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kenta-rin · 1 year

Text

Ch 3-4

[I DID NOT WRITE THIS, just uploading for posterity]

Tips For Expanding Your Business On An International Scale

013

Summary:

i hope you’re ready for some. porn

Notes:

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter Text

“Jesse,” the voice calls again from his bedroom door. This time it’s less stiff. It sounds less out of place.

Jesse thinks that he’s in big trouble if he’s already getting used to this on the second day. Once again he’s kicked off his sheets and it almost naked on his bed. He remembers last night abruptly when he goes to rub one eye and finds it doubly crusted with salt.

He lets out a pathetic moan. He opens his eyes to see Hanzo failing to suppress a smile.

“I let you sleep longer today,” He says. Jesse takes note of the sunlight spilling into the room. It must be mid-morning. “My father won’t be having you for breakfast today. He has urgent business to attend to in Osaka. I thought we could eat breakfast together, if you wanted.”

Jesse can’t tell if that’s just Hanzo being a good host or if he actually wants to spend time with Jesse. Jesse peers at him for a little while, still bleary from sleep, trying to figure it out.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Just let me shower first.”

Hanzo nods, and then, just like the day before, he seems to become suddenly aware of Jesse’s state of undress. His eyes skate over Jesse’s body quickly and he ducks out of the room with a reddening face.

Jesse realizes this is a good thing when he shifts to get up and discovers he’s got a bad case of morning wood. He’s glad he sleeps on his stomach, or else his conversation with Hanzo might have been… Really awkward.

He shuffles into the ensuite bathroom and debates with himself while he waits for the shower to run hot. It is out of line to get yourself off when your host’s son is waiting for you downstairs? Jesse thinks about his rules again. The first one was ‘Don’t hit on the boss’s son.’ He’s pretty sure he’s broken that at least five times by now.

The second rule was ‘Don’t think about fucking the boss’s son.’ If he’s broken the first one, he might as well break the second, right?

Biding for time, Jesse steps under the spray of water and washes the crust of leftover salt off of his skin. He ends up standing there with his hands trailing down his stomach, and at this point he’s just pretending that this isn’t inevitable. He lets his hand close around his erection and lets out a pleased little sigh.

He thinks to himself that he should be quick, that Hanzo is waiting downstairs for him, and damn if that doesn’t open the floodgates. There are so many things about Hanzo to think about that it’s hard to pick somewhere to start.

He settles on his memory from last night of Hanzo in nothing but his swim trunks, pressed up against him. Jesse could have so easily slid his leg between Hanzo’s legs and changed everything. Could have leaned down and kissed Hanzo with the salt water clinging to both of their lips. Could have kissed that neck and made Hanzo gasp. He wonders how far Hanzo’s gone. He’s been kissed before, right? Virgin doesn’t mean completely inexperienced.

But God, it does mean virgin. Jesse fists his dick in the shower thinking about being Hanzo’s first time. About taking him to bed and making him blush and stutter. He’s probably sensitive. Jesse wants to know exactly where, and how much.

He leans his head against the wall and focuses on an elaborate scene in which he gets Hanzo into the gigantic bed in his guestroom and sucks Hanzo’s dick until he’s writhing in the sheets. Jesse comes with a stifled groan.

He lets himself stand there for a few minutes, just basking in the afterglow, but eventually he forces himself to wash his hair and get out. When he shuffles down the stairs ten minutes later, he’s wearing comfy sweatpants and a t-shirt. If he’s not meeting Shimada today he might as well relax a little.

Hanzo isn’t loitering in the foyer the way he usually is. For a second Jesse thinks, panicked, that he must have made too much noise in the shower and scared Hanzo away. He stands there dumbly, wondering where Hanzo would have gone if he’d left.

“What are you doing?” Hanzo asks. Jesse turns and sees him perched on a stool at a breakfast bar in the kitchen that Jesse had never even noticed before. He’s barely spent any time in the guest house other than in the bedroom.

“Nothin’,” Jesse lies, trying to play it cool. He wanders over to the kitchen.

“If you’re not going to wear the cowboy clothing you could at least put on a yukata,” Hanzo suggests. He’s leaning his chin on a hand and eyeing Jesse’s sweatpants.

“You got a problem with these?” Jesse asks. He can’t help the smirk sliding across his face. “You haven’t even seen the worst part yet.”

Hanzo watches him carefully with narrowed eyes, but he won’t take the bait. That’s alright. Jesse’s generous enough to share anyway. He turns himself around.

“Oh my God,” Hanzo says, which sounds kind of funny with his accent. Jesse’s sweatpants say “Texas” across the ass.

Jesse can’t suppress his shit-eating grin. He spins around again so that he can appreciate the genuine look of offense on Hanzo’s face.

“You are not even from Texas,” Hanzo says. He sounds betrayed.

“Aw, you read my file,” Jesse teases in reply.

Hanzo doesn’t even blush, which probably means Jesse should dial back with the flirting. Hanzo’s already building up an immunity to it.

“What’s for breakfast, anyway?” Jesse asks.

Hanzo smiles a little. “Why don’t you cook me an American meal?”

There’s something teasing about his voice that makes Jesse’s heart stutter. It suddenly feels kind of like the tables have been turned, and he’s not the one doing the flirting anymore.

He ducks his face into the fridge under the pretense of looking for something he actually knows how to cook, because he may or may not also be the one who’s blushing this time. There’s eggs in the fridge, which is good. He doesn’t think he’ll find grits in this kitchen though.

He settles on scrambled eggs and toast because he is a simple man with a tendency to fuck things up. Anything fancier and he’d probably end up setting the kitchen on fire.

Hanzo watches with an air of amusement but stays quiet. He still doesn’t do small talk, but the silence between them is starting to feel more natural. When Jesse puts the plate in front of him Hanzo raises an eyebrow but withholds his judgement.

There are forks in a drawer. This kitchen - the whole house, actually - was obviously designed with Westerners in mind. Hanzo stares at the fork disdainfully, but Jesse points out, “You said an American meal.” Hanzo concedes the point.

The way the bar is designed encourages Jesse to take a seat next to Hanzo, but Jesse drags a stool over so he can sit across from him instead. He prefers the view. Hanzo eats very neatly. Jesse can’t help comparing him to a cat: the way he glares, the way he’s so easily offended, the way he gets riled.

Hanzo catches Jesse looking at him with a stupid smile on his face.

“What?” He asks. His voice is in the middle ground between wary and hostile.

“Nothin’,” Jesse lies, for the second time that morning. He doesn’t think Hanzo would appreciate his comparison. Hanzo frowns at the obvious deflection, so Jesse decides to distract him. “Why are you a virgin?”

That was probably the worst thing he could have said. He stares at Hanzo with a horrified look on his face and sees the same expression reflected right back. Neither of them can believe he just asked that. On the one hand, it was bound to happen eventually. The question’s been repeating itself obsessively in Jesse’s head for almost two days.

On the other hand, Hanzo is probably going to kill him. His face goes from horrified to angry. Not offended, and not embarrassed either, but genuinely angry. Jesse vaguely remembers thinking that Hanzo was cute when he was mad yesterday. He was wrong.

“I will not let you mock me,” Hanzo spits, voice low and dangerous. Jesse throws up his hands in an attempt to placate him, but it seems to just make things worse. “My brother lives to humiliate me. I thought that you were… better than that.”

An appeal to Jesse’s higher morals is a low blow. He really does feel bad about this. “I’m not tryin’ to make fun of you,” he says. “I just - um.” He’s dug himself into a very deep hole. At this point it’s probably a better idea to keep digging and see if he winds up on the other side of the Earth. “What I meant was, Genji said you were a virgin and I didn’t even believe him because you’re… Real handsome?” He’s cautious about his word choice here. He’s pretty sure if he called Hanzo hot he’d get an arrow through the head. “And uh, I mean, you’re rich, too, and smart and good at arrows - archery - I mean. What I’m trying to say is you’re a catch. So I don’t understand why nobody would sleep with you. I mean, why you wouldn’t sleep with anybody. Because obviously anybody would be lucky to sleep with you.”

That last bit may have… revealed too much about him. Hanzo’s face has been getting redder and redder as Jesse keeps rambling.

“I thought, at first, that maybe you just scared people away because you’re no good at small talk. But then I spent one day with you and. Like I said yesterday. You’re awesome.” Jesse’s face is now also very red. Is Hanzo still mad at him? At some point his eyes have become stuck to his empty plate and he can’t seem to find the strength to look up again.

There is a very long, painful moment of silence in the kitchen. Jesse honestly isn’t sure which one of them is suffering more.

And then, finally, Hanzo says: “I never met a girl I wanted to…” and he trails off, flushing to the tips of his ears.

“None?” Jesse asks, squinting. Hanzo shrugs helplessly.

“I’m sure you have met plenty,” Hanzo adds, sounding glum about it. Jesse almost wants to laugh. Then, he zeroes in on a different piece of information.

“You’ve never met a girl,” he says, very cautious, letting the implication sit there between them. Hanzo is the one stuck staring at Jesse’s plate now. “But you’ve met. A person. People?”

Hanzo makes no verbal response, but in a way that’s a response all on its own. Unfortunately it’s a response that only generates more questions in Jesse’s mind. He can speculate on most of the answers, sure, but not all of them.

One of the ones he can figure out for himself is, ‘Why not just sleep with a boy, then?’ He’s known Hanzo for two days and he already knows that his most defining traits are his sense of duty and his loyalty to his father. Hanzo Shimada is the heir to the Clan. The duty of an heir, even more than to inherit, is to produce an heir in turn. He pictures himself saying, ‘You know you can adopt children, right?’

He doesn’t need to see the look on Hanzo’s face to know that he’s probably considered it a thousand times, and discarded it too. The bloodline is too important; if not to Hanzo himself, then to his father.

It puts things in perspective: Hanzo has adhered so strictly to every rule and expectation set out for him knowing that there is one - probably the one he considers most important - that he has always found himself incapable of achieving. Maybe he’s hoped that through his obedience he can change himself. Maybe he’s hoped for a way to circumvent this duty: hoped for absolution from just this one.

Hanzo’s relationship with Genji is also recontextualized through this revelation. Hanzo has sacrificed so much, all the while knowing that it won’t be enough in the end. It won’t be enough when it really matters.

Because Hanzo could, and almost definitely would, allow himself to be married to whoever his father chose, and would resign himself to living without love, and to sex as a chore rather than a pleasure, and beget himself an heir through the process.

But he couldn’t do it without hating himself every step of the way.

Jesse, feeling that cavernous ache in his chest, the same one he first caught from standing in Hanzo’s bedroom, thinks that it’s too late. Hanzo’s already started to hate himself.

And that’s what Genji doesn’t understand. Yes, Hanzo begrudges the fact that Genji refuses to give up anything for the sake of their father. But the true origin of the conflict lives deep in Hanzo’s core. Hanzo looks at Genji and sees what he lacks in himself. Hanzo doesn’t hate Genji at all.

Jesse thinks back to the first time he met Genji. What was it Genji said? He’s really just mad I was kissing that girl.

No, Hanzo had been angry that Genji had skipped the Clan’s important meeting with an American business partner.

He’s reading too much into this.

Jesse rubs his hand over his face. It’s been silent in the room for a very long time.

When Hanzo’s phone starts ringing, they both nearly startle out of their skin.

Hanzo picks up and speaks tersely into the phone in Japanese. When he hangs up, his face looks grim. But then, his face almost always looks grim.

“I must go,” Hanzo says. Jesse nods. Everything is still awkward between them. “I will be gone all day. I might not get back until tomorrow.” Jesse nods again. Hanzo hesitates. Jesse wonders why he doesn’t just leave so they can be awkward separately instead of together. “Maybe you can message me, though,” Hanzo forces out finally. He’s fingering his phone while he says it.

Jesse had actually forgotten that he had Hanzo’s number. He breaks out into an abrupt grin. “Maybe I will!” He drawls, a little too enthusiastically. He can’t believe Hanzo wants Jesse to message him after this disaster of a breakfast. Maybe the place he’s going is really, really boring.

“Then I will talk to you later,” Hanzo says, sort of hurried. He gets embarrassed about the weirdest stuff. He also apparently forgets that Jesse isn’t Japanese, because he bows politely to him before leaving. Jesse watches after him, scratching his head. It’s been a roller coaster of a morning.

He decides to go for a run through the gardens, since he’s got time to himself. He’s dressed for it, anyway. He takes his time and enjoys the sights, thinking about the nonsense Hanzo had told him about the breeds of the cherry blossom trees. All kinds of technology went into getting the right shade of pink.

It’s pretty, so he guesses it all pays off.

He stops at the koi pond he remembers from the day before, once more sticking his finger in, but it doesn’t have the same charm without Hanzo glaring at him.

When he gets back to the guesthouse he showers again (the third in twenty-four hours; he’s probably single-handedly killing the planet right now) and then he actually changes into one of the complementary yukata.

He settles himself down on the couch and pulls out his phone.

He stares at the keyboard for a long time before sending:

McCree: howdy

Then, staring at the words on the screen, he has a moment of anxiety and adds:

McCree: if your too busy to text ill leave you alone

He stares at the screen for five minutes, watching the minutes tick by. Every time the screen dims he taps the conversation again.

Finally, an icon indicates that Hanzo is typing a reply.

This lasts for seven minutes. The message Hanzo finally sends reads:

Hanzo: english keybosrd is hard

Jesse hadn’t even considered that. Hanzo’s spoken English is so fluent Jesse had almost forgotten it was a second language. Sure, Hanzo has a fairly thick accent, but he never asks Jesse to clarify what he says. Apparently messaging is a bit higher level. And/or Hanzo isn’t used to it. Jesse can’t imagine who else Hanzo would text.

McCree: take your time

He wants to indicate that he isn’t mad or frustrated. Normally he might use something like “lol” or “haha” but he isn’t sure how well those kinds of things translate. He settles for:

McCree: :^)

Once again, the icon appears to tell Jesse that Hanzo is laboriously typing out a message. It doesn’t take as long, and the message only says:

Hanzo: big nose

Jesse starts laughing at that. The version of Hanzo texting him must be the one who swam with him in the salt water. He spends less time agonizing over what he says and how it will represent himself and his family. He has a playful streak.

McCree: you know what they say about guys with big noses

McCree: ;^)

Hanzo: ???

McCree: the bigger the nose, the bigger the………

Hanzo: do they realy say thst

McCree: no its big feet :^(

Hanzo: so do ypo hsve big feet

Jesse puts down his phone and screams a little. Is he being sexted right now? Is this sexting?

Earlier, Hanzo’s answer - his non-answer - had filled Jesse’s head with questions. Some he could answer: ‘why not sleep with a boy, then?’ Others he couldn’t answer.

Do you want to sleep with me?

Jesse stares at his phone screen, stomach alive with jitters. How seriously should he take this? How seriously is Hanzo taking this?

McCree: hanzo. are u asking me bout my dick

Hanzo: ……

McCree: you want a picture???

Hanzo: ……………

McCree: all u gotta do is ask baby ;^)

Hanzo: ………

McCree: is that a yes or a no

Hanzo: yes

That single word text was hard-won. The typing indicator had shifted on and off about eight times before Hanzo finally sent anything. Now Jesse can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest and his palms sweating at he stares at his answer.

Jesse McCree has sent dick pics before but it’s never been this nerve-wracking. This is absolutely monumental. What if his dick is the first one Hanzo’s ever seen? Well, obviously he’s probably seen dicks before, like at a public bath or whatever, but Jesse’s could be the first hard dick. The first dick in a sexual context.

What if he thinks it’s ugly? It’s not that Jesse’s self-conscious about his dick or anything, he thinks it’s a pretty nice dick, and he’s seen a good handful of ‘em. But Hanzo hasn’t. Maybe he’s not used to how veiny they are.

Jesse suffers from performance anxiety for about fifteen minutes before his phone lights up with a new message. He snatches it up.

Hanzo: please

Holy shit.

Maybe Hanzo’s just being polite, but it’s so easy, too easy, to picture him begging. To picture him clutching his phone wherever he is - locked in the bathroom at some fancy party, in the back of a car being driven around by his father’s employees, texting under the table at a meeting, Jesse has no idea - and waiting, just waiting for Jesse to send him a picture.

Wondering if Hanzo’s hard, wherever he is, makes Jesse groan. He pushes the folds of his yukata out of the way, runs his hand over his dick a few times, aims his camera downward. He hits send before he can second guess himself.

He sits there afterwards, steeped in tension. He doesn’t try to get himself off a second time in one morning. He lets his yukata fall shut again, just staring at his phone.

The front door of the guesthouse slams open and Jesse yells, caught somewhere between surprise and terror.

Genji is standing in the foyer, grinning at the noise Jesse just made.

Jesse clutches at his racing heart, wondering if he’s ever going to recover from that shock. He thanks God and every other deity whose name he knows that he hadn’t decided to get off there on the couch. He doesn’t know if he would have survived the mortification of Genji Shimada catching him in the middle of jerking off.

“You’re here all alone!” Genji crows. Jesse realizes after a moment that he’s referring to the fact that both Shimada and Hanzo are out of town. This must seem like a blessing to Genji, having the compound more or less to himself.

“I’m all alone,” Jesse croaks out in agreement, guiltily eyeing his phone. No new messages.

“Why are you wearing that?” Genji asks, eyeing the yukata disapprovingly. Jesse selfconsciously adjusts it over his lap. He’s definitely not hard anymore, not after a scare like that, but the fabric has been riding a little high on his thigh.

“When in Rome,” Jesse drawls, shrugging. Genji stares at him blankly. “You do as the Romans do,” he finishes. Genji raises a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s a saying. Sorry. I just mean, you know, I might as well enjoy local customs.”

“Local customs suck,” Genji says with all the confidence of an eighteen year old. In a few years he’ll learn better. “We should do something cool.”

Jesse grimaces, thinking about Genji’s last cool idea. “I don’t know about that.”

“Aw, come on,” Genji wheedles. “I’ll show you the arcade.”

Jesse glances at his phone again. He still hasn’t gotten a reply.

He’s going to need something to distract him from checking for a new message every six seconds or he’ll drive himself insane. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s go to the arcade.”

Genji makes him change first. He puts on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that says ‘A li’l bit COUNTRY A li’l bit SASSY & A whole lotta TROUBLE.’ It makes Genji laugh. Hanzo would have probably tried to light it on fire.

The arcade is a mess of bright lights and loud music. Jesse recalls Genji threatening to bring him to a rave and wonders if this is some kind of punishment.

Then Genji introduces Jesse to a game where you use a laser pistol to shoot stuff and before he knows it three hours have passed with him and Genji yelling at the screen and collecting long strings of tickets. Jesse beats the game several times and by the time he gives up the High Score list is MCCREE all the way down (except for one right in the middle where Genji convinced Jesse to write HANZO SUX).

Jesse magnanimously allows Genji to turn all of his tickets in for weird candies and then they go a few doors down to a ramen shop.

“This is the proper way to experience Hanamura,” Genji says, in between slurping noodles.

“It’s definitely better than that beach,” Jesse agrees. Genji laughs and kicks him under the table.

“It’s not my fault you’re too old to appreciate a good party,” he says with an exaggerated pout. “Besides, you probably would have had a better time if you hadn’t spent the whole night hanging out with my asshole brother.”

Jesse makes a little noise of protest. “He’s not an asshole,” he says. Genji raises his eyebrows and Jesse grins. “Okay, he’s kind of an asshole. But he’s not all bad.”

Genji’s face goes contemplative at that: his usually smooth and carefree brow gets a little furrow in it. “You really believe that,” he says, slowly. “And yesterday I said ‘all he cares about is duty’ and you said that was wrong. How do you know that about him? You’ve only known him for two days.”

Jesse makes a face. “I got a knack for reading people,” he says.

Genji makes face of his own, obviously not satisfied by that answer. “I think you’re wrong about him. He definitely cares about duty more than he cares about me, anyway.”

Jesse considers Genji for a moment, sitting there and looking very young, staring down at his half-eaten bowl of ramen. He looks lonely. Just like Hanzo. They have so much more in common than they think.

Still, he can’t really argue that Hanzo cares about Genji, or that Hanzo would choose Genji over the Shimada Clan if it came down to it. There’s too much bad blood between them. There’s too much hostility coming from both sides, and neither Genji nor Hanzo is willing to yield, to make the first move for a ceasefire.

“He’s not a bad person,” Jesse says, after a long pause. Genji snorts.

“Yeah, he’s just ‘troubled,’ right?” Genji asks sardonically, but he’s smiling a little. Jesse can’t help but smile back. The situation is too complex to be boiled down into right and wrong, good and bad.

“You know, I don’t have any siblings, so I can’t sympathize with you about your brother, but boy, I know a thing or two about disappointing my parents,” Jesse says, casually redirecting the conversation.

“Really?” Genji asks, grinning. “Your parents aren’t proud of their son, the arms dealer?”

“Now, now,” Jesse chides. “You can’t just stereotype parents like that. Your dad would be thrilled to have a capable arms dealer like myself for a son.”

Genji sticks his tongue out in reply.

“My parents though,” Jesse continues, leaning back in his chair, “They were church-goin’, Godfearin’ Christians.” His accent thickens as he falls into the story.

“Did they own a farm, too?” Genji teases.

“No,” Jesse shoots back, “they were a couple of chartered accountants. And boy, they did not take kindly to their only son puttin’ on a pair a’ chaps and running around with a gang.”

Genji laughs delightedly. “Maybe they shouldn’t have let you watch so many movies when you were a kid,” he suggests.

“Maybe,” Jesse allows. “But more likely, I was born bad, and there’s nothin’ they coulda done about it.”

He manages to keep a straight face for about ten seconds after that proclamation, and then he bursts out laughing. Genji joins him.

By the time they leave the ramen shop it’s dark out. Jesse knows the lay of the compound well enough by now that he confidently sets out on his own to the guesthouse, leaving Genji behind at the main house.

He’s pretty sure Genji follows him from a distance just to make sure he doesn’t get lost.

For the second night in a row Jesse gets in and goes directly up to his bedroom to do a faceplant into the plush blankets on his bed.

This time, he doesn’t fall asleep right away.

He pulls out his phone for the first time in a few hours.

There’s one message.

Hanzo: thanks

Jesse stares at it hard. He needs more than that. This message could be a polite rejection, for all he knows.

McCree: did you like it

He has no idea if Hanzo will answer promptly. His last reply was hours late. He could beasleep, even. Jesse tries to tell himself not to obsess over it.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to. His phone lights up.

Hanzo: yes

Jesse shoves his face into his bedsheets, overwhelmed by that one word. Once again, he desperately needs more.

McCree: what did you do with it

Hanzo: ………

Jesse stares at the answer with a frown on his face. He’s not sure if this is a problem of Hanzo being embarrassed, or finding the typing too complex, or something else entirely. Maybe he didn’t do anything with the picture at all. Maybe he looked at it and then deleted it so that no one looking at his phone could see it.

Jesse’s not ready to give up hope yet.

McCree: how bout i ask you some yes or no questions is that ok

Hanzo: yes

That’s a good sign. Jesse lifts himself up on his elbows, concentrating hard on his phone screen.

McCree: did you delete the picture

Hanzo: no

McCree: good. Did you touch yourself

Hanzo: yes

It took a little while for Hanzo to type that, but the answer knocks the wind right out of Jesse. He falls back down off his elbows and pushes his face into the sheets again. He’s burning hot and sweaty, his forehead and his palms both. His dick is hard in his jeans, for the third time that day. Hanzo is going to be the death of him.

McCree: god

McCree: thats good

McCree: did you think about me

Hanzo: yes

McCree: i wanna know what you thought about

That’s not a yes or no question. Jesse makes a frustrated noise.

McCree: did you think about me fucking you

He presses a fist to his mouth, which is wet with saliva. He waits in agony as the icon indicates that Hanzo is typing, typing, typing, the minutes are passing by. Every muscle in Jesse’s body is tense. His hips are rubbing almost subconsciously against the bed.

Hanzo: i dont know how

Jesse makes a noise of anguish. God fucking help him, Hanzo is a closeted gay virgin who’s unclear on the mechanics of sex between two men. Hanzo touched himself and thought about Jesse, but it was all hypothetical, all theory, no practise.

McCree: come back here baby ill show you

McCree: im gonna make it so good for you

He can feel himself going too far and can’t stop it. Sure, he crossed the line about thinking about fucking the boss’s son, and he could excuse himself for that. But this: now he’s straight up offering it, promising, telling Hanzo that he’s going to take his virginity.

Jesse flings his phone aside, stands up from the bed and in a fit of frustrated energy kicks his pants off. He throws open the closet door and digs out his bottle of lube from underneath all his cowboy gear and clothing.

He climbs back on the bed face first again, but this time up on his knees with his thighs spread. He lubes up his fingers and reaches back.

The angle is never right when he does it for himself. He can never get his fingers in deep enough for it to be truly satisfying. Maybe he should take up yoga, work on his flexibility.

Right now though, he doesn’t need to fuck himself deep or hard. He just wants to feel the stretch of it. He just needs enough friction to be able to imagine Hanzo Shimada fisting his dick as he watches Jesse prepare himself.

Jesse multitasks, one hand rubbing over his hole, dipping his fingers in teasingly, while the other fists his cock and makes him whine. He’s thinking about Hanzo Shimada fucking him, eager and inexperienced and nervous, lining his dick up against Jesse’s hole, pushing in inexpertly, too overwhelmed with sensation to think about keeping a rhythm.

I’m gonna make it so good for you, Jesse thinks, repeating the sentiment he’d sent via text. He’s gonna be so good for Hanzo. He’s gonna be tight and gentle. He’s gonna take his dick real good and Hanzo’s gonna come harder than he ever has in his life.

Jesse’s forehead is pressed against the mattress and he can’t stop the noises that are pouring out of his mouth, so desperate that he sounds distressed. He can’t stand that Hanzo is somewhere else, anywhere other than this room. He wants Hanzo so bad. He can’t remember the last time he wanted anyone like this.

One of his fingers brushes against his prostate just by dumb luck and Jesse’s whole body seizes. He speeds up the hand fisting his dick. He’s panting and his hips are moving more or less of their own volition at this point. He’s barely even thinking of his own pleasure, his thoughts too full of Hanzo. Where was he when he touched himself? How long did he have to himself? He was looking at a picture of Jesse’s dick. The thought sends shudders of pleasure through Jesse’s body.

This morning Jesse stood in the shower and thought about sucking Hanzo’s dick - and he still really, really wants to suck Hanzo’s dick, to feel Hanzo’s hands clenching in Jesse’s hair, to make him gasp and shudder - but tonight he’s thinking of riding Hanzo, of slicking up Hanzo’s cock and sliding down onto him and looking down at him as his hips pump with abandon, unable to control them, losing himself too quickly in the feel of it –

Jesse’s fingers curl, his hand loses its rhythm. He comes with a stuttering groan. His dick pulses and his ass clenches and he gets come all over his stupid country girl t-shirt because he was in too much of a hurry to take it off.

He collapses afterwards. He’s made a fucking mess. He feels really bad for whoever has to change his bedsheets tomorrow.

He needs to get up and put some boxers on or else when Hanzo comes to wake him up tomorrow he’s gonna be absolutely scandalized.

Eventually he does. Then he curls up on the far side of the bed, away from the wet spot.

He checks his phone.

Hanzo: i will see you tpmorrow

Jesse falls asleep with a sappy damn smile on his face.

Tips For Expanding Your Business On An International Scale

013

Chapter 4 Summary:

i hope you're ready for some. plot

Notes:

my good and lovely friend nance has drawn some fanart for this fic, which can be found on her tumblr here! as you can see, she linked to my tumblr, so just a little psa: i won't be posting about fic on my tumblr.. i barely post about anything on my tumblr at all... but! i have a twitter, @broyaji which is specifically where i. whine about how hard writing is. so if you're interested in updates on what stage of the writing process i'm in (it's probably: the stage where i'm crying out in pain, or the stage where i'm mad at blizzard for being too vague in their lore) you can follow me there... also you can send me comments, questions and concerns... or tell me ur cool headcanons... or whatever... cool... thanks for reading

Chapter Text

The voice that wakes up Jesse on the third day is not the one he has come to expect.

“Mr. McCree,” it calls, accented and formal. Jesse rises instantly, one hand reaching for the gun tucked under his mattress before he can even think about it.

“I’m here to invite you to breakfast with Mr. Shimada,” Katsu says calmly, his eyes fixed on Jesse’s hand. Jesse freezes, then forces himself to relax.

He wants to ask where Hanzo is, but he knows that Katsu was meant to be his handler after all. Besides, Hanzo might not even be back from wherever business had taken him the day before. Jesse’s a fool for being disappointed at all.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes,” he grumbles. There’s a strange moment where Katsu stares at him and Jesse stares back, and Jesse feels on some instinctual level that he absolutely must not look down. Like a dog being challenged, he holds Katsu’s gaze. Then Katsu turns away wordlessly and retreats down the stairs.

This is far from the pleasant morning he had yesterday. Jesse climbs into the shower feeling shaken. Even ten minutes later when he’s dressed in his chaps again he still feels tense, all his senses on high alert.

Breakfast with Shimada is the same as it had been on the first day, except this time he doesn’t even have Hanzo to look at. Genji doesn’t come barrelling in halfway through, either. The two seats next to Shimada remain empty throughout the meal as Jesse struggles pathetically to hold onto more than a single grain of rice at once with his chopsticks.

Maybe it’s a good thing that Hanzo’s not there to see him, actually.

After breakfast Katsu appears once more as if Jesse’s momentary idleness has summoned him. Without Hanzo or Genji around, Jesse has no idea what to do with himself.

“Shimada will see you immediately,” Katsu says. Jesse dusts himself off self-consciously and returns to that strangely modern room with its sleek edges and its fancy computers.

“Mr. McCree,” Shimada greets him, not standing from behind his desk. Jesse really hates it when people call him that. “Mister” is no proper title for a gun-slingin’ cowboy. He sits down stiffly in the chair Shimada indicates. He once more takes the shot of sake Shimada offers despite the early hour.

“Mr. McCree,” Shimada repeats. This time it’s slower, more drawn-out. “I think it’s time for you and I to stop playing games with one another.”

Jesse freezes, back still ramrod straight under Shimada’s game. See, Jesse hasn’t been playing any games. Jesse has had no inkling whatsoever that Shimada was. His brain starts racing, trying to figure out what kind of trap he’s walked into. He tries to keep his face passive. He doesn’t say a word.

“Mr. McCree, I’m sure you’ll be sympathetic to the fact that my first priority is the good of my people and the financial gain of my business.”

Jesse carefully refrains from pointing out that those two priorities are almost definitely mutually exclusive. He watches Shimada with hooded eyes, waiting for the catch.

“To be short with you,” Shimada says in that slow, carefully measured tone of his, “the offer the… Deadlock Gang… has presented to the Shimada Clan is laughably one-sided. I would accuse you of naïveté… But that would be very rude.” Shimada smiles pleasantly.

Jesse’s stomach is clenched so hard he’s starting to feel sick. He continues to say nothing, gritting his teeth together. Shimada’s eyes sweep over his tense jaw. His eyes sparkle with some kind of humour.

“However,” Shimada continues, “There is, indeed, the potential for great benefit in an alliance between the Deadlock Gang and the Shimada Clan. You only need to… think outside of the box - that is the expression you Americans use, I believe.”

Shimada stands from his chair and strolls over to the window of his office, which looks out on a picture-perfect view of softly falling cherry blossoms. Jesse is really starting to hate the beauty of this place; that storybook enchantment he ‘d liked when he’d first arrived.

The model village, little more than a diorama, a carefully preserved piece of tradition: it felt different with Jesse’s knowledge of the people who lived within it. When Jesse thinks of Shimada, so obsessed with his little nostalgic utopia, it seems so much more understandable that Hanzo would hate himself for what he was. The Shimada children had been taught old-fashioned values: duty, humility. He remembers Katsu’s judgmental look during their very first meeting.

Jesse wonders bitterly if heterosexuality is one of the virtues Shimada had proselytized to his children.

“Mr. McCree, dealing in weapons makes up only a small percentage of the Shimada Clan’s profit. Your Deadlock Gang can only dream of obtaining a wealth equal to our own.” Shimada’s eyes are firmly fixed on his own compound. Admiring. Praising himself. “But we are willing to share some of our prosperity with you. We will pay you for good work. The kind of work that goes beyond arms dealing, Mr. McCree.”

Jesse has a profoundly bad feeling about this.

“Shipping illegal substances across the ocean is a nasty enough business. Every year security protocols get a little more ingenious. Every year we must work hard to be one step ahead. But there is no point to shipping if we have no one to distribute our goods when they arrive in port. Yes, the Shimada Clan needs an ally. But - to deal only with guns… That is thinking too small.”

“You’re talking about drugs?” Jesse cuts in. He’s trying to keep his tone neutral, but hostility leaks through his gritted teeth anyway. He doesn’t appreciate being patronized.

“Drugs, Mr. McCree,” Shimada echoes, his voice somewhere between thoughtful and amused. “You are still thinking much too small. Illegal substances – use your imagination. Drugs, yes. Chemicals outlawed by the government. Chemicals to make drugs, chemicals to make bombs. And…” Shimada trails off.

He turns away from the window finally. He places both hands on the surface of his desk, leaning forward a little. He looms over Jesse with that enigmatic little smile on his face. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised, Mr. McCree, to learn that the Shimada Clan makes quite a bit of money every year from its numerous brothels. If we were able to expand that business to a wider market…” Shimada leaves Jesse to connect the dots.

He does. “You mean human trafficking,” Jesse says, voice flat and dry.

“Such an ugly term for it,” Shimada chastises.

The office is silent for several long moments. Jesse has no idea where to even begin speaking. Shimada had started this conversation by accusing Jesse of naïveté, and damn him, fuck him if Shimada wasn’t exactly right.

“I gotta hand it to ya, Shimada-san,” Jesse growls, parodying the mock respect Shimada’s been directing his way this whole time. “You’re a real piece of work.”

He stands up from his chair, ready to leave.

“Sit down, McCree,” Shimada orders. His voice has gone cold. There is no longer even a hint of playfulness about his voice or his demeanor. Jesse stares at him with his chin tilted up, defiant. He refuses to be intimidated.

Shimada barks something in Japanese. The door of the office slides open. Jesse turns just enough to see behind him; he refuses to turn his back on Shimada.

Katsu steps into the room, closing the door neatly behind him. He has a gun in his hand. Jesse remembers the calm of Katsu’s gaze as Jesse reached for the weapon under his mattress.

Jesse sits down.

Shimada is all smiles once more. “I understand, of course, that you do not make the decisions for your gang. I am sure there is someone you need to call to further discuss the renewed terms of our deal. I will give you time to do so. I hope that you will return to me with favourable news.” He bares his teeth in a fake little grin. Jesse’s not so naïve that he misses an obvious threat like that.

He wonders if that was a dismissal, if he’s free to go now. He doesn’t risk trying to stand. Katsu has retreated quietly to a corner of the room, but he is still very much holding a gun in his hand.

“Before you go to make your call,” Shimada carries on, silky smooth, “We should talk about how you benefit from our arrangement, Mr. McCree.”

It’s on the tip of Jesse’s tongue to say, I already get it: I make the deal, I don’t get shot. That’s the benefit.

That’s just Jesse being naïve again. Shimada has so much worse to offer him: “I have noticed your interest in my son.”

Jesse’s stomach drops. The horror that seizes him makes him break into a cold sweat like no gun to his head ever could. What has he done? Putting himself in danger is par for the course. If he’s put Hanzo in danger too he’ll never be able to forgive himself.

“Hanzo has reported to me that the two of you are forming… a valuable friendship.” Shimada shows no sign of disgust, no anger. He speaks, in his delicate way, like he’s stating facts. “The Shimada Clan always takes care of its friends. If the relationship you have with my son continues to grow, I am sure it will be to the benefit of all involved. I hope you understand me, Mr. McCree, when I say that I am giving your continued friendship my blessing.”

Jesse has no idea how to take that. He doesn’t think he understands Shimada’s blessing at all. The whole thing sounds… much more innocent than what he and Hanzo have been doing. Shimada keeps using the word ‘friendship.’

Then again, Hanzo must have reported to Shimada… After the party with Genji, but before he left yesterday. And even if he had spoken to his father since then, he would have censored himself, obviously. Presented a more wholesome image of what they’d… talked about.

Chances are, Shimada has no idea that Jesse’s been dreaming about fucking his son the whole time he’s been in Hanamura. For once in his life it seems like Jesse’s caught a break. Sure, he still needs to get out of Hanamura as soon as he possibly can, but at least Hanzo… He’ll be fine. Jesse’s sure of it.

“Go, now,” Shimada says, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Call your Deadlock Gang. Tell them what I have asked for. And keep my promise in mind.”

Jesse gets up from the chair slowly, still wary of Katsu. He crosses the short distance to the office door. Katsu doesn’t move. He opens the door, and he isn’t followed. He gets into the hallway, and for a second he thinks he’s home free.

He’s almost ashamed that it takes him a whole second to register that three members of the Shimada Clan are waiting for him. He doesn’t know their names, but he thinks he’s seen at least two of them before; from breakfast, or from the tea ceremony. They’re different, now: they’re all openly carrying weapons.

They escort Jesse to the guesthouse. One of them follows him inside, all the way up to his bedroom, while the others wait outside.

Jesse wonders how his life could have gone from great to shitty so fast. Naïve, naïve, naïve. The word keeps repeating through his head as the Shimada family guard watches him take out his phone, watches him dial the number for his contacts back home. (He really wishes he was back home, now. Wishes he’d never wandered away from New Mexico. Who did he think he was fooling?)

He’s not sure if the man watching him speaks English, so he makes sure to use as much slang as possible. His contact back home catches on that Jesse’s in trouble pretty quick. Jesse gets redirected from one Deadlock Gang member to another, higher up in ranks, listening to the muffled noise of the phone being passed from person to person, room to room. He’s relieved to hear that they all agree that drug dealing isn’t their style, that selling illegal chemicals is too dangerous, and that human trafficking is fucking vile.

What ends up taking over an hour to discuss is not the terms of Shimada’s deal, but how they’re gonna get Jesse out of there alive. Jesse’s palms sweat as he listens to voices on the other side of the world discussing how fast they can get a plane to Hanamura, and whether he’ll be dead by then.

Eventually, one of the Shimada guards from downstairs comes up and makes a gesture at him, indicating he needs to wrap up his phone call. Jesse closes his eyes, silently despairing.

“I have to go now,” he says. He keeps his voice steady. There’s a moment of silence from the other side of the line, the chaotic murmur of too many people talking at once cut off.

“Stay alive, kid,” a voice finally drawls. That’s it. That’s all his gang has for him. Jesse’s on his own. He hangs up the phone.

Jesse expects the two guards to lead him back to Shimada’s office, but instead they actually leave the room. Jesse listens to their footsteps recede down the stairs and turns to peer out the window. The three of them gather together again just outside the door.

He doesn’t understand what’s going on. This would be a perfect opportunity for him to escape: to sneak out some back window, to tiptoe through the gardens the way Genji showed him to, to scale the wall of the compound and book it. Find some place to hole up until the Deadlock Gang can send a plane.

But it’s too obvious, it’s too easy. There must be a catch. He’s not going to walk into a trap.

He takes the opportunity while no one’s watching to tuck a knife into one boot and strap a pistol to his calf under his conveniently flared jeans. He doesn’t know if he’ll have an opportunity to use them, but at least now if the guns in his hip holsters are taken away he’ll have some back-up.

He’s staring at his suitcase, trying to quantify exactly what he’ll be losing when he has to leave all this stuff behind (the combined value is, conveniently, lower than that of his life; it makes the leaving an easier choice) when he becomes aware of a presence at the entrance of his room.

His hand drifts toward his gun for the second time that day, but when he looks up - it’s Hanzo.

A complicated knot of emotions tangles itself in Jesse’s stomach. He’d already resigned himself to never seeing Hanzo again. Jesse’d assumed that he’d either be dead or on the run from Hanzo’s father before Hanzo got back from his business trip.

I will see you tomorrow, was Hanzo’s last text. Jesse blinks against a wave of feelings, too intense and complex to parse. Yesterday, his biggest problem was the way he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Hanzo, about fucking him. Today his biggest problem is Hanzo’s daddy wanting to put a bullet through his head.

“You have been speaking to my father,” Hanzo says. He finally enters the room. He walks right up to Jesse, until he has to tilt his chin to keep looking Jesse in the eye. Hanzo’s tone is completely neutral. Jesse’s heart is hammering in his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, because he doesn’t know what response Hanzo’s looking for. His throat is dry when he swallows.

Hanzo reaches out a hand, lays it carefully on Jesse’s chest. He can probably feel the way Jesse’s pulse is racing, now. Jesse would like to try and calm himself down, but he can barely even focus on breathing when Hanzo’s so close.

“My father told me you had a meeting with him earlier,” Hanzo says. His voice is soft, verging on breathy. His hand wanders across Jesse’s sternum, thumb glancing across his collarbone. “I hope the two of you came to an agreement.”

Jesse’s having trouble concentrating. Hanzo’s looking up at him through his eyelashes. His thumb has taken up a back-and-forth sweeping motion, and Jesse’s nerves are so lit up even that simple touch makes him want to shudder.

“No,” he manages to say, but it takes a herculean effort.

For a moment, Hanzo looks confused. He’s obviously not used to people disobeying his father. The movement of his thumb stops, leaving Jesse feeling strangely bereft.

“You do not agree to my father’s terms?” Hanzo asks, studying Jesse’s face closely. Jesse has a moment of deja vu: that same bad feeling that seized him earlier in Shimada’s office, just before he revealed that he’d been playing Jesse all along, is back in full force.

“He wants the Deadlock Gang to help the Shimada Clan with human trafficking operations,” Jesse says, staring back at Hanzo unflinchingly. He searches for some hint of surprise, maybe even for disgust. He doesn’t find it.

“So now you are a man of morals,” Hanzo says, unimpressed. “You came here to the seat of my father’s criminal empire to broker an agreement for smuggling guns, and you are shocked… By what? Our depravity? Our heartlessness?”

Jesse tries to pull away from Hanzo, tries to remove Hanzo’s hands from his chest. Hanzo resists him, follows him when he steps back.

“Jesse,” he says, voice just shy of commanding, but when Jesse looks down at him there’s something uncertain lingering in the tilt of his mouth.

Hanzo rubs his nose against Jesse’s jaw, so close to kissing him that Jesse inhales a startled breath. He wants to pull away, but he wants to push forward more. He thinks about last night, about yesterday afternoon, about yesterday morning. About every moment he’s spent with Hanzo.

“Let me convince you,” Hanzo whispers against Jesse’s skin.

There it is: that’s the other shoe dropping. Jesse’s blood runs cold.

“You’re trying to seduce me,” he says, voice hoarse with shock.

Hanzo looks up at him with his innocent fucking doe eyes. “I thought you wanted me to,” he says, tilting his head to one side. A frown is starting to gather in a line on his brow.

“You want me to have sex with you so that I’ll agree to your dad’s business deal,” Jesse says, for clarity’s sake. Hanzo is giving him this look like he doesn’t understand what’s so bad about that, and Jesse feels like a fucking fool.

After his very first meeting with Shimada he’d noted that Hanzo had obviously been ordered to get close to him for his father’s benefit. What was he’d thought back then? That it would be hard for Hanzo to do a good job of it when he was so recalcitrant?

Jesse wants to laugh at himself. He has no idea how the fuck he’s managed to blunder right into this trap. All this time. All this time, Hanzo’s main goal has been to serve his father. Jesse’s an idiot for thinking he would be some kind of exception.

“I thought you wanted to have sex with me,” Hanzo murmurs, eyes still artfully framed by his lashes, his voice absolutely fucking demure.

“Get away from me,” Jesse says, frigid. This time when he pushes Hanzo’s hands away, they fall to his sides. Jesse stares at Hanzo for a moment longer, and then he leaves the room.

The guards gather around him like sharks circling prey when he walks out of the guesthouse. He pays no attention to them. He heads straight for Shimada’s office, aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, vaguely, that he is probably going to die. The odds are against him.

But Jesse’s angry, and the only things he’s ever been good at in his life are making bad decisions and beating the odds.

He throws Shimada’s door open without waiting for someone to announce his presence, to the evident distress of the guards around him. Shimada is still behind his desk, turned toward Katsu, who’s put his gun down on the desk. The two of them turn toward Jesse perfectly in sync.

“Mr. McCree,” Shimada greets smoothly, slipping into that insufferable persona with ease. Jesse takes a moment to close the door behind him, shutting the guards out.

“The Deadlock Gang will not accept the terms of your contract,” he says, careful and precise.

Shimada frowns. “That is… unfortunate,” he says. He turns his chair to face Jesse directly, leans his chin onto his hands. “Not even Hanzo could convince you?”

“You sent him,” Jesse says, but his voice doesn’t sound surprised even to his own ears. It sounds flat, weary. He’d suspected already. The confirmation is horrible, but he’s run out of energy for being horrified today.

“I thought you liked him,” Shimada wonders out loud, appraising Jesse. He’s trying to figure out where his plan went wrong. Jesse feels sick.

“You tried to pimp out your son to me,” Jesse spits.

“I have two sons. They have both disappointed me, in their own ways. At least one of them is useful to me.”

The words hang heavy in the air between them. The anger that fuelled Jesse on the way to Shimada’s office licks at his insides like fire. He doesn’t think he’s hated anyone more in his entire life.

“You are no longer useful to me,” Shimada adds, like an afterthought. He gestures to Katsu. Jesse’s eyes track Katsu’s hands as it reaches for the gun on the desk.

They should have taken away his guns before they tried to kill him. Jesse’s a quicker draw than anyone he knows. He gets Katsu right between the eyes and the heavy pistol in Katsu’s hand thunks to the floor a moment before his body follows.

Jesse drops to the ground, expecting Shimada to take aim at him next. Shimada doesn’t. He sits there in his chair and does nothing.

It’s unnerving, but Jesse has no time to dwell on it. The three guards from the hallway come bursting through the door, drawn by the sound of gunfire.

The way they’re bunched up like that is convenient. Jesse fans the hammer. Three dead guards.

Getting through the door presents a new problem: his back’ll be open to whatever Shimada has lined up for him. Still, he can’t stay crouched behind this desk forever.

He leaps out of cover, over the bodies in the doorway, and rolls to the side when he reaches the hallway. He doesn’t hear anything, though. No gunshots, no curses. He risks a glance back around the corner of the doorway.

Shimada hasn’t moved. His chin is still resting on his steepled fingers. It’s as if he hasn’t noticed the carnage around him. His eyes are fixed on Jesse, and the malevolence in them turns Jesse’s insides to ice.

He can’t stay here. He can’t think about it. He needs to leave. More people with guns are gonna show up at any minute. The entire clan will have received the shoot-to-kill order within minutes.

Jesse’s about to pick a random direction and set off at a dead run when he hears a voice:

“Jesse!”

For a second he thinks it’s Hanzo’s and he turns, feeling heavy, weighed-down.

It’s not Hanzo. Genji’s standing at the end of the corridor. His eyes are wide.

“Come with me,” he says, and hell, Jesse doesn’t have a better plan.

He follows Genji through a back entrance to the house, down a secluded garden path, all the while knowing that this could be another one of Shimada’s plans. If Hanzo’s lovesick virgin shtick was an act, Genji’s playboy delinquent shtick could be too. Any second now, Genji could turn around and put a bullet in him.

But Genji doesn’t. He reaches the wall of the compound and scrambles up it with the agility of a spider, leaving Jesse staring after him.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he admits. It’ll be sad if he dies because of his inferior climbing skills.

Genji hooks his feet over the top of the wall and hangs down, extending a hand toward Jesse. He wants to ask, Are you sure that’s safe? But the truth of the matter is they’re both at risk of dying at any moment.

He approaches the wall at a little bit of a run to build up momentum, jumps as high as he can. Genji catches him under the armpits, to his private mortification, and swings them up to the top.

Jesse’s not sure how it all works out, on the level of physics, but he’s willing to chalk it up to the fact that Genji, as much as he may hate his upbringing and all it represents, is a fucking ninja.

They drop over the other side of the wall, which is a long way down. Jesse falls over when his feet hit the ground and lies there for a second, wondering if he’s just broken his ankle.

“Come on,” Genji says impatiently, tugging on Jesse’s arm. Jesse rights himself, wincing a little at a sting in his leg.

Yuri’s got the black town car pulled up against the curb again. The book he’d been reading the night of the beach party is open before him again. It’s almost jarring to be faced with something so normal after the adrenaline rush of being threatened with guns all day.

When Jesse climbs in the backseat, he finds his suitcase has already been shoved in. He wants to ask about it, but Genji is already speaking rapidly to Yuri in Japanese. Yuri starts the car, handing the book to Genji to hold in his lap.

They set off at a leisurely sort of pace that absolutely chills Jesse to the bone. He keeps expecting Shimada thugs to come pouring out of the compound waving guns.

They don’t. The black car merges into traffic seamlessly, steadily moving away from danger.

Jesse loosens his white-knuckled grip on the seat beneath him.

“Where are you taking me, Genji?” He asks, trying not to sound too accusing. Genji has been kind to him thus far, but Jesse is not really in the mood for trusting Shimadas.

“There’s this motel I go to when I need to hide from my father,” Genji explains. Jesse’s guts prickle with paranoia. If Genji’s been there before, they might be able to track that. Shimada might already know. Jesse thinks of the way Shimada hadn’t made a move to stop him from leaving, hadn’t moved an inch. He’d just stared at Jesse, and the look in his eyes made Jesse believe that he would never be safe.

It’s just paranoia, though. It has to be.

“And how did my suitcase get into this car?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

Genji turns in his seat to look back at Jesse. “When I saw the guards following you around I took it upon myself to eavesdrop on the situation. As soon as you and Hanzo left the guesthouse I grabbed your stuff and told Yuri to be ready for when I got back. Then I waited around in the hallway where the guards couldn’t see me.”

Jesse makes a face. “So you heard that conversation between me and your brother,” he says, rubbing at his jaw awkwardly.

Genji laughs. “Messy,” is his only comment. Jesse decides to leave it alone.

He does wonder how Genji feels about what his father does: is he as inured to the idea of human trafficking as his brother? Jesse’s spent this whole trip analyzing Hanzo, but he feels like he still knows next to nothing about Genji. What is it Genji hates about his father? Jesse can’t tell if Genji’s rejection of the family business is just teenage rebellion, or if it has some kind of moral foundation.

The motel Genji takes Jesse to is, as it turns out, a fucking love hotel. Its sign is lit up with pink hearts. Jesse stares at Genji in horror, then takes a moment to stare at Yuri, searching for some sign of dismay on his face. Yuri is as placid and easygoing as always. He goes to book Jesse a room.

“You come here a lot?” Jesse asks, his incredulity making his voice crack. Jesse likes to think that he doesn’t get scandalized too often, but picturing eighteen-year-old Genji frequenting this seedy place is giving him palpitations.

“It’s not like that,” Genji says, grinning irrepressibly, which makes Jesse think that it really is like that. “This is the kind of place my father would never think of looking for me.”

Jesse’s not sure if he’s willing to concede to that. As Shimada had pointed out to him earlier in the day, the family makes a lot of money on brothels. This might not be a brothel, but… actually, it comes pretty close.

Yuri and Genji escort Jesse to his room, then cheerfully abandon him there with his suitcase. “Christ almighty,” Jesse whispers to himself, taking in the gaudy decorations.

He’d like to faceplant onto the bed, but he’s honestly afraid of touching the sheets. Logically, he knows that the health regulations in these kinds of places are strict. They have to wash everything thoroughly. There is very little chance of him being exposed to… anything unpleasant. He doesn’t even want to get more specific than that, not even when he’s reassuring himself.

Besides, now is not the time to start being picky about where he sleeps. He wistfully remembers the gigantic bed in the guesthouse.

Unfortunately, thinking about it also brings back memories of last night.

He groans and throws himself face-first onto the gross love hotel bed, scruples be damned. He ends up curled on his side, hoping against hope that he’ll somehow fall asleep despite the fact that the sun hasn’t even set.

It must be the excess of excitement and adrenaline throughout the day - Jesse drifts off within an hour.

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elbjvr · 2 years

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ELITES IN THE ARTS

The elite class has taken over most aspects on human life in the country. These people have exploited every possible resource there probably is. Once a person has completely divulged himself in the field of arts for monetary validation, he probably knows what the target market is – being a core art dealer to the people sitting on top of their ivory towers, the elite class. Nevertheless, not only do these people diminish the essence of art, but also prioritize the lavish lifestyle in exchange for literally anything, no matter what cost.

The Marcoses, but more specifically, Imelda Marcos, approved the plan to build the infamous Manila Film Center. This goes to show how much the Marcos family exhibits their power during the Ferdinand Marcos era just to satisfy the edifice complex of Imelda. Having the desire to remain on top, the former first lady had no doubts about speed-running the construction of the Manila Film Center which she had envisioned as an equal rival of Cannes, which is known for its film festival until now. The construction of this building has become too costly and risky especially for the workers involved. This meant more workers, more shifts, and longer hours. It was not until a major accident happened that the difficulty of this project was seen. The accident included the collapse of a scaffold and less than 200 construction workers fallen into the wet cement. Imelda ordered the construction team to continue the operation and just cover the fallen bodies with cement for the construction to still push through and meet the deadline, regardless of what happened. Art was not only Imelda’s forte, but the former dictator himself too, used this as propaganda. His goal was to represent and showcase their love for the arts and culture which led to him building the Cultural Center of the Philippines, National Museum, and Philippine High School for the Arts. A certain piece of art circulated during his term which involved Ferdinand Marcos and his wife representing Malakas at Maganda, which is known to be a Philippine legend and the origin of mankind. They both looked at themselves as the sort of authority that withholds their power for the country to see them as legendary Filipinos. This artwork was immensely seen as a deceitful propaganda that can eradicate the unlawful and inhumane Marcos regime truth and replace it as its exact opposite – the Marcos regime as a heavenly and peaceful point in the Philippines. Art has meant everything for FEM and his family, and this reflects on the country’s present perspective on them which is still running on a positive note. What they have done for the Philippines’ love of art has been nothing but destruction, contrary to their “purpose”, because nothing came up from it aside from their own personal satisfaction.

Rogers, L. W. (2010, March 31). Manila Film Center tragedy. Lisa's History Room. Retrieved May 2022, from https://lisawallerrogers.com/tag/manila-film-center-tragedy/

De Guzman, N. (1970, January 1). The mysterious curse of the manila film center. Esquiremag.ph. Retrieved May 2022, from https://www.esquiremag.ph/long-reads/features/manila-film-center-haunted-a1729-20191107-lfrm2

Bulan, A. A. (2021, September 21). 'malakas at maganda' as propaganda: Deceitful Art during martial law. NOLISOLI. Retrieved May 2022, from https://nolisoli.ph/49524/malakas-at-maganda-as-a-propaganda-deceitful-art-during-martial-law-abulan-20180921/

For the Ayalas, art is a commitment especially to the Filipino community. The Ayala Foundation has been one of the key foundations that promotes the awareness of Philippine history through preservation of art and culture such as through the Ayala Museum and the Art Fair Philippines. However grand their promotion of art is, certain issues arise when it comes to the Ayala Land sector of their conglomerate. An example of this Ayala Land issue is the land-grabbing that were often protested against the Ayalas last 2014. The development involved in the land-grabbing incident conversion of the Hacienda Dolores property into their so-called “Alvierra: The Next Nuvali” in collaboration with the LLL Holdings Inc. (Leonio Land) whereas farmer-leaders were the victims of extra-judicial killings and the violation on their farmer rights. Yulo and Ayala landowners are being pointed out to be the minds behind the attacks on the farmers located in Hacienda Yulo, Calamba, Laguna. This simply shows that there is a lack of land reform and farmer protection programs in the country which benefits the landowners as land disputes are most likely to be on the side of the elite since they hold all the power and money to resolve all the cases at hand. This conflict might also be related to the injuries of 4 farmers from the same area where threats of demolition are always the latest news. These people have no power whatsoever to try and fight against these real estate giants as their power of voice do not affect the decisions of the elite. However, this issue does not only revolve around the Ayala and Yulo families as it involves the lack of a better justice system for the poorer side of the country and the absence of a genuine land reform. Power and justice are proven to be biased which also proves that the country is not for the masses and for the general good even in the slightest bit especially when it comes to territorial issues and even in art.

Umil, A. M. (2021, January 19). 6 farmers arrested for harvesting own crops, hundreds others evicted due to land grabbing. Bulatlat. Retrieved May 2022, from https://www.bulatlat.com/2021/01/19/6-farmers-arrested-for-harvesting-own-crops-hundreds-others-evicted-due-to-land-grabbing/

Yulo-Ayala landlordism terrorizes Laguna Farmers. Kilusan ng Magbubukid ng Pilipinas. (2021, January 29). Retrieved May 2022, from https://peasantmovementph.com/2021/01/25/yulo-ayala-landlordism-terrorizes-laguna-farmers/

The Lorenzos are famous for their businesses which are more focused on the food and restaurant industry, like Del Monte Philippines and the infamous Lapanday Foods Corporation. Farmers and banana workers from the Hijo plantation area in Madaum, Tagum City are in consistent struggle with the corporation for two years before they have reclaimed the areas that are rightfully theirs to begin with. Not only did the problem affect the land possession, but also, lives were taken from the banana workers which then includes the sugar workers from Hacienda Luisita in Tarlac. Another issue regarding the Lorenzos is the burning of the Lapanday Food Corporation manufacturing plants located in Davao City last 2017 that resulted in the dispossession and unemployment of hundreds of employees. That same year, a protest in the office of Lapanday Foods Corporation was done due to the numerous land grabbing cases connected to the corporation. Included in this protest, is the formation of a union that calls for the better treatment of the employees and the securing of a better work environment and compensation. Even when there was an agreement, the workers’ demands were not entirely met. According to the National Network of Agrarian Reform Advocates, the Lorenzos have had a wide array of landholdings and accumulated wealth by land grabbing in peasant and Indigenous areas and exploiting the agricultural workers. The oligarchs, however, brainwashed these farmers and farmworkers that they are the current stockholders of the company they work for, when in fact the lands are still on the hands of the Lorenzos while the workers are still endlessly exploited. Their passion for art is a way to drift off the existence of the issues with regards to the workers and their way to invalidate their effect on the minority leaders. It is a hypocritical move for the Lorenzos to use art as their personal propaganda and benefit for them to be seen as a pro-labor and pro-poor corporation and clan.

Martin Lorenzo. UMA Pilipinas. (2015, November 1). Retrieved May 2022, from https://umapilipinas.wordpress.com/tag/martin-lorenzo/

Lorenzo family strongly condemns attack vs LAPANDAY facilities, says workers now Jobless: Bilyonaryo Business News. Bilyonaryo Business News | Latest news on the richest Filipinos and Family Business. (2017, April 30). Retrieved May 2022, from https://bilyonaryo.com/2017/04/30/lorenzo-family-strongly-condemns-attack-vs-lapanday-facilities-says-workers-now-jobless/

teleSUR. (2017, May 4). #occupylapanday: Peasants slam 'heartless' Philippine bosses, vow to reclaim stolen land. News | teleSUR English. Retrieved May 2022, from https://www.telesurenglish.net/news/Peasants-Challenge-Heartless-Philippine-Banana-Oligarchs-Swear-to-Reclaim-Stolen-Land-20170504-0030.html

Joselito Campos Jr. is the current chairman and CEO of the NutriAsia Group of Companies which a major food conglomerate in the country and is one of the richest Filipinos. He is also the current chairman of the Metropolitan Museum of Manila (MET) and the Bonifacio Arts Foundation Inc. (BAFI). The MET is originally built to be a venue of international art exhibitions but is then revised to be a contemporary and modern art collection along with the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas. On the other hand, the NutriAsia Group of Companies has been involved in many controversies which includes contractualization, insufficient salaries, and forced underpaid overtime that therefore led to many strikes and protests by the union members. Their demands for better employee treatment were somehow viewed as violent which made this group of companies resort to attack the strikers with the help of the Philippine National Police and security guards from the company by using a bulldozer and physical violence last 2019. Cases were filed against these strikers but there were reports of sexual harassment that was done by the police officers in charge of the arrests. However, NutriAsia’s intense labor violation and human rights violation are still overlooked as it still has the upper hand in managing the issues thrown against it. The arrests made to these workers were not terminated even when no court order was presented but the government did not take any action with regards to the case of the arrested strikers. All these information about the 2019 strike conflict was highly similar to the 2018 strike in Bulacan whereas people were harmed and were treated like animals just to avoid being hurt by the police and security guards. NutriAsia does not have any reason to be called a safe working environment with all these proven allegations against them and all these people continuously being violated within and outside the workplace. Recalling these enumerated incidents, there were wide calls for boycotting the company’s products even the essentials by introducing alternative resources and personally, I also participated in this boycott movement which until now, my family does.

Løken, E. (2019, August 27). Nutriasia workers illegally arrested, falsely charged and jailed for exercising right to strike. Svensson. Retrieved May 2022, from https://www.svenssonstiftelsen.com/post/nutriasia-workers-illegally-arrested-falsely-charged-and-jailed-for-exercising-right-to-strike

Metropolitan Museum of Manila Manila. Ocula the best in contemporary art icon. (n.d.). Retrieved May 2022, from https://ocula.com/institutions/metropolitan-museum-of-manila/

Bautista, J. (2018, June 17). Look: Why nutriasia workers are on strike. RAPPLER. Retrieved May 2022, from https://www.rappler.com/nation/205166-reason-nutriasia-workers-on-strike/

Dr. Joven Cuanang is a known neurologist, and an art patron and collector. He is also known to be the physician who ordered the ailments and illnesses that prevented the rightful arrest of Imelda Marcos. This is possibly a result of personal conflict of interest (art patronage) just for the former first lady to be saved from jail time. Cuanang is also know as the owner of the Pinto Art Museum located in Antipolo City which is home to Filipino art galleries and lush gardens. A former art curator, Riel Jaramillo Hilario, for the Pinto Art Museum had written about the exhibition space and the artists treatment along with their works. He received complaints from the artists where they felt undervalued by the management. Hilario stated in his written post that some of the museum’s vision was misaligned and was not on the side of the artists. Also, according to him, plenty of the artworks are being mistreated and left alone to be infested by insects, dust, and unwanted elements. The management seems to have defended themselves by putting the blame on natural causes like cats causing a fiberglass sculpture to fall then break. Pinto Art Museum management avoids holding themselves accountable for damages done on the artworks just to also avoid spending money on the needed reparation fees. He has also stated that the museum was quite unfair when it comes to artists’ compensation for the sake of their profitability. On the other hand, for the conflict of interest between Cuanang and Marcos, it is possible that their shared love of art and love of profit have made the physician biased in releasing public statements which is truly unfair to begin with. If there is an appropriate doctor that is also of fair judgment, it must have been someone without prior connections to the patient. The reports of Imelda being ill enough to avoid prison has definitely paved the way of what the masses’ current perspective on the Marcoses is.

Alamares, K. (2021, April 18). La exclusive: Behind the viral social media post about pinto art museum. Lifestyle Asia. Retrieved May 2022, from https://lifestyleasia.onemega.com/social-media-post-pinto-art-museum/

photo from: https://www.rappler.com/life-and-style/210947-juan-luna-boceto-spoliarium/

#arts1 #blog4

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wisp-of-thought · 3 years

Text

Today I am thinking about Alex Claremont-Diaz with the classic bisexual inability to sit properly.

#For some reason all I can imagine is him trying to sit straight professionally at meetings and doing pretty okay at the start #but the longer the meeting goes on the less aware he becomes of his body #bonus points if news outlets like buzzfeed pick it up (like how Buzzfeed wrote about Alex and Henry's bRoMaNcE in Chapter 7)#and write an article about it to and compare it to other photos of Alex sitting-- not properly-- at events before he came out #and the writers being like hOw diD wE nOt kNoW?#buzzfeed article titled: Alex Claremont Diaz has always been a raging bisexual icon and his perpetual inability to sit properly proves this #or: THE NUMBER ONE SIGN WE MISSED THAT ALEX CLAREMONT HAS ALWAYS BEEN PAINFULLY BRUTALLY BEAUTIFULLY BI #red white and royal blue #books #booklr #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #prince henry of wales #june claremont diaz #incorrect red white and royal blue quotes #red white and royal blue fanart #casey mcquiston #first prince #one last stop #carry on #rainbow rowell #bi #bisexual pride #simon snow #baz pitch

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wornoutmouse · 3 years

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I don’t know how to ask you this bestie 😩… But if you write incest do you mind doing one where all might’s daughter has a crush on Endeavor? And they both smash her… Feel free to make it stepcest if that’s more comfortable 🥲

DON’T BESTIE ME YOU FREAK!!!!-

Anyways, congrats on being my FIRST controversial ask. That being said, it took me a while to figure out whether or not I would write this one 🤔. Of course, this will be one of the ones I won’t be able to post on Wattpad lmao, but I’ll give it a go!

If you didn’t already read the request, I will give you the necessary warnings again.

tw: incest….. never thought this day would come, dp

Author's annual moral PSA: I would hope I wouldn't have to tell yall I don't condone this irl. This is both illegal in many states, and in all ways an abuse of power and trust. Not to mention no one should look at their family members in this way and if it has happened to you don't be ashamed of it as it is not your fault but seek help because it is dangerous in the long run. This is for pure fantasy purposes

You are not underage in this fic. I never do underaged work.

There is way too much plot in this

Your cheeks were stretched wide enough to rival your fathers’ as you ran home. Your feet bounce and your pull at your braids nervously as you look out the window of the train, the excitement you felt made you restless to get home. Your neighbors watched you as you ran by, dents caused by your shoes hitting the pavement as your quirk flowed through your pumping blood. “Dad!”

You slam your front door open and scramble through the labyrinth of your rich home. Tossing open your father’s office door unaware of how your outburst startles All Might. “Y-Yes what is it?” Papers flutter all around as you carelessly glide through Toshinori’s neatly stacked papers. You slam the slightly crumpled papers onto his desk, ignoring how the sheer strength of your hand nearly causes his cold cup of coffee to fall. “Remember how 3rd years get the chance to have the first pick in finding the company they’ll sidekick for?!”

All Might watches you with fondness in his eyes as he cleans his glasses off. He was now far in his years, a healthy 82. His hair was now less of a golden yellow and more of beige as it silvered slowly. He was still his normal towering height, retained much of his muscles, and could periodically assume his big form now that he finally had the time to rest and heal properly. “You mean the program that you talked about every day because it was free.”

You roll your eyes, “Free for me, not for you. Anyways look, look, look!” You hold the paper in his face and he takes it from you, “I see you were accepted into your first choice at-” You snatch the paper from him and hop around excitedly, “-At Endevā Jimusho And that’s not even the best part!” All Might's contempt face drops, “All sidekicks get to stay in a guest house in close quarters with Endeavor himself!!"

Joy no longer existed in Toshinori's emotional library. "Absolutely not." Your face falls and your rant halts completely. "What?" Yagi puts his glasses on and shuffles through his papers stiffly, "I do not agree on Endeavors training methods." You raise an eyebrow, "Is this coming from the man that punched Pro-Hero Dynamite and Deku into buildings during an emergency villain drill? In front of everyone?"

Yagi hides his face behind a stapled packet, "I was giving them a taste of reality, a villain does not care for a hero's well-being." You sit down on his desk, legs crossed before curling your finger over his paper, your eyes miss how AllMight briefly glances down, “Yes, but isn’t it a job as a hero to protect people, even the students they train?” Yagi craned his neck until it makes a satisfying crack, a smirk adorning his lips. “I suppose you are right.”

He thinks for a moment before silently shuffling his papers before returning his gaze to your hopeful face, “Why should I assist you with your obvious little crush on my coworker?” You clearly stiffen “Well if it will make you happy-” You don’t allow him to finish before your arms around his shoulders squeezing his neck with most of your strength.

AllMight watches you leave his room slightly disheartened, reaching into his desk drawer he pulls out his phone and dials. “What do you want?” AllMight leans back in his chair pulling at his pants to loosen the tension in his groin, “A proposition.”

The next day Yagi is driving you to your new home for the next 6 months. Your eyes glaze over with futuristic thoughts on how your stay would be. “Everything is so shiny!” Yagi shrugs as he pulls into the parking lot. Enji was always minimalistic when it came to modern designs.” Your head snaps to Toshinori’s side of the car, “His name is Enji!?” Your question is laughed off as Toshinori shuts the car off.

Although your amazement is captured solely by the prospect of working with a pro-hero, the fact that your father is a pro-hero does not go unnoticed by the people around you. “Is that AllMight!” “Should I ask for his picture?!” Even with Yagi’s shadow enveloping your body your attention hones in on the automatic glass doors in front of you.

Inside there is a crowd of students experiencing orientation and getting assigned their respective dorm and possible roommate. You take your first steps in their direction before your arm is pulled and Yagi dawns a playful grin as he presses his finger to his lips. You follow him, eyebrows furrowed “You aren’t trying to change my mind are you?” You don’t get an answer as you are dragged along.

Stairs after stair you follow your father until you come to the very top, legs throbbing but interest peaked. Yagi opens two double doors as easily as breathing and your eyes go wide as the broad shoulders of a familiar hero come into view. “You’re finally here, took you long enough.” Your heart beats in your chest, auburn hair, broad shoulders, and a stoic face that you’d only seen on television, now present in front of you. Yagi shuts the door causing you to jump, “Oh um hi!” A large hand touches your shoulder making you jump” Calm down Y/n!” A cheerful exclamation rings out from above you as Yagi transforms into his larger form.

Heavy footsteps make the room shake wherever the two men walk around the room, “I heard you wanted to meet with me.” Your demeanor goes from uneasy to panicked giggling, “O-Oh really, who told you that!’ AllMight chuckles before patting your head, why don’t you ask him all the silly questions you want, I have to use the restroom.

Endeavor leans against his desk, arms crossed allowing his muscles to bulge through his white button-up shirt. “Yagi tells me a lot of good things about you.” Endeavor stands straighter, a ballpoint pen in hand before he gestures for you to take a seat. You settle in the seat glancing towards the door before looking up at Endeavor who settles on his desk. “What’s the matter, you seem nervous?” The deepness of his tone sends a shiver down your spine. Shifting your legs closer together you clear your throat, “I’m just not used to meeting my childhood hero in person.” Endeavor laughs in a way that sounds more like a bellow, “When you say it like that I feel old!”

Your face hadn’t stopped burning since you entered the room but the joke forced a chuckle through your lips allowing you to relax just a little bit. Calculating eyes narrow, making you feel even smaller than you already did in the hero’s presence. “Now, come on. I’m sure you have something you’d always wanted to do if you met your hero.” Endeavor’s happy-go-lucky attitude catches you off guard as it juxtaposes the hardened persona he had cultivated over the years. “Well, I suppose a picture would be a start if you don’t mind?”

Seconds later you somehow find yourself in Endeavor's lap as he holds the camera up for a picture. His body is unpainted hot but you assume that was simply just a side effect of his quirk. “Um, are you sure you’re okay with this?” Endeavor hums in acceptance. A heavy arm loops around your waist pulling you closer, close enough to become aware of a problem pressed gently against your ass. “Oh!” Endeavor’s fingers slipped pressing the capture button, “What’s wrong did I do it wrong?” You shake your head becoming embarrassed for the both of you, “Nothing!” Enji’s voice lowers into a mumble that reverberated against the back of your neck, “Good.”

Enji straightens his arm once more to retake the picture and you awkwardly smile into the camera, grin becoming strained when he had yet to snap the photo. You shuffle the slightest bit to get a more comfortable position and a guttural groan is released from Enji’s lips. "Are you alright, Endeavor?" Your question is ignored and your phone is put down on the table. Large hands contrasting unbridled power is your stomach delicately as though you were made of porcelain. "Are you sure there is nothing else you'd like to do with your hero?"

Endeavors face nudges away your braids allowing him to press his heated mouth against your skin. "Nothing that would help you get to know them better?" You don't get to respond, your body is hoisted around to face Endeavor. Why nervousness clearly painting itself on your features before being overcome with confused pleasure as Endeavor pressed his lips against your own.

You moan against his lips, hips grinding against each other, the thought of where you are slipped past your mind and to your pussy. Endeavors hands down your body, pinching and pulling before sighing with his calloused fingernails. You couldn't believe this was happening, you feel your pants being pulled off. Just yesterday you believed that you would only be able to meet your hero in passing. Your bra is on the floor and your pussy weeps against his slacks.

The motions are fast-paced and you feel his thumb pressing against your clit. “Yes!” Endeavor kisses your lips, his stubble scratching your cheeks slightly as his tongue explores your mouth. Confidence floods your body as you hop off of Endeavor's lap and quickly undo the buttons of his slacks, he watches you out of breath in the best way.

Thick in your hands, the veins twitch to the tune of his blood. The clear stickiness of pre-cum coats the underside and you use it to stroke his length. "Please fuck me Endeavor!" You look up at him, face contorted with desperate thoughts as you angle your body towards his cock, the tip of it rubbing against your folds. You were wet, so wet making the fuchsia tip of his cock feel more engorged.

"Don't regret this. "You’re pulled back into his lap with ease, pussy trembling from the display of strength. With Endeavor holding your weight and your hand positioning his length below you, the slide down was easy as it could be. Your legs wrap around his waist as you adjust to him. “We have to be quick.” Endeavor rolls your hips when your breathing becomes even again, “We have all the time in the world.” You smirk trailing your finger up Enji’s chest, “What, you have a thing for getting caught?”

Your cheeks are spread apart by Endeavor’s fingers as he hooks one into the small slit left remaining in your pussy. “Something like that.” From behind you the sound of the door shutting makes your neck quickly craned around to look back. Standing with his arms behind his back and an unreadable expression stood Yagi, “Am I missing the party?” Ashamed excuses leave your mouth, tearful and panicked you squeal when Endeavor raises your hips before sliding you down his cock. “No, you are just in time.”

Yagi slowly removes the suit he wore, shrugging off his suit jacket as the sound of your muffled whimpers filter through his ears. You hide your face, curling into Endeavor’s form but a hand stops you, gripping your face, “Don’t be shy, it was his idea after all.” AllMight chuckled, “Yeah, it took a lot of convincing on my part.”Long fingers wrapped around the base of your skull where your braids connect before yanking your head back.

Toshinori looked down at you, face stoic and mockingly disappointed, "I thought it would take a lot more convincing but look at you. " Yagi dragged the back of his hand around your jaw and down your chest ripping the fabric with ease. Your tits bounced on every thrust that Endeavor continued to make, wordless moans and drool leaving your moan as your pussy clenched around the cock inside you.

"Such a little whore for him aren't you?" You shake your head in protest before your eyes widen as chapped but soft lips are placed over yours. He was kissing you, your brain short circuits as his tongue forces its way past your lips. It's wrong, you know that. Hell, this whole situation is wrong. You should be downstairs with the others doing orientation, not upstairs riding the cock of a pro-hero and french kissing the other. You knew it was wrong, but why did it feel so good?

Endeavor groans at how sloppy you were becoming. The sound of your pussy squelching as cream gathered around Endeavor's cock before being pushed back inside of you. "So both of you are twisted in the head." A large thumb presses down on your clit making your pussy spasm as you cum from the heightened stimulation. Endeavor keeps thrusting, his libido unmatched and energy pent up.

Yagi reaches in between the two of you pressing his palm against your pussy as his fingertips graze Enji’s dick on every upstroke. “Are you getting wetter sweetheart? He feels so good doesn't he?" Your mouth is agape and your weak hands Endeavor's shoulder is the only thing keeping you upright when your eyes roll back. "Y-Yes daddy!" Yagi wheezes before he's fiddling with his suit pants and pulling you back by your hair.

It was a strange display of balance on your end. Endeavor’s arms hold your legs tightly in order to keep you on his lap and on his cock meanwhile you are as your father slaps his hardened cock against your cheek, splashing his precum onto your chin. "I got you this far dear, why don't you return the favor?"

Whether it was diluted senses or your subconscious coming forward, you open your mouth for him, moaning as he invades every crevice of your jaw. Your throat constricts and you retch around the warm heat. Yagi is unapologetic and downright brutal as he pulls back before bringing his hips forward again.

The two men's moans empty into the office room and your garbled cooking is ignored as they both have their fill, leaving you to wonder if this really was for you. Numbness invaded your senses as you come again on Endeavor's cock with him not that far behind as he blows his load into your pussy. "It's been a while I will admit." Endeavor slaps your pussy once, then twice just to feel you squeeze down on him every time your hips jerked.

Tears and drool running down your face the faster your father fucks your throat and you knew you'd be sore the next day. "My turn." All Might pulls out and walks away not even showing you a glance as you choke from the lack of oxygen. Enji helps you sit up and wipes your face before Toshinori is pulling you away from Endeavor showing no care that his cock was still in you. He sits down and pulls you onto his own lap ignoring your dazed look as your brain struggles with the various changes of attitude.

"You gotta thank daddy for helping you meet your hero, don't you think?” His hand cups your round cheeks before the other slams down on the other one. Overestimated tears tremble down your brown skin as you hiccup, "Yes daddy." You rock against his cock, both your saliva and his own precum staining your stomach and public hair.

He fills you, even better than Endeavor did, and begins his onslaught of thrusts. You scream, the sound no doubt traveling outside the room, "Daddy please fuck me!!!" The speed at which you were moving was one that could only be done by a hero and it was more pain than pleasure. The constant pounding of your cervix makes your teeth clench together each time his mushroom head punches it.

"Yes, give daddy this sloppy pussy, squeeze down for me-oh fuck!" Lewd words you never even believed Yagi was capable of saying leave his lips. Your shoulder is bit by the redheaded man behind you as he cups your breasts together, tugging on your nipple before rubbing the nubbed patterns on your areolas. "I can't take it any more daddy please!" Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he causes your pussy to queen and cream, balls slapping the underside of your ass, sticky with Endeavor’s cum.

"This is what you raised Yagi? A little whore?" Yagi chuckles, "I'm just as surprised as you are Enji, say why don't you join? You aren't one and done are you?" Endeavor scoffs, you wish that upon me don't you?"

Your mind, altered with lust, does not understand the hidden meaning behind the word "join" but you soon realize it when fat fingers are pushing their way in the same hole Toshinori occupied. "E-Endeavor?" You're shushed as his fingers pump inside you with Yagi’s cock, curling and prodding your walls at every turn. You feel fuller than you ever thought you could and the pressure only continued.

"Look at my pretty little girl taking her daddy's cock, so fucking tight for me. Can you do this for Endeavor too? Fit both our fat cocks in your hero guzzling hole?" You nod at the degradation and feel the warmth from Endeavor envelope your back. His tip massages the stretched opening as Yagi stops thrusting for a moment.

There is silence, and then there is pain. You hardly feel the initial penetration of Enji’s cock, but you do feel it when Yagi tries to move again. You can hardly breathe between the sandwich the 3 of you created and your comfort is practically ignored as they both begin to move at opposite tempos. “O-oh god!” With your eyes screwed shut and mouth agape the two men grunt against your ears.

Your g-spot and cervix are both pushed against as their thrusts become more impersonal. Endeavor grabs your arms from around Yagi’s neck before pulling them behind your back. Your legs tremble uselessly around Toshinori’s thighs. His breath huffing the more he exerted himself steam easily slipping from his lips the faster he went. “I’m gonna cum!” Endeavor grunts, pistoning out of you even faster than he was before. A hand rests on his shoulder and he’s shoved back making you whimper from the partial emptiness. “Not inside bastard.”

Yagi becomes his gental self again as his still hard cock slips from your entrance. He places you on the ground giving you time to prop yourself up before grabiing his dick and stroking it infront of your face. You are to fucked out to do anything but present yourself as a pretty little canvas as his cum paints your face. You lick the small drops painting your chin before flashing a coy smile, “Thank you Daddy!”

#tw: inc*st #endeavor smut #all might smut #endeavor x all might x reader #mha smut #problimatic works #mha x black reader

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hellyeahbakubby · 4 years

Text

“how they hint that they’re in the ~mood~” | bnha

♔ - headcanons how a few of the bnha boys let you know that they’re in the mood. pairings - dabi x reader, aizawa x reader, todoroki x reader, chisaki x reader, bakugou x reader tags - NSFW HEADCANONS, mentions of sex, kisses, neck kisses, hORNY bois, swearing. [CHARACTERS AGED 18+] a/n - i’m not dead guys, i swear. and idk why THIS is what I’m writing but uh, here you go ig x also gonna start pre-writing things for our favourite october writing event ;) if ya know what I mean so perhaps maybe a little sprinkle of fluff or angst during that time. masterlist ▬ [ check out “how they hint that they’re in the ~mood~” for present mic here! ] WARNING: SLIGHT NSFW, nothing explicit or graphic but proceed responsibly if you are under the age of 16.

dabi ▪︎ ✝️

Any other day Dabi is a cocky lil shit, always teasing you, making sure to push all your buttons, giving you that shit-eating grin, but when he’s in the mood it’s suddenly much more direct, much more purposeful,

He’s not longer only looking for a reaction, he’s on a mission and one way or another he’ll get what he wants,

Expect to be be stalked through the hallways of the hideout, a cloaked mass never far behind. Expect him to come up behind you as you stand fixing a snack for yourself, his heavy breath blowing across your neck as he puts his hands on your waist, cooing something into your ear. Expect the amount of eye contact and physical affection to escalate,

However if you don’t catch on to his increased attention he’ll happily spell it out for you, a quick kiss or nib to the supple skin below your ear, a squeeze or smack to the ass followed by a lewd purr, a loud comment on how “fucking hot” you look or an innuendo tossed at you from across the room,

If you’re still oblivious to what he wants he’ll look you dead in the eyes and politely ask you ‘to help him out with something’ a hungry gleam in his shiny blue eyes, or he’ll just straight up as you to jump in his lap or suck his dick. He isn’t ashamed of what he wants by any stretch.

aizawa shouta ▪︎ 🌃

Shouta is far more subtle about showing what he wants, he tries not to be too direct and most of the time ends up letting you know through indirect subconscious actions he makes,

Although they aren’t rare, kisses with Shouta will become ten times more frequent, and more intense, a longer kiss on the cheek in passing (he’ll find as many excuses as possible to do this), more forceful ‘hello’ kiss on the lips, if he’s feeling really hot it may just so happen that his tongue slips its way past your lips as well,

He’ll also stand up straighter. His normally slouched shoulders will be replaced with almost perfect posture in an attempt to appear bigger, stronger, to catch your attention. Most of the time he doesn’t realises he’s doing it,

When he’s in the mood he’ll begin to get undressed ie. he’ll loosen or take off his tie if he’s wearing one, he’ll be quicker to lose his capture weapon, or he’ll change from his long-sleeved sweatsuit into a pair of tighter sweat pants and a well-fitting tee. Yet again another thing he’s not fully conscious of,

And finally the hair goes up, whether it’s a bun or just a simple ponytail, it means business. Unless, he’s sitting down to finish some paperwork, once it’s up you know exactly what’s about to go down. It’s begun to confuse him how you seem to know exactly when he’s in the mood seeing as he rarely tells you straight to your face,

BONUS: I also feel like Shouta is the type of person to have a set day or time to fool around planned in advance, taking into account when your schedules align and making sure both of you are properly prepared (also planning ahead gives more opportunity for less conventional.

todoroki shouto ▪︎ ☯️

Shouto tries to let you know directly, but for a while his signs are just a little too subtle for you to pick up on,

Bending down, he’ll nudge his head into shoulder, nuzzling you in a most affectionate manner. He’s all about letting you know through physical contact and while he is incredibly sexy, he’s not as smooth as some of the others. He might walk up behind you, slipping his hands around your waist but instead of whispering anything of the spicy nature he’ll just lightly hum against your neck, an occasional kiss or bite placed to your skin,

He’s very subtle, almost romantic about letting you know, his sweetness sometimes hiding his desire. “You smell wonderful, angel.” He’ll compliment you in the kindest way, supposedly trying to let you know how hot he is for you right now but unfortunately he also says the same things whenever he sees you,

One of the things he does which immediately lets you know what he wants is when he kisses you. Any other time a kiss with Shouto is romantic, a light peck on the lips, a couple of seconds or two long but when he’s in the mood shit gets real. You can feel the passion behind his lips and it’s sort of unnerving how hungry he gets to taste you. He could kiss you for hours and if you’ll allow him he’ll pull you into his lap as he kisses you like a man starved,

Finally he’ll run his fingers across your skin. Letting an infinitesimal amount of his power out. Whether it’s a sudden, unexpected heat of his left hand or the brutally icy touch of his right, he knows just how to set your body alight.

chisaki kai ▪︎ 🌇

This man doesn’t hint at anything. The moment Kai wants to do something it’s over for you,

It’s all in the eye contact. As soon as you walk into the room and your gaze meets his you know, whether that’s a good thing or not, you know. The hunger that lies beneath those shiny gold eyes is a tell-tale sign of what’s in store for you and you can’t help but squirm under his gaze

Kai doesn’t care who knows what he’s going to do to you, if anything he enjoys knowing his underlings are well aware of it, it ensures that they know why you belong to (as if he wasn’t overprotective and possessive already). But this means that if he’s feeling into the mood and there are others in the room, perhaps you’re even in the middle of a meeting, he’ll call you over with his steely gaze and a singular beckoning finger. He’ll sit you in his lap and he’ll have you sit there until either he can’t wait any longer or the meeting is over. He’s almost masochistic in the sense that he’ll stop himself from doing anything until he can’t physically control himself.

At which point he’ll throw everyone else out of the room and have you right there, with all of that built up tension.

Another way he’ll show you he’s in the mood, although this rarely happens, is by increased physical touch. Normally repulsed by unnecessary physical affection Kai with subconsciously tell you what he wants by holding your hand, or laying an arm around your shoulder or waist, even stroking your face or running a finger along your lips. This is only ever the times when he doesn’t realise he’s horny or doesn’t want to be because he’s concentration on something else. Although he does enjoy it, sex is far more like something that has to be done to Kai. Sure, he’ll make it a big deal and make sure he and you enjoy it to its full extent but it’s sort of like eating. Needs to be done, can be made more enjoyable by eating (or in this case doing) what you like, but it’s not special or precious in the way it is to others.

bakugou katsuki ▪︎ ✴

Although it isn’t exactly intentionally on his behalf, it’s the change in his demeanor that really lets you knows he’s down to fool around,

Say bye-bye to to “DIE!” and other assorted angry boy statements and say hello to surprisingly suave and smooth boom boom boy,

“Hmmm, princess, look at you.” Eyes flicking up and down you, words rolling off his tongue like honey. He has this unforeseen knack to make you weak at the knees whenever he wants to. It’s like a switch has been flipped. Sure, you find him attractive as hell any other day and he damn well knows it but when he wants to, everything gets serious and that includes his attitude. He’s on a mission now and hoo, boy is he going to achieve it.

However because of the number of times Katsuki and you are beckoned to have dinner with, or go out for a drink with the Bakusquad there is no doubt there have been times Katsuki has been in the mood and you’ve been out and about.

Katsuki is rather private and he is all in favour of keeping everything that goes on between the two of you a secret. But in the instance that you’re out for a drink or whatever and he’s ready to go (in more way than one) he’ll happily be a little more frisky to get your attention. Whether that’s a hand on your thigh, a tighter grip on your waist as he comes up behind you, a soft nib to your earlobe, whatever. So long as you know what he’s trying to say and know that the sooner you leave the better.

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rayshippouuchiha · 2 years

Note

If you wrote about Orochimaru as the main character what would happen ?

Ohh man. An Orochimaru centric fic would probably focus on a young Orochimaru's growing obsession with connections.

Just, a young Orochimaru who is an orphan, who both clings to and rejects the few faded memories he has of his parents before their gruesome and suspect deaths. Who cannot help the way some small bit of him is twisted from so young an age.

And it only grows worse bit by bit as he grows up under the not so tender mercies of the matron of one of Konoha's less reputable orphanages.

He is aware, even from a young age, that he is different. Different in a way that goes beyond his intelligence or his chakra active nature.

His body is different than the others in the orphanage. His skin, his hair, the purple markings around his too strange eyes are all so different from the other orphans. Even his teeth tell his strangeness.

It speaks of Clan heritage, this strangeness of his. Speaks of a bloodline of some kind that is found only in those of shinobi lineage.

And yet no Clan comes to claim him. There are no records of those who would match him. He doesn't even remember his parents' names and their grave marker is hauntingly blank.

There is nothing, no one to call his own.

Then he becomes a genin, is placed on a team under Sarutobi-sensei.

And for the first time Orochimaru thinks he knows love.

Love for Tsunade, for Jiraiya, for Hiruzen-sensei.

A possessive and sometimes terrible sort of love perhaps but love all the same. Because for the first time Orochimaru has something that is his.

And so time passes and he grows and learns and creates and loves his team.

For a time, through battles and blood and years of togetherness, it even seems as if they love him back.

Then Tsunade meets Dan.

Orochimaru wants to hate him, this idealistic fool who turns his Hime's head, but there is a glow to her that Orochimaru has never seen before. A glow bright enough to bank down even his distaste.

He knows then that the love they shared between the three of them is bound to change.

And it does.

Far more than even he had anticipated.

Because there's a sourness, a quiet sort of bitterness, to Jiraiya now that Orochimaru cannot seem to erase.

A melancholy that, Orochimaru realizes quickly enough, he is not enough to erase.

Jiraiya's love and care has always flowed the easiest between them when Tsunade was the focus, Orochimaru finally realizes. Finally allows himself to admit.

And Tsunade has always loved them both so fiercely but she has also always had connections that flow outside of their team, the only one of them with an actual family and now an outside lover.

It hurts, a bitter and hissing kind of pain, to realize once again that he is the odd one out.

It only grows worse when he overhears Hiruzen-sensei despairing over him to Jiraiya one evening, moaning softly over the darkness he senses in his odd student.

Jiraiya, for all that he has continued to stumble in and out of Orochimaru's home and bed even if Tsunade no longer joins them in the latter for anything beyond sleep, does not disagree.

It's the final straw for him. The final confirmation of just how much of what he thought he'd found was built on lies and waning tolerance.

For a time Orochimaru rages, incandescent in his murderous grief and vicious betrayal. He cuts a bloody and vicious path through every battlefield. His doors are barred and his bed no longer open and welcoming. His tongue is as sharp as his fangs and twice as deadly whenever his former teammates come near.

The slights and insults of others he would have once overlooked are no longer tolerated. Instead they are repaid in ways that fall just short of breaking enough laws to have him reprimanded.

Orochimaru becomes set on proving himself the monster they have apparently always thought him to be anyways. Spiteful in a way that makes his blood sing.

Tsunade is the only one who can get near him after some time. The only one who continues to try. He loves and hates her in equal measures for it.

His viciousness succeeds in causing the others to turn from him further.

His rage grows with every snub.

A cruel and unending cycle.

It's not until he meets Sakumo, the white-haired Hatake with his grief-worn shoulders, slow smile, and the already vicious little cub he carts around, that something outside of his work and his anger grabs Orochimaru's attention once more.

Sakumo looks at him and sees a person, treats Orochimaru with the casual friendliness that far too few in Konoha have ever granted him. Does not shy from him or turn him away from his tiny Kakashi as so many others have. Does not treat Orochimaru as other, as something to be protected against despite them both swearing loyalty to the same cause.

Sakumo smiles at him and places little Kakashi in his arms one afternoon and Orochimaru is gone.

It's intoxicating, addictive. A balm to a lifetime of wounds Orochimaru refuses to admit to but cannot help but dwell over.

Perhaps the Hatake duo might finally give Orochimaru something worthy of his full devotion.

#RayRambles #Naruto #Orochimaru #OrochimaruSakumo #Of Fang And Scale AU

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undead-merman · 3 years

Text

🧜‍♂️MerMay- The Brothers🧜‍♂️GN Reader- SFW

Lucifer

Appearance

Lucifer has a long black tail with a hint of a royal blue striping on the back. His scales are smooth and small, ganoid shaped and are completely flat. A few black scales are on his face, just at the corner of his eyes giving them a sharper appearance and forming a diamond shape on his forehead. There is one scale slightly out of place on his diamond mark; it's not noticeable unless seen close up.

His fins are long and flowing and are in the shape of rounded spades. He has a tear on his dorsal fin which goes all the way through the fin and has a scar on his back. His caudal fin is the largest on his body and has a peacock like pattern that can be flushed making the colors go from the normally black with barely visible blue to bright flashy blues, and reds on deep blacks.

His human skin is colored like a great white shark: creamy light skin on his stomach, fading to grey on his back; granting him the ability to countershade and aid in avoiding detection from above and below.

His face exhibits many shark features: broad and round head, small eyes, his mouth is filled with large teeth, and a flat nose.

Daily life

He’s very broody so he prefers the twilight and night hours; being accustomed to swimming in the deep parts of the ocean, too much light hurts his eyes but he also just enjoys the dark endless water with starlight above.

He has a very strict schedule, patrolling his nest, fighting off intruders, meeting up with Diavolo to hunt, clean up his brother's messes, patrol, try to sleep and get interrupted by one of his brothers if not more, and repeat.

He’s a carnivore so he enjoys eating whales, and sharks. He dislikes crabs and lobsters since they’re bottom feeders and he finds the idea of eating them very distasteful.

He’s meticulous with grooming himself. He’s always sharpening his claws and forever growing teeth, picking them and cleaning them until they gleam in the light and buffing his scales to make them shimmer.

When alone he enjoys trying to nap amongst a peaceful patch of seagrass. Drifting away slowly as curious little fish swim around him and the plant life softly brushes by with the current.

He enjoys playing the violin, which surprisingly works, making melodies that haunt divers unfortunate enough to hear.

Life with you

If you're a morning person you’ll get to see his sleeping unguarded face. He’ll try to wake up with you once he realizes, and within a few weeks he’ll be waking up far before you. He somehow has a built-in clock wired to try and make him wake up before you.

If you're a night person he’s thrilled to share some of the prettiest sights the ocean has to offer when the moon is out. Showing you his favorite spots to enjoy the night in silence.

He becomes very protective of you and constantly scents you before leaving your side. Rubbing his palms on your cheeks or circling his tail loosely around you before brushing up on you as he swims away. No one will dare come near you if you smell so much like him.

He hates to admit it but he has the natural instinct of him bringing shiny things to you. He won’t even notice it until he pulls your hands in his and suddenly you have a shiny piece of sea glass in your hand. His face heats up if you tease him about it and suddenly he finds a speck on the wall very interesting.

Mammon

Appearance

As golden as gold can look, being actual gold, Mammon has the boldest scales of all the brothers. He’s not sure why they are, they’ve just always been that way and their weight doesn’t seem to be affected. His scales are ctenoid and can cut if he flares his scales and hits you with his tail. He doesn’t have any scales on his face and his skin seems to glow in the morning sun.

His fins are exactly like that of a long spined sea scorpion with them having large painful spines inside them. Unlike the other fish he has a painful venom that can leave someone reeling in pain for days. It won’t kill but it’ll hurt!

He has two sets of canines that are very noticeable when he opens his mouth to talk. His upper right canine tooth has a gold coating making the tooth look like it’s made of gold. The top pair always hang out of his mouth while the lower one is hidden.

He has shorter nails more meant for prying than slashing. Though they’re surprisingly well manicured and painted white.

Daily life

100% a morning person. Wakes up all groggy but after brushing his scales he's peppy and ready to start the day.

Mammon hoards his shedded scales, after all they are gold. He puts them in an old vintage submariner foot locker, nearly rotted apart but he sticks random stickers or patches onto it to help keep it together. A lot of the time the brothers will just take the money they are owed from the chest and Mammon whines about it; however, if they're pissed they’ll pluck some scales from him painfully.

His scales get plucked often: by the sea witches to whom he owes a massive debt to, his angry brothers, even Solomon sometimes plucks them off like he’s a pez dispenser. Because of this he sometimes has very sensitive scaleless spots. They grow back within a day but it still hurts.

He joins Lucifer in patrolling their territory. He’s just as protective over his space as Lucifer is, and of course he wants to look out for his younger brothers, but he won’t admit that unless it gives him a chance to use pity points to get out of trouble.

Very particular about his scales. He wants them looking pretty and as bright as they can be. Contrarily, he doesn’t give the same treatment for his hair, calling running his hands through to get the tangles out good enough.

Life with you

If you show concern for his scales he’ll play it off like it doesn’t hurt and it's really just a bother, but it isn’t. If you continue to worry about him or even offer to help patch him up he will become much more protective of you. You treat him so kindly that he doesn’t want that to stop.

If he’s in a bad mood or he gets jealous of someone, he'll grab you and shove his face into your neck and twist till his face is thoroughly buried. He wants to smell you so he can calm down and basically scream at anyone who comes by that you are something very close to Mammon so don't you dare touch.

He’ll try to drag you around to join in his mischief. Joining him in gambling rings or minnow racing. He’ll insist you're a lucky charm, though he just likes your company. He loves to bear hug you if he wins big and he holds you above him in the water with a big smile on his face.

Another victim of random shiny gifts for you. He's more aware of it and brags about how neat it looks even if it's just some old mirror. He’s always trying to play up how amazing his little gifts are.

Leviathan

Appearance

His tail is very long, much longer than his brothers though it's thinner and has less muscle. His scales are ganoid shaped and colored the same color as his hair with a white underneath. During the night he has bright cyan bioluminescence circles on his sides. His eyes and tongue glowing as well with a very faint glow to his teeth as well.

He’s embarrassed about it but he has multiple random patches of scales around his face and he thinks it makes him look weird.

His fins are shaped much like a goldfish, even having a round double tail and flowing fins. He is the most delicate looking one. But if he gets angry he transforms into a gigantic sea monster and can cause storms.

He’s an omnivore so his teeth are small and much like a humans. They fall out if they get damaged but like a shark they’ll always grow back.

His skin is also counter shaded like Lucifer. Though more ashy gray color than his older brother. Unfortunately his bioluminescent colored scales, even though they pulse in brightness, make him much easier to spot.

Daily life

He’s a night dweller through and through and refuses to swim during daylight hours. He likes to dwell in deeper waters so the light isn’t too much for him; but he mostly likes to stay in his cave and obsess over his washed up anime knicknacks. Making sure to pluck away barnacles and clean the muck off.

Since he’s an omnivore he’ll eat whatever is nearby. He enjoys jellyfish and the deadlier they are to humans the more he likes them. He's unaffected by their venom. Though he’ll enjoy a crab or free swimming fish.

Leviathan does not like patrolling; he’d much rather leave the scuffling to everyone else so he can focus on more important things, like trying to dry out a keyboard in his open air room.

His room is open air and inside a cave that can be accessed by a nearby beach. Inside is a shrine to his collection and he’s always fawning over it.

He loves that he matches with his fish friend Henry. They are extremely similar in shape, even having similar tails. He has a fresh water tank inside so Henry doesn’t get too dried up from the salt water. Leviathan can handle both fresh and saltwater so sometimes he hops into the tank to swim near his friend.

He’s very self conscious of his scales, especially the ones on his face so he has to make sure they look nice. His hair has to be styled just right to distract them from his face. He has a habit of pulling his bangs down over his eyes when he’s flustered.

Life with you

Once he’s bonded with you he is constantly by your side and wanting to spend as much quality time with you as he can. He’ll be trailing you talking about the little curiosities he’s found. He whines about how he wants to go back to his cave but he won’t leave your side.

He’ll show you his collection of nicknacks and if you're able to set up a little television and gamecube he’ll be ecstatically waving his fish tail around like a dog. He’ll constantly beg you to play with him. He wants to CO-OP this game with you!

If he’s feeling cuddly that day he’ll float up to the surface and let you lounge on him and let the waves gently rock you both. He’ll hum old sea shanties he’s heard from sailors long ago as well as some anime songs from a series you enjoy together.

Expect him to drag you to his spots for finding his little curiosities, he’ll want you to help him scour the area and find more fun items. He’s very happy with whatever you bring and he’ll keep them around his nest.

Satan

Appearance

Satan is built similarly to Lucifer though his scales are more raised and spiny. His tail is a bright shamrock green which shifts to a seafoam green. He has a bunch of scales on the corners of his mouth and completely covers his cheeks.

His fins are long and have a crowntail shape that are tipped a deep black. When he gets angry his fins flare up making him look much, much bigger.

He has a flatter nose and bigger teeth like Lucifer. While they aren’t as sharp they are still dangerous if he’s mad.

His skin also glows in the bright morning sun and if he’s lounging around he’ll attract nearby small fish to swim around him enjoying the serene glow he has.

Daily life

He takes a long time waking up, and he’s not a morning person at all. He’s dazed for an hour or so until he’s fully awake, though he’s not much of a night person, more preferring midday.

He’s currently got the goal of piecing together the world’s true histories. Figuring out what happened to old forgotten cities, lost treasures, and destroyed civilizations. He has a long way to go and he treats this handcrafted book like a child, holding it far above the water.

He explores with random, yet reputable exploration teams. Helping them with identifying relics or gems. He’s earned a reputation for himself by doing this and is often approached to go on expeditions.

He is another type to patrol around his territory. He does it around midday though and hunts during these. He’s a carnivore and likes tuna and other free swimming fish, but refuses to eat squid and octopi due to how smart they are. He likes to feed nearby ones. Though they aren’t as cute as human world cats.

He’ll go to a human world pier and try to attract the local stray cats with his tail. He’ll leave them little gifts so now all the local cats come to the docks at a certain time to wait for him. He really wants to have a cat but sadly it’s a love that’s not meant to be, they are from two different worlds.

Life with you

He’ll enjoy taking you on expeditions. Showing you beautiful sunken landscapes very few eyes have seen before. He loves seeing your reactions to sights.

He enjoys learning your hobbies and trying them out with you. He’ll go out of his way to provide an accurate experience to what you're used to since he enjoys learning and experiencing new things, especially now that you're here.

He's another one that loves to rub his smell all over you. He’s just as bad as Mammon, his smell is all over every part he can get to and stinks of “back off, don’t touch” causing others to give you a wide berth.

He’s going to hang off of you every morning. If you're larger than him he shoves his face into your chest and tries to go back to sleep. He looks so different with his sleeping face, he looks peaceful in your arms. But if you're smaller he’ll flop onto you and try to use you as a pillow. He’s surprisingly warm and his underside isn’t as spiny and sharp.

He’ll want to introduce you to his octopi friends. Each one is named after a different sea or famous author. If you agree he’ll be delighted to take you there and let you play with them. Though he might get a bit jealous if you get along with them a bit too much. He won’t show his jealousy though.

Asmodeus

Appearance

He’s the most serine and delicate looking of all his brothers. His thin body has a bright cherry blossom pink tail and has long silky looking fins. His bright scales sparkle and shimmer and have a pearlescence to them. He has perfectly pure white scales patches on his tail as well giving a koi pattern.

He resembles a butterfly koi but with longer and frankly impractical looking fins. They flow around him weightless and they look like silk in the wind around him. Even his dorsal fin is long and flowing.

He doesn’t have any scales on his face and he looks perfectly human from the waist up. His skin has an angelic like glow and shimmers in the sun. He has a few freckles on his face, chest and elbows.

He has small pearly white teeth just like a human would, he’s very keen on keeping them perfectly white, just like his white scales, but his canines can extend like a cat flexing their claws.

Daily life

He wakes up to his internal alarm clock, which is scarily accurate. Bright eyed and bushy tailed from the moment his eyes open. Swimming around and preparing himself for another day, brushing his tail, combing his hair, and cleaning his teeth, all while chatting to whoever will listen.

He is a highly requested entertainer for festivals and celebrations. He’s invited to grand openings, large festivals, and even private birthdays to those who pay him well enough. His dances and singing is the best among his kind and can easily enrapture sailors let alone his own kind. His voice mixed with the way his fins trail behind him like long fans is an easy way to get hypnotized.

When he’s not booked for a celebration he’s helping Diavolo keep humans away from their city. He uses his voice to entrance anyone he deems a threat and can make them turn and forget why they were out here and what they saw. He doesn’t get into any of the violent stuff. That’s not his style.

If he’s not at home, he is always with someone. He’s like a fairytale princess with a crowd behind him, be they other mers or fish schooling around him. He always has a smile on his face and he’s not very quiet about how much he enjoys attracting an adoring crowd. At home he enjoys a nice relaxing self care session.

When he’s angry his canines poke out he doesn’t notice this habit of his, but it's usually because he’s extremely angry at the time and holds himself back.

He doesn't bother with patrolling and he’s not territorial in the slightest. He’s a lover not a fighter so his big brothers can handle any scary monster.

Life with you

He’s bringing you to all kinds of festivals and parties as his +1 every time. You’ll be able to experience all the wonders Diavolo’s kingdom has to give and he’s extremely happy to be there with you every single time.

He’ll use his charm to get you whatever you want. Did you want that cute seashell necklace? Or that shark tooth bracelet? He’ll approach the store owner, shake his tail and flirt a bit and it’s his now. Which he immediately hands to you with a huge grin on his face, telling you how well it suits you and how you make that item look even better.

He’s always trying to groom you in any sort of manner. Rubbing your scalp and smoothing your hair with his finger. Trying to rub thick creams into your skin, or rubbing pigment onto your nails to paint them. You're the only one he’ll do this for.

He needs to hold your hand at least 3 times a day and needs a kiss before he goes to sleep and he’ll break into your room if he doesn’t get them all. He’ll act all innocent but he knows exactly what he’s doing. He just likes being a brat so he can cuddle and love you.

He also gets upset if you smell like someone else so he randomly jumps you and cuddles you in his arms rubbing his cheek against yours and rubbing you with his tail and brushing all of his fins against you. If you check you can see his fangs sticking out when he’s jealous.

If you’re ever feeling down he’ll sing for you. Dance with you, twirling you around as if he’s the moon and you're the earth itself. He gets lost in the dance and by the time you're done you're both embracing and laughing.

Beelzebub and Belphegor

Appearance

While being twins they couldn’t be more polar opposites. Beelzebub has radiant skin that seems to glow even in the darker parts of the ocean and a long sunset orange tail full of powerful muscles and reaches the longest out of the brothers. His tail is smooth and has a cycloid scale pattern. Belphegor has the shark-like appearance some of his other brothers have. Counter shaded skin, flatter nose. But he seems to absorb the light around him making everything seem much darker than they really are. His tail is medium size and is pretty thin. His tail is a deep eggplant purple with black spots.

Both of them have matching fin shapes, their caudal fin being shaped like a swordtail guppy and the rest of their fins are wide and shaped like fans. Belphegor's fins are mostly black but with the same eggplant purple speckled in. Beelzebub’s are the same sunset orange.

Beelzebub’s face is free of scales but on the sides of his cheeks and around his jawline and down to his shoulders scales are clustered around. They are thick hardy scales making his neck his strongest area besides his tail, but he has a scar just under his chin.

Belphegor has a freckle-like pattern of small scales they scattered all around his face only one or two at a time. They’re much smaller than the ones on his tail.

Belphegor has extremely sharp teeth and while they’re small they’re serrated. Beelzebub has mostly human teeth, though his canines are much bigger and wider, he’s able to crush stones with those teeth.

Daily life

These two have been inseparable since they were young and it's a trend that is clearly there to stay. They may have a different schedule but when they go to rest they rest and sleep in the same nest.

Beelzebub helps teach the younger mers to fight. He’s been permitted to teach not only the royal guard but other everyday mers. He’s a proud teacher and he’s always trying to come up with ways to help each student of his even on an individual level, but that’s when he’s not eating.

He’s also the kingdom's best hunter, and a small team is sent out with him every once in a while to hunt down any monsters that come too close to their kingdom. Beelzebub ends up eating the thing before they get back though. The bigger and more ferocious they are, the better they taste. That’s what he says at least.

Belphegor is the kingdom's most talented astrologist. Unlike his twin brother though, he doesn’t put his skills to much use. He’ll help, maybe, if he’s not tired or if he’s in a good mood, but those chances are slim to none. Instead he’s actually a doctor.

He’ll laze around in his office and sleep on the table, but when a patient comes in he’s somehow able to look over them once and tell what’s wrong with them. Even his brother’s are confused how he can just wake up, take one look at someone and perfectly diagnose them.

He also seems to nurse others on an auto pilot. He barely has his eyes open and is able to patch up any wound he can find. Because of his talent yet lack of effort he has earned some ire from his peers. He doesn’t care though as long as he can keep sleeping on the job.

Many other Mer’s have approached him in hopes to become his apprentice but he’s ignored every single one. He’s too lazy to even try. Which many people think is selfish since he’s so skilled. Though he doesn’t care what they say.

Life with you

You will always find them not too far from you. Once they grew attached to you they began not moving too far from you. Sometimes they even drag you along with them so you can be near them. Belphegor is guilty of dragging you to his workplace more than Beelzebub, sometimes trying to trick you into keeping everyone busy so he can nap.

Beelzebub just brings you so he can keep an eye on you and give you hugs when he’s feeling a bit stressed. You can tell when he’s getting stressed because the longer part of his tail fin flicks back and forth. If you end up hugging him right when he starts he’ll end up holding you until you ask him to let you go. It always makes him smile if you do that.

They are both picky about having you sleep in their nest. Belphegor will complain and try to guilt you into their nest if you try to sleep anywhere else and Beelzebub will give you puppy dog eyes. They won’t stop until you agree, and they both coil around you when sleeping.

Beelzebub is very protective of you since he knows how monstrous things can be outside the kingdom so whenever he gets worried about you he pulls you by the hips closer to him. Belphegor simply just gets jealous of others talking to you and will rest his chin on your shoulder and stare at whoever is talking to you.

If you let him, Beelzebub will groom you. Brushing your hair is a favorite of his. He likes playing with it. If you were to return the favor by polishing his scales or even playing with his hair too he gets left in a great mood for the rest of the day. The smile he gets never leaves his face.

Belphegor when he’s feeling up to it will show you the stars at night. He’ll let you float on him or next to him and gaze at the bright night sky, untouched by light pollution or blocked by trees. Just the sounds of the open ocean and the two of you. Sometimes he’ll end up like an otter and fall asleep while holding your hand so you don’t float away.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me monster headcanons #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader

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crossbowking · 3 years

Text

More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

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Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

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thedelusionreaderbitch · 3 years

Text

Matthias Helvar x fem! Healer! Reader - Mine

A/n: I don't think I've finished a request fast... Looks longingly at all the other drafts that are requests. Fuck.

Warnings: Kind of sexual at some points, injuries, mentions of death, I think that's it? You have been warned!

Request: Can I please request an soft, romantic oneshot of female!healer!reader and Matthias Helvar falling in love with each other, please? thank you so much!!

I do not own six of crows or shadow and bone or its characters! I also do not own this gif!

Matthias had first meant her lying in bed.

He had been hurt and everyone was internally freaking out because the Fjerdan never showed any pain yet here he was lying on his death bed the screams of pain coming from his lips every now and then.

Blackness was looming over him, there was no light he couldn't feel Djel like he should have. Maybe his sins had lined up too high, or maybe Djel had abandoned him like Nina had. He didn't know what was going to happen, all he knew was that death was almost certain at this point, he could hear the wolves howling in the distance. They were coming for him - he was sure of it.

Something he didn't understand happened though. He was in the dark taking his last few breaths then a blinding light that must have been sent from Djel himself came barreling through the door kneeling right in front of him.

"Not today." The woman muttered as she hovers her hands over the top of his injury.

"I still need to get paid, so if you could you know - stay alive for me here that would be great." She grits her teeth together and suddenly the world is just light.

The only thing he can see through the blinding of the whiteness is her and her eyes telling - begging him to hold on for a little longer.

So he does.

Gasping for breath Matthias realizes there's no pain in his chest anymore, there's no blackness yet there's no overwhelming white either. There's only a soft glow at the end of his bed belonging to the woman he recognizes as the person who saved him.

"What happened?" He mumbles and his voice comes out groggy and part of him is ashamed that that's what he says when there's a beautiful woman sitting on the edge of his bed tending to his wounds. The other part of him wonders how he can be so bashful over a girl he's barely meant.

"You broke all your ribs so your chest was starting to disconnect when you were breathing. You're lucky I got there on time or else you would have been dead. You passed out after I healed you."

The healer doesn't move off his bed but closer actually and she moves so close she's levelheaded with him as Matthias sits up.

She brush's a piece of his blond hair away from his face and cups his cheek for a second and for a felting moment he's sure she was going to kiss him. But she pulls away before they can get any close and he's half glad because he was sure she could've probably heard how his breathing had how it speed up.

"Matthias." Finally he breaths out looking at the temptress with wide eyes.

The girl smiles and he stupidly puts up his head to be shaken but instead of taking it or laughing at him, she kisses him on the lips.

It's not for very long, it's very brief actually, and this is all crazy because he had just meant her (he doesn't even know her name!) Yet he can't get her eyes out of his head or the feeling of her lips against his and how he eagerly kissed her back.

She pulls away really fast but he still has time to commit everything to memory before she stands up leaving the doorway but stopping midway.

"Y/n, my name is Y/n."

He knew her name.

___________________

Nothing happened entirely after that, Matthias and Y/n grew close and became quick friends.

Friends who sometimes kiss. The former Druskelle was pretty sure that friends didn't kiss, even in Kerch.

"Matthias I swear to your tree god if you don't put me down I'm going to rip you to shreds!" Y/n screams at him as he carries her trying to get the Slat on time before she dies.

"You are hurt." He says simply in retaliation, as the girl fumes and struggles to get out of his arms.

"I'm a healer!"

Matthias just rolls his eyes and bursts through the Slat doors with an injured and a very frustrated Y/n.

"You can't heal yourself completely Y/n I'm not stupid." He whispers down into her ear as he takes them up the stairs going in (unintentionally) his room.

She hurriedly gets out of his arms face red from embarrassment and starts working on her wound. They both stay there in silence for a bit before he starts to get bandages and ointments to help her heal the rest.

He hands them over to her and she staches them out of his arms not even looking at him. She doesn't say anything either as she winces when she places the ointment on what's left of the wound. She warps it up and the silence is still on like a broken switch that can't go back down. Wolves that are hurt but can't howl in fear of their abuser.

"How did you figure it out?" She whispers quietly as she finishes warping up her wound. It's barely audible but he hears it because he always notices when she says something. Matthias doesn't know if he's ever been so aware of someone before.

Because she is so much more than just a friend to him.

"In Fjerda we were trained to see the signs when a Grisha hadn't been trained at the little palace." He pauses for a second, wincing internally because it was easier to kill Grisha who weren't as well trained.

"Oh." She says looking down trying to hide her eyes from him.

"That doesn't mean I think any less of you though, you... Your power is strong most Grisha wouldn't be able to heal people entirely in seconds if they hadn't trained at the little palace."

She finally lifts her head up to meet his eyes and he swears she's a heartrender because he can't breathe.

But before he can even look for a second longer she's at the doorway opening the door to leave him. Again.

"Is that it? Is that all that you think of me?" She demands him to answer her with the tone that she's using, yet it doesn't remind him of Brum or any of that. It only reminds him of her.

*Flashback*

She shifted her body to face his and he shamefully looks away from the woman before him. Who was of course only wearing her undergarments?

"Kaz needs this for a job."

His head snaps back to look at her with fire in his eyes as her hands trail up and down his arms. He holds back a shiver and looks down at the serpent. He was her prey and she's ready to strike because he so memorized with her. Se must have bitten him with her poison because he wasn't backing down.

Fury fuels his veins at the thought of anyone touching her in that way. Probably he wouldn't get through the mission if he had to see it.

She places her hand around his neck and he's trying hard not to look at it because it wasn't proper but she was beautiful.

"Don't you have a job to get to?" He murmurs as he tries and to hold back his stare.

Her laughs rings out around them and her soft glow is back for a split second before it's gone in a snap.

Her other goes around to his back and she leans into his ear.

"Hold my waist." Her voice is commanding and he was addicted to her poison that made him do whatever she desired. And who could deny a strong woman that used that tone?

So he does and then she kisses him.

This isn't like their first time but it isn't their second time either. He has become accustomed to the way her lips felt against his own, yet he didn't ever want her to stop because every time it just got better.

She bites down on his lips before trailing her own down to his neck.

His breath comes out in pants as she trails further and further down till she's found his sweet spot.

"Vixen." He gasps as she bites down hard on his sweet spot before she gives him one gentle kiss before pulling away.

"I have a job to get to Helvar."

Then she's gone.

*Flashback over*

"No." He calls out to her.

"That's definitely not what I think of you."

This time he wraps his arms around her waist before leaning down to kiss her.

And this time it's him who kisses her and their lips shift together and move in sync before he pulls away. Both of them were breathless.

"I think of you as mine."

And she doesn't object to that.

Words 1467

thedelusionreaderbitch

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blzzrdstryr · 3 years

Text

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind.

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back.

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them.

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin.

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you.

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light.

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it.

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now.

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event.

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger.

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”.

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots.

Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating.

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin.

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials.

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room.

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next.

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win.

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become.

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go?

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere tartaglia #Yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #Yandere #Childe #Tartaglia #Dialogues are hard #My brain is melting #It's 4 am where I live #Reader will have a crush on Zhongli in ch 2 #my writing

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personasintro · 3 years

Text

universe | myg drabble

❥𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; you're his whole universe, you just don't know it yet – or him

❥𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: stalker au

❥𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: explicit language, stalking (obviously), yoongi is kinda creep, masturbating (he uses her panties)

❥𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 5.3k+

𝒂/𝒏: commissioned by the absolute sweetheart @minyoongail, thank you bub for being so patient with me (it took me like 2 months I think ?? to write this) I really hope you and everyone else enjoy this story!

It was a mere coincidence, something he had never expected to happen or notice during his daylife. But even that word doesn't sound right, not to his ears. If you look up the word itself it says – coincidence is a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection. This must've been something else, not some stupid coindidence and he calls it differently.

He believes it's all the universe's doing and it happened when he needed it the most. The clueless young man with an empty heart, who was just striding through the busy street in Daegu, just when the universe had decided to give him a sign – another chance maybe, as he likes to think – and he couldn't be more intrigued. There's a whole universe inside his mind and he's not ashamed of it.

The first time he saw you, he remembers how you caught his attention immediately despite you blending with the crowd. But there was something different, maybe it was the way you smiled at whoever you were calling with that time. He remembers vividly the grin that had stretched on your beautiful red lips, before you had to end the call because you went to the little coffee shop. On your way out, with a plastic cup of coffee in your hand, it's unfortunate how you hadn't noticed the guy going inside which slowly led to you bumping into him. It wasn't a disaster, no coffee was spilled and except the guy's frown and something he mumbled under his breath, nothing too bad happened. But then he had seen the little frown on your lips and the way your shoulder slumped, running your day. He couldn't take his eyes off you. And he wished to cross the road to fight that egoistic man, who made sure to give you one last glare before he scurried inside the coffee shop.

And that's how his days slowly went by. At the same hour, you'd always visit that coffee shop with the same order every time, apart of that time when you bought a croissant that one time. You weren't there at the weekends, which meant you weren't working and the small coffee shop was on your way to work. It had become your routine, as much as his, watching you across the street hidden by one of the trees. Not even once your eyes drifted his direction. It made it very easy to watch you from Monday to Friday, you being not aware of the attention you got from the man across the street.

But he got bored after two weeks of seeing the same thing, even though you had always been different each day. The same soft and sweet smile that melted his heart was worth waking up earlier to watch you. But he had become eager, curious about you and your life. That's why he had decided to follow you – across the street from the safe distance, so you wouldn't notice him – until you made your way into the building with a few stairs up to it. He didn't recognize the old building at first, that's why he pulled out his phone and through the maps, he found out there's an art studio. There's no way he could've gone inside without anyone questioning his presence there, nor he could've known if you're really there.

He had wished he knew your name, so he could've finally put a name to your beautiful face and features that couldn't seem to get out of his head.

The week after, he had found out – because of course, he was curious and eager to take another step, so he had followed you – that you live just around the corner in one of the apartment buildings. Unfortunately for him, the security system even in those old buildings is hard to get through, impossible even. And he wouldn't have done that, followed you inside. No, he's not crazy. What would he do if he got inside the building? That didn't make any sense.

He had to plan everything – so for the time being – he stepped away and walked away, your building slowly fading away.

But it's okay, he'll soon see you again. That's what he told himself, a tiny smirk making it onto his lips that were hidden behind the mask.

Universe has a funny way to mess around with people. Or it could be pure luck on Yoongi's side, but whatever it is in reality, it makes him beam in mischief. Who could've known that one time he doesn't avoid his only friend, the cards would play in favor for him. Surely, there had been a bit of grumbling which Jung Hoseok – his friend ever since they were kids – just couldn't accept and dragged Yoongi's ass in the nearest club. It's been awhile since he went among people, he's not the type to search for society and encounters with them. He's a lonely wolf, as you could say.

“See, you look cheered up!” his friend cuts off Yoongi's trail of thoughts, his eyes already set on something much more interesting, than his friend's loud voice that tries to be heard through the loud music. “Think of the pussy you can get tonight!”

In other times, Yoongi would've just shrugged and went along with his friend's words because yes, meaningless one night stands have become a part of Yoongi's antisocial life. He's still a man after all, he has his own needs and even though he doesn't search for people's touch, sex usually involves that.

His friend is completely clueless, thinking Yoongi is cheerful because there's a chance he'll get laid tonight with no strings attached, just like Yoongi prefers. He's not the type to date, to love someone and that's why Hoseok's plan of getting Yoongi out of his small apartment to live a little, goes well.

Little does he know that Yoongi could care less about his friend's secret plan or whatever his true intentions are. Because there's you standing just a few meters away from him, completely clueless to Yoongi's existation but he's not mad at you. And he has the urge to laugh at the situation because after all, the universe must be real. It brought you up to him without him even trying, even though he had been wondering what you're doing on your Saturday night.

At first, he didn't know if it's you but then you turned around and laughed at something, probably what one of your friends said and he could see that beautiful smile which unfortunately, couldn't hear because of the music. Ever since then, he's been stealing a few glances at you, failing miserably in hiding his happiness at the sight of you. And when you suddenly grab the attention of one of your friends that's standing next to you, you excuse yourself and make your way through the crowd.

Without explaining himself, he knows what to do and his legs move on their own as he leaves his friend shouting his name in complete confusion, but Yoongi doesn't turn around. His eyes are solely set upon you and the thought that he can't get you out of his sight. Now it's his chance.

He watches you going inside the ladies' restroom, stopping just around the corner not to look creepy. He's not. He's not a creep, he would never enter ladies' restroom because then what? How would he explain what he's doing there? There's a pinch of annoyance at your friends and how they let you go all alone. Don't they know it's dangerous for you to go alone? Especially in the clubs full of horny men. And the little black dress that you're wearing isn't helping at all. You're showing too much skin, you're drawing too much attention at yourself and he doesn't like that. He wants you all to himself.

But despite him criticizing your friends and their complete ignorance of your safety, it's better this way. He's here, he wouldn't let anything happen to you and it all makes it better to go with his plan. Now is his chance to have your eyes on him, to finally meet you.

When the restroom's door are being pushed open, his breath gets caught in his throat as he notices you delicately brushing your hands against the black fabric, trying to flatten the creases that are invisible to his eyes. Now is his chance. He uses your lack of attention, eyes focused downwards and makes his way towards you. This has to work. From what he could've seen during a few weeks of watching you, you managed to stumble and bump into a few people on your way to work. It always looked like you're rushing, probably stressed from whatever was waiting for you in that old creepy building that you work at. No matter how many times has that happened, you've always apologized and looked extremely sorry. And now, he's going to use that to his advantage. Well, his plan had been different and he wanted to do this in your favorite coffee shop, that you're visiting every morning during the week. But now that he has you so close to him, he can't wait any longer.

It happens quickly. Your lack of attention is a huge help, and Yoongi is prepared for the impact of your body colliding against his, which can't be hardly told about you. A soft gasp leaves your lips, but the impact isn't strong like Yoongi hoped it would be. Your shoulders bump into each other, but it's nothing painful and mindless 'sorry' leaves your mouth. Yoongi's plan is crashing down like a house of cards, watching you not even glancing at him as you make your way through the crowd again. His features automatically twist into a huge scowl, not appreciating your ignorance.

He's been watching over you this whole time, and this is how you repay him? Ignoring him and barely seeing the person you bump into? Okay, he had his own share with that but still – he expected something different to happen and it's causing his blood to boil. You're nowhere in sight, completely blending with people dancing on the floor. He can't feel his jaw hurting from how hard he's clenching it. Oh, how he wishes he could punish you. He'd have you on your knees begging him for forgiveness before you could utter a single word.

You're playing with him. You're lucky enough he likes the chase and games, even though he's not a patient person.

As he's getting back to Hoseok, his sharp eyes notice his friend is not alone and has a company right next to him. Getting nearer, the two guys exchange a friendly hug as the guy Yoongi doesn't know grins at Hoseok.

“Taehyung–ah!” Hoseok yells after the guy that turns around with a boxy grin, not noticing Yoongi's stare in the back. “Don't forget to text me!” Hoseok laughs, seeing the guy nod as he gives him a thumbs up before he walks away.

Yoongi's eyes don't leave Taehyung's figure, wondering who he is since he has never seen him before. He shouldn't be so surprised, Hoseok has many friends. Sometimes, he's wondering why Hoseok is still hanging out with himi, when he's the least social person out of all Hoseok's friends.

Once again, the universe proves to be on Yoongi's side and he can't help but grin, as he watches Hoseok's friend nearing the group of people, among them is you. Although, he really wants to punch the guy's face for touching the small of your back, especially when you smile at him and take the drink from his hands. The drink he failed to notice before.

What was the guy's name? Taehyung.

Surprise, surprise. The chase has only begun and he's already winning.

“Yah! Where did you go?” Hoseok's loud voice cuts him off, frowning at his friend that slowly looks at him.

Grinning, he licks his lips before he takes a shot of Hoseok's vodka. “Bathroom.” he says simply, smirking as he looks back at you.

For now, he'll leave you alone but still makes sure to glance at you every now and then. Making sure you're safe, of course.

And when Yoongi is finally in his small apartment, laying in his bed with phone clutched in his grasp, he has only one intention. Finding you isn't hard, Hoseok's facebook friends are public so it makes it easy to find your friend guy Taehyung. Unfortunately, his friends are private so it leaves him with another option. He browses every available photo of him, checking everyone who liked his photos while opening every profile. The guy's photos are somehow artistic, he's not a complete loser as Yoongi thought. Whenever he sees Taehyung's face on the screen of his phone, all he can think about is his hand on your back. Taking a deep breath, he continues in browsing through Taehyung's liked pictures until he gets what he wanted all along.

You.

And your name.

The sweet melody of pop music resounds through the walls of your modesty apartment, but even the littlest space in it doesn't hold you back from swaying your hips. Humming the tune, you put the last plate back to the kitchen cabinet as a soft knock meets the wood of your front door. You almost flinch back, wondering who the hell is knocking on your door in the evening when you're not expecting anyone. Turning off the music with your phone, you make your way towards the front door to see who's standing behind it.

When you open it, you don't expect to see a complete stranger who gives you a nervous grin as soon as your eyes meet. One thing you know, you've never seen him before and you wonder if he by any mistake mistook your door with someone else's. He's wearing all black, looking tough on the outside but his face is the exact opposite. He looks quite comfortable wearing a large hoodie and black sweatpants, and it's funny how your outfits almost match. Although, your one isn't matched and doesn't look half as good as his does. You're wearing one of the ugliest sweatpants you own because unfortunately, your washing machine broke down last week and the repairman is able to repair it in a few days. For now, you're stuck with unwashed clothes that could use a good washing but there's nothing you can do. You'll wait, you've enough clothes to wear – at least you hope.

“Hey,” he says, completely cutting you off from your little crisis of your broken washing machine. His voice is deep, yet holds a soft tone that makes him sound friendly and causes you to automatically smile.

“Hey,” you say back, repeating his words as you hug yourself with your arms. There's a curiosity in your eyes, the one he notices immediately and opens his mouth.

“Oh, I'm sorry you're probably wondering what am I doing here,” he chuckles, shaking his head at his absurdity that makes you grin in amusement. “I'm your new neighbor, I just moved in today… I was wondering if you have tomato sauce to borrow?”

Only now you notice the white slippers that he's wearing, confirming his words that in fact, he really is your new neighbor. The building is big enough for you not to know every single neighbor, but something tells you you won't forget this one.

His sharp eyes are so captivating, staring right into your soul as you can't help but gawk at your new neighbor. The little twitch of his lips shake you out of your short daze, blush spreading across your cheeks as you rub your forearms.

“Yeah, sure. Let me check it out,” you manage to say, tone light and friendly, trying to hide the fact that you seemed to be particularly interested in your neighbor. He looks young, probably your age – not that this is important. He's just a neighbor, right? “Uhh, come in.” you tell him, feeling like a douche if you'd just leave him in the hallway.

He opens his mouth slightly, but smiles at you when you open the door to give him enough space to come in. You let him close it, which he does gently as if he was scared to break them. It makes you grin, a grin that's hidden as soon as you turn around and tell him to follow you. Your apartment isn't big and the walk to your kitchen doesn't take long (literally five seconds) and you're not aware of your neighbor's curious eyes, and particular curiosity about the three pieces of art that are covered with sheer fabric, leaned against the wall.

“Are you an artist?” Your neighbor asks, voice thick with curiosity which causes you to turn around and follow his line of vision.

“Ah,” you gasp out, “No. Do I look like an artist?” you grin, causing him to do the same as his eyes dance with amusement.

“I don't know,” he muses, pursing his lips. “But you're probably interested in art.” he says, head nodding towards the art that's been sitting there for a few days now.

It's not like you regret letting him in, but you should've considered the fact that your place is a mess. You just hope he's not judging you, or thinks you're an alcoholic as you remember there's a wine bottle on your coffee table. You were about to drink it after you were done with cleaning the dishes. It was a long day…

To occupy your ridiculous worries (because he probably doesn't care what your place looks like), you do what he came here for and that is, to find a tomato sauce which you're not sure if you even have.

“You could say so,” you hum, rummaging through the pasta and different kinds of cans. “My friend is an artist, I'm just helping him to sell some of his paintings.”

He hums in response, his frown hidden from you as you're turned with your back to him.

“Are those for sale?” he asks, surprised when you turn around abruptly as sudden shine overtakes your features.

“Yes,” you answer, “Are you interested?”

“Hmm, maybe,” he hums, “Mind if I take a look?” he asks, your head already nodding.

“Of course, go ahead,” you tell him, seeing him walk towards the art while you stand on your tiptoes and pull out one of the cans. “Got it.” you mumble to yourself, surprised that yes, you've a tomato sauce which you never really use.

You walk to your neighbor, his brows pinched together as he stares at a piece of art. “This one's my favorite.” you comment, holding the can in your hands as he glances at you.

“It's pretty,” he replies, cocking his head to the side as he admires the art that portrays a galaxy. It's beautiful, the purple and turquoise splashes that look like stars create a perfect detail. “How much is it?”

“You--are you--I need to talk to my friend but I'm sure we could work something out.” you grin, not hiding your enthusiasm which your neighbor finds cute as he grins at you. He shows you a gummy smile that makes you just stare at him in complete awe, before you cough.

“Thanks, it'd be nice to have something that'll make the place more cozy. It looks like a complete disaster right now.” he jokes, causing you to giggle as you nod. You feel him.

“Sure,” you smile, staring at him for a moment as realization hits your face. “Oh, here. Found it.” you outstretch your arm to give him the tomato sauce he came here for.

It seems like realization hits his face as well, his mouth leaving a soft 'oh' as he takes it with a grateful smile. “Thank you, you're a lifesaver.”

You laugh at that, finding him cute how he said it. “It's just tomato sauce. What are you cooking?”

“Spaghetti,” he answers, “Well, thanks for this. I appreciate it.” he says as you both start walking towards the front door.

He opens the door, one hand clutching the doorknob while the other holds the can, before he turns to you. “I'm living just down the hall, number 017.” he informs you, your brows furrowing in confusion, wondering why he's telling you that.

Even though you make a mental note to remember this information. What? It's good to know.

“For the art?” he reminds you, cocking a brow at you. “You can just knock anytime, when you'll know the price.” he smiles, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” you nod, “I'll let you know.”

He smiles, thanking you for the tomato sauce (even assuring you that he'll buy you a new one tomorrow but you quickly decline that, telling him you aren't using it) as he steps out of your apartment and starts to back away, still facing you as you're grinning.

“I'm Y/N,” you call out to him, mentally slapping yourself for sounding so desperate. Your nerves ease up as he gives you a smile, the shitty lightening in the hallway shining against his black hair. “What's your name, new neighbor?”

He chuckles at your nickname, his tongue licking his bottom lip as your heart bursts with sparkles. How can someone be so cute, hot and handsome? You're completely swept away by him.

And you feel like a little kid, ears perked up and eyes wide as you almost stand on your tiptoes, trying to hear his answer. However, you don't realize it because you're too focused on him.

“Yoongi, my name's Yoongi.”

He can't believe it.

He can't believe how easy it was to get closer to you. Getting an apartment, rented apartment, was even easier and the fact you both live on the same floor, had to be another sign from the universe.

It just had to be. Right?

Yoongi is in the middle of cutting an onion when he hears a soft knock echoing around the walls of his quiet apartment. He'd usually put some music on, but his mind seems to be elsewhere. He's not interested in music like he used to be, all he can think about is you.

Wiping his hands with a dishcloth, he stumbles over some boxes that have been laying there for three days (ever since he moved in) before he gets to the front door. Just as he's gripping the doorknob, there's another knock resounding but it's louder this time. He snatches the door open, meeting you jumping in surprise as your eyes widen.

Oh, sweet love. You look so cute.

Even though you're wearing the same pair of sweatpants he saw you while borrowing a tomato sauce from you. A tomato sauce he never really needed, he just wanted an excuse to see you and funnily enough, tomato sauce was the first thing that crossed his mind.

Nothing matters because you're absolutely breathtaking.

“Hi,” you breathe out, chuckling trying to mask that soft pink shade your cheeks seem to have. “I'm sorry for interrupting you.” you add.

“Not at all,” he disagrees, slightly shaking his head. “How can I help you?” he smiles, heart wavering because he can't believe you just knocked on his door.

And this time he didn't have to come to you. You came to him.

“Well, I was just wondering if you're still interested in one of those paintings. I talked to my friend and he said he'll give you a little discount since you're my neighbor,”

Bullshit, your friend is probably glad someone wants to buy his painting. It's a typical move from you, to get him to buy it just because you said the discount word. But he can't blame you, well it's you. That's enough for him not to let common sense take a place in his mind. Plus, those paintings are like a barrier in your own little home.

“I mean… you totally don't have to buy it if you're not interested anymore.” you add, causing the corner of his mouth twitch. He's holding back a smile as he shakes his head.

“No, I'm totally interested,” In you, not in the painting. “You wanna come in?”

The sudden invite surprises you, but you don't hesitate as you nod before he opens the door further for you to come in.

“Thank you.” you tell him softly, looking around curiously as you see the mess in there.

There are a bunch of boxes, still unpacked and filling up the whole place but you can relate. Your place used to be such a mess too when you first moved in.

“Sorry about the mess, I still haven't unpacked most of my stuff,” he says, trailing behind you as you notice a small beige couch with a bunch of clothes draped all over it. “I need to wash my clothes.” he grins, the shade of red coating his cute pale cheeks as you give him a smile.

“Don't worry about it, my bedroom looks just the same. My washing machine broke down a few days ago and the repairman can't come to fix it this week, so I'm stuck wearing the same old, dirty and probably smelly clothes.”

That would explain you wearing the same dirty sweatpants, he thinks but that doesn't say out loud because like he said, you're beautiful no matter what.

“You don't smell,” he blurts out, causing you to raise your brows in surprise but an appreciative smile tugs onto your lips.

“That's good to know.” you chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Wait, are you becoming shy?

“But I could help, if you want...” he adds, interest lacing over your features as you look at him curiously. “With your clothes. I could wash them for you.”

“Oh, no. I've loads of it and I don't want to be a burden, I'm sure you've a lot of work with your own stuff.” you reject, waving your hand as if it's not a big deal but the clothes that are tossed around your whole bedroom are driving you crazy.

Still, your insides shiver with his kindness.

“You're no burden, I swear. At least I would repay you for that tomato sauce. Let me do this for you, my washing machine works just fine. You could go grab your stuff and bring it here, I'll wash it for you right now and meanwhile, we could talk about that painting.”

Shit, he's so good at persuading.

He sees the guilt and uncertainty on your face, but the way you're biting your lower lip he knows you're thinking of it. He's patient with you, offering you one of his soft smiles that you caught onto right away and he knows he's got you.

“Are you sure?” you ask unsurely, nibbling on your bottom lip some more which fuck, drives him insane.

He wishes he could bite into it, feeling your soft and plump lips that are bare with no lipstick on it, but god, are they beautiful. The most beautiful lips he has ever seen.

“Hundred percent.” he says, giving you another smile which this time, you mimic before a set of sentences of gratitude leaves out of your mouth.

“Thank you, Yoongi. You saved my life.” Oh God, how amazing his name sounds rolling out of your tongue.

He could listen to you saying it every day. Oh, how he wishes to hear you saying other stuff too, but no… he has to be patient.

“Don't mention it,” he smiles, “Thank you for the painting. I'll make sure to hang it up somewhere nice where everyone can see it.”

Bullshit. He never invites anyone to his home.

“You do that, maybe I'll stop by to admire it.” Did you just invite yourself? Oh my god, he can feel his heart jumping out of his chest.

“Feel free to do that anytime.” he smirks, giving you a nice view of his wink that he swears makes you gulp as you clutch your laundry basket with fresh and clean clothes in it.

You bid goodbye to him, in the form of a sweet smile and quick but nice wave of your free hand, before he painfully does the same and closes his front door. Three hours of constant talking was not enough for him. He wishes he could talk to you some more, to get to know you even more. Although, he did learn some new things about you. Things he couldn't find on the internet, or by simply watching you from the distance. For example, your parents live far away and you're their only child. They weren't too happy about you moving to a big city but they're supportive nevertheless. You don't share your daily struggles with them, like the problem with your washing machine for example, because according to your words, they would be too worried and think you can't handle and take care of yourself.

Well, one thing is sure. They don't have to worry about that too much. You've got him. He'll take care of you and help you with anything you'll need. For now, he's just your neighbor but as he pulls out his phone and sees a friend request from you, Yoongi knows he's winning.

Pulling out peach colored panties out of his pocket, the same ones he sneakily hid inside of his pants before you could notice. Plopping onto the couch, on the same spot you were sitting on just a few minutes ago, he swears he can still feel your warmth and scent lingering on the cheap furniture. He unzips his pants, already pulling out his hardening cock as he takes a sniff of your used panties. They're cotton, not special and too sexy but he rolls his eyes back at the scent of you. Fuck, you smell so amazing. He wishes he could taste you on his tongue, pleasure you until you're screaming his name and cumming thanks to him repeatedly. He has never gotten this hard so quick, his erected length is gripped by his veiny and big hand as he's already pumping himself. Imagining how you'd sound if he pounds into you, making sure every one of neighbors hears your moan, so they know you're his. He puts the piece of fabric inside of his mouth, the exact spot where your pussy was rubbing the whole day, wetting it with his saliva as he sucks the fabric. He's close, so close but it's not enough. Wrapping his cock around your panties, his saliva mixed with your juices dried on it, he starts thrusting into his hand. Body hot and breath raged, he feels his muscles tense as your name falls out of his mouth every few seconds. Soon enough, he's cumming inside your panties, his seed leaking through the fabric and staining his hand but he doesn't care.

It was worth it.

“When did you fall in love with me?”

Your soft voice carries through the bedroom, your legs laced with Yoongi's as he keeps caressing your exposed back. He can feel your perked nipples brushing against the side of his chest, his cum mixed with your own staining the sheets but none of you truly care.

“When I first saw you.” he answers, kissing you into your hair as you giggle, finding his answer tactical and funny.

“Oh, come on,” you scoff with a laugh, the beautiful melody of it causing him to smile. “We didn't even know each other that well.” you argue, trailing some patterns onto his chest.

“It doesn't matter, I loved you way before that.” he says and you just giggle, trailing a heart on his naked skin.

You don't pressure him into answering differently, even though you know he's just bluffing because you don't believe in love at first sight. You've to know that person before you can love them with all their flaws and everything that comes with it.

“I love you.” you tell him quietly, kissing his chest while you can feel and hear his heartbeat that mimics yours.

“I love you too,” he says immediately, “You've no idea.”

You really don't.

#networkbangtan #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au #yoongi smut #yoongi drabble #yoongi x reader #yoongi au #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x y/n #bts fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #personasintro

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

#fic recs #cherik fic recs #cherik #asks #earnestly answers #I'm sure there are waaaay more fics out there #might add more later

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pochiperpe90 · 3 years

Text

Here comes “The Old Guard”. Marinelli goes to Hollywood, alongside Charlize Theron.

“Alone, fragile and immortal.”

A story of love, friendship and compassion with an ancient warrior and a young African American, who has just discovered she is immortal, as protagonists. Because the world needs women and courage knows no gender differences. 20 years after “Love & Basketball” and after “The Secret Life of Bees” and “Beyond the Lights - Find Your Voice”, Gina Prince-Bythewood comes to the action movie with very clear ideas on how to reinvent the rules. We talked to her over the phone while she was in Los Angeles during the lockdown.

A superhero movie that doesn't look like a superhero movie. Is that why you decided to make it?

Absolutely yes, when I read the script I realized that despite the fantastic genre there was a very realistic background. These characters are real and it's easy for the audience to relate to them despite being immortal. They fight for goals and reasons that people understand. The more realistic the film, the more viewers can reflect themselves in the protagonists.

In fact, the most fascinating aspect of the characters is their vulnerability: they are immortal, but up to a certain point, which is a paradox. They too have to deal with the sense of the end.

There is a possibility that they may die, that their immortality is interrupted, that they still suffer from their wounds, and this brings them closer to us. The public still feels sorry for them when they see them in danger.

Immortals suffer, and not just physically.

Many think that being able to live forever would be extraordinary, but no one asks what this really means. Immortality has consequences: it can be a gift, but it can also be a curse.

And we don’t know why immortality fell to them.

The thing I loved about the graphic novel and the script is the fact that there is no explanation. Not only do we not know it, but neither do the protagonists. But it is a trilogy and therefore there is still a lot to tell.

Could you offer your contribution to the script?

It was a great script, with great roles based on the graphic novel so I stayed very true to the text. With the author, Greg Rucka, we wanted to reflect on the fear of taking someone's life, the one that sometimes overwhelms soldiers in war, whose psychology is often neglected. Hollywood films have never been very concerned with this aspect, as if killing had no consequences. The protagonists are forced to kill, but if someone has been doing it for centuries, for others it’s the first time.

What struck you about Luca Marinelli?

I could talk about him for days, I love him, he's the actor that all directors dream of having on set. He loved the character and gave him life in a very credible way. Between him and Marwan Kenzari is born a great complicity, necessary between two people who have been together for centuries. Luca's eyes are full of soul, his Nicky is the heart of the group, he’s the most sensitive character of all of them.

Charlize Theron, who is also one of the producers, has an increasingly and more torn body.

Charlize has already played roles like this one, she is very credible in the genre of action and has been helpful to who had never faced it before. From her, who really worked hard, others learned to do the same. She is very credible in the role of a woman who lived for thousands of years.

Matthias Schoenaerts, on the other hand, has an insidious role.

He embodies the tragedy of immortality, loneliness, betrayal. He is the actor who most resembles his character in the graphic novel. He wanted to make the film at all costs because he had never measured himself with the action genre and felt he had things to express.

The film underlines how today it’s no longer possible to hide, images can capture you at any time.

In a scene near the end, when the immortals look at photos and articles about them, they truly become aware for the first time of everything they have done to protect humanity. They understand the power of images from which they continually try to escape in order to hide their identity.

And then we talk about science and profit.

In the film, people from different places join forces to protect the world, a need even more relevant today. Yet it is increasingly evident that profit matters more than human lives.

Do you think the film industry is becoming more inclusive with women?

Things are finally changing and I am grateful that, despite having no other action films on my resume, I have been entrusted with The Old Guard. I am grateful for the trust they have placed in me. It should be taken for granted by now that women are capable of coping with any film genre and I think how much pressure from the industry Patty Jenkins, who directed Wonder Woman to success and opening the door for many of us, went through. But the door must be wide open because there are still few who have such opportunities.

In your opinion, have opportunities grown with the arrival of platforms like Netflix?

Netflix wasn't afraid to trust a series of directors. Which studio would have produced Roma or Irishman? He has the courage to make films that Hollywood deems too risky.

The Golden boy

“Luca Marinelli, as we have never seen him before: in his Hollywood debut, he becomes an immortal and fights with Charlize Theron to save the world.”

Just before the lockdown he was one of the jury members of the 70th Berlinale in the city where he has lived for years - and he swears he had so much fun watching three films a day. The audience awaits him in theatre in the role of Diabolik, in the film directed by Manetti Bros., but on July 10th he arrives on Netflix with The Old Guard, the action movie that sees him alongside Charlize Theron. And where he plays the Italian Nicolo, Nicky for the group of immortals he belongs to. Directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood and based on the graphic novel by Greg Rucka and Leandro Fernández, the film offers Luca Marinelli an insidious superpower, an endless love and a new opportunity to demonstrate his talent as a true champion. We reached him on the phone and he, less shy than usual, told us how he became a secular "superhero".

How did you get to the project?

I auditioned in London, where I later returned and met the director. Lastly, there was a final meeting between me and Marwan Kenzari. We made a scene together and then they announced to me, "We'd love for you to be Nicky."

What struck you about this character?

The story fascinated me because it tells of immortals as if they were the damned. Nicky and Joe live this condition as a gift because they are linked by a wonderful love story and they are not alone. They met in an absurd and paradoxical situation, during the Crusades, ready to kill themselves. They did it a hundred times and then they looked at each other and fell in love. But others suffer from it, like Andy and Booker. In a beautiful scene, Booker, played by Matthias Schoenaerts, explains what happens to them: they see the people they love die and blame them because they cannot prevent it. And they are tired of watching the world repeat itself following the same dynamics. They fight to save people, but everything seems to go on the same way. Only in the end will they discover what they have done and what they are doing.

How did it go with Charlize Theron?

Well, it was wonderful! As I read the script I said to myself: am I really going to make a film with Charlize Theron? And hug as well! I was very excited and intimidated already while reading. She is an extraordinary actress. In the scene where we are at the table and everyone tells Nile something about us, Andy tells her what we are and it was nice to see her running and venturing into the midst of emotions and thoughts. Sometimes I got distracted and didn't say my line. But Charlyze is also a crazy athlete. You have to be really athletes, otherwise you don't survive at the end of the day. And Charlize is an athlete of the body and the heart.

What about her athletic training?

We got together a month before shooting to start working with the stunts. I had to get some athleticism back: when I arrived and they looked at me I think they were a little worried. We had to become familiar with martial arts and then we switched from the sword to other weapons and to hand-to-hand combat. We prepared scene by scene, including the choreographies, different for each fight, and each of us had his own rubber reproduction of the sword. It was an unforgettable training.

The immortals come from different places in the world. How much of Italy is there in Nicky?

Apart from the pronunciation? They still laugh at some of the things I said. Marwan and Matthias, but also Charlize, speak Italian at different levels and every now and then I enjoyed shooting a few sentences to which they could answer me.

Did you offer your character something that wasn't in the script?

Well, being in such a group, shy as I am ... I tried. I have always focused on the bond between Nicky, Joe and the other members of the group, because I am interested in discovering what is inside a character, his feelings, how he looks at the world, what excites him. Nicky has lived for centuries, but still greets the people he meets in the desert with a smile, inside him there is the flame of an infinite good. Each character has a different sensitivity and their own armor. Nicky is perhaps the least armored one.

The challenge was also to make people believe in a love story that has lasted for centuries.

Marwan recites a beautiful monologue in which he talks about their love story. I hope that each of us, in their short life, can say the same thing about the person they love.

You’ve already had superpowers in “They Call Me Jeeg”. What is your relationship with this genre?

I like it very much and I think that both films, very different from each other, have a very interesting soul. In Jeeg Robot, Enzo Ceccotti uses his superpowers to help others, taking on a social responsibility. In The Old Guard the protagonists put themselves at the service of others, even if no one has asked them to. “This is what we do,” they repeat over and over to each other. What they do is save people, participate in what they think is right.

How do you think they would react to protests on American streets and around the world?

I don't feel like playing games, mixing reality and fiction on a terribly real subject like this. I think that in reality, outside of any cinematic fiction, it’s fundamental to fight for equality, within society, but also within ourselves. To go back to our film, if in a microscopic way we manage to carry a message in that direction, I would be very happy.

What director was Gina Prince-Bythewood?

She is always ready to listen, and I am someone who asks a lot of questions even at inappropriate times. She always had great patience and was very attentive to the emotional side of the film, to the interiority and beauty of the characters.

CIAK Magazine - Luglio 2020

Just wanted to translate this old interview for the non-italian’s fans ^^ (sorry for my English)

#Luca Marinelli #marwan kenzari #Charlize Theron #gina prince bythewood #Matthias Schoenaerts #the old guard #TOG #TOG Cast #Film #netflix #magazine #movie #interview #english #english translation #mine #joenicky #joe x nicky #Immortal husbands

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writertitan · 3 years

Text

One Day

pairing: levi x reader

word count: 4414

themes: light angst, heavilymedicated!levi, hurt/comfort, vulnerable!levi, role reversal where it’s levi’s turn to have someone dote on him

requested by anon

(a/n: i hope it’s okay that i pulled two requests together! they just mesh so well together and they came together like this!)

He’s fine, he is fine.

The same words drift in and out of your head, day in and day out, as you wait for Levi and his squad to come back from their expedition. He was always fine, always, so this one can’t be any different from the rest. It doesn’t make sense that you’re worrying about this one so much. Just because you can’t be there.

You think back to the morning of his expedition, a quick breakfast, an even quicker goodbye, and then he was off with his squad. You still weren’t cleared to get back to your regular duties due to a very unfortunate injury during what should have been a basic training exercise. Just a concussion, and a minor stab wound, but apparently your medic didn’t agree with your assessment of feeling okay to join Levi on his expedition. A real pity that it had happened right before Levi’s expedition. Levi’s expedition and yours. You’re supposed to be out there with him and your comrades.

But he’s fine. He’s fine.

It’s twilight now and your body is jumpy and unable to stand still, because Levi was supposed to be back by dusk. The pale light of impending night isn’t as comforting as usual. You’re staring out the window of your shared quarters, trying to calm yourself by focusing on the dark silhouettes of the still-bare trees against the pale blue evening light. Your candle’s flame flickers and the reflection against the window is a warm and stark contrast to how cold the fastly approaching night looks.

You don’t even notice you’ve been tapping your fingers against the windowsill until a knock comes at your door and makes you completely freeze.

It’s not Levi, because he wouldn’t knock. This is where he lives too. So, the disappointment is already heavy on your chest as you slowly turn away from the window and walk to the door, steps heavy and slow, and you’re surprised to see Erwin on the other side.

And then the surprise knots into panic, so quick that it leaves you a little breathless and dizzy.

“Commander,” you manage to breathe out, heart fluttering and raging in your chest. There can only be one reason the commander himself came to you and didn’t send a fellow soldier.

Something happened.

Something happened to your comrades.

Something happened to -

“Levi’s squad just returned,” he informs you, eyes completely unreadable. That has to be on purpose.

Your legs feel unstable. They’re turning into jelly and you have to hold the door frame in an effort to make sure you won’t collapse. It feels like all the blood has left your head and is pooling at your feet.

“What happened?” you manage to ask.

Erwin finally shows emotion. His entire face is grim. His eyes are dark as he stares down at you, jaw set as he finally says the words.

“There were a lot of injuries, a lot of casualties-”

The door frame can’t hold you up anymore. It feels like everything is in slow motion as you wobble and start sinking down to your knees, but Erwin catches you, his strong arms like metal against your jelly frame.

“Levi,” is all you can manage to say while Erwin helps you into the closest chair available, his eyes still dark, but softer now.

“He’s going to be okay,” he starts, “but he was injured earlier today. A hoard of abnormal titans got in their way while they were trekking back.”

“Can I see him?” you ask, voice desperate. Your eyes are filling with tears and Erwin is blurry, but you can see him nod gently.

It doesn’t matter that your commander is watching you fall apart.

He’s not fine.

The new, unfamiliar, strange sentence is blaring like a horn in your mind.

He’s not fine, but he’s not dead.

He’s not dead.

There’s little comfort in those new words, but it’s enough to stop yourself from falling apart completely. You’re trying so hard not to burst into sobs, but there are still tears streaming down your face, and your throat is closed up so it helps you keep quiet. But your breath is still stuttering in your lungs and in your throat. Commander Erwin rests a hand on your knee.

“Take your time,” he assures you. “I’ll take you to him when you’re ready.”

Every cell in your body is aching to go to Levi, but you know you need to take this minute to yourself to get it together. For Levi.

You count to 60 in your head and then nod to Erwin, wiping the last of your tears with the backs of your hands.

“Where is he?”

-----

It’s hard seeing Levi in the medic’s ward. You hate it here for plenty of reasons. It smells strongly of sickness and blood, though they try their best to keep it sanitary. Each face inside is somber. But the reason you hate it most of all right now is because Levi is laying on his uncomfortable cot and gritting his teeth against the sheer pain of getting sewn back together. One arm is in a sling and, through his torn shirt, you can see dark bruises blooming over his skin. The urge to cry is strong and stinging at your eyes, but you keep it all at bay.

Levi hasn’t noticed you yet. How could he, when he’s in so much pain?

You stand timidly at the door and ponder whether or not to wait until his physician is done or mostly done, but when Levi hisses at a particularly brutal stitch, you go rushing to his side and let your hands flutter indecisively over his body until you settle for holding the hand that’s not currently in a sling.

Levi’s eyes flutter open in surprise, face momentarily absent of pain when his gaze lands on you, and he whispers your name softly before a new surge of pain overtakes him.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whisper in his ear, and the certainty in your voice helps the two of you.

While the physician works on Levi’s sutures, you let your lover squeeze your hand as you brush his hair back, your nose brushing against your temple as you whisper sweet nothings to him to distract him. Maybe it’s working, maybe it’s not, but Levi’s head is turned towards you, and he’s leaning into the little wisps of kisses you’re giving his forehead, and he’s not screaming in agony, so you feel okay with letting this doctor see so much intimacy.

“You’re going to be in some pain for a while,” the physician speaks up as he finishes the stitches on Levi’s abdomen. His eyes don’t meet yours or Levi’s as he speaks, voice clipped and professional as he continues. “That branch we pulled out of your side right here left quite a deep laceration. These stitches will take longer to heal as opposed to your others for the shallower cuts. I’ll come pay a visit to check on your arm tomorrow. I’m glad we were able to set it in time.”

He goes to retrieve a small bottle, gaze finally meeting yours as he hands you the bottle. You check the label, a small wave of relief coursing through you as you realize what it is. The physician seems aware of your realization, but speaks up anyway with instructions.

“That’s for the pain. Two drops in his tea every morning, afternoon, and evening should help. Captain Levi is the tea fan, correct?”

You nod, and then find your voice.

“Yes, he’s the tea drinker around here.”

Levi barely seems coherent but he’s trying his best to be.

“I’m right here,” he slurs out, but his eyes are glassy and his brows are furrowed in pain. He can’t quite concentrate on anything that’s going on.

The physician addresses him properly, a hand gently laying on Levi’s shoulder.

“You can stay here, of course, but I’m fine with you going back to your quarters to rest and heal. I’ve found that it speeds up the healing process when one is home,” he says, and his eyes flicker to you momentarily before turning away.

Levi tugs you a little closer and you lean in, a hand caressing his cheek as he opens his mouth, clearly wanting to say something. The idea of being able to get out of here has made him a little more lucid, but his eyes are still closed.

“Get me...the hell out of here,” he croaks out in a faint voice, and you don’t need to be told twice.

You’re about to ask the doctor to fetch some help in getting Levi back to your quarters, but Levi’s already groaning and sitting up, his uninjured arm holding his stitched up torso.

“Whoa!” you gasp, hands trying to still him, but Levi’s still stronger than you even when he’s messed up like this. “Levi, don’t move too much....”

“I’m fine,” he grunts out, but it’s clear that he’s not when his legs give out and you have to scramble to catch him. His sturdy frame knocks the wind out of you a little bit, but you manage to keep him upright.

One look into Levi’s eyes and you can see that he’s determined to make it there without much help, save for you. So, you make the decision to go along with it despite the physician’s slightly disapproving gaze, and shift yours and Levi’s stances so that his good arm is slung around your shoulders and he’s able to lean into you more heavily.

“Scouts,” you hear the physician mutter as you guide Levi out.

It’s a relief to you when it dawns on you that Levi’s allowing most of his weight to settle on you, his feet shuffling slowly as you guide him back to your shared room. What keeps you going is the steady breaths that leave him, and his steady heartbeat that you faintly feel against your ribcage.

He’ll be fine.

-----

The fact that Levi’s fresh stitches didn’t rip is a miracle in itself, and you don’t push your luck. He’s in your shared bed as quick as you can get him there, and you immediately order him not to move.

After you get him into clean clothes to sleep in, you become less bossy and lean down to smile at him, tears once again fighting to push onto your lash line. You win out against them, swallowing back your panic and sadness and relief so that you can smile down at Levi gently and help him get comfortable in bed.

“I’m gonna make you some tea now,” you whisper to him, gentle as you rearrange the pillows around him. “I’ll be back soon.”

Levi is quiet but he nods, not able to meet your eyes, and you have a sneaking suspicion as to why, but you don’t bring it up now. Instead, you swipe the medicine bottle and stuff it into your pocket, heading for the door, but the call of your name stops you.

“I don’t want that shit in my tea,” he protests, and now instead of fighting tears, you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“You’re in pain, Levi, don’t be stubborn,” you reply over your shoulder. “You won’t even taste it in your tea. I’ll make sure of it.”

Another miracle that happens is Levi actually relenting to something. Usually, he puts up more of a fight. This is just a testament to how much pain he’s in, and it makes your heart ache.

As you wander off to the kitchen and begin a pot of tea, you finally let yourself release a few whirlwind emotions. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let Levi see you cry and so far you’ve done a good job. But now, in solitude, you let those tears escape, you let a sorry little whimper reverberate through your throat - you let yourself feel the sorrow and the relief and the crippling fear that have been pumping through you ever since Erwin came knocking at your door.

Even Captain Levi Ackerman gets hurt. You have to remind yourself of that. But that’s not what makes you sad. He’s not Captain Levi for you anymore. He’s just Levi. He’s the greatest love you’ve ever had, the love of your life, and he’s in so much pain and he’s battered up and you weren’t there to help him.

Then the guilt crashes into you, more domineering than all those other previous emotions, and it makes you tremble as you prepare Levi’s tea just the way he likes it, plus a couple of drops of something else that will help take some of his pain away.

You’re back in your room only minutes later, and Levi is right where you left him, only now his eyes are up at the ceiling and he looks absolutely spent and haunted. You can only imagine what he saw out there, what he lost out there.

“Here you go,” you murmur, setting down the tray so you can help him sit up slowly so as to not agitate all his sutures. He still winces in pain and you wince just at the sight of that, but quickly recover so you can set the tray next to his lap.

Levi lifts the teacup to his lips with his good hand and takes a sip, the smallest sigh leaving him, and you feel yourself relaxing when his face melts from troubled to semi-calm.

There are so many things you want to say to him, so many things you want to ask, but you know it’s best to just swallow it all down for now and focus on one thing: getting Levi better.

And though Levi looks slightly calmer than before, he’s still tense, rigid against your soft palm as you rest it against his shoulder. You slide your palm up to cup his neck, massage the back of it lightly, and then sigh as you lean in to peck his shoulder through his shirt. Levi leans into your touch, like he did when the physician was stitching him up, and it makes your heart swell.

As he finishes his tea, you can noticeably see the effects of his medication kicking in. Levi gradually loosens up and his eyes droop. Maybe, for once, he can actually get a decent night of sleep.

You take his cup from him and set it back on the tray, and then set that aside so you can crawl into your side of the bed. Though you’re dying to crush him to your side and feel him next to you, you know you should be careful and opt for placing your hand on his chest, directly above his heart. It’s beating as steadily as ever. It’s telling you that he’s alive and right here. He’s safe. And he’ll be okay.

Levi is drowsier, and he’s lying back down. His eyes are closed but you know he’s still awake.

“Get some sleep,” you whisper in his ear, your hand reluctantly moving from his chest to his mussed hair. You comb it back from his forehead, feeling his temperature with the back of your hand while you’re at it, and then nudge your nose to his cheek affectionately. “Let me take care of you.”

You know the ask is big. Levi isn’t used to being taken care of; it makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how to handle the attention on him. Even now, being with him as long as you have, he still tenses up and doesn’t know how to react when you try to care for him.

That being said, he doesn’t not want it. Especially with the medication coursing through him, it’s almost as if you’re seeing a whole new side to Levi. Right now, teetering on the edge of consciousness and dreams, he looks so frail and innocent.

When Levi’s breathing slows to signal that he’s sleeping, and when his face relaxes into a more peaceful expression, he looks so much younger. You watch him instead of getting any rest yourself, just like Levi has done to you countless times before. You should be sleeping, because of your own head injury from training, but you don’t. It’s not as important as making Levi feel safe.

-----

Admittedly, you do drift off as the night drags on. You’re constantly fluttering between a dream and reality, the only constant between the two being Levi.

Levi, fortunately (and surprisingly), has been sleeping and hasn’t really moved an inch. The bags under his eyes appear less noticeable, though you’re thinking that that’s just your imagination. But it makes you feel good to know that he’s finally resting.

When he starts breaking out into a sweat, your body jerks back to being fully awake, and you sit up to inspect him. His brows are slightly furrowed and there’s the faintest frown on his face, and you immediately worry.

As quietly as you can, you slip off the bed and go to fetch a small bowl of cool water and a rag. It doesn’t take you any more than a couple of minutes, but when you return, you’re met with a borderline panicked Levi, who is now sitting up and looking around the room frantically. You’ve never seen him in such a state. When he sees you return, he relaxes a little, but his eyes are still a little wild.

“What happened?” you ask as you move to sit by the bed next to him, but you don’t get any other words out before Levi has you in his arms in a strong hug. You’re afraid that this is hurting him, so you try to be gentle, but it only makes Levi hug you harder. “Levi, what’s wrong? Be careful not to hurt yourself like this…”

“Had a bad dream. Thought you were…” He doesn’t need to say anything else. You know what he’s trying to convey. Levi has dreams like this often, and though he’s still getting used to showing more emotion, more affection, he always pulls you a little closer when those dreams hit him.

“Lie back down,” you murmur in his ear, but he’s having none of it.

This is a different Levi.

Not different in a bad way. Just… different. He’s never held you this way before, he’s never ached so much for your touch. Though part of you is thrilled and a little moved, the other part of you is hurting, because you know that he must have gone through something awful to get like this.

It’s not until you look into his eyes that you realize it’s probably also the medication in full force, especially since he’s awake and not sleeping it off.

He’s your Levi but he’s also another version of your Levi that you haven’t uncovered yet.

“Had a dream you’d gone out there with me,” he admits, eyes glossy as you help him lie back down. His gaze never leaves you and, even though he’s clearly out of it, his gaze is intense. “I’m so glad you didn’t go.”

It was the exact opposite of what you’d been thinking this entire time. You’d wished and wished to have been there, to have protected him, but you know deep down that he would have been protecting you. And you probably would have died.

Now, more than ever, you feel so protective over Levi. He is, of course, the strongest person anyone knows. You know how much it weighs on him. It’s been your mission since day one of your relationship to try and give back a fraction of what he gives you.

“I’m right here, always,” you promise him quietly, wetting the rag and twisting some excess water out before dabbing it across his forehead. Your free hand finds his, the one not in a sling, and you swallow thickly when his fingers intertwine with yours. He’s still looking at you, but you make a point to watch what you’re doing. You’re afraid that you’ll crumble if you meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute of silence.

Your eyes widen as you finally find his gaze, which is still on you, and his grip on your hands tightens imperceptibly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” you remind him, but Levi shakes his head.

“I worried you, I know I did,” he starts, “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

At that, you soften and set the rag down on the bedside table, cupping his cheek affectionately as you stare at each other. He doesn’t seem to mind that your hand is still slightly damp, and you don’t care either.

“Let me take care of you,” is all you tell him, a repeat of your request from earlier. And again, Levi doesn’t protest like he normally would.

You press the most gentle kiss to his lips, which he immediately deepens by letting go of your hand to cup the back of your neck. He doesn’t pull away until you’re both breathless.

“Stop treating me like I’m made of glass,” he says against your lips, which is fair. You’ve been extra careful, extra gentle, and Levi definitely doesn’t like that.

“I’m sorry.” Now it’s your turn to apologize, and Levi shakes his head softly, refusing to hear it.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he assures you, before pulling you into another kiss. This time, you’re not as careful, and let yourself get lost in it before breaking away again.

It’s what helps you relax and finally loosen up the tension radiating through your body since finding Levi in the medic ward. It feels like you’re finally able to sigh out all the weight that’s been on your shoulders.

“Hey.” He grabs your attention again and you focus on Levi again, your hand moving from his cheek to grab at the one at your neck.

“What?”

“...You know that I love you, right?”

He looks so embarrassed suddenly, and you don’t miss the flush of color at his cheeks. It makes you finally smile, just a small one, and you give him a nod.

“Of course. And I love you, and you know that, I’m sure,” you respond.

“I know that,” he confirms.

It’s quiet again and you’re about to reach for the rag again, but then Levi’s hand squeezes yours and he pulls it up and presses a kiss to the back of it. His eyes close momentarily, and you relish in the feeling of his warm lips on your skin.

“One day,” he murmurs against your skin, sighing a little. You tilt your head in confusion.

“One day what?”

Levi’s eyes are open again, the silvery hues boring into you once more as he rests your hand on his chest so you can feel his heart again.

“One day, I’ll get to marry you.”

He doesn’t blush as much this time, but he clears his throat uncomfortably, as if you’ll recoil away, but all his words do is make you lean in, surprised, as you search his face for a hint of a lie or a joke.

Neither of you have ever mentioned a future together, frankly because it seems almost impossible right now.

And then you’re smiling warmly, a soft curve of one that’s not too big or wide, but just loving enough to make Levi relax.

“Oh yeah?” you prod, hunching over to press your ear to his chest, close to where your hand is. His heart is beating faster. “I like the sound of that.” You’re referring to both his words and his heartbeat, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I want all of this to be over,” Levi says into your hair, nose nuzzled into your scalp. “I want to give you everything I can. We deserve to be happy.”

It’s easier for him to say what’s on his mind when you’re not making eye contact, you realize. So you stay as you are, head on his chest, even though it’s slightly uncomfortable. You don’t know when you’ll hear this again. You don’t know if Levi will show this side of himself again, without the help of his apparently potent medicine.

“We could have a house,” you say, so quiet that the words barely even hit the air. But Levi hears, like he always does, and he rubs your arm affectionately.

“We could,” he agrees, just as quiet. “I’d like it to be away from everyone else. What do you think?”

“I agree,” you chuckle, closing your eyes as you smile again. “I can’t wait.”

His heart beats even faster.

“It’s going to happen,” he says, so firmly that it feels as though his wish has already been granted. He’s just cemented your future. “We’ll be married, and we’ll have a house on the edge of town, and this will all be over.”

The idea of a future like that is being dangled in front of you and you tear up a little when you realize it’s just out of your reach right now. There’s no house, there’s no real chance at a real marriage yet, there’s no end in sight for the war you’re fighting. And either of you could die at any moment. The universe has shown you that with Levi; even the strongest are vulnerable to fate.

“Let’s pretend it’s like that,” you whisper, swallowing back your tears. “Just for a little while.”

Neither of you say another word, both of you succumbing to the frail little fantasy of being the only two people in the world, with everything you want, with no pain or sacrifice. Everything falls away and, with your eyes closed and your head on Levi’s chest, you can almost feel yourself cozied up in this make-believe home you’ve talked about, with this nightmare being nothing but a blurry past memory.

When Levi’s heartbeat slows and his breath evens out once again, you sit up and take a look at him. He’s peaceful looking again.

After pressing a kiss to his forehead, satisfied that he has no fever and he’s not sweating bullets, you get comfortable in a chair that you move to the side of the bed, steeling yourself for a night of wakefulness. But, watching Levi, it’s worth it. You’d do this for him a million times over, because you love him, and he loves you, and you’re doing it to ensure the future he sees with you.

Your hand stays on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

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