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biowhore · 4 months ago

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Have this originally small moment between Lucanis and Kalliope that snowballed into a hurt/comfort-ish one-shot. All pre-release, of course.

[~2500 word count, if you need]

Kalliope was AFAB and uses they/them pronouns. They are a mage in the Mourn Watch.

~~~

The door to the Lighthouse crashed open from Lucanis's boot, nearly splintering the frame as the thick panel met stone.

Their Rook - because he was trying not to think of Kalliope as his - held most of their weight on his shoulders as he veered sharply for the sitting area. He deposited them swiftly but carefully onto an ancient settee, kneeling in front of them. Kalliope sat heavily, immediately doubling over as the toxin took hold. Based on the blade graze on their arm, Lucanis thought, it was a coating. He was betting on deathroot based on the symptoms, thank the Maker. He had the antidote already made; they would recover quickly.

A cacophony of footfalls sounded at the entrance as the whole group came stumbling in after the pair of them. Harding and Emmerich made a beeline for Rook, already squawking about treatments.

"I have them," Lucanis stated quietly but firmly.

Harding, Maker bless her, heard his tone and stopped dead, reaching for Emmerich, but the death mage kept walking and talking.

"Might be best to-"

"I. Have. Them."

That caused Emmerich to falter, allowing Harding to grab him, "Oh good, Lucanis got them inside. If anyone can treat it, it'll be the Crow. Come on, let's give them some space - toxin recovery can be disorienting."

"Ah. Yes, quite," Emmerich cleared his throat. "Rook is in good hands."

With that, their discordant little group tickled out of the foyer one by one, casting quick glances at Lucanis and Rook as they went. He knew what it looked like, but he really couldn't be bothered to care just now.

Kalliope sat up straight suddenly, their head lolling back with a groan. "Yeah, feels like getting kicked in the teeth," Lucanis murmured. And the gut. And the groin. Both hands placed gently on their cheeks, he pulled down their eyelids to check the whites and the flesh, confirming the agent. Next, he dug into one of his pouches, retrieving a roll of leather that contained a handful of tiny glass vials. With a precise hand, he plucked out the vial he needed, along with a delicate silver spatula. With it, he scooped a viscous substance from the vial and turned back to Kalliope.

Their eyes were open, watching him but not truly seeing through the haze of the agent coursing through their veins. Their heart would be fluttering at a rapid but weak pace, unable to move blood through their body as it should. That would cause fainting eventually, which Kalliope appeared moments away from. The core of their body would heat up as blood did not disperse, their extremities becoming icy simultaneously. To wrap it all up in a bow, they would hallucinate severely, dipping in and out of consciousness; doubly dangerous for a mage.

He held the thin metal up to their lips, "Apri, Rook."

Lucanis took advantage of the brief parting of Kalliope's pale lips to sneak the spatula between their teeth, scraping the congealed antidote onto their tongue.

He whispered an apology and covered their mouth with his hand, making sure they didn't spit it out immediately. Kalliope shook their head, squeezing their eyes shut tight against the bitter, metallic tang. They settled after a moment, and Lucanis pulled his hand away.

He waited, watching the minute reactions of their face. Their eyes flickered open in fits and starts, finally remaining half open and locked onto his. He watched their awareness trickle back in, the warmth sparking weakly in the amber.

He was not expecting Kalliope to roll those usually haunting eyes and flop their forehead onto his shoulder, a surprisingly annoyed groan accompanying the action. A few muffled words escaped from the fabric of his mantle, but he couldn't make sense of them.

"Better?"

Their head turned fractionally, enough to hear a couple of words, "Dragon shit".

Kalliope never cursed in front of them. In fact, he had been certain they didn't know any curses, and had never been more amused to be wrong.

"Come?"

They did not reply. Instead, they clutched both of their elbows as tremors began from their legs, cascading up the rest of their body. It was an expected response as their heart recovered and adrenaline surged, then quickly abated. In roughly 10-15 minutes, he guessed, they would crash and sleep it off for hours.

Without thinking at first, his hands moved to the outside of their arms. He hesitated, then gingerly placed them, waiting a moment for any negative reaction from them before moving them up and down, trying to both sooth and warm them. He picked up their teeth quietly clacking by his right ear, the sound cutting off abruptly as they clenched their jaw.

"You'll be alright. It will pass."

"Well it can bloody well get on with it; this is worse than when I got locked in a sarcophagus with a half-preserved corpse."

He sincerely tried not to laugh. Kalliope was soft-spoken and polite. They continued to surprise him at every turn. Despite his efforts, he was afraid he was growing fond of surprises.

"Half-preserved?"

"I had only just removed her organs."

Disgusting. He was certain he would prefer purging any poison over that, but he was biased. And mostly immune. What did they get up to in the Necropolis?

He felt the tip of their nose just barely brush against the skin of his neck as they turned their head again, causing his hands on their arms to hesitate. Kalliope lifted away from his shoulder, eyes downcast and glazed with the adrenaline crash.

"Andraste save me, he smells delicious," they murmured.

He had no doubt that they did not intend to actually voice that thought. His mouth quirked to the side with the effort it took not to smile, simultaneously shoving any mutual sentiments into a steel box, locking it, and hurling it into the furthest forgotten corners of his mind. He was certainly not feeling that barest brush of skin like a brand.

Kalliope paused, their eyes slowly tracking upward until they met his. They quickly flicked down to the floor as their hand clapped over their mouth. Again, their eyes tracked upward, and as they took in his face, both of Kalliope's hands slapped over their face, digging into their hairline.

With a groan Kalliope asked, "By the grace of the Maker, would you happen to actually be Bellara or literally anyone else?"

"Afraid not."

"So I've said that out loud, directly into your ear."

"Sí."

"Brilliant," they flopped onto the settee, covering their face with their arm, "I don't suppose it's too late to reverse the antidote?"

Lucanis barked a bemused laugh, "I regret to inform you that despite your wishes, you shall live. But at least only I heard that."

They peeked at him from beneath their arm, "That does not make me feel better."

Lucanis only shrugged, staring at them with a crooked grin. That smile faded slowly as he tracked the full awareness coming back into their eyes. The kind of awareness that bore right into his soul, read every secret carved there, and begged him to spill his heart to them. A heart he had locked in a cage long ago. The air changed between them, settling back into the heavy weight of all the things they could not say to each other. All the things he would not let them. And because they both knew he would not, that damned pain, that hauntedness, came flooding back into their eyes. It was almost more than he could take.

Their tremors were slowing, but the shaking of their arm was very apparent. Kalliope sat up slowly, looking away in true shame now.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't myself," they spoke softly, awkwardly, "I hope... I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Lucanis clenched his jaw, but managed to say, "Don't do that. It's fine."

They shook their head, palm to their clammy forehead, "You don't need to... it- I-," they sighed heavily, abruptly pushing on from the moment, "I am exhausted. You're the only one around, and I feel as though I shall fall flat on my face if I try to stand, so could you help me to my rooms?"

Kalliope avoided his eyes, resolutely staring at the floor as she asked this of him, as if it were an imposition. He hated that he was the one responsible for them feeling this way.

"Of course. Here," he took their shaky hand away from their face, guiding it around his middle as he put another hand on their back. Slowly they both stood, Lucanis pausing to let Kalliope get their feet under them. His hand at their back slid fully around their waist, supporting their weight as he led them toward the stairs.

"You were grazed with a dagger that had a poison coating. You've had the antidote, but the wound should be tended." Lucanis stated, trying half-heartedly to alleviate the tension between them. It was even more difficult with their body so close to his - he found himself wishing he could tend to it himself, if only to apologize in his own way.

Kalliope glanced at the torn fabric on her right arm, "It's barely a scratch. Must have been really potent."

Lucanis nodded, "Concentrated deathroot extract."

"Maker's breath. How many life debts do I owe you now?"

They both turned their heads to each other, Lucanis looking into Kalliope's amber eyes with all the certainty in his bones when he said, "None."

He felt their quick intake of breath, startled by his conviction. His arm around their waist contracted to hold them upright as he successfully predicted that they would miss the next stair step. Kalliope's right hand shot out for the railing needlessly, the breath they just took rushing out in surprise.

"R-right. Well... lucky me."

~~~

The remaining trek to Kalliope's rooms was quiet and without further stumbles. Lucanis shouldered open the door without pause, his charge squeaking in protest.

"I'm fine you don't need to- aaand we're going all the way to the bed. Ok."

He chuckled, "You have no legs to stand on at the moment; I thought I would make things easier for you." While the tremors were subsiding, Kalliope was weakening with the crash. He wanted to get the graze sorted before they slept for an age.

"You are mothering me. I am fully capable of getting myself to bed, even in this state," they protested. Lucanis approached Kalliope's bed, a modest thing with warm wool blankets and a singular pillow. He carefully deposited them on the edge and stepped back.

"Light the lamp, then," Lucanis gestured to the bedside candle lamp with a flick of his chin, folding his arms as he waited. When they rolled their eyes and held out their hand for a spell, he clarified, "Without magic."

Kalliope grumbled but reached for the tinder box. They couldn't even get it open with their shaking, weakened hands. They slowly placed it back on the table, muttering under their breath, "point made."

Lucanis smirked, taking the box and lighting the candle with deft fingers. He then nodded to Kalliope's right arm, kneeling in front of them again while rummaging through another of his pouches. They obliged him by slipping their arm out of the thick robe they wore. They were able to maneuver their long sleeve up past their elbow, where the graze was, revealing a pale and freckled forearm. Lucanis removed his gloves, preparing a small amount of poultice and a linen wrapping. The cut was very clean, thanks to a well-honed blade. It was the only thing he would be thankful for regarding the attack.

He kept his touch clinical, but it was hard not to dwell on the warmth of their skin. They were quiet, watchful, but their eyes followed the movement of his fingers mechanically, thinking rather than seeing. In just a few moments he was pinning the wrapping, absurdly wishing he had an excuse to be more thorough. He needed to leave, but his legs felt leaden.

"Hmm." Kalliope patted the dressing, "Passable."

Lucanis chuckled, "I think you're opinions should be limited to wrappings on the dead. Let me know when you've tended a couple hundred bleeding limbs."

They gasped in mock affront, "The principle is the same!"

Both grinned stupidly at each other and their meaningless banter. Lucanis's caged heart strained against its bars. Their pink, soft lips broke the grin, falling to a mild frown as their eyes seemed to lose focus. They tipped forward slightly, and his hand shot out of its own volition, cupping their cheek. Kalliope let out a rush of air, their eyes fluttering closed.

"Hah... the world is spinning."

Lucanis nodded, "Rest. By morning the effects will have waned."

"This isn't really what I had in mind when I said I wanted to see more of the world outside the Necropolis," Kalliope whispered.

"Oh? Taking on some gods was on the list, though?"

They shook their head and laughed, still keeping their eyes closed from the vertigo, "Oh don't do that, it makes it worse!"

He grinned, "Apologies." He wasn't really that sorry; he craved their laugh, even if it brought him as much pain as joy.

He realized their faces were very close, the tips of their noses just a breath away from touching. Kalliope mastered their laugh and peeked their eyes open, the flame of the candle dancing in their irises. Those eyes swallowed him whole, while his logic screamed at him to leave, to pull away, to end this any way he could. But he was paralyzed, and he could not decide if he was a willing captive or not.

"You're gentle for a Crow," Kalliope whispered.

"Gentle is not a word that accurately describes me."

"Yet I did."

"Rook..." He knew what they were doing. And he couldn't let them. Yet his thumb traced the bone of their cheek, his palm soaking in their warmth like it had never known such a thing.

"Kalliope," they tried to insist.

He shook his head slowly.

Again, that haunting resignation crept into their eyes, "I'm not afraid of you, Lucanis."

Oh, his name from their mouth. Like a knife in the belly, like the caress of the sea, like the itch of the Fade, like coming home, and leaving again all at once.

Their forehead met his, in pleading or exasperation or both. His hand on their cheek was seized by their own, grasping almost desperately, and he distantly registered the lack of tremors.

"But you are afraid of me," they whispered, then with a resigned confidence, "So, you should leave."

Their eyes shuttered, a wall of everite, leaving Lucanis briefly surprised. His hand fell away, and his legs finally did as they were bid, rising and stepping back. Kalliope's warmth left his body all at once, leaving him terribly and familiarly cold. Their gaze dropped to the floor, remaining where he had been and refusing to watch him leave. They simply waited silently.

His throat had closed. His hands, now back inside their gloves, clenched at his sides. His feet took him to the door, silent and detached, like he had wanted. But he managed to pause in the frame, something inside him finally deciding that he was incapable of leaving things between them like this.

Softly, simply, he bid them farewell, "Buonanotte, sognatore."*

His ears picked up the soft intake of breath and swallow they took as his feet left the threshold. It was the only apology he could offer them, the only acknowledgement he knew how to give after they had so completely sliced into the heart of the matter - in a way he didn't even fully understand yet.

He let his feet continue carrying him away from them, and his heart raged against the bars of its cage.

*Goodnight, dreamer

#dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #veilguard #rook x lucanis #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #datv #lucanis dellamorte

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justforbooks · 2 days ago

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That Librarian by Amanda Jones

A small-town US librarian’s lively account of her battle with a group of far-right censors reveals the toll it took on her health

Amanda Jones’s story is awful – and important. A school librarian for 23 years in her home town of Watson, southern Louisiana, she has watched with concern in recent years as a movement of book-banning swept across the US. According to the American Library Association, “book challenges�� in public libraries almost doubled from 729 in 2021 to 1,269 in 2022.

In July 2022, when Jones heard about a public meeting that would discuss “book content” in local libraries, she went along. A board member said she was “concerned” about some “inappropriate” material in the local library’s children and young adult sections. In response, Jones gave a measured speech, explaining her belief that “while book challenges are often done with the best intentions, and in the name of age appropriateness, they often target marginalised communities” and “books on sexual health and reproduction”. She went on to detail the “First Amendment right to borrow, read, view, and listen to library resources”.

“I said nothing earth-shattering,” Jones writes in her memoir. But within days her life had been upended because of two posts on social media. The first was by the Facebook page of Citizens for a New Louisiana, a far-right group whom Jones knew had worked to defund a library in nearby Lafayette and whose executive director was a man named Michael Lunsford. It accused Jones of “fighting so hard to keep sexually erotic and pornographic materials in the kids’ section”. The second Facebook post was made by local man Ryan Thames, who wrote that Jones advocated “teaching anal sex to 11-year-olds”.

The posts were shared widely by local people, including many Jones knew. “One parent in particular whose child I had helped with getting services for a learning disability was especially vicious,” she writes, devastatingly. Later, she received a death threat. Over the course of the next year, Jones, who is in her mid-40s, lost a lot of weight, experienced hair loss and took medical leave from work. In the spring of 2023 she sued Lunsford and Thames for defamation.

That Librarian is Jones’s account of the 2022 public meeting that started her ordeal, the ultimately unsuccessful court case and all that followed. She has a lively, convivial style: “I worried that my friends and family would be targeted next. Spoiler alert: they were.” Sometimes this breeziness veers into pettiness, as when she describes an opponent who has “the spelling and grammar of a child of 10”, or refers to Valarie Hodges, a member of the Louisiana state senate who posted online against Jones, as “my gal pal Val”.

The more wistful sections are warming. Jones describes how she was in high school when Watson had its first traffic light installed – that’s how small a town it is. She credits her teenage reading of Judy Blume, one of the most banned authors ever, with “making me more empathetic”. Jones believes uncompromisingly in the power of books to open minds. And through working as a school librarian, has seen the impact of exclusion politics: “I have lost more former students to suicide than I care to think about, many of whom, I suspect, died as a direct result of being made to feel excluded in our society.” Together, these experiences have informed her anti-censorship mentality.

But she knows party politics comes into it too. Her local area has become “extremely alt-right and conspiratorial” in recent years, and she has noticed that “all book banners seem to be Republican”. She is refreshingly honest about her relative complicity. “It wasn’t until I was into my 40s that I realised some aspects of our country weren’t that great,” she writes, before admitting that she voted for Donald Trump in 2016. She regrets it now, but these admittances are important. Listening to voices from across the political divide, and understanding the ways in which we are both similar and different to those who vote similarly and differently to us is crucial in understanding why the world is the way it is – even more so after Trump’s re-election.

Several times, Jones refers to how she has tracked her defamers to see they have also donated to election campaigns of particular pro-ban politicians. But she never fully examines the intricacies of this likely organised overlap, or takes a step back to consider how this current wave of book banning compares with historical cases. As such, “my fight against book banning in America” would be a more suitable subtitle, not “the fight”. This is a brave, fascinating book, but it’s the personal story of Jones’s ordeal – about which she is evidently still very bitter – rather than an account of the movement as a whole.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Amanda Jones #That Librarian #book review

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ghost-proofbaby · 4 months ago

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As a huge folklore fan, and a constant saddie, I am very content with the current tunes but especially this is me trying. You might want to turn it up though because I ugly sob ‪‪❤︎‬

I was laughing too hard about the reactions and have to wonder if y’all are in my brain too?? Vamp Steve lives rent free there right next to a Vamp Eddie. I blame watching Interview with a Vampire too many times as a child

I will also die if either, or both, of you decide to write dark or kas!Steve.

srsly ily both (in the least insane way, I promise)

- 🍒🌸

it's okay we can all sit in a circle and sob together!!! lil group therapy hug because we're trying and that's enough <3

and probably since anything to do with vampires will always live rent free in my brain as well 😭😭😭 interview with a vampire, van helsing (i see you hugh jackman renaissance and all the kiddos saying they discovered him through dp&w. stop making me feel old.), hell one of the first proper book series i read was the one that was like assistant to the vampire? cirque de freak? something like that? where the kid is desperate to become a vampire or something. little ghost wanted to be the assistant to a vampire in a traveling circus sooooo bad it ain't funny.

but vamp!steve really isn't spoken about enough. generally, i think we as a fandom NEED to discuss more about the possible scientific ramifications of all the times steve (and the entire gang) were exposed to a supposedly toxic environment capable of changing someone's molecular chemistry, and we need to get WEIRDER with our scientific headcanons. (@myosotisa actually has done this and i kiss her big beautiful brain every day for it because i fucking love it. she's so smart and does it more justice than i ever could.)

i just wanna sit and imagine steve with those cursed black veins spreading out around his eyes, growing darker and darker with each passing day. and all of his best qualities, his fierce loyalty and stubborn love and need to keep those he cares for safe, twisting into his own damnation. all the love turning into dark possessiveness, all the need to keep you safe veering into extreme measures that never would have crossed his mind prior to vecna's influence. give me a steve who would no longer just fight for you, but kill for you. and he can justify it all, truly believing he still has the best of intentions without ever seeing that he's started down a path you simply can't follow. never seeing that he's losing the one he loves most, this time by his own two hands.

also please don't die we need someone to fuel our insanity as we see just how far we can push steve harrington our beloved.

also also we love you. in a very insane way. <3

@andvys

#tagging andy because this is *our* insanity #also seriously myo's entire collection of how the boys & co changed from the upside down fucking haunts me #everything myo does haunts me in the best way it's lovely #just sitting here and realizing what talented and smart friends i have damn #i am in fact the personality hire in every friendship #🍒🌸 anon <3 #seriously though you're so sweet and it's very exciting to see that this is something other people want <3

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eyedivine · 3 years ago

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NEGATIVE QUALITIES: ZODIAC EDITION. *italicized for could be applicable but not necessarily.

ARIES :tries to do everything at once, doesn’t know when to stop and take care of themselves, bends over backwards for everyone even if someone did them dirty, has entirely too much on their plate.

TAURUS : idealistic, spends a lot of time trying to impress others, doesn’t like to apologize, eating is a coping mechanism or just addictive personalities in general, a tad codependent.

GEMINI : the most flip floppy people ever, what’s today’s mood?, never apologizes, in denial 90% of the time, their way is the highway, desperately needs a break, they have a hard time setting goals because their goals scare them.

CANCER : the literal meaning of I’ll give you the shirt off my back, isolates themselves in fear of someone hurting them, wants to change but is scared of change, complains a lot but never takes advice people give them.

LEO : no one takes them seriously because they feel they always have to portray themselves as the fun one, is actually really sad inside, honestly needs a hug, exhausted always.

VIRGO : can dish it but can’t take it, rushes everything, anxious, plans their future but forgets to live in the moment, sometimes ignores their friends because they have so much on their mind, talks about themselves a lot and sometimes forgets to ask the other person how they are.

LIBRA :solves everyone’s problems but their own, is actually really sad and lonely, gets easily heartbroken but tries not to show it, will do anything to justify bad decisions, honestly just wants everyone to love them but doesn’t really love themselves.

SCORPIO : easily set off, will give anyone the cold shoulder at any time even without reason, keeps a lot in, so observant that they oftentimes find out things that hurt them, too many “what ifs” swirling in their heads, has trouble showing their true selves.

SAGITTARIUS : impatient, brash, commitment issues, body issues, doesn’t realize they don’t need to change for anyone, has a lot of different goals to a point where they get overwhelmed, just wants to disappear and do what they want without anyone questioning them.

CAPRICORN : scared people won’t like them unless they’re at the top of their game 24/7, takes a LOT for them to talk about their feelings, secretly struggling, fake happy, needs a plan but doesn’t know what that plan is, confident but insecure at the same time, wants to be stable but sometimes wishes they could drop everyone’s expectations of them and live normally.

AQUARIUS :gets heartbroken like 30 times a week, trust issues, can be unmotivated and disinterested, feels they have to adapt to every person they meet so they can be liked, doesn’t know how to tap into their emotions despite being very intuitive, confused, expects little.

PISCES : empathetic often to a point of no return, plays the victim, doesn’t know when to say no, cynical, hermit, is very impatient, trusts everyone too much, can be secretly very critical and judgmental, can only tolerate maybe ten minutes of social interaction, needs a lot of validation.

stolen. tagging: @ivaios @zelotae @fleurei @lykaiia @kitsunas @bonescribes @grandconcept @spectralhunter @miburoni @maternas @coffincaged @shatteredcrown @godfate + you too!

#𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 ✧ ⁞ as there is sorrow so there is joy: both stem from the fount.#𝐇𝐂 ✧ ⁞ the enlightened blossom which does no evil; yet what lay in its eyes?#these were hard because they were all veering to one extreme to the next #and renge is very...balanced?#so i was a bit like hm..

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canyouhearthelight · 2 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 210

Weekly installation of mostly fluffy slice of life neurodivergent queer fiction in SPACE space space space!

October was a super busy month, so I’m glad to be through it. HRT, Inktober, real life camping trip, one of my ersatz children making good trouble while the other one rebelled a little bit... Onwards to November, when I still have to decide if I am spatchcocking Cornish hens or just frying them.

I actually can’t do reader shout outs this week, because Inktober did get my notes all wonky. However! @janeshadow, @necromancer04, and @drbibliophile were all extremely supportive of my clumsy attempts at art, so I do want to give them special acknowledgement.

As always, shout out to @baelpenrose for sticking it out through this chapter... It veered hard left for a minute, but he hung in there until it actually made sense again.

By the time I got back to my office, Else had done an admirable job clearing the ceiling and working their way down the walls. Tyche and Parvati were nowhere to be seen, which was just as well. Given the near-fluorescent quality my workspace still had, it was in everyone’s best interest that Parvati was scheduled to shadow my sister today.

“Good call on Charly,” Hannah announced as I took a seat. “She was halfway through making a fresh batch of paint when I got ahold of her.”

I slumped in relief. “Xiomara is less than pleased with her homework, but not much else I can do. She has been warned, just in case, blah blah blah.” Roughly, I rubbed my face. “I need a vacation.”

“Don’t you usually go camping or something? I know there was a camping trip last year.”

“Mmm hmm.” Alistair had kindly handed me another coffee - mostly hot this time, no straw. Things were looking up. “But we make planetfall in less than four months. The next giant leap for mankind waits for no one.”

She blinked at me, skeptical. “The world won’t end if you vanish for three or four days.”

Shrugging, I shook my head. “I’d be camping alone. Schedules are all over the place right now, between essential projects in community shifts and essential tasks in work shifts. Hell,” I sighed, “I think the guys and I are only all home at the same time for maybe four hours a day?”

“That sucks,” she whispered emphatically.

“Can’t be helped. We’ve talked about it and come to terms with it.” Remembering the food I’d brought, I looked around. “Where are the - “

“Eaten, with salt and butter,” Alistair interrupted. “What hasn’t been demolished was absconded with to Tyche’s office with muttering about soups?”

“The Soup,” Hannah corrected. “Clearly, you haven’t had it, or you would know that. Hey!” She perked up again. “You could do a picnic instead of camping? Small daycation?”

That set me groaning, leaning my head down to rest in my hands. “They’re deconstructing BioLab2 for biomass,” I half-wailed mournfully. “I’m pretty sure the only reason Nixe hasn’t smashed my door down is because she’s too busy trying to get as much PT in with Teeth as possible before they drain the lake.”

Alistair drummed his fingers on the table, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “I am going to hazard the guess that either Mister Rodriguez has not been told that the same will happen to his tanks, or he has elected not to inform Her Majesty?”

I winked and waggled a finger at him. “Very close. Simon’s prodigious aquarium set ups are among the last to go. They are currently being used to study mineral aquatics, and will be cycled out to become life pods for Else.”

“That explains the breathtaking lack of weapon marks on the doors, thank you.”

“No problem.” Taking a steadying breath, I looked around again. The pumpkins were vanishing slowly but surely. A reassuring sign. “On more official matters, the votes from the Ark are showing an eighty-twenty trend toward the From cave system, with seventy percent reporting already.” I called up the relevant map. “Which means we need to start figuring out where exactly to put everyone. These are the most recent geological scans, so let’s start taking inventory of who has preference of where they don’t want to be…”

That bought me a scant few minutes of relative silence before Hannah tapped my hand to get my attention. “What about a Halloween party? Or a harvest party?”

“Once we get down there? Sounds like a plan. Sort of a new Thanksgiving.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean for you, dummy.”

I tilted my head questioningly. “You want me?” I pointed at my chest. “To relax? By planning and throwing a party?”

“You love feeding people,” she pointed out.

My hands went up. “Four or five at a time, yeah! After that, it gets exhausting.”

“There is this fascinating invention,” Alistair started, adding his two cents. “It’s called a potluck, I do believe. Apparently, it occurs when you allow other people to bring dishes to a gathering.” He zoomed on a particular cavern, not even looking at us. “Revolutionary, I know. What will they think of next.”

“Asshole,” I muttered, wiggling down into my chair to sulk.

“Other people can cook, Sophia.”

“Et tu, Hannah?”

Five years ago, she would have flinched from my glare. Now, she just stared back. It was clear that overexposure had acclimatized her to my wrath. “You let Tyche bake for you all the time.”

“That’s different. I can’t bake. Like, at all.”

“Arthur made goulash that one time. And you let Charly make popcorn.”

Yet again, my assistant felt the need to add insult to injury. “I understand that Mister Rodriguez is quite adept at sugar confections. And you, yourself, extoll Councilor Kalloe’s aptitude with curries.”

“We could throw Xiomara and Mona together,” Hannah suggested. “Mona will stuff buns with anything given the chance.” It only took a beat of silence for her to realize what she had said and start glowing red. “Bread buns! Like fluffier bao oh my gods kill me now…”

“Mini curry bread bowls do sound delightful,” Alistair mulled.

“Y’all - “

He kept speaking, ignoring me completely. “I think Farro and I can duel British versus American pigs in blankets.”

Hannah clapped, despite my attempts to argue. “Oh, that would be fun! I bet Charly and Coffee can pull together some really interesting dips and sauces.” Her tone dropped just as she clamped a hand over my mouth. “I hear Coffee makes a mean roux.”

“Do you think he can make us a gumbo?”

“How would we make it portable? Hmmm….”

I stood up and stomped my bare foot ineffectually before shouting. “Y’ALL!” They turned to look at me, faces frozen mid-word. Pointing a finger like it was a loaded gun, I started with Alistair. “I know what the hell a potluck is, but a good host should be able to feed the people they invite. Arthur got away with the goulash because he didn’t exactly ask.”

“The boozy donuts didn’t hurt,” Hannah added.

“AND YOU!” I whirled on her. “How am I supposed to ask people who probably can’t even attend to make food or help? I adore Mona, but she is busy. We all have access to her work allotments and hours, none of us know when she sleeps. I don’t care how good those mini bread bowls sound, if I find out she is making even ONE, I will assign you to BioLab Four so fast you won’t have time for a rebreather.”

She started muttering and I vaguely heard names being listed, but chose to ignore it for the sake of my blood pressure. “And finally: WHY DOES THAT PUFF HAVE A HAT??” I darted across the room to where Else was roughly halfway down the walls now, fingertip less than an inch from a bright yellow ball of fuzz with a bright purple cowboy hat.

“Hat?”

“Puff?”

Both of them stood and inched toward where I was standing, eyes following my arm until they saw what I was focused on. “That’s a hat,” Hannah murmured in a dazed tone.

“I see it as well,” Alistair confirmed. I couldn’t tell if his confusion was the rapid change in topic or the bizarre sight in front of us. “It is very purple.”

I didn’t want to take the object away, in case it upset Else…. Lately, they’d been known to emit a jarringly high pitched noise when upset. Instead, I stared at it with them, fixated.

“Does Simon have sea urchins?” Hannah finally asked, apropos to literally nothing I could figure out.

“Four?” I answered, curious.

She nodded without taking her eyes off the wall. “Urchins sunburn, and from what I’ve read, wild ones would carry stones or other objects to protect themselves. People who kept pet urchins would make hats for them. Like that.”

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. “I don’t think I want to know how Else stole a hat from one of Simon’s urchins.”

“Perhaps someone made it for Else, based on similarities?” Alistair suggested.

“No clue,” I admitted. Finally, I turned from the wall, took a deep breath, and opened my eyes. “Fine. You’re right. We can do the potluck. It’ll be nice to hang out with everyone and not have to cook everything.”

Immediately, I winced and Else scattered as Hannah started squealing. “This is going to be great! Just you wait and see.”

“No costumes?” I begged.

She gave a small huff. “Fine. No costumes. I can work with that. Unless Else shows up with hats.”

“The hat is pretty cute,” I conceded.

“Do not inform Miss Harper of that.” Alistair turned and stared at us both. “If I am forced to see even one glittery accoutrement for our fine, fluffy friends, neither of you will ever have a proper cup of coffee again.”

Oh. He meant it.

“Won’t tell Charly,” I hastily promised.

“How the hell are we supposed to keep her from making them without telling her about it?” Hannah hissed at me as soon as his back was turned.

“Fuck if I know,” I responded. “But we’re going to figure this out. My caffeine depends on it.”

<<Prev Masterlist Next>>

#the miys #found family #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #haw #hfy #original fiction #original science fiction #sci fi #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #my writing

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ushidoux · 4 years ago

Text

Power Struggle - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: You’re set up on a blind date with a man who might just be your match. (~5.1k words)

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, blind date, exhibitionism, public sex

A/N: Part of @cherrytenko’s CEO collab! Surprisingly this is possibly the longest fic I’ve written as a oneshot and it’s a little softer than I expected it to be but please enjoy!

---

It’s about half past 6pm when you add the final touch to your makeup, a smear of matte lipstick (Rouge Hermes #48, to be exact), to your lips.

It’s not often that you’re able to leave work early but your mother and father had called you from overseas in the late afternoon, interrupting their own third honeymoon, to remind you of your final meeting for the day -

A date.

“I know you hate these things, but just go! You might like what you see,” your mother insisted over video chat, her voice muffled by the sound of wind whipping past her as she and your father cruised along on a shaky speedboat they’d purchased just for the day. You weren’t completely sure where they were, only vaguely aware that they were somewhere around Jeju Island, and not exactly sure why they still had phone service, but you weren’t going to ask too many questions.

“No obligation!” Your father adds, just out of view and yelling slightly.

Sure, never any obligations.

As you smack your lips in the mirror to smooth out the lip color, giving yourself a brief once-over to decide whether or not you feel the need to adjust your hair or if you will wear falsies or not, you frown ever so slightly, then let out a sigh.

You hate this.

This is the third “meeting” they’ve arranged for you this month, and they’d been at this for almost six months overall by now. This search for a ‘suitable husband’ was getting stale - not to mention, time-consuming - and you weren’t sure you would be willing to appease your parents any longer.

In fact, you weren’t exactly sure you were interested in a partner anymore. The clock would hit thirty any moment now, and the math of falling in love, getting married, having kids, and still heading a successful company no longer seemed to be adding up. You didn’t know how exactly to tell your sweet parents who were the picture of domestic bliss that they’d probably have to give up on the idea of grandchildren, and consider raising puppies instead.

Regardless, for the time being, you could still bother to meet this stranger for dinner.

There’s a clasp seal envelope atop your dresser - a portfolio that had been left on your desk by your father’s assistant at the beginning of the week - that still seems entirely too formal for the process. This is matchmaking, not a job application, was the first thought that came to mind once you realized the envelope held a set of photos, a resume and an admittedly curt but formally written statement reminiscent of a cover letter.

Ushijima Wakatoshi, the signature at the bottom of the letter read in an extremely neat script. He must be particularly organized and detail-oriented.

There were two pictures, one that looked almost like a passport photo and the other much more relaxed, where he was dressed casually in a t-shirt and pressed jeans, standing with his arms crossed beside a redheaded man whose smile was wide and infectious, his arm around his neck. You wondered if he picked those photos himself.

You’d perused the first photo much more carefully because you could see more of his face. He’s quite handsome, you’d admitted, the faintest warmth in your cheeks, but he seemed awfully uptight. For one, the look on his face was very neutral, not bothering to smile. He was clean shaven and his hair was close cropped at the edges, a woody brown that paired well with serious olive eyes. You wondered if he ever laughed out loud, and what he looked like when he did.

The taxi driver is prompt and waiting outside of the high-rise in which you live by the time you make your way down the elevator. The click of your heels is loud on the tile as you make your way past the revolving doors. As you slip into the back of the car, you wonder if you’re dressed too professionally. You may have forgone the women’s pantsuit, but you’re still wearing a feminine pantsuit-esque ensemble in a creamy beige - pink would have seemed too ditzy, white would have seemed a bit too innocent (not to mention risky) and yellow too juvenile.

You’re not sure why you’re thinking so hard about this, but really years of paying attention to your appearance in public, not being taken seriously because you’re pretty and young and your personality is more bubbly than bossy puts you on your guard, especially when it comes to first impressions.

The location appears to be an upscale sushi restaurant, the type that you have to call ahead for months to get a reservation unless you have some kind of special arrangement with the owner. A staff member checks you in and brings you to the back to a private room, and as you pass through the dimly lit hallway, clutching your purse a little too securely, a scene from a yakuza movie comes to mind.

“Your room, madam,” the young man nods and motions you to enter a room that is brightly lit enough that it is almost blinding, large and round as though you were in a fishbowl yourself. You look up and notice that even the ceiling is curved. Elaborate paintings hang off the wall.

He’s not here.

You glance at the attendant and he raises his eyebrows as though he is expecting you to say something. You must look surprised, and continue to look so as you remove your shoes to sit at one of the thin mattresses set before the low table.

You wish you’d worn stockings perhaps, tucking your bare feet beneath you in a casual seiza position. You can’t recall the last time you’ve been this traditional/formal, and the thought of a man you barely know already knowing what your feet look like bare bothers you just a bit.

The attendant pours water and then tea for two wordlessly and slips out of the room.

Your heart pounds once you’re finally alone. Why is this so intense?

You fidget nervously with the thin silver necklace you are wearing, looking for a menu. There is none so far. Just square plates, both chopsticks and forks (odd for sushi, you think), and a steaming cup of tea set right next to a sweltering crystal glass of ice cold water. Opposites.

For a fleeting moment, you actually wonder for once if this man will like you.

“My apologies, Ms. ___.”

You’re startled by a rich voice, a tiny gasp revealing that you’re more spooked than you realize, and your eyes shift towards the direction of the sound to see what looks like your date finally arriving in a hurry.

You instinctively readjust yourself onto your knees to look formal, then realize you should probably stand instead, but before you can get up he waves you to sit back down, now settling down himself across from you.

“I had intended to arrive early but quite a few things happened at the company to make that unfeasible.”

He said this while removing a suit jacket in a way that was in no way intended to be sexy, not at all, then let out what sounded like a single, semi-nervous chuckle.

Wordlessly, you replied with a nod, transfixed as you compared photography to reality. The photos didn’t do him justice, not at all. The suit jacket was picked up quickly by a waiter who you had forgotten was still in the room.

Ushijima extended an arm to you across the table, intending to shake your hand.

“Did you wait long?” He asks as you shakily take his hand for a handshake that consumes your hand almost entirely in his large one.

You shake your head, then embarrassed when you realize you aren’t using your voice, and add, “No, I didn’t wait long...”

“Are you hungry?” He replies, quickly. Your instinct is to say no, no you didn’t need anything, especially not from him, but you are pretty sure your stomach would growl loudly any minute now, and you’d only look like a fool.

Ushijima glances at the waiter, who finally hands the two of you menus.

“Please order anything you like.”

You look down, swallowing hard again, and for a moment it is difficult to focus on the unnecessarily elaborate handwriting on the menu.

Something about him already grates on your nerves and you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what. You could forgive people for being late, and you were used to people being a little forward, but something about the way he was both familiar and unfamiliar in the way he spoke to you seemed to veer into patronizing behavior.

Why wasn’t he nervous? Every man you’d sat across from in the past half a year had just a little waver in their voice when they spoke to you at some point, even those who had started off boasting their fancy degrees and their villas and their large bank accounts.

But he sits perfectly still, all broad shoulders, gently wafting cologne, and a gaze that is both disconcerting and impartial, so you don’t know what to think.

When you look up from the menu to him, his eyes are still heavily focused on you, and you can’t really fault him. There’s nothing else to look at in this room, after all.

You take this opportunity to tease him. No man has ever intimidated you before and this one is no different.

“Are you going to order anything? I barely saw you look at the menu.” Your voice is light and coquettish and it implies, all you’re doing is staring at me.

“I already know my order. I’ve been here enough times,” he replies, immune to the playfulness in your voice. You watch him roll up his sleeves as he answers, and take note of the shape of his hands as he takes a sip of tea.

Maybe you’re the one staring.

“Would you like a recommendation?” He offers as he sets the cup down.

You shake your head no, and wonder again why you’re making gestures instead of talking. He smiles as though he can read your mind.

Once the waiter takes your orders and leaves the room, you’re left in silence, facing your would-be partner. It’s a stalemate of sorts and you lose, asking the first personal question.

But you ask it semi-clinically, refusing to lose the upper hand. You’re not sure why there’s an upper hand, but there is, and it will be yours.

“I read a little about your company before arriving. You gave me quite a few details, which I appreciated,” you state, turning your head to the side politely to take a sip of tea yourself. “You’ve done very well for yourself as CEO,” you add.

His eyes don’t crinkle from the flattery. “My employees do great work at all levels so it’s only natural that there would be positive growth,” he replies matter-of-factly.

You smile politely, but this answer doesn’t give you very much information about him. He’s shifting the success away from him, you remark, however he accepts the compliment as though expected. Is this genuine humility or arrogance?

You lean very slightly forward, just enough to see if he’ll take the opportunity to glance down your blouse, as other suitors have invariably done. He doesn’t, and you proceed to ask the next question.

“What do you do outside of work?”

His eyebrows raise, and you wonder if it’s because he realizes you are pretending you didn’t read that section on his application, but he answers anyway.

“I don’t have very much free time, as you are probably aware, but I garden and paint. And of course, I like to keep fit through team sports.”

A quick look at him makes that last part quite clear. You clear your throat slightly and then it is silent again. It’s not exactly an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not comfortable either.

Just as you wonder why he isn’t asking you any questions, he suddenly speaks up.

“Pardon me if this sounds inappropriate, but you’re beautiful. Why would you need a matchmaking service?”

You’re taken aback, and while your brain is scrambling for understanding of what his intentions are, he adjusts his sitting position so that he’s cross-legged with both hands on his knees and lets out a sigh before continuing.

“You’re also accomplished and clearly articulate. I don’t imagine you’d have trouble finding a partner through more organic means.”

It seems like there are a million butterflies that suddenly inhabit the small space in the pit of your stomach. Again, you’re at a loss for words, something that is rare for someone as opinionated and cordially fierce as you.

Should you be offended? It’s almost as though he’s asking what’s wrong with you?

He asks frankly, “Why a blind date?”

You want to ask him the same question, but you hear the waiter return and you fall silent, letting the butterflies in your stomach die down.

---

“I-is this the first time - ah - you’ve done this?”

You’re no longer laid out on the tatami like you were just an hour earlier, Ushijima nibbling on your lower lip and your collarbones instead of the overpriced, high-quality fish that sat atop your table, but now laid under him, spread eagle save for the hands you use to hold on to his shoulders as he slowly and deliberately thrusts inside you.

Your voice is breathy and catches in your throat every time he moves, but you have to know. How often has he ended up like this?

The heat that fills your whole body now isn’t just from the shame of letting a stranger fondle your body in an upscale restaurant, it’s because Ushijima somehow knows exactly where and how to touch you, as though he’s always known. His fingers have traveled your body like a hiker on a well-beaten path, from the softness behind your earlobes to your squishy center and back, and now have settled into a hold that is firm yet gentle on your hips.

When he replies “no” with immense honesty, his mouth sinks into the crook of your neck and he goes just deep enough that you don’t have time to factor this new information into your impression of him.

So instead you savor the thickness that fills you and the strength that holds you close, the soft grunts that fill your ears before they get drowned out by your equally loud whimpers and moans.

---

You don’t spend the night, partially out of shame that Ushijima bedded you so quickly and partially because you have a full schedule for the next morning. The parting of ways is brief and awkward and you seem to feel it more acutely than he does.

“I enjoyed our time, Miss ___,” he offers. You’ve dressed up faster than he has so you find yourself unwittingly ogling at the expanse of his sculpted chest and the flex of his muscles as he redresses. You’re almost sad to see him cover up.

You nod and walk out of the room, trying your best to hide the fact that your legs feel far too wobbly to be walking on these heels.

---

“Miss ____?”

Your eyes widen as you realize you’ve been daydreaming through a meeting with the board of trustees and now the wrinkled old men who hated the fact that your father thrust you into leadership you “didn’t deserve” are staring at you with disgruntled expressions.

“Oh, um,” you think quickly, recalling where the presentation left off and glancing quickly at the notes you’d jotted down on a notepad before wondering why Ushijima hadn’t called or texted since you met two weeks ago.

“Um?” The most senior of the group repeats, and your stomach turns for a moment before you steel yourself. He bares his teeth every time he’s displeased with you and you get the impression of an ancient and disgruntled wolf.

You clear your throat loudly, and settle back in your chair, crossing your legs and your arms over your chest.

“I have some disagreements with the current approach, but I’ll start with the pertinent positives,” you start.

---

“Was the sex at least good?”

Your best friend from high school glances at you briefly, as you face forward on the Peloton you are riding side by side with her. She’s much less out of shape than you are given that she also is your personal trainer and thus rides hers effortlessly, taking some time to wait for you to respond.

You begrudgingly say yes.

“Wow, for once someone dropped you before you could drop them!” She teases in a sing-song voice. You would slap her on the shoulder if she was close enough and if you weren’t out of breath. It stings just a little bit that you’ve heard nothing from him nor the matchmaking company and don’t have a good response to tell your parents aside from I guess we didn’t click.

“He’s missing out, though.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you huff, and cycle faster. No hard feelings.

---

Scratch that, there were absolutely going to be hard feelings now that he was not just fucking with you but also with your livelihood.

Admittedly, it was strange that despite the fact that your companies had never crossed paths until now despite working in the same consumer domain but this was unacceptable.

You’d opened an email that had just slipped into your peripheral vision as you worked on reviewing a couple of interns’ executive summaries, only to find that Ushijima might have just royally fucked you over.

A curt email from a crucial business partner read,

We apologize but we’ve decided to move forward with Ushijima Industries instead. I understand that this is last minute, but we believe that it will be mutually beneficial to discontinue our relationship at this point in time.

Your blood boiled. What the fuck was this?

Your phone rang, one of your team leaders calling immediately and likely looking at the email at the same time you were. He apologized profusely.

“What happened?”

“It seems like they just showed up and offered twice as much as we offered them last minute.”

This bastard. Then in a moment of horror, you wondered if this was your fault, if you had blabbed a little while slightly tipsy off of sake, and revealed that you had this acquisition in the works.

Voice smaller now, you asked, “So we can’t do anything to woo them back?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just have to make sure our other deal doesn’t fall through,” the slightly frantic man answered, the sounds of keyboard keys clicking rapidly heard in the background of the call.

“Okay, thank you for your hard work,” you stated. “I’ll see what I can do,” you replied with a click.

Maybe calling someone who’d ghosted you as you drove home, fuming and irritated, wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to confront him somehow. The idea of being bested in more ways than one was too much to bear.

The phone rang once, twice, then three times, and you were getting angrier with every tone through the car speaker. You hung up in frustration.

How embarrassing.

You made it home still irritated, indulging yourself in a relaxing bath to quell your anger. By the time you had soaked for close to an hour, you were mad at yourself for reacting impulsively and now having your number in his phone as a missed call… if he recognized it anyway.

It turns out he did.

“Ms. ___, did you call me earlier? I wasn’t able to make it to the phone in time.”

His voice was even lower on the phone, a slightly gravelly quality making you wonder if he’d actually been napping or just had a smoke. You couldn’t imagine him doing either of these things.

“What kind of game are you playing, Mr. Ushijima?”

There was a bit of hesitation on the phone, and you let out a sardonic laugh once he replied, as expected, “What?”

“How did you know about that deal other than what I told you?”

He paused again, and you too, stood still, a towel wrapped around your still dripping body.

“I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he then said, carefully. “I, uh… assume you were calling about something else.”

You grit your teeth. What the fuck else? The fact that he sounded genuinely confused only served to aggravate you further.

“Did you or did you not use the information I gave you to intercept my deal with MNY?”

Finally the lightbulb went on.

“Oh, that was you. Hm.”

If you’d been talking in person, you probably would have slapped him at this point. Or at least considered it.

“I didn’t know you were our competitor in that aspect. I… probably would have reconsidered if I had known.”

“Excuse me?”

That tone of over-familiarity, patronizing… the care when you’re not supposed to care was back and you realized you regretted this phone call.

“How would it be any different? Are you implying that you’d let me win?”

“No, of course not, I…” He trailed off. “Would you like to come over to my apartment and talk? I can give you my address, I would rather talk in person.”

Why? So I can get over there and end up fucking you again?

“I respectfully decline,” you answered curtly, and hung up, tossing your phone onto your bed and letting out an aggravated sigh.

---

The next morning, you leave an early executive meeting only to find that your office had been overrun with flowers between the hours of 7 to 8 am.

There are yellow roses, stating admiration, spilling out of an oversized bouquet on your desk and a separate bouquet of light red carnations and white camellias that imply that he finds you ‘adorable’. A white card is placed in the yellow bouquet, and on it is written Ushijima’s neat script - you realize it’s from him before you even finish reading the note.

I would like to see you again. Please accept my call around 6 pm.

Respectfully,

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Your hands hover over the wastebasket in your room with the flowers in your arms, but instead you sigh, and stuff them behind you on your shelf. At least you won’t have to see them while you work, but they’re pretty. They’re clearly bought from a floral shop, but you recall that he had said he gardened in his free time.

Ushijima calls promptly at 6 pm and you let it ring twice before deciding to block his number just as he’s calling. Something about the action is satisfying.

You can’t be won over with a couple of flowers and kind words. Women aren’t as easily swayed as he may think.

---

It’s another Friday, and surprisingly you haven’t been contacted for a blind date, whether it’s by your parents or the matchmaking service they’ve subscribed you to.

Maybe they’d gotten the message after you’d been ghosted that you were tired of this game. Maybe they were giving you a break. Maybe they’d run out of potential suitors. You were surprised, but not upset.

Ushijima had truly gotten under your skin.

After blocking his call, there were no more attempts at contact for the rest of the week. The only thing left to consider was that if you ever crossed paths in your careers, you would pay him back for snatching your investor.

And snatching your dignity in the process.

It was about 4 pm and most of the employees were wrapping up their tasks for the day. You usually aimed to have everyone out by 5, especially on Friday so this was boding well.

“Hey, Madam President, are you okay with an add-on?” You hear your secretary call from outside your door.

“Oh, I mean, I guess but-”

She’s already letting Ushijima through the door.

You smile sweetly, maintaining professional behavior as best you can, while your secretary leads him to an armchair across from you, up until she exits, your expression souring the moment she closes the door.

“Mr. Ushijima, what are you doing in my office?”

He’s settled into the chair so comfortably that it feels as though you’re in his office, not your own. He’s dressed more casually than he was at the restaurant, no suit jacket, just a brown V-neck sweater over a dress shirt that almost seems too tight and a pair of chinos. He’s also wearing a pair of glasses, which is new.

You hate that he looks good.

“Apologizing and requesting your company.”

He looks at you sincerely, his hands clasped together in his lap. You narrow your eyes.

“Please leave.”

He actually frowns, and the small action actually surprises you.

“Do you actually want me to leave or are you still upset about the investor? Because if it’s that, we can make an arrangement-”

“No, I’m upset because you did that after not following up after our one night stand!” You finally blurt out, then bite your lip realizing you might have said too much.

“I… got busy.”

“Busy screwing me over?” You quip.

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture.

“I didn’t call because I thought you didn’t like me.”

You’re a little stunned by this reply, then decide you don’t believe him. What was there not to like? At least at that point he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Why would you think that?”

His hands leave his hair again and rest on his knees. You notice it seems like a default position for him.

“I’ve been referred to as ‘stiff’. It’s great at work but not great for relationships.”

Ushijima’s brutal honesty is again sending you for a loop. You raise an eyebrow, bidding him to continue. Your arms uncross and you rest your elbows on the table.

“So…?”

“So usually by the time I’ve had sex with someone, it’s all they’re after. And since you didn’t call, I assumed even the sex wasn’t good.”

You unwittingly burst into laughter. Here was this successful, attractive man with a perfect pedigree who was insecure about how good he was in bed?

His eyebrows furrow, and you recollect yourself, realizing that this is a bit cruel.

“You could have sent a text,” you murmur.

“I’m bad at starting conversations.”

You stifle another laugh. “So you just don’t?” You tease. It’s gently mocking but mostly incredulous. It seems that he’s the opposite of the confident man he appears to be.

“That’s why I got excited when you called but then you were upset.”

You purse your lips.

“I promise I didn’t intend to put you in a bad situation,” Ushijima insists.

You sigh, then offer him a small smile. “Are you normally this persistent?”

He glances at the flowers that are only partially hidden from view, which makes your face warm up bashfully, and then looks right back at you.

“No. I just like you.”

Again with the directness, a confidence that is effortless, even when he’s not confident at all.

You don’t want to melt but you do. So instead you rise and clear your desk, stuffing a few items into your handbag as you prepare to leave. He watches, unsure of what you’re up to, sitting still as you walk around towards him and place your hand lightly on his shoulder.

Your body faces the door, but you turn to the side to look at him and grin.

“I’m done with work for today. Take me out.”

---

A couple months later...

“Fuck, you’re - ah - they’re gonna know, I-” Your voice morphs into a mewl instead once his ring finger reaches just the right spot; you’re squirming as much as possible under his touch but he has you laid back on your work desk with both ankles rested on his shoulders and his weight leaning onto you to essentially keep you in place.

“Move your hands,” Ushijima whispers in a hushed tone, leaning in to kiss between your breasts as he readjusts your legs atop him. His pants are down and his cock is already up and ready, the base and swollen balls rubbing against your wet cunt that you are desperately trying to protect from his intrusion. You know there’s absolutely no way you’ll stay quiet when he’s pounding the shit out of you, he likes it entirely too rough, and the walls are thin. You don’t listen, continuing to reach for his hands to swat them away from you.

There’s a part of you that is almost certain that at the very least your secretary knows that every time Ushijima comes for a ‘meeting’, it really is just to fuck the shit out of you before you leave together for the evening, or to relax you right before you once again have to defend your dad’s establishment of you as Company President.

This isn’t a good look.

“I-I can’t…” you whine.

“You can,” he assures you.

He gently kisses your face before prying your hands out of the way and keeping them pinned up against you with one hand and guiding his trajectory with the other before sinking inside of you. You moan at the breach of your privates and he quickly presses his lips to yours to swallow the sound.

Once he’s bottomed out, he rolls his hips, and soon you start to see white once you climax, clenching and cumming around him.

“T-Toshi!” You moan his name, and he clasps a large hand around your mouth before continuing, picking up the pace as he fucks you through your orgasm. He can’t deny that he likes the fact that you’re noisy, that the fact that the heavy desk he’s fucking you against is making a squeaky noise that suggests he’s really putting some force behind these strokes, and that if anyone could see the two of you now, it could be an issue for both of your corporations. Misconduct, they would call it.

He doesn’t care and while you act like you do, you don’t really care either.

When he lets go of your wrists to use the edge of the desk as leverage and tilts backwards, you scream in pleasure, a terribly obvious sound, and it’s enough to have him tip over and spill into you with a groan. He collapses onto you and the two of you almost slip onto the floor, but don’t; you wrap your arms around him.

Your hair is disheveled and so is his, and your legs are sticky with sweat and cum. You sigh, letting him soften inside you and stroke his hair.

“You’re getting me in trouble,” you murmur, and he lets out a breathy laugh.

“We don’t really have to answer to anyone, do we?” He replies with a smirk, and pecks you one more time on the lips.

He’s right - only you two are a match for each other.

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ceo!ushijima x reader #ceo collab #ushijima wakatoshi smut #ushijima smut #haikyuu smut #not sfw #fic: power struggle #mae.writing #hqintheclub

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residentfangirl2104 · 3 years ago

Text

Falling for your words

Read on AO3

Pairing: Logan/Roman, Romantic Logince

Summary: So Roman has started using extremely fancy and complicated words all of a sudden, no big deal. Sure, he happens to stare at Logan pretty much immediately afterwards, every single time he uses one of them. That doesn't mean anything, and it certainly does not make Logan's heart flutter. Logan might be absolutely transfixed by his words, but that was pure curiosity and nothing else.

Right?

Logan first noticed it in the middle of a meeting with all the sides and Thomas about filming. They were discussing ideas for their next video outside of the Sanders Sides series, and Roman was particularly eager on a medieval fantasy comedy skit, complete with a castle setting and royal crown.

“Roman, we can’t rent out an actual castle.” Thomas said with a frown.

“Yeah, I don’t think you even need me to point out everything wrong with that.” Virgil added.

Roman huffed. “Yes, I suppose that was an asinine idea. A sequel to ‘Gay Disney Prince’, then?”

The discussion veered away, but Logan couldn’t help but reel over Roman using the word asinine. He discarded it as a one-time thing, Roman happening upon a new word and wanting to use it in conversation for once.

The second time he noticed it, they were in the commons, Logan reading a book, Roman hunched over his notebook. He looked up from it every now and then to look at something Virgil was showing him - a playlist? A tumblr post? Logan would be hard pressed to know something those two both enjoyed, with the exception of Disney. Patton bounded into the room, as if searching for something.

“Hey, Padre, looking for something?”

“Oh, I was just trying to find the leftover pieces from the pizza that we ate yesterday. You kiddos look like you’re having fun - could I have a slice of that too?”

Logan groaned, Virgil looked between laughing and grimacing, and even Roman wrinkled his nose. “Not your best work, Pat, but I commend the ebullience.”

Patton and Virgil both seemed unperturbed, chattering on about pizza toppings. Roman snuck a glance at Logan, then immediately looked away when he realized the latter had caught him looking. Was imagining the red on Roman’s cheeks? Logan was unable to look away for a while, both confused and impressed at the sudden eloquence of the same man who thought “doo doo” was a good insult.

“Yes, ebullience.” Logan murmured, unable to shake the unidentifiable feeling that had latched onto him all of a sudden.

A rare clever streak. A one - no - two-time thing. Logan chided himself for being so fixated at something so infinitesimal, so completely irrelevant. There was no need to overthink it; it was just happenstance.

Except it happened again. And again. And again.

“-maelstrom-”

“-circumlocution-”

“-obfuscate-”

“-inimitable-”

Logan began looking forward to these moments, or any conversations with Roman. Every time he thought he held the upper hand in the conversation, Roman would swoop in and completely debilitate him with yet another verbose set of vocabulary that could only have been picked out of a Dickens novel. It would be a blatant lie to say that Logan wasn't incredibly impressed by it. He knew firsthand that it was a difficult feat to not only learn so many new and difficult words but also utilize them in conversation; Logan had to admire his drive.

It was exhilarating, too, having Roman throw challenge after challenge at him, whether that was intentional or not. Logan knew, in theory, that one could not “win a conversation”; he also did not care, because he was clearly losing, and if there was one thing Logan couldn't stand it was failure.

What confused him further was the furtive glances Roman would send him every time he used one of those words. 'Inexorable' was followed by a piercing look, 'ubiquitous' with a curious peek at Logan as though to gauge his reaction. 'Adulation' was spoken with almost direct eye-contact and a light blush, which Logan forced himself not to look too far into. That was a place he couldn't allow his mind to go to, because the moment he did his heart began racing and his stomach felt light and fluttery, and things like that could hardly be anything but symptoms for some sort of affliction. Logan had a sneaking suspicion what that affliction was, but he pushed the thought aside, buried it down where it could no longer intimidate him.

However, not allowing his mind to think too much about Roman, was a tough ask, because he was beginning to hyperfixate on this whole situation, but just a little. Only a miniscule amount, of course. That was why he was sitting in his room listing everything he knew so as to get to the bottom of it. So far, all he had in the small notebook was:

Despite being extremely dramatic and poetic, Roman has never been particularly verbose in the dictionary sense

The words he has taken to using are rather uncharacteristic of him, far more scientific than his usual mode of communication

He no longer asks the meaning of words such as "preposterous"

He attempts to make out my reaction every time he uses such sesquipedalian words

After some thought, he scratched the last point out - it seemed rather presumptuous. Who was to say that Roman was trying to gauge his reaction in particular, or that he didn't do the same with all of the others? Logan couldn't assume to have been there every single time he dropped a large vocabulary word.

After staring at his own writing for what could be either a few minutes or a few hours, Logan gave up and slammed the notebook shut. It was unlike him to be so preoccupied with others' behaviour, to the point that it interfered with his regular schedule; what had happened? Why did this matter so much? Logan wasn't sure whether the answer to that question was unknown to him, or he did subconsciously know it and chose to push it aside.

Well. Maybe some mysteries were better left unsolved.

*****

"Has anyone seen Roman?" Patton was anxiously chewing his lip. The sides were eating at the dining table, with the exception of Remus, who preferred to eat cross-legged on the floor. Which would be tame for him, if he wasn't also literally eating off the floor, slurping spaghetti that he'd thrown straight (gay) from the plate onto the ground.

Logan had noticed Roman's absence, but abstained from commenting on it, in case there was some reason he was unaware of. Janus spoke up before he had the opportunity to.

"He didn't shut himself away in his room all evening. I don't think that he's working on something. A new story, maybe?"

"He does tend to completely lose all sense of reality and time when he's working on one of his stories," Virgil chimed in.

"Should I go check on him? To make sure he doesn't forget to eat." Logan asked.

Patton nodded, looking pleased. "If he really wants to stay there, would you take him a plate to his room so he at least eats something?"

Logan grabbed a plate of spaghetti and made his way to Roman's door. He knocked on the gold-star spangled white door. Receiving no reply, he cautiously pushed the door open.

He was greeted with the sight of an empty room, and a desk covered with what appeared to be...notecards? Flashcards? The door to the Imagination that was situated right beside the door to the bathroom (Roman complained far too much about mixing those two up at inconvenient times.) stood slightly ajar. He was about to head in that direction, when one of the flashcards caught his eye.

Ebullience:

Noun

The quality of being cheerful and energetic.

Pieces began to fit themselves together in Logan's brain. Putting the plate down, he reached for the flashcards, his curiosity overriding the part of his mind that insisted that this was unethical and an invasion of Roman's privacy.

Obfuscate.

Asinine.

Incorrigible.

Serendipity.

Words upon words were etched in Roman's curling handwriting, some that even Logan didn't know (not that he would ever admit it.) Roman's abrupt change in vocabulary suddenly made far more sense; in a way, these were the complete inverse of Logan's own vocab cards. He still couldn't figure out why Roman hadn't shown them the cards, but he supposed the other had his own reasons. He was suddenly gripped by guilt for going through Roman's things while he wasn't present. Which would normally be enough to stop him, but his eyes caught onto another word.

Logan:

That card was buried underneath many others, that single heading word visible through a gap. He could almost feel his metaphorical heartbeat quicken as he tentatively picked it up, which was impossible and unrealistic and- and so definitely happening because Logan so definitely had feelings he did not understand.

The description underneath the word was as abstract as it was cryptic. Unlike all the others, it wasn't explanatory or precise or scientific; it felt much more like Roman, actually.

Noun.

Indescribable. Indefinable, because to define is to limit in words, and he is beyond words and beyond language.

It was as though Logan had been assembling the puzzle that was Roman's mind, and he had almost completed it, but just as he moved to place the last piece, it didn't fit. It was as though he suddenly realized that he had the picture all wrong in the first place; the image wasn't what he thought it was, and he had been working on false assumptions the whole time. The puzzle fell apart, and Logan had no idea what to make of it.

It was then - perfectly timed, of course - for the subject of his thoughts to gallivant out of the door to the Imagination and freeze at the sight of Logan in his room.

"...Logan?"

Jerking back at the sound of his name, he fumbled with the cards in his hand, torn between pushing them all back where they were, and holding them even closer to his chest. He ended up somewhere in between, caught putting a handful of cards down with his right hand, while still cradling a single card to his chest with his left.

“Roman!" Logan cleared his throat, desperately trying to regain some semblance of professionalism - a futile endeavor. "I mean, Roman. I was looking for you.” He noticed Roman’s hands clasping a thick dictionary.

Roman’s eyes scanned the desk, and finally fell on the card in Logan’s hands. “Oh, I see you found my vocabulary flash cards!”

“Uh, yes. Why…er, why do you have them? Not that there's anything wrong with them, it is a rather efficient means of learning.” He added hastily.

“Why…well, psh .” Roman chuckled nervously, waving his hand in an attempt to appear casual. “Because, uh, words. And, um, vocabulary, that’s important. And vocabulary words, those are absolutely invigorating. So…” he trailed off.

Logan gave him an unconvinced look. “Roman.”

“Pocket Protector.”

Logan sighed and, ignoring the building nervousness in his chest, extended his hand to show Roman the flash card. Roman’s eyes widened when he read what it said, his expression turning abashed.

"I...okay, fine. I've been trying to use more and more complicated words in conversation because you seem to appreciate them and I...wantedtoimpressyou."

Logan frowned, not quite catching the last bit of speech. "What?"

"I wanted to impress you, Logan. When I used the word iridescent in conversation, you complimented me. You sounded so proud." Roman's eyes were on the floor, his thumbs twitching and fiddling.

"Oh." Was all Logan could manage. Because suddenly, the puzzle fell into place, and Logan could see the whole picture. Suddenly everything made sense, and consequently, the door into his own mind, which he had kept firmly closed until then, blasted open.

Roman flushed a deep red. "Is that...is that a good oh or a bad oh?"

"It- I- why?"

Roman furrowed his eyebrows. "Which why is it this time?"

Logan gestured wildly in the air with his hands. "Why do you care what I think? Why did you want to...impress me?"

Roman sighed. "Okay, I'm going to need the cards for this. Uh...you must allow me to tell you how ardently- wait, no, that's just Pride and Prejudice. My feelings are of a passionate- no. The crux of the matter is, I harbor amorous feelings for you."

Logan blinked, lost. "What?"

"I like you, Logan!" He finally blurted out. "Like...romantically. I mean, I know you're not big on feelings, and this isn't an attempt to… woo you or anything. So you needn't worry about that. I just really like you, and admire you, and I wanted you to notice me. I wanted you to see me as more than a minor annoyance, or someone who scarcely knows the meaning of the word 'preposterous' . You're just so... cool , and smart, and I wanted you to think I was smart too."

Logan's breathing and heartbeat had sped up to a point that would be rather concerning under normal circumstances. As it was, these weren't normal circumstances, and at the moment he couldn't think about anything besides the words that Roman had only just vocalized. That, and the overwhelming emotion that rose inside his chest, in both the best and worst possible way. He felt an irrational urge to simultaneously laugh and cry, so he did the next best thing. He reached out, taking Roman's hands in his.

"You are smart. And kind, and creative, and so much more. I..." Logan trailed off, unable to put it into words. He finally knew why Roman had said he needed his flashcards - he, too, felt the urge to reach into his pocket and somehow find some pre-written words that made sense of the furore of voices that clamoured in his mind.

"I need the cards." He said finally.

Roman perked up and extended the stack of cards towards him, but he gently pushed it back.

"Mine, I meant. You speak that kind of language, don't you?"

Roman shrugged. "I think you might be the only one who doesn't - no offense."

Logan ignored him, sifting through his flashcards instead. "I, er... I happen to be a simp for you, Roman."

Roman blinked. His expression then changed from one of utter shock, to barely-repressed laughter.

"I used it wrong, didn't I?" Logan said forlornly.

"No, that's not it at all! I promise I'm not laughing at you, I just…" he trailed off, grinning helplessly.

Logan rolled his eyes. "I ought to have just used your cards instead. I could have avoided all of...this," he said, gesturing to Roman's face.

"No, I'm glad you didn't. I'm not smiling because it's funny, I'm smiling because…a prince is allowed to be happy when the object of his affections reciprocates!"

Logan couldn't help the smile that came onto his face at that. "I mean, absolutely. Of course he is." He began to laugh, softly, and Roman joined in. Roman wasn't nearly as soft or restrained as him, but every snort endeared him to Logan more. As the giddy laughter finally died down, Logan caught Roman's eyes, which were sparkling with a light all of their own.

"Can I kiss you?" Roman blurted out suddenly, breaking the silence.

"I would be quite amenable to that." Logan said rather breathlessly.

Roman leaned forward and captured Logan's lips, his hand coming up to cup Logan's cheek. Logan's stomach filled with a giddy fluttering, almost as though a thousand hypothetical butterflies had suddenly taken flight inside it. He wouldn't have noticed if the walls and roof crumbled down upon them. All he cared about, all that existed was the two of them, locked in a moment that lasted for an eternal second.

Pulling back, Roman gave him a smile that held so many multitudes of happiness that Logan's heart melted. He had a feeling (and wasn't that new) that there was a soft, yet unshakeable smile on his own lips as well.

"If that's what it means to be simp for you, I regret absolutely nothing."

Roman fought a snicker, then finally gave up and began giggling. "Okay, so maybe this time I'm laughing because it's funny."

"You are incorrigible."

"Yes, but you love it." Roman wrinkled his nose adorably.

"See, I know you think you really did something, but I'm just overjoyed that you know what incorrigible means."

"Yes, that deadpan says overjoyed like no other expression."

"Smiling is overrated." Logan failed to fight back his smile as he said it. "Did I use that word right?"

"Oh, absolutely impeccably." Roman grinned cheekily.

"In all seriousness, however, you know you do not need those vocabulary cards, right? Even if I do not always say or show it, I think you're incredibly clever in your own way. See, intelligence is hardly as binary a factor as so many believe, and purely academics or any other similarly arbitrary factor is not enough to define one’s intellect-” He stopped himself at the rapt look on Roman’s face. “I got sidetracked again, didn’t I?”

Roman grinned. “Yes, but I don't mind. You’re so interesting. I mean, I have no clue what you were saying, but still.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the fond smile on his lips. “What I was trying to say is, you are plenty clever with or without all of your grandiloquent words.”

“That- thank you.” Logan reminded himself to compliment Roman more often, especially if every time he did so resulted in him turning scarlet and floundering in that adorably flustered way. “I just like using big words, though. They have so much… pizzazz.”

Logan snorted. “Well, I would never even contemplate taking away your, pizzazz. ”

Then Roman wrinkled his nose in mock offense, and how could Logan not kiss him? They almost crashed their noses together. Roman couldn’t stop laughing into the kiss, and Logan nearly slipped on Roman’s floor, but none of that could dampen the overwhelming warmth in Logan's heart; if anything, it just made it burn brighter.

"Oh, I almost forgot. The reason I had come here was to see why you hadn't come to dinner."

"Wait, is it that late already?" Roman looked down and noticed the plate perched on the edge of the desk. "Aww, and you brought me a plate of spaghetti! You do care!"

"What do you think this entire conversation has- you know what, never mind. Would you like to eat here, or come to the dining table with everyone else? I think Patton was missing you, but I do have to warn you that the sight of Remus slurping spaghetti off the floor doesn't exactly do wonders for one's appetite."

Roman grinned. "I wouldn't be opposed to going to the living room. Who else is going to make fun of Remus for his abysmal table - or well, floor manners?"

Logan frowned. "Virgil was doing that plenty. Janus was certainly enjoying the roasts, even if he didn't join in."

"Okay, I amend my statement. How ever , I will still absolutely destroy him verbally, because that's fun. I wish I could get him to accidentally snort it or spill marinara sauce on his clothes, but I honestly think he would enjoy that."

"Incredibly mature."

"Thank you dear, I try."

Logan attempted to not blush at the pet name, failed at said attempt, and resorted instead to taking Roman's hand and gently pulling him in the direction of the living room. Grabbing the plate of spaghetti, Roman followed him out and the noise of their banter echoed through the hall. On the desk, the vocabulary flashcards lay scattered, one teetering on the top of the pile, its contents clearer than all the others'.

Enamoured:

Verb.

To be filled with love.

#logince fanfiction #ts logince #logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #ts roman #ts logan

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heniareth · 3 years ago

Note

I was really curious about what your opinions on the DAO companions are :) I know we have talked about some, but I'd love to hear more and about the others as well :D I hope it's ok to pose this as an ask :)

Sure! That sounds like a ton of fun. This might be a long one tho. Mind you, this is not the finished version of the answer. I'd like to link stuff and add a cut, but rn that's not possible. I'll update it when I can.

Edit: I have updated it ^^

Let's go alphabetically bc why not.

Alistair:

Sweet guy. So sweet. There was a moment when I was hard pressed chosing between him and Zevran (alas, Zevran won). Also, he's weirdly tall according to the wiki? How did I not notice that before?

Let's get a bit more serious now, Alistair is a great guy. The only reason he's not the hero of the story is because he doesn't want to. He has all the qualities of a leader: he's good at dealing with conflict (as evident with the conversation with the mage at the beginning. He gets where he wants to get without antagonizing the mage, but without allowing him to trample all over him). He's a solid tactitian and knows how to make allies (he suggests to use the Grey Warden treaties, after all). I bet if he was in the leadership position, he'd even not bicker with Morrigan. His moral code is pretty tight; some might say too tight, but I think it's less about the moral code and more about learning to judge people by their actions, not by the labels they fit into (Morrigan is a proud apostate and therefore bad. Wynne is a humble circle mage and therefore good). He also has a bit of a black-and-white way of seeing the world. I empathize a lot with Alistair, especially with his experience with the Chantry and his subsequent reluctance to deal with it. I really wish I had gotten to know more about concrete experiences he had during his training as templar, but he seems reluctant to talk about it (gee, I wonder why).

Since I've only played the game once, I haven't really picked up on Arl Eamon's abuse towards him, which apparently exists (Isolde, however... I mean, even if he were Eamon's illegitimate son, he's a kid, ma'am, he didn't exactly get to chose his parents. So that's so not okay). Alistair's way of speaking about them both, however, is either sign that he has not come within a hundred miles of acknowledging how much it hurt him, or that he's already gone through the whole process and has decided to forgive them. The latter shows a very strong character; yes, he relies on the approval and leadership of others, he has his issues, but he's already started working on them.

That being said, irl Alistair would be like a little brother to me. I'd tease him relentlessly (all in good fun and I promise to stop if it makes him uncomfortable, but he's just so teasable). I still wish the videogame gave him the chance to take important decisions for himself. But that, of course, would somewhat defeat the point of the game.

Leliana:

Another sweet, sweet person. Her singing voice is amazing. Her belief in the Maker inspires me (I'm a religious person and seeing religious characters represented in a positive light is Very Cool. It's also sometimes a source of discomfort, because the Church has done a lot of very messed up stuff and positive representation can sometimes veer into apologetics for things that should not be excused, but that's a whole other can of worms. The bottom line is that religious characters sometimes work for me and other times don't and Leliana works for me very much bc she's an outsider inside the Chantry).

Leliana is best friend material, tbh. I'd love to get to know her irl, discuss theology and philosophy and maybe even politics? She makes mistakes and has prejudices, but, tbh, so do I. And I do get the feeling that she tries her best to learn. From the times she intervenes in a conversation between the Warden and an NPC, she shows herself to be compassionate and open to the needs of others. What I get from her character is that she genuinely wants to help, which is something that I adore of her. I suspect that she sometimes has a hard time deciding wether she's a good person or not. She has killed and seduced and worked for a morally dubious person, and she doesn't show the same nonchalance about it as Zevran (though they both do discuss their line of work in very... professional terms). This is, however, more of a headcanon than actual factual canon.

I also very much enjoy her girly side, like her interest in shoes and dresses. She's one badass woman who also looses her cool about the latest fashions in Val Royeaux. I like that. Between her and Alistair, a non human noble Warden has as good a help to navigate the Fereldan court as they're going to get. Leliana is also, I can't forget that, clever and insightful. It'd be easy to write her off as the innocent chantry girl, but she's so much more than that. Her kindness is paired with foresight, I think. She knows that taking on the trouble to help now can go a long way in the future. I just have a lot of respect for her.

Loghain:

This one's gonna be short bc I didn't recruit him. He's an amazing villain and would probably be a great Warden as well. He reminds me of Denerhor from LOTR; once a hero/stewart of his people, ambition and desperation have driven them both down a terrible path. I have also only little idea about his past. People say he lost a lot, and I believe it wholeheartedly; it doesn't excuse the fact that he plunged the country into a civil war in the middle of a Blight. I don't have a lot of sympathy for short-sighted politicians. I wish he hadn't made himself regent. That's what I take away from his character.

Edit: One thing I forgot to mention that really impressed me was his death. I had Alistair duel him (that was a rough duel), and then it kinda just jumped to a cutscene of my Warden nodding and Alistair executing him. That didn't sit well with me. I didn't want to kill Loghain, and less so in front of Anora. But what impressed me was that Loghain just accepted it. That takes a whole lot of guts. Compare that to Howe's death, and how he screams out that he deserved (more, probably, or anything but death) and it's crystal clear who the more noble of the two is. Loghain strikes me as very lawful neutral, and any neutral alignment has the particularity that it can be dragged towards good or bad, sometimes without the characters noticing it (which is interesting from a DnD perspective; neutral is often concieved of as just as stable as good or evil, but that may not be true. But that's a different post). Anyway, Loghain's death was impactful.

Morrigan:

I could kick myself for not maxing out her approval in the first play-through. I got to enjoy a bit of her friendship by the end of it and boy was even that little bit worth it. Friendship with Morrigan is something that is hard-won. It's all the more precious because of that.

Morrigan is full of paradoxes, I think. She's incredibly wise in some ways, yet also very short-sighted (”just kill them, don't solve their problems”. Morrigan, dear, I'm not going to gain a lot of allies if I kill everybody who poses a problem to me). She is so intelligent, but emotionally... not so. She knows so much about some things, and very little about the next. She's incredibly wilful and knows what she wants, but follows Flemeth's orders all the time through. She hungers for power and independence, yet craves closeness, but won't allow herself to have it. She asks you to prove yourself to her and is extremely critical of your actions, I think, because she's afraid. She bites the hand that feeds her because it might hit her next.

Like with Eamon, I haven't managed to catch the undercurrent of abuse that seems to permeate Flemeth's relationship with Morrigan. Except there are signs, because there must be something Morrigan is scared of and who has instilled all that rage in her, and that's Flemeth. Also, she clearly hates/does not care about her and wants her dead (unless killing Flemeth was part of Flemeth's plan as well? Hm.)

Morrigan is that one person who you are nice to, continuously, because nobody else is. And suddenly she becomes less cold. And then friendly. And suddenly you're asking yourself why everybody hates her, because she's a really good friend! I just wish the other companions came to a similar conclusion, especially Alistair and Wynne.

Oghren:

They did this man dirty. He has such great lines and I'm convinced he was a great person before Branka disappeared. He has that dwarven warrior spirit, and while he looks like Gimli, some of his most impactful lines remind me of Dwalin or even Thorin Oakenshield himself. He could be so noble had he gotten some character development, damnit!

Oghren as he is written is somewhat disgusting. I hate the lechering comments and the drunkenness. And still, I don't hate him because of those amazing lines he has when he's actually sober. It's frustrating and I'll give him that character development myself if the game won't. I strongly associate the song Whiskey Lullaby with him, bc that's how he would have ended up if the Warden hadn't taken him along (warning: the song talks about suicide and alcoholism). Like I said, they could have done such cool things with his character. As he is written now... it's just sad. Moments of lucidity drowned in alcohol and creepy jokes. As you can see, I don't blame the character for either. The alcoholism happens all too often irl. The creepy jokes... I put that one on the writers' tab.

I actually think Oghren could have been a great mentor figure (I know, I shock myself as well sometimes). Next to the Grey Wardens, the ones who know most about fighting darkspawn are the dwarves because they have to deal with them constantly. Especially a warrior caste dwarf like Oghren could have brought a lot of that invaluable knowledge to the team, especially since there are no Grey Wardens in Ferelden but two extremely green recruits. Next, you get the chance to give Oghren the command of the teammates you leave behind in the battle of Denerim with the reason that he has lead men into battle before. Where did that suddenly come from? Oghren should have been right up there telling my Warden that they were doing this wrong, that they needed more food (and booze) and a confident leader to keep the armies they've called together going. Oghren should have been able to tell my civilian city elf who got recruited into the Grey Wardens a six months ago how one leads an army. How one presents oneself to inspire confidence, how one doesn't crack under the pressure, how one gets the leaders of said armies (some who hate each others guts i.e. Dalish elves and humans) to work together. And, last but not least, Oghren could have had a great story about grief. This is a man who has lost most of what made him (and what he hasn't lost he's spilling down the drain with every mug of ale). This is a man who, if you take him into the Deep Roads, has to see what his wife did to his family, how his wife got absolutely obsessed, and can be forced to kill said wife or watch her die. All Wardens loose their home and families at the start of the story. It would really have rounded the whole narrative out if the Warden and Oghren could have recognised their grief in each other and hashed it out somehow. Such as it is, Oghren is a depressed drunkard and there is nothing we can do about that. I find that frustrating.

Rascal (a.k.a. Dog):

Best boy. 100/10. I wish we had gotten to see the reaction of the different origins to the mabari (because elves probably have a whole different experience with them from mages or humans. And dwarves just... I think they straight up have none? XD). Other than that, no complaints. The name Rascal was the one I gave my dog because you have to be a right rascal to survive what he did and play the pranks he plays. Smartest breed in the world indeed.

Shale:

Shale is one of those characters that I recruited rather late in the game, so I haven't had the chance to explore their personality and worldview, really. I didn't even get to take them to the Deep Roads (this will be ammended in playthrough nr. 2). As such, I don't have particularly strong opinions on them (or her? The wiki refers to Shale as 'it', but that sounds weird). But, because I know so little about Shale, I have a lot of questions. First, what were they like before they were a golem? Shayle, as she was called then, was the best warrior of her time if I remember correctly. Why did she become a golem? Was it to be able to eternally protect her people? Was the sarcasm the golem Shale exhibits also part of the dwarven warrior Shayle or did that come later (if for thirty years you have nobody to talk to but yourself, you better be entertaining. And I can imagine how it could make somebody terribly jaded as well).

Next, how attached is Shale to their golem form, exactly? According to the banter, they infinitely prefer it to a squishy fleshy form. If that is the case, however, why go to Tevinter to try and become a squishy dwarf again? It's not like that process could be reversed if they wanted to become a golem again; if Shale survives to the end of the game, the Anvil of the Void is destroyed and Caridin is dead. Was the whole spiel about their indestructible form a façade? It might have been, but not because Shale actually disliked their form. I think it would have more to do with the loss of their memories and with the very invasive experiments and alterations of Shale's body made by the mage Wilhelm. The loss of memories means that Shale is unable to remember life as a fleshy creature. They might be deflecting by pretending that they didn't care for that experience anyway because of the superiority of their golem form. The modifications made to their form by Wilhelm would have alienated them from their body. In light of this, it's significant that Shale asks the Warden to decorate their form with crystals.

All of this is, of course, pure speculation. I may have easily missed or forgotten details that would disprove the above thoughts. All in all, I like Shale and I hope we meet them again in DA4 (given that it's mostly set in Tevinter). It's a liking from a respectful distance, because Shale is tall and made out of rock and also way more experienced than I will ever be (they are literally the oldest member of the Warden's little Blight fighting squad).

Sten:

Sten is another person I'd keep a respectful distance from physically. That seems to be the what he would prefer, at least. I've enjoyed his character a lot, especially because he seems pretty clear-cut at first, but slowly lets the nuance of his person show (gruff and stoic, but then he has an eye for art, a sweet tooth and he likes cute animals). It's also very interesting that there's no moment when you learn "the truth" about him the way you do with Zevran or Leliana. There's no big reveal about his life under the Qun before coming to Ferelden. He says he was sent to monitor the Blight, but honestly? If neither Ferelden nor Orlais knew there was a Blight, how could the Qunari know? I think he's lying, and he takes his secrets back with him when he leaves Ferelden. And yet I think I know him enough to say that a Warden who has become friends with him has nothing to fear from Sten.

One thing I find very interesting about Sten is how he thinks. His conversation about how women can't be soldiers has been analysed a lot on this page I think. He seems to be arguing based on a different paradigma than the one the Warden has. He also seems to have a very clear-cut view of the world. What is fascinating to me is that, when arguing with the Warden and learning about their culture, he is not necessarily becoming more lax about his worldview. I think it's more likely that he is expanding his paradigma, the structure of thought through which he understands the world. I don't think that he is now convinced that women can be warriors as well. I think he rather understands that, in Ferelden, the relationship between occupation and gender is different than under the Qun. Which of the two he thinks is more right or more agreeable, I have no idea. I'm also not very interested in that. But I find it fascinating how he always seems to be looking on quietly, gathering data, classifying it and trying to fit it into his understanding of how the world works. I wouldn't be surprised at all if his original party was a scouting party to see how vulnerable Ferelden was at that moment to outside forces. One thing I don't understand with all of this is why he urges the Warden to meet the Blight head on. No smart soldier would suggest that, except if they are foolishly proud (and Sten doesn't seem like that kind of guy tbh). I get that the Warden takes way longer to gather allies than expected because they first have to solve all of their allies' problems. But surely Sten sees the need to have allies? Is he just that impatient? Does he have a death wish (à la, I lost my sword and am without honour, better to die sooner than later and in glorious battle)? Was he his group's previous commander and is he now having trouble following somebody else's orders? Or maybe it's his way to make sure the Warden knows what they are doing? To push them into becoming the self-assured commander their allies will need once they're all gathered? I really don't know. I like the last option best, however.

For me, Sten is my fellow, more experienced soldier. Like Alistair, he can potentially be the Warden's brother in arms, but he's definitely the older brother here. He probably doesn't take kindly to tearful confessions of how hard everything is, but I feel like he's otherwise a solid rock to lean on. I feel like the Warden can trust him to do what is necessary and count on him no matter what, especially after they get his sword back. His devotion from that point on is honestly so powerful.

Wynne:

Wynne was such a support for my Warden (except with the whole conversation about love vs. duty and that she may have to choose between Zevran and ending the Blight and that she should therefore break up with him. Wynne had a point. Astala was so not willing to sacrifice her relationship with Zevran. But the whole conversation came at a point where she was already so disillusioned that she blew up in Wynne's face (”can i please just have one (1) nice thing????”)). But all in all, Wynne is great.

She has a lot of flaws. She was very marked by her life in the Cricle and, for all her age, she has little experience living outside of it. She is also a conformist despite her strong moral core. In a way, her ability to find peace with her lot in life impresses me deeply because it speaks to a lot of strength of character. Sadly, however, strength can be ill applied and used to suppress. I think she has convinced herself that the Chantry is right under (almost) all circumstances to be able to rationalize the life that mages live. She's had her son taken away from her as a baby and an apprentice killed. Her reaction seems to have been to convince herself that this was right, or for the greater good (and now I'm thinking about the Guardian's question at the temple of Andraste's Ashes; are you wise or do you just repeat what others have told you? The answer is not as clear-cut as it might be). This is why she is so irritated by Zevran and Morrigan. By aligning herself with the Chantry, she is, in her eyes, good. Zevran and Morrigan are not; they do not conform to Chantry morality and they defend themselves tooth and nails against somebody who would try and convert them. This is something Wynne never allowed herself to do; she always did the "right" thing and it has cost her so much. I'm not saying she was right (it would probably have done her some good to rebel from time to time, and to trust her own gut instinct more), but in light of this, it hardly surprises me that she's so judgamental. She has to be, or she would be forced to confront all the evil she has not fought against all those years and all the hurt that has been caused to her by the very institution she protects (and thank God she only tries to argue and can appreciate it when people have found a good life outside of her comfort zone. If she tried to convince by force or, for example, drag her former apprentice back to the Circle... boy oh boy that would get ugly). If you think about it, Wynne really is a good example for what happens if you live by a philosophy of always choosing the lesser evil.

Something that I keep forgetting over her grandmotherly and dignified character is how damn powerful she is. She has escaped the carnage at Ostagar; HOW!? She protected those mage apprentices in the Circle tower for God knows how long. In the battle of Denerim, she wades through an army and comes out alive on the other side. The wiki lists her age at 40, I think, but that doesn't make a lick of sense unless 75 years of age are the Fereldan equivalent to 100. This lady, about whom people make grandmother jokes, did all that. It's impressive.

Zevran:

You know, I would really love to know what Wynne thinks about the events at Kirkwall in DA2. It might be a disaster for her, or it might pave the way for one last bit of character development. She certainly didn't want to return to the Circle after fighting the Blight. That may be an indicator of some change in her stance on the Circle of Magi.

Edit: I forgot that she is what the Circle considers a literal abomination! Holy cow, how could I forget that?? Anyway, her conversation about what being an abomination means is so... heartbreaking, actually. It's so tentative. So careful. "Am I an abomination? Am I the same thing that has killed my students? The same thing as Uldred? Am I lost and damned? Did I invite this spirit in? Is this my fault?" Like wow, Wynne is going through something huge right there. I love it. I have to continue playing the game to see what it ends up as, but it's fascinating and such a huge thing that she allows the Warden in on that.

Ah, Zevran, my beloved (he has stolen my heart so much it's not even funny anymore). He's funny, he's charming, he's so so loyal and it breaks my heart. Zevran is the one about whom I've read most meta: these three wonderful posts for instance, as well as this one about his possible lack of scars, and this one about his lack of freedom. All of these have influenced my opinion of him and they are great reads.

I have talked about Zevran with you before, so I'll just skip to the new stuff. I have come to conclusion that Zevran is an artist at heart. This is totally not biased by the fact that I also do art, but hear me out. One of his preferred gifts are bars of silver and gold. While those have the obvious utility of basically functioning as money (they can be sold to any silversmith or goldsmith and their value is pretty stable through time and in different countries), there's also this from his codex: "Zevran shows an affinity for the finer things in life—hardly surprising for an Antivan Crow—but his appreciation can be more poetic than he lets on. A simple bar of refined silver or gold, uncomplicated by a craftsman's hammer, is elegantly valuable." Tell me that is not an artist's eye that sees that gold and sees the beauty in it. Then, there's also the meta about Zevran the Seducer which I linked above and link here again. It talks specifically about how he lets himself enjoy the target and be seen in his enjoyment. Tell me that is not an artist's eye that beholds the beauty of something he is set out to destroy. Even his talk about his assassinations show this. He talks about it as an art, the way somebody would talk about the brutal intervention in stone that produces a sculpture. Yes, it's a rationalization of the act of killing and yes killing is still wrong. But he doesn't go on about it on a moral tangent the way Alistair or Wynne would (”this person was bad, killing them was necessary”) or even through the argument of survival like Morrigan would (”it was either them or me and it sure as Hell wasn't going to be me”). He talks about the pleasure of a job well done, of the satisfaction of striking the precise point and executing a plan to the perfection so as to minimize chances of discovery and to make a clean death possible. And pleasure in seeing and in doing, this I firmly believe, is absolutely fundamental for an artist.

My favourite part about my Warden and Zevran as a pairing is that Zevran precisely brings out that ability to take your pleasures as they come and to really savour them. Fighting the Blight is tough; it's so important to find good things amidst the chaos to stay sane. If Astala saves Zevran from himself by offering him a place to stay and a purpose, Zevran saves Astala from herself by keeping her from running herself into the ground trying to save the world.

There are some things I don't like about Zev. The incessant flirting, for example, sometimes makes me uncomfortable (it becomes enjoyable for me once the Warden and him are in a relationship, but before that? Nah, no thanks). I wish he would also leave the other female characters alone (and there's so many more shameless comments of his aimed at Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne than at Alistair or maybe even Sten).

---

And that's my take on the Origins companions (this was rather long. Whew ^^' I hope it was still readable and that you enjoyed it!!) Thank you so much for the ask!! It's been a joy thinking about this. I was worrying at first that the less prominent companions like Sten or Shale wouldn't get as much content but... well XD

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Yay! I’m so happy prompts are open again! I love your writing! How about a scenario where NMJ dies in Nightless City either due to MY’s machinations and WRH just takes the chance to execute him. Now there are 3 clans being led by young inexperienced leaders who lost their parents or parent figures in the war

ao3

It wasn’t that Jiang Cheng hadn’t liked Nie Huaisang well enough, when they were all learning together in the Cloud Recesses. Anyone who had the energy to keep up with Wei Wuxian – and just enough good sense to help veer him off the really bad ideas, even if he did keep egging him on in regards to the medium-grade bad ones – was good news in his books.

But liking him didn’t mean respecting him, and the fact that Nie Huaisang hadn’t participated much in the war – couldn’t participate much – had led Jiang Cheng to discount him more or less entirely.

That’s what made it all the more surprising when Nie Huaisang ended up being the unofficial leader of the three remaining Great Sects in opposing Jin Guangshan after the war.

Jiang Cheng would have thought it’d be Lan Xichen, who was the oldest of them. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been included in their classes, already out and about on sect business, but Jiang Cheng had always felt like Lan Xichen was a generation older than the rest of them, even though he was only three years older than they were. At worst, he’d figured it would himself, since he had the experience of rebuilding a sect from nothing and had led men to battle and war - he had experience with being forced to be the one in charge, if nothing else.

Anyone, really, except Nie Huaisang.

“He’s up to something vile again,” Nie Huaisang said without preamble, tone clipped and eyes hard as they always were these days. He settled down at Jiang Cheng’s table and picked up a cup of tea with disinterest, nodding in recognition of the fact that it had been his favorite blend when they were younger. Possibly he didn’t have favorites anymore.

“What now?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“This Xue Yang business,” Nie Huaisang said, which wasn’t a surprise at all. “It just keeps getting worse and worse. I really don’t like it.”

“You don’t like anything, Nie-xiong,” Wei Wuxian teased, bringing over some snacks they both liked.

If it was anyone else, Jiang Cheng would have snapped at Wei Wuxian, telling his martial brother to have more respect, to call Nie Huaisang by his proper title – Sect Leader Nie, since he didn’t have a personal title – except no one called Nie Huaisang Sect Leader Nie if they could help it, not after the example he’d made of the first few who’d done it, trying to ingratiate themselves with him.

As far as Nie Huaisang was concerned, his brother – who was still in the coma he had fallen into after Yangquan, after the Nightless City, after what should have been the end of the war but wasn’t, after everything – was the one and only Sect Leader Nie.

That was also around the time he stopped smiling, and the time the rest of the world discovered that under Nie Huaisang’s smiles and tears and frills and overly indulged laziness was the same core of steel and rage that his brother was famous for.

“Are you going to keep talking nonsense or are you going to help stop it?” Nie Huaisang asked Wei Wuxian, harsh as always, and Wei Wuxian obediently sat down and shut up.

Something Jiang Cheng had yet to figure out how to get Wei Wuxian how to do. He was desperately jealous in some ways, but his normal thing about other people being better than him at anything was heavily muted by the fact that it apparently took Nie Huaisang being, well, like that in order to accomplish it.

Like he was all alone in the world, having lost the only family he had left.

For what might be the first time in his life, Jiang Cheng would prefer to be second-best if it meant he didn’t have to face the same sort of loss. It had been bad enough losing his parents, but if he lost Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian as well…

He might have, too, if Nie Huaisang hadn’t all but stormed the Lotus Pier in a rage when Jiang Cheng had failed to reject Jin Guangshan’s request to expel Wei Wuxian from his sect as quickly as Nie Huaisang would have liked. Jiang Cheng had even (secretly) been considering it, knowing that Wei Wuxian agreed with the idea, thinking that maybe distancing themselves in public and remaining close in private would be the only way -

Nie Huaisang had put a rapid end to those thoughts.

With Nie Huaisang at his side, and even Lan Wangji having arrived from who-knows-where, Jiang Cheng had had the confidence to tell Jin Guangshan that the internal affairs of his sect were none of his business and that the furthest he’d go in regards to Wei Wuxian’s actions would be to offer to pay recompense for taking the Wen sect prisoners.

Obviously the Jin sect had refused, not wanting to seem like they were pinching pennies, and in the end it had actually turned out fairly well as a political stratagem, smaller sects appreciating the way he stood up for himself and established a precedent for resisting such pressure. Jiang Cheng really wouldn’t have thought it.

(He hadn’t been allowed time to think – Jin Guangshan had been leading him around by the nose, and only Nie Huaisang’s choler had snapped him out of it before he made some very bad decisions.)

“A little nonsense isn’t so bad,” Lan Xichen said from the door, waving at them not to rise to salute him as he entered, followed closely by Lan Wangji. He smiled at Wei Wuxian in particular – they were all but brothers-in-law now, given how much time Lan Wangji had been spending at the Lotus Pier, even if the relationship wasn’t official yet. “It adds a little levity and laughter to life.”

“I promise to laugh when you finally give me Meng Yao’s head,” Nie Huaisang said, and Lan Xichen’s smile abruptly crumpled. “The way you should have back then.”

“Do you want to work together or not?” Jiang Cheng asked Nie Huaisang irritably. “Drop it.”

“Certainly I will drop it, as soon as the honorable Zewu-jun stops telling me to laugh more. He wanted someone to smile at him and he got it, and all it cost him was my brother - and supposedly his - so you’ll have to forgive me for not being full of levity and laughter.” Nie Huaisang accepted a snack pressed into his hand by Wei Wuxian. “My spies indicate that the Tingshan He Sect – about sixty or seventy in total – have disappeared. Very shortly after their young master had a dispute with Jin Guangyao, as you might recall.”

Jiang Cheng flinched. “The entire sect?”

“The entire sect.”

Wei Wuxian muttered something extremely unpleasant under his breath. “On what excuse?” he demanded. “He nearly got me kicked out of the cultivation world over the Wen sect, fine, but Tingshan He? He Su fought in the Sunshot Campaign! What could they possible said that he did to deserve it?”

“He publicly opposed Jin Guangshan’s bid to be chief cultivator, and Jin Guangyao’s new position as his heir, isn’t that enough?” Nie Huaisang said, heavily sarcastic. “I think what you should be asking is what the children did to deserve such a fate, or the babes in arms…oh, I’m sorry, Zewu-jun. Would you prefer that I be smiling while I talk about it? I understand that’s your preference. Forgive my insufficient levity; I’m afraid I cannot match your beloved sworn brother - you have only the one, if I recall correctly? - for such talents.”

Lan Xichen looked tired.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t blame him – Nie Huaisang had a tongue as vicious as Jiang Cheng’s mother, and he didn’t say that lightly – but on the other hand, there wasn’t much he could say to get Nie Huaisang to stop, either.

After all, it was Lan Xichen who had refused Nie Huaisang’s immediate demand for Jin Guangyao’s head in the immediate aftermath when the whole debacle at the Nightless City had been revealed, one of the Nie sect disciples having survived nearly getting murdered long enough to testify as to what had happened within the walls, and, due to Lan Xichen’s prevarication, there had been time for Jin Guangshan to adopt Jin Guangyao back into the Jin sect.

After that, he became untouchable.

And then –

Well, then a lot of things had happened.

Jin Guangshan’s overreach and ambition were clear from the start, of course, more or less from the second he realized that the other three Great Sects were being led by the untried, inexperienced younger generation. Jiang Cheng had a good reputation, but he’d been fairly hamstrung politically by his sister’s decision to marry Jin Zixuan, not wanting to risk her being mistreated by her new family – Lan Xichen was a novice sect leader and still friends of a sort of with Jin Guangyao, at least back then – the other sects were too small to do much –

No wonder Nie Huaisang had changed so much. They hadn’t left him much choice.

“Something will need to be done about it,” Lan Xichen said. “An entire sect…he’s really gone too far.”

Nie Huaisang nodded sharply. In his opinion, Jiang Cheng knew, Jin Guangshan had gone too far long ago, and the rest of them were only just starting to catch up…

A bit like Nie Mingjue had been, with Wen Ruohan.

Damnit, maybe they should just listen to the Nie sect.

“Where will it end?” Lan Wangji asked from his place next to Wei Wuxian.

“War, of course,” Nie Huaisang said, and they all flinched. “Would you prefer to roll over and give in? I’m sure Jin Guangshan would be willing to promise you leniency if you turned over his grandson, Jiang Cheng, though you might have to execute your sister for having kidnapped him in the first place – even if she didn’t know she was pregnant when she returned to the Lotus Pier.”

“We’re willing to go to war,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice hot with anger, then realized he was being presumptuous again and looked over at Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at him – at least he was trying – and nodded. “There’s no way we’re handing Jin Ling over, much less jiejie. But don’t make it seem like we have more influence than we do. After all, now that Jin Guangyao is the official heir, they have Jin Rusong, don’t they?”

“Not for long,” Nie Huaisang said, and Jiang Cheng turned to stare at him in dismay.

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said, aghast. “You haven’t –”

“I appreciate your confidence in me, really,” Nie Huaisang said, and threw a letter at his face.

Lan Xichen plucked it out of the air and looked it over, his face paling as he read it.

“Your spies again?” Jiang Cheng asked Nie Huaisang. He seemed to have an endless supply of them.

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “My brother never stopped sending them out, even if he barely ever used them, and he never asked them of anything that might make them break cover. Some of them have been undercover for over ten years – they’re very good.”

Lan Xichen put the letter down. He looked sick, which meant that Jiang Cheng really did not want to see what was in that letter.

Unfortunately, what he wanted had long ago become not especially important. He was sect leader. He had to face all the worst that people could do, the awful, the ugly, the terrible –

Wei Wuxian nudged him in the side. “Can I?”

“Go for it,” Jiang Cheng said, relieved by the reprieve. He really didn’t know what he’d do without Wei Wuxian – he didn’t know what he was thinking, that he thought he could protect his sect better without him rather than with him. Nie Huaisang’s furious and despairing rant had been extremely convincing, even if it had been more than a little traumatizing.

Especially in regards to his predictions as to the ultimate fate of Wei Wuxian and his lost sheep once he no longer had Jiang sect protection...

Wei Wuxian picked up the letter, looked at it, and blanched, which – wow. Jiang Cheng really didn’t want to know what was in there that would make the Yiling Patriarch look like he was going to throw up. Not even the reports about Xue Yang using people’s tongues to make tea had done that.

Wei Wuxian passed Lan Wangji the letter and put his hands down onto his lap, knuckles white. “He’s going to murder his own son.”

It took Jiang Cheng a second to parse that – to understand that the ‘he’ referred to Jin Guangyao rather than Jin Guangshan, as the latter wouldn’t have been a surprise – and then he jerked as if stabbed. “Not Rusong!”

Everyone looked exceedingly grim.

“That – fucker!”

“The idea is to blame us – or anyone resisting him, really – for the death,” Nie Huaisang said. “Then exterminate us as a consequence. Do you have any more of that cake? It was good.”

Lan Wangji wordlessly passed some over.

“So, getting back on the subject: war,” Nie Huaisang continued briskly. Unperturbed, almost, by what they’d just discovered, but then again he’d known longer, or maybe it was only that it didn’t surprise him the way it did them. “One way or the other, whether it’s us starting it or them; it was always going to end in war, as I told you.”

He took a bite of the cake, swallowed it.

“Imminent war, in fact,” he added. “Regardless of what the rest of you decide, I’m not going to sit around to waste my time talking until it’s too late. I’m going to kidnap Rusong – and maybe Qin Su, who knows, I haven’t yet determined how in-the-know she is – and that’ll probably kick the war off right away. I’m here to tell you to get ready.”

He swallowed another bite of cake. “Or, well, to get ready, or get out of my way. You can pick.”

“We’ll be ready,” Jiang Cheng said.

He didn’t want another war – but surely anything had to be better than this.

Lan Xichen caught his gaze over the table. He seemed tired, but also – hopeful. Even if all he was hoping for was an end to all the uncertainty that had been torturing them.

“We’ll be there, too,” he said, and Jiang Cheng nodded encouragingly at him. “Just tell us what to do.”

“Don’t worry,” Nie Huaisang said. “I will.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan xichen #jin guangyao #my fic #my fics #unfettered #Anonymous

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pure-kirarin · 3 years ago

Text

The enchanting croon - Sabo x f!mermaid reader

A/N : Beware this very cute scenario that kept haunting me while I was swimming in the pool haha. I decided to break from the enchantment by writing it. I hope that you will like it as much as I do, because honestly, this is my favourite Sabo x reader scenario I have written for now. I added the song I listened to while writing this, as I looked at the sunset from my terrasse~ (look at the end of the post) Synopsis : Two different people cross paths only to share an enchanting moment, threading a fine line between dreams and reality.

Warnings : None. Enjoy.

“There isn’t much to explore, huh ?”

Sabo surmised as he wandered around the island. He didn’t care enough to follow Koala on her little shopping trip. The blond had most of his clothes tailored to his own tastes and fitted for his figure. He didn’t care much about fashion, but he prefered to own a few pieces of clothing that reflected his style and tastes rather than owning too many. He took advantage of these few moments of peace to explore the island and maybe gather some information for their next mission. Even when the young man had free time, he would always find a way to make it about work. The sunset was now approaching big times and he started to think about returning to the meeting point with Koala.

However, he wanted to spend some calm time by the beach before going back. In fact, he appreciated meditating on his own and gathering some alone time, away from his partner’s reprimands.

As he took a few more steps towards the tortuous alley, a gentle humming caught Sabo’s trained ears. The humming added a reverie-like beam to the atmosphere, it was as if he was stepping in some unreal territory. As he got closer , the enchanting voice got more distinguishable and it sounded now more like a chant. The gentle melody dragged him in, enchanting all his senses, in the span of a few seconds he was totally captivated.

He was curious to discover the origin of this croon. The dimness of the alley fell away the closer he came to the end, burned away by the colors of the sunset. Orange, yellow, red, all merged together, reflecting on the beach. And there, you sit in all your glory, offering him your back.

“So, this is what a mermaid’s singing sounds like ?” he thought to himself.

The notes were soft, but in your voice laid some melancholy that reached a deep part of his soul. He stood there in awe, he was petrified by the beauty of this magical moment. The way the notes rolled off your tongue, the way the light reflected on your scales made them glow like pure gold. He wanted to look longer, tracing every single image in his memory so he doesn’t forget about it.

He didn’t move by an inch, looking at you combing your hair with what looked like a golden comb, ornamented with little diamonds that glowed like stars under the sun. As much as he wanted to see the face of the fae creature that enchanted all his senses, he held back, unwilling to stop the chant.

He understood now the legends he read about mermaids, but how could such a beautiful song be one of destruction ?

But to his disenchantment -or would it be to his enchantment ?- the singing stopped abruptly. You turned your face towards him, sensing his presence, and the comb automatically fell from your frail hand.

A second was enough for him to react, he knew how to recognize terror in one’s eyes. He knew it too much, having worked for the revolutionaries for such a long time. You moved your tail, ready to disappear into the sea as if he had seen something that he was not supposed to see.

“Wait !” He didn’t move, he knew that if he did, you would be even less convinced to stay. “I won’t hurt you.”

You were already in the water, but as you heard the man’s voice, your movements got slower, as if you hesitated whether to go back or to stay.

“I am sorry I looked at you, that wasn’t very gentlemanly of me.”

He continued, his even voice was calming to you. No human has ever talked to you, you were excited and curious, but at the same time terrified.

Your intuition told you that he was a good man, the internalized voices of your parents and your likings said otherwise.

He sensed your inner conflict and decided to leave the choice up to you. He has met mermaids before but he has never talked to any. The mermaids he knew were also very different from you. Mostly ones he freed among other slaves, or older mermaids that were a part of a pirate crew. He got closer and his hand grasped the comb that fell on the shore minutes ago. His eyes scrutinized the arabesques that ornamented it. He then held it towards you.

“I think this belongs to you.”

You turned back and got closer to the rock where you were seated before he interrupted you. You leaned your upper body completely against it. Then, holding eye-contact, you stretched your delicate arm towards his. Without breaking eye contact your fingers grasped the comb, snatching it off his fingers, then, holding it close to your bosom. Your chest lifted up and down, your breath seemed heavy and you didn’t dare move. You seemed scared. His big black eyes were full of compassion as he could only imagine the reason behind your fear of humans.

“May I take a seat ?” he attempted. You nodded your head energetically, and he took place next to you on the huge rock. You inspected him with curiosity, but you didn’t move yet. In reality, you were now feeling that he wasn’t much of a threat, but you were still a bit scared.

“So, you understand me. Can you speak as well ?” you nodded again.

“My name is Sabo. Nice to meet you.”

You leaned towards his face inspecting it closely, your hand reached out to his cheek a few times but you were quick to hold back. You were very curious as you have always wanted to know more about humans. Sadly, everyone on your island said that humans were horrible creatures that would enslave and abuse mermaids. A few stories about mermaids being sold in auction houses were enough to scare you.

“Sabo” you repeated. He smiled and said back

“Yes, Sabo, that’s my name.”

“Sabo is a funny name.” your melodious laugh was contagious.

“You think so ? It’s short for sabotage. You’re right !” He laughed to lighten up the mood, a gloved hand scratching his neck.

“Humans have funny names.” You commented, taking his words literally.

“Not everyone. But it’s true that I have a rather peculiar name.” he smiled and you mirrored his smile.

You looked at the way the sun reflected on his golden locks and you thought that it looked so beautiful. You took place next to him now, you turned your face towards him, not able to detach your eyes from his sight. It wasn’t every day that you were able to see humans this close after all.

“My name is (Y/N) !”

“(Y/N), nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

Your eyes now lowered, looking at his legs, head blown away by how different his body was from yours. He noticed that and couldn’t refrain from smiling. It was the same for him actually, but he tried not to scare you away by dwelling on your body, it was breathtaking and he felt extremely lucky to share such a moment with a dreamy creature.

“So, what were you doing here ? And why is there no one by the beach ?” he asked.

“I like to come watch the sunset. It takes around half an hour of swimming for me to get here, but it’s pretty much worth it...This is the only time that I can come here unbothered.”

“And why is that ?” he asked gently. He encouraged you to talk more, trying to get you to feel more comfortable.

“Oh, it’s because it’s prayer time. The citizens of this island pray at this time, so there is no one by the beach. I spend half an hour here before going back home. I like to sing and enjoy the fresh air...This is why I was very surprised to see you here…”

“I am not a local, you are right. I had no idea about this. I am sorry again for earlier, your voice sounded really enchanting.” He complimented and you looked in front of you now, blushing a bit. It was the first time that someone, a man, a human man, complimented you.

“Was it your first time listening to a mermaid sing ?”

“Yes” his answer was simple and fast, he enjoyed the sunset, not looking your way so he doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable.

“It’s my first time too. Seeing a human.”

“How is it ? Is it different from what you have imagined ?”

Sabo tried to put himself in your shoes, or should I say- in your scales. He was genuinely fascinated by how big the universe is, and how different it should feel to be someone else. Life as a mermaid must be very different from his own. This conversation he was having with you was an opportunity for him to see things through your eyes.

He thought about the privilege he had as a human, and how he would often forget to his dismay, that the world was far bigger and that everyone had different experiences. And that was what he fought for, he fought for a world where a mermaid and a human could meet and where it would be natural.

“It is different.” You said as you veered your eyes towards his face once again. You seemed unable to contain your excitement. Your eyes shined like those of a child with an insatiable curiosity. “For example, I knew that humans had legs, but I have never seen legs before...Can I..Can I feel them ?” you hesitated.

“Of...of course.” he stuttered a bit, surprised by your question, but he had to remind himself that you were just fascinated by your differences and that it was just an innocent request.

You put your hand on his thigh and squeezed it before laughing. “It’s hard, different from my tail. You want to touch it as well ?”

His cheeks were rose colored as he thought that you really had no idea of the hidden meaning of your words. He then took off his gloves and touched your tail with the tip of his fingers. You put your hand on his and pressed it on your tail while laughing

“Come on, don’t be scared. It doesn’t hurt.”

“It feels soft, like a fish.” He said.

“Well, I am technically half a fish, so that’s right.” You let go of his hand and added. “Also, I imagined humans to be more...scary ? I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude to you. It’s just that- it’s complicated between humans and mermen. My parents have always warned me of humans.”

“I know” Sabo was now looking at the sky with dreamy eyes “And your parents were probably right. They worry about you. Most things that you have probably heard about humans are unfortunately true.”

Your shimmer smile faded away leaving an expression of melancholy and sadness on your traits.

“But not everyone is like this.” He looked back at you with a determined expression. “I am a revolutionary. I fight for freedom and equality, for a world where humans and all other species will be considered equal. I am sorry that the world isn’t a safe place for you at the moment, (Y/N).”

You smiled lovingly and pressed on his hand. You could feel that the man was incredibly sincere and you were moved by his words. You then added, and in your voice he could discern that same tone of sadness and melancholy that he heard in your singing ;

“That’s very admirable of you, Sabo. I have always dreamt of..Of walking outside freely and meeting humans. Life underwater is fun, but it’s also just one percent of what is there to see in this world...I think that it’s unfair that I’m not allowed to discover all of these things…” your eyes almost teared up as you said those things. “But your words give me hope. I wish more people were like you, Sabo. I don’t understand much about “revolutionaries”. But you sound like good people.”

There wasn’t much to be understood, only to be felt. You put your head on his shoulder and he hesitated before rubbing yours in a comforting way. You were just two people sharing a connexion, something that was soul-level and that words couldn’t express. You were the embodiment of what he was fighting for. And you being there, so beautiful, yet like a bird in a cage, tore his heart apart.

With a swift move you plunged into the sea and dragged him away from his hand. “Come on, that was really depressing. Let’s swim together.” You said with a laugh.

“W-wait !” he protested. “I can’t swim !” you looked at him with big eyes. He was already starting to sink a bit when you got closer to his body and put his arms around your neck.

“Hold onto me really well then !” you said with a mischievous smile.

He did as you asked and was surprised with the ease with which you held his body and with how fast you swam.

“And why can’t you swim ? Are you scared ?” you teased a bit.

“It’s not that, I am a devil fruit holder. But I loved to swim before.”

You heard about devil fruits before, but only in books. You have never witnessed such a power and believed it to be a legend. But you also knew that devil fruit eaters can’t swim, since devil fruits were cursed by the sea.

“What kind of power do you have ?” you asked, curious as you bring Sabo back to the shore. He got up, turning his fist into flames under your admiring gaze :

“I can control flames”

“That’s pretty impressive. I wonder if I can get such a cool power one day as well.” You smiled.

“Who knows ? What kind of power would you like to have ?” he asked as he took off his jacket and shirt, wringing them to get rid of the water. You got lost looking at his body and how handsome he was. He really did look charming. You then recollected your thoughts trying to think about his question :

“I have never thought about that. I didn’t think that devil fruits existed until today. I like talking to you Sabo, you taught me so many things.”

You tapped the place next to you back at the rock, gesturing for him to take a seat which he does.

“I like talking to you too, (Y/N), it’s refreshing. You have such a pure and innocent way of viewing the world.”

He meant that it was easy for you to warm up to him, and it gave him hope. It felt as if you were ready to see the good in everything. But he knew that this could also put you in danger, as some people could have bad intentions towards you, especially that mermaids were unfortunately targeted by slave traffickers.

“Gee, if my parents knew that I’m here with a human, they’ll kill me~” you mused.

He tapped your shoulder in a comforting way and said :

“They don’t need to know for now, but I promise you that I will do my best so that humans and mermen can live in peace. This way, your parents won’t be so worried about you coming here.”

Without a thought, you encircled the man’s neck with both your arms.

“Thank you so much Sabo” you chirped. He put a hand on your back, taken aback by the proximity. He knew that you didn’t think much about this gesture, but he couldn’t help but notice the softness of your chest against his. He pulled away gently, embarrassed by this thought crossing his mind.

“It’s only natural, (Y/N), it’s my duty.”

“But still, this means that you are a really kind and selfless person.” A smile played on your mouth. But the corner of your lips fell down as you noticed that the sun was already setting down. You had to go away soon. You wished to spend more time with Sabo, but if you stayed any longer, your parents would get suspicious, not to forget that prayer time was almost elapsed.

“It’s getting darker now...I have to go soon…”

Sabo looked at his wrist watch, noticing that his meeting time with Koala was also getting closer. Time passed by really fast in such an agreable company, he thought to himself.

“I have to go as well.” he says as he puts back his shirt after drying it faster with his devil fruit powers. “It was really nice meeting you, (Y/N), I wish to hear you sing once again.” And he smiled gently, and your heart hurt a bit as you didn’t want to leave his side.

You wanted him to tell you more, you wanted to know more about this world that he was trying to build for you and your people, a world where humans and mermen could coexist.

“Say Sabo...We will meet again right ? You’ll come here again, right ?” you tugged at his sleeve bringing him closer to the rock where you were seated. Your pleading eyes made his heart melt and he couldn’t help but ruffle your hair. This simple touch made your heart skip a beat. You wanted him to stay so badly. You really liked how gentle he was, how respectful and polite he was towards you. You have always been both scared and fascinated by humans, yet, now that you have met him, you wanted to meet more of them.

Sabo seemed to think for a moment, then, he took a piece of paper out of the pocket of his coat and put it in your hand.

“Unfortunately, I’ll be leaving this island tonight, however, I’ll give you a piece of my vivre card.”

You looked at the piece laying in the palm of your hands with big surprised eyes. He continued, noticing your surprise :

“This will always guide you to me. It points to my location. This way, whenever I’m by the beach or the sea, you’ll be able to find me, if you want to of course. I’ll be very pleased to hear you sing, and to talk to you of course, (Y/N).”

You instinctively closed your fingers around the piece of paper, bringing it closer to your chest. I will cherish it with all my heart, you thought to yourself. You wanted Sabo to never forget about you, and you were excited to meet him again, and have him tell you about his adventures. You looked a bit around you then took his hand and placed your golden comb in it.

“Please accept this as a memento of mine.” He looked at the beautiful comb, was it alright for him to accept such a gift ? Seeing him so reluctant and hesitant, you reassured him

“I want you to keep it, maybe you’re not aware of it, but today was really meaningful for me. I was afraid of humans because of mermen legends, but you proved me wrong.”

You punctuated your words with a smile that he mirrored. You were so adorable to him, he liked how spontaneous you were and how easy it was for you to speak your feelings. As you took your hand away from his, he closed his fingers around the comb then put it in his pocket.

“I’ll keep it then. Please know that the pleasure is shared. Good and evil exist everywhere. I am glad that I have given you a good impression about humans. Please don’t hesitate to ask me for help if you run into any kind of trouble. Alright ?”

You nodded, your heart melting at his kindness. You hesitated for a second, then, you lifted your upper body with your palms placed on the rock. Then, with one arm, you pulled Sabo from his cravate so that his face was inches away from yours. His eyes were shaken with surprise, pupils dilated. You closed yours and kissed his cheek softly, his blond locks tickling your face. You let go of him fast, plunging into the sea.

“I won’t hesitate...I hope that we will see each other again…”

He straightened his back, smiling at you. It would have been impossible not to be shaken by your move. He engraved that moment in his memory : the way your cheeks were flushed pink, the tone in which you spoke : flowing like velvet, and how your hair glowed in the dark as if it had stars entangled in it. You were so beautiful, too beautiful, and he had a desire to protect this beauty, this purity of yours. He had to pursue his goal, to continue, to make the world a place for beauty to be appreciated.

Your voice was heard once again, now low, just a murmur.

“But there was one thing that the mermen legends weren’t wrong about...Human men are really handsome.”

He could hear a shy smile in your voice, and after these few words, you disappeared into the water, as if you had just been a dream. But the comb in his pocket proved otherwise. What a playful girl, he thought. Then, he stayed still for a few minutes, taking in the peaceful air of the sea.

Maybe you will meet again. He thought. But till then, he had to work harder. He turned his back to the sea, returning to his meeting point with Koala, although his thoughts were still attached to your enchanting croon.

Tag list : @fishandfuck

#sabo x reader #kirarin writes #sabo #one piece sabo #one piece x reader #one piece imagines #one piece fanfiction #sabo x you #revolutionary sabo #chief of staff sabo #mermaid x reader #SoundCloud

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years ago

Note

Hey! I just read the last part of the BTHB and I can't get enough of it!! So, if you'd like, for BTHB, is it okay that after supervillain gets all healed up, he leaves. Then when the hero agency gets to know that hero saved him, they want to punish her/execute her by death? And supervillain saves her? But she's still too injured to do just anything

And, if you're not comfortable with this, feel free to ignore!

Thank you for the ask! I changed it up a bit, just a smidge, like a little bit because I think it would make it more dramatic, but not too much. Hope you enjoy!

And this got long... so I apologize. I still don't have the ability to put a readmore.

Muddy Rain Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 ... if you guys like this series, I will have to make a masterlist for it soon!

@shydragonrider

Warnings: (i made two lists, one for Hero and one for Supervillain for those who aren't comfortable with lady whumpees) alcohol mention, broken bones mention, attempted murder,

Supervillain: chloroformed, drugged state of mind, limping, not healing, past trauma, memories of torture, low self-esteem, shocked by stun gun, tranquilized

Hero: restrained, kidnapped, shocked by stun gun, bleeding, knife wounds, unconsciousness, manhandled

Hero awoke slowly, finding her arms wrapped protectively around her ward. She sighed, looking down at his slowly breathing figure in the darkness. She didn't know if he would ever get better.

Six months later...

"Hero?!" Supervillain called from the other room. "Breakfast is ready!"

Hero smiled, biting her lip as she set down her book, and walked into the horrible smelling kitchen. She wrinkled her noise, taking in the state of her kitchen. The windows were opened with tiny fans blowing the thick, smokey air out of the hot room. Egg yolks and melted butter practically painted the counters with their yellowness. Strawberry juice was splattered across the white sink with at least ten kitchen knives tossed carelessly into a pile, waiting to be washed.

The waffle iron, coated in batter, was steaming hot and did not look like it was properly doused in canola oil.

But, amongst the mess, Supervillain beamed over two plates of charcoal colored waffles and cut up strawberries.

"Why thank you," Hero said and tried to grab her own plate, but Supervillain ripped it out of her reach.

"I got it," he said, smiling a wavering smile. Almost instinctively, Hero looked away, but knowing curiosity got the better of her.

She glanced back at Supervillain, trying to avoid looking at his shaking arm- the bad one, the one with the broken clavicle- as he carried both plates to the coffee table in the livingroom. She tried not to take much note of his funny gait either- the way his knees seemed to buckle as he walked, completely devoid of strength.

She tried not to look because of how hard Supervillain tried. How he tried to cook meals for Hero and how he dealt with jobs that he didn't necessarily enjoy- all to support Hero for all she did. He worked as a graphic designer, playing around with computers, when he would've rather been a baseball coach or an engineer.

"Thank you for breakfast," Hero said, sticking her fork in the waffle and eating it like a popsicle, trying her hardest not to grimace as her tongue was temporarily numbed by a clump of baking powder.

Supervillain blushed, his still pale cheeks turning rosy in color, as he winced at the state of his own plate.

"I could be better," he whispered, more to himself than anyone, so Hero ignored his obvious show of self negativity.

They remained in silence until a loud knocking interrupted them. Hero looked up, heart pounding, as a foreboding feeling rose in her gut. Supervillain half stood up, using his hand to balance his shaking body, but Hero gently pushed him back down.

"I got it," she told him softly and walked over to the door. Her hand hovered over the knob for a moment before she turned it and-

She was thrown backwards onto the ground and before she knew it, she was pressed against someone's stomach, arms pinned.

"Let me go!" She growled, kicking and stepping at her attacker's feet, but someone else came and quickly zipped her ankles up with cable ties.

"Hey!" She cried, using momentum to thrust herself forward. Only, she had no balance with her newly tied ankles and fell to the ground.

Her wrists were tied next and she was lifted to her feet, but suddenly, her attacker froze, giving her time to assess the situation.

There were five of them, masked. One held a bag a cable ties, the others were completely empty-handed, and one was manhandling Hero.

"Let her go, now!" Came Supervillain's familiar voice, though this time taut with rage and fury, but also a hint of fear.

She didn't see it, but felt it. The one holding her nodded and the other four rushed towards Supervillain. One grabbed a bottle of something most likely nasty and dumped it over a rag. Hero's heart jumped. No, no, no, no, no...

Her attacker spun her around, kicking in her knees to make her sit on the floor. She looked up and saw Supervillain with a gun in his hand.

"Knock him out," her attacker ordered. His voice, frighteningly familiar.

"No!" Hero screeched. "Stop! I will do what you want, just don't touch him, please."

Her hair was grabbed, head yanked back.

"I know you will, because if you don't, he will die and you know it," the man snarled. "But he will still fight for you, no matter our terms of agreement."

The four masked strangers attacked Supervillain, pushing him to a sitting position on the floor. He struggled, but only for a moment before a drenched rag was stuffed into his face.

"No," Hero whimpered, hardly able to watch, but her attacker held her head up to watch the whole event.

After a few minutes, Supervillain's frantic struggles turned into sporadic twitches as his body screamed for air.

"Stop," Hero said, voice thick with tears and face wet with them. "You'll kill him." She said the last bit in a whimpering tone.

"Who cares, he'll be out of the way."

Supervillain sunk into the stranger's arm, not yet unconscious. For a moment he hung there, head lolling in the rag and the hand holding it. Then, he looked up at Hero, his gaze faraway and glassy, before his eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed to the ground.

"Please," Hero begged. "At least bring him to the couch, please. He-" She stopped, not wanting to spill Supervillain's weaknesses, but it already seemed that all was lost. "He has a hard time standing up when he wakes and the drugs won't make it easy. Just, please." She melted into her attacker's arms, crying.

"Bring him to the couch," her attacker conceded after a moment’s hesitation. Two men each grabbed an arm. Hero stiffened when one cruelly pulled on his bad one. They dragged him to the couch, his head rolling uselessly on his chest.

"As for you," her attacker spoke. He stood up, walked in front of Hero, and ripped off his mask. Hero's body gave a nervous twitch when she recognized her colleague, Superhero.

"You are going to come with us," he finished, grabbed Hero and dragged her out of the house.

《~~》

Supervillain came to rather slowly, whimpering and crying out in pain as his head banged ruthlessly around. A dense feeling of nausea rose in his throat as the room, when he managed to open his eyes, spun.

For a moment of incoherence, he believed that he was hurt again, laying half-consious on Hero's bed as she gingerly cared for him.

But, as his senses returned, he realized that her touches were vacant and his legs weren't wrapped in the immobilizing padding.

Only then did he muster the willpower to completely open his eyes and draw his memories towards any prior events. Though, he found that if there were any, they were distant and vague- much like his memories of the month in which he hardly woke up, unless for necessities like medicine or food.

He became aware of his breathing, and then the placement of his body. Arms were strewn all over the place as if he had no control where they ended up. He flinched as a few moments of recollection came over him. Panic, rush, and the feeling of many hands on him.

His nose and mouth stung painfully, though he knew he didn't have a cold or a sniffle or anything. Not even allergies.

Then it hit him. His memories. Hero being restrained with cable ties, grabbing the gun, the rag over his mouth, lungs burning, Hero's screams, then nothing. Nothing at all.

He was drugged.

He suddenly pushed himself to his hands, only for them to crumble under his weight as an intense feeling of lightheadedness overwhelmed him. He groaned, hands flailing as they tried to clutch at his rollercoaster for a head.

He had to get up. Hero was in danger.

He swung his legs over the side of the choice, only for them to go extremely weak and splay out from underneath him. He let out a sob, head pounding painfully.

Get up.

He used his arms as leverage to shove himself up, then stumbled towards the wall, leaning against it heavily. He took in a shuddering, deep breath, lips pressed into the cold material.

He didn't know how long it took, or exactly remembered it either, but eventually he found himself slumped over Hero's motorcycle. He felt like he was going to throw up and then collapse.

But he couldn't, had to save Hero.

He swung his leg over the seat, ignoring the agonizing grinding of his still-healing bones, and sat there, waiting for the dizziness to fade.

His vision cleared and he turned the vehicle on. Revving it up, he drove sloppily out of the driveway.

He recognized the voices of the men who came. Heroes, particularly the gang that tortured him all those months ago. Supervillain's thoughts drifted for a moment, but then he found himself veering off the road.

"Snap back into it," he whispered to himself, voice hoarse. He concentrated on the road the best he could, but the way the yellow lines melted into each other was very confusing.

Okay, think, think, think, he willed himself, gripping the handles until his knuckles went white. The garage, a mechanic's garage, where he was kept at was on the far side of town. He knew it because that was where Villain worked, and Villain...

No, stop. He couldn't go that route, but his drugged mind was still traveling down that path. The sledgehammer, food just inches from his reach, the utter helplessness...

A car honked, loud and earsplitting. Supervillain sighed, he had to keep his thoughts under control. So he blocked all thinking and paid attention to the way the road melted under the motorcycle's tires.

Before he knew it, he was pulling up to the familiar building. Old, broken cars guarded the entrance to where his torture took place and with that knowledge, he went there, knowing that was where Hero was.

He crept through the cars, legs throbbing and moving stiffly. Every so often he would stop, grab at a car, and catch his breath. He was so useless, so, so useless.

Don't think that way, you have a job, you make money, you support Hero...

He stood up straighter and walked into the garage, fear clutching his chest. In there was a world of pain- something Supervillain wanted to forget.

For Hero, he would do anything. She saved his life.

Supervillain slid his hand over the doorknob, freezing as he heard the ringing of the bells- a sound that used to bring him such hope. A hope that someone would see him, or care enough about him to save him.

"Be there in a minute!" Came a familiar yowl. Supervillain started backwards, panic rising in his throat as anticipation clawed at his chest. The woman that spoke was not one of the people who broke in. No, she was more sophisticated than that. She was...

Villain.

Supervillain looked at the tall lady in front of him, trying not to glance at her heels- oh the memories of those steel prods digging into his already gnarled flesh.

"Hey honey," Villain spoke sauntering over. Supervillain slid down onto the floor, overwhelmed with anxiety and fear, just as Villain's cold hand ran through his hair. He stiffened, muscles tensing.

"It has been a while. Want some tea to drink as we catch up?" Her petting increased, her fingers pulling at the strands.

Supervillain risked it and shook his head. "I-uh," he stammered. Gosh, he was scared. So scared. Him, the greatest supervillain in the city, was scared to the point of trembling. Maybe he would blame it on the chloroform, but deep down he knew that was a lie.

Oh how he wished he was home, trying and failing to make a batch of muffins.

"What was that, dear?" Villain murmured.

"Where's Hero?" He rasped, instantly cowering in fear.

"Oh Hero? That little bastard? Oh yeah, she's currently bleeding out at an alarming rate," Villain purred and stopped rubbing Supervillain's head- much to his relief.

Supervillain whimpered, his body screaming at him to find her, but primitive instinct kept him rooted to the ground.

But, after a few moments of fighting himself, Supervillain stood up. Villain backed away, face taut with amusement.

"What are you going to do?" Villain taunted. "Hmm? You couldn't even save Hero from five men and now there are ten out there, armed with deadlier things than chloroform."

Supervillain squeezed his eyes shut. Don't listen to her, don't listen to her...

"Her life is worth more than mine," Supervillain growled, as he pushed past his former captor. He could see a smirk rise on Villain's lips.

"Yeah... it really is, isn't it," Villain chuckled. "You worthless scum." She spun around and kicked Supervillain's knees. He tripped, blood rushing through his ears, but stayed upright as he gallantly walked into his old home.

The smell of countless oils and grease hit his nose, and following that, the familiar scent of exhaust. He grimaced, remembering his utter inability to breathe on busy days.

But even those memories washed away at the sight of Hero, bloodied and unmoving, with people shocking her endlessly with stun guns.

"Hey!" Supervillain yelled, grabbing a pipe wrench in one hand. The people torturing Hero, stopped and turned around to face Supervillain who was swaying on his feet- from the lingering fatigue and fear.

"Leave her be," he growled and stalked up to them. One shrugged and zapped Supervillain in the side. His body seized as white flashes illuminated his vision. Gasping, he fell to the ground, right next to Hero's body.

"Well now we have two to have fun with boys! But, let's head in and grab us some whiskey first!" A chorus of cheers followed that.

Supervillain was still out of breath by the time the men left to go get their alcoholic beverages.

"H-hey," he rasped, slowly bringing his hand to caress Hero's face. She was unconscious, but at his touch, her eyes blinked open.

"Hero?" Supervillain croaked, relief flooding his veins. He slowly sat up and dragged her limp body onto his lap. She groaned, and that was when he realized that he jostled a whole array of injuries.

They were tiny, nothing that a strong and healthy person like Hero wouldn't be able to recover from, but they were aimed to kill.

Unlike Supervillain's torture that aimed to cripple and harm him mentally and physically.

Those lethal injuries were knife wounds, some small, others large. They spanned from her chest, all the way through her torso and down her arms and legs. It was to be a slow, and painful death, Supervillain noted. None of the wounds touched a major artery.

"I'm gonna help you," Supervillain whispered, tucking a long, wavy piece of her hair behind her ear. "Like you did for me." When did he get so cheesy? Hero did this so much better.

"Y-you don't need to pay me for what I did," Hero murmured in reply, unfocused eyes focusing for just a moment. "I-i," she winced, groaning loudly, as her bloodstained hands gently brushed a particularly nasty gash.

Supervillain shushed her, putting a finger to her bruised lips. "Quiet," he said, and brought an arm under her knees and another supporting her upper body.

He gasped for breath as he lifted her limp and heavy body. His limbs shook with exertion, but he forced himself to walk... one step at a time.

He was nearly at the door, ready to press the botton to open the large, garage door, when something shot into his neck.

He gasped. Aching pain sprouted from the spot. Glancing down, he saw blue and white feathers.

A dart.

"No," he gasped, using his elbow to press the botton. He knew the tranquilizer. He had maybe ten minutes before the sedative would kick in.

He had to move.

Slipping under the door, he ran. Moving his stiff legs faster than they had in a while. He didn't look back- that would just slow him down.

He sat Hero on the seat, slid in behind her and drove away.

After about ten minutes, like Supervillain predicted, he started getting horribly tired. He glanced behind him to see an SUV slowly following him.

"Think," he whispered to himself, pressing his face into Hero's back. Around him was a dense forest. If he just turned...

His body acted without thinking it through. He turned sharply, only for the motorcycle to crash into the guardrail. Him and Hero went flying, crashing into trees.

Just before their bodies connected with the river below, Supervillain flipped Hero's body over so he would take the full shock of the fall.

His body hit the rushing water. Pain shot through his ribs. But before the tranquilizer fully hit, Supervillain was able to grab onto a tree trunk and throw Hero over it.

Then he blacked out as a wave of water crashed over his face.

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watchyourbluesturngolden · 4 years ago

Text

cats and babies

This is the first piece I’ve ever written so if anyone sees this be nice pls and thank u

There could be typos/ weird formatting, this was typed entirely on my phone

I also feel the need to say all of my medical knowledge is from Grey’s anatomy and googling things I saw on grey’s anatomy so this is probably not that accurate ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Word count: 6,160

Warnings: Car accidents, blood, angst (but with a v happy ending ofc bc sad endings are Not For Me), hospitals/medical stuff, again a very happy ending, I would like to emphasize the happy ending so no one gets scared away from reading this, did I mention there’s a happy ending?

"So, what'd'ya say? Chinese?"

They were deciding where to go for dinner after a long day of touring their favorite art museums. Harry and Y/N had been dating about two years now, and (cheesy as it sounds) they loved each other more and more every day.

"Chinese sounds great," Y/N smiled, glancing over at Harry. The golden sun reflected off his curls, making him look absolutely angelic.

He smiled, which turned into a chuckle, which turned into full blown laughter. She was confused. "What is it?" What's so hilariou- eyes on the road!!"

"Sorry, sorry," he laughed. "Nothing, just- do you-" he breathed slowly, calming down a bit. "Do you remember the first time we had Chinese food? She blushed, laughing with him at the memory.

Their first date had been... disastrous, to say the least. They had both been nervous, but both trying to act confident. They had decided on a nice, fancy, black tie restaurant, and Y/N was excited. When he picked her up in a limousine, she was hardly unable to contain herself.

However, their plan fell apart almost from the beginning. When they got to the place, a big red sign read "CLOSED FOR REPAIRS"

"Ooook... that's... weird," Y/N had grimaced. "What should we do now?"

"Uh... we could... try the one a few blocks over? Yeah, that's a good place too, I know the owner. He always has a table for me. That'll work!"

Y/N hasn't quite cared about the wrench thrown into their plans. She really liked Harry so far, and she though he liked her too. So she chirped "Sure! Sounds great."

She hadn't noticed how embarrassed he looked when he opened the car door for her. He couldn't believe his luck! He was finally on a date with a girl he really liked, really wanted to impress, and the best restaurant in town closed with no notice? How could this happen? But he shook it off, climbing in after her and alerting the driver of their change of plans.

When they got to the next place, Harry immediately got worried. It looked very crowded, and while the owner usually held a table for Harry, it didn't seem so tonight.

He pulled out his phone.

"Hey, Luke! Yeah, I'm great! Listen, do you by any chance have a table-" He paused, and then his face fell. His voice kept its happy tone, though. "No, no problem at all, I understand. Yeah, for sure, a different night. Thank you!" He hung up, looking more than a little dejected.

Y/N put a hand on his arm. "It's ok, I promise. I swear I didn't just agree to go out with you for the fancy food. We can go anywhere, 'Im really not upset!"

"Agh, thank you. You're very sweet. But really, you deserve a fancy place. Only it seems everyone in the world is determined to make sure we don't get to do that," He huffed. "Maybe..." And he pulled out his phone again. He glanced at her curious face. "How do you feel about Chinese?" He asked sheepishly.

Y/N beamed. "I love it," and there was no trace of insincerity on her face.

"Right then, Chinese it is!" he found the closest place on his phone, telling the driver the address.

After a few minutes of eating, Y/N looked around the table for a fork. She could handle big foods, like the chicken, with the chopsticks, but definitely not the rice.

Harry asked what she needed. She was a bit embarrassed to tell him she wasn't good enough with chopsticks to eat her rice, but he was kind about it. He helped show her how to use them without making too big of a mess. Still, she dropped half her plate on a napkin in her lap.

At the end of their meal, Y/N burst out laughing when she picked up her napkin. Harry looked at her, confused, until she placed what was basically a full serving of rice on the table. He was also unable to contain his laughter, to which Y/N responded by throwing a few grains of rice at him.

He threw a balled up napkin at her, and she blew a straw wrapper in his face. This escalated until she splashed what was left of her water glass on him. There was stunned silence for a moment, and Y/N thought she went too far. Then he looked at her and burst into laughter. She sighed in relief, laughing with him. "I'm sorry, that was too much," but she couldn't keep the smile off her face at the sight of the water dripping down his face.

"A little water never hurt anyone," he said, his eyes twinkling as he splashed her with his own water.

Y/N was pulled from the happy memory of their first date when the car skidded on the ice.

"Careful... if I'd known it was this slippery we'd have found a closer place," she said nervously.

"Nah, we've talked about this, the only good place is the one two towns over. I understand you love Minnesota and all but it is NOT the best place to find good Chinese food," he smirked.

"I will not have this Minnesota slander, not in this house. Maybe you're the issue, with your sophisticated taste and all," Y/N said, laughing at his disgruntled look. "Sophisticated? I took you for Chinese food on our first date. Nothing about that screams "sophisticated" to me."

"Yeah, but we were dressed VERY fancy. That counts," Y/N laughed.

"Oh really? that's what makes me sophisticated? alright then, you're right, I'm, extremely-"

The car slid just a little too far for Y/N's liking.

"Harry, are you sure it's safe to be driving on this? I think it's getting worse, and- look, it's starting to rain." She checked the weather on her phone. "Yeah, it's at that weird temperature where it's halfway freezing. The road will be worse on the way back."

"I think we're ok," He reassured her. "The car has 4 wheel drive, and I'll go slow. I think the biggest danger is us not getting our Chinese food," he smiled at her. "Uh, no," Y/N said, rolling her eyes. "I'd say the biggest danger is crashing and dying in a firey car wreck."

"Always so negative, Y/N," Harry laughed. "We're perfectly fine-" he spoke too soon, because right then the car slid again. A lot, this time. They almost slid right through a stop sign.

Y/N clutched the armrest.

"We're almost there, you better not kill me before I get my Chinese food, Styles. I finally know how to eat rice with chopsticks without..." She stopped halfway through her sentence because she was laughing so hard. "Without... dropping all of it on my lap."

They dissolved into giggles, especially when Harry said, "got any more water to throw at me?"

The car slid once more, and Y/N felt her pocket nervously. She had bought a ring for Harry. It was nothing too special, but it was the one year anniversary of the first time they had gone to an art museum together. She wanted to commemorate that with something special, so she had gone to the museum gift shop and found the perfect ring. It had a silver band, a little thinner than the rest of his, and a labradorite stone set into it. She thought it would complement his other jewelry nicely.

She kept her hand on the little box in her pocket, careful not to make Harry suspicious.

He wasn't looking at her, though; he was completely focused on the road. His hands gripped the wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Y/N felt a little more nervous seeing this. Harry was an excellent driver, and he usually had one hand on the wheel and the other holding hers. He only gripped the wheel this tightly when he felt unsafe driving.

Y/N looked out at the darkening sky. She was not a fan of storms, especially ones that make the roads icy. Like a true Minnesotan, she knew that under the right circumstances, a bit of rain could make it nearly impossible to drive.

A car sped past them, almost veering into their lane when it went over a particularly icy patch.

"Harry, really, I don't know if we should keep going," Y/N said nervously.

"I know, but I'm not sure what we should do. I think it's safer to just keep going and hope the rain stops. We're about 10 minutes away, but if we turn around it's almost a 2 hour drive."

"Yeah... you're right. It's better to just keep going. Just... go slow," Y/N said, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Stop doing that," Harry chided in a singsong voice.

"How can you even tell? you weren't even looking at me," Y/N laughed.

"I know how you are when you're nervous, Y/N. Biting your cheek won't do anything but hurt."

Y/N smiled. She had never had someone care this much about her. Someone who knew her this well, almost better than she knew herself. She was so hopelessly in love...

She was so busy thinking about what she would say when she gave him the ring that she didn't hear the horn blaring. She looked up just in time to see the truck driving straight down the middle of the road towards them.

She could tell instantly the driver of the truck couldn't do anything. He was sliding on the ice like they had before. Harry jerked the wheel to the right, moving the car out of the way.

It wasn't enough.

Y/N heard a horribly loud crashing noise, and then there was nothing.

Y/N shot straight up out of the bed she was in, gasping. Someone put their hands on her shoulders, trying to soothe her and get her to lay back down. She pushed the hands away as her vision came into focus. She was in a room filled with people and noise and 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦.

She panicked for a minute before she realized where she was. Clearly an Emergency Room. There were 4 doctors and nurses around her, checking her eyes, ears, reflexes, pulse, breathing. She threw her arms out to try and get some space. One of the nurses caught her hand, holding it in both of hers.

"Y/N, you're alright. You're in the hospital. You were in a car accident. Do you have any pain? Whe-"

"Harry! Where's Harry?? I need to see him, I have to, I have to go-" She stuttered as she pushed the doctors away from her, trying to get up again.

The same nurse held her back.

"Y/N, we need to make sure you're ok before you can get up. If you let us help, you'll be able to see Harry sooner. Can you lay back? Do you have any pain?"

"No, no I'm fine, I'm ok! I need to see Harry, I need to know if he's ok! Please!" Y/N looked frantically around at the doctors, hoping one of them knew something.

The doctor who appeared to be in charge ordered, "Someone go get an update on the guy they brought in with her. See how he's doing."

"Thank you, thank you so much," Y/N breathed, finally laying back.

"There we go. Do you have any pain Y/N?" The nurse asked again.

"No, I'm totally fine. I'm- " Y/N brushed her hair out of her face. When are brought her arm down, she saw that her hand was covered in blood. "I'm bleeding!" She cried, panicking.

"It's ok, it's not too bad," one of the doctors said, examining her head. "It looks like it'll need maybe 5 or 6 stitches. We can fix that up right away."

Y/N closed her eyes. How had this happened? Harry moved the wheel, she knew he did. How had they crashed this badly?

The doctor who had been sent to check on Harry came back into the room. Y/N snapped her eyes open, looking at her expectantly.

"He is stable. That's the important thing right now. However, he's been pretty badly injured. He broke his femur and clavicle. He has a small brain bleed, and he is covered in cuts from the glass. He's also pretty bruised from the airbag and seatbelt. He is intubated, because he was having some trouble breathing. He might need surgery to repair the brain bleed, but right now they're waiting and hoping it will get better on it's own."

Y/N exhaled. "But... he's ok? I mean... he's alive?"

The doctor smiled. "Yes. He's doing ok."

Y/N finally allowed herself to breathe. She noticed she was crying but she didn't do anything to wipe her tears away.

"Ok, Y/N," said the doctor stitching up her face. "I'm finished here. You need to stay here for a little while longer so we can monitor you. There is an IV in your arm to keep you hydrated. If you need anything, call for a nurse. Also, and this is important, don't get out of this bed without someone helping you. You've been through a lot today, but the adrenaline is wearing off, which might make you feel shaky. Do you need anything right now?"

"No, I'm... I'm fine. Thank you," Y/N said, wiping her eyes.

After he left her bed, she felt her pocket. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the ring still there. Then she mentally kicked herself for being worried about a silly ring when Harry was... no. She wouldn't let herself think that. Harry was 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦. They were both alive, and they were both ok.

About an hour later, a nurse came in. After confirming that she felt totally fine, Y/N anxiously asked when she could see Harry.

"I'm sorry, the ICU is family only," The nurse said. She really did look sorry, but this did nothing to make Y/N feel better.

"I- I'm his wife!" Y/N said quickly, not even thinking. She most definitely was 𝘯𝘰𝘵 his wife. She wasn't even his fiancee. She slipped the ring from her pocket onto her finger, then held up her hand to the nurse.

The nurse pretended not to notice the fact that the ring hadn't been there before, and that the ring was easily a size too big. "Oh! Then of course you can see him," She said, helping Y/N off the bed slowly. "I'll take you to his room."

"Thank you so much," Y/N said, taking her first few steps slowly.

"Careful- you're still attached to this IV pole," The nurse said, adjusting the tubing so it wasn't in her way. "You can hold onto it for support- yes, just like that."

Y/N got more nervous with every step towards Harry's room. What would he look like? Would he be in pain? Would he know who she was? Would he... be mad at her?

When she walked into his room, she almost started crying all over again. He looked, well, awful. He was covered in cuts and bruises. He had several tubes and wires connected to him, as well as a large tube taped in his mouth. He had a cast on his leg and a sling on his arm.

Y/N looked at the nurse who was taking his vitals.

"How is he?" She asked in a small voice.

"He's ok for now. He is stable, which is very good. He's unconscious, but we hope to see him wake up soon. You can sit with him, hold his hand, talk to him. If you need anything, just press the call button."

She left, leaving Y/N and Harry alone. This time, she really did start crying. This was awful, and it was all her fault. She was the one who wanted to go for Chinese food. She was the one who picked today, the first wintery stormy day of the year to go for a long drive. And now..

"Harry... Harry I'm so sorry," Y/N said, sniffling. She held onto his hand, the one that wasn't attached to a broken collarbone. "This is all my fault, and now you're... and I got off with nothing but a cut on my forehead, and it's not fair and I'm so sorry," She let out a sob.

She continued on like this, crying and talking and crying some more, for a few hours, before she fell asleep in the chair next to him. She woke up around 9 the next morning with a stiff next and puffy eyes. She looked at his face, still covered in bruises, and kissed his hand. The nurse came in to check on him and told Y/N to go get some breakfast, reminding her that she couldn't care for Harry if she didn't care for herself. Y/N reluctantly agreed, going as fast as she could. The nurse had disconnected her IV sometime in the night, and she could move much faster without it.

She got back to the room with her bagel and resumed her position in the chair right next to Harry. She talked to him as if he was awake, imagining she heard his beautiful voice responding to her.

She had managed to keep the crying to a minimum today. She kept telling herself that if- no, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 Harry woke up, she didn't want to look like a monster with red eyes.

Her phone had been found by some paramedics, so she found Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone online and began to read to him. It was a little weird, but Harry loved these books, especially when he was sick.

Y/N was used to just imagining she heard his voice with her in the room, but suddenly she heard something that wasn't her. She gasped.

"He's choking!! Nurse!!" She yelled for help, frantically pushing the call button. "Help!"

Several nurses rushed in. One ushered Y/N back and out of the room, telling her to give them space to work.

"What's- What's happening? What are they doing??" Y/N tried to go back in, but the nurse held her shoulders.

"He's trying to breathe over the tube, Y/N. That's a very good sign. It means he's breathing on his own," The nurse said, trying to keep Y/N calm.

"Does- does that mean he's waking up?" Y/N asked, not wanting to get her hopes up.

"Not for sure, but it's a very good sign."

After a few minutes, the nurses came out of Harry's room, looking excited. "Y/N, he's awake! He's very groggy and can't speak yet, but he is definitely awake. You can go in and sit with him again if you'd like. We gave him some more medicine for the pain, so you have about 15 minutes to talk before he starts going a little..." She made a swirling motion next to her head.

Y/N didn't care if he was high on morphine. She just cared that he was alive and awake and didn't... hate her.

Harry was laying in the bed, looking at her with great concern in his tired eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no noise came out. Y/N rushed over to take his hand.

"It's ok, they said you might not be able to talk for a little while yet. It's ok, I'm here, it's ok," Y/N said, smoothing his hair.

Harry cleared his throat, coughing. He gestured toward the water cup on his side table.

"Oh, of course." Y/N picked up the pitcher and poured him a glass, setting it in his good hand.

He raised the straw shakily to his lips as Y/N watched carefully to make sure he didn't spill. She gently lifted the cup out of his hands when he held it up to her.

His small smile was enough to make Y/N cry all over again.

"Oh, Harry," She cried, holding her head in her hands. "It's all my fault. I'm so sorry this happened, I did this to you- you almost died!"

"W-what?"

Y/N whipped her head up. "You can talk?" She said, overjoyed.

Harry coughed and spoke again. "Of course I can talk."

His voice was rough and it sounded like it hurt everytime he spoke, but it was the most beautiful thing Y/N had ever heard.

"What are you talking about, it's all your fault?" He rasped, looking utterly confused. "What even happened?"

With tears leaking from her eyes, Y/N explained all she knew, which still wasn't much. Harry remembered everything as she told him, both their eyes watering as her voice shook.

"Why... why're you crying? Does your forehead hurt? I can call the nurse..." He reached for the call button.

"No, no, I'm ok," She took his hand in hers. "I'm just so sorry, because it honestly is my fault, I'm the one who wanted Chinese food and picked 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 of all days to drive 2 hours away and-"

He cut her off by raising his finger to her lips.

"It's not your fault... it's mine. I'm the one who convinced you the only good Chinese food is so far away and I'm the one who was driving. I couldn't keep you safe..."

Harry had never looked so sad.

"No!" Y/N exclaimed. "Do you not see me right now? I'm absolutely fine, you did keep me safe. You swerved out of the way... wait a minute," She paused, realization hitting her. "You didn't think we could avoid the truck at all, did you? You knew it would hit us either way, but you made sure it would hit as far from me as possible."

Harry looked down. "I figured you're more important than me, I had to do what I could."

"Harry Styles!" Y/N whisper-yelled. "If you weren't so 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 I would 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘬 you right now! How could you do that? How could you put yourself in 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 like that?"

"Oh, that's actually why I got so injured, because I knew you'd try to hit me for this," He smiled charmingly at Y/N. She just scowled.

"Did you really expect me to just say, "oh well, guess she's a goner! bye Y/N! nice knowin' ya!" No, of course not. Of course I'd put myself in danger for you. Always."

Y/N's lip trembled. "Why do you have to be so romantic after you do such stupid things? it makes it really hard to stay mad at you," She said, wiping her eyes.

"Yeah, that was the goal there," He laughed.

Then he caught sight of the ring on her finger.

"That's pretty, when did you get that?" He mock gasped. "Did you get engaged while I was in a coma?"

“No," Y/N laughed. "It's funny actually. I bought it from the museum gift shop. I wanted to give it to you as a present, for the anniversary of the first time we went there together. I was going to give it to you over Chinese food, and it was going to be 𝘢𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 and 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘪𝘤 and 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭."

Harry smiled. "That's lovely of you, darling. Why... why's it on your finger though?"

"Oh! right." Y/N sheepishly pulled the ring off her finger. "They wouldn't let me see you because I'm not family, so I threw it on and said we were married," She said, blushing furiously. "Sorry about that."

Harry smiled. "Why are you sorry?"

"Um... we're 𝘯𝘰𝘵 married... so... I don't know, I just thought you might think it's weird, or, something..." Y/N finished lamely. She held the ring out to him.

"Happy anniversary."

"Why don't you keep it?"

"Right, of course, you don't need a reminder of this day," Y/N slipped the ring back into her pocket, on the verge of tears because she messed up 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

"No, that's not... I meant, why don't you keep it... on your finger?"

She pulled the ring out of her pocket again, looking confused. "Why?"

Harry plucked it out of her hand, holding it up to her. "Because I want you to marry me," He said, slipping it onto her finger with the sweetest smile she had ever seen.

Y/N smiled at him. "It's ok, Harry, you're very high on all the painkillers right now. I won't hold you to anything you say," She laughed a little.

"I'm not... why would I be on painkiller... oh yeah," Harry grinned, looking around. "I remember why I'm high right now."

"Riiight."

"I might be high, but I still want to marry you," he said is a singsong voice.

Y/N laughed. "Harry, why don't we talk about this when you're sober, ok?"

Harry pouted. "Please? Please marry me? I love you, and you're so pretty, and you're so nice to animals..." He started crying, apparently at how nice Y/N was to animals. "And... a cat! We can get a cat together!"

"Harry, baby, don't cry, of course we can get a cat," She gently wiped the tears from his bruised face.

"I won't stop crying until you say you'll marry me," Harry said defiantly, gripping Y/N's arm. "Pleeeaaase?"

"Ok, Harry, yes, I will marry you. Sure. You can stop crying now, ok?"

"That's good, I'm glad, because you're my favorite person, and I looooove you, and you're my baaaaby..."

At this point Harry was just singing random words, usually circling back to "baaaaby" and "looooove youuuu".

Y/N felt happy for the first time in what felt like years, while really it had been less than 24 hours.

Eventually, he wanted to see the ring again. Y/N held up her hand and he gasped.

"It's so beautiful! I'll buy you a real one though, a real ring for our real wedding. Then we'll get a real house and have real babies, and a real cat," He said, with the dopiest grin Y/N had ever seen.

"Oh? We'll have babies, huh? How many babies will we have?"

"3," He answered quickly. "Two girls and a boy. No... 4. Two of each. That way they won't team up one of them."

"Oh, sounds like you've thought about this a lot," Y/N laughed.

"Every single day since we started dating, you know why?"

"Why?"

He motioned for her to lean closer.

"Because I looooove you," He sang in her ear.

She pulled back, kissing his swollen cheek.

"You're a sweetheart," She said affectionately.

"So're you," He smiled.

"I kind of like drugged Harry," Y/N laughed. "He's very cute."

"Drugged Harry also likes drugged Harry, he feels like he's floating."

"Oh, so drugged Harry talks about himself in the third person?"

"He does now!" Harry smiled at her again. "Drugged Harry is tired... he's just going to..."

Then the monitors started beeping rapidly. Several nurses ran in, bustling around and shouting various medical terminology. Another nurse ushered Y/N out of Harry's room for the second time that day.

"No! No, I need to stay with him! I can't-"

"Shh... it's alright. They're going to do everything they can to help him. You have to let them help him. Why don't we go to the waiting room?"

Y/N exhaled shakily. If she couldn't stay with Harry, she might as well sit instead of hovering around the corner.

"Yes, let's go to the waiting room," She said, after a few deep breaths.

Y/N had been sitting on the waiting room for what felt like an eternity, but a glance at her phone told her it had only been 45 minutes.

A woman in a surgical gown approached her, and Y/N stood up quickly. "What happened?" She asked immediately.

"Unfortunately, your husband's brain bleed did not resolve itself like we had hoped. He is in surgery, and for right now he's doing well," the surgeon said, looking sympathetic.

"Ok... why did the monitors freak out? Did his heart stop? Is he going to wake up from surgery?"

"The monitors went off because his heart was having trouble, but they were able to resuscitate him through CPR and defibrillation. It's too soon to know if he will wake up, but the surgeon is hopeful. I will come back to update you as soon as I can."

"Ok, thank you," Y/N said, sinking back into her chair.

She felt a pain in her chest, like real, actual pain. What would she do without Harry? How would she live with herself, knowing he died trying to save her?

She caught a glimpse of the ring on her finger and choked back a sob. Would she tell people she was engaged? No, of course not. Harry had been completely out of his mind when he'd asked her.

She slumped down in her chair, wanting to curl up and cry. Instead, she called her mom. Through her tears, she explained everything that happened.

"Oh, honey," Her mom sighed. "I'm so sorry. I'm on my way. I'll be there in about 7 hours, I'm sorry it'll take so long. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?"

"No, I can't," Y/N sniffled. "I have to call Harry's family."

"Do you want me to do that? I wouldn't mind, they're-"

"No, mom, thank you, but I should. I- I'm going to go. Love you," Y/N said, hanging up the phone.

Checking her phone, Y/N realized it was the middle of the night in London where Harry's family lived. She didn't think she should wait, so she called Anne without another thought.

"Oh, Y/N, I'm so sorry. We're getting the soonest flight. We won't be there until tomorrow morning. Will you be alright alone? Is your mother coming?"

"Yes, my mom's on her way. I'm ok, thank you," Y/N said, rubbing her eyes.

After she hung up the phone, it set in just how exhausted she was. She had slept poorly the night before, because of the awkwardness of sleeping in a chair and because she was so, so, worried for Harry.

She drifted into a fitful sleep where she dreamed of cars crashing, rings flying around, and Harry standing just out of her reach. He was like a rainbow, the closer she got to him, the more he faded.

She startled awake and realized there were tears on her face. She checked her phone, seeing that it had only been 3 hours.

She saw the same woman from before approaching her, this time wearing just scrubs.

Y/ N stood to meet her.

"Harry is out of surgery and doing well. We were able to repair the brain bleed. His heart stopped on the table," Y/N gasped at this, "But we were able to get him back. His ribs will be very sore and possibly even broken. All that aside, he is doing well, Mrs. Styles, and you can see him now," She said, Leading Y/N to the elevator.

Her breath trembled as they walked towards his room.

Harry was laying in his bed, looking like a fragile child. Even though he was so much bigger than her, right now he seemed so... small.

Y/N looked at the nurse, asking to sit with him. She nodded and explained that two of his ribs were fractured and his collarbone would hurt him a lot when he woke up.

Y/N held his hand with a featherlight touch, unwilling to jostle him even the smallest bit.

After about an hour of her reading to him, she felt a small movement, barely even noticeable. Was it...?

She felt another movement. This time she was sure of it. He was squeezing her hand.

"I'm here Harry, I'm right here," She soothed, moving her chair closer to him.

He groaned sleepily before opening his emerald eyes and looking at her.

"Hi," he smiled, squeezing her hand again.

"Hi," Y/N said, crying more than a little bit.

"What... did... are you ok?" Harry's brow furrowed. He seemed to have a hundred questions, but he settled on asking how she was.

"Yes, Harry, I'm ok. How do you feel?"

"Hurts," he said, closing his eyes. "But if you're ok, so am I."

Y/N kissed his hand. "I see drugged Harry is still here? The one that is 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 cute and sweet?"

"No, he's not. This is just regular Harry. I can tell because everything 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 hurts," He said with a small grimace.

"Oh, I'll get the nurse. They'll give you something," Y/N started to get up, but Harry's grip on her hand tightened.

"Wait," he said pulling her back to him. "Before they make me go all loopy, I just want to say-" He paused, looking at the ring on her finger. "I love you, to my fiancee. I think it counts more when I'm not high."

"Your- your fiancee? Harry, I told you I wouldn't hold you to anything you said before. You weren't in your right mind at all, I didn't even think you'd remember saying all that."

"Yeah, but I remember asking you to marry me and you said yes. You might not be holding me to anything I said, but I'm holding you to that," He grinned. "You really want to deny a dying man his last... dying... wish?"

Harry flopped his good arm dramatically over his forehead, wincing at the motion. Y/N helped him slowly lower it again.

"First of all, you're not dying. Secondly, I don't want you to go through with this because you feel obligated, or because you think I'll be upset if you aren't ready to propose. It's totally fine, I promise, but why don't we talk about this when you're feeling better?"

"No, I feel fine," He insisted.

Y/N gave him a look. "Really? You do? Aren’t you the one who just needed help moving your arm?"

"Irrelevant. I feel fine, like, mentally. If you don't think you're ready to be engaged to me, that's ok. But don't say no because you think I didn't mean it. I did, with every part of me. I love you, and I want you to be my wife."

"...Really?" Y/N asked, cheeks heating up.

"Really," Harry smiled.

"And according to drugged Harry, you want to have a cat and 4 children."

Harry laughed, wincing immediately.

"Don't make me laugh, my chest really hurts," He said, still holding her hand.

"Sorry, sorry, they said you have some broken ribs. Also your collarbone. Also your femur. Geez, Styles, you're kind of a mess," You laughed.

"Yeah, really," He smiled. "But seriously, will you? Will you be my wife?"

"Of course I will, Harry. I love you so much, of course I will," Y/N said, gently kissing his cheek.

"Great," Harry beamed at her. "Now that we've worked that out, can you get the nurse? Drugged Harry is ready to make a comeback."

"Oh, right, sorry," Y/N said, reaching over for the call button.

The nurse came in, giving Harry more medicine.

"You'll start to have some relief within a few minutes," She said, leaving them alone again.

"One more thing Y/N," Harry said. She could already tell he was a little more relaxed. "I have to get you a ring!"

Y/N smiled, holding up her hand. "I already have one, remember?"

Harry waved her hand away. "No, no, a bride can't buy her own ring! What kind of... chivalrous... gentleman... would I be if I didn't buy you a beautiful ring?"

"Ok, Harry, as soon as you get out of here, we'll go ring shopping," Y/N promised.

"And... to the cat shelter? You said we could get a cat... a kitty, a cat, a little kitty cat..."

Harry had started singing mumbled words about cats and love and babies. Y/N knew it was going to be a long night. Still, she had never been happier.

#harry styles #harry styles/reader #harry styles/you #happy ending #car accident #fanfiction #the first thing i've ever written #reader insert #harry styles/reader fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you fanfiction #harry styles x reader fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfiction

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mycupoffanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Riding Lessons

Angel Reyes x Reader | Smut

Summary: Angel teaches the girl he likes to ride his bike, but they both get too distracted by each other to hold back their feelings any longer

Warnings: Pure smut, dirty talk, flirty Angel, semi public fingering, sex, light choking, slightly possessive Angel

Word count: Approx 1200

Masterlist

A/N: Hi my loves! This turned out a lot smuttier than I had intended 😅 please let me know if I didn’t get Angel’s character right as this is the first time I’ve written for him! Thank you @everyhowlmarksthedead for the request, I hope you enjoy it and it didn’t veer too far from what you requested! 💖 Also, thoughts on a possible part 2??

Angel bit his lip as he slowly guided your hips down, his dark gaze fixed on you, your body meeting his as you sunk onto his length, a soft, drawn out moan leaving your parted lips at the tingling stretch. “C’mon, take all of it baby.” Angel grunted, throwing his head back as you slid all the way down his length until he was fully seated in you.

“Ride me, make yourself feel good.” His words reached deep, his low voice sounding almost dangerous as he trailed his fingers over your soft skin, circling a nipple before Angel reached your lips, slipping his thumb between them.

Rolling your hips against his and bringing yourself up his length, all the way to the tip as you swirled your tongue around his thumb, Angel groaned at the sight of you, the way you captured him with your gaze, he’d never seen you like this before.

Breathless, glowing with a new energy he had never seen on you, blissed out from the orgasm he’d already given you on his bike and now as you sunk back onto his cock, Angel decided he didn’t need anything else, he didn’t need anyone else.

Not when you made him feel this good, when you made him feel like this, like no one else ever had before and fuck, you were gorgeous like this.

“Thought you looked fuckin’ hot on my bike, but fuck me querida,” Angel groaned as he slid his thumb out from between your lips and brought it down to your sensitive clit and he smirked, biting his lip as you gasped with pleasure at the feeling of his thumb circling the soft bud. “You look even better on me.”

Just over an hour earlier, you had been watching Angel as he leaned against his bike, taking a smoke break and wondering what it must feel like to actually ride a bike.

“Can you teach me to ride?” You had asked as you approached the biker, though you immediately wished you had added some context to your question, because as soon as you asked him, Angel looked over at you with the biggest smirk you had ever seen on the man. “Oh baby, you only had to ask.” He winked, obviously taking far too much enjoyment out of the flustered state the mere look he had given you had garnered. “I meant the bike.” You giggled shyly at him, though you certainly weren’t going to object to Angel’s idea of a ride, if it was offered.

He had barely been able to keep his hands to himself with you on his bike. God you were hot on his pride and joy, but he craved to see you on something else, on him. Angel had craved you for nearly a year, almost from the second he had met you and truth be told, you had felt the same since meeting him too, not that either of you were any good at admitting any feelings to each other.

But as usual, he had taken every opportunity to tease you and make everything you said dirty, which was probably a bad thing, because you were barely able to concentrate on what you were supposed to be doing - safely riding a motorbike, which was already difficult to do as it was with your nerves from trying something new.

After you had almost crashed into the bike shelter at the side of the clubhouse, Angel had decided you were done for the day, but he wasn’t ready to end things just yet.

The pair of you had been dancing around each other for months and seeing you on a bike, on his bike was turning Angel on more than he had expected it to. He wanted to take you then and there, but the chances of being caught fucking you against his bike in the middle of the clubhouse yard were extremely high and he’d rather have some privacy.

So Angel teased you, enough to make you needy and soaking with just his whispered words, hot kisses leaving soft marks across your neck and chest, until you were pleading for something, begging Angel for his attention.

“There you go baby.” Angel whispered to you as he sank ringed fingers into your wet heat. You were resting against his bike, just out of sight of the clubhouse. “Fuck Angel, that’s so good.” You whined, arching your back as he circled his thumb around your aching clit.

“You’re gonna cum, right here and then you’re gonna ride my cock. Do you want that, mi dulce?” Angel asked, his words hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear, his facial hair brushing against you and you wondered how it would feel between your legs.

“Yes, yes, fuck yes Angel. I want you.” You gasped out, desperately thrusting yourself against his fingers.

And that’s how Angel had ended up cock deep in your heat in Ez’s trailer, hoping the poor boy didn’t walk in on the absolutely sinful display taking place on his couch. “Oh fuck, querida, you’re taking it so fuckin’ good.” Angel could barely string his sentence together as you worked yourself on his length, your walls clenching and fluttering around him and he groaned, trying hard to hold back his own release.

“You gonna cum for me? Cum on my cock, mi dulce, let me feel you.” Angel spoke lowly, a hand resting on your hip, guiding you down his length and he groaned harshly at the way you rolled your hips after slamming down on his cock. “C’mon, I wanna see that pretty face again, I want you to fuckin’ look at me when you cum.” Angel told you, reaching up with his free hand to grasp gently around your neck, putting a little more pressure on your clit with his thumb.

Angel worked you closer and he watched you, hanging on the edge of your release. The look in your eyes was hot and hazy and soft as you let out a cry of pleasure that Angel was sure could be heard from outside of the trailer as your orgasm rolled through you. He grunted, mouth falling open as you clenched around him, your orgasm bringing Angel to his own.

“Fuck, take it all, mi dulce, let me make you mine.” He groaned, thrusting heavily up into you as he came, incoherent mumbling with the odd, distinguishable fuck, was all you heard from Angel. “I’m yours, Angel, I’m all yours.” You whispered softly, fingers tracing over his tattooed arms, unspoken feelings shared between you as your eyes met, both slowly coming down from your highs.

You relaxed, leaning down to kiss him, ringed fingers gently trailing over your skin, reaching up to caress your cheek as you kissed him, deep and slow and loving.

“You really know how to fuckin’ ride, querida.” Angel chuckled between lazy kisses to your lips and you hummed out a soft giggle as you moved your lips against his.

“I’m gonna have to give you some more riding lessons, mi dulce.” He winked at you, parting just enough to meet your eyes. “Maybe next lesson, you can ride this.” He grinned, pointing at his face, playfully sticking his tongue out at you. “Sounds important, when’s the next lesson?” You asked, playing along with him.

“Tonight, mi dulce.”

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@everyhowlmarksthedead @woahitslucyylu @trulysuccubus @iambabyharry

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@scuzmunkie @scarlett-berserker @megantje123 @sideeffectsofyou @veganfangirl5 @loving-life-my-way @searching-for-neverland @kitkatd7 @littlegangrel @shadycupcakefox @psychiccreationtaco @tony-stank3 @damienwitcher @thesewaywardskies

#angel x reader #angel reyes x reader #angel x you #angel reyes x you #angel x y/n #angel reyes x y/n #angel reyes #angel reyes smut #angel smut #mayans mc #mayans fic #mayans smut #mayans

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hybridfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Owner Training - 8

- YOONGI POV -

He knows exactly how long he’d lived on the streets. Seven hundred and fifteen days. Almost two years. Not long compared to many of the other hybrids that had roamed the area, but long enough for him. It had been cold and miserable, and he’d always had to fight for a spot under the park bridge when it rained. He’d been hungry and constantly sick, but it was still better than it had been living in any of his other previous homes.

He’d been smart when he left the last one, taking along his keyboard that a social worker had given him. Playing on that had allowed him to make enough money to keep himself fed, thanks to the guy that ran the convenience store and didn’t mind hybrids buying things for themselves. There was also the little old lady that ran a hostel nearby that let him pay for a shower and a nap, slipping him soup and sandwiches sometimes.

And then there’d been her.

The first couple of times he saw her hadn’t been some sort of love at first sight story. She’d simply been another face in the crowd that would stop by when he played, clapping and throwing some change in his bucket. It wasn’t until she’d asked if he could play Il Lamento by Liszt that he’d bothered to take a good look at her. Then once he’d looked, he couldn’t stop. Suddenly he noticed how pretty she was, how she always smelled sweet and clean with a hint of the same lemon and ginger tea every single day. How she never talked down to him.

Before long, he’d begun to look forward to her visits. Sometimes she’d bring him breakfast and chat for a while ( meaning he’d let her ramble on while he set up his spot for the day) before she left for work. Sometimes she’d stop by after a hard day at work and simply sit on a bench with her eyes closed, listening to him play. He always made sure to play something soothing on those days.

Occasionally she’d throw him way too much money which made him feel really awkward, so he’d offer to do something more to earn it. Usually, she just had him carry groceries or something else equally small just to humor him.

It was every time that she was too busy to show up that he realized he was growing alarmingly attached to this human. That was not a clever thing to do, and he’d always prided himself on being a smart and realistic guy. Humans weren’t to be trusted. They would pretend to be loving and caring, then the moment no one was watching they’d turn their hybrids into slaves and sex toys.

But then there was her, Ginger. That wasn’t her real name, of course, just what he’d taken to calling her in his head. She always smelled like the lemon and ginger tea she obviously drank often. He got so used to smelling it as soon as she arrived that he’d begun to equate that scent with...comfort? Home? He didn’t know. It’s not like she was his owner or anything, but his hind-brain was certainly attached to her.

The point was that he trusted this woman for some reason that he couldn’t quite figure out. She seemed genuine and caring, but so had others in his past. She seemed a little ditsy sometimes, but that wasn’t a bad thing exactly. It was kinda cute, to be honest.

So yeah, there were a few times he’d daydreamed about what life would be like if someone like her was his owner. Sure, he’d like to be able to not have to have an owner at all, but that wasn’t the reality of his life. Somehow, however, he thought if it was Ginger maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She was nice, really pretty, and seemed to like him just as much.

So maybe when the most horrible storm of the year had happened and he’d been shit out of luck getting a spot under the bridge, he decided to take a shot. Worst case scenario, she called Hybrid Control. Best, she’d let him stay for the night. So he’d run towards the familiar apartment building only to find that she was still at work. All the lights were off and the door was locked. He could have slept on the porch, and he’d had every intention of doing so until he’d seen the wide-open window.

He’d sighed in exasperation at her forgetfulness. Really, anyone could just jump inside the first-floor apartment and steal her shit. He’d been racked by shivers, the cold rain firming his resolve. Better to ask for forgiveness than die of pneumonia.

He’d climbed into the bedroom window, cringing at the muddy prints he made on the floor. He’d clean it up before she got home. He sniffed, nearly moaning in happiness. It smelled so great in her apartment. He could smell her everywhere. There were occasional scents here and there that weren’t hers, but they were so faint that they obviously belonged to visitors.

He’d been terrified, honestly, but he’d been so desperate and lonely and just emotionally drained that he’d decided fuck it. If she freaked out and kicked him out on his ass, well, better to get it over with now before he got even more attached.

So he’d turned on the heat, showered, and grabbed some sweat pants from her dresser. At first, he hadn’t meant to fall asleep in her bed. He’d planned on just sitting there and waiting for his doom, but then the heat was so nice and the covers looked so soft and smelled so much like her that he figured just for a minute. He’d just try it out for a minute because it had been so long since he’d slept in such a nice bed.

When she’d woken him up after she came home, he’d been terrified. Of course, he’d long mastered the art of seeming nonchalant even while his heart was pounding so hard he was afraid it would burst. So he’d bluffed his way through, hoping that she was really as much of a bleeding heart as she’d always seemed.

Thank fuck she was, because she simply allowed him to stay with minimal fuss. In fact, he’d even gotten her to go along with him living there instead of just for the night. Of course, she’d obviously been too confused by what was happening to protest anything, but once again her ditziness was part of her charm.

That first night in her bed would live in his memory forever. It wasn’t like much had happened, but it was something to him. He’d felt...safe. Probably the last time he’d genuinely felt that way had been when he was a kitten and didn’t know any better. But laying next to her wrapped in warmth and her scent, their legs tangled together and his tail pulling her close...he’d been safe.

The days that had followed were like a dream. Every time he thought it was time for her to show her true colors, she’d surprise him instead by showing that her heart was bigger than her brain. Despite the way he forced himself into her life, she made every attempt to make him feel like he belonged there. She took him shopping, tried to cook for him despite being horrible at it, bought him a cell phone so that she could text him while she was at work. She went out of her way to find his favorite foods and shows and anything else she could spoil him with. She took care of him when he was sick and always let him sleep in the bed with her.

After a while, he began to forget that there was a time before her. There were still times where he’d call himself a fool for trusting a human, but she just had to smile at him like he was her whole world for him to think that she was the exception. She was the real deal and he wanted to be good enough for her.

When he realized that his feelings were veering into the forbidden territory of maybe actually loving this dumb human, he’d been terrified once again. Would it be better to keep it to himself and learn to live with it when she eventually got into a relationship someday, or tell her and risk losing her completely? Because, while she’d never treated him like a pet he was still a hybrid. Hybrid and human relationships were still viewed as “kinky,” something he didn’t think she was...well, not without a bit of training in the future anyway.

Learning that her own brother was in an actual committed relationship with his hybrid had been an eyeopener. She’d never expressed a single bit of disgust or disdain towards the relationship at all. They simply were a regular couple in her mind. Despite the small bump with the way she introduced him to people, he thought maybe that meant she would be okay starting something with him. Honestly, he sometimes got the feeling that she did have feelings for him already and just didn’t realize what that meant yet. He’d learned that Ginger needed to have things pointed out to her plainly in order to understand, so maybe even this was that sort of situation.

So, when his heat suddenly snuck up on him after years of being completely irregular, he’d figured what could be plainer than waving your dick around?

Truthfully, he’d been a little worried that she’d freak out, but at the same time when you’re overcome with loving someone and extreme horniness you don’t make the best decisions. Thankfully, what had followed had been the best sex of his life. And even more amazing, she’d admitted that she loved him back. Him! She actually loved him even though he was a grumpy asshole most of the time and he knew it. But luckily for her, she always brought out his softer side and he’d do anything for her.

He wanted to stay with her forever. To love her, mate her, see her belly swell with their children. To wipe her tears when she’s sad or comfort her when she’s worried. He wants to be there when she’s old and grey to remind her every day that she’s still beautiful.

He still had a long way to go to be worthy of her, but he’d spend his whole life trying.

****

It's a little short, I apologize. I've been working like crazy, but I am working on many more chapters for this as well as my other stuff. Lots of things in store for these kids. I just felt like we needed a peek into Yoongi's brain real quick.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #hybrid!bts #hybrid #hybrid fanfiction #hybrid!yoongi #cat hybrid!yoongi #owner training #hybrids #ungnyeo

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fulokis · 4 years ago

Text

Wrote this little dadneto in the MCU thing, so have fun. ‘

____

Erik Leshner stood in the collapsed building, next to the bomb siting on the floor looking harmless. He could barely look at the destruction around him. He had left his children in their hands, two of the only people in the world who knew why he had to abandon the twins. Now they were gone, their bodies lie somewhere underneath the rubble their last breaths long gone from their lungs.

The songs of war had moved into the distance, leaving their path of destruction in their wake. A path that his children had been right in the middle of. Erik wanted to scream, to tear the broken building off of its foundations and throw it far away. But deep down he couldn't, he was still too numb from hearing about the tragedy. Not only that but he couldn't destroy the resting place of the Maximoffs no matter how hard he tried.

Irena and Oleg, Erik wasn't even sure how he had known them. Perhaps it was through Magda, or perhaps he pondered he had known one of their parents a long time ago. Either way he knew them and despite being so closed off, liked them. They liked him too, by some twisted logic they trusted him and adored him like family. So when he ended up at their door asking them to take the twins, the only reason they hesitated was to make sure Erik had been sure of the decision.

Erik had never been sure of the decision. Now standing here among the wreckage he felt even less sure, as if he had made the wrong one. One of thousands of wrong decisions that he had made in his life. One of many more yet to come. Still Erik couldn't help but wonder how any of this would have turned out had he decided to keep the twins with him. He told him self over and over again that the outcome would have been worse. He could have had an attachment to them, and then have them ripped away from him. Just like so many other people he had cared for throughout his life.

Erik turned to face the giant hole in the building. Snow and ash fell on his hair making it look much more gray than it was. The smell of the cold mixed with the smell of burning wood and plastics from the nearby rubble where buildings once stood. Erik couldn't help but turn again to take a look over the destroyed apartment, hoping to find the bodies to give them a proper burial. All he could see were the shattered remains of items that had belonged in the apartment. Most items held little to no significance, a broken TV playing some sort of sitcom, the couch where they had told the Maximoffs that they were expecting, the small guest bed strangely still intact.

Erik took a double take, the bed as he had remembered it was hardly steady. For it to survive the initial bomb blast was nothing short of a miracle. An extremely unlikely occurrence considering there was what appeared to be a defective bomb sitting right next to it. That's when he noticed the room itself was not nearly as damaged as it should be. One side had been obliterated, whilst the other remained almost perfectly intact. The other three small rooms of the apartment seemed to be gone themselves, with nothing but piles of concrete in their place.

Erik walked over slowly to the bed and closed his eyes in relief as he heard the squeak of a terrified child from under the bed. Erik chose a slab of concrete to sit down on, trying to make himself less intimidating to the child underneath the bed "Its okay I'm a friend." He said in broken Sokovian.

"You don't speak Sokovian that well." Came a young boy's voice from underneath the bed.

"No I don't. You however speak English quite well for someone your age."

"I'm not young your just old." The child said sticking his face out slightly eyeing Erik with curiosity.

"Peitro don't." A second child's voice came out from under the bed, much softer than the boy's.

"It's okay I don't bite." Erik said, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. They had both survived, and since they had survived one or both of them had manifested their powers.

"What are you doing here?" The boy asked still timid but not nearly as much as his sister.

"I was looking for survivors Peitro." Erik said.

"Hey how'd you know my name!" Peitro yelled.

"Your sister told me." Erik replied knowing he just lied to his kid.

"Oh." Peitro said, inching further out from under the bed, "You look funny, kinda like the people on the TV."

"Peitro!" The girl cried slapping him on the arm.

"Wanda what was that for?!"

"You don't know if we can trust him, besides that wasn't nice." Wanda said.

"You can trust me Wanda." Erik said, "I won't hurt you I promise."

A DVD case flew out from underneath the bed, clearly propelled by something other than a child's physical hand. Erik attempted to dodge the object but failed when it veered off what appeared to be its projected course, hitting him in the shoulder. Wanda peaked out a bit testing the water trying to see if Erik was telling the truth. "You promise?" She asked hesitantly.

"I promise." Erik said reaching a hand out. The girl slid from under the bed into the pale light of the street lamps reflecting off the snow. Erik had expected her to be covered in bruises and cuts, but all he could see was dirt and grime. "What day did this happen?" He asked softly his heart sinking as Wanda took his hand. She looked pale, and it was clear that she hadn't had any food or water in a day or two.

"Friday." She said a distant look in her eyes. Erik could feel his heart clench, last he had checked his watch it was one in the morning on Monday. These children— his children had been stuck up in the building for two full days. Sitting waiting for either the bomb, the exposure, or the lack of food and water to kill them. Erik silently cursed as a tear ran down his cheek. "Are you okay?" Wanda asked.

Erik took his free hand and wiped the tear away, "I'm okay." He said to her trying to reassure himself that he wasn't about to lose it and add to the chaos. "A little ash in my eye that's all."

"What's that?" Peitro asked pointing to the tattoo on Eriks wrist.

Erik looked down and slid his sleeve up a little more so that the twins could see. "I'm an orphan like you." He said quietly, "Some very bad people took my parents away from me. Then they gave me this tattoo and told me to work. There was a lot of killing, and a lot of families were torn apart."

"Are we gonna get torn apart?" Wanda asked.

"No." Erik said, "You two won't because I know you two will stick to each other like glue."

Wanda turned to face Peitro and the boy nodded. "Are you going to take us with you?"

Erik felt his heart sink. That was the exact question he was asking himself. "No, I can't. My work doesn't leave me much time for family."

"What do you do?" Peitro asked.

"Why are you here then?" Wanda asked.

"Slow down." Erik said aiming the comment towards his son than his daughter. "I work on top secret missions for the US government. Missions that don't allow me to have a family." Erik said knowing he was yet again lying to his children. "As to your question Wanda, I knew your parents."

"I would remember you." Wanda said.

"I knew your parents a long time ago, before you were born. I'm sure I knew them as very different people than you did. When I heard about what had happened I had to see. I'm glad the two of you are alive."

"Barely." Peitro said "I'm starving."

"How about this, I take you back to my hotel room and you can clean up and sleep? I'll take you two to the orphanage in a couple days." Erik said knowing it was a stretch. The truth was he needed to make himself scarce soon otherwise the authorities would find him, an occurrence that was sure to become nasty.

"No." Wanda said, "We go to the orphanage in the morning."

"I understand." Erik replied. He did understand, to the twins he was a stranger. A stranger looking to use them rather than it being out of the kindness of his heart. They were probably right, had they been any other kids he would have used them, or even disregarded them and left them to die.

"What now?" Wanda asked.

"Tell us a story!" Peitro said, running to where the bookshelf used to be at a slightly inhuman speed. "Aww they’re gone." He grumbled running back to his sister and Erik.

Erik smiled softly, Magic and superhuman speed, just what the situation would have needed. Magic was in the twins veins, and their mother was quite gifted with her magic. Speed on the other hand seemed to be a new addition to the mutant tree, but that didn't mean that it wasn't predictable. After all Peitro had seemed to be constantly moving around in the womb, and the one time Erik had called Irena, she told him they couldn't stop Peitro from running off.

"Do you have any stories?" Wanda asked looking at her father.

"Yes I do Wanda. Not in books though, stories in my head."

"Tell us one!" Peitro yelled.

"I know the perfect one." Erik said standing up and sitting on the guest bed back against the wall. He patted next to him and one twin sat on either side of him. "A long time ago there was this group of people..."

"Is there any action?!" Peitro asked.

"Why is it always fighting?" Wanda asked "Why can't you accept a peaceful story about people?"

"Shh, there's plenty of both." Erik consoled the twins before starting the story again. "This group of people were fighting for people like them, people who were different."

"Different how?" Wanda asked.

"These people had powers, abilities beyond your wildest imaginations. They fought so others like them and their children could live in a world that accepted them. Some of them looked different, and had strange appearances. Some of them looked like you or me, but had powerful abilities that one would never be able to guess."

"Like flight?" Peitro asked.

"Yes like flight." Erik confirmed the soft smile returning to his face, "They created silly little names for each other, each one embraced a part of who they are. They called themselves the X-men."

"Are the X-men real?" Wanda asked.

"Maybe they were. This was so long ago no one is quite sure. I doubt if they were real they are still around anymore." Erik said pausing to collect his thoughts. It had been so long ago on the beaches of Cuba where he had stood, in his mid twenties and full of rage and anger. That man that had stood there was gone, replaced with a much more dangerous combination of those primal emotions.

"Keep going?" The boy asked leaning in closer to Erik.

"Only if you don't interrupt any more." Erik teased.

"We won't we promise." Wanda said sending a glare towards her brother.

Erik continued to tell the twins the exploits of the X-men. How in the end they saved the world, and how they were held as heroes among the people they had fought so hard to gain acceptance from. How in the end they were forced to keep themselves a secret for fear that they would be hunted down despite their heroics. How even though heroes can do all the right things sometimes life makes them walk a different path.

Erik finished the story and looked down. Both twins were snoring softly, having fallen asleep likely for the first time in days. Erik couldn't keep in the tears, he could feel as they ran down his face. The cold making the trails of moisture they left behind burn on his skin.

He still remembered the last time he had held them like this. Three days after they were born Magda had come down with a fever. Three days after that she was dead, not even the hospital was sure what had happened. Erik still could feel as both newborns were in his arms fast asleep unbeknownst about their mother in pain and agony next to them. He could still feel the tears as he watched the doctors rush in to try and save her. The numbness when it was all over and when the sun rose. He still felt the pain, sometimes as if it were happening all over again.

That was the first time the twins had lost their parents. Erik knew he changed after that, he always knew he would. Now sitting here holding the twins he realized they never even knew that they had lost their parents before. For them this was the first time they had experienced this, pain that lasts for a life time. Erik had given them up so they wouldn't have to experience this in the event he got into some trouble he couldn't simply solve with magnetism. Ironically that didn't save them. The act meant to save them and let them be children had failed.

So what was stopping him from taking them home? Living a quiet life somewhere? Erik knew the answer, he was afraid. Afraid to loose again. He knew that if he knew them, and then lost them things would go bad very fast. He didn't want that, Magda, his mother, anyone who had loved him, didn't want that. The anger and rage he held would explode, and Erik knew that if he were to explode the world might not be around anymore.

Peitro stirred a bit, and Erik looked down to make sure he was still asleep. Both twins looked a lot like their mother. They had inherited the dark brown hair and the same shaped nose. Peitro's eyes were just like Magda's. Wandas eyes were like his own, as well as her personality. Erik feared for her, not about what had happened but rather what would happen and what events might set her down an even darker path than the one she walked.

Erik sighed, exhausted from finding his way to the small country. He had seen the news, the several city blocks leveled by bombs. Thousands dead by the estimates and thousands more injured. He had come as fast as he could, unfortunately he feared he was not fast enough.

He pulled both twins in closer to him, in the hopes that his body heat would be able to keep them alive for the next few hours. Neither one seemed to mind or maybe they were to tired to even care. For a second Erik could imagine that they were at the little home he and Magda had bought, sitting in the room with the skylight watching the stars. But they weren't and they never would. Erik placed a small kiss on the top of each twins head before drifting off to sleep himself.

Hours later he was woken by the flashlight of a Red Cross worker. Erik wasn't expecting them to have shown up, but it was for all the better considering the twins had to go back into normal society. Although most people would write the story of him floating the three of them in the air down to the ground as the overactive imagination of a child.

The volunteer that had climbed over the building started speaking Sokovian. Erik could barely understand them, and neither twin was up, "Ich spreche Deustch." Erik said without thinking.

"Um." The young woman said, "Do you speak English?"

Erik chuckled, "Yes I speak English."

"Are you hurt? Are either of your kids hurt?" She asked, slowly trying to remember the right sounds to say.

"No. The kids need food and water though." Erik said softly looking at the twins. They looked worse than they had previously, something Erik attributed to the lack of light at night.

"You are fine?" She asked confused.

"Yes, I'm a friend to their family." Erik said.

"You were not here when the bombs dropped then?"

"No." Erik said.

"Can you carry them?" The woman asked signaling some people at the bottom of the building.

"Yes." Erik said, "One at a time though." The woman nodded at him and Erik stood up sliding Peitro to lie on the bed while scooping Wanda in his arms. Erik nodded at the young woman and she helped direct him to the edge of the building where there was a makeshift rope ladder. Erik took hold of the ladder with one hand holding tight onto Wanda. Erik climbed down carefully trying to protect Wanda from the wind blowing snow and ash their way. Erik made it down and placed Wanda on a makeshift bed in the back of a pickup truck. Erik repeated the same thing with Peitro nearly falling a couple times due to the wind.

Erik placed Peitro next to his sister and looked at the two of them sleeping peacefully next to each other. He sighed knowing what had to come next. He didn't have the heart to wake them up, they needed their sleep. "Don't loose each other." He started to whisper to them "Don't let anyone push you down. Stand up for one another and stick together. The world is hard and cruel, having someone by your side will soften the blows. I wish I did. Don't forget who you are either, don't loose yourselves to the pain and rage. Just remember who you are and you'll be fine."

Erik stood up and looked at the young woman who had climbed down after him. "Can I trust you'll get them somewhere safe?"

"You are not taking them?" She asked confused.

"No." Erik felt his voice crack, "I can't." The woman nodded at him and the small band of volunteers packed up the area. Their sweep had yielded no one except the twins and there was no reason for them to stay in the area. Erik watched as they climbed in the back of the truck protecting his kids. He watched as the trails of exhaust disappeared off into the distance. That was it he knew, he was lucky to even get this chance. For the second time in his life Erik Lehnsherr had abandoned his children, and this time he was even less sure of his decision. But now it was over, he would never see them again, and he knew that was for the best.

#dadneto #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #erik lehnsherr #magneto #Scarlet Witch #quicksilver #fanfic #mcu #xmen #x-men

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