#but all of a sudden she just isn’t herself and hasn’t really been eating | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

etherati · 2 months

Text

Taproot - (6/25)

So I guess Wednesdays just aren't a great day for this, so let's call it Thursday and Sunday, going forward! Also gonna start adding music recs for each chapter, but feel free to ignore if you feel like it would be too distracting. Will edit the old chapters to include them.

Content warnings: Canon-typical violence, Sypha and Alucard being on the cover of a romance novel, and a lot of vampires getting melted. HYDROSTORM!!!

🎵 Music pairing: Whatever It Takes - Imagine Dragons

< -- Back | Next -- >

Solstice night. The longest night. The sun set hours ago, here on the coast of the Black Sea, tracking its way westward toward the foothills and the mountains beyond them and, eventually, all the rest of Europe. Toward home.

Will it be dark there, yet? Will the wolves be closing in?

Sypha can’t justify hiding herself away as she waits, not tonight. The waiting has become a desperate vigil, something that recognizes its own futility but refuses to bend under the weight of that recognition. But tonight is important and if she is here, if she must still be here against all her wishes, she will at least be present for it.

She’s cleaved close to the people she cares most about all evening: her grandfather, Lily and Arn, Kiri, the others who kept her family group knit together when outside forces did their best to claw it apart, all those years ago. They eat, fresh bread from the cooking stones and warm rabbit stew, laced with exotic spices from all over their people’s collective range, little pops of heat and sweetness and green earthiness, peppery and rich.

It’s a celebration meal. Tomorrow morning, the sun is reborn. She knows that isn’t how it really works—has seen the planetary models in the castle library, knows that the sun is a fixed point and certainly neither lives nor dies—but that’s never really been the point. It’s a midpoint, a way to mark time, and the lengthening days mean warmth and easier travel and eventually better food stores.

In front of her, the bonfire crackles, raging mindlessly, consuming its fuel, throwing embers; something about it steals the breath from her lungs for just a moment. It feels something like the weight of sudden, unbearable prophecy, but almost more primitive than that. Inescapable, not like fate is inescapable but like gravity is inescapable.

There’s a shimmering off to her side, and it draws her attention before she consciously acknowledges it. It’s like a heat mirage, rising from the road in midsummer, and it hangs human-sized in the air, obscuring everything behind it. Caught up as she is in the breathless oppression of the fire, it takes Sypha a moment to realize what she’s looking at.

The mirror.

It’s—it’s the mirror. They got the message, they—they’re alive, and they got her message, and this is her passage home— but—

“Sypha?” her grandfather says from her other side, settling one hand on her shoulder. “That is what you have been waiting for, no?”

“It is, but...”

But something isn’t right. She squints into the shimmer, can make out the far wall of the study, but no one has come through to greet her. What if—what if her message fell into the wrong hands? What if this is a trick? What if—

Then, in the haze: a body flying past in flames, and a very familiar figure following after it, the brilliant glow of the chain whip’s weighted end tearing through the space ahead of him. A hoarse cry. Wood splintering, glass breaking. There’s a splash of blood across the far wall, vibrant and lurid, and was that there a second ago?

In any event: that answers that.

“Okay,” she says, shouldering the pack she hasn’t let out of her sight for days, bracing herself for whatever she finds on the other side. Her boys are in trouble; they need her. “I’m going.”

Her grandfather makes a nonverbal noise, like someone restraining themselves from saying what their heart most wants to express. It’s dangerous. Stay here. Stay safe with us.

“Good luck, my angel,” is all he actually says—or, if he says more, it’s lost to her as she leaps into the breach, sound and vision smearing, reality disappearing up itself in a twisting, sucking inversion that leaves her, momentarily, unsure that the physical world ever existed, that she ever, in fact, had a body—

—then suddenly she’s there, and the shift from quiet night spaces, the calm hiss and pop of the fire, to this cacophony—it sets Sypha’s every nerve on end, her entire body protesting everything about what just happened in waves of churning nausea. She fights it down. Not the time. Not the fucking time.

Her pack hits the floor hard and she casts around, urgent, taking it all in.

There are at least eight… enemy combatants, in the study with them. They look like vampires but they’re acting more like mindless monsters, with none of the grace she’d seen in their combat against Dracula’s generals. No weapons. No subtlety. Just tooth and claw, and speed, and ferocity. Feral.

They’ve got Adrian cornered against the far bookshelf, swiping and charging from every angle. He has a bloody gash across his face, his hair stuck to the wound, ghoulish. His eyes are wild from the fight, nearly as wild as those surrounding him. He has his sword in hand—not in the air, not aiding him as she knows it can when he’s at his best, but simply slashing inelegantly at arm’s length, keeping the surrounding vampires at bay.

She visualizes a fireball between her fingers, wills it into existence—wastes no time thinking about why he’s having so much trouble, and sends it straight into the thickest knot of them. Demons might resist flame but vampires, she knows with certainty, burn.

Two of them light up, screaming, filling the air with the acridness of burning flesh—then the Morning Star comes slashing through out of nowhere, ripping one of the feral vampires just about in half even as it embeds itself in the next one over, waves of energy rippling through it to blow the second one apart from the inside out.

That’s four down. That’s good.

“The mirror!” Trevor shouts to Adrian, and she’s not sure he even knows she’s here yet, as preoccupied as he is with getting the mob off of Adrian. He swings the whip again, a good amount of its length coiled around his fist to shorten the throw in this confined space—lands only a glancing blow, enough to enrage but not really damage, an ugly welt burned across the vampire’s face.

It hisses, furious. Sypha readies another fireball, to back up the missed shot. Trevor smirks into the thing’s face, unaccountably smug.

“Oh, that hurt, didn’t it?” he snarls, swinging the bladed star almost lazily in between them. Taunting. Backing his way toward the door, the staircase leading down. “Come on, I’m a way more interesting target than prince prissy-hair, here.”

Ah. He missed on purpose—he’s trying to goad them away from Adrian. And it’s working; they’re worked up, agitated, and maybe it’s the smell of Belmont blood so nearby, dripping from his hand where it clutches the whip’s handle, but they’re peeling away from Adrian, easing their predatory, monstrous way toward Trevor instead.

That’s all the window Adrian needs—with a pained hiss, he phases through the gap they’ve cut for him, right to Sypha’s side. Turns to the mirror without a thought, hair hanging lank and bloodied in his face, red-stained claws working at the mirror’s surface. Working to shut it down, she realizes with a chill—to seal it, so that none of their attackers decides to go barreling through and have Speaker for dessert.

A lot of things happen all at once, then.

Trevor doesn’t have a straight shot to the door—there’s one coming up behind him, cutting that path off, and with a shout, Sypha sends the fireball she’s been holding straight into its face. It catches fire, screams and flails, is easy for Trevor to sweep aside and get past, but there are suddenly more of them in the room than there had been and oh, they’re coming through the windows. Right through what should have been impenetrable wards.

Adrian seals the mirror, the Speaker camp fading from the glass. He turns to her, as if he’s just now noticing she’s there. A shrieking, wild-eyed vampire drops from the window behind them, and before she can even summon more flame, the sword in Adrian’s hand has whipped out and cleaved it cleanly in two.

“Sypha,” he breathes, staring; he didn’t even take his eyes off her to make the strike. They’re wide, wild with red, desperate and longing—and before she knows what’s happening he’s sweeping her up with an arm around her waist, pulling her into a kiss that is nothing short of ravenous. He doesn’t even try to be gentle, as he usually is with her; it’s all teeth and possession, a primal sort of hunger that seeks to pleasure but also to claim, to make her moan and make her bleed, to turn her world inside out.

It is, frankly, a fantastic kiss.

But it goes on just a touch too long, in the circumstances—they surely paint an attractive picture, Adrian with his bloody sword held aloft, Sypha with her hands ringed in fire, the two of them locked in the impassioned embrace of lovers too long separated. But they are being just a little bit invaded by vampires, and that fact demands attention, demands focus.

“Okay,” she says against his mouth, putting her hands flat to his chest and pushing; he’s immovable when he wants to be, but he’s learned these cues and he bends to it now, letting her put space between them. “Kill vampires now. Continue that later?”

A flash in his eyes, a sharp-toothed grin, and he swings back into action—maybe not as graceful as he usually is, maybe a little rushed, but no less lethal with that blade, now that he’s out from being cornered.

When she looks, she realizes that Trevor’s gone, off down the staircase already, most of the remaining vampires on his tail, and it’s the effort of a mere thought to fill that corridor with flame, purge the creatures in pursuit of their hunter, give them nothing but embers and ash to pass through to find their way back to his side.

“How the fuck are they getting through the wards?” Trevor mutters; he doesn’t expect an answer, is too busy dodging a wild, animalistic swipe of claws through the space his face had just been in, moments before. He catches the arm on its way by, lets the beast’s momentum carry it face-first into the stone of the staircase wall, taking advantage of it being momentarily stunned stupid to slam a throwing knife through its throat. The body tumbles down the stairs, out of sight.

“They’re old,” Adrian says from beside him, his presence crowding in on Trevor’s, which is comforting enough when he’d thought himself alone, but then—

“They’re not that old,” a familiar voice, one he hasn’t heard in two weeks, sharp and a little flustered and no wonder, dropping into the middle of an assault with no warning.

“Sypha,” he says, sheer relief, and before she can go on a tirade about the fact that wards don’t work that way, they don’t just turn off when they age, something else is going on and he knows, he knows—he reaches out and pulls her in by the back of her neck, presses a quick kiss to her temple, breathes her in. It’s the contact of an instant but in that instant: soft curl of hair against his cheek, smell of salt air and wood smoke, magic shimmering beneath his lips like a second skin.

“I missed you too,” she says, smirking a little as he breaks away, leans to peer around the archway. “But Adrian has your greeting beaten by a mile.”

“Yeah, well,” Trevor says, no patience for mincing words. “That’s because apparently the solstice makes vampires go feral, and in his special case that translates to ‘horny as fuck’.”

“Trevor…” Adrian growls, warning.

“Really?” Sypha asks, something in the tone saying that she already believes him. Trevor spares half a second to wonder what he missed, bailing out of the study like he did.

“Oh yeah,” he says, hooking the chain whip back to his belt, reaching to unsheathe the sword instead. The staircase is narrow and winding, and anything coming up it to meet them will be in close quarters before they can blink. He edges down the stairs, one at a time, hyperfocused on the space in front of them. “Shame we’re being invaded, this could have been a really fun night.”

“Belmont.”

Sypha laughs, all nerves, magic crackling around her. “You would have had me miss that?”

“Oh my God, no,” Trevor says, grinning despite himself, despite the situation. Suddenly, everything feels right again; it feels like things can be okay, if they just hold onto their wits and see this through, try not to get sloppy. “You’d have to be here, or he’d wear me the fuck out.”

“If we are quite done discussing this,” Adrian says from behind them, glower audible in his voice; when Trevor risks a glance up and behind at him, he can see that the gash on his face is nearly closed, that his eyes are still bright with blood but not like they’d been before. There’s a focus there now, a clarity, that he’d lacked. Good enough. “Can we consider having an actual plan?”

“What,” Trevor says, “and ruin our perfect record of jumping into things blind and pulling off stunning victories regardless?”

“They haven’t all been stunning.”

“But they have all been victories.”

“Yes, yes,” Sypha cuts in, already sounding exasperated. “Recklessness is very dashing, until it isn’t anymore.”

And Trevor’s about to say something smartarsed in return, then stops himself, wonders for a moment if all this solstice madness is catching, because of course she’s completely, totally right. “Fine, okay. Got any ideas?”

“What do they want?” Sypha asks, voice low.

Trevor jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Adrian, self-explanatory. “Single-minded, too. Took a lot to get them to go after me instead.”

“I saw some of that,” she says, considering. “So should we hide him, or…?”

Adrian grumbles something disagreeable; Trevor ignores him. “What I want to do is hide him under a rock somewhere, yeah.” That’s what his gut wants, what his heart wants. The screams echoing through the stone walls, vampires breaching their defenses anywhere there’s a window, are a solid reminder of why he needs to listen to his head instead, right now. “What would be smart to do is use him to lure them out into the open and take them all out at once.”

“Can you do that?”

Right, she isn’t up to date on all of their preparations yet. He scrapes the sword lightly against the stone as they descend, hoping to draw out anything that’s waiting for them around the next turn. “If you’re okay with no hot baths for a while.”

“That was supposed to be an option of last resort,” Adrian protests vaguely.

“Yeah, well, that was when we thought we had control over their points of entry and assumed we could bottleneck them,” Trevor says, and he can hear the irritation in his own voice. “Some of the variables have shifted. Besides, we hide you away, all that’s going to do is drive them into every nook and cranny in this place looking for you. It’ll take weeks to root them all out.”

“I’m not in favor of hiding—”

“All right, then,” Trevor whispers, drawing to a halt; up around the next bend, the light’s different, brighter. Intersection? Open landing? He almost never takes this staircase. “Do you have another suggestion?”

“We go down to the hall and we fight,” Adrian grits out, still sounding a little breathy, a little wild. “Keep the water as a backup plan, but try to fight them off first.”

Trevor shakes his head, sighs in frustration. “That could rack up casualties. Who’s being reckless now?”

Just a low growl in response, and okay, frustration is no longer the word; Trevor has officially fucking had it with this.

“No,” he says, turning to take hold of the collar of Adrian’s jacket; he tosses Sypha a look that he hopes conveys Cover the stairwell for me while I talk some sense into this idiot. Bright orange lights up between them all as she primes a spell. “You don’t just growl and get your way, that isn’t how this works.”

That seems to shake him—the snarling, bloodstained visage collapses into a mask of shame, flush rising up his face. “I wasn’t trying to threaten—”

“Listen to me, Adrian,” Trevor interrupts, because good God do they not have time for a guilt spiral. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. You’re spoiling for a fight and I get it, okay? I do. But a fight will get people killed. It could get one of us killed. And normally we wouldn’t have a choice but to risk it, but we’re in a crazy position right now—we have a way to take out all of them with minimal casualties, and it would be beyond insane not to use it.”

A huff of breath, defiant. “You don’t have to—they only want me.”

“Yeah, they do. They want you dead, and they want it bad, and they’re not going to have a, a civilized duel with you following the rules of engagement, all right?” Not that the dhampir could even handle that, right now, but Trevor’s not going to push his luck by provoking ego. “Adrian. I need you to trust me, I need you to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

“We have talked about this,” Sypha adds, not looking up from where she’s sighting down the length of her arm, flame at the ready. “We trust each other, and we work together.”

Something about the sound of her voice, so familiar and so painfully absent for the last two weeks, seems to get through to Adrian where his own words have failed—she plucks a chord in him, or maybe just completes one, the dissonance of two notes rounding out into three, and it’s like watching a sleepwalker come back to themselves.

“Of course,” Adrian says, finally, reaching to sheathe his mother’s bloodied sword; in this close, tight corridor it would be next to useless anyway. He draws the knife from his other hip, settles it comfortably in his hand. “Lead the way.”

Isabel had not been lying when she told the Belmont: she is no commander of soldiers. She had still hoped that, crazed as their attackers are tonight, her thoughtful leadership and the Belmont’s tactical prowess would give them enough of an edge to keep the enemy forces from breaching the castle.

Hope, it turns out, while not completely useless, does not win battles.

She’s out here with her four ranged comrades, and Belmont had brought them an entire crate of bolts from who knows where; they’re not in danger of running out. But they’re also making little headway. Have they managed to thin the attacking mob? Yes. Have they eliminated it? Not by a long shot. A bigger force than they expected, maybe, but four marksmen just aren’t enough.

So. Fine. There are other ways to go about this.

The crossbow bolts are still whizzing dangerously close as she darts out of cover, gets a running leap off of the stone banister, jumps directly into the fray. The bodies are thickest where the massive doors have started to bow inward, the insane strength of those bodies undirected except for the most basic drive: break down the doors, get into the castle.

She lands among them, claws three of their throats out before they even register her presence. It’s easy to duck and weave among them, their reflexes dulled by bloodlust and unused to seeing their own kind as an enemy, and so she tries to carve the still-beating heart of the mob out of its chest, winnows and thins them from within.

A crossbow bolt plants itself into a vampire’s eye socket, less than a foot from her own. The sound of metal striking dense, heavy bone echoes in her ears, as does the screaming that follows. In the single moment’s disorientation, she catches a set of claws across her face, splitting her cheek open down to the bone, and without a second thought she takes hold of the arm that did it, snaps it in two, reels the attacker in and drives her own claws into his throat.

And if this is all she can do now, be a whirlwind of claws that rends apart her own people, the ones who would ruin everything she and hers have fought for—so be it. Her people have their orders; they know what they need to be doing. If she falls here, they will fight on.

There’s a horrible screaming of metal, mechanisms twisting under strain, and the doors begin to give way.

The sudden noise of the door mechanisms failing and the roaring of their invaders is jarring, harrowing, after so much silence and so much waiting. They’ve heard screams elsewhere in the castle, echoing in that labyrinthine way that teases and taunts but is impossible to ever actually track down—and they’ve stayed put, because they are those doors’ last line of defense.

Now, as the doors give way, the attackers start spilling in as soon as there’s a gap wide enough to pass a body through—climbing over one another, fighting each other to get in, some of them already bloodied, some of them injured and healing in front of their eyes. All of them mad.

On the upper landing, at the top of the stairs, Jeanne resettles her grip on her short sword, squares her stance. She stands among humans, but she is no stranger to fighting vampires; they’re always curious about her, always wanting to see how her strength holds up to theirs, how her relative lack of weaknesses will play out in a fight. She is no stranger to sparring with vampires, or with having to forcefully turn away troublemakers at her people’s gates. She has never killed one, never wanted to kill anyone, does not truly believe herself capable of facing an intelligent being and taking its life.

These, though?

These are horrifying. These aren’t people. They’re animals, monsters, slavering beasts. And they were human once—something even she cannot claim—but right now, they are just fodder for her sword and her claws, fodder for the blades and spears of the five who stand around her.

Tomorrow, they might be different. The morning may find their sanity restored.

Guilt can, also, come in the morning. Right now, she has a job to do.

Luca Gregori considers himself a patient man. He is practiced in all forms of acceptance, these days; he is not quick to judge. Alucard of Wallachia, infamously opposed to killing, killed his own father? He clearly had a good reason. The Belmont is more than just a general, to his Lord? The stuff of crazy gossip, maybe, but to him it’s not even worth a second thought. That vampires are not just monsters, that they are as unique as the humans they once were and as individually responsible for their choices as anyone else—this is a foregone conclusion for him, these days. But it is perhaps for the best that he has never, before now, gone abroad on this night, because this horrorscape is enough to sour anyone on the night world.

He’s bleeding from his shoulder, where one of the beasts got their claws into him. It’s his off arm, so it’s not impeding the swing of his grandfather’s blade, but it throbs and aches and he knows it’s going to draw more of them, and the whole point of being here is to get inside and let the others know that things are going to hell—but they’re going to hell so quickly that it’s all he can do to keep fighting them off, keep the entrance he’s guarding protected.

A pause in the onslaught—a chance to draw breath, halting and rough—then another is there, is leaping clear over him, alighting on the wall above his head, clearly more interested in the window above than in tangling with him directly.

Too bad. The sword becomes a projectile, spearing the intruder through the chest as if they’re made of no more than paper; all that sharpening had a purpose. The vampire tumbles, sword and all, to his feet. Goes still.

Luca doesn’t hesitate—he pulls the blade free, brings it up as he spins back toward the open grounds, anticipating another attack.

Another attack doesn’t come.

The night isn’t silent, not remotely—but the commotion seems, suddenly, to be elsewhere. He can hear a ruckus from around the corner of the castle wall, where the main entrance sits, and he supposes that the defenses there might be falling. He considers the tactical implications of abandoning his post and offering aid.

Then, from the corner of his eye: a flicker of light, in the ruins of the old, burned out estate.

From the moment his eyes met Sypha’s in the study, from the moment he held her against him and felt her pulse racing and the heat of the fire in her hands and the determination she held in her heart to save them, to save both of them—

Adrian isn’t sure how to explain it. It feels like something that’d been swirling, dangerous and intoxicating, through his brain and his gut has, somehow, settled. It’s still there, glinting in the sediment like gold dust, begging to be stirred back up, tempting the swipe of a lazy, greedy hand. But the water between them is finally clear.

He wonders: how much of this is the blood, how much Trevor’s proximity, how much the primal desperation of longing for an absent lover?

They encounter few opponents on their descent. One of them Sypha impales with a long, deadly spear of ice, one Trevor neatly beheads, and the third falls under the bite of the traitorous blade in Adrian’s hand, screaming and bleeding. And perhaps it is too agonizing a death to inflict on anyone—but they ought not have attacked him and his loved ones, then.

He remembers Trevor saying it, in the field outside the castle: If you even breathe threateningly at me or mine—

This isn’t vengeance, he knows, shaking the blood from the blade and continuing onward. It is self-defense, defense of his home. Defense of their life, of the way they’ve chosen to live, and damn anyone who thinks they have any right to punish him for it.

When they finally reach the entry hall, when his boots land in exactly the sort of bloodstain he had hoped his new carpets would never see, the scene is utter chaos—and not all that dissimilar to the scene they themselves had broken up when they strode in that front entrance a year ago. A home under assault. Those loyal to its master standing in its defense.

This time, though, the fighting doesn’t pull to an awed standstill when they enter the room—not that any of them expect it to.

Still, Trevor swears, low. He’d obviously been hoping the doors hadn’t failed yet, that this could be done cleanly. Now, there will have to be a fight, which means there will be losses. Scanning around, Adrian can tell that most of the unmoving bodies scattered about belong to their enemies, ragged-looking in a way that none of Isabel’s people had been, but there is a downed human among them, moaning and clutching his middle and probably not long for the world.

“Have any gotten past you?” Trevor shouts to the small knot of fighters holding the upper landing against the assault. This room was designed to be a funnel, to be easily defensible from this spot, and Trevor had been wise to only station their defenses here, rather than wasting them elsewhere in the hall. If his father’s generals had been half as savvy, the three of them would have had a much harder time taking that first victory. “Into the rest of the castle?”

“No,” a young woman snarls back, blood in her short dark hair, fangs flashing. “They’d have to kill us all first.” She brings her sword around in an elegant arc, takes her attacker’s hands clean off, then lodges the blade deep into the vampire’s ribcage to finish him off. She’s untrained—that much is obvious from the way she handles the blade like an edge and like a point alternately, depending on what she needs, but she’s fast and fluid and far stronger than any of her compatriots, and has a natural fighter’s instincts.

It makes complete sense, given that she’s Isabel’s resident dhampir. Something he’s been asked to accept in passing, as if it were a common thing. As if he’d met another in his life, ever.

Adrian’s self control is already worn to a thin patch, barely there, threadbare. It takes a monumental act of restraint to not just snatch this one up mid-battle and hide her away somewhere safe, if only to be sure she’ll live long enough to speak with him. Because as solid a fighter as she is, she’s getting overwhelmed.

He can’t do that, can’t deprive the battle of her strength. But there are other ways he can help her odds of survival.

“Belmont,” he says, reverting smoothly to formality. He draws his sword again, readies both blades. “Can you handle the water?”

“Can you get those doors closed?” Trevor counters, changing his sword out for his whip, the links clinking at the movement. On the other end of the long hall, the doors are gaping open to the night, their mechanisms stripped and ruined; there’s no one coming through them, which is a pretty good sign that they’re all already in here. Trevor sends the weighted end of the whip whispering through the air, taking his targets out with terrifying precision. “If this is going to be a killing pen,” he grunts between throws, “then we really need to close the gate.”

“I can do it,” Sypha says, looking between them, her gaze settling on Adrian, and it’s like she can see straight through him, right to the core of his anguish. “Go help them, I will handle it.”

There’s a suspended moment there—they are three again, they are together, they are within touching distance and are within each other’s grasp—and then Sypha leans in and embraces them both, quick and hard.

And then she is, again, gone—headed down the stairs to traverse the sea of bodies that the entry hall has become, dodging and weaving around swords and claws and worse, angling to get closer to the entryway.

Adrian watches her, watches the fluidity of her movements, the way she skirts danger so effortlessly—then her hands go into the air above her head and a gust of wind kicks up, forceful. The doors slam shut with a resonant thud.

All that’s left to do, then, is give Trevor a significant nod, the man’s hand tightening on his shoulder before letting him go— and dive into the fight.

Trevor doesn’t know exactly what Sypha had done to seal the doors, once she’d closed them. It’d apparently involved melting the moving parts and rendering them useless as doors, because she claims, in clipped shouts over the roar of fire, that they cannot be opened again now.

Which—shit. It shouldn’t have mattered, he’d all but demanded they be closed, but—

There’s a panel set into the wall here, under his hand, modeled to look like just another stone; beneath it, something Adrian connected up to the same magical—sorry, science—bullshit that lights the torches by themselves. When he presses it, it will cause an ember of flame to burn something, something that very much likes to burn, that likes it so much that it tends to explode; the pressure will tear apart the pipes running through the castle, to a lesser degree the further away it gets. But here in the main hall, it will be a downpour.

There’s a panel under his hand, and when he presses it, holy water will pour down like rain and it will melt away every vampire in the entry hall like the last grey, gritty snow of spring.

There’s also a vampire staring across at him, black braids disheveled and tattered, blood streaked across her face, fierce determination burning in the burgundy eyes. Fucking Isabel. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have followed the attackers inside, the fucking idiot; this is why the status of the doors is, suddenly, important. “Why are you—I told you not to be here, we have to—”

“Do what you need to, Belmont,” she interrupts, steely, eyes only for the fight. “I was warned; I made my choice. I won’t have any of my people die because you dragged this out for my sake.”

“Fuck,” Trevor says, and then, because once is rarely enough: “Fuck.”

“It’s been an honor,” she says, ignoring his invectives, holding a clawed, bloody hand out expectantly.

And for just a second, Trevor just looks at it—looks back up at the landing, where her people are weakening, becoming overwhelmed, even with Adrian’s help. Looks to Sypha, summoning ice and fire, holding her own effortlessly for the moment but how long can that last?

An honor, she says. And against his best efforts, it has been.

He can’t wait. He knows that. This is their one chance to keep the casualties in their favor, and the window is narrowing.

His hand rests on the panel. Just another ounce of pressure.

Sypha, twenty feet away, spinning solidity from the moisture in the very air, projectiles that pierce like steel, barriers that protect her like any shield...

Trevor narrows his eyes.

“Fuck that,” he says, smacking Isabel’s hand aside, everything coming together. “Sypha! Need some ice over here now.”

“On it!” she shouts back, and it’s like she’s been listening

in and already knows what he’s asking for—the ice blooms from the air, swirling around Isabel, enclosing her within its walls like something caught in a glass bottle. Trevor finds himself, as always, impressed with both Sypha’s talents and her perceptiveness, with her almost preternatural way of knowing exactly what they need when, in any fight, in any challenge. How did they ever survive two weeks without her?

He slams the panel hard.

A half second of held breath, a building roar, and then: the rains come.

Sypha thinks, in the split second she has to spare between one task and the next, that she should get a medal for figuring things out, after this fight is over.

It’s not as if they’d had much time to explain things to her—between the need for vigilance on the staircase and the need to split up down here in the hall, all she’d managed to pick up was that they have some new allies fighting with them, and that Trevor’d had some sort of plan involving a mass dousing. Putting it all together, well—she’s just that good.

“I guess that’s that for this group,” Trevor says, shaking the water from his sleeves, wringing it out of his hair with an antsy urgency. The downpour hadn’t lasted long—a tremendous amount of water, but whatever they did to open the pipes, it had been incredibly effective. Possibly overkill. Definitely overkill in terms of their attackers, and someone with a weaker stomach would probably be turning green by now, overwhelmed by all the strangled screaming and the smell of charred flesh, bodies consumed in blue flame, ashes floating down all around them.

Sypha’s never had a particularly weak stomach. She’s seen worse; she’s done worse.

So, left standing: The three of them, and their human allies up on the landing, and the vampire Trevor had had her lock into ice—the only one of them all not sopping wet from head to toe, and thankfully so, if she’s really on their side.

“God, that feels fucking weird,” Trevor complains under his breath and to no one in particular, shaking a foot as if that will somehow empty his boots of the water she can hear sloshing in his socks.

Adrian raises an eyebrow at Trevor from the landing, sheathing his sword, his knife. He looks like a very blonde drowned rat, and he’s just as antsy, like he’s been wrapped entirely in itchy wool. And that’s no surprise from him, in the circumstances, but—

“Does it?” Adrian asks, keenly curious. Sypha narrows her eyes at both of them, wonders if maybe there’s something else in the water, some irritant or chemical that she’s just not feeling yet.

But Trevor just shakes his head dismissively. “Not the time,” he grumbles, reaching for the whip at his side, suddenly all business. “There might be more of them further up in the castle, we can’t let our guard down.”

“Then let me eliminate a distraction,” Sypha offers, pressing her hands together in front of her face. This is not her specialty, so she will have to focus, but it will do no good to have saved their ally only to have her burned by the floor they stand on—and regardless of Trevor’s grousing, Adrian is, she’s sure, legitimately uncomfortable. She summons a gust of air that rises from the space around her, a concentrated blast of dry wind that ripples through her robes, through her hair, stripping the moisture right off of her.

Once she feels her own hair brushing dry against the nape of her neck, she sends the wind outward, swirling through the hall like a cyclone, pulling the water from skin and hair and clothes, from carpets and tapestries, and carrying it all up and away.

Well. Not away. It has to go somewhere, but she’ll cross that bridge later.

“Better?” she asks.

Adrian shakes his hair out like the mane of some legendary beast. It’s still got that humidity dampness to it, that extra fluffiness, but it’s an improvement. “Much. Thank you.”

And she’s just about to go start melting their visitor out of her ice cage—she’ll need to get the story from Trevor later, of how exactly a vampire, not a dhampir but a full-blooded vampire, managed to earn such loyalty from him—when a man she’s never seen before suddenly appears through one of the side doors, right behind Trevor, wheezing and out of breath from running. The sword in his hand is coated in dark, stale-looking blood.

“Trevor!” she shouts, bringing up a fresh fireball, but when Trevor spins to face the intruder, his stance immediately relaxes, hand leaving the hilt of his sword.

“It’s all right,” he says, one hand out to her to say, stand down. “He’s one of ours. Gregori? What’s going on?”

“It’s—” Wheeze, cough. “They’re—”

“They’re what?” Trevor demands, patience thin.

A prolonged, whistling inhale, desperate for air, and then the man visibly makes an effort to compose himself, to regulate his breathing. “They’re gathered in the ruins,” he manages, then takes a deliberate breath. “Talking about a vault or something. That they’re going to get a weapon that will make them unbeat-able? That’s all I got—I couldn’t keep listening, they would have spotted me—”

“Fuck,” Trevor breathes, glancing at the doors, and Sypha knows: the hold.

“Wait,” Adrian says, holding up a hand, forestalling Trevor’s obvious kneejerk reaction of running off to defend his family’s legacy without a moment’s thought. “They should have spotted you regardless. Or smelled you. And they acted as if they didn’t?”

“Actually, yeah,” Trevor says, narrowing his eyes at Gregori. “That sounds a little bit like bullshit. Is it bullshit, or is there something else going on?”

“I saw what I saw,” the man says, puffing up in defense of his assaulted pride. “I can’t explain it, but I’m not lying to you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Trevor murmurs, after a long, considered study of the man’s face. He presses one hand across his eyes, gestures with the other. “Maybe he’s lying to get us there, or maybe they let him get away so he’d bring this information to us, which is also a ploy to get us there.”

“It is a trap either way.”

“Or they just want us to leave the castle undefended.”

Sypha sighs, fingers twitching restlessly around her magic, half-sigils that she’d trained into muscle memory to avoid accidentally conjuring fire when she’s restless. “But we can’t leave it alone, can we?”

Trevor just shakes his head. “Okay,” he says, after a thoughtful moment. “Sypha, get our frozen bloodsucker off ice. Jeanne?”

A dark-haired young woman turns at the summons, hands braced on the landing’s banister, paying perfect attention. There’s a stillness to her that’s a little unnerving to Sypha, almost like...

“They’re not getting in the front,” Trevor says, clipped, as Sypha carefully directs her fire, melting away the walls of the impromptu ice shelter. “If they come from anywhere it’ll be those little doors on the side there. You think your people can handle that?”

Jeanne looks to the newly freed Isabel, who despite seeming a little dazed, nods sharply.

“All right,” Trevor says, sounding like a man who has no idea if he’s doing the right thing, is doing it anyway and damn the consequences. “Good enough. Let’s go.”

< -- Back | Next -- >

#castlevania #netflix castlevania #fanfic #fanfiction #sypha belnades #trevor belmont #alucard #adrian tepes #trephacard #taproot #wellspring #post s2

9 notes · View notes

ohlawsons · 2 years

Text

08.05 heart | elena/maegar

The inn is… lively.

It holds the same charming atmosphere as the rest of the capital, but Elena doesn’t think she’s really in any position to pass judgment, not when the baroness – equally lively and charming – is the one responsible for rescuing both her and Maegar. They’re both deeply indebted to Vala, a twisted turn of events that Elena is hardly fond of.

Still, as much as she dislikes being a cleric of Pharasma at the mercy of a woman known for her fascination with necromancy, she trusts Maegar when he says he’s satisfied with the way things have played out.

Well, she mostly trusts him. She isn’t sure just how a man so driven by the whims of his heart managed to survive a day without her logically-minded self to cool him down; they’d spent decades on the road together, and even though he claims that age has evened his temperament, Elena knows firsthand that he’s still prone to the occasional rash decision.

Like handing over their barony to a woman like Baroness Erevar.

“You’re still upset with me.”

Elena looks up at the familiar voice, searching for Maegar as he interrupts her lonely lookout by the hearth. “It’s been a permanent state of mind for the last thirty years, I’m afraid.” She does her best to give him a warm smile; there’s a heaviness that she hasn’t quite been able to shake, a cold fatigue from her time in Lostlarn keep that’s permeated deep into her bones. “But I’m not upset by… all of this,” she adds, quietly, well aware of the crowded tavern around them. “I’d like a chance to talk about it, is all.”

Maegar sighs, and there’s such a sudden weariness to him that Elena almost regrets saying anything. “I know.” He holds out a hand to Elena, pulling her to her feet. “When I offered to take over as the barony’s treasurer, I never imagined it would be quite this taxing. But you’re right – we’re overdue for a conversation, if you’re feeling up to it.”

There’s a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but she gives in to the fatigue and simply nods, letting Maegar lead her out of the inn and down the sparsely cobbled streets leading towards the main square. Neither of them say much as they walk, making quiet smalltalk as they meander through the capital – is she feeling any better, has he had a chance to eat this evening – until they reach a small, scenic overlook, a quiet cliffside staring out into the vast Shrike Hills.

“I know you have… reservations about Vala,” Maegar finally says, staring out over the forest beneath them and giving Elena’s hand a soft squeeze.

“I’ve spent my life hunting down people like her,” Elena amends, feeling her jaw clench at Maegar’s oversimplification of a subject they’d discussed, in detail, prior to everything that had happened at Lostlarn Keep. “She’s known to dabble in darker magics, she counts a member of the undead amongst her advisors–”

“Elena–”

“--there’s a temple of Urgathoa in the capital,” she continues, ignoring Maegar’s attempts to interrupt her, “and she’s all but declared war on Pharasma herself. So, yes, I do have a few reservations about allowing her to take control of Varnhold.” The rant – though relatively brief – leaves her winded, and Elena struggles to catch her breath as she waits for Maegar’s response; she knows he’s aware of all of this already, but she herself is still trying to wrap her head around their situation.

He’s silent for a moment before answering. “Varnhold was… in tatters,” he says finally, the words heavy and slow. “Our people were ruined and desperate. Vala is ambitious, to say the least, and was clearly set on claiming what was left of our lands.” Maegar pauses, and Elena’s heart drops at the ragged, pained edge to his voice; they hadn’t talked, not fully, about the state of things while she was lost, and not for the first time she wonders just what horrors Maegar had seen after disappearing through that portal. “I did what I thought was best for our people, and for you. I convinced her to allow Varnhold to maintain its ban on necromancy, and the temple of Pharasma still has a place within the capital. It was the best I could do.”

Elena takes a moment to mull over his words, pushing back the nagging thought that she should’ve been there when he was forced to make such an impossible call; she allows herself to take comfort in the warmth of his presence beside her and the weight of his hand, still joined with hers. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my dear,” he says, shaking his head as he chastises her softly.

She gives a little hum in disagreement. “Your heart was in the right place. I shouldn’t have doubted you for that.”

“I seem to recall you being rather fond of doubting my heart.”

“Well, perhaps I’ve just grown soft in my retirement.”

#brooke writes things #elena kheld tag #maegar varn #pfkm #pathfinder kingmaker #fic: elena #violent delights fic #otp: elena/maegar

4 notes · View notes

pippytmi · 3 years

Note

Roommates au, enemies to lovers, “you confuse me.” Supercorp obvs

“You’re a fucking liar.”

This is—objectively speaking—not the worst greeting Kara has ever received from her roommate, and so she takes it in stride. “Uh, hello to you…too,” Kara says slowly, silently running through a list of everything she could have done wrong to warrant such strong words.

But Lena does not offer any explanation; in fact, when she spots Kara in the doorway, she sends her a nasty glare as if Kara has said something wrong. “Don’t pretend you’re a saint in this matter, Lex,” Lena hisses, and only then does Kara notice the cell phone in Lena’s hands. “If I have to go and clean up your mess again…”

So it’s one of those days. Kara wisely shuts the door quietly behind her, and sneaks into the kitchen as Lena takes her argument into her room.

There is a list of chores pinned to the fridge—four black X’s cross out Lena’s, and Kara’s are underlined twice. They have a code, so as to avoid speaking to each other; X’s mean done, underlined means Kara you're a slob and a pain in the ass to live with. (All verbatim, by the way.)

The dishes, however, are not on Kara’s agenda at the moment. She instead takes the expensive whiskey hidden under the sink (that belongs to Alex, not that she has noticed it’s missing), and pours it into a glass with some ice. Then she whips out the ingredients for a stir fry, complete with every vegetable she had been saving for the potluck at work this weekend.

It is an unspoken rule that Lena will shut herself off into her room after this phone call is over. She does that every time her brother calls (and on occasion her mother), and Kara has picked up enough information about her roommate to know Lena will appreciate a hard drink and some food. She hasn’t said so or anything, but every time Kara knocks three times on the door and leaves a plate outside, it will re-emerge an hour later completely empty.

Lena’s voice grows louder despite the distance, and Kara turns on the stereo out of respect for her roommate's privacy. Lena hates the stereo and all it stands for; she argues it is outdated, and they have numerous pieces of technology that are less bulky and fully able to connect to radio stations. But Kara keeps it around anyway, because she still likes buying CD’s (and maybe to bother Lena, which is a bonus).

Blink-182 is playing on that alternative station Alex likes. Kara cranks it up as she cooks, singing under her breath as she sautes bell peppers and onions, ignoring the rumble of her stomach and the tight belt of her work pants still digging into her hips. “Say it ain’t so, I will not go,” she practically yells, poking her head into the fridge for the tofu that Lena always keeps. Kara personally won’t touch the stuff, but Lena is trying to eat less meat. It cuts up easily enough, even though Kara isn’t sure what the proper technique is.

She leaves the finished plate and drink outside after it’s done, rapping on Lena’s door in tune with The White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army,” and then finally has some dinner herself. Since the tofu is unappetizing, Kara stores the rest of the stir fry in a container for Lena to take for lunch, and opts for a sandwich. She eats while scrolling through her notifications (she owes Nia twenty bucks, and so far Nia has been clogging up her phone with Venmo requests all well over $500), and keeps the radio on just for background noise.

That’s probably why she doesn’t even notice when Lena approaches; Kara has barely begun to type a text to Nia swearing to bring some cash next time she visits when a sharp voice declares,

“You confuse me.”

Which. Is not at all what Kara expected from her usually empty kitchen. And, caught exceptionally off guard, she nearly falls off her chair. “What the—Lena,” she sputters, righting herself. Unfortunately, the crust of her sandwich is a casualty of the surprise, and she watches as it crumples devastatingly on the floor.

Lena is not half as concerned about the fate of her dinner, and she stalks forward to jab a finger at Kara’s chest. “You confuse me,” she repeats.

Kara blinks. Then blinks again. “Um, okay,” she says. “…why?”

A strange, strangled noise rises from Lena’s mouth, and she appears angrier than Kara has ever seen. (Well, except for that one time that Kara did laundry and flooded the apartment laundromat, which had other pissed off tenants leaving mean messages for two weeks straight). “Because,” angrier-than-usual Lena says, “you do shit like cook food for me and don’t even say anything.”

“What do you want me to say?” Kara frowns, not sure where this conversation is going. “If you want I can start saying ‘Hey Lena, I made dinner’ every time.”

“You and I don’t do dinner,” Lena says, and it sounds like an accusation. “Every time I get off the phone, you decide to leave food outside my door. Why? What on Earth compels you to do that?”

“Because you’re always upset afterwards,” Kara says slowly. “And I thought you could use some cheering up, or at least a drink.”

“Whiskey,” Lena notes. “It’s always whiskey. And it’s never a cheap brand.”

“Well, yeah,” Kara says, gesturing pointedly to Lena’s designer work clothes (that she never seems to be without; Kara’s not sure Lena even owns pajamas). “You would probably accuse me of poisoning you if I gave you anything less.”

Lena narrows her eyes. “You don’t owe me anything,” she says. “So whatever this is, you can stop it.”

“What do you mean, ‘whatever this is’?” Kara repeats incredulously. “I’m just being nice!”

“I never asked you to be ‘nice’!”

Kara exhales, and reminds herself that it is illegal to strangle people. Especially since she is Lena’s roommate, and will therefore be suspect #1. Kara has never been a violent person, but her roommate just manages to test her limits.

“Look,” Kara says patiently, “I give you my sister’s whiskey, and she doesn’t care because she is trying to give up drinking. And I’m not a frequent cook or anything, but I can still throw together a plate because I know you don’t cook at all. That’s it! I don’t have a hidden agenda, or some secret plot here. I’m just being friendly.”

“We are not friends, Kara Danvers,” Lena says. “And I know exactly what this is, even if you refuse to acknowledge it.”

God, what an insufferable—“Okay, know-it-all,” Kara says, instead of the ruder words echoing through her head. “What am I doing?”

Lena’s jaw clenches noticeably. “You pity me,” she accuses. “You look down at my relationship with my family, and—and I don’t want your sympathy, or your stupid food, anymore.”

“If you wanted me to back off, that’s fine,” Kara says, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “But I don’t pity you, or feel sorry for you. Heck, with your track record, I’d feel more sympathy for your family. They seem to be on the other end of some nasty phone calls.”

Lena’s expression darkens. “You don’t know my family.”

“I don’t know you very well, either,” Kara retorts, and she turns back to her phone where three new Venmo requests are waiting (two of them well in the thousands range; Nia must think she’s hilarious). “Message received, okay? I’ll leave you alone.”

At first, Kara assumes that's the end of it—assumes that Lena is going to stalk off, and leave a strongly worded post-it on the fridge later that night for Kara to wake up to. That has always been how their relationship works; they fight, reiterate how much they hate living together, and go right back to ignoring each other.

But Lena doesn't walk away. Instead she sighs, and at that unexpected sound Kara looks up just in time to catch Lena frowning. “I—” Lena begins, and then she pauses uncomfortably before getting the words out. “I'm...sorry. I have been having the worst day, and it’s—it’s rude of me to take it out on you.”

“Okay,” says Kara dumbly, because she’s not sure what to respond. Lena never apologizes. Ever. It’s about as rare as, well, Kara actually doing her chores on time. “Thanks?”

Lena bites her lip, glances away. “You’re welcome,” she says stiffly. And this time she leaves—leaves, and abandons the plate of food Kara left her on the edge of the table.

Kara looks down at her phone. There are ten texts waiting from Nia, and about double that of Venmo requests. But she can’t shake the feeling that she is forgetting something, and it’s more than a twenty dollar bill. “Wait,” she blurts out, “Lena. What—what does that mean? You were an asshole to me, and I was an asshole right back, so why are you apologizing?”

“Well, you are more than welcome to apologize too,” Lena says, pausing in the kitchen doorway. She has a quizzical expression on her face, a kind of raw confusion that Kara has never seen before. Without the sharp clenched jaw and the angry eyes, she’s…just a girl. A girl, with a nervous tic of wringing her fingers together. A girl, despite her guarded nature, who is gazing right back at Kara as if she has no right to.

“Do you want me to apologize to you?”

A beat. “Not really,” Lena says. “I don’t—want that. You’re right, you don’t know me. Or my family. We’re nothing to each other, and I can’t expect you to know how complicated my relationship with them is.”

“Still,” Kara says, and she scratches the back of her neck absentmindedly at the sudden flush of guilt that overtakes her. “I am sorry. It was rude of me to, um, say that. Like if your family is a bunch of serial killers, who am I to say you’re worse than that?”

Lena scrunches her nose in a manner that is sort of cute. “Serial killers? Really?”

Kara shrugs—aiming for casual—and really that just looks like attempting nonchalance when suddenly she’s consumed with thoughts about how pretty her roommate is. “Like you said,” she says, “I don’t know your family.”

And, surprisingly, all Lena does is smile. A real smile, the kind that Kara has never witnessed, barely soft and just kind enough. “They’re not,” she says, and unnecessarily clarifies, “serial killers.”

“That you know of,” Kara points out, and Lena’s cautious smile becomes something fuller. That is the only thing that gives Kara the courage to add, “So, now that we have covered the whole you’re not your family thing, are you really not going to have dinner? I cooked tofu for you and everything!”

“You didn’t have to,” Lena argues, because she is defensive to a fault. But she falters immediately after, and sighs again, albeit in a more mellowed tone. “What I meant to say is, I really don’t need you to keep cooking for me. I’m fine.”

“Well what if I want to cook for you?” Kara says, and that is her own fault: she is ready to argue to protect her (noble) intentions. “We don’t have to be friends, if it terrifies you that much—”

“It does not terrify me—”

“—but we can be friendly,” Kara offers, and it’s a testament to her newfound appreciation for her roommate that she manages to even make a sentence. “If you want.”

Lena tilts her head, considering, and this time when she smiles it is curious. “If you knew what I wanted, Kara Danvers,” she says, “your delicate sensibilities would blush to their roots.” And with that odd goodbye, she eventually takes her leave; however, she does take the plate of stir fry with her, so Kara guesses that means they’re on their way to being friendly, if anything.

#remember when quarantine started & i asked for prompts?#yeah u read that right a whole ass year ago?#well. uh. so this is embarrassing but-#supercorp #supergirl #i need a fic tag #proudlyunicorn

2K notes · View notes

dadbodosamu · 3 years

Text

what’s my name? [daddy] || part 3

Stepdad Miya Osamu x Cis!Fem Reader x Miya Atsumu

WARNINGS: pseudoincest (stepdad and uncle), threesome, daddy kink, creampie, cum eating, lowkey miyacest but not really, anal (f receiving), oral (f receiving), double penetration, painal, anal fingering, light degradation, dacryphilia, rimming (kinda), UNREALISTIC AND UNSANITARY SEX DON’T DO THIS

2.8k words

part one || part two || part three

“How’d’ya like the show, Tsumu?” Osamu asks.

Your head jerks around to see Atsumu standing across the room, palming his cock through grey sweatpants.

“Oh, it was great,” Atsumu says. “Liked that part at the beginning. Something about taking us both at the same time?”

“U-uncle Tsumu!” You exclaim, still sitting on Osamu’s softening cock.

“What is it, doll? Tell Uncle Tsumu what ya want,” Atsumu says, coming up behind you. His hands run down your sides and back up your shirt, cupping your breasts.

“Want Uncle Tsumu to fuck me,” you breathe, bucking your hips as he pinches your nipples. Osamu hisses from the overstimulation under you.

“Yeah? Ya want this?” Atsumu asks, moving one hand to grab his bulge. You nod.

“Want you to fill me up, too, Uncle Tsumu,” you say, rolling your hips. Osamu’s cock twitches deep inside you, beginning to harden again.

“Want me to cum inside yer ass while Samu fucks yer cute, little cunt? Ya said ya would take both of us, doll,” Atsumu says, twisting your nipple. You moan lightly and grab Atsumu’s forearm.

“Wanna be full,” you moan as Osamu bounces you lightly on his fully hard cock.

“Is daddy not enough for ya, doll?” Atsumu asks, pulling your shirt off and tossing it across the room.

“Tsumu,” Osamu growls, squeezing your hips tighter.

“Daddy fills me up so well,” you say, running your hands down Osamu’s muscular chest. Osamu thrusts into you hard, pulling a broken moan from your lips.

“Stop hoggin’ her,” Atsumu says, pulling you up and off of Osamu’s cock. You let out a gasp at the sudden emptiness. Osamu’s cum pours out of you, running down your thighs and your eyes burn.

“Daddy!” You cry, reaching out for him.

“She’s not a fuckin’ toy, Atsumu,” Osamu sneers. Atsumu rolls his eyes as he carries you to his room.

“Are ya comin’ or not? How are we both supposed to fuck her on the couch?” Atsumu calls.

“Damn it, Atsumu,” Osamu swears, tucking his wet cock into his pants and following.

“Feel empty,” you pout. Atsumu lays you on his plush mattress gently.

“Don’t worry, doll, I’m gonna fill ya up real nice,” Atsumu says. He spreads your legs wide before pushing them up to your chest, revealing your messy cunt. Osamu’s cum oozes out of you, running down to Atsumu’s sheets.

“Daddy,” you whine as Osamu appears next to Atsumu.

“What is it, baby girl? Tell daddy and Uncle Tsumu what you want,” Osamu says. Atsumu catches the cum leaking out of you and slowly pushes it back in. You let out a small moan.

“I think I want her sloppy cunt, ‘Samu,” Atsumu says, sliding two fingers in you.

“Uncle Tsumu,” you moan as he scissors his fingers, needlessly stretching you out.

“Why don’t ya prep her ass, then?” Osamu suggests, pulling his shirt off. “Bet her little hole is so tight. Ya got lube, Tsumu?”

“Middle drawer,” Atsumu says, pointing at his nightstand. “Bet I won’t need it. She’s so fuckin’ wet, she’s makin’ a spot on the sheets.”

Atsumu pulls his fingers out with a lewd, squelching sound and presses one finger against your tight asshole.

“Ts-Tsumu,” you choke as he slowly pushes his pointer finger in. “H-hurts so good.”

“She’s so fuckin’ tight,” Atsumu grunts. “She’s suckin’ my finger in like a slut.”

“Relax, sweetheart,” Osamu says, squeezing your thigh as he hands Atsumu the lube. “Lube. Now.”

“I think she likes the pain,” Atsumu says. “Is that right, doll? You like it when it hurts.”

You nod. The burn only makes everything feel so much more sensitive, and before long you’re fucking yourself on to Atsumu’s finger, begging for more.

“More, want more, Uncle Tsumu,” you whine, grinding your hips down, trying to get more friction. The burning is all but gone and you find yourself missing it.

“Do ya want the lube, baby doll?” Atsumu asks. You shake your head.

“Wanna feel you,” you say.

“Are ya sure, baby? I don’t want you to hurt too bad,” Osamu says.

“Wan’ it to hurt,” you moan. “Feels so good.”

Atsumu breathes deeply before slowly adding another long, thick finger. You let out a high-pitched moan, fisting Atsumu’s white sheets tightly.

“Fuck, she’s so tight,” Atsumu groans. “Almost wanna fuck her just like this.”

You clench around his fingers at the thought of him taking you with barely any prep. Your virgin hole stretching around his cock, with only Osamu’s cum and his own precum as lube. You moan as Atsumu scissors his fingers, stretching you out.

“Ah, she likes that,” Atsumu says. “Ya wanna take my cock just like this? Feel it for days, doll, ya wouldn’t be able t’ sit without feelin’ me.”

“Wanna be full,” you whine. You moan as Atsumu roughly twists his fingers deep inside you.

“Samu, why didn’t ya tell me yer little girl was such a pain slut? Look at her, practically beggin’ me t’ fuck her dry,” Atsumu sneers. He adds a third finger suddenly. The new stretch knocks the breath out of you, your back arches off the bed and you gasp as Atsumu quickly pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“Hurts,” you moan. Your eyes roll back as Atsumu gathers spit in his mouth and spits directly into your hole.

“Aw, the little baby can’t take it, huh?” Atsumu coos, using his spit as lube.

“Do ya need lube, sweetheart?” Osamu asks, staring down at you worriedly.

“She can take it,” Atsumu says, fingers not slowing down. “Look at her, practically fuckin’ herself on my fingers.”

Your hips were meeting his fingers with every thrust. The stretch was burning all the way to your core and your juices were mixing with Atsumu’s spit, lubing his fingers in the process.

“She likes it so much, she’s creamin’ around nothin’,” Atsumu says. “Rub her clit, Samu.”

Osamu rubs his fingers through your wet folds before rubbing figure-8s over your clit.

“Oh!” You gasp, back arching. “More, more, please!”

Atsumu leans down and licks over your hole boldly before adding a fourth finger.

“What a slut, taking four fingers with no lube,” Atsumu sneered. “Bet ya could take my whole fist, isn’t that right, doll?”

“Atsumu,” Osamu warns. “Shut the fuck up before I end this.”

“Daddy, ‘m close,” you whine, walls clenching around nothing. “Wanna cum!”

“Go ahead, baby,” Osamu says. “Cum for daddy and Uncle Tsumu.”

You cum with a loud cry. Neither twin slows down, milking every last second of your orgasm. Your thighs twitch with overstimulation.

“I think she’s ready,” Atsumu says, pulling his fingers out. You whine at the empty feeling.

“Fuck me, please, I want it so bad, daddy, Uncle Tsumu,” you beg.

“You heard the princess,” Atsumu says. “How do ya want to do this?”

“Want daddy to hold me,” you say.

“I’ll be on bottom, then,” Osamu says. He leans against Atsumu’s headboard and pulls you on top of him, legs splayed out over his thighs. “Ya gonna be a good girl and take us both?”

You nod as you lift your hips. Osamu drags his cock along your slit. You moan as his cock catches your hole.

“Fuck me, daddy, please,” you whine, bucking your hips. “Please, I want you in me.”

Osamu lines his cock up with your hole, “Go on, sweetheart, take what you want.” You slowly sink down with a low moan.

“So good,” you breathe. “So deep in me.”

“Ya ready for me, princess?” Atsumu asks. His bare chest is warm against your back and you can feel his cock pressing against your ass.

“Please,” you say, arching your back slightly. “Wreck me, Uncle Tsumu. Make me hurt.”

“Fuck, yer sayin’ just what I want t’ hear, princess,” Atsumu groans. The fat head of his cock presses against the rim of your asshole. “Ya want it t’ hurt, huh? What’s the matter, daddy doesn’t give it to ya hard enough?”

“Yer a dick, Tsumu,” Osamu snaps.

Atsumu ignores Osamu as he pushes the head of his cock past your rim. You gasp and jerk forward unintentionally. Atsumu clamps down on your hips with an iron grip.

“Nah, princess, ya said ya wanted it t’ hurt,” Atsumu says. “I’m only givin’ ya what ya wanted.”

“Atsumu,” Osamu warns. You shake your head as tears burn at your eyes.

“More,” you grunt. “Hurts good.” You were more stretched than you’d ever been and Atsumu was barely in. Any pain you would’ve felt was washed away by the excitement of having both twins seated deep in you. You could already see the way your lower tummy would bulge once they were both balls deep. A shiver of excitement ran up your spine.

“Daddy’s so soft with me,” you say, slightly pushing back on Atsumu’s cock. “Want someone to fuck me until I’m broken.”

“Oh, I’m about to fuck ya until yer dumb, princess,” Atsumu says. You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Daddy’s gonna remember that, little girl,” Osamu whispers in your ear. Your walls clench around him at the thought of punishment.

“Might wanna hold her still,” Atsumu says, slowly sliding out. His grip on your hips hasn’t loosened and Osamu wraps his arms around you, holding you firmly to his chest. Atsumu leans down and presses a small kiss right below your ear.

“Still want it t’ hurt?” He asks, lips brushing against your earlobe. Before you can say anything, Atsumu’s cock is buried in your ass in one, quick movement. You lurch forward, trying desperately to escape the painful stretch. There’s no relief in the motion since you’re caged in by identical iron grips.

You let out a squeak of pain as tears cascade down your cheeks.

“So pretty when ya cry, princess,” Atsumu says, turning your head to the side. “I thought ya wanted it t’ hurt?”

You swallow a sob before you can reply. “S-so full, Uncle Tsumu. Gonna tear in half.”

“She’s fuckin’ chokin’ my cock,” Osamu moans. “She liked it. Her walls are just milkin’ me.”

“I told ya, ya had a little pain slut on yer hands,” Atsumu says. “She’s clenchin’ me so tight I can’t pull out.”

“Let her adjust a little, Tsumu,” Osamu says, “she’s already cryin’ like a little baby.”

“‘m not!” You protest, burying your face in Osamu’s chest.

“Oh, princess, ya shouldn’t’a said that…” Atsumu says. His hands tighten on your hips. “‘Cause if yer not cryin’, well then, I’m just not goin’ hard enough, am I?”

You hiss when Atsumu pulls out of you slowly.

“No, no, ‘m sorry, Uncle Tsumu!” You cry. “I’m crying!”

“It’s okay, sweetie, daddy’s got you,” Osamu says, holding you tightly.

Atsumu slams into you with a near thunderous clap . Your back arches as you dig your nails into Osamu’s stomach and you let out a loud yelp.

“Ts-Tsumu!” You cry as he pounds your ass relentlessly. The intense pain brings more tears to your eyes. Atsumu reaches around and roughly grabs one of your bouncing breasts.

“What’s the matter, princess? Too hard for you?” Atsumu grunts, rolling your nipple between his pointer and middle fingers. You moan loudly.

“Hurts!” You exclaim. “So good!” A sob wracks through your body. Atsumu moans as you tighten around him.

“What a pain slut,” Atsumu says. You nod as you cry. Osamu gently thumbed your tears away, pulling you down for a soft kiss.

“Yer such a good girl, takin’ us both,” Osamu whispers.

“Move, daddy, please,” you beg. Atsumu’s hard thrusts were pushing Osamu’s cock deeper in you but you needed more.

Osamu’s hands wrapped around your sides as he lifts you slightly off his cock. You whimper as Atsumu’s cock abuses you at a different angle. Osamu’s slow, deep thrusts were just enough to cancel the persistent pain caused by Atsumu’s hard and fast ones. You threw your head back in ecstasy as the twins fell into a brutal rhythm.

“Daddy,” you moan, hands running up Osamu’s thick chest. Atsumu grunts and twists your nipple. “Tsumu, ‘m so full.”

Your hand drifts down your own abdomen, tracing around the bulge where Osamu was seated deep in you. You moan before letting your fingers drift a little more until they reach your clit.

“Gonna cum,” you whimper as you rub the sensitive nub. Your legs twitch from all the stimulation.

“Go ‘head, baby, cum for daddy,” Osamu says.

Atsumu knocks your hand away, placing his own fingers over your clit, rubbing vicious circles around it. You moan loudly.

“Cum for me , princess,” Atsumu says. “Right. Now.”

You let out a high pitched moan as the coil in your stomach finally snaps. You gush around Osamu’s cock, walls squeezing around him as he moans.

“Fuck, squeezin’ me so tight, yer milkin’ my cock, sweetheart,” Osamu moans. His hips falter as his cock twitches deep inside you.

“Fill me up, daddy, please,” you moan, bouncing on his cock. “Want your cum in me.”

“Yeah? Want me to fill up yer slutty, little cunt?” Osamu asks. You nod. “Come ‘ere, sweetheart.” Osamu pulls you into a breathtaking kiss as he pumps you full of his seed.

“That’s enough o’ that,” Atsumu says. He pulls you up off of Osamu and into his chest. He easily manipulates your body until you’re face down in his mattress and your ass is up in the air. “Gonna fuck ya real well now, princess.”

“Fill me up, please, Uncle Tsumu,” you beg, arching your back. “Cum in me.”

“Fuck,” he swears. “Wanna cum in that sweet cunt o’ yers.”

“Please, please,” you moan as he continues to fuck your ass. “Want you to cum in my cunt.”

Atsumu looks at Osamu with the question written on his face.

“Go ahead, fill ‘er up, Tsumu,” Osamu says.

Atsumu pulls completely out, leaving your knees weak. He wraps one strong arm around you and plunges into your pussy.

“Oh, fuck!” Atsumu swears. “So tight, even after Samu’s filled ya up twice.”

“Fill me up, Uncle Tsumu,” you moan. “Cum in my tight, little pussy, please!”

“Whatever ya want, princess,” Atsumu moans. His hips stutter as you clench around him. “Fuck, gonna fill you up so good. You gonna cum for me again, princess?”

You nod as you reach down to play with your clit. “Want your cum in me, Uncle Tsumu,” you say.

“As soon as you- fuck!- as soon as you cum around my cock,” Atsumu says. “Want you gushing around me, milking my cock, princess.”

“So close, Uncle Tsumu,” you breathe. “Need more.”

Atsumu pulls out, flipping you over, before pounding back into you. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you into his chest. You moan loudly as he hits that spongy, little spot inside you head on.

“Cum on my cock, princess,” he whispers in your ear as you wrap your legs around him. You nod as he fucks you deeper than before.

“Fuck, fuck,” you moan, digging your fingers into his shoulders. You drag your nails down his skin as you cum hard, juices gushing, mixing with Osamu’s cum. “Please, fill me up, Uncle Tsumu! I need it, I need your cum in me!”

“Fuck,” Atsumu grunts as his cock twitches deep inside you. You roll your hips and your walls flutter around him as he paints them white.

“So, full,” you breathe as Atsumu fucks you through his orgasm. Your walls milk him until he hisses from overstimulation.

“Fuck, yer such a good girl, princess,” Atsumu says, laying you down next to Osamu.

You frown as you feel cum leaking down your thighs.

“It’s leaking,” you whine. “Wanna be full.”

Atsumu spreads your legs wide and leans down, licking a broad stripe up your messy slit. You gasp as his tongue pushes his cum back inside of you.

“Just gonna clean ya up, princess,” Atsumu whispers, pushing your legs up to your chest.

You clench around nothing, pushing his and Osamu’s loads out of your cunt. Atsumu licks it up with a low slurping noise.

“Come on, give me more, princess,” he says. He uses his thumb to rub circles over your clit. Your walls spasm from overstimulation.

“Tsumu!” You cry as you cum. Your juices squirt out, drenching his face.

“That’s my princess,” he praises, licking his lips. Atsumu wipes his face off before climbing up his bed to lay on your other side. “Come here, princess.”

You twist out of Osamu’s arms to face Atsumu. He grabs your chin gently and pulls you into a slow, soft kiss.

“I love ya, princess,” Atsumu mumbles, cupping your cheek. Your cheeks burn.

“I love you, too, Uncle Tsumu,” you say. Osamu’s arms tighten around you. “I love you, too, daddy.”

“I love you, sweetheart,” Osamu says. You yawn cutely and snuggle into the soft sheets below you. Atsumu yawns and tosses an arm around your waist.

“Next time, I get her cunt,” Atsumu says, closing his eyes.

“You’ll get what I give you, dumbass,” Osamu says.

“Bastard.”

“Bitch.”

You smile as the sound of the twins arguing fades as you fall asleep.

Next time…

420 notes · View notes

untaemedqueen · 3 years

Text

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 29.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Pre-Wedding Jitters, Dirty Talk, Daddy Kink, Fingering, Praise, Lactation Kink, Milk Drinking, Pregnancy Kink, Wife Kink, Glazed Donut!OC

A/N: Today’s chapter is late because I’ve been busy playing New Pokemon Snap... sry. Shout out to @xjoonchildx, @ladyartemesia and @ppersonna because I’d be lost without them.

There are undoubtedly many events in life that make a person nervous -- your first day of high school and college, your first kiss, your first sexual experience, and for some even your first phone call you give to your doctor when you're no longer under your parents protection. But no one -- not a single person, told you how nervous your wedding day is.

Maybe it's the amount of people that are attending. Two hundred is no small number.

Or maybe it's the fact that with your belly sticking out so far you can barely see your feet makes you feel like you'll be judged.

Whatever it is, the feeling fucking sucks.

You've seen so many movies where the woman who is getting married is all laughs and smiles, giving cheers to anyone and everyone because it's her wedding day. But now, you can officially say it's bullshit.

The best part is, it isn't even today, it's tomorrow and you still are frightened to the bone at the thought.

"-And I mean, yeah. Fine. We chose the taupe napkins but who the fuck is Aubrey to say anything, y'know? Like she knows her colors… Evil witch. I swear I don't know how she passed kindergarten!"

Leena's rant drifts through your ears like a soft breeze. You haven't been paying attention for a while, if you're being honest.

"Y/N? Are you listening to me?!" Leena gawks, grabbing her glass of champagne from Taehyung's hand.

Again, you're caught up in your own mind. You play every scenario of how tomorrow will be and they all seem to be terrible ideas.

What if you trip walking down the aisle?

What if your heel snaps on the way up?

What if your water breaks in front of two hundred people?

What if-

A small square of balsamic bruschetta appears in front of your face and your eyes narrow at the piece of bread.

You feel your soon-to-be husband's fingers pushing back some stray hairs behind your ear. "Food for thought?" he quips happily.

He has not had a frown on his face in what seems like forever. You adore it, you really do. But how can he not be nervous? Your heart is practically thrumming out of your chest.

"Open," he whispers.

Reluctantly, you open your mouth for the appetizer. When he leans in, you look back down at your lap.

"I can see your heart racing through the artery in your neck," he murmurs against your ear.

His hand squeezes your knee under the table reassuringly as he pulls away.

Yoongi wants to pry, he wants to ask you what's got you so in your own head but there are a few too many people here for that.

"Noona, you're an amazing cook." Jeongguk whines, grabbing another piece of steak off the platter.

"You're actually disgusting." Jimin breathes, wrinkling his nose at the youngest's third steak.

"I need my meat, that's how I win in the ring. Gets me all big and strong." Guk beams, cutting into the large t-bone.

"That's what she said!" Hoseok and Taehyung chirp at the same time.

You watch as they high five each other with child-like smiles plastered onto their faces.

"Are you tired? Do you want to call it a night?" your fiance inquires softly, turning his whole body towards you so the rest of the room can't hear him.

You would never want to take away from the festivities. It's just that your stupid anxiety is overwhelming. Looking over at your handsome partner, your fingers intertwine with his. He's quick to kiss the back of your hand, searching your eyes for some sort of hint as to why you're so down.

"No. I'm fine. I'm sorry." you reply, giving him a small smile.

His eyes narrow at your smile and he takes a sharp breath through his teeth in confusion.

"Al...right, if you say so." he says unsurely, running your intertwined hands over your belly.

"Y/N!" Leena whines from across the table and this time you give her your full attention.

You need to try and push this anxiousness elsewhere even for a little while. You will not be a horrible host.

"Yes Beena," you inquire, leaning your chin on your hand.

"Did you hear me? Did you hear what Kim Aubrey said about my wedding planning skills?!" she screeches.

You can only snort as all eyes around the table land on you. "I don't know why you indulge her. Isn't she the one that shit her pants in chemistry when she was fifteen?"

Yoongi laughs loudly, throwing his head back and placing his hand on his chest.

"Actually yeah, she sat two rows behind me!" Namjoon chimes in with wide eyes. His nose wrinkles at the sudden memory and you don't blame him as he pushes his plate away in a sudden state of queasiness.

"So I don't suck at wedding planning?" your best friend pouts across the long table to you.

"Absolutely not." you insist, winking at her.

"This wedding is going to be the biggest event of the entire year. Maybe even the biggest event of the next ten years." Anna, Jimin's wife cheers.

Oh.

Good.

Love that.

"Well, I think we just want people to have a good time. We aren't worried about what impact it will have." Yoongi says quickly, caressing his thumb over the back of your hand to calm you down.

He's not dumb. He's figured it out by now, but he'll still want to hear it from your lips later on.

"Yeah right. 'Min Yoongi and his artistically talented fiance WOW people with their show stopping matrimony' is gonna be on the cover of Dispatch in two days." Hoseok murmurs.

"Oh yeah? And you're gonna be the one giving them the hot scoop, then?" Namjoon jeers, pointing his index finger over the lip of his glass of brandy at the handsome man.

Hobi sneers in his direction and Yoongi can only respond with a chuckle.

"My fiance is pretty show stopping." the CEO surmises, leaning back in his chair.

"Please. I'm eating. Christ." Leena groans through a mouthful of pasta.

It is nice to have so many close friends around tonight though. You hope it can distract you long enough for the nervousness brewing and bubbling inside of you to subside.

When conversations begin to break up and become between smaller groups of people, you can feel his eyes on you like a heat source.

"Little dove?" Yoongi coos softly, rubbing your distended side.

You hum to him, turning to give him your full attention.

"Tomorrow is going to be beautiful and perfect." he promises, tilting your chin up with his index finger.

"No, I know. I'm just-"

"Worried." he finishes for you and he's not surprised to see your reluctant nod of agreement.

"I know. I'm nervous too." he admits, kissing your cheek.

"You've already gotten married before," you scoff, allowing his arm to curl around your shoulders.

"Actually I was black out drunk and can't remember a single thing because I was venomously angry with the dumb bitch that ruined my life before you." he replies with a wide smile.

"Oh. Good." you reply, rolling your eyes at his playfulness.

"So this is my first real wedding too. And even though I'm nervous, I'm excited. Because then when the wedding is over and we get to our honeymoon-"

"Uh uh." you gasp, smushing your finger to his lips.

He pouts against your finger, kissing it softly. "What?" he garbles against your digit.

"We have company." you whisper fiercely.

"Didn't stop you a few days ago when you sucked my cock beneath the desk upstairs while I was on a video meeting." he deadpans, pulling your hand away from his face.

"Yoongi!" you gasp, glancing over the table who hasn't heard a single thing.

You'd like to keep it that way.

"I can't wait to fuck your little pregnant cunt as you're Mrs. Min Yoongi." he beams, kissing your temple.

You can feel your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and you can only blame the man beside you for that one.

When you smack his chest out of shame, the noise echoes throughout the room, earning attention from all of the guests.

"Abuse is not nice, Y/N. Do you want to file a lawsuit, Yoongi?" Yoona quips, sticking her tongue out at you.

The CEO chuckles, squeezing your shoulder with glee. "No, she couldn't handle my lawyers." he bubbles.

"Oh yeah, you know you aren't supposed to sleep with each other tonight, right?" Leena inquires, moving her fork between the both of you.

The cackle Yoongi gives is loud and absurd, much like your best friend's comment. "I can't do anything to her she doesn't have proof of." he banters, pointing at your large belly.

Leena scoffs, pointing down at her plate. "Again. Eating. Gross." she enunciates, pouring herself another glass of expensive champagne.

Jimin's laugh rings throughout the dining room and Yoongi knows that he's the only person who could truly understand him in that moment.

"Why do people do that dumb tradition anyway?" Jeongguk asks, finally finishing his food.

"It actually comes from arranged marriages. When people didn't know who they were marrying." Yoona informs him.

"Fuck that luck shit. That's the saying, isn't it? 'It's bad luck to see the bride' or something like that." Hoseok breathes.

"I think I'm lucky," Yoongi, Namjoon and Jimin reply all at once.

Your best friend takes the opportunity to sneer at her boyfriend and you can't help but giggle at his hopeless expression. "You know I love you, baby." Taehyung coos, sliding his arm over her shoulders.

"Mhm." she drolls, rolling her eyes when both of you look at one another.

"What's for dessert?" Jeongguk asks pleasantly, tying his long black hair up into a ponytail.

"Are you serious? You're not full?" Namjoon gawks at the boxer.

"I was saving room for dessert!" he beams, looking over at you expectantly.

Jeongguk is sweet, sweeter than most younger men you've ever met. He feels something akin to a little brother to you at this point and it's wonderful to see that even if you're rich you can still have manners.

"I made just a simple cobbler, since the wedding cake tomorrow is going to be super heavy and rich." you announce.

Yoongi shoves his chair back, holding out his hand to help you up like the gentleman he is.

He watches you carefully sprinkle powdered sugar atop the dessert with warm eyes.

You don't know how difficult it's going to be walking up that aisle tomorrow, but you do know that your ankles are going to be on fire. They already are.

He picks up the ceramic dish for you, nodding to the chair for you to sit back down and your heart warms for what feels like the billionth time today.

He's such a special person.

"Yoongi is really cool these days, huh?" Jimin jeers, elbowing your fiance when he steps between him and Jeongguk to place the dessert onto the table.

"I've always been cool," he counters, nudging the younger man back

"Well…" Jeongguk and Taehyung droll at the same time.

"Whatever," the CEO breathes, rolling his eyes.

Your giggle seems to light up the room as well as Yoongi's heart. Slamming down in his chair beside you, he can't help the glee that courses through him.

He can't wait for tomorrow.

Climbing into bed, you let the mattress mold to your body and it feels like heaven to be finally laying down, your body certainly thanks you for it.

Yoongi leans against the wall, watching as you sigh happily. "I can just come to bed y'know? I don't need to stay up and hang out." he offers, padding towards you.

"No, that wouldn't be fair. It's your bachelor party. You should be able to play poker and drink." you reply, cupping your stomach.

His eyes drift over you and you can see how soft his expression is in the dim lighting. "You got out of your bachelorette party," he adds, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I have a reason. I'm pregnant." you deadpan, lifting your head to look at him.

"With my baby," he coos, stretching up the bed to lay down beside you.

"Don't get comfy." you warn him, running your fingers over his clothed chest.

"I'm not, I'll just stay until you fall asleep." he promises, kissing your forehead.

His hand drifts over your stomach and the tiny kick he feels makes his heart beat faster. "Hey, kid. How you doin' in there?" he whispers, running his thumb over the spot his son just hit.

You hum gently, letting your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm so tired but I'm so nervous." you announce in the quiet room.

Your fiance looks away from your belly to look over at you. "It's okay to be nervous, but don't let it supersede your happiness for tomorrow either."

You nod gently, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I just have so many scenarios going through my head."

"And none of them are nice, I'm sure." he replies, booping your nose with his index finger.

Scoffing in agreement, you bury your face into his sweet smelling neck.

"I can make you cum, it might make you sleepy," he offers.

"I can't return the favor though, I'm too tired. It'll be unfair," you whine.

When he clicks his teeth, you only hold him tighter to your body.

"I don't need you to 'return the favor' when you love someone as much as I love you, you'd do anything to see them comfortable." he replies, kissing the top of your head.

"They're waiting for you downstairs." you remind him.

"Let them wait. You come first," he breathes, running the tips of his fingers over your soft inner thighs.

You whine in disagreement but your body betrays you naturally. Your legs spread wider and your breath hitches, your lips softly suckle on the thin skin of his neck waiting patiently for what he will do next.

"Your skin is so soft," he whispers, tugging the seat of your panties to the side.

He pulls away from you just far enough to be able to see how well he pleases you and he's already aroused at the sight.

Your eyes are low with lust, bottom lip clamped between your teeth. Your nipples are stiff peaks, straining against the grey silk nightgown you adorn. He can see the grey fabric becoming darker with each passing second as you bead milk.

"God," he groans, parting your lower lips.

"Tomorrow when we fly to Japan, I'm gonna fuck you in every way you could possibly think of." he promises, running his middle finger through your arousal.

"H-How?" you inquire curiously, gasping when he taps the pad of his finger to your clit.

His lips part and his teeth clamp down on one of the cups of your nightgown before pulling down harshly.

You whimper at the chilly air that glides over your now exposed skin.

He lays soft, hot opened mouthed kisses to your nipple, watching your eyebrows furrow in pleasure.

"How am I going to fuck you?" he prods.

You nod fervently, capturing your index finger between your teeth.

"Well," he begins, drawing smooth, slow circles to your swelling clit, "I'll start on the red eye. I'll take you back to the bedroom and take off that pretty wedding dress you'll be wearing just for me."

"Daddy," you whimper, spreading your legs wider for more.

He hums in agreement, pulling off your underwear to free you completely before him.

"I'm gonna make sure the whole crew of my plane knows you're getting fucked by your husband. Gonna have you screaming my name while I fuck your tight little pussy with my thick cock." he avows, kissing over your shoulder.

His words send shivers up your spine and your toes curl with excitement.

"Fuck," you whimper, grinding your hips down onto his hand.

"Gonna hold your big belly in my hands while I fuck you from behind. Let your milk drip all over the sheets of the bed on the plane. You're gonna beg me to go harder, to fill your dirty pregnant cunt full of my cum. I'm gonna make you feel so good, you aren't even going to care that everyone can hear you calling me daddy."

Shoving two fingers inside of you, he skillfully taps the soft patch of nerves within you and your brain is already firing on all cylinders to cum for him. His thumb begins to press harder circles into your clit and when you cup your belly, his eyes roll back at the sight.

"Gonna get you to the secluded hotel and fuck you out on the balcony, in the bath tub, on the bed, anywhere I can get my hands on you. Because I need you wrapped around me. Always." he murmurs into your ear.

"Shit!" you cry out, letting your head loll back to the pillow.

"Good girl, little dove." he praises, unbuttoning his pants for relief.

The head of his cock peeks out from the lip of his briefs and you whimper at the pearl of precum that beads at the tip.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, kissing from your collarbone to your pert nipple.

When he suckles softly, your hips lift at the erotocism. He moans at the taste of your milk and his hand ghosts over his hard cock.

"Daddy," you cry out, starting to shake from the overwhelming pleasure.

Sitting up on his knees, he shoves his pants down further. He parts your legs wider and he doesn't seem to care that all of his friends are waiting patiently for him downstairs.

His cock ruts between your folds and you're ever so close to cumming with every swipe the head of his cock brushes against your clit.

"So warm," he murmurs, purchasing his bottom lip between his teeth.

Your moans begin to get louder and he knows you're so close to releasing your pleasure.

"That's it baby, you're so close." Yoongi notices, running his hands over your stomach.

"O-Oh my God!" you cry out, grabbing his hands over your belly.

"I know, little dove. Feels good, huh?" he coos.

You're so obscenely wet, that even without him being inside you he's finding himself close to his own end.

It's just you in general, you overstimulate him in ways he can barely understand.

"Daddy, I'm gonna cum." you bleat, gripping his hands harder.

"Cum for me, little dove. I want to see your pretty face when you cum for me." he begs, rutting his hips harder against your core.

You do as told, cumming for him with white spotted eyes and loud sobs of pleasure.

"Good girl," he praises, pulling away from your weeping pussy.

He fists his cock in hand, dragging the swollen, leaking tip over your belly. "Such a pretty woman I have beneath me. Fuck," he curses, jerking his hand faster.

Even as tiredness begins to shroud you, you want him to orgasm too. "Daddy, cum all over my belly. Want to feel your warm cum."

He takes a sharp breath between his teeth, his eyes snapping to yours.

When you palm your breasts, his eyes immediately falter to them. You pinch your nipples purposefully, earning droplets of milk that stream slowly over your digits.

"Oh fuck!" he gasps loudly, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Want your cum so badly," you whimper, looking up at him with doe-like eyes.

"Yeah? You want me to cum all over your belly?" he prods, feeling his balls tightening.

You nod fervently, leaving your breasts to rub circles to your distended skin.

"Fuck!" he curses, squeezing his eyes shut as his orgasm courses through him. His cock throbs and stutters in his hand and you hum with satisfaction when you feel his warm cum land on your belly.

"God, you're too sexy for your own good." the father of your child jeers, sitting back on the heels of his feet.

You find yourself giving a tired giggle and your eyelids slowly begin to shield your eyes from view.

"Good girl." he whispers softly, hopping off the bed to clean your stomach.

When he comes back with a wet towel, he can see that you're already fast asleep. He's happy knowing that you'll be able to sleep even if it's only for a few hours.

He can understand your worries and your fears but he wants you to be able to enjoy your wedding too.

Kissing your forehead as he cleans your belly, he sighs softly. "My wife," he breathes, closing his eyes.

"I'll be back later, my love." he promises, tossing the rag back into the bathroom.

Yoongi covers your naked body with the comforter and his heart is thudding in the recesses of his chest with joy.

Just a few more hours and you'll be legally his.

"Remind me why we're playing poker the night before your wedding instead of going out?" Taehyung asks, throwing chips into the center of the green felted table.

"Because there's no pregnant strippers around these parts," Jimin jeers, picking up his beer.

Yoongi sneers at the younger man beside him, elbowing him almost out of embarrassment.

"What? If I could go see a pregnant strip show, believe me, I would."

"We know." everyone replies, rolling their eyes.

"Last time you had a bachelor party, man, that shit was fun." the hotel CEO recalls.

"You had fun." Yoongi reminds him, ashing his cigar.

"Also, aren't you completely smitten with Leena anyway? You want her to have your baby." Namjoon prods, placing his cards down on the table.

Taehyung smirks at his comment, leaning back into his chair and slinging his arm over the lip. "Oh, I'm very happy. She's everything I could possibly want." he affirms, smiling to himself.

"Then why do you want to go to a strip club?" Hoseok adds, throwing chips onto the table.

"Because I like tits. Jesus Christ, just crucify me why don't you!" Tae replies appalled.

Yoongi snorts loudly, clamping his teeth down on his cigar.

He wonders if you're okay, if you've woken up in the past few hours due to his son being so active.

His fingers flex uncomfortably and he's still surprised how much his life has changed in such a small amount of time. He's gone from being a violent, sadistic, narcissistic asshole to being a needy, loving and adoring man. And that's all thanks to you.

You've completely changed the pattern of his DNA and he could never appreciate you as much as you deserve.

"You excited for tomorrow, hyung?" Guk's voice pulls him from his thoughts and he smirks at the younger man.

"Very excited but very nervous." he admits to his group of friends.

"I remember the night of his other wedding. He was so fucking drunk he could barely stand up on his own." Jimin recalls with a laugh.

"I had to hold him up with my shoulder from behind so he didn’t fall backwards." Namjoon adds with a sharp laugh.

Yoongi smirks to himself, looking down at his pocket which holds his wallet. "Well, I'm just glad we don't have to have a repeat of that horrible day again."

"You got lucky dude, not many people find their soulmate when they were an asshole like you were." Hoseok says, pointing at the Kisung CEO.

His sneer is terrifying but probably only to himself as the other men laugh at Hobi's words.

"Y/N completely made him do a 180." Joon concurs.

"I like Y/N noona a lot. She fits in well and she's always optimistic and sweet. We needed someone like her in our lives." Guk beams and your soon-to-be husband seems to glow in their praise.

He loves hearing his friends talk so highly of you. He loves knowing that you're loved for being yourself, especially because you don't know it very often.

He can remember when he first met you, in the back of Seokjin's club. You were sweet and kind but a smart ass and cheeky at the same time. You intrigued him on so many levels and he can remember how badly he wanted to destroy you. But he never would have expected to fall in love with you as earnestly as he has.

And he wouldn't change it for anything in the universe.

"Leena has been putting in so much work for this wedding, you would think it's hers." Taehyung laughs, pulling Yoongi out of his reverie.

"And when are you getting married to her then?" the Kisung CEO inquires, ashing his cigar.

The question seems to stupify the handsome hotel owner, he stutters and shifts awkwardly in his seat trying to reply to the sudden question.

"Jesus, you broke him!" Jimin laughs, clapping his best friend on the back.

Taehyung's cheeks burn bright red and his hand immediately cups the back of his neck out of embarrassment. "I mean I bought a ring. I just haven't thought of anything romantic to y'know… ask her."

Beer goes flying out of Jimin's mouth and the sneer Yoongi gives makes him want to die on the spot.

"Jimin. You're paying for the new felt, you fucking animal." Yoongi gripes, watching Namjoon and Hoseok heartily laugh at the younger man.

"That'll be great! Leena noona is really nice!" Jeongguk cheers, hugging Taehyung happily.

"Thanks…" Tae breathes embarrassed.

Yoongi winks at him and he isn't surprised in the slightest, he knows just how smitten the man is with your best friend.

"Yoongi?"

The voice is gentle and tired. In an instant he's burning out his cigar and waving the smoke away.

"Yeah, baby?" he calls to you, disregarding the others in the library.

"Just checking to see if you were all still here," you murmur, stepping into the library doorway.

You're beautiful in the dim glow of the library's lights and the smile that spreads over his face is heart shatteringly perfect.

"Still here." he beams, padding over to you.

"Okay." you bleat, rubbing your sleep hooded eyes.

"What're you doing up, my dove? You must be so tired." he inquires, pushing hair back behind your ear.

"I'm thirsty. Wanted water." you chirp, pressing your forehead into his chest.

"Okay. Get your water and I'll be up in a few minutes. Alright?" he promises, tipping your chin up with his index finger.

You hum in agreement, starting to yawn.

He chuckles at your sleepy state, kissing your forehead. He pats your backside for good measure before turning to his friends that are seated around the poker table.

"I think it's time to get some rest before the big day tomorrow."

The guys hum in agreement, tossing down their cards and standing up.

"Tomorrow's gonna be great, man. I'm really happy for you." Joon whispers, patting his shoulder as he heads out first.

Yoongi can only agree with a wide smile.

Tomorrow is the start to the rest of his life. And it's perfect, just like you.

Next Chapter ----->

Third Wheeling Taglist - @wickizer, @imluckybitches, @slothykrueger, @claireelise19, @ggukkieland, @rspbrryy, @iv-bts, @bambuzlee, @chanelbts, @mxxngxdss, @bluewhale52, @milesjeon11, @diamonddia-mond, @vinylphwoar, @xnxy97, @hubbytaehyung, @140503at-dawn, @bts-7beauts, @jadeblackwoll, @sunshiine-hobii, @creatorspalace, @eclectically-esoteric, @nikkiordonez12, @kaitswrld, @skamlover200, @sevgilove98, @kooeuphoria, @jikooksgirl19, @hobbledehoy26, @singular-itae, @dchimminie, @lowlifeoeuvre, @sugaslittlekookies, @bloopbloopb, @pjmcth, @softysuho, @codeinbelle, @jaiuneamesolitaiire, @betysotelo18, @jeonmisha, @iwanttohitmyself, @ayyyocee, @neverthefirstchoice, @itsbangtanoclock, @little7bitchh, @veryuniquenamegoeshere, @deathkat657, @firstlovesuga-93, @namjoonia, @paperpurple, @muzikabijou, @liebeoppa, @veronawrites, @kleff03, @ruinsofangels, @brightwingr5, @leekanchol, @rkivemagic, @ithinkileftmycoatoutside, @melaninkpops, @y00ngisbabygirl, @ungodlyjoon, @prochnost513, @dunixxd, @athenakyle, @igotnotype, @chxmachxps, @tinymintyoongi, @vangameren-blog, @alpaca1612, @ohcarolinamin, @thegreatestsushi, @eltrain80, @btsmylife21, @deeepvibes, @httpminyg, @deliciouslydisturbed365, @rkchmestizangmaldita, @jimin-chu, @pimpnameyannie, @preciouschimine, @daughterofthequeen, @monetsberet, @vanillamyg, @aamxxrii, @kooafraid, @ladykadyrova, @singjisu, @yazanii, @moonlitmyg, @justzeera, @absolutefantrash, @whocaresarchives, @loosewindmill, @vantesfx, @bt21chim, @flowerboyhobi, @kozuume-kenma, @taepiper

Sorry for those it didn’t tag!

#third wheeling #thebtswritersclub #btswritingcafe #yoongi x you #ceo!yoongi #ceo!bts #ceo!au #min yoongi #smut #yoongi smut #pregnant smut #bts fic

466 notes · View notes

kenbunshokus · 3 years

Text

eggnemies to lovers

nami/vivi, zoro/sanji | 7k words (best viewed on: ao3)

My (20F) Date (21M) keeps getting into fights with a cook at Baratie. submitted 6 months ago by u/throwawaypinwheel

(Or, the one where Sanji is a diner cook, Vivi is their waitress, and Zoro and Nami accidentally became each other’s wingman.)

Zoro glares at his plate as if his omelette has just challenged him to a duel. Nami tries her best to focus on the map she’s working on—this one’s a particularly difficult homework from her Intro to Coastal Navigation class—and pointedly does not look up.

“Holy shit,” Zoro mutters under his breath, poking at the offending egg, “Nami, I swear—”

“We are not having this conversation again—”

“I told you,” Zoro plows on, “that fucking cook is doing this on purpose.”

Nami takes a deep breath. Cartography is a delicate art, and Nami aims to be a professional. She takes her favorite pencil and elegantly traces over the coastline of Cocoyashi Village, poised and collected and calm. She’s not going to take the bait and ruin her map, no matter how much Zoro is sulking over an egg—

She sighs. “Zoro, I’m pretty sure there’s just been some mix-up with the orders.”

Zoro huffs at that, clearly disbelieving. “For the third time this week?”

“This isn’t exactly a five-star establishment,” she points out, and adds, reasonably, calmly, in an attempt to find some semblance of peace, “I doubt the cook of some no-name diner even knows your name.”

The words seem to have brought about the opposite effect, because now there’s a dangerous glint in Zoro’s eyes as he mutters, “well, he’s about to find out,” before standing up and shamelessly yelling, “ OI! COOK! ”

Nami drives the pencil through her map.

r/relationship_advice

My (20F) Date (21M) keeps getting into fights with a cook at Baratie. submitted 6 months ago by u/throwawaypinwheel

1132 comments share save give award report

My (20F) Date (21M) keeps getting into fights with a cook at Baratie.

submitted 6 months ago by /u/throwawaypinwheel

I know this sounds really weird, but here it is:

This guy and I have been on a couple of dates. We’d been friends long before we started trying this going out thing, so he isn’t a total stranger to me, and I’ve long known him as a pretty calm guy. Chimes in once a week in the group chat, grunts a lot during conversations, you know — one of those quiet, meditating types. He’s only competitive when it comes to his favorite sport (he’s a professional kendo athlete), but other than that he tends not to care about what other people think about him. I’ve never seen him respond to anyone’s taunts or getting worked up by a stranger’s words.

Except at Baratie.

Any time we’re out he wants to go to this diner called Baratie down in Grand Line. I don’t really care about the food, but the tables there are big enough for me to do work (Maritime Science major here—lots of stationeries and large maps to work with). But that became impossible once he and this one cook started chirping at each other every time we went there. Date complained about his eggs one time, because he likes them a little runny and they were served hard. The cook responded by giving him scrambled eggs. When he brought it up again, the cook served him two hardboiled eggs. It was kind of funny to be honest, but my date wasn’t able to laugh it off. When we left, he was in a bad mood.

This is the crazy part: he keeps going back.

In fact, he keeps going back and ordering eggs and getting into fistfights with the same cook. It’s almost a ritual at this point. He orders runny eggs, the cook serves him some other version of eggs, and then they beat the shit out of each other. We never eat out at any other places now; it’s just Baratie every fucking week. Sometimes he even goes there without me.

I’ve tried to talk to him about it a few times, but he keeps saying it’s a matter of principle. I’ve told him to just talk to the manager, but he just waved me off. Apparently that cook hasn’t yet made him the correct runny eggs, but it’s like he spends the week learning new ways of preparing eggs to piss my date off.

My question is — this is weird, right? Like, I’m not really concerned about the fighting part — he’s never been physical with me and I never once felt threatened by him — but what’s with the obsession ? They’re just eggs, aren’t they?

Is this indicative of something deeper? Should I reconsider going exclusive with this guy?

When Nami looks up from her map this time, Zoro has already stalked off to the kitchen. This isn’t new or remarkable in any way, except the fact that he almost ran into one of the waitresses, who immediately clutched her tray against her chest and watched his retreating back warily.

Zoro didn’t even spare her a glance. What a brute. Nami’s going to add to his debt later for that.

“Hey,” Nami calls out towards the waitress, waving at her to come by her table, “I’m sorry, uh…”

“Vivi,” the waitress fills in with a polite smile.

“Right, Vivi—I’m Nami,” Nami replies, finding herself nervous all of a sudden, because up close like this, holy fuck is the waitress so pretty, with long blue hair and silver-sharp eyes. Nami clears her throat. “Uh, I just want to say sorry about his—his whole deal with your Cook. Zoro—that’s his name—he’s usually really chill, so I don’t know what’s happening here.”

Vivi thankfully chuckles at that, seemingly finding the situation more hilarious than threatening. Good. There’s also something about that laughter that makes Nami feel like she’s fourteen again, full of butterflies and all too small for everything, but she tries not to think too hard about that yet.

“In your friend’s defense,” Vivi says, “Sanji is usually really good with memorizing orders, so he’s totally messing with your friend on purpose.”

As if on cue, the cook’s voice—Sanji’s—rings out from the kitchen. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, MOSSHEAD, I TOLD YOU THE KITCHEN’S OFF LIMITS FOR CUSTOMERS —”

Nami finds herself laughing with Vivi. “You know, it’s actually impressive that Zoro doesn’t get lost on his way to the kitchen anymore.”

Vivi raises her eyebrow. “Nami, the kitchen door is right there.”

“It’s Zoro,” Nami presses, because it’s always fun to see strangers learn about Zoro’s disastrous relationship with directions and maps for the first time. “One time, during our junior high sports festival, he got lost on the running track. For a hundred-meter race .”

That earns her another laugh from Vivi as she takes a seat beside Nami, body leaning forward in curiosity, “really? Is he short-sighted or something? Can’t he just—I don’t know, literally see the finish line?”

“Here’s the thing you need to know about Zoro,” Nami begins, and watching the way Vivi’s soft hair falls over the slope of her shoulder, bright blue and blinding despite the dim lighting of the diner, Nami somehow can’t find it in herself to be mad at Zoro anymore.

u/salveshine • 492 points 6 months ago

This seems like an obvious question, but I have to ask: have you considered going somewhere else for your dates? Most people don’t go to a diner for dates in the first place.

/u/throwawaypinwheel • 23 points 6 months ago

Well, as I said on the original post, it’s downright an obsession at this point. Asking him to go somewhere else doesn’t solve the problem since he’d just go there on his own on a different day.

Also, the waitress there is nice. She’s been keeping me company throughout this whole thing. She’s a godsend.

Vivi appears by her table as soon as Zoro disappears into the kitchen.

“Again?” Vivi asks by way of greeting.

“Again,” Nami agrees, scooting to the side of her bench to give Vivi space to sit. “It’s eggs benedict this time. Perfectly poached. I went to this fancy restaurant a few weeks ago, and they didn’t even make it this good.”

Somewhere from what presumably is the kitchen, Zoro’s frustrated voice echoes throughout the whole diner. “Now you’re not even serving me eggs anymore!”

“What are you—“ there is a moment of stunned silence before Sanji‘s reply comes, equally loud, dripped with utter disbelief. “Are you fucking serious? You thought this wasn’t made of—you’ve never seen scotch eggs before?”

“SHUT UP,” Zoro yells back.

Nami cranes her neck out of instinct, wishing to catch a glimpse of the scene from the window behind the counter—she’s never heard Zoro sounding so flustered before—but Vivi’s voice, small and low and far from the confident tone Nami has started to get used to, pulls her attention back.

“I’m sorry.”

It takes another moment before the words fully register in her brain. “Wh—for what?”

“I mean,” Vivi says, twiddling with her fingers as she mumbles, “this is supposed to be your date.”

“My date?” The question already falls out of her mouth before she realizes, oh. Oh. This is supposed to be a date, because her and Zoro are…well. Sometimes she doesn’t even remember that part—they’re certainly not acting the part, considering they’re hanging out with other people during these ‘dates’. Nami understands, rationally, that she should be mad about this; and yet— “It’s fine. I’m not that bothered.”

Vivi blinks. “You’re not?”

“Nah,” Nami says, waving her hand dismissively, feeling as surprised as Vivi looks. “Well, when it comes down to it, it’s still free food, you know? Could’ve been better—no offense, but a family diner isn’t exactly date material—but considering the menu and ingredients you guys have to work with? Sanji’s practically been making feasts fit for royalty here.”

“Well, I still think you deserve to be treated better during a date,” Vivi crosses her arms and—is that a pout on her face? “Don’t you feel a bit lonely?”

“No?” Nami replies, taken aback. That’s literally the furthest thing on her mind, because— “I have you, don’t I?”

Nami feels her face heat up as soon as the words left her mouth, because that sounded way more presumptuous than she intended. She meant to say, I have you to keep me company , like a friend , in a totally friend platonic way. Except they were talking about dates in a decidedly very romantic way and she should totally take it back—

Vivi beams at that, the kind that makes her look like she’s glowing inside her skin, and never mind, Nami’s not taking it back. Nope. She’s never taking it back even if someone’s paying her a million berries to take it back.

Vivi takes Nami’s hand from the table and holds it in both of her own, and Nami’s heart trips in her chest.

“Yeah,” Vivi says, the words sending a low hum under Nami’s ribcage. “Yeah, you have me.”

/u/mettlemental • 301 points 5 months ago

This is their ritual. Do not interfere.

/u/throwawaypinwheel • 279 points 5 months ago

You know what, I think you have a point. This thing between me and the waitress is also a ritual now, so we’re even.

“Shishishi!” Luffy laughs, eyes practically sparkling. “Sanji is so cool!”

“No he’s not!” Zoro pinches Luffy by the cheek to try to drag him away from Sanji. “I brought you here to defend me!”

“But Sanji’s the one making me delicious meat right now,” Luffy pouts, seemingly unperturbed by the potential disfigurement of his own face, gaze still rooted on Sanji—or, more specifically, the food Sanji is carrying on a tray. “What can you make, Zoro?”

Sanji lights up his cigarette, expression hidden behind his hands, but his whole body visibly puffs up like a peacock. Nami notices how the tips of his ears have turned red. “Finally, someone with taste.”

Zoro tries to grab the tray away from Sanji’s hand, and Nami watches Vivi masterfully maneuver between the messy cacophony of the trio, placing a tall stack of waffles in front of Chopper.

“This doesn’t make me happy at all!” Chopper says, his words nowhere near convincing, considering he’s saying it with the largest grin Nami has ever seen on a fourteen-year-old. “Did Sanji make this one, too?”

“He did,” Vivi says as she takes a seat beside Nami, as she always does. The table settles into a comfortable silence as Chopper digs into his waffles and Vivi absentmindedly plays with the salt shaker, observing the idiot trio from a distance.

“They sure get along fast,” Nami says as she takes out her cartography tools, and Vivi’s gaze sweeps between Luffy, Chopper, and the maps on the table.

“You’re not even trying to have a date anymore, aren’t you,” she points out.

“Nope,” Nami agrees, gesturing to Chopper with her pencil. “Chopper here wanted to try the waffle for a long time ever since I told him all about Sanji.”

“Please tell Sanji I love it!” Chopper adds around a mouthful of sugar.

“And Luffy’s been really curious about you two anyways.”

One table away, Luffy took the last bite of whatever meal Sanji just served, and dramatically announces, “this one’s better than the last one!”

“You always say that after every plate,” Sanji mumbles, but shoves another plate towards the kid anyways, clearly preening from the praises.

“It wasn’t even that good,” Zoro adds desperately, and scowls when Sanji chooses to watch Luffy eat another serving with the same gusto like he did the first one. “Oi—don’t ignore me, Shit Cook!”

It’s...fascinating. Nami never had a habit of watching Zoro—those activities are reserved for those fangirls in their university who barely know him—but she finds herself unable to look away whenever they’re at the Baratie. Whenever he’s with Sanji, to be precise. The chef seems to have brought out so many different sides of Zoro she’s never seen before in all the years she’s known him, and that’s saying a lot, considering she’s known Zoro for a decade.

Zoro has always been a steady presence in her and Luffy’s life ever since he moved into their neighborhood when she was shy of turning ten; he is strong-willed and loyal and eternally dependable, like a safe place they can always come back to. He can be a little hard to read, quiet and reserved as he is, but these days Nami knows where to look, the telltales hidden in the way he straightens his back and carries himself.

But with Sanji, Zoro is—he’s all those things still, sure. But he’s also— so much more. There’s suddenly this— kid, lively and boyish and so, so easy to read. Open book, heart on his sleeve. He grins and yells and throws his punches, and Sanji would take them in stride and return them as easily. This Zoro pouts when Sanji doesn’t pay him attention, and scowls when he does; and when Sanji makes him laugh, it’s a loud, open thing.

Sometimes it feels as if the Zoro she knew was an impostor all along. As if there was a pale imitation of Roronoa Zoro with a ghost of a smile, and he’d only come alive in the middle of a fucking diner.

And the worst part of it all is—

“You two?” Vivi suddenly mumbles, seemingly to herself.

Nami tilts her head. “Yeah?”

“You were saying something about Luffy being curious about… us two ,” Vivi says. There’s an odd, pensive look on her face. “Are you talking about Sanji and…”

“You, of course!” Nami cuts in, perplexed.

“You told your friends about me?” Vivi wonders, and it’s baffling. Of course Nami told her friends about Vivi. Sometimes Nami thinks Vivi is all she could talk about. She’s hilarious and smart and a thousand times more interesting to talk about than Sanji and Zoro combined.

That’s a really weird thing to suddenly spring on someone though, so Nami instead says, “Vivi, you’re the best thing about these weekly visits, because that sure as hell isn’t.”

She’s pointing at the dumbass trio; somewhere along the way, Luffy has seemed to fall asleep, and Sanji is smiling at the boy’s sleeping form, looking very pleased with himself. Zoro is fuming behind him, arms crossed and chest puffed, like a child being forced to share his favorite toy.

Vivi laughs at the sight, shaking her head. “Well, boys will be boys.”

The words bury itself uncomfortably in the pit of Nami’s stomach.

Boys will be boys—which is why sometimes (oftentimes, many times, always) Nami thinks she’s much more easily enamored with girls. Nami supposes there is a certain charm in Zoro’s brutish ways, but she’s beginning to learn that it may not be for her—Nami appreciates people who can hold their own in a fistfight, but there is also strength in reigning yourself in despite the circumstances, the way she’s seen Vivi handle difficult customers with a firm tone, graceful and dangerous at the same time.

(What could this mean, then? For her, for them—)

Zoro and Sanji have started fighting animatedly again. Roronoa Zoro, his heart on his sleeve.

And the worst part is that Nami doesn’t even care.

/u/sorcatarius • 334 points 4 months ago

I usually appreciate it when OP updates their posts with recent developments because I’m one of those people who get easily invested in a stranger’s life story, but is it just me or do all of these updates seem irrelevant? Most of them are about the waitress. I feel like I’m learning nothing about the actual date here. Who’s dating who again?

/u/NeonRain15• 137 points 4 months ago

OP is clearly a troll lol.

They are sitting at a corner table in front of the door to the kitchen, because Franky and Robin aren’t even pretending they’re here for the food instead of a show. Usopp told them he would rather ‘see where the danger is coming from ’, but Nami suspects the real reason is something closer to morbid curiosity.

Nami doesn’t fault them. It certainly is hard to look away from what those two clowns are currently doing: Zoro is waving a spatula and a frying pan like he would his kendo swords, clearly breaking several kitchen-related OSHA rules in the process; Sanji puts out his cigarette against the counter—seriously, has nobody here heard of proper kitchen etiquette—and swings his leg in a drop kick.

There’s a loud CLANK as his shoe comes into contact with the pan.

Franky whistles. “That’s super awesome, bro!” He cheers, before turning back to the table with a lower voice, “Seriously, how have they not fired Sanji-bro already?”

“Other than the fact that he’s overqualified as hell?” Usopp asks in between spoonfuls of Sanji’s fried rice.

“Well, they do provide a wonderful source of entertainment for us customers,” Robin observes.

“Sure thing,” Franky replies, “but they’re totally destroying kitchen appliances right now, I mean, look at that roller. There’s no way any normal wood could withstand that —there it goes.”

“Let them be—what’s the worst that could happen?” Robin muses. “Other than a kitchen accident that leads to a gas explosion and the restaurant burning down to the ground, obliterating all of us in the process, of course.”

“Robin,” Usopp squeaks.

Inside the kitchen, the tables have turned—Sanji has somehow regained possession of his kitchen appliances, and he’s now teaching Zoro how to cook. They’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder, heads bent over the stove, and Sanji would occasionally wrap his hand around Zoro’s wrist to instruct him.

Zoro looks like he’s going to spontaneously combust. His eyes are darting between Sanji’s hands (still lightly gripping Zoro’s wrist), Sanji’s face (dangerously close to Zoro’s own), and Sanji’s lips (there’s something there, something he wants to do and Nami knows if she thinks hard enough she can put a name on it) —anywhere but the food they’re actually cooking. Zoro’s own face is now redder than the tomatoes lining up the kitchen counter.

Heart on his sleeve, Nami thinks. Open book, open book.

“I’m going to get some refills,” she announces, suddenly feeling like she’s intruding on something private and practically leaps towards the soda station. She could feel a pair of curious eyes on her back—Robin’s, no doubt—but she’s more distracted by another presence currently standing beside her.

“Hey,” Vivi says, voice light, teasing. She’s carrying a lot of cups on her, presumably the others’, and she bumps her shoulder against Nami’s playfully. Nami could feel the touch fizzle against her skin.

“Hey,” Nami replies, trying to pretend that the close proximity doesn’t bother her at all. “‘Sup?”

Vivi wordlessly helps her with the drinks, and they easily fall into comfortable silence, filling cups after cups, until Vivi nudges her again. “You know, Usopp was right about Sanji being overqualified.”

Nami fills Franky’s cup slower, wondering where the conversation is going. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know, I have a secret,” Vivi says, tone playful, but when Nami looks up there’s something in her eyes. “Actually, I own this place.”

Nami stops filling the cup. “What?”

“I mean, it’s mostly on loan, and I’m not halfway done with the payments, but technically, yeah,” Vivi says, tucking her hair to the back of her ear in a nervous gesture. “I didn’t really want to tell anyone because it’s not like I wanted a special treatment from the patrons. And I am effectively a waitress here.”

Nami is suddenly reminded of all the instances when she called Baratie a no-name diner right to Vivi’s face, and feels her stomach sink. Holy shit, she called it a dumpster fire just last week.

Vivi must have noticed Nami’s mental breakdown, because she quickly waves her hand and laughs. “No, no, don’t worry about it—I know we’re still a work in progress. Especially ever since—”

Vivi trails off at that, suddenly looking unsure. She starts collecting all the cups, like she’s giving Nami a reason to back out of the conversation. “It’s kind of a boring life story, actually, I’m sorry for dumping that all to you out of the blue—”

“Vivi,” Nami says, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t usually do this; she knows, better than most, how heavy one’s past could be, and she hates it when people try to pry into hers. But Vivi is looking at her with sad eyes and unsteady hands, and suddenly Nami wants nothing other than to tell her, “I’ll drop this if you don’t want to talk about it, but remember this: I will always want to know more about you.”

She places her hand on Vivi's arm, for emphasis. “I will always want to support you.”

It takes a moment before her words sink in, and Nami could see the moment it does, Vivi’s eyes widening in surprise as her face breaks into a slow-starting smile. “Thank you, Nami,” she whispers, and it’s almost reverent.

Nami’s gaze falls onto Vivi’s lips, and suddenly it’s become very difficult to maintain a conversation.

She wonders how she’d look now, to an outsider. Flushed face and a stupid smile on her face, hands fidgeting with her own hair. Open book, open book . Could they hear, she wonders, the way her heart is hammering against her ribcage—would they find out—

Robin claps her hands together, snapping Nami out of her reverie. The whole group is already standing by the door, waiting for her, and god, how long have they been talking by the soda station again?

“Perhaps we can take the drinks another day. Time to go home, don’t you think?” Robin suggests. Her tone is light, but her gaze is heavy, and Nami has to resist the urge to curl into herself.

Zoro still stares at the kitchen, oblivious to the tension. “Yeah,” he says, almost in a daze. “ Shit — yeah.”

Shit, indeed.

/u/Lanzifer• 975 points 5 months ago

This is a love story.

/u/nashdezus • 307 points 3 months ago

I hate to break it to you but I think your boyfriend is in love with the cook. If this is fake you have written one of the greatest gay romances of this generation, if this isn’t fake I dunno what.

/u/ParkNight • 399 points 3 months ago

Your BF needs to cut to the chase and invite the cook over to your place for some eggs and rough sex.

/u/Cod3Man • 760 points 4 months ago

He has a crush on the cook & vice versa but they’re both living a lie so they fight because it’s the only way to release the sexual tension. Every different way of cooking an egg represents a different sex act.

/u/jakubada • 523 points 3 months ago

Girl, not to wish ill will on your relationship, but you should bang that waitress instead.

“Have you ever heard of Baroque Works?”

Nami pauses. She places her pencil away, knowing that Vivi deserves nothing less than her full attention.

It’s only been a couple of days since the conversation she had with Vivi, but Nami can’t get her mind off of it. She’s been coming to Baratie every single day now after college, and it’s just so convenient that Zoro suddenly refuses to go. It’s simply harder to have Vivi open up when someone else is around, and not because there are other reasons. Like wanting Vivi all to herself. No sire.

She shakes herself out of the dangerous train of thoughts. “Baroque Works? Isn’t that the new restaurant chain down the block? It’s the one that’s taken over that other chain, right? Uh, what was it called—”

“Alabasta,” Vivi supplies, before sighing. “That’s the chain my family used to own.”

Nami blinks. “Wait, you used to own Alabasta?”

Running a diner on her own at her age is already an impressive feat in and of itself, but Alabasta is a whole different beast. It’s a nation-wide chain with dozens of restaurants, and owning the chain is probably equivalent to owning a small empire.

“Oh, no, I mean, my family did,” Vivi quickly adds, ever humble. “It’s not exactly anything impressive. My grandfather ran the business before my father did, and his father was the one who started it—it was passed down the generations, and I was simply born into it.

“As you said, Alabasta went down a few years ago because my father struck a bad deal with a ruthless businessman. It is clear now, in hindsight, that Crocodile was tricking us, but we were naive and perhaps a little too eager to expand. Baroque Works took over, and we were left with the only branch they deemed the least profitable—here.”

“And you renamed it to Baratie?”

“That was Sanji’s idea,” she says, a small smile playing on her lips; it is clearly a much fonder memory than what that businessman—Crocodile—did to her and her family. “At the time, Sanji just moved to Grand Line. His father had a restaurant back in East Blue with the same name, and he told me he would help me build everything back from the ground up. We would borrow the name, acting like we’re a branch of Baratie, and I can rename it back to Alabasta once I can settle all the legalities with Baroque Works.”

Everything slowly falls into place now—the way Sanji is clearly trained to cook dishes much more sophisticated than waffles and scrambled eggs, the freedom he gets to be able to mess around with Zoro, and his close camaraderie with Vivi.

Nami feels a pang of—god, jealousy, if she dares to put a name on it—towards Sanji; for being able to stand by Vivi’s side when she needed it the most. It’s silly, because Sanji has always been kind to her, and it’s not like it was Sanji’s fault that Nami didn’t know Vivi until recently, but the feeling gripped her like a vice anyway, heavy and suffocating.

Vivi seems to have taken her silence wrongly, though, because she looks away, almost shamefully. “You must think this is all stupid.”

“Of course not,” Nami immediately retorts without missing a beat. She thinks of Bellemere, holding her head high despite the judgments from the neighbors. She was alone and penniless, countless doors slammed close in her face just because she was a single mother; but none of that stopped Bellemere from sending Nojiko and Nami to the best school in the neighborhood

So Nami tells Vivi what she has always wanted to tell Bellemere, and what she knows to be true of Vivi, of any women in her life who has never backed down from adversity— “You’re amazing.”

Vivi blinks, cheeks coloring at the words. It takes her a moment before she can reply with a shaky, “Yeah?”

“Yeah? Vivi, you’re—” Nami turns her body to face Vivi fully, grabbing her by the arms, “—you’re the strongest, most hard-working person I’ve ever known. Most people in your shes would’ve turned tails and run.”

Vivi flushes further. It’s the first time Nami has seen her flustered, really cute, actually. And the fact that Nami is the one who put that expression on her face —

“Are we intruding on something?”

Nami almost jumps from her seat, suddenly feeling like she’s five again, getting caught with her hand halfway into the cookie jar. Vivi is scrambling to her feet from her side, cleaning imaginary dust from her uniform as she stammers, “no, of course not! I’m sorry, sir—sirs , can I take your order?”

Nami looks up to see Jinbe laugh and wave at her, signaling her to calm down. Brook is standing right behind him, giving Nami a small wave. “What do you serve?”

Nami tries to return to her map as Vivi starts rattling off the menu, but Brook—wise, old Brook, with his soft voice and observing eyes, goes, “No Zoro this time around, hm?”

Her pen stills. There’s nothing accusatory in Brook’s voice—he would never, none of their friends would never. But she waits for Vivi to be off with their orders still before replying, arms crossed across her chest almost defensively. “What is it to you, old man?”

She realizes a little too late that it’s an awfully rude response, but Jinbe simply laughs. “Old men, aren’t we, Brook?”

“Certainly older than most,” Brook agrees, eyes shining in mirth, not offended the least. “Hopefully wiser, too.”

“Well, sometimes,” Jinbe says, turning to Nami, “old men like us have the fortune—or the misfortune, some may say—to have loved and lost.”

Nami isn’t quite sure where the conversation is going, but there’s grief carried by Jinbe’s voice, and what comes out is, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all long past, miss,” Jinbe dismisses, not unkindly. “More importantly, what I’m trying to ay is, you and Zoro might have been looking at the wrong places. Love, that is. But there is time to rectify this—isn’t that what you young people have? Time”

Nami sits still, stupefied.

She has the suspicion that Robin knows, but Robin has always had her ways. For Jinbe to notice? Jinbe, who would rather talk about his fishing trips than to gossip? How obvious has she been?

(Open book, the thought resurfaces, unbidden. Heart on her sleeve—)

“Though, Nami?” Brook suddenly says, snapping Nami out of her own reverie.

She suddenly realizes that it’s just the two of them on the table, Jinbe already wandering around after imparting her with some advices. She clears her throat, trying to get her bearings. “Yeah?”

“I have to disagree with our dear Jinbe, I must say. We have loved and lost, but,” he takes her hand and guides it to rest on her heart.

“To love,” Brook says, voice steady, sure as a day. “Is never a misfortune.”

r/AmITheAsshole

Realizing I am a lesbian while dating a guy. AITA? submitted 2 months ago by u/throwawaypinwheel

257 comments share save give award report

Realizing I am a lesbian while dating a guy. AITA?

submitted 2 months ago by /u/throwawaypinwheel

I’m a girl who has gone through a couple of dates with a dude, but I’m falling in love with another girl. Like, I’m having a gay crisis right now. I’m not actually cheating since we haven’t decided to be exclusive yet, but he’s also a childhood friend, so it makes me wonder if this is a dick move?

To make matters more complicated: my date? Friend? Sort of boyfriend? He seems to have fallen in love with someone else too, and it’s another guy, so he might be gay, too.

Yes, I know bisexuality exists. Can’t exactly speak about him but I think I’m not that, so it’s not like I can suck it up and date him instead. AITA?

[deleted] • 725 points 2 months ago

Aren’t you the OP of that one viral post from r/relationship_advice about the Baratie cook?

/u/throwawaypinwheel • 2324 points 2 months ago

Yes, and that’s relevant, how?

/u/alohci • -20 points 2 months ago

LOL you’re clearly a troll. This isn’t r/CreativeWriting, go write your romance novel somewhere else. I’m reporting you to the mods.

/u/cheesus32 • 1739 points 2 months ago

This is better than most shit on Netflix right now

/u/veloace • 1641 points 2 months ago

Communication is key, OP. Sexualities aside—which is a topic for another day—isn’t this essentially a case of the two of you wanting different things from the relationship?

Nami takes a deep breath and checks her phone for the time.

She sees the 1:00 displayed on the screen. Her appointment with Zoro is supposed to be on twelve thirty, which means she’ll have another 30 minutes as Zoro gets lost on the way to Baratie as usual. One hour was his record.

She takes another deep breath and sighs.

This is it. She’s going to tell Zoro the truth.

It’s rare for her, to be so nervous around Zoro, but in her defense, it’s not like there’s an easy way to say, “hey, sorry, this may come out of nowhere but I’m breaking things off between us. Apparently I’m a lesbian and I’m also in love with the waitress at the place where we’re supposed to be going on dates in. It’s not you, it’s me.”

...Nami really needs to work on her delivery.

Her heart stutters in her chest as the automatic door slides open and Zoro walks in with the grim determination of a soldier going into battle. Perhaps Zoro is more perceptive than she’s giving him credit for. She hopes so—it surely will make this whole sort of-break up easier for the both of them.

She has run her line over and over again in her head, but nothing has prepared her to see Zoro sit down across the table, bow down, and says, “I’m sory, but I don’t think this is working out for us.”

She blinks. Wait. Wait—“ You're breaking up with me?”

“Luffy thinks we’re having a fight because we’ve been acting weird around each other ever since we tried out this whole dating thing, and hell, Nami, he’s right—I’ve seen you less now,” Zoro plows on, oblivious to her shock. “And don’t get me wrong, you’re my best friend, and you’re still my best friend, and I want us back. The us that’s, you know, normal. Alsoimightbeinlovewiththecook .”

Oh.

That’s—oh.

Nami is pretty sure her mouth is hanging open stupidly now, but she can’t bring herself to care. “Holy shit,” she breathes, perplexed. “Reddit was right.”

Zoro finally looks up at that. “What’s red—” he seems to take in her expression for the first time since the conversation started, eyebrows furrowing. ‘Wait. You’re not mad?”

“Mad? No, Zoro, god—how could I be when you’re right?” She feels her body slumping into the chair, the weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying has suddenly been lifted. “We are terrible for each other. I have no idea what got us to agree to this.”

Zoro visibly relaxes. There’s amusement in his tone as he suggests, “the copious amount of alcohol?”

Right. They were in the middle of a drinking competition when the idea of a date came up. “You know what, in hindsight, it’s kind of crazy that we got this far with such a stupid idea.”

“I think I was running away,” Zoro admits, eyes unwittingly darting towards the kitchen. “I couldn’t—I had this thing, for the Cook, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. So I tried to make you an excuse for my cowardice.” He bows again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, dummy, don’t—” she kicks him on the shin, forcing him to stop bowing. “Stop being all bushido on me. I wasn’t any better. I’m—in love with Vivi.”

It’s Zoro’s turn to look at her in surprise. “What, really?”

It’s comforting, in a way, that at least she isn’t so obvious that Zoro would notice. “Yeah. You’re probably too preoccupied with your pretty blond to notice, but I’ve been pretty smitten myself. And I guess I have you and your little crush to thank for dragging me here in the first place.”

Zoro blushes at that, and it’s cute—not in a way that makes her want to kiss him, but definitely in a way that makes her want to tease him until the end days. God, how did it take her so long to realize she never loved him that way?

“‘Dragging” you, huh?” Zoro seems to decide to hone in on that, probably because he could burn himself alive from embarrassment if he keeps talking about Sanji. “This place is that bad for a date?”

Nami throws her head back and laughs. “You’re the worst date ever, Zoro,” she says, in between peals of laughter. “But you’re the best wingman I’ve ever had.”

“Going on a date again this time?” Vivi asks.

Nami looks at her—really takes her in, her smooth long hair and bright smile and long eyelashes. Holy shit, she’s staring at her eyelashes. She is so fucking gay.

She clears her throat. Focus, Nami. “No, actually, uh, can we talk? Like, super serious.”

Vivi immediately straightens up at that. “Of course. Give me a moment."

She rushes towards the kitchen, probably to tell Sanji that she’ll be occupied for a moment; something pulls inside Nami’s chest at the sight, knowing that Vivi would drop everything to be by Nami’s side.

When Vivi reemerges from the kitchen, she’s no longer carrying the tray and the menu. She takes a seat beside Nami and takes her hand. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, kind of, uh,” here goes nothing. “Zoro and I broke up.”

Vivi’s free hand shot up to cover her mouth in surprise. “Oh my god, Nami, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be,” she rushes to clarify, before Vivi gets the wrong idea, “I did say we broke up, but that isn’t exactly right—I mean, we were never exclusive, Vivi. And I don’t think we were ever dating for real. Like, we’re gay.”

There’s a beat. “What?”

Okay, so Nami could have broken the news much more smoothly than that.

“Zoro and I, uh—I’m gay. And Zoro never exactly put a label, but I’m pretty sure he never even dreamed of banging a chick, and—” she squeezes Vivi’s hand. She isn’t sure she’s doing it for Vivi or herself. “I know this is a lot, but I just—I think we were just very comfortable with each other, and since we are man and woman, we somehow thought we should date. Which is dumb, looking back at it, but we’d never fallen in love before.”

She thinks of Vivi—beautiful, fierce, kind Vivi, who carries the world on her shoulders. Vivi, whose smile lights up the whole room. “We didn’t know how different it was going to be, when it’s the real thing.”

Somewhere behind them, she can hear something heavy hit the floor in the kitchen, which means Zoro must have confessed right about now and Sanji must have dropped something from the shock.

Well, at least Vivi hasn’t dropped anything yet.

“What I’m trying to say is,” she continues, finding newfound courage from the way Vivi looks at her—is that hope in her eyes? “Vivi, you’re the most wonderful, amazing person I’ve ever met, and you’re beautiful and pretty but I like you more than just that.” She takes Vivi’s hand in both of hers now. “Would you go out with me?”

There’s a moment as her words seem to sink in, and Nami feels her blood run cold—what if she read this whole thing wrongly? What if Vivi was straight? What if she was just trying to help out a friend, being the nice person she is?

But then Vivi’s face splits into a smile, soft and golden-warm, the white light of the overhead fluorescence illuminating her almost ethereal-like. “Yes, Nami,” she says, lacing their fingers together, “I would love to go out with you. But only on one condition.”

“Anything,” Nami says without thinking, because it’s true.

Vivi grins, and there’s a teasing edge on her voice as she says, “If you’re asking me on a date in a diner, count me out.”

“Oh my god,” Nami says, finally, finally pulling Vivi in for a kiss, “never again.”

UPDATE: My (20F) Date (21M) has left me for a Baratie cook (21M)

submitted 3 days ago by /u/throwawaypinwheel

It’s fine though, I have a girlfriend (18F, beautiful, amazing, doesn’t get into fights with random cooks) now. Yes, it’s the waitress. Yes, you guys have told me so. I’d love to take the L, but I’m the one with a hot girlfriend here, so am I really losing in this scenario?

#namivivi #zosan #nami #roronoa zoro #sanji #nefertari vivi #one piece #my writing #//#vivi #zoro #op

185 notes · View notes

letarasstuff · 3 years

Text

Making the Voice quieter

(A/N): This was requested by an anon. I hope you like it!

Summary: Spencer finds out about his daughter's eating disorder, he will he react?

Warnings: Angst, discription of an eating disorder (bulemia to be more specific), discription of (binge) eating, bad body image, self hatred, abuse of pills (diet pills)

Wordcount: 2.2k

✨Masterlist✨

______________________________

Prison. Cat. Diana. All those things happened close to each other. Luckily a few months have passed since then and slowly everything settles down. Spencer is able to get his feelings sorted through, processing the events.

Ever since his imprisonment he follows a more or less strict routine, given the uncertainty coming with his job. Spencer still tries to keep it up. So is every Friday dedicated to buying the majority of groceries and needed non food articles.

Sometimes (Y/N) tags along, other days she already has plans with her friends. Her father doesn’t mind it much, he is happy to see her socializing with people her age. The two of them have one father-daughter-night in the week anyways.

“Sweetheart, I’m heading out! Did you put everything you need on the list?” He shouts into the apartment. A faint “Yes! Love you!” echoes back to him. A smile forms on the doctor’s face. Oh how he longed to hear those words from her every night while he laid in his bed, locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. “Alright, love you, too!”

Meanwhile her father has to deal with Karens being their ignorant selfs, (Y/N) is under the biggest stress she has ever been. The end of her sophomore year and suddenly every teacher thinks it’s alright to give the students a load of work in every single class.

It’s beginning to get to her head. Four essays, three projects and studying for two tests and everything is due next week. She can see herself sitting at that very desk for the whole weekend, trying to contain control of her current situation.

As (Y/N) begins to read the page in front of her again to pull any information from it, it feels like her brain shuts down. Only one thought possesses her. One thing that can assure her, make her happy again.

Her body moves automatically, into the kitchen to the fridge. Her hands grab what they can. Puddings, yogurts, bananas, apples, last night’s dinner, everything that she can carry. Then the teenager sits down at the floor and devours everything she just got out. (Y/N) doesn’t stop until she gets to this intense feeling of being full.

It seems like she snaps out of a trance. Upon seeing what she ate in the shortest time, the girl feels even worse. Quickly she tries to destroy any kind of evidence, getting the trash out, making the fridge appear more full than it is, anything.

In her panicked state she remembers the small container of pills in her room. Relief washes over (Y/N), thinking everything will be better. She takes two of them for good measurement.

With the relief also guilt takes over. What just happened wasn’t normal. But (Y/N) tells herself that she can stop any time she wants. It’s not like she is sick or something, everything is fine. It’s just her way to copy stress. A way she discovered while her father was in prison. The diet pills help her to undo her mistakes. Someone from her friend group, who is already 18, got her them from the doctor for a fair price.

Feeling calmer now, the teenager sits back at her desk. A new perception of control helps her to continue her school work. She has to get done as much as possible, because in not even half an hour (Y/N)’s best friend will be the toilet.

Spencer is completely obvious to it. Sure, he is a profiler and he noticed his daughter’s new view on eating healthy food and working out. He just assumes that (Y/N) and her friends are on a healthy trip and he doesn’t see a problem in this. On the contrary, he is happy that she wants to be good to herself and her body.

But as the weeks go on, a suspicious feeling captures him. “(Y/N)? Why is the fridge nearly empty? We got groceries last Friday and it’s only Tuesday. Did you have a party over here while I was away on the case?” Spencer enters his daughter’s room, trying to joke about it.

(Y/N) freezes. Of course she isn’t able to say that the food went bad and she threw them away, her father is meticulous regarding this subject, always checking the best before day date. “Uhm, please don’t be mad. But Alex, you know her, the short one with red hair, uhm her parents are on a business trip and she is not the best cook. So I brought her lunch and dinner over. I’m sorry for not telling you.” She looks down at the floor, not only to feign sadness but also to avoid his eyes.

The second the teenager talks Spencer knows there is something fishy. Her voice is higher and she fidget with her hands. But he writes it off as being nervous for not telling him. Ever since he is out of prison, it feels like his daughter is withholding something.

“It’s fine, Sweetheart. Just give me a heads-up beforehand, so I know to buy more groceries. What do you think about ordering something tonight? I heard from Luke that a small Chinese restaurant opened a few streets down. We can celebrate the end of the stressful phase in Sophomore year.”

It seems like (Y/N) is calculating something in her head. Spencer knows exactly what she thinks about. “You can forget about your calorie intake for one night. I see how much time you invest in living healthy, but we can let loose for a night together. Just some noodles with chicken or spring rolls and us trying to use chopsticks and giving up after two minutes and resorting to forks. How does that sound?”

The teenager would love to sigh, but it would only alarm her father further. “Yeah, you are right. Let us let loose. But only if I can choose the movie we watch after dinner!” (Y/N) feels bad for eating unhealthy food again. Her last binge was only yesterday and usually she tries to consume lighter things. But she has to bite into the sour apple, else her father will be more suspicious. After all, she can just stop. (Y/N) promises herself to not think about her weight, her shape or the calories she will eat.

Well yeah, no. Just after the first noodle hits her tongue, intrusive thoughts take a seat in her mind, getting settled.

‘You already look like a potato.’

‘Are you sure this is the right thing to eat?’

‘Can you really stop?’

‘Dad is going to hate you when he finds out.’

All of them and more enter her head. (Y/N) is unable to shake them off. She is fine. She doesn’t have a problem. She just doesn’t feel like eating now, that’s fine, right?

“Uhm Dad. I’m full and really tired from the day. Is it ok if I go to bed? Maybe we can rain check on that movie?” The girl asks, feeling even worse for ditching her father. Usually it’s the other way around.

“Are you feeling ok? You look a little pale. Are you sick?” Spencer fires his question canone being the borderline helicopter father he always is. “Yes, just really exhausted from all the assignment and school work. A good night's rest and I will be good as new.” (Y/N) attempts a small smile, but fails miserably at it.

“Ok, sleep tight baby. I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge for you tomorrow.” Quickly she goes into her room. The thoughts in her head scream louder and louder with each step she takes. Can she really stop? Maybe she should come clean to her father.

‘And risking him hating you? Look at you, thinking you are sane is the only thing keeping him from abandoning you. How would you explain him keeping you otherwise? It’s definitely not for your looks.’

Later that night, (Y/N) hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep because of the voices, she makes her way back to the kitchen. In an attempt to distract herself, the teenager scrolled through her social media sites. There she was met by pictures of perfect people.

Perfect bodies. Perfect lives. Perfect smiles. Perfect family. Perfect friends. Everything about them is perfect.

And then there is her. Her body is unperfect. Her life is a mess. Her smile is not that of a model. Her family is just her, her father and the people he works with. Her friends aren’t always the best associates.

The stress of not feeling enough is getting to (Y/N)’s head. Like several times before that her body goes into auto. She doesn’t control her movements, though she tells herself all of this is willently.

Like so many times before the girl goes through the fridge and eats everything up she can get her fingers on. But this time one thing is different. Her father is at home. And he isn’t a heavy sleeper.

The movement in the kitchen wakes him up. Immediately his brain jumps to a burglar or even worse, an UnSub they once arrested coming after him. Quickly he gets his revolver and sneaks through the hallway to the source of the noises. As Spencer only sees his daughter sitting there, he instantly relaxes.

“Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing up? It’s a school night”, he softly asks in order to not scare her. Still, (Y/N) gets startled at the sudden voice.

“Uhm, nothing much. Just hungry. Probably because I didn’t eat dinner”, she explains, looking at her father like he caught her with her hand stuck in the cookie jar. Spencer watches her closely. “This is it? Because from what it looks like you not only ate your dinner but also tomorrow’s breakfast and right now lunch.”

(Y/N) swallows her bite, feeling that sinking reality in her stomach. The pills. She needs the pills fast before her body begins to digest the food. “Uhm, yeah. I probably should go to bed. I need my sleep. Just let me tidy up. Good night, Dad.” But he is quick to stop her.

“(Y/N), I want you to sit down. There is something we have to talk about.” Hesitantly (Y/N) takes a seat. “What is it Dad? Are you reprimanding me for eating? I thought you wanted me to let loose for a night.”

Spencer sits, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Baby, I want you to be alright. But I think you are not.” His eyes get a sad look. “I’m alright. I am fine, Dad. What do you think is wrong with me?”

“Look, (Y/N), I don’t need to be a profiler to see that you are struggling with something. Do you want to tell me about it?” Her answer is a tight lipped smile and a “I’m fine. There is nothing to talk about.”

The father sighs. She is not leaving him much of a choice. “And what about them?” Spencer asks after getting something from the highest shelf in the kitchen, the one (Y/N) barely reaches by stepping on a stool. He sets a little container down on the table.

“Dad I-” “No (Y/N). You don’t need to explain anything. It’s my turn to talk. I found those in your room yesterday while I was looking for a book. At first I thought nothing of it, I mean you are trying to live healthy, so I thought this is part of the process. But then I saw that they have to be prescribed and I know that these aren’t yours.

“I wanted to talk about it with you anyway. But now I know that I caught you binge eating and I see all the signs. I see them and I’m sorry for not acting sooner. (Y/N), you need help and I’m here for you. I know the last few months were especially hard on you. I can’t change what was and what happened, but I will be here for you now." Tears stream down on boths their faces.

(Y/N) is stammering for words. “I-I am fine. I can stop anytime I want. Th-this was a conscious d-decision.” Her father envelops her in a hug, cradling her head to his chest. She begins to sob.

“I know, Sweetheart. It’s hard and it won’t get easier from here on, but I’m here. You know you can’t stop, it’s only an illusion your eating disorder wants you to believe. But we get through it together. You, I and the team if you want to. We take it at your pace.” By now the two are crying loudly.

“I want it to stop, Dad. Please make the voice go away.”

He can’t make it go away. No one can. But Spencer helps to quiet it. Together they tackle the disorder, through the good and the bad times. He takes off from work for a time and (Y/N) out of school for a few weeks to be able to work on it together, to make the voice quieter and her life better.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x teen!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #tw: eating disorder

394 notes · View notes

literaila · 3 years

Text

an epiphany we cannot

spencer x reader

request: hey there! would you by chance, be up to writing something where the reader is finishing grad school and working as a new agent for the bau? and spencer has to go check in on her because she hasn't been showing up to work/class because of depression, and he helps to clean her hair and tidy up the house with her before asking her what's up? sorry if that's a little weird, but i just want a fic where the reader isn't suddenly fixed. i feel like you're the perfect person to do that! 😅

warnings: symptoms of depression, lack of eating + sleeping + showering, maybe angst? its just terrible poetry really

a/n: the writing of this fic is intentionally chaotic. its meant to be put into the perspective of someone who hadnt slept in week(s). so, if it gets confusing, that was on purpose.

Sleep was an epiphany.

A strange thing that only came when it was pitch black outside, when the birds had all gone to bed and there were no clouds to be seen in the sky. A strange thing that only came from the deepest feelings in her chest that could not be described. Feeling that she didn’t dare try to mutter aloud.

How could she? Entirely alone- what would be the point? Why might she try to explain anything when she could simply...

Breathe in and out. Take in air, she liked to think that she really didn’t need, breathe in and out, and hope that her feeling would soon disintegrate into her body so that she could- for once -feel that strange sleep. So that for once, she could merely forget that she had that feeling at all.

It had been a hard week, a hard year, one too many too many hard seconds pounding down on her body, the time tick-tocking until she was too tired to breathe.

She couldn’t sleep. Really, not at all. Not even when she laid in bed for hours, cursing only in her head at the terrible sounds that filled her small apartment. Wondering how the world was acting when she was away. She never slept. Not after hours of thinking, of breathing in the same rhythm, her heart beating just the same as it had hours ago-

She hated it.

But, she promised herself, she would not leave this bed, would not leave her house until she could sleep. Until this dreadful feeling was gone so far away that she could no longer think of what it had been. Until her eyes were shut, her body was relaxed, and she no longer had to work to breathe. No more work.

Her thoughts were jumbled, her mind running on the air she was breathing and nothing else, her conscious mind having no sense of what was going on.

She was sure there was a smaller part of her screaming somewhere. Sure that this tiny little part of her was banging on the walls of her heart, pushing the ideas, the air, out of her body. She was sure that this part of her was in agony- or something far worse -because of the promise she had made to herself.

But she wouldn’t think of it, sleep was far too important.

An epiphany she could not have. One she thought she might dream of if she could.

She often wondered if other people were struggling just the same as her, if other people were far too surrounded by the whirl of thoughts, by the promises, by the exhaustion, to even think of sleep. If they too, also felt that sleep was an epiphany that would never come.

She supposed that there wasn’t anyone else, and if there was, she wished their eyes would finally flutter into a peacefulness that they longed for.

She wished it was herself she was thinking of.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything good, the last time she had done anything to improve the state of her mind- hysterical, mad, running itself into a place where air was not a thing that could be achieved -to improve the state of her house, which of course was filled to the very edge with things she didn’t recognize. Things that she’d used weeks ago when she could think sane thoughts.

She wasn’t doing anything, she wasn’t sleeping, was barely breathing, she tried not to move. She sat in her silence, in the hot air of her room. She wondered when she would fall so far into this bed so that she would no longer be there, when she could finally sink into the hole that seemed was her life, when she could disappear so she didn’t have to wonder about anything at all.

No one could tell when it had started, when she had laid down and promised herself. If you had asked her, she wouldn’t have answered, she would have laid in the same spot, her body a corpse that was somehow still breathing, and kept quiet until it was too late for questions.

It had been weeks, surely it had, and no one had seen her. No one knew where she was.

No one had seen her in this state, this terribly fragile, desperate state.

She thought that she might like to keep it that way. She didn’t like to listen to that tiny voice that wanted her to let someone in, to let them help. She didn’t like that tiny voice.

It kept getting in the way of the vows she had made to herself. Foolish, unknowing of what she truly needed.

Sleep.

But, even still, sleep didn’t come. Even when she announced it was the only thing she needed, the only thing she wanted. Even when she thought she was screaming out into the world, begging the universe to take some mercy on her and give her that gentle release. Even when she thought that she didn’t have a voice to beg with anymore.

Sleep had not yet come. And she could no longer count the days that had gone by.

She didn’t want to anyway.

Pounding though. There was definitely pounding.

She could definitely hear that.

Different from the one that she heard in her head, different from the banging she was familiar with. No, that banging was a dear old friend she wished to greet at her door.

This pounding in the air was something else, something on her walls.

She barely felt herself groan, could barely tell when she ran a hand over her eyes, trying to weigh them down with sheer force.

“Y/N?” the pounding called, too loud when she was trying to fall asleep. Too loud when she was sure that it was the middle of the night. A voice accompanied it, following too far into the hallway to her bedroom.

She was trying to sleep, she wanted the epiphany. Pounding could wait, it would. It would just have to wait for her. Wait until she could sleep.

But, when her body was tingling so far off the bed, and suddenly irritation was crawling its way up her spine, wrapping her in its fury, suddenly she could get out of bed. For once. For what felt like the first time in weeks.

A strange epiphany she did not think about.

Still, she barely recognized how to walk, barely knew that her feet were still attached to her legs anymore, but still, fury followed her as she stormed her way down the hall, as she latched herself onto the wall for support.

As she stopped the sudden pounding that was burning that fire in her throat.

And while she was aware there was a voice. A raspy tenor tone coming from the other side of the door. It was one she might have known weeks ago before her promise, but because she didn't recognize it she was surprised when she saw the man standing in her doorway.

But, strangely enough, he looked more surprised to see her.

His eyes were wide, shock displaying on all of his features. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting to see the devil of a person that Y/N was. He’d been expecting the girl she’d been before, brighter, alive.

Spencer stood there for only a moment, taking in the breath of air that was Y/N. It had been three weeks since any of them had seen her since she’d stopped returning their phone calls. Finally, that morning Spencer decided he had to stop over at her apartment before going home, and it wasn't like anyone had tried to stop him.

There was clearly something very wrong.

Y/N winced at the light creeping its way into her eyes, winced at the sky, and tried not to think about how tired she was.

She sighed and looked up at Spencer, who was still standing shocked on her doorstep.

“What’re you doing here Spencer?” Her voice was an unfamiliar scratch to the both of them. A fraction of the voice she used to have.

Spencer snapped out of his shock, bending down so he could get a more clear look at her face. It took him one more moment before he got the courage to clear his throat and say something.

“Where have you been? Why haven't you answered the phone?”

When there was a lack of answer in the air, Spencer invited himself into her apartment. He knew well enough she wasn't going to do it herself.

He pushed past her into her living room, too focused on what he saw to notice how she struggled to stay up on her feet, how her eyes couldn't focus and her world turned black for a couple of seconds before she could look at him again.

No, Spencer didn't notice that. He was too stuck on the appearance of her apartment.

There were cups everywhere, papers and textbooks scattered around the floor, clothes on almost every piece of furniture. It was clearly very well lived in, but Spencer couldn't see anyone. All he saw were some ghosts sitting in his coworker's house.

“What happened?” He asked too quietly for Y/N to hear from the other side of the room.

Her mind was locked in her bedroom, in the hole that was supposed to be enveloping her at the moment. Her mind was focused on the screaming in her head, telling her

No, you can't. You cannot have that you cannot. Her mind was a repeat of all the things she wasn't doing, all the things she wouldn't do, the promises she’d made, the words that she’d been telling herself for days.

No, you cannot go back to bed. You’ve been sleeping long enough.

And so, she couldn't hear Spencer. Not over this demand. Not over this insisting she was inflicting upon herself.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked, now in front of her, looking at her with concerned eyes that she didn't want. “When was the last time you slept?” He questioned, grabbing her arm to keep her from falling.

Huh. She hadn’t even noticed.

Her mind was a glass of water, tipping off the edge.

“I don't remember,” she murmured, her thoughts too overwhelming to count the days back. To think of the weeks she had lost. To think about how much she might have missed Spencer, how she could be enjoying his company right now.

Too overwhelming to think.

“Your complexion is sallow, you’re blinking at an unusually slow rate, and you can't stand up straight.” Spencer paused, looking over as if he had just heard her. “You can't remember?” his voice was almost too loud. Much too loud when she was right next to him.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, her head still pounding even though she had left him in, her mind still yelling even though she had kept her promise. Her body was tired, her mind was almost gone, and it was hard to even stay focused on Spencer.

“When was the last time you ate Y/N?” Spencer asked, his voice now demanding and worried.

She just shook her head, letting him know that she still didn't remember.

“Shower?” he asked slowly, keeping his eyes on hers.

She didn't express a thing, just made an effort to keep her eyes on his. So that he would know she wasn't ignoring him.

Spencer sighed, keeping his hand on her arm and gently leading her to the couch.

Y/N tried to not think about how she would’ve liked to take a nap. Would’ve liked to get some escape from this moment. Even if it was Spencer.

You see, there had been a flicker between them weeks ago. Before the promise. Before Y/N couldn't sleep, couldn't breathe. When she used to answer the phone, they used to spend time thinking about each other, denying the daydreaming they did. Spencer used to stare at her over the book he was holding, his eyes trapped by her. Y/N tried to pretend she didn't do the same.

There had been a flick between the two of them weeks ago, and even now, Y/N wanted to show him that he cared.

Even when she could barely keep her own heart beating.

Spencer stared at her for a while, making sure that she was still breathing even if he looked away. He observed her dull eyes, her lifeless body, and the weak composure of her face.

He couldn't deny that he missed her, that he’d been worried before he’d even seen her. But looking at her, he wished he didn't have to see this. Wished that she wasn't a pile of flesh before him, wished that they could go back to weeks ago when she had smiled at him.

He finally went into her kitchen to get her a glass of water.

He wasn't sure if she would be able to keep anything else down, and frankly, he was more worried about her lack of sleep. Of how exhausted she looked.

“Do you want to take a shower? Hot showers help relax the muscles and nerves so that your entire body feels more relaxed. It might help you sleep.”

At the mention of sleep Y/N’s eyes went wide.

Her mind was begging begging begging, telling her not to do it. That she couldn't, wasn't allowed to. She didn't know why she was trying to torture herself, why she was inflicting this stone-cold pain on her own mind, erasing herself from everything.

She didn't know why she couldn't get these thoughts under control even when she was with someone else.

Not allowed. Can't.

Sleep was an epiphany.

A feeling she didn't want to feel anymore. Wanted to get rid of, throw it into the sun. Burn it to ash until she forgot about it completely.

She finally nodded, words frozen in her throat, her eyes falling so quickly now. Sleep was an epiphany she had not had for so long.

She would have to force herself to stay up any longer.

She would just have to ignore the voice, let him help you. Spencer.

Spencer helped her into the shower, making sure that she was secure before leaving. He smiled a sweet smile before walking out of the room, giving her something to imagine as hot water pounded against her skin, a feeling that had become so unfamiliar to her in the weeks following her promise.

Spencer waited a couple of minutes after. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but he also didn't want her banging her head on the tile while he was gone.

After he was sure she was staying awake, he preoccupied himself with cleaning up her apartment. Even slightly, by throwing away the trash and gathering all of her clothes into the hamper he had found in her closet.

He could see the pain and the desperation on her face, could feel it in the air when she was just looking at him and not uttering a word. He had to help, in any way he could, just so that she wouldn't feel that any longer. So maybe she would smile before he left.

He was interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket.

JJ was texting him, checking on Y/N, and asking him what was going on. He’d almost forgotten that he’d told everyone else he was going to see her.

Spencer waited a few brief moments, listening for the sound of the shower before he called her back. He wasn't sure if Y/N would want to know that they were all worried about her.

Spencer wasn't even sure Y/N wanted him there at all.

“Spence, is she okay?” forgoing a hello, JJ asked. Spencer could hear breathing in the background, two other people talking. He figured that the rest of the team was all gathered around the phone, acting as if they had nothing else to do but ask him what was going on.

“She's alive,” Spencer said, laughing bitterly at how relieved he felt about that. “She's taking a shower right now, she said she didn't remember the last time she’d had one.”

“What?” confusion littered the tone, and Spencer wished he didn't have to explain, but he also knew that no one else was going to take silence as an answer.

“She hasn't been sleeping enough, she doesn't remember anything she's done in the past few weeks- and she doesn't seem to mind that. She almost fell over just standing up, and it took her five minutes to come to the door. She's the clinical definition of fatigue.” He told JJ, sighing as he picked up papers from across the floor, textbooks that he was sure Y/N hadn't even touched.

“Did she say anything about why?” Derek’s voice flooded through the phone, Spencer clearly now on speaker.

“She could barely pay attention the entire time, she was completely withdrawn from our conversation.”

Spencer paused, hearing the water from the other room shut off. He almost felt worse now, and it was a lucky excuse that Y/N was going to come out.

“She just got out of the shower, I have to go.” Spencer rushed out, ignoring the arguing pleas that came his way. “I’ll call you later.”

By the time he had hung up, Y/N was walking out of the bathroom, a robe wrapped around her shoulders, her body curling into itself as she walked over to him.

Her mind was still yelling and the world was still pounding on her back, chipping her into little pieces.

And she could still feel that feeling, the one she had tried to throw away.

But, at least she was clean.

“Good shower?” Spencer asked, watching her as observed the newly cleaned living room. She nodded as she looked around, her voice still lost with the rest of her mind. “Are you okay Y/N?” Spencer blurted out, his voice thinking faster than his mind.

He was worried, even after she had managed to take a shower and fall asleep. Even if she looked more alive, and a little bit less in pain. She was still silent, and she still hadn't slept any.

“Can I go to bed?” She whispered, ignoring his question similar to how she ignored the yelling in her head telling her she

Could not would not cannot

She took a breath in, so familiar with remembering how to breathe.

Inhale, exhale. Keep your heart beating.

Spencer stood in front of her, still observing. She was avoiding his eyes, his careful hands, his thoughts so that maybe she could get away from there. She appreciated his company, she really did. As always.

But, she really just wanted him to leave.

“I think you need to eat something first,” Spencer whispered back, waiting for her reaction, hoping that he would just let him do this one last thing before she threw him out.

Y/N was barely listening, but still, she nodded, her disagreement clouded by the weight of the world on her shoulders. The promise she still had to fulfill.

The thoughts of the person Spencer used to know too powerful to avoid.

Oh, how she was ashamed that she had turned into this person unable to take care of themselves. Oh, how she was ashamed that he was the one that had to see her like this.

She just wanted to sleep.

“Chicken broth is rich with vitamins and minerals, which are useful against common ailments like the common cold, the flu-” Spencer paused, shaking his head. “Nonetheless, you just have to drink a couple of cups.” He told her, leading her back to the couch so that she wouldn't fall asleep standing like he was worried she would.

He then left the room, clicking on her TV in an effort to keep her entertained while he heated some water.

But Y/N didn't pay attention. She was too lost in the memories of the last few weeks, that black hold that was her bed, the pounding that was her life, the breathing that she still couldn't get right no matter how many times she practiced. That feeling she just couldn't get rid of.

She had no idea how she had abandoned everything so easily, how she could have ignored the common sense that she surely had. She had no idea how she had made a promise and still not fulfilled it.

Stress was a powerful being. A friend that knocked onyour door, said they didn't want to be a burden. A friend that kicked down all your walls and set your hair on fire, simply because they could. Stress was a victim you didn't want to get rid of, a person you were supposed to be taking care of.

Stress, had never really been her friend.

It had only ever led her down the path of pain, of exhaustion, of

Cannot, will not, would not.

She wouldn't sleep. No, just like stress had said, sleep was an epiphany.

“Here you go,” Spencer said, handing her a cup. She blinked rapidly, not even aware that he had walked back into the room. She grabbed the mug from him, her hand a deadweight carrying on to nothing.

Spencer stared, he wasn't sure what else he could do. Y/N needed to get cleaned, she needed to eat, and she needed to sleep. And Spencer could only be responsible for two of those things. He couldn't control it all.

Y/N took a sip of the broth, the liquid was both comforting and uncomfortable. After all, she didn't remember the last time she had eaten anything.

“I studied for three days before I went to bed,” she finally whispered, her words making no sense to Spencer. But still, he would listen. “And then, I couldn't fall asleep. I can't remember how long I laid there, hoping that maybe I would finally close my eyes.”

She almost wanted to sob against him, almost wanted to fall asleep in his arms.

Almost almost almost.

Inhale, exhale.

“And then I made a mess, I was so angry, I just threw things around. I spent a day making a mess of everything, promising myself I wouldn't leave until I fell asleep. And then I went back to bed.” her voice was gravel against the air, her tears burning her skin as they fell.

Spencer listened, not saying a word.

“And then you showed up, right as I was sure it was time to fall in too deep.”

And then the silence weighed in the air between them. Y/N was finished, and Spencer could finally start to make sense of what was going on. He could finally understand how a friend could become the worst betrayal.

So, he moved a little closer, put his arm around her shoulder in a brief moment.

And, as she barely ate, he held her close, reminding her he was there.

Sleep was an epiphany, a strange thing that hung itself in the dark, wrapped itself in the sky at night when the world could barely breathe.

It was a thing that could be blocked by the littlest of obstacles, a thing that she

Could not, cannot, will not.

“Come on Y/N,” Spencer whispered, noticing her eyes falling a little bit harder than they had before. He grabbed the mug from her hands and set it down on her coffee table. Taking her hand for the last time that night, he led her to her room.

He helped her lay down, wrapped her in underneath the blankets. He held her shaking hand, rubbed her back until she was no longer quivering from the cold.

He whispered words to her in the silence of her bedroom, reminding her that even with stress, even with all the things that she couldn't get out of her brain, he was there. And he still felt the same, still knew who she was to him. He let her know that he wasn't going to leave her alone again.

wasn't going to walk away.

He whispered words to her until her breathing evened out, and her eyes were shut.

And then, he stayed up, making sure she was still breathing. Caring for her in the only way he knew how.

And sleep,

She could.

my masterlist here.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds rp #criminal minds headcanons #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg blurb #mgg fanfiction

429 notes · View notes

simplysummers · 3 years

Text

Breaking down Hunter and Omega’s relationship: Pt 3.

Hi everybody, I’m back with this weeks post on our favourite father-daughter-space-duo, the third instalment of the series! Thank you all so much for your positive feedback and discussions that have taken place over the last couple of posts, it means a lot to me to see my insights so neatly examined! I don’t really think the post itself needs much of an introduction, in of itself, it’s quite self explanatory! And I hope you enjoy!

(Pasted paragraphs: I would just like to add a disclaimer here. I am, in no way whatsoever, slating the other batchers for having differing relationships with Omega. I absolutely adore everything single one of the boys, and I think they all have wonderful and unique interrelations with her. Although I may point out these different approaches in comparison to Hunter’s, I am not stating these engages are wrong, just different is all!

I’m going to separate this into a little series- covering each episode in a separate post, which I’ll have tagged as the series progresses. Once I’ve tackled these two, as they’re my favourites, I’m going to move on to each individual Batcher and perhaps a few other dynamics such and Hunter and Crosshair, or Wrecker and Omega! Let me know what you guys would like to see!)

(Thank you to this weeks proof-reader: @treasureofmy-heart 💛)

Replacements: S1/E3

The opening scene in this episode is everything for these two. This is Omega behaving like an authentic child, a child in the midst of winding down with her datapad, leaning against Gonky, just…existing. She isn’t expected to be on hand for medical assistance, she isn’t studying, she isn’t working, she’s just living within herself, enjoying herself. Hunter makes a light comment, observing she doesn’t look too comfortable, allowing Omega the option to respond, she can either agree and ask to sit upfront, or she can stay if she’s happy to do so, but it already opens the door to a certain amount of communication between them. Of course, she insists she is fine and accepts her ration bar, yet before she can return to her seat on the floor Wrecker joins them, allowing their brief ordeal over the ration shortage to occur. I love both Omega’s immediate selflessness as she offers Wrecker her food, and Hunter’s sudden interruption in this little sequence. He doesn’t even allow room to consider her proposal, instead his immediate thought is to ensure this little girl can eat, especially considering she doesn’t even have anywhere to sleep (as we see this has been weighing on his mind by the mention of its necessity)

Omega’s response to Wrecker’s denial to accept her food- “Okay 😇.” Bless her little heart, she projects so much innocence with every word, and we can see from Hunter’s endeared little smile that he absolutely adores this about her. Upon Wrecker admitting that he hasn’t quite gotten use to Omega’s presence (which he looks very upset about, poor Wrecks 😔), Hunter insists that none of them have, but Omega isn’t making much fuss or complaining. This suggests that their brief conversation after leaving Saleucami is still heavily weighing on Hunter’s mind, he has taken his promise to both her and Cut quite seriously, and although both he and the rest of the batch are all still educating themselves in regards to Omega, she isn’t holding any resentment, and trusts them to make correct decisions in regards to her best interest.

I only want to briefly address the crash scene as their interaction are minimal, but I absolutely love how despite the fact that Wrecker is a lot closer to Omega, and ultimately does help her strap in, it is Hunter who takes presidency when addressing the situation. Although, as the leader, he has a lot of orders to cover to ensure they land without too much damage and every member of the squad is safe, his first priority is to ensure Omega is secure before he can move on to his secondary concerns. This relates back to the parental relationship of putting the guardian’s life second to the child’s. (To quote Shelby from ‘Glee’ “parenthood is about accepting the fact that your feelings and that your life and your body, that they all come second to making sure the child is happy and safe” which Hunter demonstrates perfectly here.)

I love how both Omega and Hunter look to Gonky as he slides past her and into the cockpit where Hunter is seated and is easily able to stabilise the unit once they finally land, (thanks to Tech’s amazing manoeuvring of course). I immediately noticed that when addressing the squad, Hunter’s head is veered more so towards Omega rather than Wrecker, where he asks her “are you alright?” with extreme emphasis on the “you”. This ties back into the previous point that Hunter’s new priority is her, as out of the entire squad she is in need of the most protection and reassurance. Alongside this, I discerned Omega’s body language as primarily Hunter-centric, she hangs her head in his direction throughout the entire crash, despite the fact Wrecker is much closer to her. She still finds the need to seek out Hunter specifically. This also mirrors their heavily pronounced relationship, which we see much more of throughout the season.

“I-Is…it…over?” Oh Bless. I love how she looks between both Hunter and Wrecker, unsure of where to direct her scattered and fraying attention.

Swiftly shifting towards the power capacitor hunt and Omega accidentally dropping Crosshair’s weapon kit, we see the entire batch deflate at the awkwardness of their sudden situation. Unknowingly, she has just resurrected a resented emotion for them, something they haven’t learnt to completely handle in the short amount of time they have been separated from their brother, and yet although his face falls harsh for a mere moment, Hunter is the first to immediately soften and approach Omega’s ‘mistake’ with a gentle tone, kindly explaining the device and its origin to her. And while everybody else completely avoids eye contact with the child, Hunter tries his best to meet her eye, most likely to add reassurance and strength to his explanation, for her sake.

I won’t delve too deep into this, but I’d also like to note that throughout the explanation in regards to Crosshair’s actions, Hunter seems to be the most…tense, this supports the later revelation that he has taken his own actions very personally, and is deeply frustrated with himself for leaving his brother behind, and bringing Crosshair up revives these feelings, which he has no doubt been trying to suppress. Omega immediately notices this, as she watches him retreat into the cockpit, with a clear sense of curiosity and concern for him. I love the effort by the animators to mirror the looks these two share behind one another’s back.

Maybe this is me potentially entering headcanon territory, but I speculate Hunter was the one to allow Omega to play with the oxygen masks. It isn’t uncommon for guardians of children who have come out of a traumatic experience to allow said child to play with a positive association to their ‘safe person/people’, in which case Omega’s safe people would be the batch, and therefore their association to the use of the oxygen masks would help her calm down after an upsetting crash landing and a tense conversation in regards to Crosshair.

Omega’s little lip tremble when the lights cut out….this poor kid isn’t use to pitch black :( no matter the dreary atmosphere of Kamino’s torrential storms, Omega was always kept inside the brightly lit walls of Tipoca City, and although Nala Se’s lab isn’t particularly well lit, it isn’t plunged into complete darkness like the Marauder was, sparing the emergency dim lighting which barely cast a shadow.

Her explanation of the Ordo Moon Dragon is so juvenilised with a small sense of dramatics- “it was THIS big, with a LONG tail!” This gives a gentle hint back to Omega’s childlike immaturity and her true age, both physically and mentally, which we see Hunter truly consider throughout the rest of the episode.

When Omega insists she wants to go with Hunter to retrieve their missing part, Hunter doesn’t even have to think twice before he denies her request, and his sole reasoning is because, “that thing could be dangerous.” and as we know his top priority is keeping her safe. But, of course Omega being Omega, she gives Hunter a pretty decent response, she is a part of their squad, and should be allowed the chance to prove her place amongst clone force 99, especially for something as quaint as a retrieval mission. Instead of outright denying her once again, Hunter ponders her reply for a moment, before agreeing, with the additional gentle reminder that she MUST stay close. Her excited little smile as she jumps from her standing position on the co-pilot’s seat to the floor, rushing past Hunter and straight for the exit, highlights her excitement to finally participate and assist Hunter on a mission of their own, which we see perplexes, yet intrigues him.

While exploring the moon’s surface, I immediately notice that sparing a brief moment of watching the floor, Omega’s eyes never leave Hunter, not even for a moment. She is completely complacent in regards to his rule to stick close to him, which is further continued throughout their second chat over Crosshair.

Without surprise, Omega copies Hunter’s actions a few times too, especially when tracing his hand throughout the dust. This is where she asks, “could I learn to track like you?” and here I’d like to specifically focus on the “like you” segment of her sentence. It shows a clear connotation between Omega’s desire to be just like Hunter, which we’ve seen she already had in episode one, and the natural desire to be considered a soldier amongst their ranks. Equally, I love how Hunter doesn’t outrightly reject her request, he simply says “it’s an enhanced skill,” which suggests he probably couldn’t exactly teach her how, but he appreciates her enthusiasm and finds her request almost quite cute.

Moving right along to their secondary Crosshair conversation, I absolutely love Hunter’s facial expressions throughout this passage. He isn’t harsh or crude, instead he is quite sullen, yet in a sympathetic tone. His entire demeanour is taken down slightly, and I believe this is to shield Omega from Hunter’s true self-hatred and deprecating emotions towards their situation. He is careful to explain himself to her, without adding too much honesty in hopes that he won’t unnecessarily worry her. Once again, this ending furthers the blatant protective connection between them. Furthermore, Omega’s reaction is so pure, yet extremely wise for her age and knowledge level. There is still a sense of juvenility to her widened eyes and the movement of her hand snaking it’s way around Hunter’s forearm comfortingly, and yet she still does her best to comfort him in the same way that he has done for her on multiple occasions in their scarce time together, sparing the Nexu event. We see this immediately makes Hunter smile, which is a pleasant thing to notice after the intensity of their conversation. In short, she makes him smile, she helps him, and vice versa.

After Hunter is attacked by the dragon, I can’t help but notice Omega’s worried little face as his mask is knocked aside and he begins to gasp for air. Even after he falls unconscious and she rushes to fix his mask, she still manages to push aside her anxieties to secure his safety and design a brief plan in her mind after backup becomes unavailable, I personally see this as a matter of Omega taking Hunter’s initiative to complete the mission, after assuring herself he is once again breathing and safe for the time being. I also love her little double take, one final look at her guardian before she takes off into the dragon’s nest, she’s so sweet.

Skipping ahead slightly as there isn’t much to cover in regards to Omega’s little lone adventure into the cave, upon Hunter’s return to consciousness I absolutely LOVE how after sucking in a few puffs of necessary air, his first, almost immediate, thought is Omega. He doesn’t even notice his blaster is missing (which we see later on when Omega returns it to him), his instant reaction is to call her name and start tracking her. And his worried expression as the realisation that she’s gone after the dragon dawns on him :( this man cares SO much.

THEIR. REUNION. IS. EVERYTHING. As her little head pops up out of the nests opening , he immediately scoops her up, crouches down to her level, pats her shoulders, rubs her triceps, and the first thing he says to her is “are you okay?” None of this angry shouting from the previous episode, no reprimanding for running off or disobeying orders, instead he makes sure she’s unharmed, and he’s so caring about it. This is character development at its finest. After assuring that she isn’t injured he, very tenderly, asks what she was thinking, insisting he was extremely worried about her. I’d also like to note Omega’s reaction to this, she doesn’t shy away from Hunter like she does in the second episode of the season, instead she excitedly explains that she completed their mission, even going far enough to say that she “tracked the dragon, like you did.” Further complimenting their close and confident bond with one another, she truly looks up to him. The realisation on his face that although small and somewhat dependable, she is no liability and can support herself and the others if needs be. The look is so…parental.

Upon their return to the ship, I love the way Hunter automatically lifts his arm to allow her little blonde head to rush past him and make way for a seat in the cockpit. Kiddo knows the rules, strap in before we take off, Hunter doesn’t even have to tell her.😇

I absolutely adore Hunter’s curious smirk as Wrecker leads Omega to her surprise, alongside the fact he is the first to follow them to see whatever their injured batch member has planned for the little one. I’d also like to note that he actually stares at Omega as they approach the gunners nest, only briefly breaking to take a look at Wrecker, but primarily his sight falls to her.

Her face…when she discovers her room, his face when he watches her jump up and giggle as she turns to thank Wrecker, these two absolutely melt my heart, I swear. He’s admiring her happiness, that splash of childlike innocence he and the batchers never got to have, exactly what he’s seen Cut give to his children, what he wants to give to her. It’s absolutely beautiful.

“I’ve never had my own room before.” Hunter’s split moment of realisation here, before he steps forwards and reassures her that she is “a part of their squad” their family, it’s just so charming to his character and role as her custodian. Omega’s equally gentle smile as she looks back to him, head resting against Lula’s ears shows her clear sense of peace in her new environment. I also think it’s absolutely adorable that while the other batchers share glances between themselves to silently thank Wrecker for his sweet act of kindness, Hunter only partakes for a moment, before he continues to watch Omega settle in, her head now falling against the wall, staring out into the inky black of space, with the new addition of her comforting fairy lights, which I’d like to specify are a warm yellow, in comparison to the bright white of the Kaminoan facilities. This contrast provides a nice device between Omega’s new comfort with her family on the marauder, and her cruel upbringing on Kamino. She is happier here, and Hunter and the others will do whatever they can to ensure she is always happy with them, as we can see from his consistent looks of admiration for her.

I hope you liked my analysis of Hunter and Omega’s relationship in episode three of The Bad Batch! Of course, I’d love to discuss these two with anybody who might be interested, so please feel free to drop me an ask or a DM, and if you’re captivated enough I’d totally recommend looking out for my future posts on the topic!

As always, much love to our ‘Megs and Hunter, thank you for reading! 💛

Part One: Aftermath

Part Two: Cut and Run

96 notes · View notes

heliads · 3 years

Text

Coming Home

Based on this request: "race x kelly!reader where she got back from the refuge and it's not doing rlly good?"

masterlist

“How well do you know Y/N Kelly?”

The question is simple, the answer less so. Race has lived a life on the streets of Manhattan and has gotten used to fielding questions and coming up with answers on the go, yet somehow this throws him for a loop. How does he respond to this? There’s no good way to describe the relationship he has with Y/N, the timid circles they’ve run around each other.

But Crutchie is still waiting for an answer. Poor, expectant, oddly hopeful Crutchie. Stalling for time, Race reaches for a question in return. “As well as anyone, I guess. Why do you ask?” Crutchie sighs, glancing around the lodging house like he’s expecting someone to be desperately listening in. “She just got back from the Refuge last night. Things aren’t exactly going well.”

Instantly, every sense in Race’s body is thrown into high alert. The Refuge is a horrible, horrible place. Race would know, he’s spent some time there himself. If the rats and starvation don’t get you, the beatings from the guards will. It’s one of the worst experiences a newsie can ever have. No matter how much spirit you have out on the streets, the second you pass over that threshold, it’s all gone. All of it.

The thought of Y/N Kelly in the Refuge is not something Race wants to consider, not even for a second. “She was in the refuge? I thought she lived somewhere else.” Crutchie shakes his head. “She’s Jack’s sister, remember? If she had a place, he’d probably be there too. Jack’s been worried about something like this for months.” Race’s stomach drops. “Wait, what do you mean, months? Y/N left the lodging house a year ago. Everyone said something about how she was looking for better work somewhere else.”

The memory of that conversation still twists like a knife in Race’s heart. She had never even said goodbye, never bothered to visit. It had torn at him time and time again, wearing him down even when Race swore a girl would never get the best of his heart like that. He supposed he didn’t have a choice with her, he rarely did. There was something about her that made all hopes of friendship impossible. When she’d left without a word, Race couldn’t help but take it personally.

Yet, looking at Crutchie now, Race is starting to have some doubts about Y/N’s past disappearance. He takes a step closer to the boy, feeling his temper rise with every word. “But she didn’t go, did she? She’s been in the Refuge all this time. For a year.” Crutchie doesn’t exactly agree with this, but he can’t seem to bring himself to say a word. Race runs a hand through his hair, trying and failing to come up with some way to make this better.

Crutchie winces. “We was looking for her, honest. We didn’t know for sure that she was in the Refuge.” Race glances back at him. “But you guessed, didn’t you? What, was she not worth the effort of breaking her out?” Crutchie stands up straighter, and Race realizes he’s gone too far. Crutchie may joke around with everyone else and have a heart of pure, unfiltered gold, but he’s got a spine of diamond. It’s wrong of him to assume Crutchie would ever let a newsie or a Kelly stay in the Refuge if he could do something about it.

“There was no way Jack could get involved. You know that, Race. Snyder’s tightened restrictions around that place ever since Jack escaped. We tried to visit her a lot, and every single time we were practically chased off with pitchforks. We couldn’t do anything but stay away and hope they wouldn’t take their anger about us visiting out on her and extend her sentence.”

Race sighs, trying and failing to force himself to calm down. “You said she got here last night, right? So she’s out?” Crutchie’s face falls rapidly. “Technically, yes.” Race frowns. “What do you mean, technically? Either she’s here or she’s not.” Crutchie glances around the room one last time, and Race realizes that he’s looking for Jack. Whatever he’s about to say, whatever is going on with Y/N, Jack either doesn’t know or doesn’t want other newsies to know. This can’t be good.

Crutchie takes a deep breath before responding. “They let her out after a year, claiming her sentence was over or whatever. She’s not herself, Race. Not at all. She doesn’t seem to recognize any of us. She remembered enough to get back to the lodging house, but she isn't responding to anyone. Not me, not Katherine-” Crutchie pauses. “Not Jack. He’s pretty torn up about that.”

Race thinks he knows where this is going. “That’s why you asked how well I knew Y/N? You think she’d recognize me.” Crutchie shrugs, although Race can tell he’s faking his couldn’t-care-less stance. “You’re our best bet. You and Y/N were close, Race, whether you want to admit it or not. If Jack can’t get through to her, then I think you could. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I know you cared about her. I think we owe it to her to try.”

Race feels like a hand is clenching around his heart, stopping all attempts at escape. “I’ll do it. Where is she?” Crutchie looks relieved. “The roof. That one fire escape she always seemed to go to.” Race nods. “I’ll see you later, I guess.” Crutchie grabs Race’s arm as he attempts to leave. “And Race? Be careful. She isn’t herself, I mean that. Don’t end up doing more harm than good.” Race stares a second, then removes the boy’s hand from his arm. “I won’t. I can’t hurt her, not if I tried.”

Race’s footsteps seem hollow on the stairs, rattling up the fire escape stairs like they’re not connected to him at all. He knows where Y/N will be, but it’s still a surprise to see a figure curled up on her fire escape landing. No one seemed to visit there in the year she’s been gone, as if they’re all saving it for her. To see someone there now almost seems sacrilegious, even if it’s her.

Drawing closer, Race feels a lump form in his throat. Y/N looks, well, awful. There are large bags under her eyes, as if she hasn’t been sleeping. As if she’s been too afraid to sleep. Bruises dot her arms, scratches line her body. Her cheeks are hollow, the result of having no food to eat. When she hears him approach, her eyes widen in terror, and she backs away as far as she can on the narrow fire escape.

Race holds up his hands, but the sudden movement only seems to agitate her further. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s Race. I’m not going to hurt you.” Y/N’s shoulders relax infinitesimally. “They all say that.” Race feels like he’s been physically slapped. The thought of people telling Y/N, his Y/N, lies about not hurting her and what they mean makes him want to go up to the Refuge and burn it all down to the ground. However, getting himself landed in jail for years because of arson wouldn’t do Y/N any good, and so he stays where he is.

Race slowly lowers himself to the ground, sitting casually on the other end of the fire escape. “I’m just going to sit here, alright? I want to make sure you’re alright.” Y/N’s jaw clenches. “I’m fine.” Race raises an eyebrow. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be looking at me like I’m a monster from one of Les’ nightmares.” Y/N’s gaze flickers to him at the mention of Les’ name. “You know Les?”

Race nods. “Yeah, Les and Davey. They’re friends of ours, right? The Jacobs. I remember when they first showed up and Davey tried to start something by saying that they didn’t give him enough papes. I thought Albert was going to soak ‘em just as sure as the Delanceys.” The corner of Y/N’s mouth twitches, like she’s trying to hold back a smile. “Albert would never soak another newsie. He’d be tempted, sure, but he wouldn’t do it.”

Her gaze softens at the memory, and then she turns to Race, as if really seeing him for the first time. “Race?” The name seems to tear at her throat, ripping out of her like it’s physically painful to even call up the hope that he might be here in front of her. Race can’t help but wonder how many times she asked other kids if they were him, and how many times she realized she was still alone after all.

He forces the thought away. “Yeah, Y/N. It’s me. It’s Race.” Y/N’s eyes flash closed for just a second, as if she’s overwhelmed with relief, and then she looks over at him once more. She shivers once, twice, as if she can’t stop. “I think I’m out now. I was there so long, and nobody ever came-” Before Race realizes what he’s doing, he’s scooting over on the fire escape, close enough that he can wrap an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and pull her near. He pauses just before his hand touches her, remembering everything she’d been through.

Y/N hesitates too, flinching slightly, one more sign that she’s still thinking of her time at the Refuge. Yet she takes a deep, rattling breath, and moves closer to Race. She lays her head on his shoulder. Race can feel the quiet rise and fall of her chest, the tension still radiating up and down her spine even as she tries to force herself to relax. Race remembers what it was like when he got out of the Refuge, the way he didn’t want to think about anything he’d just been through, yet he’d been reminded of it every second he walked and talked and breathed around the city.

So he opens his mouth again, casting about for something else to say. “Do you remember when you drew me that picture of myself?” Y/N’s shoulders start to shake, and for a second Race thinks he’s really done it now and he’s made her burst into tears before he realizes that she’s laughing. “Don’t bring that up. I’m embarrassed, Racer.” Race’s heart does a steady loop in his chest over the nickname, but he forces himself to stay calm.

“I don’t know why you’se embarrassed. I thought it was excellent.” Y/N gives him a look out of the corner of her eye. “It was excellent, that’s not the problem.” Race raises an eyebrow. “Well, look at you, Miss Confident. If your artistic mastery wasn’t the problem, then what was?” Y/N curls even closer in to Race’s chest, as if trying to hide away from the memory. “The problem was that I drew a picture of you and you found it. I looked like a stalker.”

Race chuckles. “You weren’t a stalker for drawing me. Jack does it all the time. Honestly, I’m flattered that you were trying to come up with a masterpiece and the first thing you thought of was me.” Y/N sits up slightly, still pressed against his chest, and it takes every ounce of self control in Race’s body to not start blushing with the heat of a furnace. “Maybe I was looking for a really mediocre muse.” Race just tosses her a wink, as casual a movement as he can muster. “I’m still your muse, love, and that’s what matters to me.”

There’s a shout from further down the fire escape. The newsies are arriving in the main room of the lodging house, still unaware of Y/N but wanting to meet up with everybody to discuss the day’s sales. Race moves to follow the voice, assuming Y/N will want some time alone, but her hand closes on his for just a second. Even this small movement is enough to convince him to stay.

When she speaks, her voice is quiet, barely there at all. “Don’t go. Please. I don’t want to be alone.” The bleakness in her words cuts at Race like a knife, and he sits back down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Of course not. I’m not leaving you, Y/N.” Not anymore, he wants to add. Not after everything that you went through when I wasn’t there. Y/N seems to be thinking of similar things, and she shudders slightly. “I was there a year. I kept thinking that people were going to come for me, and they didn’t. No one ever did.”

Race opens his mouth to say something, anything, even though she’s right. Y/N lays a hand on his arm, and he remains silent. “It’s not your fault, Race. I heard Crutchie talking to you, I know you had no idea I was there. Jack, though, he knew. He didn’t do anything.” Race sighs, staring out at the horizon. “Jack makes a lot of decisions. He did what he thought was best. That doesn’t mean he was right, but at least he has a motive.”

Y/N looks over at him. “And if you knew? What would you have done?” Race laughs ruefully. “I would have broken into the Refuge myself. Beaten up all the guards like a superhero, carried you out. It would have been a thing for the movies.” Y/N chuckles. “Look at you, got everything planned out. You sound like Crutchie when he gets an idea.” Race grins too, then feels his expression sober.

“I’m being real, Y/N. If I had known I would have come for you. You know that, right?” He doesn’t know why it’s so important that Y/N know this, even if he couldn’t have actually done it himself, but something in him needs Y/N to count on him, to keep looking for moments like this one. She nods slowly. “I know you would, Race. I knew all along.”

A tight knot unclenches itself in Race’s stomach, and he presses another kiss to Y/N’s cheek in an attempt to stop the thundering behind his temples. “I just wanted to make sure. I care about you, Y/N. I care about you a lot.” The words are simple, hinting at something far more than the single phrase. It means that Y/N Kelly is one of the best things in his life, that spending a year without her was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. It means that finding out she’d been in the Refuge fills Race with an incomprehensible pain. It means that he loves her, even if he’s never sure if she feels the same way.

Y/N smiles up at him. “I care about you too, Race. More than you know.” Maybe it’s not a lot, not in Manhattan where every love story worth hearing is splashed out on the headlines. But for a boy and a girl, two hearts in a big city, it could paint the sunsets. It is enough for them.

#race higgins #race higgins imagines #race higgins x reader #race higgins oneshot #race #race imagines #race x reader #race oneshot #newsies #newsies imagines #newsies x reader #newsies oneshot #newsies live #newsies live imagines #newsies live oneshot #newsies race #newsies race imagines #newsies race x reader #newsies race oneshot

162 notes · View notes

24hlevi · 3 years

Text

Happier

Part 2 of “She No Longer Needs Me”

Mikasa Ackermann X Fem!Reader

Annie Leonhart X Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Slight Fluff

Summary: After finally overcoming her heartbreak, Y/n finds new true love with Annie. When Mikasa finds out after she realized she was wrong about Eren, Y/n has already chosen Annie. Just like she chose Eren.

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Italics means flashbacks, so i combined 3 requests into 1 so i hope that’s alright

Season 4 Ep 1-8 and Manga Spoilers !!

It had been almost a year since you had last talked to Mikasa and Armin, since you already didn’t like talking to Eren. Yes, you stopped talking to Armin as well once you found out that he had lied to you about Mikasa and Eren’s relationship. You just couldn’t believe that one of your best friends who was always so sweet to you would lie about something like cheating. Truthfully, you didn’t want to believe it. The feeling of betrayal still rested inside of you despite getting over everything. But it wasn’t all just you that you had to help get over it all.

You had decided to stay back from going back on the front lines after everything, not even wanting to see any of the trio’s faces while on the battlefield because you knew you would probably get eaten by a titan from lack of focus. You stayed back at the HQ and got to get to know other Scouts and even a few of the others from different regiments.

During that time while you were stuck at the HQ, you had often visited Annie, despite her still being in her crystal that she had built around herself. You talked to her, not knowing if she could even hear you, but you didn’t care. You two had talked quite a bit while in the Cadet Corps before finding out she was the Female Titan, but even then you could care less because you saw who she really was, which was not what everyone made her out to be. You talked about everything that would happen, including your heartbreak that Mikasa had caused because you knew she wouldn’t reply and that you wouldn’t be judged for anything you would say.

One day, you were sitting on the ground in front of Annie who was still stuck in the crystal, talking to her like usual when the unbelievable happened.

“You know, Hitch is so annoying sometimes. Always asking me what I talk to you about.” You grumbled out, looking at the ground. You looked up and at the girl in front of you and let out a small sigh, “When will you ever come out of there, Annie?”

You got no response, as usual. You stood up from your spot and dusted off your pants, looking at Annie, “Well. Whenever you wanna stop being stuck in that crystal, I’ll be here.” You smiled slightly.

You turned around and were about to start walking towards the door when you heard something crack. Turning your head around slowly, your eyes widened upon seeing the crystal beginning to crack open. “Oh shit, Oh shit, Oh shit.” You said quickly, looking around frantically.

When the crystal fully broke apart, all you could do was stare in shock. Annie opened her eyes and glanced around before her eyes landed on you, “Y/n?”

“Oh my god, you’re alive!” You exclaimed, rushing up to the girl. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m alive. And I’m fine.” Annie replied, taking a step forward and looking around. “Where are we?”

“Underneath the HQ, where you’ve been for the past 4 years.” You answered.

“Oh.” That was all that left her mouth as she looked back at you. “You know, I heard everything you said.”

You looked at her with even wider eyes than before as your jaw dropped, “What?!”

“This whole time I’ve heard everything.” The blonde girl said nonchalantly. “You should really get better friends.”

“Gee, thanks. Like I don’t know that already.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So, what’s going to happen to me now?” Annie asked you.

“Well, I’ll probably have to ask Hi-” “Y/n times up- HOLY SHIT!” Hitch cut you off when she walked inside the room and saw Annie, looking at you both in shock. “You didn’t tell me she got out?!”

“I was about to if you wouldn’t have interrupted.” You sighed.

You didn’t notice that Annie wasn’t even looking at Hitch, but instead was looking at you. But Hitch noticed and she looked between you two for a few seconds before nodding, “Right, I’ll leave you two to it for a bit. But at supper, I’ll have to come back because I’ll need to tell Commander Nile.” She smiled at you two, winking at you before walking out the door.

You had no clue why Hitch let you and Annie talk for pretty much the rest of the day until supper, but you decided to not question it. But when you would go to visit Annie after she got out of the crystal, Hitch wouldn’t even let you ask her, she would just say to go in before you even opened your mouth, which you thought was also odd.

When you decided to confront Hitch about the odd things she was doing, she blatantly told you that Annie had obviously liked you.

“Y/n, are you that stupid?” Hitch asked you. “Obviously I’m doing it because Annie likes you!”

You stared at the girl in front of you with shock, “You’re joking.”

“Oh my god, you are that stupid.” Hitch sighed, rubbing her two temples with her fingers. “Okay look. Obviously, I knew Annie when we were both starting in the Military Police before she did that crystal thing but she talked about you a lot, so I know she likes you. And after you coming here every day just to talk to someone who wouldn’t reply to you, I’d say you do as well.”

“What?! I don’t like her!” You argued with the blonde. You didn’t want to admit it, but you had begun to feel something about Annie that wasn’t just friendly. But after what happened with Mikasa, you were scared that it was going to happen again, and you didn’t want to go through that much pain again.

“You clearly do.” Hitch rolled her eyes at you. She then grabbed your shoulders and looked you dead in the eyes. “Y/n, I can guess that you’re scared of going into a new relationship because of what happened with Mikasa, but Annie isn’t a bad person and we both know that. So I say to shoot your shot.”

After that talk, you had realized that you did in fact have a crush on the titan shifter. So what did you do?

You walked down the stairs that led to the dungeon where there were a few cells for the people the military had decided to keep locked up if they were a danger. You had decided that today would be the day that you would tell Annie what you felt, and you hoped that it wouldn’t end badly because you did not want to deal with another tragic heartbreak.

You held the keys in your hand since it didn’t take long to convince Hitch to help you get them once you explained to her why.

You made your way to the last cell where Annie was at and you saw her sitting on the worn-out mattress. You knocked your knuckles on one of the bars and the blonde looked up immediately before speaking, “Hello, Y/n.”

“Hey, Annie.” You smiled a bit, unlocking the cell door with the keys in your hand.

Annie noticed rather quickly that you were unlocking the door and she raised an eyebrow, looking at you, “What are you doing?”

You opened the door and walked inside the small cell, “Oh, well I may or may not have gotten Hitch’s help to get me these keys so I could actually talk to you without bars between us.” You chuckled lightly, trying to fight off the anxiety that was rushing through your body.

“Oh.” That was all that came out of Annie’s mouth, and she looked back at the mattress.

“You okay?” You asked, “You look out of it.”

“I’m fine.” The blonde replied with no emotion evident in her voice.

You looked at the girl quietly with confusion. She hasn’t acted like this since the first day she came out of the crystal, and you didn’t know what to do. You took a deep breath and walked towards her, stopping in front of the bed, “There’s a specific reason why I’m here, Annie. And I really don’t want to fuck up so can you please just look at me?”

Annie complied and looked up and at you and she easily caught on that you were nervous. “You okay?” She asked you.

You nodded quickly, “Yeah, I’m okay. Anyways I need to tell you something.”

The blonde nodded, already knowing what you were going to say just from how nervous you looked and how you spoke. “Okay.”

“Okay so there may be a small possibility that uh well I guess I uhm have feelings for yo-” You were cut off by feeling a pair of lips smashed against your own. Your eyes widened at the sudden action but when Annie cupped your face with her hands you relaxed into her touch and kissed back.

Annie pulled away and rested her forehead against yours, “I have feelings for you too.”

You and Annie had then started dating from that moment on. With only Hitch knowing since you knew you would get a severe punishment for being with the Female Titan. You two would spend all your time with one another and make the most out of Annie being stuck on the dungeon, but it was nice since it was usually just you two in there. You would bring her all her meals along with your own so you both could eat together and she didn’t complain one bit.

You walked down the hallways and made your way to where Hitch was standing in front of the door that led down to the dungeon. When Hitch turned her head and saw you she smiled, “Ah, Y/n! Coming back to see your girl, I assume?”

“What else would I be doing?” You chuckled lightly.

“Very true.” Hitch nodded with a laugh before opening the door and tossing you the keys to the cells, “Dungeon’s all yours.”

“Thanks, Hitch.” You patted her shoulder as you walked by, making your way down the stairs. You walked to the last cell and smiled when you saw Annie, you unlocked the cell door and walked inside resulting in Annie looking up and smiling once she saw it was you.

She got up off the bed and walked over to you, hugging you and putting her head in the crook of your neck, “Hi, love.”

“What’s this for?” You asked with a chuckle, wrapping your arms around her slim waist.

“I just missed you.” Annie mumbled into your neck, taking in your scent that she loved.

Feeling her hot breath hit your neck made a shiver run down your back as you smiled still, “Awe my baby missed me?”

A blush spread on Annie’s face as she just nodded, not wanting to show her flustered face.

You let out another chuckle and pulled away from the hug, walking over to the small bed and laying down on it and holding your arms out wide for her. The girl smiled and laid down next to you, wrapping her arms around you and laying her head on your chest, and tangling your legs. You ran your hand through her blonde hair softly, laying there in complete silence and peace.

“Y/n?” Annie spoke quietly.

“Yeah?” You replied, glancing down at her.

“I love you.” She said to you.

“I love you too, Annie.” You kissed her forehead.

...

Mikasa practically ran throughout the whole HQ trying to find you. She had searched everywhere and she didn’t know where else you could possibly be. She spotted Hitch and quickly rushed towards her.

“Hitch. Tell me where Y/n is.” Mikasa demanded, looking at the blonde girl with a look of worry and urgency.

Hitch’s eyes widened and she quickly shook her head, “I can’t tell you that, Mikasa.”

Mikasa glared harshly at the girl and grabbed the collar of her shirt, pulling her towards herself, “Hitch. Tell me.”

“She’sinthedungeon!” Hitch said so fast it sounded like it was all one word. “But don’t get pissed about what you might see.” She added afterward.

“The hell do you mean ‘don’t get pissed’?” Mikasa let go of Hitch but her glare remained.

“Just find out for yourself. I really don’t want to be the one to tell you.” Hitch said before walking away at a fast pace.

Mikasa stared at Hitch walking away with confusion before opening the door to the stairs that would lead down to the dungeon. She made her way down the stairs and begun to walk past the cells, looking inside each one to find you. The raven-haired girl continued to walk until she ended up at the last cell and the sight she saw made her boil over the edge upon seeing you with Annie on the small bed, cuddling. “What. The. Fuck.” Mikasa spat out angrily. To say she was angry would be an understatement, she was beyond angry, she was fuming to see you with the one girl she thought would never break out of the crystal. Even worse, the enemy.

You shot up when you heard Mikasa’s voice and Annie did the same, “What the fuck do you want, Ackermann?” The blonde snapped.

“What the hell is this?” Mikasa gestured to you two. “I’m risking my life to take down the enemy and you’re what, dating one now?” She glared at you.

“She is not an enemy.” You retorted.

“You know damn well she is.” Mikasa snarled.

“Says the one who’s on Eren’s side when he’s a psychopath and we all know it.” Annie got off the bed and walked towards Mikasa. “So what, you’re upset that your ex has found someone better than you?”

Mikasa opened her mouth to reply but you had gotten up and walked up to the cell bars beside Annie and you set your hand on her shoulder, speaking before the raven-haired girl could get the chance, “It’s fine, baby. Let me handle this, please.”

The blonde girl let out a sigh but nodded anyway, “Fine.”

You looked back at Mikasa who was looking at you two with a mix of anger and what seemed to be a hint of sadness, “Look, Mikasa. I don’t know what you want, but don’t come in here and talk to me for the first time in almost a year and start shit with my girlfriend.” You told her.

Mikasa looked at you with shock before looking down, “I know I messed up. But you have to understand, you were right about Eren. He...He started a war with the Marleyans. And Sasha is...she’s gone.” The girl said quietly.

Your eyes widened when you heard her words about Sasha and anger quickly rushed through you, “Sasha is dead? Let me guess, It was Eren’s fault. And I bet none of you did anything to stop it from happening.” You spat at her. “How could you let Sasha fucking die?!”

“Yes, it was Eren’s fault. He told us to come and help him, and we did. But some kids who are warrior candidates climbed aboard using our ODM gear and shot Sahsa. We tried to stop the bleeding...But more and more poured out as we tried to bandage her up. She died on the airship.” Mikasa’s tone didn’t change as it was still quiet and filled with sadness and regret.

“Warrior candidates?” You questioned. “You mean you pissed off the best of the best and didn’t expect them to seek revenge?”

Mikasa shook her head slowly, “Everyone thought we had won, at least that battle.” She looked up and back at you, “But you have to listen to me, I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done any of the things that I did to you that hurt in the past, and I regret it. But you have to realize you’ll only get yourself killed if you’re with her.”

You rolled your eyes at her words and shook your head, “No Mikasa, you have to realize that you chose Eren over me. You have to live with that decision. I’ve moved on.”

“You fell for the enemy,” Mikasa argued. “You know it’s bound to happen that she’ll betray you.”

“Just like you betrayed me?” You shot back at her.

Mikasa fell silent and looked back at the ground, not responding after that for a few moments. She looked back at you with tears in her eyes, “I’m sorry.”

“If you were really sorry you wouldn’t be telling me that Annie would hurt me like you did. Just leave us alone, Mikasa.” You sighed at the end.

The girl looked between you and Annie, before nodding, “I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.” She took a step away from the cell bars before continuing, “I just want you to know that I really am sorry. And so is Armin.” A tear fell down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away with her hand before turning and walking away from the both of you.

You wouldn’t know it, but Mikasa had just gotten her heart broken just like Eren did to her, only worse and she didn’t even know why. She thought she had moved on from you, but after seeing you with a new lover, it made her heart clench. She felt an immense amount of jealousy, but she knew that you weren’t hers anymore, and you never would be again.

#attack on titan #aot #shingkei no kyojin #snk #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #snk x reader #mikasa ackerman #mikasa ackerman x reader #annie leonhart #annie leonhart x reader

247 notes · View notes

roonilwazlibimagines · 3 years

Note

I've read your fics of Ron and loved them so much. Do you know if you can make one with them eating at the Burrow? She gets jealous of Fleur talking to Ron and is feeling insecure about her looks and concerned her ' muggle' status? Ending with smut and comfort.

Sorry if this is long

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Reader Word Count: 3.3k Blurb: Her jealously of Fleur has been building up since their fourth year, even if she knows Fleur doesn’t mean it and Ron reminds her that she is the only one he loves. Warnings: There is sex but it is just really soft :(. Like Ron just eats her out and keeps praising her. And it is at the end, the first part is mainly fluff and a little bit of angst. A/N: honestly fuck canon, I just made this my own, oops. Also I literally don’t know how to write a scene where Ron does something to really make her jealous so this is what you get. Flashbacks are in italics.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she hummed in confusion before realising she had been staring at the ceiling, her fists clenched and jaw tense.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she gave him a half-assed reassuring look before turning back to stare at the ceiling. They were laying in their bed, both on their backs with their heads on the pillow, laying next to each other in the dark room which was only slightly illuminated by the weak flame on Ron’s bedside table.

“Are you sure?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.

“I don’t forget how brave you were at the second task,” her thick French accent was ringing in her ears as she watched the way she grabbed onto Ron’s arm making his whole face turn red.

“Oh really,” she glared at him as she watched him tense at her touch, “it was nothing,” Fleur removed her hand from him and she so desperately wanted to ask her if she also remembered the time Ron had made a fool of himself asking her to The Yule Ball.

“Yes Ron,” she didn’t mean to sound so annoyed and she hoped that it was too dark for him to notice the way she rolled her eyes.

She didn’t mean to act so harsh, it wasn’t Ron’s fault. It wasn’t Fleur’s either. Ron couldn’t help that he was always so pathetically a victim to her veela charm. She probably shouldn’t feel jealous of this ‘veela charm’ and Ron probably didn’t even realise he was doing it, but she couldn’t help the green tinge which plagued her whenever it happened.

“Ron,” her fourteen-year-old self was hitting his chest, “Ron!” she repeated after his lack of response, “you’re pathetic,” she slapped his chest one more time before folding her arms across her chest and rolling her eyes.

“Did you say something?” his body turned towards her but his eyes were still on the veela who were dancing in front of them at The Quidditch World Cup.

“I guess not,” she had grumbled underneath her breath realising that it wouldn’t have mattered if she said it louder because it would only fall on deaf ears. And busy eyes.

Her first introduction to veela had left a sour taste in her mouth, even if she knew it was nothing personal and she was just overreacting. And besides, her and Ron weren’t even dating then so she really did have nothing to be jealous over.

But now they were dating and Fleur still seemed to have an effect on him even after the war and all the times he had spoken to her. She couldn’t help but let her fourteen-year-old self’s words ring in her ears, “you’re pathetic.”

“Sorry,” he turned his head so it was again facing the ceiling, “I didn’t mean-”

“I’m sorry,” she cut him off with a sigh, “I shouldn’t have snapped,” and she turned her head to see him nodding slightly. He had moved his arm so that one was resting behind his head, the other resting at his side.

“Do you think she is upset with me?” Ron had asked Harry the night he had asked Fleur to the Yule Ball.

“Uhm,” Harry wasn’t sure whether to lie to make him feel better or give him the truth, “I don’t know,” he settled for the safe answer.

“I mean, we were walking and she was talking about the The Yule Ball,” they were in their respective beds and Harry couldn’t see the way Ron nervously bit his lip as he recalled the events of the evening, “she was really excited.”

“Does she have a date to The Yule Ball?” Harry had asked. They both still needed dates.

“No, I think that was what she was talking about,” it was what she was talking about, hoping that Ron would get the hint, “and then I think I might have cut her off,” there was an awkward pause.

“Because you asked out Fleur?” Harry had asked, trying to break the awkward silence.

“Yeah,” it was silent for a moment again as Ron started to question his actions, “and then I did it and Fleur said ‘no’, obviously,” Harry didn’t say anything as there was another pause, “and then when I turned to her she looked kind of angry,” Ron’s heart leapt as he remembered the way her mouth had turned into a thin straight line and how her gaze hardened, “thought I might of embarrassed her.”

“Why?”

“Because I made a fool of myself and she wouldn’t want to be associated with me,” Ron said as if it was the most obvious explanation.

“Okay,” Harry spoke slowly.

“And then she dragged me to The Common Room,” he shrugged his shoulders, “and she hasn’t spoken to me since,” he sighed, “and she hasn’t stopped glaring either,” he had mumbled that under his breath.

Harry didn’t know how to comfort his friend. It was obvious to Harry what both of their actions meant, but apparently neither of them could understand it.

Ron felt exactly like he had that night. He only had a small bed and with his large frame there was no position where they could lie without touching each other. But he felt very far away from her.

He would do anything to realise what he had done wrong and to make this all better. He bit his lip as he tried to remember the events which could have caused her to stop clinging to his arm and start glaring at him instead.

“He is so pathetic,” she had screamed in her dorm, slamming the door behind her before sitting on her bed and facing Hermione opposite her.

“What do you expect?” she waited for a reaction, “Ron has always been a bit daft hasn’t he?”

“But I was making it so obvious,” her shoulders deflated, “and then she had to come along and ruin everything,” she sneered at the memory.

“You know just as well as I do that this isn’t Fleur’s fault,” she let out a mix of a sigh and groan in response knowing that Hermione was right, “besides, you could do a lot better than Ron.”

“But I don’t want to do better than Ron,” she had sulked the rest of the night letting the scene play through her mind over and over again until she felt physically sick and couldn’t sleep.

“You would tell me if something was wrong, right?” Ron had finally built up the courage to address her again.

“Yes,” she grumbled.

“So what’s wrong?” he really just wanted her to feel better so he swallowed his pride and moved so he was laying on his side and looking at her properly.

“Nothing,” she refused to look at him, “it’s dumb.”

“Well it can’t be that dumb if it was making you this upset,” he reached out an arm to hold her hand and she squeezed it to let him know that she was upset, but it was still okay.

“Could you please pass me the salad, Ron?” Fleur had asked Ron that night and it honestly hadn’t even bothered her.

“Of course,” Ron had spoken and acted so quickly that he had knocked his glass of water down making his ears turn red as Molly shook her head and stood up to clean it. Fleur had laughed it off and told him that he was cute.

That didn’t really bother her either. She liked Fleur and it was common for Fleur to talk to people that way. It really didn’t bother her.

“Ron, could you please pass me the chicken?” he wasn’t as enthusiastic and maybe, as foolish as it was, that was what set her off. Or maybe it was because Fleur was sitting across from her and all she could focus on was how pretty she was. Maybe her eyes were tricking her but she couldn’t help but notice Ron stare at her for a little too long. And maybe these feelings had been building up since they were fourteen, but she didn’t really know why all of a sudden a wave of emotions had washed over her. The rest of the night she couldn’t help but steal glances at Fleur, noticing how effortlessly gorgeous she was compared to how average she was.

“You’ll laugh,” she knew he wouldn’t laugh.

“I won’t laugh,” he sounded offended.

“I’m just,” she tried to find the right words, “not feeling well.”

“That’s a lie,” she couldn’t see the way he raised his eyebrows at her.

“Fleur,” they had finished dinner and were sitting in the living room. Molly and Arthur, Bill and Fleur, Charlie and George and herself and Ron were the only ones in the house at the moment, “I’m so glad Bill met you,” Molly had gushed as Fleur finished her story about work..

She wanted to slap herself in the face when she felt her whole body tense at the words and if she didn’t want Molly’s approval so bad she probably would have done it.

“Me too,” Ron had chimed in making her head snap towards him, “still can’t believe Bill got someone so out of his league,” he smirked as Bill shouted a profanity at him.

It was harmless, she knew that. It was just to annoy Bill, she knew that. But she couldn’t help the way her teeth began to grind and she instantly let go of Ron.

“Sometimes I have a lot of emotions,” she began, eyes still on the ceiling.

“Trust me,” she heard him breath out, “I’ve noticed,” she finally turned to look at him and glare, making his face fall as he mumbled out a few a, ‘sorry, love’.

“And I know I'm being silly,” she turned away again, “but sometimes I get really jealous of Fleur.”

“Stop looking at her!” she had moved her head so it was in line with Ron’s eyes who were desperately trying to find the Beauxbaton girl who had just stolen their food.

“I’m not looking at her,” he had tried to defend himself, “I’m trying to find her so I can look at her,” he mumbled it under his breath and into his food but she still heard him and sent a filthy look.

“You’re pathetic,” she rolled her eyes at him making him sit up again. She didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered behind her.

“Why do you care so much?” his ears were turning red and she blinked at him a few times realising that she didn’t have an answer.

“You’re probably making her feel uncomfortable,” she sat up straighter and pushed her shoulders back.

She returned her focus to her food, feeling a little embarrassed and missing the way that Ron’s eyes were now flickering onto her.

“Why?” she turned to see his reaction. His eyebrows were furrowed and he had a look of utter confusion etched on his face.

“Because she is really pretty,” she mumbled, “and a veela,” she said that more clearly.

“And?”

“And you’ve never been shy of showing off in front of her,” she raised an eyebrow at him and the flame - which had suddenly become stronger - allowed her to see the red tinge which spread upon Ron’s face.

“It’s her veela charm,” he said quietly, not entirely sounding convinced. She didn’t say anything prompting him to tease, “or maybe I’m just pathetic,” there was a slight grin forming on his face and she couldn’t stop the one forming on hers.

“I think that’s a better explanation,” she giggled as he let his grin grow wide as well. She moved so that she was on her side as well and Ron reached out his arm so that he could rest it on her hip and bring her closer to him.

“Get a hold of yourself, Ron,” she rolled her eyes at the red-faced boy standing in front of her, “it was just a peck on the cheek,” he had a blanket around him and he was slightly shivering.

“That’s not fair,” he gave her an annoyed look, “I just came out of the bloody lake,” he pointed to the lake next to them and glared at her.

“Sure,” she gave him a sarcastic look before mumbling, “he is so pathetic,” under her breath. She crossed her arms over her chest missing the way that Ron’s ears perked up and went a deeper shade of red as he heard the words muttered from her mouth.

“You have nothing to be jealous about,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead and she let herself relax under his touch.

“I know,” she looked up at him innocently making him chuckle, “but, I don’t know,” she looked back down, “I think this has just built up since our fourth year and I think something set it off tonight.”

“You’re so stunning,” he pressed another kiss to her nose, “have nothing to be insecure about, yeah?” she looked up at him to be met with a soft gaze which pulled at her heart.

He pressed another soft kiss to her lips and he pushed himself up so he could continue kissing all over her face.

“I love you so much,” he had murmured in between kisses, “so beautiful,” he moved so that he was kissing her jawline, “can I show you how much I love you?” he pulled away so he could look at her face and she nodded eagerly making him smile before he continued kissing her.

Her hands found his hair as he kissed around the sensitive area under her jaw and she tugged at it when he bit down.

“So everyone knows you’re the only one I love,” she rolled her eyes at his comment but still pulled him closer by his hair so that she could press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he continued kissing around the now red area, “I love you so much.”

“Let me see that beautiful body, yeah?” he pushed himself up again so that he could lift her shirt up, pressing another kiss to her lips as soon as it went over her head. He moved down to her pants and pulled them off as well as her underwear. Her body shivered at the cool breeze which hit her hot skin but she hummed in content as Ron started kissing her chest and continued murmuring about how beautiful she was.

“You’re a goddess,” he commented as he started kissing around her nipple, while one of his hands reached to grab the other. She giggled and he smiled up at her, glad to hear the beautiful noise again.

“You’re doing a good job at making me feel better,” she sighed in content as he started leaving a trail of kisses on her tummy, pressing soft kisses along her hips before placing a soft kiss on her clit which made her gasp.

“Gonna make you feel even better,” he smirked up at her before he let his tongue touch her heat.

“Yes,” she moaned out, “Ron,” her hands reached out to grab onto his hair. She arched her back and Ron moved his arm so that it was over her hips and holding her down. She moved one hand from his hair and put it over the one on her hips. He turned it around and she held onto it, giving it a small squeeze.

With his other hand he pressed his thumb to her clit, placing pressure on it and making her cry out his name.

“Better be quiet love, don’t want anyone to hear us,” he pulled himself away and gave her a cheeky grin before going back to devour her again. She felt a heat rise to her cheeks as she remembered where she was.

“Sorry,” she moaned, “can’t help it when - ah,” she squeezed his hand as he started rubbing her clit and she let out a big breath, “when you make me feel so good,” her breathing was uneven and soon she was trying to whisper to let Ron know that she was going to cum.

His fingers moved faster and his tongue was going deeper and soon her back was arching and she was trying to squirm under Ron’s grip, but his tongue followed her movements and she let go moaning out his name.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?” he asked as he pushed himself up and started taking his pants off.

“Yes,” her eyes were still shut in her post-orgasm bliss and Ron pressed a soft kiss to her nose, once again reminding her how beautiful she was.

“So wet for me,” he commented as he let his fingers move between her folds.

“Hurry up,” she bucked her hips towards him, making him tsk.

“Be patient, sweetheart,” usually she would never get away with such a demand but she only smirked at him before replying, “I thought you were trying to make me feel better?” she pouted and he shook his head before aligning his cock at her entrance.

“Going to be the death of me, love,” he thrusted his hips into her making her gasp, “be quiet,” he grabbed onto her thighs and pulled her legs up so that they were resting on his shoulders.

“Ron,” she moaned out as he started thrusting at a much quicker pace, “ah-” she had cried out when he found the spongy spot which made her scrunch her eyes up and receive a shushing from Ron.

“I told you to be quiet,” but he thrusted harshly between each word making her mouth fall open as she reached her hand down to rub at her clit. Normally he would have smacked her hand away, but instead he took the opportunity to put his fingers in her mouth.

“Since your fingers are doing my job,” he grunted, “and because you can’t keep quiet,” he smirked as she instantly began sucking on his fingers, “good girl.”

Her other hand went to grab onto the one in her mouth when she was about to cum and Ron told her to cum on his cock, coaxing her and praising her, telling her he wanted to see her pretty body come undone on his cock. Her legs were shaking and she was lazily sucking on Ron’s fingers now as her breath got caught in her throat and she thrashed her hips, trying to moan out Ron’s name as his thrusts became sloppier.

He replaced his cock with his fingers so he could let her ride out her orgasm while he let his cum fall onto her tummy.

She took a deep breath and smiled in satisfaction as Ron removed his fingers and left to go to the bathroom so he could clean her up.

“Thank you,” she smiled in content as he started cleaning her up, “I feel much better about myself now,” she sat up as he began to dress her and she started pressing soft kisses on his face.

He laid onto the mattress, resting on his back as he lifted an arm up so that she could rest her head on his bare chest as he traced patterns on her shoulder.

“I love you so much, you know?” his voice was soft and she let her eyes begin to close, “so in love with you,” he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “so beautiful,” another kiss, “so good to me,” she hummed.

“I am,” she felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled.

“So lucky to have you,” she was starting to get tired now, “don’t ever want you to question that,” he was still kissing her head, “don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he started playing with the ends of her hair, instantly making her body relax.

“I love you, Ron,” she mumbled sleepily.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he pressed a long and gentle kiss onto her forehead before blowing out the candle which was now illuminating the whole room. He continued to whisper how much he loved her and what she meant to him as she fell asleep in his arms, the green tinge gone from her face and Ron’s mind happy that he could go to sleep confident she knew how much he loved her.

487 notes · View notes