#but once i get past that knee-jerk disgust i ask myself: who is it hurting? does this cause someone else to be hurt as i was?
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If you could change one thing about rp on tumblr, what would it be? Why? // @queencvbra
The constant holier than thou 'the entire community should cater to me personally' schtick. It's been around forever, it's why this site got such a reputation for superfluous application of cancel culture, but I've noticed it seems to have risen from the dead lately.
People who think others should only write content that appeals to to their own lifestyle, people who think going into a collaborative hobby without regard for the limits or problems of their followers makes them a superior being, people who don't understand why some people might not be comfortable with all facets of a canon or even fanon, couching misogyny and biphobia in alleged support of other communities...
These are just examples I have seen more than once. Members of my community taking it for a personal attack if people write romantic/sexual dynamics or discuss their own personal lives on the dash. Those who believe that because they do not tag triggers or in any way 'cater' to the audience they expect to interact with they're somehow the ones victimized when people curate their experiences away from them. I've caught so much Hell just for saying I don't care for a major franchise and find the writing of canon stale at best and genuinely insulting at worst, and I am not the only one. People who believe all M/F is het and thus inferior, because like, why would an amazing awesome man ever want to stick his dick an inferior pussy?
I think too many people on this site have a stick up their ass about things that, and I say this with all due respect, do not matter outside of their own comfort. Unless the content is being written to actively harm, unless it is problematic content that out and out reflects the hateful or harmful beliefs of its author, unless people are genuinely at risk because the content exists, then block and move on. You should always block and move on if the content is anything less than that, and by the same card, stop acting so surprised if other people block and move on if you act like a self-righteous dickhead for forgetting this is a collaborative hobby that takes partners and their myriad views/experiences/comfort into account.
#like sure there's things i as a survivor of certain irl crimes am OUTRAGED gets romanticized in the comm.#but once i get past that knee-jerk disgust i ask myself: who is it hurting? does this cause someone else to be hurt as i was?#does it in any way serve the kind of people that hurt me?#does this content or its creator present any genuine threat?#if no i just block and move the fuck on. i've only had like three incidents over a decade here that required 'something needs to be done'#my outrage is no one else's problem. my boundaries and triggers are mine to handle. a lot of people seem to forget that and think#that they can somehow be the main character of the rpc.#and i've seen it showing up more and more in rules and i'm Tired.#queencvbra#mun answers#out of stories
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Baby Blue
technoblade x fem!reader
concept: techno is scared of ‘corrupting’ the reader, but the reader’s kinda into it...
content warning // NSFW, virgin!reader, very minor angst?, small argument that gets resolved
listen to this while you read: BBBlue (Single) by Olivver the Kid
(this fic was heavily inspired by the lyrics of this song, so i highly recommended giving it a listen!)
───※ ·❆· ※───
When Techno found out you were a virgin, he was terrified. Not necessarily of the thought itself, but of the implications.
He’d never forget the look on your face when you told him. You tried to be casual about it, but he knew you well enough to spot the dusting of pink across your cheeks. You nuzzled yourself closer into his side. Whether out of embarrassment or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell. All he could feel was his heart dropping as the voices chanted at him to “ruin her”
Of course you, his pure sweet angel, would be a virgin. He once again crumbled under the idea that you had chosen him. How on earth could a person like you even think of being with a beast like him. Yet alone, giving up your virginity to him.
He hated how horribly turned on he was by the thought of taking it.
The voices had been relentless about it ever since. They were hyper focused on your every move, twisting every thought of his into something promiscuous. When you rolled out of bed in the morning and stretched, a small sigh escaping your lips, it was endless cries of “make her do that again” “you should fuck those moans out of her” “make her scream”
While making breakfast together in the morning, they wouldn’t stop telling him to “bend her over the counter” “take it right here”
Even at times where he was alone, the voices preoccupied him with endless thoughts of you. He was fairly certain they had forced him to imagine every possible way in which he could have you. “imagine fucking her against the wall” “you can be gentle for the first time y’know” “she’d feel so good writhing underneath us” “press her face into the mattress instead” “make her get on her knees and suck you off” “she’ll be such a pretty little slut for us”
He tried to take care of himself as often as he could, but it was becoming impossible to keep up with. There were only so many times a day he could jerk himself off alone behind locked doors. He was desperate, and sexually frustrated to say the least.
He felt disgusting for it.
After a week of this torment, he could barely even look at you yet alone touch you without the voices and his own guilt pounding against his skull. You couldn’t even think about broaching the subject again, because he was avoiding physical contact like the plague. He wouldn’t come to bed until he knew you were asleep, and would leave long before you woke.
As much as he tried to hide it, you could tell he was tired. Something was wrong, but you knew that he’d never just tell you about his problems unprompted. Techno was insufferably stubborn in that way. After several days of avoiding your gaze and leaning away from your touch, you chose to confront him.
“Techno”, you called for his attention quietly, trying to sound stern while remaining gentle with him. He didn’t turn to fully face you, but he glanced at the spot on the wall just above your head.
You struggled to find the words you wanted to say, so you settled on telling him, “Techno, you look tired.”
He turned his attention away from you. “Just a lot of work around the house this week. I’ll be fine after I rest.”
“Then come to bed with me.” You saw the way his body tensed and tilted away from you at that simple suggestion.
“I just need to write a couple letters first. You can go ahead of me.”
“Techno...”, you whined, daring to take a step closer to him. He gave you an almost panicked look, “why does it feel like you’ve been avoiding me?”
“I haven’t been avoiding you”, he responded quickly, trying to look through you instead of at you.
“Yes you have”, you responded firmly. A flash of guilt washed over his face at your tone. “You haven’t kissed or touched me for nearly a week now. I don’t even know for sure if you sleep in the same bed as me anymore. Fuck, you barely even talk to me.”
Angry tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you wanted to hold them in. Techno felt his chest tighten at the sight of it. He instinctively turned and reached out to comfort you, but forced himself to freeze.
“There”, you said, gesturing towards him, “just like that. You’re stopping yourself. Why are you doing that?”
He repeatedly opened and closed his fists at his side, wanting to have any conversation other than this one.
“[y/n], there’s just a lot going on in my mind right now”, he said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “I just need to work though it.”
“Then let me help you.”
“No”, he responded a little too quickly, “I- I mean, I just don’t want to talk about it with you yet...”
“Why not?”, you retorted, trying to squeeze any information you could out of him.
“I just don’t, okay? It’s uncomfortable, I don’t want to talk about it yet.”
“... is this about me being a virgin?”
“I never said that”, he replied, but the tension in his shoulders was enough to tip you off.
“Ah geez Technoblade, if it was that much of a problem for ya, you should have just told me”, you said sarcastically, “instead of avoiding all physical contact for a like week straight!”
“It’s not a problem, [y/n].”
“Certainly doesn’t feel that way.”
Techno huffed in frustration, grabbing a fistful of his hair at the root. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset with himself, or the fact that a few of the voices were still begging him to “please fuck her already”
“Love, I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t want it. They”, he tapped a finger against the side of his skull, “they want it so badly. It’s driving me insane.”
He breathed in and out shakily, trying to gauge your expression in the brief moments before he continued.
“I’m a monster. I’ve spilt more blood than anyone every should in a single lifetime. My appearance is more beast than man.”
He looked up briefly to find you staring right at him, a tight-lipped frown upon your face.
“What does that have to do with any of this?”
“I- ... I don’t want to corrupt your innocence”, he admitted.
“What on earth do you mean by that?”
“[y/n], you’re so perfect”, he answered almost breathlessly, “you’re so kind and so pure. Just living with me does enough to taint your reputation, I don’t wanna-“
He cut himself off to swallow thickly. He almost seemed scared of the words he was going to say next.
“I don’t want to ruin this part of you either...”
A heavy silence filled the tiny sitting room of techno’s cottage. In those few seconds, your eyes widened ever so slightly as his words suddenly clicked in your mind. This hulking boar of a man, an undisputed war criminal, was scared. He was scared of damaging you, your reputation, or your recently revealed ‘innocence’. Compared to himself, he saw you as a pure being who could be tainted by unwholesome thoughts.
If what he said about the voices was true, then his actions of the past few days would’ve made sense for him.
“Oh techno...”, you muttered softly, tentatively placing a hand on his jaw. His posture was curled inward, making him look small despite his size. He was stiff at first, but allowed you to lift his gaze to meet yours. He searched your eyes desperately for an indication of your reaction. You gave him a reassuring smile.
“Do you remember when we first met?”
A small wave of confusion washed over his face, but he nodded anyways. “It was at the festival...”
“That’s right”, you said, moving the hand on his face down to rest over his shoulder, “and do you remember what I did that day?”
“You threw an axe into Schlatt’s shoulder”, he answered, watching as the scene played out in his memory.
You lived with Niki in her bakery at the time, and witnessed firsthand the injustice she faced during Schlatt’s presidency. As the chaos after Tubbo’s execution occurred, you took the opportunity to hurl your axe where Schlatt stood upon his podium. The blow wasn’t fatal, but that wasn’t necessarily your goal. You just wanted to see the man in pain.
“It was a lucky shot really”, you admitted, “I wasn’t even aiming properly.” That managed to draw a small smile onto Techno’s lips.
“And do you remember”, you continued, “when I tried to confront the Butcher Army by myself?”
He grimaced at the thought. You had told him you just needed to make a quick trip to L’manburg for some supplies, leaving him at home alone to recover from the previous day’s events. You returned that evening with a sprained wrist and a couple large bruises forming on your body. None of them were trying to kill you, but you took a pretty good beating from Quackity just for trying to confront them.
“Why are you bringing all of this up now?”, he asked.
“Because”, you said, “this is the evidence that will support my next point.”
He looked bewildered by that statement, but continued to listen.
“I’m not a perfect person”, you resumed, “I have blood on my hands just like you do. I know it’s hard to compare to you, but I’m not devoid of my own sins. I can be mean, I’ve hurt people. I’m not a pure, angelic being who would quiver at a single inappropriate thought. I think you forget that sometimes.”
He let your words swirl around in his head; he couldn’t deny the logic in them. The evidence prevented him from denying the truth of your statement. He could almost be mad that you’d talked him into a corner, but he was more overjoyed at the fact that you knew him well enough to do so.
“And you know...”, you spoke quietly, letting your hand fall down to rest on his chest, “if you did somehow ‘corrupt my innocence’ as you say... I really wouldn’t mind that.”
Techno’s breath hitched in his throat. There were a brief few moments, maybe minutes, where he just stared at you. Then his lips were on yours; sudden and clumsy, but passionate. You gripped the fabric of his shirt as he grabbed at your waist, desperate to have you in his arms again.
“I’m sorry, I had to”, he muttered, his lips left hovering a hair’s breadth away from yours.
“You’re so silly sometimes”, you sighed affectionately, rubbing small circles into his collarbone. He gave you a gentle smirk before pressing another kiss into your lips.
“I’m sorry darling, I really am”, he said as he drew you into a tight hug. He took in your scent and the feel of your skin for the first time in days. It felt like he could survive off the feeling of your arms wrapped around his body alone. He wondered why he ever let himself be depraved of this.
“You know I trust you, right?”, you spoke with your face pressed into his chest.
“I’m not sure why, but yes.”
You decided not to reprimand him for saying that. You could help him unpack all that later. Instead, you brought your head up to whisper in his ear.
“You have my full and unconditional consent to take my virginity whenever you’re ready.”
Techno inhaled and held his breath, though for what, he wasn’t sure. It took a while for the full weight of those words to sink in. He leaned back to stare at your face, bringing one of his large and shaky hands up to cup your cheek.
“Are you sure?”, his eyes were wide with trepidation, practically pleading with you to tell him the truth. You leaned into his palm, indulging in the feeling of his skin on yours.
“I want you, techno. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”
Techno was lost in your words. The sudden absence of guilt left his heart light and airy in his chest. For the first time in days, the voices were only a gentle murmur.
“she’s so beautiful” “she wants you” “make her feel good” “show her how special she is” “make her smile” “she’ll be so pretty” “she’s always pretty” “be gentle, no need to rush”
“make love to her”
“... I think I’m ready now.”
───※ ·❆· ※───
ayyyy guess who finally finished writing something!!!
parts of this feel a little rushed but ehhhhhh i was just excited to finally post it. i looove writing techno as an extremely self-conscious character who’s too caught up in their own head to see how ridiculous they’re being. so, this was a treat for me to write
i hope you enjoyed :D
-moonlight
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You're Grounded
Summery: Smiley and Angry's little sister tries sneaking out of the house after she gets grounded. It...doesn't go well...
Rating: SFW
Pairing(s): Platonic!Nahoya Kawata x Platonic!Little Sister Reader x Platonic!Souya Kawata
(No incest here fellas)
To make a long story short, you got grounded. Not by your parents, no no. You got grounded, by your older brothers. And to you, it's a little bullshit. They were one year older than you. Who gave them the right to ground you like you were their child?
So, you're probably wondering, what did you do that was so bad that you were grounded for it? Well...you may or may not...have accidently...got into a fight at school. Not just a screaming match kind of fight, nah, you were going all in. Beating ass left and right on the unlucky son of a bitch who pissed you off.
And when you were caught and given detention, who else came to pick you up other than your older brothers, Nahoya and Souya Kawat. Or better known as, Smiley and Angry.
Now, they each had their own opinions on this situation. Smiley was actually impressed, and felt prideful in his little sis. You barely had a scratch on you! However Angry on the other hand, was not so impressed. More like worried, concerned even. He thought you might have gotten hurt, but to his relief you handled it on your own.
While the two both disagreed about how the situation was handled, they both did agree that this couldn't slide. It would have, if you hadn't started the fight in the first place. And so, they both grounded you on the spot. And now here you were, trapped in your room, while your two dumb jerks for older brothers were chilling with Toman.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"....God I'm so bored!" You groaned loudly. "Like those two don't get into fights too! Why am only I getting punished!?" You sit up from your bed, glaring at your door. While having a stare off with the door in front of you, an idea popped into your head. "Oh that's right...they're not here tonight. They're at a meeting." You say with a smirk. "Tsk, dumbasses. They really thought I was about to stay in here all night." You hopped out of bed and strolled over to your door and opened it. Walking out and into the living room, without a care in the world.
Until it all came crashing down on your head.
Ahead of you, was your two brothers. They were just chilling out on the couch watching some random show. "Hey sis. I don't remember saying that you could leave your room. Did I Angry?" Smiley said with his usual grin...only you could tell he wasn't really grinning. "No..." Angru muttered, glaring in your direction.
"U-uh....b-bathroom?" You manage to say.
"Hm...ok. Go ahead." Smiley and Angry turned their attention back to the TV. 'Fuck!' You yelled internally as you head to the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and slide down the door, knees tucked to your chest. "What the hell are those two bozos doing here instead of the meeting?" You ask aloud.
Well, there was always another way out. Glancing up at the window ahead just beside the shower, you grin. Bringing yourself to a stand, you walked to the window and open it as quietly as possible. Moving one leg out, ducking your head under and out before moving the other leg over, you carefully climbed down. "Ha! Try and stop me now dipshits." You chuckle.
"Gladly."
"Ahhh!!!" You scream as the sudden voice filled your ears. Turning slowly you were met face to face with Angry. And boy...was he ever so angry. Like really angry. "Heeeey bro....nice night huh?"
"....Get back in the house. Now."
"Yep." You hurried back inside.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And back to square one it is. This time, they actually locked you inside your room. "Come on!" You banged on your door. "What if I really do need to use the bathroom at some point!?" You yelled. "Should have thought about that before you tried sneaking out." Came Angry's response from the other side. "Yeah. And if you do need the bathroom, we left ya a bucket in their with you." Smiley laughed.
"No! That's fucking disgusting! Let me out!" You banged on the door again. "Not until you've learned your lesson. And you try sneaking out again, we'll ground you for another week." With that the two walked away, leaving you alone once again. You groaned and flopped onto your back on the floor of your room. Staring up at your ceiling, thinking up of different ways to escape your punishment.
Begging? No, it might work with Angry, but Smiley wouldn't budge. Throwing hands? Yeah right, you felt like living for a while longer thanks. And you can't use the old puppy eyes, they've grown use to it ever since you turned 15.
Then what could you do?
You couldn't call your best friend Emma for help, since they took your phone...so you were pretty much shit out of luck.
"Great..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An hour had passed, you had nearly drifted off while still on the floor. Everything seemed truly hopeless...that is until your remembered...you're a girl! "Yes! That's it!" You whispered before getting up and banging at your door again. "Hey! Jerks! I need out!"
"We ain't letting you out dummy!" Smiley yelled back. "I'm serious! It's an emergency!" There was a brief moment of silence, you smirked once you heard footsteps approaching your door. "What is it?" Angry asked, his tone wavered between annoyance and concern. "Souya...this is so embarrassing...I can't believe I have to talk about this cause you won't let me out." You say with a fake sniffle.
This would get him...Angry hated it whenever you were upset. "Y/n? You can tell me." His voice was much softer now. Hell yes. "I just started my period...And I don't have any pads." You heard him hum on the other side. "I'll get them. But Smiley is going to stay here and make sure you don't leave the house."
"Can I at least go and clean myself up?" You ask with pitiful tone. There was a moment of hesitance before the sound of clicking. Angry opened the door and let you out. You hid your face in attempt to look embarrassed. "Thank you Souya." You say as you make your way to the bathroom. From outside you could hear the distant muffled conversation between Angry and Smiley before hearing the front door open and shut.
Before you could think of what to do next, you heard what could only be Smiley walking past the bathroom and up to his own room. Oh yeah, it's all coming together. Waiting a few minutes, you left the bathroom and quietly snuck to the front door and opening it as silently as you could. And just as you were about to taste the sweet taste of freedom...
"Going somwhere?"
Angry. Fucking Angry was standing at the front door, arms crossed.
"....Are you shitting me?" You utter blankly. Angry stepped forwards, backing you into the house again. "Your period was last week." He told you. "I know this because you called and asked me if I could get you some products."
Oh yeah....right...
"Nice try shit head. And now you're double grounded." Smiley said from behind you.
Well. No one can say you didn't try.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ahh-
I might do a follow up to this, idk-
#nahoya kawata x reader#nahoya kawata#souya kawata x reader#souya kawata#smiley x reader#smiley tokyo revengers#angry x reader#angry tokyo revengers#tokyo rev x reader#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers
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Crush Rindou x f!reader
-A little crush is formed when you see people get beat the living shit out of them
Warning: mild language, soft rin, mentions of violence, some pet names are used,
In the city of roppangi, two infamous brothers roam the streets. Others shivering at their names and bowing in their presence. With a baton in one hand and fist full of hair in the other the other brother, Ran, continued to punch the stranger. Rindou, the younger brother, crouched down staring him in the face tauntingly. This became as daily thing between the two brothers. A past time, a hobby, a cute bonding activity for the two.
While a high-school student like me has a more calming hobby. I enjoy riding my bike after school doing whatever I feel like that day. Some days my friends accompany me but days like today they sadly couldn’t. I’ve heard a lot about the two brothers. How fast they took over the city. I found it stupid. They’re only a year older than me, like how are they not in school doing their work. It’s irritating to know that they’re out here being bad ass kids and beating up innocent people. I sound like an old lady but I believe it’s better than them.
I did fear to see them to be honest though. I jokingly say things about them with my friends and classmates as one does. I mean, they’re only a year older than us so most of us are amazed at their reputation. How scary could they possibly be? Right. As I hold my scraped knees and sit behind a tree, I then realized how scary they can be.
Today during my bike ride alone, I noticed the quiet streets. It felt more peaceful than most days. So when I decided to take a different route, and it was even quieter I became wary. An uneasy feeling pits in my stomach but I do get distracted at the peaceful scenery. The sky a deep shade of blue as clouds float in the air. The train can be heard from afar and small convenience stores rest with little to no customers. Along with the stray cats pondering about. It’s hard to feel so scared when everything is so lovely.
I slow my bike down, which wouldn’t hurt anyone right. Wrong. As soon as my heartbeat settled down I hear a loud screech. My peaceful moment came to a halt and at that moment I didn’t know what to feel. As I saw a group of men, some big some small but definitely not smaller than me, beating up another group of guys. I knew there was no other path so before anything I scurry into the side of the park. Ditching my bike as getting secure behind a tree.
I didn’t want to think that they’d hurt me just because I walked by but I’m not taking any chances. As the fight progressed more guys started spacing from each other’s, and unconscious bodies layed around. Each getting closer to you as more men are thrown around. It seems like 30 minutes go by until finally a silence can be heard.
“Roppangi prevails as they beat you guys once more!" A man shouts loudly. He’s quite bulky and is filled with small bruises, presumably from the fight. I notice the crowd looking one way. It wasn't at the bulky man, but rather two boys, presumably my age, standing next to the bulky man. They looked similar. With dark smiles and glaring dead eyes. The gang speach went on for a few more minutes. Until many started to clear out after loud cheers.
I stay still not waiting until no one is around. I see them carrying each other by the shoulders and others trying to wake their knocked out gang members. A few more minutes pass. Everyone seems to be gone, but two. The two boys stay sitting conversating with the bulky man. I was definitely more scared of the man rather than the two boys. So I waited and waited until he was released. The night was coming in already, I definitely underestimated how long fights can be. So as the bulky man leaves I give it a minute and run to my bike.
With a beating heart and fear in my viens I look down and walk as fast as I can past the boys. Until a slim body slams a baton on it my bike.
"Well well, what do we have here?" a sultry voice spoke, I can almost here the way he smiled. Not a kind one, but a way you'd see in a horror movie.
“I’m on my way home.” I spoke quietly still looking down. The one with blue streaks grabbed my bike shaking it a bit, “hmm? A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be our so late yeah?” His gloved hand slowly slid over my bike reach my wrist. He slowly tapped it rubbing the finger pads of his glove across the skin. Then he grabbed it pulling me forward.
“Why’d you got dirt on your hands doll?” He raised a brow and the man with braids peeped in, “And some scrapes on your knees hmm?” I tried pulling my wrist away but it he held tighter.
“I fell off my bike earlier, no big deal.” I tried to act calm despite how I felt on the inside. The braided man touched my waist to grab it but I was pulled away from him by the other one.
“I’ll deal with her, can’t leave this pretty thing all alone.” Ran stared at his brothers out of character acting. “Whatever you say.” He let’s go walking away and waving to us bye. The blue streaked man stared at me with his round glasses, “shall we go?”
“Go where?”
“Your house of course.”
So here you were. Walking. With this random boy you didn’t know. It was awkward as you both had a hand on the bike trialing along silently. He hummed quietly.
“You know,” he began to speak, “we knew you were there the whole time.”
“WHAT.” I widened my eyes at his words. He laughed at my expression, “We’re not idiots. We can see you head peeking out the tree. It was quite amusing. Cute almost.” He smiled to me and I laughed.
“You’re quite scary you know.” His eyes opened a little more at my boldness, “Is that so?” I nodded saying a quiet ‘yup.’ He silently laughed.
“Do you know who I am.” I picked up my head a bit and shook my head, “should I?” I look into his eyes and at that my moment realize just who he is. Messy hair, the two boys look alike, delinquents, a baton, and the malicious violet eyes that said it all.
It was a Haitani. Assuming the younger one as the other man looked older.
“Oh my god.” I tightened my grip on the bike trying to pull it away from him, but he didn’t relent. “Rindou Haitani sweetheart.” I stayed looking down once more, so he spoke again, “I was surprised to see you today. You usually take a different route right.” This made my head jerk towards him.
“Im not a stalker or anything but I happen to see you a lot by chance, when I’m doing business.” I knew exactly what he meant by “business.” He looked down swinging his hand, “Believe it or not…I have wanted to talk to you but I’ve been to scared.” I felt a bit embarrassed and laughed a little too. A gangster who’s to embarrassed to talk to a pretty girl.
“Oh, I see.” We stayed silent as I looked up to finally see my house. “Well, we’re here. Thanks for walking bye.” I pursed my lips and awkwardly waved goodbye. But he stopped me by grabbing my bike tightly once more. “W-wait. I know I may come off as creepy or scary but I really do want a chance. So please,” he went into the bowing position and let go of the bike, “give me a chance!” I smiled warmly at this. A delinquent bowing down to me? And especially with the tips of his ears a tint of red.
He looked up at me as I pat his head softly, “I guess I could give you a chance. There’s definitely a lot to work out but I don’t mind being friends for now, yeah?” He cleared his throat, “yeah, that’d be great.” We stood smiling at each other for a second then finally waging goodbye.
I threw myself into my bed and kicked my legs into the air. I guess I have a crush.
A crush on Rindou Haitani.
Bonus:
As Rindou walked he was greeted to an empty house. He finally put off his cool demeanor and played a loud song. He then looked around once more and pressed play. He jumped up and down silently yelling “yes” as he felt the victory inside him. He was so proud of himself and was truly a nerd at heart as you can see. But it was to embarrassing for his brother or you to know. He kept doing a small celebration dance until Ran walked in.
Unfortunately for him he didn’t hear Ran walk in as he was just so excited. Ran, who’d just woken up from a nap, stared at his brother in disgust and discomfort. In the heat of the moment he took out his phone and recorded when he started sadly enough, Rindou had already seen him.
Rindou awkwardly tumbled over his feet to stop the music. And stood in an odd position staring at his brother with embarrassment. They stare at each other for a good minute before ran spoke.
“You like her?” He asked
Rindou nodded
“Then never do that again.”
Rindou nodded again and stared at the ground in shame and embarrassment.
“I was just-“ ran cut him off, “nope, let’s end it here. No more.” Rindou nodded….again.
The two couldn’t look at each other for a week without remembering it.
#rindou x reader#rindou haitani#haitani brothers#tokyo revengers#tomato revengers one shot#tokyo revengers x reader#romance#rindou x y/n#rindou x you
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dreamy
—pjm x (f) reader
summary; You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad.
warnings; ANGST lol, fwb, reader is very :((
rating; mature (18+) bc tiny smut lol
misc; small smut scene, a happy ending <3
wc; 2.5k
notes; i have to post on #JIMIN’s bday or else i cannot live with myself anyway here’s me trying to fit an entire novella plot line in less than 5k words clap for me except maybe don't bc its not proofread anyway hbd jimin <3
Jimin is a nice guy, but you doubt he’d make a nice boyfriend. He fucks you hard and fast, just as you like, but hardly goes out of his way to sprinkle in any other requests. He’s got a one track mind, doesn’t dwell too long on what you say or how you’re feeling. Doesn’t matter because he’s just supposed to be a fuck buddy, the hot guy you met at a party, so you don’t let it phase you. But, well. Jimin is dreamy.
Sometimes he holds your hand while he eats you out and it sends your thoughts into a frenzy, makes your heart pound a little too fast to brush it off as just arousal. He’s got this gorgeous smile, plush lips framing pearly teeth, and when he flashes it your way, it makes your knees weak. Tells you you’re pretty when he picks you up from class, always holds your hand on the way to his place for your routine fuck. Cute and nice like an angel, but just like an angel, he hardly gives a shit about anyone’s feelings but his own.
He laughs when you ask him to hang out that weekend.
“What, like a date?” he snorts, bare chest glistening from his post-fuck exertion. You're pressed against his side now, circling his pretty brown nipple with your finger. “That’s corny.”
You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad. “Yeah, silly right,” you murmur, ear pressed to his heart. It’s calming and soothing, a slow thrum that contrasts with your own racing heart.
He’s not one for dates or for romantic things like that. But neither is he some player, a cheater, a two-timer. You can count the number of times he’s slept with someone who wasn’t you in your weird fuck buddy relationship, and all four of those had been when you first started sleeping together and only when you had been out of town. You’re no saint either, so you try to understand. He was just horny, liked getting his dick wet, and sometimes he couldn’t wait for you. Understandable, you tell yourself, but your heart hurts a little bit when he begins snoring without really answering your question.
See the thing is, you really like Jimin. It’s been a little over a year now since you’ve met, so you’ve had plenty of time to learn all about him. He doesn’t like pancakes for breakfast, prefers them for lunch actually, and laughs when you tell him that’s weird. He’s got this really dorky laugh, something between a bell and a whistle— it depends on the situation. Sometimes, Jimin likes when you play with his hair, and other times he doesn’t. He’s a sweet boy, you know he is, so why won’t he settle down?
You hate to attribute it to some past trauma, some “my girlfriend broke my heart when I was seventeen” mess, but the more time that passes you begin to believe it’s true. Jimin was a tough nut to crack, and the longer this drags on, the longer he ignores your feelings, you begin to doubt you will ever see them fulfilled.
Maybe you should end this now before it’s too late.
You don’t stay for breakfast the next morning, simply kiss him goodbye at the door like always. He’s older than you, about two years, so he doesn’t go to school anymore, just chills at home all weekend. “I’ll see you soon?” he grins, low-lidded eyes tracking the movement of your mouth as you bid him adieu. You never give him a solid response, figure a guy like Jimin will forget about you soon enough.
Then, suddenly, it’s been two weeks and he doesn’t reach out. Yeah it hurts, but it’s better than having confessed to him and losing him all at once. You’d rather this ending than the one where he terribly rejects you, breaks your heart into a million pieces, and throws you away. Still, it hurts.
Jimin was so cool. He was smart and confident, had a snappy sort of attitude that he liked to use now and then. He could be mean in bed, lick your cunt until you cried and call you a stupid girl when he wanted to. But that same tongue had snapped at a guy who was trying to pressure you into bed with him at a party. That first night you met, where you had sillily followed him home after his dashing intervention, you had thought it would be nothing more. Just a fling, just a fuck.
But then he was in your bed and in your head, twinkling eyes and cocky grin trailing after you everyday. He was so pretty and so suave, made you feel good even when he was being mean. But you suppose most cocky men like Jimin are like that. They know they don’t disappoint, even when they’re not really trying.
Jimin doesn’t call or text. You don’t see his car pull up outside your campus anymore. He’s gone and that’s that. You cry a little (see: a lot) and pretend you’re over him. You definitely don’t think about his soft laughter or his hands on your chest. Nope.
So that ends.
Or so you think.
Your friends say you’re mopey and sad, too down for someone who wasn’t even your boyfriend. It’s true, which sucks, but they honor your admittance by taking you out to a bar that night. It’s supposed to be chill and relaxing, just some drinks with the girls to soothe your aching heart. But the name of the bar reminds you of something, of someone you can’t reach anymore, and you don’t even know why. You’ve never been here before, never even knew this place existed. But everything about it brings you back to Jimin, like you’re in his space now, and you’re unsure why.
It reminds you of his laugh, his smile, to the point you swear you can hear it, right beside you, down the bar, to your left—
He waves.
There’s this look he used to give you every time he picked you up from your last class, this mix between adoration and lust that made your skin tingle with excitement. It’s not there now, in fact, it’s replaced with the complete opposite. It’s, like, the meanest look he can muster, something akin to a scowl. He smiles, but it’s so plastic-y and fake, it makes your head hurt. He’s so obviously unimpressed with you, probably because you ghosted him before he could ghost you. Maybe his pride is hurt and looking at you grosses him out. Maybe he just hates you.
Either way, eleven pm rolls around and you’re crying in the bathroom. Your friends are out on the floor having fun and singing karaoke. They think you’ve gone inside because you got your period, because that’s what you’ve told them. You don’t know how to explain that your ex who isn’t really your ex is out there looking at you like you’re a piece of gum stuck under his shoe. They’ve never even met Jimin. Why? Because he wasn’t your boyfriend. Who meets their friend’s fuck buddy? No one.
You sniffle, press a balled up tissue against your eyes in a feeble attempt to save your makeup. The bar isn’t that small, but neither is it huge. There’s only a few bathrooms in the back, and you’ve been hogging one of them for some time now. Someone knocks on the door, and you don’t even get the chance to ward them off before the crappy knob jingles and the door bursts open.
“Come on,” he grumbles, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta piss—“
He pauses, meets your eye through the mirror in surprise. “I’m sorry,” you blubber, hurriedly washing your hands in an effort to avoid his gaze. Jimin lingers at the door, which has long since fallen shut, and watches you with the eyes of a hawk. Your hands tremble and shake, fumble over the towel dispenser three times before you’re hastily making your escape. “Sorry,” you mutter again, head downcast as you move around him for the door.
Just as it cracks open, the music from outside filtering in, he slams it shut with a flat palm. You flinch, close in on yourself as he steps behind you. “What’re you doing here, doll?” he murmurs, deep yet careful. Tentative. “You don’t like bars.”
You know you don’t like bars. You didn’t know he knew that. “I’m with some friends,” you explain, jump when a hand touches your shoulder. “I— I’ll leave soon.”
A second attempt for the door is thwarted by Jimin. “Don’t,” he startles, breath heavy against your ear. “Don’t leave again…” he sighs, forehead against your shoulder. And then, quietly, “why did you leave me?”
Your heart syncs up with the music outside, thunders in your ears as you purse your lips. You don’t want to talk about it now, don’t want to confess to these emotions that drown you. Especially not when he’ll never understand nor will he ever care. It’s best to leave it as is, you convince yourself, slowly shrugging him off.
“We don’t want the same things,” you reply, eyes burning with the need to cry like a baby. But it’ll weaken your argument, make you look like the sentimental girl you know he won’t like. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”
The hand on your shoulder jerks you around, makes a gasp catch in your throat when he crowds you against the door. He’s got that same glare on from before, the one he had sent you across the bar earlier, and it makes your lower lip tremble when it’s this close. “You never asked me what I wanted,” he hisses.
It is then that you realize it isn't anger or disgust, but frustration that paints his features. It’s pure, unadulterated confusion and distress on his pretty face, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes pointed your way. You don’t know what it means, don’t know what he wants. “I,” you choke, weakly covering your face with your hand before he can see you crumble. “I just wanted you.”
Jimin deflates, steps closer until his body is pressed against yours, hands on your shoulders. “And you have me, doll,” he murmurs, bumps his nose against yours. “Always have.”
You shake your head, choke on a sob that bubbles up your throat. “No, not like that,” you stress, losing yourself in the emotions you spent so much time bottling up. “I wanted more.”
Jimin shushes you, guides your head into the crook of his neck where you paint his skin in dark mascara tears. “Is this about the date?” he sighs, patting your head gently.
“It’s more than just the date,” you cry, fists curling into the material of his shirt until it rumples beyond repair. He doesn’t understand.
Jimin nods, let’s you cry and sob until you’re feeling better and someone else is pounding at the door, yelling at you two to get a proper room. You don’t want a room, you only want his heart.
He takes you home again, helps you out of your shoes at the door because you’re still sensitive and quiver like a leaf when you walk. His bedroom is familiar, smells like him and his detergent. You miss it so much, want to savor it once more. Something in your gut says this is the last time, this is just Jimin getting one last fuck out of you before he really abandons you.
So you cry when he sits down on the edge of the bed. He hasn’t even said anything, hasn’t even taken his socks off yet, but you’re already a mess.
And of course he’s there to catch you, tugs you between his legs to look up at you as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, reaching up to brush away your tears. But it’s not your fault that he looks like that right before he’s going to break your heart.
He’s so cool, even when you’re falling apart in his hands. “You don’t want me,” you sniffle, let him guide you onto his lap. “You just want to fuck and that’s it.”
Jimin leans his forehead against yours, warm breath washing over your skin. “I never said that,” he murmurs. “We’ve been over this.”
You huff. “Well you never said you did either,” you snap, rubbing at your eyes.
You cry and cry some more, until your sobs subside and you’re left with the hiccups afterwards. Jimin maneuvers you beside him, lets your hair spill across the sheets as he lays you down. They smell just like him, make your head spin when he kisses your cheek softly. “I want you,” he confesses. “I want this.”
You shake your head vehemently. “No, you don’t,” you sniff, but you’re not so sure. It’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the longest. Hearing him say otherwise sounds weird, even if he’s saying what you want to hear. “You don’t.”
Jimin catches your hand in his, pins it to the mattress. “I want you to be mine,” he adds, swallows your cries of denial with his lips. He kisses softly, and for the first time, it feels like he’s paying attention to you. Not your body or your lust, but your heart. “Had me feeling like shit when you didn’t come back. Like I lost something big.”
You still cry when he kisses down your neck, over your chest. His hands pull your clothes off, carefully like you’re a present for him to unwrap. Those plush lips you love so much drown you in kisses, over your tummy and your mound, until they’re buried between your cunt. “You’re mine,” he husks out, hand entwined with yours.
His eyes are dark from down there, long lashes blinking up at you as he dips his tongue in the places you crave him most. It brings you to a shuddering end, has you whimpering his name into the empty air until your toes are curling and you’re coming against his mouth. Jimin has never shied away from you, and doesn’t know, sits up with a hazy look in his eyes as he wipes his face with the back of his hand.
Jimin wastes no time undressing, pushes off that sexy jacket until his lithe body is coming into view, thick thighs and lean abdomen. He slides right into you, holds your knees to your chest as he fucks you like never before. It’s slow and sensual, makes you shiver when he says your name in that low register of his. “Don’t leave again,” he whimpers, cock throbbing between your walls. He’s desperate today, ruts like you’ll slip right between his fingertips. It’s funny because you're the same way, clinging onto his shoulders until you’re practically glued together.
You come and so does Jimin. He pants against your ear, feels so warm and heavy on top of you. He doesn’t say much more that night, just plays with your hair. But he asks you on a date, mentions something about a carnival. “Yes,” you respond right away, because, well.
Jimin was dreamy. Maybe he’d be a good boyfriend.
Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
#bangtanhq#networkbangtan#jimin smut#park jimin smut#pjm#park jimin#jimin x reader#jimin x reader smut#park jimin x reader#park jimin x reader smut#bts smut#bangtan smut#mine
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Neighborly
I had a bad case of writers block and rabbit brain trying to work on my wips yesterday, so I went and dug through my prompt lists, sat down with the sprint timer, and scrawled out this little bit of nonsense. I'm not sure about the final result but it broke the block, and I figured I might as well share it, so I hope you enjoy!
AO3
Rating: T
Marinette's been crushing on her cute neighbor for weeks, but she's never gotten the courage to speak more than a few flustered words to him. Now it might be too late--he's at her door begging for the use of her shower to get ready for his big date.
Marinette stared at the man standing at her door.
“I’m sorry?” she said faintly, and the man smiled at her. That didn’t help the situation at all, as it made her knees wobbly.
“Weird ask, I know,” he said, ruffling a hand through his blue-tinted hair. “It’s just that I’m supposed to have a date tonight and my shower’s been out for two days. Maintenance has quit answering my calls and I’m getting desperate. I really like this girl and I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”
“Oh,” Marinette said, voice still weak, and then she plastered a plastic smile on her face. “O-of course you can! What are neighbors for, right? Um—”
“Luka,” he supplied, still smiling. Marinette already knew that, of course. She knew an embarrassing amount of information about this man, considering they had only spoken in passing. The first time, he’d caught her when her shoe had broken in the hallway, and she’d pitched straight into him somehow managing to stop her fall and haul her back upright against him with only one strong arm. He hadn’t even lost the groceries he’d been carrying in the other. He’d smiled at her and told her to be careful with that soft velvet voice and she’d looked up into blue eyes that seemed far too gentle for his handsome, angular face and—
Marinette suddenly realized it was her turn to talk and that she was taking too long. “Um M-Marinette, I’m. I’m Marinette,” she stammered.
“Nice to finally officially meet you Marinette,” Luka said easily, as if she wasn’t the most awkward person he’d ever spoken to, as if she hadn’t run away from him after a few awkward words every time they’d bumped into each other—literally or otherwise. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll pop back over and grab my things, and be back in a few minutes?”
“Oh, um. Y-yeah, yeah, of course,” she babbled, and he turned away, raising a hand slightly.
“Great, I’ll be back in a few then.”
Marinette shut the door numbly, and then walked over to her couch and buried her face in a pillow. She screamed, kicking her feet, and then tossed the pillow away, moaning as she dragged her hands down her face.
It wasn’t enough that the super hot musician with gorgeous shoulders and dreamy eyes was coming over to use her shower. He had to need her shower because he had a date . Marinette wanted to be his date! She’d been half-stalking him trying to work up the courage—well. Not really stalking him, just...observing. She just noticed things, that was all, like how he had a smile and a question for everybody, the way he fed the stray cats that lived behind the building, and always held open doors no matter who was behind him, and how hard his chest was beneath the baggy layers he wore, and—oh, that chest was going to be in her bathroom and—her bathroom!
Marinette’s eyes flew wide and she nearly tripped over her own feet, flinging herself off the couch, running to the bathroom to grab anything too girly or potentially embarrassing and shove it under the sink. Fortunately her bathroom wasn’t dirty (she wasn’t an animal after all), just cluttered, and she frantically grabbed the underthings she’d draped over the shower rod to dry and ran them to her room, shoving them frantically under her pillow before going back to make absolutely sure she hadn’t missed any or left anything embarrassing. She put a clean towel on the rack and threw the dirty one over her arm and triple-checked to make sure there was no hair in the shower drain. She heard the knock on the door and jerked up, banging her head on the faucet of the tub. She yelped, dizzy with the pain for a moment.
“Marinette?” Luka called, as she tried to extract herself from the bathtub with one hand clutched to her scalp. She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her; that hurt.
“Are you all right?” Luka asked, and Marinette whirled around wide-eyed to find him standing in the bathroom doorway. “I heard you yell and I let myself in, I hope that’s okay. Did you hurt yourself? Are you bleeding?” He dropped the backpack slung over his shoulder onto the floor and came over to her, gently tugging her hand away from her head.
“I don’t think so,” Marinette gritted. “I was just...trying to clean up a bit, and…” She gestured at the faucet and Luka winced in sympathy.
“Ouch,” he muttered as he parted her hair with gentle fingers. He was so nice, Marinette mourned. Although...he did smell like he needed that shower. She held her breath and tried not to make a face. “It looks okay,” he said, stepping back away from her. “You didn’t have to clean for me.”
Marinette gave an embarrassed shrug. “Wouldn’t you?” she asked dryly, and blushed when Luka laughed.
“Probably,” he conceded with a grin. “Thanks. I really didn’t mean to put you to inconvenience.”
“It’s no big deal,” Marinette said, finally mustering a smile. “Besides, how could I leave you in the lurch? Big date and all. I don’t need any more bad karma on my dating life.”
Luka’s eyebrows rose, and Marinette flushed, cursing her stupid mouth that never shut up when it should. “So I’ll, um—” she gestured behind Luka to the door, “get out of here, so you can. You know.”
“Oh, sorry.” Luka moved out of her way, pressing himself against the sink, and Marinette squeezed past him and out of the door. “Thanks again, I really appreciate it.”
“This girl must be something special,” Marinette smiled as she backed into the small hallway. “For you to go to all this trouble instead of rescheduling.”
“She is,” Luka grinned. “She’s amazing. I think so, anyway. I don’t know her very well yet, but she’s awfully sweet and super cute.” The grin on his face turned a little goofy. “I’ve been smitten since I met her, honestly.”
“Oh,” Marinette kept her smile in place, trying to ignore the cold feeling in her stomach. “Oh, that’s really sweet. Um, well I don’t want to make you late, so I’ll just...music! I’ll go turn on some music.” That way she wouldn’t hear the incredibly cute soon-to-be-naked boy in her bathroom. “Um, take your time, let me know if you need anything.”
Luka’s grin widened a little. “Thanks Marinette.” He shut the door, and Marinette marched herself back to the living room to scream into another pillow.
After a few deep breaths and a lot of nervous fumbling, she got her music player running. Jagged Stone should be enough, right? Loud enough to cover—she heard the curtain rings slide across the rod. The shower started running and Luka’s deep sigh of relief. Poor guy , she thought, he must have been miserable . She put the music player on and sat for a moment, chewing her thumbnail nervously.
After a few minutes she sat up straighter, listening. Was that—over the sound of the running water and Jagged Stone wailing through her sound system, she heard another voice. Luka was...singing? He was singing along with the song that was playing. Marinette giggled, and moved to the other end of the couch, listening. He had a nice voice, she thought wistfully. She’d seen him with a guitar on his back in the halls. She wondered if some of the music she occasionally heard through his door in the hall was music he made, rather than the radio as she’d assumed.
She flopped on the arm of the couch and groaned. He was so cool, and she was such a disaster. She would have never been brave enough to ask to use a stranger’s shower, no matter how miserable and disgusting she was.
Poor guy , she thought again. He must have been really desperate.
She sat up, and picked up her phone, looking at it in her hands. Maybe she could...well, it might be stupid but it couldn’t hurt to just ask, right?
Marinette dialed the building maintenance number. “Hi Pierre,” she chirped brightly when the grumpy old technician picked up the phone. “It’s Marinette in 34 B? How are you doing?
“Miss Marinette!” The gruff tone softened. “I’m doing well, doing well. Tickets lined up like crazy, though. Everything seems to be breaking at once these days.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Marinette said, putting on a tone of great sympathy. “Maybe I shouldn’t bother you then—”
“Now, now, none of that. What can I do for you?”
“It’s not actually me,” Marinette said, “It’s my neighbor across the hall, Luka? His shower’s been out for a while now and he came over tonight to see if he could use mine—”
“What?” barked old Pierre, and Marinette grinned to herself. “That punk with the piercings? You shouldn’t be letting him traipse through your apartment Miss Marinette. Guys like that always try to take advantage.”
“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t do that,” Marinette said innocently. “I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything like that. I was calling to see when his shower might be fixed, but if you’re so busy, maybe I should just give him my spare key so he can—”
“No, no,” Pierre said quickly. “I’ve got his ticket right here, see, he was next on the list. His shower will be fixed tomorrow, so don’t be making any foolish offers Miss Marinette. You’re too nice for your own good, you know.”
“Oh, it never hurts to be nice, Pierre,” Marinette giggled. “I’m planning on making some chocolate chip scones tomorrow to take to a friend, so if you do come to fix Luka’s shower, stop on by, I’ll save a few of them for you.”
“Well, I’ll stop by if I have time,” Pierre said gruffly. “Not that sweets are much to a man my age, but if you made them…”
“Great, I hope I’ll see you!” Marinette giggled. “Thanks so much Pierre, you’re an angel.” She hung up, grinning to herself.
“I can’t believe it. You’re magic.”
Marinette jumped half out of her skin and whirled around. Luka grinned at her sheepishly, but she hardly noticed, because while he was wearing pants—a different, more fitted pair than what he’d had on when he arrived—his torso was bare, and her fluffy pink towel hung around his shoulders, catching only most of the drips falling from his blue hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, and I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I just wanted to ask if you had a hair dryer I can borrow. I forgot to grab mine.”
“Oh, um, sure,” Marinette said, jumping up. “I’ll just...I’ll get it, if that’s okay.” She blushed, thinking of all the things she had shoved in the cabinet before he came.
“Sure.” Luka moved back out of her way, and she shimmied past him into the bathroom. She blinked a moment at the amount of paraphernalia spread on her counter. She’d never thought guys used that much product, but she shook herself and bent over to dig in the cabinet, trying to block it with her body so Luka couldn’t see inside. It took some effort to find the hair dryer, which had been shoved against the back of the cabinet in her frenzied tidying, but by some miracle she extracted it without dumping all of the piled up junk onto the floor. Sighing in relief, she straightened and turned. “Got it!”
Luka was looking at the ceiling. His darkly tanned skin was flushed from the hot shower and the line of his neck made her swallow. “Luka?” she repeated, trying not to squeak.
His dropped his gaze back to her, and she froze under the intensity in that look for a moment. Then he blinked and smiled, softening, and Marinette felt she could move again. She offered him the hair dryer and he took it. “Thanks, Marinette,” he said. “And thanks for getting Pierre’s ass in gear. He hates me, so I figured it’d be a week at least before I could get him to come out.”
“Oh, that.” Marinette shrugged, and grinned mischievously. “I have a lot of experience dealing with grouchy old men.” She winked, and to her mild surprise, the color in Luka’s cheeks deepened. He cleared his throat.
“Well, thanks for making the effort, I really appreciate it.”
“Why does he hate you?” Marinette frowned, as Luka’s words caught up to her.
Luka nodded vaguely in the direction of the back of the building. “We got into it over me feeding the strays. He was nattering on about disease and just breeding more and blah, blah, blah.” Luka rolled his eyes. “If he’d actually listen for five minutes...anyway, I have a friend, the blond that was with me that one time, you remember? He runs a trap-and-release program for feral cats, gets them vaccinated and fixed and all that and then lets them back out into their home territory. The cats behind our building are probably as safe as your average indoor cat, in terms of disease.”
“Oh,” Marinette gasped, awed. “That’s really cool.”
Luka grinned. “He’s pretty passionate about it. He did all the real work, trapping and transport and all that. I just make sure they have a good meal. May I?” He gestured towards the sink, and Marinette jumped.
“Oh, of course, please. I’m sorry, I’m going to make you late with all this chattering—” Marinette babbled as she and Luka did a slightly awkward dance to let him in and her out of the bathroom. He smelled much better now, she noticed giddily as they had to squeeze together. She only barely managed not to squeal when he took her arm lightly to guide her around him.
“By the way,” he called once she was out, and she glanced back to see him unscrewing the lid on one of the sink jars. “Do you have any suggestions for good places to eat close by?” He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “I’m always looking to try new things.”
“U-um—” Finding it hard to think while staring at his bare back, Marinette turned away and tapped a finger to her lips in thought. “What kind of food do you like?”
“Anything,” Luka replied, running fingers coated in some kind of gel through his hair. “I like all kinds of things.”
“What does she like?”
“I don’t know yet,” Luka admitted.
Marinette considered. “Well, my favorite is this Italian place about two blocks down, but Italian is chancy on a first date. Messy, you know. She might not be comfortable.” Marinette raised her voice as Luka turned on the hair dryer. “There’s an Indian place that’s a little farther away, and there’s a really cute little patisserie right next to it, that could be romantic. Oh, and there’s a park right there, if you feel like a nighttime stroll.” She frowned. “You didn’t already figure this stuff out?”
“I’m not really a planner,” Luka laughed, his deep voice carrying easily even over the noise of the dryer. “I had some ideas, but sometimes the universe throws you an Indian place and a cute patisserie, with a moonlight stroll in the bargain.” He winked at Marinette. “It pays to keep an open mind.”
Marinette started to smile, and then remembered she was helping him plan a date with someone else, and turned away again. “Okay, well, you’ll have to let me know how it goes,” she said quickly as she went down the hallway. Her eyes were stinging and she took a deep breath as she blinked. Stupid , she scolded herself. She didn’t even know him, because just like always she’d never found the guts to actually talk to him, besides a hello and good night! and one very rushed um, cat food was on sale and I noticed it was the brand you buy so...here! SEEYOULATERBYE! He was her neighbor and she hadn’t even asked his name before today, only seen it on the mail that had been misdelivered to her box instead of his. All she had was little stolen scraps, because she hadn’t been brave enough to ask for more.
Ugh she was such a loser, it was no wonder Luka had never even—well, he had said a word to her, actually. Words like Are you all right? and Can I help you with that? and Wow, thanks, that’s so cool of you . Because he was sweet and nice as well as good looking, and if she’d had any guts at all maybe she could have—
“Marinette?”
She whirled, and Luka was standing there, his bag at his feet, closing the last two buttons of a black dress shirt. “Are you all right?” he asked as he began rolling the sleeves up to bare his forearms. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“What? No, of course not.” Marinette clamped her teeth down on her tongue before she could blurt something like I have shirtless men in my home all the time . Luka was looking at her with a slightly furrowed brow.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should have gone back to my place to finish up, I wasn’t—I mean I didn’t mean to impose or anything.”
Marinette took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then gave him a genuine smile. “You didn’t. Really, Luka, I wasn’t bothered. I just, um. I got emotional about something for a moment there, but it wasn’t your fault.”
Luka nodded. “Something about bad dating karma?” he guessed, voice so gentle it made her ache.
“More or less.” Marinette tried to smile.
“Well,” Luka sighed, finishing the second sleeve. “Honestly I haven’t been too lucky in that department myself. I was hoping tonight would change that, but...maybe...maybe it isn’t the best time after all.”
“What?” Marinette cried, staring at him. “Why? Luka, you seemed like you liked this girl so much, and you’re all dressed up.” She stepped to him and adjusted the set of his collar without thinking. “You look so good, it’ll be great. She won’t be able to resist you. Believe me, I know it’s scary to put yourself out there, but won’t you regret it if you don’t?” I do .
Luka caught her wrists gently. “Yeah, I really think I would.” He grinned. “Now I just need to ask her.”
Marinette blinked up at him. “You didn’t ask her?” she asked, bewildered. “Isn’t it going to be kind of short notice?” She frowned. “You said you had a date tonight.”
Luka dipped his head in a kinda-sorta motion. “I said I was supposed to have a date tonight,” he chuckled. “And I would have—or at least I hope so—if I’d asked you out two days ago when I planned. But then I got home from work and of course I was sweaty and gross and then my shower wouldn’t work, and I couldn’t talk to you while I was disgusting. Not when you’re always so pretty and neat and put together.”
Marinette’s cheeks flushed.
“And then Pierre didn’t show and he didn’t show and he didn’t show,” Luka rolled his eyes. “And if I didn’t ask you out today, I’d owe my buddy that runs the cat rescue my favorite signed Jagged Stone album. He’s been bugging me about asking you out for like a month.” He grinned. “Ever since you brought me the cat food? He could see how much I liked you and he decided then and there we were meant to be, and somehow I let him talk me into this stupid—bet or dare or whatever, that if I didn’t man up by today...well. I would’ve asked you anyway one way or another.”
Marinette’s mouth dropped open, and she was sure her face must be on fire.
“So, now that I’m presentable,” Luka grinned slowly. “Will you go out to dinner with me tonight? I heard about this really good Indian place. Maybe afterwards we could grab dessert and take a walk in the park? I’d really like to get to know you better.”
Marinette gasped, and then her lips pursed into a pout. Luka laughed. “You’re mean,” she told him, kicking his shin lightly.
Luka’s shoulders hunched a little, and he looked guilty. “I didn’t mean to be. I’m sorry for teasing.” He blushed. “I guess I was nerving myself up a bit, telling you how much I liked you without you knowing, but I didn’t think about how it would come across. I didn’t mean to upset you. No pressure, okay?” He slid his hands from her wrists to her hands and lowered them between them. “If you don’t want to, no hard feelings. Just, like you said. I’d regret it if I didn’t try.”
“But—” Marinette let go of his hands as her own flew to her hair. “I’m not dressed for a date!”
Luka chuckled. “You look gorgeous to me. But I can wait if you want to change.”
Marinette reddened. “I—w-well, I mean...I mean I guess we could—” Luka laid a finger on her lips.
“Breathe,” he told her, clearly trying not to laugh. “You’re really cute, you know that?”
That didn’t help her efforts to calm down, but she did manage to breathe, despite the very distracting slide of his finger as it left her lips. “Fine,” she said finally. “But you better be prepared because I’m going all out for our second date.”
Luka’s grin went wide and bright and more than a little silly. “I can’t wait.”
ETA: Okay, yes, I know this was a bit mean for Marinette. I did actually really waffle about it while I was writing it and I almost scrapped it a couple times, but the whole point of the timer is to keep me on task and stop the second guessing and overthinking that was sabotaging me, so I ran with it. I did ultimately decide to keep it because really, they haven't had a chance to really talk or anything here, and so Luka doesn't really know that Marinette's into him. He's aware there's some attraction between them, but he doesn't know how hard she's crushing. So really, he's just a bit insecure himself and psyching himself up a bit for The Moment. So I justify it to myself anyway. As soon as he's able to actually take in her mood he's aware he's messed up. If you can't forgive him, that's okay. Mari will get him back later.
Fiction Master Post
#quickspins#neighborly#i'll never not know you#lukanette#endgame lukanette#lukanette endgame#luka couffaine#marinette dupain cheng#miraculousladybug#miraculous ladybug#ml fics#pro lukamari
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Can you write promp 15 to Shuu tsukiyama :) Thank you I love your writings.
I love my writing as well😉. No, but seriously guys. If it wouldn't be for my passion to write, I would have gone on a hiatus the moment I found out that I was being shadowbanned.
Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, clinginess, manipulation, paranoia, mentioning of kidnapping, catcalling, sexual harassment, blood, killing, Shuu being a sadist to the victim, eccentricity (?)
Prompt 15: “Shh princess… don’t cry over this scum, he doesn’t deserve your tears.”
"Kanae!! What happened to her?!?! Why is she crying?!?!"
You hadn't wanted to burst out in tears like this, but replaying the scene in your head over and over again like a movie had caused you unimaginable frustration and embarrassment. Now you remembered why you hated people so much, they were all just greedy and disgusting jerks. Calling you such nasty names in public and daring to go as far as following you. If Kanae wouldn't have been there with you, you didn't even want to imagine what might have happened to you.
"My poor princess! What happened?! Tell me!"
Furious tears were falling down your face, even though you had wiped them away already countless times before. You were not in a very good mood at the moment, you felt quite etchy at the moment. And that was what caused annoyance washing over you when you heard Shuu's cooing words, taking quick steps towards you to comfort you somehow. You knew what would come now. Another smothering session of his. Something you didn't need in the least bit right now. What you needed was time. Alone.
You still tried to stay as calm as possible, not wanting to make a huge scene that would only gain you more annoying attention. All the servants were honestly so much like their master, they all appeared to be overly dramatic when it came to you, the only real exception was Mirumo.
So when you suddenly stepped back from Shuu, lips pressed together and a mixed look out of sadness and anger on your face, you knew that you had hurt him. It was all too obvious judging from his wide eyes, confusion and pain already reflecting in them, and the way he had frozen when you had suddenly put a distance between you two. The hand, which he had extended, was staying in the air, shaking slightly. As always, he was overreacting.
“(y/-y/n)…What did I-“
“You did nothing Shuu. You didn’t do anything. I just wish to be alone right now. So I ask you to do me the favor and leave me alone for once. If you don’t, I might say things to you that will hurt you and which I don’t mean. Don’t test my patience for now.”
You were surprised by your own tone of voice, you sounded extremely rude, annoyance dripping from your voice like venom. It was hard to keep a calm and collected voice under such conditions. But for the reason of you having been well raised and well treated by the people in this place, you wanted to return the favor by doing the same.
You just stormed past both, Kanae and Shuu, without saying a single word, chewing furiously on your lips whilst the voice of the man kept ringing in your head. You felt like you wanted to smash something to relieve yourself of the ocean of emotions inside of you. Today had been the wrong day to convince Shuu with the help of his father to let you out without him.
“Master (y/n)!”, you heard Kanae yelling after you, followed by a thud sound that caused you to turn around shortly, feeling slightly startled by the sudden noise. But you were left feeling a bit surprised when seeing that your company for the last few hours had gone done to her knees, forehead pressed against the floor of the mansion and bowing deeply down in front of you.
“I can never forgive myself for not being able to help you. I failed you! I’m so sorry! It’s all because of my own foolishness and incompetence that you had to go through all of this!”
Her voice was shaking and you guessed that she would break out in tears at any moment, she was just as theatrical as your partner was.
“Kanae, it’s not your fault. We were under too many people, you couldn’t have done more than you did already. And that was already a big help. Also, please don’t refer to me as your master, I don’t like it when I’m being called this way. I see you as a friend, so that makes things always a bit awkward when you call me your master.”
Only the fading and fast footsteps of yours were heard in the silence which followed afterwards, leaving two people left dwelling on what had just happened. Shuu, who was staring with still shocked eyes at the stairs where you had just walked up, and Kanae, who was still remaining in her humble position. Somewhere upstairs the rather loud slam of a door was heard, indicating that you had just entered your room.
“Kanae…What…happened?”
Even her master seemed to be left flabbergasted by this sudden change of events, although tears were already starting to fill his eyes. It was not as much because of your rejecting behavior towards him, although that had hurt as well. No, it was because someone had upset his little dove so that she had cried and he hadn’t been there to protect her.
“So eine Scheiße!”, the girl suddenly shouted furiously and frustrated, slamming her head against the floor harshly as if wanting to punish herself.
By now she had bursted out in tears, drops splashing to the ground. “What am I good for when I couldn’t even keep her safe and this-this disgrace away from her?! Now she is angry! Please forgive me Master Shuu. You chose me because you trusted me to protect her, but I was the wrong person to choose.”
The last few sentences of her were told much more softer than the previous ones, only proving to Shuu that Kanae felt beyond miserable for what had happened. But it didn’t answe his question! It only made him more anxious.
What had happened whilst he hadn’t been there?! Who the duck dared to make his lovely darling cry?! Who?!
“Would you just please tell me what happened?!”, he yelled at the servant, his string of patience snapping right then and there and leading him into raising his voice.
Kanae flinched when hearing him shouting at her, the panic in his voice overwhelming her even more. It was all because of her that her master would have to go through the same pain as you as well. How should she even start explaining what had happened without him losing it right away?
“Mast-I mean (y/n)…She has been catcalled! And I was unable to take proper care of this threat! Watching this bastard…It was disgusting! Enraging! This rotten mouth of his…The things he called after her, I wish I could have gouged his tongue out! And he even had the audacity to follow her through the city, using every opportunity he had to spit more gross words out! And (y/n) had to endure all of this without losing her self-restraint. She even had to stop me. She stood her ground without breaking down in front of him. She was so admirable. I should have taken an example on her.”
The confession of the truth hurt, having to go through it all again hurt. Her master’s darling had been so brave, so perfectly in control of her emotions, so empathetic to rather let herself get humiliated instead of risking to let Kanae get triggered and reveal that she was a ghoul in the center of the city. And (y/n) still saw her as a friend! She was so kind. No wonder Master Shuu was so madly in love with her.
After that the ghoul waited for some reaction from him, shouting, yelling, crying, lashing out on her, anything. But nothing came. Instead another silence befell both of them, coming with a creepy feeling. An almost paralyzing feeling that made the violet-haired girl stay on the ground. The air felt like it was weighting her down. She knew this feeling.
Fear.
"So you're telling me that ma chérie is crying because some walking useless trash thought that he could use her and play her for his own entertainment?"
His voice was beyond spine-chilling, spoken like a true lunatic. His voice sounded for the most part quieter than expected, though it was trembling slightly. But what made her body nearly forget to function out of terror was the icy blood lust in it, like he was on the brink of insanity.
Barely, only barely did Kanae manage to lift her head, enough to catch a glimpse of his face. It only made her break out in cold sweat more. She thanked the heaven that he wasn't looking at her right now, instead staring in the empty space, a murderous grin on his face. His eyes were wide, reflecting the craziness inside of him perfectly. Just by looking at him was enough for Kanae to know that he was tearing the culprit in his mind currently to a bloody and deforedly mess. Her master was thinking like her, she had planned on doing the same. But she hadn't looked that unnerving.
"As much as I would love to torture and rip this waste of oxygen right now, this will have to wait. My princess needs me right now."
The sudden change in his whole personality was delightening yet also the slightest bit stunning for Kanae to witness, how he went from psychopathic sadist to his normal dramatic and lovesick self.
"W-wait! C-can I do something, anything to make somehow up for my failure?", Kanae stuttered out, stopping Shuu from crossing the stairs with huge steps. She had to do something, she felt truly feeble.
Shuu noticed her still majorly guilty expression, giving her a small sympathetic smile. "Don't work yourself up to hard over it now. (y/n) was only right. You would have only done much worse if you would have let lost control then and there. You already did a better job than I did in keeping composure. For now just tell the others to prepare dinner, (y/n)'s favorite. And also..."
The sudden drop in Shuu's voice and his face was a dead giveaway what he wanted to say next. "Let's meet later outside when my darling is sleeping. I believe we have something to take care of, don't we?"
That alone was enough to make Kanae stand up, the anger and feeling of helplessness scratching her feeling of self-esteem. Her master knew that she had a score to settle as well after having only been able to watch. She felt grateful that he took that into reconsideration even though she had let this happen in the first place.
"It would be my pleasure to be from any help. I feel honored that you still chose me."
"Why are you here? I think I told you I want to be alone.", you shot out after Shuu had simply knocked and entered your room without permission, giving you nearly no time to wipe away all the tears on your cheeks. You hated crying in front of people, you hated looking weak and vulnerable and being it as well. That's why you always wanted to be alone when you felt like crying.
"You expect me to just stand away when my dove clearly needs someone right now?! You were just sexually harassed and want me to leave you alone?! Forget it!"
His reaction was what you had seen coming, the paranoia coloring his face being all too obvious and he looked distressed as well. Shuu wasn't good in handling something like this at all, not when it had you being in any sort hurt involved.
"Go away. I look terrible right now.", you just said without replying to what he had just said, though this had been a rhetorical question. You didn't look very good right now, tears smearing all over your face, your eyes reddened and puffy and your nose running due to all the crying.
"That doesn't matter to me. For me you look beatiful no matter what, even if you cry."
Despite feeling upset, you managed to let a chuckling scoff out when you heard the man saying this, still not being completely used to his more cheesy lines. But right now he probablly had the intention to cheer you up.
"Good grief, you're really too much. Let go of me.", you replied slightly ironically in between your sobs when he suddenly just clinged to you, wrapping you up in his arms. It wasn’t uncomfortable though, his hug was warm and managed to soothe you a bit.
You actually shouldn’t feel this way, not in the arms of the man who used to torment and hurt you out of pure and utter sadistic fun. Back then it had just been horror for you. And only thanks to his well-mannered father things had changed for you, only then. You owed Mirumo for that more than you could effort, but his only request had been staying, knowing the attachment his son had for you would never perish. But at the same time you had the feeling his father had helped his son as well, causing you to get along with him better and better until you had started to forget where acting stopped and where real feelings were showing.
“Shh princess…don’t cry over this scum, he doesn’t deserve your tears.”
He had a point. That asshole had wanted to get under your skin which was the second reason you had stayed strong in front of him. But you were human as well, you had feelings which could be hurt. You were currently hurt which was why you needed some sort of comfort right now and Shuu provided it. Maybe a bit too much.
You estimated that you needed about five minutes until you had calmed somewhat down, though the after effects from your crying session still shook your body every once in a while. But you felt the tiniest bit less shitty.
“I think I’m feeling better now. Thank you…Shuu.”, you told him softly, feeling your cheeks warming up the tiniest bit.
He just let out a content ‘hmm’, his chin resting on your shoulder and his one hand playing with your hair a bit. He didn’t look like he had any intentions to move despite you giving him the look. You had a rather silly bad feeling.
“Do you want to let me go?”
“Never. At least not until the dinner is prepared.”
“Shuu.”, you protested slightly, pushing him a bit against the chest which turned out to be good for nothing. He didn’t budge. Instead you could almost see with your inner two eyes on the back of your head that he was grinning upon your attempt to remove him.
“Oh well. I’ll let him have it his way. He deserves it.”
Kanae was walking, as quietly as possible, nervously back and forth. She would never blame her master for anything at all, but maybe she just felt extremely uneasy right now that she wanted to leave desperately. Tokyo was huge and finding one single man would be hard, though she remembered the few broken pieces of informations she had heard when the man had been taken away from some other people who seemed to know him.
“I have to avenge (y/n) or else I’ll never be able to feel like I deserve this happiness.”, the girl thought bitterly, intending to bring suffering over this piece of garbage.
“You seem rather impatient. Believe me, I am just as eager as you are, though we shouldn’t waste too much time with this sad excuse of a man.”
Kanae quickly turned around, anticipation shining from her eyes when she saw Shuu appearing from the shadows, already having put on fitting clothes and holding his mask in his hand.
“I apologize, I simply couldn’t bring myself to leaving my princess alone. She looked too gorgeous to not marvel over. That’s why I want to speed this all up, I want to return to her as fast as possible. It of course doesn’t mean I intend to let this person easily of the hook.”
He chuckled a bit, for a few moments softness dominating his face when recalling the sweet memories of his darling sleeping peacefully. But in the blink of an eye he changed, the lust to kill someone taking over him and twisting his face into something entirely else.
“Kanae, do you know where we should start?”
His voice was terrifying, his feelings and intentions dripping freely from it and a malicious glint shining in his eyes. Not like Kanae minded, her own face being overshadowed by her negative feelings.
“Yes, I do have an idea.”
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Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader)
*gif not mine//credit to the owner
A/N: Woop wooop! Helloooo my lovely peoples!! 🌸 yes I am wayyy overly excited because this part just came out so effortlessly so I am hyper af 💃💃 I am very happy to welcome you to part three, and while it may seem a little lacklustre, it’s the lead up to the final part which will be show stopping material and I hope you’ll agree 🤗 you have all been so nice and absolutely amazing about this fic and I appreciate it so much I can’t wait to bring you part four 🥰🥰🥰 but let me shut up and get to it. Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is always welcome 😌
P.S: Y/N/N = your nickname
Summary: Fantasies are shattered and dreams come true as Y/N navigates her way through this messy love triangle...
Pairing: (OOC) Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader
Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood, alcohol
PART ONE PART TWO PART FOUR
━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━
“What can I get ya?” You shout to the burly man on the other side of the bar.
“Two whiskeys and a pint of beer love!”
The buzz of the crowd continues to drown out your voice, which not only made your job unnecessarily hard, but also provided a little tune for the tiny men occupying your skull to hammer away to, so it turns out.
Little hairs lining your throat were long since singed and a dull ache seeps through the bones in your feet as you set about preparing the next round of drinks.
Quickly scanning the area to your left, a smile spreads across your face when you land on the pair of ice blue eyes you were after, his cheeky wink inspiring a new burst of energy in your overworked muscles.
That smile drops as quickly as it spreads; the once friendly and loving gaze of your best friend now replaced with a cold glare.
In the weeks that had followed your last encounter John hadn’t been near or by the house, and every time you had a shift at the Garrison he was conveniently held up elsewhere. It was the longest you’d ever gone without speaking to him and it was safe to say you couldn’t take much more.
One of these days you’d have your old Johnny back, you thought.
One of these days...
“Where’ve all the glasses gone?”
“Out there.”
Harry’s thumb jerks in the direction of the ever growing crowd, earning an all too familiar groan in response.
‘Get a job you said... it’ll be fun you said... it’s just pulling pints!’
You disappear into the sea of people grumbling to yourself, only managing to grab four empty pints before you begin to carve a route back. Your struggle - along with your mood - was only to be made worse as you near two men in the midst of an argument, the stench of beer and stale cigarettes rudely invading your senses.
“Excuse me!”
“What yerr shaying about me wife” the large man slurs, entirely oblivious to your presence behind him.
“Excuse me!”
Nothing.
“Excuse m-”
You watch, frozen in horror, as his fist connects with the second man’s jaw, sending the large brute hurtling into you.
Crashing to the ground, a pained scream tears from your throat.
Tommy - who was engrossed in a conversation with his two brothers - hadn’t witnessed you get hurt, but he definitely heard it.
He shoves his way through the crowd until he is met with your body hunched over, quietly whimpering as you attempt to dislodge shards of glass from your right palm. His eyes follow the steady stream of blood trickling down your arm and any facade he held about your relationship quickly fades away.
“You’ve hurt my girl.”
He rounds on the man responsible, nostrils flaring and lips snarling as he reaches for the deadly cap atop his head.
Despite being a good foot taller, the stranger shrinks away, vigorously shaking his head as he rushes to apologise.
“I’m so-sorry Tom real sorry. It- it was an accident I didn’t know she was y-yours ho-honest!”
“I suggest you leave.” Tommy spits out. “That goes for everyone. Leave, now!”
The once jolly punters trip over themselves to squeeze through the narrow doors. Within a matter of minutes the pub is empty and Tommy is crouched at your side inspecting the cuts.
John remains in his seat, jaw set and knuckles white, as Tommy scoops you up and disappears into the office.
He carefully lowers you onto the desk; a warm kiss lingering on your forehead as he’s tending to your injuries.
“You’re okay Princess” he mumbles wrapping a bandage around your hand. Whether he was reassuring you or himself you weren’t quite sure. But thoughts of any kind are banished from your mind as he draws you into a kiss.
His lips are chapped and salty as they move against yours. It was slow and it was sweet. It was the kind of kiss that called every hair to attention; the kind of kiss that replays in your mind as you drift to sleep.
Without warning Tommy is ripped away from you, an involuntary yelp slipping out at the sudden loss of contact. Brain scrambling to make sense of it all you soon zone in on John’s forearm tight against Tommy’s throat pinning him to the wall.
“You bastard! I warned you- I warned you to stay away from her! She’s not one of your little whores you can pick up and fuck off when you get bored. I fucking told you to stay away!”
“What do you mean, you warned him?”
The quietness that followed easily could’ve been passed off as nobody hearing your question. And it probably would’ve been, if you hadn’t seen the slight drop of John’s head.
It was physically impossible for him to ignore you; it always had been.
Tommy took this opportunity to push his younger brother away and the two men stood glaring daggers at each other, embroiled in an argument only they were privy to.
“Tommy, what’s he talking about?!” You ask your boyfriend, who was now unable to meet your eye.
Once again your question is met with silence.
“Will somebody bloody answer me!”
Your small hands ball into fists at your sides as you look between them.
John’s face softens when he finally looks at you, the confusion that passes over your delicate features serving to break his heart further.
The guilt that flashes in his eyes as he threads a hand through his hair adds to your impatience. “Well get on with it then!”
“He knew, Y/N/N, that you liked him. He knew because he read your diary. He already knew and he had it all planned out in his little fucking mind the minute you asked him for the job. Why’d ye think he said yes? I told him-” an accusatory finger points at Tom standing a few feet away “-you weren’t to be played with, and now look!”
You fail to register John lunging at Tom. You fail to register the scuffle that ensues as a result. You fail to register Polly screaming at the top of her lungs to separate the brawling idiots.
Piece by piece, memory by memory, your new found utopia crumbles between your fingers and you stand, completely oblivious to your surroundings, as everything clicks into place.
“You knew?” You whisper, inching towards Tommy.
He watches you shift from confusion to anger to disgust as the revelation sinks in, shredding through the trust he’d so effortlessly built. And he was utterly powerless to stop it.
“The whole time... you knew? When you came to me and- and asked me to... you knew?!”
His mouth opens, but the words escape him.
With a final shake of your head, your trembling figure retreats from the office; the following slam of the double doors eliciting a flinch from everyone.
The parilysis subsides, and he jams his finger into John’s chest. “You have no fucking idea.”
“Y/N wait.”
Your feet cry out and your muscles scream in protest as you storm down the cobbled road, Tommy hot on your heels. But with the searing pain in your hand creeping up your wrist, you push on, desperate to escape any person with Shelby as their last name.
“Y/N please I can explain!”
“You can explain? You can explain?!” Shrieking you finally give in to the blind rage that threatens to consume you.
“You can explain what exactly Thomas? You can explain how you violated every ounce of trust we’ve ever had? You can explain how you thought it’d be a good old laugh to have me convince the man I was hopelessly in love with to marry someone else?! You can explain how the past 7 months - everything between us - was one big lie! You don’t need to explain anything Tom, honest. It all seems pretty fucking clear to me.”
Tommy watches your hands wave and point and clap and throw themselves in the air as the anger pours out of your every word. See, it was a tough one for him really. On the one hand, he’d really fucked up and the least he could do was pay attention to the scolding he was rightfully due. On the other, you were so god-damned irresistible when you were angry it was driving him mad.
“God Tommy! I thought you were different! I actually thought you were fucking different. I thought you loved me, not as a lie, not out of fear, but honest true love. And that’s the worst part, really Tom, it’s not that you pulled the wool over my eyes, no no, it’s that I fooled myself into thinking this was actually real! I should’ve known I was just another pawn in your stupid game.”
Whirling around, you resume your getaway.
“If this was all a game, why would I have this?”
When your body slowly turns back to face him, Tommy knows the argument is done.
“What are you...” your voice trails off as you find Tom on one knee in the middle of the deserted street.
He held a little black box, and in that little black box sat a gold ring set with a diamond so flawless it remained sparkling under the gloomy skies of Small Heath, and a sapphire so blue you’d get lost at sea if you dared to stare too long.
“I do love you Y/N, have done for a while. Not as a game, not until I get bored, just honest true love.”
Tommy moves to stand in front of you, stopping inches from the tip of your nose. He takes your left hand and slides the ring onto your fourth finger with ease, pausing to admire the look of the gold metal against your smooth skin.
“I had to ask you to convince John or you’d still be in love with him today, wasting away oblivious to how much you’re really worth. Yes I had a plan when this started, but I could never have planned falling in love with you-”
Chapped lips graze over your knuckles, kissing each one softly.
“-I could never have planned the amount of time I spend thinking about you in your absence-”
His lips brush over your wrist, leaving pecks along the length your arm.
“-and I could never plan the desperate need to hold you in my arms, to see your smile and hear your laugh and cherish you, because you’re the only thing in this god foresaken world that can keep the storms at bay.”
His feather-light kisses trail over your shoulder and along the curve of your neck, stopping just above your lips in an undeclared challenge. You close the distance, hungrily drawing his bottom lip between your teeth as his fingers tug at your roots, deepening the kiss.
The intoxicating taste of sweet smoke and Irish whiskey sweeps over your tastebuds and you tangle your fingers in his soft brown tresses.
Reluctantly separating a few seconds later, you’re both left panting as you make up for the lack of air. His hands make themselves at home on your waist, whilst yours settle comfortably on his chest.
“You know... I never did say yes” you smirk, twisting the gold band around your finger.
“Mm it was implied.”
So caught up in the joys of young love were you and your fiancé, that you failed to notice the wooden doorway supporting John’s weight as he watched in the distance...
#by order of the peaky blinders#peaky fucking blinders#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders oneshot#peaky blinder headcanon#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinders fic#Tommy Shelby#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby oneshot#peaky blinders#peaky fookin blinders#John Shelby#john shelby x reader#john shelby x you#john shelby x y/n#john shelby one shot#john shelby imagine#tommy shelby x y/n#tommy shelby x you#polly shelby#peaky blinders x reader#thomas shelby x reader
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why’d you only call me when you’re high
A/N: this spur of the moment fanfic is loosely based on a tiktok video by dabisjuicycums0ckk. enjoy!
p.s, i’m not sure who the owner of the gif is so if you do know please lmk and i’ll credit them!
also, a HUGE thanks to @runeterrankhaleesi for proof reading this fic for me!
The persistent vibration from your phone under your pillow disrupted your sleep.
Groaning, you flipped onto your side and pulled the blanket further above your head, hoping it would somehow block the vibration of your phone and allowing you to return to sleep.
Seconds later, the vibration stopped and you sighed in relief. Just as you were about to fall back into sleep, your phone vibrated again but this time, the action was small. This meant you had a message. Whatever, the person who was texting you at this ungodly hour can wait till the morning when you were awake and had plenty of sleep.
Your phone vibrates not five minutes later. Annoyed and the last bits of sleep had all but disappeared, you propped yourself on your elbow while your other hand searched for your phone under the pillow. Once you’ve come in contact with the rubber material of your phone case, you pulled your phone out and tapped on the screen.
Squinting at the harsh brightness of your phone, you waited until your eyes adjusted to the screen before blinking down at the notifications.
5 Missed calls from Dabi
The first notification had read.
Your heart skipped a beat but you ignored it and read the notification above it.
Answer your phone
Right now
Your breathing had become shallow and your heart quickened. Dabi was pissed. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Dabi it’s that he does not like to be kept waiting. And, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his fury, you heaved a heavy sigh and called him back. Noticing that it was just a few minutes past three in the morning.
“Took you long enough.” His rough voice greeted you after two rings. “Why didn’t you answer?”
Rolling your eyes, you calmly replied, “I was sleeping.” You hoped that your groggy voice would somehow inform him that you were too tired to do whatever shit he wanted.
“Well, too bad.” Dabi scoffed. “I need to see you.”
Your relationship with Dabi was an odd one.
The two of you have met about a year and a half now after you had encountered the scarred man near the piers one misty, Monday morning. You had been near the piers to meet with one of the loan sharks you had borrowed money from to extend the payment deadline. You never wanted to be associated with such people, but unfortunately, being a teacher doesn’t pay enough. Even though you worked at a prestigious school for up and coming young heroes, your income from that school couldn’t help pay the amount for your mother’s heart surgery. The bank would take too long. They’d have to take up your request to a committee to determine if they could lend you the money based on your yearly salary and how long it takes for you to pay them back. That could take months, maybe even years and you didn’t have time to wait. You were desperate and your mother was in a critical condition- she could die at any moment.
Searching through the dark web, you managed to find a loan shark that was highly respected by people who were in similar positions like you. If you could go back in time, you would’ve stopped yourself from borrowing money from them and wait for the bank’s approval. It’s too late now and what’s done is done. You just hoped that the school wouldn’t find out about this and risk losing your job.
You still trembled in fear whenever you remembered the goon asking you if you had their money. You could vividly hear the slight lisp in his words and could almost smell the scent of his cigar. “You got our money?” He asked in greeting.
Pulling your jacket closer to your body to protect you from the harsh and cold weather, you shook your head at them, “I would like an extension please. I’m close to paying you back. I just need more time.” You pleaded with wide and hopeful eyes. You knew that these people weren’t nice. You knew they’d kill anyone who wouldn’t pay them back. Still, it won’t hurt to ask. Right?
Wrong.
With a snap of the man’s fingers, a foot kicked the back of your knees causing you to fall harshly on the wet ground with a painful wail.
“What the fuck?!” You cried as you held your leg that was throbbing in pain. You let out a hiss as fingers dug themselves into your hair and gave a rough tug, pulling your head up to face the man with the cigar. “I said I’ll pay you back!”
The man let out a chuckle, “Sorry, babycakes. Boss doesn’t like to wait. If you don’t have his money by tonight…” He didn't finish his sentence for you to understand that these people were willing to kill you.
“I can’t save two million yen in one day!”
The man simply shrugged, as if to say, ‘Not my problem.’ “You can rob a bank for all I care.”
“You’re insane!”
The man’s expression darkened and he nodded at the man still clutching your hair tightly. Before you could process what else was going on, the man’s foot came into contact to your side. You couldn’t even scream as the man continued to kick you repeatedly.
Never in your life had you wished you had a quirk than you did at that moment. Curse your quirkless nature and curse the fact that you were only a home room teacher who taught quirk theoretics. If only you had one of your students' quirks, you would’ve fought back and escaped.
Suddenly, you felt an immense wave of heat and heard horrifying screams from above you. The man suddenly let go of your hair, screaming in pain, as the blue flames enveloped him, eating his skin and burning him. Then, he collapsed, his body on the ground still lit ablaze by the inferno. Your breath hitched at the sight.
Turning to your right, you saw a young man dressed in a long leather jacket with a crazed look in his eyes as he turned to face the man with the cigar, a wave of blue fire came from his palm and surged towards the man, ending his life instantly.
The smell of charred skin wafted your nose and you quickly vomited at the disgusting smell of burning flesh.
Once you’ve calmed down, you wiped your lips with the back of your hand and glanced up at the deranged man looking down on you. “What have you done?” Your voice was shaky and your breathing was shallow.
This was bad. The two men you owed money to were dead. There was no way their boss wouldn’t find out about this. They’ll come for you and for that man with a fire quirk. And when you voiced your thoughts, the man just smirked. “I’d like to see them try.”
The glare in your eyes did nothing to diminish his amusement, “I can’t protect myself.” You spat at him.
He blinked lazily at you, his sapphire eyes glowing brightly. “Let’s make a deal. I offer my services to protect you-”
“I’m not going to pay you to protect me.” You interrupted him.
“Wasn’t asking for money.”
“Then what do you want.”
For the second time in your life, you wished you could go back in time to stop yourself from making stupid decisions.
Ever since that day, you’ve become Dabi’s sexual partner.
The two of you didn’t meet often, maybe once or twice every other month before parting ways and never having to see each other until Dabi needed you again.
Things were difficult at first. You had refused the man, almost laughing at the proposition. Dabi, however, had managed to convince you.
“You’ll die.” He had said.
And before you could say anything like I work at U.A, I have other people who can protect me. You remembered that the reason you were in this mess was because you had approached the loan sharks, borrowed money from them and had his goons killed. If the school found out...
The first night Dabi had called you was a week after the two of you had met. He had sent you the location to some cheap motel hidden deep within the city. Somewhere far from respectable neighborhoods and a place where no teacher such as yourself should be in.
Sex with Dabi was...an experience.
Dabi had a strict “Don’t ask, don’t talk” policy. You come, you get naked and you had sex. That’s it. He wouldn’t even offer to clean you up after sex- not that you were expecting him to, but he didn’t even bother cleaning up after himself either. Opted to wipe his dick clean with tissues before pulling his trousers back up and escaping through the motel window. Leaving the check-out procedure to you.
Somewhere down the road, things had shifted between the two of you. He’d call you more often. Your late night encounters becoming weekly rather every other month. His “Don’t ask, Don’t talk policy” had changed to “I ask, You answer”. And, instead of meeting at some shady motels, he’d spend the night with you. That happened when you had received a threatening letter which you instantly knew was from the loan sharks. The fact that they knew where you lived frightened you and the first thing that you did was call Dabi.
The first night Dabi spent in your apartment, he had scanned the entire place to make sure they didn’t bug you.
He had stood by the window, hidden by the thin material of your curtain, to keep an eye out for any suspicious-looking people.
Sleep didn’t come easy for you. Your head jerked whenever you closed your eyes for a couple of minutes. Images of Dabi lying dead on the ground with his blood staining your bedroom floor flashing before you.
“Hey.”
It took you a second to register that Dabi was sitting on the edge of your bed, his fingers tracing your leg that was hidden under the blanket, “You should sleep.” He whispered.
“I’m trying.” You mumbled in exhaustion. You could hear the concern in your colleagues’ voice the next morning when they asked about your well-being.
“They’re not going to hurt you.” His fingers were drawing random patterns on your leg, “I won’t let them.”
The softness of his voice and the way his fingers gliding up against your leg had managed to lull you to sleep.
This happened every night and on the tenth night Dabi had spent with you, you discovered that the man would stay up late, ensuring your safety, before leaving just before your alarm rang for work.
You had discovered this when you had woken up one night wanting to drink a glass of water found Dabi still sitting on the edge of your bed, his hand holding your ankle securely. The gesture did things to you; things you couldn’t understand. Not wanting to disturb the rare moment of vulnerability, you willed yourself back to sleep.
Even after Dabi had killed the man who was after you, Dabi didn’t stop his services. He no longer protected you, however, he still called you whenever he needed you to help relieve some of his tension. And somewhere along the road, you started developing feelings towards him.
Your newfound attachments crept up to you slowly.
There was a period of time where Dabi didn’t call you; didn’t seek for you in the late hours of the night. And your messages asking about his well-being went unanswered.
Don’t ask, don’t talk.
You craved his rough touches.
His deep voice calling your name and whispering filthy things in your ear that you knew you should be ashamed instead of feeling turned on.
The way he’d grunt and moan, his fingers holding onto your hips so tightly that you’d often wake up the next day with bruises.
“Y/N? Y/N?” The sound of Dabi calling your name brought you back to reality.
“Sorry.” You cleared your throat and inwardly cursed the fact that you were fully awake and had no intentions of going back to sleep. “What were you saying?”
“Open the window, I’m outside.”
To say that you were surprised that Dabi was outside of your window was understatement. He didn’t like to be kept waiting so it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that Dabi was already outside waiting for you. You wouldn’t put past him if he had been outside your window the second he started calling you.
After ending the call, you unlocked your window to let Dabi in and returned to sit on the edge of your bed.
Dabi had sauntered his way in, standing the middle of your bedroom, as if he owned the place- as if he owned you.
It pained you to see Dabi in all of his glory.
After not seeing him for months and worrying about him all that time, he texted you after so long, only for his selfish desires. Your messages of asking about his whereabouts and if things were alright were left unanswered.
It killed you that he ignored you like that, kept you in the dark while he was gallivant somewhere doing God knows what, while you worried over him that even the other teachers had taken notice of the dark and deep circles appearing under your eyes.
Truly, it was unfair.
“What’s wrong, baby girl?” He asked with a sly smirk on his charred lips, “You’re normally so eager to see me.” And crept his way towards your bed and placed both of his scarred hands on either sides of your thighs, trapping you.
He leaned in and nuzzled his nose against your neck and took a deep inhale, his eyes closing at your addicting scent. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong and we’ll see if daddy can fix it?”
You lifted your hands upwards and rested upon his shoulders and pushed him away in annoyance.
But Dabi didn’t budge as his hands still caged you securely. Removing one of his hands from your bed, he cupped your cheeks and roughly caressed your soft skin. He had a glint in his sapphire eyes which reminded you of just how dangerous he truly was.
Slowly, as if to not frighten his prey away, Dabi leaned in and roughly kissed you.
Despite the kiss being languid, it was sloppy. Drool dripped down your chin as Dabi’s hand trailed from your cheek to your neck and squeezed. Dabi took advantage of your gasp and shoved his tongue all the way in. The metal ball of his piercing felt cold against the roof of your mouth.
It didn’t take you long to give in and ease into the kiss, shoulders sagging in relaxation as his one of his arms wrapped around your waist.
Dabi tilted his head and deepened the kiss in a certain way that made your eyes roll backwards in delight. It was an invitation for you to bury your fingers deep in his thick tuft of hair, roughly tugging at the dyed locks.
All too soon, Dabi broke the kiss and you almost whined at the loss until you felt his scarred lips attached themselves to your neck. His hand trailed up your neck then to your cheek and titled your chin upwards to have better access.
His kisses were fervent.
His tongue lapped at your neck and you shivered at the way his tongue piercing felt against your skin. The cold metal rapidly cooled your warm skin.
A broken moan fell from your lips as he bit your neck. Chuckling, he reattached his mouth to your neck and sucked with all of his might. Once he was satisfied, he darted his tongue and licked a long stripe upwards until his lips found yours again.
His tongue against yours.
His hand squeezing your neck.
The heat between your legs.
It was all too much for you to handle.
You’ve missed Dabi so much.
Missed the way he looked at you with mischief in his eyes before he would touch you. Missed the way he would grunt your name in your ear when he was close to coming undone. But most of all, you had missed how good Dabi made you feel.
A soft whimper fell from your lips when you felt a single tear roll down your cheek and make its way into the kiss. A single tear turned to two. Then three. Until they became so many that you lost track of them.
The kiss turned bitter as you remembered the suffocating loneliness you had felt the past couple of months when Dabi had ignored you. How you would clutch onto your phone and stare at your screen, waiting for Dabi to text or call you. At how it was arduous for you to fall asleep, disquiet over Dabi’s well-being.
The hand on your neck trailed to the back of your head and gripped on the locks of hair on the nape of your neck and pulled your head backwards. “What’s this?” Dabi asked, breaking the kiss.
Your cheeks glistened with tears still falling.
Dabi was staring down at you in disappointment. You felt ashamed and turned your head to look away from those alluring blue eyes. But the hand on your chin prevented you from doing so.
“You really went and did it, didn’t you.” Dabi sighed in despondency, his fingers tapping your cheeks. “You really want to give me your little heart. That’s cute~”
He cupped your chin harshly and forced you to stare in his blue eyes that danced wildly just like his flames. “But it’s not something that I want.”
“What about what I want?” You whispered, ignoring the way Dabi’s fingers dug deeper into your skin.
Dabi said nothing and instead, leaned in and kissed your lips again in a harsh kiss. And you allowed him to take control. To have his way with you and do whatever pleased him. Because the look of disappointment he had displayed earlier was unbearable.
Dissatisfying Dabi was far more important than what you wanted- what you needed from the wanted criminal. The last thing you wanted was for him to end whatever it was going on between you.
So you let him ruin you, taint you and make you cry in pleasure and dejection. Your moans were desperate, begging and pleading for him; For his touches, his kisses and for his name to fall from his lips.
And when he was done with you, his needs fulfilled and his thirst quenched, he silently left through the window just as the sun began to peak its way through the horizon.
When you step into your office the next day, your colleague Aizawa was there to silently greet you with a warm cup of coffee as always. Whether he had noticed the puffiness of your eyes and the red tint at the corner from all those hours of crying, he said nothing and you didn’t care.
Aizawa quietly watched as you lifelessly stared down at your phone. It was a known fact that Aizawa was the least sociable person in school, if not the whole world. So, going out of his way to interact with people was out of the question. Though, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy your small talk. Which is why he noticed the gradual shift in you.
The way you’d arrive in school with smiles and eyes twinkling brighter than the stars at night- How those stars slowly dimmed and died out one autumn evening, those orbs never leaving the phone in your hand. The way you’d tap on the screen to see if you had a new message or an incoming call.
It was difficult for him to not notice those dark circles under your eyes, darker and more prominent than his own. He wanted to reach out to you, to ask if you were alright but the emptiness in your eyes had him hesitating. He had never seen you so lifeless, so vulnerable. Just as he opened his mouth to ask you the question that was eating him alive- to know what had you so depressed, the first bell rang and he watched as you dragged yourself to your first class.
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When You’re Lost in the Darkness, Look for the Light- Chapter 2
Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader
Read chapter 1 here !
After your night with Abby you head down to the cafeteria again to grab some food, still convinced it was all a dream. It’s not until you recognize a familiar face from across the room that you realize it was real, and this time she’s not alone.
Warnings: mild violence, swearing, fluff, just a lot of gay panic tbh
The new chapter is finally here !! All the positive comments on the first one made me so happy so THANK YOU for those :))
BTW that gif of Abby... both eyes open no blink (O_O)
When you woke from your slumber you were almost positive that your encounter with Abby was merely a dream or a figment of your imagination. It was the first time since moving to the base that you hadn’t woken up in a cold sweat; nightmares filled with the echoes of clickers and that piercing sound of ammo clattering on the floor was not an uncommon occurrence. After spending those two dreadful days trapped in a bunker with nothing but a pocket knife and a small handgun, a good night's sleep was something you no longer expected. You shivered as you recalled that dark, cold, concrete room you had barricaded yourself in, awaiting your death with no food, water, or supplies of any kind. It wasn’t until you heard the crashing of pipe bombs in the above levels that you snapped out of your weakened state. The WLF had on a whim decided to clear the building you were hiding out in and saved you. Your rescue was a complete stroke of luck and you weren’t sure whether to be incredibly grateful or afraid for it.
Still groggy from your sleep, you hadn’t even realized the small piece of paper that had been slipped under your door. It was from a page in a notebook that had been ripped out, and on it was a small message in neat, military handwriting: “Had a lot of fun last night :) - A”.
“So it was real!” You thought. That absolute tank of a woman wasn’t just a product of a sleep deprived trip to the communal cafeteria; she was real and every fibre of your being hoped she had enjoyed last night as much as you did.
You neatly tucked the note into your copy of Pride and Prejudice before getting ready for the day (or more like afternoon since you had slept in). After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you slipped on your military issued combat boots and a light sweatshirt before leaving your dorm.
It was still raining outside but luckily the WLF base wasn’t too chilly. Even when it snowed they always managed to maintain some modicum of heat, it seemed as though the wolves could always find ways around the pesky inconveniences of living in a post-apocalyptic world. You never really questioned it though and you knew better than to doubt Isaac’s methods. It’s not like you’ve actually met him or anything, but the stories that you had heard were enough to send a chill down your spine, and you knew that even if you did ask questions it’s not like anyone would answer them anyways.
Fortunately you hadn’t slept in past lunch because you were absolutely starving, so starving that even the shitty WLF base food was starting to smell like heaven. As you made your way into the cafeteria that was teeming with life, there was only one thing on your mind: devouring those damn burritos. Once you finally got some food you quickly sat down to demolish it, amazed at how so much happiness could be contained within the confines of a single bland tortilla and completely oblivious to the staring of a familiar pair of blue eyes from across the crowded room.
“Just talk to her already.” Manny said in a teasing tone.
Abby quickly snapped out of it “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”.
Of course Abby knew what he was talking about; in your rush to completely annihilate those burritos you had failed to notice Abby sitting at a table a few feet away. Abby couldn’t explain it but her heart was racing, the same way it would if she were in combat with a hoard or some Scars.
Manny rolled his eyes “Dude I’m not blind, you’ve been staring at her ever since she sat down. So who is she?”. He relished at the sight of Abby’s nervousness, he hadn’t seen her like this since back when she was still dating Owen.
“Huh? No hablo inglés.” Abby said sarcastically trying to get Manny off her back.
“Fine, I guess I’ll have to ask her myself.” Manny started to get up when Abby kicked his shins from under the table. Manny yelped in pain “Dude! What the hell?”.
“I will literally clock you in the face, sit your ass down right now.” Abby quickly glanced around the room to make sure no one noticed Manny writhing in pain.
Manny chuckled then smiled that classic smug grin while he gripped his definitely-bruised shins “I knew it, someone’s got a crush.”.
“God you’re annoying, I should’ve let that clicker eat you last week.” Abby said in an annoyed tone as she fell back against her chair. Abby felt a tinge of remorse for kicking Manny like that, she knew that Manny probably wouldn’t have actually walked up to you; but she couldn’t have risked it. Abby looked up and noticed Manny’s expression had changed, afraid she overstepped with that last statement Abby was just about to apologize when Manny started.
“What the fuck Abby?! Why didn’t you tell me about this girl, you know I’m the best wing-man.” Manny was suddenly very intrigued, Abby had always been very secretive when it came to her love life so Manny jumped at the opportunity to become her certified dating coach. Plus, not only did Manny have his fair share of experience with women, he also just really wanted to see Abby less lonely. After Owen and Mel started dating along with Leah and Jordan, Abby was stuck constantly third-wheeling the entire group; Manny didn’t think she minded that much, but sometimes it hurt his heart to see her all alone.
“There’s nothing to talk about Manny, we’re just friends.” Abby replied reluctantly, not completely believing her own words. It’s not like you guys were dating, but it felt like a disservice to call what you guys had a “friendship”. The word itself didn’t accurately encapsulate enough meaning for her and despite the fact she was a voracious reader, Abby just couldn’t come up with a word for what you two had.
“If you’re friends, then just go up and talk to her.” Manny knew Abby, and he knew that she always needed a push if he wanted to get anything out of her.
“I can’t… I just can’t. I’m not like you, okay?” Abby was conflicted, waves of doubt started to roll in the more she thought about it. She didn’t want to consider the possibility that maybe you didn’t want to talk to her; that maybe you were just being nice last night and didn’t actually like her, or maybe even that you saw her when you came in and decided to ignore her on purpose.
Obviously Abby was freaking out for no reason, but those small anxious bits of uncertainty that crept in from the back of her mind made her shield of confidence feel tenuous and weak; something she despised.
Manny knew what Abby meant but being the smug little shit he is, he wanted to hear her say it out loud “What do you mean?”.
Abby sighed, “Don’t make me say it.”.
“No, no I really want to hear it.” Manny smiled that famous shit-eating grin, the one he used whenever Abby had to admit he was right.
Abby realized he wasn’t letting go of this “Ugh you know, you can… talk to people.”. Abby could tell by Manny’s face that he wasn’t satisfied with her answer, so not wanting to risk the possibility that he’ll stand up again Abby gave him a look of defeat “and I guess you’re charming or whatever.”.
“Ah! Música para mis oídos.” Manny smiled proudly, hearing Abby compliment him was almost as rare as seeing her without that signature braid. Just as Manny was getting ready to haul Abby’s ass to your table he looked over and realized that you had disappeared, it wasn’t until Abby kicked his shins again that he realized you were standing right there.
You were elbow deep in your third burrito before your dumbass realized that Abby was sitting a couple tables across from yours. “Shit!” You thought, how long had she been sitting there? Did she notice you? No, probably not… unless, what if she was so disgusted by you huffing down those burritos that she ignored you? Ugh! How could you not have noticed her?
You calmly set your burrito down, wiping your face and praying to God there wasn’t anything stuck in your teeth. You figured that Abby probably hadn’t noticed you so you decided to just bite the bullet and talk to her. As you stood up from your seat to make your way over to her table, you quietly whispered to yourself “Come on y/n, don’t be a pussy.”.
“Hey Abby.” She was sitting with a man who you assumed was the friend that she had transferred here with, she mentioned his name last night but you couldn’t place it. He suddenly jerked around to face you with a calm smile on his face, his rugged features and charming personality now making it clear as to why Abby complained about being kicked out of her own room so many nights. Even though you weren’t attracted to him, you understood what all the fuss was about.
“Hey Y/N, I didn’t even see you there.” As soon as the words came out Abby shot Manny a look, the kind of look that meant “don’t say a fucking word.”. However, of course Manny being… well Manny, he grinned and raised his hand to shake yours.
“I’m Manny.” His smile was warm and welcoming as he shook your hand “Please, sit down sit down. Tell me all about yourself.”.
You took a seat next to Abby, your knees just barely grazing each other due to the shortage of space at the table. Even though it was such a small form of contact, you couldn’t help but feel like there was an electric charge connecting you together. You wondered if she even noticed the gesture, if Abby could hear your heart daring to beat out of your chest; if she noticed that small gap between your hands on the table, or if she even noticed the small clandestine looks you were sending her the whole time.
Abby froze stiff as a board when you sat down next to her, and she did her best to maintain her composure when she felt your knee graze hers from beneath the table. This was the closest you two had been and now she could really see the details of your face and your actions; how you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear whenever you were nervous, or how you snorted when Manny thought “Little Women” was just about really tiny people. She noticed how bright your smile was, how it was the kind of smile that could instantly light up an entire room, and she was astonished because Abby finally understood the real meaning of that one Firefly quote about “looking for the light”. Abby realized that no matter what, she would follow you to the ends of the Earth. You were this bright and unexpected light that suddenly entered her life, you weakened her defences and made her feel like a ball of putty, and while one part of her detested that feeling, another part of her never wanted to part with it.
You explained to them how you had been rescued by the WLF and how you were a pretty skilled mechanic. You even told them about how although you loved your job, you desperately wanted to work in the library, because other than the fact that you wouldn’t be covered in grease at the end of every day, you’d also be surrounded by things you love.
The two told you about the “Salt Lake Crew” and how they were essentially Isaac’s top soldiers. It was a fact that left you with about a hundred questions, but you figured it wasn’t the right time to bring up their boss so you tried your best to brush it off. The three of you sat at that table talking for what felt like forever before the cafeteria staff kicked you guys out because they had to clean up.
As they both walked you to your room you were so incredibly excited. You had spent so many months at this boring outpost, spending most of your time reading or crying. Then Abby happened; she came into your life and suddenly you weren’t alone anymore. You were so insanely grateful for this newfound happiness that you just wanted to leap into those insanely strong arms.
Just as the two were about to leave Abby grabbed your hand and leaned down to your height so she could quietly talk to you, “Hey Y/N, can I ask you something?”.
You were so dumbfounded by her hand holding yours that you nearly passed out, you tried to form words but all you could manage was a small nod.
Abby smiled as she stood up and looked to Manny “Hey, you can go ahead I’ll catch up. I just need to talk to Y/N for a quick sec.”.
Manny immediately got the signal and grinned so wide Abby thought his face would freeze like that, Abby knew she was never going to hear the end of this, but she couldn’t really be bothered to care with your hand in hers.
Then Manny was gone, and it was just you and Abby. Her hand was still holding yours and you couldn’t help but notice all the details of them; how she had these small calluses on the palms of her hands, formed from years of wielding firearms and lifting weights. You realized how much damage she could do with them—how much damage she had done with them—but instead she stood there softly cradling your hand in hers, just lightly squeezing it before she looked at you with those same pools of blue you wanted desperately to drown in.
“Hey so I know we kind of just met last night, but I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with you and…” Abby paused to contemplate her words before starting again “and I was wondering if we could do this more often. I’m doing some work for Isaac tomorrow but I’ll be back later if you wanted to come by and watch a movie or something?”.
“Holy shit!” You thought “Did Abby just ask me out on a date?”. You couldn’t believe it, there was no way this absolutely fucking perfect girl just asked you on a date. You almost wanted to pinch yourself because nothing about this felt real, it wasn’t until you snapped back to reality that you realized you had been staring at Abby in absolute silence while she stood there waiting for an answer.
You quickly answered “Absolutely, I would love to come over and watch a movie.” Your heart was pounding dangerously fast against your ribcage and your face was completely flushed as you gave her a reassuring smile.
Abby sighed with relief and lightly squeezed your hand “Great! I’m in the room across from the gym, does eight o-clock work?”. Abby felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, at first when Y/N didn’t say anything, she was afraid she had misread the situation and crossed the line.
“I’ll see you then.” As you started heading back to your room, you suddenly remembered something “Hey Abby!” She looked back with curiosity as you shot her a small smirk “Thanks for the note.”.
Abby smiled shyly “I’ll see you tomorrow Y/N.”
—
Read the next chapter here
#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson imagine#the last of us imagine#abby anderson#abby tlou#manny tlou#fluff#fxf#tlou#tlou2#the last of us#the last of us part 2#gay panic#slow burn kinda
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—𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒋𝒂𝒓;
pairing: john wick x f!reader
word count: 14.2k+
summary: His lips shape your name.
warnings: emotional distress/trauma, ptsd, swearing, ANGST.
notes: I know you’re all looking at the WC and wondering what the hell I’m on but I honestly couldn’t split this part up anymore without losing tension (previous part and this one were originally going to be one piece if you can believe it lol) so please bear with. A LOT is going down in this part so strap yourselves in folks. You’re in for a ride. Enjoy!
children of ares series: 01 | 02 | . . | 04 |
You don’t remember much.
There are flashes of agony. Even more flashes of John’s face.
From what you later learn, the doctor worked on you for six hours straight.
A part of you wonders what it must have looked like to others: John in his usual sharp suit and expression severe enough to make lesser men scurry away in fear, and you bleeding and unconscious in his arms.
Tokyo Continental is silent as a graveyard when you finally come around. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re on the top floor, or perhaps because it seems to be the middle of the night.
Someone you assume to be the doctor—a short, stout woman with thinning silver hair and a fixed scowl—regards you critically when she notices your tiny twitches. She says something loudly in what you think is Taiwanese but your mind is too foggy to fully comprehend what language she’s using.
But then, you realise that she isn’t talking to you after all but rather to someone that steps into your line of sight, his gaze drilling.
John looks more dishevelled than you’re used to seeing. His tie is missing and there are creases in his dirty white shirt that speak of an eventful last 24 hours at least.
His lips shape your name.
Your cheeks hurt but you still manage a faint, relieved smile before everything fades once again.
“Stop moving, girl.”
A girl. That’s funny. No one has considered you a girl for a long time. To be a girl is to be pure and innocent, to be good and kind. You’re none of those things—not anymore.
You can’t force a single muscle in your face to so much as twitch in an attempt to show your amusement. Words burn against the back of your mind but they, too, fail to come. The silence is, perhaps, made even worse by John who stands like a watchful shadow in the corner of the room, observing you silently.
You’re not sure whose silence is more telling: yours or his.
The needle sinks into your skin again and it takes every last shred of self-control not to flinch. There’s a terrible urge in you to turn around and snap the old woman’s arm in half. The pain is slight in comparison to what you had to go through in the last ten days of captivity.
Just ten days.
Only ten.
Is it possible for ten days to feel so agonisingly long?
Clearly yes.
Shuddering, you allow yourself to flinch when the needle sinks into your skin this time.
“I said—”
For a split second, you’re not in the hotel room at all. You’re back underground. You’re back with Kishi and his touch still staining your skin—his hot, thick blood flooding your mouth and dirt smeared across your face.
Your fingers wrap around the woman’s neck ready to crack every bone in it before you’re sharply jerked back.
The scent and heat of the body holding you back are familiar but a strangled, manic, “Don’t touch me!” still tears out of you so loudly the doctor jumps.
She looks mortified as she gapes at you. Then, even worse, her weathered features crease with concern, with pity.
John’s arm tightens around your waist, and even though pain is prominent and twinges from every muscle and bruise, you still put up a fight. It doesn’t last long though.
Kishi fades, as does the fun room. The water and the electricity and the pain, the pain, the pain…
“You’re safe.”
John’s voice is barely a murmur against your ear and you slump against him. You’re only standing because he’s holding you up, anchoring you. Maybe because he pities you too—
Why won’t he? You’re so weak.
Once that voice sounded like your old school bully, then Tarasov, Kishi—
Now, it just sounds like you.
John mutters something in Taiwanese in that low, calm voice of his and you hear the doctor leave hurriedly.
It’s so quiet.
John doesn’t talk, he simply turns you around and patiently leads you towards the bed. He notices how you struggle to sit down, and holds your hand while his other stays around your waist, supporting you. Your hands are shaking so badly, you push your palms between your knees, lacing your fingers together.
Whatever will come out of John’s mouth next will be kind, you know that.
So, because you can’t stand the way he’s looking at you, you speak first, “Are they dead?”
John sits down beside you. The stretch of silence between you is painful, leaden with things unsaid. Eventually, his fingertips touch your unfinished shoulder and the tentativeness of his touch hurts more than the actual wound.
A part of you wants to ask him if it is pity. Another part of you tries to imagine what he must have felt. How you would have looked to him when he found you: bleeding, bruised, clothes soaked, covered in blood, and mud smeared all over your body.
You must have looked like a nightmare—an awful, broken thing who lost her mind to days of torture.
“Yeah,” he intones icily, his touch a stark contrast to the tone of his voice. “They’re all dead.”
Relief is the first emotion.
Second is, predictably, angry disappointment.
Third, surprise.
Tilting your head in John’s direction, you lock his eyes with yours. In that moment, you do see the Boogeyman. Baba Yaga. You see the reason he is feared when to you all he’s ever been is John. Just John. Your John. Except, of course, he’s not really—not even at all.
“Pity.”
Talking hurts too. Your voice is now reduced to a gritty, uncomfortable drawl.
Another few minutes pass in silence. There’s a thousand things you want to say and yet, you can’t seem to find the ability to form words that once came so easily.
The needle is slower, kinder, when John is the one doing the work and normally you would have joked about him making a mess by now. You don’t. He notices, of course.
“Did they—”
He cuts himself off. Frustration, rage, sadness; they flash through his expression so quickly you almost miss them before he rearranges his features into a familiar impassive mask.
There’s a lump in your throat. You know exactly what he wants to know. After all, you’ve been the one to remind him what happens to those who fail to protect themselves.
“One tried,” you force out, every word choked out with enough pain to still John’s hands. “I ripped—I ripped his throat out.”
It feels disgusting saying it, acknowledging that you’ve been forced to resort to animalistic instincts in order to survive, to live, to see him again.
Your ring gleams, still dirty, but it’s not like you can remove it for cleaning since the swelling hasn’t gone down yet. If anything, it’s gotten worse.
“You survived,” John states, his voice empty of judgement, empty of contempt. If anything, it’s full of terrible sort of understanding, and his simple acceptance of what you have done—of what you had to give up to be here—makes you feel warm for the first time since you’ve been taken. “You survived.”
“What if I didn’t?” you whisper, looking past his shoulder and a tremor shakes you. “I don’t feel like myself, John, I feel—I don’t—”
He doesn’t try to feed you false, hollow words to make you feel better and you’re immensely glad for it. He knows you better than that, and you know him enough to never believe something like that from him.
Instead, John finishes fixing your torn stitches and helps you get more comfortable in the bed. He does this is silence, your eyes occasionally meeting as if he’s trying to gauge how you’re feeling, if you’re still present in the moment with him.
These last three days have been lost to bouts of fear and anxiety that you haven’t escaped the underground after all; it now haunts your every waking moment.
Once that’s done, John sits on top of the covers beside you. He places his arm around your shoulders without a sound, and you press your lips together to stop them from quivering.
I’m here, his touch seems to say, and I’m not going anywhere.
He stays with you through the night. Simply holding you, and you lose count of the number of tears you shed until the sun kisses the horizon.
Tears of hurt, pain, fear and despair stop quickly enough.
But in their place blooms a slow, poisonous sort of numbness.
“You heal fast.”
The doctor regards you with a shrewd expression that speaks of her own wariness at being in the same space as you. She’s only been coming back because you can’t imagine John left her with much of a choice.
You regard her coolly in return.
It’s not that you’re ungrateful for her help but everything feels raw and delicate; everything from your mind to your skin, to your very essence. It’s hard not to snap at any unfamiliar touch. It’s even harder trying to smother the deadly instinct that screams at you that everything and everyone will hurt you.
Not John. John will never hurt me.
Oh? Where was he when they held you in the room with no air? Where was your John then?
He came for me. He came—
Far, far too late.
You exhale harshly, your shoulders curling defensively, stricken.
John meets your gaze from across the table in a silent question.
Let her check on you, his dark eyes plead.
What if I can’t?
Your eyes slide away from him, but you reluctantly hold out your arm out for the older woman to check. She hesitates, and rightfully so. Last time you almost broke her wrist. The time before that? Her neck. Then her leg, and once, you almost took her eye out with a syringe, too.
Deep trauma, she told John in heavy English the one time they had no choice but to sedate you and thought you were unconscious, she suffers because her mind refuses to let go. She no longer feels safe. You must stay with her, boy. Let her heal.
The woman works quickly to check your body, and you’re grateful for it.
It goes well for a while. That is until her fingers press too hard against your healing bullet wound, and your fist slams against the armrest, a helpless snarl twisting your mouth.
The doctor wisely staggers back, and you follow, your legs quaking when you stand too quickly.
John’s fingers curl delicately around your forearm, steadying, and you gasp for breath.
“I—I can’t,” you choke out, pressing your hand against your mouth, your voice a stifled mess. “I’m—”
Your chest feels tight, your stomach burns like it’s full of acid, and for a moment you feel like you might throw up again. Like the terror raging through your body will burn you from inside out till nothing but smouldering embers remain.
Your mouth is full of Kishi’s blood again and you’re choking, choking, choking—
John’s voice is the same low, comforting baritone when he places his hand against the curve of your face, directing your frantic stare to him.
The hatred that blooms in your chest is stronger, however, and you pull away from him, lurching towards the bathroom instead.
By the time the panic finally subsides, it’s night again and you only hate yourself more.
Sleep is hard to come by.
John still keeps you company though.
It’s been almost two weeks since Kishi. Your body is on a mend but peace of mind is not so easily found.
From the corner of your eye, you spot John checking his phone yet again.
He’s been doing that a lot lately. More so than you’ve ever seen him do before.
“Tarasov?”
John stills, his head lifting as he looks up at you in surprise.
It’s rare for you to speak after a nightmare so John is used you letting tranquil quiet keep you both company instead.
“Not this time,” he replies shortly, but there’s an odd tilt to his voice that makes you peel your eyes away from the large window and focus on him instead. “But he’s been informed about what happened.”
Those words sink in slowly, somehow even slower than your poison usually does.
“Is that so?” you remark tightly, and there’s something sharp and acidic about your own tone that catches you off guard. “And what did you tell him? That his little slave is broken?”
“You’re not broken.”
The firmness of John’s voice makes your glare focus on him instead. From nothingness, there’s a sudden, violent explosion of irrational anger in your gut.
“Is that why you watch me like I’m some wild animal?” you hiss angrily, your voice dropping to the point of cracking. “Is that why you keep checking your phone day in and day out? Like you rather be anywhere else? I rather not be a burden or a pity case to you, thanks. Just go.”
John frowns; a faint, disappointed thing and it makes you feel less angry and more…more lost, stupid.
Trapped. Always trapped.
Be it your life, your body, or your mind.
He saved you, he’s helping you right now when he doesn’t have to, and this is how you repay him?
The irrationality of your own anger embarrasses you, and you turn away from him swiftly, hoping he hasn’t noticed your wet eyes in the dim light.
“I’m not going anywhere, (Name),” he states, firm and insistent, and you cringe. Why is he still being kind to you?
Do you love me as I love you? Is that it?
Your lips part and those words are right there, ready to be spoken. But something holds you back. Something is always holding you two back, or so it seems.
John’s phone buzzes again. You look at him, expectant.
“It’s not him,” John repeats, and you try to figure out what the slight catch in his voice means. He doesn’t sound angry or disappointed. “But if you want—”
“I want to see him.”
His expression falters, brows pinching in a tight line that showcases his disapproval of your idea already. His clear hesitance says everything you need to know.
A scoff fills the room, and you roll your eyes. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, John. You’re avoiding him.”
“I’m not,” he argues but it rings false.
Your eyes return to the window, to the street below you. A gaggle of schoolchildren must be coming back from cram school and you watch them with detached sort of interest. Three people—two boys and a girl—walk in front, laughing and discussing something with that wild, feverish enthusiasm you can faintly recall too. Close behind them walks a couple, their hands laced together and eyes only for each other. The scene makes something pang in your chest; and acute, familiar ache.
From this high up you can just barely make out their faces, and you distantly wonder what they’re talking about, what is the thing that’s bringing them so much joy. If they’re really as happy as they look, or if it’s fake. They may breathe the same air you do, but they couldn’t be further away from you. To them, you only exist in movies and stories. You’re a shadow; a thrilling tale they share in their friend group, a faceless nobody. With that realisation comes a terrible sort of loneliness and your eyes flutter shut.
You’re dead to the world.
For the first time, Kishi’s words ring true.
Despite your many arguments, John still manages to put off the trip back to New York for another two weeks.
He even employs the doctor to drill you with the many reasons why you can’t go just yet.
Still healing, still need more rest, still not sleeping enough.
Still, still, still.
They might as well say you’re too weak and call it a day.
You’re not resentful with John though. You know he’s trying his hardest to shield you from what will be an undoubtedly epic explosion of Tarasov’s anger.
Your fingers twist in your lap and it’s near impossible to not fidget. Most of your physical bruises may have faded in the last month, but you know there’s still a mile and a half to go before you’re physically back to your old form.
At least you no longer fly into mindless fits of rage that made you attack the doctor trying to tend to you in the first place. Despite that, sitting through entire check-up is still an endlessly arduous task.
A warm, large hand lands on yours and you jump. Turning, you meet John’s stare and force yourself to relax. His dark eyes are softer than usual though he doesn’t say anything. His fingers stay on top of yours, keeping your own still. Without a word, he’s still able to pick up on your poorly veiled distress.
I love you.
It tickles the back of your throat but you don’t dare to say it out loud, not now of all times.
The closer you get to Tarasov’s office the harder it becomes to keep calm.
You recall the last time you visited this place, and you can recall in an even sharper detail how that meeting ended. How you’ve been so sure that you were walking to your death. But that was then.
What about now? What will he do now?
The taxi rolls to a stop in front of an all too familiar building, and John reaches into his pocket to pay but the cabby only shakes his head. “Free of charge this time, sir Wick,” he insists, and the older man’s eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror. “Welcome back Miss Vipress. Mr Winston sends his regards.”
John makes a small noise at the back of his throat and you blink, confused.
“Thanks?”
The cabby grins, a little awkward, but nods his head.
The journey to Tarasov’s office is more nerve-wracking than you expected. A part of you has assumed that after everything you’ve gone through in Tokyo, this will be easy in comparison, but it doesn’t feel easy at all.
Every inch of your body feels like a livewire.
Some deeper cuts that are still healing ache dully with every too sudden twitch of your body. John is beside you, a constant you’re more grateful for than ever, and you can’t stop yourself from grabbing his arm when Tarasov’s office door looms in the distance.
John stops immediately, turning to face you.
“We don’t have to do this,” he says quietly before you even open your mouth to speak, and you hate the fact that a part of you immediately wants to agree. “We can come back another time.”
“No,” you shoot back quickly—too quickly—and you both know it’s because you’re wavering. “Will you…?”
His features smooth and he dips his head. “I’ll be there.”
Stepping into Tarasov’s office is like stepping back in time. Suddenly, you’re years younger in your tiny, damp Moscow flat, facing Tarasov and his armed guards as you cook dinner through silent tears. You recall how Tarasov’s jovial voice washed over you as he explained—in great, visual detail—how your father died begging and your mother remained strong till the end.
One second, you’re still in that flat but then you’re back here, in this office, but only months prior. Taste of copper in your mouth as Tarasov pats your bruised cheek with a lingering smile.
I will have John himself put a bullet in your pretty little head.
Back then it sounded less like a warning and more like a promise.
A price to pay for failure.
Tarasov’s face suddenly comes into view and time seems to screech to a halt.
Fear, panic, anxiety—
It feels like someone is opening up your ribcage and scooping out all the emotions that live there one by one with frightening efficiency.
A sort of hush falls over you as you stand there staring at him blankly.
No matter how hard you try, you can’t force a single emotion to the surface. Fear that has once crippled you in front of this man, seems to have up and vanished like smoke.
John is speaking. Tarasov is too. His guards shift when you look at them. You recognise one of them. He was there when Tarasov beat you. Your lips curl into a faint snarl.
“What I need to know is how useful she will be—”
“I can still kill,” you speak up, but don’t recognise your own voice. “If that’s what you’re so worried about.”
Tarasov falls quiet, peering at you like he’s never seen you before. His eyes narrow in concentration before he glances towards John who stands stoic beside you. Then the Russian’s gaze goes back to you. He places the expensive cigar back into his mouth and hums in thought. The motion eerily reminds you of Kishi and a shiver crawls up your spine.
He regards you like one may regard a vicious animal, and he’s a lot less subtle about it than John is. His fleeting looks are at least laced with genuine worry as well. Tarasov simply looks at you like one would look upon broken goods. Judging their worth in that familiar, clinical manner.
“How long?” he rolls out his letters in what now feels like jarring Russian. “Before you can be back on the field?”
“Three months.”
“A week.”
Your head snaps towards John but he’s looking straight at Tarasov who exhales a puff of smoke and chuckles.
“Now, now, John,” he chides, leaning back in his chair. “We both know that’s not practical for business. The girl has already wasted me enough time and made a mess in Tokyo.”
John doesn’t expand on his argument for three months though. John simply stands there, unmoving, a looming shadow while minutes crawl by in a tense stalemate.
Much to your surprise, Tarasov’s amused smile fades first.
He’s uneasy. Truly and openly.
Afraid.
And that thought seems so ludicrous that you want to dismiss it immediately, except you can’t because the truth is right in front of you.
“A month,” you propose instead, absentmindedly fiddling with your ring.
Tarasov doesn’t look at you right away—in fact, it’s almost like he’s more worried about looking away from John in case John will leap at him the moment he does. Prey and predator. The comparison gives you an immense surge of smug satisfaction. But when the man does, eventually, reluctantly move his attention in your direction your face is fixed in an unmoving mask as well. Tarasov, despite his steely nerves and well-known ruthlessness, looks taken aback by this entire exchange and is doing a poor job of masking his surprise.
“A month,” he agrees reluctantly.
And then, for the first time since coming into his employment, you turn around and walk out of the room without waiting for dismissal.
John follows you without a word.
Tarasov doesn’t stop either of you.
Burying your face in a plush pillow, you sigh.
Being back in the New York Continental is a bit like being back home. Not that you’ve ever had a home for longer than a few years at the time, but the feeling still burrows under your skin.
You never thought you will get to see it again.
Your eyes crack open and you watch John move around the room. Neither of you has brought up what transpired inside Tarasov’s office only hours ago. Truth be told, it’s still hard for you to determine what exactly did happen. All you do know is that Tarasov has never looked at you like that.
Like he was actually seeing you. Like, for the first time, he regarded you as something more than a nuisance to be dealt with.
“Let’s run away.”
John stops in his tracks, his broad back facing you.
Your words are innocent enough, almost playful, but when John turns to face you, you realise that he didn’t take them as such.
“Run away?” he echoes, his tone flat. “Where would we go? The rules—”
“Fuck the rules,” you say, foolishly drunk on the faint glimmer of a dream you can almost see in front of you. “We could get away from it all. From everyone. Didn’t you say that’s what you wanted once?”
John appears stricken, and you feel your eyebrows pinch downwards at the look on his face.
“There’s no running from the High Table,” he replies, and the stiffness of his words surprises you. “You know that.”
Your lips part to reply but before you can do so, the sound of John’s phone buzzing rings through the room. He pulls it out right away, and you feel a sting in your chest at his deliberate ending of what you wanted to be a serious conversation.
You watch him carefully, and feel yourself swallow when you note how the slopes of his face soften at whatever he sees on the screen. You’ve been so sure that you’re the only one capable of doing that to him. Of making him appear this unguarded, this—
Loving.
“I have to do something,” he says, at long last, but it sounds distant in your ears, fragmented. “Will you be alright by yourself for a bit? If you want I can send—”
“Just go, John. Dear God,” you mutter under your breath as you snuggle into your pillow, trying to mask your uncertainty. “I can handle a few hours by myself, I’m not a toddler.”
“I’m surprised. Seems like you managed to fool me,” John replies dryly, and you close your eyes, flipping him off with a faint smile.
“Stuff it, old man.”
Silence greets your words. After another minute of waiting for a reply, you open your eyes to check if he left, and that’s when you find him staring at you from the doorway.
You can’t pinpoint his expression. But there’s something in it that coils your stomach with unease.
“What? What is it?”
Why is he—
“It’s nothing,” an easy and obvious lie.
You sit up slightly, leaning on your elbow and regard him frankly, “Then why are you looking at me like that?” you demand, narrowing your eyes in his direction.
For a brief second, you think John will tell you what’s on his mind. But then his lips press into a tight line, and he looks away as if settling on a different decision. The clear conflict on his face only fuels your confusion. John rarely lets anything slip by—rarely allows you to see anything besides the cool professionalism he radiates.
“I’ll be back soon.”
The hotel room door closes with a soft click and you fall back onto your pillow, staring up at the ceiling as his footsteps fade down the hallway.
Why were you looking at me like you’re saying goodbye?
The feeling of nameless dread chases you into a restless sleep that transforms into yet another nightmare.
[3 WEEKS LATER]
“If you don’t hurry up, I’m leaving without you.”
Not hearing a reply, you roll your eyes. Typical John.
Before today, John has never been late. But clearly, there’s the first time for everything since you’re the one forced to wait on him for once.
Winston has proposed dinner in the lounge area and you’re already running ten minutes late.
John who is always painfully punctual came back from one of his mysterious meetings late. Something has been going on these last few weeks and it makes you antsy to know what it is.
John is a private person and you’ve always respected that—have always accepted the fact that there’s certain things about him you will likely never know. But this was also before he started acting so oddly around you.
Whenever he thought you weren’t looking at him or openly paying attention, you would catch glimpses of this profound emotion on his face. You couldn’t help but wonder what it is about being in your presence that makes him look so sad now. It chills you whenever you think about it. He’s never been one for expressive emotion before.
“John is not one for emotional finesse. He’s not a man to feel easily or lightly.”
Marcus told you that once in a straightforward, blunt manner you’ve come to associate with him now, and you have taken his words as a fact ever since. Back then, of course, you read the deeper warning in his words, too.
John is not a man to love.
The last time you saw Marcus, his warning had been a lot more direct. “Kill it. Whatever it is you feel for him. It will never work.”
By the time you two had that conversation, it was already far too late, but you couldn’t tell him that. Your heart is your secret and no one else has any right to it.
A sound of phone buzzing fills your ears and your head turns slowly.
John’s phone is just barely visible as it sticks out of his suit pocket. He’s taken it off in a haste upon returning, apologetic and open to your teasing complaints.
Your fingers curl into a loose fist.
The answers, as far as you know, are all inside that phone.
It’s wrong to even consider a breach of confidence like this. But you have to know.
Have to confirm to yourself that you’re simply being paranoid and there isn’t some deeper meaning for John’s sudden distance.
He’s been a near-permanent fixture in your life since Tokyo—he would never leave you for longer than a day without at least checking in—but you have never felt further away from him.
This closeness should make you happy.
But right now this closeness is making you ache with longing instead. It’s like he’s right there, right in front of you, but you can’t touch him without a fear that he’s going to flinch away.
Maybe he hates you, maybe he thinks you’re a monster after all—
No. John wouldn’t. He’s one of the few who truly understands.
You keep repeating that to yourself as your gaze drills into his phone but an echo of those words feels unconvincing even to you.
You stand up on autopilot.
You walk across the room on autopilot, too.
Your fingers wrap around the phone and that’s when you hesitate.
There will be no need to snoop, you tell yourself, you will simply look who messaged him. See if it’s someone you know. Try to figure out if they’re the one whose been sending John messages ever since Tokyo.
Your finger presses a random button and the screen lights up.
The roar of your heartbeat drowns out all other sounds as the message flashes on the screen.
Thank you for the dinner tonight. I look forward to seeing you again soon—Helen.
Oh?
Oh.
“Sorry it took—”
John’s words die the moment he notices you. His phone is still in your hand but the screen has gone dark again and you stare at the small object between your fingers impassively. The roaring in your ears is so loud you think that a bomb could go off right next to you, and you won’t hear a thing.
The silence between you is deafening.
John knows because you know. Because he can no doubt read the blatant, bewildered shock on your face. The devastation. The hurt.
“When?”
Just like back in Tarasov’s office, you don’t recognise your own voice. You barely sound human and that hurts even more because it echoes that underground cave on outskirts of Tokyo too much.
But because John is John, he answers your bluntness with equal bluntness of his own, “Two weeks after your birthday. She’s a friend.”
You slam the phone in your hand back on the table with enough force to make your hand sting. The sound is like a gunshot tearing through the room, and you exhale slowly.
It still sounds strangled.
Your head turns towards him gradually. Every inch of it hurts. “Do not bullshit me,” you bite out with such ferocious anger soaking your words that your vocal cords actually hurt. “You do not chat with random women. You don’t take them out for dinner. She’s not just a friend. Do you really think you can hide her from this world? From Tarasov?”
His expression darkens like a sky before a terrible storm. “Tarasov will never touch her.”
God. God. Why does it hurt so much?
“After everything, I—” your voice breaks, and you inhale a shuddering breath. “After everything we went through—why are you even here?”
His expression transforms into that all too familiar, sad thing that you hate so much. You have never wanted to punch him more than at that moment.
“Because you needed me.”
“I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”
It’s more hysterical than assertive but everything spins in your head like a volatile cocktail of emotion, and you’re not sure if you’re about to burst into tears or tear this room to pieces.
“Yeah, you do,” John says so gently, so kindly, that tears sting your eyes despite your best effort to control yourself. “I’m sorry. I never planned for this to happen.”
You splutter in outrage. Just like that, the hurt starts to boil into something else. “Planned for it? Do you think I panned it? Do you think I wanted this?”
The nameless thing between you is like a third person in the room; that’s the amount of presence it has. You both know perfectly well what you’re referring to. You’ve made clear what you wanted from the start. It’s him that said that you couldn’t be together and now—and now—
“I know you didn’t. I—”
“No, you don’t know a goddamn thing. Not a damn thing, John.”
John doesn’t argue. He doesn’t look like he even wants to. He just stands there, looking at you with that pitiful stare.
So it is pity after all. Every minute he spent with you since Tokyo was likely spent wishing he was with this Helen instead. You’re just an obligation to him. A burden.
“She’s not one of us, is she?” you whisper and can’t help but laugh; an empty, cold sound. “Does she even know who you are? Does she have any idea how many people you’ve killed? Does she? You’ll never find peace with her.”
John sighs, looking down before he steps closer towards you but you shrink back, taking a step away from him. You almost wish he was angry in return but he is—as always—unfailingly patient with you. Understanding. Sorry.
“She does know,” he admits softly, like he knows exactly how much of a blow those words will land against your heart. And they do—God they do. “But you’re right. There will be no peace for us. That’s why—(Name), I’m leaving this world behind.”
Your vacant expression creases, uncomprehending, and at first you wonder if you’ve heard him wrong.
“What?”
“I’m going to ask Tarasov for permission to leave,” John explains like it’s so simple. “Cleanly. I’m going to retire and never return. Start a new life.”
It’s then that the nagging, ugly thought you tried to convince yourself couldn’t be true becomes unavoidable.
“You love her.”
You whisper it; as soft and as delicate as your own love for him.
John’s face falls and he reaches for you but you find that you can’t quite move. You feel shackled to the spot you’re standing in.
It hurts.
“No,” John’s voice is stern but you don’t believe him. For the first time in your life, you don’t believe him. “It’s not—it’s not like that.”
“I’m nothing to you,” you continue in a trembling murmur. “I’m an idiot. I’m a goddamn idiot. You n-never felt—”
John’s fingers wrap around your elbow, and he’s so close you can feel the warmth of his body, can see the shadow of devastation shrouding his features that he doesn’t hide from you. Like that’s somehow supposed to make everything better.
“You’re wrong,” he argues, but you’re already shaking your head, and everything inside you cracks further with every word leaving his mouth. “You told me you didn’t want a life outside of this and I thought that meant me, too. Tarasov would have never allowed it, either. But it’s different with Helen—”
“Don’t you fucking touch me,” you snarl, ripping your hand away. “You don’t know anything. You’re just like the rest of them. Go and be with your precious, darling Helen. I hope you’re both very happy. Except you never will be. Not ever. You will never get out, and even if you d-do this life will still come back and haunt you. You think you’ve earned it? Peace? Happiness? After all the blood you’ve shed? You don’t deserve it! You don’t deserve any of it.”
It’s acid. Vicious and destructive venom that seeps from your tongue so easily, you’re left gasping for breath after you’re done. It feels like you can’t get oxygen into your lungs fast enough to throw more hateful words at him.
You don’t need him. You’ve always been alone and it was stupid to ever expect him to feel the same. And now—now he’s gone ahead and fallen in love with another woman. In love. So in love that he wants to leave everything behind and start a life with her. Even if he won’t admit it, you know him enough to understand the gravity of such a decision.
It hurts so much.
It’s an awful kind of devastation to feel. After everything you’ve gone through just to get back to him. When Kishi was torturing you for hours, John was likely enjoying dinner with his new beloved. The thought makes you feel sick to your stomach. You try to imagine her. Is she beautiful? Kind? Funny? Smart?
What does she have that I don’t?
“(Name).”
“Leave.”
This exchange feels hilariously delicate in comparison to what just transpired a few minutes ago. The air—previously so charged with a violent mix of emotions—now feels empty of anything other than unspoken kind of sadness; dense and suffocating.
John’s head lowers. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and in that time you almost hope that he will say something that will give you hope. That he’s changed his mind. That he realised how he wants to stay here. With you.
He doesn’t.
John turns. And he begins to move towards the door.
Don’t let him go, your heart begs, gushing with despair.
You stumble forward a step. “If you walk out of that door,” you state harshly, your voice cracking. “I never want to see you again.”
John stops. His head turns slowly, and he glances at you from over his shoulder. Your eyes meet across the room. You don’t understand the look in his eyes.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
The door clicks shut behind him.
In the white cracks of the ceiling, you view your whole life.
You see the failures (so many), you see the victories (too few), and wonder how one person can feel everything and nothing all at once.
Your vision blurs and you close your eyes. They ache; a dull, persistent kind of throb, and you turn your head to the side in hopes of alleviating the sensation.
Your phone keeps ringing, and ringing, and—
Eyes still closed, you pull it out of your jacket and press it to your ear.
Hours after John left, and you’re still in the same spot he left you in. Except, the moment that door closed, you felt the last shred of self-control and strength crumble away into nothing. Your knees caved, tears coming in earnest, and you fell away to nothing.
“What?”
“Are you quite done feeling sorry for yourself?”
“Fuck you, Marcus,” you croak out, feeling angry that you didn’t check who was calling before answering. “What do you want?”
An inpatient sigh sounds through the line. “I want you to pull yourself together and listen to me carefully.”
Pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes, you exhale impatiently, “While I’m certain this would be a riveting conversation, I’m not really in the mood for one.”
“Shut up and listen,” Markus snaps and you feel a twinge of pain through your temple at his tone. “John went to Tarasov. To ask for his freedom.”
You’re silent as you digest his words. Already. He’s gone to Tarasov already. John must have gone straight to his office from the Continental.
“You knew about her,” you conclude shrewdly, and Marcus is silent which really says everything you need to know. “Why should I give a damn? He cut me loose. He showed exactly how much he cares about me.”
“John cares—”
“Don’t you dare,” you snarl, low and furious, and feel the mangled edges of your heart sharpen your trembling voice into something harsh. Cruel. “Don’t you dare to tell me he gives a shit about how I feel because he doesn’t.”
“Can you stop being a whiny child for one second, and think of something other than yourself,” Marcus cuts in coolly, his own voice losing any guise of warmth. “Tarasov gave John a task he will not survive.”
And then Marcus explains. Tarasov’s task. The mad, hilarious impossibility of it.
You can’t help but laugh—can’t help but marvel at the victorious surge of satisfaction you feel. “I told him he will fail. It can’t be done.”
“No, it can’t. Not unless someone helps him.”
Your laughter dies. “No one will go up against the Russian.”
Marcus hums and even that manages to sound annoyed. “We both know that’s not quite true,” he insists knowingly. “Camorra might. The Italians might.”
You scoff. “The old man will never, and Gianna is too smart for something like that. And—”
Marcus is silent once again and you drag a hand down your face.
You feel raw as an open nerve.
The realisation is gradual and you curse yourself for it. “That fucking hypocrite.”
“Last I heard you’re quite chummy with Santino,” Marcus remarks, and doesn’t bother hiding the judgement in his voice. “Make sure that when John asks for help, he gets it.”
You sit up so quickly, the sudden rush of blood to your head bathes your vision white. “No,” you snap coldly. “Is that clear? No. I don’t owe him anything.”
“Listen to yourself,” Marcus speaks stiffly, and sounds both irritated and disgusted all at once. “After everything he’s done for you? After Tokyo? You can really sit there and say you don’t owe him? You owe him your life. And we both know that I’m right. So stop crying and whining about how bitterly unfair this all is. I told you what will happen if you allow yourself to feel for him, but did you listen? Hm? Did you?”
“I love him, Marcus,” is your tiny, wet whisper. It’s the first time you’ve ever spoken those words out loud and they taste so bitter. “I would have followed him anywhere if only—I love him. But he loves her instead.”
Just when you think that maybe Marcus hung up on you because you couldn’t put up with you anymore, he answers, “I know,” he utters quietly, and in that moment, he’s the kindest he’s ever been. “I know you do. Which is why I’m asking you this now: will you be able to forgive yourself if he fails, and you’ll have to live on with the knowledge you could have done something to save him? You know the Russian. You know what will happen if John fails.”
“He can’t kill him,” you breathe, but feel unsure of your own words.
“Perhaps not,” Marcus agrees but he, too, sounds worn. “But you and I both know that it’s not the worst thing he can do. And you also know John. You know what will be unleashed then.”
That’s not quite right, either.
You did know him. Once.
Now though…
Now, you think that you hate him for making you love him more. Now, you truly and fully feel the realisation that John is gone sink into your bones. If he succeeds, you will never see him again. He will be gone and you will be alone once again.
Not just alone.
Trapped. Again. This time without anyone to fall back onto.
“(Name)?” Marcus wonders after you fail to respond.
A tear rolls down your cheek, and you wipe it away with an angry scowl. “I will speak with Santino,” you tell him, emptying your voice of any emotion. Of heartache. Of John. “But after today, you don’t ever mention his name to me again.”
You don’t wait for his reply before you hang up.
You pause in front of the table, waiting for the guards to check you but a chuckle greets your hesitation instead.
“Please, cara mia, we’re friends, no?” Santino greets with a slight smirk, nodding his head to the seat opposite to him. “Please, sit.”
“Santino.”
You sit down in front of him, meeting his curious stare. The restaurant he’s picked is as fancy as you would have expected from him, and it takes substantial effort to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.
Seconds go by in mutual quiet.
Santino observes you through narrowed eyes, his expression growing grimmer with every second that ticks by. “I know about Tokyo—”
“Don’t.”
His scrutiny doesn’t let up. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he asks, his displeasure clear. Then, like a storm passing his features soften, almost disappointed. “I’m not a charitable man, you know that, but I would have helped you. Taken care of you.”
A small noise escapes you. Under different circumstances, it might have been a chuckle but now it lacks any kind of joy or amusement. “Is that what you think I need? To be taken care of?”
His expression strains. “Why do you twist my words?”
“Because I’m not here to discuss this.”
“Then at least tell me who did this to you,” he demands, his tone icy, and his head tilts. “Give me their names and it will be done.”
You look away, frustration boiling in your chest. The very last thing you need or want right now is a trip down the memory lane.
“It doesn’t matter,” you tell him. “They’re all dead now.”
Santino exhales in frustration, leaning back in his seat, and folds his arms elegantly on the table. “Pity.”
You almost laugh at that. Almost.
“I think you already know why I’m here,” you say, and watch him watch you as his eyebrows arch. “So don’t give me that look.”
“Contrary to what you believe, cara mia,” he responds with a roughish little smile. “I am not a psychic. It would be truly beneficial if I was, of course.”
You roll your eyes. “Santino,” you address him directly, not in the mood for his teasing. “I’m here to talk about—”
“The infamous John Wick, yes, I figured you were,” he cuts you off, his words clipped. His piercing eyes flicker away for a moment, and he grabs an expensive-looking bottle sitting on the table between you. “Champagne?”
“No thanks,” you mutter quickly, “So you know why I’m here then?”
Santino pours himself a glass, turning his head from side to side as he hums. “Well, I believe I can wager an educated guess,” he remarks thoughtfully as he looks up at you. “But I’m afraid that you are too late.”
“Too late?”
He takes a small sip and sighs, his eyes closing. Just as you start to feel your frayed nerves begin to rip even further, he finally speaks, “John has already come to me, asking for help with his Impossible Task. I refused him.”
His words leave such potent silent between you that you can hear your own irregular breathing.
“Why?”
Santino takes another sip and smiles that slippery, sly smile of his. “Why what? Why did I refuse? Why won’t I? Everything has a price, cara mia. You know this. Besides, John and I have never seen eye to eye when it comes to…certain things.”
His clever eyes drill into you, and you rack your suddenly empty mind for something else to say. You never accounted for a scenario where you would have to go into this on a back leg.
“He would have offered you something in return.”
Santino nods in agreement. “He did. But it just so happens that our visions did not align. Not to mention he still owes me from the last time.”
“The last time?” you repeat, uncomprehending. “Since when does he owe you?”
He blinks as if caught off guard by your words, and a gleam of realisation reflects back at you. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” you mutter, your words wrapped with frustration. “What the hell is it that you want, Santino? There’s always a catch with you.”
The sharply dressed man in front of you sighs again, and rests his chin on his folded palms as he gazes at you, assessing. “I do believe that the real question here, cara mia, is why are you here? Did you come to bargain with me? Are you going to beg in his stead?”
Your jaw clicks and your eyes narrow. For a long, tense moment you both simply stare at each other. “Everything has a price,” you quote, at last, your voice distant. “What’s yours?”
His lips flatten in dismay and he lifts his chin, fingers unlacing as he gestures to the side. One of his many guards comes closer and you instinctively tense, your hand wrapping around your poisoned blade. Santino takes note of your taut body right away, signalling for the man to stop and approach slower. He doesn’t look happy about your reaction. The guard casts a wary look your way and places whatever he was carrying into his boss’s awaiting hand.
Santino rolls the object between his fingers deliberately, considering, before placing it on the table in front of you. Not quite halfway, but close enough for you to touch it if you want.
A Marker.
Your throat goes dry.
“You—Winston is not here to witness it,” you whisper unsteadily, feeling trapped once again. The spacious restaurant suddenly feels like a cage, and you feel your heartbeat spike.
“Semantics,” he rebukes easily, lazily. “We both know no one will doubt the legitimacy of this.”
Your eyes finally peel away from the smooth metal and drag up towards him. He’s watching you curiously, expectant. Your heart is in your throat as you do the same. No matter what alternatives you try to think up, they all seem to lead to the same destination.
Bound to yet another contract. Chained to whims of another power-hungry man.
“What do you want?”
You sound angry. Good.
You’re furious.
“A favour.”
“What kind of favour?”
Santino regards you with something close to gentleness, and it makes you even more enraged. “I am not Viggo Tarasov. I will never ask you to do something that will go against your moral fibre.”
Your responding scoff is as disbelieving as it is mocking. “Of course,” you agree sarcastically, and ignore the way Santino’s guards bristle at your clear show of disrespect. “Because I’m supposed to just believe that you’re not all the same. Power-hungry and selfish.”
“Oh, I’m most certainly am, cara mia,” he intones coolly even though his lips twist into a smile. “But if you want this, then you’ll have to take that chance, won’t you?”
Your expression falls and you press your mouth into a tight line, peering down at the object between you.
Is John truly worth it? After everything he’s done?
Here you are, seriously considering selling yourself and for what?
A man who loves another woman? Who wants to leave everything that you’ve had together behind and move on? John is effectively abandoning you—has abandoned you. But, at the end of the day, it’s not like he owes you anything. And maybe you don’t owe him anymore either, not after this. You promised Marcus that you will talk with Santino, and you have, but you never agreed to this.
Haven’t you done enough? Sacrificed enough?
“Will you be able to forgive yourself if he fails, and you’ll have to live on with the knowledge you could have done something to save him?”
No. The awful truth is that you won’t be able to live with yourself.
John may have torn your heart to pieces by walking out of that door, but that didn’t make your feelings for him magically disappear in a matter of hours.
Let him go.
But I can’t.
You have to. He doesn’t want you.
Maybe this is exactly what you need. If you do this, John and his departure will always be tied to this Marker. It will be a constant, terrible reminder of your own lack of freedom. Perhaps, with time, the bitter anger and disappointment that comes with it will help you forget how much you love him.
Your fingers touch the cool metal gingerly.
But before you can take it, a larger, elegant hand lands on top of yours, squeezing.
“Really?” Santino practically hisses, his eyes narrowed into slits as he leans closer to you. “That’s all it takes to get you to sign yourself onto a Marker? And for what, cara mia? A man who does not love you?”
You jerk your hand back but Santino’s fingers wrap around your wrist, holding your hand next to the Marker.
“I confess myself disappointed,” he intones tightly after a brief pause, calmer now, but his eyes still rage. “He left you. For another woman. An outsider to our world, no less. You. The Vipress. And you would still give yourself away, would still tie yourself to me with a blood oath for him. Why? Tell me, do you truly love him that much?”
You glare at him for a heated moment.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He jerks back like you’ve struck him, his grip on your wrist loosening. Wasting no time, you drag your arm back, still glaring at him.
It shouldn’t surprise you to see a glimpse of pure envy contorting Santino’s face, but it does. His intentions in regards to you have always been clear, and he’s always been forthcoming about them. For all his tricks and sly games, he’s always been surprisingly clear cut with you.
The only problem is that you’ve never taken him seriously until this moment.
Men like Santino D’Antonio crave excitement and bore easily.
But perhaps you’ve been too quick to judge him.
He leans back, his palms dropping down to his lap and he regards you critically. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you—if the fresh scars you wear are visible to him. The way he looks at you makes you think that perhaps he can see them after all. That perhaps that’s why he looks so calmly furious right now.
The silence between you hangs, hangs, hangs—
“Very well,” he mutters, his smile a sharp, unpleasant thing. “I will help your precious Johnathan.”
A relieved sigh escapes you and you reach for the Marker. Santino grabs it before you can and lifts it to his face, shaking the object a little in your direction with a stilted smile before he pockets it.
“I don’t understand,” you whisper as you watch him rise from his seat, smoothing wrinkles in his suit. “You said everything has a price.”
“Indeed it does,” he insists as one of his guards’ hands him his overcoat. He shrugs it on calmly, an elegant motion that only adds to his effortless charm. His eyes find yours and he looks at you for a long moment. This time, you find his expression impossible to read. “But my mother who was a great lover of art always told me that life is like poetry,” he explains, a thoughtful frown on his face. “It rhymes.”
He steps towards you but you find that you can’t move a muscle. “John was here because he wants the freedom to start a new life, you are here because of John, and as for me…well, I’m simply here. So no charge, not this time, cara mia. But only because I believe that everything eventually comes around full circle.”
He reaches down and gently takes your hand in his. His lips press against your knuckles, the warmth of his breath prickling your skin and making you shiver. His eyes don’t drop away from you the entire time, and you both know that he lingers for far longer than would be deemed appropriate for two friends.
“Besides, something tells me that you and I will be seeing each other again very soon,” he breathes, and you almost jump when he presses another tender peck to your skin with a glimmer of a crooked grin. “Remember, I’m not doing this for him but for you.”
He pulls back, letting go of your hand reluctantly. “Speak to you soon, cara mia.”
Then he turns around and walks away, leaving you alone in the expensive restaurant.
The text comes two days later in the early hours of the morning.
Marcus’s name flares like a sunbeam across your phone screen and you linger on the Unlock button. Regardless of what this message contains life as you knew it is over. You don’t want to lose it yet, don’t want to let go. Not yet. Either John is dead or…
Or he truly chose that stranger and his new life over you.
‘He did it.’
You exhale slowly—in pained relief, in anguish; raw and entangled in each other—and lift your eyes to the ceiling.
The phone in your hand smashes to pieces when it connects to the wall opposite to you.
[1 YEAR LATER]
“Miss Vipress.”
Charon’s greeting is full of subtle surprise, and the slight smile that twitches his lips to one side is a welcomed sight.
“Charon.”
The man inclines his head. “May I say that it is most pleasing to have you back with us again,” he tells you as you place golden coins on the counter. “The usual, I presume? For how long shall I book you in for?”
Clicking your tongue, you glance around, soaking in the feeling of being back here again. “Thanks. And let’s say two weeks?”
The rest of the exchange is familiar to you and a faint, genuine smile lingers cross the seams of your mouth as you look around, spotting more than one familiar face in the lobby.
“There is one more matter that I’ve been instructed to bring to your attention upon your arrival,” Charon begins, and the slight hesitation in his tone catches your attention. “The manager has requested to see you.”
Your eyebrows arch. “Winston? He’s in at this hour?”
“The manager is always in,” he answers, a glimmer of amusement colouring his words. “Would you like me to announce you?”
You nod absentmindedly. “Uh, yeah, sure. The lounge?”
“Indeed, Miss Vipress,” he says, passing your key across the counter. “Please do enjoy your stay.”
Shooting a quick smile his way, you head towards the bar, knowing that Charon will take care of your travelling bag.
Considering that it’s early hours of the morning, the bar is more active than one would expect. Most of the people here are used to the nightlife though, and come from many differing time zones. You’re all nocturnal creatures, living in the shadows because that’s where you feel most alive.
You greet a few familiar individuals with a slight nod of your head and ignore their invitations to join them for drinks.
Instead, you cut a straight path across the lounge to a corner that has long since been dubbed “Winston’s corner”. The man himself sits silent and focused as he examines a small pile of golden coins placed before him.
“New shipment,” he calls by the way of greeting. “Bad timing but impeccable quality as always.”
“Winston,” you greet in return, and the man finally lowers his glasses, looking up at you. “Little nighttime indulgence?”
Your gaze pointedly fixates on what you can only guess is a glass of brandy.
“Can’t an old man enjoy life a little?” he questions with mock surprise and you smirk. Winston gestures to the empty seat. “Do sit down. We have much to discuss. It has been a year after all. How are your new friends?”
Noting his tone, your eyes narrow. “I don’t have friends,” you rebuke swiftly, coolly, “Not anymore. Learned my lesson last time. Now I assume there’s an actual reason why you wanted to see me?”
Winston nods his head, lips twisting thoughtfully. “But of course,” he says like it should be obvious. “But before all that, I want us to discuss some things. For example, your involvement with Santino D’Antonio. Honestly, out of all the people you could have gone to—”
Your expression warps with disbelief and you scoff under your breath. “Is that judgement I hear in your voice?”
“Goodness no,” Winston shoots back, but his bright stare is cutting. “I’m merely questioning your sanity. I don’t think I need to remind you what kind of man he is. His interest in you, for all intents and purposes, is bound to come with an expiration date. And then what?”
“Then,” you force out painfully slow in order to control your tone. “It won’t matter anymore. Because they will all be dead. Honestly, Winston, what did you expect me to do? Lay down and let them kill me? How can you sit there and judge me for doing everything I can just to survive.”
He exhales wearily, and his slumping shoulders make him look older just for a moment.
“Johnathan was a top-level associate of ours, a legend in his own right,” he begins and that name being spoken out loud cuts through you like a knife. “I always knew that his departure would cause a rather large power vacuum in our world. As his closest associate, I also knew that some people may see fit to try and take out their old grudges on you. Johnathan had as many enemies as he did friends. But he did his best to protect you. The depth of his care for you—”
“I’m sorry, his care?” you repeat, soft and disbelieving, as you consider the man in front of you. “His care came in the form of abandonment. He as good as threw me to the wolves. He left without so much as a second glance, so please tell me again, where exactly was his care?”
“I assure you, he went through great lengths to ensure your protection,” Winston replies calmly, and there’s that hint of chilly authority in his voice that usually makes people shut up and listen. It’s a sore spot for a topic, and you know that’s the only reason why he’s tolerating your cracking disposition and sharp tongue. “What I’m hearing from you right now is bitterness and jealousy. You’re better than that. We both know that what you truly resent is not the fact that Johnathan left, but that he did so without you. But what did you expect?”
“Excuse me?”
“Let me be blunt,” he begins and lifts his glass, sloshing the amber liquid inside from side-to-side. “Viggo was onto you. He knew that there was more going on between you two than a simple partnership. He would have had you killed if he got so much as a shred of proof. Johnathan knew that too. He did you a kindness by pushing you away. He was more fond of you than you can ever truly understand. Too fond. I warned him against it. But he couldn’t let you go. The distance you imposed after his rejection—if you can even call it that—came at a good time. Meeting that woman was an accident. In her, Johnathan saw a chance for a different life. Saw a way for both of you to be safe and happy. You told him that you couldn’t see a life for yourself outside of this, did you not? He left so he could forget you and keep you safe. And I imagine that Santino D’Antonio did not, in fact, help Johnathan with his task out of the goodness of his heart. Especially not when Johnathan already owed him for Tokyo. So I think you’ll forgive me when I say that I don’t quite buy into your supposed hatred for him.”
You stare at Winston in dumbstruck silence. Forcing air into your lungs, you clear your throat, trying to process everything you’ve just heard.
“What—” your voice creaks and you swallow again, determined. “What do you mean John owed Santino for Tokyo?”
“Of course I’m referring to—you don’t know,” he concludes astutely, an eerily familiar understanding washing over the contours of his weathered face. The same understanding that you saw on Santino’s face a year ago on that dreadful night. “Oh, how typical of Johnathan. He left you to believe whatever was the easiest. What do you think happened, my dear? How did Johnathan get there, do you reckon?”
“He—but Tarasov—”
Winston tuts, and places his glass back on the table.
He looks almost sorry when he speaks next. “Johnathan noticed your absence quickly, and you’re right to assume he went to Tarasov first,” he tells you quietly, and the words rattle through your mind like marbles. “But Tarasov refused him. He did not care. So Johnathan went to someone he knew would.”
“Santino.”
Winston dips his head slightly. “I do not know the terms of what exactly they agreed but I do know that Santino was less than pleased with the outcome. He didn’t tell you this but…John called in a great number of favours and burned an even greater number of bridges to get to you. He did not rest until he got you back. Except he didn’t, did he? A part of you died in that damp, dirty underground pit. You haven’t been the same since Tokyo.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“No.”
Your eyes move away, and you try to subtly swallow the sudden lump in your throat. Despite your best effort to appear unaffected, it still feels like you have lead sitting in your stomach. You want to stand up and walk away from him, but you also respect the man in front of you too much for that.
“Why did you help him?”
You let out a weak chuckle. “Come now, Winston, we both know why. Why even bother asking?”
“Because I need to know that I can give you this,” he replies, taking out a white envelope and placing it on the table between you. “Without the worry that you will do something…unwise.”
Your gaze zeros in on the white material and for some reason it frightens you more than you would care to admit.
“What is it?” you ask, already regretting the question.
“I don’t know,” Winston says, all nonchalance, and you wonder if it’s because he knows what this is doing to you. “But Johnathan took a great risk to call in this favour. It came to me three months ago. I would have had it sent to whichever Continental you were staying at but Johnathan was very clear that it’s for your eyes only. I couldn’t take that chance.”
“Burn it,” you tell him stiffly. “I don’t want it.”
Winston shakes his head, a flash of displeasure crossing his features. “You will regret it if you don’t take it. Make this the closure you need it to be. You never said goodbye properly. Maybe this can be the full stop in this tale that you so desperately need.”
Your lips part and you hurriedly lick them, feeling even more frustrated than before. There’s truth to Winston’s words but it feels too much like picking at a scab that has just healed over.
Tapping your fingers against the table, you finally reach over and snatch the envelope, rising to your feet.
“What do you plan to do about the people still coming after you?” he wonders idly, curiosity lacing his words.
The letter burns in your hand, an enormous weight that makes you feel like you’re being dragged to the ground.
“What I do best,” you inform him without turning around. “Kill.”
If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that Winston’s laughter followed you out.
You consider the envelope for a long time.
You consider ripping it to pieces and throwing it away.
But a part of you that sounds suspiciously like grumpy Winston stays your hand.
So instead you eat, shower, stare at the envelope, pace your room, and stare some more.
You’ve moved on.
Or have been trying to, at least.
Life without John is a different experience. It’s a colder, even crueller place than it was before. So, to a degree, you understand what Winston meant when he said that John has been shielding you from the worst of it before.
But he’s gone now. And you’re relearning everything from scratch.
Santino’s offer, now more than ever, burns through your mind.
You did not give him your answer before leaving Italy, and a part of you wants to call him right now—let him be the voice of reason that will tell you to throw the letter away.
You’re done with John. You are.
Falling heavily onto the loveseat, you reach for the envelope.
It feels heavy but not too full. Something hard is inside but it’s still bendable when you test its limits. Curious, you bring it up to your nose, inhaling, and run your fingers through the length of it to see if anything suspicious sticks out.
Nothing.
No odd odours, no unusual edges or bumps.
You stare at it.
There is nothing but your name scribbled in a familiar, cramped font on the front. Your fingertips trace over it and you feel a pang in your chest. Your hand hovers over the envelope and you watch your viper ring gleam against the white paper.
You still wear it. Isn’t that a sign enough that you haven’t let go?
Even if you’ve been trying—so hard—it still manages to feel fresh. It’s unhealthy and you deserve better than to torture yourself over this. But this last year has already been torture for a multitude of reasons, so is this really any different?
Gritting your teeth, you rip the envelope open. You can’t allow it to have power over you. You can’t allow John to have that power, either.
A card slips out first, clearly the heavier object, and you check the inside to find a letter, too. You rub your fingers together, hesitating, before you take it out and unfold it.
Dear (Name),
I know I have no right to ask this of you, and I will understand if I never hear from you again. But it would mean a lot to me if you could be there.
- John
Short and direct enough for any doubts about its authenticity to crumble away from your mind.
Your eyes slide towards the card that lays facedown on the coffee table.
Swallowing, you pick up the expensive paper, turning it around.
You are joyfully invited to the wedding of—
The invitation slips from your hand, falling clumsily through the air before it lands on the table once again.
You stagger to your feet, swaying, dazed, and wander towards the window. Your forehead presses against the freezing glass, and a breathless sound rattles free from deep within. It’s a low, devastated sort of noise and like a wounded animal you fold into yourself, breathing deeply.
A wedding.
John is getting married.
Is this some cruel joke?
Is he doing this on purpose? Why else would he invite you to the one occasion you would never want to attend? Especially after how you last parted ways.
But John is not one for cruel tricks, not one for mindless harm for the sake of amusement.
Last time you saw him, you told him that you never want to see him again, but it’s clearly not a sentiment he shares. The problem is that you’re not sure if you can handle it. For all your struggles, for all the ferocity to keep living, this could be the one thing you will not be able to overcome. That night, a year ago, was already bad enough.
Your head moves back, and you look over your shoulder towards the invitation still laying innocently on the table. It’s the type of startling white that sticks out in the dim room like a beacon.
Feet unsteady, you walk back towards it, reaching for it once again. Your hands are shaking and you clench your fists till your rapid heartbeat evens out. Then, gritting your teeth, you force yourself to read through the entire thing.
Finally, your eyes snag on the time and date printed, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest.
Tomorrow.
You shouldn’t have come.
You don’t know why you did.
No—that’s not quite true, is it? You do know why you came.
You came because, in order to be free of him, you have to see this through. You have to allow John to drive that one last knife into your chest and twist it for good measure. Then, perhaps, you can finally let go once and for all. Strip him out of your heart till there’s no trace left of him. A full stop in this story just like Winston said.
Still, this decision kept you up for the entire night, restless and hurting, and it wasn’t until two hours before the ceremony that you finally decided to come.
The venue is stunning. A warmly lit, open space and you can’t help but envy the beautiful composition of colours and flowers.
The attendant—a stunning blonde with bright green eyes and an extravagant gown—greets you with a beaming smile, taking your invitation.
“Bride or groom?”
Your mind is so chaotic that at first, you don’t really register her words; they’re a distant murmur only. Wincing, you give her an awkward, pained grimace of a smile.
“Sorry, jetlag is a killer.”
The woman looks sympathetic and nods her head in understanding. You likely look terrible and just sleep-deprived enough for her to buy into your words.
“And, it’s…” you trail off, suddenly unable to speak. The groom. It’s easy to say. If you can’t even speak what’s the point of coming here? Just to embarrass yourself further? “The groom. Groom’s side, I mean.”
“Wonderful! Please sit on the right, then,” the attendant says with a happy chipper in her voice. You can’t hear any forced cheer in it either which surprises you. “You’re running a bit late. The ceremony has already begun but I think you’ll still make it in time for the exchanging of vows.”
Great.
This is torturous.
It’s been a year but it feels like yesterday.
You should have taken Santino up on his offhand, deliberate offer to go to Paris together. You could have prolonged your trip for just another week and would have missed the wedding entirely. Then, you would have had an easy explanation, an out.
On instinct, your eyes sweep over the crowd. Despite it being a wedding, you still have blades and needless on you; most of them are soaked in some of your latest inventions. Each as nasty and as lethal as the last. You’ve learned from your mistakes. Never again.
It surprises you but you see no familiar faces in the crowd. A part of you expected John to invite Winston or at least Marcus—his oldest, most trusted friend.
It’s startling to realise that you’re wrong. That on one of the most important days of his life, you’re the only one here.
John has truly torn out his old life root and stem and this is proof of that.
Your eyes finally find him standing hand in hand with his bride and your stomach coils.
He looks—
He looks so happy.
The happiest you’ve ever seen him.
He stands tall and proud, his dark gaze warm and full of love as he speaks his vows.
He looks in love. At peace. Happy.
It’s like a punch to the stomach to see him like this. To know that he’s found those things you told him so cruelly he didn’t deserve to have.
And Helen…
She’s beautiful. Practically glowing with happiness as she beams up at John.
So many times—there’s been so many times when you had imagined that she wasn’t anything special. That maybe she’s ugly or stupid. That John will never be happy once the initial attraction fades. So many times when you unfairly demeaned her in your head just to make yourself feel better. But you’re wrong.
Helen is stunning. The type of woman you can’t help but admire.
It hurts so much that you feel—for the first time since that night John left you—tears begin to blur your vision.
“You may now kiss your bride.”
John smiles, a small but loving curl of his mouth, and leans down to kiss his new wife.
A shuddering breath escapes you, swallowed by the crowd that explodes into wild applause and cheers. You watch as the new-wed couple exchange words, intimate and soft, and John places a protective arm around Helen’s waist.
Your gaze drops.
The crowd is still a roar.
“What a beautiful couple, don’t you think?”
Head turning, you glance at an old man you’ve never seen before and find him clapping as loudly as the rest of the crowd.
“Yes,” is your empty whisper. “Yes, they are.”
It’s okay. It’s over now.
Your eyes close and you turn away from the happiness and cheer, walking blindly. As long as you get away from this, it will be fine.
Soft music fills the air when you stumble outside, swallowing large gasp of air and pressing your hand against your chest. Your head falls back and you look towards the sky. The sun has just set, the furthest corner of the sky already allowing first stars to peak against the darkened expanse. Then your chin drops, your vacant stare lingering on all the beautiful fairy lights wrapped around trees and bushes.
Putting one leg in front of another, you stagger forward. It feels like being back underground. It feels like that time Kishi pressed his heavy boot against your lower back, keeping you still after you tried to crawl away. It feels like you can’t move, walk, jog, breathe, exist.
Yes, I can.
You take another step and another, feeling...it’s devastating, it is. But with every heavy, pained step also comes a sense of calm. Of finally—
“You came.”
You freeze.
Blinking, you try to compose your expression before you turn around.
John comes closer, hesitant, as his dark eyes take you in. As always it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, and it’s so obvious now that he’s always been so guarded around you. So unlike moments ago when he showed just how open he can be with the person he loves.
“Well,” you halt, nibbling on the inside of your cheek to gather yourself. “I couldn’t miss your wedding. Some friend I would be if I did.”
“I didn’t think you would come,” he says, stopping right in front of you. “But I’m glad that you did. I wanted to talk to you.”
You laugh weakly, and it sounds so forced you regret it immediately. “Yeah, well, impeccable timing as always, John. Congratulations, by the way.”
His expression is unreadable, but you feel a whisper of surprise when he extends his hand towards you.
Then, with that gesture, comes the understanding.
You were right. None of this has been about hurting you. Everything; from the invitation to this, is about giving you both closure.
John didn’t want the last interaction you’ve had to be a hateful one. And, until this very moment, you didn’t know you didn’t want that, either.
You place your hand in his and he pulls you closer. Then, arms careful and hesitant around each other, you begin to sway to the distant music coming from the reception.
“You should be back there,” you tell him quietly. “Celebrating.”
He meets your stare, calm and patient as always. “There’ll be time for that later.”
Silence follows his words and you move together for a while without a sound. Your eyes flutter closed, and you rest your cheek lightly against his chest. His scent, his warmth; they sink into you gradually and you add them to your memory.
“I just wanted—”
“Winston told me.”
John looks down at you. “I asked him not to.”
Your smile feels sad, weary. “The old man likes to gossip, I guess,” you mutter in a poor play on humour, and tighten your fingers around his. “John I—I just wanted to say that—I didn’t mean what I said that night—”
“You don’t have to apologise, (Name),” he tells you, and his expression seems strained, so unlike the previous joy you saw earlier. “I hurt you.”
Shaking your head, you glance away, and try to smile again. “I was angry…and hurt. But it still did not give me the right to say that to you. You—you of all the people deserve this more than anyone. I’m happy for you. I am.”
“(Name) I—”
“Please,” you cut him off before he can continue. “Please make this easy for me. I’m trying to do the right thing here but it’s so damn hard. It’s so hard and I—just thank you. Thank you for everything. You saved me and I will never be able to thank you enough for it. But I had to at least try before this goodbye.”
“Then don’t make it a goodbye,” he whispers suddenly and your eyes find his, full of surprise. “We can keep in touch. You’re my friend.”
You chuckle; a wet, weak sound. “We both know that’s too dangerous,” you answer him, and hate how sad you sound. “You’re out, John. You’re free and you’re happy. That’s all I could ever—”
Your voice cracks and you lower your head, swallowing. John’s cheek rests against the top of your head and he squeezes your fingers when he feels them tremble between his own. You stand still for a while. Simply breathing together and you love him for the fact that he allows time for tears escaping your eyes to dry.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” you breathe, choked. “You tried to keep us both safe and found happiness on the way. My anger was selfish. And sometimes…sometimes people can be good together but it still doesn’t work out.”
You pull back slowly, carefully turning your fingers to free your hand from his grip. Staring at the ground beneath your feet, you allow yourself a silent moment of grieving.
For what you had.
For what you still could have had.
John stands still, sensing that you need this moment and you feel a small smile twist your mouth. You lift your head and place your hand—his ring gleaming—on his chest. He looks so handsome in a tux.
“So,” you begin with a smile. “This is me letting you go, John.”
You lean closer and press a gentle kiss against his cheek. Your expression crumbles, and you tilt your face till it’s next to his ear, so he won’t see your pain.
“Please be happy.”
Then you pull back, your hands dropping away, letting go.
“(Name), wait—”
“John? There you are. What are you doing out here?”
Your head snaps over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of Helen. She looks even more beautiful this close up. She walks down the steps, lifting her stunning wedding gown and recognition flashes through her eyes when she spots you.
“Oh, you must be (Name),” she greets with a kind smile. “I’m Helen. John has told me a lot about you. I’m glad you’ve been able to come. Wouldn’t you join us inside?”
Your eyes slide towards John who looks as torn as you feel. You give her a smile too. Whatever resentment you once felt towards this woman has up and vanished into thin air.
She comes to stand beside John and you’re momentarily speechless. They look good together. Like they belong.
“It’s lovely to meet you. And I’m sorry, but I can’t,” you say, keeping your smile intact. “I have, ah, a job…that I need to get to. But it was a beautiful ceremony and—take care of him for me, would you? He’s so awful at it. And…”
Your voice wavers but you’re still smiling even though neither Helen nor John are.
“I just wish you both…all the happiness in the world. Truly.”
You nod your head, inhaling deeply, and laugh.
Your eyes meet John’s for one last time and you grin at him. “Goodbye, John.”
Not waiting for a reply, you turn around and start walking away.
In and out. In and out.
The cool evening air kisses your burning, tear-streaked cheeks but you keep walking with your head held high.
Alone. Just like it’s been for so long.
A butterfly trapped in a mason jar.
Never to be free.
. . .
an: hope you all enjoyed that pain fest (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)ﾉ⌒♡*:･。.
#john wick#john wick x reader#john wick fic#john wick imagine#keanu reeves#santino d'antonio#winston#marcus#fic: children of ares
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Assistance - Chapter 2
Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader (No Y/N, reader is nicknamed)
Warnings: Swearing, violence, mentions of drinking
Rating: 15
Word Count: 3.4K
Summary: You and the Mandalorian gear up for your journey and Mando gets into a tangle with some guild members.
A/N: Told you the chapters would get longer! As always I’m open for feedback, enjoy :)
Masterlist!
You had stayed in the cantina a while longer, silently tinkering with the tech in your cuff, wiring in the tracking fob and transferring all the data across to your internal tracker. Technically speaking this was illegal within the guild, the storage of any information regarding quarry’s was strictly forbidden ever since the Dinatchi incident, but sweet maker did it make your life easier. It meant that instead of playing hot and cold across (and a couple of times beneath) the surface of a planet, you had a much easier map to follow.
The Mandalorian was still sat opposite you, he never spoke once, just stayed patiently still, almost brooding. You had glanced up from your work at him once or twice, gauging him was difficult as you couldn’t see his face, but his posture spoke loud and clear. Leant back, arm extended over the back of worn booth, the other resting (you assumed) on his thigh, taking up as much space as possible, his chest out, open, so strong and commanding.
And yet he was so closed off. That helmet, all shine and intimidation, shielding him from the world, cutting off senses and making him rely solely on instinct and tech. Definitely a Mandalorian through and through. Silence was good for you, and having a Mandalorian sat at the same table meant that staff and drunk, nosy patrons left you well alone, which allowed you to work fast and in peace.
With a flick of your wrist you closed the interface, finishing your task. Slinging your bag over your shoulder you shuffled out the booth. He mirrored your movement, following you in a way that was dauntingly in sync. “Before we set off I need to go back to my ship and get together supplies, we’re going to be travelling a long distance on foot so I suggest you do the same.”
“I’ll come with you,” He stated.
You blinked a couple of times. “Okay.” Showing a complete stranger, whose face you can’t even see, your very beloved ship would’ve normally been against every instinct you had, yet here you were. You turn your back to him and go to make your way out of the dingy building, you’d made exactly two steps when something grabs your arm. Your stance changes on instinct, feet in an L shape, knees braced, fists tensed at your sides, then you freeze. You turn your head to face the wastoid who was gripping your bicep. He was smiling at you, a disgusting grin that made your skin itch.
“Sweetheart you can’t leave with a frown like that, come sit with me and I’ll cheer you up,” his tone dripped with false charm. You flashed your fakest smile back at him.
“I’m in a committed relationship with my ride, now get your hand off me before I break it off,” You exhorted, loudly. You braced yourself ready for fists to fly, when his eyes flicked to the silent statue of armour behind you. The pressure on your arm disappeared as your assailant backed away slowly, mumbling apologies to the ground.
Relaxing your fighters stance you rolled your shoulders, adjusting your bag to sit comfortably again. The atmosphere in the cantina had become tense, you hadn’t realised how quiet it had become in the moment. With a final glance around and a nod to the unhelpful bar keep, you resumed your exit path, the Mandalorian following close behind you.
What happened in the cantina had made you prickle, it certainly wasn’t the man who had grabbed you to blame as you usually dealt with pricks like him all the time, and had been kicked out of plenty of cantinas for doing so. It was more to do with the fact tin can behind you had bailed you out without even needing to lift a finger, without saying anything at all, and you couldn’t understand it. He followed you without a word, quietly trusting your knowledge of the way as you led him through winding streets and dodgy back alleys towards where you had landed. You were constantly aware of his presence, always a couple of steps behind, completely soundless, cape sweeping behind him as he strode after you. Stars even his steps were quiet.
The dusty blue walls of Detsak’s outer city buildings boxed you in and when you gazed up you could just see the burning sun peeping over the apex of the surrounding roofs. One final sharp turn brings you to your destination, the rusted metal gates of the ship keep raised up in sharp points in front of you.
“Rathca! Ent vi lok sey vey” You yelled through the gates.
“You speak Datsey?” The Mandalorian asked suddenly.
“Very basic Datsey,” You responded “It was a long journey here, and it’s surprisingly easy because it’s got a lot of Huttese roots.” He just nodded at you, so you turned you attention back to the gates as a small droid rolled up to them. You produced the flat matte black disc out of your bag that had been given to you on arrival and presented to the droid. A small probe extended from its chest and poked into the hole at the centre of the disc. After some whirring the droid retracted the probe and turned to the lock on the gate, the red light flashed green and you pushed the gate open, stepping inside the compound.
You held the gate open for the Mandalorian, expecting him to sweep in after you. Instead he just stood for there for a moment, you raised your eyebrow at him in a silent question.
Another moment passed before he moved, “I don’t like droids,” he grumbled as he went past.
“It’s a good thing they’re not looking after your ship then,” you remarked, a teasing smile playing briefly across your lips. The gate swung shut as you released it, clanging behind you as you swiftly followed the droid.
The big intimidating Mandalorian didn’t like droids, why? You glanced behind you, eyes skimming over his form, searching for a change in body language. Given you were now surrounded by various droids doing different tasks you would have expected a change if he were afraid of them. But nothing did. So he if he wasn’t afraid of them, what was it?
You shook your head slightly and turned your focus back to following the droid through the compound. To say the place was a mess was to put it lightly, parts of ships were piled up in jagged metal peaks, chunks of hull leant against the walls and a rainbow of wires carved out the path you were walking along. Between the hills of metal various ships were parked, some being repaired by the droids while others just sat peacefully within the chaos. A few more steps and then you saw her, your gorgeous ship.
“Cey na vi depa mey,” (The ship is staying here) you told the droid. It beeped at you, its head jerked forward in a nod and then turned and rolled away. You turned your attentions back to your ship, typing a command into your cuff you watched as the underbelly panel disengaged and sank to the ground, a ramp extended out welcoming you home. You grinned and ran up it, heading straight up to the cockpit. The Mandalorian followed suit, and you closed the ramp up behind him. Settling into you pilots seat of the cockpit, you began manipulating the controls. “Yes honey I’m home,” You said gently to the control panel when it bleeped at you softly. You brought out a wire from the main interface and, after removing the armoured cuff from your left arm, plugged it into the port on the cuff.
“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian asked.
“I need an updated map of Detsak transferring to my internal tracker if we want to be successful in bringing this quarry back alive, there’s also some software I need to transfer as well that will be invaluable to us, especially on this planet,” You replied “you can thank me later.”
“Why.” He must be joking. You don’t come to a planet like this without knowing what’s on it first. You stood up and maneuvered around his frame. This cockpit had definitely not been made to fit two people comfortably. You dropped down the ladder into the hold of your ship and started putting together your supplies, food and drink first.
You placed 6 dehydrated food packs into your bag, along with water pouches and a couple of Gethan peaches, that should be enough to keep you and tin can alive for the mission, med packs were next. You only had two med packs left, you sighed as you packed them, surely he had some as well, he must have, because you knew one of you were going to hurt more than once here.
Finally your favourite part, weapons and trap tech. Walking to the armoured cupboard you pressed the open command and password into the keypad and stepped back as your glorious collection was revealed. “Nice stash.” His sudden presence made you jump, again, how the hell does he move so quietly?
“You really need to stop doing that,” you remarked “but thank you, I’ve put a lot of love into these.”
“You weren’t joking were you?”
“About what?” You queried.
“What you said back in the cantina. Being in a committed relationship with your ride.” The Madalorian stated.
“Is there a point to any other relationship? She has everything I need, she’s reliable and she’s gotten me out of trouble more times than any person,” You knelt down next to your bag and carried on packing quietly, aware of the fact he was wandering around the hold, taking in the various panels and items you have stored “I could have gotten out of that trouble myself Mandalorian.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you step in?”
“I didn’t, the guy must have thought I was your ride.”
“Why on earth would he think that.” you paused your packing, the two of you stared at each other for a few seconds before he spoke again. “I don’t know,” he answered, your gaze dropped from his helmet and back to your task, while his roamed the walls of your ship “what’s her name?”
“Astrid, her name’s Astrid. Otherwise named the greatest ship in the galaxy,” You told him, smile plastered on your face as you looked up as him.
“Nice name,” He took another lap around the hold before saying “I’m going to go get supplies from my ship, I realise I will need some.” You nodded, thank the stars he decided that, otherwise both of you didn’t stand much of a chance of getting out of this.
“Give me 5 minutes and I’ll come with you-“
“No.”
“I’m sorry?” you snapped
“I don’t want you coming with me. We’ll rendezvous in half an hour at the outer city gates,” he answered steadily. He’s a Mandalorian, they’re the most closed off people in the galaxy, of course he doesn’t want you to see his ship. You nod understandably and stand up.
“Okay,” you say simply, extending your right arm to him “half an hour, outer gates.” He reaches out and clasps his hand around your upper forearm, your hand doing the same. Then he disappears.
You finish up packing and head back up to the cockpit. You unplug your cuff and secure it back around your arm, then you take your headset out of its holder, hooking it over your right ear and placing the earpiece in, then adjusting the eyepiece to sit comfortably over your eye. Pressing the button on the back of the earpiece you watched as the screen on the glass came to life, sending an initial scan across the cockpit. You looked down at your cuff and pressed the button again, watching as the sync progress bar moved quickly in front of your eyes. SYNC COMPLETE.
Okay, change of clothes and you’ll be ready to go. You left the cockpit and headed to what you called the living side of your ship. It was kitchen, bedroom and living room all in one, with a small bathroom off to the left. You shed your armour, starting with your torso, then piece by piece moving down your body until you felt weightless from the lack of it and quickly changed ready to replace it all. You always felt wrong without your armour, all vulnerable and exposed, so whenever changing clothes speed was always a priority for you.
You were about to grab your bag ready to leave when you caught your reflection in the mirror. You walked up to it, peering at your own face, your fingers skimmed over the white tattooed line that extended from your forehead, skipped over your left eye and finished half way down your cheek. Dots were spaced at equal points down the length of it.
You turned your head to examine the other tattoo. A similar white line that slashed across your right cheekbone, this time lined with dots either side. The tattoos began as purely functional, but now you loved them, a unique part of you that you couldn’t hide. You smiled at your reflection, then grabbed your bag and left.
-
Tin Can was supposed to be here 20 minutes ago and he didn’t seem like the type of person who would be this late. It made you uneasy, very uneasy. After another 5 minutes of waiting you made the decision to go after him. You didn’t care if you found him and he got mad for it if nothing is wrong, but instinct told you there was something wrong and you were normally pretty sharp with this stuff.
It was times like these you loved your tech, when you had done your forearm shake your cuff took a reading of the signals the Mandalorian’s own cuff was giving off, signals like that are unique and therefor traceable. You instructed your cuff to track the Mandalorian and started following the signal showing on your eyepiece. It didn’t take long to find him really, especially when you starting pursuing the sound of blaster fire which unsurprisingly took you right to him.
You took a moment to take in the scene in front of you, the Mandalorian was in the centre of the chaos, three figures, on in a helmet, one in a face mask with goggles and the third conveniently covered by a hood surrounded him. He was doing quite well, he’d taken out one of the assailants as evidenced by the limp body lying a few feet from you, but even for him three on one is tricky odds to beat.
A mass of blast fire and punches blurred as you shed your bag to the floor and began to run towards the fight, producing you blaster pistol in one hand and drawing your favourite blade in the other. You beelined towards the guy who was about to spear the Mandalorian with an electro staff, with a sweep of your leg you knocked his foot from under him, swiping your knife in his direction and digging it into his shoulder as you turned your gaze and blaster to the hooded figure running towards you, firing three shots in his direction.
You see it hit his arm as a blaster shot whizzed past your ear, causing you to flinch away as the guy you had just stabbed made a run up with his staff. Dodge, dodge, blaster shot, knife swipe, kick to the floor, you lined up your final blaster shot as a dull pain exploded across your left bicep, the force of it knocking your knife to the ground.
You rounded on the masked attacker, discharging shot after shot at him, he was fast, faster than you at dodging, but not fast enough to dodge all the beams, one struck him in his shoulder, incapacitating him long enough for you to turn back to shoot the hooded man as he was starting to get up. The blast cleared his chest and you watched as he slumped against the floor, staff skidding away from him and powering down.
There wasn’t any time to breathe before a fist was flying at the side of your head, swinging your forearm you struck the fist away and landed two punches to his gut with your other fist, sweeping his leg he knocked you to the ground, blaster slipping from your grasp and sliding away across the cobbles of the street. Shit, when did he pick up that staff? You jerked your head to the side as the electrified end slammed into the ground mere inches away from your face. You kneed up into his crotch and pushed all you force against his chest shoving him off you, and rolling over you pushed yourself off the ground and ran for your blaster.
Your fingers closed around the handle and you swung it round to point at masked man now charging at you. Heat flared next to you, a stream of hot licking flames extending just shy of your face. Fear shot into your stomach, crawling over your skin and weakening your knees, causing you to collapse to the ground. Looking in the direction of origin you saw the Mandalorian, arm extended, flames spewing from his wrist.
And behind him- fuck. A bloody figure drew up and pointed his blaster at the back of the Mandalorian. A shot. Yours, skimming past the silvery armour of the Mandalorian and striking the dark helmeted figure behind him. The flames stopped and both of the final assailants crumpled to the ground, unmoving.
Your breathing was heavy, your arm ached and your stomach felt tight. The Mandalorian was sat on the ground too, you were both studying each other, watching and catching your breath. The adrenaline was slowing dissipating from your body’s and as the high dropped, so slightly did your guard. “You really need to watch where you point that thing,” You joked shakily.
“Yeh well, I don’t normally have people I’m not supposed to hit,” he observed.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” you added, cocking your head.
“I didn’t need your assistance.”
“Yeh it certainly looked that way,” you snapped, rolling your eyes and jumping to your feet. You holstered your blaster on your hip, glancing across at the Mandalorian who was rising to his feet as well. You scanned the ground for your dagger, grinning when your eyes landed on the silver and gilded gold blade. It was lying next to the masked guy, whom you approached and bent down next to in order to pick it up when something caught your eye.
On the man’s belt a little red light flashed up at you, blinking steadily. A tracking fob. First placing the knife back in its holder on your armoured calf, you reached and unhooked the tracker from the body. “I need to check something, head to the outer gates, I’ll be there in 5,” The Mandalorian stated.
You looked up at him to see him walking away from you. Stars above Tin Can, he better not make a habit of this. You began to walk towards your bag, when a thought hit you. If one of these bodies had trackers on, then the rest of them could as well. And when you searched each of them, you found you were, as usual, correct, all four of them had trackers, all blinking at exactly the same rate. They were all for the same person then.
You popped the backs off each of the trackers and deactivated them manually. Once wiped trackers can be sold on for quite a few credits, and right now you needed all the credits you can get, so you put them in your bag and started your way towards the outer city gates. So that’s why he can’t go to the guild, he’s being hunted by them.
You had reached the gates before him, you watched for him approaching. When he appeared he had a bag slung over his shoulder and it looked like he’d polished his armour, it was glinting away under the hot sun. Even you had to admit that it did look good, it must be fairly new, except for the fact it didn’t bare his signet. He nodded to you as he drew up beside you, “Ready?” he asked.
“Let’s go.”
Next Chapter
#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian reader#the mandalorian you#the mandolorian#the mandolorian x reader#the mandolorian x you#the mandolorian you#star wars#fanfiction#my writing#own writing#din djarin#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#mando x you#mando x reader#mando you#mandalorian fic#mandalorian fanfiction#mandalorian fanfic#if your looking this what are you doing?#mandalorian x reader#mandalorian x you#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction
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“What if I told you that I love you?” Chapter Four
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Previous Chapter
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Word Count: 2,613
Here’s the final chapter! I’d love to hear what you guys think. This was a really fun little story to write.
Closing the door behind him, Logan sees that Virgil’s been waiting in the hall. From the expression of relief on his face, it looks as though he wasn’t expecting him to remerge.
“Hey – are you okay? He didn’t try anything, did he?” Logan really will need to find out what happened between those two, all those years ago someday.
“It was a very civil discussion. I’m perfectly fine,” he says, voice clipping slightly. Virgil frowns.
“L, what’s wrong?”
“I’ve messed up. Terribly. And I need to set things right.” The concern etched into Virgil’s face deepens as he takes a step closer to Logan, grabbing hold of his wrist.
“Whoa, hey, are – are you sure about that? I mean, you were kinda a mess back there a little bit ago. Not – not that there’s anything wrong with that! I totally get it, man, I mean, same. It’s just…” Virgil trails off, and he’s trying so damn hard to be there for Logan as much as he can be, but he’s so scared for him, “I’m… worried about you.”
The last sentence is muttered under his breath and Logan is once again reminded how much he cares about his friend. He pulls away from Virgil’s grip on his wrist, instead wrapping his arms around the emo. The embrace is a bit stuff, a little clumsy, and Logan isn’t sure if it’s for Virgil’s benefit or his own, but it’s helping a little. Virgil hugs him back, sighing at the contact.
“Your concern is appreciated,” Logan breaths out, “I know that you’re looking out for me, and I thank you for that. But… this is something that I need to do.” Logan releases Virgil from the embrace, seeing that heightened look of terror still gleaming in his eyes. Even so, Virgil shoves his hands in his pockets and nods.
“Okay. I… I get that. I’m sorry, for being such a thorn in your side, or whatever,” Virgil mutters, his eyes landing on the floor, “I know I worry too-fucking-much…”
“You by no means have any reason to apologize,” Logan responds quickly, praying he comes off reassuring, “Virgil, you calmed me down from a panic attack. You stayed by my side in the worst of emotional turmoil, you are an exceptional friend, and one I am endlessly grateful to have. Your worry being a little heightened is absolutely nothing to be sorry for; you are vigilant, and you’re looking after me. That is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Virgil looks back up to meet Logan’s gaze, the hint of an anxious smile in his upturned lip.
“Shit, L, has Remus really turned you into that much of a sap?” Logan clears his throat, far louder than necessary, which turns Virgil’s smirk into a shit-eating-grin in a matter of seconds. At least he looks less terrified, even if it is a little at Logan’s expense.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Logan says as if he doesn’t know that his friend is entirely correct.
“Yeah, whatever man. You’re a good friend and I’m really thankful to have you around, and all that,” Virgil says, trying and failing to downplay the fondness in his tone. It’s clear that he’s still very anxious for his friend, but he’s doing what he can to trust that things will be okay, something Logan knows certainly isn’t easy for him. “So… you’re really gonna face this thing, huh?”
“I am,” Logan says, taking a deep breath, “I have to.”
“Well then, I hope it goes good,” Virgil says, struggling to sound chipper but doing his best, “Seriously, if this is what you want, then I want you to get this. I want you to be happy.”
“Thank you, Virgil,” Logan says, feeling nervous anticipation welling in him, “For everything.”
“Sure thing, L,” Virgil says, watching as Logan disappears down the hall and towards the common room.
Logan knows he’s very likely not prepared for whatever scene he may stumble upon and is quickly proven right when he walks into the room.
Patton is sitting on the couch with Remus beside him, who is presently sobbing loudly into his hands. The sight is immediately heart-wrenching, to a point where Logan has to brace himself against the wall for a moment. In all the time he’s spent with the intrusive side, he’s never seen him so emotionally raw, so broken. Patton tries to set a comforting hand on the small of his back before Remus swats it out, letting out an animalistic growl. Patton flinches. Logan hadn’t ever wanted this, not in the least bit.
“Remus?” His voice pipes up, coming out far more anxious than he intends. Remus’s head jerks up, eyes meeting Logan’s in a moment of primal emotion Logan doesn’t know how to name. Fear seems to be fairly present, though, that he does know.
“Go – go away, nerdy Wolverine!” He says, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve, but the makeup that’s run down his cheeks seems intent on staying put.
Patton’s eyes dart from Remus to Logan, desperation evident. While Patton and Remus are by no means close, Patton never misses an opportunity to be there for his “kiddos,” especially not since Janus’s acceptance and Remus, somewhat reluctantly, being accepted to be in their presence.
“Remus, I-I would like to speak with you.” Logan curses the weakness of his voice, the way it trembles. He’s usually so sure of everything he says, but now, he’s out of his depth and doubt seems to overcast everything that he does.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk to you,” Remus says indignantly in much the way a child might, but the sorrow in his voice is impossible to miss, “S-so you can fuck right off.”
Logan takes a grounding breath before walking into the room and motioning for Patton to leave. The Fatherly side lingers for a moment, anxious to leave Remus in such a state, but the look Logan sends him seems to get the message across that they need some space to converse. Patton gets up from the couch and wordlessly slinks out of the room. The tension that hangs thick in the air is palpable, and Logan can’t be sure what will happen next, only that it probably won’t be ideal.
"Don’t you dare get any closer,” Remus warns as Logan takes another step forward, and the logical side freezes, “I bite.”
Remus is doing his damndest to being intimidating, and while Logan has never actually been afraid of him, this scares him. The damage he’s clearly done, the uncertainty of how this could all play out, his own complicated, difficult to understand emotions at play. It all combines into a situation Logan never imagined he could possibly be in, and he can’t help but wish that he was better at dealing with emotions, or didn’t have them altogether.
“Please, I-I know that I’ve upset you greatly, but –.” Logan snaps his mouth shut as he pivots, narrowly missing a throwing star that careens past him and lands in the wall with a loud thunk.
“I said, don’t you dare get any closer,” Remus repeats, wiping his eyes again. There don’t seem to be any fresh tears, but the anger that burns in his red eyes is all the more concerning, “You’d think someone as smart as you would be able to take a fucking direction.”
“Fine,” Logan says, trying to calm down his own frantic nerves (and doing an abysmal job of it), “I – I won’t get any closer. I can say what I need to from here.”
“And who the hell told you I wanted to hear anything you want to say right now?!” Remus demands, chucking another star Logan’s way and missing yet again as the Logical side misses it. “Son of a Bitch, how’re you so good at dodging?”
“I’ve had some experience,” Logan reminds him, “I’m afraid that isn’t going to get you anywhere. You know you cannot hurt me that way.”
“Yeah, yeah, lucky you! It’s so fucking easy for you to do it to other people. Why the hell would I get to do it back?” He asks, voice dripping with bitterness and sorrow. There’s a franticness to Remus, different from his usual manic behavior. He seems genuinely terrified for Logan to get any closer, afraid of exactly what, Logan can’t say with certainty, but the thought burns a hole in his mind nonetheless.
“Remus,” he says, standing still where he several feet away with his arms in the air, showing to the best of his ability that he does not intend to cause harm, at least not any more harm, “I… I cannot express how sorry I am, for the way that I’ve behaved. But please, let me explain myself. Allow me to shed some light on things.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I got your message clear as crystal; you’re disgusted to think that someone like me could have such mushy, gushy, disgusting feelings about someone like you.” Logan shakes his head frantically, feeling the shift in the room as things go from bad to worse.
“N-no! Not at all! T-that isn’t it,” he says, trying to explain but it’s so hard to find the words he’s looking for. How does one explain feelings they’d been so hesitant to accept? How is it that Logic can be so overrun with emotion that he hardly knows how to function anymore?
“I’ll – I’ll smash all your beakers! I’ll set all the books you love on fire! I’ll cut your onesie to ribbons! And, then, then –.”
“Then… what?” Logan dares to ask. Remus lets out an exasperated groan, burying his face in his hands once again.
“I don’t know! I’d be easier – easier if you were scared of me. If I could just get you to-to be afraid, then maybe you’d leave me the fuck alone. But you’re not scared of me,” Remus hiccups, and Logan realizes he’s begun crying again, “I can’t even get that right, huh?”
“I don’t want to be afraid of you,” Logan says, wanting so desperately to reach out and wipe the tears from Remus’s face. Seeing him crying, hugging his knees, he looks far too small. Remus is bold, Remus is larger than life, chaos incarnate and this isn’t right at all. “And I don’t want to hurt you, either. But… I have. And I apologize, profusely.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Remus mutters through his tears, “I almost never know what I’m thinking, but – but this time I really fucking lost it. I just… I needed to say something. It was like a leach, sucking out all my blood a little at a time, e-every time I saw you, every time you told me a stupid fact, or w-we made something explode together in the name of science.
“And it just k-kept taking and taking. I was gonna be like an empty juice box, all my blood slurped right out, s-so I asked you. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad i-if you’d just told me I was repulsive right then and there.”
“I’m not repulsed by you,” Logan says, still lost in the imagery of a bloodless body that Remus has spun, “Not at all.”
“Yes, you are!” Remus shouts, the sound echoing through the room. Surely the others can hear it, from wherever they are. “You – you sunk out the second I said anything! You were horrified!”
“I sunk out because I was overwhelmed,” Logan says, “I didn’t know how to process the information and I needed to take a step back and revaluate. You must understand, issues of emotion don’t come easily to me… and… I panicked. I know I should’ve handled things differently; I know I should have given you an answer, but I… got scared,” Logan admits, his voice almost dipping into a whisper.
“I thought you weren’t scared of me?”
“I’m not,” Logan replies, “I’m not scared of you, Remus. But the prospect of someone having such feelings for me was… not something I’d previously considered. Even as we spent more time together, I didn’t ever consider that you might…” Logan trails off, feeling himself begin to tremble.
His body wasn’t made to harbor love, he decides, and it certainly wasn’t meant to be loved by someone else. He’s tried so hard for so long to be taken seriously, to perform his duty to the best of his ability, and yet here he is, swept up in a sea of feelings he’s sure would take a lifetime to decipher.
“This is quite the torturous way of explaining you don’t feel the same,” Remus replies weakly, “I would’ve gone for a more traditional one myself, waterboarding, castration, bone-breaking, something a little simpler.”
“I didn’t say I don’t feel the same.” Remus blinks, his misty eyes flickering with confusion.
“Yeah… yeah, you did?” Remus says though it comes out as more of a question than anything else.
“No,” Logan says, “I didn’t. I said I was overwhelmed. Feelings… they aren’t something that I have much of an understanding over, but as I’ve come to realize… they are something I possess.”
“You-you don’t…” he doesn’t dare speak it. Logan shakes his head.
“Earlier today, you asked me what my response would be if you told me that you love me,” Logan says, a lightness in his chest overtaking the hopelessness that had previously taken root, “I’m trying – I’m trying to tell you I feel the same. I don’t understand it, I don’t know how to process it at all, but I want to. Because… Remus, I love you too. I-I didn’t know I was allowed to love, and I certainly didn’t think I’d have someone love me but… I do.”
Remus sniffles, hot tears burning their way down his cheeks as he looks at Logan, taking in the distraught, lovestruck mess that he is.
“You’re telling me, t-that you… that you love me. Me?” Logan breaks out into a smile.
“Yes. I love you, an i-incredible amount, Remus. And… I would very much like to kiss you if you’d allow me.”
A sob erupts from Remus as he shoots up from the couch, tacking Logan in an embrace that sends them toppling to the floor. The moment they make contact, Remus is all over Logan, his hands in his hair, on his shoulders, at his sides as he presses desperate kisses to his lips. It is by no means an embrace for the books; Remus is still crying quite a bit, his tears making their kisses taste of salt, and it’s rushed and frantic. But Logan takes all that Remus gives happily, holding onto him like a lifeline.
“I’m sorry,” Logan gasps the moment he has the chance to catch his breath, “I’m sorry, I-I upset you so much.”
“Shut up and kiss me, Lo,” Remus demands, before reigning the nerd in for another kiss, and Logan can’t argue with that.
The tension that had hung heavy in the room disperses little by little. Remus’s anger and sorrow dissolves into relief and passion. Logan’s apprehensions melt away, their survival impossible with Remus in his arms, clinging fervently and embracing him as though stopping, even for a moment, would surely end in their tragic deaths.
For years, Logan hadn’t believed he was allowed to feel much of anything. He still firmly believes he wasn’t meant for this softness, and yet, it’s come upon him, and no longer can he dispute that.
He’s become swept up in a sea of feelings that very well might take a lifetime to decipher, and Logan’s decided he doesn’t mind the thought.
Logan loves Remus, and finally, that's one feeling he embraces without hesitation.
=+=
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@unoriginalgayboyalex
#Sanders Sides#Thomas Sanders#TS#Intrulogical#romantic intrulogical#Remus Sanders#Logan Sanders#Virgil sanders#angst with a happy ending#hurt comfort#angst/fluff#angst#fluff#hurrah they love each other!#exhaustedfander#exhaustedfander writes
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Submit to Me
Guys, again this one is entirely fucking dark! The entire Submit to me Series is going to be fucking dark as hell! Like I said in Dante’s exploring new ways to write!
Nero
*taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap*
It was raining again outside, harder this time than it was last time. Mikazuki watched the rain hit the window, the cold outside fogging up the window due to the warmth inside.
'Damn I really need to stay away from the rain. I love it so much. But it truly makes me far to dangerous.'
Mikazuki pulled herself away from the window in the front room of Devil May Cry and wandered to the back where there was a training room. Vergil and Nero had decided to train together that day. She slipped inside the training room and took up a seat along the wall and got comfortable. She watched her son, Nero, as he trained with his father. The both of them had forgone their shirts in turn of going with just a set of shorts and bare skin.
Mikazuki's mouth watered as she watched her mate for a few seconds, before she saw him push Nero back and slam him against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Nero slid to the floor and remained there for a second before raising his head and glaring at Vergil.
"What the hell, old man?!" he yelled, swiping a hand across his mouth then pulling it away and looking at it.
Blood was smeared across his hand and he spit more out of his mouth.
"Keep an eye on your opponents movements, Nero. You can't let them get past your guard. You'll end up dead...or worse..." Vergil's voice echoed across the room.
'Or worse...or worse...or worse...'
____________________________
Mikazuki shook her head and laughed as she stood up and walked to her son. Nero gazed up at her a question in his blue eyes.
"Oh poor boy. Such power, but with no idea how to use it." she whispered to him.
Reaching down she ran her fingers over his cheek, wiping away blood after trailing down to his lips, then wrapped her hand around his throat and lifted him into the air. Choked sounds escaped Nero's lips as his hands came up to claw at Mikazuki's. Mika merely laughed again before tossing him across the room.
"You think you have the strength to match me, child. You stand no chance whatsoever. Now get up, I don't want to feel guilty when I kill you." she sneered at him.
"Mom, what is up with you. Why are you doing this?" Nero asked, voice panicky.
"You're weak. Not worthy of being alive. At least in the form you are right now. But have no worries...I'll still keep you around...even if you aren't of my blood, I've become fond enough of you to call you my son." Mikazuki laughed as she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself then flung them out.
Large angel wings of black unfurled from her back raining down black feathers. Dark laughter bubbled from Mikazuki's lips as she opened her eyes. They now held a silvery hue that Nero had never seen before. Fear lodged itself into Nero's chest. This was not the mother that he had adopted as his own when she, Dante, Vergil, and Sparda had returned from the Underworld.
This was someone entirely different.
"Nero..." Mikazuki's voice echoed slightly, "kneel."
Before he knew what he was doing, Nero fell to his knees, his body automatically following her command for some reason. An insane smile spread across Mikazuki's face.
"Very good, my son." she purred.
Walking forward, Mikazuki reached out and cupped Nero's chin in her hand.
"Already the perfect little slave."
"Mom, what the fuck?" Nero spat, jerking away.
*SMACK*
"Slaves and monsters do not talk to their masters. They don't have moms. They don't have anything. They aren't anyone, unless their master deems them to be." Mikazuki yelled at him.
Nero's jaw dropped as he was stunned into silence. For months now, Mikazuki had told him over and over that he wasn't a monster. That he was more human than demon, and that it was okay to have a devil side just as long as he didn't let it rule him.
"M-mom..."
Another slap rang through the room.
"Master, you worthless monster!" Mikazuki hissed.
A cruel smirk spread across her face.
"If you want the honor of calling me 'mom' again, you will have to earn it." Mikazuki whispered, cupping his chin in her fingers before throwing him back onto the floor.
Nero remained there, trying to figure out what brought about this change in his mother.
"Now, little slave, remove your shirt." Mikazuki instructed.
Nero's celestine eyes snapped to hers, but this seemed to only infuriate Mikazuki.
"Slaves do not look at their Masters!" she snapped, Cosmos appearing in her hand and flicking forward.
The next thing that Nero knew, the side of his face was burning just below his eye. He cried out and turned away, shielding his face from Mikazuki. Bringing his hand away from his face he looked at it and saw it was covered in blood.
"Next time you look at me slave, I'll take your eye as punishment. Now remove your shirt. Don't make me repeat myself again. That is something I don't like doing. You'll do well to learn that quickly." Mikazuki hissed, raising Cosmos to her fingers and letting two of them trail through Nero's blood.
Humming to herself, she brought her fingers to her lips and gently sampled Nero's blood with a small lick. Then with a pleased sound, she drew them into her mouth and cleaned them, eyes closing slightly. Nero had raised his gaze just enough to see what Mikazuki was doing and as he saw her slip her blood covered fingers into her mouth, he shivered. He heard his demon side whisper to him in his head how utterly beautiful she looked doing that. Almost questioning what she would look like with blood smeared entirely over her lips.
Nero shook his head, cringing away from the thought. That was utterly and entirely disgusting. Enjoying the taste of blood and thinking that someone looked good with it on them.
'But you can't deny it...' his demon whispered again, 'That pale skin...the way she calls you slave...you love it, you want it, you need it. That human female isn't enough for you. She can't give you what you want...what you NEED.'
"Shut up..." Nero muttered aloud, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and shaking it.
Mikazuki looked down at him and smirked.
"Ah, your demon is talking to you I see. What is it saying to you slave? What is it telling you, and please spare me no details. I want to know everything." she whispered, slowly kneeling down before him, sliding her hand through the mess of blood that was still on the side of his face.
The cut may have healed, but the blood remained coagulated and smeared on his skin.
"He...it...I..." Nero stuttered out.
"Oh come now, little slave. You can do better than that. You don't have to worry. It's just us here. No one else to hear you.
Tell me what your demon wants. What does it desire." she whispered gently, thumb rubbing gentle circles into his cheek.
"It wants me to...submit...to you...it likes it...liked it when you licked my blood from your fingers, and...and called me...slave and...and monster. It...it enjoyed it. And...and I...I did too..." Nero refused to look Mikazuki in the eye, eventhough she was forcing him to face her.
Mikazuki smiled sweetly.
"Oh you enjoy being demeaned and seeing me take you life essence. You filthy thing." she hissed, throwing him onto his back.
"You think you would enjoy me bleeding you. Enjoy me drawing intricate patterns with my blade in your skin. Watching the blood drip down skin. To cut you over and over until your healing abilities finally can't keep up. Poor thing to think so, but if that's what you want, who am I to deny you?" she smirked down at him.
Standing up, Cosmos flashed to her hand and she stabbed it into his shoulder and pinned him to the ground.
"But just remember, slave...you asked for this!" Mikazuki's voice hissed softly over Nero's form.
Twisting Cosmos, she ripped it out of his shoulder only to plunge it into his other one and do the same. Nero cried out, but didn't pull away. His demon had been right. He did want this. He want to have his blood drawn.
"Look at you, you little blood slut. It's like your getting off on me hurting you." Mikazuki laughed.
She ripped Cosmos out of Nero's shoulder then plunged it into his hip. A shrill cry left Nero's lips and he started to reach for Cosmos.
"Ah ah. No touching." Mikazuki chided, summoning a shimmering black sword and impaling it into Nero's hand, pinning it to the ground.
"You lost your choice when you told me you wanted to bleed. Now hold still...I'm not done with you..." she laughed, her eyes turning even more silver.
Ripping Cosmos out of Nero's hip, Mikazuki drew it down Nero's chest, a distant look on her face.
"So, slave, do you want to earn back your title?" she whispered gently.
Nero nodded his head, a small whimper passing his lips. His eyes flickered up to Cosmos which was hovering in the air above him.
"That's a good boy. I'll let you do just that. Now close your eyes." Mikazuki instructed.
Nero nodded and closed his eyes waiting for Mikazuki to tell him how to earn back what he wanted. Then suddenly Cosmos plunged itself down into Nero's throat, forcing Nero's eyes open as he tried to figure out what just happened. Mikazuki forced Cosmos all the way through Nero's throat until the golden hilt touched skin. Then swiftly slid it out, allowing the blade to dissipate in a swirl of black before she leaned over him to bring a hand behind his head and tilt it so she could look in his eyes.
"There now, my son. You are once again worthy of that title. The strength you hold will be held by a worthy person for a long, long time. You my son, will serve me until I no longer need you. Sweet Nero, become my Living Scythe." she whispered sweetly to him.
Nero's body shimmered, then glowed. His body became a glowing orb or light before alighting in Mikazuki's hand. After another flash of light, a deadly looking scythe appeared in her hand. A blade at each end curved wickedly both directions, each a midnight blue. The long handle of the scythe was blood red, yet had veins of midnight blue running all over it.
Standing, Mikazuki made a few twirls with the scythe then a few killing strikes with each end of the scythe.
"Yes, you will serve me well. You will stay with me forever, my beloved son." Mikazuki whispered to the scythe, caressing one of the blades lovingly.
_______________________
"Nero, get your ass off the floor and fight back. I swear to Minerva above, if I have to come out there and train with you myself...ooooo boi, you will be a sorry mess by the time I'm done with your ass!" Mikazuki yelled, snapping out of her inner musings, realizing Nero had gotten knocked into the wall again.
"Kid, you might want to get up. She's not kidding about the 'kick your ass' part. I've gotten on her bad side Nero. I don't think my pride will ever recover." Dante teased as he walked into the training room.
"Fuck off, old man!" Nero yelled, but got up quickly and squared back off with his father.
'Shit that boy needs to be taught to fight better...my demon's going to get the better of me one day...Minerva help the boy if that happens...'
Mikazuki turned away as Nero launched himself at Vergil again. As swords clashed, she shook her head. This place would be the death of her.
#nero#another read at yer own risk#torture#blood#weapons#sword#stabbing#derogatory#demeaning#hurtful#i was not nice to nero
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I Didn’t Think Anyone Would Ever Need to Know... 2/4
Severus stepped back from the unexpected but pleasant kiss. Astounded, he simply gazed into her light brown eyes.
“I’m sorry, that was wrong of me...” Hermione’s statement was interrupted by Severus pressing his lips upon hers. Finding a comfortable rhythm, they kissed tenderly as Hermione’s wrapped her arms around his waist. Hermione slowly allowed her tongue into his mouth and their tongues danced and flickered with passion. Severus began to feel his member harden at a rapid rate and the arousal in his trousers grew until it rested against Hermione’s thigh. Suddenly embarrassed by his sizeable erection, he moved his hips backward but never stopped kissing her. Hermione broke the kiss and bit her lip seductively. She had managed to turn on Severus Snape and she didn’t want to stop. Why he had backed away from her she didn’t know. She whispered hotly into his ear, “Come closer. I love feeling how turned on you are.” She stroked the back of his black hair and pulled him into another kiss.
As they continued, she pulled his waist in tightly so that his hardened bulge was pressed right up against her. Hermione began to shimmy her hips up and down against him just slightly and a slight groan of pleasure escaped his lips. Hermione giggled mischievously, loving what she was doing to him. He stopped kissing her only to focus on lifting Hermione’s sweater over her head and gingerly unbuttoned her crisp, white shirt until Hermione stood before him in only a lacy light pink bra, her black skirt, knee high stockings, and black heels. He drank in the sight of her before unclasping her bra. He breathed out an “oh my god” as he looked upon her supple, shapely breasts. He went to take one of her erect nipples in his mouth when Hermione stepped forward and began to breathe hotly on his earlobe before putting it in her mouth and sucking gently on it. Her tongue swirled around, all the time exhaling warmth into his ear. Severus shuddered all over and warned, “Hermione, if you continue, I...I won’t be able to control myself much longer...” He hated admitting weakness but she had a mysterious effect on him that took away every ounce of self-control that he had. Hermione grinned mischeviously before ignoring his warning and continuing. He moaned helplessly, enjoying the sensation. As he was on the brink of orgasm, Hermione pulled away and smiled. “You little tease,” he growled. Secretly, he was relieved that now he would be able to last longer. Hermione began to unbutton his waist coat when instinct forced Severus to stick out his hand and yell, “STOP!” Hermione did as she was told, but looked at him, confused. Didn’t he like what she was doing? Embarrassed by his outburst, Severus explained. “I’m sorry, Hermione. It’s my scars from Nagini. I just don’t want anyone to see them. If you do, I’m sure you won’t want to continue.” Hermione studied him for a moment with hurt in her eyes. The hurt was not her own, but rather empathy for the man standing before her. Hermione grabbed his hand and led him to the living room couch where they took a seat next to one another. “Severus, those scars only prove what a hero you truly are. I want all of you and that includes your scars. To be perfectly honest with you, I’ve fantasized about this for at least a year now.” Severus looked at her, mystified. “You...you’ve fantasized about seeing my scars?” he asked. Hermione shook her head. “Not that specifically, just...this. You. Us. All of this. And all of you. Scars and all.” She squeezed his hand gently and gave him her best puppy-dog-eyes look. “Please?” Severus knew damn well he didn’t stand a chance against those eyes. Though he was filled with apprehension, he nodded for her to proceed. Hermione slowly and tenderly undid every button of his frock, her eyes never leaving his. When he shed the coat, Hermione begin leaving a soft trail of kisses from his jawbone all the way down to his sternum. He was right...they weren’t pretty. The scars were deep and discolored but Hermione couldn’t care less. She pressed her lips gently on him, kissing every inch of his scars.
With this, Severus was filled with lust and hunger for her body. He lifted her so that her legs were straddling him. They kissed with no abandon and Hermione began to grind against his hardness. She whimpered at the feeling of his throbbing erection rubbing against her own sensitive member through her underwear. Severus began to kiss down her neck, breathing hard, and nibbling ever so slightly. Neither spoke; the only sounds were deep breathing and soft affirmations of pleasure. Severus took his long, slender fingers to the waist band of Hermione’s skirt and pushed it down until it fell on the floor. He slowly and deliberately crept a finger up from her knee to her inner thigh, slowly inching to her womanhood. He grazed his hand from her buttocks up, along her underwear, toward her sensitive mound. He chuckled deeply, pleased with himself. “Hermione, you’re absolutely soaked,” he growled seductively. Hermione didn’t respond but lifted up her bottom so she could undo the buttons on his trousers. She began to remove his pants, which was no easy task with the tight pants clinging to his rock hard arousal. As Hermione ogled his light grey boxer briefs, she noticed the glistening pre-cum at his tip. Hungry for all of him, she began to remove his undergarments until once again, he cried out “STOP!”
“What IS it?” Hermione huffed. She hadn’t meant for it to come out so aggressively, she had just been so in the moment..
Severus opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. Hermione changed her tactic. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to snap at you,” she apologized while getting off of his lap and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Is something bothering you?” His face was a shade of dark pink and Hermione couldn’t decipher whether it was from heat or shame. She gave him a moment to think as she collected her sweater from the floor and put it back on. “I don’t know how...I mean...” Severus recollected his thoughts with a deep, calming breath. “This is uncharted territory for me and I suppose the thought of letting someone see me in a situation where I lose complete and utter control is terrifying for me.” Severus was disgusted with himself for his vulnerability and weakness. Hermione was puzzled. “But you could do it with those women from your past. Why not with me?” She resented the jealousy that burned within her. Severus blinked awkwardly and looked down. He shook his head slowly. “I didn’t have sex with them, Hermione. And what did happen...well, it wasn’t my doing.” Hermione’s eyes widened as she put two and two together. She took his hand, sensually but assuringly stroking his hand with her thumb. “Severus...are you a virgin?” At the mention of the word he turned his head away, trying to conceal the redness in his face. He said nothing, but his silence said everything she needed to know. Hermione kissed the side of his face softly. “It’s okay if you are. It’s endearing, actually.” Hermione tried to not smile, but inside she was positively glowing over the knowledge that she might be Severus Snape’s first. He jerked his head angrily toward her and hissed, “I’m not interested in a pity shag, Hermione. And you mightn’t be so surprised. Look at me. Do you really think witches would be jumping at the chance to sleep with me?” He tried to conceal his embarrassement with fury. Hermione knew this and instead of responding with anger, she responded with encouragement. “You know, I’ve only been with one person myself. And the few times we did it...well, let’s just call them attempts rather than successes.” Severus couldn’t help but crack a closed-mouth smile with this information. “Weasley?” he inquired, already knowing the answer. Hermione nodded and they both broke into a fit of laughter. Hermione rested her head of his shoulder, rested her hand on this thigh, and gently stroked. “And Severus...I can think of at least one which who is jumping at the chance to sleep with you. Believe me, it wouldn’t be a pity shag. I already told you...I’ve been pining for months. It’s been a bit embarrassing, really. I don’t mind at all that you’re a virgin. I want nothing more to be your first. I just wish you had told me!” Severus looked into her eyes and with a strange mixture of melancholy and relief he said, “I didn’t think anyone would ever want to sleep with me. I...didn’t think anyone would ever need to know.”
#sevmione#severus snape au#severus snape#professor snape#pro snape#h/c prompts#hurt/comfort#scars#snape smut#severus smut#lemon#hermione granger smut#ss/hg#harry potter fanfiction#snanger#severus snape fanfiction#severus x reader#severus x hermione#hermione x snape#virgin snape#virginity#hermione/snape#severus/hermione#emotional h/c#h/c#losing virginity#ron weasley#severus snape imagine#hermione granger imagine#snamione
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Twisted: Chapter 19- Cautious
Previous Chapter: Chapter 18- Contradiction
Next Chapter: WIP
Point of View: Minalia
Word Count: 1983
Warnings: Death mention
Mina listen to me!
I shot up quickly, but something around my arms jerked me back slamming my head back into the ground. Shit.
I looked down at my wrists, tight metal wrapped around them. The five foot long chains they were attached too were already loose from the sudden force I pulled up with. Where the hell was I and why the hell was I chained up? And what was I even wearing? I looked at the jeans and the bright blue tee, but I wasn’t sure where the light gray cape came from.
“You are finally awake.” Oh so this had to be a nightmare. I turned towards Jane, her face as stoic as the day I met her. The lights were dim around her and the air was cold. I looked around and noticed the stone and bars around me. Why the hell does the world’s most powerful vampire coven need a dungeon, although the more important question is why was I in it?
“What am I doing here?” Jane looked at me carefully, her face showing signs of irritation by my question. I was in no position to deal with her, particularly with my headache getting stronger by the second.
“You have to be joking,” she said.
I raised my head and glared at her. “Do I look like I’m joking?” Jane was the least hospitable member of the Volturi I knew. I may not have spent much time in Volterra, but only Alec was the one to truly help me, if help was what that was.
Alec. What happened to him? I remembered following him and we ran into those two vampires who had Renesmee. Ness.
“Wait! Is everyone okay? Where’s Renesmee? Where’s Alec?” Torturous pain shot through my head with each question. I wanted to scream out, but I shut my eyes and tried to hold it together. “Jane quit with the pain.”
“First off, if I was torturing you then you would be in worse shape than that,” she scoffed. “Now, Alec and Renesmee are both alright although no thanks to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you truly not remember anything?” she asked, although I could almost get a sense of concern in her voice. I took a deep breath and willed myself to remember what happened.
I looked at my knuckles, fully healed from the punches I gave the female. That other vampire, Stefan, he got into a fight with Alec. My head was hurting more and more as I thought about it. The thought of being pulled off the woman, going through the air-
Wait. I turned to Jane. My head was pounding at this point. “Why am I not dead?”
“I do not know. However, you are most certainly not human.”
“No shit Sherlock. What am I?” Before Jane could answer me, Carlisle and Demetri entered the chamber. They both seemed concerned over my condition but overall relieved.
“Glad to see you’re awake,” Demetri said with a soft smile. “What do you remember?”
“She doesn’t remember anything after her death,” Jane answered for me. Carlisle unlocked the door and Demetri handed him the key to remove the chains from the ground but left the wrist ones on. He looked at me apologetically, but I knew this wasn’t his doing.
“Aro wants to speak to you,” Carlisle said as he embraced me. I let myself be held this once, knowing all too well I may not make it out of this. If I was in here, in chains, then whatever I was posed a threat to them all, Alec and Renesmee included.
Carlisle let me go and we walked out, following Demetri and Jane to the chamber. We passed by the library, now cleaned up and empty. I was only in there, just yesterday, or was it yesterday? “How long have I been out?”
“Two days, since you changed back” Demetri answered. Changed back? What did he mean? Was I shifter? A pain shot through my head forcing me to fall to my knees. Carlisle grabbed me before I hit the ground, but the pain in my head was still there.
Carlisle scooped me up and carried me the rest of the way. Once we reached the throne room, he set me back down and I faced everyone. Most of the Cullens were there: Renesmee, Emmett, Edward, Bella, and Jasper. With the guard there and the masters, this could turn into a bloodbath if it came to it, but for now I didn’t care as I ran to Ness. She hugged me close before Emmett cut in to hug me as well.
“How you holding up kid?” he asked.
“Yes dear Minalia, how are you?” Aro interrupted us. I faced the masters now, Aro’s own curiosity a stark contrast to Caius’ visible anger and disgust. This really was not going to end well.
However there was a pair of eyes that struck me. Alec. He looked at me, emotionless as the days spent in the library. Perhaps I should have known, the heat of the moments earlier were not enough to change his feelings for me. Well, who needed a friend in the Volturi guard anyways.
Carlisle came and stood behind me as Emmett wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I knew they were being protective, but I didn’t know how much this would even do. I felt a rush of calm sweep over me as I realized Jasper was doing his best to keep me level.
My attention returned to Aro, “I’m doing fine sir.”
“I’m certainly glad to hear that dear. You are not injured?”
“No, just a mere headache.” Carlisle looked at me concerned, knowing I’ve never truly suffered from one before.
“How unfortunate. I am sure that is unusual.”
“Yes it-”
“Enough!” Caius exclaimed, startling everyone around. “We are not here to exchange pleasantries. She is a threat to our kind and she must be eliminated.”
At this everyone jumped. In a split second I was pushed back behind Emmett, Jasper pulling me to the side. Edward stepped forward with them and each of them bared their teeth as Felix and Santiago moved in front of the leaders along with Jane and Alec. Everyone held their defensive positions except Carlisle and Aro.
Aro made a motion for everyone to stand down, but no one stopped. Carlisle spoke now saying, “Everyone, it’s fine. No one will get hurt.”
Felix looked at Edward, who nodded in agreement with him. They both backed down and stood up at the same time followed by everyone else. Caius was not pleased as this as I made my way forward again.
“Forgive my brother,” Aro said reasserting himself. “However everyone may feel more comfortable if you were fully detained.”
I moved towards Felix who placed his hands on my arms. Santiago stood beside him as the Cullens stood back. If I could avoid anyone getting hurt right now, I would. As Felix held me, I realized that someone was missing from the area.
“Where’s what’s his name? Stefan?” Felix stiffened, and I looked to Alec whose eyes were getting darker with anger by the second.
Aro answered me, “He escaped. For now. At the present moment you are our concern.” Aro held out his hand to me, as if to ask permission. I complied and he touched my hand.
I regretted it instantly as I screamed out in pain. An arm caught me as I crumbled to the ground, the memories of two days ago coming back.
I felt my body contorting, my mind was no longer my own. A growl escaped my lips as I emerged from the rubble. I felt my paws making imprints in the ground, my hind legs going into a crouching position.
I remembered it all. I remembered the growling, the sharp smell of vampires, the feeling of pure animalistic rage coursing through my veins. I was not in control, no matter how much I wanted to be.
The same feeling began to course through me again. I felt the pain subsiding but with it came out a growl from me. No not now. I couldn’t go back to that. I got out of it last time, right. I had to remember.
“Mina, it’s me, Emmett. Please come back to us kid.”
“You are our family. We love you kiddo.”
Emmett and Renesmee. They tried to pull me back to my own humanity, but they weren’t alone last time. It was their voices and Alec’s own abilities that allowed me to fully become aware of them last time. All I remembered was the dark, and the voices that could pull me out of it, but the memory wasn’t working.
Suddenly everything went numb. Alec. My hearing came back and this time it was everyone pulling me back.
“Mina, you’re okay. You’re not gone. Come back,” Emmett reassured me.
“Listen to my voice,” Ness called out. I felt the calm sweeping over me. No I wouldn’t let myself lose control. Not now. I willed myself to listen, to feel their comfort and come back to my humanity.
I felt the mist pulling away as I regained my senses. As I opened my eyes, I noticed it was Alec that caught me from falling. Aro was no longer holding my hand but rather now behind Santiago and Jane along with Marcus and Caius.
Caius was the first to speak up, “See for yourselves! She’s a threat! We cannot allow her to live!”
“Wait a second Caius, she didn’t transform,” Carlisle tried to reason with him. Everyone began to tense again, battle lines beginning to be drawn. I couldn’t let it get any farther now.
“No. He’s right,” I conceded. There was no way I could guarantee not hurting anyone. When I transformed, I knew I wasn’t in control. This was the only way to keep everyone safe.
“Mina no,” Edward tried to reason with me, but I put my hand up.
“No. I’ll only hurt everyone. Yeah I came out of it now, but there’s no way to know I can every time. I remember everything. I almost hurt everyone.” I looked at Alec, and mouthed ‘I’m sorry.’ He said nothing as he let me go. He was hiding something in his eyes, something I could not read as he moved back to Jane’s side.
“Aro,” Carlisle said pleadingly. There was no way Aro would let me live. No matter how curious he was about my state, the laws wouldn’t allow it. I was a threat, to vampires, to humans, to all supernatural beings in general. I couldn’t keep a secret in this way, not if I had no control.
Aro moved forward, “Unfortunately you are right dear one.” The Cullens erupted in protest. I was going to lose the only family I had, but this is what family does. I have to protect them, even from myself.
“Everyone please stop. I love you all, and I am thankful for the home you have given me these past few years.” I tried to stop the tears from coming. I knew I couldn’t say goodbye like this.
Renesmee hugged me close, her tears starting to come. “Please, Mina.” I didn’t want to give this up, not my own sister. “Don’t go.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have to.” Ness let me go and everyone turned to Alec, even Aro was surprised. He took Alec’s hand and stayed silent for a minute.
“Aro,” Edward began, “Would you consider it?”
Aro looked at me, “Consider it, yes. But as you know it will be her decision.”
What were they possibly talking about. My decision to what? I already chose to give up my life for my family, what other choice could I make?
Alec looked at me expectantly, somehow pleading with me to say yes to his next question. “Minalia, would you consider joining the guard?”
--
Tagging: @volturisecretary @phil-dwyer-stan-account @alecvolturi @felixdeservedbetter
#alec volturi imagine#alec volturi#the volturi#twilight fanfiction#twisted series#guess who's back!!#finally!#after lord knows how long#anyways have fun#I missed this#it's finally break time so we're back in the writing game#also i've got one more chapter and the epilogue for this one and then i'll spend a week planning book 2 before writing agin#but chapter 20 and the epilogue will come out by wednesday
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