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metropolitanmutantofark · 1 year

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The Messenger, Eclipse

Part 1, Chapter 4 - A Drawing of an Analumine

Tracie's wardrobe was far bigger than I expected. Admittedly, I shouldn't have been quite so surprised - I didn't expect a giant mechanical bubble inside a camper van either, so if it was that spacious inside, I should've expected a fairly large wardrobe. We were dressed similarly enough to pass as friends - both of us wearing white dress shirts with black ties and slacks. Eclipse had brushed his hair back, and mine was tied up into a bun, with matching black reading glasses on to make the look a bit more complete.

Eclipse swung the van's side hatch shut when I was out, looking down at a saddle-bag I was now wearing. "Not sure anyone's gonna notice," he started, carefully judging my look. "But that bag's not exactly Earthen-ish, if you get it. That fabric won't be brought down until Earth joins the standard galactic trade, just thought I'd let you know."

"Really? Well, I needed somewhere to put my car, and this was the only other bag you've got in there." I reached inside the bag and pulled out the brown package with my shrunken car in it. Two hours remained on the timer. Really, I guess I could've been faster looking for clothes. "For a messenger, you don't really carry many mail sacks or messenger-bags."

"Too expensive. Rule six - for business expenses, either everything's on sale, or nothing's on sale. I'll try to explain what that means later. Earth's commerce is pretty unique, I'll just leave it at that, but if you want some quality Earth trading, you should see Rel-de-Pein. Big moon, down to the second layer it's nothing but mall shops. Won't be established for another thousand years or so, but three hundred years of that is gonna be construction."

"Don't you think it's a little dangerous, telling me that?" I asked. "From what I understand, you're not supposed to bring information from the future to the past. What if you telling me that sparks some chain reaction that ends up turning that moon-mall-thing into a wasteland or something?"

"Well, it doesn't work like that, really." He started walking, readjusting his tie while he beckoned me to follow. "A lot of people think of time as a straight line, but it's really not. If you go back in time with a plush bunny-rabbit from the future, for instance, and then disintegrate it before you pick it up, it won't disappear - but you won't be able to go back to the future and pick up another bunny. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," I answered. "Why wouldn't it fade away? You stopped yourself from being able to pick it up."

"No, I stopped-" He pinched the bridge of his nose. I assume he was trying to wrap his head around it in human terms. "Have you seen the movie K-PAX? It's kind of like that. Each individual atom in the universe operates on its own string of time. This thing that we call 'time travel' is really more like bending the string around, and letting it touch another string for a little while. Eventually, the string loops back on itself, and at the end of everything, so does the universe. That's the big circle of life, or whatever you want to call it."

"Yeah, but that doesn't answer why the bunny doesn't fade," I added.

"The bunny doesn't fade because it doesn't technically exist," he answered. "Anything that time-travels ceases to become a fixed factor in time, but it can still affect things that happen. Kind of like Tracie and I. In an objective look on the timeline, you're pretty much talking to a jumble of dark matter, even though I'm still here."

"Isn't dark matter a bad thing? Am I going to be disintegrated or something if I touch you?"

"No. Well, kind of, but it would take a long, long while. I'm not really- well, just call it dark-ish matter, that... more surrounds whatever travels in time, rather than constructing it. Point being, once you make a change, it sticks. Unless something can reverse your actions, which we literally can't prove exists or doesn't exist, you can't undo a change, you can only fix it. That's why it's so important to keep out of your own timeline," he explained. "Right now, time is a messy circle of yarn. If you act on top of your own actions, you fray your timeline into branches and strings, and branches and strings form knots. If you interact with yourself or other time-travelers too much, you change time's shape from a strict progression of cause-and-effect, into a... a big ball of w-" Eclipse interrupted himself and stopped, looking down at what he was wearing while I passed him. "Wendy, hold on, I thought you said people didn't wear hot clothes in Florida."

"Right, people don't," I answered. "Unfortunately for us, nerds aren't people." I opened the door to the D Building and tugged him along. "My card only takes us so far. Professors don't like it when people enter without being enrolled." I led Eclipse upstairs to the second floor, keeping my eyes open for any sort of unusual activity or anything that looked alien.

"I doubt it would be a normal class if it's already been established as hostile," Eclipse reasoned, finally reaching the top of the stairs. "And if I were you, I'd try not to look like you're looking for anything alien," he added. "If they're a primitive species, like yours, they could be jumpy."

I turned around and slapped Eclipse.

In a short time, we'd reached room 204. After peeking inside, Eclipse pulled out his magnetic key. "Lucky for us, nobody's inside," he remarked.

"Come again?" I asked. "There's supposed to be a class in session, that's why we dressed up like this," I explained. "It's synchronized classes today, they're doing a deep-clean of the whole campus later. The AM classes are all supposed to be at 7:30 and run through to 11:00."

"I thought you said three hours."

"My class is three hours," I answered. "That's usually how long it takes before his desk catches fire."

Eclipse twisted the key. I could hear the same noise as before as he opened the door, the lock clicking out of place and sliding back into the open position.

The room inside was a mess. Glass was shattered all over the floor, two computers were missing from their desks, and the cabinets had been opened, with their contents spilling out onto the carpet. One desk had been overturned - and as we pushed a little further into the room, we saw that the second missing computer was here - only a chunk of the monitor had been removed, as if something had torn through the monitor and tossed aside the tower.

I stopped Eclipse from moving too far in, taking some careful steps forward to check around the computer. "Where did the other half of the monitor go?" I asked, gesturing him to start looking around.

Eclipse stayed where he was, instead looking down at the glass on the floor. "Either destroyed or disintegrated, those are my best guesses." He crouched down, using his tie to pick up one of the bigger shards of glass, holding it up in the light.

"That's another question," I added. "The monitors here don't use glass screens. The school's cheap, so most of the monitors have this plastic film instead of a screen. If the windows are fine, then where did the glass come from?"

"It's not glass," Eclipse answered. "It has this rainbow reflection in it, and it's a little blue-ish. Also, most of these shards are too thin. Glass is maybe twice as thick." As I turned to face him, I looked at the scene from a new angle - something was bugging me, but I couldn't figure out what. "Wendy, what would have been in those cabinets?" he asked, looking into the small pile of now-garbage on the other side of the room. It was mostly paper.

"Textbooks, installation discs, spare computer parts," I answered. "Stuff for a business class. Stationery, too."

"They still use CDs?" he asked. "It's 2023. I made sure of that when I landed here."

"Like I said, the school's cheap. We-" I stopped myself as I was talking, suddenly thinking of a different idea. "We had, like, sixty of them in one class, one for the business applications and one for the school software," I recalled. "What would take out the CDs and crush them up?"

Eclipse shut his eyes, hanging his head for a minute. "Wendy..." he started, holding his breath. "Could you check around for any clothes in this room?"

On the suggestion, I stood, and took a lap around the room, opening drawers and wall-mounted cabinets, until eventually I found a wad of formal clothes in the professor's desk - a white shirt with khakis, and a set of socks and shoes. They were wrinkled, and slightly dirty - I could still see cat hair on the shirt. The khakis had a wallet inside - one I was immediately searching through, to see if the ID was still there. "I found some," I answered. "One set of clothes, and a wallet, but there's no ID. I think it was the professor's."

Eclipse nodded, and stood. "Analumines," he answered. "Whoever that teacher was, he's gone," he softly spoke, clutching his tie a little tighter in-hand.

I shook my head in disbelief, dropping the clothes. It took all of my willpower not to scream and alert people over, or maybe it was just easier to keep quiet since I wasn't totally faithful in Eclipse's conclusion. "He's gone?" I repeated, picking up the clothes again.

"Dead, most likely." He approached and spread the clothes out on the professor's desk, looking for something. "Right here," he pointed, directing my eyes to a warped portion of fabric towards the arms. "Analumine hands are too strong to handle weaker fabrics. You can tell if one's around if you find clothes bundled up like this."

"Wait, what? So how did they get the clothes off of him, then?"

"I should've rephrased that," he stated. "Their hands are too strong. They're a tripedal species, and they walk around with their knees bent in small spots. Their hands are more like crane claws - three fingers with giant nails as fingertips. That's how you wind up with the warped fabric, here - when they try to bundle up the clothes, they grip it too hard."

"I still don't understand. Why would they want to take his clothes in the first place? And what happened to his ID?"

"They probably took his ID first," he explained. "Their anatomy is all jumbled around. You can tell a lot about a species' nature based off where its organs are." Taking out a piece of paper, he did a quick, rough sketch of what one could look like. "See, here."

"Where's it's neck?" I asked. "It's just... two eyes and a mouth on top."

"Five eyes, and a mouth on top. I didn't draw the two eyes on the back, sorry. They can't move back and forth very fast without zig-zagging, so they have to see in every direction at once. And you'd be surprised how many species don't have necks. Necks are pretty rare in this part of the galaxy."

"That's four eyes," I pointed out, counting them out again in my head just to make sure. "And what does their anatomy change about their nature?"

"Two answers at the same time. It's not pretty, but like I told you, their organs are all jumbled around. Their heart is in their head, for instance. They've got this big, long cavity running down, and their tongue is a tube that runs from the top of it down to the bottom." He traced another outline of one, this time to show his approximation of where things were. "The mouth opens up directly into the stomach when the tongue lets things through, and from the stomach, it passes the fifth eye, which in turn, is wired up right next to the first brain."

"First brain?"

"First brain. The second is more of an... auxiliary brain, right next to the heart," Eclipse explained. "The first brain does the thinking, and the second brain does the sensing - save for the fifth eye." He grimaced as he thought of it, balling his hand up into a fist and drawing in the parts he spoke of.

"Their digestive system is roughly 60% of their body," Eclipse explained. "All other systems are pretty bare-bones, but their digestive and nervous systems are well-developed. Actually," he began, putting in what I assumed were intestines into the drawing, and then adding some small additional lines. "Your species is primarily cardiovascular and nervous," Eclipse explained. "The most important systems in your body are those two. Food feeds into the blood, and blood feeds into the brain. Analumines are a primarily digestive and nervous species," he added. "Their nerves run directly through the digestive system, and all their... sense sensors are placed in spots accordingly. The eyes are up by the mouth and in the stomach, their version of ears are small rings going along the outside of their body, and so on."

"So what's the fifth eye for?" I asked. "Hardly seems like it would be very useful for anyone to look at what they're eating after they eat it."

"That's where you're wrong. Analum V is a hostile planet. Every piece of organic material is out to kill you. They had to evolve a second digestive tract to filter out toxins. That's where the eye comes in." He ripped off a small corner of paper and doodled a drumstick onto it. "Something goes into the stomach. If it's good, it goes and gets digested like normal. If it's bad, it gets funneled through the poison chute until it is normal." He crumpled up the little corner of paper and tossed it aside. "Trouble is, evolution happens. Eventually, Analumines become sentient, thinking members of society, just like humans. Their whole body is meant to eat everything around them, and then think of how to make things easier and easier to eat. As they get smarter, as they evolve into scientists and thinkers, their fifth eye evolves too, and it gets better and better at analyzing whatever goes through its mouth-"

My heart stopped beating as I realized what that implied, and I cut him off before he could say anything further. "And eventually, they learn how to look at something and understand it after eating it," I finished, head beginning to feel dizzy and lighter all of a sudden.

"That's what happened to the monitor, and the second computer," he explained. "They probably only needed a single bite to tell what the monitor was made of. The computer would've been a bit more complex." Eclipse stood up and turned around, sighing. "And it probably had another Krotwen on it," he concluded. "That must have been the hostile intent. An Analumine is a genius. It could probably tell what was on a computer based off of how the processors reacted to its stomach enzymes. I'd be willing to bet that that's what it was trying to do with the CDs."

I sat down at the desk and looked over Eclipse's drawing once again. "So we've got an alien twice our strength loose somewhere on the campus, whose sole motivation is to eat anything it finds, and we've got to find some way of stopping it?"

"No. You're actually wrong about that," Eclipse answered, looking back towards me. "It's more like twelve times our strength."

#science fiction #original writing #Part 1 #Chapter 4 #mail boy's got places to be #feedback appreciated #the messenger eclipse #the anatomy of this monster was based off a dream i had #but i'm not telling you how until later

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messwriting · 3 years

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Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol).

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel, @pleasantanathema and @linestrider. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn.

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor.

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.”

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight.

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number. “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves.

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation.

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.”

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss.

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping.

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee.

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.”

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.”

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?”

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question.

“What do you mean?”

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?”

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you… And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side.

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional.

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression.

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

“I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess.

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent.

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin.

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.”

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides.

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue.

“I think I may need a little…” Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks.

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback.

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry.

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.”

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start.

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips.

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest.

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment.

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself.

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants.

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table.

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud. There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already.

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh.

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him.

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee.

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil.

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers.

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching.

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins.

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan.

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk.

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his.

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.”

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it.

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this.

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt.

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning.

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you.

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something.

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going.

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you.

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting.

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know.

He’s not stopping. Until he does.

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin.

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.”

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth.

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin.

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound.

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it.

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt. “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm.

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat.

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.”

This.

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire.

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are.

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.”

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.”

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip.

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure.

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you.

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that.

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that.

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure.

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence.

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.”

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding. Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes.

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core.

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever.

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit.

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking.

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes.

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect.

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it.

You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat.

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it.

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had.

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?”

#osamu miya smut #osamu miya #osamu miya hq #haikyuu smut #tw dubcon #thesmutpilecollab #hq fanfic #osamu miya x reader

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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years

Text

on my mom's grave

wordcount: 3.7k

warnings: n/a

______

“How drunk do you think we’re going to get tonight?” Sophie asked, tipping back the last of a lemon White Claw as the two of them got ready for the night in her room.

“Dunno. I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

She paused, glancing back at him. “Do you not want to go?”

He shook his head and took the can from her, disappointed to realize there was nothing left. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m cool. Probably just won’t drink.”

“Is this about the phone call with your dad earlier?”

Rafe sighed, gritting his teeth. “It’s not - I’m fine, Soph.”

She crossed her arms and eyed him over, trying to get a read on his body language. “You’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” After Rafe tugged his shirt over his head, ready much faster than Sophie, he paced around the room for a few seconds before speaking up. "Hey, so...Sarah's getting presented at the annual deb ball in spring."

Sophie seemed unbothered, turning her back to him as she wrestled her way into a crop top to get ready for the night. "Those are still a thing? Cool, so you're going home for it?" She paused, glancing over at him in his polo. "Undo another button."

He did so, then rocked back on his heels with his hands in his pockets, trying to figure out what to say next.

She slowly turned back to him, realizing he was still tense across his shoulders. "What?"

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign he was nervous and Sophie wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "Yeah...my dad wanted you to come home for it too."

"What? Ward? Why?"

"He, kinda, uh, wants you to be presented too?"

She just laughed, turning back to the mirror with her brow furrowed in slight concentration as she applied another coat of mascara. "Okay. Sure." But when he didn't elaborate, she turned back to him again, lips pursed. "Cameron. Tell me you told him no."

"...I didn't not not tell him no."

"Rafe."

He cracked under her stare. "I'm sorry, okay! Look, it's easy, all you have to do is throw on a pretty white dress and gloves -"

"A dress that costs thousands of dollars -"

"Hundreds, but - I'll cover you, obviously -"

"No." She turned back to the mirror, shaking her head. "Fuck no. I'm not going."

"Sophie." He nearly begged, stepping closer and running his hand through his hair. "Baby. C'mon."

"Don't call me that. No. I don’t fit into that part of your world.”

"Not even for me?" He pleaded, giving her a half-hearted grin. He ignored her last sentence, knowing any argument he had for her point would be dismissed in two seconds. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important, you know that."

She turned back to him with crossed arms, fixing him with a glare. "Do I know that?"

"Soph."

"Don't, Rafe." She warned, holding one hand out, but he stepped closer anyways.

"Angel. Please. For me." He forced a smile, tried cracking a joke. "I really don't want to have to call him up and get read the riot act."

She furrowed her brow and Rafe reached out and smoothed out the lines in between her eyebrows before he could stop himself, making her soften just a little. "If I were to say yes. What would I have to do?"

"Just wear the dress, attend a dinner, party the night before and party that night." He paused, thinking. "And stay at my house for the weekend. Be civil to my dad.” At her eyeroll, he fixed her with a more serious gaze. “Meet my grandparents. Hang with my sisters. C'mon, Wheezie adores you."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. She thinks you're cool. Sarah too, but she’s less likely to admit it." He kissed her forehead, hands going to her waist. "Please?"

"It's that important?"

"I swear. On my mom's grave."

Sophie frowned immediately, reaching up to fix his hair. "That's not necessary."

"You'll do it?"

"...Yes." When he made a small fist pump, she fixed him with a glare. "Only because I love you."

“I'll go down on you every night for the next two weeks -”

She rolled her eyes at his promise, shoving lightly at his chest. "You basically already do that anyways, Rafe -”

"Okay, fine, I'll tie you up, something, anything, god, thank you, Soph. You don't know how big of a favor this is. I mean it." He sighed in relief, the tension draining from his body.

She ignored him, turning back to the mirror to apply lip gloss, carefully smearing the wand across her lips. “Why does he want me to do this? I don’t understand.”

“Is that the sticky stuff? I hate that stuff, it gets all over me when we’re kissing -” He started, then quickly shut his mouth as she flipped him off without looking. “Uh, ‘to integrate you into our society.’ Direct quote.”

“Oh god.” She groaned, setting the lip gloss aside after applying it, then started searching through her jewelry case. “So I’m gonna have to be on my best kook behavior?”

He snorted. “Sophie Flint, a kook. Not likely.”

“Watch it.” She pointed a warning finger in his face. “You don’t see anything weird with this? Your dad hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Rose does.”

“That’s not true either.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, challenging him.

He shrugged, relenting with a sigh. “You’re not her favorite person, no, but neither am I.”

“You think this was more her idea? For Sarah to do it too?”

“Nah, actually, pretty sure it was my grandparents’ idea. Probably Granddad. My mom went through all this, so…”

She turned her back to him and gathered her hair, offering the clasp of her gold chain to him. “Your mom was a debutante?” She questioned with interest.

_______

Rafe rarely ever talked about his mom - Sophie had only found out how she died from a newspaper article in the online archives, and hadn’t wanted to bring it up since. All she knew was that Mrs. Cameron had passed away in a car accident when Rafe was fourteen.

Both Sophie and Rafe’s schools shared a building, despite them going to private academies, and overlapped for certain advanced placement classes. In freshman year, they were together for AP chemistry, with Sophie sitting proudly at the front of the class while Rafe sat in the back with a group of his friends, often cracking jokes at inappropriate times or throwing wads of paper at each other. Freshman year Sophie was the epitome of stuck-up - she resorted to insults instead of making friends and kept to herself, terrified someone might find out that she was on scholarship and wasn’t truly meant to be there.

The day after the car accident, Rafe was unusually quiet. Sophie hadn’t heard the news yet, it was barely second period and she wasn’t looped into the trail of gossip like the rest of the girls at Greenville. They were partnered for an experiment that day - Rafe had groaned when he heard Sophie’s name after his from the teacher, and Sophie barely suppressed a roll of her eyes. She took charge right away, getting all the supplies and set up their work station without even addressing him. After a few minutes, she slid the small glass of solution to Rafe, raising her eyebrows. “You can do the work too, you know.”

He was completely spaced out, only glancing up when she said something. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, lifting a beaker and extending it to him. “Yeah. I know. Just drop in 10 milliliters of the solution, it’s not hard.”

Rafe sighed as he rested his elbows on the edge of the table, rubbing his temples. “Look, can you just do it?”

She finally took note of the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders were slumped, but misinterpreted it all. She smirked, taking on a taunting tone. “What, you’re still drunk from last night or something?”

He gritted his jaw, his entire body growing tense, and tugged at the collar of his polo. “Fuck off, Flint. Not in the mood today.”

She recoiled immediately, setting the beaker down with a little too much force. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Don’t be a fucking bitch.” He spit back, standing abruptly. She winced as the stool squeaked across the floor, drawing everyone’s attention - as if they hadn’t had it already. Kelce stepped over and went to grab Rafe’s arm, possibly pull him away, but Rafe just wrenched his arm out of his grip. “I’m fine.” He growled, storming out of the classroom without looking back.

After a few moments of stunned silence, with Sophie on the verge of shocked tears, their teacher cleared her throat and redirected everyone’s attention, pointing one of the girls over to join Sophie instead. Molly made her way over, occupying Rafe’s seat in the space across from her. “Poor Rafe,” she murmured.

Sophie frowned, pulling her jacket tighter across her chest like a shield of armor. “Poor Rafe? What?”

Molly nodded, lowering her voice a little. “Yeah, you didn’t hear? I’m surprised he’s at school, honestly.”

“I didn’t...what happened?”

“Oh.” Molly frowned. “Um. You know that winding road, the one that goes downhill toward the ballet studio?”

Sophie didn’t, she didn’t even have a clue - the ballet studio was on the entire opposite side of the island from where she lived, the height of Figure 8, and she hadn’t ever had a reason to even venture that way. “Yeah? What does that have to do with Rafe?”

“Um, well, it was pouring last night, and his mom was driving down that road. I heard she lost control of the car and wrecked it. There was, like, a drunk driver that swerved into her lane, but she tried to avoid him and hit a tree.” Molly told her, careful on the details.

“I’m pretty sure the Camerons can replace a car.” Sophie replied, not wanting Molly to confirm where she thought she was going with the story. She dug her nails into the skin of her thigh anyways, feeling anxiety bubble up in her chest.

Molly shook her head, slowly. “Mrs. Cameron died, Sophie.”

Her heart dropped and she bit the inside of her cheek, hard. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the sirens last night, I saw like eight police cars last night headed toward his house. I heard Sarah was in the car too, I think -”

“Is Sarah okay?” She couldn’t concentrate on anything but her ears ringing, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Oh, yeah, I think so. But god, how awful, right? The funeral is next weekend, Ward Cameron told my dad this morning. Is your family going?”

“Um...I don’t know.” Sophie glanced toward the door, hoping to god he would come back through the door and Molly would confess that it was all a joke, that she hadn’t just started something with Rafe on that day of all days.

________

Rafe nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course she was. I think she really enjoyed it, actually, she’d always tell Sarah when she was little about how pretty she would look in the dress, how important it was to learn the right etiquette and -” He cut himself off, realizing he was sharing too much, and deftly fastened the clasp before pressing a kiss to the top of her head, letting her step away. “All that.”

“Huh.”

He smiled to himself, thinking about how his mom would let little Sarah play dress up in her old ballgown with gloves that went up to her armpits, wobbling around in high heels twice the size of her feet. His mom would tell Rafe he’d have to watch out for Sarah with her escort, keep him in line, and that when he was in college he’d be presenting a girl as well. But he was nine and didn’t think of girls in that way quite yet, so he always scowled and left the room.

“It’s kind of cool, I think. The tradition of it all.”

“The ball? Have you been?” She caught his eye in the mirror as she adjusted her top, not wanting to push for too much information before he’d shut down altogether.

“No...I was gonna present Brooklyn at the one here in Columbus, sophomore year’s normally when the girl gets presented, but. Yeah. No, I meant, it’s kind of cool that you’ll be doing something my mom did.” He rubbed the back of his neck, meeting her gaze for a moment then looked away.

“Yeah?”

“She would have liked you. I know it.”

Sophie perked up a little, cocking her head. “You really mean it?”

“Yeah. She would have liked that you have an attitude with me.” He grinned when she turned back around and took his hand, tugging him over to sit on the bed next to her. “She was always saying I needed to find someone to match my energy, keep me in check. I wish she could have met you.”

“I did meet her. Once.”

He perked up, cocking his head. “You did?”

“Yeah, I served her when I was working at the restaurant at the country club once, I was only fourteen. I remember she made some comment about me being too young to work and I told her I liked it. Then she asked my name, and I remember she seemed like she knew already when I told her.” Sophie nodded. “She was really nice, left way too big of a tip and wrote my name on the bill. I always thought that was funny.”

Of course she knew, Rafe thought as he smiled to himself. She knew, because Rafe had come home and complained about a girl getting on his nerves every single week since seventh grade. She knew, when the complaints turned to “why won’t just be nice to me” and his mom had quipped that Sophie probably liked him - he had scoffed and walked away. She knew, because his mom had come home from the country club and told him Sophie Flint was a much nicer girl than Rafe painted her to be, and Rafe had immediately turned bright red and been embarrassed that his mom sought her out.

“I like that.” She leaned into him, taking his hand to play with his rings. “Will your grandparents be there? At the ball?”

“Oh, yeah. They sit on the board, I’m pretty sure, it’s this gigantic charity event. I’ll introduce you, but don’t worry, they’re chill. Nothing like my dad.” He adjusted himself so she was comfortable, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, treading carefully. “I thought your dad grew up on the Cut.”

“He did. But my mom, no way. Kook through and through. That’s, uh, where a lot of my trust is from. After she died, um. She wanted to be sure me and Sarah were set.” He shrugged, ears turning red as he felt his throat getting tight.

Sophie frowned, feeling him closing off, and leaned closer to hug him, arms wrapped tight around his waist. “You know you can talk to me about this stuff whenever, Rafe? I’d like to hear more about your mom. She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She was.” He nodded, settling his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes for a moment. “Thanks, Soph. This is a really big deal to me, that you’ll go. I know it’s not your scene.”

“Love you.” She murmured. “You’d better buy me a pretty dress.”

He laughed, leaning back just enough to tip up her chin with one finger and kiss her. “You’ll be the best looking one there. I swear.”

“Oh, I already knew that.”

“Okay, okay, big head -”

She swatted his arm, laughing as she ducked out from under him. “Watch it, or I won’t go -”

“I was kidding!” He exclaimed, wrestling with her for a moment before grabbing both her hands and pinning them above her head.

Sophie sucked in a breath, caught off guard. “We are going to be late.”

“We’re already late.” He pointed out, taking a moment to realize the lack of innocence in the position, then slowly smirked. “We could be later. They’re not gonna miss us.”

“Rafe.”

“Sophie.”

“No.”

“You’re positive?”

She just gave him a look, staring him dead in the eyes and willing herself not to react when he leaned down with a grin and kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Please?”

“Fine. The ball or sex right now. You choose.” She raised her eyebrows, arching her back a little on purpose, pressing her hips up against his.

“That’s not fair.” He frowned, immediately shifting his hips away and moving so both his knees were on either side of her instead. “This is blackmail.”

“Your choice.” She reminded him, biting her lip for good measure.

He faltered, sitting back on her thighs and letting go of her wrists. “Soph, it’s - it’s for my mom. I swear. Not for my dad, Rose, anyone else.”

Sophie dropped the teasing act right away, propping herself up on her elbows. “Right, right, sorry. I won’t push it.”

“It’s alright.” He climbed off her, standing, and offered his hands. “Five bucks James makes some joke about us being late because we were having sex.”

“I’m not taking you up on that.” She rolled her eyes, accepting his hand and pulled him into a hug. “Love you long time, Cameron.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you too, favorite girl.”

“What do the dresses look like?”

“Uh...white?” Rafe shrugged, tugging on her hand to get her to follow him downstairs. “I dunno. When we go home for Thanksgiving I’ll book you an appointment to get fitted, I think it’s at some bridal shop on the mainland.”

“Sounds expensive.” She muttered, shaking her head.

“It’s…yeah. It’s not cheap.” He admitted, then shrugged as she followed him out the door, starting their walk toward the bars. “I’ll take care of it though. All of it. By the way, have you booked your flight home for Thanksgiving yet?”

“Um...no. I was going to look this week, it’s probably too late now though.”

“Hm.”

“Hm? Why, are you going home?”

Rafe nodded, not looking her in the eye. “Taking the plane.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“The plane...that no one else will be on...and it’s kinda ridiculous for you to waste money and carbon emissions on a separate flight…” He tried convincing her, a small smile playing on his lips as she rolled her eyes.

“You need to learn how carbon emissions work if you’re going to use that as an argument with me.”

“So that’s a no to sex on the plane?”

Sophie stopped in her tracks, confused. “That wasn’t - Rafe, what?”

“You, me, alone on the plane. Sorry, was I not clear enough?”

“I didn’t even say yes -”

“Oh, so you’re going to leave me all by myself on our one-year anniversary -”

She raised her eyebrows, challenging him. “When’s our anniversary, Rafe?”

He raised his back, stopping on the sidewalk to face her. “On my terms or yours? Because if we’re going with mine, it’s Halloween -”

“No, I had to ask you to be my boyfriend, it’s November 18th -”

“That is such an arbitrary thing, Sophie -”

“Hey! Stop stealing my vocabulary.” She interjected, pushing at his chest. “It’s the 18th, because I had to ask you out.”

“Okay. Whatever story makes you happy.” He shrugged, laughing when she shoved at him again. “Come on the plane with me.”

“...Fine. Only because I don’t want to miss our class reunion party on Wednesday night, I’m pretty sure some people still don’t believe we’re together.”

Rafe laughed loud at that, looping his arm around her shoulders and started walking again. “Pretty sure Topper still thinks it’s all an elaborate lie.”

“Does he know that we nearly hooked up in his room last winter break?”

“No.” He grinned. “Are you forgetting that you had to sprint into his bathroom right when I was about to kiss you because of some tequila thing you had?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re remembering wrong. That was sophomore year, before we were dating, I barely drank last year...you almost kissed me?”

“What? No, I think...remember, we were arguing over something, then you whispered in my ear to go up to his room and left. I went up a couple minutes later.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to make a move, Brooklyn and I were together then.”

Sophie scowled at the mention of Brooklyn. “I must have been hammered, I don’t remember any of this.”

“You wanted me.” He smirked, trailing his fingers along her collarbone. “One might say desperate.”

“No, no. All I remember is waking up in Topper’s bed feeling like shit, I had some crewneck on from your academy.” She ignored the blush creeping up her neck.

“How do you think you got there and got the sweatshirt?” He frowned. “I took care of you, Sophie. You really don’t remember?”

“I think I blacked out.” She confessed, shaking her head. “You took care of me?”

“Of course I did. Plus, I thought I was about to get some, I would have done anything for you.” He grinned, laughing when she shoved his shoulder. “Really thought that was the night I’d finally win you over.”

“Yeah, well, you can blame Sarah for her heavy pour that night.” She shook her head, smiling fondly. “I really wish I remembered that.”

“I wish you remembered too. Maybe you would have given me a chance before then instead of setting me up with Julia.”

“I - no! She asked to be set up with you, no, I did not instigate that at all.” She defended herself straightaway, cheeks flushing pink. “She said if I wasn’t going to make a move, then she was going to.”

“Sure. Whatever you believe.” He teased, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as they arrived at the bar. “Hey, Soph.”

She rolled her eyes, going to get in the winding line outside until he tugged her wrist back, pulling her to his chest. “What?”

“Thank you. I mean it.”

Sophie softened, smiling as she rose up on her toes to kiss him. “Of course, baby. I’ve got your back.”

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#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfic #rafe x sophie #mine #college rafe #frat rafe

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

I am *endlessly* curious about how Wei Wuxian ended up at the Cloud Recess, and very satisfied my internal suspicion that the Lan and the Jiang were busy rebuilding their power/plotting a coup was right. Though I'm now curious about their reaction to 'Meng Yao is being kept around, and as Empress at that'.

spontaneous fic extra for Good Help - ao3 link

Good news! one of Nie Huaisang’s letters started, which was never good news. My brother has finally become gainfully employed! He will no longer be a burden on society, a good-for-nothing that does nothing but idle his days away, bringing shame upon our family name.

Wei Wuxian blinked down at the letter. “Jiang Cheng,” he said. “Did I manage to hit my head and wake up in a world where Nie Mingjue is not the Empress?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said, looking bored. He was officially there on Jin sect business, though everyone politely pretended that he wasn’t very clearly there to see Wei Wuxian or, for those not in the know, sent by his husband, who had virtually no cutsleeve tendencies at all, to get him somewhere that wasn’t Lanling. It was an excuse they used rather a lot to get Jiang Cheng to where he needed to be. “He’s definitely still the Empress. Keep reading.”

Wei Wuxian kept reading.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said a second later. “Someone mistook him for a guard? How?!”

“I mean, it’s not as ridiculous as you might think. No one’s seen him in years,” Jiang Cheng said, finally breaking his mask of boredom in favor of a grin. “He’s always behind all those veils – I’m pretty sure his fashion sense as Empress is ‘how much can I look like the curtain I’m trying to hide behind’.”

“But he’s so –” Wei Wuxian moved his hands around in an attempt to encompass very broad shoulders, a narrow waist, muscles, and also height. “Notable!”

“It’s been a while since you’ve been to court, hasn’t it? He’s always up on that platform far away from everyone else – you know how Wen Ruohan likes to look down on everyone – and everything around him has been resized for him; he looks more proportional that way. And if you didn’t know, and there’s no reason that this Meng Yao fellow would know…”

“Still!”

“No, really, it’s not that strange! You know how Wen Ruohan’s guards of the inner hall are dressed, all fancy Wen sect robes, and that’s all Nie Mingjue has other than his Empress get-up, which obviously isn’t appropriate for when he wants to go outside to train Baxia. He would’ve been wearing the right clothes and walking in the right place, and he is what you’d expect a guard to look like…if you bumped into him at random, as happened here, it’s a reasonable mistake to make.”

“He hired him as his secretary,” Wei Wuxian marveled. “Just – wow. Wow. Mingjue-xiong is going to break him in half, the first time he tries anything.”

“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng said. “Maybe not.”

Someone needs to go assassinate this Meng Yao person right away, Nie Huaisang’s next letter – nominally addressed to Lan Wangji this time – said. I think my brother might actually like him. A upstart Jin bastard that worked his way up through the Fire Palace – do you think all these years with Wen Ruohan has rotted da-ge’s sense of taste?

“He doesn’t actually mean that we should assassinate him,” Wei Wuxian told Lan Wangji, who nodded in agreement. “We still need the viceroy to remain in his place as the target. He’s just being dramatic.”

If Nie Huaisang actually wanted Wei Wuxian to assassinate someone, he had other ways of asking.

That was a fair portion of what Wei Wuxian did these days, actually, other than work on his ideas for demonic cultivation and warm Lan Wangji’s bed. Ironically enough, of the three, the last was his actual job: after Wen Chao had his golden core destroyed as punishment for having dared fight back when the Wen sect invaded the Lotus Pier – a temper tantrum at not being allowed to do the same to Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian suspected, since Wen Ruohan had even then already planned to sell the heirs of the Jiang sect to the highest bidder – Lan Wangji had, after quietly rescuing him at Jiang Cheng’s frantic instigation and with Nie Huaisang’s connivance, announced that he was keeping him as a personal pet.

Wen Ruohan had been pressuring the Lan sect to adopt some vices, simply because he knew it would make them uncomfortable – Lan Qiren had been a particular target – and he’d been satisfied by the notion of one of Lan Qiren’s precious nephews, the Jades of Lan, deciding to keep a whore, even if he’d insisted on having Wei Wuxian inspected to make sure he’d been thoroughly used.

(Proving it had not been a hardship, not when Wei Wuxian had a lover as thorough and tireless as Lan Wangji. Joke’s on you, Wen Ruohan!)

Still, even as Wei Wuxian did (in his opinion) some of his best work on his back and puzzled his way through demonic cultivation as the only possible route for him now – Lan Qiren helped him with some of the musical cultivation bits, and also in arguing to the Lan sect elders that some type of cultivation was better than nothing, and anyway there was a limit to how much trouble he could cause while under close supervision – he had also started up a sideline in taking out their political enemies on account of being the one of them that people would least suspect. No one even remembered his name anymore!

“Maybe we should go to court and check him out,” Wei Wuxian added thoughtfully. “See what he’s like, make sure he’s not leading Nie Mingjue down the wrong path, that sort of thing.”

They could pass along some of Nie Huaisang’s messages, too.

There was that whole coup they were planning, even if it was far less interesting than Nie Mingjue actually making a friend for the first time in over a decade…

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agreed. “Wei Ying has good judgment.”

“I do! If he’s nice – though there’s no chance he’ll be nice, he’s from the Fire Palace – I’ll tell Nie Huaisang that I approve,” Wei Wuxian decided. “If he’s awful, I’ll send a ghost to haunt him until he can’t sleep. If he’s a little awful but seems salvageable, I’ll…I don’t know…I’ll set some dogs on him!”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows went up.

“You’ll set some dogs on him!”

The eyebrows went down.

“Rude, Lan Zhan. Very rude.”

“So having now seen Meng Yao and my da-ge interact with my own two eyes, I’ve decided that they’re going to get married,” Nie Huaisang announced.

“Is that wise?” Wei Wuxian asked, even though he actually thought Meng Yao was pretty cool. He was so good at being nice to people that he disliked, so incredibly efficient, so thoughtful, and best of all only very rarely followed up on the occasional murder-eyes he liked to shoot people when he thought no one was looking; it had actually been the fact that he and Lan Wangji had both vouched for him that had convinced Nie Huaisang to change his plans to account for his brother’s preferences. “Making him the Empress? He’ll be bossing your brother around in no time.”

“He’s already bossing my brother around, and that’s the way my brother likes it,” Nie Huaisang said. “Making Meng Yao the mother of the Empire – above ten thousand, below one – is the ideal way to sate his hunger for power in a way that makes him feel confident that he won’t be so easily replaced the way a viceroy or prime minister would be, and therefore unlikely to betray us. Also, it will make Jin Guangshan have an aneurysm, and that will be hilarious.”

“I like that,” Jiang Cheng said. “Also, didn’t we agree that you were going to be the prime minister?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said patiently. “You are going to be prime minster, and I’m going to be your empty-headed but pretty former Imperial Consort wife.”

“I’m pretty sure ‘former Imperial Consort’ isn’t usually a thing.”

“Yes, well, it’s a coup, we make the rules. It’d be such a shame not to use this nice bureaucracy that Wen Ruohan set up for us…Wei-xiong, what about you?”

“What about me? I’m very happy as Lan Zhan’s whore.”

Jiang Cheng tried to hit him, but Wei Wuxian dodged, cackling. “Maybe I’ll start spending his money on fancy clothing and living it up now that I’m his official mistress,” he said. “I have Wang Lingjiao’s example to look up to, don’t I..?”

“I would like to marry Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji opined, and Wei Wuxian suddenly felt all gooey inside.

“I meant what will we do with him in the government,” Nie Huaisang said, long-suffering. “You’re all useless – though not as useless as me, of course.”

Jiang Cheng pressed a kiss to his cheek. “No one’s as useless as you, my little good-for-nothing.”

“And don’t any of you forget it!” Nie Huasiang exclaimed, then elbowed Jiang Cheng in the ribs. “Don’t touch me, you married man. Get a proper divorce before you try making your way into my bed; what sort of girl do you think I am?”

“You can’t be serious!” Jiang Cheng spluttered. “Jin Zixuan is drawing up the papers right now –”

“I feel like I deserve a proper wedding, don’t you?” Nie Huaisang asked Wei Wuxian, who started laughing. “I didn’t get a proper one the last time around –”

“We’ve been sleeping together for years!”

“We were having a thrilling affair under the nose of an evil tyrannical dictator. Who’s to say that the spark’s still there?”

“Oh you want spark,” Jiang Cheng said. “I’ll give you spark –”

#mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #good help #I saw this ask and got Inspired #barid-bel-medar

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amindofstone · 3 years

Text

Match up, No. 6

@femalegoatthing said:

Hi, I saw you were doing matchups and I'm curious about them.Could I be matched with a male one piece character? I am a 20 yr old female, with a INFJ personality. I am 5'2", with red hair and glasses. I love to draw and paint, I am also obsessed with documentaries and murder podcasts. I am described as being rather chaotic and caring, like some strang goblin grandmother. Thank you so much for doing matchups, I wish you luck!

Match up rules can be found HERE.

a/n: Hi! Hello! Guten Tag! Hola! Bonjour! Okay, enough. I´m glad you requested and can´t wait to see what you think of what I came up with. Like always please be honest with me and tell me if you don´t like it, if I disappointed you or if you hated it. Tell me please. Give me a feedback so I can try my best again and make sure you are happy with the outcome. It´s just that I´m really insecure of my work and never happy. Like so far I am only happy with just one work of mine. One out of all the things I did until know. Anyways please enjoy what with come next. I wish you a happy reading!

Warning(s): Maybe grammatical or spelling mistakes since English is my third language and I´m still improving in every aspect (Please have mercy on that.)

!!! Please do not steal my idea or work. Credit me if this is shared or published in any other platform or any other way. Please respect me as the writer and my work. Picture is not mine. Credits to: Please tell me ASAP if you know who the artist is so I can give credits. Thank you in advance. !!!

· After a bit of thinking and a tiny bit of researches I decided to pair you up with Charlotte Katakuri

· Dating someone from the Charlotte family is absolutely difficult. If there is someone they like or someone else likes they have to get a permission of every family member and of course the head of the family, Charlotte Linlin

· But if a relationship is set by the emperor herself there is nothing that can be changed

· You are the daughter of a pretty feared and well-known mafia boss. You father is known for selling different kinds of weapons. You on your side had absolutely nothing to do with his work because he made sure you never get involved in his life to much. The fact that he lost your mother because of his work is enough of a burden to him so taking care of you is the least thing he could do

· After months of not seeing your father he came back home and had a nice dinner with you. You two cooked together and he for once told you something about his work that surprised you. You didn´t questioned it and just listened to him like the good obedient daughter you are. You nodded or hummed once in a while, during your preparation for dinner to make clear that you were indeed listening to his words. Once in a while you also managed to ask some vague questions about something but that was it. You didn´t wanted him to stop after all since it was the first time after a long period he spoke about his work. So it came that at dinner your father informed you about his decision to work under the name and security of the emperor Big Mom. For a second you stopped in your tracks but quickly put yourself together and nodded without giving a comment. You were surprised but even more shocked when he told you that he was doing that since more than two years now with the condition of you marring her third child and second son Katakuri.

· Time passed and the only thing you knew was the name of the man your father wants you to marry. You never complained or asked him questions about his decision because he was always right and always wanted the best for you. So you simply agreed and packed your belongings to sail to Big Moms territory to meet you in laws

· Time flew by and you were in one of the many guest rooms in the Whole Cake Chateau waiting to be called for a meal. But two days passed by now and nothing like that happened. You were stuck in your guest room alone with your father only coming to see you for breakfast. But today was different. A guard came to inform you about a dinner with Big Mom and your future husband. You nodded and saw the guard leave your room. You were nervous and didn´t know what to do but you tried your best to smile and get ready for meeting the man you were supposed to marry soon. The first impression was important after all

· You were waiting at the dining table for Big Mom with your father when suddenly a door opened. You instantly stood up and looked at the direction just to be greeted by the emperor and her son

· A (super) tall man entered the room and made your eyes widen out of shook. But that quickly turned into a small pout when you realized that you´ll look like a dwarf next to him. You all sat down and had a conversation with Big Mom and her son. More precisely your father and the emperor. You and the man who sat in front of you were only giving short agreements to questions once in awhile but other than that sat quietly.

· You were lost in your thoughts when you heard your soon to be mother in law tell you that you and her son should talk in the room next door promising that you would be alone. You nodded and sat up to follow the enormous tall man who lead you into a living room with couches, a bar, three huge windows, a chimney and some bookshelf’s. Without talking Katakuri gave you and a sign to sit down. Soon after he sat down too, right after he got you a drink and placed it in front of you. At first none of you talked but that changed after the man cleared his throat and introduced himself. It started with a simple small talk and questions about you and your origin. You knew he wanted to have an overview of what kind of person you were that he was about to marry soon. And you didn´t opposed to it and tried you best to show yourself on a good light while making sure to be honest.

· “I know that you aren´t happy about this marriage but there is nothing we can do. Let´s make the best out of it and try to get along as good as possible. I don´t expect you to spend time with me or call me your husband when it´s not necessary or even love me. The only thing I want from you is honesty and loyalty towards me and my family.”, said the man in a calm and reassuring voice. You should have been happy that he didn´t force you to anything but just honesty but you weren´t. You felt bad about him thinking you would be ashamed of calling him your husband just because it was an arranged marriage. “I promise you that I will do my best to please you and your family as good as I can. And if you thing that I hate you or the situation I am in, I can assure you that it is not like that. You seem to be a nice, well mannered man and I have absolutely no problem in being called your wife. If there is anything I can do for you never hesitate to tell me. Like you said. Let´s make the best out of it.”, you gave him a loving smile and talked a bit more while keeping a respectful distance from each other.

· Time flew by and you got married. After your marriage you got to learn your family in law better and got pretty close to a lot of them. You tried to show you from the best side although you were an introverted person. Katakuri knew this and respected you for that a lot. He really appreciated your effort in getting to know his siblings. It was really hard for you in the beginning but with time you stared to like some of them a lot and so it came that you found people to spend time with when Katakuri was taking care of his work as the minister of the flour island

· Living with Katakuri was the absolutely easiest thing of the whole marriage. You barely saw him or got time to spend with him. He never was home for any meals so it was always you or one of your siblings in law. One of them was always Brulee that took care of you and spend time with you. You didn´t mind that you couldn´t see your husband at the beginning because you both talked about this before your wedding a lot and he made sure to prepare you for a living with him. You told him that you were fine with it but slowly with weeks passing it started to bother you. Months passed and you took it personal and wondered if he avoided you on purpose or even hated you.

· It was a Friday evening. You had your dinner like any other day alone and sat down afterwards to paint a bit. You once told your husband that you liked painting and if you could turn a room in your shared house into an atelier but he didn´t mind and send you people to help you decorate the room after your likings. You were busy painting you latest work when you heard someone walking towards the room you were in. Your first thought was Brulee so you smiled and called her. “Brulee, I´m in my atelier. Come in.” You were about to turn around and look at the door when you let out a little scream. “I´m sorry. I didn´t want to scare you. Were you waiting for my sister?”, you husband spoke in his deep but calm voice. You shook your head and put you brush aside. “No you didn´t scare me. It´s just that I didn´t expect to see you home this early. Is everything alright?”. With a worried gaze you looked into the eyes of the tall man that shook his head slowly and apologized for disturbing you before he left to probably get in his room.

· You were nervous and confused of his sudden appearance at home. Thousand of thoughts ran around your head and raised you nervousness. But you gave yourself a little slap on the cheek and went to prepare him a little snack. You prepared him a tray with tea and donuts and knocked on his room. For a long time there was no response so you thought he might have been asleep out of exhaustion. With a little disappointed sigh you turned to leave when you heard a soft come in. Your eyes widen and you started to shake slightly. With a racing heart you opened the door and tried to avoid any eye contact. “I got you something to eat. Do you want me to leave it for you?”

· Katakuri was surprised. Why would you get him something and care for him? He had his maids and butlers that would get him anything he wanted so why would you do that? That absolutely didn´t make sense to him. You heard him thank you before you put the tray on the coffee table and wished him a good night.

· After that night he seemed to come back home earlier more often that caused you to wonder what changed in his work. You were confused and curious but never had the courage to ask him until Brulee asked you if her stubborn brother started to come home earlier. You were surprised and stared at her for who knows how long thinking if she was looking at her through the mirrors but the woman told you that she had a serious chat with him and made him change some of his habits.

· A year passed and you and Katakuri started to talk with each other more. You learned about his likings and his disliking. He told you about his work and showed you his office. He once even took you on a walk around the town to show you one of his favorite bakeries. It took the both of you a lot of time to get used to the fact you were married but at some time it happened. You would spend evenings together talking or playing chess what always turned to be harder than it should be because of his Haki that allowed him to look in the future. He would never admit it but he really enjoyed, in fact even loved seeing you get mad over him using his Haki at you. You would always call him cheater and pout the rest of the night until he would apologize with a donut.

· You were happy that you somehow managed to turn the marriage less awkward, sad and dull but there was still something not right. You felt sad when he would leave for work and get worried when he left for missions. Whenever he would come back you would have the need to hug him and thank god that he was doing fine but you always held back. Your actions made you realize that you started to like him. Even more than just like him. Cause you fell for him. So you tried you best to get closer to him by once in a while holding his hand not knowing that it made his heart do flips. Whenever you would take his hand in yours even if it was just for a second you feared him to push you away or having to start all over again from cero in your relationship

· One day you caught a horrible cold. You had no energy to move, talk or eat. You were laying in your bed like a corpse. Brulee and Pudding took care of you the whole time and never left your side. But it was a moment that made them scream in fear. You lost you concisions and made them worry to death. Brulee out of panic jumped through your mirror to go and get her brother. Screaming his name she jumped out of a mirror in the serious looking man’s office telling him that his wife is doing horrible and lost conscious. The usually calm Katakuri jumped out of his chair in a matter of a second following his sister through the mirror to get to you. To their luck the moment they came back running into your bedroom you were awake.

· “Y/N? What happened? Pudding why didn’t you call a doctor yet? Brulee go wet the towel.”, both of his sisters were again running around the house with worry written all over their faces. But not only were the women worried, your husband himself was worry itself but he made sure to not show any trait of that. He sat down next to you on the massive bed and took your tiny hand carefully in his and drew circles on the back of it.

· “Katakuri why are you here? I am fine. There is nothing to worry. It´s late did you had lunch?”, “You´re sick. You shouldn´t worry about me now.”, you shook your head and wanted to sit up when the man next to you kept you in place. “You can take care of my meals when you´re healthy again. Until then make sure to take care of yourself.” You had no energy to fight back so you gave a slight nod and let your husband and his sisters take care of you.

· Time passed and it got dark. Brulee and Pudding said their goodbyes and made sure to explain Katakuri how to take care of you and if her state got worse to call the doctor again. When they left Katakuri was about to go up to his room when the thought of you being alone hit him. A bit unsure whether he should stay with you or not he walked back to you room and light up some candles before he took of his shoes and sat down next to you on the bed. He was nervous. His heart was racing and his mind was an absolute mess. But his face? The definition of calm. You felt his presence next to you and smiled. You thanked him and took his big hand in yours and let sleep take over you once again.”No need to thank me doll.”

· And just like that it was the first time he ever called you by something else than your name but also the first night he shared a room with you.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece oneshot #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x oc #one piece katakuri #charlotte katakuri #katakuri imagine #katakuri x reader #katakuri headcanons #big mom pirates #anime matchup #one piece matchup #op katakuri #katakuri #matchup event

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korissideblog · 3 years

Text

ohhh i'm lowkey very proud of this one <333

sillie little characters: Hiroharu [@compoundhero ] Michiko [@residentquirksupport ] and Ikuto [@the-heartbeat-hero ] <3

i didn't finish all the sketches i wanted for this fic, but i also wanted to get it out today, so maybe i'll reblog it or edit it later with the drawings <3 there are like two that i finished on time, but ahugghieisdifs whatever. it's officially midnight and i have work tomorrow <3

(also, if heartbeat-hero is reading this, thxs for reading over it for me, and i changed the ending a tiny bit so you could have something new to read <3)

“And then he’s going to put the ring on you-”

“But the ring is poisoned.” “Yes, we’re not gonna let it touch you. We’ll be there before anything happens.”

“Alright and- you can go tighter than that Mich.” Aito said, looking over his shoulder to Michiko, who was busy tying Aito’s corset.

“Any tighter and you won’t be able to breathe. You’re gonna be wearing this for longer than you think.” Michiko warned, tying the knot as flatly as she could. “Plus the dress is already fitted, if your waist gets smaller the fabric would look baggy.” Aito fought the urge to roll his eyes and turned back to Hiroharu.

“You know Jeje, I thought you would have brought me a gift.” She said, crossing her arms. “New silverware or something.”

Hiroharu closed the file in his hands as he looked at Aito in confusion. “Why would we have done that?”

“Because!” Aito said, walking to the other side of the dressing room, passing Ikuto- who’s been nervously rearranging Aito’s bouquet for the last 20 minutes- and unzipping a huge dress bag. A short but fluffy white dress spilled from it, and Aito unhooked it from the hanger.

“I’m getting married!”

______________________________________________________________

Aito was kinda spacing out a bit.

In his defense! He’d already done the walking-down-the-aisle-over-pretty-rose-petals bit, and that’s all he was really looking forward to at his wedding.

He knew Haru and Michi and Iku would be here any moment to break up the arrangement, but he had to play it cool, smiling and giggling at her groom as he read his vows.

Haruto Suzuki, better known as the White Phantom, was Aito’s target. He was cunning and malicious and a hopeless romantic to anyone who could get ahold of his list of ebooks. Aito spent almost half a year in this role-Ichika Yokoyama, for the time being- and worked a bit harder than necessary to get close to Suzuki. She just liked her cases ending with a bang, and what was more exciting than a wedding?

______________________________________________________________

Hiroharu listened intently to the wiretap under Aito’s dress, trying to time the ambush while the support team rounded the back, ready to catch any of the villains in attendance. The support team was being led by Michiko over radio as Haru focused on Suzuki.

“-I promise to always remember that you are indeed human. That you may sometimes make questionable decisions, decisions I don't agree with, like when you got a red velvet wedding cake when I asked for vanilla”

The reception laughed and Haru could hear Aito smack Suzuki’s hand playfully. At least she was staying in character.

“But that’s just it, isn’t it? You’ve always been like that, headstrong and sure of yourself in ways I could never be. You’re always right in the end- red velvet is my favorite flavor, I was just worried about other people’s opinions.- and… and I think that’s why I love you, Ichika.”

“I don’t think I would poison someone if I loved them.” Ikuto huffed, trying his best to stay in his chair in case pacing would alert anyone to the ambush.

Hiroharu remembered the call well. The one where Aito told him that he found messages between Suzuki and another villain, messages describing how Suzuki knew that Aito was speaking to someone behind his back. Secret calls to Michiko and Ikuto about the mission turned into hidden calls from a lover in Suzuki’s eyes, and he was going to take his revenge. Hiroharu was ready to pull Aito out of the mission then and there but… Aito wanted to continue.

“He didn’t tell me that he knew.” she reasoned. “If the wedding goes as planned, there’ll be at least 3 villains in attendance, as well as a few people who might have information that we need! He’s not gonna kill me before the wedding, so let’s keep going!” Hiroharu hated this plan, but Aito was stubborn enough to get her way.

Hiruharu noticed a slight change in Suzuki’s voice, silently getting Michiko’s attention with a wave of his hand. The vows were about to end.

“And that’s what today is all about… it’s not about arguments over cakes or venues or honeymoons… it’s about getting past all those arguments and realizing that… that I would go through a thousand more if it means I get to wake up next to you tomorrow.”

And Aito laughs, tears threatening her makeup as she gives the signal that the ring is in his hand- it’s time to go.

______________________________________________________________

The small reception turned to face the doors of the building as the heroes crashed through it, but the entire room stood still as the scene settled.

There he was, Aito Takao, Ichika Yokoyama, the blushing bride… with a golden band on her finger.

Aito’s eyes drooped a bit, as if she couldn’t figure out what she was looking at. Her hands clutched weakly at Suzuki’s lapels as she tried to regain her balance, his breathing getting heavy as he tried to stand up straight. “H-Haru…?” she asked just above a whisper, nobody sure of which one she was talking to as her body leaned back and she fell to the floor, limp as a corpse.

… a corpse…

Hiroharu could… he could feel Michiko’s hand clutching his wrist, but it was like he was remembering it, not like it was happening currently. Like he was asked to describe what happened as he watched his friend collapse into a pile of lace and satin, white and cold like a dead dove. Asked to describe the feeling of loss as he felt Ikuto slump onto his shoulder, holding onto his sleeve as if he couldn’t stay upright, like his body told him to meet Aito on the floor. Asked to describe Aito, her breath shaky and pained, the last one leaving her chest like a deadly flower wilting.

Something wicked… but also delicate in it’s own way.

What Hiroharu couldn’t describe was the sound. He knew there was silence, the telltale ringing of the room as no one dared inhale, as if Aito’s death would proceed all of their own, but there was also something else.

There was laughter.

Laughter Hiroharu recognized well. Notes and melody that he could recall from his high school years, a finger pointed at him as his friend laughed at whatever trick she had just pulled.

And oh what a trick he had pulled.

Aito sat up lazily, looking up at her groom- the villain shocked and nearly shaking as he looked down at his corpse bride- laughter spilling from her lips like blood as he gazed at the man in black through her eyelashes, batting them playfully as he finally calmed down enough to speak.

“Oh, you think I’m stupid, right?” He asked, one hand sneaking under her skirt. “Thought you could just kill me- didn’t wanna talk out our issues, baby?” He spat, his teeth pearly white and dangerously sharp as she smiled. From under her garter she produced a short poll, which when swung extended into his iconic golden colored staff. Aito took the ring off his finger as he stood, holding it up to Suzuki like a prize.

“I switched the rings~”

______________________________________________________________

“I can’t believe you did that.” Ikuto sighed with exhaustion, the fight was finally over, looking over the party as Michiko and the support team made quick work of arresting everyone involved. “I was so scared- I thought you died.”

Aito shrugged and continued eating the small slice of red velvet cake he somehow managed to salvage after Haru threw a guy into it. “That happens sometimes. Who’s feeding Jiji while I’m away?” He asked, as Ikuto realized that Aito really didn’t know what he did wrong, and also realized that he didn’t have the energy to explain.

“One of your neighbors. She’s like 2 doors down-“

“You got Hasegawa to feed Jiji!?” And now it was Ikuto’s turn to roll his eyes at something he saw as minuscule. “I hate her! You know that!”

“You don’t have to like her for her to feed Jiji.” Ikuto responded, his dismissal similar to Aito’s. Aito responded with her usual dramatics, shoving his plate into Ikuto’s hands as he turned to the gift table, sorting through the things that could be evidence (all of it) and the things he wanted to keep (also all of it). He held up a little envelope, and read the words on the front aloud. “Suzuki, for you and your new wife- and two bodyguards.” He tore it open with curiosity and four tickets fell into his hand. “Oh they‘re for-“ Aito gasped quietly as he read the name on the ticket, immediately holding it out to Ikuto. Before Ikuto could actually read the tickets, Aito stepped away and jogged over to Michiko.

“Mich~” Aito sang, holding up the tickets, but failing to catch Michiko’s eyes as she watched through the open doors, Suzuki in handcuffs being escorted into a large black SUV. “guess what?”

“Do you… Aito?” Michiko started, as if she was unsure about whether she wanted the answer to her question or not. “He… I know he’s a villain and he’s done terrible things but…” she leaned her head so she could see the SUV drive away. “He thought… I mean… he really thought he was going to kill the love of his life today.” she held herself, as if just the thought of it brought a coldness that would make her shiver. “I mean could you even imagine-” and then… she looked at Aito. Aito, with his droopy yellow eyes, completely unfazed by what Michiko was describing.

She knew Aito could love. She knew that Aito loved his mama, and Ikuto like a brother, and she knew that Aito loved her and Haru like best friends but… given the blank stare… she wasn’t sure if Aito…

“You dated him for half a year- Aito, he even asked you to marry him.” Michiko said, trying her best to describe her ideas in a way that Aito could understand. “That whole entire time did you ever… you know…?” Aito seemed as though he was about to respond, but paused, as if he really wanted to think about his answer.

“He… he really had a thing for poker.” she started, watching as the last of the SUV slipped behind the horizon line. “He’d play with his friends and… if he won big he’d…” Aito raised her hands gently, as if holding something delicate. “He’d buy me a dozen roses… and he’d tell me I was on his mind. That I was his good luck charm.” he laughed, recalling how silly it all sounded. “And… for just a moment… I’d forget it was all a job.”

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” Both of the women jumped a bit as Haru came up from behind them, quickly turning to face him and forget their prior conversation. “Ikuto said Aito found something and she wanted to show us.”

“Ohh Boss!” Aito chirped, immediately snapping out of whatever mournful spell him and Michi were under. “You’d never guess!” she then held out the four tickets for them to examine. “Pack your bags! I know where we’re going next!!!”

#scrap book page took so much longer than expected </3 wowie #anywho #aito almost got married <3 #and then almost died <3 #if you see spelling mistakes no you don't <3 #if you need a little guide for the scrapbook page: aito is purple. haru is blue. michi is pink. and iku is red <3 #i just think they deserve a little vacation <3 #aito takao #ikuto maekawa #aki hiroharu #michiko wantanabe #bnha oc comeback #Kori stories

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elriel-oblivion · 3 years

Text

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter.

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

#elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #elriel #acotar

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echo-three-one · 3 years

Text

Chapter 41

THE ROAD SO FAR

One step closer to the end.

FIVE Seconds

John 'Soap' MacTavish

Task Force 141 Base - Infirmary

We overcame Ultranationalists, chopper crashes, danger close with gunships but a goddamn dog is what'll get me into an infirmary? Rabies, ridiculous. What a waste of time.

John wrote down his anger in his black journal. It housed all his thoughts ever since being recruited at the Task Force regarding mission briefings, regrets and training schedules. It was his outlet on all the things going on around the world.

He noticed that Captain Price also slept by the other bed, his eyes looked tired from staying up late, he never gave up on Volt that he tired himself out.

He winced at the pain of the bruise the rotten dog gave him. He was never really a fan of them as most dogs tend to chase him wherever he went. Yesterday was another proof. Luckily, France seemed to catch up on his body language, how he didn't want anyone to know that a dog was the reason he's in the infirmary. The way she knew it without telling her was starting to convince the Scotsman that he got himself a keeper. Someone who understands.

Speaking of which, the same gorgeous blonde girl entered the infirmary, greeting Soap with a very genuine smile of relief.

"Hi." She smiled quietly as Price was still asleep.

"Aye. Hello there." He greeted, his voice was low and rough as he attempted to catch the lady off guard. She may look tough wearing her 141 training uniform, but Soap knows how to make her lose her composure.

"How's the wound?" She asked, her face was already turning red as she approached him. She looked so cute right now, Soap won't mind kissing her amidst the Captain being there along with some CCTVs.

"Getting better. Hopefully enough to join the fight. How about you?" he replied, smiling at the female soldier. The general mood of the room quickly shifted and the two of them were pretty aware about it.

"I'm fine. I'm just here to thank you for saving me back then. But you didn't have to… I deserved that bite for not being careful." She muttered.

Soap sighed.

"Eh, you know full well that I care for you, France. For once let me be the hero." He chuckled and France laughed.

"You already know that you are my hero, dummy." She winked as she started to leave.

"I gotta go. It's my turn to clean up the comms. Wish you'd help me though, Hero." she teased as she left the room, Soap was left staring at her beautiful figure exit the room.

"You sure got yourself a tough lass there, lad." Price grumbled as he woke up, commenting on the two.

"Aye. She's definitely a keeper. I just hope I don't mess up. Because I think she's the one." Soap finally admitted, to Price of all people. The captain just chuckled.

"Yeah. My word of advice. Go with what your heart and mind says." He said with full sincerity, as if he didn't want Soap to regret everything. There was flavor in his words that made Soap wonder if such advice came from experience. Though he did hear rumors that he and Laswell had some sort of history, and he got that from France.

"Aye, Captain… Will do." Soap nodded and Price got up.

"I'm giving Volt a final visit." He grumbled and went off, leaving Soap alone in his thoughts once again.

The next day, Soap was cleared from the infirmary and was immediately tasked on the mission. Last night, Nero started his assault on the capital and thousands of rangers were struggling to keep them off the country. With Volt finally given up, he relayed information regarding one of Nero's allies.

They were going to Havana, the home base of the mind manipulation and the command center of Nero's forces. How it managed to stay hidden, nobody knows but the team was eager to find out soon. Especially that another nuke is ready for launch.

Abandoned Building, Cuba, Havana

Soap could hear France hum the song Havana quietly as she crossed her arms just before the plane started. She was nervous and Soap knew that so he tried to hold her hand in secrecy, showing him a face that assured her that everything will be alright.

In this mission, time was of the essence so stealth wasn't an option. They were headed to the base guns blazing, all in hopes to disable the second nuke launch.

The helo flew dangerously low as metal clanged on it's base as soon as enemies fired at it. It was a risky move but the squad needed to drop by the rooftops to get a clear vantage point.

Soap immediately seeked for cover by the edge of the rooftop, eyeing the door that led to the lower floors where the command center should be.

"We'll hold them off! You go!" Alex yelled as Soap, Price, Roach and France breached the door, descending to the second floor of the building.

The place was abandoned and very open, enemies' footsteps echoed across the halls, making the team aware of their positions.

"Soap, focus on getting to the control room. We'll take care of them. France, cover his six. Roach and I will make a grand distraction." Price said, popping a grenade on the main hall and Roach assisted him, drawing all the attention towards them.

"Alex, when you're done sweeping up the yard, I need your team down here asap." Price muttered over comms.

"Roger that." he replied.

"Looks like it's you and me against the clock now." Soap managed to chuckle at their situation. France just chuckled and cleared the location so Soap could advance. This was her forte. Stealth and close quarters.

"You're good to go, John." She said as she took the stairs down. Soap cautiously followed as he heard gunshots from France's location.

"Two tangos down." She declared, clearing the staircase to the basement.

"Multiple tangos in the basement. Looks like we're in the right place." France nodded and Soap followed, pulling the pin of a grenade and tossing it to the narrow hallway.

"GRANADA!!" One yelled and an explosion followed, signaling the couple to press on the narrow hallway while they're dazed.

They shot down the enemies until more emerged from behind, trapping the two of them.

"Shite! At this rate we'll never push forward. We're pinned!" Soap called for help.

"Someone's escaping! Reinforcements are arriving!" Alex warned as the team was now overwhelmed with hostiles. Time was running out.

"John! Watch my six and I'll clear a path for you." France said and left without letting him reply. This worried Soap but he had to trust her and so he covered her six. Shooting at enemies dumb enough to dive on to the narrow hallway. He did his best to retaliate by firing back and tossing any grenades back to its source.

It felt like the longest two minutes of his life. France fought her way to the command center and him, defending the entrance while his ammo slowly ran out. Then after what seemed like forever, he heard her go signal.

Soap ran as fast as he could, and just before he lost sight of the entrance, he saw Price immediately follow him. They did it. They cleared the entrance.

He fished out his journal for the cryllic translator, decoding every letter just so he could stop the launch. They only had five seconds left.

Soap furiously typed the code Volt gave them and pressed enter as soon as it's done. The launch didn't stop. Soap figured that they were too late, but Price's face never looked worried.

"Captain. The launch didn't stop! What are we going to do?" France said, worried.

"It's all according to plan." He muttered as he signaled his head to head back to the rooftop.

"Let's burn this place down." He added and they all ran back to the rooftops for exfil.

"Dropping the skyhook now! Latch yourselves in!" Eagle Two Four yelled as the thick rope dropped from the sky, Soap quickly latched himself in and looked behind him. France was a few meters away from the final hook as a stray bullet grazed her thigh.

"France! Hang on!" Soap quickly detached himself almost automatically, without thinking. The rest of the team were already being hoisted up when they noticed the two members still on the rooftops.

Soap's body felt the rush as he quickly carried her up and held her tight, running toward the last hook and quickly attaching himself in, all while holding her tight in his arms.

"Why didn't you call out to me? You know I'm going to save you whatever it takes." he whispered as he felt France already in tears. If it wasn't for him always checking out on her, she would've been left alone in that abandoned building.

"Is she going to be fine?" The worried Scotsman asked the nurse. His voice was almost loud enough to disturb everyone else.

"She got hit twice. One on the chest and one on the thigh. They're both minor but she just passed out from the panic and exhaustion. We found this on her chest. The thing practically saved her life." The nurse handed over his journal. Soap's eyes widened at the hole that pierced through the whole book. He must've left it when he typed the abort codes and she must've grabbed it from there.

"The bullet barely pierced through her armor thanks to that book." She said as Soap looked up and silently thanked that she was safe. He quickly flipped through the pages until he found the page where he drew her. The bullet hole on the page was where her heart was. It was funny because it was the other way around. That woman was the one that fired a bullet straight to his heart. And he wasn't a big fan of metaphors at this rate.

"So is she okay?" Roach quickly ran to Soap's side, a worried look on his face. Alex and Price were behind him.

"The journal saved her." He said, raising the pierced black book as proof.

"She's lucky enough you got her on time. I couldn't think of any other way she could be saved from there." Price commented as she looked at her through the glass.

"She's a tough lad. But sometimes she needs to understand that she isn't alone." Price added and Alex nodded.

"She'll wake up soon." Alex tapped Soap's shoulder and he nodded, as they left the infirmary for another briefing.

On the way to the briefing room, they caught up with Ghost and Alexandra bringing an unknown man to the interrogation area, which prompted the team to follow.

Inside the interrogation room's observation area, the team sat while Price and Jack talked to the man.

"Nice to see ya, Jack. Thought Nero got rid of you." He smugly said with a wide annoying grin on his mouth.

"Who is this prick, anyway?!" Roach hissed.

"That's Gabriel Lannister. CIA's Research and Development Head." Alex said nonchalantly, Soap could see the disbelief in his eyes. There was more than just one mole in his previous department.

"He was the one in charge with the mass manipulation of the missing persons cases." Ryder added.

"While you lot launched the nuke, he went off running with four convoys of protection. Luckily we were able to intercept them by the bridge." Ghost informed.

"What about the nuke?" Soap asked, completely forgetting about it. It was his responsibility, as he typed the whole command on it.

"Blasted at Nero's fleet not too far from the White House. If you were five seconds later, the war would've ended differently." Ryder supplied the information.

"And the capital?" Roach asked.

"Mostly damaged, but it will recover. Turns out Nero did really burn the place down." Ghost answered.

"What about Nero?" Alex asked, eyes not leaving the whole interrogation.

"No one knows where he is. We were hoping this guy would give information about him." Ryder pointed to Gabriel, who was having a fun time at the interrogation.

The tension inside the room was different. Each person had their own little realizations and this pushed them to end the war as soon as possible.

Soap immediately exited the area and went back to the infirmary.

"Hey." He was greeted by France, who was already up.

"How are you holding up?" He asked, his tone more concerned than ever.

"Well, It doesn't hurt right now but… I'm… I almost died out there, John… What if I died?" Her voice croaked and tears started falling from her eyes. John quickly approached her and hugged her gently close to his chest.

"Don't say that… What's important is you're alive… I got you and you're safe…" He whispered.

"Thank you." She croaked. John just rubbed her back assuring her everything will be alright.

"No. Thank you. You changed me, France. You made me realize a lot of things. I know that this isn't the most perfect place right now, but… Will you be my girlfriend? Because I can't help thinking about how every single day of my life since I met you, I can't stop thinking about you. Your smile, your face, the things you say, the way you hide what you really feel. I want all of those and after that last mission, I realized that I shouldn't have left you waiting. There was no better time than as soon as possible." He said, offering his notebook as replacement for flowers.

France nodded with tears in her eyes, accepting the journal with confusion.

"Turn it on the last page." Soap said as she did it, showing a sketch of her and him together happily smiling. She wore the clothes she wore when they were out together in that coffee shop.

"This is beautiful." She said, tracing a finger on the paper.

"I love you, John MacTavish." She said as she leaned in for a kiss, not letting him reply.

Next Chapter : FOUR Weeks of Silence

Notification Squad my Beloved

@smokeywhalee @enderio @samatedeansbroccoli @ricinbach @whimsywispsblog @bumblingbee1

#alex echo 3 1 #john soap mactavish #horrayfic #codmw #john price #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #whateverittakes

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