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seeingivy · 10 months

Text

spiderman’s sweetheart

spider!eren x f!reader

you find yourself helping out your friendly neighborhood spiderman

content: spiderman au!, mentions of violence/blood/injury, a very corny spider gang, pieck + hange best girlfriends and aunts, they keep calling the female titan a pervert, the iconic spiderverse monologue at the end

an: based on a request I received from @cutiejg hope you like it sweetie pie!!!! ur request made me so excited I just had to write it now bc I LOVE LOVE LOVE SPIDERMAN

Eren’s late. He’s late, he’s late, he’s late.

His skateboards not moving him nearly fast enough and the stupid fucking school security stopping him every ten feet isn’t helping him either. And the cracks in the pavement slowing him down and the soreness from last night aren’t exactly boosters either.

When he reaches the basketball courts, he sees you sitting there and feels his heart drop - black sunglasses perched on your face, your hair glowing in the sun, and your nose stuck in a book. As he walks up, he instantly recognizes the cover of the book you’re reading - The Heir to the Jedi - one of his favorite novels from when he was younger.

He picks up his skateboard from the ground, running his hand through his hair one time before he clears his throat to get your attention. He watches intently as look up, giving him a smile as you yank your earbuds out of your ears.

“Hi. I’m Eren. Eren Yeager. From the yearbook? We uh- went to elementary school together. And middle school. The same class too - with that hardass Mr. Levi? And uh-I’m sorry I’m late, I just got out of work.”

Work. In his job as the cities most wanted vigilante, Spiderman.

He’s cut off by the sound of you laughing, your nimble fingers pulling your sunglasses off the tip of your nose and pulling them up to hold your hair back.

Fuck. This is infinitely harder when you’re making direct eye contact with him, glowing eyes peering into his.

“I know who you are, Eren.”

“You do?”

“Of course, I do. How could I forget the guy who spilled orange juice all over Mr. Levi - the clean freak hardass himself’s - desk?

Eren feels his cheeks burn, embarrassment coursing through his blood as he fumbles with the camera around his neck. Great. All you remember is the time he got yelled at and sent to the principal’s office in seventh grade for being clumsy.

It’s not his fault he spilled the fucking orange juice. You just happened to look at him right at that second, pulling your face up from your textbook, to smile at him and his hands just started sweating and it just happened.

“Right, uh- so you like Star Wars?”

He watches you gather your belongings - a pale green waterbottle, your solid black backpack - covered in pins and ribbons as you both head down to the courts. One pin catches his eyes - the signature spider emblem right in the middle. The “I Stand with Spiderman” pins.

A month after he started this whole Spiderman thing, the police chief called a task-force, aimed towards arresting the “spider vigilante” that was wrecking havoc. He almost got caught, backed up into a corner during one of his first fights, but the people in the city blocked him off, giving him enough time to get away.

It was…a whole moment. The community, the people - they love Spiderman. So much that they started a whole movement to protect him, started by a group called “The Lions.” The names corny, but they’ve protected him more times than not so…he appreciates it. And that pin - it means you’re a part of it.

Not only are you a part of a group that supports him, but you’re the class president of the school. And he’s the editor in chief of the yearbook. And in your presidential duties, you’ve tasked him with joining you at all your club progress meetings to take pictures of each club. It’s easier to do it together so you don’t take up that much time from each club - one meeting to get all the business sorted out.

“Huh? Oh! Because of the book. Yeah, my little brother, Falco. Really into that stuff.”

“Does he have a favorite character?”

“Kylo Ren.”

“I was Kylo Ren for Halloween. Armin, Jean, and Connie were the knights.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Why the fuck did he just tell you that he was a nerdy fucking Star Wars character for Halloween? Did he seriously just admit that he has the same interests as your fucking eleven year old little brother?

“That’s clever, since it sounds like your name and all. Eren - Ren. Falco and I went as Harry and Hermione.”

“Ah. You should be Rey and Finn next year. Because you’re like….a ray?”

He watches you turn over to look at him, eyes squinting in confusion.

Because she’s a ray? Eren Yeager, literal fucking spider-human who can swing from literal buildings, and the best he can come up with is you’re a ray. He couldn’t even finish the sentence and say ray of sunshine?

“If I’m a ray, than you’re a segment.”

He laughs so hard, he snorts and it’s literally so fucking embarrassing he wants to crawl in a hole.

Math joke. You made a math joke. Because if she’s a ray, a part of a line that has no fixed end point, then he’s a segment - a line with two distinct end points.

Eren tries his best to concentrate, but your sweet honey voice and your soft flowery smell make it hard to pay attention. He snaps the pictures. He walks you to your car. He goes to sleep with a smile on his face.

from y/n l/n

you: eren!!! the basketball pictures are so great. ty for all ur help :’)

Armin, Connie, Jean, and Eren all hover their heads over the phone - lying flat on his bed spread - trying their best to write out the best response.

This is serious. Eren’s had a crush on you since the fourth grade. And this is his chance.

“You should tell her thank you. And that you want to get coffee with her.”

Connie grabs Armin by the collar of his shirt, nearly strangling him in the process.

“Are you fucking kidding, Armin? He might as well say he wants to have sex with her.”

Eren can feel his cheeks heat up as Armin and Connie start arguing, half swatting each other on the face. Armin’s screaming into Connie’s ear, the both of them tangling on the floor now.

“What the fuck are you on about, Connie? It’s coffee shop, not a fucking bar.”

Eren webs the two of them off each other, giving them both a smack on the back of the head as they stop.

“You can’t web us Eren. We’re your guys in the chair!”

Originally, Eren had one guy in the chair. Armin. A bloody genius at all things science and technology - he couldn’t have designed his web slingers without him. Granted, he tried but they didn’t work as well.

But then he had to tell Connie. Because Connie had an in at the fabric store, his best friend Sasha’s mom as the primary designer, and he desperately needed someone to design a suit so he could keep his identity a secret. So he told him. Because that’s the only way Sasha’s mom would agree. If her biological son basically begged her to make a suit.

Connie’s a loudmouth. Who told Jean. Who isn’t entirely useless. Sure he’s got a pretty big fucking head, but his dad is also a cop - meaning Jean can steal their radio systems so Eren can respond to events faster than them.

A spider gang.

“You’re both some big fucking idiots, that’s what you are. Where the fuck were you raised, Connie? A barn?”

Eren, Connie, and Armin immediately stop talking the second they hear the swishing sound fill the air, turning their heads to find Jean with the phone in his hands. He sent a message.

Jean’s smirking at the three of them, shaking the phone in his hands. Eren immediately stalks over, his eyes boggling out of his fucking sockets when he reads the response.

to y/n l/n

eren: thanks bae!

“Jean Kirstein. Count your fucking days.”

He immediately webs Jean to the wall behind him, slapping across the face one time for good measure as well.

“What gives? It’s sweet - calling back to the ray joke you told us about.”

Jean yanks his hand off the drywall, placing the stray webs onto Eren’s bed spread.

“The ray joke? Your dumbass literally responded with ‘thanks bae’”

Jean sits up, snatching the phone from Eren’s hands as he runs his eyes over the phone again. Jean’s face turns uncharacteristically pink, an apologetic look on his face. Eren tags him to the wall behind him, spiderwebs holding his wrists up properly to the drywall this time.

“Touch my phone again and I’ll web you upside down from the Empire State Building next.”

“It was autocorrect! I thought I typed ray.”

Eren webs over Jean’s mouth to prevent him from talking any further. He plops on the floor, head in his hands.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This can’t get any more embarrassing. First he spills that orange juice in front of you and then calls you a ray and is late to meeting with you and now sends you this fucking horrifying text?

You’re going to block him. You’re going to block him and Eren’s going to lose his chance with you. Eren is most definitely going to hang Jean upside down from the Empire State Building.

His phone dings in the air and the three of them - Connie, Armin, and Eren - nearly drop the phone off the fucking bed trying to read the response. Jean’s voice is muffled against the web - sounding an awful lot like “if it’s a good response, you have to set me up with Mikasa”

from y/n l/n

you: you’re welcome sweetheart :DDD

Armin and Connie are fucking shaking Eren by the neck, the three of them screaming in the air. Jean’s still muffling against his web, begging to find out what you responded.

Eren ignores that embarrassing heart skip in his chest.

“Where is it guys?”

Eren turns up his earpiece, swinging towards the end of the buildings. He could hear the crashing as he was walking back to his apartment, decking into the alley way to suit up.

Armin - in all of his fucking genius - created matching earpieces for the four of them to use when Eren was on sight, everyone making sure a base was covered. Armin reported on the casualty, trying his best to think of ways to use the enemies weaknesses to Eren’s advantage.

Connie watched the security cams Jean gave him access to, finding the best access route for Eren to get in and out of places. And Jean, in all his annoyingness, kept surveillance on the fucking cops trying to arrest him at every move.

“Rose Middle School. Apparently, it’s like some fucking superhuman female titan and she’s giant. She’s wrecking through the parks right now.”

“On it, Armin. Jean and Connie - keep me updated on where the cops are.”

“Make sure a flaming car hits Mr. Levi.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jean.”

Eren turns his ear piece down, swinging into his old middle school as he surveys the problem.

And Lord have mercy, she is fucking giant. A chiseled titan of pure muscle, striking blue eyes and blonde hair watching him swing through the air. She’s currently demolishing the PE equipment, which he imagines can’t be too bad, given it’s centuries old.

Maybe they’ll finally replace the pickle ball equipment with a real sport - like basketball of volleyball. Eren webs her ankles and arms together first, knocking her down to the side.

“Hey lady. Have you ever thought about like…putting clothes on? This feels weirdly inappropriate.”

She only roars in response, breaking open the webs around her ankles as she reaches around for him in the air. Eren swings around her, basically flying through the air, as he tags her to the tree behind her. He taps into the ear piece, waiting for a response.

“Best idea is to leave her there for now, Eren. There’s a kid around the block, make sure he’s okay before you try again.”

“On it, Armin.”

He swings around the block, to find one pale, blonde haired kid - a nose stuck in his book and headphones covering his ears. Did he not just see the hoard of kids running away? Or here that female titan just scream?

He steps down, using his webs to yank the kids headphones off as he steps down in front of him. When the kid looks up, he realizes he has a puddle full of tears in his eyes, his cheeks brazen pink.

“Hey kid.”

He sniffles in response, pressing his hand against his nose.

“Hi.”

He crouches down, holding out his hand to shake.

“I’m Spiderman. What’s your name?”

“Falco.”

“Nice to meet you, Falco. Want to get out of here before that creepy little weird lady comes back?”

“Um, yeah. But my sister is supposed to come get me.”

“Your sister, huh? Did she say where?”

Stupid sister. Was she really planning on getting you from here? This sister couldn’t meet him at the Starbucks across the street?

“Right here. I’m waiting for her to show up so we can leave. She said to listen to music and read my jedi book so I don’t panic.”

Jedi Book. Sister. Falco. You. Holy fucking god, this is your little brother. The one who likes the Kylo Ren.

Right on cue, he can feel his spider sense tingling, with you running behind him - sneakers slapping against the concrete as you sprint. You nearly knock Spiderman over as you grab Falco by the face, cupping his cheeks in your hands as you run your eyes all over him.

Your face is all scrunched up in panic and Eren can feel his senses heightened at the sight of you, this kid, and this creepy fucking titan lady a few feet away from you. You need to leave. Now. He needs you to leave because he can’t focus if you’re here.

“You okay, Coco? Let’s go. Right now.”

“Okay, okay.”

But before you can, a large crashing sound knocks the three of you to the ground, the stupid female titan standing over the breadth of the elementary school, crystal blue eyes glaring down at the three of you. Spiderman webs up first, spinning around her as he calls out to her.

“God, lady. You should really put some clothes on. You’re flashing entire titty to a kid right now.”

All you can do is look up in shock, the titan’s crystal blue eyes staring into yours. Your hold on Falco is nearly deathlike and you shaking Falco’s arms as hard as you can to signal him to follow you.

You begin to pull him but feel a tug when Falco doesn’t follow. He’s crying hard - tears pouring out of his eyes as he looks down at his feet.

“I can’t move- I-I’m scared, Y/N.”

You reach down, pressing your hands firm against his shoulders as you squeeze.

“This isn’t the time to be scared, Falco. You’re okay. Spiderman’s right there and he’s dealing with-”

You look up to find Spiderman, trapped in the palm of the titan’s hand, a broken device in his hand and one splayed on the floor, not a few feet away from you. You leave Falco where he’s standing, scrambling over to inspect it.

It’s small and rectangular - blue and red splayed all over the intricate design work. In the tiniest of handwritings, there’s a small piece of text in the corner.

property of the spider gang bitch

Spider Gang? That’s so fucking corny.

You hear Spiderman yelling out at you, refocusing to your vision to him, where he’s still trapped in her hand.

“Mind giving me my webslinger back, sweetheart?”

“Uh- yeah. I-”

Before you can toss it up to him, the female titan stomps straight on to the concrete, knocking you and all the nearby outposts to the ground. Your ankle is immediately trapped under the mailbox to your right, the webslinger still in your hand.

You try your best to yank your leg out from the metal, but you can feel your ankle burning - the pressure on your leg making your chest writhe in pain. Falco runs over, his hands in your hair as his hot tears start hitting your cheeks.

“Hey. Hey hey hey. Falco, right?”

You both angle your head up, looking at Spiderman talking to the two of you. The titan’s still got him crushed in her hand, but she’s distracted by the sound of the police cars coming up the block. Falco’s taken a few steps forward, towards the stupid alien mutant whatever the fuck titan she is.

“You’re a strong kid, right?”

“Not really. I didn’t pass my physical test last week.”

“Not strong in that way, kid. Strong in the head, the heart.”

“Um. I don’t know, Spiderman. I’m kind of lame when it comes to stuff like this.”

Eren racks his head. He just needs his fucking webslinger back so he can get you guys out of here. And not get arrested. And not break every bone in his body from this death grip this naked lady has on him. And to make sure you’re okay.

“Kylo Ren. He was pretty lame when he started out too right? He had to go to the special Jedi school with Luke and kind of learn everything from the start.”

Eren sees Falco’s eyes light up, his tears lightly subsiding as he finally meets his eyes up to look at Eren. Bingo.

“Yeah.”

“And then he became really, really cool because he just tried it out right?”

“Yeah and then he became evil and got the Knights of Ren.”

“Okay, kid. Maybe ignore that part.”

He sees Falco laugh, the female titan squeezing him harder in his grasp as she looks around, the police helicopters, right on fucking cue, starting to surround the three of you.

“Okay, Falco. I need you to be strong. Like Kylo Ren, right now. Your sister, she’s got my webslinger in her hand. I need you to get it and then toss it to me. Can you do that?”

Eren watches Falco nod, turning back to grab his precious, precious web slinger and toss it up to him. He misses the first time. And then the second time. But on the third time, he aims just right, the magnetic latch sliding in and Eren webbing this stupid titan bitch right in the fucking eyes.

He swings down, lifting the metal mailbox from your legs as he lifts you into your arms, carrying you bridal style. He looks down at you - sweat coating your forehead and your eyes blinking closed. Falco’s at his side watching expectantly, his hand in his hair.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get you to a hospital right away, okay?”

He watches you nod in pain, crimson red blood running down the side of your leg.

“Spiderman. Can I come too?”

“Kid. That’s a stupid question. Climb on my back. We’ll take Y/N to the hospital, okay?”

He swings away as the cops close in, the female titan encasing in steam as he swings away. He taps into his earpiece.

“Someone watch what happens. See if she escapes through the steam somehow since she’ll definitely be back. And where’s the closest hospital?”

“King Street, Eren. Pieck should be working.”

“Got it, Armin. Thank you.”

He swings as fast as he can, trying to ignore Falco’s death grip on his neck and your eyes fluttering closed as he swings into Pieck’s open window.

A special edition to the Spider Gang (unofficially, of course) - Pieck is the best fucking asset in the world. A Nurse Practitioner he once saved from getting robbed, she’s now indebted to him entirely. And she’s also his Aunt Hange’s girlfriend - not that either of them know he’s Spiderman.

Not that he would ever ask her for anything personal, he just brings injured civilians caught in his crossfire to her so he can avoid the whole - Are you Spiderman? Do the webs come out of your holes? Can you swing me to work later?

He swings into her office, laying you flat on the gurney in the center of the room and setting Falco down on the couch nearby.

As soon as he settles Falco into the chair, he feels his spider sense tingle and spreads his hand behind his neck, catching the syringe Pieck threw at him before it could hit him. He turns his back, smirking at Pieck through his mask.

“Pieck-chan.”

“I’m calling the police, SpiderFuck.”

“Cmon. I saved your life, you know?”

“That was one time. You’ve almost got me fired three times over.”

“Cmon, cmon Pieck. This girl, I know her. Just help her out, yeah? She’s really sweet, y’know that?”

He watches Pieck divert her eyes past him, focusing on you writhing on the gurney. She sighs as she smacks Eren on the side of the head, reaching forward to attend to your leg.

“Get out of here, SpiderAss. They’ll be circling around the building any minute.”

Eren runs up, tackling Pieck in a hug, before she can protest and swings out the window.

You haul your black boot up the door, knocking on the door. You can see “Zoe” inscribed into the little call box, ensuring that you did find the correct apartment from the directory. You can hear a loud rustling behind the door and the door swings open. You’re met with Hange, Eren’s aunt.

“Hi. My name is Y/N. I attend Shiganshina High School. I’m a classmate of Eren’s, I was wondering if he was here.”

“Pieck. Pieck! THERE’S A GIRL HERE TO SEE HIM.”

Eren’s aunt drags you in by the wrists, taking the tin of brownies in your hand and setting it on the table, as they inspect you. Their eyes are glinting with excitement as they smile at you, teetering on their ankles as they talk.

“Do you like Eren? Oh, isn’t he just so nerdy and sweet, I just love him. Do you love him?”

A hand comes straight into Hange’s hair, yanking them back. You follow the line of vision, seeing that the hand belongs to Pieck. The nurse that Spiderman dropped you off to. Only more proof that you’re right.

Pieck leans straight into Hange’s frame, rolling her eyes at Hange as she starts talking to you.

“We were starting to worry about the kid. I thought he was impotent or something.”

“Oh! Uh, no-”

Hange leans over into your space, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“How do you know he’s not impotent? Oh, you two better be having safe sex or I swear to god.”

“No! Oh, no no, I swear it’s not-”

Hange keeps rambling to themselves as they walk around the kitchen, yanking Pieck along with them. Pieck glances to your side, mouthing the words “he’s upstairs” as you shoot her a grateful smile and you start lugging your boot up the stairs.

You knock on the door, voices muffled on the inside as you peak in. When you swing open the door, you find Connie, Eren, Jean, and Armin in a very strange position. The four of them are clearly playing Twister - Eren’s face near Jean’s ass and Connie’s hand right near Armin’s…dick.

“Uh. Hi guys.”

At the sound of your voice, they all quirk their heads towards you, so shocked at your presence that they all tumble on each other. You hear Hange screaming from the bottom of the stairs, her words making your cheeks turn red.

“Eren Yeager. You better not be having sex with that girl in my house!”

You watch Eren tangle out of the mess, rubbing the back of his neck as he screams back at Hange, slamming the door shut. He helps Armin and Jean up, before he turns back to you - his cheeks glowing pink.

“Hi Eren.”

“Hi Y/N. What are you doing here? Is your leg okay?”

You hold out the card, embellished in your sparkly pink stationery and hold it out to him. You bought him a gift card - to Joe’s, the coffee shop near the highschool. You’d seen him bring a half empty cup to class a few times and figured it would be the best gift.

You had to thank him. Because your leg put you out of commission for a week, you hadn’t been coming to school. And he sent you all the assignments (and the answer keys) while you were out. And made sure to tell all the clubs to keep their emails to themselves until you were back. And if you’re right, he’s the one who saved your life.

“This is for you. Thank you - for the homework and the emails. It helped a lot.”

You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, the skin soft and warm under your lips. Jean face plants on to the floor, Connie and Armin staring at you in shock.

“Right. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you guys. You’re Connie, Armin, and Jean?”

They all nod, awkwardly shaking their heads as they plant on to Eren’s futon, Eren joining them on the seat. You sit right on Eren’s bed, the sheets Jurassic Park themed, as you face them.

Here goes.

“I know your secret.”

“We know yours.”

Eren smacks Jean across the back of his head, signaling him to shut up.

“I thought about it. Really hard when I was in the hospital. You see, I really didn’t have much to do.”

You lay back on Eren’s bed, pin pointing each of them and what you discovered by the line they’re sitting in. Jean first.

“You know, one of the biggest mysteries about Spiderman is how he manages to get to casualties and robberies so fast. They’re usually reported through the police department, the intercoms only going through the radio.”

The four of them are twitching at your words, after you casually drop the word Spiderman specifically, as you continue.

“There was a radio that went missing a few weeks ago. Police Officer Kirstein lost the intercom on his way home from his shift. It was never recovered.”

Jean turns red at the implication, his knees shaking as he drops his eyes. You’re right. You’re right, you’re right, you’re right. Connie next.

“And you know, Spiderman has a very cool suit. Blue and red, specially stitched and special fabric clothes. I’ve thought long and hard about who could have designed it, but really there’s only one good designer in New York. Lisa Braus.”

You turn your eyes to Connie, whose awkwardly looking around the walls, at anywhere but you.

“Lisa Braus is Sasha Braus’s mother. You know, I’ve heard she can be coerced really easily, she really loves her daughter. I’m sure if you, Connie, gave Sasha say - a promise of a lifetime of free lunches from your parents restaurant - she could have given in and gotten her mom to make the costume. No questions asked.”

Connie wrings his hand around his neck, groaning as he leans back into the futon. Armin’s hands are splayed right across his thighs, surely rubbing the sweat off on his slacks.

“And the web-slingers. Ingenious design, really. There’s only one person who beat me out at the Tech-A-Thon in ninth grade. And it was you, Armin. They have your name written all over it - the design, the metrics. Though, you’re getting kind of sloppy. From the few seconds I looked at it, I think you can pack more webs if you lay them diagonally against the hardware instead of vertically.”

You watch the gears move in Armin’s head as he thinks over your suggestion, turning to Eren to shrug. And then you look at Eren, leaning his elbows on his knees as he looks at you.

“And you. You’re Spiderman. That day, when you saved me and Falco. You told him to be strong, like Kylo Ren. But you don’t know Falco like that. All you know is what I’ve told you And there’s no way Spiderman could have known that - unless you were Spiderman.”

He leans over, his green eyes glaring into yours.

“That’s all a coincidence, Y/N. Maybe you hit your head when you fell on that mailbox.”

You falter for a second. You can’t be wrong. You can’t be wrong because you’re sure of it. You’ve thought it over for the past few days and he has to be. He has to be Spiderman.

“How do you know it was a mailbox? Stop lying, Eren. I know it’s you.”

“No, you don’t-”

Eren stands up and you join him, getting closer to him as you keep talking, trying to convince him that you know.

“You-you took me to Pieck when I got hurt. And while Pieck is just a nurse and anyone would do it, you took me to her specifically. Because you know she’ll fix it. Not just because she’s a nurse who cares about healing people but if she tries to rat you out - you can tell her you’re Spiderman. She’ll defend you like no other because you’re basically her pseudo-kid.”

“You’re making things up, Y/N.”

“And the earpiece. You said “got it, Armin” when you were carrying me to the hospital. I’ve looked and looked. Armin Arlert is the only Armin in Brooklyn. It’s a pretty unique name. And I know if you’re Spiderman and he’s probably the first person you told. You’ve been best friends forever and-

“Y/N. Seriously-

“No, Eren. Because Spiderman called me sweetheart! And I called you sweetheart when you called me bae and you told Pieck that you knew me and that I was a sweet girl when you thought I couldn’t hear you.”

You place your hands on his shoulders, boring your eyes into yours as he looks at you.

“Eren. You’re Spiderman. And I would never, ever tell anyone.”

You watch as he drops his gaze, muttering under his breath.

“Got me all figured out, don’t you sweetheart?”

Eren settles back down on the couch, as Connie, Jean, and Armin start their protests.

“Eren, you can’t just go around telling people you’re fucking Spiderman.”

“You’re a vigilante. Do you know that? Her dad is the fucking police captain who wants your head on a stick.”

“Spider Gang is already way too big as it is. Your identity will get revealed if you keep being an idiot.”

You clear your throat, the four of them craning their heads to look at you. You look down awkwardly at your hands as you sit back down on Eren’s bed, rustling with your keys in your pocket.

“You guys told me a secret. I can tell you one too.”

Jean leans forward, rolling his eyes at you.

“He just admitted he was Spiderman, sweetheart. I don’t think anything compares to that.”

Eren brings his hand down in Jean’s hair and yanks hard.

“Don’t call her that.”

You yank your keys out, fumbling with them in your hands openly.

“You guys know about “I Stand With Spiderman”?”

Connie rolls his eyes, glaring at you.

“Obviously. Shit’s a fucking revolution at this point.”

“I started it. The pins and the spray art and telling everyone.”

You watch the four of them go slack jawed, for what feels like the tenth time today, staring you down. Armin speaks first this time, standing up to run his hand through his hair.

“You-you’re the Lions?”

“Yeah. It’s a stupid name, but-”

Jean cuts you off, nearly strangling you as he shakes your entire frame in his hands.

“That’s fucking impossible. Your dad is a bigger pig than mine and there’s no way in hell his fucking daughter is the one who started the thing that protects Eren every time he’s out there.”

“That’s just the point, Jean. I got mad at my dad. So I started it. I think Spiderman’s the best thing that happened in the community and I knew that people agreed with me. So I did what I knew how to do. Spray paint. Pins. The people.”

Eren stands up, yanking Jean off to grab your hands and lock his fingers with yours.

“The Lions?”

You clear your throat, explaining.

“Harry and Hermione are Gryffindors. And Gryffindors are lions.”

You can feel your cheeks turn pink - from Eren staring at you so close and holding your hands and Armin smiling at the two of you in your peripheral vision. You hold your keys up, dangling them between yours and Eren’s face, your shiny little Lego Harry Potter key chain making Eren’s eyes light up.

Eren lets go of your hands and starts rummaging through his drawers, looking for something. He pulls out a small black string. Her reaches up to push your loose hairs behind your ears, stringing the piece through your ear.

He taps on his own ear, speaking into the mic. His voice vibrates through your, a beaming smile on his face.

“Y/N. Welcome to Spider Gang.”

“That’s a really corny nickname, Eren. Could you really not come up with anything better?” you laugh, smiling at him.

“Says the girl who named a fucking revolution after Harry Potter.” Jean speaks up, glaring at you as he talks.

“Jean. Shut the fuck up.”

“Sorry, Eren.”

Eren’s swinging through the buildings, clutching the side of his thigh as he retreats back to his apartment.

Stupid fucking female titan. He’s been encountering her here and there - a total of six times now and he still has yet to understand what she’s doing.

She appears out of nowhere, in locations that have no thread of connection - the elementary school, the coffee shop on the block near the bodega, the botanical garden all the way out of Brooklyn.

He can’t figure it out. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t talk. No matter how many times he insults her for being a naked pervert, she still doesn’t break.

When he makes it back to his apartment, swinging into his room through the open window, he finds his spider team…down. Armin and Connie are sprawled on the ground, hair all messy and tiredness pressed on their faces as they pore over the new web-slinger designs. Jean’s on the computer, six empty cans of redbull on his desk as he pores over the footage, trying to figure out how she escaped.

And you. You’re sprawled on Eren’s dinosaur sheets, using the DNA samples he gave you as a pillow, lightly drooling onto the results. He reaches down, lifting your head gently as he places it back down onto a real pillow, as you mumble on in your sleep.

“Is she okay, Armin?”

“Ah. She might be taking her Spider Gang duties a little bit too seriously than the rest of us. That and she’s more busy - she’s still doing all of her class president and internship stuff on top of this.”

He sees you move in your sleep, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, as you focus in on your surroundings. The second you see Eren, the gash in his thigh, you jump up from the bed, scooting over to examine the gash.

“Eren. Are you okay? You’re okay, right? Because I think I might be on to something and you can get her next time. I-I think she goes to our school or maybe-”

Eren presses his hand to your knee as you take the seat next to him, leaning over to look at the gash.

“Guys. Can I talk to her alone please? And get my dinner from Pieck, there’s no way I can hide this from her.”

Armin, Connie, and Jean close the door behind him, leaving you to help Eren strip out of his suit. You’re trying your best to be gentle - pausing every time he hisses and groans in pain, lightly pulling the fabric out of the gash on his thigh.

After it’s off, you reach for the kit Jean stole from Pieck’s room, cleaning and bandaging the wound. You try your best to not focus on the fact that Eren’s just wears his boxers under the suit and he’s just wearing his boxers right now in front of you.

“Hey.”

“Hi Eren.”

“You know, you don’t have to take your Spider Gang duties so seriously. We’re all trying to figure out who she is and the bulk of it doesn’t have to fall on you.”

“Spider Gang is a stupid name. And yes, I do. They barely spend any time thinking about it - with Jean trying to push back on all the initiatives they’re putting into stop you and Connie and Armin trying to perfect your tech so you can last longer.”

“I last just fine. I just mean…you’re busy. Take a break, I don’t like seeing you guys all so worn out.”

You push hard on the wound on accident, Eren groaning in pain.

“Sorry. But we don’t like seeing you hurt Eren. You’re literally bleeding onto your futon right now and that’s not exactly a fun thing to see either.”

He tilts his head down, his eyes in front of yours.

“Worried about me, sweetheart?”

You feel your cheeks burn, placing your hand in his hair to move his head out of the way. You start placing the bandages over the mark, smoothing them out with your hands.

“Yes, Eren. Sue me. You’re fighting a crazy, perverted naked lady everyday. Arrest me if it’s so criminal to worry about you.”

Eren laughs as he places one of his hands around your face, angling your face up so you look at him. You’re glaring at him, which Eren only returns a soft smile to.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m Spiderman.”

“Yes. You’re Spiderman. Not God, Eren. You can get hurt. And you just did. And she’s crazy and-

Eren presses his hands around your waist, pulling you in his lap to sit on him. You’re careful not to rest your legs against his wound, your arms secured around his neck and his around your waist.

“Y/N. Are you scared of her?”

You can feel the tears burning in your eyes at the question, your heart dropping in your chest.

“Horrified, Eren. She-she knocked that mailbox onto my leg and had you in her hand and I just-I thought she was going to crush you and then Falco next. And I dream about it all the time, and it’s just- my leg still doesn’t feel the same and it hurts and-”

Eren tangles one of his hands around your neck, laying your face flat against his neck as he rubs small circles into your back. You’re crying - wet tears falling onto his neck as you rack sobs into his neck.

You’re not going to get hurt. You’re not going to get hurt because he’s Spiderman and he’s going to protect you. And there’s no point in him having any of this if you feel this way.

“You were really brave that day, Y/N. You and Falco.”

“Just Falco, Eren. You-you made him so brave, I feel like his confidence has been better lately and-”

“Even if you were petrified, you were still brave regardless. I’ve seen it happen - people freeze up in shock, freak out when they’re faced with things like this. But here you are, still fighting it, in the way that you can. You’re brave, sweetheart.”

You avoid the tingling in your chest at the nickname, his hands on yours, and his sweet, sweet voice in your ears.

He’s going to find that fucking female titan if it’s the last thing he does.

“Armin, what the fuck happened? Why did we just lose connection?”

The four of you - Armin, Connie, Jean, and you - are currently locked in the computer lab, six hours after the school closed. You had planned it all out, set a trap for the Female Titan underneath the school, so that Eren could catch her once and for all.

The problem? Eren just went underground. And he had been talking to you for the last twenty minutes. But you heard it, that loud, high-pitched feminine voice and then static in all four of your earpieces.

Armin’s smacking on his computer, Jean clicking through all the footage. All of the camera’s are still up and running, all but one on static. You stop Jean in his stead, as Armin and Connie smack on the computer, trying to fix the ear pieces.

“Wait, wait, Jean. Where is that?”

“Girls locker room. The volleyball team was there last.”

You lean over to Connie, opening his computer as you log into your accounts. Jean’s leaning over your chair, both of you hovering as you log into your administrative office account.

“What gives, Y/N?”

“Jean. The girl, female pervert whatever. She must have transformed in there and broke the camera. Whichever girl didn’t log in for practice today, since there’s no way that girl isn’t injured from the fight she had with Eren last night, has to be the girl we’re looking for. Attendance in class but not in practice.”

Armin, Jean, and Connie lean over your neck as you log into the account, loading the nursing record for today. And then you find it.

Annie Leonhart has requested a medical leave of absence for the week due to an extenuating injury. She may return to regular practice next week.

Signed Pieck Finger, N.P.

Armin all but falls out of his chair, quickly getting up to fix the computers.

“Shit shit shit shit shit.”

You grab his shoulder, basically strangling him as you ask. Because why the fuck is he so worried that Annie is the fucking female pervert?

“What’s wrong, Armin? Why are you so panicked?”

“Annie. She suspects that Eren is Spiderman. And she…she wants to know who he is for sure, she’s told me that before. And if she puts him into a corner, she’s going to expose him to the police.”

You feel your throat run dry as the tears start working their way up to your eyes, burning hot. No. Because they’re going to arrest Eren. Maybe even kill him and-

Connie drops his laptop straight onto the floor, his eyes weary as he looks up at the ceiling.

“What now, Connie?”

“Y/N. It-it’s Friday. Meaning, they’re resetting the plumbing for the weekend and-”

Armin speaks up next, racking his hands through his hair.

“Oh my god. The sink waters flooding in the tunnels. He’s done for.”

You grab Armin by the collar, the anger seething in your chest.

“Why is he done for? What’s wrong with the water, Armin?”

“The webs. We haven’t perfected them yet and they dissolve in water. And it’s not a big deal because it’s not raining yet but-”

Now you get it.

“He’s down there with no defenses. And Annie’s going to get him any second. And tell everyone who he is.”

Jean grabs you by the shoulders, shaking your head as he fixes your hair against your ears.

“Think. Think, Y/N. You must know something about how to turn it off - you sit through all those administrative board meetings and talk to every fucking faculty member at this school because you’re a goody two shoes. You must know something.”

And then you remember. The only way to turn off the water is to go down there, close off the pipes manually.

You leave the three of them in the computer leg and sprint on your bad leg, down to where you know Eren’s waiting for you.

Connie, Armin, and Jean find you an hour later. You’re in the tunnels, where they set their trap, with a huge gash on the side of your head and a very bruised and battered Eren in your hands. You’re crying hard, your hands soft on Eren’s hands trying to will him to wake up.

Connie and Jean loop their arms around Eren’s, prying him out of your arms to lift him out of the tunnels. Armin helps you up, supporting your bad leg.

“What happened, Y/N?”

“I got down here, Tried turning off all the pipes manually. Eren was still trying his best, climbing around when I got most of the pipes off. She delt a few good blows but I mentioned that I knew she’s Annie and she kind of….ran off. She wasn’t really trying to…expose him or anything but I feel like she was trying to get the tech.”

“You okay? I know she scares you and…”

“Yeah. I just-we have to take Eren to Pieck. We can’t fix him on our own-”

“No. No he wouldn’t want us to.”

“He can’t want anything if he’s dead.”

“He’s not dead.”

“You-you don’t know that. He’s not invincible just because he’s Spiderman, he-he’s just Eren. And he can get hurt and I don’t want him to die and-”

Armin wordlesly agrees to take Eren to Pieck, the five of you piling into Jean’s car. Eren’s next to you, still not awake with his head slackly leaned against your shoulders.

When you reach the apartment, Connie, Jean, and Armin task themselves with bringing Eren in as you explain to Hange and Pieck. You knock on the door, teary eyed to Hange and Pieck responding, worry in their eyes at the blood leaking down the side of your face.

Pieck reaches forward, lifting your face in her hands which you swat off.

“P-Pieck. H-Hange. It’s Eren and he…he’s not okay. Please just help him without asking anything, I don’t want him to die on us.”

Connie and Jean drag Eren in, lifting him onto the couch as Hange racks back sobs. You go to Hange’s side, squishing them in an embrace as Pieck gets to work, cursing under her breath as she goes on.

“Wake up, SpiderFuck. Of course, this dumbass bothering me for the past three months is our kid. I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch when you wake up, you know that? Stupid SpiderMotherfucker, I hate you-”

Pieck works around him, taking Hange from your arms as she leaves the two of you in the living room when she’s done. Connie, Jean, and Armin leave you with him - already working on figuring out where Annie went upstairs.

You take Eren’s hand in yours, squeezing tight as you whisper to him.

“Wake up. Wake up, Eren.”

No response.

“Come on. You can’t be serious. You-you’re Spiderman and you don’t get hurt and-”

No response.

“I….I can’t be brave without you, please be okay.”

No fucking response. You lay your forehead flat against the table as the sobs rack through you, Eren’s uneven breaths continuing on the table.

“Please, Eren. Come back to me.”

You feel a hand at the top of your hair, pressing down to the length of your neck. You look up to find Eren, weakly smiling at you as he winces. You sit up immediately, tears still streaming down to your neck, as you cup his face in your hands.

“Eren.”

“Quit crying, sweetheart. I’m Spiderman.”

You laugh through your sobs as you press yourself against his chest, hugging him as softly as you can. You can feel his hands on your back, jaggedly circlcing into the small of your back.

“Where are we?”

“Your house. Pieck fixed you up and-”

He sits up, groaning as he glares at you.

“Don’t tell me you told them that I was-”

“I had to, Eren. I thought you were dead and-”

“I wasn’t dead. I’m Spiderman!”

“Spiderman can die, Eren. And you didn’t fucking wake up.”

“I heal supernaturally fast. You should have given me a minute to come to.”

“The fact that you needed Pieck’s medical attention to come to right now, four hours after the fact, tells me that you weren’t fucking okay, Eren! And they don’t care and-”

“You think my aunt, Hange, who watched my parents fucking die in front of me doesn’t care that I risk my fucking life on the line everyday? They fucking care!”

“It’s not a big deal, they just want you to be okay and-”

“And what the fuck were you doing down in the tunnel? Don’t pretend like I don’t see that fucking gash on your pretty face and I’m just ignoring it right now.”

You can feel the anger seething in your chest and you really, really want to smack Eren right about now.

“We figured it out. Annie Leonhart, the girl from the soccer team, she’s the pervert titan. And she’s-she’s trying to expose you as Spiderman. Or maybe not, I don’t know. And the water tunnels were on and I know your webs dissolve in water and I just-”

“You just what? Thought you’d run down them and turn them off?”

“Yeah, asshole. For you.”

“You know the best part of Spider Gang. You’re the team in the chair. Do you understand what that means? You keep your ass in the chair and away from shit like this!”

“I can’t just sit by and do that.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I’m not Connie or Armin or Jean. I’m not just your friend who can sit by and let you get hurt. You’re-you’re not just”

“What am I then, huh?”

“You’re the guy I love. I can’t just fucking watch you bleed out from a tunnel and pretend it’s okay, Eren.”

You’re both panting, chests heaving from screaming so loudly. Eren closes the space between you, pressing his lips to yours as you melt under his touch. You can taste metal - surely from the cut on his lip - but you can also taste mint, definitely from the stupid pocket he made for Altoids in his suit. He’s smiling against your lips, leaning his weight on you as you rest your forehead against his.

“Guy you love, huh?”

“Shut up. When did you become so cocky, Eren?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your burning cheeks into his shoulder as he laughs against your ears. The next questions genuine, his voice wavering when he asks.

“Do you only love me because I’m Spiderman, Y/N?”

“No. I love Spiderman because he gives Eren the confidence to talk to me. You…you’ve always been so shy and stand-offish with me since we were kids, I…kind of thought you hated me. But Jean told me, you’re just really awkward.”

“Remind me to kick Jean’s ass.”

“And…I always liked you. You know, we really didn’t need pictures of each of the clubs. I already took those during club registration at the beginning of the year. I just wanted an excuse to be around you and I think that’s technically an abuse of power but-”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours once again, leaning so hard on you that you both get knocked on the couch. You’re both laughing, smiling so hard that Hange and Pieck and the rest of Spider Gang comes down to find you two giggling on the couch.

Now that Eren’s sentient, Hange yells at him for three things. One. Being Spiderman. Two. Being a dumbass and getting hurt. Three. Attempting to have sex with this girl on the couch.

And then they ask if Eren should be taken to a vet, since he’s technically half spider.

The five of you corner Annie later that week. And she confesses it all - that she didn’t know when this power happened, or what came over her, or even what’s going on. And that she doesn’t want to expose Spiderman, she wanted the technology.

She wants to know what’s wrong with her. And she figured that if she knew who Spiderman was, if she could lure him out by stealing his tech, she can find the person who makes his tech and have them help her.

Eren extends his hand first. Promising that Spider Gang (a name that she snorts at) promises to help her figure it out and control it if she promises to not wreck havoc or drop mailboxes on your leg again. And she explains that she has no control when it comes over her, that she really doesn’t want to hurt people.

When Armin figures it out and when Annie can control it, she’s instated as the sixth member of SpiderGang. Eighth if you count Pieck and Hange.

And she doesn’t scare you. It’s nice to have another girl on the team. Especially one who hates “Spider Gang” as much as you. And it’s sweet to watch Armin and Annie bustle around each other, working on perfecting the tech.

And to watch Jean and Connie tease them. And to have Eren swing you around in New York and sneak into your bed every night and save lives all around the city.

Okay. Let’s do this one last time.

My name is Eren Jeager. I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And for the last six months, I’m the one and only Spiderman, equipped with a fully functional Spider Team. Officially dubbed, begrudingly, the Spider Gang.

Connie and Jean, codenames C-Man and Horseface (since using real names got me exposed the last time) are my surveillance team. Surveying out my enemies, making sure the cops don’t get to me - they’re important reconnaissance for each mission.

Armin and Annie, codenames Ocean Eyes and Pervert Lady (don’t ask). They’re my technical geniuses. Always redefining my tech, fixing up my webs to make them stronger, faster. There’s no Spiderman without Spidertech.

And Y/N, codename Sweetheart. My girl in the chair. And the one in my heart too. Not only does she figure out motives/identities/locations for every villain and plan out every attack before I do it, but she’s the main reason Spiderman even exists.

Why I fight so hard.

I have to keep Brooklyn safe for my girl.

584 notes · View notes

zepskies · 11 months

Text

Break Me Down - Part 11

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Happy Father's Day and early Juneteenth! In honor of the holiday weekend, here's an early chapter update. 😘

Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Violence and peril, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Part 11: The Lion’s Den

“Where is she?” Ben asked, once he and Frank were loaded in the car.

Loco and his team had to stay behind as their distraction for escape. If they weren’t slaughtered, they’d be taken into custody.

Ben knew he could’ve wasted all of them, Butcher, his team, the CIA, but the nuclear power in his chest had refused to cooperate…

Anyway, Black Noir hadn’t been there. So it was all the more useless to stick around. The real plan was with you, and he was very surprised that you’d stuck to it…but maybe he shouldn’t have been.

“She was brought to the Tower,” Frank informed him.

Ben smirked. “Good. But pretty fucking stupid of Stan to stick around there when he knew I’d be coming.”

He looked over and noticed Frank’s frown as he drove.

“Unless he’s not at the Tower,” Frank said.

Ben’s smirk fell. Why would that prick take her there if…

“We have to be open to the possibility that his Chief of Security is taking the matter of his daughter into his own hands,” Frank said. “Or she’s improvising.”

Ben frowned.

That didn’t change when they arrived at the Tower, and attempted to use the entrance through the back garage to avoid attention. But it didn’t matter.

The entire squad of Vought security, included what looked like some added muscle (hopped up on what smelled like V24), met them when they reached the lobby of the building. Now that the Seven had been disbanded, there was no pretense of “good guys vs. bad guys.” It was just defense and siege.

And in front of them all was Black Noir.

“There you are,” Ben said, but the other supe didn’t even tilt his head in greeting. He was a still statue, an attack dog given a single mission.

When Noir surged forward, Ben ran to meet him. It was a clash of blade to shield, fist to fist, grappling and reflexes that only Compound V could endow. The match tore through the lobby, then up the large staircase as Ben continued to fight his way up to Stan’s office.

Frank was already on his way up to you, but it would take him time with Vought security crawling all over them. He was good, and temporarily a supe, but he was still just one man.

Meanwhile, Ben and Noir’s fight spilled into the upper floors, through walls and offices and screaming employees trying to get out of their way.

Once they reached near the floor below Stan’s office, Ben got an arm around Black Noir’s neck, and with his free hand tried to unmask him. He wanted to know for sure what lied underneath it, if it was actually the Noir he knew. Or if it was something else entirely.

But Noir twisted with superior reflexes and flipped Ben hard over his shoulder. In the process, he ripped off Ben’s helmet. His brown hair hung over his brows as he pushed to his feet, deliberately taking his time.

When he turned, Noir was standing there with the helmet crunched in his hand. Rolling his neck, Ben prepared to jump back into the fight, but a new sound reached his ears.

He heard you on the floor above. And you were fighting someone…

Ben pressed a finger to the comm in his ear.

“Frank, you got eyes on her?”

V24 had endowed the man with x-ray vision. A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Ben’s every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this.

Right fucking now.

That resolve helped him take a deep breath, then summon the energy inside him. He focused with the aim of blasting a clean stream of power at Black Noir; not enough to take out the whole building, but enough to take out just him.

His insides felt molten when the power collected, and finally released at his target.

Noir covered himself at the last moment with a piece of fallen debris (a half-crumbled wall), but it only created a small buffer. The force of the blast itself pushed him down the hall and through the side of the building.

Meanwhile, you were holding your own…but you were also getting beat to hell.

You were battered, with blood dribbling down the corner of your mouth from a particularly bad hit.

You were still standing though.

“You’ve gotten soft,” Jon remarked. He’d broken a sweat, had some bruises, and was panting for breath just like you. But he was more in control as he swatted a well-aimed, yet ultimately weak fist as your strength waned. He used his own to smack you down again.

“I gave you time to come around, and this is what you did with it,” he said, shaking his head. “Disappointing.”

When you tried to stand on shaking legs, he kicked you in the dead center of your chest. You felt your ribs crack as you fell back into the glass coffee table.

You gasped for breath, turning onto your side as glass pricked at your back, your sides, your arm. You coughed, wincing at the agony of knife-like pain near your lungs. Blood flecked from your mouth onto your arm, and for a moment, you stared at it in a daze.

But then Jon was above you. You tried to swipe at his face, but he bat your hand away, his brows furrowed angrily. He turned you back onto your back and wrapped a hand around your neck. Your eyes flew wide with panic.

He squeezed with enough pressure that it wouldn’t crush your windpipe, but it was sure to knock you out eventually. You slapped and clawed at his hand, but he only shushed you.

“What you need now is what you’ve always needed. A firm hand,” he said. “But I’m going to help you. I promise, I will.”

The fight drained out of you as it became impossible to breathe, and harder still to block out his words from entering your brain.

But then, the vice around your throat was gone. Oxygen poured back into your lungs as you gasped, then coughed again when your fractured ribs protested.

Your eyelids fluttered open in time to see your father thrown hard into the far wall. You heard the sick crack and breaking of bone as he landed.

Still, you struggled to breathe.

Tears leaked from your eyes when you looked up and found Ben. His helmet was missing, and he wore a furious, steely frown. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except for more coughing, and more blood.

To your surprise, he tucked his shield on his back and bent down to scoop you up into his arms.

You cringed, uttering an agonized sound when he tried to move you.

Ben hesitated. Looking down at you, some of his anger drained. He made a slower ascent as he straightened to his full height.

And without a word, he carried you out of the room and down the ruined hallway. All the while, you stared at the side of his face. His jaw was still clenched, his brows knitted, his eyes set dead ahead.

You wondered why he had to wait for moments like this to show you who he truly was.

“What are you, some kind of hero?” you managed to quip, offering a small smile.

Ben glanced down at you, and gradually smirked. “Something like that.”

When his foot slipped on a piece of debris, he righted himself quick. But the jerking movement jostled you, eliciting another pained whimper. Your hand gripped at his chest, digging into the grooves of his suit.

“Hold on,” he murmured. His lips briefly pressed to the crown of your head. “We’re getting the fuck outta here.”

Your eyes closed at the tender touch, and a few more tears spilled down your cheeks.

“He…knew,” you managed to say. “Knew I was lying.”

“I know,” said Ben. “I should’ve fucking known better.”

You marveled at that near apology. Your lips trembled as you rested your head against his chest. You just couldn’t help it anymore.

“Was my idea,” you admitted.

“Yeah, well, evidently not all your ideas are aces,” he said.

You could’ve gotten angry, but you saw the way he moved with care, trying not to slip again for your sake. You tried at a smile.

“Guess not,” you said, though you bit your lip at the pain that seemed to radiate through your entire body. Ben seemed to notice.

“Just relax,” he said, a deep rumble. But there was a soothing note to it, you thought. Or maybe, you just liked the sound of his voice.

Then silence fell between the two of you, both comfortable and tense as Ben focused on potential threats in his surroundings.

All the while, you continued to rest your eyes. Instead of your pain, you tried to concentrate on his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“It’s about fucking time,” you eventually heard Ben grouse.

You opened your eyes and were relieved to see Frank exiting the stairwell to meet you and Ben. His face and black tactical gear were splattered with blood, but he looked fine, more or less. His gaze roamed over you with his usual stoicism, but you thought you saw a glint of concern.

“I take it Stan Edgar isn’t here,” said Frank.

“You could fucking say that,” Ben snarked. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Sir.” Frank saw something ahead, behind you. Ben turned to find Black Noir silently standing in the middle of the hall, with a large, suspicious-looking gun in his hands.

Without taking his eyes off Noir, Ben gestured to Frank. He came up beside you, and Ben passed you into Frank’s arms.

“Get her out of here,” Ben ordered. With a nod, Frank carried you back the way he came, towards the staircase. You tried to peer over his shoulder.

“He shouldn’t face Noir alone,” you said, even though every breath was a challenge with the sharp pain in your chest.

“He’ll meet us after,” Frank told you. But as soon as he started down the stairs, a fresh team of Vought security and police came to meet you.

Meanwhile, Ben stared down the hall at his opponent. Black Noir activated the strange gun, which lit up with a blue energy.

“You can bring out any kind of fancy artillery you want, but it’s not going to stop me from killing you,” Ben taunted.

Noir remained silent, of course, but he aimed the gun and fired. It shot a potent, crystal blue beam of energy that ate through Ben’s shield, and eventually hit him in the chest before he could finish revving up his own power. The blast from the gun, it wasn’t hot.

It was ice cold. So frigid that it extinguished the heat that had been building in his chest, but it wasn’t diffusing his power completely…it just made it even harder to control.

And the resulting backlash was overwhelming.

Ben woke slowly, like wading through molasses. Usually his mind was sharp, even when he woke from a booze-induced coma. Now he felt groggy, and it was hard to focus or even force his body to sit up on the hard cot he was laying on.

Glancing down, he realized he’d been changed out of his suit. He was dressed in a plain gray shirt and matching pants, no shoes. He knew a prison outfit when he saw one, just as he now knew where he was: a white padded cell.

Fuck.

At least it was better than a frigid coffin…but in his mind, not by much.

He slid his legs over and managed to push up onto his feet.

Why’s it so fucking misty in here? he thought, waving his hand through the smokey air. And why was he so tired?

He soon got his answer when he realized who stood at the large window at the front of his cell.

Stan Edgar.

The man himself, dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, was watching him with crossed arms.

“We did hope you would remain on sabbatical,” said Stan. “But I had a feeling you would return, and come directly to us.”

Stan gestured to the large cell. “This was our contingency plan.”

Ben made his way, with difficulty, closer to Stan, who pointed at the air vents above that were pumping in a gas of some kind.

“A light mist of Novichok,” Stan explained. “Enough to keep you docile.”

“And if I’m not?” Ben asked. His voice was edged with grit, and the promise of retribution.

“We can up the dose, put you to sleep indefinitely,” Stan replied. “But you have my attention. What would you like to discuss?”

“The conversation I planned on having was…a little different,” Ben said darkly. “But first, let’s start with what you used to clone Black Noir.”

“I suppose there’s no real harm in telling you,” Stan said. Even his voice was grating on Ben’s ears, the smug prick.

“We kept some of Homelander’s blood as an insurance policy. But, we’ve learned from our mistakes.”

“Right,” Ben scoffed. “How’s that?”

“This Noir is not a carbon copy, but nor is he a megalomaniac. He’s under our control,” Stan said.

“Until he isn’t,” Ben snarked. If he thought about it, that was something you would say. Maybe your penchant for smart-ass remarks had gotten into his head.

“And that new gun?” he asked. “Don’t tell me your little lab rats put that together just for me.”

Stan’s lips made a wry turn.

“It was a breakthrough project. Temporarily destabilizes the energy you generate when you charge up like a Power Puff Girl.” Stan thought for a moment, then inclined his head. “A reference, I realize, which may be lost on you.”

“So what’s the play here?” Ben said. He was getting impatient. “You know, when I break out, things aren’t gonna be pretty.”

Stan didn’t seem bothered by the clear threat.

“In the meantime,” he said, “you won’t be alone.”

Stan stepped back and revealed the cell right across the hall. Through the window, Ben could see you, lying unconscious on a shitty cot in similar gray pajamas. His brows crunched as he narrowed his eyes, trying to peer in closer. You looked like you’d been bandaged up, at least.

“You also managed to put my Chief of Security in Intensive Care, but his daughter should be fine…if a bit worse for wear,” Stan informed him.

Ben glared back, his lips curling. Sloppy of him. He should’ve made sure that bastard was dead.

“That’s cute, considering he’s the demented fuck who beat her to hell,” Ben said.

Stan rose a solitary brow. “And at whose behest did she enter the lion’s den?”

Ben had nothing to say to that.

You woke with a pained groan before your eyes even opened. Your body felt like a walking welt.

Your brain pounded like bongo drums, your chest felt tender with every infinitesimal movement, but you realized that you’d been seen to medically, at least. Your head was bandaged, and you felt that the blood had been wiped from your face and arms.

You looked up and found, with a sigh, that you were indeed in a cell. But you softened when you found Ben through the large glass window, in a cell of his own. He was sitting on his bed, arms crossed, with his back against the wall. His eyes found yours, and his lips twitched.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He sounded off. Tired, you thought. And you noticed a steady mist being piped into his room.

Shit. Novichok, you surmised with a frown.

“You okay?” you asked.

Ben chuckled a little. “You’re the one who looks like hell.”

“Why, thank you,” you replied wryly.

There was a pitcher and a cup of water on a tray, a small paper cup of what you assumed were painkillers, and an ice pack next to you on the cot.

You hesitated on the pills, but in light of your incredible pain, you had no choice. You took the pills, drank the water, and grabbed the ice pack, pressing it against your sternum. You sat up all the way with a slow gait and a pained groan.

“Go slow,” he warned. “Bet you’re missing that Temp. V right about now.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“How’d you get caught?” he asked.

That succeeded in dimming your mood. You explained that Frank had been forced to set you on your feet when you were confronted by more security and a police squad.

The man had been a one-man weapon; hopped up on V24 as he was, he managed to fight his way down to the garage, where you slowly, painfully crept down there.

You and Frank had almost reached his car, but you held him back. You were stubborn about waiting on Ben, even considered going back for him.

That was when the shot rang out, hitting Frank point blank in the chest.

Before you could even bend to help him, you were taken, dragged back into the building, and knocked out before you could take your captor’s gun.

You tried in vain to wipe away fresh tears while you retold the story.

Bottom line: Frank’s death was your fault. Though while he frowned in disappointment, Ben didn’t seem to hold it against you.

“Good on ya, Frank,” Ben murmured. “You went down fucking swingin’.”

“What about you? What happened with Black Noir?” you asked after a moment. Sniffling, you met Ben’s eyes.

He eventually told you about the strange gun Vought had commissioned just for him. And the more you listened, the deeper your frown became. It sounded impossible.

“Makes you wonder what else they’ve been cooking up in that lab,” you muttered.

“Other than Noir?” Ben quipped. He told you about that too.

“We can figure this out,” you said. “If nothing else, my team, the CIA, they’re looking for both of us…if for different reasons.”

Ben scoffed at that. “A silver lining there. Make no mistake, we’re getting the fuck out of here. Just…need a minute to think.”

But he was starting to wane. It was taking all his energy to concentrate on your voice, to even keep his eyes open. The steady stream of gas being pumped into his cell made it damn near impossible, and it was frustrating beyond belief.

Because if he fell asleep now, there was no telling when he’d wake up. And fuck if Ben would ever admit to the panic he felt welling up into his chest.

“Aaah, fuck!” he growled, pounding a fist against the wall.

You noticed, biting your lip in concern…until an idea made you smile. It was something you used to do to distract your sister when she was little.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” you asked.

Ben just blinked at you. “What?”

He asked not because he understood what you were doing, but because he was genuinely confused.

“Because they’re easy to catch,” you said, making a drumming motion with your hands. “Buddum-ch.”

Your neighbor just stared back at you, unimpressed.

“Okay, not a fan of that one. Let me see…okay,” you raised a finger. “What does a baby computer call its father?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t tell if you were serious.

“Data!” you said, biting your lip at an embarrassed smile. It curved Ben’s lips, but he was stubborn.

“Why was 6 afraid of 7?” you asked.

“Jesus Christ, enough…” he muttered.

“Because 7’s a dick, that’s why,” you said. And your straight face lasted for all of three seconds before you ended up giggling. It hurt your bruised body, but it lightened you to see the reluctant smile tug its way onto Ben’s face.

“All right,” he said at last. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember a joke he’d heard Loco tell. “How do you make a pool table laugh?”

You smiled. “How?”

“Tickle its balls,” Ben said. Your answering snort deepened his smile into a smirk.

“Playing bridge is just like sex,” you said. Ben shook his head. His grandmother used to play fucking bridge.

But regardless, he took the bait.

“How’s that?”

“If you don’t have a good partner, you better have a good hand,” you said with a smirk.

Ben made a sound of amusement, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. You traded these back and forth, each trying to make the other crack with progressively dirtier jokes (though you suspected Ben was just trying to disgust you).

You considered yourself the winner when Ben finally chortled a deep, belly laugh that showed his charming smile.

It made you smile in return.

Ben rested a hand on his chest, but when his mirth died down, he realized just how tired he was. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go of this. His connection with you tethered him to reality, even if reality sucked dick right now.

His gaze met yours. “Why don’t you sing something, crooner?”

You bit your lip once again. “Like what?”

Ben’s eyes closed.

“You know the one,” he said. A softer smile graced your lips, though he couldn’t see it.

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” you teased. He chuckled.

“Just sing, for fuck’s sake.”

His brows were knitted, like he was trying all he could to stay awake. You took pity on him.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say…” you began to sing softly. “If I didn’t care…would I feel this way?”

Every extended note was painful, but it was worth it to see his face relax.

Stan Edgar’s lips pursed, and he set down his cell phone on his desk. Victoria was screening his calls.

Disappointing, he thought, but not unexpected. He surveyed the cleanup crew wiping up debris, glass, and blood from the lounge area with a dispassionate gaze.

This was going to take a while.

So after drumming his fingers on the mahogany surface, Stan decided to push up from his desk and head downstairs via the elevator. It took him all the way down to Level 0, the home of one of Vought’s most secure R&D labs.

There his most trusted scientist, Dr. Tonya Baker, was at the helm with her team at work on various projects. Most of which were not sanctioned by the government.

Stan folded his hands behind his back and reached her side, and she set down a beaker filled with a green, buzzing liquid.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted.

“Tonya, you know what I’m about to ask,” he said. She bobbed her head and turned to face him in her rolling desk chair.

“We’re still working on solutions. Without his cooperation, safely extracting Soldier Boy’s DNA is a tricky thing,” she said.

“You don’t say?” Stan said dryly. “What are our options?”

“Well, needles will only break, as you know,” said Dr. Baker. “The scientists in Russia found that only Soldier Boy is strong enough to break his own skin.”

“And I doubt he’ll open a vein for us,” Stan said, “even if we threaten to put him to sleep.”

He didn’t even think leveraging with the girl would aid, more than complicate their goals. While it was something to consider, Stan would rather find the path of least resistance here. Soldier Boy was…volatile at best.

“How much of Homelander’s blood remains?” he asked.

“None,” the doctor replied. “We used the last of it to clone Black Noir. And a hair sample is not enough to create additional subjects…at the very least, a urine sample. Even Dr. Vogelbaum managed that.”

Stan sent her shrewd look. If only he still had Dr. Vogelbaum in his employ. If only the man were still alive.

What a waste of a talented, resourceful man.

“That will be a problem,” Stan said.

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Baker adjusted a monitor screen at her desk. It displayed the feed from Soldier Boy’s cell.

She pointed to the toilet in the corner of the cell. Then she called over one of her assistants.

“Tell Maintenance to cut the water, and then a section of the pipes.”

AN: Okay. 😅 I know I'm gonna get some mixed reviews on this one (Let me know what you thought!).

But despite the teaser, I think you'll enjoy where the story's headed next...

Next Time:

They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber.

A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Ben’s cell. Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted.

Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.

“You’re being transported,” she informed you.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Soldier Boy Masterlist

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#The Lion's Den #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 11 #zepskies writes

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leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld · 25 days

Text

CALM AFTER THE STORM |BTS OT7 X READER| HYBRID AU (M)

{Chapter One – Disgusting Humans}

Pairing: OT7 BTS!HYBRID X FEM!HUMAN READER.

Kim Namjoon: Black Mackenzie Valley Alpha wolf

Kim Soekjin: Alpha White Lion

Min Yoongi: Alpha White Jaguar

Jung Hosoek: Alpha Snow Leopard

Park Jimin: Alpha Albino Cobra

Kim Taehyung: Alpha White/ Bleached Tiger

Jeon Jungkook: Alpha Black Panther

Reader: Heaven Valentino

Status: Ongoing

RATED (M) FOR MATURE

Words: 2.4k!

WARNING: EVENTUAL SMUT, BLOOD GORE, DETAILED GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION, ABUSE (ALL FORMS), PROFANITY, VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, CHARACTER DEATH(MINOR), SADOMASOCHISM ACTS, MENTIONS OF BDSM, ETC...

CHAPTER WARNING: The following chapter contains sensitive and distressing subject matter, including references to child rape, kidnapping, and child trafficking. If you find such topics triggering or uncomfortable, I encourage you to exercise self-care and consider avoiding this particular chapter. Your mental and emotional well-being always come first.

Previous Next

MATERIALIST

~Valentino Mansion~

3RD PERSON'S POV

Heaven Valentino, a skilled and determined woman, had just finished a rigorous training session at her gym. With precision and composure, she fired round after round at a target dummy, hitting the bullseye every time. Satisfied with her performance, she exited the gym and began making her way back to her room.

As she walked, a voice called out to her,

"Ms. Valentino?" It was her secretary and trusted right-hand man, Park Hyung-jae, hurrying to catch up with her.

Curious, she turned to face him. "Yes, Jae?"

"Someone is requesting your presence," Jae informed her, the urgency evident in his voice.

Heaven's sharp mind instantly assessed the situation.

"Who is it, and what role do they play?" she calmly inquired.

Jae answered without missing a beat.

"Choi Woobin, Chief Executive General Officer," he replied, conveying that the person in question held a position of significance.

"Very well," she replied nonchalantly.

"Set up an appointment for two in the afternoon. If he fails to arrive on time, I will not entertain him. Punctuality is of utmost importance to me."

With that, she moved on, resolute in her decision. It was typical of her to make swift judgments and take charge of her own schedule, refusing to waste time on those who did not value timeliness.

Her composed demeanor left Jae slightly taken aback.

"Well, that was easier than I expected," he mused to himself, shrugging off the surprise. With a sense of relief, he left to fulfill his assigned tasks.

~Heaven's Room~

Heaven's POV

Ah, I knew it wouldn't take long for him to come begging. I could see right through his façade, right from the start. You see, there are very few things that I despise more than tardiness, laziness and liars.

Hybrid abusers.

Growing up as the youngest daughter of the illustrious Valentino family, I've had my fair share of enemies. From the moment I entered this world, there were those who sought to bring me down, to harm me, or even to kidnap me, all in an attempt to weaken my family. But these feeble-minded individuals could never succeed.

Many assumed that, as a wealthy and privileged young woman, I would be nothing more than a spoiled brat with no ability to defend herself.

But oh, how wrong they were.

From the day I could walk and comprehend the world around me, I have been trained relentlessly.

The Valentinos believe in honing the skills and fortitude of their children, regardless of their gender. So, from the tender age of four, I began my journey towards becoming a force to be reckoned with.

By the time I reached fifteen, I had accomplished what most could only dream of. I graduated high school with a flawless 5.0 GPA. But my thirst for knowledge was insatiable, leading me to a prestigious university known as the "Gifted Souls."

In just a few short years, I secured a PhD in psychology, a Masters in business, and even delved into the realm of fashion. I achieved all of this by the tender age of twenty-two, and now, at the age of twenty-three, I am well on my way to solidifying my empire and making a name for myself.

The professors at my university were astounded by my brilliance, bestowing upon me the moniker of the 'female version of Albert Einstein.' But, I paid little attention to such trivialities.

My single-minded focus was on gaining knowledge and establishing myself as a force in the business world. I aim to take over one of my parents' companies, the very essence of the Valentino empire.

People may see me as a woman who walks with an iron fist. When they encounter me, they don't think of me merely as Heaven of the Valentino family, they see Heaven Valentino, a woman who commands respect and exudes power.

Some have even had the audacity to refer to me as the ice princess, the demoness or even the female Adolf Hitler. But I take such labels in stride because I know the true strength that lies within me.

As an individual who values efficiency and productivity, I possess a limited tolerance for trivial matters or individuals who impede progress.

In the circle with which I surround myself, idleness and unproductive behavior have no place.

Vigilance remains paramount, as there are perpetually individuals plotting one's downfall or even one's demise, and I personally acknowledge the latter as the ultimate threat.

Over time, I have accumulated a considerable list of adversaries. The number of instances where I have inadvertently provoked others is too extensive to accurately quantify, such is the nature of my assertive personality.

When confronted with something disagreeable or incongruous to my stated preferences, I swiftly take decisive action.

The ability to discern and rectify undesirable situations is a responsibility I take seriously, akin to the saying,

"With great power comes great responsibility."

In my case, this responsibility is focused solely on my survival.

While some may perceive my approach as cold or detached, it is merely a matter of survival in a world where dangers often lurk beneath the surface.

In conclusion, my aversion to nonsense and unwavering commitment to productivity have inevitably resulted in the development of numerous adversaries.

This is an outcome I readily accept due to the assertive nature of my character.

My consistent and immediate response to unfavorable circumstances is driven by a sense of responsibility towards self-preservation.

Ultimately, it is this unwavering dedication to my own well-being that helps me navigate the precarious landscape of existence.

I felt my eyes narrow as I thought about the man who had recently come into my crosshairs,

Mr. Choi, the Chief Executive General Officer of Seoul National Police.

To the public, he was a respected figure in his early fifties, but I knew the dark secrets that lurked beneath his facade.

Mr. Choi's wife had tragically succumbed to stage four cancer, leaving him without any children to carry on his legacy.

Many saw him as a pillar of the community, a dedicated servant of the people. But I saw through the facade to the truth - he was a twisted, solipsistic man who had been engaged in despicable acts.

It was a revelation that had shaken me to the core when I had discovered that Mr. Choi was involved in taking bribes from hybrid traffickers.

The thought of such corruption within the ranks of law enforcement made my blood boil.

But what truly turned my stomach was the knowledge that he was also a child rapist and a sadistic individual who derived pleasure from the suffering of others.

Only I and my uncle knew the extent of Mr. Choi's depravity. My uncle ran a Hybrid facility called Hybrid Heaven (HH), dedicated to rescuing hybrids from abuse and capturing traffickers who sought to exploit them for profit.

When my uncle had uncovered Mr. Choi's involvement in these heinous activities, he had turned to me for help in bringing him to justice.

With the help of my loyal team of associates, I had quickly gathered evidence of Mr. Choi's crimes. It was not difficult to connect the dots once they realized that a police officer was complicit in covering up the illegal activities of hybrid trafficking.

And when Mr. Choi's name had surfaced as the linchpin in the operation, I wasted no time in setting my plan into motion.

I stood in my room and felt a surge of anger and revulsion towards the man who had committed such atrocities. I knew that he was reaching out in a desperate attempt to cover his tracks, but I also knew that I held the power to bring him to his knees.

With a steely resolve, I prepared myself for the confrontation that lay ahead. I would not rest until Mr. Choi faced the full force of justice for his crimes.

And in that moment, I squared my shoulders and steeled my gaze, I knew that I was ready to confront the darkness that lurked within the heart of a man who had once been seen as a paragon of virtue.

°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°•°•°•°•°•°•°

~Mayás Fashion House~

As I arrived at my company building, the energy in the air shifted as the employees stopped in their tracks to greet me politely. With a nod and a smile, I returned their greetings, keeping the interactions brief.

I made my way to the private elevator that would take me up to the 8th floor where the meeting room awaited.

As the elevator came to a stop, I stepped out and approached the meeting room. The transparent glass walls and doors allowed me to catch a glimpse of Mr. Choi inside, his figure pacing nervously.

I watched as he reached for a handkerchief to dab at his sweat, a reaction that I found somewhat distasteful. Pushing open the doors, I sauntered over to one of the swivel chairs, disrupting Mr. Choi's anxious movements.

"Good Afternoon, Mr. Choi," I greeted him calmly, causing him to visibly startle. With hesitant steps, he made his way towards me and took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"G-good af-afternoon, Ms. Valentino," he stuttered out, clearly flustered by my presence.

"Relax, Mr. Choi. I just need some information from you, and then we'll be done," I reassured him with a light chuckle, meeting his gaze as he averted his eyes and nodded eagerly.

"Good. Now, let's not beat around the bush. Tell me everything you know about the illegal underground Hybrid dealers," I said, leaning back in my chair, a sense of authority evident in my tone.

Mr. Choi hesitated before beginning to speak, revealing details about the underground operation.

He mentioned a mysterious figure known as Black Eagle who orchestrated the kidnapping and sale of hybrids for profit.

The auction took place over five days at a luxurious resort on the outskirts of Seoul, shrouded in secrecy to all but those in attendance.

His eyes met mine as he shared more about the nefarious activities, including a bi-monthly Hybrid auction where rare exotic hybrids were sold off to wealthy clientele with exclusive VIP passes provided by Black Eagle.

I listened intently, absorbing the information and maintaining a composed demeanor throughout.

It was clear that Mr. Choi was apprehensive, but my focused interrogation drew out the pertinent details I needed to pursue further action against the criminal syndicate.

My eyebrows creased as I listened, a mix of disbelief and horror washing over me.

The thought of such a place existing where people indulged in their darkest desires on hybrids, pushing the boundaries of cruelty and exploitation, made my stomach churn with disgust. The depths of depravity that some individuals would sink to astounded me.

He continued, "Participants torture hybrids to feed into their twisted sexual gratification,"

What the actual fuck!

These creatures, who were part human and part animal, deserved compassion and care, not to be subjected to such heinous acts.

It was a stark reminder of the darkest facets of humanity, a side that I never wanted to believe existed.

As the details of the auction event unfolded, each revelation seemed to plunge me deeper into a pit of revulsion.

"They also indulged in the "hunger games" a concept, where the rarest hybrids were paraded and objectified for the amusement of the audience, they would compete to inflict pain and suffering on the hybrid, all for the chance to possess them as prizes."

It felt like a nightmare brought to life. To think of it was sickening beyond words.

My heart ached for the hybrids subjected to such cruelty, for their pain and helplessness in the face of such brutality.

It was a stark reminder of the darker side of society, one that I had never truly comprehended until now.

The callousness and inhumanity displayed towards these creatures left me feeling a deep sense of shame for belonging to the same species.

Despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within me, I forced myself to remain composed, to listen to the grim details of the auction event with a steely resolve.

The urge to lash out in anger and despair clawed at the edges of my composure, but I held onto my restraint, determined to bear witness to the extent of the atrocities being described.

As the final details of the event were laid bare, the mechanics of the auction and the fate of the hybrids outlined in chilling clarity, a cold fury settled over me.

The thought of the buyers participating in such cruelty, of treating living beings as mere objects to be traded and discarded, filled me with a sense of loathing that I had never experienced before.

With a clenched jaw and a heart heavy with sorrow, I steeled myself to hear more, to confront the depths of depravity that lay at the heart of the five-day auction event.

Despite the revulsion and horror that threatened to overwhelm me, I knew that I had to bear witness to the truth, no matter how harrowing it may be.

I made a solemn vow to ensure their safety and vowed to lead them to a life free from such atrocities.

Determination consumed me, and I pledged to keep my promise, declaring my identity as Heaven Valentino.

In the intense confrontation that followed, I confronted Choi Woobin with unwavering resolve, demanding information and justice.

As the truth unfolded and the gravity of his actions came to light, the shock on his face was palpable.

Despite his pleas for mercy, I stood firm, condemning his heinous crimes and refusing to yield to his empty remorse.

Taking charge of the situation, I orchestrated his confession and surrender, unwilling to let him escape accountability.

With a mix of anger and compassion, I ensured that justice prevailed, even as his pleas for forgiveness fell on deaf ears.

The moment was charged with raw emotions as he was escorted away, a tearful reminder of the consequences of his despicable deeds.

After the intense encounter, I made a call to Jae, seeking solace after the harrowing events.

Exiting the meeting room, I left the company building and made my way back home, reflecting on the tumultuous events that had transpired.

~Unknown Location~

3rd Person's POV

Two hybrids were drained and weak, their bodies suffering from the beatings they received for sleeping in. Locked in a heavily secured cell, they endured days without food or water, leaving their mouths dry and their bodies craving molesols of food. Heavy metal shackles dug into their wrists, leaving painful bruises as a reminder of their captivity.

One of the hybrids expressed a strange premonition to his older brother.

"Hyung, I have a weird feeling," he murmured, his eyes distant.

“What is it?” his brother inquired, concern evident in his voice.

“I feel like something big is going to happen,” the younger one replied, his hybrid instincts alerting him to an unseen future.

As they shared a tense moment, the older brother hoped silently,

'I hope it's not bad, my dear brother.'

°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°○°●°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hey lovebugs,

I'm super excited to hear your thoughts on this book!

I added a tad more detail to offer a glimpse into the world of the book, just enough to spark your curiosity without giving away too much. I wanted to provide a little peek behind the curtain to entice you to come along for the ride.

A quick heads up - this book doesn't hold back on the intense stuff. It deals with some heavy, triggering content that might not be everyone's cup of tea. So, fair warning, this is not your typical light and fluffy read. It's raw, real, and might hit close to home for some.

I'm all ears and eager to hear your feedback, so drop a comment and let me know your thoughts.

Thanks a ton for taking the time to check this out and for sharing your thoughts. Your support means the world to me! Let's dive in and see where this wild literary journey takes us. 📚✨

Thanks a ton again!

TAGLIST OPEN!!

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cordyce · 1 year

Text

(we are written) in the sand and in the stars

Neteyam x Reader

Fic Summary: Sullys stick together. That is something you have heard since the beginning. But when you are forced to uproot and leave your home, it is something you must learn to fully take to heart. You are not technically a Sully, but you fight like one. And that in turn is enough to be shielded like one as well. There is no choice but to openly accept that this family, these Na’vi, are your fortress. It is perhaps harder, though, to accept that Neteyam has seemingly appointed himself as your personal guard.

༄ CHAPTER THREE: SHORELINES ON A STRING

Chapter Summary: There is no real time given for you and your family to settle into your new home; essentially, you’re thrown into the lion’s den of Metkayina training the very first day after you arrive. But even as you find yourself struggling, it seems like someone is always right there to step in to help. Someone exceedingly familiar and far too willing.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Read on AO3

Water lessons are set to begin the very next morning. The chief’s children–Tsireya and Ao’nung–are still holding true to their assignments as your trainers. Rotxo, who you have since learned is merely just a friend of the others and not actually their sibling, has apparently appointed himself as one of your trainers, as well.

If you had to give your honest opinion on the matter, you think being thrown headlong into Metkayina lifestyle training the first day after you arrived was rushing it, just the tiniest bit. But then again, no one did ask for your opinion–a seemingly recurring affair.

The Metkayinas are already waiting on the edge of your family’s bungalow by the time you and your siblings step out of it. Apart from a smile and wave from Tsireya (the only one who seems truly happy to be here) there is no greeting before the three of them turn and dive directly–gracefully, you must admit–into the water below.

So much for asking for pointers beforehand, you think.

You watch as Neteyam and Lo’ak smile at each other before Neteyam hits Lo’ak’s shoulder with a light “come on” and then they’re jumping right in too. Definitely not as graceful as the reef people before them and certainly nowhere near as well practiced.

(Personally, you think they look more like Na’vi being thrown off the backs of their ikrans as they flail into the water, but you choose not to voice that to save a bit of their pride).

Tuk does nothing to stave off her outward excitement, and her wide grin flashes to you and Kiri at the prospect of jumping in. It’s just the three of you left, and you know it will be easier if you all go together. But as you move forward with your sisters, it’s like there is a tether holding you to the makeshift dock that tugs you back as their momentum lets them jump forward.

You were hoping the prolonged amount of time flying over the open ocean would have solved this. If anything, you thought you could get over this unease if you just pushed yourself off and jumped straight in. That’s what your father would always tell you and your siblings when you were younger, anyway; that you can overcome any problem if you go at it head first.

Now, though, it seems like your head is what keeps causing this problem in the first place.

It makes you feel stupid, as your siblings slowly pop their heads back out of the water one by one to find you still standing there on the netting. You want to kick yourself for being so apprehensive when the chief’s children raise themselves above the surf just to give you questioning looks. Suddenly you feel two inches tall, and you wish you were so you could hide from their misty glances.

“What’s wrong, (Y/n)?” Tuk asks, eyes wide as she looks up at you from where she’s floating in the water.

She makes it look so easy, so manageable. And that makes you feel twice as stupid than you already do.

“I–”

“Don’t tell me you can’t swim.”

It’s Ao’nung, who asks it. Your gaze darts over to him and your stomach twists at the smirk on his face, the animosity in his eyes. Despite Tsireya slapping his arm, he doesn’t waver. Neteyam and Lo’ak whip their heads around to face him, both opening their mouths like they’re about to fire something off. Lo’ak may have just teased you for your fears all along the journey here, but you know he’d never let anyone else get away with doing such a thing.

“I can swim, thank you,” you counter in the same tone as your instigator before the two of them have the chance to mouth something off that you know will do nothing but get them into trouble. And it isn’t a lie. You can swim, it’s just..

“Then get in the water. We don’t have all day.” Ao’nung tips his head, raises his eyebrows expectantly, like he’s wanting you to give up just to give him the satisfaction of it.

You’d like to wipe that look right off of his haughty, patronizing face.

Biting the inside of your cheek, your gaze becomes downcast once more, pointed to the water below you. It isn’t deep but it is definitely extensive enough that you know it will be well above your head. Your hands feel sickeningly numb and a part of you is debating on whether or not to backtrack on your previous statement and simply pretend you can’t swim just to get out of this. Yet, just before you think of turning on your heel and walking off, Neteyam swims to the edge of the landing.

“If you jump in, I’ll catch you,” he offers as he raises his hands up in your direction. The look on his face is a complete contrast compared to Ao’nung’s. It’s steady, fervent. “It will be okay.”

It’s hard for you to tell if it’s his words or his actions that have you crouching lower on the edge of the platform, that have you trusting him and swallowing that first pebble of dread down your uncomfortably tight throat. Regardless of which one it is, your hands feel just a little less numb as you reach down for him too.

“You promise you won’t let me drown?” You implore quietly, where just the two of you can hear, and you laugh weakly in an attempt to appear just a smidgen unbothered. There’s a shake in your fingertips and a tremble in your deliverance that you try your best to hide; you wonder how well you do so.

He is just out of your reach, a few finger widths away from touching is all that separates the pair of you, and he nods.

“Pӓnutìng,” [“I Promise”] he heartens instantly, ardently.

So, you jump.

It lasts only for a split second, the dropping of your gut as your toes hit the water that has you sucking in a breath and wanting desperately to scramble backwards in an effort to grab onto any piece of the netted dock that your fingertips can cling to. But then you feel the grip of Neteyam’s hands just below your ribs, the security of his hold that softens your blow into the water and allows you to keep your head above it, just enough. Your breath trickles out of you like a stuttering faucet as the waves from your descent settle into their natural ripple once again, and you look to Neteyam who is already looking at you.

“See? No drowning,” he grins, a tilt of playfulness in his tone you know to be walking the line of teasing. You’re tempted to say something to level it, but he turns genuine again before you do. “Just stick beside me. We’ll do this together, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe as everyone else dives under the water once again, “Irayo.” [ “Thanks.” ]

Neteyam releases his grip on you and takes in a deep breath before diving down, head disappearing out of your sight. Though your fingers are still twitching, your tail still quivering every other beat, you decide it is now or never. You suck in a deep breath of your own and force your head below the waves.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how beautiful life below sea level is. Even while being veiled with a tinge of crystal blue, everything is so vibrant, so effervescent. Life is bustling underwater–schools of fish part to swim around you and scatter as your hand slices past them, species you have never seen glide away elegantly like they’re merely floating. Nothing seems afraid of your presence, swayed by the addition of your group in their waters in the slightest.

It’s like it all simply accepts you, embraces you as a newfound part of the ecosystem it shall adapt around; flourish regardless.

Your eyes stay wide as you linger close to Neteyam’s side. You really are a perfectly fine swimmer, but it is clear each of you are greatly sub par when compared to the Metkayina people. Tsireya, swimming backwards, beckons for you all to follow, so you try your best to do so. Well, except for Kiri, who you notice exploring in her own direction, seemingly captivated. You don’t blame her. It’s hard not to get caught up in it all, being surrounded by such novel beauty has your mind reeling, and Kiri has always been so in tune with the life around her.

But your marveling is cut short once your chest starts to feel tight–in a way you know is not caused by your current bout of anxiety–so you tug on Neteyam’s arm and point up. He nods, taps Lo’ak, and the four of you swim to the top.

Each of you gasp in the salty air as you break out of the liquid confines of the ocean, giving your lungs a replenishing break. It is short lived, despite your wish that it wasn’t, as you dip your heads back under just to see Tsireya’s hand signal–which you can only assume means for all of you to follow her once more, because this kind of sign language is something none of you have ever been taught. You each suck in another cursory breath and attempt to dive again.

You are well aware that their anatomy is slightly different than yours, more suited (better adapted) for this terrain and aquatic life, but it still baffles you how much of an advantage they hold over each of your heads. They are lightyears better swimmers than you Sullys are, and a part of you knows no amount of training will ever change that. You could never dream of swimming with such ease, such inclination.

This dive is even shorter, lasting only a fraction of the time your first one did. Neteyam is the first to signal a need for breath now, but all four of you are in dire need of the air. You wonder if it’s because you dove deeper, if it was the pressure that made you need it that much faster. The pressure was definitely getting to you, in a more mental sense, so you were thankful as you swam for the surface regardless of the reason.

Turning to look at Tuk (because even if you personally are inclined to think you’re going to have a heart attack at any given second, you feel the need to ensure she’s alright) as you suck in a breath, you don’t notice how your hand instinctively grabs onto Neteyam’s arm to soothe yourself. That is, until he places his own hand on top of yours.

“You okay?”

Tipping your head, you mumble an affirmation. Inherently, you are okay. It feels like such a foolish and trivial thing, to be scared of something as plain as water, but then again it’s not really the water you’re scared of, is it?

“Are you alright?” Tsireya questions your group as the three of them rise above the tide.

“You’re too fast,” Tuk whines, voicing what all of you are thinking but being the only one you know could get away with such a straightforward grievance. “Wait for us!”

“Just breathe,” Tsireya soothes. “Breathe.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter under your breath, fighting the roll of your eyes at such a statement from someone who appears to have the breath control of a fish. Or Lo’ak when he used to hold his breath as a threat to your parents as a child.

“You are not good divers,” Ao’nung smarts off. “Maybe good at swinging through trees, but..”

That earns him a smack to the back of his head from his sister and you don’t even try to hide your puff of a laugh at the sight. Well deserved, in your opinion. He maybe even needs another smack or two, the way you see it.

“C’mon bro,” Lo’ak wagers.

“We don’t speak this finger talk, you guys,” Neteyam voices, holding up his hand to poorly copy one of the signs Tsireya had been trying to show earlier. “We don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I will teach you,” Tsireya offers, ever the dutiful, generous girl she keeps proving herself to be. You wish some of that would rub off on her brother.

Before you can ask if there’s some sort of textbook on it, Rotxo speaks up for the first time today. “Where’s Kiri?

“Who?”

“Kiri,” he repeats. “Where is Kiri?”

“Did you see her?”

“Yeah, don’t–don’t worry,” you dismiss, and you think for a second as you see everyone’s eyes darting around frantically that your family is lucky to have at least one member who is halfway observant of everyone’s whereabouts. “I saw her swimming that other way earlier. She likes exploring things herself. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Everyone nods, though Tsireya and Rotxo give one last look in the direction you had motioned with your head, before you’re being told you can make your way back to the shallows for your next portion of training. You aren’t sure what it is, but you’re willing to paint on any face of excitement if it means your feet will be on solid ground again as you follow your escorts towards the shore, thankful to not be submerged any longer.

As Ao’nung calls out for the animals of which your next area of training will be revolving around, any trace of thankfulness drains from your body.

“These are ilus,” he states with a gesture of his hand to the creatures that have just swam up upon being summoned. “If you want to live here, you have to ride.”

As he is saying this, Tsireya is already leading Lo’ak over to his own ilu. You observe as he climbs onto it smoothly enough. It is a lot easier saddling onto the ilu than the ikran, you have deduced, but that does not mean you are willing to attempt it.

You listen in as Tsireya tries to give Lo’ak pointers, showing him where to hold on his ilu, how he should position himself. Then, you watch as he takes off into the water. Lo’ak has never been a particularly fast learner, so you partially expected it to go awry his first time, but it still makes you flinch when you see him fly off the back of his ilu within seconds of the ride.

The Metkayina people around laugh at his blunder (something you might have joined in on in any other circumstance at seeing your brother flounder like that), but now it simply has you wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” Ao’nung simpers as he turns around to face you, the same stupid, trying tilt of his lips from before. “Let’s see if you fly off faster than your brother.”

“Pass,” you respond instantly, stepping away from the ilu he calls up between the two of you.

“Pass?” He scrunches his brows at you, reaches over to tug on your arm to bring you closer to the ilu. “There’s no pass. You have to ride, you don’t have a choice.”

You jerk your arm out of his grasp and step back again. “I don’t want to.”

“Just try it!” It’s Tuk this time, who chimes in from where she’s standing in front of an ilu of her own that Tsireya has called up for her. She’s being supportive, you know this, but it does not dull the edge in your response.

“No, Tuk, I said I don’t want to,” you shake your head, but your eyes soften as you look at her hopeful face. “Mom isn’t learning so I shouldn’t be forced to, either.”

This seems to strike a nerve with the Metkayina boys standing around as you hear their grumbles and gripes. But it seems to especially unnerve Ao’nung, who takes a stride forward like he’s wanting to get up in your face.

“Now you listen here, forest girl–”

“It’s fine,” a voice cuts through just before Ao’nung gets too close. You both look over to see Neteyam, who has apparently already found his way onto an ilu by the help of Rotxo, who’s standing awkwardly nearby. “She can just ride with me. Or will that cause more problems, too?”

Neteyam’s smiling, but his eyes do not mirror that same warmth. Something inside you surges at the blunt proposition. You pass it off to be straight satisfaction, given you get to see how the ever so smug Ao’nung falters in expression before he whips himself around with a click against his teeth.

“Fine. But first learning to ride with two is harder. Do not complain to me when you can’t get the hang of it.”

He gives none of you the opportunity to reply before he’s stalking off, so you find your way over to Neteyam. Rotxo is giving him a run down on hand positions and how to hold his body underwater when you make it to his side. They both turn their attention to you as you step up next to them.

“Are you sure? About the riding with you thing?” you push, because the last thing you want to do is slow down everyone else’s adaptability because of your own (foolish) personal issues. Again. “I can just sneak off and let you do it on your own.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t,” he reaffirms, then turns back to Rotxo. “How will it be different for two?”

It takes a few minutes for Rotxo to tweak and try his explanations for riding with a passenger. It really doesn’t seem all that difficult, but then again you’re still above water, and you won’t be the one steering this thing. He instructs you to climb onto Neteyam’s ilu just behind him and you do as you’re told. It’s a bit awkward, figuring out the hand positions and how close you really need to be seated. Rotxo places your arms around Neteyam’s waist and directs you to lock your hands there. He explains that you can be more lenient with the hand placement when you get more comfortable riding, but for now the grip has to stay tight and secure.

As you feel Neteyam tense under your hands, ever so slightly, you wonder if maybe he’s nervous about this whole riding thing, too. You don’t get the chance to ask him before he takes off.

It’s rough the first few rides (and you aren’t sure who freaks out more when you and Neteyam fly off in separate directions underwater, you or him) but eventually it becomes a little easier. You feel guilty, deep in your gut, for tampering with Neteyam’s experience and hardening his learning curve. But you try to remind yourself as Tsireya and Rotxo guide your family away from the shallows that he was the one who offered, that it was his choice to volunteer himself.

It takes you a bit to actually find the courage to look around as you’re riding through the water instead of hiding your face in Neteyam’s shoulder (this is a lot faster than just swimming, after all), but when you do you find yourself at the same level of amazement you had been before. It really is extraordinary, life in the sea, and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that a part of you might like it here after all.

After seeing everyone is well adjusted enough on their ilus, Tsireya and Rotxo pull your family (minus Tuk) to the rocks for some breathing lessons. Having good breath control is one of the most vital components of being a successful diver, you’re told.

As far as you’re concerned, taking advice from people quite literally born in the water is pretty redundant, all things considered.

Tsireya and Rotxo (the latter, you’ve discovered, is far more willing to help with you newcomers than the Olo’eyktan’s own son) begin to lead your circle through various breathing exercises. The key is long, deep breaths, focusing to slow down your heart rate as much as possible. Keeping yourself calm, at peace.

Something you’ve never been particularly great at.

Tsireya tries to use Lo’ak to demonstrate this, who does alright on the breathing portion, but fails drastically (embarrassingly, more like) when she places her hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

She tells him his heart is beating too fast and you nearly burst out laughing–Neteyam does, along with Rotxo, laugh under his breath when she says it, to which Kiri rolls her eyes. And you can tell by the look on Lo’ak’s face that he wants nothing more than the rocks beneath him to split open so he can have an early meeting with the great mother right about now.

You’re given a few more tips, some other concepts you can try in order to get your heart rate as slow as possible, before everyone starts to depart. Tsireya and Lo’ak split off, talking about diving lessons and giving incentive. Kiri wanders away to do what you can only assume will be more exploring, and you watch Rotxo venture towards the village center (probably to find that insufferable friend of his). Which leaves you and Neteyam, who apparently already has an idea in mind.

“Okay, breathe with me,” he instructs.

A huff blows past your lips. “This is stupid, Neteyam.”

You’re sitting directly across from him in water that comes just up to your chin. If you were standing, it would probably reach right above the middle of your thighs. It’s shallow enough, but you understand what he is getting at. Doesn’t mean you’re all too thrilled about it, though.

“It’s not stupid, you skxawng,” he deters, then promptly dodges the hand you swing at him at the name. He simpers at you and grabs your hand as you go to pull it back (like that fell right into his plans) and places it to his chest. You can feel his heartbeat, the rhythmic pump of it under your palm. “Together. Breathe.”

“If you want to do this together then don’t you need to feel mine too?” You question, because isn’t that the point of all this?

Neteyam’s ears twitch at your query, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think you’d felt his breath hitch. For what reason, you don’t know.

“Right. Yes,” he agrees and moves his hand through the water closer to you, but he falters.

You furrow your brows at that, jut out your lip, because if he’s forcing you to do all this then the least he can do is cooperate right along with you. Sighing, you grab his hand and place it to your chest, palm to heart just like you are to him. The only difference is his hand has one finger less than you, a fact that mentally makes you grimace. A reminder that will ever be engraved in your soul.

He nods to you after sitting in this fixed position for a moment before he begins to suck in a breath. You mirror him directly, correspond with his inspirations and let your chest rise as you feel his do so beneath your palm. You’re doing well on that aspect, matching him breath for breath. It’s such an easy thing when your head’s above water, you wish it would translate just as well when it’s below.

“Okay,” Neteyam speaks up after a few minutes, “Now, try it with your head under.”

You’re a little apprehensive at the suggestion despite being at the shallow end of shore where you can simply stand up whenever you feel like it, and the trepidation must relay wholly on your face, because Neteyam squeezes the hand you still have placed to his chest.

“I’ll do it with you. It will be easy.”

“Ha, easy,” you mumble, let your eyes roll at his valor. Everything is just so easy for everyone else, isn’t it. “Right.”

But still, you find yourself taking in deeper breaths right along with him as you get ready to dip your head below the tide, trusting Neteyam with anything he extends to you. Because he’s never given you a reason not to, has he? He’s always made sure to do his best to keep you out of risky situations, or do everything he can to get you out of them when you found yourself to venture into one unknowingly.

You trust him because he’s proven to you over and over again that he’ll do nothing but look out for you, and a part of you thinks that’s a rather frightening prospect all on its own.

There’s a moment of shared eye contact, an understanding as each of you take one more breath, then you lower your head and allow yourself to be enveloped fully by the ocean. You’d think after diving and riding on the backs of ilus you’d feel more at ease already, have less anxiety about it all. But your chest still hurts just as much now as it ever has, and every second you spend below water has you reeling.

You know when it’s getting the best of you not by feeling it yourself, but by the tapping of Neteyam’s fingers against your chest as he points out your heart rate. It needs to be slow, you know this. It needs to match his, you’re aware.

But it’s hard. It’s hard for you to overcome this and no one seems to be getting that. It’s a feeling that closes in on you and suffocates you–literally and figuratively. You want to just get over it but you can’t. You can’t.

“I can’t do this,” you assert as you break out of the water with a sharp inhale and rise onto your feet. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Neteyam reaches for your arm as he stands up himself, water dripping down his face. “You can–“

“No I can’t, Neteyam!” You bite back. “You don’t understand, it’s too much. I can’t do it.”

Suddenly, his hands are on your shoulders, turning you around and forcing you to meet his eyes. He holds you steady, keeps you rooted as you catch the breath you hadn’t even realized you were actually gasping for. The waves slosh against your legs and you focus on the pale green flecks in Neteyam’s irises in an attempt to calm yourself down. They remind you of the petals on the outlandish flowers from the forest; from home. Something about that helps to level you.

“You can,” he expounds, gives you no gateway to disagree. “You can do this. We can do this. Together.”

Together, he says. Hand in hand, step by step–he is always so insistent on it being together. So adamant that you are not set aside, left to your own devices in an off chance of.. what, exactly? Does he persist on such an ideal so one does not merely feel alone, or is it solely to put his own mind at ease, allow his own soul to rest easy at the proclamation.

Perhaps, you think, your father has done too well on pushing that morale onto his eldest son. Together, he inclines. Together, he reiterates. Like it’s vital you remember it, you embrace it, welcome it. Does he feel such a devotion to the cause for everyone? Or, you wonder..

Your breathing, slowly but surely, begins to settle into normal intakes once again. Your heart rate draws back on its racing in your chest. You let Neteyam’s hands slide from your shoulders to your palms, let him glide his fingertips over your own until he’s leading you back from the step away you had taken.

“One more try, alright?”

And as he pulls you down to where you’re seated once again with your chin being licked by the salty tide, you nod.

You trust him, and you try again.

After what you can only describe as endless hours of grueling water exposure training at the hands of an overtly cruel Neteyam (which really translates to just over an hour of him gently coaxing you to stay longer and longer underwater until you feel somewhat comfortable with the idea), you find yourself sitting with Tsireya along the shore.

She’s teaching you their sign language, the signals and gestures you’ll need to know in order to be able to communicate while underwater most effectively. You’d like to think of yourself as a relatively receptive person, but you must admit the whole learning a new language thing really proves itself to be considerably tricky.

Rotxo is a few yards away teaching the boys the signs. You aren’t sure if Neteyam proposed that idea just to watch Lo’ak suffer from not getting to be around Tsireya, or if it was because he actually wanted his younger brother to retain some real information instead of gawk, but a part of you is thankful for some form of girl time; even if it comes in the shape of a lesson.

The two of you are taking a break as you try to recall different signs on your own when you catch Tsireya staring at Lo’ak from afar. You’re partially thankful his back is to the two of you so you aren’t having to watch them drool back and forth, but you can’t lie and say that you don’t think it’s rather endearing that they’ve taken such an interest already.

“Lo’ak is sweet,” Tsireya says, out of the blue. And as you look over to her and catch her gaze, it almost appears as if she’s surprised herself at saying the thought out loud.

You smile warmly at her, because seeing her embarrassed is not something you’d really wish for. “Maybe to you,” you chuckle, shifting your regard down to the sand as you drag your finger through it. “He’s a pest.”

Her lips stretch widely at that, eyes crinkling gleefully at the corners. “In your eyes, I suppose I could see that.” Then she hums, looks to Lo’ak once more before directing her observance elsewhere. “He seems very curious. Willing to learn.”

Something churns in your gut. Guilt, maybe. Possibly conviction. You just nod your head at her statement.

“He’s willing to do a lot of things,” you abhor, though you don’t mean to sound so harsh. “He feels he doesn’t have a choice.” You lift your head to see the resignation on Tsireya’s face and instantly backpedal. “But with you it’s different. I can tell he likes learning all the things you teach us. You make him excited. To do things. You know.”

You hold your breath as you wait for her reaction and let it all whoosh out of you like a popped balloon when the smile cuts across her glowing face once more. When you notice the mood has once again lightened, you go back to drawing in the sand.

Tsireya hums again, and what leaves her saccharine lips next has you snapping your head up so fast you think you might have given yourself a mild case of whiplash.

“You think Neteyam is sweet, too. Do you not?”

You shift a little in the sand, crinkle your brows a bit at her statement. “I’m.. not sure what you mean.”

Neteyam is sweet, sure. He is nice, the most respectful Na’vi you know by a landslide. Sincere, bona fide; loyal through and through.

“Well, he has been helping you so frequently. Each time you are struggling he is always the first to step in, and you coordinate so well with one another. Harmonize so naturally. So I thought–“ As she takes in your confused expression, her eyes widen and she raises her hand to her mouth as if to stop herself. “Oh, I am so sorry, I seem to have misinterpreted. I didn’t mean to overstep, I–“

“It’s okay,” you wave her off, showcase an easy smile to put her worries to rest even as heat starts to pool into the apples of your cheeks. “Don’t even worry about it.”

She offers up an apologetic smile of her own before turning her attention back to the sand to draw another motion that you can add to your silent vocabulary, getting back to the lesson to steer from the awkwardness–a safe bet. But you find your eyes drifting over to the boy who’s just been brought into question.

Neteyam has always been in your corner, by your side, just as you’ve been with him. He has always been your favorite person to be around, that you are willing to admit readily. That is something easy to confirm the sentiment of.

But as he catches you staring, flashes you a lopsided grin before he’s getting scolded to focus by Rotxo, something new flips in your gut that you try your very best to ignore.

Something rippling.

When you want to clear your head, you always find yourself going directly to Kiri.

It doesn’t even need to involve talking or venting to her about what has you on edge (though both of you do your fair share of that, as well), but simply being in her presence has a way of putting you at ease. Relaxing your mind in a way that you will always welcome.

This time is no different. The two of you may not have your own secret hideout carved into the side of a hollow tree trunk anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find your own place here.

You’re on a semi-secluded strip of the beach. It’s calming, sitting in the water and letting it lap across your thighs and against your waist as you watch Kiri float near the surface. She likes it here, or at the very least likes seeing all the wonders the ocean can hold. It does your heart well, being able to witness her finding a bit of happiness, a morsel of contentment in a time such as this.

She’s probably the only one who you think matches your level of irritability about the situation you’ve all been thrown in, even if you haven’t directly voiced it. And you know very well she is the only one who comes even remotely close to feeling the heartache you harbor over the capture of your brother.

The two of you have always been easy to connect on things like that, and for that you are forever grateful. Besides, if you yourself cannot find comfort, you’re glad she seems to be able to seek it out wherever she goes, even if it’s for just a few moments.

Which is evidently all you’re destined for–a few moments–as drifting voices approach you that do not sound the least bit pleasant.

“What is she doing?” There’s laughs, snickers, and you shoot a look over your shoulder to see Ao’nung with his little group of cronies approaching the two of you. Distaste pools on the tip of your tongue, unease bubbling up your throat.

You keep your eyes on them as you try to warn your sister. “Kiri, get up.”

They’re closer now, practically standing over the top of you, their shadows dimming the warmth of the sun you were just enjoying in peace a moment ago. “She’s just looking at the sand,” one of them belittles, pokes fun. Your jaw clenches.

This time, you reach for Kiri as you address her, pull at her arm so she’s aware of what looms over her, because like hell are you going to let her sit here and be a victim to whatever immature charade these guys are playing at.

“Huh?” She asks as she raises up out of the water, wiping at her eyes and blinking to clear her vision. “What’d you say?”

You open your mouth to speak, tell her the two of you should just go find somewhere else to hang out, but you don’t get the chance to voice that.

“Are you some kind of..” Ao’nung falters, pretends to be thinking, then practically lets his intention drip off his tongue like venom. “Freak?”

And his friend doesn’t miss a beat, tittering as he joins in. “He asked if you are a freak.”

Pulling Kiri up as you stand yourself, a sneer carves its way into the mold of your lips. She scoffs lightly and rolls her eyes. “No,” she grumbles at the connotation, letting you lead her through a gap in the group to walk away.

But it seems all for naught, as they simply step right into your path once again to block you from going anywhere. You’re growing more and more irritated by the second because, honestly, if they can’t stand your family so much, why don’t they just leave you alone?

“Are you sure?” Ao’nung presses, getting right in her face. “I mean, you’re not even real Na’vi.” He grabs at her hands before she can move away, holds them disparagingly, a derisive expression painted across his features. “Look at these hands. I mean look at them.”

The hiss that shrieks through your fangs is instant as you step between them, pry Kiri’s hands out of his slimy grasp and try your hardest to halfway shield her behind you. (Not that that is really an exceedent help, given you’re currently surrounded). Spewing sordid insults out at you and your family is one thing, though you want to wring his scaly little neck for that alone, but physically laying his hands on your sister?

You’ve done your best to try to keep peace, be good for your parents’ sake–bite your tongue and fold your hands like a proper daughter should. But you think you might be reaching your limit.

You’re about to attempt to brush past them one last time–your last stitch effort to break away from this idiotic ambush once and for all to get you and your sister some privacy, but something jerks at you. There are hands wrapped around your tail, tugging at it as guffaws sound around you, like it’s all just some kind of game. You realize to them, it is.

“Ha! Look at her little baby tail.”

“Get your hands off of me,” you bark at the culprit, shove at him and yank your tail out of his grasp. It isn’t a pleasant feeling, being prodded like this, being goaded. It feels invasive, violating. You hate this so much and you just want them to leave you alone.

You don’t understand their wish for a feud when a feud is the last thing you and your family want. Bickering and fighting and being at odds will solve nothing. In fact, all it will do is get you in trouble during the one time where you’re already walking on eggshells every single day as is. Do they not understand how hard this is on your family? Do they not care?

Is belligerence the only thing they are capable of?

“Hey!” It’s Lo’ak, who tears the scrutiny off you and your sister as he strides over, right up to Ao’nung in order to get him away from the both of you. “Back off fish legs.”

“Oh,” he chuckles, levels your brother with a look. “Another four fingered freak.”

His friends push and jab at him, causing him to wheel in all directions to shove them away too. “Don’t touch me,” he warns, wavers. You’re so over this.

Kiri arbitrates, but they don’t listen. “Leave us alone.” It falls on deaf ears.

“Get away from us!” you call out; more forward, less refined. You figure you can leave the diplomacy to your sister, since you find it hard not to be blunt in situations such as this where the offending party can’t seem to get the hint through their overly thick skulls.

You’re still doing your best to shield Kiri with an arm out in front of her–in any other situation you might have laughed at how you’re currently standing like your mother. Now though, nothing about this is funny. Just as you’re about to reach for Lo’ak in an attempt to get him away from their bullying too, Neteyam comes to the scene.

He looks pissed, braids swinging with every stomp of his feet as he stalks up and abruptly shoves Ao’nung back away from the three of you. “You heard what they said. Leave them alone,” he snaps before he’s getting closer, finger pointed at Ao’nung threateningly enough it even has you on edge. He pokes him in the chest, punctuates his demands. “Back. Off. Now.”

The air turns static, and to your surprise, Ao’nung listens. He holds his hands up in faux style surrender, and though he still has a mocking look on his face, it is clear he’s heeding directly to Neteyam’s commands. A part of you wonders if it’s simply because Neteyam is the oldest, if he chooses to resonate with him on that because he used to once be an heir himself. But mostly you think it’s just because Ao’nung is actually scared shitless of him, which you find twice as enjoyable.

“Smart choice,” Neteyam acknowledges as the chief’s son takes a step back, sends a warning look across the entire group. “And from now on, I need you to respect my family.”

One of Ao’nung’s friends hisses before getting signaled back by the former. You roll your eyes at the shrill and Kiri sticks out tongue.

“Let’s go,” Neteyam mutters, redirects Lo’ak with a hand to the head and Kiri with a nudge to the shoulders.

You can still hear them all behind you, snickering to themselves and making demeaning comments about the lot of you as Neteyam places his hand on your back to guide you away with the rest of them. You’re more than willing to just drop it, ignore them and swallow down the hurt their words and actions caused like you have always done, like it was nothing more than a bite of tart fruit. Just another tally to the list of your flaws.

But Lo’ak seems to not share that mindset with you.

His faltering to a stop has you doing the same, turning your attention to him and attempting to step over and reach for his arm to continue tugging him along. Before you can, though, he’s already turning right around. Walking right back to the group you were just saved from.

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam calls after him, his tone dripping in apprehension.

Lo’ak raises a calming hand to the three of you. “I got this, bro,” he reassures, but it does nothing to ease the pins and needles you suddenly feel in the soles of your feet. He steps right up to Ao’nung and holds up his hand, like he’s putting it on display. “I know this hand is funny. Look, I’m a freak. Alien.”

The group laughs under their breaths at him, sharing judging looks with each other. You don’t understand why you have such an odd feeling about this, and you have no idea what he’s getting at by subjecting himself to it.

“But it can do something really cool. Watch,” he instructs, and to your surprise Ao’nung actually has his full attention on your brother’s hand. “First, I ball it up real tight like this, okay? Then–”

In the split second that you blink, there’s a crack, a grunt. Your mouth drops open as you see Lo’ak’s fist come in contact directly with Ao’nung’s face. But it isn’t just once, or twice. Lo’ak gets three solid hits in before Ao’nung falls back on his ass into the water.

“It’s called a punch, bitch!” Lo’ak spits. “Don’t ever touch my sisters again.”

After that, all hell breaks loose. Ao’nung surges forward and tackles Lo’ak to the ground. They immediately start scrapping, throwing each other on and off and swinging at whatever they can get into contact with. The other boys jump in, all target locked on your brother. You’re contemplating stepping in and breaking it up somehow.

You look to Neteyam to see if he’s thinking the same, if he’s running through ways to possibly diffuse the situation as well. But as soon as you glance up and catch sight of the fed up slant to his lips, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side, your stomach drops.

“Neteyam don’t,” you plead, attempting to pull him back to stop him but he just barely weasels out of your grasp. Voice straining with frustration, you shout after him. “Neteyam!”

He throws himself into the fight head on, socking the first guy who tries to come at him and instantly kneeing the next. Your hands fly to your face, dragging down it as you think to yourself that this literally cannot possibly be happening right now. Stupid, stupid boys.

“Stop it,” Kiri groans at your side, “Stop it! You’re so stupid.”

“This is so childish!” You yell, too–reiterating her point. “You’re all gonna get in trouble.”

The pair of you watch, exasperated. There’s nothing you can do (because you sure as hell aren’t jumping in the middle of that just to get a black eye) so you turn to your sister. You stare at each other for a moment, hear the cries and complaints of your brother and his rivals, and suddenly laughs are bubbling out of each of your lips at the bewilderment of it all.

The two of you simply stand there and wait, snickering at the idiotic display while you wait for the trouble you warned them of to inevitably come.

And come the trouble does.

You follow at a safe distance as Jake ushers his two slightly beaten and busted up sons to your family’s home. He shoves them inside and you wait outside, leaning against the side of the hut just out of sight as you listen in. You hear him begin to scold them, ask them what his one wish was on the matter of coming here.

Guilt pools deep in your gut as most of the heat is directed to Lo’ak, despite Neteyam’s (unsuccessful) effort to take the blame off his brother’s shoulders. You listen as your brother justifies himself, tells Jake he was simply standing up for you and Kiri, explains what Ao’nung and his friends were saying about you.

Irritation seeps into your skin when you hear your father tell him to go apologize. You don’t think it’s fair–he did nothing wrong, he isn’t the one at fault here. If anything, Ao’nung should be apologizing to him, not the other way around. You watch as Lo’ak storms out of the hut, sparing you a glimpse as he passes, but offering nothing else. You want to apologize to him, you can’t help but feel he deserves that. But you have a bone to pick first.

Neteyam’s footsteps sound close to the exit, so you get ready to move. Before he steps out, though, your father stops him. “Hey,” and it’s softer, than his tone was just moments ago, “So, what’d the other guys look like?”

You want to scoff at the question. Or maybe the audacity of it, given the circumstances.

“Worse,” Neteyam answers him quietly, truthfully.

There’s a pause. You can’t see your father’s face but you can imagine the look he’s giving right now. “That’s good,” he affirms.

Neteyam seems to pick up on the approval in his timbre, because you hear a breathy laugh from him before he adds, “A lot worse.”

He’s told to get out at that, Jake’s way of telling him not to push his luck, if you had to guess. He seems so preoccupied that he doesn’t even register you standing by the entrance, walking right past you. So, you take quick steps forward to follow him.

“A lot worse,” you copy him, hoping the mockery comes across as heavy as you want it to. His focus flits to you, eyes a little wide as if you caught him the slightest bit off guard. You couldn’t care less about that. “Do you know how dumb that sounds?”

“What?” he asks, stops walking to face you as his brows (or the shape of what brows would be) knead together. “What do you mean?”

Conflicted, that’s how you’d describe yourself right now. Maybe it’s because you’re still cut open from what Ao’nung and his friends had said, maybe it’s the guilt eating away at you from indirectly being the reason Lo’ak has to apologize to them. Whatever it is, it has you acting a little arbitrary.

“You shouldn’t have jumped in the fight, Neteyam,” you state–scold, in a haphazard sense. And it’s something you’d feel the need to say even without being at war with yourself. “It was stupid.”

“Stupid?” He levels you with a look, disbelieving, almost. You don’t like the way it makes you feel. “I was standing up for my family. For you.”

“I can stand up for myself,” you retort, and it tastes bitter on your tongue. This wasn’t how you wanted the conversation to shift, you weren’t meaning to sound so vindictive. You blow out a breath. “Besides, it’s not like I’m not used to it. I can handle it.”

And Neteyam, despite your enmity, drops every bit of his guard. “But you shouldn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you intervene before he can finish, because pity is not what you were trying to get out of this. You just want him to be aware, that he doesn’t have to fight and get himself in trouble for the sake of you. Studying his face for a moment, you sigh. “Anyways, you should probably go get something for your lip.”

Before he can say anything else you avert your eyes and walk off, mind already reeling.

Your fingers hurt.

This has taken you far longer than you thought it would and you’re thankful you’re on the last bead because the sun is merely a sliver over the horizon now, meaning you’re running out of light to see since your foolish self did not bring a source with you. Something about the sea beads on hand here feel different to work with compared to the wooden ones you’re used to. The change in texture is obvious, but it’s like using these is more taxing than the ones from home. You’re grateful to Tsireya for giving them to you, yet you still wish you had packed some before you’d left. It’s too late to have remorse over something like that, though, so you push the thought from your mind.

There is one thought that you can’t seem to shake, however.

Guilt has a funny way of trying to swallow you whole. It has you locked in its jaws even now, as you tie off the piece you are creating and hold it up to admire your handiwork. The very cause for the making of this necklace in the first place is guilt, followed ever so closely by gratitude. You hope it conveys that, proves to mean that much when it’s out of your hands and in the ones of whom it’s intended to belong.

It’s a highly acknowledged value in Na’vi culture that making one's own jewelry and clothing, or gifting such things to others directly, is an.. intimate gesture. Not necessarily in the definitive sense, but more so in the meaning that it is just not something one takes lightly, not a sentiment meant to be discarded.

You must respect the things people gift unto you that they have made with their own hands; may Eywa bless their labor. Neytiri taught you that when you were young, when she gave you your first bracelet. You still have it, even now, because such a thing does not leave you in your first lifetime or the next. Hope creeps into your bones that it holds up for you now.

A light sweeps over you from behind, a narrow beam that has you squinting as you look over your shoulder. The only people here who would have a flashlight would be your family, and given the lack of taunting or lecturing accompanying it, there’s just one person who it could be.

“Should you have that? You’d get in trouble if you got caught, you know,” you tell him as you turn back around, stare at the star sprinkled ocean.

“Ah, srankehe,” [“more or less”] Neteyam waves off as he sits down about a foot away from you. You can feel his eyes on you, hear the smile in his voice. “How much more trouble could I get in after today?”

“Right,” you respond with a ghost of a chuckle. You turn to him, peer at him through the blanketed dark. “How’s your lip?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” His tone takes a dip, and for a second you grow concerned. “They said I have to get them cut off, they’re unsalvageable. Yes, completely busted up to shreds. Shame.”

Every drop of worry rushes out of your body instantly and you reach across the small distance separating the two of you. He laughs as you shove him, flashes the light in your face as a little bit of payback. Then, the light drifts over your hand, goes back and does a double sweep, only stopping once it’s pointed directly on what you almost forgot you were still holding in it.

“What’s this?” Neteyam asks, immediately scooting closer and cautiously reaching for the necklace. He holds it in his hand so delicately, runs his fingers over the beads like it’s the most fragile thing he’s ever seen. “Did you make this?”

The building anxiety becomes just a smidgen too much as he looks over at you, so you turn your attention down to the beaded item in his hand.

“Yeah,” you nod, bite the inside of your cheek as you brush your finger against the accent shell you placed in the middle. “Yeah, it’s for you.”

That seems to take him aback, has him pausing for a moment. “You made it for me?”

You nod again. Your tongue suddenly feels like lead in the bottom of your mouth. You feel stupid, this seems silly. Part of you wants to yank it out of his hands and yell just kidding! before you risk embarrassing yourself within the next few moments. You try to choose your words wisely.

“I wanted to say sorry, for earlier. I shouldn’t have told you not to fight, that’s not my place. And I really am grateful for you standing up for me. I just.. I don’t want you getting scolded because of me. I don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble. So, I’m sorry, Neteyam. Ngaytxoa.” [“My deepest apologies.”]

He’s looking at you again, you can tell. There’s an odd bevel in his tone when he queries, “So you made this as an apology? Because you feel guilty?”

“Yes,” you confirm, verify as you find the courage to meet his gaze, but you redial too, “Well, and as a thank you.”

“A thank you?” He tips his head like he’s truly perplexed, and you wonder how he doesn’t already know why you’re grateful for him, why you’ve used every ounce of your appreciation in the fashioning of this lavalliere.

“You deserve one.” A knot slides up into your throat, chokes you up as you address him now. You do your best to work past it. “You’ve helped me through so much since coming here. You’ve been patient with me and–and you’ve stepped in whenever I needed you. You’ve done everything you can to help me. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am for that. How grateful I am for you.”

That last part slips out of you before you can think much about it, but once it rolls off your tongue you can’t help but realize just how true it is. You are exceedingly thankful for Neteyam not just for what he’s done, but for who he is. Your heart holds a permanent room for him, and you think he has the right to know that.

For a few painstaking moments, Netayam just looks at you. Like he’s mulling over everything you’ve just said, like he’s processing it to the utmost ability. You’re almost on the verge of regret, thinking maybe you’ve crossed some line drawn in the sand that you were not previously aware of. That is, until there’s a twitch at the corner of his lips.

“Do I have to put it on myself?”

The smile that starts to mirror from his face to yours is inevitable, but you hook your fang on the corner of your lip in a sorry attempt to not beam so widely anyways. You raise onto your knees as you take the necklace from him, to make it easier to face him. Neteyam’s eyes never leave your face as you focus on gently looping the necklace over his head. Once it’s on, you slide your fingers behind his neck–delicately, carefully–lifting his braids out of the way so that it can fall properly into place. You’re slow on pulling away, drifting your fingers down the slick, sea glass beadwork until they find the middle shell. You take this time to straighten it, make sure it’s laying properly against his chest.

Just as you go to pull your hands away, Neteyam’s own come up to keep them held to his chest. Your gaze flits up, dares to meet his. On your knees like this you’re looking down on him, an occurrence that usually is the other way around. His eyes are glistening, shining. There are constellations illuminated across his cheeks, his nose. You think you’d like to map them.

“Irayo fìxtan,” [“Thank you so much.”] he murmurs, soft and low as his thumb rubs over your knuckles. His expression is so warm, so earnest. It suddenly feels very hard to breathe, and that feeling from before, when you were with Tsireya, is happening again. “Irayo fìxtan, Ma (Y/n).”

There’s a shift, a tilt of an axis. Something changes, in this very moment; something far from trivial but so close to uncharted. It is unknown to you what this all means, what this entails.

What changes?

You open your mouth to speak, but even you aren’t sure what you will say. Part of you wants to change the subject, nerves tend to plague you and make you want to veer from such things, but the rest of you, well. You think you might have truly settled on something to say, something to voice, now.

But someone’s hesitant footsteps approaching has your attention faltering, causes you to look to your left where you find Ao’nung walking up with a look on his face that has your stomach twisting. And when you thought that was bad enough, the words that leave his lips make you forget anything you were planning to mutter.

“There’s a problem.. with Lo’ak.”

#in the sand and in the stars #avatar x reader #neteyam #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader #avatar fanfiction #neteyam sully #atwow neteyam #atwow x reader

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heartfeltcierra · 1 year

Text

Sabo X Female Insecure Plus Sized Reader

AN-I swear I love this man so much :'). This ended up being super long and super cheesy. Thank you @seafoamxshayde for helping me edit!

Masterlist

Word Count- 6.5k

Angst to Fluff

Warnings- Alcohol consumption, insecurities, self loathing, injury and mentions of blood

Spoiler Warnings- Marineford (Mention of character death) and minor Dressrosa spoilers.

“Y/N you need to pick something to wear soon, we don’t have much time before the banquet starts.” You turn your head over to Koala, who has been scolding you for the past half hour.

“I don’t think I’ll go. I’m not feeling well.” Your lie was not far from the truth. You felt fine physically, but mentally not so much.

“I’m not buying that crap Y/N. You are a part of the revolutionary army, you can’t just skip this” Koala walked over to your closet and started rummaging through it. “You're going if I have to drag you. Not even Sabo is fighting me about going. And you know how stubborn he is.”

Your ears perk up hearing his name. Sabo is the reason you don’t want to go in the first place. Not that its his fault, it’s your own stupid crush on him that’s holding you back. You know if you go, you’ll end up romanticizing something that won’t happen-ultimately breaking your own heart. Silly as it may sound, you're just protecting yourself.

“Hellloooo, earth to Y/N.” Your attention pans back to Koala who had one of your dresses held up to her small frame. “I think this one is it. It’s cute, but very professional.” You look at how gigantic the dress looks compared to her. The sight made you sick to your stomach.

“It doesn't matter because I’m not going.” You grab the blanket on your bed and throw it over yourself. Hopefully she got the message this time.

“Fine. I’m laying this dress out in case you change your mind.” You hear her shuffle before your doors slam shut, leaving you in the silence of your room.

It's been about 20 minutes since Koala left and all you’ve done is stare mindlessly at the ceiling. Occasionally you would think of Sabo. “I wonder what he is wearing tonight?” “ “I bet he is wearing his fancy cologne that smells like cedar and musk.”

“Dammit Y/N, quit thinking about him for one second.” You smack your hands against your cheeks as you scold yourself. No matter how desperately you try, the chief of staff has made a home in your head and heart with no plans of leaving.

You want to confess, you want to pour your heart out to him. But you are all too familiar with the outcome. You think of all the times as a little girl, where you’d confess to a boy only to be laughed at or how you were treated weird for liking someone. The dehumanizing experience of being an overweight girl.

Even after all the heartbreaks and unrequited love you experienced in your life, you still have an annoying small glimmer of hope. No matter how many times you tell yourself he would not want you, and no matter how many times you remind yourself you're not good enough for him- you still have a chance. Sometimes it felt like putting out a fire with gasoline. Maybe you should just tell him how you feel. The sooner your heart is broken, the quicker you can start healing it.

Knock Knock Knock

“I already told you Koala, I’m not going!” You yell from your bed. She is persistent as ever. Despite your yell, the doors open anyways. “Koala?” It’s hard to tell who it is considering the time of night and lack of light in your room. You hear a few heavy steps before the door shuts back. Your breath hitches in your throat along with a sense of unease.

“Koala, if you're trying to scare me it's not funny. Cut it out!” The steps were slow and calculated. Like a lion approaching its prey. You begin to wonder if you're really being pranked or if you were actually under attack. You squint your eyes and see an outline of a tall shadow. Considering its size, there is no way its Koala. The steps come to a halt right in front of your bed. It stood for a few moments, like it was planning something. Your body is telling you to get up and fight, but you are frozen to the bed. You could feel a shift in the room and an unfamiliar weight on the end of the bed. You feel the bed dip with every movement of the shadow. It drew closer and closer.

You manage to whimper out as the shadow straddles your frame . Normally this would make you feel self conscious, in this case you were so scared it did not even matter. You could feel hot breath fan over you. It’s over now, you can’t have a broken heart if you're dead... At Least the shadow smells nice. Wait. You know this smell.

“BOO!” A small puff of fire revealed Sabo’s face. Your strength finds you again as you sling the laughing Blonde off of you. He landed right on the floor with a small “Ow”. You jump up from the bed, and grab the closest thing you have as a weapon. A broom.

“Sabo you little jerk.” You hold the broom ready to fight him. His laughing fit had stopped, he was now fixated on your movements. “You scared me.”

“You know Y/N, you're supposed to clean up the floor after you kill me. Not the other way around.” You could only roll your eyes as he smirked.

“Is that so huh? Any other last words you want to say before you die then Sabo?” You stood over him jabbing the end of the broom in his handsome face.

“Why yes I do. That gown you're wearing is very cute, but not for the banquet .” You were unaware of your circumstance until he said that. You jump back into the bed and cover yourself up. Sabo pulled his body from the floor and sat at the edge of your bed. “I guess you're sparing me from certain death. Thank you Y/N.”

“Haven’t you teased me enough Sabo?” You pull the blanket up to your chin and glare at the man. Sabo laughed and shook his head, confirming he was done. “Good. So what are you really here for?”

“I was heading to my room to get ready for the said banquet tonight and met Koala. She seemed pretty worked up.” Sabo crossed his arms in a dissatisfied way. “She said you refused to go. She also mentioned you seemed gloomy. Is everything okay Y/N?”

“I’m fine. I apologize if I caused any concerns. I honestly just needed a moment to myself.” Your eyes met your lap. You want to come right out and say it, but you can’t. The words are there, but you won’t let them leave.

“Okay then. It’s settled.” Sabo stood up and stretched his arms. “As the chief of staff of the revolutionary army, I order you to get dressed and accompany me to the party.” The statement sends a shockwave through your body, but at the same time you shoot him a confused look.

“And If I refuse?” Your body is screaming to accept his offer, but your guarded heart is telling you otherwise.

“I’ll fire you.” You know he was joking, but it didn’t stop you from throwing a pillow in his face. “But in all seriousness I want you to come. It will be fun, I promise.” He was making it hard to say no, his soft smile had you hook, line and sinker.

“Okay, I’ll get ready.” Sabo seems very pleased that you agreed. His eyes then start wandering around your bedroom before they lock on to your dress.

“Is that the dress you're wearing?” He walked up to the dress and studied the fabric between his gloves fingers.

“Umm- yes why?” Sabo smiled and let the dress go. Did he not like it?

“No reason, just curious.” The look on Sabo’s face concerns but excites you. That face is the one he has when he is plotting something. “I’ll leave you to it. I need to go get ready myself. I’ll wait for you in the corridor.” He winked and walked out of the room, leaving you in shock.

You jump to your feet and hurry over to the dress. Maybe that glimmer of hope is more than a mere glimmer. You throw your nightgown off and onto the bed. You put the dress on and smooth it over your body. The only thing missing now was some jewelry. You walk over to the box you kept your valuables in. It's mainly filled with little trinkets you find when you are on a mission. You rummage until you find exactly what you're looking for. You pull out a simple pearl necklace with matching earrings. Sabo had bought them for you when he went to fishman island sometime ago. You hold the delicate pearls with a smitten grin. Maybe this was not just a friendly gift. You clasp the necklace on and place the earrings in. After applying some make up, you head out and towards the place Sabo said he would meet you.

As you walk towards the corridor you regret not bringing a jacket. You could see every breath that left your lips. You could only hope Sabo wasn’t far behind. You perch yourself up on a brick pillar that connects between the corridor and the banquet venue. You watch as many familiar and unfamiliar faces walk by. Sometimes you forget how many members there are in the revolutionary army. The welcome sound of ballroom music began to fill your ears. The melody was beautiful, you could only imagine dancing and falling in love while this played in the background. You close your eyes and enjoy the music. Your eyes open when the music ends. You heard the crowd clap before it went quiet again. With the new found silence you can hear footsteps echoing in the corridor. You see Sabo come around the corner. You could only gawk at him. He was not wearing his signature hat and his blonde hair was slick back partially. He wore a black tuxedo with a vest that matches the color of your dress. “So that’s why he asked.” His eye met yours, he seemed to be gawking at you as well. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks the closer he got. With every step he took, he captivated you more. And before you could burn the image into your head, he stood right in front of you.

“This looks familiar.” He reached out to grab the pearl necklace. “I knew it would look gorgeous on you.” He placed a chaste kiss on one of the pearls. The actions snatched any words from your tongue. You begin to wonder if Sabo wanted your heart to beat out of your chest and right into his hand.

“Thank you.” You look away in hopes he doesn't catch on to your embarrassment, but the chuckle that left his lips told you it was too late.

“We better get inside, I’m sure you're cold.” He held his arm out for you, which you gladly took.

The venue was packed full. People were dancing,drinking and just overall having a good time. After all the hardships and battles, it's nice to have a night where everyone can relax and enjoy themselves. You notice a lot of eyes on you and Sabo as you walk further in. Some people looked happily at you, while others did not seem as thrilled. But none of that matters, right now you were happy to be by his side, even if it's just this one night.

“Want to go dance?” Sabo leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Umm, I don’t really know how.” Sabo seemed amused by your response. Most of your life has been on a battlefield, not a dance floor.

“It’s okay, I will lead you.” His hand grabbed yours, giving a small squeeze of reassurance. You looked into his eyes, still a little hesitant. Your insecurities creeped in. Sabo would have to hold onto you in order to dance. The dance floor was filled with couples dancing. You see all the petite figures being held close, like they were made out of glass. They are so delicate compared to you. You look away from Sabo, who retaliates by grabbing your chin. “What’s going on in that pretty mind?”

“I worry I’m not good enough.” You're not just talking about dancing. “Plus what if I trip and get hurt.”

“Trust me when I say I’m good enough for the both of us. You know I used to be a noble, right?” Sabo grins and places a hand in the middle of your back, guiding you towards the dance floor.

“And you're safe with me, always.” You can’t help but smile at his declaration.

“I trust you then. Don’t disappoint me Mr. Chief of Staff.” You notice a small blush creep up on his cheeks.

“Trust me, I don’t plan to.” Sabo retorted.

“Hee Haw! I hope you are enjoying yourselves tonight!” You and Sabo turn towards the stage where Iva was speaking. They are always the life of the party. “A party like this won’t happen again for a while so make the most of it! Drink and dance your worries away! But don’t get too crazy kids. Bye now~” Iva jumped from the stage signaling the band to start back up.

Sabo grabbed your left hand and guided it to his arm. After he placed it where he wanted it he held out his other hand for you to grab. Your shaky hand laces with his calmer one. You look him in his eyes as if to say “What now?”. Sabo smiled at you before leaning down.

“Relax your body and give me control.” You nod, after a few deep breaths you let yourself relax in Sabo’s strong hold. “Good girl.” The pet name slid off his tongue so effortlessly. He is too suave for his own good sometimes.

The music filled the ballroom once more. You and Sabo locked eyes and nodded at each other. He guided your body along with his. At first it was awkward for you, but as he swayed you around effortlessly the feeling vanished. That’s how good Sabo is. He's a smooth man with a velvet tongue. Why lie to yourself any longer, you were living out a dream with the man you've fallen for. All the pent up giddiness was starting to leak out as your lips curled into a genuine smile. You looked up at Sabo who had a smile on his face, one that made all the light in the room seem dull. You were sure of it now. Sabo liked you back.

The current melody ended, letting the band prepare for the next song.

“The next song is going to be slower.” Sabo adjusted his hold on you again, one of his hands snaked around you. You fight back any negative thoughts and let yourself feel his warm touch. With his free hand he guided one of your hands so it rested on his shoulder. Happy with the placement he then grabbed your hand and laced it back with his. “One last thing, I need to be closer to me.” The hand that was wrapped around you pulled you closer to him. Your plush body was right up against him and you couldn’t be happier.

As Sabo said, the music was slower. It was a nice change of pace. Between the calmness of the melody and Sabo’s gentle sway, you were becoming tired. You lay your head against Sabo’s chest and close your eyes.

“Someone looks comfortable.” You open your eyes and pull away. You look up at him and apologize only for him to place a kiss on your forehead. He let go of your hand long enough to place your head back onto his warm chest. “Don’t apologize, I was just admiring how cute you are.” His actions and words were all the reassurance you needed.

A new feeling bubbles in your chest. In the past falling in love was something that only brought you heartache. And you thought it would be the case with Sabo, but you are experiencing it. And it is absolutely beautiful. The music began to wind down, before coming to an end.

“Are you ready for a break?” You were unaware how tired you were until Sabo mentioned it.

“I am. If you want to go find us a table, I’ll go grab us something to drink.” You point towards the mini bar. “Do you want anything in particular?”

“Not really. When you get back I have a surprise for you.” He winked before disappearing in the crowd. You could not help but wonder what the surprise could be? You shake your thoughts and navigate through the crowded room.

You walk up to the bartender and order two champagnes. The bartender poured the liquid into delicate glasses with ease. You grabbed the glasses and handled them with care.

“Is that for Koala and Sabo?” You turn around to face the voice that spoke. The woman before you had a forgettable name, but her attitude and love of Sabo was a different story. Anyone would be able to see that she only wants him for his rank and benefits.

“No, it's for me and Sabo. Now, if you'll excuse me I need to get back to him.” You start to walk away before she grabs your hand. You turn around and give her a nasty look.

“I guess you haven't heard.” Her words get you curious.

“Haven’t heard what?” The woman pulls out a cigarette and places it between her lips. The fire from her lighter came to life.

“I guess they were hiding it from you. Sabo and Koala are getting engaged tonight.” A puff of smoke blows in your face. Your feet are frozen to the floor at her words. “I know it broke my heart too, but I think we both knew it was going to be him and her at the end of the day. I’ll admit they make a cute couple.” She pointed over to an area. You turn and see Sabo and Koala sitting at a table talking and smiling. Your eyes fixated on them. Engaged? “I have a surprise for you” You think about what Sabo said, so that was the surprise.

You picture them getting married. You standing alone while Sabo wrapped the same arms that once held you around Koala as he kissed her. All of this while you watched from the sidelines. Because that’s where the fat friend belongs. Tears began to form in your eyes.

“And If you think I’m lying, look.” The woman points to the table they are at. You notice a small jewelry box in Sabo’s hand. Koala looks at it and smiles. You turn your head away, you could not handle watching what was about to happen. All the joy and hope that had filled you was gone in an instant. Your insecurities came crashing down again. You lost, like you always do

“I should have known it was too good to be true.” You drink down both glasses of champagne and place them on the bar counter. “I want an entire bottle of wine please.” The bartender curled a brow before walking behind the bar.

“Will this d-” You snatch the wine from the man's hands before letting him finish. You say a quick thank you before storming out of the venue.

You rush outside of the venue doors clutching the bottle. The chilly night air encased you once again. You know it had to be below freezing, but it's not like anything matters anymore. You walk until you find a bench beside a fountain. You take the cork out of the wine, the pressure causes it to shoot up into the air. You hear a small splash and see it had landed in the fountain. “I guess I need to make a wish.”

“I wish… I wish someone would come and love me. The same way I love Sabo.” Hot tears ran down your cold face. “Please… just once I want to know what it’s like to be loved.” You throw your head back and gulp down some of the wine. The bitter taste was more than welcome.

~Meanwhile in the venue~

“She sure is taking a while, Sabo.” Koala looked amongst the sea of people, trying to find you.

“I agree, I’m going to go see if I can find her.” Sabo stood up and used his height to his advantage. He scanned the ballroom and saw no sign of you. “I’ll be right back.”

Sabo walked up to the mini bar in hopes you were there. He sadly noticed an unpleasant familiar face. He tried to avoid her attention but it was too late.

“Well if it isn’t Sabo. You sure do look handsome tonight. But you always do~” Sabo rolled his eyes. He had politely rejected her many times before, but right now he did not have any tolerance to deal with her.

“Listen, I’m looking for someone.” The woman smirked before cutting Sabo off.

“I took care of her, she won’t get in our way the rest of the night.” She winked before taking a sip of her drink. “Sabo, you deserve someone thin and beautiful. Someone like me. I don’t know what that chubby thing could offer you.” That was the last straw.

“I’d stop talking if I were you.” The rage in Sabo’s eyes had the woman frozen in her seat. “And for your information, Y/N is way more beautiful than you could ever imagine being. I don’t even remember your name, but my sweet Y/N’s I could say it until I lost my voice. Now you tell me where she is?”

She did not speak a word. Instead she got up and ran away with tears in her eyes. Sabo smirked, it served her right. Hell hath no fury like Sabo, especially when someone talks bad about the woman he adores.

“Excuse me sir, I think I know where she went. But there is something you might want to know first.” The bartender flagged Sabo down. The bartender went over the conversation between you and the other woman. Sabo was enraged after hearing the whole story. No wonder you never came back, you are probably somewhere devastated and alone. The thought of that made his stomach twist. He needed to set things right and fast. “I think I saw her go out that door over there. And one more thing you might want to know sir. She downed two glasses of champagne and took a whole bottle of wine with her. I’m sorry, I should have never given it to her.” Sabo’s eyes shot open at his words.

“SHE WHAT?”

Outside the venue

“WooooooooWW *hic* I feel like I’m floating. Hheehehe~” You hold the over half empty bottle of wine up. Your face was hot despite the freezing temperature outside. “I’m *Hic* gonna have a hangover for weeeeekkss after this.”

You know this is not changing anything. You can’t stop Sabo and Koala from getting engaged, nor would you. You needed to be happy for them. They are both amazing people, so they deserve each other. No doubt she will ask you to be a bridesmaid, and you'll fulfill your duty to the bitter end. You will never have Sabo’s heart and you have no choice but to live with it. Your lip trembles as fresh tears roll down your flush cheeks. The half empty bottle in your hands falls to the ground breaking in front of you. Sobs wracked your body as your pain and heartache became too much to handle emotionally.

“You're a fool Y/N.*Hic* Thinking he was going to choose you.” You somehow manage to stand up, you wobble for a moment. You feel a sharp pain in your foot as you take a step. You peer down and notice you have stepped on the broken bottle. A small piece had gone through your shoe . You wince and almost lose your balance when you pull the glass out. It thankfully did not go deep, but you were still bleeding quite a bit.

The faint sounds of the venue's music filled your red ears. You remember how safe and warm you felt dancing with Sabo. And now here you are not even an hour later cold, drunk and emotionally vulnerable.

“Y/N dear, what are you doing out here?” You spin your head to see a concerned looking Iva.

“I just needed to get some air, I’m okay.” You sit back down on the bench and motion for them to join you.

“Oh honey you’ve been crying? What’s wrong?” Those two words, that’s all it takes for you to break down again.

“Iva..” Your voice trembles along with your body. “Why am I always the one getting left behind?” You look at Iva through tear filled eyes. “Maybe if I wasn’t so fat and flawed things would have been different. *Hic*. I hate myself so much. Every time I look in the mirror and see my imperfect body and all the stretch marks, I understand why no one would want me. I’m a monster.”

“Sweetie don’t say all those nasty things about yourself.” Iva places her hand on your back and rubs it circles to soothe you. “Let’s get you back inside where it is warm.”

“Iva I have a favor to ask?” You grab Iva’s arm before they can get up.

“Favors later dear, you're freezing.” Iva tries to help you up, but you refuse.

“Iva, please listen to me.” You swallow your pride and look up to Iva with pleading eyes. “Make me beautiful and thin please. You can do that right?” Iva’s eyes widened at your request. “Please use your power on me. I don’t care if it takes a few years or even half of my life, I just want to be pretty. I want to know what it’s like to love my body. Iva please I’m begging you. I should have asked you sooner, maybe Sabo would have chosen me instead.” You see a few tears roll down Iva’s face.

“Y/N, my power does not work like that. I cannot make you something you already are.” Iva hugs your shivering body. “And besides I think he already chose you dear. Isn’t that right you little eavesdropper?.” Your eyes shot open to see Sabo standing right behind Iva. Sabo started to walk closer and closer causing Iva to step away. “I’ll leave you two alone. It seems you two love birds have a lot to talk about. ” There was nothing between him and you now. Your eyes meet his for a moment, but you avert them to the ground causing Sabo to let out a long sigh.

“Look at me Y/N.” Sabo’s gloved hand gently tilts your chin up, giving you no choice but to face him. “I heard everything, and it breaks my heart that you think that way of yourself. But when I look at you… Why don’t you feel for yourself?” Sabo placed your hand on his chest, you could feel his heart racing under your palm.

“Sabo I don’t understand? You and Koala are..” You feel Sabo wipe a few stray tears from your face.

“That was a lie, that woman was toying with you in hopes to get to me. I’ll have someone take care of her later..” Sabo had a sadistic smirk. “Now Y/N, how much did you drink? Also why is your foot bleeding?” Sabo kneeled to the ground and inspected your foot.

“Umm, alot.” You let out a nervous laugh. “ And I accidentally stepped on a piece of glass. It doesn’t hurt tho.” You watch as sabo pulls a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He then gently wraps it around your foot.

“Yeah I’d say it doesn't hurt considering you're wasted.” You roll your eyes at Sabo before he slips your shoe back on. “Do you have a first aid kit in your room?”

“I do.” Sabo stood up and held his hand out for you to grab. You hesitate for a moment before taking it.

“Good, I’ll patch you up better when I get you back to your room.” Sabo pulled you from the bench and went to pick you up, causing you to panic.

“Sabo don’t. You can’t.” I'm too heavy for you." You try to step away, but yelp when you feel the pain in your foot. Sabo reached out to hold you steady.

“Too heavy for me? You wounded my pride Y/N.” Sabo pouts, taking full offense to your comment. “I won’t force you Y/N, especially if you're not comfortable with it. I just don’t want you to walk all the way back on your hurt foot if you don’t have to. And I assure you that you are not too heavy for me. But if you don’t want me to at least grab onto me for support.” Deep down you really want to be carried by him. But you know your body type and size isn’t ideal for carrying. You look at Sabo who flexes his arms to display his strength.. You know Sabo is strong, he has the muscles and abs to prove it. You’ve watched him do crazy things that are well beyond human limits. Such as destroying a literal colosseum when you were in Dressrosa. You remember the time when he reunited with Iva after they broke out of Impel Down. He picked them up and spun around like crazy.

“Okay, as long as you are sure.” You watch as Sabo’s face lights up. “Just be careful.”

“Of course. Are you ready?” You nod your head and shut your eyes tight. You feel one of his arms rest behind your back and the other one behind your knees. You felt your knees go weak, giving Sabo the chance to scoop you up into his arms. “I’ve got you princess. You can open your eyes.” Your eyes open to see Sabo smiling down at you like a dork. You couldn't help but laugh at his expression. “What's got you laughing?” Sabo started walking, causing your hand to reach up and clutch his dress shirt.

“You just seem to be enjoying this. I won’t lie, I am too. You're so warm.” Sabo pulls you even closer to his body.

“I am enjoying this.” Sabo spun around causing you to giggle. You don’t know if it’s the fact he was holding you so close or if it's the wine. But you feel it’s time to properly confess.

“Sabo, I need to tell you something.” Sabo stopped walking and peered down at you. “I’ve been In love with you for a while now. I’m sure you already know. Even though I’m very drunk and I have cried a lot- I’ve had one of the best nights of my life. It’s okay if you are unsure or don’t feel the same. I’m sorry if I made things awkward” Sabo was sporting a very serious face, causing your anxiety to skyrocket. “Umm Sabo, are you good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You are just making it really hard for me not to kiss you.” Your entire face bursts with warmth.

“Why don’t you then.” You grab Sabo’s tie to make him look down at you.

“Because you're drunk darling. Once you sober up I’ll give you as many as you can handle.” Sabo continues walking with a grin on his face.

“*Hic* Fineee.” You pout about it, but you're thankful that Sabo is such a gentleman.

You and Sabo reach the lobby of the RA’s living quarters. You, Sabo, Koala and a few other RA members live on the main top floor. Sabo looks at the elevator and then at the stairs.

“Is something wrong?” You poke his chest to get his attention.

“Do you remember when the elevator was down for a week?” You nod your head. How could you forget, it was hell having to climb up those 40 stories. “So during that time I learnt a cool little trick.” The elevator makes a ding and opens, but Sabo ignores it and walks over to the steps.

“Sabo? What are you doing?” Sabo didn’t speak, but the look on his face said everything you need to know. He was about to do something reckless. “Sabo what are you planning?”

“Hold on tight Y/N.” You watch as his lower half turns into flames. You could feel the warmth from the flames on your cold skin. “Here we go!” You felt a rush of air before realizing you were flying up the steps. You hear Sabo laughing like the maniac he is, while you on the other hand were clinging on to him for dear life, muffling a scream in his shirt. You open your eyes enough to see that you're out of the stairwell and in the hallway. Sabo is still flying with you held close. And then all at once you halt. You open your eyes and realize you are right in front of your door.

“Umm Y/N, you're choking me.” Sabo struggles to speak thanks to your hand being wrapped tightly around his tie. You let it go letting the poor man catch his breath. “Wow, that was fun.”

“Yeah maybe for YOU! I’m drunk, you know.” Your hand lightly smacks his chest.

“I’m sorry. I got a little carried away.” You couldn’t stay mad at the apologetic smile he gave you.

“I forgive you. Now I think I’m ready for bed. I already feel the hangover creeping up on me” Sabo leaned you over so you could turn your handle, only for it to not move. “Uh oh. I think I left my key in my room. I’m locked out.”

“No worries, you can sleep in my room.” Sabo started walking down the hallway without a second thought.. “I have a first aid kit too, so don’t worry.” You're kinda glad you locked your key up, now you get to see what his room looks like. Sabo stops at the very last door in the hall. “This is it, my key is my vest pocket.”

Your hand slides into the pocket to retrieve the key. Once Sabo got you close enough you inserted the key and let the door click open. Sabo kicked the door open the rest of the way and then closed it with his foot. His room smells like clean laundry with a hint of smoke. Sabo walked you over to the king sized bed that sat in the middle of the room. You're a little jealous, being chief of staff has its perks. He gently laid you down and took your shoes off.

“Let me get that first aid kit.” Sabo walked over to a dresser and began rummaging through it. You let your eyes wander around the room. You noticed a rack that is full of his signature top hats and some of his overcoats. But what stood out the most was his brothers wanted posters hung up above his desk. You know all about Luffy and his late brother Ace. You smile knowing how much he loves them Your attention turns back to Sabo as he held up the first aid kit proudly. “Aa ha, found it.”

Sabo walked over to the bed and sat down. He picked your foot up carefully and propped it on his knee. He opened the first aid kit and pulled out some gauze and wound cleaner.

“This may sting a little.” He gently cleaned your wound causing you to wince in pain. “I’m sorry, I’m almost done.” He grabbed the gauze and began to secure it around your foot. “Alright all done.” Sabo got up from the bed and covered you up with a warm blanket.

“Thank you. For everything.” You could feel your body starting to succumb to sleep.

“Your welcome sweet girl. No you better get some rest. I’ve got some work I need to finish up.” You nod your head and get in a comfortable position. “Sweet dreams.” Sabo gave your forehead a quick kiss before walking over to his desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment your eyes opened you could already feel your head splitting. “Note to self, never drink again.” You lift your body from the bed and inspect your surroundings. You know you're in Sabo’s room, but where is he?. You were beginning to think he was gone to work already until you heard the loud snores coming from his desk. You got up and walked over to him, his blonde curls were ruffled and messy. The feather pen he held was still loosely clutched in his hand. You reach your hand out to wake him up and you notice something that stops your movements. On your right hand index finger was a ring. The heart shaped gem glistened with the morning sun that peaked through the window.

“Do you like it?” You were so enamored with the ring you failed to see Sabo wake up.

“I love it. Sabo I'm at a loss for words.” He watches you with a smile on his face.

“The gem is infused with a piece of my vivre card.” Sabo walked over to you and grabbed your hand. “Point your finger at me.” The moment you pointed at him, the stone started to glow. “Now no matter where I am in the world, you'll always have a way to find me.”

“Sabo… Stop making me fall so in love with you.” Sabo didn’t say a word, instead he leaned down and pulled you into a breath snatching kiss. When you finally pull apart you're both gasping for air.

“I could say the same to you.” Sabo pulled you into a hug, but the moment was ruined thanks to his transponder snail ringing.

“Dammit.” Sabo growled as he picked up the transponder snail. “Sabo here.”

“Sabo, come to my office as soon as possible.” Dragons gruff voice spoke on the other line.

“I'll be there right away.” Sabo hung up and let out a long sigh. “I better get going. Why don’t you take the day off to rest up.”

“Is that a recommendation or an order?” You raise your brow to him. Sabo laughed before dragging you back to his bed.

“There ya go. Does that answer your question?” You nod before curling into the warm covers. “Alright I better get going. Rest up. I’ll be back before you know it. Sabo gave you one last kiss before leaving out the door.

"I can't wait to see you light up again" You peer down at the ring. You watch as the gem sparkled for a brief moment. A content smile formed on your lips.

"I really do love you Sabo."

End

#sabo x plussized reader #sabo x y/n #sabo angst #sabo x reader #revolutionary sabo #sabo one piece #sabo fluff #one piece angst #one piece fluff #one piece x you #sabo x chubby reader #sabo x female reader #sabo #angst to comfort #angst to fluff #one piece x reader #one piece

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malereadermaniac · 1 year

Text

The Experiment ~ Mark Sloan x Male Reader

An old memory comes back to 'haunt' Dr Sloan

He didn't expect to ever see you again

But there you were... Walking into Seattle Grace and talking to Chief Webber

"Mark! Are you even listening to me?" Derek snaps his fingers at his friend, but that didn't break Mark's stare

He watched you attentively as you walked towards him and Derek with the Chief

"Shepherd, Sloan this is Dr (L/n). Make sure you get on his good side as he is now our new ENT Attending" The chief introduces you

"Derek Shepherd" he says, shaking your hand and giving you a smile

"(Y/n) (L/n), pleasure to meet you~" you say, smiling with a warm tone in your voice

A silence fell as Mark failed to introduce himself, still just looking at you

"Sloan!" The chief says, nudging the attractive male out of his trance

"This is Mar-" Derek starts but you cut him off quickly

"Mark Sloan, I know~ We went to med school together" you say with a chuckle and gesture to Richard that you two should go finish up paper work

However you make sure to give a small wink to Mark as you walk past

And that man's eyes couldn't come off of you as you walked away

"Whats wrong with you, Mark? Cat got your tongue? And how come you never told me about (Y/n)?"

"Cause I barely knew him. I have a surgery to get to." The muscular man says and leaves his friend in the hallway

The truth was that not only were you and Sloan in Med school together, but you two also experimented together

For a while as well...

And no matter how good it was for the both of you, Mark didn't like to admit that he liked it - or at least he didn't back then, when Callie came out he tried to comfort her by saying "Hey! I kinda like guys too??"

"Dr Sloan! Perfect timing, I was just introducing Dr (L/n) to your patient" Yang explained, as she was his resident on the case which you now joined

"Dr (L/n)?" Sloan question

"Yes Dr Sloan, you are reconstructing this young woman her ears, so I will be needed for this surgery" you say with a smile and return to the patient

During the whole explanation to the patient, Mark looked at you and thousands of thoughts rushed through his head

Why are you here?

How have you been?

Does he still have feelings for you?

Was that the reason he stopped hooking up with you?

Why does he have a boner?

Oh no he has a boner.

And so on, so forth

"Dr Sloan, a quick word please?" You ask

The two of you walk out into the hall as Christna answers any questions the patient has

"Listen, I know I'm incredibly attractive and you want to profess your undying love to me, Mark - however we are both at work so please keep your eyes off of my face and ass? Could you do that for me?" You ask tearfully and giggle at the man's slow nod

"Sure, but we need to talk later" Sloan mumbles

"Talk? About what? I remeber you were the one that stormed out of my apartment half naked shouting "I'm not a homo"?" You say with a cold face, leaving the plastic surgeon slightly speechless

At lunch you are the most popular attending, like a steak of meat thrown to hungry lions, everyone wanted to get to know you, befriend you or bed you

"So why become an ENT?" Arizona asks

"More importantly are you single?" Another attending asks

"Leave the man alone, where did you study?" Asks Bailey

Sloan was left standing with an apple in his hand as the table was crowded with attendings and residents, especially ones with interests in your specialty

"Oh! Mark!" Dr Torez calls the man-slag over, making the smile on your face fade for a second

"Excuse me, I just need to go check on a patient" you say, getting uo from the table and walking off

But, Sloan followed you

And the next thing you know you're in a supply closet with your ex hook-up/fuck buddy/boyfriend/whatever

"What the hell, Mark??" You kinda shout, your hand rubbing your head as you knocked into a shelf

"Just give me 5 minuets to explain myself, (Y/n)! Please" Mark begs, his tall figure looming above you as his chest presses against yours

"Fine, but that's all you get" you say with a pissed off look

And so he started

Mark explained how he was ashamed of himself

How he didn't really want to break things off

How he was wholly in the wrong

And how he still has feeling for you

By the end of it, the tall man had a tear in his eye and a thin blush on his face, and you felt so bad for him and guilty for being a bitch to him earlier

"Mark... I'm sorry" you say, hugging him

"No, I'm sorry (Y/n)"

"Turn a new leaf?" You say with that warm smile that Mark fell for back in college

"Sure, sweetcheeks" Mark responds with the nickname he used to call you

There won't be a part 2 sorry guys but I had to cheap out of D+ so Grey's anatomy is NOT on my mind

#gay #male reader #fanfic #fluff #greys anatomy #mark sloan #greys anatomy x reader #greys anatomy x male reader #x male reader #cute gay

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mingiswow · 1 year

Text

Lion Heart | Yeosang

Pairing: Prisioner!Yeosang x afab!servant!reader

Genre: Dystopian!Ateez, smut

Word Count: +5.1k (oopsie?)

Content Warning: mentions of poverty, mentions of alcohol and food, brief mentions of canibalism (the poor people pick up the pieces of the dead to have something to eat), mention of animal and human deaths, matriarchy (is that really a warning?), English is not my first language, if I forgot anything lmk

Smut warning: just pure filth omg, reader has a vagina and boobs, oral (reader recieciving), piv, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, fingering, kinda rough sex?, reader has their hands tied, dirty talking, Yeosang call reader servant and baby several times, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid, stds exist), cumshot, slightly cum eating and sharing (I said it was filthy)

a/n: another part of the Halazia series that you guys voted for me to keep writing (with the amazing 88,8% answering yes). Since the first time I saw the mv Yeosang reminded me of a gladiator so I had to make this scenario mixing the idea of gladiators and dystopia. It was really fun to make and I hope you guys enjoy it ^^

The loud cheers from the crowd announced that another one of the prisoners was killed. You winced at the thought of the man’s body torn apart, pieces scattered around the arena for the lion to eat. You always hated those battles, never understanding the need for that. How the world, which was in constant expansion, evolution, and technology evolving to the point of having automatic cars and smart houses, turned into this mess that could only be compared to the ancient times.

The part of the Earth in which you lived was responsible for the meat, the fields that once were full of life were now dry and full of malnourished animals that only the richest could afford to buy, the other people would have to pick up the pieces of the prisoners to eat, not caring that once that was another human being, the hunger bigger than that.

“Yn, can you please bring another cup of mead?” The daughter of the state chief, and your mistress, asked while not taking her eyes off the arena in front of her. You nodded and headed to the small makeshift kitchen to grab her drink.

Not everyone had the luck you had, most people from where you came would be down in the crowd or probably dead like your parents. But destiny was good to you and put you on the same path and the same time and day that your mistress was, saving her from being killed by some of the government objectors. The chief and her husband were so thankful that they gave you a job as her servant and promised to take care of your family when you have one. You were both kids when that happened, so you grew up by her side, accompanying her in every step, even allowing you to study with her.

It was during one of your study sessions that you learned that in ancient times they used to have something similar to what you had now, panem et circenses, a way of distracting the population from the real problems, keeping them entertained with the battles. It worked back then and it worked now.

You gave the young woman her drink before going back inside the tent where the chief’s family stood to see the fights. “You really don’t like these, do you?” Her father, a middle-aged short man with a mustache and brows that resembled fluffy caterpillars, asked coming from the other end of the tent, the one where it led to the tunnel that connected the arena to the fort you lived.

“Violence is not my forte” you replied, handing him a jug of mead. “Never really understood how people could enjoy seeing others being torn apart like rag dolls”

“Me neither, but they seem to enjoy it,” you nodded. “Why don’t you go home?”

“Oh no, sir, I must wait for mistress and the chief, it’s my duty”

“Oh don’t worry dear, I can take c-“

“YN! DAD! COME SEE THIS!” You stood by the girl’s side and looked over the arena. “He’s winning the lion”. Down on the sandy ground, you could see a man fighting against the lion, he outsmarted the feline, making it hit its head on the concrete wall several times. You could see the animal was dizzy and probably not seeing its target properly. The fighter grabbed one of the chains that were attached to his body - to make it heavier and harder to run or fight - and threw it at the lion, hitting his sides, the action making the animal roar and try to grab the man, that used the movement as his advantage and jumped on top of the lion’s back and swung another chain around the neck and squeezed tightly. The animal tried to fight but he ended up lying dead on the ground.

Your mistress raised from her seat and clapped excitedly, joining the screams of the crowd, that cheered the man’s deed. “Bring the man to have dinner with us tonight” the chief said, leaving her chair and going back to the fort, her men following suit, as well as her husband.

“Don’t you think he was amazing, yn? Killing that lion so cleverly” the girl asked while going back to the fort. “How old do you think he is? He didn’t seem old. Probably my age? Do you think he’d sleep with me?” you chuckled at her words, she was always finding new men to sleep with, her mom’s bodyguard not being enough anymore. “What about you, yn? I’ve never seen you interested in anyone” she looked at you, genuinely curious. You’ve been together forever now, she considered you her best friend, and so could you consider the same.

“I don’t have time for that, miss Solbin, I have to take care of you” you said, her eyes rolling at your excuses. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t had my adventures but no one ever caught my attention in that department” you confessed. The chief’s men weren’t your cup of tea, nor you were theirs, which was good to keep your relationship completely professional. And besides them, you barely interacted with anyone else, the ones you did were merely one-night stands.

“So you are open to a relationship?”

“I didn’t say that” she giggled excitedly, as if she was planning something. And knowing Solbin she was.

After safely arriving at the fort and being greeted by the guards, you ran to prepare the woman’s bath for the dinner, grabbing the warm sun water and putting it in the tub, filling it enough for her body to be under the bubbles. Sometimes - most of the times - you thought of how unfair it was for the richest to have warm water, bubble baths, soft pillows, warm clothes, and delicious food, all while more than 90% of the world barely had enough food to survive. All of their riches came from the exploitation of these people. And you, being their employee, enjoyed at least part of it.

The giggles of the woman shook your thoughts away before leaving the bathroom so she could take her bath alone. When you entered the room she was already missing some pieces of clothing, one of the new guards looking like a lovesick cartoon from the doorframe. “Oh, yn, didn’t see you there” she grabbed the man, pulling him inside.

“I’m leaving now, miss Solbin. The bath is ready, if you need anything else let me know” you said trying to ignore the fact that the man was almost eating her neck.

“Before I forget, mommy asked you to take some clothes to the prisoner and lead him to the service bathroom” you nodded before leaving, her excited giggles getting trapped behind the giant wooden door.

You walked past the corridor until you arrived at the central hall, where the chief’s husband was helping the employees to arrange everything for the dinner.

“It’s an important day, no fighter has won the lion for the past twenty years” as if he was reading your mind, the man told you. “Hyebin wants everything perfect” you nodded. “Dear, take those clothes to the man, please. And take him to the service bathroom, it must be empty by now” you nodded again and dismissed yourself, going to the cells under the fort.

Those cells haven’t been used for centuries, since it was too dangerous to keep the prisoners in the same place as the chief. The fort was an old castle built centuries ago, you always joked that it was when dragons used to exist of how old it was. But it was still some of the most protected and secure places to keep someone like the chief herself and her family. You walked past the only guard that was looking after the prisoner, that, now, wasn’t a prisoner anymore since he won the battle. So why keep him down here?

As you got closer to his cell, you heard some of the most beautiful songs you’ve ever heard, the voice singing it soft, velvety, deep. The lyrics were about this world that once existed, where animals walked free and people were happy, with no worries in their minds, only spending time with their loved ones while baking delicious food. The closer you got, the clearer you could hear how beautiful the voice was and how it felt like you were laying in a soft bed with hundred of soft blankets wrapping around your body.

“Are you enjoying the show?” you snapped out of the trance when you realized you were already in front of his cell, staring at him while you listened to his beautiful voice. He smirked at you and you felt weak on the knees. You have never seen such a beautiful man in front of you. He had a built physique, not like the guards, but his arms were strong and his shoulders wide, giving him this almost superior look. Even all dirty in mud, sand and dry blood he still looked like the most beautiful creature you’ve laid your eyes on. “Are you the chief’s servant?” he asked, leaving the bed and coming closer to you and you noticed how tall he was.

“Yes, I mean, I’m her daughter’s servant” you bit your tongue at how stupid you sounded stuttering to him. “I’m here to take you to take a bath and get ready for the dinner.”

“Are you going to help me bathe?” the mischievous grin he held as he walked closer to you was your end, making you wet for no reason. You felt so stupid, he said a couple of words and had a smirk and you were already wet.

“No, sir, I am going to show you the bathroom” you gave him the neatly folded clothes you held. “Here are the clothes the chief gave you to wear” he grabbed the pile, hand caressing yours in the process, smirk still on his lips. “If you’re ready, please follow me” you turned around and started to walk outside the dungeon, him following suit.

You could feel your back burning from his stare and unconsciously you started to sway your hips more, as if you were trying to allure him to do something to you. You felt pathetic really, wanting this unknown man to fuck you senseless until you had nothing in your brain besides that beautiful voice of his. And you couldn’t help but wonder how his moans sounded, making you bite your lower lip at the thought.

“What's your name, sweetie?” if it was anyone else, you’d cringe at the nickname, but it sounded so good coming from his lips.

“Yn” you answered, finally arriving at the bathroom and opening the door for you two to enter.

“Mine’s Yeosang if you’re interested” he walked past you, leaving the pile of clothes in a dry corner near where the bath was already prepared for him.

“I’ll leave you be, mister Yeosang, the guards will be waiting outside for you to get ready. Don’t get too long with the bath, the dinner is almost ready and you wouldn’t want to leave Ms. Hyebin and her family waiting” you closed the door behind you and let out a deep sigh.

“He’s that hot?” Yohan, one of the guards, asked you with a playful smile on his lips.

“Fuck off and do your job” you left the place to go back to the hall, your head spinning in millions different directions. How could someone be this hot and alluring? What was his trick?

You kept your way to Solbin’s room, hoping she had sent the guard she was fucking back to his job, you didn’t want to see anyone having sex. Not in the bothered state you were.

For your enjoyment, the man was already gone and the woman was almost ready for the dinner, her beautiful delicate face adorned with a pink blush that gave her even more of a youthful look than she already had. You two had almost the same age, you being two years older than her, yet, you looked more aged than her, probably from work and sun damage. “Oh, you’re there, yn. I thought you wouldn’t come back” she smiled at you through the mirror. “Aren’t you going to bathe? The dinner is almost ready and I bet the man is almost done with his hygiene as well” you nodded.

“I was just making sure you were on time, miss Solbin” you answered, helping her to put one of her hair pieces. “I was worried you’d be late again” she giggled.

“Oh you know… these men never take too long” she lifted herself from the chair and went to the full-body mirror, admiring her outfit. “Now go, yn. You don’t want to leave mother waiting”

“Yes, miss” you left her room and went to yours, which was next door. You sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror, face wet in sweat, hair disheveled and clothes dirty.

You took your clothes off and threw the dirty pile in a corner, you’d deal with them later, and decide on a quick shower, not wanting to take too long. The cold water hit your warm skin, making the body hair bristle and the pores shiver. You started to hum the same song Yeosang was singing earlier and your mind wandered back to him, to his voice, his smirk, his voice. You kept imagining how he’d look under the bubbly water, his body in all its glory. How his muscles must be hard and defined, his legs just as strong as his arms. Maybe his little friend was as pretty as him. Without even thinking your hand went south, touching your body through the way down before finding its way in between your legs, playing with the folds of your vulva, the tip of your index and middle finger starting to slowly circle your clit. You threw your head back, mouth agape but no sound left, you got used to being quiet so no one would listen to you. You kept your assault on your clit, going faster with each passing second until you reached your orgasm. When you came back to your senses and you realized what you did, you felt dirty, almost disgusting, for masturbating to a man you didn’t even know.

You quickly came out of the shower, putting on the only clothes you had for occasions like that. You looked yourself over in the mirror, the dress pants hugging your hips and thighs just right, enhancing every curve you had, the matching vest and beige button up shirt looked gorgeous on you, you had to admit that. Even though it was the only outfit you had, it still made you feel pretty confident in your body. You put on your black boots and went to the hall where Solbin and Yeosang were already there, happily talking. The guards and maids watched their interaction in their spot.

You greeted the fellow staff and got to your position behind Solbin, a few steps back. The woman didn’t even realize you arrived, completely lost in her flirting game with the man in front of her, the two whispering things to each other and talking I. Each others’ ears. In the corner of your eye, you could see the guard she had previously fucked throwing daggers with his eyes at Yeosang. She only acknowledged your presence when the man in front of her smirked looking at you. She turned around and smiled at you.

“Yn, come sit with us at the table” she motioned her hand for you to join them but you refused.

“It’s okay, miss Solbin, I’ll stay with the staff”

“Oh come on, yn~” she extended your name, pouting at you. “I thought we were best friends” you chuckled at her, always trying to get you with her cuteness.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not part of the staff, I’m still your servant” she rolled her eyes and when she was about to debate, her mother and father appeared.

“Solbin is right, yn, you may be staff but you are almost part of the family” the woman spoke as she walked across the wooden floor, her steps echoing every time the heels met the floor. “Sit with us, I insist” she motioned to the chair next to Yeosang and you bowed, accepting the offer.

You awkwardly sat by his side, still a little uncomfortable. Not only with the fact that you were having privileges over the other employees, which you always hated but also because you could feel your face heating with the thought that you just masturbated thinking about the man on your side.

The maids brought over the tray carts filled with food and put the plates in front of you. You knew they had made Ms. Hyebin’s favorite, roast lamb with mint sauce. You noticed how Yeosang’s eyes shined looking at the food and wondered how much he starved.

Everyone waited for the chief to take the first bite before starting to eat as well.

“So, Yeosang, right? How did you become a prisoner?” The woman asked, eyes never leaving the man.

“I lost my job as a fisherman and couldn’t buy my sister’s medicine anymore, so when she died I got angry and drunk more than I should have and ended up breaking the pharmacy” he simply said, almost as if didn’t affect him, but you could see his left leg bouncing under the table and instinctively you put your hand on top of it to hold it down.

“What did she have?”

"Leukemia. The medicine didn’t cure but it retarded the effects” she nodded to him once again.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that. I wish we could do more for the population but as you know, the main government doesn’t allow us to do anything without prior approval” it was Yeosang's turn to nod. “I assume I am really privileged to come from the family I came from and have the opportunities I had but not even 10% of the population worldwide have this chance” she sighed looking at her plate, defeated for being part of this system.

“So… you were a fisherman?” It was her husband’s turn to talk, trying to lift up the mood and change subjects. Which worked.

The dinner was nice, even the other staff joined after a while. Hyebin, a bit drunk and overwhelmed with her own feelings, invited them to be part of the celebration as well. It was past 2 am when the chief and her husband decided to go to bed, mostly him making her go due to her wasted state. You were the next one to excuse yourself, not wanting to cock-block Yeosang and Solbin, that seemed to get along pretty well.

You arrived at your room, taking the clothes off and folding them neatly, and storing them away before putting on your nightgown and going to bed. You were almost asleep when you heard a knock on your door. Groaning a little from being interrupted, you left your bed and opened the door, a smirking Yeosang behind it. “Hi, sweetie” his voice a little bit lower and hoarse from the alcohol.

“Can I help you?” You asked, a bit self conscious with the transparency of your camisole.

“Yes, you can” he pushed himself inside your room and closed the door behind him. “You see, there’s this servant that I can’t stop thinking about, the way their hands were warm holding my leg still under the table” he started to take steps towards you, and you took steps back until the back of your knees hit your bed, making you fall sitting on it. He stopped in front of you and got on his knees. And you couldn’t deny that that was one of the hottest images you’ve seen. “The way the curve of their breasts kept getting my eye and all I thought was that I wanted to put my face between them while fucking them in front of everyone” you gulped at his words. The man grabbed one of your hands and put on top of his pants, you could feel his member hard under the fabric. “Can you help me with my problem?” You looked over his dark eyes and nodded, breath getting stuck in your throat when he pulled you closer to him by your waist and attacked your lips.

And dear god you don’t even remember the last time you kissed someone so good. His lips were rough on you, moving with hunger, kissing you like your lives depended on it. His hands were everywhere, all over your body, giving special attention to your thighs that were right in front of him. You never felt so turned on by something, by someone, you didn’t know if it was his body, his voice, his smile, how his throat would do low rumbles every time he’d lower his kisses to your throat and collarbones. He stopped his ministrations so he could take off your nightgown, revealing your uncovered breasts and the thin material of your underwear, which he could see that it had a damp spot on it. His lips were instantly on one of your breasts, sucking the hardened nipple and soft flesh, all while his hand played with the other, pinching the soft bud in between his fingers, earning a soft moan coming from your mouth.

“Yeosang…” you mewled under his ministrations, aching more. “Please, I need more” he chuckled at your neediness but deep inside he was just like you. So his lips left your tit, to go down to your core, hands expertly taking your underwear off, the fabric sticking to your wetness. Yeosang didn’t waisted his time, mouth going straight to your cunt, licking a stripe from bottom to top so he could taste you.

“God, you taste so good, yn” he kept licking your slit, gathering all the taste he could, growls leaving from his throat. You were merciless, really, mind already empty, not a single thought just the way he was eating you out, making your hole pulse against nothing.

His mouth attacked your clit, sucking the bud and making you moan louder than you expected. The long period without having sex made you more sensitive to anything he’d do to your body. You kept moaning as he kept sucking on your clit, your right hand holding his locks and keeping him close to your pussy, not that he planned on leaving soon. His assault on your engorged bud now getting rougher, the tip of his tongue dancing against it, going in circles.

When you were getting closer to your orgasm, he stopped what he was doing, edging you and making you squirm on top of the bed, whining and pleading him for your release. “Impatient, aren’t we?” he chuckled at you before getting on his feet and grabbing your camisole. “I want you to be a good servant for me, okay?” you nodded, eyes watery from having your orgasm taken away. He manhandled your body with ease on top of the bed, making you lay right in the middle, head on your pillows. He grabbed both your hands and put them on top of your head, using your camisole to tie your wrists against the metal frame of the bed. “Are you gonna be a good servant for me and let me use you?” you nodded, almost cumming from the way he looked at you, from how merciless you were once again, you could be in danger, he could do anything he wanted to you, yet the situation only excited you more. “I want words, baby”

“Yes, use me, Yeosang. Please” you squirmed your hips, knots on your wrist tightening as you pulled them.

“So good for me, baby” he licked your lips. “I gonna use you and make both of us feel good, ‘k?” you nodded again, yesses leaving your mouth like a vice.

Before you could even register, he took off all of his clothes, discarding them on the floor, his dick finally free from the pants and your mouth watered at the sight, the tip already leaking pre cum and angry red, his shaft completely hard, tilting slightly upwards. He smirked at your reaction, getting between your legs again, but still not giving what you wanted, he inserted two fingers inside you, a loud and elongated moan leaving your lips at the sudden yet delicious intrusion. Yeosang didn’t give you time to adjust to his fingers or anything and started to pump his digits inside and out of you, disappearing completely inside of you before coming out and repeating the process at an excruciating speed yet so delicious. He added his thumb on your clit, now both of his hands working fast on you, orgasm approaching each second it passed and he could feel by the way your walls started to grip his fingers.

With a few more circles on your clit you came undone for the first time, exploding into his hands, lewd sounds coming from down under where your wetness increased even more. The man didn’t stop his ministrations, using your orgasm to enter a third finger easily, now his mouth going down to suck and lick your clit once in a while, overstimulation making your legs shake.

“Go on, give me another one” he said, face millimeters away from your pussy, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive nub. He increased speed on your hole even more, your walls eating his three fingers as his thumb rubbed circles again on your clit. Before you could even register what was happening, vision going black and mind going blank you came again, your juices squirting all over him as you moaned so loud from the feeling. “Gosh you’re so hot, yn. I didn’t know you could do that” he licked your folds, cleaning a bit of the mess before licking his fingers and whipping the salty liquid from his face.

“Neither… Neither did I” you confessed, it was indeed your first time coming like that, and if you weren’t so fucked out already, you’d be proud of yourself. You locked your legs around his legs, moaning as a way to say you wanted his cock. He chuckled at your state, already completely gone.

“Are you sure you can take my dick, babe? Don’t you wanna rest a little?” you denied with your head.

“Fuck me, please, I need it so bad” you pleaded, hips squirming.

“Just because you were such a good little servant for me and let me use you” you nodded and hissed at the feeling of the tip of his dick touching your abused hole. “God, you’re such a slut, huh? Can’t be one second without being stuffed” you nodded desperately, begging him to fill you up, not a care in the world, not a single thought on your head besides Yeosang fucking you.

Before he entered you, he untied your wrists, letting your weak wobbly arms free to touch him. Finally. And then with a sharp and precise thrust, he entered you, filling you up to the brim, the tip of his long dick touching just the right spot. “Fuck, babe, your walls hug me so well. So warm” he started to move, taking almost all of his member out before slamming back in, a guttural moan leaving your lips each time, his speed increasing with each movement. Your arms finally regained some strength and you circled around his neck, pushing your chests together, your lips going to the junction of his neck and shoulder, leaving bites on the sun-kissed skin, and earning growls and moans from him as well.

You could feel his high approaching because his movements started to become more erratic, the pace slowing. “Cum for me Yeosang, I can feel you getting close. Don’t you?” he moaned at your sweet fucked out voice in his ear. You pressed your fingernails on his back, the pain making him even closer.

“I want you to cum first” he managed to say. His right hand sneaking between your bodies and started to draw circles on your clit.

You didn’t know who was more fucked out, you or him, but either way, he managed to make you cum around him once again, body leaving his and going limp against the bed, eyes closed and arms spread out as he kept riding your orgasm before he reached his, taking his member off of you and cumming all over your belly and chest, some of his load falling right on top of your nipple and he couldn’t hold himself, licking his own cum out of your still hardened nub, his salty taste being welcomed in his tongue.

You pulled his face and kissed him, his cum falling to your mouth as you hummed at the feeling and taste. The filthy act almost feeling like a bonding moment between you two.

You let your drowsiness get the best of you and fell asleep, all sweaty and covered and cum.

When you woke up, already the next morning, the sun rays leaking through a few holes in the curtain and birds chirping happily outside, you were already cleaned up, camisole back on your body, and no sight of Yeosang whatsoever. You moved, body still aching from the night before, a smile growing on your lips as flashes from the sex started to replay in your brain.

Just as you were about to take a shower you found a piece of paper with messy handwriting and a tiny doodle in the corner.

“Sorry I couldn’t stay the night with you, baby, I had to go back to get my freedom. If you want to repeat the dose you can find me at the hostel next to the sea. I’ll be waiting. Ps.: I took a little souvenir from you with me. I hope you don’t mind ;) Yeosang”

You just then realized you were not wearing any underwear. That little pervert. Still, you smiled stupidly, thinking about looking for him as soon as your body recovered.

“I can see the night was enjoyable” you looked over the door, a smirking Solbin leaned against the frame, arms crossed on top of his chest as if she was scolding you.

“Was I too loud?” you asked and she just entered the room, closing the door behind her and sitting by your side on the bed.

“These rooms are soundproof, darling, you're safe. We actually saw him leave this noon” she smiled and held your hands. “Now tell me everything. I want to know” she giggled like an excited little girl getting a new toy.

“It was mindblowingly great” she squealed and you smiled, starting to tell her about your night.

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couldyouspeakmyname · 2 years

Note

Hope your week and day are amazing! Not sure if you have done this before but how would the Shishigumi react to falling deeply in love with someone? Almost as if they thought they never could be loved because of what they do?

+Chief Lion

-Maeve

Ibuki

Takes a while to process what's going on

Once it really hits him, he feels like he's drowning and you don't deserve to have someone as subpar as himself in love with you

Ibuki is less likely to confess than many of the Shishigumi, just because it's so hard for him to wrap his head around the idea that you could ever return his affections

He'd rather remain by your side as a friend than risk loosing you completely

Free

Free, not being one to settle down, takes the longest to come to terms with his feelings

Once he realizes them, it hits him hard and he goes into denial. A guy like him isn't really meant to fall in love, or be tied down to one person

Even so, Free will probably confess quickly once he comes to terms with his feelings, and confront those feelings head on. The best he can do is hope you feel the same

Dolph

Since he's older, he understands his feelings quickly and is pretty good at processing them.

Dolph doesn't make a big about it, but accepts his own feelings and composes himself before he even thinks about confessing.

He doesn't take very long to confess, once he's sure of his feelings. Dolph is straight forward, and would rather know if you feel the same or not sooner instead of later.

Agata

Doesn't feel worthy of loving you. He feels like his line of work, and his lack of leadership despite his mane color, means he's not good enough for you.

Agata, once he realizes his feelings, sulks and is pretty down. While you wont notice a big difference, he's more spacy and out of sorts.

Dolph is the one who finally convinces Agata to confess, and he does so nervously and stutters through the confession.

He wants you to feel the same, or he's going to be crushed

Dope

One of the most calm about his feelings.

He knows what he feels and instead of freaking out, he spends the time to write down his feelings and organize how he'd like to confess to you.

While he knows he's not the most ideal partner, since he's a gang member, but if there's even a chance you may feel the same, he's willing to take the chance.

Jinma

Doesn't realize his feelings, but everyone else does. Dope, who works with him most, brings it up. That's when it hits him.

Jinma, once he comes to terms with it, worries and overthinks

It takes a long time for him to confess, since he wants it to be perfect.

He finally does, and while he worries about how you'll react, he feels like he can't do anything else to show just how much he cares. It's hard for him, but he has to say something before you fall for someone else. n

Sabu

Older and wiser, Sabu realizes the feelings and shortly after tells you how he feels.

As a gang member, he never knows what day will be the day that he makes a mistake that costs him his life. He'd rather tell you how much he loves you than risk never being able to tell you at all. It's better to have loved, and lost, than to have never loved at all.

Miguel

Miguel takes a while to come to terms with his feelings, and while he's not afraid of feeling what he does, it does worry him

He's in a dangerous line of work, and he works as an enforcer. He's the strongest of the Shishigumi, and he uses his body when he works.

He's a beast, and you deserve better

While it does take a bit, he finally confesses after a difficult gang fight. He doesn't want to die not knowing if you'd feel the same.

Hino

Understands his feelings quickly, but takes a long time to confess

He uses his looks to bring in work, and often that means being flirty or suggestive. He doesn't know how you'd feel about how he works, and the fact he works for a gang?

Hino takes a long time to confess, but does when he realizes he doesn't want to go without you.

Chief lion

Takes a bit to understand his feelings, but as soon as he does, he tells you.

Sure, his work is dirty and immoral, but how could you resist?

If he likes you, he assumes you feel the same. It's just a matter of making it official.

Most to least likely to confess

Chief Lion > Sabu > Dope > Free > Dolph > Miguel > Jinma > Hino > Agata > Ibuki

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safarigirlsp · 1 year

Text

Satan Wears Burberry

Modern Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Humor. Romance. Enemies to Lovers. Fur.

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: For a Valentine's Day special, and as a gift for the lovely and wonderfully talented @kyloremus , here is a fun bitchy Fashion AU inspired by Cruella DeVille and The Devil Wears Prada! This is only the intro, if it is well received, I'll do more with it. There’s not even any murder or mayhem! What’s wrong with me?

Fashion is a viciously cutthroat industry where appearance and manipulation often win over sincerity and benevolence. Weapons of choice are razored nails, deadly heels, and backstabbing smiles. Everyone who is anyone and all the someones aspiring to be something in the fashion industry know there is no event more seminal than Paris Fashion Week. Statuesque models strutting runways, aggressive designers gauging their competition, and hawkish agents scouting new talent can all be found amid the crowds and press.

As the Editor in Chief of Annees Folles Magazine, your front row seat at every event was reserved. This season, Annees Folles had even surpassed Vogue in sales and influence. Before anything became fashion, it had to receive your stamp of approval and be featured in the pages of your magazine. Brands rose and fell pursuant to your approval or condemnation just like a gladiator’s life dependent upon the tilt of an emperor’s thumb. Among the other more illustrious attendees, were the heads of the most preeminent fashion lines in the world, the CEOs and moguls whose names had forged the foundation of modern fashion.

La Maison Gris, a relatively new brand from an old and noble French family, had made a meteoric rise to the very summit of the industry. Helmed by its formidable and charismatic CEO, Jacques Le Gris, La Maison Gris had firmly secured a position high among the most distinguished names in fashion. Le Gris had fast become synonymous with Chanel, Versace, Lagerfeld, Gucci, Valentino, Tom Ford, Dior, Dolce and Gabbana. Aided in his ascension by his calculating mind, his almost irresistible charm, his devilish good looks and imposing size, Jacques had steamrolled his competition like a tank over protestors.

Jacques Le Gris always dressed to the nines and was dashingly groomed and coiffed, his image immaculately maintained. From a finely tailored bespoke suit that flattered his impressive and athletic 6’4” physique, enhancing the breadth of his great shoulders and the taper of his fit waist, to a simple signet ring bearing his century’s old family crest that drew attention to his enormous hands, he used fashion to emphasize his towering size and noble bearing. He wore a neatly trimmed van dyke, and his thick black hair down to his shoulders. An intentional streak of silver shot through his glossy ebony mane like the milky way shimmering across the night sky, giving him the regal air of a melanistic lion. He was dressed now in pieces from his own line, a charcoal suit with a chic glen plaid pattern, black shirt, unbuttoned down two buttons from his throat, and a black overcoat with a subtle flair of silver Persian lamb around the collar.

Notably broader without exception than everyone in attendance and standing a head taller than most, save for the willowy models, some of whom hoovered near his airspace when in heels, Jacques cut an impressive and unmistakable figure where he stood next to the runway in the dimly lit audience. The room was filled to capacity with the crème de la crème of fashion, interspersed with the journalists and photographers who would relay their chosen highlights to the public. While he waited for the show to begin and the first model to strut down the runway, Jacques discussed his line with anyone who would listen, showcasing his renowned affability. He was cordial where others were aloof, a trait that had helped spur his rise to the top.

Jacques was confident that his spring line that was to be revealed at this show would impress all those in attendance, but still, it never hurt to grease the wheels with a few dashing smiles. He could charm almost anyone into submission, a talent that cut across many different lines of social interaction. Only one major player had remained staunchly immune from his allure, and she unfortunately wielded one of the most important opinions. In fact, it was as though the Editor in Chief of Annees Folles Magazine took pride, a morbid relish even, in eviscerating the designs of La Maison Gris. With each scathing article, La Maison Gris and its profits took a hit and took months to reclimb the ladder from several rungs below. To say Jacques was ruffled by it was an understatement, he was mad as hell. He had yet to meet the woman in person, which he assured himself was the reason he had so far been unable to exert the full magnitude of his charm and magnetism.

The lights dimmed and the music picked up tempo, indicating the show would soon be starting. Jacques was focused on the runway, and didn’t see you approach and squeeze in beside him for a place at the head of the runway. The room was packed as tightly as a nightclub, but filled with an exponentially more beautiful crowd. Jacques recognized you with a visible start, his affable manner momentarily dampened with worry, fear even, at being in the presence of the one woman with the power to unseat him from his high horse. The pen was indeed mightier than the sword when it was you who wielded it, writing the destinies of every hopeful designer in the pages of your magazine.

You were dressed in a Dolce & Gabbana dress of ebony lace that hugged and flattered your shapely curves to perfection paired with a charcoal gray double-breasted Burberry Prorsum coat with military-style epaulets and cuffs. You wore five-inch Burberry heels that, although pointed-toe stilettos, they were fitted with Burberry’s signature lug sole, adding to your combative appearance and reputation. Although it was dark in the room, you wore a pair of aviator sunglasses by Maybach, also in gradients of carbon, that concealed your infamously ferocious eyes. Your hair was elegantly styled and your bearing was as proud as any model on a runway, but your presence was of a military general standing on a battlefield.

The sight of you took Jacques’s breath away. He had never been so taken aback by a woman, so instantly devastated by beauty.

With a deep steadying breath and a visible effort, Jacques composed himself. It was absurd, he reasoned, to be so unnerved by a woman. He was a master at seduction, and what was business but a different kind of seduction? Both involved a degree of manipulation and power plays. Even if Jacques didn’t know how to deal with you as a cutthroat editor who struck fear into the hearts of men, he knew how to deal with a red-blooded woman.

“I think you’ll find the florals are luscious,” he whispered with a smokey depth to his voice. He moved closer beside you until your shoulders brushed, perfectly acceptable in the crowded room.

“Florals? For Spring?” you scoffed. “Groundbreaking.”

“Well… Florals are classics for a reason,” he stumbled at the sharp rebuff. “Spring lines always have florals. It’s what you do with them that matters, is it not?”

“Have you sustained a head injury?” you derided haughtily, turning to look at him briefly over the rims of your sunglasses. “Yes, follow like the little lemmings toward the cliff of the cliché and the mediocre. The market – that is, sellers who have already made you rich -- want to get their winter fashions off the racks. Something inventive, something charming and clean, for example, would sell regardless of the season. Are you marketing to the likes of Kohl’s or Target?” You dismissively returned your attention to the runaway. “Dolce & Gabbana is the only designer who has any business at all dabbling in seasonal florals. Perhaps, an honorable mention to Dior.” Jacques tried to retort, but you steamrolled over him. “But not La Maison Gris, I assure you, and my assurance is the only one that will ever matter.”

This silenced him as he looked away, a strange and foreign mixture of rejection and embarrassment mingling inside him with an all-too familiar anger. He then looked back at you tentatively, feeling hesitant to challenge you.

“Just last spring Vogue raged over my florals,” he stated with a confidence that for once he didn’t feel, his deep voice undercut by an undertone of fear. Because of his size and physicality, deep voice, and wealth, he often unwittingly intimidated people. He was unused to being on the other side of that scale, and he couldn’t recall being so as a grown man. It was a challenge, he realized, and he savored challenges.

“Then, they were novel. Now, they are tired and uninspired,” you sighed as if bored by his simpleness. “Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative -- that’s Oscar Wilde, mind you – and I do believe he had a sense of fashion. He even went to prison for his fashion genius, among other proclivities.”

Jacques’s handsome features broadcast he was ready to retort but thought better of it, chewing his lip instead to bite back the argument that wanted to leap from his tongue. As the first model made her appearance on the runway, the audience applauded, approving of her floral dress with fox trim. He puffed his chest and looked at you as if to say he told you so. The next model wore a lynx shawl over a dress of gold floral brocade.

“Mixing fur and floral, are we? I always thought fur looked best on its original owner.” You studied each ensemble carefully with the eye of a critic. “Models should be comfortable in their own skin, not someone else’s, don’t you think?”

“This line is novel, sleek and vivacious. If you wish to stand out and feel good about yourself, my line is for you,” he huffed and retorted as another model stalked toward you wearing a beautiful lavender dress trimmed with tasteful sable fur in a complimentary dusky hue. The crowd roared in approval. “Nature has evolved to flatter animals of every shape and size. Do you argue that natural evolution shouldn’t be used when one is designing clothes to flatter women?”

You paused at the audience’s enchantment with Jacques’s line. He, too, saw it was a hit and raised one eyebrow at you. The next model wore a sleek aviator jacket with a collar of sheared beaver dyed in a subtle chevron pattern. The crowd actually clapped at that one.

No matter, people often didn’t know what they really liked until you told them.

You gestured for him to lean closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Like I said, the unimaginative masses are easily impressed. They can’t do what I can do: convince the biggest retailers in the world to market your line, and the populace to buy it.”

Jacques took a deep breath, gathered his courage, smiled mischievously, and said with a seductive tenor, “Well, there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

“I suppose you would know,” you quipped as another lynx trimmed ensemble walked past. “Regardless, the details of your incompetence do not interest me.”

“My incompetence?” Jacques huffed. No one else in the world would dare to call him incompetent. But arguing the point with you would get him nowhere. He decided to try a different tactic. “Let us continue this tete-a-tete somewhere more private, and I’ll try to find something about myself that does interest you.”

“Bold of you to assume a ridiculous man like you could please me in any venue. Be assured, I am demanding in my personal life as well as my professional one.” You let your appraising gaze rake over his body. “I want the best. I deserve the best. And I demand the best. In all things and in all ways.”

“My fashion lines may bore you, belle comandante.” Jacques grinned and asserted boldly, “Trust me, as a man, I would make you purr.”

“I have no commitments and I find myself rather bored by Paris, but I’m sure you have a parade of floral harlots vying to charm you into letting them walk your next runway. Who would I be to deprive them of the valuable life lesson in regret they would learn from a night with you?” You eyed another fur-trimmed model skeptically. “Dear God, you’re not into furries are you?”

He said nothing more until the show was over, but a sly lupine smile played on his plush lips. When all the models had walked the runway and the din of conversation filled the room, he made you a darkly illicit offer. “I’ll make a bet with you. If I can make you purr for me, then you will write a splendid review of tonight’s show.”

Removing your sunglasses, you eyed him with unveiled skepticism. “And if I find you are not up to the task of pleasing me?”

“You won’t.” He winked at you.

“Graduating from fashion to prostitution, are you?” You raised a judgmental eyebrow. “I can’t deny it’s a better fit for you.”

“Not publicly.” He grinned at you, flashing a predatory glint of white teeth. “But for you, I will make a one-night-only exception. I’m a gambling man, and what higher stakes could I play with? If I can wring a good review out of you between the sheets, you will write a nice review for my fashion line on the pages of Annees Folles. We’ll enjoy ourselves in the process, that I promise you, cherie.”

“It is an interesting thought.” You smiled. “To wonder what I will find worthy of review. The before or the after?”

“Yes, I agree,” he boomed loud enough for everyone to hear. You had heard he was a showman and viciously sarcastic. “You know why failed designers become harping editors of fashion magazines? It’s a petty facet of human nature that we feel the need to tear apart others who have talents one does not.”

“Is that what you think?” you laughed at the absurdity, meeting his challenge and projecting your voice. “Designers are many. On the other hand, people who dictate the tides of fashion and control the very destinies of men like you are few. The truth is, no one can do what I can do.”

“It must be lonely at the top for a maneater like you,” Jacques teased, his voice low again. “Who keeps you warm at night?”

“Renew your offer at the end of the evening,” you replied coyly. “And I’ll decide who’s keeping me warm tonight.”

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Nearly as important as the fashion show itself was the afterparty. This was where most of the schmoozing and deal-making were conducted, where connections were made and alliances were formed. Swanky upscale clubs were privately rented for these glamorous soirees. The afterparty for La Maison Gris was celebrated at L’Arc, the highly exclusive nightclub at the top of the Champs Elysees. Jacques had rented the club for the night, open only to those on his well-pruned guest list. The neon strobes of the club ordinarily played across a beautiful crowd but during Fashion Week, its lights never fell on someone who wasn’t either rich, famous, beautiful, or otherwise extraordinary.

Jacques was the man of the hour and had to make himself seen at his own party. You, of course, were on every guest list of every afterparty, but only an elite few were deserving of your attendance. After making your rounds at parties hosted by Dolce & Gabbana, Burberry, Dior, and Tom Ford, you decided to make an appearance at the La Maison Gris party and see if Jacques’s bet still intrigued you. Your arrival was just late enough to be aptly fashionable.

A redwood of a doorman recognized you and ushered you in ahead of a winding line of at least one-hundred hopeful partygoers, much to their displeasure. The floor of the club writhed and undulated with women in chic dresses and men in suits dancing in time with heavy driving bass. You would have been hard-pressed to squeeze up to the bar that was so tightly packed that even the attempts of waifish models were foiled by the mass of humanity.

The freshly bleached smiles of several of the biggest names in Hollywood caught your eye from various corners of the room. One perfect smile belonged to the actor who had just landed his big break in being cast in the newest reboot of the Superman franchise. Clark Kent du jour had the build of a linebacker, a square jaw to match, cerulean blue eyes, and jet back hair, complete with a Superman curl he had cultivated since landing the part. He had also been pursuing you since you had toured the set for a piece on the costumes, most of which had been crafted by Zegna. He wore a suit by La Maison Gris, complete with a dyed sable pocket square instead of the usual silk. Tragically, he had both buttons done on his jacket, a glaring faux pas that required all of your limited reserve to overlook. You could take the man off the farm, but you couldn’t dress the farm out of the man.

Aspiring models stalked through the crowd on mile-high legs like otherworldly creatures, eager to impress designers for a chance to walk down their runways. And there was Jacques Le Gris, standing in the middle of an entire harem of them. A flock of scantily and colorfully dressed models surrounded him like birds at a feeder, some batting their eyelashes, others stroking his body, others still giggling vapidly, all desperate for any crumb of attention he deigned to toss their way. Though you couldn’t hear what he was saying, he was gesturing magnanimously, smiling and laughing at his own infectious humor, and very much enjoying the attention.

The spectacle of the fawning models was enough to make you return Clark Kent’s smile just long enough to encourage him to make an approach. Your timing was perfect; like all the best predators, you had the gift of precision. Jacques noticed you just as the handsome actor made a beeline for you and procured a flute of champagne from the tray of an obliging waitress who flitted by on his way. The actor was only the first to approach you. Within moments, you too were encircled by a mass of noisome people, even larger than the group that surrounded Jacques. Everyone wanted your attention, your approval.

At the sight of Clark Kent sidling up to you, a dark veil passed over Jacques’s dashing features, turning them murderous for the breadth of a second. It went unnoticed by most if not all, but you saw it and you smirked. Clenching his jaw, Jacques pushed through the throng of humanity and shooed away the plumage of women, heading not toward you but to the bar.

You smiled as the actor handed you the champagne, trying not to dwell on the state of his tackily buttoned jacket. But you drew the line at champagne, telling him with your usual stridence, “Oh, you can keep that for yourself. I don’t drink champagne, but I’m sure a large country boy like you can handle mine and yours and many more after.”

The poor pretty idiot didn’t know if you were serious or teasing, but since he had no basis in experience dealing with such a direct and assertive woman, he took your harshness for humor and laughed. He would be so easy to rip to shreds, which could be a fun passing amusement. He was exceedingly lucky you were in a good mood tonight. Adding to your relative levity was the towering figure of the CEO of La Maison Gris striding purposefully toward you and fighting to keep his composure and grin through his jealous anger. He held a drink in each hand, filled with amber and ice.

“This is my party,” he said by way of greeting you, making his voice notably deeper than the actor’s. Jacques was taller, but only just, which added to your amusement when he tried to look down his charmingly hooked nose at his more classically handsome opponent. “How is it that you just waltz in here and everybody gravitates toward you like you are the sun.”

“I’ve found that Nietzsche’s herd concept applies in a variety of ways.” You smiled icily back. “The human herd often has a collective sense of who’s the most important person in the room.”

Still looking at the actor, Jacques wordlessly handed you one of the two drinks he carried. You accepted it with a raised eyebrow and lifted it to inhale its aroma. Then, you gifted him with a genuine smile. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I have. Your drink of choice is an old fashioned made with Midleton Single Pot Irish Whiskey and garnished with an orange peel.” He took a sip of his own drink, the same as yours, closing his eyes briefly to savor the taste. “But I think you’ll like this better. I prefer Redbreast twenty-seven year old Irish Whiskey.”

You took a skeptical drink, your eyes not leaving Jacques’s. The old fashioned was remarkably flavorful. “It’s tolerable, I suppose.”

“I better get a nicer review than that from you after I’ve given you a taste of something else that’s full-bodied and old fashioned.” Jacques winked at you as he took another drink.

“I’ve already been here fifteen minutes, and already this is growing dull.” You pointedly looked at the Breitling watch strapped to Jacques’s thick wrist. “When are you going to make it worth my while to have come at all?”

“Finish your drink,” he challenged and downed the better part of his own. He gave the actor a dangerous glare, but the other man was too focused on you to notice, still standing beside you, hopeful and oblivious.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said to Clark Kent with unveiled sarcasm, the man was utterly clueless. “I forgot you were there. You may go now.”

“I may actually grow to like you.” Jacques grinned and took your elbow, his large hand squeezing you for emphasis.

“I would expect so,” you replied haughtily. “It is a sentiment I acquire often but return sparingly.”

“Carpe nocturne, ma jolie fille,” he growled as he pulled you through the crowd and out of L’Arc to his waiting car.

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Enroute to a more comfortable and conducive location, you and Jacques each downed two more old fashioneds as his driver maneuvered through the labyrinthian Parisian streets, overfull with tourists for Fashion Week. With his drinks, Jacques smoked a thick cigar on the drive, billowing smoke from his nose like a regal dragon through a cracked window. It came as no surprise you were both staying at the Ritz Paris, after all, it was the finest luxury hotel in Paris and some say in the world. You discovered it had been Jacques who had sniped the Suite Imperiale, the finest suite in the opulent hotel, out from under you, leaving you to book the only slightly less decadent Suite Windsor for yourself.

Jacques strode with you proudly through the lavish hotel, past numerous celebrities and icons. His hand rested possessively on the small of your back, leaving no doubt as to the nature of your evening.

“People are staring,” you said without a trace of shyness, relishing the attention.

“Let’s make it worth their while.” Jacques took your hand and twirled you like he was dancing with you and then dipped you for a passionate kiss in full view of the bustling lobby.

People indeed stared, their captivated gazes following as he then led you to the bank of elevators. Inside the elevator, he pushed you against the wall and propped his hands on either side of your head, caging you inside his arms as he loomed over you.

“Want me to say goodnight, jolie fille?” he asked, his voice dripping with husky desire.

Biting your lip as you paused to consider his words, you looked up at him. “Not for a few more hours.”

A broad toothy smile broke across Jacques’s features as the elevator chimed and you stepped out of his arms, enroute to his suite.

Jacques walked so closely behind you as you approached the door to the Suite Imperiale that you could feel the heat radiating off his massive body. Hot breath huffed on the back of your neck, raising goosebumps and sending electric currents down your spine. At his door, he handed you his room key and let you fumble with the lock while he trailed his hands down over your hips and then back up your thighs. Hooking his fingers in the hem of your dress, he pulled it up over your ass, the cool air on your skin a stark contrast to his hot hands. His broad chest pressed into your back and his head fell to your neck. His lips teased at you tantalizingly as he dug his thick fingers into your soft hips, pulling your ass back into the massive bulge in his pants.

“I knew you had a luscious ass,” he growled into your neck. He teased you with the scratch of his beard near your ear and smiled against your skin when he dipped his hand between your thighs and felt the moist heat of your arousal. “It would be a shame to ruin your lovely clothes. We need to get you out of them before they get too wet.”

You laughed breathily as you opened the door and stumbled inside with Jacques still pressed to your back. He kicked the door shut and spun you to face him, crashing his lips to yours as you each clawed at each other’s clothing. His jacket and shirt were the first to be discarded. You wanted to see his body before revealing yours, and you were not disappointed when he peeled his shirt away. His chest was larger and more impressive than you had guessed and his arms more thickly muscled. He had the finely sculpted look of a performance horse, massive, sleek, and powerful all at once.

Backing away from him sultrily, you slowly unzipped your dress as you angled toward the bedroom. Inspired by the Chateau de Versailles, the living room of the Suite Imperiale was done in burgundy and cream, with vaulted ceilings and enormous airy windows. The burgundy and gold drapes were open, letting the lights of Paris glimmer into the otherwise darkened room.

Before you could step out of your dress that had fallen to your feet, Jacques lifted you up into his arms, all but yanking you off the ground in his fervor. He was so powerful and solid that he made you feel weightless in his arms, a feeling that heightened your anticipation as much as his expert touch.

Jacques twirled once inside the suite’s bedroom with you still in his arms, taking every advantage to show off. This room was decorated in cream and mint with a green and mint brocade canopy enshrouding the lavish bed. Jacques laid you gently down onto the plush bedding and traced hot kisses down your throat and chest as he rose back to brusquely discard the rest of his clothing. You eyed his body shamelessly, very pleased by every magnificent part of him. His aurous eyes were even hungrier than yours as they devoured the sight of you.

“I’ve never seen true beauty before tonight,” he said reverently in a voice that was all smoke and darkness.

Jacques crawled over you, a predator over his prey, caging you beneath him with his impressive arms on either side of your body. When you put your hands on him, you could feel his heavy muscles tense and flex as he moved. The feel of him alone was a potent aphrodisiac. He could read all the signs of your body, the way you moved and sighed and responded to his touch. He knew you wanted him, and wanted him now. But Jacques wanted to savor you, to spend as long as he could possibly stand it, to sear every moment of this night into his memory like a firebrand.

Agonizingly slow, he returned his lips to your skin, kissing and teasing every part of your flesh he could cover. He knew he would have you several times tonight, and he decided he wanted to make you moan with his tongue before he made you scream with his cock. It was quick work for him once he settled between your legs and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. He had barely traced his name into you a handful of times when he felt the shuddering rush of your ecstasy.

Positioning himself above you, he captured your lips as he thrust into you, fast and fluid but gentle too. Slow at first, he followed the pace you set as your pleasure deepened. He was a consummate lover, and he shifted his hips until he knew his angle was perfect, like a marksman hitting the bullseye. He saw your features rendered beautifully distraught by pleasure, and he thought that he had never seen anything so lovely in the world of fashion and art as the sight of you beneath him.

Your arousal mounted as vigorously as he pistoned into you. Everything faded from your world until there was only the handsome man above you and the pleasure that flooded you until you were bursting with it. Jacques crested with you when a powerful orgasm throbbed through you and he carried you through every delicious shudder until you were both delirious with exhausted bliss. He kissed you with a slow lingering passion and when he pulled back, it was to look at you with adoration. His gaze was brief, but the emotion was unmistakable.

In the sultry minutes between your first session together and the next of the evening, you lay across Jacques’s chest, listening to his steadying heartbeat and the resonant timbre of his voice that sounded much like a contented purr beneath your ear. His hair was tangled and wild, and his chest glistened with a light sheen of sweat. His arms were strong around you and his hands huge and comforting on your skin. The man was an absolute fever dream.

“This is only the beginning, ma belle amour,” Jacques whispered much later that night, careful not to wake you. Even in sleep, he dreamed of you and of the bright and glamorous future you would forge together.

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Jacques prided himself on being part of the 5am Club, but this morning he felt that he had earned some extra rest after his robust performance the night before. You told him that he was incredible, and he couldn’t disagree with you. He was an exceptional lover – he made a point of excelling in all areas of importance to him – and he knew it. He had pulled out all the stops for you. He wanted you not only pleasured but impressed; hooked, and wanting more and more. He grinned sleepily at the realization that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he was just as hooked after this first time as you were sure to be.

An obnoxious beam of sunlight soldiered through a gap in the curtains to shine on Jacques’s face, forcing him to blink into consciousness. Groaning at the light, he rolled over to curl into you and pull you close to him, and maybe have you again for breakfast. But his hand fell on a vacant sheet, cool to the touch. That brought him into full alertness like a bucket of ice water dosed over his head. He propped himself up on an elbow and brushed the hair out his eyes as he looked around the room. All of your things had been collected and were gone, and no sound emanated from the open door of the adjoining bathroom.

Jacques was alone.

No woman had ever sneaked out on him before the dawn. Of course, he had done so countless times to countless women, the number of which he couldn’t have remembered or even closely estimated with a gun to his head. But no woman had ever given him the same treatment. It was unthinkable! Jacques had only ever slipped away from women he considered unimportant, disposable – which, admittedly, were most of them – but he would never have ducked out on you, not after the night the two of you had shared.

Last night was only the beginning, he told himself, knowing it must be true. Anything that felt that good, that right, had to be only the start of something great.

A bitter thought slithered into his mind, worse than the gravelly morning-after taste on his tongue. Surely, he wasn’t a disposable fling to you. He couldn’t be. He was more than a one night stand, when he wanted more, anyway. It was unfathomable to think a woman, any woman, wouldn’t want more with him. It was blasphemous, even.

No, that couldn’t be it. Jacques knew you were a busy woman, you must have had things to do and places to be. He too was in demand and could hardly begrudge you the same. Throwing the covers aside, he stood and proceeded to walk around the room naked, looking for anything you may have left behind. He was sure he would find a letter or just a brief note, but there was nothing. He even fogged the bathroom mirror in the chance you were prone to mystery and had left a message on the glass that only mist would reveal. He called your suite, received no answer, and had no better luck calling reception. When he checked his phone to see if there were any messages from you, he realized with a sinking feeling that you had not exchanged numbers.

The room was as though you had never been inside it at all. Only the smell of your perfume on his sheets and the scratches you had traced across his skin were proof that last night had not been only a fantasy.

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Never before had Jacques felt so compelled to chase after a woman, but he restrained himself. The rules of a burgeoning relationship were new to Jacques -- not that he ever played by the rules at anything -- but he thought it only fair that since you had been the one to leave, that the burden was on you to make the first contact. He waited for days for a call or email or text, at first angry and then despondent when nothing came.

Jacques Le Gris, the CEO of La Maison Gris, would not chase after a woman. But for this woman, this one singular woman, he consented to casually saunter in her direction. And he was not pleased about having to do so.

It was Friday morning, nearly a week after your evening together, when Jacques relented. He stood restless in his luxurious office, surrounded by walnut paneling, rich colors, and oil paintings. His office had a regal ambience reminiscent of a Victorian study but with a decidedly masculine touch. Every appliance was ultra-modern and colored in sleek carbon, contrasting chicly with the otherwise vintage style. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the city of Paris, offering an unobstructed view of the Champs Elysees.

Being at the tops in your respective industries made you each easy to track down, even if then making contact was exponentially more difficult. Jacques called the main branch of Annees Folles Magazine in Manhattan and was given the runaround for the better part of an hour. Christ, it was worse than dealing with an airline. He wondered if he would have to fax a copy of his ID just to speak to a living human who had any authority at all. He was near the limits of his temper, his notorious good humor completely expended, by the time he was put through to your office.

“Editor in Chief’s office.” A curt nasally male voice answered Jacques’s call with a note of disinterest. “Armitage Hux speaking.”

“I’m calling to speak to the Editor in Chief directly, please,” Jacques said in his most diplomatic tone. He added his name, which alone opened most doors for him. “This is Jacques Le Gris.”

“The Editor is not to be disturbed. Furthermore, she only takes calls from those listed on her approved call list.” Came the snide reply. “There’ s no Jack.”

“Jacques,” he enunciated more clearly, adding more force to his voice. “Jacques Le Gris.”

“There is no le Grease on the list either.” A withering sneer could almost be heard through the phone.

“Le Gris,” Jacques corrected, fighting to keep from losing his temper.

“My apologies,” Hux answered without the barest hint of contrition. “Regardless, you are not on the list, Mr. le Grease.”

A frustrated growl slipped out before Jacques could stop it. “For fuck’s sake, ask her about me!”

“There’s really no need for profanity. I’ve already told you, she is not to be disturbed,” Hux continued in a tone that was now verging on bored. “Certainly not by people who aren’t important enough to be on her approved call list, Mr. le Grease.”

“Important?” Jacques laughed at the absurdity. “Do you know who I am? I’m the CEO of La Maison Gris!”

“I’m legally required to say that my opinion does not in any way reflect the views of Annees Folles Magazine, but I have always preferred Gucci,” Hux lilted in his superior manner.

“If Le Grease doesn’t spur her memory, tell her I’m the man she spent last Saturday night with!” Now, Jacques was pissed. Comparing his distinguished line to that family of garish Italians was like slapping a glove across his cheek. “She knew my name then because she was fucking screaming it!”

“Ah, maybe you’re on that list.” Hux smiled deviously, which could be heard on his voice.

Jacques ground his teeth until he thought they would surely crack while he listened to the other man’s unhurried keystrokes as he pulled up that list. Jacques made a mental note to clear that fucking list out for you real fast.

“Barber… McHenry… — forgive me, I’m skimming here — Mills… Ren… Zimmerman…” Hux read through each name with relish. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid that this list is Grease-free as well.”

“Listen, you trumped up little shit.” Jacques finally lost control of his temper. “If I have to get on a fucking plane, walk right in there, and kick the door down to her office —“

“Hold please,” Hux intoned, utterly unconcerned. Music only slightly trendier than elevator music assaulted Jacques across the line.

Jacques punched the end button with as much force as he could muster with his finger on the button that was too small for his thick digit. He caught himself just before he threw his phone across the room, and instead turned and swung a savagely powerful punch into the wall, slamming his fist straight through the plaster.

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Bright and early the following Monday a fresh copy of the American edition of Annees Folles Magazine was delivered by courier to Jacques’s office. There was no accompanying note, but the magazine smelled of the sultry exotic perfume he remembered so well. Jacques knew with absolute certainty who it was from. It was longer than he wanted to wait for an overture from you, but at least it was something.

One of the subheadings on the cover read, A Special Editorial and Behind the Scenes Look into the New Fashion Line of La Maison Gris. Jacques seated himself behind his imposing desk, leaned back in his tufted leather chair, and propped his long legs on his desk, crossing his feet at the ankles. He intended to savor your special editorial on him and his fashion line, expecting to fall even deeper and more hopelessly into the abyss of his feelings for you, into this new and uncharted territory.

Jacques rustled through the pages, eager to find your editorial. Splashed across the page was an extra treat – a startlingly high-quality photograph of his runway with a model in a floral dress with fur cuffs, and front in center silhouetted by the runway lights, the pair of you stood side-by-side in the crowd watching the show. He decided to have it framed for his office, a memento of the night your relationship began. He imagined your smile when he showed it off to you in person.

Below the photograph, the article was not what he expected. It was five-hundred words of honeyed vitriol.

La Maison Gris, with CEO Jacques Le Gris at its helm, has been the rising star in the fashion industry and with good reason. His designs mix ultra-modern chic with the classiest and the most decadent styles history has ever seen. From Victorian era draping and corsets to Regency-esque frocks and slippers to beading and sequins that would flatter the most exuberant 1920’s flapper, Le Gris’s inspiration is regal and refined and imbued with his own signature twist and flourish.

Ascensions, however, are precarious. Climbing to the top in fashion is just as perilous as climbing Mount Everest. One misstep can cost one his career.

Confident in his own grandeur, Le Gris opened his show at Paris Fashion Week with a new line featuring a daring use of fur on every piece. Icarus, too, was daring in his flight toward the blazing Sun. Just like Icarus, Le Gris has reached beyond his capacity and will soon find himself plummeting back to Earth to crash and burn with so many other has-beens whose names are not worth remembering.

Swept up in his penchant for melding modern with iconic, Le Gris does not consider the advances that we as a society have made. No longer do we need to resort to the barbarism of the fur trade to clothe ourselves. Nor do we, as Le Gris would have us believe, need to resort to fur to dress ourselves in the finest fashion and haute couture. Rest assured, dear readers, La Maison Gris is not in the upper echelon of fine fashion and haute couture.

In addition to the heinous and overdone use of fur, Le Gris has the tastelessness to cobble together a kaleidoscope of florals ranging from pastel to electric. His florid color palette can best be described as ‘A Murder of Unicorns,’ as painted by Monet. It reminds one of a cheerily painted playroom inside a children’s mental institution. A more cultured eye will gravitate to Dolce & Gabbana for florals, to Burberry for iconic; and if one is looking for fur, a vintage fox, mink, or sable from a boutique will always carry the day.

Le Gris’s approach to fashion seems to be that a lack of quality can be disguised by flair and concealed with fur. This mirrors the man’s approach to life. A boisterous grandstander, Le Gris tries to project a distinguished air. However, like a magician’s trick revealed, all his flash and charm are little more than smoke and mirrors with no real substance.

A little fur here and there can make a girl purr, but an overuse, such as the spring line of La Maison Gris, is barbarous at best and utterly gauche at worst.

One wonders if Le Gris has the capacity to bear a defeat with dignity, but the smart money will bet on the negative. Like a scavenging hound, Le Gris will likely refurbish his failed spring line for another runway this coming fall or winter. He will certainly gain no traction on any runway of repute. With his brash sensationalism and garish taste, perhaps he shall find his true calling outfitting cosplayers or larpers.

Jacques crumpled the offending magazine in his fist as if he could choke the life from its Editor in Chief through the abused pages. He viciously ripped it in half, throwing each segment across the room in different directions. He wanted to punch another hole in his wall, but his knuckles were still scabbed and bruised from his recent outburst. Not for the first time, he decided to hang a heavyweight punching bag in his office. He glared around his office, looking for something to break. Why the fuck was everything his decorators chose some one-of-a-kind antique?

Sparing his knuckles further damage, he let out a savage growl like a wounded lion. Jacques was breathing as hard as if he had run a mile, his huge chest straining the buttons on his tailored shirt. As he tried ineffectively to calm himself, his shrewd mind began to calculate and strategize. After a few moments of huffing, he decided on his course of action. If you wanted to play dirty, he could roll in the mud with the best of them. Retrieving his phone, he dialed a familiar number.

“Jacques!” Pierre D’Alencon, the Creative Director of La Maison Gris, answered with friendly ebullience. “I was just going to call you. Drinks this weekend? I happened upon a gorgeous set of twins -- redheads, no less -- and of course I’m willing to share with my closest friend.”

“Put the twins on ice for now,” Jacques grumbled gruffly. “This is business. Did you see the editorial in Annees Folles?”

“I did, indeed,” Pierre’s voice lost a hint of its buoyancy. “Hence my offer of drinks and women to lift your spirits.”

“I’ve made a decision, and it involves you. If that glorified tabloid wants to blast me for using fur in my line, I’m going to single-handedly revive the fur-in-fashion trend! We’ll see who holds more power in this little game.” Jacques grinned devilishly at his own newly formed plan of attack like a knight finding a chink in his opponent’s armor. “Which is where you come in. I want to see designs for an entire line with fur on every piece by the end of the month. Get on it, Pierre! Give me your best.”

“Do you not think it best to respond with more dignity and sweep all this unpleasantness under the rug?” Pierre asked with a heavy sigh. “This is why you have PR people.”

“Who was it that said any publicity is good publicity?” Jacques asked, unphased.

“That would be the American spectacle, P.T. Barnum,” Pierre replied with resignation.

“Smart man. I always admired his joie de vivre.” Jacques smirked as he paced across his vast office. “That’s exactly what I want. I want a spectacle. I want a public circus. I want a showdown. We’re going to revive the fur trend, you and I, and I’m going to rub it in that demoness’s face!”

“Ah, so this is all motivated by astute business acumen and professionalism, is it?” Pierre gave a laugh that was ignored.

“Use every kind of fur you can get your hands on. The crueler the fucking better! Lynx, fox, sable, Persian lamb – all the cutest and cuddliest animals. Are chinchillas still a thing? Those too. Can we still get leopard? If you can design a full-length coat made of puppies, do it! Dalmatian with a lynx collar, how about that?” Jacques ran a hand along the shimmering silver streak in his black hair, thinking. “And I don’t want faux anything in sight. I want it all real, all genuine fur.”

Pierre confirmed his understanding of his marching orders and signed off. For so long as their mission remained retaliation and war, anyway. He also decided on a side-quest of sorts, to put his second greatest talent to work while he created a runway line trimmed in fur. He would try his best at figuring out his friend and boss’s quarry, and aid him in hunting the most dangerous game of all, a powerful woman. Perhaps if Jacques could seduce her personally, there would be no need to batter her into submission professionally, and Pierre knew he was just the man for both jobs.

Jacques was still wound up after the call, but now he had a course of action, a focal point, a target at which to channel his anger and frustration. The embers of rage still alighted Jacques’s nerves and the sting of betrayal still burned in his chest. He still wanted to punch something, to find a release. It was a poor substitute, but he ranted and bellowed instead.

“That frigid bitch!” Jacques snarled, glaring out of his window over the streets of Paris. “That shrew. That succubus. Satan. That woman is fucking Satan!”

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To be continued…

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Tagging some fashionistas:

@in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @babbushka @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @reborn-rekall @maybe-your-left @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @darkhairedmenrule @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @clydesfavoritegirl @bensolodyad @thepalaceofmelanie @celiholland @durangoninetyfive @reveluving @vedavan @fax4life27 @lumberjack00fantasies @kyloremus

#my stuff!#my writing #best #fic #valentine #jacques le gris x reader #jacques le gris x you #jacques

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