “You probably saw that my research came to an abrupt stop. I figured it out. There was a coven of witches, hired out to kill cheating businessmen. They all had the same mistress. She’s safe now. She’s definitely a whore, but she’s safe.”

Dean frowned. “And the witches?”

That haughty smirk that he couldn’t stand to see graced her beaten face. This time though, Dean felt something tighten in his chest at the sight of her smirk and shining eyes.

“I said there was a coven of witches. I didn’t get all these injuries just trying to take ‘em down.”

“Well, I guess I should thank you for taking that over. Witches are definitely not my favorite.”

“I know,” Israel nodded.

They stood awkwardly for a few moments before Dean came forward and reached out to wipe away the blood from her chin with the pad of his thumb. Israel hissed in pain.

“Sorry,” Dean winced, “I thought it was blood from your lip.”

“It’s all right. I would have thought the same thing. Didn’t even know my chin was banged up.”

Dean inspected it a little closer; he could see her shoulders tense from the corner of his eye. “You need stitches. Three or four, probably.”

“Great,” Israel sighed. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip before looking up at him. “You have somewhere to be, or you want to help a fellow hunter out? You know, since you did break in here and you planned on stealing my case.”

It was Dean’s turn to smirk. “I thought you got me back for that by attempting to beat the shit out of me?”

“Attempting?” Israel teased, wiping over his cheek and coming back with a trace of blood on her hand.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Have a seat, tell me where your first aid stuff is at. I’ll stitch you up, then be on my way.”

Although she didn’t want to admit it, Israel appreciated Dean staying behind and stitching up her chin. It ended up requiring five stitches, and the angle would have been too awkward for her to do it herself. He surprised her, though, by cleaning up the dried blood from the rest of her face and fixing her up with an ice pack for her lip.

His hands were gentle as they mended the cut on her chin and examined her split lip. While he checked out the rest of her face, Israel got a good look at his eyes for the first time in a while; she had forgotten how green they were. Perhaps Dean Winchester was a stubborn jackass ninety-nine percent of the time, but she realized she hadn’t known anyone as long as she had known him. That happened in the hunting life though, so she tried not to think too much of it.

“You should get yourself some ice, too. For where I decked you.”

Dean shrugged. “I’ve taken a few licks in my day. You should get in the shower, take one as hot as you can stand it. It’ll help with the sore muscles over the next few days.”

“I know the routine,” Israel said, standing from the chair. “I’ve taken a few licks in my day, too.”

Dean nodded. The silence that surrounded them this time wasn’t so much awkward as it was full of tension. Israel had always figured the years of hate and bickering were building up to something with Dean, but she assumed neither of them would ever live long enough to see it play out.

He sauntered towards her and ran his knuckles down his jawline. “If I said I needed a shower too and suggested we save water and shower together, would you deck me again?”

Israel’s mind was racing far too quickly to conjure up a spoken response. Instead, she looked up at him and shook her head. When she was finally able to speak, she took another step, closing the gap between them entirely.

“I’m already pretty sore,” Israel admitted. “Maybe you could help me get undressed?”

With his eyes locked on hers, Dean reached for the hem of Israel’s plain t-shirt and slowly pulled it over her head. Before the garment hit the ground, his lips were pressing against hers, eager and wanting, yet mindful that he had just cleaned up her split lip. He pushed her back towards the bathroom, the both of them shedding their remaining clothes as they went.

#supernatural #fanfiction #promised land #mimi's trope challenge #dean #dean winchester #ofc #stop ofc impartiality #dean x ofc #dean winchester x ofc #spnfanficpond #jellyfish #iwantthedeanupdates #iwantthedean's tag team #all my lovelies

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hibisha · 8 years ago

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The Ace

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: K (Anime)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Akiyama Himori/Hidaka Akira

Characters: Akiyama Himori, Hidaka Akira, Benzai Yuujirou, Awashima Seri, Gotou Ren

Additional Tags: Crime, AU, Murder Mystery, Romance

Series: Part 2 of

Dire Needs

The Ace

External mirrors:

1.) Fanfiction

2.) AO3

BAU, PSIA headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan.

04th July, Monday.

[8:30 AM]

Mondays were just one of those things that made for a very tedious existence.

The observation was made by a young man staggering through the main entrance of the bureau and collapsing in his work space, glaring at the pile of case files in front of him that needed reviewing and debriefing. Benzai Yujiro had sworn to himself that he would never look at another piece of report for a month but then again, that’s what he swore to himself each weekend as he stuffed some paperwork in his bag to take home with him. Next to him, Kamo Ryuho was sipping coffee and was already flipping through a case, not batting an eye at the gruesome display of bodies before him.

"I can't believe it's Monday already." Both of them turned to look at their newest recruit, a young red head, drag himself into the room and throw himself into his own chair. "I can't keep doing this every week, my body can't handle the stress." Doumyoji Andy was so far the youngest person in their department and Benzai knew for a fact that Kamo had taken quite the shine to him – the only reason why he offered him a smile instead of a scathing remark with a complimentary eye roll as Benzai was about to do.

Speaking of new recruits...

"Weren't we going to get two new members transferring in today?" He mused out loud, thinking back on what the Captain had told them before the weekend. Both his colleagues were about to respond when a sharp click of heels against the marble floor of the place made them all turn around.

Awashima Seri, the young blonde woman who had replaced Gen Shiotsu as the communication liaison around a week ago, marched straight out of her office and made her way over to them.

"Gentlemen." Her tone was brusque, eyes going over their desks, disapprovingly taking in all the unfinished files and paperwork. "Has anyone seen Akiyama kun arrive since this morning?" Benzai and Andy, both who had clocked in only moments ago, turned to look at Kamo, who presumably had been there since six am, only because he didn't have any other obligations. The dark haired man shrugged.

"I haven't seen him, sorry." Awashima nodded, her blue eyes glancing at the large clock hanging on the wall before she turned to Benzai and gave him an almost pleading look.

"Could you call him and ask him where he is? He was supposed to bring the two new comers from the airport -" Andy let out a small noise and they all turned to look at him as he ducked his head low, face turning a bit pink, "- and he hasn't been picking up any of my calls." Awashima finished, still eyeing Andy suspiciously, the later having dropped a pen and having to dive under his desk to retrieve it. Benzai on his part, kept a straight face until she had left only to have Andy break out into a fit of giggles and even Kamo was trying to hide his amusement behind his hand.

"Okay you two, knock it off."

"Akiyama-san. She sent Akiyama san to get the two newbies. From the airport. She sent Akiyama-san to drive them back here from the airport." Andy couldn't even seem to breathe and Benzai almost wished he'd choke on behalf of his best friend. He was about to snap back at them when another soft laugh joined Andy's explosive ones and Benzai looked up to see Fuse approaching them with Enomoto tagging along behind, both holding steaming mugs of coffee and wearing matching grins.

"Akiyama-san's driving? Alone?" Benzai sighed.

"I'm sure it's not that bad..." He mumbled, pulling out his phone. Dialing his oldest friend's number, he waited for the line to connect as all the others listened in, showing various levels of interest and amusement.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Click.

"I'm not lost."

That's when Andy truly couldn't control himself. The red head bent over, laughing soundly as Fuse joined him and even Enomoto and Kamo let out a small chuckle. "Why are you all laughing, I said I'm not lost!" Akiyama's tone sounded too peeved for Benzai to take those words in account though. "…I just took a wrong turn."

"Enomoto kun..." The bespectacled man nodded at Benzai, and pulled out his laptop, setting to work on tracing Akiyama's cellphone coordinates. "Akiyama, take a left."

"...okay but I just want to confirm everyone knows that I'm not lost."

"Of course you're not lost. How are the two with you?" Benzai added hastily, coughing to drown out the noise of everyone snickering in the background. There was a derisive snort heard from the other end that was so unlike Akiyama that Benzai had to pause and blink for a while before confirming that yes, this was still his best friend's voice. "Akiyama?"

"One of them had the bright idea for me to let him drive."

"Alright?" Keeping an eye on the red dot on Enomoto's screen, he quickly added before Akiyama could respond, "Take a right and then just drive straight – you'll get on familiar roads soon."

"Why is the headquarters so far away?" The other man complained, "Anyways, like I was saying, the car broke down. Twice." Benzai raised his eyebrow, even though the other couldn't see it.

"Oh?"

"Yes. It was weird. It just stopped and wouldn't move forward and … it was odd."

"Okay, just be careful and make it back in one piece alright?"

"Yes but for the record-"

"Yes Akiyama, we get it - you weren't lost."

BAU, PSIA headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan.

04th July, Monday.

[9:42 AM]

"Hidaka Akira and Gotou Ren." The young brunette looked up with bleary eyes as a tall man approached them, "Sorry for the inconvenience. We were unaware of the troubles that could have happened." The fact that the man did not look even the slightest bit sorry – if not anything, he looked a bit amused – made Hidaka almost snipe back. The other man had dark hair, deep violet eyes framed by the delicate frames of his glasses. He wasn't taller than Hidaka yet his presence alone made Hidaka feel smaller. "I'm the section chief and SSA, Munakata Reisi, you must be the two new recruits from Kyoto?"

Both of them nodded. Munakata san smiled, eyes twinkling behind the lenses.

"Well the, I'm glad to welcome you to the team. Rest assured, Awashima kun will show you around but for now, why don’t you two just rest. After all, I heard it was quite a taxing ride."

"It was alright – wasn't it Hidaka san." Gotou smiled at him in his usual demure manner and all the frustration and annoyance that had been building up inside him was calmed down – a bit.

Gotou was no miracle worker after all.

"Yeah." He mumbled, "We'll get over it." Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a certain green haired man walking towards the coffee pot and he almost marched straight up to him to tell him exactly why he shouldn't be allowed on roads if he couldn't even follow a GPS map on his phone.

"Excellent!" Munakata said, clapping his hands together. "Why don't you take some time to familiarize yourself with the place – we haven't had a case today so it’s a slow day."

"Alright sir." Both of them nodded and in a blink of an eye, Hidaka was in hot pursuit of the short directionally challenged man who had escorted him to the HQ - if you called it an escort.

What was his name again? Akiyama Himori right? The man had been so focused on getting them back to the bureau that introductions had gone sailing out of the window.

"Akiya-!" The rest of the words got drowned in his mouth as he saw the look of utter despair and resignation on the other man's face. There was a phone lodged between his ear and shoulder and he was talking very vehemently, the hand that was not holding the coffee mug, was making all sorts of gestures, clearly indicating the other man was highly agitated.

"-on't do something you'll regret... You know what, fine. Have it your way! We're done!" Grabbing his phone, he angrily cut the call and whirled around only to come face to face with Hidaka who had enough sense of mind to realize he might have witnessed a breakup.

A rather abrupt and depressing one.

"It's not polite to eavesdrop on someone else's conversation." Akiyama sniffled out, his hair swept across his face, covering his right eye, making him look rather...adorable for lack of other words. "I don't know where you've transferred in fro-"

"Oh no, I wasn't eavesdropping! I was here to -" Yes, telling him off about his atrocious navigation skills was really not going to help the other right now so he began searching his mind for an excuse. "-ask you where I could get some coffee!" Akiyama looked at him and then pointedly at the coffee machine that sat right next to Hidaka, innocently doing what it was meant to do – brewing coffee.

The sudden low chuckle that escaped the other's mouth made him almost cry with relief because really, what the actual fuck. Coffee? Really?

Thank you brain.

"It's alright, I wasn't exactly somewhere private or secluded enough to have this conversation." Jamming his hands in his pocket, Hidaka shot him a sympathetic look.

"Tough day?"

"You have no idea."

"Want to talk about it?" A single green eye blinked at him as if he hadn't expected this before a small smile crossed his features, turning them softer and making them look much more meek and mellower than before.

"It's alright...Hidaka san?" Hidaka grinned.

"Yup! That's me! Hidaka Akira! I suppose I'm your junior right now!" The small smile on the other's face grew wider and even thought he could still blatantly see the other's misery reflected on his face, he didn't push his luck in trying to make him laugh even more.

"Well Hidaka san, I hope we get along." Hidaka watched as the shorter of the two made his way to a work bench where he got comfortable and was immediately joined by a group of people, all who were slapping him on his back.

He also noted how there was now a smile plastered on the man's face.

BAU, PSIA headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan.

11th August, Monday.

[8:45 AM]

"Right guys, since we're all here I'll get started right away." Awashima announced as soon as she waltzed into the conference room. Over the past month, Hidaka had gotten used to the fact that while the curvaceous body looked like it had been in every man's dreams at least once, the woman also possessed quite the sharp tongue that could quite possibly rip you into two if you stared at her chest for longer than absolute necessary - 0.01 seconds to be precise.

That and she had a boyfriend, who was equally just as terrifying as her.

Next to him, Gotou merely smiled into his cup of tea.

Gotou Ren had turned out to be a blessing in disguise for Hidaka. When the young man was looking for an apartment to live in after being randomly evicted from the one he was staying in on his second day because of a very bizarre reason - "You're too tall, you scare our children. We're sorry but could you please find somewhere else to go?" - Gotou had offered him to come live with him in an apartment that his family had owned in the area.

He also found out that no, Gotou did not smoke pot every morning, he was relatively this calm by nature.

A tap on his head made him turn to the right just to stare into the disapproving face of Akiyama san, who was staring at him steadily with the one eye that wasn't covered by the mess of his hair.

"Pay attention." he chided, "Hidaka san, you're going to get yourself into trouble if you keep zoning out like that."

"Sorry Akiyama san..."

"It’s alright, just don't make a habit of it. Also, you've been tapping that pen against the desk for a while now, it's getting a bit distracting - could you please stop?"

Akiyama Himori, Hidaka had discovered, liked everything to be in perfect order. He was always smiling and was the person you went to for advice.

"Alright Akiyama san, I'll stop distracting you."

"You'll need to stop existing for that to happen Hidaka san."

He was also the person who, and here's the part Hidaka didn't understand quite how it had happened, seemed to have started a sort of fake relationship with him where both of them pretended that they were dating.

As if his life wasn't odd as it was.

He supposed his constant flirting had been to blame too.

But he really hadn't expected quiet and shy Akiyama Himori to respond to his subtle remarks with even more highly inappropriate things – all in subtext of course because Akiyama san was going to be inappropriate, that would be improper - that made him think that maybe he was dreaming up the whole thing.

"Guys!" Benzai admonished them from where he sat, giving them an exasperated look. Akiyama immediately gave him a sweet smile and returned his focus back to the case.

"Right, we have a series of women abduction cases in Itabashi - so far seven women have gone missing over the past month and two of them just turned up dead - Maki Mamoru and Reiko Masashi. Both strangled, with their hands and feet showing signs of being bound to something."

"Any signs of sexual assault?" Benzai asked, looking at the file in front of him. Awashima shook her head.

"None but if you see here around their necks, you'll realize-"

"The marks come from collars."

Everyone turned to look at Akiyama, who in turn had gone very pink in the face and mumbled something along the lines of "know from a friend..." Hidaka wondered what kind of company Akiyama liked to keep.

"Are we sure it's the same guy who kidnapped all seven?" Benzai interrupted, raising his eyebrow, "I mean, it could be possible that some of them aren't related to the case."

"That's what I thought too except this guy likes to throw a calling card." The screen behind Awashima lit up, revealing an image of a playing card.

"The Ace of spades?" Hidaka asked, giving a small smile. "How..."

"Original." Benzai deadpanned from across him. "I'm guessing that's what the media has started calling him."

"You know, in legend and folklore, it is also known as the death card." Gotou added a bit dreamily. Awashima nodded and sighed.

"With the captain and half the squad away on a business trip in LA, we're kind of short staffed as well."

"Don't worry Awashima san." Akiyama said, smiling politely, "I'm sure we can handle it." The blonde woman nodded, her eyes flashing with determination.

"Indeed we have to, seeing as we don't have a choice. Alright squad let's move out!"

"Yes!"

Middle of nowhere, Tokyo, Japan.

11th August, Monday.

[ 09:18 AM]

"Akiyama san, why did you not listen to me when I asked you to let me drive?"

"I'm. Not. Lost."

"You're right. We're lost. Both of us." Hidaka couldn't believe his luck. Of all the people who could have driven on the one day he fell asleep in the van, it just had to be Akiyama. The rest had gone ahead in another vehicle and Benzai had explicitly warned him not to let Akiyama take charge.

And he'd fallen asleep.

"I didn't want to wake you up! You looked so cute just sleeping there." Flirting aside, the man did look very apologetic and remorseful, so Hidaka supposed he could overlook it.

"Okay okay, but where are we?"

"I don't know but-"

"Okay yes you're not lost I get it. We get it. The world gets it. But that's not going to help us right now." Akiyama pouted and Hidaka felt his heart skip a beat. Or several. "Oth-other than that – we're not getting any cellphone reception here either." Akiyama looked away, looking the absolute picture of misery.

"I know what you’re thinking and yes, this is why I'm not allowed to drive by myself."

"...Okay, let's just keep driving till we find some cell phone signals?"

"You think I'm incapable of driving without a guide."

"Akiyama san – we are currently in the middle of nowhere with no cell phone reception, no cars within sight – yes I think you are an extremely incapable driver." Seeing the other man opening his mouth looking affronted, he held up a hand, stopping him before he could say anything. "Still, I don't mind being stuck here with you. But we need to find a way back to the others okay?" Akiyama didn't respond or even meet his eyes, opting to tap his fingers against the steering wheel.

"What?" Hidaka was suddenly filled with realization that just maybe his words could have been taken as a tad bit offensive and he suddenly began to splutter out an explanation. "No, that's not what I meant – I think you're a great driver -"

"I don’t' mind being stuck with Hidaka san either." The words were mumbled out as if Akiyama wished Hidaka wouldn't hear them. The tall brunette started, a slow and easy grin creeping along his face. Slinging an arm around the other, he poked him in the cheek.

"Aww Akiyama san is so cute."

"Remove your arm lest I remove it off for you - permanently." But even as he said it, Hidaka noticed the small smile on the man's face. "Alright, let's start driving, you keep focused on looking for a signal okay?" Hidaka nodded and offered the man a mock salute before the car was revved up began to move down the road.

Police Department, Itabashi, Tokyo, Japan.

11th August, Monday.

[10:45 AM]

"So how does he get to the girls?" Benzai stared at the whiteboard in front of him, frowning. All of them had arrived about half an hour ago and had just received a message that Akiyama and Hidaka were on their way, after taking a small detour. By detour obviously they meant Akiyama had gotten "not lost" again. Seriously...

And he had warned the other man to not let Akiyama take charge.

Benzai loved his best friend but even with him closing his eyes to all his faults, there was just this one thing that he couldn't let go off mostly because he was sure it would end up putting Akiyama in danger one day.

"Well we figured out that all seven of them had no places they'd ever come across each other except for this one bar." The local head of the PD, Chitose Yo said, reaching out to tap the map pinned on the board. "This place is the only bar around here for miles that offers a single ladies night once a week. Now according to the locals and regulars of the bar, they had seen each of the missing ladies at least once there."

"So the unsub scopes out single women at the bar and then what?" Gotou asked, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully. "It's not like he can just grab a woman in front of everyone and drag her away."

"He?" Chitose asked, looking startled, "I assumed it would be a female seeing as the killer manages to watch his victims at a ladies' night." Awashima shook her head, her blonder hair pulled back in a bun.

"That's what we would have thought too except the woman he abducted last - Haruka Maki was an all-star athlete. It would take a very large person to subdue her."

"Unless the killer had a gun." Benzai pointed out, "Guns usually make the strongest fall and become compliant. So we’re not ruling it out entirely."

"It could also be a really tall woman." Relief flooded Benzai's system as he whirled in his seat to stare Akiyama who came striding in with Hidaka on his heels. "Haruka san is strong but what's saying it couldn't be a stronger woman?" Awashima looked thoughtful.

"Well yes, I suppose that could be it."

"So we're back to square one.”

"Let's look at the victimology." Gotou pipped up, "All young women, dark haired, around their late twenties. All of them single and just out to have a good time."

"Something happens in that party that triggers off our unsub." Awashima added, "And next thing you know, we've got ourselves a new victim." Her blue eyes darkened, forehead wrinkling with worry. "That's all fine and good but why keep them for so long and then kill them? The bodies showed no signs of torture - no defensive wounds or anything. Just the marks on their hands and feet. They were well fed and no signs of being starved or being unkempt. They even had their toenails all trimmed and proper."

"So the unsub keeps them prisoner, takes care of them and then what? He just kills them?" Hidaka asked, raising his eyebrow. Benzai drummed his fingers against the table absent mindedly.

"No, something isn't quite right here. We're missing something. We need to go talk to the families and see what they say before we make any deductions." Akiyama suggested from where he was perched on a counter, "There has got to be something that links these women more than just their build and appearances." Awashima nodded.

"Okay, everyone pick a family and go talk to them. We'll meet back here and discuss what we've found out alright?" Nodding, all of them got to their feet. Benzai made his way to Akiyama.

"So - what happened?"

"Well, I took a wrong turn or two. Not my fault, you see, the signs were all very faded and it was hard to decipher one arrow from the other."

"And Hidaka san?"

"Oh he fell asleep. But he does look cute when he's snoring so I let him stay pressed up against the window, drooling." Benzai snorted. Akiyama smiled brightly. "I even took pictures!" Benzai just shook his head and reached out to ruffle the already messy hair before him.

"Don't make me worry like that again."

"I'm a grown adult-"

"-with no sense of direction."

"Still. I can take care of myself and you know it." Benzai snorted again, remembering their training days together in the academy. Akiyama had been known as some sort of silent holy terror. 'His bite is definitely worse than his bark' - the rumor that had drawn him towards the otherwise very silent and sweet looking individual.

"Well yes, I have no doubt that you can take care of yourself."

"See? You have nothing to worry about." The smile Akiyama gave him made him not even a little less worried about him.

"I'm still going to be the one to drop you off where you want to go right now."

"That is such -"

"Hidaka san can pick you up."

"- such a nice idea." Akiyama grinned. His eyes were twinkling mischievously - or eye. The only one he could see anyways. Benzai groaned.

"You know, you could stop pretending you don't have a crush on him and outright instead."

"Now where would be the fun in that? Besides, it's not like he ever takes any of my comments seriously..."

"Well maybe you should openly tell him instead of making a game out of it."

"He started it! We're just joking around Benzai." The two of them were making their way to where one of the cars they were supposed to be using was parked and Benzai slid into the driver's seat, Akiyama climbing in next to him.

"Well actually, I think he flirted with you genuinely and now he's confused..."

"He flirts with everyone!" Akiyama did have a fair point. Hidaka did flirt with everyone - or used to. Except everyone else had just given up while Akiyama had responded and Benzai knew when his best friend had a crush from a mile away. Akiyama on the other hand, was still in denial about the whole thing. Factoring in the last relationship that he had, which had ended rather sourly, it was understandable why Akiyama wouldn’t want to get into another one – his boyfriend had just up and realized one day that he wasn’t gay, something that Benzai couldn’t understand because how on earth do you just, after being in relationship with a man for almost a year, just suddenly realize you weren’t gay? But apparently that was a thing that happened. Which made this all such a huge pointless drama that Benzai wouldn't be surprised it was written by some young college student who liked creating nonexistent complicated messes.

"Okay look, if by the end of this case you don't tell him, I'm going to do it for you. He may turn you down but then at least you'll know?" Akiyama pouted.

"Well true enough I suppose. Alright, when we're done with this case, I'll tell him." Benzai smiled as he pulled out of the driveway.

"That's the Akiyama Himori I know."

Mamoru household, Itabashi, Tokyo, Japan.

11th August, Monday.

[11:30 AM]

"Good afternoon Yuki Mamoru san, may I come in?" The short brown haired woman nodded and stepped aside to let in Awashima as she flashed her credentials. The blonde woman entered the house and looked around, seeing what you'd find in a normal everyday household. Framed pictures on the walls, a small living room with an attached kitchen and some doors which she assumed were the bedrooms.

"Ah thank you for speaking with me Yuki-san." she said, bowing her head a bit, "I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding your daughter?" The woman let out a small sniffle but apart from that managed to hold herself together and give her a tiny nod.

"Okay, did Maki have any enemies? Anyone who'd want to do this to her?" Yuki shook her head aggressively, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"No, not that I can think of. Maki was an outgoing child - a bit rambunctious but over all a nice kid. She wouldn't hurt a fly and wasn’t bad at heart. I know – I know what everyone says, that Maki – my Maki, probably did something stupid and reckless – and that she d-d-deserv-" Awashima reached out and put a gentle hand on her arm and gave a firm look.

“Yuki-san, I know this is hard but know that no one blames Maki or thinks she deserved any of this. We will find whoever did this and we will bring him to justice. But I need you to be strong and answer my questions. Can you do that for me?” Yuki nodded, wiping her eyes on her apron. Awashima gave her an encouraging nod. "Alright, you told the police that when Maki didn't return home for a day, you didn't think too much about it until it crossed was about three days later?" Yuki let out a sob and shook her head.

"You - you probably think I'm a bad mother but I didn't - she would usually spend nights at her boyfriend's house so I didn't - she never listened to me anyways." At this the woman dissolved into tears and Awashima awkwardly reached out to pat her back. The woman finally took a deep breath and managed to calm herself down.

"She recently just broke up with him too - I should have known. But I thought they made up - they always do. Always." At this she just broke down once more, not even attempting to pull herself together. Awashima, sensing that she was not going to get any more answers out of the woman, got up and bid her farewell. The woman just looked up and gave her a hard stare.

"Find this person. Find them - save those other girls." Awashima nodded and exited the house. Pulling out her cellphone, she put all of the squad on a conference call.

"All right Maki Mamoru was a bit of a rough edged girl but she didn't have any enemies. She was recently going through a breakup -"

"With an on again off again boyfriend?" Benzai interrupted. Awashima blinked.

"Yes that's exactly-"

"I think I know what this is all about." came a clipped reply. “Everyone gather at the PD's conference room." Hearing all the others agree and drop the call, the bewildered blonde woman was left wondering what on earth was going on.

Police Department, Itabashi, Tokyo, Japan.

11th August, Monday.

[01:14 PM]

"He's targeting women who're single - but not just single. Recent breakups." Benzai pointed out. "Women who are all together with some on again off again romance and by the looks of it, he's telling them that he wants to tie them down - in other words, they should settle down once and for all."

"Why the girls though?" Hidaka asked, "They aren't the ones who initiated most of these breakups." Awashima frowned.

“He’s also taking care of them.” She argued, “Doesn’t seem like something a man would do if they were just discipline his victims.”

“Unless he thinks he’s saving them from that way of life.” Akiyama supplied. “Tie them down and enforce them to not go back – stay with him who treats them so kindly?”

"Maybe something to do with his own past?" Gotou pipped up from where he was sitting, "Either way, I think I have a plan on how to catch this guy."

"How?" Chitose asked, looking confused. Gotou smiled mysteriously.

"All we need, is some insider's information."

Raven’s Heart, Itabashi, Tokyo, Japan.

12th August, Tuesday.

[9:45 PM]

“I still say this is a highly bad idea.” Hidaka muttered under his breath as the two slipped into the bar, wearing tuxedos. Akiyama shrugged, looking around cautiously. Zeroing in on Dewa Masaomi from a distance, he nodded to Hidaka.

“There.” Hidaka turned to look at the quiet dark haired man, just sitting there quietly, sipping vodka and scoffed.

“You have got to be kidding me – that’s our informant?” Akiyama shrugged. It appeared he was a close friend of the local PD head so what was the point on commenting. Not that Akiyama was going to deny that the man looked way too different to be a friend of what Akiyama had established on first sight, a very flashy police officer.

“Well, he’s our best lead. He’s going to be the one who helps us identify who’s a regular here and who’s not.”

“And we’re looking for a regular?”

“Yes, because the unsub needs to visit a lot to know everything about the victims as he did.” Akiyama signaled the informant with his head and the man gave them a long hard look before very subtly pointing in the direction of the bar, where a small group of women were hanging off the arm of a dark suited man, giggling and batting their eyelashes. Next to him, Hidaka whistled softly.

“Check out that girl’s ra-oof!” a sharp elbow in his side made the rest of his words die in his throat as he found at the end of a highly disapproving glare. As the other was apologizing profusely, Akiyama began to recall the plan in his head.

Grab a drink and go make small talk.

How hard could it be? Smiling, he picked up two glasses of cheap wine off a passing waiter and handed it to Hidaka. It was going to be as simple as baking a cake.

Swank Motel, Itabashi, Tokyo, Japan.

13th August, Wednesday.

[3:55 AM]

"You have got to be kidding me." Hidaka stared at the dress in absolute horror and then at the man holding it up, smiling rather smugly.

"No Akiyama san, I can't-"

"But you promised." Hidaka swore internally - Akiyama seemed to have discovered some internal weakness of his which was basically making the worst sad puppy dog face you could manage to pull off. And he was getting too good at them. Or he was always good at them - fuck.

"I was drunk!"

"Promised." The man in front of him wasn’t giving up though. The plan, the night before, had gone horribly wrong. The two of them had been doing a stake out in a bar, like they had been originally assigned to do, all the while keeping close to one of the only suspects they had. While he had ordered more drinks with the suspect so they could all drink, Akiyama had severely overestimated Hidaka’s ability to hold liquor. Two drinks in and he was blabbering nonsense and Akiyama had to hurry him away in case he accidentally blew their cover. Amidst all that, at one point there had been a conversation that Hidaka could only vaguely recall.

"Akiyama san is really pretty."

"What?"

"Like lots an' lots of pretty. Bet you'd look even more pretty in a dress."

"Hidaka san you're starting to go incoherent and you clearly cannot think straight."

"Can't ever think straight around you."

After that was a huge gap in his memory and he remembered nothing except when he woke up, Akiyama was grinning at him and telling him he had promised to wear a dress - for him. Hidaka was willing to bet his life on the fact he hadn't promised any such thing but Akiyama was persistent and so here they were.

"Look, if I promise to wear the dress, can we just leave?"

“You already promised to wear a dress. And yes, you can leave wearing the dress."

Really, why was it always Hidaka's job to deal with this?

"Okay, but I'm not entering the hotel in those clothes - just till we reach the police station then I'm changing in the back of the van. Got it?" The green eyes in front of him blinked.

"Alright, whatever Hidaka-san feels comfortable with."

"I feel comfortable in my own clothes." Hidaka couldn't help but put in a tad bit desperately.

"Not that comfortable." Really, Akiyama Himori was a demon.

Itabashi, Tokyo, Japan.

13th August, Wednesday.

[5:30 AM]

"I see, thank you Awashima san." Disconnecting the call, Hidaka turned to look at Akiyama, who was keeping his one eye focused on the road. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hidaka wondered if that was the reason why he was always getting lost but discarded it. Sitting there in a sparkly pink dress, with his hair done up in a clump of pony tail, he hardly was in any position to say anything.

"You make a lovely woman Hidaka san." The corner of Akiyama’s lips was twitching and Hidaka had the painful urge to punch him straight in the mouth.

“Why thank you, I really work hard on this body.”

“Lets put it up on display next time in the conference room alright?”

"Shut up, Awashima-san said we should meet her at the bar so you’re going to have to turn around. I'll go change in the back." He looked around him to see if his original clothes were there but he was unable to spot them and figured they were probably in the back.

"Isn't in convenient we took the van?"

"...I don't know how but you planned this somehow."

“I did not.”

“Where did you even find the dress?”

“I bought it while you were knocked out. Two drinks might I add – just how weak are you? Can’t keep going for more than two rounds.”

“I am not in the mood for this right now.”

"I don't know what you’re talking about.” Really, it would be so much easier to believe him if only he hadn’t been smirking when he said that. As Akiyama turned the van around, Hidaka clambered behind to the back and began to look for his clothes.

“Akiyama san, where did you keep my clothes?”

“Oh, they’re in the black bag.” The other man said, trying to keep his mind on where they were going.

“What black bag?” That got him a response. Akiyama turned to give him an incredulous look, before immediately facing the front again.

“The one I told you to pick up on from the bed!” The small note of panic in Akiyama’s voice filled Hidaka with dread. The man was serious…

They had left his fucking clothes at the fucking motel!

“Let’s not panic.” Akiyama finally managed to voice out and Hidaka wanted so badly to snap at him that no, he was going to panic because Akiyama wasn’t the one in the dress. He wasn’t the one everyone would see in the dress and the ridiculous makeup and hairdo. Akiyama san wouldn’t be the one going to get off the van looking like some trashy version of a one night stand from a nightmare in hell. Angrily, he was about to turn and tell off the man when he saw the dazed look on his face.

No. He had only taken his eyes off for 15 minutes. Surely…

“Hidaka san..." His tone was fearful.

"Yes?" So was Hidaka's if he was completely honest.

"Don't get angry - we’re not lost but-“ Hidaka just closed his eyes and moaned.

"Fucking hell Akiyama san, just keep driving, we'll find some place -"

"And we're also out of gas," The car stopped.

"Okay look, I'll go and look for help, why don't you stay in this van and I'll return with some clothes too?" His soothing tone of voice did nothing to placate Hidaka's anger but the idea was appealing so he nodded. Akiyama smiled, looking a bit relieved that Hidaka was at last talking to him now. Well, nodding at him – he still wasn't talking

"Okay, I'll just walk straight and hopefully someone will pick me up and then we can go back okay?" Hidaka nodded again, still too busy sulking to care about what was going on. Watching Akiyama's disappearing back, he was suddenly struck with a horrible thought.

"Oh fuck, did I really just send Akiyama san out alone?"

Yeah he was most definitely screwed.

An hour.

It had been an hour since Akiyama left and now Hidaka was sure he was hopelessly lost –Hidaka could just see him muttering "I'm not lost" over and over again and the thought would have been funny had the situation not been so dire. Not only was he stranded, Akiyama had taken the keys with him so he didn't have much of a choice but to stay put. Looking out of the van miserably, he was just about to fuck it all and go to sleep, when he saw a sleek black jeep pull in next to him.

A raven haired head poked out and Hidaka felt his breath get knocked out at the sight of the beautiful woman.

"Hey girl, you lost?"

Girl. She thought Hidaka was a girl. Hidaka wondered if this was a good or a bad thing – he certainly wouldn't mind anyone's help right now but-

"I'm waiting for my uuhh boyfriend to come back – he kind of went to get help."

And now I need to find a way to get us both help.

"Oh – do you need a ride?" The woman smiled gently, tilting her head. "We can leave a note here, get you somewhere safe and have your boyfriend comeback and pick you up later." That was actually a very good idea. Hidaka smiled.

"Thank you uuuh..."

"Maria. Mari Yubikiri."

Police Department, Itabashi, Tokyo, Japan.

14th August, Thursday.

[1:32 PM]

"I shouldn't have left him there."

“Akiyama san, it isn’t your fault.” Gotou said, casting a worried look towards Awashima who shook her head a bit, indicating she did not know how to calm the man down. Hidaka had been missing for well over twenty-four hours and counting. Akiyama had returned to find the van empty with just a note saying Hidaka had found a ride and was getting help and that Akiyama should stay next to the car. Except Akiyama had already found help and had returned with Benzai but Hidaka never came back.

And there, in the seat, was the card.

The Ace of spades.

“Akiyama, I know you think you didn’t see anything. But you have got to think hard. You probably do remember things but we both know how panic makes someone over look things that are usually very important.” Akiyama frowned.

“Girl.”

“What?”

“Hidaka was dressed up like a girl.” Ignoring the shocked looks of various faces, he jumped to his feet, pacing back and forth. “While me and Benzai were on our way back, I saw a black jeep drive past. I didn’t think much about it but – that road is kind of not used at all isn’t it? On top of that, Hidaka wouldn’t be so stupid that he’d just climb into the car with some random man. A woman on the other hand...” He turned to face Benzai. “It has to be woman who took him.”

“That fits our earlier profile too.” Awashima added, looking thoughtful. “And it also makes sense why she would target women who were in and out of relationships. Taking care of them until something happens to trigger her off.”

“She’s asking them to stop returning to their boyfriends.” This came from Gotou, who was frowning slightly, “That’s what the chain and binding are for – keep them from going back."

"Ace of spades." Akiyama said, his eyes getting brighter and brighter, body shaking a bit. "Not King. Not Queen. Ace. A King represents a male role that she doesn’t want to assume and the Queen is usually signified in the game as of less value than the King. She doesn’t want that title either. An Ace on the other hand – it beats them both. The Ace of spades is traditionally the highest card in the deck of playing cards.”

“That would also explain the lack of sexual assault and the way she kept them healthy and well taken care of. She probably had some bad relationship in the past and never got over it. So she’s helping women who she feels are in similar situations as her. Forces them into accepting that they don't need the men in their lives.” Benzai added softly. A sudden thought made them all freeze and Chitose was the one to voice it out.

“So what happens when she finds out Hidaka’s a guy?”

Itabashi, Tokyo, Japan.

14th August, Thursday.

[07:55 PM]

This was a bad situation.

A very very bad situation.

In retrospect, Hidaka knew he couldn’t really blame Akiyama san but it was really much easier blaming him than having to think about anything else in this situation. After he had gotten into the vehicle with Maria – if that was truly her real name – she had blitz attacked him and injected him with something that had made him unconscious till he had come round to see himself bound to a bed. Next to him was a row of beds, each containing a quiet terrified looking woman. Five to be exact.

The missing women. Something inside him swelled in relief at seeing all of them unharmed if not looking terrified and teary. But they were alright. All of them were fine.

Him on the other hand…

He looked down at his feet which were bound to the bed by a single long rope. Looking up, he could detect collars around the necks of the other prisoners, which were chained to their respective bedding.

Hence, the bad situation. Maria had come in minutes ago to tell them all it was time for all of them to get ready for bed. Hidaka didn’t know how long he had been knocked out for but it was already the whole of the next day had passed and it was night time again and he had a sinking suspicion that no one really knew what had happened to him.

Shit this was a really really bad situation.

He should really consider himself lucky that she hadn’t decided to change his clothes while he slept or else she might have murdered him in his sleep.

“You, come with me.” He looked up to see Maria smiling at him. Gulping, he got to his feet and wondered how hard it would be to overpower a woman. But then he remembered the athlete and the fact that this woman had single handedly carried him up here and groaned. Of course, the one time he got caught, it had to be some woman with near inhuman strength. Maria knelt down and undid the rope and even then Hidaka knew making a run for it would be bad. For one, he didn’t even know if she had a gun or not.

Following her out of the room, he found himself facing an empty changing room.

“Here.” Looking down, he was startled to have some clothes suddenly pushed onto him. “Wear these.” Looking at the clothes then at the smiling woman, he could feel realization dawning upon him. Slowly, bits and pieces of the story were coming together and he finally could make out the bigger picture.

So that’s what’s going on…

“Why thank you,” he managed to keep his voice high enough to pass off as a gruff woman, “I didn’t know what I’d be sleeping in.” If he could just keep her believing he was a woman till –

Till what?

It wasn’t as if anyone knew where he was.

Thus no one was coming to save him – he was on his own.

Maria must have read the depression on his face a bit differently because she rested her hand on his cheek and lowered it a bit to stare into his eyes.

“It’s alright – you don’t have to go back to him. He’s only going to hurt you. Just stay here until you know how to be your own person again.” Hidaka’s mind was whirling with a thousand questions but he chose to stay quiet. Mostly because he knew this wasn’t going to help him. The woman’s razor sharp nails cut him a bit on his cheek and he watched as she smiled at the sight.

Fucking psycho.

“Go wash your face – then I’ll take you to your bed. You’ll stay here where it’s safe.” She urged and Hidaka shook his head. Take off the hideous make up? The only thing that was keeping him from being exposed? For one thing, he couldn’t believe Maria still thought he was a woman. Mostly because no matter how you’d look at it, Hidaka wasn’t in any form or shape feminine. Now Akiyama on the other hand-

Okay that’s too much think about Akiyama and less thinking about how to get out of there. Looking around, he spotted a small window in the corner of the room. Analyzing it in his head, he mentally made a few calculations. It would be a tight squeeze but maybe he could just-

No, it wasn’t possible.

Miserably, he turned to look back at her. Maria smiles sweetly and he felt a trill of danger run through him.

“I don’t like taking my makeup off, it completes me.” He had seen some girl use this line in a TV drama once, whatever it meant. He must have said the right thing because Maria smiled at him, shaking her head softly but not exactly forcing him either. Leaving him alone, she shut the door behind her to give him – her? – privacy to change. In a flash, he was next to the window, trying to open it. If not anything he could always yell out for help.

It wasn’t like he had any other options.

“What are you doing.” It wasn’t a question. She knew exactly what he was doing. Turning around, he all but shook with fear as she stood there in the doorway, holding long rope. “This is truly disheartening – and here I thought we could have been friends… You men only lie. Lying, deceitful little creatures you are.” The blood in his veins froze. She knew. Maria let out a small laugh. "Oh what? You thought I would see past your pathetic disguise?" Hidaka shook his head. Well, if he was going to die, might as well not give her the satisfaction of knowing she frightened him – even if she did just a bit.

“We’re not friends. You’re just a psychopath who likes to abduct people and kill them under the pretense of looking out for them.” Something in him made him keep speaking even though it was very ill advised in his current situation. “You cover your own guilt by saying you’re keeping them safe but you’re not – you’re just like every other guy who kept them prisoner – no you’re worse. They just did it emotionally; you’re doing it physically. You’re nothing but hypocrite Maria Yubikiri!”

The woman let out a snarl and pounced on him. Hidaka struggled against her, but discovered soon, that her petite frame was only a misleading cover to a ferociously strong body. As she pinned him to the ground, he stared at the ceiling.

Huh. So this is how it ends then.

Really, he had so much left to do. He hadn’t even called him mum in a long while now. What had it been – a month? Two?

The hands round his neck tightened and dark spots began dancing in his field of vision. His chest heaved trying to get some oxygen in as he scratched at her hands hoping to get her to let go.

If only-

“Let go of my boyfriend, you crazy bitch!” The last thing he saw before he blacked out was tiny blur of green yank the body off of him and with a smile, Hidaka’s consciousness faded to black.

BAU, PSIA headquarters, Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan.

16th August, Saturday.

[8:30 PM]

“So how did you guys even find me?” Hidaka asked, rubbing his throat a bit. The marks were still there, scars where her nails had bit into his skin and made him bleed. The darkening bruise across his tanned skin would take days to heal but Hidaka knew it would disappear sooner than later and this whole business would be behind them. Benzai coughed.

“Well once we realized it was a woman with a black jeep, the rest was easy. We just looked up every woman in the area who owned one and fit the description of the victims. Maria Yubikiri lit up like a beacon. Her own relationship had gone south and she had killed her ex-boyfriend but the charges against her were dropped since the boyfriend was such a douche. She had been in and out of therapy. She was such a cluster fuck of problems that you could just tell from a mile away were trouble.” Hidaka nodded. They had all just returned to the headquarters, him being finally released from the hospital after many threats and angry outbursts.

Really, he hadn’t even been in that bad a shape.

To top it all off –

His eyes found themselves fixed on a certain figure that was discreetly trying to leave in the background. A small push made him stumble forward and he barely manage to catch himself, turning to look at Benzai, confused.

“Just go ask him out properly, you both are giving the entire team a head ache with your constant tip toeing around each other." Behind him Gotou nodded savagely while even Awashima made a shrugging motion with her shoulders. Hidaka turned to look back at the figure only to realize it was gone. He quickly bid the other goodbye before sprinting out after the other man.

Really, they were going to see each other the next day – he shouldn't really make such an effort right now. But something inside him told him it was either now or never.

Spotting his desired company walking ahead, he smirked and grabbed him by the shoulder-

And found himself lying on his back, his body screaming in agony and stars floating in front of his eyes.

"Oh my God, Hidaka san!" Akiyama's horrified voice pulled him back into the world of the coherent and Akiyama helped him sit up. "I thought someone was attacking me so I just -"

"I always knew you were the ones who could make me see stars in their eyes."

"You really do have a concussion don't you, wait, I'll go get help. I should probably call the ambulance – you need to go back to the hospital."

"NO!" Hidaka's body jerked in an upright position. Akiyama blinked.

"Alright then, I'll just leave you here to die then See if I care." He huffed, getting to his feet. Hidaka followed suit even thought he was sure he had dislocated some of his vertebrae. Groaning, he held up a hand, silently asking the other man to stop which he thankfully did. Hidaka inwardly rejoiced because he really didn't think he could run after someone right now.

Fucking hurts like bloody murder.

"Okay no, I needed to ask you something." Akiyama paused, a bit of pink dusting his cheeks. Before Hidaka could get even two words in, the man was rambling on, not paying attention to what the brunette wanted to say.

"If this is about that boyfriend comment, I acted without thinking – I was in a panic -"

"Akiyama san..."

"So you can't actually blame me -"

"Akiyama san."

"Besides, do you realize how worried you had made all of us -"

"Akiyama san."

"Always doing careless things. I mean, who just -"

Hidaka just kissed him to get him to shut up. Which did work – until he pulled away because then Akiyama was all up in his face.

"What was that?"

"Well I'm not sure what they call this in your home planet – but here it's called a kiss Akiyama san."

"Why?"

"Well you kept talking and not listening -"

"Oh so you did kiss me only to make me quiet."

"What? No, That's not -"

"I'm sorry." Hidaka blinked. His mind couldn't keep up with the conversation and he vaguely wondered if there had been a bit of a time skip here.

"Excuse you?"

"I'm sorry." Akiyama repeated, looking away. "That day – it was my fault." Hidaka's eyes widened comically and he raised his hands, waving them frantically in front of him.

"No no, it wasn't your fault. Really."

"No it's – Hidaka san made no such promise." The low mumble made Hidaka stop and stare, a bit bewildered by the small confession. Confession to what exactly, he did not know.

"What?" Again, there was probably something he skipped - he was missing something majorly important, he was sure of it -

"Hidaka san never promised to wear a dress - I made that up." Hidaka stared. And stared, He opened his mouth to say something but really, nothing came out.

"Ah."

What else could he say? Anything he wanted to say was highly wrong in the current atmosphere.

You're here to tell him you love him. You're here to tell him you love him. You're here to tell him you love him.

"Please don't be mad, I thought you'd look really cute." Hidaka stared at the other man, incredulity spreading across his face.

"Akiyama san?"

"Yes?" The words were a tiny squeak as if he expected Hidaka to yell at him. He didn't though.

"It's a good thing I love you otherwise I might have just murdered you right now." Akiyama's eyes widened only for a fraction before Hidaka found himself being on the receiving end of a very long – and possibly bone crushing – hug.

Yup definitely slipped a backbone or two. he thought wincing slightly. But it was worth it though. Akiyama pulled away and began to dig around in his bag.

"I planned on giving you this tomorrow, as an apology, but here." Hidaka stared at the wooden box in surprise and blinked, looking at Akiyama then at the box and then back again. Akiyama nudged him. "Well, don't leave me standing here like an idiot. Just take it." Hidaka nodded. Opening the box he stared at the contents in surprise.

"Ah." Once again rendered speechless, he held up the wooden pen in the light, admiring the way the light reflected off the polished surface and the intricate pattern carved in. Akiyama shrugged.

"I really didn't know what else to get, I'm not good with-"

"Thank you Akiyama san." Hidaka cut in, placing his gift back in the box, "It looks really nice." Akiyama blushed again. Hidaka came to the conclusion he liked seeing Akiyama blush.

"Yes well, you did get kidnapped and all so I suppose it's the least I could do." He ducked his head and Hidaka grinned.

"You can also go out for dinner with me." Akiyama looked at him blankly then at his wrist watch.

"Well, I guess it's not that late." He finally receded. Hidaka grinned.

"Great, I just recently found this amazing diner-"

"A diner? On our first date? I would have at least expected a gourmet meal."

"It was a very last minute thing Akiyama san, I'm sorry I couldn't arrange for the flowers."

"That's no excuse, I want my flowers."

“Well if you want those flowers so badly, maybe you should ask me out on a date.”

“Why would I do that? Then I’d have to buy you flowers.”

“Akiyama san…”

#...I'm done #this got very out of hand I did not plan on making it this long #AkiHida #k project au #k project #fic

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