#But this is stupid he’s only exacerbating the situation with any more word he says let alone the petty picture dropping to try and prove | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ckret2 · 8 months

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Chapter 17 of Human Bill Causes Problems And Ruins Relationships On Purpose (title TBD), featuring: Mabel and Ford, not letting their relationship be ruined.

They're gonna be okay.

Also: weird donuts, cool crystals, and summer class.

####

Mabel was out of sight by the time Ford exited the shop—stupid, why hadn't he chased her the second he saw her run? He knew Mabel was fast. He circled the block calling her name—there was nowhere she could have gone, this mixed-use building was surrounded by residential houses—and then he hurried back to the parking garage, worst case scenarios tumbling through his head.

When he spied her leaning against the trunk of Stan's car, he heaved a sigh of relief. "Mabel! You shouldn't run off like that in a strange city. Anything could have happened."

Mabel tightened her crossed arms, glaring at her shoes. "I'm better at taking care of myself than you think."

Ford's shoulders slumped. He stood there useless, the silence thick between them, grappling for something to say to cut through it.

He never did well with these thick, awkward, choking moments—the moment before Stan left home, the moment after Fiddleford left the portal project, all the moments on the phone with his parents or with Shermie when he couldn't think of anything they'd be truly interested to hear about his life or any questions he truly wanted them to answer. He'd lost a lot of relationships in those moments. "Mabel—you're not in trouble, and I'm... I'm not mad at you."

"Being disappointed isn't better."

"I'm not disappointed, either. Just... concerned."

Wrong word. Mabel looked up at Ford with a dark, furious look that reminded him unnervingly of a look Bill had given him a few days ago. (He still hadn't learned to identify this as the hallmark gaze of the defiant teenager.) Then she glared at the ground again. "I wanna go home."

If he took her home, it would be an agonizing hour and a half silence—and what were the odds she'd just run to Bill and tell him he'd been "right," and he'd fill her head with more poison? It was far too late to forbid her from talking to him without exacerbating the situation. Ford could force her to stay right here in Portland until he'd talked to her—he had the keys, the driver's license, and almost fifty years' seniority—but if he did that, she'd tune out anything he said.

And she'd be right to. Who was he to her except the other uncle, the one who'd spent a year lavishing attention on her brother and only asked to spend time with her as a trap to give her a lecture?

He leaned on the car trunk next to her and looked down at the top of Mabel's head. She was wearing a headband studded with rhinestones and plastic ruby earrings. She'd dressed up for this. Ford swallowed hard. "Mabel, I'm an idiot."

She didn't say anything.

"I am. I'm a fool. I put all my skill points in intelligence and zero in charisma." He paused. "Which... that sentence probably makes self-evident." He cleared his throat. "I started out bad at socializing, and not interacting with humans for thirty years didn't make me any better. So I don't have any idea what I'm doing here. But... I asked you to come here with me because I really do want to spend more time with you; and because Bill hurt me, and I love you too much not to make sure you're protected against him doing the same to you."

He put a hand on her shoulder, and when she didn't tense up or pull away, he went on: "I think I tried to do too much in one trip, and it just made what should have been a fun time... awkward for you. But, if it helps, it's awkward for me, too. We can be awkward together. We're on the same side, I promise."

Mabel let out a loud, snotty sniff. "You... really do wanna hang out with me?" Quieter, she asked, "Not just Dipper?"

"Of course I do!" Ford said. "But I don't blame you for doubting me. I... know I've spent less time with you than with Dipper. I thought he needed me more. I'm sorry it took this to make me make time for you like I should have all along."

"Was... was there ever really a crystal store on the highway?"

"There was! I promise! I honestly don't know what happened to it! Maybe when I was coming from the airport Soos took a different exit than I thought? Or maybe a truck got between us and the sign as we were passing it and we didn't realize, but—"

He was getting off topic. The mystery of the crystal store wasn't what was important here. Reel in the puzzled scientist for a moment and be an uncle. "But—I swear Mabel, I didn't make up a story just to get you out here. I truly wanted to go to a crystal shop with you, hand on my heart." He put his hand on his heart. "That's a full finger more sincere than normal."

Mabel let out a choked giggle. She finally looked up at Ford, eyes red, cheeks tear streaked, but fighting to smile through her tears. "Grunkle Ford, I—" She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his sweater. "I'm not trying to ruin summer again, I promise! All I'm talking to Bill about is preschool cartoons and arts & crafts! Sure, he's—he's been nice since I helped him out, but—that doesn't mean I've forgotten who he is or what he can do..."

"Mabel, you didn't ruin last summer." Ford knelt down and hugged her back. "Bill did. Never forget that. I'm just trying to prevent him from doing it again."

Mabel nodded, unconvinced. "He couldn't have ruined it by himself."

"You're right. He couldn't. Which is why I was so wrong to keep the rift secret from everyone in the house but Dipper. I was trying to keep you safe, but you never would have fallen for his lies if I'd armed you with all the information you needed."

He leaned back from Mabel and patted his briefcase. "That's why I'm doing things properly this time! I'm prepared to educate you on every trick Bill has ever borrowed from the books of con artists, cult leaders, and serial manipulators. If you're going to talk to him, you'll know the rules of every mind game he plays before he starts playing them." He unzipped his briefcase and pulled out some of the research materials he'd assembled to prepare for this conversation. "I'm afraid even that might not be enough to fully protect you against his devious tricks, but if you keep your guard up and regularly check in with the rest of the family, then—"

Mabel looked in Ford's briefcase and exploded in a peal of laughter. "Grunkle Ford, are you making me go to school in the summer?! Gross!"

Ford blinked. If this was Dipper, he'd have been delighted at the educational opportunity. This just went to show how much he still needed to learn about Mabel, too. "Come now, Mabel. There's no greater defense against the shadowy forces of deception than the light of knowledge!"

Mabel laughed again. "You nerd!"

Ford grinned. "But, I'll try to make it fun, too."

"Okay, I'll take your psychology class. Bill-proof me! Arm me with knowledge!" She raised her arms like she was flexing her biceps.

"Great!" Ford rummaged through his briefcase. "I'll start with the broad strategies I've seen or heard of him using to isolate his victims, then narrow in on specific tactics he uses to steer conversations his way. First we'll go over the B.I.T.E. model of authoritarian control, and—"

Mabel put a hand on his shoulder. "How about we start with lunch?"

Ford paused, then let out a huff. "Yes, of course. We should eat."

They got in the car and went looking for a restaurant.

####

They had lunch at a burger place, and Ford told Mabel everything he could think of about how Bill operated—all guided by copious research notes.

To his relief, Mabel never got bored. Instead, she immediately related his lesson back to things she'd already seen Bill do: how easily he'd gotten her, Dipper, and Soos to do his job for him inside Stan's mind, or how he'd tried to turn Mabel and Dipper against each other during Mabel's puppet show. When she admitted what Bill had said to make her worry about talking to Ford, he confessed how Bill had turned him against Fiddleford—and how he'd done it with just a couple comments. All he'd had to say was that Fiddleford might not be committed enough to the portal project, might not be bold enough to finish, and Ford's mind had done the rest.

Ford hadn't even told Dipper about that part—instead, he'd just let Dipper read it in his journal. Ford had yet to so much as talk to Fiddleford himself about it. It was shameful to admit out loud; but less so when he knew he was talking to someone else who'd very nearly been fooled the same way—and that sharing his story might save her from repeating it.

They wrapped up lunch, moved to a nearby shop called Druid Donuts for dessert, and continued their conversation on one of the picnic tables outside. Mabel got a donut wizard with a pretzel stick wand and purple cream filling, and Ford tried out a donut with jelly beans on top. The jelly beans were kinda stale. He plucked them off and ate them anyway.

Mabel sighed, "Grunkle Ford, I'm so sorry I let Bill make me doubt you."

"Bill has that effect on people. When I had this same talk with Dipper, he tried to shoot me with the memory gun in case Bill was possessing me."

"Dipper never mentioned that!" Mabel laughed; but it quickly petered out as she remembered who had ultimately gotten memory gunned over Bill.

She gazed thoughtfully down at her wizard. (She'd eaten off one of his arms, half his robe, and licked out the purple cream filling.) "What made Bill so awful?"

"I sorely wish I knew," Ford said. "I spent half my life trying to find out where he came from, along with how to defeat him. All I ever learned is that he's from a two-dimensional realm—and he destroyed his dimension, friends and family included, for power."

Mabel's eyes widened.

"But... why? I still don't know. He told me he found his home 'restrictive'—but I imagine any limitations would feel restrictive to someone who's seeking omnipotence, so I have no idea what that truly means." Ford looked down at his donut. He'd plucked off all the jelly beans and sorted them into two piles on a napkin, one of regular beans and a smaller one with a few deformed ones. He popped a couple of beans in his mouth.

"It's weird," Mabel said. "It's like... I'm trying to hate him, but it's hard. It was easy last year! And I know who he is, and I know that all this"—she pointed at Ford's bag full of notes—"is going on in his head, but—when I talk to him, he just seems like... not a different person, but a—a normal person. I don't want to not give that person a chance just because he's Bill. You know? Does that make sense?" Mabel grimaced. "Or is that just how good he is at acting?"

Softly, Ford said, "I think it does make sense. Actually, even after everything he's done to me... since he's been locked up with us, I've—had a moment or two like that. I don't think he's doing it on purpose. I think it's a natural side effect of being in such close proximity to him."

Ford had been thinking a lot about his bizarre burst of compassion on the night Bill burned off his hair. He'd wondered if, maybe, putting a human face over Bill had made Ford see him as a new person. But that wasn't right. Like Mabel had said: Ford didn't see this human Bill as a different person, but rather...

Ford had obsessed over Bill for thirty years. He'd combed the multiverse for information about Bill's history, his state of existence, his potential weaknesses. But in all that time—in all that time, he hadn't once spoken with Bill.

He'd spent half a lifetime moving amongst people who saw Bill as a symbol, a legend, a cosmic force. He'd come to see Bill the same way. A threat, a target, an idea. He'd spent so many years picking a scant few hours of conversation with Bill to shreds that—he was now beginning to realize—he'd half convinced himself that Bill didn't actually have an identity beneath his lies.

It wasn't that seeing a human face made Ford forget that this person was Bill. It was that seeing a human face made Ford remember that Bill was a person. Ford had gotten so used to hating Bill the symbol; had he ever learned how to hate Bill the person? Or had he just let himself believe Bill wasn't a person at all?

Treating Bill like an idea rather than a person was useful enough when Bill was some distant foe. But now Bill was here. Ford couldn't let himself go soft just because Bill was capable of filling space in a window seat and tripping on the furniture and waking screaming from nightmares and regretting a stupid haircut.

Bill had been a person every other time Ford had tried to kill him, too. And that didn't change the fact that he needed to die.

And Mabel—who had so much less practice with hatred than Ford had—was struggling with the same thing.

"You want him to make sense," Ford said. "I understand that completely. Once we see somebody as a person, it's hard to see them as a monster, even if that's what they are. Our minds think monsters want to destroy the world, not play weird chess games. Seeing him as just a monster would be safer for everyone—but, as long as he's imprisoned and powerless, all he can do is be a person."

Mabel thought that over. "Yeah," she said. "You can hate somebody or you can get to know them, but you can't do both."

Ford could think of a few people he'd only hated more the better he got to know them, but he supposed Mabel was kinder than him. "More or less."

"How do you deal with it?"

"By avoiding him."

Mabel's gaze dropped back to her donut wizard. She ate his wand and other arm.

Ford took a deep breath. "Mabel... knowing everything you know now, do you still want to keep talking to him?"

Her neck sank down into her turtleneck. "Do I fail your class if I say yeah?"

Ford smiled sadly. Was she too kind for her own good, or—like Ford—too curious? "I thought you might say that," he said. "Follow-up question: are you prepared to be disappointed when he doesn't live up to your hopes? And I do mean 'when,' not 'if.' You're offering him a charity I don't think he's capable of reciprocating."

If she'd gotten angry, if she'd gotten defensive, he would have worried more. But she laughed and said, "Grunkle Ford, last summer I got my heart broken by like, sixteen boys. After that, I can handle finding out the evil demon triangle I'm trying to reform is still an evil demon. I'll be impressed if he ever gets an opportunity to kill one of us and doesn't take it."

Ford chuckled, relieved. "I think you deserve to hang out with people you can hold to higher standards than that."

"I do! But the other people I hang out with don't wanna watch the same shows as me. I don't think I can make you understand how important that is."

On the one hand, that struck Ford as a very thirteen-year-old priority. On the other hand... He winced. "Actually... for a while, he was the only person that would play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with me."

"WHAT! What kind of character did he play!"

"None. He always wanted to be the dungeon master," Ford said. "He ran very strange campaigns. And had a weird fascination with princesses with eyeballs for heads. And, in retrospect, it was probably a red flag when he decided to portray the God of Long Odds as a one-eyed golden triangle."

Mabel at least had the good grace to bite her lip instead of laughing at Ford.

"Well. I don't think you should want to talk to him. But, if you do... then you have a rare opportunity. Perhaps the first in multiversal history. Bill's our captive, he seems to trust you, he's motivated to make you trust him... I think if anyone's ever had a chance of finding out what made him like he is, it might be you. Perhaps you'll get your question answered."

"Grunkle Ford..." Mabel grinned slyly. "Are you saying that you want me to talk to him? Like, as a spy?"

Ford grimaced. "If I said that, that would make me a terrible uncle. I should be doing everything in my power to steer you away from him. I know that would be safer for everyone and healthier for you." He paused. "But. I can't control you. And as long as you've decided to talk to him anyway—I want to know everything you learn."

Mabel laughed. "You got it!"

"Final advice: don't trust anything he says, assume everything he does has an ulterior motive, and never agree to do anything he asks without twenty-four hours away from him to consider it. And keep talking to us—to me, to Dipper, to Stanley. He might fool one of us, but he can't fool all of us."

"Yeah!" Mabel raised a hand. "Pines power!"

"Pines power." Ford high-sixed her, then finished up his donut. "Well, I think this was very educational for both of us." He stood. "You've still got your $50. Want to go back to the crystal shop?"

####

They grabbed a big green box of donuts for the family and headed back to Lunar Blessings. While Mabel was agonizing over several fun-colored crystals, Ford wandered back toward the statue of Bill. He had to do something about this. "Excuse me." He waved down the shopkeeper. "Do you happen to know where this sculpture came from? The name of the artist, or...?"

She came over to study it. "I think we get all of these from a studio in the Bahamas, but I don't remember the artist off the top of my head. Why?"

He tried to think of a lie that sounded more realistic than the truth—maybe if he said he thought he recognized the art style and wanted to know if an old friend had made it, she'd be willing to dig up the artist's name?

He decided to go with a story that might get this thing off the shelf faster. "Because that particular depiction of the Eye of Providence is associated with a dangerous cult."

Her brows went up. "You're sure? It's a common symbol."

"Giving it eyelashes and a bow tie isn't. Trust me: either the artist is a cultist, or they got the design from somebody who is."

"Cult's a... pretty loaded word." (Ford grudgingly respected her for her wariness. She probably dealt with somebody calling something-or-other in this shop "cultish" on a daily basis.) "How do you know they're that bad?"

"Because once I got in, it took me thirty years to get out."

The shopkeeper's demeanor changed immediately. "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. We get these in bulk with a lot of other sculptures, I thought it was just some obscure... Are these people dangerous, or—?"

"Not as much as they used to be, I don't think. Their founder's incarcerated. But... the kind of people who'd be eager to buy this probably aren't the people you want to sell to."

As she eyed the sculpture skeptically—probably deciding whether she found this stranger's story credible enough to warrant taking merch off her shelves—Ford asked, "Do you think you could find the artist? With the founder gone, I... I've been wondering how his other victims are faring." There wasn't much point in pushing further to remove the item. He'd given the shopkeeper enough to think about, and he doubted one more statue on one more shelf would really do any harm while Bill couldn't use its eye.

She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll check our records. If we don't have it, you can give me your contact info and I'll let you know when I find out."

"Thank you." What would Ford say if he did meet another of Bill's victims? He'd known a few, very distantly, thirty years ago; Bill had told him who he could go to to get art, much like the sculpture in this store. Back then, he'd felt like he was in a secret society—a real secret society with real secrets, not like the corny social club styling itself a "secret society" he'd joined in college—with the double secret that none of the other members knew that Ford was the society president's favorite. In retrospect, they'd probably thought they were Bill's favorites, too.

He supposed he'd find out if he ever met the artist.

####

Mabel found a little pink cat figurine, a string of small nazar eye beads she thought would be great for crafts, an extremely small crystal naturally colored like a watermelon slice, and a bracelet made out of tiny colorful rock chips arranged in a rainbow. The shopkeeper wasn't able to find the artist's name before they left; but Ford left his name, address, and the shack's number on a piece of receipt paper so she could contact him if she found out more.

As they were leaving, Ford said to Mabel, "You know... if you still like those glass pyramids, I think there's a couple in my study that escaped the purge. You could have one."

"Really? You're sure? You don't have to..."

"I'm sure. They're not magical or dangerous—and I think I'd like for one of them to get new, better associations. Just, keep it in a room where Bill can't get his hands on it," Ford said. "But if he does see it... make up a story about it that will drive him crazy."

Mabel considered that. And then a wicked smile twisted up her face.

####

"Okay, your turn," Mabel said. She was slouched down in her seat with her feet up on the car's dashboard. "Befriend, betray, or betroth: Carl Sagan, the Queen of England, and... a wizard."

Ford sucked in a breath. "Ooh, that's tough." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Describe the wizard."

"Greatest wizard of all time! And his beard is like, ten feet long."

Ford pursed his lips as he thought. "Marry the wizard," he said. "As much as I admire Carl's mind, he freely shares his knowledge with the public. Wizards are far more reclusive. Marriage may be my only way to learn his secrets."

"The queen isn't even on the table?"

"I've been a king before, Mabel. Too many social obligations for me," Ford said. "I suppose I'll have to befriend the queen. I can't afford to make any more powerful enemies. Anyway, it could give me an opportunity to ask about some of the legends surrounding Buckingham Palace."

"So you'd betray...?"

Ford frowned deeply. "This game is vicious."

Mabel laughed. "I won't tell him!"

"I appreciate it," Ford said. "All right, your turn. Befriend, betray, or betroth: a president, a movie star, and an astronaut."

Mabel paused. Mabel thought about the guy on the $10 bill—who, she was sure, was definitely a president, or else they wouldn't have put him on a bill. Mabel said, "Which president?"

He'd meant the concept of a president, but. "Uh..."

Mabel gasped and sat up straight. "Grunkle Ford, look!" She pointed out the driver's side window.

"Wh—?" Ford gaped as they drove past a tall pole topped with a gray sign. The sign read, "OCCULTED CRYSTALS". Beneath the words was a glass window shaped like a cut diamond.

"Is that—?"

"That's it!" Ford swerved into the exit lane. "You're not getting away this time, you sonofagun!"

"I've still got like two dollars! Let's do this!"

They celebrated and congratulated each other as they descended onto the frontage road and made a U-turn under the highway.

On the other side, there was no trace of the sign. All they found was a strip of five nondescript whitewashed storefronts, all out of business, with a narrow weed-filled parking lot in front.

Mabel and Ford exchanged a baffled look.

Ford pulled into the empty parking lot and stepped out of the car. "It was here, wasn't it?" he asked. "It can't have been farther back than this." He squinted to the west, shielding his eyes with his hand. No signs that way, and no trees or buildings tall enough to be hiding one.

"Maybe it's a time travel thing!" Mabel jumped out of the car and ran to the abandoned stores, peering through the windows one at a time to see if any looked like a former crystal shop.

Ford glanced warily at a concrete block along the edge of the parking lot that looked like it might once have supported a pole. "Hmm."

Eventually, when they couldn't find anything, they slunk back into the car, got on the frontage road, took the next U-turn, and got back on the highway.

The diamond-windowed Occulted Crystals sign taunted them from the horizon.

They stared dumbly at it.

Mabel pulled out her phone and snapped a picture.

"What are you?" Ford asked the sign. "Is it invisible on its other side?"

Mabel turned in her seat and peered through the back window as they passed it. "Still visible!"

"Then can it only be seen if you're traveling east on the highway?" Ford mused. "But you'd have to be westbound to take an exit that reaches that location. It's impossible to access."

"What if you're traveling west but you drive the car backwards!"

Ford mulled over that. "For starters, we'd probably get pulled over." Ford glanced down at the car's clock. "It's getting late, too. We can't procrastinate anymore if we want to be home in time for dinner."

The sign had disappeared behind them. Mabel turned back around and settled in her seat. "I think this calls for a follow-up investigation later, don't you?"

Ford grinned. "I had the exact same thought."

####

"... And that's how we realized it wasn't Louisa who had slashed Sarah's tires," Abuelita said, "it was Arthur! Can you believe it? Arthur!" She turned away from the stove to look at Bill, eyebrows raised, making sure he fully appreciated this twist.

Sitting backwards on one of the kitchen chairs, he shrugged. "I can't blame him. Every man has his limit. And Sarah's been pushing his for weeks." He took a swig from a bottle of spoiled grape juice.

"Stop drinking my cooking wine," Abuelita said. "Sure, but Arthur's so passive! I thought he'd have a nervous breakdown long before he ever took action! Anyway, things just haven't been the same since he got arrested."

Bill shook his head sympathetically. "I tell you. This town's bingo hall is really going to the dogs."

The front door swung open, and Mabel's voice drifted in: "Betroth the vampire, of course. And—is it possible to betray a zombie? Do they understand loyalty? When Soos got turned..."

Bill perked up, set the juice bottle on the kitchen table, and got to his feet, immediately drawn to a more rewarding distraction. "I'll get out of your hair," he told Abuelita, and switched to English. "Hey, Shooting Star and Sixer!" He leaned against the kitchen doorway. "How were the crystals?"

"Great! I got a watermelon rock and a cat and some beads and the coolest bracelet!" She raised her hand and twisted it back and forth, making the rock chips click together. "And donuts!" She shoved a big green open box in Bill's face. "You're allowed to take one. Only one."

He grabbed the yellowest one he saw and bit in. "Huh. Piña colada. Weird." He took another bite and leaned around the open box lid to look at Mabel. "So. Did you two have fun?"

"Yes! It was a blast!" Mabel gushed. "We got lunch in Portland, and we talked foreverrr, and we've got more in common than I ever imagined, and we're gonna make more trips to Portland soon! I think it really brought us closer together."

"Huh." Bill's gaze flicked up to Ford. "How about that." Ford's face betrayed nothing. Bill looked back at Mabel and grinned wider. "Glad he's less of a killjoy than I thought."

"Pffft! You know he knows how to have fun," Mabel said. "Mr. God of Long Odds."

Bill's eyebrows shot up.

Mabel squeezed past Bill into the kitchen. "Abuelita, if you want a donut, I'm putting them in the bottom left cabinet with the pots."

"Thank you, Mabel."

"I'm taking Ford to the record store to introduce him to late 80's music," Mabel went on. "And we saw a crystal shop that isn't there depending on which way you're driving! Whaaat! Crazy, right!"

"Oh, you found Occulted Crystals?" Now Bill's grin was aimed at Ford. "I know you didn't get that bracelet there. Didn't figure out how to get in?" He winked. "Do you want to?"

Ford's expression darkened; but before he could say anything, Mabel darted back into the entryway. "No! No spoilers! You'll ruin the fun of figuring it out!"

Bill laughed. "Okay, fine! Just one safety tip: never go looking for it on an empty stomach."

Mabel gave him a distrustful look. "Will that help us get in?"

"It'll help you get back out."

She nodded slowly. "Good to know." She hugged Ford. "I'll be right back! I haven't been to the bathroom since lunch." She bounded upstairs.

Leaving Ford with Bill.

Bill simply smiled. "You talked about DD&MD? That takes me back."

"I know what you're up to, you snake," Ford said. "And it's not going to work. At least leave her out of it."

"Hey, you can't blame me for worrying about her," Bill said. "She's such a caring little thing. And you don't have a strong history of family loyalty."

Ford's hands curled into fists; but he forced himself to turn away from Bill without acknowledging him, and headed for his and Stan's guest room.

"But hey," Bill called after him. "I really am thrilled to see you two getting along so well."

Nothing in Bill's tone sounded sarcastic. Ford paused and glanced back at him suspiciously; but then he shook his head and kept going.

Bill's smile faded. He made a rude gesture at Ford's back; then returned to his post at the kitchen table to listen to Abuelita's gossip and make sure she didn't touch the poison.

####

(Thank y'all for not pulling out the pitchforks at the end of last chapter lol. If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment or reblog! Thanks! 💕)

#mabel pines #grunkle ford #(for the art)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the fic)#gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my writing #my art #bill goldilocks cipher

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hyperfixated-gvf · 1 year

Text

Chapter 4

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Danny Wagner | Rated Explicit | Words: 4.5k

Warnings: Language, angst, making out, one slight mention of homophobia

Chapter Summary: The resolution comes about and the making-up begins.

In collaboration with/edited by @gretavanfreaky

Author's Note: Again, PLEASE let me know if you don't want to be on the taglist for Sanny fics; I know this isn't everyone's jam and this chapter gets spicy, so I don't want to be the one to tag you in things you don't want to read. You can stay on the general taglist, I'll just take you off any Sanny works!

18+ / MINORS DNI

~~~

Sam’s initial emotional response to the scene playing out was confusing. Sam angry to see Danny so reckless. And the biting antipathy he had for himself only exacerbated it, amplifying it to the point now that all his fury and all his sadness and all the desperation to get back to Danny and how they used to be was at a boiling point.

Except, also not how they used to be, because he wanted to feel what he did on the mountain without the stress and anxiety of worrying about what the consequences would be.

Jake and Josh finally took the initiative to join Danny in the water while Sam stood there, stewing and grinding his gears until Danny could practically see the smoke coming out of his ears once he got out of the water, shivering and with a blue tinge to his lips, to retrieve his towel.

“That was really fucking stupid,” Sam said in a tightly controlled tone, even though his voice trembled lightly with pent-up emotion. “You’re acting really fucking stupid.”

Sam knew he was coming off as an asshole, but he could be an asshole sometimes whether he was angry at Danny or not, and Danny always somehow knew what was actually bothering him. In this particular situation where Danny himself was the source of his bitchiness, Sam didn’t know if he’d be able to see through his attitude to the fact that he was stressed and only wanted what was best in the end. That his anger was coming from a place of anxious care and coltish love, even if he didn’t know how to convey that.

Danny froze, towel wrapped around his waist as he fumbled for his dry clothes. Sam was getting more and more ridiculous by the day, it seemed. How he was acting, what he was saying – perhaps it was because he had never been this angry with him and Danny didn’t know how to process that, but everytime he looked toward his friend for some sign of their old push and pull, their old effortless understanding, all he saw was an opaque wall. And, because of that, the statement blindsided him, knocking the lid of the box he’d been keeping all his volatile feelings in right off.

He was acting stupid? After all his agonizing, he still had hope that maybe Sam would take some of the blame and realize that Danny was only part of the problem, because he sure as hell wasn’t forcing himself on Sam at the peak, if Sam really did regret it that much.

It was his ‘Et tu, Brute?’ moment, and it hurt like a motherfucker.

“I’m acting stu– you know what, Sam?” he said, his fight or flight response kicking in on top of the adrenaline that was keeping him from really feeling the bite of the cold. “Go fuck yourself. Play the victim all you want, but I can’t– I can’t undo what happened, and I’ll never change your mind about it, but I…”

At his own statement, Danny’s mood turned on a dime from unfathomably angry to heart-breakingly hopeless, because he knew he was right. Sam very rarely changed his mind about having been wronged, and it made him sick to his stomach to know that he played the role of villain in Sam’s narrative.

He pulled his pants up and threw his sweatshirt on, grabbing his phone to arrange for an Uber back to the hotel, even though they’d only been here all of 20 minutes.

“But you what?” Sam asked, mind in a tizzy and swimming around the fact that Danny seemed to want to take everything back. When had that happened? Was Sam really so blind that he couldn’t see Danny regretting what they’d done in the car? And the whole ‘victim’ thing – that was a whole other can of worms.

He knew Danny would likely blame himself, but calling Sam a victim? There was mutual blame, if anything. Both the victims and both the perpetrators in their fated “shit we messed up one time but never again,” story. But there was nothing one-sided about the experience at all, and Sam didn’t like the fact that that seemed to be what Danny was implying.

Danny dropped his phone, but chose to study the sand instead of looking anywhere near Sam’s direction. “I can’t undo what happened, but I hope you know that I never would have done it if I knew it would make you hate me,” he said miserably. There was a small pause of silence between them after his admission, the only sounds coming from the ocean and the twins - Sam and Danny didn’t particularly notice, though.

After a couple more moments, Sam collected his thoughts and finally said, “Hate you?” in such a disgusted, dumbfounded way that Danny closed his eyes and braced himself for the animosity he’d felt growing since that fateful night. “What the hell, Daniel?”

“When you–” Danny felt helpless trying to explain himself, shrinking smaller and smaller by the second. “I kissed you, Sam, and now you want fuck-all to do with me. You’re angry with me all the time, and– and you can’t look me in the eye even now!”

Sam was so confused, but he matched Danny’s energy as he always did, making the situation more agitated and more confusing as their voices stayed hushed but grew in intensity. “No, I kissed you, Daniel! Why would I– I could never hate you, you dumbass. You can fuck right off with that shit!” He got even more worked up, and despite his words and what they meant, the tone didn’t match. It was the raise in pitch and increase in volume at the end that finally drew the attention of the older brothers, who looked at each other because although they were too far away to pick out any specifics, they were more than familiar with Sam’s anger. “I’m not doing this ‘cause I hate you, I’m doing this for you!”

As the sound of two teenagers who spent enough time together to want to strangle each other, Jake and Josh appeared by them suddenly for damage control, wrapped in towels and looking very cautious.

“Hey now, kiddos,” Josh said as he approached. “We sense some pubescent emotions over here. What are we fighting about?” He kept his tone light, not wanting to contribute any tension, especially not knowing what he was walking into.

“We’re not fighting,” Sam snapped immediately, not really proving his point at all.

Jake raised his brows, unconvinced as well. “Oh. So you haven’t been fighting since, like, Connecticut?”

“No.”

Danny stayed quiet, but the last thing Sam wanted was for his brothers to find out – that was halfway to realizing his fears.

“Then why have you been acting so shitty towards Danny these past few days?” Jake continued to ask as he nodded towards his younger band mate, zeroing in on the problem and addressing it to clear the air. “We’ve noticed,” he assured Danny quietly. “We don’t know what’s happening here, but you’re yelling at him on a public beach and telling us you’re not fighting. Can you see why we’re a little confused?”

The only problem with a direct approach if this particular situation was that Sam was already tense and emotional, and having his very much shitty behavior that hadn’t been acknowledged by his brothers yet thrust into his face so suddenly made him feel like he was being cornered and crucified by all three of his bandmates.

“I haven’t– well, I know that I have, but I’m not meaning to be!” Sam said, heart racing. “I can’t help it!”

“Can’t help what?” Josh asked, still confused.

Sam pointed to Danny, wanting to keep everything hidden and under wraps from his brothers, but unable to deny it outright anymore. He knew it was shitty of him to do it while Danny was standing right there, petrified by how things were developing and wondering what Sam was gonna say, but he couldn’t stop it from coming out. “He– we…did something, and I can’t keep doing it or else you guys are going to kick him out of the band and hate me for it.”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Sam realized how silly it sounded. It seemed like so much more in his head, and actually talking about it out loud was…jarring.

“What? Hate you?”

“Kick Danny out of the band? What did he do?”

The twins were grasping at straws, but at his words, Sam’s perspective, as strange as it was, finally came into focus for Danny. He stared openly at Sam, feeling all sorts of things that he was trying to sort out. “That…that’s why you’ve been mad?”

Sam met Danny’s eyes and really looked at him for what felt like the first time in 10 years, and the twins ceased to exist at the connection. He shook his head a little bit. “I’m not mad,” he said in a small voice, finally able to clarify. The words came out so easily, though, that Sam didn’t know why he couldn’t have just said them sooner. “Not at you, at least. I’m mad because there are consequences and I hate that they’re keeping me from…I dunno,” Sam admitted softly. “From what I really, really want.”

Danny’s heart soared at his words.

“Look,” Jake said slowly, glancing like a tennis spectator between Sam and Danny, “you can talk in whatever code you two do, but please just tell us: you didn’t, like, rob a bank or kill someone and hide the body, right? That’s not– when you say, ‘we did something’–”

Danny chuckled, glancing towards the twins as he finally gained some clarity on his own situation. “No,” he said, right before his phone dinged with the notification that his driver was there. “Um…that’s the Uber I ordered.” At the thought of finally resolving this situation and, admittedly, what could possibly happen when they did, Danny’s cheeks pinked but he forged on, “Would you– would you guys mind getting your own ride? I think Sam and I need to talk.”

Sam stared at Danny, and he swallowed, his hope for a revived relationship rising steadily and, funnily enough (not really, as Sam hadn’t stopped thinking about it since it happened), his arousal slowly disengaging from the guilt it had been attached to. Not entirely — not until they got the matter completely settled, at least, although it wasn’t going to be enough to stop him from participating in whatever ‘talking’ Danny wanted to do.

They didn’t wait for the twins to answer, and Sam followed Danny like a duckling, resisting the urge to reach out and grab ahold of the back of his sweatshirt like an anchor. But it was a short walk back to the parking zone where a car was waiting, and the silence between them no longer felt like a time bomb ticking down until total destruction, so he was able to go the distance relatively assured that Danny wouldn’t suddenly change his mind and bolt back into the sea.

Their comfortable silence made for a much better ride home than it had to the beach – still tense, but this time for a different reason. Sam was no longer straining away to make sure he didn’t touch Danny; I’m fact, their thighs were plastered together now, sending heat radiating from that point of contact.

Danny felt every bounce of his knee scrape against his own, but he didn’t mind.

He wanted to reach out and touch Sam – to put his hand on that shaking knee because he knew it was out of nervous energy that Sam sometimes didn’t know how to expend without getting in trouble, but he wasn’t certain that the gesture wouldn’t be too ‘50s housewife and husband’ for Sam.

“So we’re stupid, right?”

Sam’s question jarred Danny out of his staredown with the exposed skin of Sam’s knee. “Um…” In terms of stupidity, what had Danny really done wrong? Besides overthink everything and attempt to shoulder all the guilt he knew deep down wasn’t his to bear. “I mean, you were stupid. Me, not so much.”

Sam fixed him with a deadpan glare. Fights or no fights, fucking or no fucking, he wasn’t about to take that kind of insult laying down. “Shut up, Wagner.”

He wouldn’t deny it, though, either. He just wouldn’t say that Danny was right.

Danny nudged his shoulder into Sam’s. Despite what they had done (and what now seemed like an option on the table again), the thing he missed most was the comradery. He missed the connection that he and Sam shared, and he felt like they were finally on the same page again after reading totally different books for the past week and a half.

“But we literally left the beach to talk, Sam. How are we supposed to do that if I have to shut up?” he said cheekily, the car pulling up to the front of the hotel and casting fluorescent shadows across the planes of Sam’s cheekbones.

The fluttery feeling from the peak was back.

“I mean,” Sam started, getting out of the car and waiting for Danny to pile out after him and thank the driver before continuing, “I thought ‘we need to talk’ was like, codeword for something else, but if you actually wanted to just talk…”

Sam trailed off and peeked at Danny, hoping that his bait would catch.

And it did – hook, line, and sinker.

Danny stared at him and visibly gulped, slowly dragging his lower lip between his teeth that belied his active mind (scrambling to come up with words, a hand gesture, a facial expression, even– anything). “Yeah…ok,” he croaked finally. “Let’s– um, you wanna continue this conversation upstairs? In the room?”

Danny knew his voice would go higher before it dropped lower. It had even after he hit puberty — when something riled him up and he found his words, his pitch perked up and then took a deep dive. And this was undoubtedly one of those times, because he had images in his head of soft, hot skin in the back of a Honda Civic, steaming up the windows, Sam’s face as he–

“Agreed. Unless you wanted to ‘talk’ out here – you seem a little hot under the collar, Daniel,” Sam crowed, spinning to waltz lazily towards the back entrance that was closer to their stairwell. And anything closer was the way Sam wanted to go, because despite his teasing and his flirting, there was a dull ache in his groin, now that the idea had been introduced once more, and he’d spent the last week and a half agonizing over the very thing that he wanted.

Danny caught Sam by the wrist before he got too far and tugged him back, putting them face to face as both their chests froze on a breath. “This way; it’s faster,” Danny exhaled, ushering him into the lobby and to the elevator, a hand on the small of Sam’s back as both a guide and a push to keep up with Danny’s ambitious pace.

He didn’t worry about how ‘50s housewife and husband’ it was, this time. And judging by the way Sam’s gloating tease stopped abruptly and the way he fell compliant with Danny’s touch almost immediately, it seemed he didn’t mind Danny’s eager manhandling, either.

No, he really didn’t mind. If anything, Sam was flattered to the point of being red in the face at the prospect of Danny being so worked up that he just took what he wanted – sweet, docile, agreeable Danny, pushing him towards the elevators because he wanted Sam in his bed that damn bad.

Yeah, he didn’t mind this new side of Danny at all. Didn’t mind when the elevator doors finally pinged open and as they rushed inside, he felt Danny’s fingers grazing his waist, just waiting for the privacy they’d be afforded. Didn’t mind the slightest nudge of Danny’s hip against his ass as the space between them became negligible while waiting in anticipation for the doors to close once again.

Sam’s insistent pushing of the ‘close door’ button went on until the metal slid shut, and then his fingers were yanked away as Danny spun him around to kiss him for the first time since the peak.

Suddenly, they were back in the Vermont air, high and happy and feeling so good, they never wanted to stop.

Sam’s breath left him as Danny backed him into the unyielding side of the elevator, insistently pressing his lips to Sam’s, pushing his agenda with his tongue in his mouth first and then quickly with his thigh between Sam’s knees. Sam let a whine of pleasure soak into Danny’s skin directly from the source, born from the whisper of friction against his travel shorts and the fact that Sam never really got the chance to feel small but, here, being forced onto his tiptoes so that Danny could get him fully seated and flush against him, he’d never been more aware of the few inches that Danny had on him. Never more appreciative, either.

All too soon, though, the door pinged open, and Danny tore away from Sam, panting and red-faced and not exactly hiding the fact of what they’d been doing.

But there was nobody there.

“Wha–” Danny started, confused as the door started to close again. He was cut off by Sam’s grabby hands as they fisted his shirt and pulled him back to his body, where Sam opened his legs first this time and guided Danny by the elastic band of his sweatpants to slot his thigh between them again.

God, Sam’s ability to take what he wanted without shame had never been more attractive to Danny.

“Doesn’t matter, just– again, please,” he demanded, rolling his hips forward and into the missing friction he’d been denied for a half a second. Danny groaned at Sam’s hunger for him, the way he couldn’t help but be greedy when it came to what Danny could give to him – and Danny would give him everything.

Well, he would if the damn door didn’t keep opening again. And what was worse, this time there really were people on the other side, and while they recognized the ding with enough time to separate, Sam turned bright red and shoved his forearm in front of him, hoping that the couple wouldn’t happen to look down and see the glaring tent in his shorts.

Danny wasn’t in much better of a situation, but his sweats at least had pockets, and he was able to casually push the material away to make it less noticeable.

The couple nodded to them and stepped in, and the doors closed before the elevator shook and continued its journey upwards. Maybe this would be their stop, finally. Sam looked down to the buttons and froze, turning to Danny with a smile growing on his face. “Uhh…” he uttered as the door opened on the next floor up with no one on the other side.

Danny looked to where Sam was and blushed – when he pushed Sam against the wall for better purchase, he’d chosen the wrong wall, apparently, and there were scattered buttons all the way to the 8th floor lit up and shiny, even though they were certain no one on the other side had called for the elevator.

The doors started to shudder close again, but Danny took Sam’s hand at the last second and stopped them, pulling him out of the elevator and yelling, “Sorry!” to the couple behind them before taking off towards the staircase on the other side of the hallway.

“Faster my fucking ass,” Sam said breathlessly as they climbed the last couple of flights of stairs to their room. It was probably better that they had to spend that time away from the other’s bodies (excluding their tightly clasped hands, of course), because they really did need to talk before they were swept away in uncontrollable urges for each other that had been held back by a singular thread since they’d discovered them.

Danny slipped his keycard out of his pocket, a little distracted by the way Sam plastered himself to his back and wrapped his arms around his waist so that his fingers could crawl up under the hem of Danny’s t-shirt and map out the skin of his torso. Eventually, though, he got it scanned and the light beeped green to let them in.

Neither cared if their tour manager or their sound guy, or if their mothers themselves coincidently stepped out of their rooms as Sam and Danny stood in the hallway, slowly tangling themselves together before the door even opened.

“Sam, we really do need to talk,” Danny whined. His entire body seized up and shivered as Sam placed his lips to the arch of Danny’s neck, relishing in the fact that he finally got to touch Danny.

What could they possibly have to talk about now? Everything was aired out, and Sam was under the impression that they understood each other perfectly, regardless of the fact that he’d had the same thought at the beach.

Still, he knew it was the morally right thing to do, as much as Sam hated the fact. “Okay, fucking…fine,” he pouted, glaring at the skin he’d just been worshiping as if it was doing him a disfavor by existing when he couldn’t touch. “Talk, then.”

Danny smiled a little and took Sam’s hand. “So…I just want to get your story straight: we made out, I got you off, and then you automatically assumed that your own brothers would magically turn into homophobes and hate us?” Sam’s lips flattened at the poor summary and he rolled his eyes, but Danny didn’t let him pull away. Instead, he laughed a little bit and asked, “Did I get that right?”

Sam huffed. “Actually, no, you didn’t.” Danny waited for him to go on and Sam felt like stomping his feet. They had already been at the fun stuff – why’d they have to backtrack? “I wasn’t afraid of Jake and Josh hating us because we were…you know, together–” He hesitated at saying ‘gay,’ not because he was ashamed, but because he had honestly never had feelings for another dude that wasn’t Danny. Gay for each other, maybe, but nobody else. “--I was afraid that they’d see a Yoko Ono situation of our own.”

Danny narrowed his eyes in thought and cocked his head. “You thought I’d introduce you to heroin and make you want to leave the band?” he joked, understanding what Sam was trying to say, but also trying to clear up the details.

“No, dummy,” Sam scoffed affectionately, still connected by their hands and their chests, pressed together so that they couldn’t be too far from the other. “Everyone knows relationships mess things up, and if it came down to it, and we had a big blow up and hated each other and decided that it was either you or me staying in the band…” Sam looked away. This was always the hardest part of his anxiety to clearly formulate because everything in his body revolted against the idea. They couldn’t be Greta Van Fleet without all four of them. “They’re my brothers,” he said softly. “If it came down to choosing–”

Danny’s heart squeezed, and he tried to ignore the slight drop of his stomach at the thought, but he nodded anyways, trying to validate Sam’s worry, even if it didn’t always make sense. “They’d choose you,” he finished.

‘I’m not doing this ‘cause I hate you, I’m doing this for you.’

It all came into better clarity, but after everything that happened, and everything they’d been through as a band, Danny had less doubts now than he did before about his place with the Kiszkas. He was a brother. To Jake and Josh, at least. Not to Sam. Not at all.

“But then at the beach, when you were all ganging up on me–”

“We were not–”

“--when you were all ganging up on me,” Sam said again, more forcefully to drown Danny out with a smile, “and they took your side even when they didn’t know what was going on, cause they’re bastards like that–”

“--oh, how dare they,” Danny interrupted again, sensing a close to the story. He took the opportunity to slip his fingertips underneath the waistband at the back of Sam’s shorts to pull him closer.

Sam took a deep breath to recenter himself and focus on finishing what he was saying (why it was so important now, he wasn’t sure, but it felt good to get this off his chest). “I think I realized that they know just how important you are to the band, too. To them as a person. Even if I told them you cut my balls off and sold ‘em to a fan for cocaine money, they’d fight tooth and nail for you.”

Danny flushed at the strange compliment, warming to affirmations of belonging that Sam was providing him with. He was satisfied, now. They didn’t need to talk any longer. All he wanted was to show Sam that he was all-in on this relationship, and that no matter how it ended, they were here now. The future had never been certain for them, but it hadn’t stopped them from making stupid decisions before.

“I get it,” Danny breathed quietly, a half-inch from Sam’s lips and a half-inch from where he wanted to be. “But rest assured, I like your balls right where they are.”

Sam snorted out a laugh as he dove back into Danny’s neck, and he hummed when he was walked backwards across the room, assumedly to the bed. Before the backs of his knees hit the mattress, though, Danny slipped his fingers under the material of Sam’s shirt and brought it over his head so that he wouldn’t have to do it later.

Once Sam had fallen back on the sheets, he stared up at Danny, who had gently pried his thighs apart so that he could stand between them. “You’re not gonna say that I’m stupid and that it’s my fault for torturing us both?” he asked as Danny gazed right back down at him, taking in his state of undress when it was again all for Danny’s eyes.

“No,” he said, grazing a finger across Sam’s abdomen to his shorts, “I’m busy.” The button came undone in a simple movement, and Danny began to tug them down.

Sam groaned, head swimming with his own lust, Danny’s obvious desire, and the subsequent promise of his big hands all over him again. But he hadn’t forgotten that he’d been denied everything except for his own pleasure the last time they did this – they hadn’t even gotten Danny’s wet jeans off, for fuck’s sake. So, not to be left idle this time, he pushed himself up on his hands and tightened the hold he had on Danny’s hips with his thighs to balance as he impatiently rucked the material of Danny’s soft t-shirt up.

“Well, you’re a better man than me, then,” he said, right before attaching his mouth to where Danny’s throat led into the center of his clavicle.

~~~

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casspurrjoybell-18 · 1 year

Text

Mutual Desire - Chapter 58

*Warning - Adult Content*

Enraged weren't words powerful enough to accurately describe the agitated state Damien Clarke was in.

He was seeing red and was exacerbated not only at Alexander Nabokov ‘the fucker’ but also at himself.

He knew better than anyone that if he hadn't been a drunken fool and texted Nabokov, he wouldn't have found himself in the shitty situation he was in right now.

Once again, he had opened a can of worms by texting the Russian man.

It was as if his subconscious devoted him a total hatred and urged him to act impulsively.

Alcohol could certainly take a little of the blame for his current situation but Damien couldn't lie to himself.

He knew he was ninety-seven percent at fault and the glasses of vodka took the remaining three percent of the blame.

His impulsiveness and stupidity continued to hurl him in catastrophic shit.

They were the reasons why he found himself inside Nabokov's car like an inmate on his way to prison.

The luxurious futuristic decor of the car coming straight out of a Hollywood action movie did nothing to calm Damien's burning anger which seemed to be hoisted every second.

When he got into the car, Damien was greeted by the smell of Nabokov's cologne poured into the air as if it were exactly what he needed right now.

A transparent electrochromic glass window separated Damien from the driver.

Damien was relieved that thanks to that he and Nabokov weren't going to have any privacy and therefore the man would have no choice but to comply himself.

Nabokov's laptop was placed on a sort of tray attached to the back of the driver's seat.

Damien didn't let himself be distracted by the ridiculously jet set interior design of the car and quickly rushed to the very end, next to the window, preparing in advance a considerable distance between him and Nabokov.

He sat on the long white leather seat and noticed a mini bar placed just a few meters from him.

Damien was more than tempted to have a few drinks and finally achieve what he hadn't manage at Nick's.

Though the idea was very enticing, Damien knew that he had to stay as alert as possible when he was in Nabokov's presence.

Putting himself in a position of vulnerability by being intoxicated in the man's company was simply to tempt the devil.

So, Damien put the idea of drinking aside, his eyes focusing a little too much on the windowpane, with a fierce and focused expression.

He had made the decision to remain completely silent on the way home and to ignore Nabokov as he should've done long ago.

In any case, the two men had nothing more to say to each other.

It was going to be the last time that they would see each other.

Damien was brutally pulled out of his thoughts when Nabokov entered as well and found Damien gazing and frowning at the window as if it had caused some sort of harm or something.

Though he was acutely aware that Nabokov had just entered the car and of the short distance between them, Damien didn't turn on any pretext, keeping his plan firmly in place of giving Nabokov the cold shoulder.

It wasn't the first time that Damien had tried this sort of plan.

Nonetheless, Damien believed that it was one of the best ideas.

There was nothing worse than having the feeling of being disregarded, especially for someone like Nabokov who certainly wouldn't be accustomed to such a thing.

Damien was already imagining Nabokov's frustration and he wanted to pat himself on the back, being proud of himself that he was going to give a lesson of modesty to the billionaire.

Unexpectedly, the transparent electrochromic window became completely opaque, the back of Nabokov's driver's head disappearing from Damien's field of vision.

Damien could now say goodbye to the lack of privacy that the transparent glass produced.

Damien swore mentally but still remained calm.

The fact that he and Nabokov were now in solitary confinement didn't alter his plan.

Anyway, Damien had never needed the driver's presence to get through Nabokov the other times, so it certainly wasn't today that he would be necessitating it.

"Why didn't you stay the night with Nick? Why take the risk of putting your life in danger?" Nabokov's hoarse voice sounded irritated and Damien could feel the billionaire's gray eyes all over him.

Still, Damien didn't take the bait and maintained his attention on the windowpane as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Damien laughed inwardly of victory, satisfied that the Russian man was being ignored as if he had no importance whatsoever.

He knew that Nabokov wouldn't be able to resist the urge to initiate a conversation just as he hadn't been able to resist the urge to come see him after receiving the text messages.

Oddly enough, Nabokov was so unpredictable for certain things but also predictable for others.

Damien's victory over the contemptuous attitude he was giving Nabokov was, however, very short lived.

Nabokov moved closer to Damien and his large hand savagely grabbed Damien's chin which Nabokov turned just as wildly so that Damien could face him.

The two men's faces were dangerously close to each other.

Damien gave Nabokov a death stare, trying to hide his surprise at the sudden and abrupt gesture of the Russian man who had practically attacked his chin.

This gave Damien a funny feeling of ‘déjà vu.’

"When I'm speaking to you, I want you to answer me, Damien," Nabokov warned, the tone of his voice leaving no room for any possible discussion.

Despite the intensity and unusual severity that appeared in Nabokov's frightened gaze, Damien didn't flinch.

He didn't intend to be intimidated by the billionaire's threatening energy and tone.

Damien wanted to show to Nabokov that he would no longer be bullied by him and that if an unsightly blackmail couldn't win against him, then nothing that Nabokov would have the idea to do could.

Though he was confident of his abilities, Damien was still hesitant to free his chin from Nabokov's fingers.

He blamed it on the fact that he was way too focused at glaring at the man.

"I think I asked you a question, didn't I, Damien?" Nabokov reminded him, his eyes freezing cold, matching the tone of his voice.

Damien painfully swallowed his saliva, as he tried with little success to miraculously preserve his confidence as well as his plan to ignore Nabokov.

He persistently refused to falter no matter how hard and pierced Nabokov's gaze was baffling him right now.

Damien had the feeling that the man was staring at him as if he was going to punch him at any moment.

A punch that he wasn't going to forget anytime soon.

With the harsh way in which Nabokov had acted aggressively with him and continued to act, it was indeed not impossible that his fist would collide with Damien's jaw.

"Damien, you really want me to repeat myself because I can assure you that you don't want me to repeat myself."

Damien felt oddly claustrophobic and he thought the car had shrunk somehow.

He had already forgotten Nabokov's question and that only increased his nervousness and his heart rate.

He was 27 years old and he was being intimidated by a man's empty threats.

Admittedly, Nabokov wasn't just any man and possessed much more power than the average person but he wasn't crazy enough to slap Damien for the simple reason that Damien refused to answer him.

With the violent manner in which Nabokov had acted towards him, Damien was no longer as confident of what Nabokov could or couldn't do to him.

"I think you won't have the choice but to repeat yourself because I don't remember what you asked," Damien managed to say in a composed voice, grinding his teeth.

Damien Clark was as surprised that he was capable to formulate a sentence as he was by the fact that he hadn't stuttered when saying it.

He and Alexander Nabokov continued their little stare game and Nabokov's had cooled even more, something Damien thought was impossible.

The billionaire's greyish and piercing eyes didn't bode well and Damien feared a violent gesture at any time now.

"Are you curious to see what I look like when I'm angry, Damien? Is that what I should understand?"

Damien wasn't at all surprised that Nabokov didn't believe him.

He couldn't really blame the guy since Damien wasn't an octogenarian suffering from Alzheimer's to forget a question asked not even thirty seconds ago.

However, Damien was sincere and he barely recalled Nabokov's words since he was too overworked trying to appear unaffected by Nabokov's threatening tone and stare.

His plan had terribly failed.

"I'm not messing up with you. I really don't remember what you asked me," Damien said, getting slightly annoyed.

Nabokov displayed no reaction for a moment, only scrutinizing Damien as if he were in the midst of facial analysis and Damien represented his subject.

To Damien's surprise, Nabokov let go of his chin without looking away from him, continuing to pierce Damien with his unshakably stern eyes.

Damien nervously apprehended the man's next action or words.

"Why were you going to drive home in this state?" Nabokov inquired in a low voice but still with an authoritarian trace.

Not your business, Damien wanted to answer but he abstained.

This wasn't the time to piss off Nabokov, who already seemed annoyed.

Damien didn't intend to mince words, however.

He had a lot to say to Nabokov.

"What did you want me to do, huh? Make my ordeal last? Keep reminding myself every second that I gave my best friend false hopes and that I lied to him and in a short time our friendship will surely end because of it? Is that what you wanted me to do?" Damien said, his voice rising.

Nabokov's firm gaze softened slightly, and he distanced himself a little from Damien, their face moving away from each other.

"You should've just told him the truth," Nabokov said.

A bitter chuckle sprang from Damien's mouth who found it pretty insulting and ironic that Nabokov dared to lecture him on honesty when he was by no means a saint in this freaking mess.

"You really are in no position to lecture me. If you had left me alone and stopped chasing someone who's already in a relationship, there wouldn't have been a truth to tell in the first place."

Amazingly, Nabokov didn't reply and his face displayed an unreadable expression.

He gave Damien one last look without uttering a word before placing his attention on his laptop and resuming his work as if nothing had happened.

Damien could only watch Nabokov type on his computer's keyboard, while inside of me it was total shock and confusion.

He didn't understand the billionaire's reaction or rather his lack of.

Was it the fact that Damien's words had affected him and he didn't know what to say?

Damien couldn't believe he had shut Nabokov up.

This man, who always had the last word and who was the one who kept making Damien go temporarily mute.

Damien was flabbergasted to say the least by Nabokov's silence and withdrawal.

It was a victory that Damien intended to enjoy.

He directed his attention back to the window, mentally smiling and finally enjoying a silence that was comfortable to in his ears.

Damien was satisfied with himself.

Though he hadn't been able to ignore Nabokov as he had planned, something much greater had occurred.

A few minutes passed and Damien suddenly realized that the car still hadn't moved.

Not wanting to seem impatient and appear like an asshole, he gave Nabokov a few more minutes to complete the work he was doing on his laptop.

Another couple of minutes passed in a silence mixed with the sounds that Nabokov's fingers made on his keyboard.

Damien's patience had reached its limit.

He turned to Nabokov who didn't seem to notice Damien's eyes on him, his attention on the screen of his laptop.

1 note · View note

histarean · 2 years

Text

study buddies

pairings: armin arlet x fem! reader

synopsis: friends to lovers in a dorm room

word count: 5.6k

content/warnings: fem! reader, smut, mutual pining, praise, unestablished relationship, unprotected sex, dacraphylia, creampie?? i don't remember, sorry

author note: this is a completely unedited draft from about 7-ish months ago so enjoy? also if there's any errors, please don't let me embarrass myself

NSFW 18+ minors DNI

"I don't know y/n you kinda seem so," Eren taunted from across the classroom.

"Shut the fuck up I am not," you screamed at him.

Like every day you were sitting in Levi's lecture counting down the minutes until class was over.

You were smart and got good grades, but getting called on unexpectedly made you freeze up. Levi seemed to take note of that and used it to his utmost advantage for reasons still unknown.

Eren and you would get in constant fights over pointless things so he sat you at the very back of the class. This worked against you because whenever he'd ask you a question, you’d feel all the eyes turn on you.

Whatever torture methods he used worked and you always got the answers wrong. Even if you knew exactly what it was, the moment everyone stared at you with expecting eyes, your mind went blank.

It was almost the end and you thought you could get away by sitting quietly but once again, he put you in the spotlight.

Your notes had already been packed up leaving you without a direct answer. Hearing every student's back shift to face you, it was happening again. It was like this almost every class and no matter how many times it happened, you still wouldn't get used to it.

You were so spaced out, thinking about your plans for after class that you didn't even hear the question. Scrambling to unpack your papers only made them scatter more making this situation a bigger mess than before.

"We're waiting, miss l/n," Levi exacerbated, putting both hands on his hips.

"I'm sorry I just have to get my things, can I have a moment please," you said, frantically searching through binders and notebooks.

"Seriously l/n, you should automatically know this. Are you really that stupid you don't even know the answer to a simple question?" He sighed, testing your patience.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but now was not the time and you needed to focus on figuring this out.

"No sir, I'm sorry I just need a minute," you said quietly, head buried in your bag.

"I don't know y/n you kinda seem so," Eren yelled loud enough for the entire class to hear.

"Shut the fuck up I am not," you said angrily, standing up to see him at the front.

This was always how it went. Levi would say something rude or passive-aggressive, and Eren would back him up with either another insult or plain agreement. You swore they would plan this before class JUST to make your life more difficult.

You were starting to lose it when you felt a slight tug on the hem of your shirt. Looking down, you see Armin, ocean blue eyes full of concern.

You stopped shuffling through your backpack to lean down to his level. He learned forward whispering the answer in your ear, left hand covering his mouth. Nodding in confirmation, you shot back up to stare at Levi again, his hands still at his hips.

"The answer is 3.7 sir," you yelled a little too loud.

The nightmare was finally over. You still have no idea what he asked but at least you answered it. The class had turned around to the board again signifying you survived another surprise question.

"Yes technically that is correct, but I need to see you after class Arlet. And y/n, please leave immediately after we’re done and go straight to the library...you need it," he said, glaring at you.

"I'm really sorry again," you said to Armin, tucking your skirt under you to sit back down.

"It's really okay, I don't mind. I just feel bad you have to do that every class," he said with a comforting smile.

Getting reseated to the back had one benefit, Armin. You hadn’t noticed him at first but slowly got to know each other as time went on. He always gave you the answers to Levi’s pop questions and you helped him out with various homework.

You weren't struggling in class, you actually had very good grades, but your participation was shit.

Armin noticed this early on and set up study times for the two of you. It wasn't to help you per se but so you would do better responding in class. It didn't do much, but you two still kept your meeting at local coffee shops to go over upcoming materials.

These "dates" occurred at least once every couple of weeks and sometimes once a week on special occurrences.

As you got more comfortable with each other, meeting at cafes evolved to visiting the other’s dorm. You would sit side by side both of you leaning against the frame of the bed with papers spread all around.

Being a relatively social person, you had a few friends, but they weren't in most of your classes. But Armin and you happened to be majoring in marine biology so your schedules tended to align.

The first time you asked him about why he was pursuing it, a light seemed to shine through his eyes and into yours as he talked endlessly about his love for the ocean and marine life.

He spoke faster than usual and you probably heard 30% of what he was saying in the end. You could hear his voice in the background describing how he imagines what we would discover in twenty years, but you were more focused on his features.

You tried to listen, but the way his hands waved around and gripped imaginary objects as he spoke pulled you in closer to him. His eyes were wide and vibrant as if he were seeing these images in real-time.

People started looking at you as Armin was practically yelling but you didn't mind. He had your full attention and nothing would have ripped you away from this.

Armin talked for hours in detail about his dreams, expectations, plans for the future, and anything else he could think of. His voice was so captivating, you couldn't have asked him to stop even if you wanted to.

That was about three months ago and since then your relationship shifted from study buddies to close friends. You started talking about things other than school and more about yourselves.

The closer Armin and you got, the more similarities you realized you shared. During your first visit to his room, you asked him about the guitar at the foot of his bed. He explained he'd played it since he was a child and sometimes practiced to reminisce in old memories. You had picked up a guitar in middle school and loved it since so ditching studying you two spent the whole day sharing all the stories and songs from your childhoods.

When you weren’t over at his room, he would stay at your to study for an hour or two. As the day turned to night, you would play rock paper scissors to decide what fast food place to try.

Your friendship was amazing as it was, but in some moments you wished it was more.

His big, beautiful eyes and golden blonde hair already made him attractive but his personality, god his personality was the best part about him.

He was the most generous and kind person to anyone no matter who they were. You aspired to be as giving as he was but sometimes you worried he might be taken advantage of.

Because of that, you paid attention to his interactions with certain people to make sure he wouldn't get hurt. If there was even a hint of him being used, you’d respectfully ask them to fuck off. You knew you were slightly too overprotective of him but he was just too precious to you. You couldn't stand to see him hurt, so you made it your role to do anything possible to stop that from happening. And you wouldn't hesitate to hurt anyone for it, the only thing that scared you was Armin suspecting it and thinking bad of you.

You also kept this as a mission "don't let Arlert catch you hurting anyone"

Even though he never said it, Armin did notice and deeply appreciated your efforts. He wanted to protect you too and did his absolute best to do the same. He wasn't the most confrontational person so he wouldn’t end up doing as much, but he was always there for emotional support which was all you needed from him.

After that incident, the rest of the class went by smoothly. You spent the remainder of the time thinking about what you were going to do after this was over.

Both knowing Levi wouldn't forget his after-class scolding, you waited outside the door until he was done.

You only waited for about ten minutes until Armin pushed open the heavy door immediately shielding his eyes from the sunlight.

"How'd it go," you asked, lifting yourself off the wall you were leaning on.

"I'm fine, it was nothing new," he said, still covering his eyes desperately trying to adjust to the brightness.

Armin had extremely sensitive eyes so this happened fairly often. You prepared for this every time so digging out a pair of sunglasses from the side of your backpack, you handed them to him proudly.

"I still don't understand why you always bring these around, you know I don't need them anymore," he complained but still took them.

Armin replaced his glasses with the ones you handed to him and held out the old ones for you to take. He always forgot either his class ones or his sunglasses so you carried them for him. You were seriously thinking of getting him those flip-up pairs that old people wear.

You grabbed the pair Armin had been wearing the past few hours for class, putting them in the empty sleeve of your bag.

"That's exactly why," you grinned, pushing the nose of the sunglasses up his face.

He didn't protest, knowing you were right. Armin was beyond grateful that you would take his random quirks into account and purposely do things that would make his life easier.

"So where do you wanna go," he asked, walking away from the door.

"They just added this new show on Netflix a few days ago so we could binge that if you want," you suggested, quickening your pace to catch up.

You shared a Netflix account so binging new shows was a common bonding activity. The best binge nights would include you stocking up on junk food and soda to sit for hours huddled up under the same blanket.

"Yeah that's good but I think Floch invited himself over again so Eren is dealing with that," he sighed, throwing his head back to look at the clouds.

Armin was in a dorm with Eren only a few minutes from your dorm building. Floch developed a weird obsession with Eren so at random times he would come over uninvited looking for him. If he happened to be in the room, Floch would stay for however long Eren allowed him to or until he or Armin kicked him out.

"Again?! Yeah I really don't want to be there for that," you weren't surprised, but it was becoming more frequent lately.

Armin nodded back equally as frustrated his dorm was visited less because of this. There was nothing wrong with the girl's dorm, he just felt he was imposing by staying even though you assured him he wasn't.

The rest of the walk was filled with a comfortable silence taking in the familiar campus noticing an occasional student walking by.

As soon as you opened the door, a cloud of cold air hit your face. You threw your bag down next to the door as Armin followed and did the same.

Having a roommate that was never there lets you spend more uninterrupted time with Armin.

"Make sure to take off your shoes," you said, pointing at the pile of shoes sitting to the left of the door.

You picked up some sweatpants and a t-shirt lying on the floor as Armin slipped off his converse and neatly placed them next to yours.

"I'm going to change, you can too if you want I think I have stuff that would fit you," you called, shutting the door.

Your dorm clothes were always oversized so most of them fit Armin too. He took full advantage of that and borrowed several different sweatshirts while he was there.

Making his way to your dresser, Armin picked up one of your bunched-up hoodies holding it up. It was the one he usually wore when he came over so you purposely set it out so he could see it.

You had other ones but on lazy days you would wear the same one. Still changing, he brought the thick black fabric up to his nose breathing in your scent.

He closed his eyes and let the smell of lavender and fresh linen fill his nose. Armin was utterly ashamed he would do such a thing but he knew it would be the closest he could get to you.

"You can start it if you want, I already watched the first episode," you yelled from the bathroom.

Armin quickly threw the hoodie over his shirt and sat down on the bed. He remembered when you spent months saving up to buy a mini tv just to prove you were capable of saving money.

Picking up the remote from under your covers, Armin turned the tv on and found Netflix in the strew of extensions.

As you had said, the show was in your 'keep watching' category already on the second episode. So Armin did as you suggested and started back to the first episode.

A few seconds later, you came out of the bathroom holding the leftovers of your outfit in your arms. Catching a glimpse of your maroon laced bra strap immediately sent a rush of heat to his cheeks flushing them a bright red.

You saw him turn away towards the wall trying to hide his reaction, amused you had that type of power over his emotions. You didn't mean to but he was so cute when he blushed, it was hard to stop.

To toy with him more, you made a point of throwing it across the room making sure it crossed his line of vision.

Armin had always been horrible at concealing how he felt and seeing your bra fly across the room only a few feet in front of him, he was gone.

You watched as he covered his mouth pulling every sheet and blanket you own closer to him. The rustling of covers was quite obvious but anything to hide Armins face with was better than nothing.

You waited a few minutes to spare him from the embarrassment. Making your rounds, you picked up random shirts and straightened various products before coming to sit next to him.

Armin's cheeks had calmed down to a light pink but purposely crawling over him on your hands and knees got him right back to square one.

Armin flipped up the hood and pulled the strings as close as they could go without covering his eyes. Getting comfortable, you took the remote off his lap and covered yourself with the same blanket resting over his nose.

You layed your head on his shoulder pressing the volume button. Watched the opening, you stayed silent to give Armin a chance to mellow out again.

You liked to do little things to tease him but never pushed it too far in fear of messing everything up. It was fun watching him react to different things you wore.

Armin still remembered the one time you wore the shortest plaid skirt he’d ever seen. Barely covering your ass, you made sure to bend down when he was watching and lift it slightly above your hips to tighten the waistband.

Maybe in different circumstances, you could've been together, but this wasn't a romance novel. It was real life and you had to accept that it would never work out. You stayed happy with your bond and did your best not to dwell on the impossible.

"Are you okay," you asked innocently, tilting your head back to look at him.

"Mhm let's just watch the show," Armin said quickly, still facing the tv.

You said nothing but hooked both arms around his left bicep scooting a few inches toward him.

Armin could barely focus on the dialogue with you next to him. Arms hugging him, your tits were dangerously close to pressing against his side.

It was hard not to say anything, but he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or be suspicious of why he was acting so odd.

The truth was, Armin truly loved you.

You were always kind to him in every and any circumstance caring for him more than anyone as he did for you. The longer you knew each other, the more he found to love you.

He knew you were protective over the ones you loved and wouldn’t let anything happen to him. You were allowed to mess with him but made it known that no one could say anything rude about or to him.

All your insecurities, he found lovely and gave you constant compliments even if you were in baggy clothes. He loved every aspect of you making sure he told you almost every day.

But he knew you didn't feel the same about him and didn’t want to accidentally push you away. Armin couldn't imagine a life where you weren't friends so he shut his mouth, stuffing his feelings deep down.

Lightly squeezing the muscle of his arm, you felt Armin tense but relaxed and leaned back into you as the show went on.

Armin’s eyes stayed trained on the screen but his mind was far away. He trapped himself in the thoughts of what you could’ve been in some alternate universe what life would look like.

All he wanted to do was make you feel happy in any way he could no matter what it took. He kept mental notes of everything you told him. Your likes, dislikes, and anything in between he remembered in detail.

He paid extra attention to all the subtle hints of kinks you had and even though Armin convinced himself it would never happen, at least he had it in case it did.

Armin was so deep in thought, he didn’t realize his arm subconsciously wrapped around your waist.

Your eyes went wide as he pressed you against him, feeling his hand grip the small of your back. It was definitely unexpected and you didn't know if he did it on purpose but either way, it was nice.

Closing your eyes, you engulfed yourself in the smell of salty beach air emanating from his skin. You didn't know how he did it, but the smell of the ocean always surrounded Armin like an aura.

In response to his touch, you snaked your hands around him in an almost side hug to his chest. The feeling of your arms wrapping around his waist woke him up from his daydreams.

You were watching the tv but feeling Armin watching the top of your head made you look up.

"Oh um I'm so sorry I didn't mean to," he started, retracting his arms back to his sides.

"No, it's okay...I liked it," you said, sliding your hands to meet his.

You felt his body completely freeze up as if you were touching a statue. Armin could feel your eyes staring up at him, keeping a strong grip on his hands holding him in place.

"What," he said, dumbfounded, you would say something like that.

Usually, you would either pretend it never happened or get up to grab food as a 'break'.

"I said...I liked it," you held his face in your hands.

Armin could see you flick from his eyes to his lips, watching you gently chew the inside of your mouth. Fixating your gaze on his upper lip, Armin watched the print of your thumb swipe across your bottom lip bringing it back to his face.

He knew exactly where this was going and didn't want anything to mess it up. Armin knew this could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so putting his nerves aside, he closed the distance between your faces.

You didn't expect him to make the first move but you were happy he did. His lips were soft against yours feeling him take your top lip between his.

Armin moved to the crease of your mouth, silently responding, you slightly parted your lips allowing his tongue to slip in.

He felt like velvet in your mouth, his tongue exploring every part he could reach.

You didn't even try to take control as you didn't want this feeling to ever end. Armin kissed you caring and passionately until you couldn’t breathe.

Alternating from sucking on your bottom lip and letting your tongue do the same. You kept your left hand on his cheek while your right played with his short undercut.

He let out a low moan at your hands through his hair with the occasional tug of smaller strands.

Armin firmly lifts your hips on top of his lap without breaking apart. He shifted his back to rest vertically on the headboard still holding you close to him.

Your cunt hovered directly over the bulge in his sweatpants. You slowly grind your hips back and forth in his lap feeling his cock grow bigger under you.

You were thinking about not wearing underwear but you're so glad you decided against it. You felt an arousal pool on your underwear knowing it would've completely soaked through your bottoms if it wasn't there.

Armin finally broke the kiss but kept your faces close so your noses still touched.

"Y/n please~~," he started trailing off. There was a faint whimper in his voice, almost indecipherable to anyone not paying attention.

"What do you need Min," you whispered, lifting his chin with your index finger to make him look at you.

Although he would never tell you, Armin always adored the little nickname you gave him. Hearing your sweet voice whisper it in class or yelling it cheerfully in greeting, sent butterflies to his stomach.

"C-can you please take off your clothes..for me?" Armin's voice wouldn't be audible if you weren't so close.

You let a light breath of amusement through your nose at his question. You didn't want to rush this, but you could see him trying to hide his obvious impatience.

You creased the bottom of your t-shirt up Armin's hands on top of yours helping lift it over your head, throwing it to the side.

He had only dreamed what your boobs would look like but this was way better than anything his brain could make up. Armin was losing his resistance tugging on the hem of your pants.

"Can I?" he asked with pleading eyes.

"Of course," you responded.

In one motion, Armin had removed your pants and underwear together and tossed them in the middle of the room. The sudden breeze made you shiver but Armin ran his hands over the goosebumps on your back bringing your body temperature back.

Armin violently gnawed on his lip as if he were eating it. You raised your eyebrows realizing how much he was holding back.

You pinched the middle of the hoodie looking in his eyes for approval. He nodded more than necessary trying to get you to go faster.

You slowly peeled the black hoodie over his head connecting the bottom of his shirt with it so they would come off together. His milky white skin shone in the dim room light casting a rosy shade on him. Lifting more of his shirt, Armin revealed the faint lines of abs tracing his smooth stomach.

You got halfway up his torso before Armin took control and pulled it over his head much faster than you were planning. He was frustrated at the pace of this but wanted this to go your way so he put up with it.

You were sitting on his painfully hard cock. You didn't even get to ask for confirmation to take them off before Armin somehow removed them under you.

As soon as they were off him and on the floor Armin's cock slapped against his abdomen. By now it was flushed a deep but pretty pink, a few thin veins visible.

It was maybe an inch or half an inch above average standing straight up as if begging to be fucked by you.

Just the sight of precum leaking down his tip made your mouth salivate. You could feel your slick drip down your thighs and the covers making it more difficult to go slow.

Your thighs straddled on either side of his legs. Sitting in the middle of his legs gave you a clear vision of his toned abs glistening with sweat. You knew he was fit, but seeing him like this was different than in the gym.

You followed up his torso to his chest heaving trying to even out his breath. You looked at his face with his lips slightly parted, eyes consumed with lust.

"Please y/n I can't wait anymore, please fuck me," he whined pathetically.

You reached your right hand to his head to stroke his hair before moving it down to jerk him off. Your strokes were gentle and slow gradually getting quicker to an average pace.

He wasn't the only one that was desperate for the other's touch. You looked calm and collected on the outside, but there was an almost unbearable heat in your core that was getting only getting hotter with each move you made.

Neither of you needed anything more done so you spit on your hand one last time spreading it all over his length to make it go in easier. Placing both hands on his shoulders, you lifted your hips up with the help of his hands and lowered yourself slowly down on him.

It was a stretch but his hands helped you down slowly. You sat for a minute, adjusting to his size, pausing to even out your breathing. You heard him let out a sharp gasp watching his cock disappear in you.

Armin's hands roamed all over your body as you waited. He made sure to feel the curve of your hips before taking both of your tits in his hands squeezing the soft flesh.

You let out a quiet moan at the stimulation motivating him to continue. Armin ran a thumb over your right nipple while his right hand moved to your back to keep you upright. He sat up from the headboard latching his mouth onto your left tit, his free hand playing with your right.

Armin switched sides doing the exact same to the other spreading his spit over the left. He did the same motions for a few seconds earning small whines from you each time he would run his tongue over your nipple.

After he was satisfied with the amount of saliva he spread on your chest, Armin leaned back to see your flushed cheeks, forehead shining with sweat.

It was one of the most beautiful things Armin had ever seen. You sat on top of him, chest smothered in his spit, your face red from stimulation.

You nodded to say you were ready and gripped onto Armin's broad shoulders. He moved his hands back to the middle of your waist securing you in place.

You started with rolling your hips back and forth causing a low groan from Armin. His steadied breathing became deregulated again as you began moving up and down.

He looked down to see his cock appear and disappear into your silky walls pulling him in. You lifted yourself with the help of his hands guiding you up and down. You repeated this pattern slowly and controlled hearing all the little moans and whines from in front of you in response to the painfully slow pace.

You felt him hit every good spot at each bounce you did. Armin sat intensely observing your body becoming undone right in front of him. Everything he had dreamt about was coming to life and he wasn't going to miss a single moment.

He did his very best to keep quiet so he could hear every single noise that came out of your pretty mouth. He watched your hands knead his chest and the way your body moved each time you came down on him.

Your previously quiet moans escalated to you one pitch away from a scream.

"A-Armin oh my god," you yelled out.

That was it for him.

He wanted nothing more than to flip you over and pound into you until your brain turned to nothing but him and his face.

He knew he had to wait so you could top him and get to be dominant, but once you said his name it was over.

Any kind of restraint he'd shown before was gone to the wind. All that replaced it was the feeling of your gummy walls against his cock when he bucks his hips in you.

He lifted your right leg to drape over his shoulder keeping the left one hooked around his lower back. Your hands looped around his neck pulling him closer to you.

Armin scooped your back up with his right arm hugging you closer to his chest while the left forearm stabilized you both on the bed. Your faces were not even an inch apart feeling your panting breaths fanning your sheen skin.

Maybe it was the position he had your leg in or maybe it was just the way he fucked you but something about fucking Armin was different from all the other guys you'd been with.

Armin made sure to hit every spot he knew and find new, undiscovered ones even you didn't know about. He mentally applauded himself for keeping notes of all the kinks he used to think were useless.

A loud whimper escapes his mouth immediately burying his head in the crook of your neck. You felt him bite and lick furiously trying to hush himself by using your shoulder as a muffle.

"Fuck y/n how do you feel so good," Armin whined next to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt hot tears spill onto the sensitive skin of your neck as Armin's thrusts became sloppy and uncoordinated. Whimpers and cries were amplified next to your ear giving you seconds of time before the coil in your stomach would snap.

"Min 'm gonna cum," you said half speaking half breathing.

"S-same," Armin stuttered through sobs.

He picked his head up to look at you one last time before you came all over his twitching cock.

"Let's cum together, yeah?" Armin said, attempting a smile tears streaming down his cheeks down his chin.

You nodded your head as the thin cord holding you together was severed. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, a feeling of ecstasy washed over your senses leaving you with nothing but Armin.

"Fuck Min fuck fuck," you repeated over and over miserably.

Armin made what sounded like a cross between a sob and a whimper signaling he was finishing with you.

He was combining all kinds of vocals together feeling thick spurts of cum coat your walls white as he filled you up more than you thought possible.

He continued to thrust through your orgasm and his until you were both run dry.

Armin collapsed on top of you, hugging you into his chest like you would disappear if he didn't. You were both left a mess, you practically vibrating under him while he sporadically twitched and shook on top of you.

You stayed like that for probably about fifteen minutes catching your breaths and calming your overstimulated senses.

"I love you so fucking much," he whispered into your hair.

"I fucking love you too," you responded at the same volume.

Exhaustion set in, sleep calling out to you begging for you to give in. You both needed showers but neither wanted to move so you sat in the company of each other until you had the least bit of energy to move.

Armin got up first standing off the bed and picking you up to bring you with him wherever he was going. He carried you bridal style all the way to the bathroom to wash the two of you. He continued to hold you as he set up the bathwater and added shampoo to the running water for makeshift bubbles.

He got in behind you, setting you down between his legs so you could rest your back on his chest. Tilting your head back, you looked into his bright eyes peering lovingly down at you.

There was nothing that needed to be said, just enjoying each other's presence was enough. Armin took your hands in his interlocking fingers to float in the bathwater.

"Can you sing to me please," you asked softly.

"Sure but I'm not the best," he said, chuckling at your odd request.

You missed when he would sing to you, hearing his voice raise and lower to different octaves was nostalgic in a way that reminded you of all the memories you'd made together.

He sang 'As The World Caves In' by Matt Maltese, circling his finger in the water with yours as background music.

Your eyes fluttered shut, allowing you to drift off to sleep knowing Armin would always be there to take care of you.

#armin arlet #armin arlet smut #armin smut #aot smut #aot x reader #armin arlert x reader #armin x reader #snk smut #attack on titan smut #attack on titan armin #armin arlet imagine #attack on titan imagine #aot imagines #it took me so long to post this :(#hiatus over?

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silversatoru · 3 years

Text

play-thing — part one

gojo satoru x getou suguru x f!reader

t/w: nsfw 18+, dark content, drugging, manipulation, noncon/dubcon, oral (f!receiving), nipple play, this story contains very dark themes so please do not read it you’re sensitive to any of these topics

synopsis: suguru and satoru are missing something in their lives, and who better to manipulate than an lonely, impressionable girl who just moved to tokyo from another city. they’re willing to take extreme measures to transform you into their perfectly submissive little play-thing.

wc: 1.9k

suguru and satoru do everything together; live in the same house, work at the same company, even share a closet of the most expensive clothes, but something was missing. they both felt it, the empty space between them, and they were determined to find the perfect piece to fill the gaping hole in their lives.

and you practically fell right into the palm of their hands, in a local grocery store of all places. a pretty little thing with a freshly broken heart who’d just moved here from a neighboring city. no friends, no family nearby, anxious and impressionable and desperately in need of a couple capable men to show her around. it all started with an innocent question: “hey, sorry to bother you guys, but could you tell me where the baking aisle is?”

how you ended up here you still weren't quite sure.

“let us take you on a tour of the city tonight,” satoru had cooed at you.

“there’s a few really nice bars, we could grab some drinks,” suguru added, both their voices smooth and terrifyingly persuasive.

but they seemed nice enough, and you weren't in any position to be picky with making friends right now — after all, you’d have to get accustomed to the city somehow, right?

wear something pretty, satoru had winked at you before you parted ways and continued your shopping, and for some reason you were very inclined to do as he said. they were both intimidatingly attractive and you weren’t exactly sure what their dynamic was yet, but you decided that if you ended up in bed with one of them tonight, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

you’d chosen a short and silky black dress, something elegant but classic that would absolutely catch the eyes of both men. and it did, satoru’s eyes glazing over your body several times before he even bothered to say hello to you. suguru was less obvious, his dark eyes giving you a quick once-over before giving you a warm smile and wrapping his arm around your shoulders as the three of you entered the first bar.

it was small, dimly lit with a few lanterns and packed tight with people. a little too crowded for your level of comfort, so you stuck closely to the sides of suguru and satoru as they led you deeper into the pub. the dark-haired male gestured towards an empty seat at the end of the countertop, the two of them standing on either side of you after you slid into it. satoru spoke with an impressive level of charisma, ordering three of the same drink from the bartender — who he seemed to know quite well.

taking a few sips of the liquor did wonders for you initial anxiety, and the casual conversation with both men was helping you to settle in as well.

so, where are you from?

what made you want to move to tokyo?

what do you do for a living?

you were painfully oblivious to how the conversation stayed entirely centered around you; you still hadn’t learned anything about the two men, but they were learning everything about you.

an hour or so in, a warm dizziness began to swirl around the inside of your head, slowly exacerbating until you felt like you were about to tumble out of your seat. you’d only had a couple drinks, and you normally handled your alcohol fairly well, so why did you feel absolutely sloshed right now?

“guys, i think maybe-” you turned towards your two tour guides and crashed forward into suguru’s chest without warning.

“think you went a little heavy, toru?” he scooped his hands under your plump ass and lifted your unconscious body into his muscularly arms.

“not my fault she has no tolerance,” satoru shrugged, throwing some cash on the counter, “might be easier with her like this anyway”.

“i suppose,” suguru clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth, “stupid girl, didn’t your parents teach you not to trust strangers so easily?”

the two of them casually made their way out of the bar together, making jokes about how poorly you handle your liquor to anyone who gave them a questionable look — but the bar was so loud and jam-packed with people that they made it out without any incident.

you were slow to come out of your sleepy haze, head nodding up and down as you struggled to maintain consciousness and take in the scenery around you. in a futile attempt to brush some hair out of your face you realized your hands were tightly secured behind your back. panic immediately flooded your system, chest tightening and hot tears brimming at the edges of your eyes.

“just a precaution, angel,” suguru came walking into your hazy vision, a warm smile on his face as he tucked the loose strands of hair behind your ears, “how are you feeling?”

“wha-, whaaat happen- ed?” your words were garbled, your brain barely able to form them.

“don’t worry about it,” satoru appeared next to suguru, “you just drank a little too much, but we’ll take good care of you, won’t we suguru?”

“of course, no need for you to worry about anything anymore,” he gave an affirmative nod.

“i don’t think-” you wracked your brain for any recollection of what had happened tonight, but you found nothing, “i don’t th- think i — understand”.

“you will soon,” satoru flashed a bright smile, but it wasn’t nearly as inviting as the first time you saw it. this time it was eerie, evil, threatening — what exactly was he talking about?

your brain was quickly turning to absolute mush, your vision getting darker and foggier than it already was as you tried to hang on to the sound of their voices.

just relax

we’re gonna make you feel good, you wanna feel good, princess?

you want us to make you feel better?

“mhm,” you gave them a slow nod. you did want them to make you feel better! you felt groggy and confused and nauseas! so of course you said yes! that is what they were asking? right?

you felt the bed shift around you, several hands tracing over your skin and gently pushing you onto your back. you tried to question them, tried to form the words, but your brain was unable to produce a single word or movement at this point.

a hot tongue connected with the side of your neck, lips latched onto the skin and sucking gently on the sensitive area. another mouth was on your inner thigh, sucking a little harder and undoubtedly leaving a small marking. you subconsciously let out a squeaky, shaky breath, the warmth of their tongues eliciting a response in your doped-up body.

goosebumps raked through your body when you felt a pair of slender fingers slip under your dress and brush over the thin material of your panties. it was satoru, his middle and index fingers prodding at your clothed cunt and sending jolts through your legs. meanwhile suguru continued to cover your neck in sloppy kisses, one of his large hands groping at your covered breasts.

your brain had gone numb, from the drugs, the confusion, the terribly intoxicating pleasure. you hated how clueless you were, how useless your body was right now, but what you hated most of all was that you weren’t even trying to fight back. their touch felt good — too good for you to ask them to stop.

it wasn’t long before satoru’s fingers were replaced with his mouth, his tongue running up and down the fold in your panties and absolutely soaking the material with his saliva. he groaned from the taste, getting just as much pleasure from this as you were. he was quick to push the fabric to the side, sliding his tongue against your sticky folds with hunger and urgency. he lapped at your cunt, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue and evoking a series of twitches from your lazy body.

“be gentle with her” suguru’s voice sounded far off in the distance as he mumbled into your chest.

satoru heeded to the other man’s instructions, slowing his pace and going more gentle on your sensitive, puffy clit. suguru found your hardened nipples through your thin dress, rolling them in his fingers and enhancing the already blissful feeling you were getting from satoru’s tongue.

the two of them working together was incomprehensibly euphoric, your stomach coiling into tight knots with each swipe of his tongue. without warning he dove even deeper, his tongue shooting into your cunt while his nose rubbed against your throbbing bundle of nerves. between that and suguru giving your nipples a sudden tug, your body was crashing with waves of pleasure — strangled moans and pitiful whimpers the only sounds that your mouth could produce.

it was a near-holy experience, the feeling of the sedatives pumping through your veins as satoru tongued your pussy and suguru massaged your breasts through your heightened orgasm. you felt like you were floating, the room was spinning, and then everything went dark.

a real shame that you wouldn’t be able to remember any of it by the time you woke up.

bright sunlight pierced through your eyelids the following morning, forcing you awake and causing you to jolt up. you were laying in a large bed that was situated at the back of a rather large room, fitted silk sheets cool under your skin. confused of what happened and where you were, you stood from the bed and made your way to the door, feet patting on the soft carpeted floor.

when you opened the door you entered a long hallway that led to a wide stairway covered in the same fluffy carpeting. two voices were laughing and talking beneath you, and curiosity fueled your motivation to walk down the stairs and into an open-concept kitchen and living room.

satoru and suguru, the two men from yesterday were busy at the stove, pancakes and bacon sizzling away on two cast-iron pans. they wore matching aprons, suguru’s reading chef daddy, and satoru’s reading mr. good-lookin’ is cookin’.

who the fuck were these guys?

“feeling better?” suguru was the first to notice you loitering at the edge of the room.

“yeah, how are you? didn’t picture you to be such a heavy drinker,” satoru laughed, flipping a pancake with grace.

you didn’t remember much, nothing past sitting down at the bar with them. you weren’t much for getting wasted but you were plagued with more stress than usual lately — maybe you really let yourself go last night.

“ah, sorry about that, I don’t even remember what i did, honestly,” you shrugged, “thanks for looking out for me though, where’s my stuff?”

“in a hurry to leave? stay for breakfast,” suguru brushed off your question with a captivating smile, his eyes squinting together in the most adorable way.

“we insist,” satoru chimed in, humming as he continued to focus on the sweet-smelling food.

and so you stayed, which was probably the worst mistake that you’d made in the past twenty-four hours of countless terrible mistakes.

part one | part two

a/n: im on a yandere/dark content kick today i cant help it. anyway if u wanna be tagged when i post part two lemme know :) and if u want some yandere megumi go read @katslutski ‘s tell me

(ily kat <33 so happy to have someone to get into very specific obsessions with)

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Note

Congratulations on 500 followers!! Could you do nr 2 with Tom please <3

thankyou <33 im very in my feels abt friends to lover atm, so ik this is a completely unoriginal concept but here we are

warning: nothing much- maybe homesickness? (+ the fact tom has poor choice in popcorn )

^^^ sorry I couldn't not put this on here and I will reuse it lots n lots

/////////////////////////

“Right I got two options annnnddddd there is only one correct answer.” Tom hummed up at you, pulling his tired gaze away from the phone screen and up towards the kitchen where you were standing triumphantly - having just raided his cupboards. From behind your back you whipped out a bag of popcorn in each hand.

“Sweet…. or salty?” Sighing with a small chuckle Tom shook his head at your playfulness. He didn’t know how you did it but you always always made his smile.

“I’m not a psychopath…” You huffed in relief, already turning around to throw the salty back in the cupboard where it belonged. “So salty of course.”

You were trapped in a house with an absolute psychopath.

You scowled at him, for having such poor taste, expecting some sort of argument to start. That wasn’t the case though, instead he just stared at you expectantly.

He must really really be unhappy.

You’d sensed it on set that morning - it wasn’t hard to miss. Not when it was your best friend, who for the past two months you’d been spending at least 6 hours a day with whilst shooting. Even when you were supposed to have a day off, when Tom had some solo shots or vice versa, you’d still come to keep the other company. It didn’t make sense but you both just sort of liked it that way.

This wasn’t your first rodeo working together either. Your first joint project had been almost four years ago, when both of you were barely adults, still figuring everything out. Ever since it had been bumping into each other every so often, always with an easy and effortless relationship.

Your current director had noted your chemistry at an awards show (the man never switched off) and decided in that moment he HAD to cast you together for a project. And a year later, here you both were, shooting in Australia for what was set to be a record breaking new release.

And it had been going great - better than great even. But as soon as Tom had shown up to makeup this morning, you’d known something was up. It was fair to assume it was something from home, maybe even just a bit of homesickness, or perhaps something more severe. Either way, the situation was probably exacerbated by the fact he didn’t have his brother or bestfriend or manager or normal syltist with him right now. Tom was pretty renowned within the industry for always having a massive entourage - which was normally made up with his family and friends. This time though he was going it solo.

Today had been long and you’d had to do press at stupid oclock in the morning last night for your current release - which meant your plan had always been to leave promptly and collapse into bed as soon as physically possible.

But Tom needed your company. So you hadn’t. Instead, you’d somewhat subtly invited yourself to his rented house for a movie night - blaming it on your director wanting you both to study the relationship dynamics in ‘out of sight’ (a J Lo and Clooney romance movie).

“You think you know a person and then they loose all your respect… just like that.” You sigh jokingly, gesturing to the bag of ‘foul’ popcorn your costar seemed to like.

“Well we’ve come to a crossroads.”

“It’s been nice knowing you but this…” you scoffed and dramatically rolled your eyes “… I see no way out.”

“Isn’t it better if we have a bag each? Then I might manage to actually get some before you scoff them all.”

You yelped in protest, though really you were just grateful he was still up for a bit of a laugh. He had been much less jokey the whole day, though was seeming to warm up a bit.

Once you had poured the two bags of popcorn into two separate bowels and prepared the film on TV; you plopped yourself onto Tom’s sofa, so your back was against the corner and your feet were over his lap (it wasn’t weird, just normal for the two of you). Instinctively, Tom lightly grabbed your ankles, repositioning you on his thigh slightly before leaning across the pull the blanket over the both of you. Whilst he smoothed out the crinkles in the fluffy navy fabric you took the opportunity to poke your toe into his side - garnering his attention.

“I take it you don’t wanna talk about it?” After he froze, Tom then nodded jerkily. “But if you change your mind, you know I’m here right?” His demeanour changed at your second statement as his body literally sagged into the cushions, with a grateful if small smile.

He respond by mouthing an ‘I know’ and that was enough for you. Shuffling down the side a bit you pressed play, settling in for the evening. Tom still had a hand resting on your ankles, occasionally rubbing his thumb up and down the bony bit.

Honestly you didn’t really see what your director was going on about when he raved about their on screen chemistry and it seemed that neither did Tom. It wasn’t a scathing commentary that gave it away, instead it was his silence. Which you quickly realised was the he had drifted off, his head lolling a little so he was facing you, palms now completely lax on your legs. It was whilst you were just taking in the sight before you, that a buzzing cut through the otherwise soft noise from the TV - which you had turned down for Tom’s sake.

It wasn’t your phone but you instinctively still reached for it from the coffee table and seeing that the name just read “Harry H” you thought it’d be fine to answer.

“Harry?” You whispered into the receiver, slightly cupping your hand round your mouth just to make sure you weren’t too loud for Tom.

“Hello?”

“Harry it’s me”

“Who?” You’d met Harry countless times, though given the fact Tom had been alone all shoot - you shouldn’t of expected the kid to be able to recognise your voice.

“Oh sorry Y/n um Y/n L/n”

“Oh no my fault sorry Y/n. How are you?” The conversation was jilted, you could practically feel the awkward energy radiating all the way from the otherside of the world.

“I’m alright thanks, how about you.”

“Yeh not bad I uhm… I - is my brother there?” Oooh. How to answer that question.

“Um sort of, we er… we were having a movie night and he’s fallen asleep. It’s why I’m whispering like a weirdo.” Harry laughed at that and you continued. “Is everything okay? You need me to wake him?”

“No no, mum just said he was having a rough time so was going to cheer him up with my exquisite sense of humour but if you’ve bored him to death then no need.”

“What can I say I’m just talented. Anyway I should be heading back to mine anyway so um I’ll let you go?”

“Oh yeh no worries, and uhm thanks-um thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

“Someone has to” You chuckled softly back, before bidding a final farewell to Harry.

Having hung up the phone, you leaned over to gently place it back on the coffee table but making a mental note to put it on charge before you left. Your next job was to manoeuvre your legs away from him without disturbing him but before you could even start planning the movement, you noticed his weary eyes blinked over at you. Freezing, your mouth made a little ‘o’ shape as you winced at yourself for disrupting his peace - today really wasn’t the day for that. There was a silence as Tom swallowed thickly, attempting to shake off the heavy lull of rest before he spoke. “Will you stay with me… please.”

Undoubtedly, your body didn’t play it as cool as you wanted it to. Thinking you’d heard him wrong, your chin protruded forward and his eyes widened. “ Sorry not like-not like that just um-just on the sofa… theres-theres spare blankets and I can-“

“-course T, no worries…Oh and um your brother just phoned if you-“

“I know.” He spoke softly and with a nod, but didn’t move at all, apparently no interest in calling his brother back.

With a stammered nod, you stood up, finally removing your legs from his touch in order to nip to the loo. You splashed your face with water, ate some toothpaste ( better than not brushing your teeth at all) before going to collect Tom’s quilt off his bed. By the time you re-entered the living room, Tom hadn’t appeared to have moved at all. The hood of his purple jumped was still up, the blanket still only half covering him, the excess lying cold were you had been sitting. He laughed lightly at you trying to wrangle with the king size duvet and get it in without tripping over yourself or knocking anything over.

“You sure you don’t mind? I’m just being stupid and-“

“Honestly I’m too tired to walk back to mine so this is perfect.”

“You live across the road.”

“Thats like 50 steps too far.” You deadpanned back, as he raised his eyebrows and locked you direct eye contact - which you very stubbornly returned.

The both of you sat like that for a minute, Tom eventually gave up with a sigh as he motioned for you to lie back.

There wasn’t an issue at all with space. A listers rental homes were never lacking in space - the grey sofa was a U shape, with ample space for the both of you to lie down. Each of you took a respective corner, your legs meeting in the middle and gently brushing against each others.

“Thanks for babysitting me today by the way.”

“I wasn-“ You were about to deny it, except one look and Tom saw straight through you.

“Thankyou Y/n/n” Seeing there was no way out of receiving his thanks, you instead opted to just shut him up. Nudging his leg with yours and leaving it touching you murmured you last words of the evening - eyes already closed.

“Fuck off Holland, ‘m tryna sleep.”

~~~~ let me know if you have any feedback or anything (but pls not too mean this isn't proof read so blame that) <33 ~~~~~~

tagging : @thefernandasantana @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove @msmimimerton @thegirlwiththeimpala

#tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland blurb #harry holland #tom holland fic #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland angst #peter parker

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 3:

“Okay, so that’s about it.” You smile brightly, pressing a band-aid into the boy’s skin. “Thanks for being so brave for me!”

“Mhm. I’m the bravest!”

The child before you beams, all teeth gaps and kicking legs as he bounces in his seat. You’d just given him a few routine vaccinations, and true to your praise, he had been very brave about it. All he’d done was sit there, holding his breath until his face went red, and trying not to grimace. It reminded you of someone else you’d recently treated- someone else who was currently blazoned in all his snarling glory on the little boy’s shirt.

“Oh, I’m sure! Just like Dynamite!” You agree enthusiastically, gesturing to his clothes. You turn your head, catching his mother’s eye from where she sits next to him. “Isn’t that right, mom?”

“Oh, not if I can help it.” She smiles something a little exhausted, but ultimately fond as her son starts making explosion noises. “Not if I can help it.”

If you’re being completely honest, you sort of agree with her. Just a little bit- actually, on second thought a lot.

“If that’s everything and you have no other concerns for me, then we’re about done here.” You say gently. “Do you know where you’re going? I can point you toward reception again if you need it.”

“No, we’re alright, thank you!”

You nod, holding the door open for them as they leave.

When the door closes, and you’re swept back up into silence, you can’t help but think of that interaction as just more proof- more proof that no matter where you were, no matter what you were doing, you absolutely could not escape Bakugou.

When you weren’t actively thinking about him, then you were seeing his face everywhere. He was on television, and he was on the cover of newspapers, and as evidenced, he was printed in perfect grumbling, snarling accuracy on children’s t-shirts. It didn’t help either that every day brought another civilian who was saved by him, and every night brought another small-time criminal who was beat to hell by his fists. You swore he was responsible for a solid 70% of all of your hospital’s traffic- it was pure insanity when you really started paying attention.

You quickly come to realize that Bakugou is a plague; and a horrifyingly effective one at that. You’re not sure how you never noticed it before.

Still, you can’t help but find yourself worrying a little bit. When you think of him, all you can see is his face covered in blood, the pallid hue of his skin under the hospital’s sterile lighting, and the deep-set bags under his eyes. You remember the way he practically fell asleep, laid out and injured on a hospital table. The way he was drifting while you were digging a needle and thread through his skin.

Thinking back on it always makes you a bit sick. No one who wasn’t absolutely exhausted would ever fall asleep in a hospital- especially not in the middle of being sewn up. When you match that to the anger and terror you’d felt, that very first night you’d ever met him, it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. You come to realize that even if Bakugou was an asshole to you, you still wouldn’t wish that kind of mental torture on anybody.

Your rest of your week goes by quickly after that, and by the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve gathered quite a few bones to pick with him. It seemed the amount of criminals you were patching up was only increasing, and their injuries were only getting worse too. Each passing day only brings more lowly criminals and thieves flooding into your hospital, all covered in the same scorch marks, broken bones, and dark bruising. It was overkill, plain and simple, and you knew exactly who the culprit was.

You began to think that, even if it was Bakugou’s job, he really shouldn’t have been digging graves for people who were just stealing purses. There was a massive difference between a super villain and a petty thief, but he didn’t seem to understand that. Dynamite punished everybody just the same. You saw that first hand.

Still, you try to shake off those lingering frustrations. You were on your way to take out his stitches, and you didn’t want to accidently bring them up. Bakugou only mildly tolerated you the last time around, but you were sure that generosity would cease the moment you criticized anything about him. True to his quirk, Bakugou had proven himself to be a teetering powder keg- just a little bit of friction, and he’d explode on the spot.

“On your way to help his majesty?” Your superior remarks, smiling sardonically as you pass her. “Good luck, I’ll be praying for you! Try your best to come back with your head still intact, yeah?”

You nod, smiling uneasily, but your stomach turns a little bit.

That had been another reoccurring theme that week- jokes about how your impending doom was imminent. Apparently, Bakugou had been making a name for himself for years now- a name that was a lot less loved by your hospital then it was the rest of the outside world. You’d been hearing horror stories for days now; tale after twisted tale of nurses and doctors getting chewed up and spit out by his bad temper. It always read as a little strange to you though; in every story you’d heard, he was either hardly injured or on his death bed- no in-between whatsoever. You figure that it didn’t really matter though, the result was always the same. Relentless, explosive anger.

Which you sort of begun to think you were in for, when you opened the door to his scowling face.

“Hey!” You greet unsurely, trying to walk into the room with a confidence you didn’t really feel. Moving past him, you rinse your hands, drying them and then slipping on a pair of latex gloves. You then pull the medical cart over to him, taking out the blood pressure cuff. Just like his last visit. “You ready to get those stitches removed?”

“Yeah. Obviously. Why the fuck else would I waste my time here? Witch.”

Yep. There it is- just what the other nurses and staff were warning you about. His attitude.

“Oh. Okay, so I see we are still using that nickname. Great.” You mutter wrapping the cuff around his arm. You fall back, crossing your arms as you wait to jot down his vitals. There’s angry tension rolling off of him, and you smile uneasily, trying to discharge it with a subject change. “On an entirely different note, though, I did want to congratulate you.”

Bakugou just scoffs, turning up his nose. A beat passes and then he folds, minutely nodding at you to continue.

“You’re not covered in any blood this time! Congrats!” You say breezily, unwrapping the cuff from around his arm. “Guess the third time really is the charm for us, huh?”

Bakugou just looks away, hardly even acknowledging you as he rolls his eyes. You think you see his lip twitch though- just a bit, and it only lasts half a second, but you count it as a success.

“So, any worries about the stitches? You been cleaning them as instructed?” You ask, gently taking his forearm in your hands. You remove the bandages and gauze with feather-light touches. “Wow, you must’ve been. They look pretty good to me.”

When you look up at him, he’s got that same prideful smirk you’d seen before; it doesn’t distract you from his condition though. His skin somehow looks paler than before, skin purple and darkened under his eyes. You see the cut on his head, still hardly healed and scabbed over. He’s overworking himself, but you didn’t need to have any medical background to see that.

“Obviously they look good. You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” He says.

“No, but I really did think you would’ve exacerbated them by now. Especially with all the hero work you’ve been doing. Which, believe me, I know is a lot.”

“What- you stalking me now or somethin’?”

“Not exactly. Me or somebody else here always end up treating all those people you save.” You tell him, setting his arm down on the empty surface of the medical cart. You try to keep your voice light, keep it entirely void of anything accusatory, but you can’t help your next words. “And every person you beat into the ground.”

Bakugou’s eye twitches when you look at him. He breathes deep, eyebrows creasing.

“Oi- somethin’ you wanna fuckin’ say to me?” He utters, eyes glinting like blistering wildfire. He leans forward, flipping his palm up towards you as it begins to crackle. “Better choose your next words real fuckin’ carefully.”

It’s his tone that catches you off-guard.

You knew it was a stupid move, your comment, but the pure poison in his response surprises you anyway. His voice is dark and angry, smoldering like a low heat as he stares you down. The words are vicious thing, a gripping threat that drips from his mouth, seeming to bite back around his teeth as he speaks it. It makes you shrink. You think that it would probably make even the strongest people shrink.

“No. It’s- I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” You apologize professionally, pasting on your best appeasing smile even as you fight off the anxiety. There’s nothing left to do but try to defuse the situation- so you turn away from him, busying yourself with grabbing a discard tray and your stitching kit. “It’s really wasn’t my business. Shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.”

Bakugou just huffs at that, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He somehow looks even more annoyed than before and you don’t know what he wants from you. Doesn’t he know how intimidating he is? Why does he even bother acting surprised when people fold for him? Especially if he chooses to address them like that?

You wish you were the sort of person who could stand up to him- the sort of person who could put him in his place. After all, there was no room for arrogance in a hospital, and you’d always thought egotism to be a selfish waste of valuable time. But, even so, you just couldn’t be that person this time. There was a lot you could power though, but you’d never seen hot-and-cold anger like his before. He wasn’t like any of your other difficult patients- none of their threats ever sounded like promises.

There’s tense silence as you start removing the stitches, only the sound of your scissors and Bakugou’s own breaths. You try to keep your hands steady, try to keep focused, but you’re finding it hard to keep still under his intense gaze. You feel he’s looking right through you again, waiting for any excuse to blow up again.

You’re almost done removing them entirely when he huffs, rolling his eyes as he shifts uncomfortably.

“You’re so fucking sensitive, you know. It’s pathetic.”

You stiffen.

There’s a lot you’re willing to put up with- being underappreciated and overworked was pretty much your entire job after all- but Bakugou was really wearing on you. He wasn’t the first patient to insult you, and his comment was far from the worst thing you’d ever been told; but it’s something in the way he spits the insult. Sly and challenging like he knows something you don’t. It makes you look up at him, and all you see are his sharp canines. His smirk and the way he looks down on you.

He’s picking a fight, but there’s no threat. He’s testing you.

It makes your blood boil.

“If you don’t like me, and the way I do my work,” You bite out, staring right back and speaking through own clenched teeth. “Then you shouldn’t have asked for me. No one made you come back.”

“I told you, witch. No cutting corners. You put the fuckers in my arm, you take them the fuck out.”

“Why are you fighting with me?” You ask, swallowing as you try not to shy away from his glare. “I told you last time, if this works better for you silent, then just say that.”

He flares his nostrils at that, setting his jaw. When he goes silent, you go back to snipping away his stitches. At this point, you just wanted to finish as quickly as possible.

“Silent is fuckin’ boring.” He grits, flexing his fingers. It makes the skin on his forearm shift, throwing off your work. When you look at him in frustration, you can see he did it on purpose. “It’s wimp shit.”

“Pardon?”

“I said-” He leans in close, voice low and venomous. It feels like he’s trying to paralyze you with his stare alone, sitting up straight until he’s glaring down at you. “Silence is boring. You’re fucking boring.”

You’d had a long day- you’d had a very long day and he was being extremely rude and your patience was wearing thin hours ago. That’s why you let him break your careful composure- at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Oh yeah, I’m boring?” You ask in frustration, entire face warming in fury. “I’m boring? Really! At least I don’t spend my entire day blowing things up and beating people half to death!”

Bakugou blinks. He blinks, sucks a breath, and then you watch his smirk crawl slow and sure across the entirety of his face. He got you. He got you to break, and he won, and he knows it.

He knows it and he settles back on his good hand, leaning away to get a better look at your flustered face. He cocks his head to the side, studying and analytical for a moment. He nods.

“There. We’re fuckin’ even.”

“Excuse me?”

“Even. You shouldn’t have fuckin’ pried around in my head and not expected me to pry in yours.”

“That’s what this is about?” You sigh incredulously, putting your scissors down on the medical cart. “Really? You’re still on that- how- how does this even tell you what’s in my head? You’re just insulting me. It doesn’t!”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you so fuckin’ pissed right now? Hah?” He squints his eyes, voice smooth and dripping with arrogance. “It’s cause I’m right. You’re so fuckin’ boring when you play nice all the time.”

“Play nice? What the hell are you even on about? You don’t know me.”

“I know that you piss me the hell off bein’ fake. If I fuckin’ irritate you then say so. Don’t put on your fuckin’ kid gloves and try and be professional. It’s weak.”

“No. It’s how I keep my job. Which you know, you wouldn’t understand, because you literally pick fights for a living!” You huff, pushing the medical cart off to the side and stepping back from him. “Actually- you know what, no. I’m done with this. This conversation. Your stitches are out, and you can leave since you obviously can’t stand me and would rather be anywhere but here.”

You watch him flare his nostrils again, a snarl ripping from his mouth. He slams his closed fist down on the hospital bed, eyes like blazing conflagration. Bakugou looks pissed, but more than anything he looks vulnerable. Worn raw.

“I can’t.” He grits.

“Yes! You actually can! Just walk out! Literally just walk out an-’

“God, you’re so fucking dense! I can’t leave without figuring out how the fuck you do it!”

“Do what?” You nearly scream, your owns hands beginning to clench into fists.

“I need to know.” He repeats again, hopping off the hospital bed.

His feet hit the ground, steps like rolling thunder as he nears, broad shoulders and muscular arms casting an intimidating shadow. Bakugou looks like an angry bull storming toward you. Like he’ll obliterate you given even half the chance.

“Take your fucking gloves off.”

You’re scared now, eyes darting over to the door. You knew nobody was doing rounds in the luxury wing right now, and sound didn’t pass through walls that were made to ensure silence. Heart racing in your chest, you size him up, try to think of a way to escape but he’s so close to you and he’s built like a linebacker and-

“Jesus christ. Not like that. Fuckin’ idiot.” He growls, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He stops a few feet in front of you, sneering. “You’re not my fuckin’ type, so don’t flatter yourself. Now, grow the fuck up and take them off before I do it for you.”

You’re not sure what makes you listen, maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s something else, but either way you listen. You pull a glove off, just barely dropping it on the counter before Bakugou speaks again.

“I’m gonna touch your hand- but do not use your quirk. Don’t even think about using it. Just fucking stand there. And don’t freak the fuck out and put up a fight about it. You’re just gonna waste time.”

You nod, hand shaking as you extend it. Bakugou seems to roll his eyes at that, but he surges forward anyways, fingers meeting yours.

You feel it almost immediately. Your heart speeds up, but just slightly, beginning beat against your chest where it had just barely been grazing it before. You breathe deep, close you eyes, focus in on the buzzing of your skin- the way your bones sing of subtle fire. It’s barely there but it feels like warmth. Reminds you of that night, with Bakugou, when you were burning alive. Reminds you of how your bones felt too large and your skin felt too small and there somehow wasn’t enough room in the entire world to hold the weight of your rage.

“You ambient fucking bitch.” Bakugou swears under his breath. When you look at him, he’s fluttering his own eyes open, dropping your hand like it burned him.

Then he steps back and you’re gasping for air. It’s not entirely back again- but it’s reminiscent. There’s an inkling of that bone-deep exhaustion. That weariness that so often stole the air from you lungs and the ground beneath your feet.

“Your quirk. It’s ambient. Through your skin.”

You shrink back even more, blinking owlishly up at him.

“What? You didn’t fucking know? Jesus, how clueless are you?”

“It’s-I-” You drop your head, running a hand through your hair. “I never- I always wear gloves. Always. And long sleeves. Since I was little. Never wanted to take the chance- how did you even know.”

Bakugou seems to turn his nose up at your question. He steps back, further and farther until his back hits the hospital bed. There’s distance but somehow he keeps the air just as charged, averting his eyes when he speaks next.

“Went to sleep. A week ago. When I saw you-”

“What? Bakugou that doesn’t- you’re not-”

“If you’d let me fuckin’ finish,” He glares down at you again, trying to beat you into submission with eye-contact alone. It works and you fall silent, holding your breath as he resumes. “You put me to sleep. Then and three months ago. I haven’t slept peacefully like that in fuckin’ years. So obviously you used your quirk on me. It’s easy. A fuckin’ moron could’ve figured it out.”

“No- but I didn’t touch you! Well, the first time, yeah, I did, but not a week ago. I was wearing gloves and I-”

“When I told you to do the splint over, the sleeve of your coat rode up.” He grits out, cheeks slightly flushing as he averts his eyes. “Then I almost fell asleep. Not like the first time, but still. Asleep. So obviously it’s your fuckin’ skin.”

Suddenly, the ground is ripped out from under you.

Your entire life you’d always been tired. Day in and day out, constantly dragging your feet like you could never get enough sleep. Like there wasn’t enough hours in the day for you to live and be rested.

Was it your quirk this entire time? Were you somehow ambiently draining people of their pain- even if you just accidentally brushed their skin with yours?

You don’t know how you never realized it. How you never put two and two together.

You’d spent your entire life purposefully using your quirk to help people- had then sacrificed days and weeks of your life afterwards tucked away in bed and sleeping off the exhaustion. When you used your power on purpose, depending on the severity of someone’s pain, it would debilitate you. But you still did it- over and over and over again because you wanted to help people. Because you knew you could and that became the only reason you needed.

You’d always just assumed your constant exhaustion to be aftershocks of how often you used your quirk- you never even considered the possibility that it was something you were doing unintentionally. That you were draining yourself with every hug and handshake and high-five that should’ve made you feel better.

You’d always sort of disliked being touched. Somehow always walked away with your skin prickling uncomfortably for as long as you could remember. You just never knew why until now.

“Oi- I thought I told you not to freak the fuck out.”

“It’s- how the hell am I not supposed to freak out about this?” You gasp, hands braced behind you on the counter. “I didn’t know! My entire life! And you met me like, what, twice and you figured it out and- Are you falling asleep right now?”

In your spiral Bakugou had somehow ended back up on the hospital bed. He was still sat up, but his shoulders were completely slumped over and his eyes were half-lidded. He looked completely drained of all previous anger, swaying slightly as he blinked himself back to perfect alertness.

“Yeah. Probably.” He grumbles. “It’s your fuckin’ fault.”

“You barely touched me! How the hell is-”

“Don’t ask me, you fuckin’ leech.” He yawns, hand closed into a fist as he rubs at his eyes. “You’re the one with the stupid goddamn quirk. Not me.”

“That’s- sorry. I didn’t know. Holy shit,” You curl arms around your stomach, eyes widening. “Have I been doing this shit to everyone? My entire life?”

Bakugou groans. Audibly. Loudly.

“You’re the stupidest goddamn idiot on the face of the planet. Swear to fuck, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“You’re not helping!” You exclaim. “It was rhetorical question! Excuse me for freaking out right now- I’m sure you’d freak out too if you suddenly found out you were osmosis-ing people’s emotions your entire life!”

“Heh.”

“God, and just what the hell are you laughing about? This isn’t funny!”

“Osmosis.” He reiterates, mouth drawn up into a shit-eating grin. “Change your quirk name. To osmosis. Alleviate is shitty and stupid and it makes you sound fucking dumb.”

You bristle again, suddenly shaking any and all tiredness, rounding on him as you seethe.

“You- you are a goddamn asshole! You know that?” You start, stopping just a few feet in front of him. “You come in here, and insult me. Call me boring! In my own fuckin’ workplace! While I’m literally taking your stitches out! And then you tell me how my quirk works- somehow have the audacity to be fucking right about it, and now you’re insulting me? Again?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just sitting there, completely fine, smiling like there’s something funny! This isn’t funny! I’m not funny! This is my life- which you literally have been bulldozing through for months now- are you falling asleep? Again? No! No! Not in my- wake the fuck up! Asshole!”

You’re snapping in his face, just inches away from his eyes, and Bakugou hardly even blinks. He just sits still, calm and sated as you seethe just inches away from him. You huff in absolute hatred and that finally shocks some life into him. He smiles. Tiny and barely-there, but he smiles.

“See, not so nice anymore. Knew you weren’t. Fuckin’ liar.”

You want to scream. You want to tear your hair out and maybe take Bakugou’s too, and scratch and claw until you’re bathing in all the rage you’d accidentally stolen from him. You can’t though- you can’t because suddenly the sun starts to set. It falls behind the horizon line, seeping the gold from his skin and drowning him in sterile, white, artificial pallid-ness. His skin goes translucent and the only color in the entirety of his image are the bags under his eyes. Well, the bags under his eyes and the stark red of the barely-healed slice on his forehead.

You curse your own heart. Nearly collapse under the weight of your own sympathy. Bakugou was an asshole, an absolute, irredeemable dick, and you still wanted to heal him. Help him. Somehow. Miraculously.

So then you’re centering yourself, rubbing a hand down your face to soothe your wound-up features.

“God, you actually do look pretty bad.” You say, all attempts at grace and keeping it professional completely gone. “You really weren’t kidding about needing to sleep, huh?”

“No shit. Leech.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. That’s fine. Trade one mean nickname for another- I mean, hey, at least this one’s accurate right?”

Bakugou does actually exhale a laugh at that remark, limbs a flurry of chaotic movement when he throws himself back on the bed. His head hits the pillow and it’s only seconds before he’s shutting his eyes.

“So, what, you’re just, like, sleeping now?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“This is a hospital, Bakugou.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He mumbles, yawning into his hand. “‘m fuckin’ Dynamite. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“I’m sorry- do you, do you actually think you can ego your way out of rules? Seriously? You can’t sleep here! Not unless you’re critically injured and need like, round-the-clock care.”

He stills, breath evening and you think he’s fallen asleep. Then he’s lazily bringing a hand up, pointing it loosely at his head.

“I’m critically fuckin’ injured.”

“No- you’re not. That’s a cut and it’s already healing and-”

“I need round-the-clock care.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?”

“No.” He grunts, flopping as he turns away from you. Then he’s facing the wall, nuzzling into the pillow. “I’m tired.”

“It’s-” You start, but then you’re once again falling victim to your own empathy. One look at his translucent skin is all it takes. “Fine. You know what? I don’t give a shit. Do what you want, I guess. Nobody else is using these rooms.”

“Okay. Leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get the fuck out.” He slurs, cheek pressed up against the pillow as his eyes flutter beneath his eyelids. “Bein’ too loud. Leave.”

“Fine. Enjoy your sleep. Jerk.”

“Leech.”

You nearly punch him in frustration- until you realize that would probably only relax him more; because apparently this really is Bakugou’s world and you were the unlucky one just living in it.

He’s out before you’re even finished packing up. You’re wiping down all the surfaces either of you had touched, just about to leave, when he starts snoring. It’s a soft, almost kitten-like sound, just barely audible over your own breathing. It pisses you off. Boils your blood in your veins because it’s so goddamn humanizing even when he acts like the anti-christ with an even worse temper. It’s stupidly endearing and ridiculously sobering and incredibly, incredibly irritating.

That stupid sound is why you double back upon leaving the room. Why you’re suddenly choosing to reverse instead of moving forward, why you’re suddenly reaching into the cupboard instead of shutting the door behind you.

When you carefully unfold the blanket, settling it gently over his sleeping form, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Fuck being an empath.

--/--

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Mending the Cracks

Pairing: Daishou x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Choking, Spitting, DDLG, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation

Summary: Daishuo prides himself on his cool and collected facade, his ability to not let anyone see past his polite and put together appearances unless he wishes them to. But Kuroo has always had a special talent for getting under his skin and now it’s your turn to help mend the cracks the messy haired captain has accidentally created.

Roco once again turns a request that should have been just a rough jealous angry spicy PWP fic into a whole angst/fluff/comfort fic WITH rough jealous angry spice~

Your heart sinks as the referee blows the whistle signifying the end of the game, pride and disappointment swirling in a confusing mixture inside of you as you rush to your feet, already making your way out of the stands and towards the locker rooms. It had been a good game, a great game, one Nohebi should be proud of regardless of the end result, that Daishou should be proud of. Yet, you know that’s the farthest thing from what any of the boys are thinking of as they dejectedly shake hands with Nekoma, another chance of Nationals taken right from underneath their noses, Daishou’s last chance of Nationals gone, just like that.

You should be paying more attention to your surroundings, especially in such a crowded building with masses of spectators and athletes, but you’re too focused on rushing to your boyfriend as fast as you can, barely dodging the crowds and receiving more than a few dirty looks from people you accidentally bump into in your haste. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is comforting your lover, being there for him and reminding him that he’s still the most amazing person you know regardless of how one game went. And determinedly you quickly hook around the corner of the hall, only to yelp when you crash into something firm, the impact making you stagger back.

Mortification rushes through you once your body steadies itself and you fumble for words, stuttering out apologies when you realize what, or more specifically who, you’ve run into, practically diving to pick up the knee pads the other has dropped because of your carelessness. You can barely bring yourself to look up at the other person’s face, already cringing at the look of irritation you know you’ll receive (and frankly, deserve). But it’s the polite thing to do and your eyes slowly travel up and up a long, lean frame, only to blink in surprise when you see the amused smile on a handsome cat-like face as he plucks his knee pads from your hands.

He looks...familiar and you take a second to appraise him, eyes widening in shock when you recognize the Nekoma uniform and, emboldened by his lack of annoyance, you shyly smile, politely congratulate him on his team’s win and earning their ticket to Nationals.

You’re secretly glad your boyfriend is nowhere in sight, already knowing how childishly competitive he can get, especially where Nekoma is concerned. And you know he’d throw a fit if he saw you “consorting with the enemy”. But it’s the least you can do after running the poor guy over. Plus, Daishou really only has an issue with one person on the team and what are the chances that this athlete is…

“Oya? It’s not everyday someone decides to literally run me over. Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.”

Crap.

You pray to anyone who’s listening that Daishou doesn’t walk in on this scene, can only imagine how bad it would look to be caught chatting with Kuroo Tetsurou of all people only minutes after Nekoma had swiped Nohebi’s chances of Nationals away from them, even before you’ve talked to your own boyfriend.

But when it rains it pours and unknown to you, narrowed eyes scowl at the both of you from down the hallway.

If Daishou’s honest, the outcome of the match isn’t surprising. Nekoma has always been a stronger team than Nohebi, as aggravating as it is to admit. But it doesn’t make the loss any easier and he knows he’s just looking for a reason to pick a fight when annoyance curls inside of him at how quietly and respectfully Kuroo shakes his hand, not a hint of the other’s usual provoking or teasing after the match is over. He knows it’s out of sportsmanship, but he can’t help but believe he sees his own self-pity reflected in those feline eyes. And he storms out before he accidentally makes a scene, mustering every last bit of his snake-like charm to plaster a smile on his face and force out some pleasantries and kind words to his team, all the while wanting nothing more than to rush into your arms and lock himself away as he comes to terms with his dreams being dashed.

So imagine the stomach sinking shock he feels as he rounds the corner in his search of you, only to stare in disbelief as you smile up at literally the only person in this entire building who he’d rather you not ever meet, the person who led the team that had just crushed his team’s hopes, seemingly in no hurry to excuse yourself.

Shock makes way for hot fiery fury fueled by jealousy and insecurity and before he can fully register what he’s doing, he’s storming towards you, startling both of you when he suddenly cuts in between, rigid and stiff with hostility and anger as he shoves his face mere inches away from Kuroo’s surprised one.

It’s startling to say the least to have his view of you suddenly replaced by a larger figure and Kuroo instinctively steps back, uncertainty filling him when he sees heavy shadows of pure unadulterated ill-intent in Daishou’s eyes.

Interactions with the Nohebi captain are always playful, even if the stinging words aren’t always exactly lighthearted and Kuroo enjoys their bantering and rivalry underscored by respect for each other that both captains would die before admitting to. But this...this is different and Kuroo can’t help but think that somehow they’ve accidentally crossed the line to a point of no return, that something terrible is on the verge of happening, jaw instinctively tightening and fists clenching in self-defense.

“Winning wasn’t enough for you, so now you’re trying to rub more salt in my wounds by hitting on my girl?”

Oh. OH.

Kuroo KNEW you looked familiar, unsure where to place you, but it all makes sense as his brain quickly puts the pieces together, frantically working under pressure as the snake in front of him rattles his tail and hisses. You’re the new girlfriend he’s seen in all of Daishou’s social media posts recently. And suddenly it’s his turn to fumble over words as he tries to calm the furious athlete in front of him, desperately trying to find a way to de escalate the situation without having to resort to anything physical, trying to reassure the other captain that it’s not what it looks like, wincing at how cliche that phrase sounds.

You’re frozen as you watch the taller man continue stammering explanations, stunned by the feral aura radiating from your boyfriend, unsure what’s the best way to approach the situation without exacerbating the issue. But when you see Daishou take a step forward, your hands fly to the back of his jersey, harshly tugging at the fabric in a bid to drag him away from Kuroo, to keep him from doing something stupid that he’d regret.

You wonder if you did the right thing as you cower when he whirls around to face you, pinning you down with a practically murderous gaze. But then you see it, underneath the blazing fires of his eyes, the vulnerable insecurities he keeps so deeply hidden within him, that he’d shared about to you in full confidence, raring back to life and tearing him up inside.

Am I not good enough?

The question is unspoken, but you hear it clear as day and you want to scream at him, touch him, anything to wipe away the torment in his gaze. No, you're more than good enough. So much more. And despite the way you feel like a tiny mouse about to be swallowed whole, you easily let him drag you away, mindlessly following him and lacing your fingers with his bone crushing grip.

It's silent as you scramble to keep up with his determined pace, clutching at his arm and pressing against his side in quiet obedient comfort, a reminder that you're with him every step of the way, out of your own desire and love for him. And although his countenance remains stony, your heart swells when he instinctively leans into your touch, the dark fog around him lightening just a bit.

Not a word is said even as he locks his bedroom door behind the two of you, even as he pulls you onto his bed, wrapping his body tightly around you not unlike the creature he's nicknamed after.

And you let him, ignoring the discomfort you feel as he constricts your body too tightly to be comforting, murmuring how amazing he was on the court, what a respected captain he is, how you know there's still so many opportunities for him in life, volleyball, anything he wants even if Nationals wasn't his fate.

But when he remains silent, you nervously take a deep breath, knowing it's time to address the elephant in the room.

"Suguru, you know I love you, right? I only have eyes for you and no one else. Kuroo-"

You squeal in surprise when you're suddenly pinned to the bed by a toned body, gasping when a hand wraps around your throat rendering you silent, whimpering at the venomous look staring down at you.

"Don't say his fucking name, especially when you're in bed with me."

But you need to explain! Need to clear the air! And you desperately claw at his hand digging into your neck, struggling to force words out, only to moan when lips crash down on yours, a tongue slithering inside of your mouth and ravishing you, fangs harshly nipping at your lips in a warning to remain silent and pliant.

You pant for breath when he finally pulls away, trying to reach up and cradle his face in your hands, keep him still as you explain everything to him. But your efforts are futile and you moan when he promptly spits in your mouth the second you try to open your mouth to speak, body instinctively grinding against his when the hand on your throat tightens once again, mind busy trying to obediently keep his saliva in your mouth while simultaneously breathing through your constricted airway.

"Not a single word from you unless it's about me and how good I'm making you feel, understood? Swallow."

Daishou trained you well and you're quick to gulp down the pooled liquid in your mouth, baring your neck in submission as his lips and teeth possessively mark the expanse of your neck, sucking and biting marks you know you'll be proudly wearing for days afterwards, traveling down and down as your clothes are pulled off and haphazardly thrown away.

The room fills with breathy moans and sighs as you let him have you, let him mark every inch of you, relishing in the slight twinges of pain you feel when teeth sink in too deep, when lips suck too hard all over your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your rib cage. But you wail when he deems you sufficiently marked, a hot wet mouth wrapping around one of your nipples, fingers harshly twisting and pulling the other.

"DADDY!"

Pride soars inside of Daishou at the nickname, a name he knows only he’s lucky enough to hear from your lips, and he pulls away from your aroused bud just long enough to spit out a few choice words.

“That’s right, baby girl. I’m your daddy. I’m the one who takes care of you. I’m the one who makes you feel good. So why the fuck did daddy find his precious girl chatting it up with some other man like a dirty little slut? Daddy not good enough for you anymore?”

Your head swirls from the degrading words, thighs clenching at hearing his endearing terms for you, but tears pricking at your eyes when you hear the trickle of doubt that seeps into his last question. Shame floods through you as you frantically shake your head, salty droplets leaking from your eyes as you begin to sob, desperately clutching Daishou’s sides and trying to pull him closer to you.

“No, Daddy! Never! Only you! You’re my only daddy. I love you. I’m sorry! I’m your good girl. Please let me show you that I’m your good girl?”

Daishou chuckles, warm fondness beginning to take off the frostiest edges of his insecurities as he watches you flail and fight against his hold in your pursuit of making him feel good, your greedy fingers trying to drag him closer to you, your hips grinding and humping his hardening cock like a bitch in heat as you babble and beg to ride him, suck him off, help him cum.

It’s heartwarming in the most depraved way how loyal and dedicated you are to him, how easily you’ll let yourself fall into debauchery just to please him. And in his heart of hearts, he knows deep down that you’d never betray him, that you love him just as much as he loves you. But the heart and the mind aren’t always on the same page and he can’t help the way his eyes narrow and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he replays the scene of Kuroo and you in the hall, even though he knows the chance of you being swept away so easily by someone else is close to null, even though he knows Kuroo is a decent enough man to back off once he knows you’re a taken woman.

“Settle down, little one. I know you’re a desperate slut for daddy, but today you’re going to behave, okay? You’re going to lay there, let daddy thoroughly remind you who you belong to, and thank me for it, understand?”

It’s a rhetorical question and you barely have time to nod your head before Daishou’s blunt cock head is pressing against your already drenched entrance. You claw at the bedsheets when he suddenly slams in balls deep inside of you, your sopping wet folds easily making way for his cock, and your toes curl at the abrupt stretch, eyes already shamelessly rolling to the back of your head from the sensation of finally being stuffed full.

“Daddy, so good, daddy, daddy, daddy” becomes your mantra, barely discernible amidst your wanton moans as he hardly gives you time to adjust before he’s starting up a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours, balls slapping your ass with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close to the edge you already are, how you nearly came just from his cock stretching you full, but you can’t help it when Daishou knows your body even better than you, when your pussy is practically molded just for him, trained to be his perfect cock sleeve and you wail as you fall to pieces around his cock, body convulsing and mind shattering from the overwhelming pleasure.

But he doesn’t let up, continuing his relentless onslaught, smirking down at how broken you already look, drool and tears staining your wrecked face, incoherent babbling and wails slipping past your lips as overstimulation begins to wash over you, body now shaking uncontrollably as pain and pleasure swirl inside of you.

“That’s it, baby girl. You’re doing so well. Keep on taking it. Fucking take my cock! This is what you were made for. Being daddy’s cock slave that he fucks silly. Going to use you until you can’t even think about anyone or anything else other than daddy’s cock.”

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in between your legs and he swears he could die happy like this, cock buried deep within your tight pussy, would happily live the rest of his life bottomed out inside of you if he had the chance. But he’s only human after all and he can feel his end approaching, balls tightening and pace becoming wild and erratic when he hungrily devours the sight of your lewd state as you dopily smile, brokenly chanting “I’m daddy’s cock slave”, slurring thank yous over and over again. His hand reaches down to furiously rub your clit and all it takes is your second fall from grace, the sensation of your tight walls clamping and clenching around his cock, milking him of all his cum, to empty his balls inside of you.

It’s silent again save for both your shaky breaths as you come down from your respective highs and Daishou carefully slumps down to the side of you, pulling you to also lay on your side, wrapping you in his arms as your lower bodies remain connected, hooking his chin on top of your head and letting you burrow into his neck and cuddle up beside him.

But despite all his earlier bravado, you can feel his scales shift and skin shed as he reveals his softer, more vulnerable side, can feel him slump and his defenses crumble in the way he clings onto you, and you wriggle out of your comfortable position, ignoring the throbbing between your legs and all over you body as you determinedly reposition yourself until the two of you are face to face, forehead and noses pressed against each other.

“Suguru, I love you. I love you so much. You’ll always be more than enough for me.”

You smile at the love and hope you see reciprocated back at you in your lover’s eyes, giggling when it’s quickly replaced by panic and embarrassment as he holds you at arms length, staring in dismay at all the punishing marks he had left all over your body before frantically nearly crushing you as he pulls you tightly back towards him, apologies spilling from his mouth for being so rough, a stupid stereotypically jealous boyfriend. And you roll your eyes as he suddenly starts raving and ranting about how this is somehow all Kuroo’s fault, shutting him up with a forceful kiss of your own, a playful smirk sitting on your face.

“You told me not to mention his name and yet here you are, going on and on about him right after we’ve had sex. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little more interested in him than two rival captains should be. Should I be the jealous one?”

You bite back a laugh at the look of pure disgust on Daishou’s face as he stares agape at you, jaw slack and open wide in disbelief at your blasphemous lies, using whatever latent talent you have as an actor to tap a finger to your lips in a parody of an inquisitive thoughtful gesture.

“I’m pretty open minded, Suguru. We can invite him for a threesome if you want. Ooh! Who do you think would top? Kuroo? You’d look so pretty on bottom for once, don’t you think? Or would you prefer to shut him up-”

You squeal in laughter and surprise when you’re suddenly being suffocated and crushed by a heavy weight on top of you, Daishou flipping the two of you over and laying his whole weight on top of you, shoving your face into his chest and grunting at you to shut up as he nuzzles his face into the top of your head and closes his eyes to rest, dragging you to an exhausted slumber with him as his breathing even outs and lulls your own heavy eyelids into shutting.

Somewhere else in Tokyo Kuroo sneezes out of the blue, curiously wondering if someone is talking about him.

#haikyuu smut #daishou x reader #daishou smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #daishou #Daishou Suguru #haikyuu x reader

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whitehotharlots · 3 years

Text

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris. Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City. I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago. In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her. The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class. "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later. "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend. Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two. Cops came in and pulled him out of class. Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody. From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris. No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing. This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search. The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy. He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment.

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab. Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie.

It was his first offense. He was 16.

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad. He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework. She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he? They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his.

What really fucked with him was rehab. It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time: he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions. Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie. Yes, he said, he was an addict. Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic." His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday? Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of? Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right? No? Well you see right there that's a part of the problem. Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own. No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out.

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend. All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4. It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday. It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays. The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it. 'When would you go to church?' he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems. One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful. Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work. But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed. Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy.

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough. If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake. During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back. Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence.

"It's not the drugs: it's the high," the man said. He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius. He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense. And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him. The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room. His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked. Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer. Chris kept looking down. His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness. Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat. If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad. But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up. Now."

He did. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face. Soak it up. Take it all in. Done? Give you another second. Okay, now you're done. This, people, is what failure looks like. Some of you will see it again, right here. This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face. It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes. By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him. Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows. Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet. And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines. His mom was making time with the addicts. This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence. He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view. He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back. All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car. All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made. Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him. Really, wow. Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen, it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met. "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him. Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high. What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times. Vicodin, right. Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire. That's right. Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot. Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day. Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth. His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?" Stepfather laughed. Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth. Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd. People clapped a little bit. Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red. A stack of certificates sat on the table up front. The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance. He looked all business. There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again. Arrested in front of his parents.

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it. That's all it was. Nothing to get too upset about. Still—gotta stay calm. If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high.

"Well," the overseer began. Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat. He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut. When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful. Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either. Talked about his wife and kids all the time. This was an act. He had measured out this persona for himself. This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself. Pot fucks up the way you think about things. How long had it been since they sat down? How long since he'd been scared by the cops? When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking. Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces. Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends. The selfishness might end here. The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here. But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long. Wanted people to clap for him. They did. Then they finished. He continued. His tone was different. He had sounded like he was reading off a card. Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon. Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh. Okay. That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day. He wasn't even here. Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah.

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative. He didn't come. But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come… but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned. He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings. The air shifted around Chris. It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance. The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it. Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him. In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear. He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process.

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized. He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage. When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her. He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen: because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it. What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison. That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time. And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction. That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course. You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together. On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else. They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all. No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise. That had two positives: one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him. Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching. That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction. Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block. He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something. His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings. Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit. He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid. He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody. He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair. This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things. More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive. Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try. At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it. That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me. I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed. This made him a blast to hang out with. This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family. My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach. Most of her friends soon followed suit. He was left behind. As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around. Not by much. He still drinks far too much. But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student.

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dontbipanicjonsa · 3 years

Text

Dutiful Sansa Stark

Plus some extra stuff about perceptions and POV traps

Read under the cut-

Tyrion

"No," Sansa said at once. "You . . . you are kind to offer, but . . . there are no devotions, my lord. No priests or songs or candles. Only trees, and silent prayer. You would be bored."

"No doubt you're right." She knows me better than I thought. "Though the sound of rustling leaves might be a pleasant change from some septon droning on about the seven aspects of grace." Tyrion waved her off. "I won't intrude. Dress warmly, my lady, the wind is brisk out there."

He was tempted to ask what she prayed for, but Sansa was so dutiful she might actually tell him, and he didn't think he wanted to know.

xxx

He wondered what Sansa would do if he leaned over and kissed her right now. Flinch away, most likely. Or be brave and suffer through it, as was her duty. She is nothing if not dutiful, this wife of mine. If he told her that he wished to have her maidenhead tonight, she would suffer that dutifully as well, and weep no more than she had to.

Littlefinger

A true daughter would not refuse her sire a kiss, so Alayne went to him and kissed him, a quick dry peck upon the cheek, and just as quickly stepped away.

"How . . . dutiful." Littlefinger smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes.

xxx

She hugged him dutifully and kissed him on the cheek. "I am sorry to intrude, Father. No one told me you had company."

"You are never an intrusion, sweetling. I was just now telling these good knights what a dutiful daughter I had."

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

That's a lot of dutiful.

On the surface it seems like these two situations- one with Tyrion and one with LF- parallel each other; creepy, older men interested in Sansa think she's too 'dutiful' because she suffers through their attentions. However, when we dig deeper it becomes clear that the two situations actually contrast in subtle ways.

Tyrion

Tyrion calls her dutiful, but what duty is she fulfilling? She actually fails to fulfil her biggest duty to him i.e. having his babies (ew).

Or rather, she refuses to do her duty to him.

"On my honor as a Lannister," the Imp said, "I will not touch you until you want me to."

It took all the courage that was in her to look in those mismatched eyes and say, "And if I never want you to, my lord?"

His mouth jerked as if she had slapped him. "Never?"

Cue me falling ever deeper in love

This is a powerful scene. Tyrion is willing to give her an inch, but she goes and takes a mile. She could have just said "yes, I'll let you know when I want you" and then never let him know, but instead she said that. His plan was to postpone the consummation, but now she’s taken the opportunity to tell him that if she had her way, they would never consummate their marriage. He can still go through with it, but with this one statement (knowingly or unknowingly) she's put the onus of choice on him. He can still touch her, he can still consummate the marriage- but Sansa will never want him to. It’s still her ‘duty’ to suffer through it, but now any future sexual contact between them is undoubtedly in the non-con category.

That doesn't sound like Sansa is just reluctant to do her duty, it sounds like she's rejecting it.

In fact, Sansa is basically never shown to think about her 'duties' as his wife. Eating lunch with him may be her 'duty', but she isn't doing it for that reason. She's doing it because what other choice does she have?

Honestly I'm not sure where he even gets the idea that she's oh-so-dutiful, because as far as I can tell, she's really just doing the bare minimum she can get away with doing as his political-prisoner-child-bride.

Sansa does not, for a single second, give a flying fuck about her duty to Tyrion and I love her for it.

And yet, Tyrion's my-dutiful-wife false belief is what allows her to get away with planning her escape. Tyrion fails to be suspicious of her even when he absolutely should be re: that first quote.

So-

Tyrion likes to think Sansa is dutiful (for some reason).

Sansa is not dutiful.

Sansa doesn't seem to be aware that Tyrion thinks she is, but it works to her advantage nevertheless.

Littlefinger

Now in Littlefinger's case she really is playing the dutiful daughter.

This time, fulfilling her 'duty' as his daughter is in her best interest, because it acts as an excuse to avoid what he really wants from her. It's basically the reverse of the Tyrion Situation.

So-

Littlefinger thinks Sansa is dutiful because she is.

She's acting dutiful on purpose (to diffuse his sexual attraction (ew) towards her).

Clearly, it's working to her advantage.

Now, onto the extra stuff-

We have this-

Dontos chuckled. "My Jonquil's a clever girl, isn't she?"

"Joffrey and his mother say I'm stupid."

"Let them. You're safer that way, sweetling.

xxx

"The g-g-godswood, my lord," she said, not daring to lie. "Praying . . . praying for my father, and . . . for the king, praying that he'd not be hurt."

"Think I'm so drunk that I'd believe that?" He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burnt face. "You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you're taller too, almost . . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you?

xxx

"There's to be so much, my lord. I have a little tummy." She fiddled nervously with her hair and looked down the table to where Joffrey sat with his Tyrell queen.

Does she wish it were her in Margaery's place? Tyrion frowned. Even a child should have better sense.

Sansa goes under the radar so well in KL because people think she's too stupid to do anything. Again, we see Tyrion, an overall smart guy, fail to be suspicious of Sansa's very suspicious behavior nevermind that she IS a child you asshole because he thinks she's stupid.

So-

People think Sansa is stupid

She's not stupid. We also don't see Sansa actively encouraging that perception, which makes sense because-

she doesn't need to. They do that all by themselves and

she's too busy believing she really is stupid, poor kid

3. It works to her advantage anyway.

Which leads me to-

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

xxx

"Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa," said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf."

xxx

"The dwarf's wife did the murder with him," swore an archer in Lord Rowan's livery. "Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws."

So-

People thinking Sansa murdered Joffrey with her witchy wolf ways.

She didn't.

???

I am SO looking forward to see where this goes.

More extra stuff-

This entire post grew out of me obsessing over this post.

It got me thinking that out of the six core characters, Sansa is the most observed one. We see her in real time through the chapters of other POV characters the most. I counted. My count can be up or down by about one or two chapters, but I have Sansa pegged at around 15 chapters, followed by Tyrion at 11, then A*ya (around 9), then Jon (around 8), then Bran (4), and then D*ny (0). This is exacerbated by the fact that Sansa has some of the least number of POV chapters of the 'core six'. This means that-

We see Sansa more (or at more than others) from other POVs than her own. In other words, we get to be in Sansa's head less and in other characters' head thinking about her more (unlike most other main characters).

This plays a BIG ROLE in her POV trap, which is pretty much the opposite of D*ny's POV trap in terms of both what it is hiding and how

Perception and reality play a very obvious and direct part in Sansa's story, both her own perceptions and others' perceptions of her.

The Vale arc changes everything though. Now suddenly-

She's surrounded by an entirely new cast of people

She's the only POV character in the location

She has an entirely new identity with none of the same pre-conceived biases attached (though there sure are other pre-conceived biases that go with her identity)

This has happened with other characters as well (Tyrion in ADWD, Arya in every other book), but the impact it has on our perception of her is unique. It's basically reversing everything her POV trap was previously built on.

Now, she is her own worst critic. Now, the thoughts that other POV characters have of her (Tyrion, Cersei) are increasingly muddled. Is she a murderous sorcerer, or a stupid little girl? Was she dutiful, or a scheming traitor? The correct answer is-

she was none of those things. Everyone is just....trapped by their own PoV?

#sansa stark #meta #anti sanrion #anti littlefinger

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

Taming of the Bridezilla | Seokjin

→ summary: Picture this: You had been (not-so) cordially invited to the wedding of your least favorite cousin—a woman who had been hellbent on making your childhood a living hell. Now older and wiser, you would think that you would put aside your differences and attend your cousin’s special day without any hard feelings, right? You wouldn’t seek revenge, now would you?

→ genre: fake dating!au, i2l, humor/crack, fluff → warnings: seokjin and oc paradoxically have big yet small brains, fake proposals, not-so fake mutual pining, thinly veiled baby-making jokes, terrible family members, ass slapping (no worries it’s consensual) → words: 6.3K → a/n: first of all, no this is not a horror fic; i just thought the title was funny. unless you consider the stupidity of the characters to be mildly horrifying, then sure you can count this as a horror fic. this insanely ridiculous fic was commissioned by @breadoffoxy!! anyone who loves chaotic jin is an angel in my book. yes, this comm is a bit longer than expected but what can i say... i love me some jin. anyway i hope you guys enjoy!

“You got the ring, right?”

Seokjin pats his left breast pocket and gives you a quick smirk. The bump where the ring should be is fortuitously hidden by his large and garish boutonniere, looking to all the world like he had pinned a whole head of cabbage to his suit. Even then, he still somehow manages to make it work. “Of course I did. This entire plan would be useless if I didn’t have it,” he says.

“What flavor did you get? I quite like the watermelon one,” you muse, smacking your lips in anticipation. “Though it’s hard to remember since I haven’t had a ring pop in years.”

Seokjin laughs loudly, startling a group of aunties gossiping in the corner. They all shoot glares at him, though the effect has lost its novelty as they’ve already been glaring at you from the moment you arrived. You suppose that they have a good reason to, considering that you both arrived at the reception an entire 30 minutes late. You can imagine them cursing you under their breath, saying something like, “You’ve brought dishonor to us all!” or whatever it is that aunties like to say these days.

“I could have gotten you all the flavors available at the convenience store if you wanted, but then we’d be 40 minutes late instead,” Seokjin sighs, pretending to be anguished at the thought.

You snort in the most unladylike manner that you can, grinning wildly when you hear one of the aunties gasp in horrified disbelief. From the way they’re reacting, you might have thought that you just flashed them your Borat-inspired neon green thong.

“I do love a man who can treat me well,” you giggle, earning a soft pinch from him.

“Oh, hush. I know you love it. You nearly burst into tears the other day when I bought you a McFlurry because your broke ass was a dollar short,” Seokjin teases. You squawk indignantly, unable to come up with a retort.

“Whatever! Just because you’re a trust fund baby doesn’t mean you get to bully my impoverished state. Just you fucking wait ‘til I get hit by a wealthy 77 year old’s BMW and then I’ll be made for life,” you huff, your illusion of annoyance quickly shattered by the large, dumb grin on your face. “Hey, would you still love me if I broke all my limbs but had a massive bank account?”

“I’d rather buy you McDonald’s for the rest of your life than see you in pain,” he answers simply, patting you gently on the head. “Though I suppose helping you inject thousands of calories into your bloodstream would also cause you pain later on in life, but hey, at least you’d go down doing what you love.”

“Oh, yes. Keep talking dirty to me. I love it when you talk about the ways you’d kill me by association.” You laugh, casually looping your arms together as you walk past the slowly growing crowd of aunties and entering the reception hall to find your seats. Almost everyone is already in their seats, with a few guests milling about and greeting one another with tight-lipped smiles and hollow laughter. The sight brings goosebumps up your arm, bringing back terrible memories of having to make niceties with these people despite knowing that they despised you and your less affluent family.

Remember, you’re only here as a representative for your parents, you tell yourself. You’d rather bear the brunt of the thinly-veiled insults than to have your parents have to experience this hell. Besides, you have big plans for today, and they would only be brought to an end if your mother ever found out what you wanted to do in the first place.

“As they say… We’re here for a good time, not a long time, which I suppose is our philosophy for tonight as well,” he quips back. He taps you lightly on the hand, wrenching your gaze away from the magnificent chocolate fountain on the dessert table and back to his somewhat less magnificent face. A straight-up lie, but it is the only defense mechanism you have in your arsenal that can keep you from staring at how gorgeous he looks in his suit and tie like a braindead idiot. Denial, after all, hasn’t failed you during the last five years that you’ve been in love with your own best friend.

“What is it?” you ask, curious when he furtively points out one of your cousins near the front of the hall. “That’s Namjoon. Do you know him?”

“Know is a strong word,” Seokjin hums, winking at your cousin when he happens to turn towards the two of you. Namjoon’s eyes light up when he sees him, but his excitement immediately vanishes when he notices who Seokjin has beside him on his right arm. You could see the mental cogs going on inside Namjoon’s head as he stares at the two of you, but you don’t get to see him reach a conclusion before Seokjin is pulling you away, walking in the opposite direction.

“Seokjin? What was that all about?” you ask, though you have to admit you’re kind of afraid to know the answer to your own question. As much as everything about tonight’s scheme had been your idea, you can’t help but think that Seokjin’s intense enthusiasm to help you isn’t merely out of his own desire to help you as a friend, but rather due to his innate calling to cause chaos wherever he goes.

“I have a secret bonus surprise for the bride and groom once we get kicked out from this joint after we do our thing,” he says. “And, dare I say, it’ll be quite a treat for all the guests here.” The smirk on his lips is downright heinous, only exacerbating the frantic racing of your heart. There must be something wrong with you, not with how badly you want to do unspeakable atrocities to him and his evil-looking ass. Or perhaps he was simply put down on Earth to test your slowly fraying sanity.

He snaps you out of your dumbfounded, horny stupor when he continues, “If everything goes according to plan, then we’ll truly end this night with a bang, no pun intended.”

“What was even the pun there?” You raise a brow, slightly disconcerted by the way Seokjin was struggling to keep his laughter (at his own joke) at bay. “You know what? Don’t even answer. I guess I’ll just have to find out later tonight.”

After some pointless meandering while the two of you locate your seats, you are finally able to locate your table, unsurprisingly situated near the farthest corner of the hall where no one would have to see you. You’re honestly more surprised that your newly-wedded cousin had even remembered to give you a seat, though you suppose that it must have been at the behest of your uncle. While your devil of a cousin has always been rude and cruel to you, you have to admit that at least her father knew some manners, though that only begs the question as to what happened to his daughter along the way. Genetics and expensive etiquette classes can only help so much, you suppose.

“Thank you again for doing this with me. You really didn’t need to,” you say when you take a seat, nearly elbowing him in the process. Your chairs are wedged right beside the emergency exit and a grotesque ice sculpture of the bride and groom, forcing the two of you to sit so close that you could feel Seokjin breathe directly into your ear. If you shifted just slightly to the right, you’d basically be sitting on his lap (which is a prospect that intrigues you greatly, but you refrain from voicing it in fear of creeping him out… for now).

“How could I ever resist the offer to ruin your cousin’s wedding? This has been on my bucket list for years,” he winks cheekily at you. “Besides, you’re my dearest friend, Y/N. You could ask me to fight a bear naked, and I’d gladly let it eat my dick in one chomp!”

“I wouldn’t let a bear eat your dick,” you say kindly, patting him gently on the back. “You can’t afford to lose an inch when you only have two to offer.”

Before you could laugh hysterically at Seokjin’s howls of betrayal, your attention is pulled away when the soft violin music stops playing abruptly. From far away, it’s hard to tell what’s going on until you notice a bright light reflecting off of the sea of attendees, the balding head of the reception’s host bobbing up and down as he makes his way to the front of the hall.

“Attention esteemed guests! We will now begin serving dinner shortly. Please remain in your seats as our waiters attend to you.” The host speaks into a crackly microphone just as a few scraggly-looking underpaid teenagers in black dress shirts come out with the first course of the night.

Seokjin cranes his neck, trying to see what the food is. “What the hell is that? Why does it look like green shit in a bowl?” he murmurs, loud enough so that only you can hear. “I didn’t know your cousin was a Dr. Seuss fan. Are we being served green eggs and ham?” Before you can guess, you watch as his nose crinkles in disgust, a vile stench making its way to your area even though none of the waiters were even close to your table. “Oh my goodness, is that stench what we’re supposed to eat?”

“Smells like a barnyard,” you comment, though you aren’t as surprised as he is by the revolting smell. “Well, my cousin always did like making atrocious vegan recipes on her shitty WordPress blog, so I wouldn’t put it past her if she made up the menu for her own wedding.”

“She’s a vegan and a bully? What are the odds,” he says drily, cringing when he watches one of the guests begin to dry heave the moment a spoonful of the green stuff enters their mouth. “Christ. I didn’t know I was signing up for a life or death mission.”

“At this rate, I don’t think we’re getting served until the end of the night anyway,” you say, observing as the understaffed employees tried their best to get to every table while insufferable aunts did their worst to hinder their progress by nagging and complaining. Why were they so adamant about eating the food anyway? Were they itching to get diarrhea on a Saturday night? You do admit that it would probably be better, so then at least you’d have an excuse to leave earlier. “Though I suppose... Do you think eating the mystery goo while it’s cold would be better or worse?”

“It’s okay, I’ll treat you to McDonald’s when we finish up here,” he says, smiling sweetly at you. Never in your life has the mention of greasy fries and chicken nuggies made your heart race faster than it did at that moment, but then again, it could also be your high-blood pressure kicking up. Either way, you can’t ignore the way your face heats up at his offer, now more excited than ever for the reception to be over.

You and Seokjin chat as you wait for everyone around you to finish eating, not even bothered when the waiters forget to bring your food. You’re in the middle of debating the pros and cons of cock and ball torture when large dark shadows loom over both your heads, much like a solar eclipse. A cold shiver runs up your spine when you look up to find the reptilian faces of your aunts, the fumes of their designer perfume creating a cloud so noxious that you could feel your lungs shrivel into prunes.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s nice to see you after such a long time,” your Aunt Sohee greets, her tone indicating that there was nothing pleasant about seeing you at all. Your aunt, who had gotten so much botox done that she was reminiscent of a plastic balloon ready to pop, has her entourage of fellow aunties behind her, all of whom looked ridiculous in their fake designer dresses. You swear you can see that one of them had forgotten to snip off the Made in China tag before wearing it to the wedding.

“Aunt Sohee, you’re looking… young,” you say after a moment, deciding to settle on lying for now. Even though your main plan for this evening is to create chaos at your cousin’s wedding, your one condition is that you wouldn’t cause a scene with your aunts. While you are hardly in the running for favorite niece, there is still a 1% chance that you could get some inheritance from them once they hit the grave, so you’ll have to grit your teeth and bear the incoming barrage of personal questions coming your way lest you lose out in the long run.

“Why, thank you. I can’t say the same for you,” she huffs, shamelessly grabbing my cheeks and squishing them like stress balls. She peers sourly at your disfigured face, trying to squint judgmentally at you but failing due to her horrendous plastic surgery. “How old are you? Why do you have so many wrinkles?”

You feel your eyebrow twitch involuntarily, unable to respond even if you wanted due to the gorilla-hold she has on your face. You side-eye Seokjin, who is looking back at you with a blank and calm expression. You had already told him beforehand that you wouldn’t be arguing with your aunts, but that doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to be an asshole.

Being an asshole, after all, is Seokjin’s favorite pastime.

“Hello, Aunties. My name is Kim Seokjin, and I’m Y/N’s long-term boyfriend. She’s told me many good things about you,” he says with a polite smile, his hamster cheeks puffing up in that adorably boyish way. The surrounding aunties all begin to coo at his handsome face (unfair!), but they’re quickly silenced by a sharp glare from your Aunt Sohee. She appraises him, giving him a once over with a pursed lip.

“Long-term boyfriend, huh? Are you sure you aren’t paying her or something? Y/N hasn’t had a boyfriend in years. Her cousins have told me that she’s been too busy with other… extracurricular activities to bother sticking around,” your aunt says snidely, her sneer deepening. She lets go of your face, crossing her arms when she spies the expensive watch on his wrist. “Ah, I see that you’re well-off. I just can’t possibly see why else you’d be staying with her if not for other reasons.”

You can feel your blood pressure rising, the veins on your forehead undoubtedly bulging as you try to suppress your rage. Screw your cousin for spreading a rumor that you’re a whore! It’s as if you were the one sucking guys off in the locker rooms when the two of you were in the second year of high school and not her. You haven’t even had your first proper kiss, for heaven’s sake!

Instead of getting angry, Seokjin’s expression hardly changes at all. His serene smile is still plastered on his face, but only you can tell that he’s even remotely bothered by their rude remarks. You can feel the air around him turn frosty, but your oblivious aunties are still too busy tittering amongst themselves, exchanging insults at your expense.

“Oh, are we that obvious?” Seokjin tilts his head, feigning innocence. Your head jerks towards him, your eyes bugging out of their sockets. What the fuck? “You are so right, Auntie Sohee. I’m sure Y/N must have informed you about our predicament. You see, we’ve—”

“Your predicament?” Aunt Sohee scoffs, interrupting Seokjin mid-speech. “I can’t believe the nerve of this girl, bringing her little boy-toy to the holy matrimony of her cousin—”

“—been trying to produce an heir to the Kim Line for months now,” Seokjin sighs heavily, looking off into the distance with glazed, dreamy eyes. You nearly cough out a lung at his sudden proclamation, about to interject and ask him what on earth he was talking about. Your words die on your tongue, however, when he grips your hand tightly underneath the table. He taps three times on the back of your hand: an old sign that you both made back in high school whenever he was busy bullshitting his way out of trouble.

Luckily, none of your aunts notice your blunder, all of them too occupied trying to wrap their heads around what Seokjin had said. Multiple mouths drop open in surprise and disbelief, including your Aunt Sohee. Her penciled eyebrows arch comically high, her smoothened forehead wrinkling infinitesimally (a feat in itself, for you were sure she had long since lost any ability to move the skin on her face.)

“I beg your pardon?” she whispers, staring daggers at Seokjin.

Then beg, you think to yourself. Judging by the way the corners of Seokjin’s lips lift slightly, you have a strong feeling that he was thinking the same thing to himself. Instead, he says, “Yes, Aunt Sohee. You see, I come from a long line of businessmen. Ever heard of Kim Enterprises.”

Her face turns pale. “You mean… the Kim Enterprises? The one that owns—”

“South Korea’s largest chain of department stores? I’m flattered that you’re familiar,” he winks. He leans forward, gesturing for your aunts to come closer, like he’s imparting state secrets to them. “My older brother, who has been married for quite some time, has chosen to remain childless at the behest of his wife. For that reason, my father put me up to the task of producing an heir for the company.”

“An heir?” your aunt repeats, dumbfounded.

Seokjin nods, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s quite unfortunate, but it’s a responsibility I’m willing to take. My family is notorious for planning our lives, even for the next 50 years, so I am forever grateful to have Y/N who is willing to bring me multiple potential heirs to my family.”

“Multiple heirs?” Your aunts shriek in unison, causing a few nearby guests to look over at your table in curiosity. You wave at them awkwardly in apology, hoping to get them to ignore the absolute clusterfuck happening right in front of you.

You feel Seokjin kick you gently in the shin, urging you to say something as well. You clear your throat, channeling all the pent-up Seokjin energy that you had indirectly absorbed over the years of being his friend. “That’s right… My Jinnie has always been so lonely, living in his gigantic mansion with his piles of money. He may have never felt the loving touch of his father, but I’m certain that we’ll be great parents to our children. Why, we’re almost like a pair of rabbits when it comes to—”

Aunt Sohee clears her throat abruptly, a deep flush coloring her cheeks as she glares daggers at you. She looks absolutely peeved, and it takes all your mental fortitude to restrain yourself from jumping up in triumph. Take that, wench!

“I have to admit that this is somewhat… unexpected,” your aunt says carefully, pointing a tight smile at Seokjin. He beams back, positively delighted.

“Y/N is quite the catch. I’m grateful to have her in my life,” he says, his tone growing soft by the end. He looks at you then, and you find a mysterious emotion floating in his eyes that you can’t quite name. When you blink and try to get a closer look, his careful façade is back in place.

Eventually, your aunts lose interest in you once they realize they can no longer bully you, not when you had an incredibly rich boyfriend to back you up. “Must be nice being a rich boy, huh?” you snicker, teasing the blushing boy beside you. Thanks to his hair growing longer than usual, the tips of his ears are miraculously hidden away. When you brush his hair back, they are as red as a baboon’s ass.

“Oh, shut up. You know I hate flaunting my dad’s money,” he whines, pouting cutely. He fingers the watch on his wrist, staring at it uncomfortably. “This isn’t even my watch. I had to borrow one from my brother.”

“Well, you did it for me, so I suppose it’s not all bad,” you laugh, pinching his cheek lightly. “Plus, it was funny watching my aunts shut up for once. They’re just mad that you’re richer than the groom.”

“Really? What does he do?”

“He’s an entrepreneur.” You snort, emphasizing the word with air quotations. “Honestly, he just calls himself that while he waits for his self-made business to pop off or whatever. No such luck so far, if what I heard was right.”

“Lucky for you, you’re stuck with my devastatingly handsome face and stinkin’ rich bank account,” he jokes, contorting his face into a funny expression until you’re left snorting at his antics. Little does he know, you still would’ve l***d him even if he wasn’t any of those things, but that’d be too cringey to say. What are you, some sort of romantic lead protagonist?

It takes a little bit over an hour for dessert to start getting served, by which point the bride and groom decide to make their rounds to greet the guests. “Don’t you think this is the perfect time to put our plan into motion? The dance floor is open and we should be able to make it to the center without anyone noticing,” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you say, but just as you’re about to get up from your seat, a flurry of white blocks your path in an instant. You startle slightly, falling back to your chair and hitting Seokjin in the chest with a soft grunt. “Shit, sorry about that Seokjin—”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my dear cousin,” a voice cuts you off, the disdain in their voice dripping like acid down your ear canals. Your blood freezes instinctively, years of past trauma crashing down on you as your childhood bully stands just inches away from you, her blood-red lips stretched into a broad smirk.

“Kairi,” you greet.

“Y/N,” she responds.

“Seokjin!” Seokjin adds helpfully.

Your cousin turns to him slowly. “Quite right,” she hisses, eyebrows pinched together in thinly-veiled annoyance. “I’ve heard through some whispers that my baby cousin finally managed to snag a rich kid for a boyfriend and I just couldn’t help but let my curiosity drag me over here.” She looks you up and down, snorting at what she sees. “You would think that having a chaebol as a boyfriend would mean you could at least afford a proper dress.”

You glance down at your dress: a hand-me-down from your mother because you couldn’t be bothered to buy a new one, not when you’d rather choke on Satan’s hot fiery balls for all eternity than spend any amount of money just to attend your cousin’s wedding. Despite this, you can’t help your cheeks from heating in embarrassment, an automatic response after years of bullying and torment from that spoiled bitch.

When you don’t reply, Kairi’s smirk widens. “Oh? Cat got your tongue? Sugar daddy couldn’t even be bothered to buy you a dress? While you’re at it, maybe you should ask for a new car too. I’m surprised you even made it here alive in that old metal deathtrap of yours. You’re lucky you were just late to the reception instead of dead on the street.”

You can sense Seokjin staring at you from your right. Your fists are clenched tightly on your skirt, your nails nearly tearing the fabric in your searing rage. Slowly, carefully, Seokjin slips his hands underneath yours—he pries your death grip open until he can lace his fingers in between yours. At once, your anger melts at his tender gesture, your focus pulled away from your cousin and back to him. He thumbs the back of your hand, as if assuring you that he’d handle this himself.

He smiles at Kairi, not a single ounce of kindness in his eyes. “Yes, indeed. It is my mistake entirely for not ordering a dress much sooner. Y/N is so incredibly humble; she’d rather wear a vintage outfit than wear one of those paper-thin dresses from YesStyle that you and your bridesmaids seem to favor,” he sighs, pretending to be pained.

“Paper-thin? YESSTYLE?” Kairi screeches, her voice breaking the sound barrier. You watch in fascination as her skin turns an unflattering ruddy shade.

Unperturbed by her murderous aura, Seokjin prattles on. “Quite right,” he mocks her with her own words, smirking ever so slightly. “Though, I must apologize for being late to the reception. That was my fault as well. My father had a general meeting this morning for all the employees at the company, as he had wanted to announce that I would be the Vice President starting next Monday. We tried to leave sooner, but everyone had been too busy congratulating us,” he apologizes, though not apologetic in the slightest.

Your cousin could cosplay as a walking crack pipe with how much steam was puffing out of her ears. She’s livid, so much so that her fury was preventing her from formulating any sort of comeback. “You—how dare you—I swear on my—” she stutters incomprehensibly, her vulture-like nails tearing her dainty paper-thin skirt into shreds.

Just as she looks about ready to blow, her father comes around to your table. He places a hand delicately on his daughter’s shoulder, immediately understanding the situation when he sees you. “Kairi, I think it’s time for you to greet the rest of the guests. Uncle Iverson said he has a gift for you that simply cannot wait,” he says, doing his best to appease you. He gives you a genuinely regretful look; you shake your head, waving off his concern.

“It was nice seeing you, Kairi. I hope you and your husband will have a wonderful year together,” you say. You gasp exaggeratedly, holding a hand to your heart. “Oh, sorry. I meant to say I hope you have wonderful years together. Pardon my mistake.”

Before the scant amount of brain cells in your cousin’s brain could process your words, her father pulls her away, dragging her to the next table over. Once they’re out of earshot, you heave a sigh of relief. Beside you, Seokjin lets out a laugh that he had been undoubtedly holding in the past few minutes, sounding like a fish gasping for air with how much he is shaking with mirth.

“Fuck, that was hilarious. Did you see how angry she got? Beautiful,” he says, wiping away a stray tear. “Love that for us!”

“Damn. I knew you were good at bullshitting, but even your acting skills almost convinced me,” you whistle lowly, impressed. “You sure you’re not a con-artist in disguise?”

“All good businessmen are con-artists, my young padawan,” he snickers, winking at you. He shrugs. “You get used to dealing with assholes like her when you attend enough rich people parties. Besides, all good lies are rooted in the truth, after all. That’s what my father taught me when I was seven.”

“You must have been a terrible child, then.” You laugh, before realizing what he had just said. “Wait. Rooted in the truth? What does that mean?”

“Oh. Well,” he clears his throat, giggling nervously. He rubs his neck, embarrassed. “I am the vice president of dad’s company now. I just lied about the meeting being this morning. He announced it a day ago or something. Not that it’s a big deal or anything…”

You gawk at him, speechless. Not for the first time in your life, you are once again stunned by the absurdity of the man before you. How did men like him exist outside of cheesy k-dramas? He’s handsome, rich, funny, AND well-mannered? It’s almost like some love-crazed author had penned him into existence for their entertainment.

Seokjin breaks you from your reverie, tapping you thrice on your shoulder. “Shall we go? The dance floor is still empty. It’s now or never.”

You nod excitedly, standing up to head towards the center of the hall. This time, there is no one stopping you as the two of you make your way towards your destination. The lights near the dancefloor are still dimly lit, as most of the lighting is currently focused on the guests as the bride and groom make their rounds to greet everyone. Even if Seokjin got onto his knees right now, only a few people nearby would notice, so you’d have to do something to catch people’s attention.

“This is going to be moderately to highly embarrassing for a few moments, but I think that’s the atmosphere we’re going for, isn’t it?” Seokjin whispers, his mouth embarrassingly close to yours as he holds you gently by the waist. There isn’t a need for him to stand so close to you, but you have to admit his presence is mostly calming—minus the fact that he’s been your crush for five years and he’s going to be fulfilling one of your deepest fantasies in front of your entire extended family. No biggie.

“I suppose so. What are you gonna do to get their attention?” you ask, palms beginning to sweat. Despite this, Seokjin still takes your hands into his own, a small smile on his lips.

“Just watch,” he whispers, before slowly getting down on one knee.

Ba-dump. Here we fucking go.

“My dearest Y/N… The apple of my eye, the straw to my berry, the con to my dom,” Seokjin says, projecting his voice so that it can be heard even above the music. One of the violin players is even startled long enough to stop playing, further causing more heads to turn in their direction. You hear a gasp coming from your left, but you force yourself not to look. Instead, you stare right back into Seokjin’s sweet brown eyes, your heart beating a mile a minute.

This isn’t real… This is just a prank, bro. Get over yourself, you hiss internally, but your heart refuses to listen.

“You’ve been in my life for almost half a decade, and not a day goes by wherein I don’t wonder what it would be like to live the rest of my days with you. In many ways, I wouldn’t be the person I am if it hadn’t been for your presence in my life,” he says. If you look deeper into his eyes, you can almost trick yourself into thinking that they looked wetter than they had just a moment ago.

“Y/N, you are the person I’ve loved for years now. I used to think you didn’t like me as much as I liked you, so I was always scared to pop the question. I had many opportunities to ask, but I suppose tonight just felt like the right moment. I was afraid that if I didn’t do it now, I might never get the chance to ask again, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you slip away out of cowardice.”

For some reason, his words seem almost too real, like he was speaking the truth. You have never doubted his acting skills, but would you be willing to wonder if there was even a small possibility that there was some truth to his tale? You swallow thickly, the need to ask just dangling on the tip of your tongue.

He rifles through his jacket pocket, procuring a small velvet box. He thumbs it almost reverently, his hands shaking slightly, but you can blame that on the nerves from hundreds of people watching you. He takes a deep breath, opening the box with a soft click. “My dearest Y/N… Would you give me the honor of spending the rest of my days with you?”

You feel your breath get knocked out of you in an instant, the genuine adoration in his eyes too much for you to handle. You stammer slightly, too busy staring at him to properly register the loud claps, screams, and hollers all around you. “I… Seokjin… This is…”

“MAKE THEM STOP! SOMEONE KICK THEM OUT RIGHT NOW!” You dimly hear your cousin screaming obscenities somewhere, but you are still too caught up in the moment to care. The world only consists of you and Seokjin—nothing else matters right now.

When you look down at the box in his hands, fully expecting to see a comically large ring pop nestled in its cushions, but instead you find—

You gasp, nearly doubling over in surprise. “Oh my god, Seokjin. Is that a real fucking diamond ring?!”

He shrugs, smiling wryly. “Only the best rocks for the girl who rocks my socks off every night,” he jokes, but his nervousness is palpable. He’s sweating, a drop trailing down the side of his face despite the strong air conditioning.

Oh shit. It hits you right then that his proposal is real. The damned idiot is fucking proposing to you in front of your most hated family members, and he’s proposing to you for real.

“Kim Seokjin, please fucking explain yourself—”

But before he can have the chance to open his mouth, you feel rough hands grab you by the shoulders, pulling you away from him. “I’m sorry I have to do this, ma’am. Bride’s orders,” one of the waiters says, awkwardly escorting you to the exit. When you turn back, you see another waiter pulling Seokjin away as well, the box with the ring still clutched tightly in his hand.

The two waiters deposit you outside the hall, bowing stiffly before heading back into the room. You’re still breathing heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Seokjin isn’t any better, bent over with his hands on his knees. From your vantage point, you can see how red his entire neck is, his blush reaching even past the collar of his shirt.

“Seokjin…” you trail off, unable to say another word. You’re completely flabbergasted, elated, annoyed, and mostly just mind-fucked because when on earth did Kim Seokjin ever have a crush on you?!

“I’m sorry. That must have been quite a shock,” he coughs out a laugh. He rubs his face, embarrassment rolling off of him in waves. “I just… It was sort of a last-minute decision I made. I’ve been into you for years now, and I know I’m kinda putting you on the spot by proposing like that, but I knew if I didn’t do anything soon, you might just slip away before I can say anything.”

“Wait. So are you really… proposing to me?” You squeak out the last bit, your face mirroring his reddened state.

“No!” He shouts suddenly, before covering his mouth with his palm. “S-sorry, what I mean to say is, it wasn’t really a marriage proposal. It was more like… just a general proposal? I do want to live with you forever, but I know that thought must be daunting and—oh god, I don’t even know if you like me like that, so this must be incredibly weird and out of line. Please excuse me while I shove a cactus up my ass—”

“Seokjin,” you interrupt, silencing his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut. “Are you… asking me out?”

He nods his head. “Yeah…”

“And what you said is true? You actually like me?”

“No, you don’t understand. I love you,” he says, before getting shy again. He looks down at the ring box. “Fuck. This isn’t a real engagement ring, by the way. It’s more like a promise ring, so you don’t have to feel bad for rejecting me.”

“Oh my god, I’m in love with an idiot,” you groan, pulling him into a hug. You nestle into his chest, giggling hysterically into his shirt. “I fucking hate you.”

“Wait, I’m getting mixed signals over here,” Seokjin says, gasping when he feels how tightly you embrace him. He doesn’t complain, however. He returns the gesture in kind, nuzzling deep into your neck. “So, does that mean the feeling is mutual?”

“Yes, you idiot. Now give me my ring.”

“My pleasure, princess.” He laughs, drawing away slightly so that he can slip the ring on your finger. The diamond shines brightly under the fluorescent lights, but nothing brings you more joy than having the boy you love in your arms.

As the two of you are sharing a sweet moment, it takes a second for you to realize that the commotion from inside the venue still hasn’t stopped. When you crane your heads, you spot one of the doors had been left ajar, allowing you to slip your heads through the crack just in time to see Seokjin’s beautiful bare ass being projected onto a large screen.

The musical notes of Rick Astley’s most popular song play loudly on the speakers, drowning out the sounds of the bride screaming bloody murder as the IT people tried their best to sort out the mess. The Seokjin on the screen slaps his ass in time with the tune, his glorious moon-shaped globes shaking mesmerizingly for all to see.

When you look to Seokjin for an explanation, he merely shrugs his shoulders. “They really should do background checks on the people they hire for these things. Taking that one video editing course in university really does pay off, huh?”

“Sure does,” you grin, linking your arms together. “Now let’s get some fucking McDonalds.”

And so, you lived happily ever after—the end.

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little-mad · 3 years

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 7

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

It was evident to Rael that the man called Kaydin was warring with himself on what to do. Not only did he desperately want to make off with the human that could potentially make him wealthy beyond his wildest dreams, but he also seemed unwilling to back down from a challenge. He was no doubt prideful, something Rael could actually relate to. However, realistically Kaydin stood no chance of success. Without his partner as backup, he was unlikely to be able to even make it out of the woods.

Rael was banking on Kaydin being at least reasonable enough to know when he was beaten, because while Rael was fairly confident he outmatched the ruffian, he worried what a scuffle would mean for Gavin Stone. The human was so fragile, and if even non-violent movements from alteons could bring him harm, Rael could only imagine what could happen if he ended up in the middle of a fight.

As irritating as Gavin had been, and as much as Rael didn’t care for humans, he still didn’t want to see the tiny man injured. He was no sadist. Besides, the Emperor would likely be more than a little upset if he found out the human got damaged during transit. Gavin was a prisoner, but his punishment, whatever it may end up being, was to be decided upon and carried out by the order of the Emperor himself. Until such a time, Rael’s job was to keep the human safe and alive.

Kaydin narrowed his eyes. “What if I told you, you either let me leave or I kill the human?”

A flash of rage nearly made Rael reach for his dagger, but he just barely held himself back. This brigand, this scum, really had the audacity to threaten to kill Gavin? And how stupid was he? Killing Gavin would not only remove his leverage, but also the source of wealth he craved. “The only way I am letting you go, is if you return that human to me,” Rael informed Kaydin darkly.

So long as Kaydin used logic to make his decision, he would do exactly as Rael wanted. However, if he allowed pride and anger to rule him, Rael would be forced to take aggressive action. “A quick stab to the chest...and then I try to grab Gavin before he hits the ground,” he thought as he tried to plot out his plan of attack. It was far from ideal, but it was the best contingency plan Rael could come up with in the moment.

A long pause stretched out between the two alteons. Rael braced himself, ready to grab his dagger at any second. Kaydin wore a bitter scowl on his face, his hands gripping Gavin’s cage so tight it almost appeared as though he’d bend the iron bars. Finally, Kaydin spoke. “Fine, but just to make sure you don’t try to nab me…” In the blink of an eye, the dark haired thug tossed the cage up into the air.

Kaydin took off, but Rael didn’t see which direction he went, nor did he care. His focus was entirely centered on Gavin, who was trapped inside a cage that was quickly plummeting towards the hard ground.

What was only a few feet to Rael, was a deadly height to the human. If Rael didn’t catch the cage, Gavin would undoubtedly die on impact. The catch had to be precise, and it had to be as gentle as possible to prevent serious injury. Any failure on Rael's part could prove catastrophic to Gavin.

Reaching out both hands, Rael watched almost as if in slow motion as the cage fell right into the perfect position. With all the deftness years of swordplay and archery practice afforded him, he closed his right hand around the side of the iron enclosure while his left hand grabbed it from below. As soon as the cage was within his grasp, Rael moved his hands downward a bit in order to soften the blow and prevent an abrupt stop that could be injurious to the human inside.

Carefully, Rael lifted Gavin towards his face. He peered inside at the crumpled form of the small man, trying to gauge his physical state. Immediately, he noted the fact that Gavin’s chest could be seen rising and falling as a result of fast paced panting. There was no blood, and from what Rael could see, no limbs twisted or bent in a manner they weren’t meant to be. All good signs, but he would have to ask Gavin himself to be certain.

Gavin liked roller coasters just fine, going up and down hills while in a little car? That was great, he’d do it over and over again. What Gavin did not like were those big drop tower rides they always had at amusement parks. He really didn’t get what was so fun about having your stomach thrown into your throat. Ever since he first rode the Power Tower at Cedar Point when he was twelve, he had sworn off those types of rides forever.

Well, you know what’s even worse than a drop tower? Falling down from an incredible height while trapped in a cage, with no seatbelt, and nothing to guarantee you wouldn’t collide violently with the ground below.

There hadn’t even been a chance for Gavin to fully contemplate the possibility of his own demise during his terrifying aerial trip. While he was flying through the air, his mind had gone completely blank--it was nothing but an abyss of blind fear.

And then the next thing he knew, a giant hand came into view. Everything came to a steady, but still plenty disorienting stop. Gavin fell into a heap on the floor of his cage, his whole body throbbing with a deep ache. “I officially hate this dimension,” he moaned internally.

For several long moments Gavin did nothing but lay there. He didn’t feel like moving even a little bit, nor did he want to address the giant he could feel staring in at him.

Despite the fact that he had been pretty peeved with the guy previously, Gavin wasn’t upset with Rael at the moment. He had just effectively saved his life by catching him. Plus, Gavin was too busy directing his anger at the asshole that had thrown him in the first place to have any leftover for Rael. That being said, Gavin just didn’t feel like he had the energy for a conversation with the alteon at the moment. Believe it or not, a near death experience kind of took it out of you.

There was a stretch of silence where Gavin just remained laying on the floor of the cage, and Rael looked in at him without saying a word. Sadly, the peace couldn’t go on forever, and for once, Gavin wasn’t the one to disrupt it. “How are you feeling?” came Rael’s voice in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

With a low sigh, Gavin forced himself into a sitting position. He raised his gaze to meet Rael’s, taking note of the intense look in those vibrant teal eyes. “Pretty shitty, but I don’t think anything’s broken,” Gavin replied, glancing down to assess himself for any injuries. Despite the fact that his whole body was radiating with a deep ache, it seemed as though Gavin would get away with nothing worse than some nasty bruises.

“Do you think you can walk?” Rael inquired seriously. If Gavin didn’t know any better, he might almost think the guy sounded genuinely concerned.

Looking down at his legs, Gavin noted that his lower half seemed to ache slightly less than the rest of his body. It seemed as though his arms and torso had taken a brunt of the damage. “Yeah, I think so. Wh--” Before he could finish his sentence one of Rael’s hands shifted to the front of the cage. Long fingers took hold of the latch on the cage, and a moment later the door had been swung open.

Gavin blinked in surprise at the open door and the upturned palm that was placed just in front of it. “What are you doing?” he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

“Staying in the cage during the remainder of our journey will exacerbate your pain,” Rael stated, and Gavin had to agree. Being constantly bumped by the movement of the alteon’s leg had been standable before, but now that he was peppered in developing bruises, Gavin expected the experience would be quite miserable. However, the idea of placing himself in Rael’s hands was even less appealing. His past experiences with the appendages had been less than pleasant.

“I think I’ll take my chances,” Gavin responded, eying the giant hand nervously as if it would attack him at any moment.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Despite Rael’s impatient tone of voice, Gavin could have sworn he caught a hint of what almost looked like a regretful look in the alteon’s eyes. “I’ll be careful. I am not entirely heartless, contrary to what you might assume.”

While Rael had certainly left less than a wonderful impression on Gavin so far, he actually didn’t believe the giant man was evil. He was a jerk, obviously, but for whatever reason Gavin still chose to give him the benefit of the doubt. Even if Rael had only saved him for the sake of his job, Gavin found it difficult to think too negatively about someone who had just prevented him from falling into an early grave.

So, if Gavin was going to give Rael a second chance (or maybe it was a third chance at this point), then he’d have to make himself willingly walk out onto the alteon’s waiting palm. “Just gotta think of it as a nice comfy mattress that can’t, and definitely won’t, wrap around me and crush me.”

Using the bars of his cage as support, Gavin slowly pulled himself up to his feet. His legs still felt a little bit like jelly after the near-death experience, so he waited a moment to gather himself before taking his first step forward.

The last time Rael had held Gavin, it had been when he snatched him up into a fist. This time however, Gavin was walking on of his own accord. The sensation of miniature feet stepping onto his palm sent a shiver across his skin. It honestly tickled a little bit, but of course, Rael would never allow himself to outwardly show a reaction. So instead, he just watched with wide eyes as the little man anxiously situated himself.

At first, Gavin seemed to have no idea what to do once he was on Rael’s hand. He appeared to be on edge, and tensed up anytime one of Rael’s fingers twitched involuntarily--which was probably to be expected considering...past events. Finally, the human just plopped down in the center of the palm, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands fiddling nervously in his lap.

It was still so surreal for Rael, holding an entire person in his hand. The slightest movement on his part could have a huge effect on the human, especially considering it was an injured human. Gavin may not have any serious wounds, but he was still obviously in pain. After the treatment he’d been subjected to by Kaydin, it was no surprise. Therefore, Rael's previous attitude of uncaring indifference in regards to the human’s comfort, would have to be...adjusted.

While keeping the hand holding Gavin as still as possible, Rael used his other hand to re-attach the now empty cage to his belt. Once that was done, he turned his focus to the tiny person sitting on his palm. “I’m going to move my hand, so brace yourself,” he warned Gavin, who offered a weak nod in response.

With slow and careful movements, Rael shifted the hand holding Gavin so that it was held up against his chest. The benefit of this position was that his chest created a living wall on one side of the human. His freehand would serve as a second barrier on the opposite side of the hand on which Gavin resided. The goal was to limit the amount of places the small man could potentially fall off of, as well as keep him hidden from view in case of any more run-ins with other alteons.

“I kinda feel like you’re babying me here,” Gavin called up, tilting his neck back to meet Rael’s gaze.

Suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was practically cradling a human, Rael felt his face begin to heat up. How the hell had it come to this? He didn’t like humans--he didn’t necessarily despise them, but he certainly never before would have imagined himself holding one in such a gentle manner. Rael groaned internally. “This assignment is beginning to mess with my head.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael

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silma-words · 3 years

Text

The right thing to do (Part I)

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: PG (part 1) // [Mature (part 2)]

Category: Angst

Summary: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – After surviving Vega’s attempt on their lives, everything seems to be going well for Adrian and Ellie… if it weren’t for Adrian’s constant rambling doubts, convincing him gradually that it would probably be best for her to carry on without him in her life.

Warning: none (for part 1)

Words: 2881

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

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The right thing to do (Part I)

Everyday seemed to Adrian like a blessing, after they had survived their confrontation with Vega. They were all doing their best to work towards a return to normal, but somehow, Adrian felt like something was amiss. Resuming quickly to his usual business schedule, he had been working tirelessly to assist the former Clanless vampires in any way Raines corp. could, as much to make amend for all they had endured in the past, as to fill in the void that destroying his serum and all related research had left in his head. He was finding comfort as well in Ellie’s presence, every night as his trusted assistant, and during the day, when she wanted to, as his companion.

He wouldn’t lie, he was fully aware that what they had was unconventional. It was unpredictable. And maybe a little unreasonable. And yet, what they had was bringing more light in his life than he would have ever expected. They barely had known each other for eight months, and after what they had gone through within the first few weeks after she had joined his company, he had been expecting things to quiet down a little between them, once the intensity and passion that life-threatening situations might have exacerbated would have worn off.

However, that intensity and passion had not died down, somehow. He was still stupidly distracted and intoxicated by her presence, and amazed that she had not grown tired yet of the endless nights and the sunless days, kept away from living a normal human life as she was staying by his sides and adapting to the burden that his nature entailed. And unless he was completely mistaken, Ellie seemed to be feeling equally content with their relationship. She was thriving as her assistant, more confident and pro-active as months were going by, and when they were alone, every worry seemed to wash away from both of them, no matter what they would do, or say, or what they had endured at work throughout the night.

What they had was something that resembled the most what Adrian thought was happiness. It reminded him of more simple times, over two centuries ago, before he was turned and before he started his lone journey throughout eternal life. And yet, Adrian’s mind kept playing him tricks, his brain rambling endlessly when she was asleep in his arms, wondering if what they were doing was right. His heart was saying it was. But his head…. his head wouldn’t let him rest and savour these moments fully. As the weeks went by, it was becoming increasingly difficult to push these thoughts out of his mind. As his feeling grew more and more for her, and hers for him as well, so did the shadow of his doubts. Darkening his thoughts until he could no longer ignore them.

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When she walked in into the penthouse, Adrian was waiting for her on the couch, having taken the opportunity that she had been spending her night off with Lily to come home early from work and prepare everything. Doing his best to hide his nervousness by casually leaning back on the sofa with a drink in his hand, he couldn’t help but smile at her when she joined him in the living room, happily springing towards him to greet him with a tender kiss.

“Had fun with Lily?” he asked casually, knowing that she would probably want to tell him all about it, although not entirely sure that he would be able to hide what was on his mind for long.

“Oh, you know…” she started happily, a grin on her face. “The usual! The plan was just to geek out on some new game she got, and it obviously went totally off track with booze and stupid bets before ending up in a club…”.

Adrian smiled, although a little weakly, genuinely happy to hear that she and Lily were still up to their usual mischief and harmless games. He would have probably laughed and asked for more detail if he had not been so aware of what was about to come.

As she grabbed the glass of red wine he had set for her on the coffee table, Ellie noticed that a small business card had been resting under her glass.

“What is it?” she asked after grabbing it, curious, flipping the card between her fingers inquisitively, casually sitting on the couch by his side with her glass of wine in the other hand.

Adrian felt his stomach clutch, knowing that this was his cue to approach the subject that his heart definitively didn’t want him to bring up at all. Doing his best to ignore the ache of his guts and keep his voice neutral, he answered, as casually as possible:

“That’s from Mr Quince, one of my oldest collaborators. He invests mostly in renewable energy but is also heavily involved in a few humanitarian projects. He is a truly remarkable man, very kind, with whom I had the chance to work a few times, more particularly when implementing the ‘clean water project’ on the ground”.

She looked away from the business card to stare at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you showing me this? I assume this was not under my wine glass with no reason” she teased him, making him smile a little despite his uneasiness, his eyes locked on his lap.

“Do you need me to do some research about it to prepare for an upcoming meeting?”, she asked genuinely, taking a sip of her wine.

“No, I already had a meeting with him this week, actually”, he started, tensing a little as her brow furrowed even further.

“Oh…” she simply replied, a little startled and confused. “I don’t remember seeing this name on your agenda.”

Adrian did his best to ignore her comment, not wanting to admit just yet that he had kept this from her, and continued. “Mr Quince told me that he was currently thinking of changing his staff a little, and was about to start recruiting for a new Executive Assistant…. He wanted to know if I knew anyone, through my network, that might have experience in Communications, capable of working alongside charities as well as to handle complex corporate deals… “.

Adrian let his voice trail off, letting the information sink into her before taking the risk of lifting his gaze back to her to see her reaction. Ellie, who was about to take another sip of wine, had stopped still, the glass inches from her lips, her eyes staring blindly at the wall opposite her. It took her a few seconds to process what Adrian meant, and when realisation hit her, she abruptly turned around on the couch to face him, her face contorted in a mixture of pain and anger.

“Are you saying that you want me to go work for someone else???!” she asked heatedly, her fingers clutching her glass of wine dangerously tightly.

“I…” Adrian started, not so sure anymore that the words he had rehearsed when the right ones.

“Are you firing me??!” she continued, louder than before.

“No, I’m not firing you” Adrian quickly answered, reaching to grab her free hand in his. “I just… I just thought that perhaps you would like to have more options for your career…” he paused, staring into her eyes as calmy as he could, “… for your future…”.

She went completely still again for a few seconds, staring at Adrian with a mixture of disbelief and anger. It seemed to him like these seconds had lasted hours. She finally broke her stare, standing up suddenly to face him, her body rigid with rage.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean???” she barked, her voice shaking. “Am I not good enough to be your assistant anymore, and you are trying to find a way to ease me out without hurting my feelings?”

“Of course not!”, he urged, sitting straighter on the sofa. “I would never recommend you to a business partner if I did not think you were the right person for the job! You have eve…”

“So you already recommended me to him then,” she interrupted, pulling her hand away, “before even mentioning it to me?!”.

Adrian remained silent, aware that his silence was an answer in itself. She took a few steps back, nodding silently, her gaze cold, her eyes screaming of how betrayed she felt. “So your mind is already set then… you want me out of Raines corp…”

He stood up, reaching for her, but she coiled back even further without a word, her eyes cutting through him accusingly, sharper than any knife that had ever sunk through his flesh.

“I just… I just don’t think that you are where you should be right now”, he finally stated calmly, his eyes never leaving hers in an attempt to show her that he only wanted the best for her, that this was not an attempt to run away from what they have. He wanted her to read in his eyes how much he cherished what they have, and how much it hurt him to say these words.

She stared at him for a while, frozen there in the middle of his living room, trying to make sense of this bomb he had just dropped on her. She finally began to move again, walking away slowly from him, staring at the floor, her brow furrowed and her eyes squinting in an attempt to stall the tears that were threatening to erupt and cloud her vision. She was shaking her head slightly, trying to formulate her thoughts and questions.

“So… you don’t think I should be where I am now…” she repeated, her voice a whisper, before looking at him again. “Are you speaking about work, or about us too?”.

Once more, her question was only answered by Adrian’s silence. He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t reach for her. All he could bring himself to do was simply stare at her, his eyes silently screaming how sorry he was, and how much he loathed himself for this.

The realisation hit her hard. He had been thinking about this, planning this, long enough to get organised, meet a trusted business partner behind her back in an attempt to ease his announcement. His decision. His one-sided decision. She knew him enough to know that he must have been thinking through this for a while. And he had never told her. He had decided this for both of them. She felt her hearth shattering to pieces, and those pieces burst into flame, bringing tears of rage to her eyes.

“Why? Why now?” she asked coldly, clenching her teeth to avoid breaking down right now before him from the pain and the rage. “What have I done?”

“Nothing!” he reassured her, once again taking a step forward as if to reach for her, but realising his body wouldn’t move any further, as if the rage in her eyes would burn him if he got any closer. “You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong”, he simply stated softly.

“Then why?!”

Adrian paused, his shoulder tensed, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes momentarily as if to gather his thoughts.

“I just…” he started, his eyes in the air, unable to look straight at her any more. “I just feel that I’m wasting you away… that I got you trapped in something that is not… not what you deserve…. and you deserve much better than what this life can give you… than what I can give you”.

When he finally looked at Ellie again, her eyes were still wild, filled with hurt and anger.

“So it IS about us then!”, she snapped, accusingly. Adrian continued, eager to fully explain why he felt so strongly about this.

“You are so young, and have so much yet to experience, discover… so many things that you couldn’t get and do if you stayed here…”

“But it’s not like I had things figured out before I met you, or had a plan or anything!” she argued back. “I finally felt like I belonged somewhere, like I had things to look forward to… “. Her eyes were piercing through him as she paused, before pointing a threatening finger at him. “Don’t you dare take this away from me like this!”.

He winced and shook his head slightly, walking away from her to stare out the window. His silence made her stomach clench, crushing her rage into a sudden wave of confusion and despair. Still his back to her, she saw his shoulder tense further, and heard him chuckle lightly. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but his tone was bitter.

“Things to look forward to? Like what? Working nights, sleeping during the day and barely see the sunlight? Knowing that every day you are coming in to work you might end up in some kind of messed up situation against people or creatures that you’d be powerless against?...”

“You know damn well that I can defend myself, and that I don’t care about…” she started, before he turned around and cut her off, his voice sharper and louder than before.

“But I care. I don’t want you to wake up in 6 months, a year, ten, and realise that you have wasted your time and your youth trying to fit into a world that you are not bound to”.

She stayed silent for a while, staring into his eyes, fighting the turmoil of emotions inside her to find a way to channel it and help her form some kind of counter-argument. All it succeeded to do was re-ignite her rage.

“And what about what I want?” she retorted. “Am I not allowed to make these decisions by myself? Walk away – or not – when I will decide to? Do whatever I wish of my youth?”. She paused for a second, her brow frowning even further as her anger grew. “Or is it that I am too young and too stupid to know what I want, and you… oh, self-righteous Adrian Raines,” she chuckled dramatically. “have decided to finally grace me with your wisdom to lead me back towards the light?!!!”.

He knew that the mockery in her voice was only meant to show him how ridiculous she thought his decision was, but somehow it hurt more than he had expected. The words caught in his throat, the dozen of other arguments he had pathetically rehearsed before seeming now useless as her anger was pushing her away from their reach. They both fell silent, staring at each other, his pleading eyes engaged in a soundless battle against Ellie’s, trying to reach through the storm of emotions that were starting to cloud her vision.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. And that look in his eyes were making things even worse. All she wanted to do right now was to throw something at him, or punch him, or scream. But in a flicker of a thought she felt the anger turn against herself, convincing her that she’d be the one to deserve her own hatred. For not seeing this coming. For ignoring all she knew about Adrian, about his past, about all that he had lost and that shaped him, about everything that he was and that should have been a warning that some day this would happen. Deep down, she had always known this moment would come. But she had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. That with time, she might have soothed his fears and doubts enough for him to stop thinking this way. She had hoped that she would have had more time to show him how much she cared and loved him. But this was too soon. Way too soon. He wasn’t even going to give her a chance. He had already given up on her. On them.

As the focus of her anger had shifted back to him in a second, she started to walk towards him ready to punch him with all her might, but suddenly felt a surge of shame and despair overwhelm her, stopping her dead in her tracks before she reached him. What was she doing? She was making a fool of herself, trying to fight the inevitable. No matter what his motives were, she knew Adrian well enough to know that her rebellion would be to no avail. Maybe hitting him as hard as she could to make him feel just a fraction of the hurt she felt would make her feel better on the moment. But she knew this feeling would disappear instantly. Suddenly overwhelmed by a crushing feeling of defeat, she let her body slowly sink to the ground until she could sit and rest her back against the base of the sofa, hugging her knees as close to her core as possible, her eyes locked on her hands as she was trying to calm down and collect her thoughts.

She didn’t know what to say. Or what to do. Should she storm out? Leave now and never return? Pretend that she understood and that it would be all right? Or keep fighting this until she found a way to convince Adrian to give them more time?

[end of part I]

Part II

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A/N: This wasn’t meant to be a two-part fic, but that confrontation ended up being much longer than expected (and I’m terrible at writing dialogues!). Hopefully, part 2 should come around quickly thanks to this bank holiday weekend. Thanks for reading! :)

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@adriansbiss

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#bloodbound #adrian raines x mc #adrian x mc #adrian raines #choices stories you play #bloodbound fanfiction #choices fanfiction #play choices #bloodbound choices #fics of the week #choices fic writers creations #angst

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adenei · 3 years

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Day 19: January Word Challenge

a/n: there’s more under the cut, so don’t be fooled into thinking this is a short one!

New

Year 1:

Hermione walked through the maze of corridors of her new school. She was a witch, and she was learning magic! It was a fresh start for her, and one she hoped would have a better outcome than her experiences in primary school. Sure, she missed the subjects she studied at her old school, and her eleven year old aspirations of becoming a lawyer were probably all for naught now, but she wouldn’t trade any of that for this amazing new world.

She understood why she was different now, and why odd things tended to happen when she grew up. Hogwarts was meant to teach her how to control and refine her magic, and she’d read all of the textbooks twice in preparation of fitting in. Hermione was worried she was already behind because she didn’t come from a magical family, so she focused on the one thing she was good at to help her get ahead.

Thankfully, her teachers were already impressed with her work ethic, and she was proving that she did actually belong here. Sure, she missed her parents and wrote them several times a week, and she reminded herself that it would have been like this if she’d been sent off to boarding school, too. She held up the newest letter that had been delivered at breakfast. Her mum had asked if she’d made any friends yet. Hermione’s face fell as she reread her mother’s words. Not yet, she thought, but she was still hopeful. New beginnings meant a fresh start, and that went for her attempts at making friends as well.

Year 2

It wasn’t a fluke. She really did make new friends last year, and they still wanted her in their lives upon returning to Hogwarts in the fall! Sure, it was probably a little out of the ordinary for her two friends to be boys, but she wasn’t complaining. Originally she thought that being friends with Harry Potter would help her befriend the others in her year, or at least her fellow Gryffindors, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

Their recognition and brief popularity for winning the House Cup last year was soon forgotten once the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Honestly, she’d been holding her breath, thinking that Harry and Ron would drop her because the monster was targeting muggleborns. She was quite relieved when they turned out to do the exact opposite.

Ron had come to her defense and had thrown up slugs because of it. It was the nicest, and most disgusting thing anyone had ever done for her, and she wasn’t sure how to repay him. The word really didn’t mean much to her, but Ron’s reaction was notable.

She wasn’t sure why her heart felt funny when he stood up to Malfoy for her. Maybe that’s just what true friendship felt like. Yes, surely that was it. She would have felt the same if Harry had been the one to defend her, right?

Year 3

Hermione couldn’t believe it! A pet of her very own! He may not be a kitten, but he was new to her, and she was certain he would be the best cat! She was sold on Crookshanks the moment she laid eyes on him when they’d entered the Menagerie, and much to Ron’s discontent, she’d chosen the ginger animal.

The store owner seemed both relieved and excited at the prospect of Crookshanks finding a new home, having been looked over for years now. Hermione snuggled him closer as they sat in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express at the recollection. She felt a connection with Crookshanks, knowing what it felt like to be looked over and dismissed for friendship and camaraderie.

Hermione smiled, knowing that her new pet would keep her company at night when Lavender and Parvati excluded her in their whispered secrets. Now, she’d have someone to whisper her own secrets to; ones she couldn’t tell the boys. Like how she still didn’t understand the way her heart thumped faster when Ron would smile at her, and she felt nothing when Harry did the same. Of course, Crookshanks couldn’t speak, but it still comforted her to know she’d have someone to talk to who she could trust with her innermost thoughts.

Year 4

Hermione couldn’t believe she actually had a date to the Yule Ball. Sure, it wasn’t her first choice, but it beat going alone. Maybe it’d even make a certain someone wake up and notice her.

It was a strange new feeling, being wanted and desired. She’d spent the majority of her fifteen years being looked over and not given a second thought when it came to personal relationships and friendships. Now, an international quidditch player had shown interest in her, of all people!

Shouldn’t she be feeling more excited at this prospect? Wasn’t this what she’d always wanted? Not only was she being included, but desired. Someone wanted her on their arm, for the whole of Hogwarts and the visitors from the other two schools to see! And yet, she wasn’t satisfied.

If anything, her heart hurt more because she still wasn’t noticed by the one person that mattered the most. She glanced up from across the Gryffindor table and watched a certain redhead working on some assignment. Maybe she should forget about the stupid crush she could no longer deny. Yes, that was it.

Hermione resolved to put her feelings for him aside, and embrace the new companionship, or maybe more, that Viktor was offering. It was the perfect plan to get over her childhood crush.

Year 5

Well, this is new, Hermione thought to herself. Since when did Ron give her meaningful gifts? She was staring at the bottle of perfume Ron gifted her Christmas. On the inside, she was absolutely giddy, but the outside didn’t match those feelings. Ron couldn’t know her secret, so Hermione vowed to hide it at all costs.

She’d done a poor job of trying to hide her excitement. Well, no, she actually did too well of a job. Her reaction was less than stellar, and not what she’d intended. She told him it was interesting. How barmy could you be! Interesting? Why couldn’t you have said, ‘it’s lovely, Ron, thank you!’ No, you had to go and say it’s ‘interesting,’ Hermione berated herself in her own thoughts.

This very well could have been the moment she’d been waiting for, and she’d gone and buggered it up. Yet instead of trying to fix it, she let it go. She figured that if she wore the perfume on a regular basis, then he’d know she liked it.

Year 6

Hermione felt like her insides had been gutted and her heart ripped out of her chest. She’d give anything to go back to the dull ache and pining over Ron as she wished that they could be something more. Maybe she’d wake up and realize it was just a nightmare, that this new heartache wasn’t warranted after all. Yet the days continued to pass, and that stab of pain remained fresh every time she witnessed the boy she fancied attached by the face to her dorm mate.

Slow and steady wins the race. That’s what the fable always taught her. But it wasn’t true; at least not this time. There was no way she could ever compare to the likes of Lavender, who possessed such a natural beauty that she could have any bloke she desired.

There was no way Ron would ever look twice at her, especially not now. His new relationship only exacerbated the estrangement she now faced with him. The loneliness was almost too much to bear since he wasn’t speaking to her.

It was typical Ron and Hermione. He was mad at her for some unknown reason, and now she couldn’t allow herself to forgive him for his betrayal. Their friendship now obliterated in its wake. She was stupid to think she’d even had a chance. Her offer to attend Slughorn’s party was tossed aside far too quickly when a better offer arose.

A new wave of tears flooded her eyes. When it was all said and done, she couldn’t blame him. Who in their right mind would pick plain Hermione Granger over the illustrious Lavender Brown? Book smarts didn’t matter when it came to fancying someone. Now that Ron had Lavender, she wasn’t needed anymore.

Year 7

Hermione felt Ron’s lips kiss her gently as he leaned down. Hermione hoped she’d never get used to this feeling. They were finally together now. Somehow, they’d survived more near death situations than she could count. The war was over, and they could finally be honest with each other. It felt like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. She no longer had to hide how she felt. Her hand found his, and for the first time in years, she felt peace.

There was no doubt they’d stumble along the way as they transitioned from friends to something more, but they were willing to do whatever it took to make this work. Every kiss between them felt like a promise, and for the first time she no longer questioned where she stood with her best friend. Hermione smiled as she finally allowed herself to fully embrace their new relationship.

#romione #ron x hermione #Hermione Granger #31 days of January Word Challenge

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its-kili · 3 years

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You’re Brave (Part 1/2) - Levi x Reader

Synopsis: You’ve been losing sleep because you’ve been hearing noises in your bedroom at night and you think you’re being haunted. Levi makes plans to help put your mind at rest and later helps to investigate the source of the noises in your bedroom.

Warnings: No warnings for this part, just fluff.

Levi was not an affable man, but his presence never ceased to attract the attention of others. Perhaps it was the way his hair flopped over his face and almost covered his eyes that created a ubiquitous air of mystery, giving people the impression that he had some interesting stories from his past to tell. Or maybe it was the stoic expression he wore on his face – always making him look like he had a sense of responsibility and importance – that people would try to imitate when they wanted others to listen to what they had to say. Either way, he was a reputable figure in the Survey Corps, so much so that word of his reputation had made its way through the walls and people (especially women) would swoon when they saw him out in public. Levi was not fond of his popularity, however, and so he would wear his green cloak with its hood up to conceal his face whenever he left the barracks.

He was leaning against the stone wall of a bakery as I scurried towards him, squeezing through the rushing bodies that populated the market in the middle of Trost. After a few polite ‘I’m sorry’s and ‘excuse me’s, I safely made it to the bakery without pushing into anyone or stepping on their feet. I imitated Levi’s nonchalant stance with one leg bent and my foot and back pressed against the wall as he greeted me.

“Nice, I think you only almost wiped out one small child this time.” Under the thick layer of apathy in his tone there was a hint of humour that threatened to paint a modest smile on his face.

“I was trying to be careful,” I chuckled lightly and stared ahead at the horde of people, “I hate crowds.”

“Tell me about it. That’s why I’m stood over here away from everyone. Unbothered. Moisturised. Happy. In my lane. Foc-” My head instinctively turned to face Levi, my brows furrowed and a look of utter confusion plastered onto my face.

“Levi, what the fuck are you saying?” I interrupted, trying to keep my voice hushed so the people around us wouldn’t be made aware of Levi’s presence.

“I couldn’t tell you; it’s just something I heard Jean and Connie saying. Speaking of – any trouble yet?” Levi turned to me but all I could see was his mouth because his hood covered most of his face. I hummed a quiet ‘no’ and shook my head in response to his question, worried that if I spoke I would jinx the peace and problems would kick off.

He was referring to two of his squad members: Eren and the aforementioned Jean. They were prone to arguing with each other, sometimes even fighting, which is why Levi and I were here babysitting them today. It’s embarrassing for them, really, but the last time they were out in public, the pair ended up bickering with each other, so one thing led to another and their quarrel turned into a brawl. Now they aren’t allowed to leave the barracks together without supervision because Commander Erwin doesn’t want the Survey Corps to gain a bad reputation.

Today, Levi and I were on babysitting duty while our children (as we liked to call our squads when they misbehaved) were in town browsing the market. Both of us were captains in the Survey Corps and although only one of us was needed for this job, we were both sent because we had a good-cop/bad-cop relationship that the scouts respected. I was always the captain who could resolve issues by talking some sense into my squad and Levi solved problems by kicking some sense into his. Sometimes my tactics weren’t the most effective, though, so I needed Levi around for those times when only the threat of a brutal punishment would work.

To be honest, it was impossible to keep an eye on Eren and Jean in the busy crowds, but then again, it would be impossible for them to start a fight in such a congested space. Levi and I were just pleased to be out of the barracks today, no training or paperwork to tire us out. Unfortunately for me, however, I was already tired due to a lack of sleep last night, so my outing was semi-ruined before I even left the barracks. A yawn escaped my mouth as I tilted my head back, feeling the cool stone against my hair, and I closed my eyes as I let the sun warm my skin.

“Levi?” I started, dragging out the last syllable of his name.

“Hmm?” He imitated my tone.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked, still facing the sky with my eyes closed as if it were a trivial attempt at small talk and not a question I had been pondering since the early hours of the morning.

“Tch. Don’t be ridiculous.” My eyes shot open and my neck jolted so I was facing Levi after he gave his response. He had mirrored my previous position, basking in the sunlight like a reptile with his eyes closed.

“Don’t be ridiculous as in, ‘of course I believe in ghosts’ or don’t be ridiculous as in, ‘it’s all just a load of horse shit’?” I pestered. Levi’s hood didn’t cover his face when he tilted his head up, so I traced the contours of his profile with my eyes while I knew he wouldn’t catch me staring. He had an angular jaw and chin with stern eyebrows and a sharp nose: all were features that reinforced his steely reputation. In contrast to the rest of his appearance, his lips looked soft, and although they never faltered from a rigid line on his face, I often wondered what he looked like when he smiled.

“The latter.” He confirmed as he raised an eyebrow and opened his eyes, looking at me from the side without moving his head. “Why do you ask?” I averted my gaze and a warmth overwhelmed my cheeks as I felt like I had just been caught doing something I shouldn’t.

“I. . . uh,” I smiled to myself as I stammered and gripped the back of my neck with my hand, “It probably sounds stupid, but I’m sure that my bedroom is haunted.” I gave a light-hearted chuckle, aware that Levi probably thought my declaration was nonsensical.

“That’s absurd. Why do you think that?” Levi questioned and I had to bite back a smile at the realisation that if most people had made such a statement then he would have stopped his response at ‘that’s absurd’. But I’m not most people, so he cared enough to ask me to elaborate, and that brought a pleasant wave of contentment to my fatigued brain. Or perhaps I was simply overthinking the situation, but that’s not a thought that I wanted to have.

“Last night I got woken up by noises coming from my wardrobe. It sounded like it was shaking, as if something were trying to push it over. I couldn’t get back to sleep after that.” I confessed and I saw Levi’s expression soften, his eyebrow no longer raised but instead almost furrowed in concern. He was a sensible man with firm beliefs, so I knew that he wouldn’t think there was validity to my accusation, but I am an irrational person who hears a noise in the dark and immediately attributes it to the supernatural and so I hadn’t taken the time to think about another explanation.

I hoped that after hearing my admission he could persuade me with logic that I was wrong, but instead he shrugged his shoulders and mumbled ‘spooky’ before tilting his head back up to the sky and closing his eyes again.

Levi was known to be honest, even when his words sometimes seemed harsh, because he thought it was in the best interest of the other person to hear the truth. So I tried to think of a reason why he wouldn’t tell me that my ghost theory was stupid, or why he wouldn’t just scoff and roll his eyes, because I knew he didn’t really think it was spooky and I’m sure he had already thought of a logical justification in his head. There was no time to be thinking of such explanations, though, because my eyes had already wandered back to the face of the man stood next to me.

Levi’s raven hair exacerbated the paleness of his skin and his cool undertones almost gave him a death-like pallor. But even though he seemingly lacked life in his skin, he made up for it in his steel blue eyes. They were vibrant and full of spirit as if all the ocean and sky and everything that lived in them had been encapsulated in his gaze. Well, that’s what I saw when I looked at him, anyway. Other people didn’t think his façade was so pleasant. He would often scowl – not at anyone in particular – as if he were perpetually irritated with the world. If anybody got on the wrong side of him, he would glare at them (and that is all if they were lucky) and in that moment his eyes are cold, steel daggers pressed firmly against warm skin, and his victim would obey his every command like they are a hostage to his unmerciful blades.

Fortunately, I never experienced that side of him first-hand; we got on well, better than we did with any of the other captains and commanders in the Survey Corps. Because of this, I got to see a side to Levi that nobody else was blessed enough to witness, and by that I mean nothing spectacular, just softened expressions and less harsh words from time to time. Admittedly, I was quite fond of Levi, perhaps too much, and definitely a lot more than he was of me. But I never told him of my feelings towards him, instead opting for the easier option of gawking at him at times like these when nobody would catch me.

Thankfully, our outing in Trost was conflict-free and we returned to the barracks with our dignity intact. The rest of my day was spent forcing myself not to nap – despite almost failing a few times – because I wanted to ensure I got a good night’s sleep. So that night, after I entered my bedroom and got ready for bed, I was desperate for my slumber and decided to address the potential ghost problem. I stood in front of my wardrobe, which was against the wall directly opposite my bed, and I sighed as I put my hands on my hips.

“Hi, uh. . . ghosts. Spirits? Dead people? No, sorry, I don’t want to brag that I’m alive and you’re, well. . . not. Although I suppose there’s nothing to brag about, really, is there? I mean, being alive sucks. Well, I guess you’d know that being uh, post-deceased and all that. Is the afterlife any better? No, you don’t have to answer that. I guess I’ll find out for myself one day.” My feet paced around my room as I rambled on. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m really tired because I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I was wondering, with regards to the whole wardrobe thing, if you could just, kind of, tone the noise down a bit? Like, just stop it, perhaps? It’s just that I’ve got some pretty intense training tomorrow so I need to be well-rested, I’m sure you’re reasonable people – ghosts – and you’ll understand? Thank you for hearing me out. Goodnight.”

After giving my speech to the wardrobe and I was certain that it would be effective in deterring potential supernatural activity, I climbed into bed and closed my eyes. My final thoughts before I wandered away into my dreams were images of Levi and the way the sunlight caressed his skin in Trost today. He looked peaceful and at ease when he closed his eyes, just as I was in my bed, and I realised how lucky I was for him to be the last thing to grace my thoughts as I drifted into my sleep.

Much to my frustration, my slumber was abruptly disturbed after a few short hours when the noises from my wardrobe returned, this time a little more aggressive than last night. As I hid under my blanket, my eyes just peeking over the top, I thought that perhaps my request had offended any ghosts in the room and this was their response, so I whispered a shaky ‘I’m sorry’ and hoped it would stop. It didn’t, though, and the wardrobe continued to shake as I laid in my bed, frozen with fear. I watched the wall, which was barely illuminated by dim strings of moonlight breaking through the gaps in my curtains, hoping to see some kind of apparition to at least confirm my suspicions. It wasn’t until I watched a painting fall from the wall and heard its chilling bang on the floor that I regained control of my body and shot out of bed, heading straight towards the mess hall to grab a glass of water with the intent to calm myself down a bit.

I burst through the doors, shaken and breathless, half-expecting a phantom to jump out and shout ‘boo!’ to scare me. Instead, there was a different ghostly figure in the room. Levi was sat alone in the mess hall, his pale skin shining through the dull candlelight, drinking a cup of tea. At this time?

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice was firm but despite his rigid exterior, I could tell that he thought his comment was funny and he was proud of it. Under any other circumstance I would have laughed, but I was too startled to do anything other than stare at him with wide eyes.

“Th-the wardrobe noises. . . it happened again. B-but this time it was worse an-and a painting fell off my wall.” I stuttered and Levi narrowed his eyes as he listened to my crisis, before getting up to pour me a glass of water.

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for what happened.” He gently placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me the water. After I took a sip he looked me in the eye and said, “I saw an advert – out in Trost earlier – for a ghost tour of an old, abandoned building. I’m going to take you tomorrow night; it might help.” I was taken aback by his offer, surprised that he would pay attention to such things, let alone consider going along.

“I don’t understand how that will help, Levi. If anything it will just make me more scared.” I protested, worried that a ghost tour would confirm my theory that ghosts are real and I would never be able to sleep again. But then I realised something spectacular: if I get scared in the haunted house tomorrow night, I will have an excuse to get close to Levi. I thought about the sensation of linking my arm with his and hiding my face in his shoulder, how warm his body would feel pressed against mine, the contours of his muscles-

“Did you hear me?” Levi questioned, snapping me out of my thoughts. My response was a puzzled frown and a confused ‘hmm?’, indicating that he should repeat himself because I was miles away. “I said the whole thing will be so farcical that it will prove to you that ghosts don’t exist. And if my plan doesn’t work, then we can ask the tour guide about methods of exterminating ghosts, or whatever you’re supposed to do to deal with them.” He waved his hand in the air as if he were shooing the ghosts away.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea actually.” I nodded my head, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, at the thought of clutching onto Levi’s toned, muscular body in fear. And if the ghost tour is not scary at all, well, I might just have to feign my terror and hold onto him anyway.

“For tonight, though, I think we should swap rooms,” Levi suggested and I raised my eyebrows in surprise, “because you need to get some sleep and I’m not scared of your wardrobe ghost. Also, if I hear any noises I’m brave enough to investigate, no offense.” None taken, honestly, you’re right and I’m a pussy.

“Um, okay. Are you sure?” I was astonished that he had offered me his room considering the fact that it was his private dwelling and he wasn’t the most open person when it came to sharing personal information.

“Yes, I insist. Don’t worry, my bedroom isn’t haunted – the only sound that will disturb you is Erwin’s snoring from next door. I usually drown that noise out by listening to the sound of me screaming into my pillow. Good luck.” Levi’s tone was playful as he patted my shoulder and escorted me out of the mess hall and towards his bedroom.

As I ate my breakfast in the mess hall the next morning, I was feeling refreshed and contented by Levi’s kind gesture last night. The scent of his bedsheets lingered in the air as if the fragrance were painted on my skin: fresh cotton and lemongrass – if Levi were a candle he would be aptly named ‘Cleaning Cupboard’. I rested my elbow on the table and pressed my head against my hand as I absent-mindedly stirred my coffee, daydreaming about the way my body accidentally brushed against Levi’s as he held his bedroom door open for me last night. Perhaps if I freak out more often he will offer his bedroom to me again and again. Oh, Levi Heichou, I heard the ghost again and I’m so terrified. You want me to sleep in your bedroom again? Okay, if you insist, but you don’t have to leave. You should stay, I’d feel terrible for kicking you out of your bed again. Okay, maybe I’m getting a little too ahead of myself.

I stopped stirring my coffee when I awoke from my fantasy and realised that the clinking of the spoon against porcelain had seemingly started to irritate the people in my vicinity. The mess hall was livening up as people were waking up and getting ready for the day ahead, and I noticed a sleepy Eren and Mikasa approaching the table next to mine before sitting opposite each other. Next to enter was Levi and instead of grabbing some breakfast or even a cup of tea, he headed towards me with what appeared to be the faintest smirk pulling at his lips. I had never seen such an expression on his face before and so I convinced myself that my lack of sleep must have caused me to hallucinate. But after blinking a few times and seeing his face up close, I realised that my eyes did not deceive me.

“Good morning, did you get back to sleep alright?” He asked as he perched on the edge of my table.

“I did, thank you. I’m still quite tired though.” I took a sip of my coffee and met his gaze over the top of my mug before he turned to Eren and Mikasa, the smirk still playing on his lips.

“What about you two? Did you sleep alright?” Levi questioned and I thought it was odd for him to be showing such concern for his squad members. Usually, he never had much to say to them unless they were in trouble.

“Uh. . . I’m a bit tired actually,” Eren hesitated as Mikasa yawned, “why do you ask, sir?” His gaze then locked onto Eren’s apprehensive eyes like Levi had him in an ocular chokehold and it was only a matter of time before the weaker man yielded. It wasn’t long before Eren looked to the ground and yawned into his hand.

“We have training today and you look exhausted, I just want to make sure you’re in good shape.” Levi shrugged and turned back to me. “You smell nice, by the way.” He praised before he walked away, his voice perhaps a little too sultry to be making such admissions in a public space.

Eren turned to me and I to him as we exchanged bewildered expressions concerning Levi’s peculiar behaviour. I could have offered him an explanation on my behalf, but confessing that I had spent the night in the captain’s bed would only raise more questions than answers. Instead, I finished my coffee and continued with my morning as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

I didn’t see much of Levi throughout the rest of the day, only when we crossed paths as I was heading out of the training grounds for my lunch break and once again in the afternoon when I passed his office on my way to mine and he suggested that I take a nap to prepare for the night ahead. It had occurred to me that I would need to make up for the sleep that I lost last night if I wanted to stay awake on the ghost tour tonight. So while I was supposed to be filling out paperwork in my office that afternoon, I decided to take a power nap instead. I can fill these forms out tomorrow, I thought as I rested my head on my desk and closed my eyes.

When I awoke I realised that my power nap was more of a deep sleep as I looked out of my office window and saw the setting sun half-submerged below the horizon. I wasn’t sure when I was supposed to be heading out with Levi, but the night was quickly approaching so I rushed to the bathroom to have a shower.

After my shower I put on some casual (but warm) clothes and I felt fresh, but I desperately wanted Levi to tell me I smell nice again; this morning I almost felt as if I had lured him in with pheromones. The thought of sneaking into his room and rolling around in his bed had crossed my mind before I laughed it off, knowing how crazy and ridiculous that sounded. Alas, I settled for my fresh-out-of-the-shower smell, realising that although it may not be Levi’s cotton and lemon grass scent, it was certainly better than the resulting odour from half a day of training in the sun.

Darkness had completely consumed the day by the time I was ready, like a blanket had been thrown over the sky and the stars were minute airholes that had been poked through it. An agitating wariness was growing inside me as the light in my bedroom started to fade and I was anxious of potential supernatural activity that may occur. Luckily, Levi knocked on my door before I witnessed anything frightening.

“You ready?” He asked, his voice soft and cool as he stood in my doorway with one hand in his pocket and the other holding his jacket over his shoulder. His steel blue eyes pranced around my face so I returned the action, and for a moment we were embraced in a waltz of nonverbal communication as I danced over all the words I wished I could have said to him. The dance ended when I realised that I hadn’t answered Levi’s question, so I nodded my head and gave a shy ‘let’s go’ as I averted my eyes to the ground and warmth spread over my cheeks.

Link to Part Two

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