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jungkxook · 4 years

Text

—moonstruck. (m)

⟶ pairing: taehyung x reader

⟶ genre: werewolf!taehyung au / arranged marriage au / smut with a sprinkle of fluff

⟶ words: 7,421

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: in hindsight, being friends with a pack of werewolves and, thus, suddenly being thrown into a world of supernatural furries and other inhuman beings isn’t something you would recommend but it was too late to back out now, especially when you consider the fact that apparently you’re now being “hunted” and the only way to save you is to be mated with taehyung. whatever that means.

⟶ warnings: multiple smut scenes, first time (virgin!taehyung), clumsy sex, soft and gentle sex, sort of rough sex, all the sex, cunnilingus, riding, hair pulling, knotting, buckets of cum, biting kink, slight impregnation kink, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ disclaimer: first fic back after a long hiatus and i’m suddenly v nervous to post this!! also this is shamelessly and 100% inspired by an episode of the show outlander (to be exact, the wedding episode). i couldn’t help myself!!

“Are you serious right now?”

In hindsight, being friends with a pack of werewolves and, thus, suddenly being thrown into a world of supernatural furries and other inhuman beings isn’t something you would recommend but it was too late to back out now, especially when you consider the fact that apparently you’re now being “hunted.” Whatever that means.

Had you heard yourself speak a year ago before meeting Taehyung and having your life turned upside down, you would have surely thought you were insane, and you would have definitely thought Taehyung is insane, and the rest of his friends who are, subsequently, now yours ━ each of whom are all currently splayed out before you in Namjoon’s spacious country-side home with similar grave looks staring back at you.

“Dead serious,” Hoseok takes the liberty of breaking the odd silence saturating the kitchen. He’s made it a point to be on time for once, which you consider great and all if it wasn’t basically to dispute your current death sentence. “Always thought Jaebum’s pack were sons of bitches ━ glad to know it’s still true.”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi scolds. “Be a little more compassionate.”

“Am I wrong?” Hoseok refutes.

From off to the side, Jimin pushes himself forward with a frustrated groan, shaking his head. “Tae, I told you this was a dumb fucking idea ━ bringing Y/N into the pack━”

“I didn’t think this would happen,” Taehyung protests hotly. He’s leaning against the wall somewhere behind you, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown darkening his face.

“How could you not think this would happen?” Jungkook retorts bitterly.

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“She’s a human,” Jungkook says. “Jaebum wants her gone, but if he were to get his hands on her, then who knows what could happen━”

“I said shut up, Jungkook,” Taehyung snarls, an odd vehement tone dripping from his every word that is out of the place for the usually tranquil boy. Jungkook’s mouth clamps shut at once, though you suspect it’s not to do with defeat more so than because he’s the newest addition to the pack and, while Namjoon is their leader (or Alpha, as you’ve heard being thrown around before), Taehyung was something of a second-in-command. You could only imagine the consequences of crossing either Namjoon or Taehyung within the pack.

“Hold on a second,” You try to sputter for air, lungs wheezing. Your mind has since been spinning, struggling to keep up. At first you thought they were joking when they had told you, but now you were beginning to understand the severity at the very least. “I’m being hunted? Why?”

Now, Namjoon looks from Taehyung, then to you, and back again. Taehyung hesitates to answer at first, and Jungkook scowls. “Well, tell her, Tae. You dragged her into this mess. She deserves to hear it from you.”

As you twist in your seat to look up at Taehyung, your eyes locking briefly with his, the boy grimaces and then has to look away. He takes a deep breath before responding. “Okay, look. You know that pack I told you about? Jaebum’s?”

You nod, though the memory is vague. You’ve heard the name in passing before, but you could only gather that there was some sort of animosity between his and Taehyung’s pack.

“He found out about you, and I don’t know how,” Taehyung explains. “And now he wants you gone, and he’ll do anything to see it through.”

You blink once, dumbfounded. Terrified, even. Taehyung can certainly hear it in your voice and it makes him flinch again, as if being striked across the face. “Why?”

“Because you’re not one of us,” Taehyung says. “Because you’re human. When I first told you about us, I was risking everything. It’s uncommon for one of us to bring a human into the pack just because, and often even frowned upon. There’s a fear you’ll expose us to the human world or the hunters. Jaebum’s threatening to start war if we don’t deal with this situation ourselves.”

It’s only then that the dread begins to creep upon you, chilling you to the bone. “Deal with it… how?”

“The ultimatum is either kill you ourselves, or give you over to Jaebum to deal with, as a sort of peace offering,” Namjoon says carefully.

“Which probably also results in death,” Hoseok points out morbidly.

Jin scoffs. “Or worse.”

“Is there any option that doesn’t result in death?” You ask warily. At this, the group falls silent once more.

“Well, there is one.” Namjoon glances fleetingly around at his brethren, then sighs. “You become one of us.”

“I━” You stammer, face suddenly hot. “You mean, like, a werewolf?”

“I mean, a wedding.”

“A wedding?” You gasp. “How is that going to save me?”

“Not a wedding like you think,” Namjoon says. “More of a bonding. A handfasting. Right now, as a human, you’re vulnerable and exposed. We have no claim over you. But if you become one of us ━ without being turned ━ then Jaebum shouldn’t be able to touch you.”

Slowly, you begin to piece together the fragment of your dilemma. “Marry who?”

A beat of silence passes amongst the group in which time you spot Namjoon nod in the direction of Taehyung’s figure beyond you, a wordless yet clear gesture. Suddenly, a stubborn warmth of a blush pinches at your cheeks. You wonder if they can notice, if Taehyung can notice. You start, “Taehyung━?”

“He offered to be the one,” Namjoon says. “And Jaebum knows Taehyung’s role in the pack. If he knows you’re mated to Tae, Jaebum would be absolutely insane to try and come for you. It’s the only way, Y/N, and it ensures your safety.”

“Marrying Taehyung?” You ask shrilly, voice dangerously thin. “How is marrying Taehyung going to ensure my safety?”

“It’s not just a marriage,” Jimin explains.

But of course you already know this, werewolf laws a strange and intricate jumble of rules that you’ve long since grown accustomed to. When he speaks next, you already know it’s much more than a marriage; and, when he speaks next, you fear you’ve already had your fate decided for you.

“It’s not just a marriage,” Namjoon repeats, matter-of-fact, “because we’re making you Taehyung’s mate.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”

You try not to think about it. Admittedly, marrying your friend who you have only known for a year isn’t something you had been expecting. But, as Namjoon had explained it, it wasn’t necessarily a legal unification between you and Taehyung, though you suppose it’s as valid now as any marriage with the ritualistic handfasting ceremony making it official. That, and you favoured living to see another day instead of becoming a werewolf’s next meal or ripped to shreds by one.

Only a day after your conversation with the boys of Taehyung’s pack, you’ve come to your ultimate decision which has led you to where you are now, returning to Namjoon’s home for a wedding. Your wedding. You hadn’t very long to decide your own fate anyway, with the boys grimly warning you it was now or never. But you trust them, despite this crazed ludicrous situation you find yourself in ━ and you trust Taehyung more than anything, your friendship with him having quickly blossomed into something so sincerely profound over the year that you’ve known him.

If you’re being honest, Namjoon’s pack had at least made an effort for the occasion because despite how unconventional it is, it was still a celebration. A celebration for your marriage, and a celebration for their hopeful victory over Jaebum. Still, the underlying threat of the evening remains, made more prevalent by the fact that it was required to invite at least another pack (of which you’ve met the leader, Jisoo, a handful of times before) as witnesses. It’s a simple ceremony too, quaint and cute if you weren’t clinging to life. You had made it a point to dress up, digging a pretty white dress from the depths of your closet with flowing butterfly-like sleeves; Taehyung had forgone a suit but was still handsomely dressed too, leaving you to feel like less of an idiot. Namjoon had officiated it, standing before you and Taehyung as you held one another’s hand, wrapped delicately in ribbon, listening to the vows being proclaimed that talked about true love, and the passion and yearning involved.

When the handfasting finally draws to a close, you’re shoved into a room alone with Taehyung for a moment of privacy by Hoseok, who can be heard quipping wolfishly, “Get it over with quick!” before vanishing behind the closed door. You wager he’s left to join with the rest of the festivities outside where, no doubt, every werewolf is currently drinking themselves blind.

Finally alone with Taehyung, a saturated silence fills the air that has you wringing your hands anxiously in front of you. You sit on the edge of the bed in the center of the room. “What other choice was there, Tae?”

Taehyung takes a moment to respond, and even he knows the thought is a useless one when it crosses his mind before voicing it aloud. “We could have ran away.”

“How far would we get?” You sigh. Still, the sorrow earnest in his voice and riddling his face is enough to make you look up at him sympathetically. “I’m no use to you if Jaebum or someone worse finds us by ourselves. Besides, the boys need you.”

“No, you need me,” Taehyung insists. “Jungkook’s right. I dragged you and the pack into this mess. It’s my responsibility to fix this.”

He drags his feet towards the bed, then flops down onto his back on the mattress. A troubled groan punctuates the air, and you sneak a glance behind you to see him rubbing warily at his eyes.

You decide now would be the best time to ask the one question that has been on your mind since the night before when you were sitting in Namjoon’s kitchen to discuss Jaebum’s scorn. “Is that why… Is that why you offered to be my mate?”

“Yes,” Taehyung admits meekly. “Sort of. Think we’d all rather it be me than Joon, anyway.”

You don’t argue with this. The reasons as to why it had to be Taehyung satisfied you well enough. That, and aside from having befriended the pack over the months, you’re much closer to Taehyung than you are with the others.

“So…” You trail off, clearing your throat. At this point, you’re simply speaking for the sake of filling the void. “What now?”

Taehyung shrugs. He looks around the room. “Nothing.”

“Well, what did Hoseok mean just now? Get what over with?”

“Erm━” Taehyung opens his mouth, as if preparing to explain, then decides otherwise. “It’s nothing.”

“Taehyung, we literally just got married and you’re already keeping secrets from me,” You retort. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he insists. “It’s just that… Well…” He sits up from the bed, meeting your curious gaze. “This was essentially a mating, and every mating needs to be seen through to the end to be considered valid. The pack can tell when it’s… uh… done.”

Oh.

Now it hits you. It’s the way he awkwardly trails off, hand ruffling through his long locks, that has you immediately understanding what he’s trying to imply. You gawk upward at him. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”

Suddenly, Taehyung looks flustered and he shakes his head frantically. “I mean, they expect it, but I would never force it on you.” Then, he straightens up, as if captivated by a newfound confidence. The smallest of smirks dances upon his lips that you don’t miss. “Besides, I never said it had to be between you and me. As long as they can sense it, I’d say your hand would do just fine instead ━ but you have all night for that.”

“Oh my god.”

The smirk widens into a devious look now. “You said you wanted honesty.”

As he dissolves into a fit of stifled chuckles, you scowl but you wager it’s mostly an attempt to hide the frazzled look on your face. Then, hurrying to change the topic, ask, “Is every mating like that then?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung admits. “If two mates want to stay together forever, they complete the process with marking, usually by a bite. It strengthens the mating bond.”

Taehyung notices you squirm in your spot, crossing your knee over the other and squeezing your thighs together. He can sense you’re uncomfortable, understandably with your current situation, but can’t quite pinpoint what else seems to make you sit so rigidly.

“What was it like for you?” He decides to ask. “The handfasting?”

The question takes you by surprise, though his sincere intrigue makes you smile smally to yourself. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before, but it was… It was nice.” You think back to nearly an hour ago, and the way Taehyung had looked standing before you. While you were marrying him out of necessity, there was something candidly beautiful about the entire ceremony. At the very least, you were glad it had been with Taehyung of all people. “Can I be honest with you, Tae?”

“Of course,” Taehyung says. “At this point, you can pretty much tell me anything. Don’t think anything’s as shocking as coming out as a werewolf.”

An innocent giggle bubbles at your throat. Suddenly, you look sheepish. “I might have had one too many glasses of wine before coming.”

“Ah.” Despite the interested hum of noise, he looks genuinely entertained. “So you’re drunk?”

“Not quite. Pleasantly buzzed,” You say. “Well, can you blame me? The occasion called for it considering a bunch of wolves want to kill me and I’m being arranged into a marriage.”

“So you don’t remember anything about your own wedding?”

You pull a face, though Taehyung gathers it’s because of the blunt mention of the word. “I do. Just… not all of it. Some things are clearer than others, but I think that’s mostly because I was nervous.”

“I remember every moment,” Taehyung muses thoughtfully. “I remember seeing you there, in your dress, and everything felt right despite it all.” His stare hardens in that moment, as if probed by the harsh reminder of the reasoning behind the night in the first place. “You know I’ll do anything to keep you safe, right? We haven’t had time to sit back and talk it over but you really do mean the world to me.”

A muffled groan eclipses your lips. You dig the heels of your palms against your eyes as you bemoan, “Don’t say those kinds of things, Tae.”

“Why?”

“Because… Because…” Your eyes shoot open, though suddenly you refuse to meet his curious wandering gaze.

But Taehyung doesn’t even need you to finish your thought. You wonder if it’s one of the many keen abilities possessed by these shapeshifters or if it’s simply a Taehyung thing, being that he’s quickly become one of your closest friends over the year that you’ve known him.

“You’re still nervous,” he hums as delicately as possible. It’s not an accusation, but a simple fact of the matter. He pushes himself to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, leaving an appropriate amount of space between the two of you. “Are you nervous because of me?”

“No.”

“That’s a lie,” Taehyung snorts. When you don’t respond immediately, a small inkling of a doubt makes him question apprehensively, “Are you scared of me then? I wouldn’t blame you, especially after everything that’s been going on━”

“What?” You finally turn to look at him, a look of incredulousness contorting your face. “No! No, I’m not scared of you, Tae. I could never be scared of you.” You don’t dare turn to face him, instead keeping your eyes fixed on your hands as you continue. “You make me nervous, but not in a bad way. Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” When you chance a look at him, you find him smiling softly to himself. “It’s the same way I felt when I saw you earlier tonight.”

Your heart quickens in pace against your chest, and you’re almost positive he can surely hear it. Now, you finally lift your timid stare to meet his pensive look, and you have to bite back the smile that threatens to form on your face. He looks distracted, though not in a way where his mind is elsewhere entirely; instead, he seems besotted, dark eyes shimmering gently, and there’s a palpable shift of energy in the atmosphere.

Without even realizing it, the pair of you begin to gravitate towards one another, leaning in close enough to shorten the distance between the two of you. You pause, lingering near enough to feel his warm breath fanning against your neck. He can’t help himself, and reaches out with his hand to brush his fingers along your shoulder to the base of your throat, sending chills down your spine. His hand comes to rest against your neck, fingers stretching outward to cradle the back of your head. He guides you toward him this time, closer and closer.

“Taehyung…” You whisper.

He stops at once, clamps his mouth shut and squeezes his eyes closed. His restraint seems to be not without labour, judging by the sobering small shake of his head, and the way he leans his forehead against yours, tendons in his jaw fluttering as he clenches his teeth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.”

“I want you to.”

He’s startled when you’re the one that moves first, catching his lips onto yours. He’s unmoving at first, basking in the feel and taste of your mouth smoothing over his. It’s slow, steady, but then he’s craning his neck to deepen the kiss and something feverish overtakes the both of you. You clamber onto his lap at once, swinging one leg over his and settling back onto him, your dress bunching up at your thighs. He’s taken aback for a moment, though his hands instinctively come to grip at your waist and you try not to focus on how large and warm they feel, burning against the material of your dress. In fact, every inch of him radiates a thermal energy that is both comforting and excites you. You chase his lips, yearning for another kiss, but he hesitates at the last moment, jerking his head away. He doesn’t move very far at first, then he drops his head into the crook of your neck. His nose burrows against the base of your throat, his lips brushing against your skin as he moves along your neck to your shoulder, then back again. You can tell he’s holding himself back, not quite allowing himself to enjoy this. To enjoy you.

“You said we have all night, didn’t you?” You rasp. “So why not start now?”

“I also said it didn’t have to be between you and me if you didn’t want it to be.” Taehyung finds his voice at long last, however hoarse it may be. You’re already driving him crazy, just by your smell alone. “Are you sure? You said you wanted honesty, so be honest with me, Y/N. Don’t just say it’s because it has to be done. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“Well, don’t you want this?” You question.

“Fuck, yes.” He groans against your neck. Something feral seems to stir within him, and you can feel his canines bare against your skin. “But only if you do.”

You aren’t quite sure what seems to possess you all of a sudden. He’s intoxicating, you think. Your hands tug at his hair now, desperation wearing your own voice thin. “Yes, Tae. Please. I want you inside me so badly.”

Finally, he presses his mouth against your throat, tonguing hot open-mouthed kisses there. His grip tightens around your waist, tugging you harder against him, and the feeling of him growing harder against your inner thigh in a matter of seconds has you both enraptured by a newfound heated ferocity.

Grasping at a moment of clarity, you ask meekly, “Isn’t this your first time?”

“Is it that obvious?”

You want to tell him anything but, the way his hands and lips move across you an indicator of that. “I thought you wolves are all about sex. Don’t you, like, go into heat or something?”

It’s a feeble attempt at a snarky joke, judging by the way your lips unfurl into a languid smirk. “Typically. But I never wanted sex for the sake of fucking. The boys make fun of me all the time for it.”

You snicker, but the delightful noise is lost in a simper as he continues to kiss upward to the underside of your jaw. He grips tightly at your waist and moves, shifting the two of you around, until your back is splayed out on the edge of the bed and he’s hovering directly over you.

“Taehyung…” He grunts in response, though you don’t blame him for not responding. The way his cock bulges against your core now, the way you press your hips up into his instinctively, is enough to drive you insane, let alone the boy. Still, you manage to rasp, “Tae, just don’t bite me. Promise me.”

“I won’t,” he assures, though now he certainly seems preoccupied. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring, and whines aloud, “God, I can already smell you. So fucking good.”

His head falls into the crook of your neck as his hips dig harshly into yours in a way that makes you aware of what his words seem to mean. Slick arousal already begins to form between your legs, pooling into a mess on your underwear that has you squirming beneath him. The thought of him being able to smell you makes your face heat, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He kisses down to your collarbones, then, without warning, flips you over at once. Rough hands grasp at your waist, pulling you to your knees and your ass off the edge of the bed. As he fumbles to tear your panties from your hips, then lifts the skirt of your dress up with one hand, he hurries to undo his belt and the button of his pants with the other.

“Wait, Tae━” You gasp. Before he can push himself into you, you heave yourself up with your hands and twist just enough to place your palm above his waist on his abdomen, stopping him in his place. “What are you doing?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, brows creasing with concern. “Isn’t this how it’s done? I’m not totally helpless.”

You bite back your abrupt grin, swallowing your amusement when you realize he’s genuinely confused. It’s hard to grasp how he can look so innocent even despite his leaking cock still in his hand. “Well, yeah, but not always.”

“I just thought it was like how dogs go at it, y’know?” Taehyung says. “The guys all seem to say so anyway.”

You can’t help it now when this newfound information has you keeling over with laughter. You’re fortunate he doesn’t seem offended by your delight, instead grinning sheepishly to himself as he watches you wipe tears away from your eyes.

“What?” he asks promptly, and then as if to nudge you back to reality, tightens his grip on your waist and yanks you towards him gingerly. Pressing his front flush against your back, he catches your ear lobe between his teeth and nibbles on it.

“Then I feel sorry for their mates,” You manage to choke out. “It’s not bad, but I want to be able to see you the first time around. It’s better that way. More intimate.”

You squirm out from beneath him, turning to face him properly. Still sprawled out before him, you prop yourself up on your elbow and then reach out with your other hand to grab at his face and pull him down to you.

“Noted,” he hums into your mouth. “Anything else I should know?”

“Nothing that I can think of at the moment,” You admit, though maybe that’s simply because your mind is spinning at the sight of his length.

He’s much, much bigger than you imagined, tip irritated and swollen red already, glistening with precum as he swipes his palm over himself a handful of times. You hike your dress up further around your waist as he guides himself towards you.

“Stop me if it hurts,” he says.

You nod, though you trust him well enough to know he’ll treat you right in the best way possible. As he pushes the tip of his length against your folds and into you, your reactions are almost immediate. He ceases above you, face scrunching up at the feeling of your slickness around him. You notice his furrowed brows, the way he bares his teeth. A guttural growl sounds deep within his chest that has you shuddering in anticipation.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “You’re so fucking wet. You take me so well, baby. I don’t think I’ll last long.”

“Don’t care,” You whimper. “Just wanna feel you.”

He pushes himself in further, slowly and carefully, inch-by-inch, in just a way that has the both of you feeling how he stretches you open every single step of the way. You wonder how much further you can go until he’s stopping, bottoming out within you. He sputters for air, collapsing against your chest entirely as you fall back onto the bed. He waits just enough for you to adjust to the girth of his weight in you, then rolls his hips into yours. Then again, and again, until he’s grinding into you with such measured and deep strokes that you melt beneath him entirely. You kick your legs up to wrap around his waist, head lolling back at the feeling of his mouth sucking against your throat.

“I’m gonna━” His voice splinters off then into an abrupt cry. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum━”

He’s quick to dissolve into shambles, grunting and moaning every time you clench around him and every thrust of his hips. Just when you think you’ve lost yourself to the moment, he cums much faster than you thought and entirely unexpected for him too, in hot waves that have you still writhing beneath him. When he’s spent, his weight falls slack against you, crushing you beneath him but in a comforting manner. It’s silently peaceful for a few moments as he settles, heart thundering in his chest and against yours. Your fingers smooth over his sweaty long locks, scratching at his head. Then━

“That was terrible, wasn’t it?” he mutters wretchedly.

“Not terrible,” You confess. “What was that? Three minutes, top? For your first time, I’m honestly surprised you lasted more than a minute.”

“Fuck off.” His fingers poke at your sides teasingly as you burst out into laughter. He lifts his head to meet yours, perhaps a little embarrassed. “Don’t tell the guys. They’ll never let me live it down.”

“Doesn’t matter,” You hum, tracing your finger down to his lips. “We can practice whenever you want. I’ll make you into a lover so good, you’ll want me to brag to them.”

“Practice, huh?” His eyes sparkle mischievously. He pulls himself from your core and you hiss at the sudden loss, tugging at his chest as if to keep him close to you but he seems to have other plans. “Why stop now?”

You watch him curiously. “Easy there, boy. Don’t wear yourself out.”

“Well, I have to make it up to you,” he points out. “Especially on your wedding night. It’s only fair. What kind of lousy mate would I be to call it a night without having you cum on my face?”

“Romantic.” You roll your eyes but you marvel at the way you had shuddered at the word only moments ago and now, under such a different circumstance, the way he utters it makes your heart flutter in your chest. “Is this the first time you’ve eaten a girl out?”

“I said I was a virgin,” he says. Your eyes stay trained on the boy as he shifts himself further down your body to wedge himself between your thighs, throwing one leg over his shoulder. He kisses at your navel, then down to your core. He takes his time as he reaches out with his fingers to swipe at your folds, admiring the way his cum leaks from you; then, with his forefinger, he wipes at a stray bead of his arousal and pushes it back into your cunt slowly. The simple action is enough to have your back arching off the bed, hands flying out to brace yourself by gripping at his hair. “I never said I didn’t know how to please a woman elsewhere.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Gladly.”

He sinks lower to your core and out of sight, leaving hot open mouthed kisses along the way. His finger never once leaves its spot within you, and instead is joined by another that spreads you wide in absence of his cock.

“Do you know how hard it is to focus on anything other than your beautiful cunt?” he asks, voice low and sultry. “From the moment I could smell you, I wanted a taste.”

His tongue probes against your clit, the wet muscle a sudden startle that has you slackening against him. He flicks it back and forth, mouth wrapping around the bundle of nerves and sucking hard. A moan threatens to fall from your lips but an intrusive thought crossing your mind has you swallowing it with much difficulty.

“Can’t the boys hear us from down there?” You ask. You wonder how the celebration for your “wedding” has unfolded over the night without you or Taehyung there, or if they even notice your prolonged absence.

“No.” His voice is a deep mumble, rattling you from your core outward. “We learn how to tune out sounds nearby unless we really want to pay attention. The new ones struggle a bit, though.”

He curls his fingers inside you, stretching them upward. You pant, “Isn’t Jungkook still new?”

You can feel his smirk unfurling against you even before he pokes his head up to look at you with devious, hooded eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s a bit of a hazing process.”

You hardly have time to register the thought, though it doesn’t matter much. You’re far too overwhelmed by the way Taehyung is making you feel to even care. He drops his mouth from your clit to your folds, tongue swirling against your aching core. He laps at your cunt like a mangy dog as his fingers continue to work within you. The further he burrows into you, the harder his nose digs against your clit and sends you over the edge. You try to hold on just a little longer but your core is already achingly sensitive from when his length had made it home.

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. “Don’t hold back, baby. Let me taste you.”

Fingers twisting in his hair, he growls roughly against you, basking in the way you mewl and moan his name. Time seems to blur and, before you know it, you’ve reached your high. You’re embarrassingly wet, soaking his chin and nose which glistens with a mixture of yours and his arousal. Taehyung doesn’t hold back, instead licking you clean of every last drop, a muffled moan of content emitting from him.

“So good,” he says. “All mine.”

When he finally pulls away from you, he licks at his lips as if not quite finished with your every taste. From where he sits, you’re an entire mess, brows scrunched in concentration, teeth tugging at your lower lip. Needy hands yank at his hair and he obliges, kissing his way up your body to meet your mouth. His tongue pokes through to lav at your lips and wedges itself beyond, and you suck delightfully at the taste of you and him mingling on it. His own hands caress your body, bringing you back down from your high gradually but you can still feel his straining dick against your thigh and it invigorates you even further despite the beginning hints of exhaustion starting to creep upon you.

“Want more,” Taehyung growls with a newfound intensity, catching you off guard. “Need your cunt. M’gonna make it mine. Need to make you mine. Gonna fill you with my cum till you’re bursting with my pups, how does that sound?”

Mind spinning, you nod eagerly at the thought. Your words form in the shape of a moan. “Yes, please.”

“Gotta get this dress off first,” he mutters, greedy palms wandering up beneath the hem of your dress.

You scurry to obey, helping him slide the dress off your arms and toss it away on the floor. He’s more than pleased to see that you had decided to forgo wearing a bra earlier in the day, and reaches out at once to grasp at your perked breasts in his large palm. He buries his face into your chest, catching one of your nipples between his teeth. He busies himself by marking your chest red with small nibbles until you grow impatient, tugging at the shirt he’s still wearing. He’s quick to oblige, shedding himself of his clothes; then, his nails are digging viciously into your hips as he flips the two of you over with incredible ease.

“Sit on my cock,” he snarls into your ear. “Need to feel you again.”

Legs weak from your past orgasm and the huskiness of his voice, you sidle onto his lap, tossing one thigh over his. He sits up to join you and helps push himself past your folds, though you finish by settling back on his length carefully until you’re filled to the brim. Despite already knowing what to expect from the first time around, you still shudder at the feeling, mouth unhinging as you roll your hips leisurely against his. He hardly strays from your body, instead continuing to kiss between the valley of your breasts and up to the underside of your jaw and back again. Fingers poke and prod at your body as they follow his lips, then grasp at your ass to push you closer to him each time you grind against him.

Just when you begin grinding against him in a new angle that makes you moan into his ear, a sudden noise startles the both of you but only just. It takes you both a moment to register it’s the sound of knocking on the other side of the bedroom door (that you can’t remember if Taehyung had locked, because you certainly hadn’t), followed by Jimin’s familiar voice. “Joon said he wanted us to check in on you!”

Taehyung immediately groans into your neck out of frustration, though you suspect it’s because your pace starts to stutter and not because of his bothersome friends.

“Taehyung,” You bite at your lip in an attempt to hide your moans. You tug at his hair, as if to portray what your words fail to do, but he can hear it plainly riddling your voice. The concern, and the sudden shyness, as if fearing Jimin may walk in. But part of you is thrilled at the thought, and judging by the way your unabashed cry of glee slips from your lips without much hiding is proof of that. “Oh, Tae━”

“Shit,” Taehyung’s muffled grunts of pleasure and the way his hips continue to dig into yours to meet your efforts makes you aware Jimin is the least of his current troubles. “Fucking hell━ Don’t stop.”

“Are you guys okay in there?” Now comes Hoseok’s voice, a little faint but undeniably there. Can they hear you? Do they care? They must know what’s happening beyond the door.

“They’re doing it on purpose. Fucking idiots,” Taehyung snarls as he slams his hips up into yours. A contented whimper falls from your mouth, and you cling to him tighter as you quicken your pace. Taehyung grabs at your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes fixed on him despite wandering to the door. “Look at you fucking yourself on me still even with them listening. Such a good girl, huh? So desperate for my cock, aren’t you? Gonna breed so well.”

You think Hoseok and Jimin give up and leave at some point, though you don’t recall when. Instead, in the next moment, something primitive seems to awaken in Taehyung once more and he’s shoving you onto your back on the bed. Kneeling before you, he pummels his hips into yours again and again until you’re only crying his name.

“Mine. All mine,” he growls. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

So wearied from your first high, you tumble easily to your second, coming undone in a matter of seconds, spurred on by the lewd wet noises of his length thrusting into you.

“That’s it, baby,” he mutters, basking in the sound of your moans. “Fuck━ Let them all know who you belong to━”

But just when you think Taehyung has reached his own orgasm ━ sputtering for air and crescendoing in moans of your names, panting hot breath into your ear as he leans against your chest ━ he doesn’t. His thrusts become desperate and sloppy, bordering on frantic, that the soreness between your legs begins to burn. It’s an amalgamation of stubborn yet bearable pain and something harshly pleasant that has your head lolling back.

“What’s wrong?” You moan, blindly tugging at his hair. “Taehyung?”

“I can’t━” He cries out. “I can’t━ I’m so fucking hard, it hurts. I don’t know what’s wrong━”

Confused yet too tired to keep up, you reach out to smooth your fingers across his back. “It’s okay. Just let go, baby. Cum for me, Tae. Please.”

“I’m trying,” he chokes out. “I just can’t━”

Your mind works in a haze to understand what’s happening, but through it all you’re able to discern one reasonable thought. What had Taehyung said about matings and bonds? Aside from the obvious of sleeping with a mate, he had said that typically certain bonds require marking. But he had also said that marking proved to be almost irreversible, resulting in a connection so close that a pair of mates would be together forever. It was a troublesome concept to think about, especially when considering you didn’t think you were a fit match for Taehyung if only because you’re human.

But is that what he needed? The physical strain he puts himself under now to reach his high is almost unbearable to watch. So, you settle on a whim of a decision and conclude that you won’t think of any consequences until after the fact, only wanting to see the poor boy in relief.

“Tae,” You whisper. “What if you bite me?”

“I won’t,” Taehyung says through gritted teeth. His pace has slowed as he slumps against your chest in nearing defeat. “You told me not to.”

“I don’t care,” You retort. “Just bite me.”

He hesitates, lifting his gaze to look at you. When he sees your earnest zeal, he grimaces as if despising that this is his only option. Still, the look of relief that crosses his face is undeniably there. He presses his mouth against your throat, lips brushing faintly against your flesh as he grazes the smooth expanse for a spot, sharp canines poking against you. You brace yourself for the bite, though the pain isn’t as bad as you had thought. A sharp jolt runs down your spine as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and his reaction is immediate, crumbling into pitiful moans of glory.

“Fuck!” he wails. With one final slam of his hips into yours, he finally reaches his high and it’s unlike anything you have felt before. As if he begins to swell within you, his length pulsates as he cums in you to the point where you can’t help but feel so full. It overflows and leaks from your core and onto the sheets, a sticky mess that lingers even long after he’s done. Your mouth pops open at the foreign feeling, whimpering his name.

“I’m sorry,” he flinches. “I’m sorry, does it hurt?”

“No,” You manage to say. “It just… It feels so good━”

He sluggishly rides out the rest of his high until you both physically can’t take anymore. When he hears you hiss his name in a soft reminder, he apologizes once more. Then, as the room falls oddly silent, he slumps against you. He lavs his tongue over the fresh mark on your neck, the gentle motion alleviating the sting left behind. As Taehyung settles finally, he shifts his head to look up at you. You note the faint yellow hue lingering in his eyes, fading now.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “We might have to stay like this for a while.”

“Can’t say I’m mad about that,” You croon sleepily. “You better draw me a bath after this.”

He laughs, rubbing gentle circles against your hips. “Of course. I’ll do anything for you.”

You believe him wholeheartedly when he says it, smiling against his mouth when he leans in for a kiss. His tender wandering hands over your body does wonders in calming your shrill heart, the stretch between your legs, and the bite on your neck. He nuzzles his face into your collarbones, the tip of his nose tickling against you. As your fingers rake through his hair and scratch at his head, he mewls in content.

“Is it always like that?” You ask through a stifled yawn. “You had so much energy, I could barely keep up.”

“No,” he admits groggily. “It’s only like that when you’re mated with someone.”

“What does that even mean anyway?” You ask. “To be mated with someone?”

“Well, it’s━ It’s not really a conscious decision. It sort of just happens,” Taehyung says. “It’s a connection. You gravitate towards one another. You can’t live without the other. We call it imprinting. Sometimes you’re mated to a person who doesn’t even want you, but those are rare instances.”

“So we’re the exception?”

“I thought we were,” Taehyung trails off now. He finally lifts his head to look at you, perhaps a little embarrassed. “I━ Well━ All of this, and especially the bite, doesn’t just happen ━ and definitely not with humans.”

“Oh.” You blush now, face warming under the boy’s introspective stare. “So you’re saying we’re…”

“I always thought there was a connection, but I didn’t think it meant this,” Taehyung murmurs to himself. “As crazy as it sounds, I think we were meant to be.”

“So the bite…”

You don’t finish your thought, instead already having pieced it together in your mind. It does sound crazy, but even you have felt it before. A strange connection to Taehyung, far more exceptional than simply having feelings for him. And the bite is what draws it all together, proving his point and your previous speculations about some sort of affection between the two of you.

“Are you starting to regret this now?” Taehyung asks sheepishly, a weak attempt at a joke to what he had asked you earlier in the night.

He braces himself, as if waiting for your outburst of annoyance or anger. To push him off of you and leave forever. But you do neither, instead reaching out to grasp at his face in both of your hands. You delicately lift his head, meeting his docile stare, entirely and utterly bewitched by him.

“No,” You say earnestly. “I couldn’t have asked for a better night.” A smile forms on his face, innocent and ardent in nature. “I’m just wondering how I’ll hide the mark.”

“I think there’s little to hide now after tonight,” Taehyung grins wolfishly. “Especially with the boys.”

He quivers with laughter at the sight of your scowling face and fingers poking at his sides. As he settles, he leans into your ear to hum, “I’ll make it up to you. Everything. Jaebum, the bite, the boys. But I think you should rest now. We’ll deal with all of that later.”

You don’t argue with that. You’ve already begun to fight the beginnings of sleep, eyelids drooping and itching with a need to just close them ━ and with Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you, his body emitting a pleasurable heat, you decide there’s no place else you’d rather be, moonstruck and in love.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Beltane

Written for Ectober 2021 Day 1: Trick vs Treat. This is part of the Exhumed series.

Danny Fenton walked into the precinct. As often happened when he did this, all attention slowly turned to him. “Hi, Detective Patterson. Have you ever heard of Beltane?”

Patterson took a long swig of coffee through the plastic stir straw, because she felt the need to be at least a little drugged before dealing with whatever this was, and then said, “Is this the kind of thing the whole precinct needs to know about, or is it more specific to me?”

“Mm, not specific to you, but I’m not sure if everyone needs to know about it, yet.”

Despite only select members of the Amity Park police force knowing Danny Fenton had another identity, he’d become a sort of ‘ghost liaison’ for the precinct. Better him than the adult Fentons, who tended to break things even (especially) when they were being careful.

“Actually,” continued Danny, “you might have already noticed some things about it. I mean, it’s seasonal, and Mom and Dad were detecting ectoenergy and ghost activity spikes for events like this before they got the portal up and running. Although, the portal was supposed to stabilize and reduce those spikes… I guess reducing one isn’t bad?”

“Okay,” said Patterson. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. Do you want me to go find Collins?”

“Oh, that might be a good idea.”

“Great,” said Patterson. She turned her head to shout across the room. “McGee. Go find Collins.”

“Still the new guy?” asked Danny, sympathetically.

“It isn’t like we’re a popular posting,” said Patterson, “and, thanks to the ghosts, we don’t really need new people.”

Danny nodded placidly. “I know. But it must be hard for him, don’t you think?”

McGee had done his job. He’d discovered the corruption in the Amity Park Police Department and plumbed its depths. The problem was that he could never, ever, report it. Even if they didn’t have a perfectly good cause for it all, what they were ‘hiding’ (and they were only barely doing that) was so ridiculous that McGee had thought he’d gone crazy at first.

Ghosts.

The whole of Amity Park was haunted. Just like it said in those touristy brochures at the front of the local diners.

He stuck his head into the break room. “Collins, Patterson and Fenton want you,” he said.

“In the normal room?” Collins asked, shoving a sugary monstrosity of a donut into his mouth.

“I have no idea. She didn’t say.”

“Normal room then. Great job, McGee.”

McGee rolled his eyes. Great job, he said. As if he’d done anything.

God. What would Halloween be like?

“So, it’s like, reverse Halloween?” asked Patterson.

“Well, not exactly,” said Danny. He patted Daisy, the department mascot slash corpse sniffing dog who had followed them into the small interview room, gently on the head. “Actually, there are more similarities than differences. Basically, like Halloween, we’re going to get a spike in ectoenergy. Maybe even some ectoplasmic storms. More portals. That kind of thing.” He shrugged. “Most holidays and seasonal divisions have them, you know.”

“So… we’re getting Halloween round two?” asked Collins.

“What do you bet that this is what gets McGee to snap?”

“He’s been here since December,” said Collins. “I think he’s too stubborn to leave.”

“Is he still spying?” asked Danny.

“No,” said Patterson, waving a hand. “He gave up on that, after a while. But there’s a new office bet about whether or not he’ll stay stay, or if he’ll decide to quit. We’re not allowed to join in because we know him too well.”

“Mm,” said Danny.

“I don’t actually know if I feel like I know him that well,” said Collins.

“Well,” said Danny, “it shouldn’t be as extreme as Halloween. Since, I mean, there aren’t as many religious holidays directly associated with death and stuff happening on or around May first. So. Yeah. But the thing is, there are some traditional, er, activities. Spirited activities.”

Collins suppressed a groan, and was glad that Captain Jones wasn’t available today. He and Danny could sling puns at each other for obscenely long periods of time.

“I’ve never noticed ghosts doing anything on May Day,” said Patterson.

“This is only the third year anyone’s even acknowledged that ghosts exist,” said Danny, “so I’m not really all that surprised. But the reason that I came to talk to you guys is that some of the ghosts want to do Beltane stuff. Like the fire blessings. Also, I’ve been told that some of the trees in town are secretly ghost trees, and if we don’t want to deal with another tree army, we need to do some stuff to appease them.”

“Secret ghost trees.”

“My source is very reliable,” said Danny. “Also, while I say ‘we don’t want to deal with it,’ I think we all know who’d be dealing with most of it.”

“You would,” said Patterson.

“Got it in one. Like, I can convince most of the ghosts to either do their Beltane stuff in the Ghost Zone, or somewhere out of the way. They’ll be disappointed, but I can do it. The ghost tree thing, though…”

“Can’t we just, I don’t know,” said Collins, “get rid of the ghost trees?”

“Well, they aren’t really evil ghost trees. Or even really ghost trees. They’re more… ghosts that live in trees?”

“What, like dryads?” asked Collins, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s what I said, but they’re different species, apparently.”

“Okay,” said Patterson, “so. Appeasing the trees. How many trees are we talking about here, and how are we going to appease them?”

“Okay, so, this is definitely a whole precinct kind of thing,” said Patterson.

“And possibly an ‘all civil servants’ type of thing,” added Collins. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where are we going to get the funding for this?”

“Oh, don’t worry about money,” said Danny. “I’ll just blackmail Vlad, and if that doesn’t work, I can get Mom and Dad to pay for it.”

“What,” said Collins.

“I think this might be a bit beyond your parents’ budget,” said Patterson, “but knock yourself out as far as Masters goes.”

“Well, I guess if it is,” he allowed, dubiously, “I could get the cults to pitch in?”

“This is nice,” said Danny. The sky was a bit overcast, which was a shame, but the hundreds of bright flowers and cheerful music more than made up for that.

The May Day celebration was, in Danny’s opinion, a success. At least, this half of it was turning out to be. He’d have to wait and see how the Spirit Bonfires went tonight before he could really make a judgement.

He’d only had to blackmail Vlad a little, too. It turned out that the ‘ruthless businessman’ in Vlad was ludicrously easy to manipulate, and once Danny brought up how a celebration like this one could revitalize local businesses and bring in tourism, he’d caved.

Although, that might have been the threat of an angry tree army. Vlad had definitely come off worse for wear in the last one, on all fronts.

Then, publically putting the Phantom Stamp of Approval (and Necessity Given The Potential Angry Tree Army) on the event had gotten buy-in from his fans and (sigh) the cults. The cults were, in fact, very enthusiastic about their new Holy Day. Danny had made a map of all the places they’d set up booths, and was studiously avoiding them.

Sam and Tucker were doing a walkthrough of that area, now, to check for problems and unadorned thorn trees. They’d arranged to meet up soon.

So, Amity Park was decked out in ribbons and flowers. All of the schools had gotten Maypoles and the day off of classes. Several bands, both human and ghostly, were playing in different parts of town.

It was chaotic, but great.

Danny briefly cut into the street to dodge a pair of college-age men play-fighting with tree branches (a genuinely important tradition symbolizing the battle between winter and summer), then walked through a wall to avoid two ghosts doing the same thing.

Finally, he reached Madame Babazita’s table.

“Hi,” he said, “three readings, please.”

“Three?” she asked. “Just for you?”

“My friends should get here before mine’s done,” said Danny. Was he channeling some predictive powers? Maybe. Holidays did make his powers weird.

“I have no idea what your reading is saying,” said Madame Babazita, after fifteen full minutes. “The cards simply aren’t speaking to me today. Also,” she held up an Uno card, “I’m not sure how this even got here.”

“That’s okay,” said Danny, “I just wanted to make sure it was the same as last time.”

“Hey! Phantom!” called Ember across the crowd of ghosts that had gathered in the cemetery. Most of them were fire or nature themed. “You’re in for a treat!”

Danny, who had been examining the flowers left on his grave, looked up. “I am?”

Ember draped her arm around Danny’s shoulder. She’d been a lot more friendly with him since the corpse incident. “Sure are.” She stepped up onto the surface of his memorial, pulling him up behind her. Danny shook off a brief chill and looked around.

Ghosts were streaming into the cemetery from various directions, bringing armfuls of flowers with them. Danny could see two, huge bonfire piles of flowers growing near the cemetery gates.

“Are there going to be cows?” asked Danny, who was still fuzzy on the details of the ghostly side of the celebrations.

“I don’t know,” said Ember. “When I’ve seen this done in the GZ there are. Here? Who knows. Maybe we’ll just walk through.”

Danny nodded, unworried. Beltane sure was an interesting holiday.

The last armful of flowers was placed, and every flower in the cemetery caught on fire at once. Including the ones on Danny’s grave. Danny yelped, jumping into flight. As an ice core ghost, he vastly preferred cold to heat.

This went without saying, but fire was very hot.

Ember grabbed his foot, and he almost kicked her. “You knew that was going to happen,” he accused.

“Sure did, babypop,” said Ember, grinning. “Come on, don’t you want to pass through the bonfires?”

Danny eyed the very large bonfires on either side of the cemetery gates. They were lit up with sparks like fireworks, shifting like flowers blooming and withering and blooming again. They were beautiful and impressive, and Danny felt like melting just by looking at them.

“I don’t know…” He wanted to, but… melting…

“Well, if you want to go out the other way and be horribly unlucky for the next year…”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Is that another trick?” he asked.

Ember’s grin grew wider, and she took off towards the gates. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Danny sighed and followed her.

“Unbelievable,” said McGee. “Absolutely unbelievable.” He gave the elderly cultist a boost into the wagon.

“I know, right?” said Patterson. “All this property damage and a low-key kidnapping,” she gestured to the hapless late night partier who had called the police when the cult got too insistent about their message, “and they didn’t even have the good drugs?” She shook her head. “Not that we ever arrest anyone just for drugs in this town.”

“I did not just hear you say that,” muttered McGee.

“We’ll make an Amity Parker out of you yet,” said Collins, heartily, slamming the back door of the wagon. He thumbed the button on his radio. “Any other disturbances?” he asked.

“No, you’re good to come back,” said the dispatcher.

“What I don’t get,” said McGee, leaning against a nearby wall in a moment of weakness, “is why we aren’t breaking up whatever cult thing is happening in the cemetery.” They’d seen it quite clearly on their way here.

“Because those are ghosts,” said Patterson.

McGee took a deep breath. “The ghosts are having some kind of ritual in the cemetery, and you aren’t worried.”

“Not really, no.”

“I hate it here,” said McGee.

“Do you, though?” asked Collins, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

McGee opened his mouth to snap back that, yes, he did. But…

Hm. Huh.

Collins patted him on the back.

#danny phantom #ectober #ectober 2021 #ectoberhaunt 2021 #ectoberhaunt trick #ectoberhaunt treat #ectoberhaunt day 1: trick vs treat #fic #fanfic #exhumed

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

At ease, soldier (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader)

What is this? This is 8/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. (More deets in pinned post). The prompt is “I’ve never seen you dressed-up like this and **** you’re hot.”

Summary: when Santi moves in with you following his divorce, he didn’t anticipate seeing you in THAT DRESS. It does things to him, and has him reevaluating everything he feels for you, and everything he thinks he knows about home.

Author’s note: this has divorced!dad!Santi, so it’s a bit different (marriage / child not with reader). This might not be my best thought-out one-shot ever, or my best portrayal of Santi, but it is what it is. I personally think the thing reader does is adorbs, fight me if you disagree :P I really hope you like it! <3 Thank you as always for reading, commenting, and sharing. It means the world.

Rating: M/E (18+ ONLY, Minors do not read or interact. Thank you.)

Word count: this is not as long as some of the others! Hurrah!

Warnings: masturbation (m); Santi has super sexual thoughts about reader and they’re not together- they are written but not said out loud. theme of divorce but not too angsty. few mentions of shared custody / parenting (not reader’s child). Food mentions. Swearing. Kissing. Lmk if I missed any.

GIF: @realoscarisaac

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl @anetteaneta @stardustkenobi @casifer-is-king @foxilayde @tlcwrites @aellynera @kindablackenedsuperhero

“Hey, look. Thank you for this,” Santi says, softly and sincerely as you cross him again in the hallway, halting you with a hand on your shoulder. The heat from his palm bleeds through the thin fabric of your t-shirt and you consider wresting yourself sharply away from the pleasant torment of him. At the same time, you consider leaning in to his warm chest and staying there, so help you, curled like a leaf against the sturdy trunk of him.

He’s moving in with you, following the long, drawn-out process of his divorce. It has been a long time coming, but his marital house -which he has lived in alone going on a year - has finally been sold-off and split with his ex. And so, here he is, treading lightly and making himself small in your home - as if this isn’t somewhere he’s been loud and brash and welcome ever since you bought the damn place.

You can tell he’s grateful. He’s expressed it enough times. It’s the apology in his eyes you can’t stand - as if he’s some kind of burden. He’s been through a lot, but you want him to walk tall, instead of stooping under the weight of his “bad decisions”. He blames himself for a lot of things that you don’t think he ought to, not least the collapse of his marriage. She had cheated; although, he insists there were problems long before that. Perhaps even right from the beginning. He’d always been a travelling soldier, and even after he was discharged he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“I promise. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I get back on my feet,” he adds, self-consciously smoothing a hand over his scruff.

You smile softly. His promises still mean something to you. Even if he hadn’t seen through the promise of his marriage, you know he had tried. You know his word is never given lightly.

It’s hard. To start again, all over again. You know. You, yourself, were rattling around in a house too big for one, bought for two, perhaps meant for more - but that hadn’t worked out either. You’d had to forego promises you made as well.

“There’s no rush. Honestly.”

There isn’t. Between the legal fees and alimony, and carving up his assets, Santi needs a little time to get his finances together before he can consider his own place. You’re happy for him to take all of the time he needs. Out of the options available to him, you had been both the preferred one, and the last to offer. The other boys don’t have space. He’d considered a houseshare, but he needed somewhere his little daughter, Ava, could still come to stay on weekends.

You have space. Ava adores you. You were spending a lot of time with Santi anyway. For all those reasons, it was a no-brainier. You’d only hesitated so long in offering due to your impossible, undying love for the man. Did you really want to do that to yourself? To torment yourself with him, in your home?

“It’s no problem at all, but I do need you to haul this stuff inside a little faster, okay? I still have a date tonight, slowpoke.”

“You got it, boss.”

You chuckle, punching him playfully in the tricep, and traipsing out to the lawn to pick-up another box.

Perhaps it was ludicrous to go on a date tonight, of all nights, but at least you admit to yourself that it is an exercise in majorly over-compensating. It is some conscious attempt to signify how Not Into Him you are, and you are hoping -if the guy is cute enough and the sex is earth-shattering enough- that perhaps you could even convince yourself.

Aside from your well-established feelings for him, this whole arrangement is pretty dangerous. Santi is too easy to be around, and if you let yourself sink into the cosy bubble of his company, you fear you will never think to look for anyone else again. Whilst that would be just fine with you - Santi, on the other hand? He’s never been interested in you like that. Probably hasn’t ever entertained the idea of it. Besides, the timing between you two - even if there was something there- has never been quite right. There was always some mission or woman or man or bad decision getting in the way.

You sigh, as you bend and pick-up a box, feeling like your date is already doomed as thoughts of Santi swirl relentlessly in your head.

You can hope, perhaps, that it won’t turn out to have been a terrible decision to invite him into your home. Perhaps living with him will even help you get over him, once and for all, in a way that nothing and no-one else has managed to. You could discover all of his annoying habits and start bickering over whose turn it is to take the bins out until you hate each other, perhaps? However, somehow you think this is unlikely - when you’d broken up with Malik, Santi’s presence in your house had gotten you through. His laugh and his warmth had curled into every corner of this structure and nestled there, driving out all of the cobwebs. Santi made this house a home again, before he ever lived in it. In a way, you dread to think what will happen now.

“Make yourself at home, okay?” you encourage - this time as you cross him on the landing. “Put your stuff wherever. Take up some space. Hang your guitar above the fireplace. Hell, get a new one. Hang that too.” That had been a point of contention with her. “Paint your bedroom black, like you always wanted when you were a kid, whatever you want.”

Santi smiles warmly at you as he gets the message you’re so desperately trying to hammer home. You don’t want him to shrink himself into a corner. You want him to be at ease here. You want him to feel welcome.

With words escaping him, Santi’s hands wind around the back of your head, and he casually leans over, planting a quick but heartfelt kiss of gratitude, right in the middle of your forehead. “I love you,” he says freely, and, as he trots abruptly down the stairs, you only wish he meant it in the same way your heart sings its reply.

You do want him to relax here. He’s carried so much for so long. He’s carried it halfway around the world and back again, and the man deserves the break.

****

“Can I ask your opinion?” you call through his new bedroom door, cracking it and poking your head in as he responds affirmatively.

“Sure, come in.”

Santi watches as your body follows the path of your head, the slow reveal of your striking dress oddly tantalising, and sending a subtle surge of heat through him which he wasn’t prepared for.

“How do I look?” you say apprehensively, holding out your palms before doing a little half-swivel, one hand poised on your hip.

Santi’s extremely conscious that his eyes widen, and he swears he must look like a cartoon, feeling like they’re popping out of his head in surprise when he clocks you.

You’re wearing a form-fitting, flattering dress. It’s long, and it hugs you perfectly where it touches, with subtle hints of leg and cleavage where the luxe material gives way to soft, inviting skin. Your hair and make-up are different than usual too, and you really look the whole package - so much so that Santi takes a minute to form a coherent thought, beyond the low whistle he expels when he sees you stood before him.

Shit - he knows it has been too long since he said anything, and yet all he can muster from his slack jaw is a feeble croak.

Wow. Holy shit.

Santi is a little thrown. Your body looks amazing. You look sultry and sexy, and like sex-on-legs, if he’s honest. He tries to think or speak, but he’s not sure if he’s ever seen you dressed-up quite like this, and you have him feeling more than a little stupefied.

He gulps.

It’s not as though you look transformed, or anything. You’re an attractive woman, always, and the dress simply highlights that. No change there. But the way he’s responding to you is something new, and not something he entirely understands. Perhaps he simply became so used to seeing you clad in fatigues and sweats and overalls, usually covered in mud and sweat and blood. Perhaps he’s spent so long schooling himself into believing you’re someone he couldn’t and shouldn’t hit on -his friend- that he simply buried it. Buried it under his missions and his marriage and his house and his divorce. But now that all of those things are gone, and all the silt stirred-up, perhaps there is space for it to resurface? Now that, for the first time in a long-time, he feels at ease, and, here you are, looking like that?

Oh boy. His eyes trail over you further as though he can’t get enough. His gaze snags on the places the dress clings to you, providing a subtle outline of your form. He lingers on the places where you’re practically busting out of it- he likes those places especially.

He likes it a little too much, he realises, as he experiences an involuntary rush of blood to his cock, and he subtly rearranges his hands in front of him to disguise the fact as he stands to attention for you.

Fuck, what would Frankie say? Santi thinks, as he reaches for literally any wholesome thought where none seem to exist - in his mind nor his vocabulary - while he’s looking at you.

“You look nice,” he manages to say, but that’s not how he’s phrasing it in his head. Not at all.

I wanna shove my tongue between your thighs, honey. I want you to slip those red lips down on my dick until you drain my balls dry.

“Nice?” you bristle. “Nice, Santiago? I don’t want to look nice.”

“How do you want to look?”

Naked, on my bed? Or, maybe that dress hitched all the way up. Those juicy hips of yours being marked by my hands as I bounce you on me until I fill you up.

You cross to the cheval mirror at the opposite side of the room, further examining yourself.

Holy shit, you look good from the back too.

Santi may be a lapsed Catholic, but he certainly feels like he needs to visit confession with the thoughts he’s having about you right now. He swears he must have started visibly sweating.

“I don’t know,” you say, softly twirling. “Bangable, I guess? Come on, you’re a straight, hot-blooded male. If a woman turned-up to a date wearing this, would this do it for you? It’s not too much?”

He gulps. “Yes. Yep. For sure. That’ll do it.”

When you flick your eyes back to him, with a soft, humble smile, laced delicately with an inner confidence, he finally has a wholesome thought again:

You’re beautiful.

“I think it’s a little too much... but I guess we’ll find out,” you sing-song, his eyes following your hips as you wiggle back to the door, before turning back to him over your shoulder. “Do you have everything you need before I go?”

He looks at your plush red lips. He licks his own.

I need you on your knees.

Oh well, he’d managed to be wholesome for all of two seconds. That was something.

“I’m good,” he pushes out. “When will you be back?”

“Don’t wait up,” you breeze. “He has a nice pad, so if it works out I think we’ll be heading to his place.”

His place?

Santi can’t help but wonder why he’s suddenly imagining what sounds you might make underneath another man. Hell, whether he could double the intensity of those pretty noises under him instead.

This is not ideal. This is not ideal at all, when he hasn’t even made it through day one.

He hasn’t felt this... aroused in a long-time. Not since long before things went south with her. He hasn’t been this hard for a woman in just as long. He’s been hard in the sense of a mechanical, routine need, sure, where he has the basic need to pleasure himself; but this is something else. This is potent. This is lust, raw and consuming. This is not a general need, but it is startling in its specificity.

As you leave, and he takes himself urgently out of his pants, he understands that this is all for you. Moreover, as he winds his hand around himself, and works his shaft to the thought of you, he has the best orgasm he’s had in a long time.

When he’s done, he has some severe post-nut clarity, feeling guilty that he has moved into your home and spilled himself on your sheets to the thought of you; on day one, no less. It’s not very respectful.

But at the same time, he’s caught in a spiral. It’s like you have flipped a switch in him.

And, as much as he feels a little guilty, and a little terrified by the sudden onslaught of his desire, he feels oddly at ease. He already feels at home.

****

Santi is curled-up on the couch when he hears your key rattle in the door, and you tread in looking just as breath-taking, but a little more sombre than earlier. Having already shed your coat and kicked-off your shoes at the door, you collapse into the arm chair opposite him, your dress ballooning momentarily with a waft of air.

“It didn’t work out,” you explain solemly, answering the question on the tip of his tongue. He flicks off the distracting TV he was half-watching to give you his full attention.

“How?” he asks, leaning unconsciously forward in his seat, his eyebrows raised and mouth curling in a soft sympathetic smile. “There’s no way he didn’t like the dress.”

“Oh, he loved the dress. But I didn’t love him. He was a bit of an ass, actually. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“You okay? Did he hurt you? Say something to you?” Santi searches your face urgently, his eyes suddenly intense and muscles coiled. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

You lean forward in your own seat and pat him on the thigh. Your perfume wafts over him. You smell delectable. “Stand down, Garcia. You’re fine. I don’t need anyone knee-capped. I’m just tired.” You stand, and his chin tips up to follow you. “Gonna wash-up and go to bed,” you add, tiredly. “Your night okay?”

“Yep. Fine,” he says briefly, more concerned with you. You look a little sad. A little wistful, he thinks. “Think I left my entire box of underwear in ‘Fish’s car. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.” He smiles up at you gently, with those deep, brown eyes of his, as that earns a light laugh from you. He saws his hand over his chin, gaze remaining soft as he watches you disappear and bid him goodnight. You swing around the doorframe as your hand clutches it, a trail of diaphonous fabric floating after you, as though you are a vision which could disappear in a cloud of smoke. It scares him that you would, he realises. He’s usually the one who disappears. Who retreats.

He watches you slink away, his mind already busy, working on how he might pick you up from your slump, and he plods to the kitchen.

You are upstairs in your en suite when he calls in to you, and, once you admit him, he transfers a steaming mug of sleep tea to your night-stand as a little pick-me-up. A small token, but one that makes you gasp in a breath, looking at his thoughtful gesture in confusion and surprise. “Thank you. That’s sweet of you.”

“Don’t sound quite so surprised,” he says thickly as he approaches you where you hover next to the sink. “Just because she ditched me doesn’t mean I’m a total write-off. I do have some redeeming qualities.”

He wraps his hands around the back of your head and he pulls you to him, planting another kiss to your forehead; but this time, in the dusky bedroom light, it hits different. It is slower and softer, and he looks far more comely. It sends a hot flare of yearning through you, blazing into every nook of you.

“I know that,” you say steadily, your fingers and thumb reaching up to play idly with the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. Your fingers brush his arm before you check yourself, turning away from him and towards the sink so that he can’t see your desire catching like a flare - and instead you continue to cleanse the make-up from your face, grateful for the cover the activity provides. “In fact, maybe I should have gone to dinner with you,” you snicker, innocently, before you think of the full implication of your words. “Sorry. I didn’t mean like that...” you hastily backpedal. “Just because we live together I’m not planning on getting ideas.”

“It’s okay,” he says, voice low and steady and soothing enough to halt your ramble. “You can go getting ideas if you want to.”

You whip your head towards him, a gulp trailing down your throat, as you see the vaguest hint of a suggestive eyebrow, of a smug smile dancing at the corners of his lips. You will yourself to remain in place; to avoid the call to lean in to his inviting lips or chest - even if he’s not giving you any signal that he would move away if you did.

You are hot aren’t you? Santi thinks. More than that; you are beautiful too. Now that he’s allowing himself to notice it, he can’t stop noticing it.

Seeking air, and space, the world shrinking to a dot, you tear yourself away from the sink and stride out into the bedroom, posting yourself at the door and signifying it is time for him to head out too. He takes the hint, and he comes to stand opposite you in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweat pants.

“How are you doing?” you ask breathily, not knowing what has come over you but trying to push this heady, unravelling feeling away. To bundle it up and bind it back down. “First night in a new place?” You consider it, chiding yourself. “I should have been here. This whole date thing was stupid.”

It’s not a new place at all though, Santi thinks. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever been somewhere more familiar. Anywhere more like home. Not even with her - Ava notwithstanding, of course; that little girl is his pride and joy.

When Santi doesn’t answer, his eyes softly glowing at you instead, you reach to fill the silence, lest you fall all the way into the pit of yearning. “Maybe us living together is a bad idea. This is day one and you’re already counselling me through a bad date.”

“What else are friends for?” he smiles meaningfully. Gratefully, again. You can tell what he’s likely thinking. He’s thinking about all the times you have counselled him through years of bad decisions. You’ve always been there for him.

“Right.” Friends, you remind yourself, as the hall-light pools around him like spun gold.

He reaches his sock-clothed foot out to gently bump yours. “Well, don’t take tonight too hard, okay? You’re a catch.”

Feeling bashful, you fold you arms and smile, looking down at the floor and away from the vision that is him.

You kick your foot out to boop his in return, with your sizeable, fluffy slipper. “Well. You’re pretty bangable too, you know. Someone will snap you right up, as soon as you’re ready.”

Someone.

He turns his mouth downward, and tilts his head to the side. “Hmm,” he says as if considering your point. “Kinda looking for a little more than a bang though. I want someone who can be my best friend too. And... best friends? They’re kinda hard to come by.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. His tone is casual, but his eyes are earnest, and your desire unravels like spools of red ribbons from your core.

The way he’s looking at you, from beneath his lashes, a smirk developing at the corners of his lips has you almost collapsed to the floor with yearning, and you think, if he doesn’t step away from your door soon, you will find it hard to resist the temptation to drag him inside - if he’s willing. You will be tempted to let these ribbons wind around him and coax him to you.

However, Santi simply lets his comment hang in the space between you as you fumble for a response, before turning away and shuffling down the hall and towards his room.

“Goodnight, hermosa,” he calls, the pet name lighting you on fire. Beautiful.

“‘Night,” you call back to him, as casually as possible, before disappearing hurriedly inside your door and throwing yourself face down on to the bed with a silent scream.

Santi, for his part, reaches his respective room, and throws himself backwards on to the bed, having to fight the urge to run straight back to your room and kiss you senseless, if he’s honest. As he sighs out a huge breath and brings his hands up to his face, a light chuckle befalls him, and he has to consider what’s so funny. He lands on it quickly.

She - his ex- must hate this living arrangement, he realises. She’d always thought the two of you had something. She’d insisted. Had gotten mad jealous over it too. In all honesty, Santi had never seen it. Or, not at the time, at least.

Perhaps the timing had never been right.

...Not until now, perhaps?

****

The atmosphere is different in the morning. More settled, thanks goodness.

You’re up earlier than Santi, and you get to work in the smaller guest bedroom, which you had kept off-limits to him the day prior. When you’re ready, you call down to him - he’s in the kitchen getting a head start on breakfast- insisting that he comes upstairs.

He pads up to find you in the hall, stood with a huge smile plastered on your face.

“I have a surprise for you,” you announce to him, and, a curious, happy look blooms over his sharp features.

“Okay,” he says, oblivious, but his interest piqued as you swing the door open and hustle him inside ahead of you, clinging to his t-shirt.

“It’s not finished yet,” you explain from behind him as he moves his head to look around the room, freshly painted and carpeted, and entirely different to how it looked before. “Ava still likes purple, right?” you say to his back, delight infusing your voice as he takes it all in. “Oh, and the birds-“ you point “-the boys and I each painted one. Benny’s is super wonky. I know it’s cheesy as all hell, but we wanted to remind you that you -and Ava- you’ll always have us as family.”

Santi doesn’t say anything. He can’t. He’s speechless with gratitude. It is all he can do to look around the room and take in all of the details. The little bed and princess canopy, the shelves lined with a few books to start her off.

This is something he didn’t dream he would be able to give Ava again for a long time. At least, not without some coordinates and a shovel.

He rasps one hand over his stubble, and you come up beside him, seeing that his eyes are full with tears, and his face pinched, as he fights to supress his emotions. He doesn’t cry often, and there’s not a lot that can reduce him to tears, so you can tell from his reaction how much this all means to him.

Your voice and your manner softening, you slot both of your hands around one of his and give him a squeeze there, before rubbing soothing circles into his back.

When you speak again, your voice is full, cracking with emotion. “I know this can’t be easy, Santi. And you need to know that you are home for Ava, wherever you are, whatever happens. But I thought this would help a little too?” He sneakily thumbs away a tear from the corner of his eye as your words overwhelm him. “I hope I didn’t take too much of a liberty,” you continue, looking around the room, and wandering deeper into it. “Thought I’d get it half-done and then you could choose the rest with Ava tomorrow?”

You turn back to him, smiling over your shoulder before turning all the way, your expression bright and hopeful and everything he hasn’t been able to muster for himself.

Still choked-up, Santi takes a few steps forward to meet you in the centre of the room, his long lashes beaded with diamond-like tears. He takes your hands in his, one to each side, and he presses his forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” he rasps, his voice full of holes, and your own eyes overflow too as his hands squeeze yours, happy that he’s happy, and sad that he’s in pain too.

After a few moments like this, the yearning creeps in, and, lest it invade everything, you extricate yourself from him gently, padding towards the door and offering, in a soft voice, to give him a minute alone.

“Wait,” he says, his voice catching you as you reach the hallway, evidently yielding a great deal of power for such a breathy thing, and it halts you in your tracks. “Can I try something?”

“Try what?” you ask, your heart and your voice fluttering in tandem, as Santi moves towards you in the hall with purpose.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes search yours, brimming with emotion and softness and yearning too, his thumb and forefinger coming-up to clasp your chin tenderly in his grip.

“Is this a good idea?” you babble, as his lips hover moments from yours, and you are drawn to him with an achingly slow gravity. “You’re emotional, and you’re rushing and maybe you’re projecting or... maybe a million other things and I... really like you,” you say, raising your hands in between you, your palms pressed to his chest as your voice catches on hooks in your throat - keeping him at a slight distance before you can succumb to him. Immediately, he stops his advances, one hand winding gently around your waist. “Santi, I mean, I really like you,” you elaborate, you voice brittle and coming undone.

As much as you want this -have wanted this-you couldn’t face being one of his whims or mistakes or bad decisions. You couldn’t face being something he ended up leaving behind. He means too much to you for that.

Sensing your pain now, Santi smiles softly at you, not angry or offended in the slighest, but nodding in understanding. Tenderly, he trails the pad of his thumb along your jawline, and across your lower lip. He still finds apprehension in your eyes, and so, instead of the kiss he craves, he holds your head gently with one of his hands, and he dips forward to plant a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, your eyes fluttering closed and a single tear spilling out of you as it lands.

Then, he pulls back, both of you wearing watery smiles, and feeling more than a little frayed around the edges.

“I get it,” he admits, nodding slowly. “On paper, this seems like another of my bad fucking ideas, doesn’t it? But...” he explains softly, eyes shining at you. “I feel as though I finally have things figured out. I feel like I know where I’m supposed to be.”

You nibble on your lower lip, a tentative, shy smile brewing. “Guess that was one powerful dress I wore last night, huh?”

“Hmm,” he considers, with a gentle chuckle. “It was, for sure, honey. Honestly though? This sports bra and overalls get-up is doing it for me too,” he admits, with a lopsided grin, nodding down at your DIY outfit.

You examine his eyes in disbelief. You can’t believe that he’s looking at you like that. Like you’ve always wanted; and yet... you essentially knocked him back, your nerves and anxieties getting the better of you, despite his lips being moments from yours.

“Look, I’m sorry,” you gulp, eyes heavy with apology.

“Don’t worry,” he says, tilting his head towards the end of the hallway. “Let’s go make some more coffee. Also, I think you deserve some pancakes, sweetie.” He offers his hand to you and with a gentle song in your heart you take it, Santi leading you back downstairs into the kitchen.

You giggle, suddenly giddy as you shake out your remaining nerves and shock and doubts. As you settle.

By the time you watch Santi open-up the cupboards and search inside, turning back to you to ask if you want chocolate chip pancakes, a tiny note of delight in his eyes, he finds you looking at him with a gentle heat, brewing and eddying and clasping him in its tendrils, dragging him under with you. It causes him to double-take as he looks between you and the food-stuffs, until you have his whole attention. Until the world around him shrinks to you.

“Santi,” you suspire, tugging on his t-shirt to spin him towards you, your voice shaking like a leaf. “You took me by surprise up there. Any chance we can... C-Can we... try that again?”

A gulp trails down his throat, mirroring the heat sinking and settling into your core, even with the mere anticipation of his lips brushing against yours; of feeling his warmth where you have long been cold. You watch his tongue darting out to whet his lips, and it is as though you are already parted for him with the motion, your own lips already spread to accomodate the way he will delve into you, opening you up for him.

Then, Santi surges forward, hands holding you securely yet softly at your back and gathering you to his mouth, as if he is parched of you, all the yearning collapsing in on itself in one final surge as he flows into your arms. Yet, for all the force of your yearning meeting in the middle, and for the harsh initial crush of your lips, when the wave crashes, it is delicate and soft, his hand cupping your face and his tongue a delicate interlocuter, uttering promises against yours. Promises you are sure he will keep.

As the kiss deepens, you truly feel him, hard and sturdy everywhere around you except for this molten, supple tongue which courses into your being like a trail of fire. His kiss is like starlight tossed into a dark pit. You are lit but your hunger will never be sated; and instead you will kiss him and devour him again and again, opening yourself up to him to feed the dark.

Suddenly, with this kiss, his warmth is on you and filling you and one with you, unravelling, and you wonder what you ever did without it. How you ever felt at ease with this yearning within you; although, you suppose you didn’t. You suppose you longed for this divine quickening and stilling, this slickness and friction. You longed to feel him, and most of all, you longed for him to yearn for you in return.

And, finally, as the kiss wanes and you hold each other tightly, Santi considers that although he planned to stay in your house for a mere few months, he has a feeling his stay by your side will be far longer. And, on your side, as you hold him against you and this house feels like a haven in ways it never has before, you are content in the knolwedge that your travelling soldier is finally at ease.

Finally at home.

A home for one, but meant for more, finally fulfilling its purpose.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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lostinfantasyworlds · 3 years

Text

Words: ~4,200

Cw for some descriptions of the pain of childbirth.

Includes my drawing of Inuyasha and baby Moroha later on in the story! (I will also post separately).

Read on AO3

A/N at the end.

------------------------------

The first of the evening’s stars twinkled against a darkening sky above Kaede’s hut, where Kagome lay inside, deep in the throes of labor. The initial pangs of discomfort had begun shortly after daybreak that morning, the recent sunset marking thirteen hours since then. Now well into active labor, Kagome braced herself for yet another painful contraction. She groaned before clenching her jaw tightly shut, feeling the muscles within her lower abdomen begin to tense.

The fingers of her right hand were laced firmly through her husband’s, who sat diligently at her side. She squeezed Inuyasha’s hand with all her strength, grateful that she could do so without hurting him too much.

Although it was not traditional for the father to be allowed in the birthing hut, a (reluctant) exception had been made for Inuyasha. Kagome recalled the earlier scene in an effort to distract herself from the building pain.

“Kaede!” Inuyasha called out as he burst through the entrance of Kaede’s hut, carrying Kagome in his arms.

Kaede made a sound of annoyance as she finished making her tea, her back turned towards the couple. Her lack of surprise suggested that she had sensed the half-demon’s aura approaching. “What are ye making such a fuss about, Inuyasha?”

“Kaede, the baby’s coming!” Kagome said through labored breaths. Kaede finally turned around to see Kagome in Inuyasha’s arms, one hand on her swollen belly and her face screwed up in pain. Her face softened as she realized the reason for the sudden intrusion.

“Ah, yes. Good, good,” Kaede said calmly and set her tea down to begin preparing the futon for Kagome to lay on.

She moved slowly in her old age, and after a few minutes when Kagome cried out again, Inuyasha growled and snapped, “Would ya move it along? Kagome needs somewhere to lay down right fucking now!”

Kaede shot him a one-eyed glare as she finished placing the last pillow. She gestured to the futon, indicating that it was ready for Kagome to lay down on.

Inuyasha lay Kagome down on the futon ever so gently, making sure she was as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. Once he was sure she was taken care of, he settled onto the floor himself, sitting cross-legged by her side.

“What do ye think you’re doing?” Kaede asked as she grabbed a clean birthing robe and water bucket from a storage chest in the corner. “Fathers are not allowed in the birthing hut, Inuyasha. It is time for ye to leave.”

Inuyasha cracked his knuckles in response, holding up his claws menacingly. “You gonna make me, old hag? There’s no way in hell I’m leaving Kagome right now!”

Kaede’s tolerance for Inuyasha’s rudeness was already running thin. “How dare ye threaten me in my own home! It is bad luck for the father to - “

She was cut off by Kagome, who had just finished breathing through her latest contraction. “Kaede, please, I want him to stay. I need him here with me.”

Kaede considered her request, ultimately deciding it would be less hassle for her to just allow the exception. She nodded slightly before turning away and sighing, preparing herself for a long night ahead with a stressed and overprotective Inuyasha.

Kagome looked up at Inuyasha, who smiled slightly, seemingly relieved that she wanted him to stay. She reached out and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. She returned his smile with a warm one of her own, before abruptly dropping it and replacing it with a glare.

“I want you here with me, but if you are rude to Kaede one more time, I will not hesitate to kick you out. Now apologize!” She gave him a look that made his ears flatten against his head.

“Fine, whatever. Sorry, Kaede,” he grumbled almost inaudibly. Kagome rolled her eyes at his immaturity, but was still thankful that he would be by her side as they welcomed their child into the world.

Kagome was brought back to the present as her contraction peaked. Her muscles tensed impossibly harder, causing her to let out a cry of agony and squeeze her eyes shut. This was the worst and longest one so far. It was so intense that all rational thought was wiped from her mind as her vision went momentarily white. Unable to comprehend anything beyond her overwhelming desire for the pain to stop, she squeezed Inuyasha’s hand with a force that probably would have broken a regular human’s hand.

She did her best to try and breathe deeply until her body mercifully began to grant her relief. Chest heaving and limbs shaking, she savored the brief respite, knowing that she didn’t have much time to prepare for the next contraction. They were only a minute or two apart now, and she instinctively knew that their baby was very close to making its arrival.

She felt the comforting coolness of a damp cloth dab the sweat from her forehead, and looked gratefully to her left where Sango knelt beside her. Sango gave her an empathetic, encouraging smile. She had happily volunteered to assist Kagome with the birth of her child, both as an excited aunt-to-be, and as part of her midwife training.

Kaede’s strength continued to wane in her old age, and Rin had decided to spend some time traveling with Sesshomaru again to see if she still preferred that lifestyle over living with other humans. Not wanting to risk leaving the village without a midwife, Kaede had asked Sango and Kagome if they would be willing to undergo training so they could assist with births if the need arose. Although Sango was incredibly busy with her ever-growing family and occasional demon slaying whenever she got the chance, she jumped at the opportunity to give back to the village that she had made her home for the last seven years. As a mother of five children of her own, she had plenty of experience and advice to offer new moms.

Sango put a comforting hand on Kagome’s shoulder, remembering the excruciating pain of childbirth all too well. “You’re doing great, Kagome. Let me check on your progress.” She moved down between Kagome’s legs to determine how much farther she had to go. Kaede had taught her several methods of determining the baby’s position at any given point during labor. She hoped, for Kagome’s sake, that she was nearing the end.

“Good news, Kagome, you’re almost there! When the next contraction comes, you can start pushing,” Sango said, moving back to Kagome’s side down by her feet.

Kagome nodded slightly, closing her eyes and taking a few more deep breaths to try and prepare herself. Her heart was pounding, her hands were shaking, and a layer of sweat coated her entire body. She had never experienced so much pain, not from any of the injuries she had sustained during their countless battles. Even having the Shikon jewel torn out of her body was nothing compared to this. She had to keep fighting down waves of nausea as the contractions had become more and more agonizing.

She was already exhausted, already past her limit of pain tolerance, and the thought of pushing sent her into a panic. How much worse is this going to get? What if I can’t do this? What if the pain kills me? Maybe I wasn’t ready to be a mother! I’m not strong enough…

Terrifying cynical thoughts raced through her mind as her heart pounded against her ribcage, her breaths becoming more shallow.

“I’m scared,” she admitted quietly, to no one in particular. She kept her eyes closed, feeling weak and ashamed. She had been looking forward to being a mother for so long, so why was she suddenly so afraid?

“I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. A few tears slipped out from under her shut eyelids and rolled down her flushed cheeks. She felt like she was on the brink of a complete breakdown.

“Yes you can. What you’re feeling right now is perfectly normal, Kagome,” Sango said soothingly.

Kagome slowly opened her eyes at the sound of her friend’s voice.

“Every mother feels the same way at this point, I promise. This last part isn’t going to be easy, but it doesn’t last too long, and then it will all be over and you’ll be holding your baby in your arms. When you look into their eyes for the first time, you’ll forget all about everything else, trust me.”

Kagome smiled down at her, thankful for the reassurance from someone who had been through this before. She then looked up to her husband who was still holding her hand and sitting cross-legged at her side. Her gaze was met with golden eyes full of concern.

Inuyasha was overwhelmed. There were so many sounds, so many smells, so many emotions. He had done his best to try and prepare himself for this day, but he had to admit that he was in over his head. It was killing him to see Kagome in so much agony, especially when there was nothing he could do about it. His instincts to protect her flooded through him with every cry of pain she let out, followed by the frustration of not being able to help. It was driving him crazy that all he could do was hold her hand and offer her words of encouragement every so often.

He had kept relatively quiet since his earlier threat to Kaede, afraid of saying the wrong thing and upsetting Kagome. He was completely out of his element, having never witnessed a birth before. He had no idea what to do or say, or what was considered normal. All he knew was that he wanted to be by his wife’s side, and that she wanted him there as well. Now, as she looked into his eyes after voicing her fear, he knew he had to be strong for her.

“You can do this, Kagome!” he said fervently. Hearing her say she didn’t think she could do it had made him want to scoff and call her an idiot, but he figured that wouldn’t be very helpful and might even earn him a ‘sit’ command in her current state. The idea of her not being able to do this was ludicrous to him. He had been watching her in awe all day, amazed by her strength and resilience. Since they first met, she had always been a fighter, never backing down or giving up when faced with a challenge. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

He brought his free hand up to her cheek to gently wipe some of her tears and sweat away, letting his fingers linger on her face for a moment.

“You’re so strong, you always have been,” he said, bringing his hand back down to grip hers between both of his own. He stared deeply into her wide brown eyes, trying to wordlessly communicate the neverending love and respect he had for her. “And I’m right here beside you.”

Kagome could feel her panic melting away at his words and the look in his eyes. She smiled a little at him before looking forward with a newly determined look on her face. That’s right, Inuyasha is with me. I can do anything with him by my side.

She felt the pain building again, but it was different from before. Somehow sharper and duller at the same time. She knew this was the final stretch she had to get through to meet their little one, so she gathered all the strength and courage she had left.

The pain of pushing was almost unbearable, but she did her best to remain focused on the steady pressure of Inuyasha’s hand and the guidance given by Kaede and Sango. She felt every sensation in her body, her instincts kicking in to guide her through the final stage of delivery.

Over forty excruciating minutes later, a cry finally rang through the cabin, alerting all those in the area to the arrival of a new life. Kagome breathed a huge sigh of relief and fell back against the pillows. Kaede caught the crying baby and carried it over to the water basin to be bathed. Sango cut the cord and helped clean Kagome up enough so that she could comfortably lay her legs flat again.

Kagome lay exhausted, trying to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. The cries of her baby echoed through the cabin, filling her with a euphoric pride. She had loved their child from the moment she knew of their existence. It felt like so long ago that she first found out she was pregnant. She could still remember the rush of pure joy she felt at the news. Finally, after so much wondering and planning and waiting, she was about to meet the one she already adored more than anything in the world.

After giving her a few moments to catch her breath, Inuyasha helped support Kagome as Sango stuffed a couple pillows under her back so that she could sit up more. Once she was sure of Kagome’s comfort, Sango got to her feet and said, “I’m going to give you some privacy. You did so well Kagome.” She smiled warmly down at her friend, and then shifted her gaze to Inuyasha. “I couldn’t be happier for the two of you.” Both returned her smile, and Kagome reached out to take Sango’s hand.

“Thank you so much for everything, Sango. It really helped to have you here.”

Sango squeezed her hand. “Anything for my dearest friend. We’ll all come visit in the morning once you’ve had some time to rest.” She released Kagome’s hand and walked out of the hut to give a full report to Miroku and Shippo, who were waiting at home with her own children.

As Sango walked out of the entryway, Kagome lifted her head up to anxiously look around for her baby, who was no longer crying. Her eyes found Kaede, who was wrapping the newborn loosely in a blanket. Her heart fluttered with nervous anticipation as Kaede slowly made her way over to her and Inuyasha, carrying their new addition in her arms.

“Congratulations Kagome and Inuyasha, it is time to meet your daughter,” she said with a smile.

At the word ‘daughter,’ Inuyasha and Kagome’s eyes met, both of their mouths dropping open slightly. Their daughter.

Kaede handed the tiny bundle off to Kagome, who reached out instinctively. As soon as the child was securely in Kagome’s arms, Kaede made her way outside to let them have their first moments as a family in private.

A peaceful silence settled over the hut as Kagome held their baby close to her chest and stared in awe. Inuyasha moved closer to her, draping an arm over her shoulders. Kagome was overcome with emotion, an overwhelming feeling of love and warmth taking over every ounce of her being. She was still exhausted and in pain, and somewhere in her brain there was a terrifying, nagging reminder that she was now responsible for protecting this tiny being, but it all felt like dull background noise compared to the warmth that emanated from her chest as she marveled in the presence of her daughter.

“Inuyasha...she’s....” she trailed off quietly, unable to quite find the words.

“...Perfect.” Inuyasha finished for her in a dazed tone. He couldn’t stop staring at the face of the life they had created. He had pictured the arrival of their baby many times in the months since they found out they were expecting, but he could never have imagined what he was feeling now. It was surreal and overwhelming to finally come face-to-face with the child who had only been an abstract concept in his mind until a few minutes ago.

He had struggled with the idea of becoming a father. Despite his excitement to start a family with the person he loved most in this world, he had trouble imagining himself in that role. Questions such as What if I ruin our kid’s life? What if something happens to them? Or to Kagome? How am I supposed to know what to do with a baby? had kept him awake countless nights over the last several months. Not to mention how much time he had spent worrying over Kagome. He’d had a hard time leaving her alone for more than five minutes during her entire pregnancy, constantly afraid that something could happen to her or the baby.

It was the worst on his human nights, the negative thoughts hijacking his mind and taking hold until he could think of little else. What if something attacks us when I’m in my human form and I can’t protect them? What if I’m not a good enough father and Kagome resents me? What if our kid grows up facing the same kind of discrimination I did for being part demon and part human? The questions became impossible to ignore on those nights, a couple times bubbling up to the point where his heart raced and his breath became shallow. He usually tried his best to hide his fears from Kagome, not wanting to cause her any extra stress, but those few times, it was too hard to pretend nothing was wrong.

Kagome would try to comfort him. She would whisper reassurances into his ears. That she loved him and believed in him. That their child would be well cared for no matter what. That he would be an amazing father. She would look at him with such love and trust and warmth that he was almost able to believe that he was the person she saw him as. But it was hard to forget a lifetime of being told he was worthless, an abomination. It was hard to forget all of the awful things he had said and done in his past. How could he ever be a role model to a child? What if he had doomed them to the same lonely life of an outcast that he had?

Witnessing Kagome’s excitement to be a mother was the only thing that kept him from drowning in his anxiety. Although he didn’t know if he was cut out to be a father, he was positive that Kagome was meant to be a mother. She had always been the caring and nurturing type, and the joy she had to finally fill the role of a mother had radiated from her throughout her entire pregnancy.

Whenever Inuyasha felt overwhelmed with doubts, he would just watch his wife tenderly rest her hands on her rounded belly, or listen to her hum lullabies to their unborn baby. In those moments, he knew that at least their child would have Kagome as their mother, and that even if he fell short, she would always be there to provide them with the care and support they needed. He vowed to match her as best as he could, all the while feeling terrified of letting her down.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that Kagome was looking at him. She seemed to sense his inner turmoil and asked, “Do you want to hold her?” with a sweet smile.

“Uh..” Inuyasha responded stupidly, but Kagome had already extended their child towards him.

“Just remember to support her head and you’ll be fine.”

Inuyasha took the tiny bundle ever so carefully, as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces at his touch. He slowly adjusted her position so that her head rested in the crook of his elbow and she was fully supported by his arm. He stared at her for a long minute, still unable to make sense of everything he was feeling. How could he have helped create such an incredible little human? How could he ever be a good enough father to her? She was so tiny and fragile, what if he hurt her by accident? Protecting Kagome was already stressful, but at least he knew she could handle herself in a battle. How in the world was he supposed to protect someone so small defenseless? He tried not to think about all the dangers of the world around them.

To distract from his racing thoughts, he focused on cataloging everything about her. The little tuft of jet black hair on the top of her head, her barely open chocolate brown eyes that looked so like Kagome’s, her tiny nose and mouth. Although she hadn’t inherited his eye or hair color, or his dog ears, the shape of her features still resembled his own. She was truly a perfect blend of the two of them. He inhaled and memorized her scent. It was similar to Kagome’s, with hints of his own scent, but distinct in its own way.

Inuyasha cautiously extended one finger from his free hand to gently stroke her cheek, being mindful of his claws. Her skin was softer than the finest silk. He had never felt anything quite like it. He moved to pull away, feeling unworthy to touch her with his rough, calloused hands. At the same time, a chubby fist escaped the confines of the blanket surrounding it and waved blindly through the air. Tiny fingers found his retreating hand, and instinctively wrapped around his outstretched pointer finger.

With a sharp intake of breath Inuyasha froze, suddenly hit with a surge of emotion so strong he could hardly breathe. His daughter gurgled and looked up at him, gripping his finger with surprising strength for a newborn. A soothing warmth began to spread from the point of contact throughout his whole body, almost reminding him of the sensation of being purified by Kagome’s spiritual powers. But this was something else, something deeper and more profound.

Something shifted deep within himself as he felt her tiny fingers grip his own. Every priority, every feeling, every want and need he had ever had was rearranging, placing his daughter at the center of it all. The moment that she had touched him, he was forever changed. His rough edges softened just a bit, his heart grew a little larger. The world and his place in it made a little more sense. All of the doubts and insecurities he had about being a father faded to the background. He knew now that he would do absolutely anything for the little girl in his arms.

A type of love he never knew existed rushed through him, seeping into every last crevice of his soul. It was all-consuming and indescribable. He felt as if he was staring into the sun itself, her radiant light giving him warmth and life in ways he hadn’t known he needed. All of the pain he had gone through in his life now felt worth it to be able to experience this moment. He would do it a thousand times over again as long as he got to meet her. He had known for a long time that he was born to be with Kagome, but now he knew he was born to meet his daughter as well.

He let out the smallest of laughs, breathy and awestruck. After several more moments, he finally managed to tear his eyes away from her to look up at Kagome, who had been watching the heartwarming scene unfold. His mouth still hung agape, and as his eyes met Kagome’s, he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. The sensation surprised him, having never shed tears of joy before. He hadn’t even noticed the wetness building in his eyes. As he looked at his wife, he noticed that tears were silently falling down her cheeks as well, though she wore a beaming smile.

The familiar sight of Kagome’s smile made his heart swell with even more warmth. It hardly felt real that, after all the heartache and loneliness that he had endured in his life, he was here looking into the eyes of his wife and holding his daughter in his arms. He wanted to tell her how much he loves her, how thankful he was to be able to share this moment with her. He wished he had the words to explain what it meant to him to have a family of his own.

“Kagome...” he said quietly, trying to think of something else to say. How could he ever put into words everything he had just felt?

“Inuyasha,” Kagome responded warmly in a way that told him no words were needed. They had always had a quiet understanding between them, their love for each other much deeper than words could ever hope to describe. It was something he was eternally grateful for. With a smile, Kagome reached out to cover her husband and daughter’s joined hands with her own.

Her eyes drifted back down to their beloved child, and after a few moments of contemplation she asked, “Moroha?”

Inuyasha wasn’t sure where she got the name, but it didn’t matter to him. It fit her perfectly.

“Moroha,” he repeated, confirming her name.

Inuyasha rested his forehead against Kagome’s as they continued to gaze down at their daughter. He knew his fears hadn’t disappeared completely, but there would be time to worry later. For now, he simply let himself bask in the glowing happiness of this perfect moment with his family.

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A/N (sorry it’s so long)

Hope you enjoyed the feels! I’ve been working on this for a while now, so I’m really excited to finally post it! I had originally wanted to post it before the premiere of Yashahime, but I kept nitpicking and editing it over and over. Plus I decided to add the drawing which took me forever. I also went all out and made the banner and everything, which I’m not sure if people usually do for oneshots but oh well!

This all started with me imagining that one moment of a newborn Moroha grabbing Inuyasha’s finger, and that being the moment that moved him and changed him forever. I could see him being really nervous and unsure about becoming a father, but I liked the idea of her touch causing a shift in him and basically turning him into a puddle of mush. I hope it isn’t too OOC for Inuyasha to cry at this moment, but I thought if anything would have the power to make him shed tears of joy then this would be it. Plus I saw it as kind of an involuntary bodily reaction to all of the emotion he experienced.

I tried to throw in some of Kagome’s POV, but I mostly wanted to explore Inuyasha’s conflicted thoughts and feelings about becoming a father. I hope the descriptions of pain/birth weren’t too much. I have never gone through childbirth, but it sounds ridiculously painful and terrifying so I was probably projecting a bit haha. Kagome is a badass for dealing with all of that with no drugs!

I tried to look up real stories of how people felt when they saw their baby for the first time. There were a lot of mixed reactions, with a lot of people saying they just felt really scared or didn’t have a strong emotional reaction. This is a fic so of course I wanted it to be emotional and happy, but I tried to mix in some of the fear they must have felt also.

I didn’t want it to seem like Kagome’s strength only came from Inuyasha being there with her, but from what I read about active labor, the pain at that point can be extremely mentally and physically taxing, so I wanted her to have a moment of weakness where she felt like she wasn’t strong enough. And I always loved that Kagome and Inuyasha draw strength from each other in different ways. So I felt like she would have been able to tap into that from having him by her side.

Also, in regards to Sango and Miroku having 5 children, I find it hard to believe that they would have stopped at 3 considering how much Miroku talked about wanting to have 10 + kids lol. So that was just a little canon divergence I threw in there. This takes place about 4 years after Kagome returns to the feudal era for good.

Anyways, I could ramble forever and over explain everything as I tend to do, but I wanted to get this out there before we see baby Moroha in Yashahime this week. I’m so excited!

#inukag #inuyasha #moroha #hanyou no yashahime #kagome #hanyo no yashahime #fanfic #inuyasha fanfiction #fanart #mine #oneshot

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wylanvnneck · 3 years

Note

Hi hi! Congratulations! Can I ask for a Jurdan shot with the prompt in miscellaneous, *kiss post break up*? Thank you 💖

Miscellaneous Prompt #4: *A kiss post break-up that neither was expecting but both needed* (action prompt)

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Prompt List

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Jude relished the burning sensation in her thighs as she completed her third round of the massive fountain at the center of the park. The early morning air was cool and the sunshine was just starting to heat up the place, creating the perfect setting for her usual morning jog. This particular spot was practically deserted, the only sound to be heard was the chirping of the birds and the light rustle of the trees and this type of peace was precisely what she needed before yet another tough day at work where she’d have to deal with her asshole colleagues. Well, just the one colleague. Cardan Effin’ Greenbriar.

The thought of his smug face and ludicrous cheekbones was enough to make her quicken her pace, a bead of sweat making its way down the side of her flushed face. Thoughts of his betrayal flood her mind and she wonders how she could ever have thought of him as roguishly charming. The man was a scoundrel, a blackguard. He was also not worth thinking about. She pushes the image of his floppy black locks and dark eyes away from her mind and runs even faster, leaving all her problems behind. This moment is cathartic, it was escaping all her turmoil, it was freedom and she relishes it.

Suddenly, she picks up on the sound of a twig snapping nearby. Out of the corner of her eye she spots a figure moving behind her, walking slowly and close to the trees lining the pathway, as if they didn’t wish to be seen. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion and her mind whirs, defensive martial art positions running through her head. From a young age her father had instilled in her the dangers of being out alone in deserted spots and the importance of always watching her back and she’s now on high alert as the figure behind her seems to be trying to move even further into the trees, still only a few feet behind her.

Thinking fast, she turns at the next corner and ducks behind a thick tree to the side, crouching her body behind it. The wood is scratchy under her sweaty palms and her heartbeat is racing at a mile a minute, the tension cutting through her body like a sword. Her surroundings seem sharper, more vibrant in her anxiety and soon enough she hears the light footfalls of someone approaching the turn. Seconds later, the figure is almost right in front of her, stopping when he realises that she’s no longer on the path. Finally she manages to get a good look at him and when she does she can’t help but let out a shocked gasp.

“Jude?” Standing right there in front of her with a bemused expression is Cardan Greenbriar, her colleague and ex-fling. She refused to think of him as anything else. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“What am I doing? You’re the one who’s been following me like some perverted creep.” Stretching herself back to her full height she steps away from the tree and onto the path to face him, her eyes narrowing and her blood pounding. How dare he act as if she were the one acting bizarrely.

“I-” The tips of his ears turn red and his hands wring together, “That’s fair I suppose. I was just umm…”

“Yes?” His blundering manner is uncharacteristic and confusing. Usually, he was the most overly confident bastard out there. Cardan Greenbriar was the suave type of guy who always knew exactly what to say and when, a talent that made him extremely useful as Head of Sales for Elfhame Enterprises, the company owned by his father Eldred Greenbriar, where they both worked.

“I simply wanted to talk to you alone for a bit but I figured that you’d avoid me at work and avoid any calls and texts from me too so I thought I’d come meet you at the park on your daily jog instead.” The words come out in a fast-paced stream, nearly unintelligible, his cheeks now red as well.

“Let me get this straight, you wanted to talk to me alone so you decided to stalk me at the park on my morning run and nearly give me a panic attack in the process?” She almost can’t believe her ears.

“When you put it like that it sounds wrong!” He huffs.

“How exactly am I supposed to put it, Cardan, that’s exactly what you did!”

“Alright so I may have lost my nerve and decided to trail you for a bit before approaching you. I realise now that that was a dumb idea.”

She resists the age to facepalm. “You think?”

“Look can’t we just put this all behind us?”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh whilst bringing her hands up to lightly massage at her now throbbing temples. “Okay, you said you wanted to talk? About what?”

The entire time that they'd been talking his stare had been trained somewhere near her chin, but now he raises his gaze to directly meet hers. “About us.”

“There is no us.” He’d made certain of that.

He takes a step forward, eyes blazing and she takes a larger step backwards, determined to keep her distance.

“Jude, you have to give me a chance to explain, you owe me that at least.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

There was no possible explanation that he could give for what he’d done. They hadn't always been at loggerheads, her and Cardan. At least, they hadn’t been for some time until the last week. When Jude had first joined the company last year, she’d despised the overly arrogant son of Eldred Greenbriar, thinking of him as the rich, self-entitled jerk that she was forced to work with.

Then a couple months in, he managed to persuade her to go on a date with him, one date and then if she didn’t want to agree to another he’d get the message and move on. So she’d gone, expecting to hate every minute of it, except that she hadn’t. They’d actually gotten along surprisingly well, he’d taken her to a chill little Diner, not the over-the-top fancy restaurant that she thought he’d pick and he’d opened the car door for her like a gentleman. They had chatted for hours about their multitude of shared interests and drank Carlton beer and drunkenly waltzed together along the floor and it was perfect and wonderful and crazy.

After that they became an item, they would share heated interludes by the otherwise deserted office printing machine in true cliché Office Romance fashion and they’d even kissed under the mistletoe at the office Christmas party and things were going great, until one day, Jude overheard a conversation between him and his brother, Balekin Greenbriar, Eldred’s right hand man and future heir of the company.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, she was only coming into Balekin’s office to hand over a file when she’d recognised Cardan’s voice saying her name. She would never forget the words that she had heard him say. ‘She’s a distraction...only a pointless fling....thought it would be fun to get under her skin....you know I like a challenge’.

The memory of those words alone are enough to bring back the hurt that had ripped through her when she had stood motionless on the other side of Balekin’s door, desperate to get away but trapped by her own denial and desire for self destruction.

Now she watches as he agitatedly ruffles his unruly black locks in front of her. “I swear to you, what you heard me say to Balekin, I didn’t mean a word of it.”

“Then why would you say it?” She’s torn between turning tail and leaving him there, turning her back on him for good or staying and waiting for his explanation, waiting to hear his reasons, why he’d done this to her, to them.

“You don’t know my brother, Jude.” His voice, his expression, his everything is bleak and open and vulnerable, begging for understanding. “He takes pleasure in destroying the things I love. It’s a game to him, one he’s been playing all my life, taking away what stops me from being miserable, and I couldn’t let him do that with you.

“Not with you,” he repeats, stronger. “You’re too important. So I knew I had to convince him that you meant nothing to me.”

Everything about his demeanour suggests sincerity and it definitely seems like he’s telling the truth and she wants to believe him, to trust him, she really does.

But she’s been hurt before and she doesn’t think she could chance being so again.

“I can’t trust you.”

“Yes, you can. You can choose to.” He steps forward now, close, so close, unrelenting.

She rises to the occasion and raises her face to meet his, a scant inch between them. “No, I can’t. I won’t.”

It’s a standoff now, neither willing to back down. The sun has made it’s way much higher in the sky and the yellow sunlight is beating down on them, the heat adding to the fire that has ignited between them.

“Stop being so stubborn, dammit,” he bites out, frustrated.

“Make me,” she sneers.

She doesn’t know how it happened, nor how she didn’t see it coming, but in the very next second Cardan’s lips are on hers, moving furiously and his arms are on her waist, holding her against him in an almost punishing grip.

It appears that he hadn’t quite seen it coming either because he pulls away from her before she has time to process more than a tingle running up her arms, his dark eyes wide and pupils dilated. They’re both breathing fast now, so close that they share breaths. They stare for a moment.

Then, with lightning speed she throws caution to the winds and wraps her arm around his neck, crashing her lips to his once more and this time she registers that his lips are soft under hers and he tastes like hot chocolate and breath mint and it feels glorious. It’s only been a little more than a week since they’d last kissed, but it felt like an eternity.

Minutes, hours, or days later they break apart, gasping for air and clutching at each other, neither one willing to relinquish their grip. Cardan rests his forehead on hers and looks at her with a startling amount of adoration and she knows right then and there that, scary as the thought is, she would forgive him anything, including this.

“Give me another chance?” He asks, pleading.

“Yes,” she breathes before reaching up to lose herself in kisses once more.

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I’m not entirely happy with this one tbh, but anyways here you go @franktastic-fangirl, thank you for sending in the prompt and for the congrats!🌻

Tagging my taglist (although I’m not entirely sure that I want y’all to read this, lol)- @cupcakesandkittens , @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln , @thewickedkings and @kittkatandbooboo 💕

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of my TFOTA taglist :)

#hopefully a bit of fun at the beginning there hehe #drabble fic #one shots #fanfiction #tfota fanfiction #tfota fanfic #the folk of the air #dd writes #send me a prompt #jurdan #jurdan fic #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar

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theamberwriter · 3 years

Text

Ficmas Day 1: One More Sleep [Tenya Iida]

Pairing: ProHero!Tenya Iida x Fem!Reader

Song: One More Sleep by Leona Lewis

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: I tried to get this done a few days ago, but I was just so tired 😭 Anyway, I hope that you guys like it!

Tenya rubbed his eyes groggily, staring at the ceiling. He rolled over to look at the clock on the nightstand. 3:43 AM. How frustrated he was by this. He should've been asleep hours ago. He sat up, deciding it was no good. Sleep wouldn't come, not until you were here by his side.

He checked his phone for the date. December 21th. Four. More. Days. Five more grueling, restless nights. Tenya figured he should've been used to this. Spending time apart. Your relationship had been that way since the beginning. You traveled for work while he stayed put. Doing the hero gig he'd always dreamed of.

But now - so close to Christmas - it was impossible to think of anything else but you. Here. In the bed you'd spend nearly a year deciding on because he insisted you had to look at all the options first. Your side was barely worn. It made his heart ache in ways he was too stubborn to admit.

Tenya wondered if it's be too cruel to ask you to stop. To stop traveling. To stay put, just for a little while. No more calling at wild hours. No more flickering signals or long distance fees. Just you and him. Together in the home that you'd bought. The place you made love and fought and kissed endlessly to make up for lost time.

But when was enough, enough?

He swung his feet out of bed, put on his glasses, and slid on his slippers. A blue bathrobe hung from the best post. It was one you'd bought him last year from somewhere over seas. You had said it reminded you of his eyes. Apparently you'd worn it considerably before gifting it. It was drenched in your scent by the time it reached his hands. The collar smelled like your shampoo, the rest of smelling of your favourite spray. You'd bashfully admitted you wore it because you missed him. And this one little thing made you feel closer.

Your smell had been washed from it by now. But he silently wished it was still there as he put it on. He only flicked on a few lights as he made his way to the kitchen. A warm cup of tea on a cold, snowy night sounded wonderful. Tenya looked out at the piling snow as he waited for the water to boil.

He worried your flight would get delayed. Or worse – it'd be put off until after the storm passed. Sure, he'd video chatted you early that evening. But he felt like he'd die if he had to wait even a single day more than he already had to. He ran a hand through his hair. What a funny thing love was.

Tenya had never expected you to come into his life. He never really expected to share love with anyone. It was just another thing his brother talked sweetly of. Telling him, “Tenya, you'll know when she's the one.” Tenya breathed his brother's every word like gospel.

Except for that one.

What had Tensei meant by you'll know – it wasn't very informative. It didn't help too much. It only kept him guessing as he passed attractive women. Until Tenya found you. It wasn't love at first sight. Not entirely. But the first words he thought when he saw your face? I just found my wife.

It had been such a nauseating, powerful experience. One little glance as you said 'hello' from your new spot at a desk in his agency. Tenya had rushed away, and left out the back so he wouldn't have to pass you again.

It was the single most powerful moment in his life.

Many things had changed over the years. You were one of those earth shattering experiences for him. Breaking open the egg that was the world. Showing him more than he would've thought possible. Four years ago, that thought that he'd fall in love with a stranger and get married to them just two years after would've seemed ridiculous. But here you two were.

You worked as a travel writer. Going to exotic places. Trying new things. Meeting new people. While Tenya was living his dream. Fulfilling his brother's legacy as Ingenium. He never thought being alone could feel so hollow and bitter and cold. He'd never really felt lonely when he was alone, until you two made a home together. Tenya worried that home was too boring for you. Surely it had to be after seeing so much of the world. It gnawed at him. No matter how much reassurance you gave him that coming back home to him was always the best part of the trip.

Tenya contemplated his tea as he poured in the water. Watching as a deep red color soaked out from the leaves. Only four more days, he kept reminding himself. Five more nights, and she'll be with you. But the mantra didn't help at all.

Tenya went to his reading chair by the window. Yours was next to his, a table separating them. Your side was stacked with books. Even your chair had a few on it. Bookmarks spouted from a few. Tenya was sure you'd never finish them. But watching you try was endearing nonetheless. Your wedding picture sat on the table, along with a vase of your favourite flowers. He went every day to get one while you were away.

He counted twenty three. Twenty three flowers. Twenty three days apart. But only four more until you were back in his arms. Until he could kiss you and hold you. Feel your warm skin against his own. They'd made you stay longer, so you'd have writing material through the first of the year. Didn't they know you had a husband and a dog to get back home to?

That picture encapsulated the best day of his life. A face splitting grin on his own. You wore a goofy smile because he'd made you laugh. Tenya cried when he saw you come down the aisle. Though he desperately tried to hide them. You teased him later about that. He simply covered you with kisses.

A small lump formed in Tenya's throat as he watched your dog slump sadly down onto the floor in front of your chair. He rolled his eyes up at Tenya and whined, his tail wagging only once. Things just weren't the same with you away. Tenya blew on his tea with a sigh.

“I know boy, I miss her, too,” he said softly. Then took a sip. The hot tea did nothing to warm the cold that settled in him.

Only four. More. Days.

Tenya didn't sleep much after that. Dozing on the couch until the morning light woke him up. He was very stiff and chilled to the bone. Like someone had left a window open. Tenya searched the house, simply pushing the heater up when he found no cause for alarm.

Tenya was very surprised as he let the dog out. The snow was ludicrously high. Five feet, give or take. He was willing to say give. Your poor pooch could barely get down to use the bathroom. Tenya just knew he was going to have to shovel a path for him.

Was his ideal morning bundled up and shoveling snow? He was fairly sure that no body's was. But he diligently donned his his coat, hat, scarves, gloves, and snow boots. Being a good dog father and shoveling a path down into the yard.

Tenya chuckled at the thought of you out here last year in the snow. A hair dry plugged into the side of the house. He yelled at you about the hazard, trying to argue that a hair dryer was not the most efficient way the clear snow. You started a snow ball fight after that. You'd both gone in drenched, and took a nice, hot, steamy shower together. His body tingled warmly at the thought, his face (and quite a few other places) feeling hot.

After shoveling, it was shower time. Then he made himself and the dog breakfast (yes, he makes the dog's food because he is a very good doggy daddy). After was time to tend to all the chores he'd been putting off in the wake of his depression. This included wrapping your gifts. Tenya knew you'd be home for Christmas, but it'd been too painful to wrap them before. Between his loneliness and the excitement that bubbled in him at the thought of you coming home in a few days, he felt numb but jittery. One canceling the other out.

And there was still so much to do.

Ochaco and Izuku had accidentally, inadvertently invited themselves over for Christmas. They wanted to throw a party. And somehow Tenya had gotten wrapped up in it all. He hadn't been able to get a hold of you to try and talk them down. So he did the responsible thing and said he'd take care of it all. They gushed about what to bring and who to invite, he just had to take care of the house and making sure everything was perfect. He supposed this was a sort of coming home celebration for you, so it didn't annoy him quite as much.

Tenya measured the dimensions each and every package he wrapped. Then he measured the wrapping paper. The process was tedious, but it ensured every piece of paper was used to the fullest. He pulled off the smallest pieces of tape that he possibly could, so he didn't waste the roll. Honestly, Tenya thought of how you might react as you opened them all. The excitement, the embarrassment, the sheer happiness that he wanted so much to bring you. He'd gone overboard, sure. But you were worth every penny. And all the burnt fingers. The thing he'd tried to make you did not go as well as he wanted. But Tenya just knew you were going to love it.

After wrapping, he figured having a nice tree to put them under would help. He'd only gone out and bought one. Nothing was decorated. That was something you two usually did together. There wasn't a tinkle of a light anywhere to be seen. Though he knew Ochaco and Izuku expected the place to look as warm and cozy as it always did this time of year.

The decorations were stored in a closet under the stairs. You had made it a giant Janga tower. Honestly, Tenya was a little scared to pull everything out. If he was crushed to death by decorations, no body would know for days. He studied your tower for a while. Thinking about when you'd put them in. You had struggled tremendously. He'd just chuckled. Tenya always thought everything you did was endearing. In it's own sort of way. In the love touched way.

When Tenya was sure nothing was going to fall, he started to pull things out and organize them into piles. Garland, ornaments, outside lights, indoor lights, the tree angel, upstairs decorations, table runners, stockings – he sprinted through the house as he sorted. He planned to start upstairs, then work his way down.

By the time he finished the upstairs it was early evening. He'd missed lunch, stopping only briefly to feed the dog. Now it was dinner time. He had no gumption to cook, though. So he heated up leftovers and sat at the table. Tenya stared at your empty chair as he ate. It was made up with a place mat, and a book, and your favourite mug.

Three more days.

It surprised him in the morning when there was a ring at the doorbell. Tenya had been up, working slowly at things around the house. He wasn't planning on company. Nor for Ochaco and Izuku to be standing behind the door. They had their own bags and piles of things in their arms. They grinned widely at him.

“What a surprise,” Tenya said, then moved aside. “Come in out of the snow. I hope the roads weren't too bad.”

They nodded and ducked in. “Thanks!”

“Most of the snow is melted already,” Ochaco pouted. “Izuku and I built a snowman yesterday, but he was just a pile of mush things morning!”

Izuku looked around, clearly surprised by the bare walls and shelves and tree. “Tenya, you haven't started decorating yet?”

Tenya looked away ashamedly. Eyes wandering on their own to a picture of you. His guests' eyes followed. Ochaco's grin dropped.

“Oh,” she said, putting her stuff down. “You're probably waiting for [Name], right?”

“Tenya, if you didn't want to have the party, you could've said something,” Izuku insisted.

Tenya had tried to tell them he didn't want to throw the party. Not at his house anyway. But they were so excited that they didn't listen. “It's fine. [Name] is coming home on Christmas. It'll be nice to have everyone here to welcome her back. I've just been putting it off. I didn't want to decorate alone.”

Ochaco hugged him tightly. “I'm sorry, Tenya. We're here to help!”

“Yeah!” Izuku looked disproportionately determined for the task. But Tenya was glad that his friend was as enthusiastic as ever. He needed the energy boost. “We're going to make it amazing for when [Name] comes home! You have nothing to worry about.”

The pair ran off, doing what, Tenya didn't know. But he sure was glad to have friends like them. They helped him finish decorating downstairs. And he made them lunch. Soon everything was dripping with sparkling lights and garlands and glitter. Three stockings hung on hooks that suctioned to the wall, one for you, one for Tenya, and one for the dog. He hoped to add more stockings in the near future. But how was that going to happen when you were barely home together long enough?

Ochaco and Izuku treated Iida to dinner that evening. Taking him to a restaurant down the way. They chatted quietly, mostly going over holiday plans.

“We're going to my parents' on Christmas Eve,” Ochaco noted, looking over the menu. “Then Deku's mom and All Might are coming with us to the party Christmas day. I hope you don't mind.”

Tenya shook his head. “No, it'll be nice to see them.”

“Are you doing anything Christmas Eve? You could always come with us,” offered Izuku.

“I'm going to my parents house. Tensei and his wife will be there.”

Ochaco's eyes lit up. “I didn't know he got married!”

“Not too long before I did. She's a lovely woman, and takes very good care of my brother. We're all very grateful to her.” Tensei smiled lightly, thinking about his brother's wedding. It'd been a very beautiful ceremony with many tears. He was best man, and dreaming about the day he was going to propose to you.

They ate and talked and laughed. For just a little while, Tenya felt like himself. Izuku and Ochaco walked him back home. It was dark now, and cold bit through their coats.

“Oh, before we go – I have invites for you to pass out at your agency.” Ochaco produced a stack of envelopes from her pocket. “Could you give them out next time you go in?”

“I managed to get a few days off to prepare for [Name]'s arrival, but I can run them in tomorrow,” Tenya said, taking the stack.

“Let us know when you're back,” said Izuku. “We'll help you decorate the outside.”

Tenya shook his head. “You've already done so much, I couldn't ask for more.”

“It's really no problem. We don't mind helping.”

“Very well, then.” Tenya nodded. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

As Tenya shut himself in for the night he sighed, leaning his head back against the door.

Just two more days.

Tenya set off bright and early the next morning. The air was still frosty and the sky looked like it wanted to flood the ground with more white. He was going to try and make this trip quick. He'd been getting increasingly pitying looks. He didn't want to hang around long, to see their eyes boring holes in him.

He hesitated at the doors, watching as his breath floated up to the sky. Even with gloves on, it felt like the cold seeped through from the door handle. Tenya didn't bother going to his office. He stopped at the front desk. The woman there smiled up at him.

“Good morning, Mr. Ingenium,” she greeted. “How can I help you?”

“I need you to distribute these to all of the staff and heroes,” he said, pulling a large stack of envelopes from his coat. He'd spent the entire night trying to remember all of the staff at his agency.

“Can do.” She took the envelopes. But she didn't shift her gaze. “You look tired, sir. Are you doing okay?”

“There's a lot to do, is all. My wife will be home in a few days.” Tenya cleaned his glasses, looking for an excuse to break eye contact.

“Right,” she bit curtly. “Your wife.”

Tenya leaned on the counter, hoping to charm her with a smile. He was far too tired for this today. He was going to have to hire a new secretary sometime soon. “Izumi, it would mean a lot if you could pass these out to everyone. I'd be very grateful.”

The woman softened. “Anything you want, sir.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Tenya left swiftly, before he had to endure anymore one sided flirting. The distaste his secretary expressed for his wife got tiresome. Along with her not-so-subtle hints for him to have an affair with her. He had more important things to worry about. Like making sure you came home to a magical display.

“Izuku,” he started, phone to his ear as he walked down the road. “I just left I should be home....soon....”

“Okay Tenya!” Izuku cheered from the other side. Then there was a long pause. “Tenya?”

But the man was distracted by the window he was passing. “I'll call you back when I get to the house.”

“Wait, is something wro –”

Tenya hung up, staring at the window display. It was perfect. It was just what he was looking for to top off the season. You were going to love it. He rushed in, demanding the display in the window. He wasn't usually the type. But he was just too excited. The clerks gently packaged it, tying neat bows around the box. Tenya had to stop himself from sprinting full force down the road.

He rushed a message to Izuku when he got home. But there was no hope of sitting still for him. By the time Ochaco and Izuku got there, he'd already had half the outside decorated. He was on the roof, hooking up the lights. He waved down at them.

Ochaco floated up the rest of the boxes for the roof. Izuku nearly floated away as he tried to help finish the lights. Tenya caught him and hauled him down. It felt like they were back in UA as students with the ensuing chaos.

Tenya treated the pair to a home made dinner. They had a few drinks and some laughs. But honestly, he just wanted to chug through the next few days. Today was the twenty third. Two more days to Christmas. Two more days to you coming home.

The trio examined their handy work when the sun went down. The house glowed and twinkled. It really did look like a winter wonderland. Tenya just knew you were going to love it. He was looking forward to seeing your face as you watched the display they made.

Just a few more days.

The morning of the twenty fourth was a lazy one. He didn't want to get out of bed. Tenya wanted to lay there until the following night. When you'd be there with him. To finally warm the thorough chill that hadn't left him in days.

But eventually he pulled himself up, going to the vase in the living room.

“Twenty five,” he muttered, slipping a flower in. “Twenty six....you'll have a very big bouquet this time, [Name].”

Tenya set to breakfast. He'd lost all his fire from yesterday. He was a tired shell now. He was so sure you were going to love what he found for you. But now one, long agonizing day laid ahead of him. The house was decorated, inside and out. Presents were wrapped. The tree was ready. Filled to the brim with perfectly packaged gifts, awaiting your arrival.

Tomorrow would be the party. You'd arrive after dark, hopefully with people still around to greet you. You wouldn't have to worry about a thing. Ochaco and Izuku were going to take care of all the other little details. All of the invites read a potluck and BYOB. In the meantime, he had to wait the day out. The only thing he had to look forward to distract him was seeing his family later that evening.

Christmas morning was to be lonely. Then, by three, the house would start filling up. By eight, you should be walking up the front entrance. By 8:01, you'd be in his arms and smothered in kisses. With any luck, you'd be making love by midnight.

Tenya went out and shoveled snow again. More than two feet had fallen in the night. The more snow that fell, the more he worried the weather was going to be too rough for your plane. He needed you, sooner rather than later preferably.

The day seemed to crawl away. Only a few minutes had passed every time he glanced at the clock. Had it always been so difficult to entertain himself? He'd already showered, made lunch, brushed snow meticulously from the front porch and back deck. He uncovered all of the decorations he'd put up the day before.

He was impatient by the time he had to leave to see his family. Even the ride there drove him crazy. The road seemed to stretch. The cars squeezing from every side. Would the tedium ever cease?

As the evening with his family began, he discovered it would not. Even as he laughed with his parents and brother, as he listened to stories and shared a few. His eyes never left his watch for long. It didn't go unnoticed, but it was left unmentioned. Just a look exchanged around him.

They knew, of course. That he counted down every second until he'd see you again. The light and fire you brought into his life was wonderful to see. But how they wished you didn't leave so much.

Tenya went to bed when he got home. But sleep didn't come. Not for a very long time. He tried to force himself asleep, just a single thought leaping in his head.

One. More. Night.

A new tickle of joy danced in his chest as he realized the day. Christmas. You were going to be home. He was going to be counting down the hours until he saw you.

Tenya zipped through his morning. Shoveling the fresh few inches of snow. Hand making the dog's food for the next week. Making breakfast for himself, showering, and pulling out the outfit you'd picked over video call a week ago. Just a red sweater with stripes and snowflakes and charcoal grey slacks. He spent time cleaning, making sure every inch was dusted.

He had his fire back – until he checked his phone just after lunch.

[NAME] (Wife)

My plane is being delayed. I won't be home until tomorrow. I'm so sorry, my love, I wanted to be home for Christmas. So, very much....

Tenya felt a little bit of himself break. He slumped in his reading chair, phone discarded on the table. He stared blankly ahead of him. His worst fear had come true. One more day had turned into two. And with this snow, two could easily turn into three or four.

Ochaco and Izuku came not too long after. They knocked on the door, rang the door bell. The dog barked. Eventually they tried the handle, letting themselves in. They exchanged a worried look as they spied their friend. They could see the hollowness of his eyes.

“Tenya...?” Ochaco whispered.

“She's not coming,” he muttered numbly.

Izuku put a hand on Tenya's shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“[Name]'s flight – it's been delayed. She won't be home until tomorrow....” Tenya could barely scrap his eyes to his phone. He didn't want to look at it. To see anything else that might ruin him.

“But she'll be home, at least.”

“You don't understand. You two have each other. Tensei will be spending the holiday with his wife. And I have her. If [Name] isn't here....”

Izuku and Ochaco glanced at each other again.

“We'll still have a good time, Tenya,” Ochaco said, trying to cheer him up.

“Yeah, people will start to be here soon! You won't even know she's missing!” Then Izuku began to panic. “Not that we don't want her here. But maybe getting your mind off of her will help. Not that you shouldn't miss your wife on a holiday but –”

Tenya chuckled. At least something was normal. Izuku eased some at the sound. He and Ochaco set up the kitchen, while Tenya put away anything he didn't want broken. You never knew if someone was going to get rowdy.

As the first people showed up, the booze flooded in. Tenya had only meant to have one. But he was having a self-pity streak. One became two, two became three. Different Christmas mixes that people brought, some made right in his kitchen; homemade egg nogs, and Christmas cocktails, holiday ciders. He claimed they were just to try. Normally, he'd be following people around. Putting down coasters, ensuring that they didn't slosh on the couch, making sure no one was scuffing up the floors. But Izuku was already doing a pretty good job of that. Probably to make sure Tenya didn't have to worry. But it left him too idle.

Tenya chatted with his co-workers as they came. They complimented his house, saying they wouldn't have expected anything else from an Iida. He went around, greeting everyone. Thanking each person for coming. Each drink numbing just slightly more. He spent a good deal of time talking to Izuku's mom and All Might.

He was caught in the middle of an inescapable conversation with his insufferable secretary when Izuku came to tap him on the shoulder. His friend pointed towards the entrance to your house. Tenya's eyes followed his arm, going wide at what they found. They swept to the clock on the wall – it only read 5:23. In alarm, he triple checked what he was reading, to be sure he was right. With a puff from his quirk, Tenya launched himself.

You screamed as he tackled you. He kept you upright, making you didn't fall. Tenya smooshed your face with too many kisses to keep up with. He squeezed you tightly in his arms. You could smell the liquor on him. Since when did he drink? You hoped this wasn't the start of a bad habit.

“[Name]! You're here!” he exclaimed in disbelief. He held you at arm's length, looking you up and down just to be sure you were real.

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah!”

“But your plane –”

“I – uh – I lied.” You glanced away from him, your face hot. “My flight was actually bumped up. I wanted to surprise you. I wasn't expecting you to get stupid drunk.”

Tenya sunk to the floor, and pulled you into his lap. He was so cute with his goofy grin and the pink dusting on his cheeks. He rubbed his cheek against yours. Your guests chuckled at the sight. You pulled him in for a long, hard kiss. So glad to finally have him in your arms. You could feel every bit of his body against yours. You had to calm his hands as they roamed freely over your body. They were dipping into places that shouldn't be caressed in public.

Finally – no more counting the days.

No more nights between you.

No more hours to wait.

You two were together. And it was the sweetest feeling in the world.

“Why wouldn't I have been upset by the delay?” he rambled. “I've missed you, and I didn't want to think of another day without you here. I needed a little boost. Drinking was perhaps not the best choice.”

Tenya clung to you all night, never letting you out of his sight. Seeing everyone was lovely. You really couldn't have asked for a better homecoming. The lights he'd put up outside were spectacular. And the warm cozy air your home had taken on was supernatural. Or maybe it was just because you were glad to be home.

It was nearly midnight when everybody finally left. Ochaco and Izuku had stayed to help you clean. Tenya wouldn't let you go long enough to do anything. You were about to force him upstairs when he stumbled over to the tree.

“No, no, no – you have to open this. While it's still Christmas. Please,” Tenya pouted, and forced a little black box with a shimmering silver lid into your hand. The childish pout on his face was adorable, but he really should've been getting to bed.

“Tenya –”

“Open it.”

You eyed him suspiciously, but planted yourself on the couch. He adhered himself to your side. He held you closely, head on your shoulder. A red ribbon was tied lovingly around the box. It was always too beautiful to unwrap. You had a suspicion Tenya hadn't done this himself. He packaged things neatly, but aesthetics weren't his forte.

You pulled the ribbon, then peered into the box. You looked at him, then in the box, then back again.

“You did not go out and spend a fortune,” you scolded.

Tenya shrugged. “You deserve the world.”

“Tenya!” But you couldn't deny it was beautiful.

It was simple, with a thin silver chain. Hanging from the end was a pendant. It had your birth stone in set on the part where the chain went through. And there was immaculate scroll work around the edges. Tenya took it briefly from your hands, the pressed the sides.

The front popped open. A lump pressed in your throat. A miniature of your wedding photo was nestled inside the frame. Tenya turned it over, revealing both of your initials along with your wedding date on the back.

“I left the other half open, for when we have a family of our own,” he muttered drowsily. “I love you more than the world. I'm very happy you're finally home. I'd be very happy if you didn't have to leave again.”

“I love this. I love you,” you murmured in reply, then turned your head to kiss him.

You put the locket back in the box, then helped him stand. You hauled Tenya upstairs, and got him changed. He insisted on brushing his teeth, even though he coud barely stand up right. The necklace took up a home on your night stand. You were going to wear this every day that you could. It was your new favourite piece of jewelry.

Once you were settled into bed, he immediately took you in him arms. He hummed in content.

“How would you feel about being a secretary?” Tenya slurred, nuzzling his nose into the back of your neck. “I'm going to need a new one soon. Mine is gonna get fired.”

You sighed. “I actually wanted to talk to about that. I wanted to wait until you were sober. But – I'm going to quit my job. That way I can be home with you. If we want a family....I'm also tired of spending so much time away from you. You can't imagine how lonely the world is without you with me to see it.”

Tenya sighed. “I want your....baabbeeezzz...”

You chuckled. “Tenya? - Love?”

A light snoring told you he was out cold. You smiled to yourself as he snuggled closer to you. You relaxed into him. You'd been waiting for this for ages. Or, it felt like ages anyway. You didn't want to be away from him anymore. Coming home to the one you love? It was amazing. But getting to stay home with them? That was the best Christmas gift you could ask for.

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ladaar-hasmoved · 3 years

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if i don’t put this somewhere i would be doing us an injustice, so here is the entire album w/ the lyrics that are specifically nalla.

CALL ME A SYMBOL.

Would you take a look at me Surrender, can't you see? Don't fear to burn your eyes With how, how perfect I can be The sickest fantasy coming to life Vanity is my identity I'm overflown with self-love To kiss my blessed feet, they are crawling near What tramples over them? My feet

COLOSSUS.

Am I the colossus Right before his fall Stripped of all my forces Losing the control? Am I the colossus Or just acting the same role? Oh, how much longer Will they keep on stabbing me? The hate mongers Rose above and made their plea Show your faces! Let me see the grimaces! Vile betrayers Self proclaimed false witnesses Here I am now On my thin feet made of clay Should I fall down? You will be my final prey

VORTEX.

Quiet The man is wandering around Where's the way out he never found? And inside There's a ball made of lead It's rolling and rumbling on parquet Oh how heavy is the ball! It bends his spine to the very ground Neither his nor another Enormous, ludicrous Oh how heavy is his thought! In a half an hour or so It crushed the floor And smashed the man's toes Oh how heavy is his thought! In a half an hour or so It crushed the floor And smashed the man's soul

DISCLOSURE!

You say you follow me but indeed You put a tail on me Like a snoop gets the wind of my feet And everywhere I've been What I do, where I go, what I say, what I don't Get a life of your own, get a life of your own Come on, let's play this mind game If you really feel no goddamn shame Such an artless performance of a crude brain In an awkward dance Of the brainwashed and the sane Follow me, follow me, follow me Don't bother me, don't bother me Follow me, follow me, follow me Don't bother me, don't bother me

COPYCAT.

Breaking into my mind Why are you here tonight? You wanna steal my life That's why you are here tonight? You make me cry, you make me scream You make me crawl under the bed To set up a trap and I wonder How long I should hide Will you leave me alone tonight? Starting from today I lock my treasury This is my design My mind is also mine Drink from someone else's glass No, no it's not a crime But when you kill authenticity The art is vandalized The art is vandalized Vandalized, vandalized Bring it Bring it What are you afraid of? To lose a stranger's love? To unveil true intentions And this pretentiousness

PEARLS AND SWINE.

With all your kind gentle heart You came to people full of mud You came to those who are not like you Promising to love them too To love them too As a reply, warfare and mockery Slights and tears in return Behind your back they shoot with menace And aim to kill your noble soul

SLEEP OF THE RIGHTEOUS.

The rush of fear to even sleep With just a thread of hope I have What if I simply let it in Or clench my jaws and take the blow? As I lay I slowly fade away Into a place of inevitability And why is it happening to me? I'm full of life but I can't breathe It appears from the darkness My body burns in its presence As I softly sink into the dream The door has opened, I can't resist A candle placed upon a bedroom table The storm outside defies to stop The room grows colder in its presence I'm not your fire, let me burn! Let me burn!

WALLFLOWER.

Stay in, stay in You can be alone Stay in, stay in You can feel like home Breathe in, it's a place Where you belong Where no one, no one No one does you wrong Your capsule is your fortress Where you can lick your wounds You are people avoiding people And fall in love with solitude They won't find me in my shell The chances go to zero I'm a guest in my own skin I take it off and be myself

DEAD HANDS FEEL NO PAIN.

Gripping onto The reality of Facing a thousand As they circle above The strings of my soul Got loose too soon 'Cause the reins of my heart Were too tight all the time Were too tight all the time Here I am sitting on the edge Of a cold fence The same fence I left you all behind An intricate weaving of a barrier Separating death from life

AS I BOIL ICE.

What kind of mood were you in When you clapped me together Accidentally Sick and fatigue Uninspired, half asleep? Then threw me in a box Sent me to the earth The manual is lost Somewhere in the post And I am missing few details You can't name them all So I do what I do best I wallpaper when there is no wall I can't think positive Everything around screams impossible As I boil ice As everything is versa vice

MEDIATOR.

My wish would be To see this sun shining To hear these birds singing Children laughing, hearts recovering My dream has always been Life has always seemed To be an amusement park Rather colourful than dark I wanted a loser to win The thin never starving The full not keeping it down And needing nothing from no one I wanted the poor to live in abundance I wanted the rich to have someone Except for himself To love and take care of

#EVERY ! SINGLE ! FUCKING ! SONG ! IS ! HER #I'M GOING TO GO ABSOLUTELY FERAL !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#☼ . ◦ ` ･ﾟ study ╱ ❛ your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. ❜

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sarkywoman · 3 years

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Writing Asks

Tagged by @under-the-shady-tree, thanks!

20 questions, writer’s edition, let’s go!!

How many works do you have on AO3? 85

What’s your total AO3 word count? 712708

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Oof, uh... since like, 1999? Um, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Andromeda, Supernatural, Heroes, NCIS, DC, Marvel, The Umbrella Academy, Kingsmen, ASoIaF/Game of Thrones, Borderlands, Community, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, Doctor Who/Torchwood, Final Fantasy, Harry Potter, Misfits, I think I’ve forgotten some...

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Noble Blood (Game of Thrones, ASoIaF - GRRM) A Song of Bastards and Wards (ASoIaF - GRRM, Game of Thrones) Young God (Borderlands) Story and Sorcery (Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel) My Shame is True (The Umbrella Academy (TV))

Do you respond to comments, why or why not? I try to! Comments are so important in the fanfic community and I know how hard it is to think of something to say about a story, even when you’ve loved it to bits, so I don’t want people to feel ignored. Especially because I appreciate comments so, so much! I will say though, I have lapses, often when my mental health isn’t good, where I simply don’t know how to respond to people and then months go by and I feel weird about replying... so sorry if you’ve ever commented on one of my stories and got silence - it was me not you!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? The Aimless One (Misfits (TV 2009)) Straight up the saddest story I’ve written, no question. Normally writing sad stuff doesn’t make me sad but I had to take a break in the middle of this to just try and grapple with the idea I’d had because it tapped into a lot of depressing thoughts I have about life and death in general. The comments were all complimentary but so upset that at first I was like ‘hooray, it had the desired impact’, then after a while I started to think ‘why did I want to hurt people like this?’

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? Probably Realising All You Ever Wanted, a Hobbs/Dirk fic for the Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency fandom. There’s such minor conflict in that one that the sugary sweet ending isn’t out of place.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written? Well. I have some fandoms that are sort of crossovers already, things like Marvel where you have comic versions and movie versions and it doesn’t really feel like a crossover to be picking and choosing. Same with a Dirk Gently/Thor fic I did, because Thor cameos in the DG canon, but not this Thor. I think the most ambitious crossover I’ve worked on was a collaborative chatfic with @freshgratednutmeg that we’re never likely to post, where the need for more background characters in an Umbrella Academy A/o fic led to it being crossed over with Marvel and Brooklyn 99. (Leading to such amusements as Diego sparring with Rosa, and Five competing with Shuri in class.)

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Yeah, but it’s never been very well-reasoned so it’s been fairly easy to dismiss. Some people expect everyone to share their own perspective of the characters and it’s weird.

Do you write smut? If so what kind? Not really. I can go there and have done on occasion, but it doesn’t interest me very much. I think I did it more when I was younger because I felt like it was a necessary aspect of grown-up fanfic writing (when I started I was a teenager amongst mostly adults... or other people lying about their age too lol). These days I’m more likely to fade to black or allude to the acts. But I’m not averse to writing it or anything, but it’s never the focus of my story.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Only in the sense that I see them on other sites I didn’t upload to, sometimes in other languages, sometimes not. They normally say my name somewhere on them so they’re not stolen as such, but it’s still uncomfortable to see my work circulated to other sites without my permission.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not with my permission, but yeah. I don’t know how to feel about translations. Obviously I want people of other languages to be able to read my work, but at the same time I’m not fluent enough to be able to check the translator’s work, so I won’t know if they’ve done any better than google. Word choice is pretty important in fiction. A bad translation can totally warp a text.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not for posting or sharing, but me and @freshgratednutmeg cowrite all the time.

What’s your all time favorite ship? All time?! That’s impossible to answer. I’m a multi-shipper for starters, in pretty much every fandom I’ve been in. When I find a ship I love, I love it intensely above all others for the duration of the fixation. Then eventually it gets set aside when I find a new fandom. I’m also indecisive enough to not really have an all-time favourite anything.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? A Song of Bastards and Wards (ASoIaF - GRRM, Game of Thrones). I can’t begin to describe the pages of notes I have for this beast. Unless I threw them out, which... scanning my room... is a distinct possibility. Ouch. I’d hoped to parallel the books for a long time with this one, but the amount of work for a project like that is too much when you’re no longer as passionate about the source fandom. I suspect what I might do is scenes with interconnecting notes, just so people get some sense of closure.

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, baybee! Kinda makes me want to be a scriptwriter. People are always telling me that the characters ‘sound like’ them. I think it’s from reading voraciously from when I was young and being quite a social child, that moving speech patterns and quirks into writing is something that comes very naturally to me. Too natural, in fact, because IRL I write how I speak and that’s not always suited to the situation.

What are your writing weaknesses? Most things other than dialogue. Even thought processes are an internal dialogue, so they’re okay, but then like... a fight scene? A sex scene? Just even... what are their hands doing while they’re talking? How are these people physically present? Where are they? Are they inside, outside, is the building on fire? My descriptive skills are lacking, to say the least. It’s something I’m working on.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I’m not quite sure what’s meant by this. I’m not fluent in anything other than English so I don’t see that would work well for me. I know a few phrases in German/French/Welsh/Latin/Spanish but nothing useful for conversation. Dropping in words can work, if it’s the same way the speaker would use them amidst their English. Most of the time the characters I’m writing wouldn’t be speaking in another language anyway. We can blame the tag-team of English colonialism and American media for that one I think. I think that sometimes authors utilise a character’s language in a way that just exposes how little the author actually knows of the language and that’s a bit cringe for me.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Buffy the Vampire Slayer. None of those are online atm because they’re so so bad XD I should post them just so people can see improvement but... I can’t even read them, they’re hilarious. The most gratuitous self-inserts, the most ludicrous arguments, the most out-of-character romantic declarations.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Hmm, that’s a quandary. I think I’ll differentiate between favourite to write, and favourite end product. Favourite to write was probably Noble Blood (Game of Thrones, ASoIaF - GRRM) because it was just a romp through my favourite themes. Given it’s one of my most popular stories, I’d say that just proves you should write what you want! I was going to quickly say Young God (Borderlands) is my favourite fic for quality of the finished product, because I pretty much just sat down one evening and spilled it into a word doc then reread it back and thought ‘huh, did I write that? Awesome’. But I’m happy with a couple of more recent things I’ve done for The Umbrella Academy fandom, notably The Price of Parenthood, which is very different to what I usually write and is a look at the life of one of the mothers who gave up her child to Reginald. Also The Water Calls, which was the only thing I managed to write for the recent MerMay event. It took me a little while to puzzle out how it all fit together, then once I had it worked out it came together wonderfully and I was very happy with the tone of it.

Tagging anyone who fancies doing it.

#long post #this was fun #like being interviewed lol

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

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Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 2/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: So here's the chapter where we really lean into that post-accident imagery. Again, it's not gory, but it may be unsettling. Please be warned. Also some very mild thoughts of suicide on Aziraphale's part, the typical 'why don't I off myself to be with me husband instead' sort of inner monologue.

Read on AO3.

I drove back to The South Downs in the Celestial Blue Fiat Crowley had gifted me last anniversary completely on autopilot. I never really used the thing, to be honest, so I was astonished I hadn’t run off the side of the road, especially when the thought was ever in the back of my mind. I kept the windows down, breathing in deep the brisk air and trying not to think too hard over what I was about to do. Or what I could do instead, the possibilities ranging between getting on with my life - sell the cottage and travel the world, forget about everything that had led up to this point … or driving straight off a cliff.

Of course, if I was lucky, fate would decide for me, and I would catch pneumonia driving in the freezing cold with the windows down and only a thin jumper for protection.

I put the radio on and cranked the volume. I caught a replay of The London Symphony Orchestra performing Holst’s The Planets as I tried to focus on everything and anything besides my dead husband waiting for me, lying naked on our bed, packed in ice with several brand new swamp coolers blasting on high to keep decomposition at bay. I thought it best to stow him out here in the middle of nowhere for the time being instead of at our flat in Mayfair - less a chance of anything going wrong, of the swamp coolers drawing suspicion (seeing as it had barely broken seven degrees Celsius over the past month), or (if this worked) people who knew my husband to be dead seeing him walking around, and asking questions.

Accepting that that was a possibility led me back to the question of why was I doing this? Why was I so set on bringing my husband back? Why didn’t I leave him be, allow him peace? Why didn’t I take the opposite route, off myself, and go be with him instead? Had to admit, it was a lot more natural than what I was intending. But there was a simple reason for that.

I’m a coward.

A bloody coward.

I don’t know what awaits us after death. Not truly. I’d been raised a Catholic, and I hold strong to many of those principles still (mostly out of guilt inflicted upon me by my dear old mum). According to the teachings of the church, a Heavenly kingdom would be ours after death … but not if I killed myself.

Suicide was an unforgivable sin.

If I wanted to see my husband again, this might be the only avenue available to me.

I didn’t want to wait, rely on “faith” that we would be together again, and risk being wrong. I was tired of playing guessing games with my future.

I felt like a massive ball of contradictions flying down the motorway at felony speeds, both exhilarated and terrified at the venture I was about to embark on. The old woman wasn’t wrong. For as blisteringly angry as I got with her, that was the worst part. I was tampering with the laws of nature. I knew that. I loved Crowley more than anything, more than my own life, but Crowley was dead, and in the eyes of the universe, there should be nothing I can do to change that.

But apparently there was.

I’d found it.

And I was going through with it regardless, even if it scared the shit out of me.

I’d not told another living soul about this. I had a pretty good idea of what might happen if I did. I didn’t require an intervention, and I didn’t need institutionalization. I wasn’t crazy. I was grieving, searching for the same solutions that dozens of people have probably thought of but would never admit to. But other people - people who knew me as the eccentric book seller of Soho who didn’t actually sell any books and who once rented a live python for the sole purpose of roaming the store in order to keep uni students away at the start of the school year - might not see it that way.

I had also entertained the possibility that this might be a scam - a way to extort five thousand pounds out of a grieving widower willing to pay anything to have his husband back. Except that the old woman – possibly a hundred or so years older than God – put on a convincing act of being afraid for the paltry sum of five thousand (paltry considering what the granddaughter had said about their financial straits - tens of thousands in mounting debts, interest on bank loans that have ballooned into larger sums than their principals, and the shady men who dropped by most nights to ‘browse’ even though they bought nothing but always broke something in ways that implied mishaps more sinister).

They probably could have gotten twenty thousand out of me easily.

I switched off the radio when I turned off the motorway. It wasn’t like the music would disturb anyone. I lived miles away from my closest neighbor. But it seemed disrespectful to keep the volume so loud.

Disrespectful to the dead.

I love our cottage, fell in love with it the first moment I laid eyes on it, but that was back when it was about to become a home.

Now, it was a tomb.

What would our property agent think - that kindly, middle-aged woman who kept making moon eyes at us every time we snuck a kiss - if she knew I was harboring a corpse in my bedroom? The expression of shock that would erupt on her pinched face nearly made me laugh. But the overwhelming pitch blackness of the cottage sapped me of anything even remotely similar to glee.

When I had left earlier in the day, I had neglected to keep any lights on. It seemed fitting to have the place dark while my husband’s body lay within. But I wished I had left one light on at least, or put a torch by the door. My cellular phone battery had died somewhere along the way so it was of no help whatsoever.

As I opened the door and peered into the living room, I held my breath, half-expecting Crowley’s naked corpse to meet me at the entryway. I chided myself for being an idiot, though how ridiculous was it really? A day ago, when I went searching Soho shops for that horrid incense Crowley used to love in the hopes of keeping his favorite scent alive in the house, I would have agreed that the concept of life after death was ludicrous.

That was until I stumbled upon a teenage girl who promised me the secret to bringing Crowley back.

“Cr---Crowley? Crowley, honey? I’m home, my dear,” I called out, hoping that he wouldn’t actually answer. I was thirty steps away from walking out of my comfort zone and into a world I would rather not know existed, so Crowley coming back to life on his own would tip me over the edge into insanity.

I reached out a hand and turned on the light. My living room, warm and comforting, decorated in muted blues, cinnamon browns, and subtle creams, welcomed me. There was nothing out-of-place here.

Nothing dead.

I continued to the bedroom, switching on lights as I went. With every step, I had to convince myself to keep going. I originally pictured me racing into the house, eager to get this started. But with reality staring me in the face, I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t have the luxury of waiting to see if I would eventually change my mind. Crowley’s internal organs, especially his brain, were decaying fast, regardless of how much ice or air conditioning I piped into the place.

Soon the choice wouldn’t be mine to make.

Twenty steps brought me to the threshold of my bedroom where I stopped, staring at the closed door. I reached down and patted the bottle in my pocket, feeling the lump through the linen of my trousers. Touching it gave me the strength I needed to move my hand to the doorknob, but I halted once more with it hovering when I heard a small creak – like a foot stepping lightly on the hardwood floor. It was the house settling, I told myself. That was what Crowley always said when I woke him in the middle of the night to the sound of odd creaking and whining.

“It’s a mid-century house,” he’d say. “The floors contract in the cold and expand in the heat.”

“So what your saying is …?” I quipped.

“... the house talks in our sleep,” Crowley had replied without opening his eyes. “Now go back to your reading so I can get some sleep, too.”

“Just the house settling,” I muttered in my best rendition of Crowley’s accent, plucking the explanation from my mind and saying it out loud to make it real. “Nothing else alive in the house except for me.”

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to open the door.

I heard the creak repeat, closer this time.

I swallowed so hard, everything from my jaw to my stomach ached.

“Crowley? Are you there? Are you … are you waiting for me, my dear?”

Of course he’s waiting for you! I scolded myself. He’s waiting for you to grow a pair and get this over with.

I sighed, allowing the rush of breath in my deflating body to give my hand momentum, touch the doorknob, and open it like I had hundreds of times before.

This time was no different.

Yup. Maybe if I kept telling myself that, it would feel real.

I turned the knob and switched on the light without thinking about the sight that awaited me on the bed. My eyes flicked up … and my stomach fell to the floor.

There was Crowley, right where I had left him, lying in bed, eyes closed. He looked asleep and, from this distance, normal except for a few cuts and bruises on his face. The accident hadn’t banged his body up that badly, not from what I had noticed, though I didn’t make it a point to look at him for too long.

His neck was why not.

His broken neck from the whiplash that had killed him instantly.

He’d been leaning forward in his car seat, looking at street signs, stuck on a small, offshoot road that the GPS on his phone had apparently never heard of before. He had cautiously entered the intersection when a pickup flew through out of nowhere and slammed into him from behind. Crowley jettisoned forward and hit the steering wheel.

Being a classic car, restored to original condition, it had no airbag.

I blinked back the tears that leaped to my eyes at the thought of the accident that took my husband from me, at the fact that the driver of the truck, being sloshed out of his gourd, walked away from the same accident with only blacks and blues. The police caught the bastard a few miles down the road when his engine stalled.

He claimed he didn’t stop because he thought he had only struck a deer.

“H—hey,” I said, trying to get comfortable with the idea of talking to my husband again. “I went out shopping today, and you’ll never believe what I brought home.”

I could see my own breath as it met the air in the room, like walking into a gigantic meat locker, making what I was doing that much more morbid. My knees knocked but I clamped them together to keep them mobile. I reached the bed, and my casual, conversational tone disappeared, the words wavering as I spoke them.

“I think … this might … help …” I hiccuped, side-eyeing my husband’s body. Crowley’s skin appeared waxy, coated in moisture from the frigid air, and the color wasn’t right. I knew that soon blood would pool and Crowley’s unnaturally pale skin would turn black so I had to hurry, but every muscle in my body screamed for me to turn and run.

I touched the bed, and I’m ashamed to say, I whimpered.

I can do this, I can do this … I chanted to myself. I reached out and let my hand brush Crowley’s fingers. I tried to recall their warmth, the way Crowley’s touch made me feel loved, desired. Whole. I wanted that back, and I wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way. I knelt on the bed, crawled over to Crowley’s body, and leaned over his serene face.

“I’m going to get you back,” I whispered, cursing the fear in my voice. “If I have to claw my way into Heaven and drag you back with my own two hands, I’m going to get you back.”

I pulled the blue bottle out of my pocket. I held it to the light and gave it a swirl, watching the liquid spin around the belly of the glass and then settle into a shimmering mass. Crowley’s life was sitting in the bottom of that bottle. All I need do was give it back.

I yanked out the stopper and brought the bottle to Crowley’s lips.

“Bottoms up, love.” I pecked a kiss to his cold skin and then tipped the contents into his mouth. I expected to see Crowley’s throat move as he swallowed, his eyes snap urgently open, but they didn’t. The potion didn’t act instantaneously the way I’d assumed then. He was still dead … but not for long.

I remained kneeling at Crowley’s side, staring into my husband’s face, heeding the ancient woman’s words to be the first person Crowley saw when he opened his eyes. I knelt and knelt for over an hour, thighs cramping in the freezing cold. The sharp prickle that comes with poor blood circulation assaulted my skin, the thought that this was an elaborately planned and executed hoax becoming more a likelihood as time passed.

The sun started to light the grass and hills outside. I could barely see the early morning rays seep in beneath the blackout curtains, but there they were nonetheless - evidence of a brand new day. Still, there was no change, no sign, nothing on Crowley’s face that might give me a reason to hold on. I struggled against exhaustion, grasping at thin straws of hope, but with each passing minute, I was failing.

It had been a dream – a wonderful dream.

But I had to wake up and face facts - my husband wasn’t coming back to me in any form.

I’d been most grievously had.

I stretched my limbs - one leg, then the other. Then I lifted my torso, bending my arms and flexing my hands. I crawled backward off the bed, raising my arms above my head, listening to my spine snap and pop. I looked at Crowley again, peacefully expired – one last look before I made plans for his burial.

I was beginning to feel it was about time.

I walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer, looking for my pajamas. Before I did anything, I needed a nap or I would drop dead on my feet.

I winced at the ill-placed pun, but chalked it up as part of the healing process. Gallows humor. I could never appreciate it before.

That probably wouldn’t change.

I rummaged through the drawer, looking past perfectly suitable shirts and lounge pants but for what, I didn’t know … until I found it.

A journal.

I have lots of journals, to be honest. Writing is a passion of mine, along with reading. In their pages, I have documented everything that has ever happened to me in excruciating detail - as if anyone would ever be interested in that sort of thing. As if reading about my pains or my triumphs would help anyone. I don’t find myself to be remotely (as the kids put it) relatable. I have no desire to be famous, and the circumstances of my life (mainly my marriage to Crowley) have made me wealthier than I could ever possibly enjoy in my lifetime.

But not today.

Today I felt numb to everything around me, and not just because of the intense cold. Nothing seemed to matter. I left my pajamas in the drawer and hopped back onto the bed. I might have been cavalier about it, but there was nothing here for me to fear. What lay in bed beside me was a body, nothing more - flesh and blood rotting from the inside with no unique soul to keep it all together.

Make it worth something.

I opened my journal - this journal - to the first empty page where a blue ballpoint pen had been shoved into the spine, waiting for me. For how long … I can’t remember. I picked the thing out and uncapped it. I put the tip to the paper, but I didn’t start writing right away. I hadn’t written in a journal in weeks. Where should I start? Do I pick up where my last journal entry left off, no matter how long ago that was? Even if it ended on a happy memory, like me and Crowley going to the cinema, having dinner at The Ritz?

Making love in the backseat of his Bentley?

Or do I forget all that and start a few minutes ago when I finally decided to give up on the possibility of my husband coming back? A couple of hours ago when the old woman almost refused to sell me the potion? Or that horrible night, when the police showed up at my door with apologetic looks and horrendous news?

While I juggled those thoughts, trying to decide, the world around me began to awaken. Birds sang their melodious songs in the bitter cold. The wind outside knocked against my window. A tiny critter scritched inside the walls, which would have had me running for the traps, but not today. Whatever you are, little creature, you have been granted a stay of execution.

Nothing would be dying within my home today.

The sun rose higher and the room got brighter. To my surprise, it heated up a little, and the ice cubes on the bed began to melt. I heard them collapsing in their piles, some having turned to water, making way for others to fall. The bed dipped as I shifted my legs beneath me, my crossed limbs having fallen asleep in their bent up positions. I cleared my throat, the sound rumbling in my chest, though the voice didn’t sound entirely my own. My ears had been ringing during the drive home and for most of the night, so I imagined I must have caught some kind of cold.

But as I reasoned out all of this, going about my task, my heart realized a truth that my mind hadn’t.

When my mind caught up, it went blank.

My blood turned to ice, secondary to the chill in the room, helped naught an inch by the invading sun. I didn’t think I could get any colder, but I did. That inside out feeling returned as another started to register.

I no longer felt quite so alone.

I lowered my journal, glancing up from the blank page to find Crowley, rolled onto his side, staring at me with wide, emotionless eyes.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #tricketyboo2020 #ineffable lovers #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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yeojaa · 4 years

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SUGAR HIGH, chapter xi. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary. You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing. jeon jungkook. mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags. angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating. general (for now?)

word count. ~2700

chapter 11. Decalcomania

The words escape him before he has a change to pull them back, reaction time slowed by whatever sandman's dust still lingers in his bloodstream. They tumble forth, wrapped in hope and a big red bow. An accident present he hadn't meant to give. "You could keep me warm."

"You can stay in here as long as you want."

The offer is earnest, kind - you know it means more than he let's on and he knows you understand it all the same. This is a safe space, somewhere you can lay your head and forget about the world for a minute or two longer. A haven for the weary and the brokenhearted. You could never explain how grateful you were for it, for him.

You tuck your cheek against your arm, hoping to catch the tears that leak out still, drifting down your cheeks of their own accord. "Thank you," you manage in a small voice, meeting his tender gaze. You're not sure if he hears when he rises and steps past with all the care in the world.

When fingers squeeze your shoulder - reassurance and understanding deposited like dust into the fabric of your sweater - you hiccup. He leaves quickly, clicking the door shut behind him.

You stay like that for what feels like forever, curled into your knees.

It's perfectly normal, you remind yourself when you're overcome with emotion again. It's hardly been two weeks. No one expected you to pick yourself off the ground in such a short period of time, so why were you ignoring the cuts on your knees, bandaging them with little white lies? Didn't you understand that healing took time? Your wounds would never cure at this rate, not when you still had gravel digging into your skin.

It was because of that nagging voice in the back of your voice, the one that was making you see stars any time you so much as looked in your best friend's direction.

You told yourself it was only because you were hurting, that the stirring of your broken beaten heart was for all the wrong reasons. You had to - because you didn't know how to face him otherwise. You couldn't be around Jungkook, your fingers itching to hold hands that weren't yours any time he was within five feet of you. You'd already caught yourself dipping dangerously into daydreams, nearly falling heels over head when he'd turn to you with that intoxicating smile.

What you were doing was for the best - for all of you.

At least, that's what you tell yourself when his voice breaks the silence and your heart skips a beat.

"Soomi-ya." It's almost pleading, trapped behind the frosted glass panes. You can make out his silhouette, hunched forward as if to keep out the outside world. "Can you open the door?"

The small, ashamed part of you wants to say nothing, forcing his hand until the silence goes too long and he leaves. But you know that'll never happen because Jungkook doesn't just leave. He never has and he never will. You'd always loved that about him but faced with it now, you couldn't bring yourself to meet him.

"I'll be out soon." A lie that sounds fake even to your ears.

"Please?" He sounds so soft and sad, your heart aches. Could you really say no to him when he was like this? Did he deserve to stand on the other side of this impenetrable divide, unaware of its existence as you drifted further and further?

The words he'd said earlier ring in your ears and with it brings guilt, the uncomfortable feeling sinking like lead into your veins. He didn't hide things from you, so why were you so intent on shutting him out? He'd proved time and time again that he was there for the long run but here you were, throwing him out with the wash.

You're opening the door before you have time to talk yourself out of it. You're not sure what your face looks like when you finally face him, but you're certain how his does.

Glassy-eyed and aching longing in equal parts - a little boy left alone and lost. It sears into your memory.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?"

Words overlap and at first, you're not sure who said what, his confession losing itself in the whisper of your question. Why was he apologizing? He looks so torn, those big doe eyes wide and begging as he wraps you up in every inch of himself, cradling you against his chest as he steps forward, pressing you back into the studio.

He's holding you as soft as he ever has and you can feel his breath hot on your hair. It feels different, but you're not sure how. Frankly, you don't know if you have it in you to consider why, because it feels too good - he feels too good. It's too easy to pretend this is more than it is, that the way he holds you is anything more than platonic.

You need to stop before you've done something you'll regret, hands fisting into the fabric of his hoodie.

"Please don't." It's the second time Jungkook's begged for you, pleading like a man on his last legs. He's tightening around you and you can feel his shoulders shake, the intimidating line of his back trembling beneath whatever weight he's been carrying for so long. The burden presses into every limb, dragging his tired body closer to the ground. "Please don't push me away."

The cord snaps when you hear his voice, wet with tears.

You're holding him like you could fix whatever this is, allowing him to drag you endlessly closer as your equilibrium shifts and you're on the couch, straddling his waist. At any other time, you might've considered the sudden intimacy, the way his hips feel between you, your knees precariously held on either side of him.

"It's okay," you coo. Your fingers move from where they've been gripping his shoulders, disappearing into the soft strands at the nape of his neck. You lace comfort into the silk there, whispering sweet nothings into the crown of his head. He's warm against you, the column of your throat alight with fire he sparks beneath his touch. It's the tip of his nose, the curve of his lips, the angle of his chin - anywhere skin meets skin, you're burning from the inside out.

It's too much emotion all at once. It's making your head swim but you can't let go, not when he's holding you like you're a buoy and he's about to go under.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Startled, you pull away just enough to make out the lines of his face, the flutter of his eyelashes and the drag of his bottom lip through his teeth. The words catch you off-guard, though the question isn't meant to be cruel, only curious. Hurt. Confused.

"I don't--" You stop short, because if you said you didn't know you'd be lying, and isn't that what's brought you here, anyway? Half-truths and guarded submissions, you refusing to hand out the key to your heart as if he didn't already have one tucked into his back pocket? "I'm sorry," you manage, knowing that's not good enough.

"I'm your best friend, aren't I?"

"You know you are."

"Then why?"

You get it. Really, you do. If you'd been in his shoes, you'd be just as frustrated, just as off-balance.

You can't meet his stare, instead finding the cloth at his neck endlessly fascinating. "Things are just weird right now." The way he tenses beneath you doesn't go unnoticed, the tick of his jaw a dead giveaway. You applaud him for not interrupting, though you know he wants to, his tongue pressed against his teeth as if aching to give his thoughts a platform.

You're wringing your hands in his hair, only realizing when you tug particularly hard, drawing a low whine from his throat. You pat at the back of his neck in apology, smoothing your fingers over the downy-soft pieces. He leans into your touch and neither of you comment on it when he's flush against you, the smooth expanse of his cheek comforting against the dip of your collarbone. He hums a quiet noise - an unspoken wish for you to go on.

"I just don't want to lose you." Another fabrication but one you decide is worth it. It was close enough to the truth that you could run with it, letting it lead the rest of your words. "I'm sorry if I've been weird. I'm just so scared. And I know what you're thinking." Disbelief is written in his expression like the stars are hung in the sky. "I can't help the way I feel."

Jungkook is quiet for longer than you expect, idly tracing patterns over the bunched up fabric of your back. The longer the silence stretches on, the more you begin to fidget. Had you said something wrong - or maybe you'd overstepped in some way, crossing the careful line you'd self-imposed without realizing it?

"I won't tell you how you're feeling is wrong." He starts hard, like he's biting back the truth with concentrated effort. You're grateful for that. "But I am going to tell you that you'll never lose me. Ever." Whether he's trying to convince you or not, the words form a knot in your stomach, trapping the butterflies in a crystal cage of his words. "We've been through everything together. You're one of my best friends. I'll never let you go, even if you ask me to."

The thought is so ludicrous you can't help but scoff. He smiles at that.

"So if things are weird for a while, fine." It's begrudging but indulgent, because he'd rather weather this storm with you than leave you alone for even a second. This is what he'd signed up for all of those years ago in the schoolyard. "We'll get through it together because you're my family - and I love you, jagi."

It's not the first time he's said it, nor is it the sixth or the tenth or the hundredth. You've heard these words a million times and you're sure you'll hear them a million more, but for a moment, you pretend they're different. You allow yourself to imagine they're meant the same way you answer them.

"I love you, too."

"Soomi's going to stay over, okay?" It's a statement more than a question, framed only out of habitual consideration for his housemates and directed only at the two members who still linger in the living room. "She's already getting ready but I'm going to sleep out here."

You'd argued with him on that point, insisting it was okay. You'd shared beds and more growing up, thinking nothing of it when you'd still just been kids, ignoring the changes of your bodies. It had only been when the shirts you borrowed began to fit differently and the sweatpants he wore so well no longer stayed on your waist that you'd realized things weren't going to stay the same forever. So you'd relented when he'd brought up how it would look, hiding the twinge in his chest behind a sharp laugh when you'd visibly flushed. You were that put off with the thought that it hurt a little, stung the places you'd left your marks on him. (And oh, how you'd ruined him, little pieces of you stuck like slivers in every part of him.)

"You didn't tell her." Taehyung's the first to speak, disapproval evident in every line of his face and dripping from his words like molasses. After everything they'd talked about - or rather, everything he had talked at Jungkook about - their golden maknae hadn't taken the plunge. Unbelievable.

"That's fine." It's Namjoon next, understanding all at once the implications of you sleeping apart. He knew you did it out of respect but also something else - something you weren't quite ready to verbalize either to him or your lovesick best friend. "You can crash in my studio, if you need privacy."

"Or my room." There's the equivalent of brotherly teasing in Taehyung's tone when he continues, "it'll be like when we were in the camper."

Despite the offers, the youngest shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes with a closed fist. Truthfully, he's exhausted. He's ready to collapse face-down on the nearest acceptable place. "Thanks, but it's okay." A yawn and then another and then a last one, just for good measure. He turns to the L-shaped couch and ignores the looks his hyungs toss him on their way back to their rooms, a mixture of fondness and concern. "Goodnight!" He calls, for good measure.

"Goodnight, Jungkook-ah. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Jungkookie."

Once he hears the click of separate doors, he all but collapses atop the cushions, not even bothering to rearrange the throw pillows behind his head. He just stares lazily, thoughtlessly, cascades of moonlight throwing shadows across the walls. He has no desire to pull the curtains closed.

Every once in a while, the moon shifts behind clouds and he finds himself lost in the waning nighttime, thoughts drifting through his head with no start or beginning. It feels a little like white noise, calming him.

He's almost asleep by the time he realizes there's a blanket being thrown over him, a silhouette bathed in moonlight standing above him. It takes him a few moments to recognize the shape of your nose, the curl of your tousled hair around your shoulders. You're wearing one of his shirts, too long even for him; it practically drowns you, grazing the tops of your knees that he notes, with surprise, are bare. You've still got your socks on - a little striped set with bears peeking from the balls of your feet. He's never seen you more beautiful.

"What're you doing?" Dreams make his tongue heavy and his words slur, coarse with sleep.

You must've not realized he'd woken up because you visibly recoil when he speaks, eyes growing to the size of saucers. You immediately drop the edge of the quilt as if it's burned you and tuck your hands back into the safety of his too-long sleeves. "I didn't mean to wake you up." You refuse to meet his gaze, instead worrying your lip so hard it hurts. You know it'll be hard to eat tomorrow, can already taste the faint tang of metal on your tongue.

"You didn't." Reassurance in word and in touch, his hand extracting from his cocoon of warmth to lay gentle on your wrist, three fingers curling around delicate bone.

You finally meet his stare, half-lidded in the moonlight. "I didn't want you to be cold." And you hadn't been able to sleep yourself, tossing and turning in the too-big bed. It felt wrong to be alone in a space that was so clearly his. From the black sheets to the faint, clinging scent of his cologne - he was all around you, and yet not at all.

"What?"

Your response feels like a kick to the teeth.

"I just mean, um." God, why had he said it? And why were you looking at him like that, like you wanted to run from the room and never see him again? "You could keep me warm. With um, the blanket. Your blanket could keep me warm. Is keeping me warm." It's so clearly the most feeble excuse he could give but he's trying not to trip over himself in his haste to explain, half-sitting up as he rambles.

Again, silence that makes Jungkook want to leap out of his skin and throw himself off the 11th story balcony. Maybe then he wouldn't have to deal with the way you're staring down at him, un-moving.

What he wouldn't give to read your mind right now.

"Soo--" He's trying again, desperate to piece together the fractured remains of this interaction, reshape it back into some semblance of comfort and normalcy. But then you're turning and you're moving so quickly he doesn't have time to react, his fingers still curled around the shape of your wrist. Your absence leaves him cold and wanting, staring after your figure like that'll do anything.

Guilt slams into his chest so hard he's almost falling back into the cushions, only catching himself when he hears your whisper.

"Are you coming?"

notes. CLIFFHANGER!!! i really love this chapter because it feels a little like a step in the right direction. i hope you enjoyed it, too. :)

#bts fluff #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #bestfriends.zip #sugarhigh.doc #jungkook.doc

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nellied-reviews · 4 years

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Succulent Rat-Killing Tar Re-listen

Hey! So, I’m new here, but I’ve recently been re-listening to the podcast Wolf 359, and I'm obsessed again, so I kinda wanted, in true Self-Indulgent fashion, to record my thoughts about it, see what stands out now I know how the series plays out. I don’t know if anyone will actually want to read this, but I enjoyed writing it, at least!

If any of you don’t know Wolf 359, but are still, for whatever reason, reading this, a) you should go listen! It’s a sci-fi podcast with some awesome characters, and a really great balance of creepiness, wackiness and actual plot. But also, b) I will be posting spoilers here, sorry. It’s been a while, so I think they’re pretty much fair game now? But just so you’re not caught out: here be spoilers.

With that cleared up, then:

Succulent Rat-Killing Tar

In which we meet the disaster that is Douglas Eiffel, Hilbert blows things up, and the Hephaestus receive a strange transmission from deep space.

In some ways, re-listening to this episode was an odd experience, because the characters don’t quite feel solid yet. It’s the same in a few early episodes - tonally, they’re just really different to a lot of what comes later - and I don't think that’s bad, per se, especially since there are things, on a re-listen, that connect this to later episodes. But this episode is particularly weird, I think, even for the early episodes.

Gabriel Urbina actually talked about this in the writing notes he posted to his Tumblr, how he conceived of Wolf 359 as a one-man show, and what we get here is basically the Doug Eiffel! Show, with what are essentially cameo appearances from the others. As a consequence of this, Minkowski, Hera and Hilbert don’t get much characterisation, and even things like their voices seem ... odd? Hera, especially, feels more like Space Siri than the snarky AI we know and love, while Minkowski... eh, I don’t know why I don't like her here, but I remember not liking her when I first listened to it either. I think she sounds kind of flat, like she's not quite a real person?

It’s probably good, then, that Eiffel comes onto the scene fully formed and really freakin' funny. Zach Valenti is a funny man, and he kills it here, from the very first lines. I particularly love how much information he gets into his opening monologue. He takes what looks, superficially, like a lazily-written infodump - because seriously, who would start their log like that on day 448? Does Eiffel open every single log like this?! - and just runs with it. It's such a ludicrous thing to do, and the whole reason I buy that yes, Eiffel totally does just sit there every single night talking to himself, is Zach Valenti’s performance. It's so good, guys, seriously!

On a side-note, I am also endlessly amused at the way in which Eiffel’s utterly bonkers decision to narrate his boring chores like an exposition-heavy radio show gives the Dear Listeners ammo later on. Like, if Eiffel were not such a fundamentally ridiculous character, they would not have his voice to contact the crew. So much of the plot just hinges on Eiffel being a dumbass, and I can respect that.

Besides the fact that he’s this weird, lovable dumbass, we do also get some nice character moments for Eiffel. For one, it’s buried under a lot of funny stuff, but we get our first hints at him having an addictive personality - his love of cigarettes certainly hits differently when you know about his past with alcohol.

There are also, sticking to things I picked up the first time round, hints that Eiffel is perhaps more competent than he lets on? Certainly, he kicks into a different gear when the transmissions come through - the goofing around stops straight away, and he genuinely seems keen to make contact. I like that, I think.

That said, he blows his moment of competence by ignoring the signal and getting coffee. For such a pop culture-savvy guy, he sure falls hard into the "I’m sure it was nothing" trap here. Ugh, Eiffel. Come on. You’re better than this.

I’m not complaining, though, because it does give us time to listen to Alan Rodi's beautiful music. Words cannot convey how much I love it. I don’t know if it's just nostalgia from last time I listened to Wolf 359, but hearing the music again here nearly made me cry, genuinely. I especially love the acoustic piano. I think it'd be easy to go with a technological, electronic sound for a podcast set in space, so the choice to use a more traditional, old-fashioned instrument like a piano is a pleasant surprise, grounding the show in something older and more Earth-bound, and providing the same kind of connection to Earth history and culture that the old music does at the end. You've got electronic bleeping going on, sure, which adds a layer of space-y weirdness to it all. But it's still, underneath the noises, something lovely and comforting and nice. So congrats, Alan Rodi. You made a 30 second coffee break into something really beautiful.

Then we're back and Minkowski has Eiffel reading Pryce and Carter - another mainstay of the show being introduced right there - and then Hilbert's lab is on fire. This whole section is solidly funny, and I especially love the tone of the Pryce and Carter entries. From the muzak in the background, to the disturbing, sort-of-aphoristic style of the entries, which kind of feel like something from Welcome to Night Vale, to the fact that this book seems to have no structure and is just one giant, non-user-friendly list, everything about this is hilarious to me. I also noticed the reference to the idea that somebody might be in space for disciplinary reasons. Which totally won’t be relevant later. Nope. Definitely not.

Hilbert, although his voice is much less growly than I’m used to, feels closer to his later self, character-wise, than the others. He’s maybe a bit too dotty, but then again, literally everything he does during this season is a front anyway, so I'm willing to give that one a pass. Stuff blowing up is always fun, either way, and it also introduces another idea that will stick around: the idea that everything on the Hephaestus is either broken or is about to break. Mentions of a power outage last week, in particular, suggest that this ship is already... less than shipshape.

And the we get the episode's climax, the arrival of the alien message which turns out to be... an old transmission of The Entertainer, by Scott Joplin?

And look, I think this was what sold me on Wolf 359. Sure, it took a while to find it's feet. But this moment was what convinced me that hey, I'll hang around a bit longer. Because it’s such a smart choice.

Already, by having an audio drama series whose main character is a communications officer, and whose plot centres round him using radios and making audio logs, you have the ingredients for an intensely self-reflective, metatextually interesting show. It makes us think about radio and broadcasting and how sounds are transmitted through space.

But by using a real recording of The Entertainer, something from the very earliest age of radio, with its gramophone-y crackle, you’re widening the scope, linking us all the way back to the birth of recorded sound. And Eiffel's joy at it all, his glee at finding a connection back to Earth, is a reminder of the power recorded sound can have. Eiffel, listening to Scott Joplin, is transported somewhere new and intriguing. Meanwhile we, listening to some podcast about stars and toothpaste and spacefaring dumbasses, are also transported away from our lives and our world. It’s a lovely idea.

Of course, I could be reading too much into this. It could just be that the piece is out of copyright, and hits the right balance of strange vs. familiar.

Either way, it makes for an ending that’s beautiful, wholesome and surprisingly sweet. I’m charmed, particularly, by how earnest Eiffel seems when he’s talking about how the music makes him feel. After spending a whole episode goofing around, it’s a refreshing change of pace, and it made me smile the first time I listened to it. This time round, it feels a bit more bittersweet, I think. We know that Eiffel won't be going home for a good, long time, after all.

In any case, it's a solid end to an episode that, while it has its issues, still mostly holds up. A surprising amount of plot-relevant stuff is established. Eiffel, at least, is properly introduced. And I get weirdly emotional about radio shows. Nice job, Wolf 359.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

Eiffel not understanding Hilbert when Zach Valenti voices them both is peak comedy and you can fight me on this

Eiffel joking about everyone on the ship have “series trust issues”. You ain’t seen nothing yet, hun.

The noises they made for Eiffel slurping coffee are so gross and childish I love them

Ooh, when he’s mocking Minkowski, Eiffel pronounces her name right!

Eiffel calling Hera “sweetheart” ^-^

Hilbert passing the explosion off as a hairdryer omg

#wolf 359 #wolf359 #w359 #wolf 359 relisten #succulent rat killing tar #nellied reviews #aka nellied rambles extensively about radio #because damnit i have feelings about this show

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astralkoo · 5 years

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Beautifully Misfit

SERIES; Hybrid BTS

‣ Genre: fluff, smutt, hybrid au

‣ Word Count: 2.08k

‣ Pairing(s): skunk!Jimin x reader, puppy!Taehyung x reader, bunny!Jungkook x reader

‣ Warning(s): very strong language, lots and lots of f-bombs so beware of that, bit of angst if you squint real hard, nothin else for this chapter so enjoy ;)

‣ to be aware of: sub!jimin, switch!taehyung, switch!jungkook, dom!reader, some kinky ass future happenings, BDSM themes, some heavy angst, and triggering themes.

Summary: you never really saw yourself as a hybrid person. that is, until your best friend introduces you to his hybrid, and you suddenly find yourself craving the companionship. you only intended to bring home one. somewhere between the lines you ended up with three beautifully misfit hybrids who craved nothing but your love.

part. i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi (coming soon)

A/N; this is my first post on here, so I’ll make this short… thanks for reading, I’m sorry, ily

Lonely.

It hit you all of a sudden.

You were lonely. For about four months, you’ve been living in you home, working as an editor for your aunt’s absurd gossip magazine, eating solitary meals, sleeping in your admittedly cold bed, and you were just now realizing how lonely you’ve been all this time.

This wasn’t completely out of the blue. You had been feeling a nagging sensation of emptiness in the pit of your stomach for a while now.

But it wasn’t until you had your best friend’s hybrid curled up in your lap, playing with your hair, and babbling about his love for food and pretty things that it settled in exactly what that feeling was.

“You know, you’re kind of cute. Your face is… decent, I suppose. But Namjoonie is much cuter and— oh my gosh you’re crying,” Jin squealed in surprise, shock lighting up on his features as an onslaught of tears suddenly poured from your eyes.

“Shoot, I’m s–sorry, Jin,” you softly cursed, gently pushing the angora hybrid off your lap as you jumped to your feet, hands feverishly working to dry your wet cheeks.

“Was it the cute comment? I mean, it’s true, but I wasn’t intending to hurt your feelings… didn’t realize you were that sensitive,” he grumbled, pouting at the fact that you’d just ruined the mood for him.

You quickly shook you head, “no– no it wasn’t that, I just— shit, I mean, fuck, excuse my language.”

“Y/n! How many times do I have to tell you to watch your profanity around Jin— holy shit, why are you crying?” Namjoon gasped in concern as he walked out of the kitchen before running to your aid. “Did Jin hurt your feelings? I’m so sorry he has no filter whatsoever and says thing without thinking and—”

“It wasn’t that, a Joonie,” you cut him off with a sniffle, “I just realized something.”

Namjoon stared at you for a moment with worried eyes, before turning to his hybrid. “Jinnie, you stay here for a moment, y/n and I need to have a quick talk, alright?” The angora rolled his eyes, not appreciating the secrecy but not arguing to Namjoon’s relief. He quickly guided you into the kitchen, urging you to take a seat while he made you a glass of water.

“What happened? What upset you? Was it really not Jinnie because I know that he can be—” your best friend in ten years began to ramble out questions.

Chuckling lightly, you shook you head. “No, Joon. I swear it wasn’t anything Jin said. He’s a sweetheart, really. A bit blunt, if anything but nothing extreme,” you reassured him with a soft smile. He nodded, eyes swirling with a mixture of relief and confusion.

“Then, what was it?”

You sighed, turning away from him. “I just… I realized how lonely I’ve been.”

Namjoon settled himself in the seat beside yours, gently placing his hand over yours in a comforting gesture. “What do you mean? Lonely how? You know you’ve always got me, and now Jinnie.”

“Of course I know that. And I am so lucky to have you in my life, seriously. You’re the best best friend a girl could as for… when your clumsy ass isn’t breaking my shit, that is.” He gasped dramatically, swatting at your arm, causing you to giggle quietly. “But, we can’t be around each other 24/7, you know? You have your life, your job, your responsibilities, and now your hybrid; and I have mine– minus the hybrid.”

“What’re you trying to say?” He asked, searching your eyes for further explanation.

“I– I just… I hate being alone all the time. Especially in that big house. I’m home all the time, the only places I go are your place and the grocery store when my fridge empties. That’s really sad, Joon,” you muttered, glancing at your intertwined fingers.

“You’re right… that’s really pathetic, y/n.” You laughed, lightly kicking his ankle to which he grinned and squeezed your hand, “but seriously, if you’re so lonely… why not find a boyfriend?”

You snorted loudly at that. “Me? Boyfriend? Please, let’s not get too crazy here, Joonie. Try to keep it realistic, yeah?”

Namjoon rolled his eyes heavily at your response, scoffing softly, “I’m serious, y/n! When’s the last time you even got laid?” His voice dropped to a whisper at the last word, knowing his impressionable hybrid with impeccable hearing was just the next room over. You gaped at him, taking that as your turn hit his arm.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to my loneliness in the least,” you countered sharply despite the glowing blush making its way into your cheeks, glaring at him pointedly.

He smirked, cocking a brow. “That long, huh?”

You scowled at him stubbornly for a moment. “…yes. Fine. That long, you asshole.”

“Thought so~” he sang, sticking his tongue out, “why don’t you get out there then, huh? It could do you some good, relieve some of that tension.”

“Because, Joonie,” you groaned, slumping forward onto the countertop, face dropping into your folded arms, “that’s not what I want. I don’t want a stupid hook up with some random guy I met in a germ infested bar. That won’t solve my problem, I’m lonely not horny.”

“Same thing,” he shrugged.

You decided it best to just ignore him, continuing, “but I don’t want a boyfriend either. Every time in the past that I’ve had a boyfriend, they’ve only caused me more trouble then they were worth. Either they found someone they found more attractive and ditched me or found someone more interesting and ditched me. Not to mention, guys are just all around dipshits.”

Namjoon pouted, pointing at himself and waiting for some kind of exclusion.

“Besides you of course, Joonie, you’re an angel. I’m talking about straight dudes. They’re the real problem in this society,” you confirmed with an angry huff.

Namjoon raised your half empty glass, “I’ll drink to that.”

“All guys do is cause problems. They will in no way help to solve mine. So now… I don’t know… I just don’t want to be alone anymore,” you groaned, slapping your palms over your face in frustration, “maybe I should just get a bunch of dogs. Become a crazy dog lady. That’d be fun.”

Namjoon was quiet for a moment. “Or… maybe… you could get a hybrid.”

You choked on air, eyes bulging out of your head. “What? No! You’re crazy.” You immediately shot down the idea, shaking your head rapidly.

You? A hybrid owner? Yeah fucking right. You can barely take care of yourself, let alone an entire other human– er, hybrid being. Not to mention you’d be a terrible influence, with your drinking and cursing habits. No hybrid would stand a chance in your home. Owning a hybrid is essentially adopting a child with animalistic appendages and habits. It was really a two for one. Which also meant two times the responsibility.

Responsibility you were anything but prepared for.

“What’s so crazy about it? You’re great with Jin, you took a course on hybrids in college so you’re well informed, and they make amazing companions,” he informed, hands waving around in emphasis.

You shook your head. “No way. I’m not a hybrid person.”

“Says who?”

“Says me! I don’t know the first thing about hybrids, I only took that stupid course in the first place for the easy grade!” You retorted quickly, before a sudden thought occurred.

“Well, personally, I think—”

“Shit what time is it?”

He glanced down at his watch, “almost ten, why?”

You lurched out of the chair, quickly gathering up your belonging, “I’ve got an article deadline at twelve is why, fuck.”

Namjoon nodded with a quiet sigh, following as you scrambled to his front door. Like the gentleman he was, he opened the door, only to stop you half way out it with a hand on your shoulder. You turned back to him with raised brows and a questioning glint in your eyes.

“Just think about it, okay? For me? I hate seeing you like this.”

For the sake of his sanity, as he had a tendency to over worry, you agreed, “okay, Joon. I’ll think about it,” giving him a parting hug before darting to your car, grumbling under your breath, “when you start eating pussy.”

In other words, you definitely would not be reconsidering your decision.

Okay. So you were reconsidering.

It had been a day since you had dropped by Namjoon’s place. A day since he’d made that absolutely ludicrous suggestion, which gradually looking less and less ludicrous.

It was almost… appealing.

A hybrid companion… that would definitely make the house feel a lot less lonely.

You even wondered about what type you’d get. A dog, maybe. You’ve always had a soft spot for puppies, and you can’t help but coo and swoon whenever you see one on the street.

A cat, perhaps. Cats could be annoying, but they also knew when to step back and give you space, which would be nice. A lot less maintenance than dogs. But dogs were cuddly as hell and you’d enjoy having a cuddle buddy, that’s for sure.

Now, this is all circumstantial depending on the breed.

Hell, you were really bad at making important decisions.

“Shit, focus!” You cursed, smacking your cheeks harshly enough to make yourself groan as the skin tinted a hot red. You were supposed to be working on an article your aunt had just sent to you for editing.

But god damn the only thing on your mind was hybrids, hybrids, hybrids, and… what do you know— more hybrids!

“Fucking mother fucker fucking bitch can’t mind his own god damn son of a bitch business,” you growled under your breath as you slammed your laptop shut and yanked your phone out of the pocket of your baggy sweat (perk of working at home; you never have anyone to impress) and aggressively typing in Namjoon’s number before holding it up to your ear, muttering angrily to empty air. After the third ring, he finally picked up.

“Hey, Y/n, what’s--”

“Fuck you, Kim Namjoon. Fuck you to hell.”

“Up,” a short pause, “okay, I admit, was not expecting that response, but okay. Any particular reason you’re fucking me to hell?”

“Hybrids.”

“Hybrids?”

“Yes, hybrids. I want a hybrid so fuck you.”

“Why fuck me if you’re the one that wants a hybrid?”

“Because you’re the one that put the idea of hybrids into my head in the first place,” you hissed in retaliation, slamming your fist down on your desk for emphasis.

He snorted loudly, “well, it wouldn’t be in your head if you didn’t want it a little bit in the first place. My suggestion just made you realize what was already a subconscious desire.”

It was your turn to pause, lips pursing together as you thought it over. Fuck, you hated logic and reason, always ruining all your fun. “Fuck, you’re right. In that case, fuck me, too. In fact, fuck everything, the world is bullshit and this is not what I signed up for.”

“When has the world ever been fair, babe,” he chuckled.

Groaning loudly, you slumped back in your chair, dramatically throwing your arm over your face. “I don’t know what to do, Joon.”

“Do you really want a hybrid? They can be a lot of responsibility, but they really do make phenomenal companions, especially if you get the perfect one for you.” His words were somewhat consoling for your brain, which was currently going on overdrive.

You pouted, tugging your knees up to your chest. “Do you think I could handle it?”

“I know you can handle it. You’re a lot more mature than you give yourself credit for. And even if it gets a bit overwhelming, I’ll always be there to help you out, you know that.”

You nodded to no one in particular, gnawing at your lip with furrowed brows, buried in your own thoughts, a back and forth battle going on in your brain. Do you really want this? A hybrid all your own. It would be nothing like going and visiting with Jin, you knew that much. It would be completely your responsibility, your companion, all yours.

For some reason, that thought brought a ghost of a smile to your lips.

Yours. That sounds surprisingly nice.

“Okay,” you murmured softly.

“Okay?” He repeated.

“Okay... it looks like I’m adopting a hybrid.”

#hybrid #bts #hybrid!bts #sub!bts #hybrid!jimin #hybrid!taehyung #hyrbid!jungkook #hybrid!au #bts fanfiction #bts hybrid!au #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #sub!jimin #switch!jungkook #switch!taehyung #dom!reader

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irrlicht-ghostfront · 4 years

Text

@thefinaltaterthot You’ll love me.

TW/CW: temporary character death, toxic relationship

Alastor was a cruel and sadistic man. He knew that. He’s never been anything different. They’d call him a homicidal maniac and they wouldn’t be wrong. Hurting people was one of the things he did best. However, this pain never used to be of the emotional kind. He had no time for mind games. Emotional pain could take years to manifest and that was just too long to wait for. No, immediate, physical pain was better. He’d get to see the effects right away and it’d be over with.

Of course, perception in Hell changed quite a bit. For one, time was not limited. On the second, there was absolutely no need to hide. He could rip a man apart in the middle of the street and eat his flesh right then and there, and no one would bat an eye. He still preferred physical pain over mental anguish however. Old habits die hard, after all, and he’s never been a man of change.

Charlie was intriguing to be sure. Her plan was absolutely ridiculous and would never work. Redemption? They were all in Hell for a reason. Chances were slim that one of these fools actually managed to change so much that Heaven would open up for them. How would it even happen? Would an Angel come down from Heaven and take them? It was absolutely ludicrous. He chuckled to himself. But, her plan had one upside to it: he’d get to see a lot of sinners fail. It was promising to be fun; and if it turned out not to be, well – he could always just leave.

Without a doubt, seeing Charlie lose her hope would be the most worthwhile. She’d lose bit after bit each time a demon failed to actually master redemption. He was looking forward to spending more time with her.

“Hey, Al, wanna have a drink with me?” “No thank you Husker! I have a meeting with Charlie to attend!”

He didn’t turn to look at his friend. What was the point of seeing the dejected expression yet again? It was always the same.

Husk was in love with him.

Now, he never came and said it outright, but Alastor was no fool. People had tried to be affectionate with him in the past and they have looked and acted quite the same. Husk would try to get closer and he would utterly reject him. When sitting on the couch, Husk would inch closer every few seconds and right before he was next to him, Alastor would stand up to go somewhere else. When he was sitting at the bar to sip his whiskey, Husk’s claws would move slowly towards his hand. He placed it on the countertop deliberately so Husk would stage yet another attempt. And again, right before he reached his goal, Alastor would withdraw his hand.

He didn’t know why he did this. Husk was his friend, his loyal companion. He gained nothing from this. It would be better if he just spoke to Husk about this, stopping this all together but – for some reason, he couldn’t. Every reaction to Husk’s attempts came automatically and before he even realised what he’d done.

He couldn’t reject his friend. If he did, it’d break Husk. No, that wasn’t right.

Husk had come into Hell already broken, poorly held together as it was. Rejection would utterly smash the cat. Alastor had no idea why Husk chose to fall in love with him of all people. He should’ve chosen the first bartender that allowed him to sit on his tab.

But Husk chose him. Devil only know why.

“Hey, Al, happy hour in the pub just started, do you –“

“Great news! I hope you have fun there!”

He was a cruel and sadistic man, but breaking Husk’s heart quite like this didn’t give him the satisfaction it should have.

Why didn’t Husk just give up? He was clearly not getting anywhere, so why not give up? But to be fair, he didn’t make it easy on him. Anytime he saw Angel Dust sitting at the bar to talk to Husk, he would intervene and join them. He’d have no business at the bar, no need for a drink, and he’d still interrupt them. He didn’t know why. He just knew that Husk would hyper-focus onto him and Angel Dust would be left behind. Alastor didn’t know why he couldn’t let Husk have this, he truly didn’t.

Husk was his cat; and as such, nobody else was allowed to interact with him.

Husk was sweeping the bar while he and Charlie had a conversation in the same hall. She excitedly told him about her plans and how she envisioned everything to work and he decided to humour her. While he absolutely couldn’t wait for it all to fail, he encouraged her and even pitched in some ideas of his own. He already offered to broadcast across Hell, and Charlie agreed immediately. She had tasked Vaggie to write a message post-haste. To be honest, her enthusiasm was infectious. Much like her, he couldn’t await the first residents of this establishment. Of course, it was for quite the different reason, but it was excitement nonetheless.

“I’m quite fascinated by you, little princess.” He cocked his head and smiled widely at her. He noticed that Husk had stopped sweeping for a split second. Hm. Curious.

“Oh, ehm, thank you! I’m glad you like, well, me! You are quite different from what I expected, I must say.”

He simply nodded his head. Sure enough, the sinners described him as a force of nature and while they weren’t wrong, he wasn’t a brute. He quite valued civil talks.

“O-oh! Husk, wait, I need to talk to you!”

Husk had finished the sweeping, then. The cat stopped and looked over to them; and Alastor noted that he looked tired.

“Now, you won’t dismiss our princess, won’t you?”

Husk clenched his jaw, balled his fist and started walking again without a word. Now, this simply could not stand.

“Husker.”

Husk stopped.

He always stopped. Charlie ran up to him to discuss whatever she will.

He was cruel and sadistic, treating Husk like this. But he couldn’t stop.

Charlie was weeping. She was sitting on the sidewalk they’ve been walking on and crying her eyes out. Under her lay Husk, dead with a hole in his chest. Now, of course you couldn’t escape Hell by simply dying; only the weapon of an Angel would do the permanent trick.

But sinners could still suffer fatal wounds and a hole in the chest surely counted towards that. They had just been walking; him, Charlie and Husk. Husk had come along because Alastor had asked and also to carry any eventual bags they might acquire.

Gang Wars were quite frequent everywhere in Hell and there was no common decency to keep them in a confined space. But someone shooting at Charlie must have been a mistake. The only question was – why did Husk jump in? Recovering from such a wound was painful and took at least a week, depending on the fatality of the wound.

It also made Alastor angry. Husk wasn’t allowed to die. He wasn’t, but he did anyway and now someone had to pay. So, he ripped the offending sinner in half. Not enough carnage, but it would have to do. He stepped up to Charlie and Husk; and picked the latter up. Huh. If Husk were conscious right now, he’d quite enjoy that. Too bad he’d never know.

“Charlie”, he said to get her to focus. “Let us return to the Hotel and resume shopping tomorrow.”

He could see in her face that shopping was the last thing on her mind but he didn’t care. He simply teleported them back to the Hotel and dumped Husk onto his bed. It was eerie, seeing his friend ragdoll like this. Charlie was snivelling next to him.

“I’m going to go out for a bit.”

He didn’t wait for her approval, and Husk would not awaken for quite some time.

He didn’t understand. He just didn’t understand and he needed to clear his head.

Murder has always been his first choice.

Husk woke after roughly two weeks.

“Welcome back, Husker! I see not even death could stop you, dear friend.”

It was rude, greeting him like that when he just came back to life, but it was another automated response.

Husk blinked lazily at him. He needed a moment to focus his gaze and then he tried to sit up. Alastor didn’t stop him even though he should.

“You’re here”, Husk just said after he painfully managed to sit up. Ah. There it was. The look on his face, the one he always had in Alastor’s presence.

“Mhm”, he simply replied. Husk’s breathing was ragged and he should really lie back down. Well. Husk was back awake, no point in staying any longer.

“Will you stay?”

“I suppose I should take my leave.”

Two things said at the same time and Alastor stopped for a second. He could feel the hope in Husk’s chest swell.

And then he left.

#hazbin hotel #radiohusk #charlastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #fanfiction #pining #toxic relationship #temporary character death #ficlet #alastor x husk #alastor x charlie

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kbstories · 4 years

Text

Synthesis

syn·the·sis (n.) A higher truth gained from two contradicting ideas.

Every man has a breaking point - even Luffy. Good thing Usopp knows a thing or two about overcoming boundaries.

(Or: Sabo is in danger and Luffy is stressed)

Tags: Post-Wano, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nakamaship, Canon Compliant (up until Chapter 977), Recovery, Usopp is MVP as always, Mentions of Ace

Spoiler warning up to Chapter 977. Anything beyond that is pure speculation.

***

There’s a poetic sort of justice to the fact that everyone knows and Luffy doesn’t, this time.

It’s fucked up, sure, a twist of fate so morbid only Robin would find joy in it, and even she looks vaguely sick. You see, repetition is a fantastic rhetorical device: There’s nothing more satisfying than a story coming full circle, when the intricate mosaic of setup and payoff results in much-needed catharsis. Simple and effective, any storyteller will tell you – and Usopp is damn good at telling stories. It’s the one thing he can be proud of, when everything else fails.

Usopp doesn’t feel particularly good about that – or anything really – right at this moment. Perhaps in future he will, by all the seas, he hopes he will because that means this too will pass, and they will emerge from it victorious, just another miracle by the miracle-working crew from the East Blue.

But right now, surrounded by the shaken faces of his crew mates, all he feels like doing is crawling back to bed and passing out until it’s all over. To run for the hills and never return.

Usopp can’t and Usopp won’t, however. Because it’s Luffy, and because he made that mistake once before and swore: never again, never, never–

The newspaper lies innocently between them, a few days old by the time it made it past Wano’s crumbling borders via a confused News Coo, a clearly-alarmed Bepo (he hadn’t even apologized for almost running over Brook in his haste to get to his captain, and looking back that should’ve been the first red flag) and Law bursting into the room the Strawhats have claimed for their recovery, covered head-to-toe in gauze and all warmth drained from his expression.

Usopp did not miss witnessing their ally that close to despair. It makes the bright smile Law shared with Luffy in their moment of victory seem like a distant dream, perhaps part of one of Usopp’s more ludicrous tales.

“They got him. They got Sabo.”

It’s like he dropped a live grenade in their hands, if grenades were made of words torn kicking and screaming from a nightmare they all share. Usopp wants to ask – They, who is they?! – and there’s always a ‘they’, the Marine or the World Government or CP0 or some other shadowy organization pulling the strings of corruption and misery. But it hardly matters because this… this is real, a realization that passes from Strawhat to Strawhat along with the black-and-white print staring at them from pages increasingly crumpled by nine sets of shaking hands:

Revolutionaries Defeated at Mariejois: No. 2 of the Revolutionary Army Successfully Captured!

And in their midst slumbers their captain, huddled in the softest blankets they could find and snoring away his injuries, and he doesn’t know.

The irony – horrible, grotesque, unfair, unfair – isn’t lost on Usopp. Two years ago, he would’ve killed to have this, to be there, to catch Luffy as he bled and screamed and burned at the pyres of his brother’s death. To save Luffy just as he saved every single soul in this room, Law included.

Please, is all Usopp can think of, begging to every deity he’s heard of and those he hasn’t, to anyone who will listen, let him rest. Luffy doesn’t deserve this, not again. Please, have mercy–

Zoro is the first to move and something in Usopp moves with him, a fledgeling sense of optimism fluttering pathetically in his chest. Because it’s Zoro and Zoro always leads them right when their captain is off saving the world or a country (or two). Yet all Zoro does is sit at Luffy’s bedside like a mountain shaken into rubble, a measured kind of collapse that hits Usopp square in the gut. He doesn’t know what the others are doing, doesn’t dare look away from their first mate, but someone is crying and someone else is murmuring comforting words, and that at least sounds like Sanji so the first must be Nami.

There’s only a handful of times Roronoa Zoro has yielded without mounting a counterattack right afterwards and none of them are memories Usopp wants to revisit. Not now, not ever.

“Who else knows?”, Zoro asks, the steel in his voice worn down to a dull edge at best, and Zoro’s hand settles on Luffy’s head so gently it brings tears to Usopp’s eyes, too. Luffy mumbles in his sleep and smiles, nuzzling further into the covers with the clumsy comfort of a napping dog.

Law, too, is staring blankly at that gesture before blinking, focusing anew. He’s so tense a muscle visibly twitches in his jaw with the heavy swallow working its way down his throat.

“Bepo, me. Now you. Kidd is suspicious but he won’t leave Killer’s side, not yet anyways.”

The mere mention of Killer serves as an additional sucker punch on top of the veritable tsunami crashing over them, on the mend as he may be. That could have easily been Zoro, or Bepo, and the haunted glint in Law’s eyes says he’s thinking of it, too.

Zoro nods, absently. “And how long till we can set sail?”

For the briefest of moments, Law looks like he’s going to protest. The Trafalgar Law they met a few months ago would have, grim and annoyed, and the one from just last week would too, exasperated and loud–

Since then, they have beaten one of the Four Emperors and sent another one packing with her tail between her legs, and that feeling of having your dreams within reach if you only try hard enough, if you truly believe in it and your friends and yourself, it forges a bond like little else does. Hope is a dangerous thing – it can heal as much as it can wound, and Luffy has taught them all, one by one, how to endure both sides of that coin.

This pirate alliance of theirs has long stopped meaning what Law had wanted it to, and instead turned into what Luffy promised all along: Something permanent, something unbreakable, that all-or-nothing sensation of trust that is as much a freefall as it is flying.

So Law just… sighs. He rubs at eyes deeply smudged with missed hours of sleep and close calls all around, and Usopp can see his shoulders bend under the weight of being a captain.

“I… I don’t know. But I’ll find out. I don’t need to remind you all that this– It’s not like Kaido. Our chances against Kaido were slim to none but they were there. That report, it’s already outdated. The world has been shifting with us being none the wiser, and it could be that Luffy’s brother is already…”

It’s like Law can’t bring himself to say it, as if even speaking the possibility into existence will make them lose something they can’t get back. His gaze flickers to Jinbei, briefly, then to Luffy, and sympathy deepens the lines on his face.

“I’ll find out”, Law repeats, firmly. “Just… be there when Luffy wakes up. Then we’ll decide.”

And though many things may have changed, two years and countless battles later, this remains the same, always, always. Being at Luffy’s side is a privilege and a duty no Strawhat will ever turn their back on.

Blinking the blurriness from his vision, Usopp looks at the bandages wrapped around Luffy’s chest with loving care and the deep purple of bruises peeking out underneath, and he clenches his trembling hands to fists and hopes. As long as there is a sliver of sky above them and the wisp of a current below, they will follow their captain to the end of the world and beyond.

Come whatever may. Because this time, they are here and they're not letting go.

Luffy starts craving food the next morning.

It startles Usopp, the hand that knocks against his head and snaps him out of his doze by his captain’s side. He stares at the questing fingers for a few uncomprehending seconds. Usually he’d laugh, spirits lifted by the prospect of Luffy waking up sooner rather than later so they can celebrate properly.

There is nothing usual about this. Usopp reaches behind himself to the solid weight slumped against his back, shifting fitfully.

Sanji comes to with a tense breath. “It’s just me”, Usopp mumbles and doesn’t ask if his friend is alright. None of them are. Instead he says, “He’s looking for you”, and watches Sanji’s eyes soften somewhere between relief and heartbreak behind the strands of his fringe, weirdly unkempt.

“Mh, thanks”, Sanji replies in a raspy whisper; he gets up and leaves, side-stepping the jumbled puzzle of limbs that are the Strawhat Pirates. Only once he’s out the door does he reach for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

Sighing, Usopp rubs his eyes until they ache in an effort to wake up. Fuck, it’s like he hasn’t slept for a year and it’s been barely twenty-four hours. Beside him, Luffy’s hand inches its way towards Nami – sleeping close enough to brush knees with Usopp, head pillowed on crossed arms – and Usopp reaches out, takes it gently.

Luffy’s palm is warm against his, slightly damp from the fever he ran the first few days of recovery. His knuckles are a busted, swollen mess even now, and Usopp is careful. It wriggles impatiently, this hand that knocked a literal dragon out of the sky, and then it settles in Usopp’s grasp and Luffy sighs in his sleep.

Usopp can’t help but smile a little. “Food is coming, captain”, he tells him quietly. “Be patient with us, okay?”

Back to waiting it is. Not for the first time, Usopp plops his chin on the edge of the bed and just… looks. With his straw hat set aside (and safely tucked against Jinbei’s chest where he finally found a semblance of sleep, napping against the wall on the other side of Luffy’s bed), Luffy is sporting a truly impressive case of bedhead, the rest of him lost in a helpless tangle of blankets he tried to kick off during the night. He actually looks his age, Usopp’s age, like this – just some nineteen-year-old punk among many and not the one-of-a-kind captain of a crew famous the world over. It’s a rare chance to soak up this side of Luffy, the expression on his face relaxed and peaceful and lacking the chaotic energy that’s so infectious even eternally-grumpy Law had to give up fighting it off.

A selfish part of Usopp wants Luffy to remain that way, safe in the afterglow of a war well-won and unburdened by the cruelty of reality. It’s the same part of him that remembers the loving smile Sabo directed at Luffy, sleeping soundly in someone else’s bed just like this, and asks, why? Why didn’t you stay put? Why are you risking everything when your little brother is right here–

It’s selfish because stopping someone from doing what they truly want is the exact opposite of what Luffy is all about. Because the thing Sabo yearns for is freedom, and as long as the Celestial Dragons rule over their paradise built on the backs of countless slaves, no one is well and truly free.

If there’s a fight worth dying for, it’s that one. And yet–

“He’s going to be okay, you know?”

Usopp jumps a little, his neck protesting painfully as he whips his head around. Nami snickers at the wince on Usopp’s face before she sighs, the brown of her eyes bright with emotion.

“This sucks but… Luffy is strong. He’ll know what to do. Traffy is with us, we have a fleet to back us up, we’ll call in every favor we’re owed, and then we’ll show those fuckers hell for taking what’s ours. Sabo will be fine. I’ll kill him myself if he isn’t.”

She huffs, then, having talked herself into that righteous kind of fury that’s uniquely Nami even if she keeps her voice down for Luffy’s sake. Usopp finds himself chuckling.

“Say, what’s our going rate for personal rescue missions against impossible odds again?”

“A lot.” The grin on Nami’s grin is knife-sharp. “The Revolutionaries will be in a world of debt just for making Luffy worry.”

“Good”, Usopp says, and grins back just as fiercely.

They let Luffy eat his fill, for one because his healing factor is largely based on burning through incredible amounts of calories in no time at all, and also because Sanji looks like he needs to see it.

As much as their cook has his gripes about the bottomless pit that is Luffy’s stomach: Only when his captain is back on solid foods and on track to regain the weight he lost while unconscious does Sanji allow himself to relax. For Usopp, this means making sure his own plate is damn near licked clean by the time Sanji lets out a quiet breath and shuffles to the open window to smoke. The rest of the Strawhats eat, too, a low hum of conversation taking some of the tension out of the room they’ve barely left since Kaido.

The only exception is Zoro, and Usopp can’t help the glances he gives the door every few minutes, as if he’d magically reappear just like that.

The negotiations have been going on for ages now. As far as Usopp gathered, the Heart Pirates are heading intel and logistics, while Momonosuke assured them whatever resources Wano Country can spare – after taking care of their people, Zoro had added with a huff when he’d checked in on Luffy around dawn.

That’s not the problem, then. Eustass Kidd is, and after all that happened around the Kidd Pirates and pirate alliances, Usopp isn’t exactly surprised the guy refuses to compromise when it comes to his crew. Killer is awake now, though, and judging by the explosive arguments raging on outside, Kidd is not happy with his partner’s input on the matter.

The all-too-familiar sound of three swords being drawn is loud in the ensuing hush, and every scrap of metal in the room vibrates from the near-oppressive wave of magnetism sweeping through it.

“Oh? Who’s fighting?”

“Zoro and Kidd”, answers Usopp automatically, sighing. “Again.”

“Ah, okay. Not seriously though, right? We promised them a party after all. Like, a big one.”

“Kinda? It’s hard to tell honestl–”

Usopp blinks and turns to see Luffy awake and tilting his head at him. His hands are yet to stop shoving food in his face and Usopp stares with his mouth agape.

“Y-you’re awake!”

“Yeah!”, Luffy says with enthusiasm, and not a second later does he lift his plate away from the ball of fur charging at him with the force of a bull. Calmly, Sanji grabs the food and sets it aside for later.

“Luffy!”

Chopper’s tearful wail is followed by a breathy oof from Luffy as the reindeer clings to his bandaged chest in a flurry of hooves. Luffy chuckles, “Hey Chopper”, sounding pleased as punch that the doctor is walking all over him. Then he meets the half-circle of relieved looks around him, his smile only getting wider and wider.

“Hey everyone! I slept in again, huh?”

“Hey yourself”, Sanji murmurs around a smoke-filled smile. He leans out the window and calls, “Mosshead! Crew meeting!”, and the clanging of swords on metal immediately stops.

The Strawhats coalesce from all corners of the room, crowding around their captain whilst leaving enough space for the impromptu check-up Chopper is conducting. This, at least, is familiar. Frazzled as they are, Usopp’s nerves are soothed by Luffy’s easy-going compliance with Chopper’s orders to make a fist, breathe deeply, cough, does this hurt? and if the doctor’s hooves are marginally less steady than usual, well, it’s only to be expected. There’s a line forming between Luffy’s eyebrows though, and Usopp knows none of them are ready to answer the questions forming behind that pensive look–

It’s in that moment that Jinbei steps up, eyes a little solemn even if the smile on his lips isn’t. “Glad to see you awake, captain”, he says, and offers Luffy his hand, palm-up. Cradled with infinite care between webbed fingers, Luffy’s beloved hat looks small and unassuming; met with immediate delight by its owner, it might as well be a crown made of gold and the finest jewels far and wide.

“My hat! Thank y– Jinbei!”

The name rings with joy the same way it did during battle, and while Jinbei regards Luffy with some measure of perplexity as he’s drawn into a rubbery hug along with the hat, Usopp exchanges fond looks with some of the crew. Dire news be damned, it’s still a little unreal to have their tenth crew member finally with them, like, permanently.

They couldn’t have found a better helmsman in any of the seas, that’s for sure.

“It’s so cool you’re back! We gotta celebrate! Oi Sanji–”

“Not so fast, Luffy. We gotta talk.”

Those gruff words cut through the smiles and laughter like they’re made of washi paper; finally Zoro is there, skin glistening with sweat and droplets of blood pooling around fresh scrapes, and the unhappy slope of his mouth is an important reminder that fate doesn’t care about reunions and banquets of epic proportions.

The change in Luffy is instantaneous, eyes snapping to Zoro’s. His attention shifts like the wind, a physical force in this limited space. Almost absently, he places his hat where it belongs, a captain once more.

“Zoro? What’s wrong?”

No one answers, the silence lasting a mere heartbeat and an eternity all at once. This is it, Usopp thinks, the moment balancing on the precipice before a future as murky and uncertain as the ocean’s deepest trenches. He closes his eyes.

“What happened? Tell me.”

It’s said with authority, a weight similar to Haki but kinder, reassuring rather than suffocating – and resolve takes shape in Usopp’s chest, an urge to keep his head high and watch it all unfold with courage in his heart.

It has a similar effect on Zoro and it’s only then, with his shoulders squared and gaze steady, that Usopp realizes how miserable he had looked without Luffy by his side. Guilt creeps on Usopp, acidic in his veins. (Later. He can feel shitty about all of this later.)

“It’s Sabo. Things… are not looking good.”

Zoro produces the paper – a different one, newer, and Usopp feels his heart clench – from the sleeve of his yukata and hands it over, pre-folded to the relevant page. All Usopp can see from his angle is Sabo’s smile, determination apparent even upside-down. It’s a re-print of his wanted poster.

Next to him, Robin draws in a trembling breath and Usopp reaches out for her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers to stop them from shaking.

“Sabo?”

It’s with clear surprise that Luffy utters his brother’s name, and Usopp watches helplessly as Luffy’s pupils flit left to right, reading, skipping over dense paragraphs and coming up to the picture at the top over and over–

Then he looks up, and Luffy’s eyes are wide with worry and confusion so earnest it hurts Usopp to the core. “I… What? But he was there, at Dressrosa. And he was fine…? I don’t understand. Is this a joke?”

Zoro’s eye narrows, something wounded there and gone like a shadow. “It’s not. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand”, Luffy repeats, insistent now, and he turns to Robin because that’s what Luffy does when something doesn’t make sense to him. “Robin?”

Robin’s hand squeezes Usopp’s, near-painful. All Usopp can do is squeeze back.

“The revolutionaries, they… There were plans to rebel against the World Nobles. The people in bubbles on Sabaody, remember?” Robin’s voice evens out and yet, her lashes are wet with unshed tears.

“It looks like they failed. We don’t know more than that – the Marine has kept the papers scrubbed clean, as always – but it seems your brother was in charge of the mission. They’re sending him to Impel Down, Luffy. That’s what it means.”

Impel Down.

Usopp can see the exact moment those two words sink in: all blood drains from sun-kissed skin, leaving Luffy’s face close to pallid in contrast to the mottled bruises underneath; Luffy’s mouth opens but no sound arises, no word of protest, no nothing, and Usopp would honestly prefer to see him scream to the heavens or burst into tears than this, this petrified sort of shock that doesn’t belong anywhere near Luffy. Then–

“We’re ready, captain.”

That’s Zoro again, and there’s a hard edge to his tone that Usopp recognizes as sorrow only because it mirrors his own.

“Law has a plan, we’re fully stocked, the fleet is one snail call away. Killer wants to help so Kidd will come too. It’ll take a week to get there, tops. Just say the word and we’ll–”

“No.”

It’s nothing more than a whisper and yet, they all hear it. And even if they didn’t, Luffy repeats it once, twice, gaining in volume.

“No, no. We’re staying here. Sabo–”

Luffy’s voice cracks, and Usopp’s heart breaks clean in two, and Luffy pushes on, panting like he’s running a hundred miles in a hurricane.

“Sabo has his friends, and my dad. He’ll be fine, okay? He’ll come back. Sabo always comes back. So we don’t need to worry.”

That’s how it works: If Luffy believes in something, his crew does, too. It’s how they’ve always worked, how they’ve pulled off miracle after miracle and will continue to do so until they have sailed the entirety of the Grand Line and their captain is made King.

Something burns in Luffy’s eyes now and it’s not… that. It’s desperate, hunted, wrong. A lie said like a truth, and Usopp would know.

It occurs to him, in a distant part of his mind, that this is the first time he’s seen his captain truly afraid.

And it’s that what kicks Usopp’s brain into overdrive, because on this crew of reckless monsters he’s the one tasked with a healthy sense of fear, to manage the doubts everyone else doesn’t have because those are important, sometimes.

Because true bravery is a road made of boundaries and the means to overcome them, again and again and again – as many times as it takes to reach the end.

“Luffy”, Usopp says, and his voice doesn’t shake. He doesn’t let it. “We got this. We can save your brother. You have to trust us.”

In many ways, this is Usopp’s personal nightmare come true. He sees Luffy clench his trembling hands to fists, and his eyes narrow, and the vulnerability there bends into anger in an instant and it’s all so familiar.

“It’s not about that. It’s my decision to make, and I’ve decided. We’re not going.”

But this time, Usopp breathes. He forces himself to pause, just a moment, just so he can think and not lose himself to the panicked rush of blood to his head.

“We’re not gonna die, Luffy. We went through hell before and we came out alright, didn’t we? So we have to go. Please let us go.”

Suddenly Nami moves, kneeling next to the bed. She places a hand on Luffy’s wrist, gentle over the tense line of muscle there. “Luffy. Usopp’s right. Sabo’s your brother. He’s family.”

“I know that. I know–”

Luffy pulls away from her, from all of them, hides his face in his hands and pushes his fingers into his eyes hard enough that the bones in his hand show, thin and fragile-looking. One by one, tears start dripping down his palms and to the covers below.

“You guys don’t understand”, he says, his voice a hoarse, quivering mess. “You think you’ve seen hell but you haven’t, ‘cause Impel Down is hell and if we go there– There’s no way we’re getting out. Not a-all of us.”

It’s so quiet Usopp can’t even hear anyone else breathing but Luffy, every inhale hitched and barely realized before rushing back out. It’s like he can’t but speak, the horrors he’s seen and never talked about strangling him from the inside.

“Back then I wasn’t thinking ‘cause it was A-Ace, and he was trapped in there and not free, and just the thought of him dying like that made me sick. I only survived ‘cause I had a ton of help and ‘cause a bunch of people died instead of me.”

Luffy stops, and breathes, and rubs his arm across his face until the tears are gone. Usopp doesn’t mention he’s probably ruining the careful work Chopper put into binding that arm. Chopper himself is too busy crying his eyes out against Franky’s shoulder to really notice.

“I’m not risking it”, Luffy says then, eyes dull and red-rimmed. “Mariejois – that’s at Sabaody, right? Marineford and G-1 are around there, too. It’s gonna be a huge mess, again, and I…”

I can’t do it, not again.

It goes unsaid, in the end; perhaps, despite everything, Luffy isn’t actually capable of expressing something so devoid of hope, so close to giving up. That’s… more than nothing, it’s enough to hold on to, and that’s exactly what Usopp does.

“Then we won’t go to Impel Down. And we won’t go to Marineford, or G-1, or wherever those assholes are gonna make a show out of– That. Okay, Luffy? We won’t go to any of those places.”

“But… then how…?”

Usopp searches for Zoro, his gaze bridging the few feet between them that feel endless and Zoro blinks and gives him that devil-may-care smirk of his. To Zoro’s credit, it almost looks right.

“We’re pirates”, says Usopp with enough conviction for both Luffy and himself. For all of them, really, for one brilliant moment.

“We’re going to catch them at sea, because we have the best navigator and the fastest ship and the most skilled helmsman. We’re going to fuck them up because we have the strongest swordsman and a musician who can cut through souls and a freaking cyborg with laser beams and Nico Robin. And we’re going to be fine, because Sanji’s food raised you from the dead just this morning and Chopper can heal any wound and because our captain always leads us right. And even if they manage to account for all of that…”

Usopp grins with far too much teeth.

“We just have to get in range. I’ll shoot those bastards from so far away they won’t even see it coming, and if anyone even thinks of laying a hand on your brother I’ll shoot those off too.”

Luffy just stares at him like he’s seeing him for the first time, eyes swimming in tears. Then he laughs, an awkward, hiccupping kind of laughter that’s raw relief more than anything else. “That’s right”, he gasps, a hand rubbing at his chest where the starburst scar is currently hidden from sight.

“You’re right! We’ll save Sabo, and everyone will be okay, and then we’ll throw the biggest party ever. Right?”

“Right”, Usopp says, “and don’t you dare forget it”, voice wobbling all over the place now that his captain is smiling again, and he hears a fond sigh from Sanji to his left and a melodic chuckle from Robin to his right and Nami looks at him with so much pride Usopp doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It’s Jinbei he settles on, who gives his captain a soft look before he meets Usopp’s eyes half-way and nods, his smile full of admiration. For him. Usopp, son of Yasopp, from Syrup Village, East Blue.

None of his storybooks taught Usopp what to do after the heroic speech is over and the day is saved. And perhaps there is no trick to it, no how-to guide to achieve that dream of his – perhaps, for now, it’s enough to let himself be dragged into a rubber-limbed hug that threatens to crush his ribs, and share the laugh that found its home in his captain once more.

If that’s the case, then Usopp thinks he’s doing alright on the hero front after all.

#one piece #fanfiction #monkey d. luffy #usopp #roronoa zoro #one piece spoilers #one piece fanfiction #oda's got me so tense about the wano arc and what comes after omg #(also sorry if the read more doesn't work RIP)#let's see if tumblr actually throws this in the tags this time #not linking AO3 for the same reason but this fic is also on AO3!!#my stuff

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