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stars-in-our-skies · 2 years

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So I read your post about fujoshis and I agree with most of it. the thing I didn't really understand though was what you said about how despite the fact that women who fetishise gay men do exist, the Fujoshi doesn't exist, and is a TERF invention? I'm gonna assume by "fujoshi" people mean a very specific kind of gay fetishiser. So not an "omg I've always wanted a gay best friend" kind of person, but more of a .. "The dreaded fujoshi reads way too many BL mangas and manhwas and is obsessed with gay men" kind of thing. In my experience, and also based on hearsay from the queers in my country, these types of people do exist- though to be completely fair I've never met nor heard of a grown woman who fits this description. Mostly it's teenagers and kids who are- presumably- girls, though heck if I know lol. To be frank, as a transmasc queer guy, I don't give two shits what people get off to in private. I could not care less if the fujoshi "fetishises" me in that sense. In fact I really, really do not want to know.

Which ties in neatly with my next point- whilst I don't care about what people do in their private time, I do care about how they treat real life queer people. Both offline and online. Overstepping boundaries with real life queer men, harassing them online and offline, stuff like that, I've seen it and heard of it, and it's really gross. Even that "smol bean" stuff, honestly, whilst not a full on hate crime, it does count as a microaggression. It can trigger dysphoria, at the very least.

What's worse is that the local fujoshi population is homophobic as fuck in real life. Like they'll say things about how it's a "sin" and they don't think real queer people should have marriage equality, that sort of thing. Even if most the offenders are kids and teens it's still really frustrating.

so I guess my question is.. I'm not really sure how you've come to the conclusion that the "creepy, harasser of gay men" fetishiser is purely a TERF invention and even if she were to exist she's perfectly harmless and simply a misguided ally? I'm pro-fujin, btw. I have strong opinions on the TERFy SWERFy appropriation of the Japanese word fujoshi, and I don't think the answer is to gatekeep all queer media from perceived "women"- I just think that there's some nuance to be had in the Fetishiser Discourse.

i've had this ask in my inbox for quite some time. however, i haven't been in the right headspace to discuss politics in-depth, so i put this on the backburner to return to later. having thought it over a bit, i think i'm ready to continue the conversation. i'm sorry for taking so long, but i hope this response is satisfactory.

first, an amendment to my initial post-- reading back through it, i'm not as proud of my tone. in parts i sound preachy, and in others it just straight up doesn't make sense. i'm chalking this up to my neurodivergence and difficulties with portraying what i mean. i'm not going to rewrite the whole thing, but in summary, the points i made were two-fold:

1) that the archetype of "cishet woman who fetishizes gay men," --aka, the 'western fujoshi' -- was most certainly fed into, if not coined by, TERFs; and

2) that this had a lasting impact on the transmasculine community (and, on a broader scale, the queer community as a whole.)

having said that, i'll move on. to address the meat of your statement:

as you stated, you've never actually encountered this "dreaded fujoshi." neither have i! for the most part, i do not believe they exist, as i've already mentioned and will come back to in a moment.

but also as i've mentioned, i do believe there are people out there who, in one way or another, reduce gay men to nothing more than a fetish or pornography while doing nothing to prove themselves as allies to those same gay men outside of sex. what i mean to say is that these people do not exist in massive numbers. i've certainly never seen them in my almost-decade of being in queer spaces, and i've never spoken to someone who has. you have mentioned as much. i am not referring to them when i refer to "misguided allies" as you've put it -- they're fetishizers. this happens to every queer and/or marginalized identity in some shape or form, not unique to gay men. i'll touch on this later.

rather, the women i'm referring to are those i believe to be closer to misguided allies than a genuine threat -- in my (and your) experience, tend to be teenagers and young girls. in most cases, they aren't straight. and in a large number of cases, they are trans themselves, whether they're aware of it or not.

what i see as likely happening is these teens and kids are just discovering what being queer is after being sheltered their entire life. mind you, i'm referring to western society. i can't comment on, say, asian queer spaces. i'm not asian! but for the most part, it seems like they are genuinely misguided children who are just learning about being gay or trans and politics and their views on the world.

i'm not sure how old you are, anon, but the younger generations were raised on technology. a lot of us have been surrounded by politics and news at our fingertips for our entire lives. the most likely scenario here is that these young teens realize they're queer (&/or find queer media interesting) and, not knowing much better, they become fascinated with this "taboo" subject that has been inaccessible to them up until now.

it reminds me of the twilight era -- wherein young girls were enamored with the plot (or maybe, the pretty boys) because it was made for women. fanfic and media that centers queer people are largely made by minorities. it's easy for these teens to see themselves in it; or, in the case of women, to consume it without having to worry about misogyny. this is a similar topic that i won't dive too deeply into, but the appeal of boylove to women because of the lack of women is something that has been brought up in discourse surrounding the term fujoshi, and i'm sure you're familiar with it. so having said that, i'm sure we can both see why it might be appealing to this demographic.

i think, for the most part, what's described here --the fascination of gay men, the 'smol beans', the referring to it as 'sinful'-- is a misguided reaction from young queer people who don't know better. a lot of the current discourse in the community is being perpetrated by that same demographic (see: anything happening on twitter) so it isn't too far off to believe that those same people could hold misguided views. i think if we're going to talk about problems surrounding the younger queers perpetrating queerphobic rhetoric, it's a much bigger conversation than the fujoshi one, and it certainly doesn't end here.

it's more likely these girls are going through internalized issues than externalized. and that is certainly a problem -- but one that needs to be handled differently than it currently is.

side note, i'm not sure what 'local fujoshi population' you're referring to. we've established that adult women (or, really, anyone over the age of 16 in my experience) do not typically fall under this archetype nor exist on any massive scale. the examples you've given are just textbook homophobia -- they have nothing to do with the Myth of The Fujoshi, so to speak. anyone can be homophobic, not just this specific genre of women or whatever.

we're referring to two different things here. "creepy, harasser of gay men" is not a common type of person, not in the fujoshi sense. i've said as much.

i specifically brought up the transmedicalist example in my initial post because it mirrors the same issue. essentially, transmedicalists claim that being transgender is becoming trendy and not taken as a serious issue. they have this idea that there's this terrible AFAB 'woman' who binds because it's 'trendy' and uses neopronouns because she is disrespectful to "real trans people" or even delusional. they point to xenogenders, neopronouns, nonbinary people, and anyone they don't believe to be "trans enough" as an example of this.

this "transtrender crowd" does not actually exist. it is an exaggeration of what they think is happening in order to fearmonger and push their point. there MIGHT be cis people pretending to be transgender because they think it's trendy. but the thing is, if we treat everyone like they're 'pretending', we're going to divide our community, and we won't get to the bottom of the actual issue (that, again, does not exist.) if we're so afraid of this hypothetical scenario, we'll only cause more infighting. we need to believe people in good faith -- this same argument applies to the 'misguided ally' thing above.

THIS is what i meant when i said that this 'fujoshi' you have described does not exist. she is an exaggeration of what people think is happening. and it is that exaggeration that TERFs specifically have created and fed into. they created the idea of a 'woman who fetishizes gay men so much she wants to be one', and then it got repeated -- so far that the transmasculine community has fallen for it, and that the word 'fujoshi' no longer just means 'a woman who reads BL' to most queer people.

this fetishization we have described might occur occasionally, yes. there MIGHT be cishet women who only see gay men as her Smol Yaoi Beans. but it does not exist on a widespread scale -- not to the degree where it warrants this much fearmongering, and the people who are mostly affected by this fear are transmasculine individuals.

the 'fujoshi' being referred to directly stems from TERFs' misogyny and transphobia. they want us to fight each other, and they have succeeded. that was my point.

and, before i go, there's one more thing i forgot to mention initially. you didn't bring this up, but it occurred to me that we haven't discussed how this issue affects asian gay men. in the west, of course -- again, i'm not from asia.

i think if anyone was going to be hurt most by the Fujoshi Trope, it's queer asian men. except, i am white. i cannot tell you how discrimination against queer asian men looks or how it is perpetrated. i cannot give you my personal experiences with it because i do not have them. it exists, for sure -- and i think that it's a part of a larger issue, namely anti-asian racism and queerphobia as a whole. that is something i want to leave to queer asian men -- if any would like to comment on it, i am always eager to listen and adjust my views as such.

taking this into account, that is the only point i could see towards 'women fetishizing gay men' (aka the bastardized western form of a "fujoshi"). i believe my points still stand, namely of this being a TERF-created issue. of course, if anyone wants to discuss it more, my inbox is open.

#asks #anon #transandrophobia #long post #OKAY so if there are any parts that dnt make sense just send me an ask politely #bc it's like 7am and i still havent slept yet lol #but anyway i think for the most part u can understand what im talking about #so im happy with this post as it is #ty <3 #indiewriting

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donald4spiderman · 3 years

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Hey I have another request!!!

Can you do one where either you and Spencer are dating at first or not but all that matters is that they get together eventually. It would be sub!Spencer because sub!Spencer has my heart🥵. So while you and Spencer are getting more heated, you either sit on his face or he just eats you out, whatever but he cums in his pants while doing it because he got so, you know, turned on. And he’s all embarrassed but you assure him it’s fine, you think it’s cute because he got all excited because of you. But in the end you help him clean up his problem, finding he’s rock hard again so quickly.

Again you totally don’t have to do this but your last one was just absolutely amazing!

Sorry it took so long for me to get to this request— I wanted to do it justice. Hope you like it!

TW: virgin!sub!spencer, oral sex (male & female receiving), premature ejaculation, kissing

The two of you have never gone farther than kissing.

Most evenings consist of you and Spencer making out while trying to avoid grinding on one another too hard. You’re more than willing to go further with Spencer, but he always seems to have his apprehensions.

Tonight, the both of you find yourself in a similar situation; you, perched on Spencer’s lap, gripping on his curls as you kiss him like it’s your final moment on earth.

“Fuck, (Y/N).” Spencer’s gasps as you work a dark hickey just below his collarbone. “That feels s-so good.”

You smirk up at him from his lap, “Trust me, Spencer, you don’t know half of how good I could make you feel.”

“I want you to show me.” He whispers.

“Hmm?”

He clears his throat nervously, “I-I want you to show me how g-good you can make me feel.”

You’re speechless for a moment, shocked that Spencer has finally decided to act on the burning desire between the two of you.

“Are you sure?” You question, wanting him to be certain before you go any further.

“100%.”

You nod in response. The shift in the atmosphere is palatable, and your attitude changes with it.

“You know...” You sigh, pressing your clothed core directly on Spencer’s straining bulge. “What makes you think you deserve to feel good, hm? What about me? Don’t you want to make me feel good?”

“Y-yes! Of course!” Spencer stammers, running his hands over the dip of your waist. “Please. Let me make you cum, (Y/N).”

You’re hips buck at his filthy words, and you capture his lips in a heated kiss. “You have such a pretty mouth.” You tease, running your pointer finger over his plump, pink lips. “I bet you know exactly how to make a girl feel good, right?”

Spencer only whines in response to your question, which is less than satisfactory for you.

You yank his head back, exposing his bobbing adam's apple. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer .”

“Y-Yes, (Y/N).” He cries. “I can make you feel good, I promise.”

You climb off of his lap, seating yourself next to him on the couch. He’s confused until you spread your legs open, beckoning him closer with the curl of a finger.

“Here’s the deal, Spencer. If you can make me cum so hard that my fucking legs shake, then maybe I’ll put you out of your misery. Understand?”

Spencer nods obediently. “I-I understand.”

“Good.” You smile, shoving your pants and underwear off of your legs, exposing your glistening core. “Now, prove to me that you deserve to cum.”

Spencer practically lunges at your thighs, pushing them apart like a man unhinged. He starts gently, using his tongue to explore your pussy. It’s enough to make you sigh, resting your head back onto the couch. His lips suck and nip at your clit, and he brings up his hand to tease your entrance with his dexterous fingers. You’d never be able to look at his hands the same, knowing how good they are at bringing you to the brink of an orgasm.

Your grip on his hair tightens as he begins to flick at your clit with his tongue, increasing the speed as your moans get louder.

“Fuck, baby.” You cry, arching your back. “You’re sooo good at that. Fuck!”

Spencer basks in your praise, looking up to give you a bashful smile as he slips two fingers into your entrance, expertly curling them up to brush your g-spot. His mouth returns to your clit, and soon enough, you’re a shaky mess.

“O-Oh m-my god... Spencer!” You scream, feeling your impending release. “D-don’t stop. F-fuck!”

Soon enough, your legs clamp down firmly around his head, and you pull on his hair so harshly that you’re afraid his scalp will be sore later. You’re too caught up in your own blinding orgasm to notice that Spencer was spasming and moaning along with you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you experienced such a powerful climax. Once your breathing evens out, and the clarity returns to your vision, you’re quick to pull up Spencer’s face, kissing him to express your gratitude and amazement.

“You’re such a good boy.” You sing, kissing him on the cheek. “Such a good boy. You deserve a reward.”

Before Spencer can protest, you’re pulling him up on the couch. Your hands rush to undo his pants, only to find a wet patch at the very front of them.

“What’s this?” His nervous expression makes you bite your lip and smirk. “Did someone get a little too excited?”

A rose-colored blush covers his cheeks, “I-I’m sorry! It’s just— I’ve been waiting s-so long to do that— and you’re so pretty and—“

You silence him by placing a finger to his lips, “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

You shake your head, “The opposite, actually. I think that’s so fucking hot.”

“You do?”

“The fact that you get so worked up— so excited— without me even touching you— fuck, Spencer.” You pull him in for another kiss. “You’re so hot.”

“T-Thank you,” Spencer whispers, still slightly unfamiliar with your constant shower of praise. “You’re v-very hot too.”

“Oh? Really?”

He bites his lip and nods, “T-that’s why I couldn’t, uh, control myself.”

“That’s alright. Why don’t I help you clean up your mess?”

You carefully pull down his pants enough to free his sensitive cock, cum still dribbling from the tip. You take your finger and scoop up some of the remnants, popping them into your mouth as Spencer watches in awe.

Your smooth hands stroke his cock lightly, observing the way his eyes flutter and his breath hitches. Spencer can’t contain his moans when you wrap your mouth around his tip, sucking the rest of his cum off. He can feel the blood rushing back to his dick, knowing he’ll be horny again in no time.

He's not alone. You feel his cock firming up in your hand, a devious smile playing on your lips.

“Ready for round two?”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #sub!spencer #dr reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid blurb #dom!reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds blurb

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supercorpkid · 3 years

Text

Two Luthors are better than one.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Lillian Luthor x Granddaughter!Reader

Word count: 3100.

If you haven’t you can check out It’s you against the world first, if you would like a little bit more of context.

You wake up feeling almost too rested to be true. You get out from under your blankets, and you expect to see blood and dirt everywhere, instead you’re cleaned. You look at your clothes and you’re wearing your favorite pajamas and they smell like home. Home.

It feels like you haven’t stepped foot home in a lifetime. So much has happened. So much pain and sorrow have taken over you and your family. You sit back on your bed, looking around. Can you even call this home if Lena is not in it?

You have slept too long. You don’t know how many hours you’ve slept, but that doesn’t matter. Five minutes would’ve been too long.

A small part of you believes Kara. Sure, it wasn’t all your fault. How could’ve been, right? How could you have been everywhere at the same time? How could you have gone for Lena when Kara’s location was right there? Still. Still-

You feel like an exposed wound waiting for something – no, not something, Lena – to care for it. To patch it up with an assertive and unquestioning ‘this isn’t your fault’.

“Momma.” You call and it doesn’t take long for you to see Kara’s face poking at your door. “How am I clean?”

“Oh.” Kara gives you a soft smile, walking in your bedroom. “You passed out from exhaustion before we got home. So, I had to give you a shower, and food while you were sleeping.”

“What?” You furrow your brows, confused. “I can eat while I sleep?”

“Apparently.” Kara agrees with her head and touches your face with a big smile. “It’s good to see your pretty face again. You were looking really, what’s the word? Dead.”

“I think I was dead for a minute before you saved me.” You exhale, finally realizing you are glad to be alive. “Thank you.”

You throw yourself in her arms and Kara catches you, giving you a little kiss on the head, then puts her cheek on top of your head, while stroking your back lightly.

“My baby.” Kara’s voice is so full of love, she doesn’t have to say anything else for you to understand what she means.

“I’m sorry about what I said.” You sigh, feeling there’s no more anger left on your body. You’re done fighting the world completely. “I was so full of rage I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Oh, my love.” Kara cups your face, making you look at her and her blue eyes meet yours. “When will you understand that you are my heart beating out of my chest? If you’re mad, I’m mad too. If you die, I will die too.”

“Momma, I love you so much, but I-I miss her. What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t get her memories back and she doesn’t-” You stop yourself, when a tear slides down your cheek.

“Then you can’t do it.” Kara says, and you furrow your brows in question. “And someone else will try. And if they can’t do it, we will live with this.”

“How?” Your voice comes out small. Kara forces a smile out.

“I don’t know, kid. But we will.” She kisses your forehead, and you close your eyes at the familiar comfort that brings. “What you can’t do is bleed yourself dry for this.”

“But it 's mom.”

“But it’s you.” Kara’s forehead rests against yours. You cry, and she cries too. Both of your hearts are beating so painfully slow. “And I can lose the entire universe, except you, my heart. And I can tell you with absolute certainty your mom feels the same way.”

“Not anymore.” You whisper and Kara’s forehead stop touching yours, as she brings you back into her arms in a comforting hug.

“We can always ask for help.”

You think about it for a second. You think about how much you wanted Kara’s help in battle. How much you needed her fighting with you side by side, because two Kryptonians are better than one. If that is true, then two Luthors must be better than one. Your Luthor is, um, unavailable. So-

No. You could never.

No. She would never.

Right?

You snap your head up, looking at Kara. She looks back at you, knowing that look on your face. The look of an idea.

“Yes?” She asks, unsettled. You super speed through your morning routine, and Kara snaps her eyes wide open at you, waiting for a response.

“I think I’ve got it.” You run out of your bedroom but come back a split second later. You kiss Kara’s cheek with a smile. “I love you. You’re the best.”

“I-I love you too.” Kara says, still surprised by your sudden change of attitude, and you leave again. This time for good.

“I have to say I’m amazed to see you, granddaughter.” Lillian says when you land in front of her. She tilts her head, and you almost salute her off. But you don’t have time for that.

“I have important pressing matters to discuss with you.” Your answer also seems to amaze her, as she raises her eyebrows at the sound of that.

“Do tell.” Lillian looks as interested as you thought she would. You never deny her your company when she appears in front of you. Once in every other month. But this is certainly out of character, so she looks curious. You look around, to be sure no one can hear you before you start.

“Some shapeshifters kidnapped Lena. They’ve mind-wiped her and hurt her, and now-now she doesn’t remember-” You think about it for a second. If Lillian’s going to help you, she needs to know exactly what Lena doesn’t remember. But what if Lena not remembering you and Kara is exactly what she always wanted? “Me.”

“Aliens.” She scoffs in disgust, almost forgetting you too are an alien, or half of one for that matter. “Let me guess. Supergirl imprisoned them in a cell and will try to turn them good eventually?”

“Well, not exactly.” You look down. Face burning at the thought of the words you’re about to say. At the truth that is about to be confined to Lillian freaking Luthor. “I-I killed them.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t have said that faster. Or have a more surprised look on her face. But slowly she comes down from her shock.

“I’ve been working on reversing their technology, but, well, I’m not much of a scientist as much as I am an inventor of sorts.” You say, receiving an agreeable nod from her.

“So what exactly is your pressing matter with me, dear?” Lillian asks. She knows what you want. It’s pretty obvious. And it’s also pretty obvious she wants you to ask for it.

“I could use some help.” You wait a beat. “Your help.”

Lillian’s nod is so tiny, if you weren’t staring at her with your undivided attention, you would’ve missed it.

“Do you still have your lab at L Corp?” She asks and you shake your head, agreeing. “What are we waiting for?”

It’s all she has to say for you to fly to L Corp with her. You look at Lena’s office to be sure she is there, before walking into the building.

“Oh, Mrs-Mrs. Luthor.” Aly shuffles in her chair uncomfortable, and you listen to her heart beating terrified and almost out of her chest.

“Hey Aly, Lillian and I have some, um, stuff to work on in my lab. You know the drill. Don’t let anyone interrupt us.” You ask and she agrees with her head, eagerly.

“Should I tell your mom-”

“No!” You stop her, before she’s half finished. “Please don’t disturb my mom. It’s all good here. Ok?”

“Of course, Miss Luthor-Danvers.” She agrees and you make a mental note to tell your mom, when all of this is over, to give Aly a raise. You thank her and make your way to your lab, with Lillian right behind you.

When you open the door, you startle yourself by the look of the place. You don’t remember the lab looking this wrecked ever before. There are cans of red bulls everywhere. Broken parts, and oh yeah, you punched a hole in your working table. Also, the amount of blood here is absurd.

“I see you’ve been working through mental breakdowns-” She pushes one can with her feet, almost too gracefully for the action itself. “Sleepless nights and-” She stares at some blood stains on the floor. “Wherever that blood came from.”

“Me. Mainly.” You point out, not entirely embarrassed by the truth of what she’s saying. You pick up your chair on the floor and point to the main computer. “You can start looking at the alien tech while I try to clean up the place a little.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Working with Lillian is not like working with Lena. It’s methodic, barely satisfactory, and it doesn’t leave space for any chat or contribution. You don’t care. You’re not looking for fun, but for results and as long as she gives you that, you don’t mind the deafening silence.

“How did it feel?” Lillian asks, after maybe two hours of uninterrupted silence. You raise your head from the new metal halo you’re making. “To kill them?”

“I don’t know.” You answer, truthfully. “I was dying with them.”

“Of course you were.” Lillian says like that’s the answer she was expecting to hear. Like hearing you had killed someone made no sense, and now with this little piece of information it all makes sense again.

After what it feels like another two hours, Lillian looks back at you with a nod. “Ready for testing.”

“Okay.” You pick the halo you made and transfer the new coding system she created to it. “I’ll make myself forget something with the mind wiper I invented and then try to bring that memory back.” You explain, but it feels stupid. It is self-evident the entire experience. “I guess I’ll forget my uncle’s name and you can remind me if it doesn’t work.” She agrees with her head. “Bye Lex.” You use your memory wiper, forgetting whatever his name is. Then you grab the halo, placing it over your head. “Ok. I’m ready.” Lillian presses a few things on the computer and nods at you when it’s over. “My uncle’s name is-”

Nothing.

“It didn’t work.” You sigh. Exhausted. “I don’t know his name.”

“I think I see the problem.” Lillian resumes working on the computer, and you wait.

“What is it?” You ask after a while, because not remembering is bothering you. “His name, I mean. What’s his name?”

Lillian turns her head back at you, to look at you from the corner of her eyes. “I don’t think not knowing will harm you more than doing so. You’re better off without this information.”

Ok, then.

“Done.” Lillian says and you do the entire process again. You sit on your chair, after erasing someone else’s name from your mind, and you sigh before putting the halo on.

“I hope this works.” You whisper, more to yourself than to her. “I miss her.”

Her eyes are filled with something that can only be described as pity when she looks at you again. Lillian blinks at you, trying to ignore your feelings. You swallow them down too. You put the halo over your head and give her a thumbs up. She turns to the computer again.

“Miss Finnick.” You say absolutely certain this time. A smile comes up your lips and, like it hasn’t been beating for all this time, your heart races on your chest, beating into your ribcage. Thank Rao. And Lillian, you guess. “It worked.”

“Luthors are geniuses, after all.” Lillian agrees with her head, and that’s all. She walks to the lab door, and you furrow your brows. “I think you can take it from here.”

“You’re not going to stay? You can tell her you did it all yourself and-”

“There’s no point.” Lillian stops you. “I won’t get any form of appreciation. And I don’t think she would trust something I made.”

“Well, she doesn’t remember me. She might not trust something I made too.” You say and Lillian gives you the closest thing to a full smile you’ve ever seen on her lips.

“Darling, look at your face. Lena might be distrustful of people, but no one is immune to your charm.” Lillian tilts her head, clearly saying this conversation is over. “Granddaughter.”

“Grandmother.” You salute her off, and Lillian opens the door of your lab. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t answer. You nearly repeat yourself, but she closes the door. She heard you. You’re sure.

Less than a minute after you called her, Kara is knocking on your lab door. You let her in with a smile, and call Aly asking her to send Lena to your lab without mentioning your name. Every second before Lena arrives is filled with anticipation and Kara has to hold you, so you don’t fly away, unable to hold yourself down.

“Listen, baby.” Kara whispers softly. “I’m sure it will work perfectly, but if it doesn’t-”

“Then we’ll figure out how to live with this.” You look up to her and she smiles at you.

“We will.” She repeats.

You hear the click on the door, when the L Corp id is accepted. You hear when the door unlocks. You watch the handle slowly opening. And what it feels like a lifetime later, you watch Lena coming in. You wait a beat for the expression on her face to reveal something. Anything. Love, hate, care, unfamiliarity. You would take anything. But Lena’s expression is unreadable.

“I’ve been wondering when I would see you again.” Lena says, directed at you. She apparently saw Kara after. “I suppose I have some thanking to do.”

That’s all. The silence lingers for another entire minute. Was that a thank you?

“But now, I’m dazed as to why and how you’re here in one of my labs.”

“It’s my lab.” You answer, taking your id card from your pocket and showing it to her.

“I suppose you’re right.” Lena agrees with her head. She takes something out of her pocket too. Looks at it for a few seconds, before showing it to you. “It’s you.”

It’s a picture of the three of you together. Old enough, but still not so old you would be unrecognizable. You were probably ten or eleven, and your faces are all smushed together, and all your smiles are so large you wish you would remember what made you guys so happy.

“How is this possible?” Lena asks, and you finally see it. Your mom, behind the façade of the strong professional CEO peeking out. And she is scared. She walks a little bit closer to you. “Was it-” She points at the large scar on the side of her head.

“No.” You say, and Kara pats your back encouraging you to say more. You breathe deep trying to calm yourself. “Alien tech, actually. I can explain it to you now, or…” You go to your table and grab the halo. “After we bring your memories back.”

“Oh.” Lena furrows her brows. She looks at the picture one more time, almost as confirmation. Like the picture is telling her that she can trust you. She goes to where you’re standing and sits on the chair you’re pointing to. You put the halo on her head and move to your computer.

“It’s Kara, right?” Lena asks and you stop looking at the computer, to look behind you. Lena is looking at your momma, who’s staring at her from across the room. Kara agrees with her head vividly. “Can you, please, stop looking at me like that? It’s, um, distracting.”

Oh great, she doesn’t even know who Kara is and already wants to sleep with her. Yes. That sounds like your mother alright.

“Sorry.” Kara’s face blushes completely. “I haven’t seen you in a long while.”

“Four days hardly feels like too long.” Lena says, and you smirk at her.

“Yeah, you clearly don’t remember anything.” You look back at your computer. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Lena says and you agree, doing exactly what Lillian has done. Lena is zoomed out for a few minutes, and you and Kara just look at her, patiently waiting to see if it worked.

You only know it worked when Lena looks at you, eyes full of tears, and she throws her arms around you so hard, even you with your super strength can feel it.

“I missed you so much.” You say, crying silent but happy tears, and you feel Kara’s arms around both of you. Lena kisses your forehead so many times, it feels like she's trying to make up for the past few days when she wasn’t around to do so. She only stops to kiss Kara’s mouth, also repeatedly for a few times, and you smile, between your tears.

“You saved me, babygirl. You saved me.” Lena says so softly, your heart swells on your chest.

“Not before they wiped your memories, though.”

It comes. As natural as the daylight. The patch, the care, the healing. Everything you were expecting, it comes.

“That was not your fault!” Lena says, assertively. And if you weren’t crying already, you would’ve started now. “Hey, baby-” Lena holds your face in her hands and smiles at you, so fondly there’s no way she doesn’t remember everything about you. “You did the impossible. You saved me, cared for me, and now you brought my memories back.”

“With Lillian’s help.”

“Sure. But that doesn’t take away everything you have done.” Lena wipes your tears and holds Kara’s hand lovingly. “I’m so proud of you.”

“She almost died to save us.” Kara adds, so Lena understands all you have done.

“You have to stop almost dying.” She begs, between tears, and you smile.

“Well, like Bukowski once said, ‘you have to die a few times before you can really live’.” You smile at her.

“He didn’t mean literally!”

“Rao, you two are such nerds I feel bad about getting in the hug and lowering the IQ of the hug.” Kara says and Lena chuckles, pulling her closer and kissing her dearly. “We’re fine.”

“We are fine.” Lena agrees.

You breathe in their words. You let them go inside of your body and let them fill you, head to toes. You’re fine. You’re fine. You hug Lena, smelling her familiar scent and you smile. You are fine.

#supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp #supercorpfamily #lena luthor #supercorp daughter #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp fanfic #lena x reader #lillian luthor #superkid #reader insert

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derailedfiction · 3 years

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The Most Wanted | Baron Zemo | The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Part 2 Pairings: Helmut Zemo x Fem!Reader | Sam Wilson & Fem!Reader | James Barnes & Fem!Reader Word count: 6017 (sorry) Warnigns: swearing, a bit of kissing, shooting Summary: As Reader’s presence is exsposed the only way to get to Zemo is to cooperate with Sam and Bucky.

A/N: Reader is German-speaking which means that ¾ of what she says is in that language. If she speaks with Zemo, one to one, I switched to English (pls pretend it’s still German xD). Also next time I’ll put translations next to German version. It will be easier to read probably.

You grunted as you were seated on a chair, and quickly restrained with a rope around your arms and hands. You scanned the room looking for Zemo but he was nowhere to be found. As your search did not bring you any satisfactory answers, you set your eyes on the other man, expectantly.

“Was kann ich für sie tun?” you asked calmly with a nonchalant smile.

“What?” Sam looked puzzled at James, and back at you. “What does it mean?”

“She asked what she can do for you, Sam,” Zemo answered leaving the bathroom with a bottle of cologne and a towel in his hands.

“Well first of all she can tell what the hell is she doing here,” you observed the dark-skinned man with much amusement. He seemed to be quite annoyed with the situation.

“Warum ist er so verärgert?” you asked Zemo, still carefully observing Sam.

“What?” he asked again, clearly agitated that he did not understand what you were saying.

“She wants to know why you are so annoyed,” Zemo replied, spreading some cologne on his hands and then on his neck with a gentle pat.

“Can’t she speak like normal language?” Sam sat down on the couch with a helpless expression.

“Wha–at?” you mocked Sam with a silent laugh. You saw a corner of the Baron’s lip went up for a moment.

“I don’t really understand why the whole world should speak English, Sam. Oh, mein Gott, Y/N, sprichst du noch kein Englisch?” Zemo looked at you with a question in his eyes. A similar question was in Sam’s eyes as he desperately wanted to know what was happening.

“Nein, aber ich verstehe was er hat gesagt,” you shifted on the chair you were restrained to.

“She will not speak English, even though she understands you,” Baron translated.

“What do you want?” you felt observant gaze received from James.

“Ihn,” you pointed at Zemo with wide grin. “Ich wollte euch beide zuerst erschießen und ihn dann nehmen.

“She wants me and wanted to kill off the two of you before,” Baron replied emotionlessly.

“That would add up, she had a sniper rife literally next doors,” James said, “Who beat you up like this?” he asked after a moment, pointing at your bruised lip and a black eye.

“Die Wakandanerin. Sie dachte, ich würde sie zu Zemo fuhren. Aber dann hat sie mit dir gesprochen,” you smiled lightly towards James as you thought, it was kind of him to ask about it.

“The Wakandian did it to her as she thought she would lead her to me. Then, the Wakandian has spoken to you, James. It’s quite surprising how fast they sent somebody to fetch me.”

“Is it really?” James looked at him with disbelief. “I bargained us more time to deal with things, so no need to thank me.”

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least,” Zemo turned from the window and lightly nodded towards James, much to his dismay.

“You killed T’Chaka and now Nagel” Sam echoed, and yet Baron shrugged that information as he would an irritating fly. “How long do you follow us?”

“Seit Madripoor. Übrigens war dein Tanzen komisch, Zemo,” you winked at the Sokovian with silent laugh. You were way too much enjoying this questioning.

“She was following us since our visit in Madripoor. Ich dachte, ich habe dich dort gesehen, Y/N,“ he put his hand on your shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

“Du war recht,” you turned your head to catch glimpse of his figure behind you. The smell of cologne he used was rather intoxicating.

“Is it me, or you two like know each other?”

“Yes, we have worked together before and as I said, I had a feeling that I saw Y/N during the party,” he answered and went to examine kitchen shelves. “She’s one of the best bounty hunters I have known, and it’s a delight that she’s hunting for me now.”

“Man, you have some strange definition of a delight…” Sam stated, crossing his arms. “Why you hunt him now?”

You fell silent for a longer moment not really wanting to tell why.

“Meine Schwester –” you started talking.

“Her sister was kidnapped and is held by someone. She will be released only in exchange for my person,” Zemo translated simultaneously, playing with a cookie on his finger. “She doesn’t know who that is. Y/N only received a video with her sister and information about what she’s supposed to do. If she cannot fulfil the expectations, her sister is going to be killed. Es tut mir sehr leid, Y/N.”

“Hör jetzt auf, Zemo. Du kümmerst dich nur um dich selbst und zerstören Super-Soldaten. Das ist es,” you felt closely examined by him and then he did something most surprising for you.

“I don’t believe she will pose any threat to our cause. I do think that she actually can be quite an asset.”

The three of you looked surprised at Zemo. Sam and James because they both thought dealing with another shady character would be too much. And you because it would make your job so much easier, just to use distraction and snatch Zemo right from their noses.

“Wunderbar! – No!” the three of you exclaimed at the same moment.

“Why not? I would get three watchmen, making sure I would not escape,” he continued undisturbed by your sudden vocalization. “Moreover, Y/N is excellent in hand-to-hand combat and is trained in any kind of weaponry.”

“I don’t even…” Sam started and put his hands in the air as if he surrendered to this whole situation. “I mean, it’s not bad to have additional pair of eyes on Zemo but is it worth it? She’s a criminal too.”

“Right now, we have bigger problems. Karli bombed a GRC supply depot,” James started reading the latest news on his phone.

At that point, you stopped listening to them, as they were deliberating on the subject you were not that much familiar with. Even though Zemo offered a solution for your presence in the team, no one was willing to untie you from the chair. You sat there observing the place carefully, trying to find a perfect way to run away at some point with your prize.

You kept your gaze on Baron for a long moment. He bustled around the kitchen as if he did it every day, without a break of several years in a German prison. Of course, it was impossible for him to forget how the Avengers were responsible for the deaths of his family and yet, it was bizarre for you that he decided to cooperate with them. As you knew him from the past, Zemo would cherish the very thought of destroying this particular group of superheroes, showing them how very human they indeed were. Still, you just witnessed how Baron threw a Turkish delight towards Sam as if he were giving him a treat for a great lead to follow.

“Du starrst, Y/N,” he stated indifferently, handing you some tea.

“Danke,” you thanked him, even though you had no opportunity to drink it. “Ich kenne dich und bin dennoch überrascht, wie du diese Männer behandelst. Sind sie nicht deine Feinde, Zemo?”

“Im Moment sind sie nützlich. Das ist alle,” he answered you and from the look on his face you knew that Baron Zemo had already a plan.

“What are you talking about?” Sam came closer to the two of you.

“Y/N is surprised that I cooperate with someone that I swore to destroy,”

“Well, you can count me in, Y/N,” he replied as he undid the bonds. “One wrong move and you two will be handcuffed to me and James.”

“Das hört sich nicht so schlecht an,” you rubbed your wrists sightly worn from the rough rope and drank tea from Zemo.

“I’m afraid my dear friend that she rather liked that idea,” you winked at Sam coquettishly as he rubbed his face in disbelief.

“Was machen wir jetzt?”

“We are going to ask some questions about Donya’s funeral,” James answered your question, “We gotta move.”

Within fifteen minutes you were ready to leave the apartment, and since James and Sam did not want to take any chances leaving you alone, you were walking in pair with Zemo.

“Ich bin überrascht, dass du nicht versucht hast, sie zwischen Städten zu verlieren,” you said to your companion as you walked.

“Nun, wie ich schon sagte, sie sind ein Mittel zum Zweck, das ist alles,” he replied. “Was hast du in den letzten Jahren gemacht?”

“Nichts Besonderes, aber ich war für 5 Jahre wegen dieser Snap weg. Jetzt bin ich hier…”

“Man, don’t you worry about what are they talking about? They could be like planning escape or something, to roll us over,” Sam said to Bucky, cautiously observing the two of you in front of him. “It’s just wrong…”

“It’s not, they’re talking about the past. She was gone after Thanos snapped,” Bucky replied quietly, trying not to give up he’s able to understand German. “She’s still quite lost after she got back.”

“Can you blame her? Or anyone in such a situation? It’s pretty fucked up…”

Bucky cracked for a moment listening to your conversation, “She just told him, she would have killed him back in Madripoor and she didn’t just because of their shared past.”

“Damn man, they have some unresolved issues under those smirks and sass.”

You turned around feeling the gazes of the two of them on your back as you were speaking with Zemo. They were walking behind you, keeping a reasonable distance, and talking about something rather lively.

“It is shame of what became of this place,” you rose your eyebrow lightly looking around the small courtyard, which wasn’t in its best condition.

“I’ll go check upstairs. You keep eye on him,” Sam went up for the next floor and you were left alone with James, as Zemo softly humming a lullaby came closer to children.

For a moment two of you stood in silence watching how Baron was approaching children, and then you asked, “Du verstehst mich, oder?”

“A little, yes,” James answered you. If he was surprised how quickly you found out about it, he didn’t show it at all.

“Was machst du mit ihm? Wenn du er nicht mehr brauchst?” you crossed your arms following James’ stare.

“He’s going back to the prison.”

“Und die Wakanderin?” you heard long sigh from him, he did not really know what to do in this situation.

“I’m not sure. Zemo is too dangerous to let him be unsupervised, or to be intercepted by a shady character, no offence.”

“Nicht genommen,” you smiled lightly.

“Now, what the hell is he doing?” Sam came closer to the two of you, seeing the idyllic conversation between Zemo and children.

“Wish you didn’t hear him sing – What?”

“Cute kids,” Zemo said as he passed the three of you heading to the exit.

As you left the CPR facility, you had a feeling that someone was observing you as four of you walked down the street back to the apartment. You observed each passing by person, sensing something was going on.

“Was ist los?”

“Jetzt nichts als ich denke jemand folgt uns. Der Power Broker hat Leute nach drei von Ihnen geschickt,” you replied quickly turning around your head.

“Achtung!” just as you saw the mercenary take out the gun, you pushed Zemo away and took the bullet. A sharp pain tore your arm as you landed on the ground next to Baron looking at you surprised. “Was?”

“Warte,” he took out the knife and tear for pieces your sleeve to create a tourniquet above the wound. “Versuche es zu drücken, Y/N.”

You nodded holding your arm firmly, trying to prevent any further bleeding. On the other side of the road, James was just knocking out the assassin.

“We should move. I don’t want to take any more chances with other killers,” Sam helped you stood up.

“Und der Söldner?” you asked.

“He won’t be conscious for longer time and we will probably be somewhere else. Come.”

Four of you hastily returned to the quarters, making sure no one was following you. Sam and James armed themselves with additional weapons as they wanted to be sure you were safe in there.

“We’ll go and check whether this place is safe. You two stay here, understood?” Sam told you as he went out with James.

You stood in the middle of the room trying to gather yourself to do something with the wound you have been pressing. You took few steps towards the bar and made yourself two drinks, one of which you immediately drank.

“Now, take these, it will help with the pain.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you took the pills from Zemo and swallowed them with few sips of whiskey. “Now, if you allow, I’d like to take care of this,” you pointed at your arm wound, as you slowly went to the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

As you were finally alone without any sympathetic or wanting-to-help gazes, you sighed loudly and quite shakily. It was not your first time being shot, and honestly, you knew that having Zemo around and babysitting him for not to get killed, would mean more bullets to take.

You sat down on with tiles of the floor, observing how blood was slowly dropping on it creating a small plash. You moved your fingers carefully, trying to determine whether some muscles or tendons were damaged. It hurt badly. Burning pain ran through your whole hand up to the arm wound.

“Fuck,” you whined quietly, and you rested your head over the edge of the bath.

That was not the plan at all. At last, the pills you got were starting to work as your pulsating pain did not bother you anymore. Slowly with the biggest caution, you could have at that moment, you removed the makeshift bandage and examined the wound. It was still bleeding, rather profusely, despite the pressure band over the injury. The longer you stared at it, the more light-headed you felt.

You heard somebody opened the door and Zemo entered the bathroom. You had not had enough power to say something sarcastic about his way of respecting somebody’s privacy.

“What are you doing? I don’t need any help,” you observed Zemo as he sat next to you with a first aid kit.

“I’m not going to do anything. But you might need this if you really want to take care of the wound,” you snorted and took the kit. “Why did you do that? Why did you take a bullet for me?”

“Does it really matter?” as you heard nothing from the man, you looked up and saw Baron watching you expectantly. “I must deliver you alive if I want my sister to stay alive,” you answered hesitantly, cleaning the wound.

“It is admirable how dedicated you are to your sister, Y/N.”

“Is it though? If not her I would be free as wind getting other shady figures for actual money. Not to mention that it was not, the plan,” you scoffed and gritted your teeth as the wound began to burn hellishly.

“I would do anything to save my family.”

“I know Zemo, I know it,” you agreed looking at him softly, and then you sighed heavily. “I will need your help with it. I thought the bullet went clean through, but I can’t see any exit wound.”

“How could you not know it?” he asked in growing amusement.

“I don’t know man. I am high as kite, Zemo. I don’t really feel that much,” you looked blankly at the hole in your arm for a moment before you gave him a pair of forceps. “I will cut the wound from both sides and you have to take the bullet out, got it?” He nodded in agreement.

You proceeded with careful cuts along the edge of the wound, as precise as you could. You took a deeper breath and nodded for Zemo to try and retrieve the bullet. Even though you were on strong painkillers, it was almost impossible to not move or whine.

“Don’t move, Y/N. I almost have it,” you grabbed the bath edge firmly trying not to shift any more.

“Easy to say… Fuc–” a cry of pain escaped your mouth in the same moment as the bullet was taken out. “Oh, God that was awful. I will never get used to it. Thank you,” shakily you reached for a needle and thread to close the wound.

“Let me,” he took over the instruments and without further ado, he quickly stitched the wound and put a fresh bandage over it.

“Hey! You alive in there? We heard some screaming,” you heard Sam from the other side of the bathroom door and lightly smiled.

“Yes, it’s alright,” Zemo answered as he helped you to stand up from the floor.

“He cares, doesn’t he? Even if you did him wrong, he cares.”

“Yes, he does,” Sokovian agreed. Still supporting you, he led you to the sofa, on which you fell with relief as you were feeling more and more dizzy. “Du solltest dich ein bisschen ausruhen, Y/N. Du hast ziemlich viel Blut verloren.”

“Yeah, yeah, was auch immer,” you weaved him off impatiently and laid down with your feet up.

You felt absolutely awkward that you got yourself shot because you pushed Zemo to the side. It was probably one of the dumbest things you have ever done. Well, if you counted being caught by Winter Soldier, that is the other dumbest thing you did. It was not your best day at all. You heard somebody was clamouring in the kitchen pouring water into a kettle and then into small cups.

“How are you?” You looked at James, who asked you the question.

“Gut,” you replied shortly, taking the cup of tea from Zemo. You felt in fact a bit better as the medications you were given truly kicked in.

You pressed yourself deeper into the sofa with your eyes closed, trying to rest for a while. You disconnected completely from external stimuli, focusing on your breathing, and calming the heartbeat. Even though you lost some blood, you didn’t feel that bad.

Suddenly you heard the sound of breaking glass and louder exchanges. You opened your eyes and looked at Zemo surprised as the Americans went dealing with their things.

“You can’t play with others, can you?” you asked with a soft chuckle making him some space on the sofa to sit. “I know you probably have some plan but still, being followed by the Wakandians, and bounty hunters, and probably some other killers it’s not an easy thing to cope with.”

“You think I need protection?” you showed off your arm. “I don’t need any, I am perfectly able to use my mind to gain in every situation.”

“I’m just saying that playing on different fronts at the same time always ends rather badly,” you finished off your tea and put the glass on the table.

“What can I say, I am a wanted man,” you snorted lightly at his words. He was truly the most wanted man at the moment.

“What was that tea again?”

“Cherry blossom, why?”

“I feel – dizzy,” you said unsure. You looked at the glass and at him, and then back at the glass. And then it clicked. “You little –”

“Shh, mein Schätzchen,” he immediately caught your falling head and swiftly stood up, making a place for you to lay down. “You will sleep for some time.”

You felt so heavy and dizzy, you had no power to fight with him. The last thing you saw was Zemo unfolding a blanket and putting it over you.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing Sam, she just fell asleep after the pills I gave her to ease the pain,” Zemo lied without a blink of an eye and made sure you were comfortably sleeping. “We should probably move.”

***

You woke up sometime later, just as Zemo said. What he didn’t mention was an extreme headache you got as soon as you opened your eyes.

“What a fucker…” you murmured as you got up from the sofa, throwing the blanket on the side. How thoughtful, you thought ironically looking at the material.

There was no one in the apartment and as you figured out, they have probably been gone for the funeral ceremony to talk with Karli. You moaned softly, rubbing your temples in hope that the pain will go away. It didn’t do anything and bright light coming through the stained windows wasn’t especially helpful either.

You wandered around the room and kitchen to find some painkillers. You suspiciously sniffled tea in a small metal box, still remembering what Zemo did. As you thought about it, if he didn’t get into a quarrel with James all of them would be asleep and Zemo would have been far away. A perfect getaway.

“Rather shameful not to carry it to the end,” you said to yourself washing down the painkiller with a drink. But then again, it was Zemo considered so he probably saw another opportunity for him to run away.

As slowly the painkillers once again started to work, you decided to go back to your rented room and take your belongings. It was hard to guess when your company would be back and you didn’t want to risk them, at least James and Sam, discovering you were gone, and the hideout was left unsupervised. But then again, you shrugged your arms carelessly it was not your responsibility to look after it.

You poured water into a kettle and put it on the burner of the stove. I’ll be back before the water boils, you thought and took one Turkish delight on your way out.

In fact, you got back just in time to take the kettle off the heat and make some tea for yourself and you started to explore the residence in search of some clothes to change. You did not really think it would take that much time to extract Zemo. It was supposed to be a day, give, or take. The whole situation of you being captured and somehow kept hostage was not included in the plan.

You took off your torn blouse and dropped it on the floor, in search of something new to wear. You looked through one of the few wardrobes that had any clothes in it. Mostly male, but you also found a few dresses and children's clothes. As tempting as it was to wear one of the dresses, you felt it would be somehow a sacrilege to wear Zemo’s wife clothes. Instead, you chose one of his purple shirts and tried it on. It would suit you nicely if not the zip across the chest which was a bit tight, so you had to keep it slightly unzipped.

You returned to the kitchen, finding yourself extremely hungry if not ravenous. Eating more Turkish delight would do no good either, as they were extremely sweet. Rummaging through kitchen cabinets you found ingredients to make a stew and you thought everyone could eat something warm. You quickly chopped some vegetables and put them in a ceramic casserole along with meat and seasoning. Now all you had to do was to wait and control if it’s not burning.

“Du siehst gut aus in meinem Kleidern,” you heard suddenly as you were checking up the food in the stove.

“Danke,” you kept your smile for yourself and you turned around to see three men coming in. Zemo went straight for a piece of cloth and wet it in ice-cold water, which he put over his eyes as soon as he lied on the sofa.

“I thought you would be gone, the second you wake up,” Sam was rather surprised to see you casually cooking.

“Warum? Ich muss ihn abfangen. Er ist mein Ziel,” you took out the stew out of the oven and put it on the counter.

“And you made us food?” you took four plates out of the cupboard and put them on the table along with silverware.

“Ja, warum nicht?” you were quite content of yourself as the food smelled wonderful and you took pleasure in cooking it. You missed your domestic life dearly especially knowing it was impossible to get it back.

“Das ist sehr nett von dir, Y/N,” you muttered under your nose to his words and poured him some bourbon. Zemo looked as you could use some.

„Und mich zu betäuben war nicht sehr nachdenklich von dir, Zemo,” you replied angrily, handing him the drink as he lied on the sofa with cold patch over his head. „Was ist mir dir passiert? Bitte essen.”

With the move of your hand, you showed Sam and James to sit at the table and eat what you have prepared.

“She invites you to eat,” he translated, slowly drinking his bourbon. “Der neue Captain America warf seinen Schild auf mich ,” he then replied to your question and removed the compress.

“Was?” you chuckled at the mere thought of him being knocked out like this. “Komm, du muss auch essen.” You encouraged Zemo to join the Americans at the table and eat together.

The four of you sat awkwardly at the table as you were putting food on the plates and handing them over to each of them.

“So, Sam would you consider taking the serum if you were offered it? Hypothetically speaking, of course,” you said nothing just rolling your eyes internally. What a perfect question to ask at the table.

“No,” he cut it shortly between the bites.

“No hesitation? That’s admirable.”

You looked at James sitting quietly as you and eating. You sensed he was still tormented by his past and listening to them hypothetically speaking about taking or not the super-solider serum was uneasy. You felt sorry for him being used as a pawn in other’s men fight. Living without the ability to decide what to do must be haunting, let alone the knowledge of your forced actions.

“Danke,” you heard from him as he finished eating.

“Gern geschehen,” you couldn’t help but to give him a warm smile and watched him go to another room to get some rest. He was still bothered by his past and even though he tried his best to make it go away, it did not work as he wished it to work.

Zemo as he finished, also stood up but helped you with cleaning the table and putting dishes into a dishwasher. Then once more he retrieved to his favourite, horizontal position on the sofa with another drink and cold compress. Unfortunately, his rest didn’t last long as two men stormed into the apartment.

“All right. That’s it. Let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over,” Walker said authoritarian pointing at Zemo.

“Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth,” Sam confronted him as everyone tensed up for inevitable conflict. “He’s actually proven himself useful today.”

“Who is she?” Walker pointed at you rudely as soon as he was denied getting Zemo.

“Temporal associate,” you heard Sam answering in your favour.

“Another criminal? You two are just falling down as you collaborate with such people,” he summed that up in his pretentious, all-knowing manner. He looked at you for a moment. “John Walker, Captain America.”

“Ich weiß das,” you muttered to him.

“Can’t she speak like normal language?” you heard Walker scoffing.

“You know, people can use different languages too, Walker. Maybe learn another?”

“That’s how it’s going to be, Sam? Should I put my shield down, to make it fair?” Sam smiled lightly with disbelief. That man was insufferable.

The atmosphere was tense, and it was seconds away for Sam and Walker to start the fight. It was postponed for a while only due to a sudden appearance of a spear that stuck into the column right next to Walker’s head. The Dora Milaje arrived, and they had no fucks to give.

The leader of them start talking with James in Wakandian, and you knew it was the time they wanted to get Zemo to pay for what he has done.

“Hi, John Walker. Captain America.”

Is he dense or something?, you thought looking at how thoughtlessly his actions were. Even you knew not to disregard Dora Milaje nor to interfere in their businesses, and he was going straight into it. You saw his partner being a bit agitated by the sudden entrance of warriors.

“Sagt er das jedes Mal, wenn er sich vorstellt?” you snorted watching how Walker was trying to talk reason to the Wakandian, and even you knew it was one of the stupidest things he could do.

“Yep,” James said pouring himself a drink.

As you have foreseen second after John’s hand was on Dora Milaje’s arm he was doomed as three of them attacked him and Lemar.

“Are we going to do something about it?” Sam asked James, who took quite a pleasure observing the fight.

“Looking strong, John,” he shouted back at the fighting men.

You could not help it as a short laugh escape your mouth. It did not take long for Sam to join the quarrel and shortly after James followed him.

As Falcon and Winter Soldier came into the fight, you approached Zemo and asked, “Should I also fight them as your champion? To get the right to, have you?” you smiled cheekily over your whisky.

“You can have me any moment, you want Y/N,” you choked on your drink. “Now, if you excuse me.”

You watched him taking a bottle of alcohol and aggressively zeroed his glass. Then undisturbed by anyone he went to the bathroom and just before closing the door, your eyes meet. You perfectly knew Zemo was escaping and all you did was to raise your glass towards him and finish your drink.

That’s going to be fun, you thought pouring another glass of whiskey, watching how everyone is getting their asses whooped.

***

“How could you let him go?” you held up your arms in a gesture of ineffable incomprehension of your act.

“C’mon man, it’s not that we need him that much now. We must focus on our mission, Bucky. I know it’s hard for you, I know it, but we can’t blow it away,” Sam put his hand on James’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly, trying to reassure and comfort him.

“I helped him escape from Berlin that was enough for Dora Milaje,” James said sternly and stopped in front of the building they had set up a meeting in. “You can’t go in, Y/N, two of us is already too many.”

“Klar,” you agreed and watched them go inside the beast’s belly.

You walked down the street, heading to a small square located in this part of Riga. You surprisingly found yourself enjoying this short stroll without anyone to interrupt you or anyone to chase after. Quite a lovely vacation you could have had. You liked this city as it had interesting history and architecture that survived Second World War.

The fountain in the middle of the square was captivating and a lot of tourists were taking pictures of it. You were surprised that despite incidents caused by your company, there were organised groups and sightseeing tours. You admired the monument for a longer while until you noticed something on the opposite side of it.

“I thought you would be far away from here,” you approached slowly Zemo, standing in the shadow.

“I thought about it but then again I feel somewhat responsible for how everybody jumped to each other’s throats just to be able to get me.”

“Isn’t that what you are famous for? And don’t tell me you feel bad about it,” he looked at you and smirked.

“Bad, no but it’s rather tiresome for me. I don’t really take any joy from it,” Zemo hesitated for a second and you could tell he dropped some part of his act. You could have seen the very broken man who was the reason for the Avengers split. “Why not a dress?”

“What?” you were taken by surprise with his question.

“There were few dresses in the closet, and you decided to take my shirt,” you looked at Zemo frowning.

“I won’t do anything to it, if that’s what you mean,” you tried to laugh it off, but it wasn’t successful. “I thought it would have been strange to wear your wife’s.”

“I wouldn’t mind if someone could do a good use of them,” he smiled sadly. “Anyway, I enjoyed your company today. It reminded me of your visits when I was imprisoned.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, staring blankly at the pavement. That was quite charming of him and you smirked at this thought.

“Yes, me – ” you stopped talking at the sudden sound of breaking glass and crushing metal.

In front of you two men were fighting, of which one was much more superior. You watched Walker throwing his shield again and again at the man, treating him like a training bag.

What the actual fuck, you thought as you heard other man pleading for his life, but Walker was out. He didn’t hear him nor listen to him, there was something more going on. He put the shield up, above his head and allowed his rage to take control over him. Walker repeatedly smashed the head of the poor man several times with his shield and then he stood with it.

Unmoved. Triumphant in his imagination. Covered in blood splashes. And the shield bathed in bloody strains shimmered ominously. The new era of superheroes has arrived in its brutal glory. Unstoppable. Utterly frightening.

“Jesus and that is how Captain America deal with things now?” you couldn’t believe your own eyes, as Walker murdered a man in daylight. “Now, I can see more vivid than ever why super-soldiers pose a threat to the order.”

“The whole world is watching, and they know what he did. He will be never forgiven for such a barbaric act. Previous Captain America stood for what the US wanted to be, righteous and good. This one, he’s … he’s what America is like. Brutal and not afraid to kill anyone who wronged it,” you listened to Zemo seeing how every single one of passing by people were with a phone, recording or even streaming live this whole situation.

“Where are you going now?” you looked at him for a moment, still cautiously monitoring the surroundings, trying to digest the terrifying view.

“Sokovia, or rather to what is left of it…” Zemo answered looking plainly before himself. “Will you give me a week?”

“I will give you two days tops before I go after you again, Zemo.”

“Good enough,” he smiled lightly and looked at you. “Don’t you want to come with me?”

“Nah, I’m good. I want to be around here and see how this will develop.”

All of sudden he caught your chin and moved it up, and then kissed you gently. You stood in awe, trying to figure out what on earth was going on, as you were not completely over that you have witnessed Captain America going apeshit. But after a moment of suspension, you kissed him back.

“Care to explain?” you asked as you separated from the kiss.

“People tend to feel uncomfortable when they see a kissing couple and I didn’t want to be filmed,” he said with a charming smile. “I don’t want Sam nor James to find me before I want to be found.”

“People or you wanted me to feel uncomfortable?” it felt strange but in a good way. You only hoped that he wasn’t trying to play with you as well as he did with others.

“And are you?” you rolled your eyes with a groan. He was acting impossible. As he managed to temporarily escape his guards, Zemo was probably going to be even more of himself than he already was.

“I will see you in two days, Zemo.”

“That’s the plan,” he smirked and disappeared into the crowd.

________________________________________________________ German vocab.: Oh, mein Gott, Y/N, sprichst du noch kein Englisch? – Oh my God, Y/N, can’t you really speak English? Übrigens war dein Tanzen komisch. – By the way, your dancing was ridiculous. Ich dachte, ich habe dich dort gesehen. – I thought, I have seen you there. Du war recht – You were right.Es tut mir sehr leid. – I’m very sorry.Hör jetzt auf, Zemo. Du kümmerst dich nur um dich selbst und zerstören Super-Soldaten. Das ist es. – Stop it now, Zemo. You only take care of yourself and to destroy super soldiers. That's it.Wunderbar! – Wonderful. Du starrst. – You are staring. Ich kenne dich und bin dennoch überrascht, wie du diese Männer behandelst. Sind sie nicht deine Feinde, Zemo? – I know you and am still surprised how you treat these men. Aren't they your enemies, Zemo? Im Moment sind sie nützlich. Das ist alle. – Right now, they are useful. That's all. Das hört sich nicht so schlecht an. – That doesn't sound too bad. Was machen wir jetzt? – What are we going to do? Ich bin überrascht, dass du nicht versucht hast, sie zwischen Städten zu verlieren – I'm surprised you didn't try to lose them between cities. Nun, wie ich schon sagte, sie sind ein Mittel zum Zweck, das ist alles – Well, like I said, they're a means to an end, that's all. Was hast du in den letzten Jahren gemacht? – What have you been doing in the last few years? Nichts Besonderes, aber ich war für 5 Jahre wegen dieser Snap weg. Jetzt bin ich hier… - Nothing special, but I was gone for 5 years because of the Snap. Now I'm here… Du verstehst mich? – You understand me, yes? Was machst du mit ihm? Wenn du er nicht mehr brauchst? – What are you going to do with him? When you no longer need him? Und die Wakanderin? – And the Wakandian? Nicht genommen – Non taken. Was ist los? – What’s going on? Jetzt nichts als ich denke jemand folgt uns. – Nothing now but I think someone is following us. Der Power Broker hat Leute nach drei von Ihnen geschickt – The power broker sent man after the three of you. Achtung! – Watch out! Warte. Versuche es zu drücken – Hold on. Try to push it. Und der Söldner? – And the mercenary? Du solltest dich ein bisschen ausruhen, Y/N. Du hast ziemlich viel Blut verloren – You should take a rest. You lost a lot of blood. Yeah, yeah, was auch immer. – Yeah, whatever. Gut – good Mein Schätzchen – darling Du siehst gut aus in meinem Kleidern – You look good in my clothes Danke – Thanks Warum? Ich muss ihn abfangen. Er ist mein Ziel – Why? I have to intercept him. He is my target. Ja, warum nicht? – Yes, why not? Das ist sehr nett von dir – That’s nice of you Und mich zu betäuben war nicht sehr nachdenklich von dir – And knocking me out wasn’t very thoughtful of you Was ist mir dir passiert? – What have happened to you? Bitte essen – please eat Der neue Captain America warf seinen Schild auf mich – The new Captain America threw his shield at me. Was? – What? Komm, du muss auch essen – Come, you too should eat. Gern geschehen – You’re welcome Klar - Clear

#zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #tfatws #sam wilson #james bucky barnes #john walker #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 5, Part 1

Note: This is a long chapter too!

Gregson squared his shoulders as he walked.

“I don’t really want to team up with you; but anyway, we have no choice but to solve this quickly. Now it’s time for me to show my stuff after fighting crime day after day in this capital.”

“I’ve thought about it every time we’ve met — but where do you get that confidence from?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he followed behind him. Then, Gregson turned around.

“Oi, that big attitude of yours is probably because the inspector called you in; but I’m the one who messed up here, so I have to take responsibility myself. Don’t butt in unless you’re needed.”

“I know, I know.”

More than anything, the personality of this assistant inspector he’d come to know all too well brought Sherlock a sense of relief. In addition, his words and actions revealed his pride as a police officer, and Sherlock quite liked that.

“Come to think of it, did you really not find out anything during the interrogation?”

Gregson replied without slowing his pace.

“Well, I can’t say that we didn’t learn anything. He told us how he’d come to hide in that building, but refused to say a word on where his accomplice was.”

“So how did he arrive at the inn?”

“From what we heard, after they escaped, the two of them had been moving from place to place in the slums. They first laid low somewhere, but quickly got wind that the Yard was searching the area; hence, they ran off searching for a new place to hide — and ended up at that inn.”

“So does it mean that at the time, the Yard had been able to track them down to some extent?”

Gregson snorted in displeasure.

“Not a whit. It’s disgraceful, but so far, we haven’t been able to trace their whereabouts one bit. Right now, our only lead is that tip-off; in other words, the two of them were just misled by rumours that the police were coming.”

“…………”

Gregson seemed to be pitying the fugitives for the days they’d spent in fear, but Sherlock’s mind was elsewhere.

The criminals had been flushed from their hideout using false information, and ended up at a particular location. At the same time, information had conveniently come the Yard’s way, as if someone had meant for them to arrive at the same place. His intuition told him the situation could not be written off as a mere coincidence.

——Could the Lord of Crime be involved in this case? But if he was, then for what reason?

Sherlock began to think over that question; but before he could reach a satisfactory answer, the two of them had arrived before a different inn, located a short distance from the site of the fire.

“Now, the suspects have been gathered here on the ground floor — please be quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Temporarily switching his focus, Sherlock replied half-heartedly. Then, with his sullen expression still intact, Gregson stepped into the inn.

Inside, there were several police officers, three men with bandaged faces, and a tall middle-aged woman, who stood firm with crossed arms.

Looking over everyone in the room, Gregson cleared his throat, and spoke in a loud voice.

“Well then, I’ll cut to the chase. ——The culprit is among us.”

“…………”

However, not one person reacted. He was simply stating a fact, but perhaps his entrance had been too sudden, and that pronouncement a tad abrupt.

Looking a little embarrassed after his brave proclamation, Gregson cleared his throat once more, and started again.

“……That’s what we’ve concluded after careful discussion. To begin with, let’s start from these three men gathered here.”

“——Hold on, Inspector! Before that, don’t you have something to say to me?”

“Hm?”

The middle-aged woman took a step forward as she raised her voice, and Gregson turned to face her.

“You are… the owner of that inn.”

“The very one that got burned down, yes! My name is Hillary Weaver — you’d best remember it, since it’s the name of the victim who'll eventually charge you people for expensive repairs.” [1]

Her high-pitched voice was almost akin to that of a witch casting spells. Gregson flinched, taking a step back.

“W-……Why do we have to pay for damages?!”

“Of course you do: the moment all of you came along, my inn disappeared.”

“That’s not true! The one at fault here is the arsonist — the Yard had nothing to do with that!”

“What’re you saying? I’m sure you people sparked it all off. Quit whining and give me back that place of comfort!”

“What part of that wretched inn could be called comfortable?! It’d be more pleasant being buried in straw! When we were interrogating the other man, the floorboards were creaking so badly I thought we were going to fall through the floor any moment!"

“That’s because all of you came in at once! Spare a thought for the building capacity!”

“Are you telling me your rooms reach their limit after just a few people step inside?!”

“…………”

As Gregson and Hillary — the inn’s proprietress — were engaged in a row that was completely beside the point, Sherlock turned his attention to the three suspects.

The first was a burly man. The left half of his face was wrapped in bandages, and his long sleeves were rolled up.

The second was a slim young man with short sleeves. The lower half of his face was bandaged down to his neck.

The last was a tall man of indeterminate age. He wore a thick coat, and his entire face was swathed in bandages.

Three men, three suspects. Right as the detective used his powers of observation on them, Gregson signalled his men to get Hillary to back down, forcing the argument to a close.

“……Dammit, was she silver-tongued. Now I’ve wasted energy.”

His shoulders were heaving, and Sherlock flashed him a cold smile.

“If the talk show’s finally over, then let’s get on with the questioning. We’re short on time.”

“I know! ……Well then, let’s start from the big man over there, and proceed in order.��

Gregson addressed the burly man.

“Tell us your name, the room you were staying in, and what you were doing when the fire broke out.”

“My name’s Mike Myers. I was in room 203, on the first floor. When the fire broke out, I was in my room reading a book. It was from one of my favourite authors, but all my belongings were destroyed in the blaze.”

The man answered in a deep voice that matched his appearance.

Gregson took down the information on a notepad, and moved on to the next man.

“Next, the slim man over there.”

The young man promptly sat up straight.

“Y-Yes, um, my name is Bruno Campbell. My room was…… number 301, on the second floor. At the time of the fire, um…… I was sleeping right until it started. Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise. Next.”

Gregson turned to face the last man.

“……Jerry Dorff. Room 101. I was asleep.”

The man who called himself Jerry murmured that in a low voice, uttering only the minimum number of words.

“101…… The ground floor, huh. So all your rooms were on precisely separate floors.”

Once he’d ascertained the suspects’ rooms, Gregson quickly sketched the inn’s floor plan on his notepad.

According to his diagram, on the ground floor, there was a staircase next to the reception desk, and three rooms in a row behind it. Starting from the one closest to the front desk, the rooms were numbered 101, 102, and 103. Further to the back, there was another set of stairs. The other floors had the same layout; it had been a simply-structured inn.

The reception desk, the front stairs, three rooms in a row, and the rear stairs. All the rooms had their doors on the south side of the building, and their windows on the north side. Sherlock craftily took a peek at his drawing, memorising the layout, and applied the locations of the three suspects to his mental picture.

“It seems all of you were in your own rooms when the fire started; but before that, did you stay in your rooms throughout?”

Mike spoke up.

“I never even took a step outside my room after you bobbies entered the building. After all, one of the criminals from that attack on the department store was lurking inside, right? I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I made a wrong move and ended up getting suspected.”

“I-It was the same for me: I tried to avoid moving around as much as possible.”

“Me too.”

The timid young man, Bruno, and the taciturn Jerry both agreed with Mike.

“So you all didn’t leave your rooms, let alone the inn. ——Is that certain?”

Gregson asked one of the officers standing beside him, and the man responded with vigour.

“Yes; I was standing in front of room 303 at first, and two others were standing watch in the ground and first floor corridors — we didn’t see a single person leave their room.”

Sherlock had been listening from the side, and now he pointed to the officer and Gregson in turn.

“So during the break in the interrogation, Gregson took over from you in standing watch outside the room.”

“Indeed.”

“Oi, Holmes. I told you not to butt in.”

Ignoring Gregson’s complaint, Sherlock made a deduction.

“So no one was moving around during the interrogation. Then during the break, the man was left alone in the room. Since no one heard any suspicious noises, it would be difficult to conclude that there had been movement inside the room. In that case, as I thought, the criminal must’ve made his move after the fire began.”

“A-As I was saying, don’t talk without permission.”

“……We don’t have time for that kind of thing. From what you said earlier, it seems you were standing outside the room until the fire began — were you also standing watch throughout after it started?”

Reluctantly, Gregson revealed his actions at the time.

“……No, when I got news of the fire, I went to the stairs nearer the reception to check out the situation. I climbed down until I could see the ground floor, and saw that the corridor there had already been covered in flames; so I quickly shouted for everyone to evacuate as I went back up to the second floor, in order to free the man we had arrested.”

“Did you go door to door when telling people to evacuate?”

“There wasn’t any time for that: the best I could do was to shout in every corridor as I rushed up the stairs.”

“I see. By the way, do we know where the fire originated?”

One of the officers standing to the side responded.

“I was outside the building at the time, but back then, part of the ground floor’s exterior north wall suddenly burst into flames. Though, I can’t say I had witnessed the moment the fire was set.”

“……Oi.”

The officer had readily given information to the detective he so hated, and Gregson glared at him. But as expected, Sherlock continued as if nothing had happened.

“Even so, the mob had surrounded the inn at the time, didn’t they? Was there really no one who saw exactly what happened?”

“The crowd had been rather large, so we couldn’t interview everyone who was there……” the officer responded briskly. “But we didn’t receive any eyewitness accounts of the arsonist.”

Even as he threw a displeased glance at his subordinate, Gregson thought hard.

“In that case, what if he used a device that automatically ignited the fire after a certain amount of time?” he offered.

“That’s one possibility,” Sherlock added. “It doesn’t have to be automatic either; he could’ve sprinkled flammable oil around the area beforehand, then sneaked out the window, climbed down the wall, and thrown a tiny spark — like the cinders of a match — through a window. Just like this, he’d be able to ignite the fire without drawing attention. It started from the north wall, right?”

“Yes, the wall where all the rooms’ windows are lined up,” the officer replied.

Sherlock gazed at the three men.

“In that case, that means any one of you could be the arsonist himself. But the question remains: after the fire began, how did the culprit manage to kill his accomplice in room 303, and create a locked-room murder case without anyone noticing?”

“…………”

In a way, this was the biggest ‘riddle’ in the case; all the officers, including Gregson, fell silent. In this situation, how should they proceed? Sherlock too pondered that question.

——“Oi, Sherlock. This is just my opinion, but……”

Amidst the long silence, the voice of Sherlock’s partner rang out in his mind.

——“When the fire started, Inspector Gregson went down the stairs until he was almost at the ground floor, right? During that time, there probably wasn’t anyone in the second floor corridor. Since Bruno-kun was also on that floor, I think he’s the most suspicious……. Hold on. If Mr Mike climbed up the rear staircase from the first floor, he would’ve been able to avoid the inspector and reach the second floor. Moreover, Mr Jerry was on the ground floor to begin with, so you could say he was in the most convenient location to start the fire……. Oh my, I’m starting to think all of them are suspicious.”

Sherlock could easily picture John getting confused by his own theories; gently, the corners of his mouth creased into a smile.

Then Gregson flashed Sherlock a bold grin as he spoke.

“Oi, Holmes. When I went down the stairs till I was nearly at the ground floor, there probably wasn’t anyone left in the second floor corridor. In that case, since he was on the same floor, Bruno would be the most suspicious. Fufu, as I thought, there was no need to bring you on this ca…… Hm, hold on. If Mike used the other staircase, he could’ve reached the second floor without me noticing. But Jerry’s room was on the ground floor, so it would’ve been easy to start the fire there…… Dammit, now we can’t narrow it down.”

“…………”

Strangely enough, the assistant inspector had unfortunately put forward the same theory, erasing John’s face from Sherlock’s mind once again.

Then, Mike also put forward his own theory.

“Hey, certainly, it makes sense that any one of us could’ve went up to the victim’s room. But wasn’t the door locked?”

“H-He could’ve been shot or stabbed through the door, but from what I heard, there wasn’t any evidence of that, right? M-Maybe after he killed him, the murderer locked the door again from the outside?”

Bruno also proposed a theory, but Mike was sceptical.

“The fire was going to burn everything down anyway, so why would he bother to do that?”

“I-In that case, maybe the killer opened the door to attack him, b-but the victim suddenly closed the door to try and protect himself?”

“Yeah, that might be possible. So when the wound proved fatal, it ended up looking like a locked-room murder. That makes a fair bit of sense; well, what do you think?”

“……I don’t know.”

Mike’s words had started a frank exchange of theories among the three suspects. Sherlock seemed to be listening with great interest, but Gregson seemed annoyed.

“Oi, don’t talk as you please: this is a matter for the Yard to examine. In the first place, it’s not clear whether it was a stab or shot wound……”

Hearing that, Sherlock spoke up.

“If he’d been done in with a gun, there probably would’ve been the sound of a gunshot. Though with a bit of effort, the sound could’ve been suppressed…… Did anyone hear any strange sounds?”

Bruno, who by chance happened to meet Sherlock’s gaze, responded.

“I heard someone shouting ‘Fire!’ from the outside, then flew out of bed, but I don’t remember anything after that…… Oh right: during the commotion, I think I heard something breaking once or twice.”

The timid young man had given an important testimony, but the burly man disputed that.

“Is that so? I was awake the whole time, but I didn’t hear anything?”

Even Mike’s usual appearance was intimidating; hearing that, Bruno shrank back.

“R-Right. It was probably just the sound of the wood snapping as it burnt.”

“……I can’t say either way. After all, everyone was confused and in chaos.”

Jerry also gave a vague testimony, and Gregson ruffled his hair in frustration.

“We don’t even know if there was a gunshot — it feels like we don’t have a single lead at all.”

“But if the killer had fired a gun in room 303, since he was on the same floor, Bruno probably would’ve heard it — though he himself isn’t clear on that.”

“……I knew that already; you didn’t have to say it.”

“Even though you’re making a face like that was a revelation?”

Sherlock poked a little fun at Gregson, then continued questioning the suspects.

“All of you are bandaged up rather pitifully — are they injuries from the fire earlier?”

“Yeah, I got burned while escaping; It’s not life-threatening, though.”

“It’s the same for me: when I reached the ground floor, it was already covered in flames, and when I tried to escape, I tripped and fell…… It was just my luck that the spot I landed on was aflame, so I ended up getting burned around my neck.”

Two of the suspects had explained how they got their injuries, but only one person remained in silence, his gaze slightly lowered. Of course, the detective probed further.

“Mr Jerry. Is your story the same?”

The man looked up at him. Then, after hesitating a little, he muttered briefly.

“……These are from an accident a long time ago. They have nothing to do with the fire.”

Saying that, he pulled his thick coat closer, obscuring his mouth. That caught Gregson’s attention.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but only you’ve seemed rather reluctant to speak. It feels like you don’t want to have anything to do with this case.”

Sherlock had also gotten the same impression; in contrast to the other two, who had even made their own deductions, it seemed this man was trying to withhold information about himself.

As both the detective and inspector fixed their gazes on him, eventually, Jerry explained himself in a low voice.

“I don’t like people prying into my affairs. But that’s because of my own personal situation; it has nothing to do with this case.”

“Why’s that? Could you be hiding important evidence from us?”

“…………”

Gregson tried to press him further, but Jerry remained silent, his intentions unreadable.

His actions were clearly suspicious, but Sherlock’s intuition told him the man had definitely been telling the truth. Jerry had answered all their questions properly; in addition, he couldn’t sense any hostility to the police emanating from the man.

However, Gregson tended to interpret such behaviour in the wrong way. Sherlock had to steer the conversation down a different path before the inspector made any needless accusations — so he called out to the inn’s proprietress, who had been waiting silently in a corner.

Footnotes:

[1] No relation to Jackie Weaver, the unexpected star of the Handforth parish council: this book was published end-2020, and that incident was in early-2021. (The Guardian)

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows

58 notes · View notes

cagestark · 3 years

Text

A Hole In the Head//8

About this: 4.5k. Smoking. Alcohol. Mention of wounds, healed (burns specifically). Masturbation. Threatening as foreplay. Typical winterspider stuff. Daddy kink.

Hours later finds Peter still staring upwards, only the ceiling blocks his view of the stars. Most nights he crawls into bed naked (or ends up that way thanks to his lover). It’s more comfortable that way, his sensitive skin against the high thread count sheets. But Peter doesn’t hold much hope that he’ll sleep at all tonight, so instead he dons one of Tony’s dress shirts pulled from the laundry basket, pressing his nose to smell the fading cologne whenever his heart starts racing.

The bed is far too big for one man. Far too empty.

Peter picks up his phone and opens a message to Bucky. Come lay with me. Even though it’s two in the morning, Bucky’s response is almost instant, a bullheaded, No, that Peter can almost hear in the man’s rasping, no-nonsense voice.

No fucking, Peter promises. He sends the message, but his thumbs hesitate over the keyboard, fluttering anxiously before he decides that nothing ventured will mean nothing gained. I can’t sleep, he admits. Help distract me?

In a few moments, the bedroom door opens a fraction and Bucky’s figure is there. He’s wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, hair mussed like maybe he was laying in bed the next room over just like Peter. The sight of him makes Peter’s heart flit upwards to his throat. He’s much more aware of his own outfit: nothing but one of Tony’s shirts and the softest boxer-briefs.

“No fucking,” Bucky mutters.

Peter crosses his heart.

The snort Bucky gives shows just how much he thinks of Peter’s promise. The armchair is still beside the bed where Bucky left it earlier. Peter had thought about pushing it back to the spot in the corner, but a part of him likes the new spot for it. It was a fond reminder of the man who had just sat it in hours before and who was there again now. Maybe it was time to redecorate—call it fengshui.

Peter settles in amongst the blankets and sheets still smelling of Tony’s scent. With his lover miles away, this is the most contentment he can find. Against his will, he feels the sting of exhaustion at the back of his eyes, the tender ache relieved only for a moment when he blinks.

“Can you believe I don’t know anything about you,” Peter says, resting one hand beneath his cheek on the pillow.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder—the one without the terrible scarring. “Not much to know.”

“You’re the Winter Soldier,” Peter says with no small amount of awe in his voice. The way Bucky’s shoulders tense at the title isn’t lost on him, but by then the words are already tripping their way out of his mouth. “You must have plenty of stories you could tell—”

“They aren’t bedtime stories.”

Peter winces. Maybe Bucky has a point. “Then just tell me about Bucky Barnes. What’s your middle name?”

The man’s mouth twitches, his eyes glinting in a way that makes Peter feel like the butt of a joke. All at once, the expression is neutral again as Bucky says: “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh man,” Peter says with vicious glee. “It must be awful, then.”

“Terrible,” Bucky agrees.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Pick one.”

“Pick one for me.”

Peter sighs. “That’s not how favorites work.”

Bucky stares at him, solemn. “It’s not how I work, kid. I’m not that kind of man.”

“Your favorite color is blue, now,” Peter says. “I’ve decided.”

Bucky rolls his eyes in answer.

“You said you lived in Russia. Were you born there?”

“No.”

When the man doesn’t elaborate, Peter presses. “Where were you born?”

“The west.”

“I’m sorry, the west? That’s not a satisfactory answer.”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asks. “I’m wanted internationally. Telling you anything about me could get me killed one day, or—”

“Or?”

“Or it could get you killed,” he says, expression dark. “I have powerful enemies.”

“Powerful allies, too,” Peter points out. “Not that I can imagine anyone ever getting one over on you.”

“It’s happened before.” Bucky’s hand comes up to trace at his shoulder along the mottled scars that circle the shoulder joint. With the attention drawn to it, Peter allows himself to look. The skin is heavily textured, shiny pink in some lights and a dark purple in others. Fresh, he thinks. Maybe a few years old. During Tony’s employment, he thinks. “I’m human, kid.”

“Does it hurt?” Peter asks.

Another one-armed shrug.

“Is the person who did that—are they dead now?” A slow, mirthless smile stretches across Bucky’s face; an answer in itself. Peter finds himself mirroring it. “Good.”

Without a further thought, Peter throws the blankets off of his bare legs. Bucky’s eyes flicker over them: pale and soft with dark, sparse hair, gaze lingering on Peter’s glossy clear-polished toes. When Peter crawls towards that side of the bed, Bucky’s chin ducks down like he’s preparing for a physical attack, though the way his eyes shimmer like molten mercury makes Peter think it wouldn’t be altogether unwelcome.

Peter opens the bedside drawer on Tony’s side of the bed. Tony’s personal handgun is gone, which makes it easy to rifle through the condoms and lube to find the half-empty tube of cream the older man had received from the dermatologist.

“Come here,” Peter says, patting the bed.

“Why?” Bucky asks, eyes narrowed at the tube in Peter’s hands. “No fucking.”

“No fucking!” Peter says. It takes all the mental fortitude he has not to roll his eyes. Who could have imagined that an international assassin would be such a prude? “Tony—he’s got a scar too. They gave him this cream that he was supposed to rub on it three times a day to help the scar tissue break down and lighten, but he’s too fucking busy for that.”

“And I’m not?”

“You’re with me two-thirds of the day,” Peter says, opening the tube. He squeezes out a generous amount of pale colored cream onto his fingers. “And I’ve got nothing better to do.”

When Bucky makes no move to come to the bed, Peter lets his legs dangle over the edge, reaching out to where the man sits at the bedside, but before his fingers can come close to Bucky’s shoulder, the man flinches backwards, catching Peter’s wrist in a fierce grip.

“Don’t,” Bucky rasps. “You don’t have to touch it.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Peter scoffs. The grip around Peter’s wrist tightens to the point of pain before going slack again, Bucky’s thumb pressed against his pulse point which must be hammering. “When will you learn that there’s not a person in the world who could make me do something I didn’t want to do?”

After a long moment, Bucky lets go.

Gentle, Peter lets his fingers trace over the ring of scars. It lacks the clear edges of Tony’s stab wound; if Peter had to guess (which he doesn’t, he doesn’t have to think at all about what gave Bucky those scars, about how badly it must have hurt, about how long it must have taken him to heal), he would say that the scars look like burns.

The scars don’t have the same texture as the surrounding skin, no softness, no stretch. Peter rubs the cream in with the utmost care, working hard not to cause any pain. He coaxes Bucky’s arm to shift so that he can reach the scars that extend towards his armpit and then stands, t-shirt touching his thighs to walk around the other side of the man and make sure every inch of tissue receives the same attention.

“I hate this.” Bucky’s voice makes him jump, jerking him from where he’d become lost in his own thoughts and in the pleasant monotony. His hand freezes, but Bucky goes on: “I hate the way I am around you.”

“Nobody said you had to be such a hardass,” Peter says. He reaches out and gathers Bucky’s hair where it’s falling onto his shoulder and getting stuck in the cream. When his fingers brush the back of the man’s neck as he brushes the hair to the other side of his head, Bucky shivers.

“That’s how I’m supposed to be,” Bucky rasps. “I hate how you make me so—”

Bucky cuts himself off and Peter waits one endless moment before he prods the other man. “So?”

“Weak.”

Peter isn’t sure what to say. There’s a queasiness in his stomach. He remembers when things started to get serious with Tony, when his older lover had explained that affection was weakness. There’s a reason why cold men make it so far. When you fall in love with something, it becomes a part of you, an extension of you. Suddenly, you’re taking up more space in the world, Tony had said. The man had turned his hand into a makeshift gun, pressing the barrel of his pointer finger to his temple. Bigger targets are always easier to hit, sweet thing.

He’d lifted a hand, shifting it between Tony’s finger and his head. Then, it had frightened Peter. Tony was right; love could be a liability. But after Beck, Peter knew that for people like them, that wasn’t true. Love could make him colder, braver, bolder. Strong.

When he opens his mouth to tell Bucky that, he notices that the man’s head has slackened, body loose in the chair. One glance at his face shows that he has fallen asleep.

Peter falls asleep himself, somehow. When he wakes he can see the dim signs of impending morning through the window, but the chair beside the bed is empty. He stretches, groaning with satisfaction before reaching for his phone on the nightstand to make sure that he hasn’t missed his morning Facetime with Tony.

He has a handful of unread messages from the man, which is more than he fell asleep with hours ago. Smile stretching his face, Peter opens with one hand while the other reaches down to palm his morning wood (more out of habit than anything else). When he sees the wall of text sent, eyes skimming it quickly, he squeezes his erection tightly and hisses through his teeth.

Fuck kid, Tony begins. I just finished that footage and I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard in my life. I’d kill to have been a fly on the wall, to hear whatever filth he was spewing in your ear. How did his cock feel pressed against you, honey? Looks like it felt good with the way you rutted against him like an animal. You looked like an absolute slut pinned underneath him and so desperate for whatever scraps he’d toss you. When I’m home, I want to see you suck him off and show him your gratitude properly, is that understood?

If there’s any doubt how I feel about this, see the enclosed.

Next Tony sent a video. The thumbnail tells Peter everything: just a still of Tony’s shirtless torso. He clicks on it frantically and makes it full screen, mashing the button to turn up the volume. For being in his forties, Tony looks incredible. He’d worked hard with the physical therapists hired to come to the mansion after Beck, and it shows in the flat lines of his abs. Dark hair is smattered across his chest and then against below his belly-button. The scar at the center of his chest is dark with shadows from the dim lighting.

Tony fiddles with the placement of the phone until it is propped up on what appears to be the desk of his hotel room. A glass rests just barely in view, drained. Tony sits back in his chair, the movement flexing the muscles in his core. Peter can only see him from nose to knee, but it’s more than enough. His dress pants are open, cock tenting his boxer-briefs obscenely. But he doesn’t touch it; instead, he takes a package of cigarettes from where they rest offscreen on the desk and expertly taps one free. Just the sight of his capable hands has Peter’s throat bobbing, the hand on his cock squeezing to the point of pain just to pace himself.

Tony lights the cigarette with the lighter Peter bought him at the mall, and Peter swears he can feel the flame.

“There’s no smoking in this room,” Tony says after the flame catches. “But with a sinful little thing like you at home, a fee is the least of my worries. I haven’t smoked cigarettes in over a decade, pumpkin. You see what you’re doing to me?”

Holding the cigarette in his lips, Tony reaches down to work his cock free. The sight of it evokes a physical response, Peter’s mouth salivating, his throat tightening. Leisurely, Tony fists it while his other hand comes up to take the cigarette from his mouth, smoke rushing from his nose.

“You can show this to him, if you feel so inclined. If you really think he’s interested.” The handsome, full mouth twists into a smirk. “You know I’m not shy. And if he’s going to have you, he’s going to have to get used to me, too. The things I’m going to have him do to you,” Tony sighs wistfully, shaking his head to clear the illusions. “You’ve got no idea what you’re in for. I’m going to take you apart, sweet thing, and he’s going to be the tool that does it for me.”

Peter can imagine. Beneath the sheets, he shimmies his underwear off and runs his fingers over his cock. All at once he remembers that he isn’t allowed to touch himself and his expression sours. On screen, Tony taps ash onto the desk. Peter hopes he has to pay a big fine. Huge, he thinks sulkily.

But if Peter is anything, he is resourceful. Rolling into his stomach (kicking when his legs get all twisted up in the sheets), he presses a pillow down between his legs and groans at the pressure on his aching cock. It’s juvenile, but it will work, and if Tony didn’t want him to exploit loopholes in his orders, then he shouldn’t have left the loopholes in the first place. He turns his head until his cheek is pressed into the pillow, holding the phone inches from his face.

Tony’s stamina and cool head always impress Peter. Surely it is something that comes from twenty more years of experience, but Tony always strokes his cock like he has all the time in the world, like he’s savoring the feeling of himself in his hand and cumming is secondary. His knees are spread wide, the perfect place for Peter to kneel between.

Behind him, the door opens.

He sucks in a breath, rolling onto his side to take in Bucky’s figure where he leans against the doorframe, eyes narrowed at Peter’s suspicious figure on the bed. Peter lets his back arch, emphasizing the obscene curve of his ass where he continues to rut against the pillow, leaking precum.

“Jesus, kid, it isn’t even eight AM. What the fuck has you so worked up?”

Peter grins. Holding up the phone, he says, “A gift. From Tony.”

A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitches as if he is clenching his teeth. The otherwise unimpressed look stays on his face until Peter adds: “He says it’s for you, too.”

A normal person might react with interest, pleasure. Bucky looks as if he’s only been pushed a fraction closer to a murderous rampage. He stalks closer to the bed, boots silent against the floor. How a man with so much mass is so quiet, Peter will never know. “The fuck do you mean it’s for me?”

When he gets close enough, his eyes flit to the phone and there’s no hiding the widening of his gaze. His whole expression shudders as it struggles to return to a more neutral position, but it’s difficult when those pale eyes are glued to Tony’s tan hand where it leisurely jerks the impressive cock between his legs. Has Bucky always been this expressive, Peter wonders, or is Peter just getting better at reading the few expressions he has?

It was one thing to hear Tony’s sinful mouth yesterday on the phone, but it’s another thing entirely to be confronted with the image of it, the overt sexuality of the cigarette dangling from his lips, the way his head tilts back on screen as he draws closer to his orgasm. All this and Peter hasn’t taken his eyes off of Bucky’s face. On screen, Tony mutters, fuck kid, take it, and Bucky’s pupils dilate, and Peter is lost, the phone lax in his hand as he presses his face into the pillow until its hard to breathe, hips jerking through his orgasm.

He comes to in time to lift his head and watch Tony cum, all the muscles in his abdomen thrown into sharp definition as his hips jerk upwards into the tight circle of his fist, cum pale where it lands on his tan skin and the dark fabric of his dress pants. The groan he gives is music to Peter’s ears, one hand coming up to take the cigarette from his mouth so that he can pant properly.

“Look what you fucking do to me,” Tony sighs smoke curling from his mouth. “And nobody here to clean me up. What a tragedy. Shakespearean proportions. Next time I cum, I’m doing it down your throat, sweet thing. Be good for Bucky. I love you.”

He stands onscreen, tucking his softening cock back into his dress pants (though he leaves them undone as he reaches out and turns off the video). Peter dares to give Bucky a glance and finds him glaring at the phone. He waits to see what the other man might do, but eventually the phone screen goes dark and still Bucky stares, now at his own reflection.

He drops the phone onto the bed with a quiet thud, fingers flexing and smoothing at his jeans as if he’s trying to wipe away a filthy touch. When he speaks again, it’s with a mixture of hostility and resignation that makes Peter shiver: “He knows.”

“If you mean how obsessed you are with him, then he doesn’t. But to be fair,” says Peter, edging towards the far side of the bed just in case he decides to run for it. “You’re a little obvious.”

“Obvious?” The word comes from Bucky’s mouth sounding like a curse. He shifts on instinct until he is between Peter and the one exit. Fucking assassins. “I’ve worked for him for eight years and he never caught on. Three weeks with you and now I’m fucked. What did you tell him?”

“All I said was that I thought you had a hard-on for him!” Peter says. He pulls the blankets up, cocooning himself in soft cotton. A slip of dark fabric appears - his boxers, score! - so he works to tug them on instead. “He seemed shocked, but in a good way. Look, I don’t want to be presumptuous or anything, but I feel like this is a very natural progression given where we were heading. I don’t get why you’re freaking out.”

“You don’t understand,” Bucky mutters. He breaks from standing between Peter and the door and chooses to sit in the chair Peter is beginning to think of as his. Slumped over, he looks like the picture of dejection. He mutters something under his breath but it doesn’t sound like English.

With all the care of a man approaching a feral animal, Peter carefully slips off the bed (tugs up his boxers the rest of the way, even if there is cooling cum clinging to his well-trimmed pubes) and pads to the chair Bucky occupies. The carpet is soft and not uncomfortable to kneel on. When he tilts his head to rest it on Bucky’s jean-clad knee, the man flinches. After a long, still moment, he lets a hand come down to pat condescendingly at Peter’s head.

Rolling his eyes, Peter says, “I don’t understand. Then tell me.”

Bucky lets out a breath. He tugs on a lock of Peter’s hair until Peter turns, resting his chin on the man’s thigh to look up into his tired, uncertain face. “You want to know more about me? Tony is all that’s worth mentioning. This thing with you,” he begins. “It’s big. I’m not saying it isn’t. But this - thing - I’ve had for Tony? It’s been so long. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s formative. It made me.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“I’m still talking, aren’t I? Do I sound finished?”

“Start from the beginning.”

“You’re a bossy little shit,” Bucky mutters, flicking Peter between the eyes. “There’s going to be none of that when we’re fucking, you know that right?”

Peter grins. “We’ll see. Quit stalling.”

“About eight years ago, I reached the end of my rope. Lost my mind, a little. I convinced myself that I was being followed, that the people I worked for had put a hit out on me, and I ended up isolating myself in a tiny cabin - somewhere, don’t give me that fucking look, kid, be lucky I’m telling you this much. I was there for twenty days. Starving to death. Spiraling...then one day out of the fucking blue, Natasha called me.”

“Nat?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised. “You two knew each other?”

Bucky nods and doesn’t deign to explain their relationship any further. “She called me to say she’d been stateside for three years, working for a man she couldn’t even name over the phone. She promised that if I ever wanted a change of scenery, I could catch a plane and there would be a job waiting for me.

“I thought it was a plot. Maybe she was in on it with the others, maybe they were just trying to lure me out. Maybe there was no job, maybe as soon as I stepped foot outside, they’d have my location confirmed and they’d send someone to kill me. The no food, no water just made me more paranoid. In the end, I told myself that even if it all was a plot - if I died trying to get out - it wouldn’t matter. Who’d fucking care if I died? Not anyone I worked for. Not Natasha. Not some boss in New York City. Least of all me.

“So I caught a plane to New York, drank water out of the faucet in a bathroom at JFK International and met up with Nat. She took me to Le Cinq in downtown Manhattan, that fancy French place. Fuck, I must have looked like a nutcase walking in there, smelling like a homeless person, thin enough that a stiff enough wind could have carried me away. And there I was surrounded by all these white table clothes and maître d’s, luxury like I’d never been treated to. Then there was Tony, sitting alone at a table dressed in one of his suits but without the jacket. He stood up when he saw us coming, like some kind of gentleman in one of those old black and white movies. You know what he looks like. But it was more than that. He’s got a presence, and once I was in it, something inside me just - burst.

“We’d never even fuckin’ met. Never even spoken. But I told him that my gun was his, my skills were his, my life was his, if he wanted it. We hadn’t even sat down yet. He asked me what did I want, and I said I didn’t know. Trust, maybe. Rest, but I didn’t fucking say that. And he just smiled and said, ‘well, how about a hamburger’?”

“No,” Peter says, one hand clutching at his bare chest. “No, tell me you did not force Audric Ansel, head chef of Le Cinq, make you a fucking hamburger at the finest Parisian restaurant in the tri-state area. They don’t even have beef on the menu.”

“I didn’t,” Bucky says. He reaches out and threads his fingers into Peter’s hair, pulling to coax him to rest his head back on the man’s thigh. Just that act of dominance alone starts a fire simmering low in Peter’s belly. “Tony did. Is that the only point you took from that story? Shows how fucking often I’ll open up to you.”

“Not the only point,” Peter says, eyes heavy lidded. He’d need a few more minutes to become hard again, but that doesn’t mean his cock doesn’t tingle with the threat of it. “I know now that you’re in love with him.”

Peter feels viscerally when Bucky’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling at his scalp to the point of pain. He loosens them right away at the wince on Peter’s face, patting clumsily as if to soothe the ache he caused.

“If you tell him,” Bucky warns. “I’ll make you regret it.”

“Fuck, yes, threaten me again,” Peter groans lowly. He has to bite off the end of that sentence, the way the word daddy came so easily to his tongue. But the other man isn’t ready for that, hasn’t expressed any interest in it. Not to mention, maybe it makes him a sentimental fool, but Tony is the only man he’s ever called daddy, and it doesn’t feel right to pass the moniker along. Not without permission. Peter opens his mouth wide and plants his teeth into the muscular thigh that was resting beneath his cheek. When he pulls back, there is a shadow of the imprint in the denim. “It turns me on.”

Bucky pulls his hair again, this time harsh and purposeful. Peter’s neck cracks, an unsettling sensation that makes him shiver. He leans down until his breath fans across Peter’s upturned face. “I mean it.”

There is a real trace of fear that trickles down the back of Peter’s neck, but he leans into it. This is what he wanted. A dangerous man brings danger with him. His mouth opens to taunt Bucky more but the eyes - those pale, sea spray eyes - they are wild. Maybe frightened. It takes herculean effort to decide between egging the man on and comforting him. Well - it takes effort to choose what he knows to be right.

“I’m joking,” Peter says, throat hoarse from how his neck is exposed. “I won’t tell him.”

He’s left pinned under that fervent gaze for a few more endless seconds and then Bucky’s fist loosens. Brings him back down to rest his head where he had moments ago planted his cheek. Between Peter’s legs, he is throbbing. He can’t help but reach a hand down to palm at the tented fabric of his boxers.

“None of that,” Bucky says sternly. “Jesus, how desperate are you? You came just fifteen minutes ago and you’re already thirsty for more. You’re going to learn some patience, kid, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Good luck,” says Peter, breathless.

#winterspider #starker #winterironspider #nff #cagewrites

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starcrossedkaiju · 3 years

Text

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Five

If you remember that post I made about the Red Resistance you’re a real one.

Notes: this one is very short. It’s just to move the plot along and blah blah blah. Next chapter is a good one I think.

The next time Scott showed up to the Red Desert it was for a petty fight that Scar had instigated by trying to steal directly from the Renchanting base. The situation made Scott face palm, and he contemplated not even showing up. However, when Jimmy offered to go in place of him, he told him not to bother. That he would be back in less than a day and night cycle.

Scott walked into the meeting just as the Red Army crested a hill. Which they stayed on. Scar yawned exaggeratedly and trekked up to his opponent, who was wearing a bandage on his left arm.

Cleo was also there. She seemed to be focused on drawing shapes in the cracked sand with the tip of her sword. Most likely feeling bitter about her former ally, Tango, joining Dogwarts. Everyone was paying as little attention as possible while Scar fired off false promises and white lies. Grian busied himself with apologizing to the nearest members of the Red Army for Scar’s embarrassment.

Scott was nearly falling asleep on his feet when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Tango.

“Hey Major, you got a minute?” he whispered.

“So many,” Scott responded, gesturing to the desolate state of their meeting.

The two of them quietly excused themselves from the group to speak in private. Scott didn’t know why he didn’t tell Tango to just leave him alone. Maybe it was because Tango had a certain air of reluctance about him, Scott was certain he pulled his punches. Maybe it was shear boredom.

“So, nice weather,” Tango observed the arid desert sky.

“Uh huh..” Scott provided, unimpressed.

Tango stared at him blankly. Awkwardly.

He cleared his throat, “so I heard about your battle with Skiz and Ren. Impressive,” Tango said.

“What is with you people and beating around the bush? We’re not friends,” Scott pushed Tango away by the middle of his chest, “Tango,” he reminded.

Tango looked hurt for a second, “ouch Major. Fine, I wanted to ask you to join me,” he said.

Scott burst out laughing, to which Tango scolded him and shook him by the shoulders. That shut him up, it also earned Tango a slap.

“Don’t touch me,” Scott ordered.

Tango put his hands up, “no touching here! But be quiet. I brought you over here alone for a reason,” he pointed out.

Scott glanced at his allies. Blissfully unaware of the possible treason he may have been about to commit.

“Nobody knows this yet,” Tango whispered, “but I’m spying on the Red Army,” he said.

“What?” Scott asked rhetorically.

“Yeah, I have a plan. It involves you,” Tango responded.

Scott paused to consider if he was really about to entertain whatever was about to come out of Tango’s mouth.

“How do I know you’re not just trying to get close to me and then kill me on behalf of him,” Scott pointed at Ren, who was rolling his eyes at Scar and animatedly conversing with him about something Scott forgot about a long time ago.

“You remember the cow farm right?” he said.

“Yes,” Scott nodded suspiciously.

“I let you take my cow, on the promise that you and Jimmy wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tango recited.

“And we didn’t,” Scott said.

“Exactly. I know I can trust you, and I can’t trust them, Etho tried to kill me remember?” Tango pointed at Etho and Ren.

“So I want you to join me. Not the Red Army, me. Impulse is doing the same thing,” he concluded.

“Didn’t Impulse actually kill you?” Scott pointed out.

Tango waved his hand, water under the bridge.

Scott drifted off into contemplation. Everything about joining a coup against the Red Army screamed danger. More than usual. Dogwarts was a force to be reckoned with. They had superior gear, defenses, players, and alliances. Maybe Scott could cheap shot Martyn and Skizzle, but he could not promise that same luck against Etho or anyone else for that matter. The thought of even trying made his stomach turn.

And then there was Jimmy. If their plan didn’t work, what would happen to Jimmy? The Crastle? Or the Red Desert for that matter? The target on their backs was large enough. Scott had to take a step back. Since when did he get himself involved in a war?

Since he started defending himself, his mind provided.

Since he started standing up for his own freedom. For their freedom.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“Really? You’re in?” Tango’s eyes lit up, his joy was a bit loud for Scott’s new predilection for secrecy.

“Shh!” Scott put a finger in front of his face, “that’s not what I said…” he averted his eyes.

“I want to, believe me, I do,” he said, “but I can’t.”

Tango’s smile faded instantly, his red eyes grew disappointed, “Why not?” he seemed hurt.

“I have too much to lose. I can’t risk this,” Scott held the charm of his necklace up, it’s gemstone still shimmered bright green.

“Scott, I admire your devotion, I really do; but this is a bit bigger than that,” Tango said.

Scott’s expression fell into shock and reproach.

That seemed like enough of an answer for Tango, who backtracked as he realized he’d struck a nerve.

“I mean!” he corrected, “I mean nothing will happen to Jimmy. Cross my heart, he will be under the Red Resistance’s finest protection,” Tango stood up straight and crossed his heart.

Scott decided that was satisfactory. He made a face that said the opposite though, just to make sure Tango’s pride wasn’t too uplifted.

“Fine. I’ll join you Tango, but if I get even the slightest inclination of funny business, I’m out,” Scott cautioned, but he agreed.

“Terms and Conditions, I get it. The Red Resistance will not indenture any of its members,” Tango responded with a gleeful grin.

“You guys and your red themed names,” Scott teased, but held his hand out. They ought to make it official before everyone stopped snoring.

Tango shook it enthusiastically. The two called it done and Scott returned to his side, and Tango returned to the Red Army.

*****

Scott traveled back home that day. No fighting had taken place, although Scar had decidedly talked himself into a hole and ended up giving Ren access to any sand Dogwarts and their affiliates needed for the next week. It was no skin off Scott’s back, he didn’t care. Not his sand.

Wearing so much armor and standing in place for two hours gets on ones nerves. Taking off his heavy diamond chestplate felt like enough liberation for the day. He expected to hear from Tango or Impulse at some point, preferably soon.

Jimmy asked him how the meeting went when he returned, holding out a cup of coffee.

Unsure of whether or not to tell the truth, Scott lied, he said nothing happened and made fun of Scar for running his mouth so much. He said he was tired.

*****

“Scott? That you?” Tango’s voice came through a small door in his abandoned cow farm. It wasn’t needed anymore.

Scott pointed his torch towards the voice, illuminating a door, which Tango had crafted into the side of the underground farm.

“Yes it’s me. Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.

“I don’t want people to know I’m still using this place, that’s why,” Tango motioned for Scott to come to him.

Tango silently listened for any sign that Scott had been followed, then pushed a stone slab in front of the hidden door with a silent thud.

On the other side of the door was a short hallway, then a very small room with some pillows on the floor and a table. A map of the server that included all the structures and members was pinned up on the wall. There was also a well loved notebook on the table.

“Where’s Impulse?” Scott asked, sitting down on one of the pillows.

“Ren needed him for something, he’ll probably be here next time,” Tango explained. He sat down and lit a candle to make more light.

“I thought we would start by going over the basics today,” Tango picked up the notebook and flipped through some of the pages absently.

Scott looked away and then back, “okay, shoot,” he said.

The “plan” centered around infiltrating the Red Army, convincing them (mainly Ren) that Scott had decided to switch sides. Then, him, Tango, and Impulse would eventually build their trust. Somewhere in there they would convince the Red Army to stop messing with people and come to an agreement with the rest of the server. Something about working together instead of against each other.

“We still have to work some stuff out,” Tango concluded with confidence.

“That’s the plan? You really think this’ll work?” Scott crossed his arms.

“If you can insult Scar convincingly enough, yes,” Tango said.

“Oh this’ll be easy!” Scott laughed, mostly to cover up his nerves.

Tango chuckled with him, then became serious once more, “I’m glad you have a sense of humor going into this. Even after what they did to you,” Tango said.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he apologized.

Scott’s hands stung a bit in response, but he nodded a silent “thanks”.

They were quiet. Scott nervously fiddled with the hem of his coat, lost in thought, mostly regret.

Impulse did show up the next time. He arrived just after Scott did. Everyone sat awkwardly in the little room for a while and Scott was wrapped in nostalgia for a similar time. A time where the only threat was an obscene number of phantoms.

Over the course of their meetings, Scott observed his teammates and their actions. A far cry from who they used to be, including him. Scott’s hair had grown past his ears and turned purple at the tips, and he’d become rather paranoid about always wearing armor.

Tango spent much of their interactions lost in thought. The ghost of whatever was eating at him weighed visibly on his shoulders in the way his head was always bowed in a perpetual staring contest with the ground. He was irritable.

Impulse was a wild card to Scott, they’d never really met before; but it was clear he’d been changed as well. Illustrated by his long “mining” trips, which he only returned from to attend their weekly meetups with no resources to show for it, and a general aura of depression.

His mind was drawn back to the picture Cleo had taken of almost all his server-mates, together in front of the Vibe Machine. He’d studied everyone’s faces countless times. Mostly wondering where everything had gone wrong.

Had they ever truly been friends in the first place? Or was camaraderie a comfort when everyone else was just as weak as one another.

#finally. the end of act one.#also the end of me having to select from my notes app because #up until now I wrote EVERYTHING in the same document #never. ever do that.#kingslayer au #scott smajor #tangotek #impulsesv #3rdlife #3rd life smp #cas types #mcyt

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melanielocke · 3 years

Text

Conceal don't Feel - Two

Love is an Open Door

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @alastair-appreciation-month @writeordie-4 @amchara

AO3

Previous chapter: One: Do You Wanna Build a Snowman

Next chapter: For the First Time in Forever (to be posted)

Cordelia had never been so disappointed in her entire life. She’d been promised a guest, someone closer to her and Alastair’s age, someone who could end her days of loneliness and be her friend. Father had told her about it himself on one of his better days, he’d invited someone of her generation to come help Alastair. She knew the guest would be there mainly for her brother, of course, but Alastair hated being around people and she was sure whoever the guest was would have plenty of time to spend with her instead. She’d longed for someone to end her loneliness for such a long time she had started fantasizing about the person who would be staying until she’d gotten some admittedly unrealistic expectations. Instead, Charles Fairchild had arrived.

He wasn’t as close to her age as had been promised. Instead, he was eight years older than her, which she guessed was technically her generation, but he found himself far too mature to spend time with silly little girls like her. Not to mention, of course, that he was here for Alastair, and Alastair alone. With Father sick so often and Mother filling in, Alastair needed someone to teach him how to be a king. Somehow, her brother tolerated Charles’ presence whereas he still told Cordelia to go away and leave him alone whenever she approached him. After a few weeks she learned Charles had a younger brother around Cordelia’s age, but of course he hadn’t been invited.

With a groan, she returned to her practice with cortana. It was all she had these days, all she cared about. Even if she was all alone and her brother had barely spoken to her in years, she had been gifted the family sword, both a great honor and responsibility. She wondered sometimes why Alastair had chosen to gift her cortana, as it was tradition the sword went to the heir to the throne.

‘I knew it was important to you,’ was all he’d said when she’d asked, but for Cordelia that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. Giving her a powerful sword that was rightfully his because he knew it was important to her implied he loved her, yet nothing else Alastair did or said showed he even cared about her a little bit. If he loved her, he would spend time with her, not hide in his room and yell at her to go away.

Nowadays, he would only ever spend times with Charles, because of course while Cordelia wasn’t good enough for him, Charles was everything. They deserved each other, Cordelia had decided. They were both boring and stupid and could only ever talk about politics. The only time Charles paid Cordelia any mind was when he told her a princess shouldn’t be eating so much chocolate and maybe she should try losing some weight. He had a point, princesses were supposed to be slim and small and Cordelia wasn’t, but he didn’t have to be so rude about it. She didn’t understand why Alastair followed Charles around like some lost puppy. He used to shut the world out, and it seemed like he’d opened the door, but right after Charles had entered it had shut down with full force once more.

She wished she could let it go, and forget about her brother, but she couldn’t. She still remembered the fun they used to have when they were little, how he’d looked out for her and helped her build the most amazing snowmen. It had all happened so sudden, one day they were playing in the snow together, the next he wouldn’t leave his room and refused to even speak to her. Perhaps there was an explanation, something that would make it all make sense. But then why was Charles the exception, and what did Alastair see in him?

***

When Charles arrived in Arendelle, Alastair redoubled his resolve to get this power under control, to never let it show. Letting Thomas see had been a mistake. He’d trusted Thomas, had cared for him, and now they would never see each other again and how could he be sure Thomas hadn’t shared his secret? He had no reason to assume Charles would even accept the way he was. He could never know.

‘The palace of Arendelle is beautiful,’ Charles said. ‘A different style from the palace of the southern isles. Not that that is still in use, it has been turned into a museum. A real shame.’

Charles made no effort to hide the disdain in his voice as he said the word museum.

‘Why?’ Alastair asked.

‘Because there’s no monarchy anymore,’ Charles said. ‘My mother was the Queen of the Southern Isles until two years ago. She ended the monarchy and was elected as president instead. She thought it unfitting for an elected leader to live in a grand palace, so she decided it should be a museum instead to preserve our country’s history.’

Alastair stared at Charles with wide eyes. ‘That’s a possibility? I could just end the monarchy and have elections for a leader? And whoever has good ideas on how to improve the country could just sign up?’

He imagined all sorts of people would be willing to give it a try, and Alastair had never wanted the throne anyway. He had no idea how he’d be king and meet with cabinet members and foreign officials and never show the ice that rested inside of him.

Charles chuckled, as if he’d just said something ridiculous.

‘Perhaps not,’ he said quietly, already feeling stupid.

‘Being a Crown Prince is an honor, Alastair, a great privilege. Who in their right mind would give that up? Why would you not want to be king?’

Alastair sighed. ‘I guess you’re right. It’s just a lot of responsibility, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.’

‘That’s alright. That’s why I’m here. I might not be a prince anymore, but I have a lot of experience being one and later I helped with my mother’s presidential campaign and presidency. I know how to run a country.’

His friendship with Charles might have been a bit rocky at first, but Alastair soon learnt to trust him more. It was a bit like with Thomas, when Charles was near Alastair felt calmer and could control the ice.

Charles was knowledgeable and took his time to educate Alastair on everything he thought was important for a future king. He was often willing to make time for Alastair, even when it was not convenient for him, and Alastair thought as long as Charles was here, everything was going to be alright.

‘What will you do, when you return to the southern isles?’ Alastair asked him one day.

‘Run for president myself,’ Charles said. ‘It’s not the same as being king, but there’s still much good I can do for the southern isles. My mother has done a good job, but I fear she is too sentimental. I can make my country strong again, that is all I ever wanted.

Don’t worry, I won’t be leaving anytime soon. You still need plenty of my help, and I think together we can set up some better trade routes, build an alliance and find new ways in which we can help each other. I think both Arendelle and the Southern Isles could benefit from a closer relationship.’

Alastair was intrigued. Alliances with foreign kingdoms were what he feared the most of being king. He wasn’t charming, too blunt and straight forward to flatter, but perhaps with Charles he could get started on a good alliance without those skills. ‘Of course. Whatever you need.’

***

Cordelia was beyond excited. Alastair had asked her to join him for a picnic on the palace grounds this afternoon. This would be her chance to get her brother back and a picnic was a decent start. Perhaps someday coming winter they could build a snowman again. Cordelia firmly believed you were never too old to build a snowman.

She picked out her nicest dress, eternally grateful it still fit as she was always growing out of her clothes, and went out to meet Alastair in the gardens. For once he wasn’t with Charles, which was nice because Cordelia did not want to talk about politics all afternoon. She had more important things to discuss.

‘I’m glad you came,’ Alastair said.

He was tense, Cordelia could tell. It was hard to read his moods with Alastair, he rarely showed any emotion, but she had learnt to recognize the slight tension in his shoulders, his stiff demeanor, as if he was forcing himself to speak. She wondered why he would be tense.

‘Of course I came,’ Cordelia said. ‘As far as I know you’re still my only brother.’

‘I’m sorry, for the past years,’ Alastair said. ‘I know you must have been very alone.’

Cordelia nodded. ‘Yes. I know you have to study and prepare for being king and all, but why can’t we at least open the gates every once in a while? Maybe invite some girls my age, or even Charles’ younger brother?’

She knew spending a lot of time with a boy her age would be considered inappropriate, but that was still preferable to keeping the company of the portraits on the wall. She had so little experience with social interaction she didn’t even know how to speak to someone her age, and Father expected her to get married when she was older. How was she supposed to do that when she never met anyone? There was no way she was marrying Charles.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alastair said quietly. ‘We can’t do that.’

‘Father could invite Charles,’ Cordelia protested. ‘Surely we can invite someone else. I still don’t have a lady in waiting.’

‘That’ll have to wait, Layla. I’m sorry. I wish it were different.’

Alastair had called her Layla since she was a little girl, after a girl in a story their mother used to tell them, and it was a bit of a weak spot of hers. Still, she was determined not to let it go, because nothing Alastair said made any sense.

‘But why?’ Cordelia asked. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

‘I’m not afraid of anything,’ Alastair bit at her.

There was that temper she remembered from his childhood. It was good to see he still felt anything at all, but Cordelia did not want to make him angry the first time she’d spoken to him in years. Perhaps she should be a little more tactful about this instead of forcing answers out of him. One thing she knew for sure though, there was something Alastair knew and she didn’t. Perhaps more than one thing, Alastair always seemed to know much more than he let on. It was infuriating.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said and she hoped he would believe her apology was sincere. ‘I just wish I could have friends too.’

‘Maybe when you’re older,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ll do what I can, alright? But no promises.’

Cordelia decided to accept that for now. ‘Your life must have been very boring too. I mean, you have company, but it’s Charles. That might actually be worse than being alone.’

Alastair rolled his eyes. ‘He’s not boring. He’s a politician, and a very good one. He knows everything there is about being king, even if he won’t be one himself anymore. It is very generous of him to come here and help me.’

Cordelia made a face. ‘I don’t like him. Most of the time he ignores me, which honestly is fine, but he also tells me I eat way too much chocolate and need to lose weight.’

Her weight had become a bit of an insecurity lately. She was at the end of her growth spurt and quite tall, which she liked, she was even taller than Alastair, but while she’d stopped growing in length, she kept getting wider and had to throw out dresses all the time. Her mother had told her this was normal for girls her age, but Cordelia was pretty sure most girls her age were much thinner than she was, and princesses were expected to be small and skinny.

If Charles was to be believed, it was because of all the sweets she ate, and reminding her of it was hurtful, not to mention he was always rude and condescending about it, as if she couldn’t possibly know what was good for her.

‘I’m sorry, I’ll ask him not to bother you,’ Alastair promised. ‘But I really need him here, alright? I will be king one day, and I desperately need his help.’

Cordelia snorted. ‘Maybe if you wanted to learn how to be a better king, you could actually go outside and spend time with the people of Arendelle instead of hiding here in the castle.’

‘That’s not possible,’ Alastair said stiffly.

He was worried. Cordelia couldn’t tell what it was, but she was determined to find out.

‘Are you scared to leave the palace?’ Cordelia asked. ‘I read a book some time back about someone who was scared to leave their house. It was very intriguing.’

‘I’m not scared, Cordelia,’ Alastair hissed, but something about his stiff mannerism revealed otherwise.

She nodded. ‘Alright, so you have a fear of going outside like that character in the book. Maybe there’s a doctor somewhere who can help you overcome your fear since I have no idea how it’s done and I imagine dragging you outside might make it worse. But that’s alright, I could go out and into the city for you and report back what I learn. We could be a great team, like we used to be.’

‘No, Cordelia, that’s not… I’m not afraid.’ He stopped abruptly, twisting his fingers together.

Alastair was wearing a pair of fancy black gloves. Now that she noticed, he always wore gloves. Perhaps if he was scared of going outside, he was also scared of dirt? The palace was cleaned, of course, but some rooms weren’t cleaned as often because of the limited staff and would collect dust. She did remember her brother had always been rather neat, that had to be it.

‘We’re done here,’ Alastair said. ‘Goodbye.’

He stood up and walked away. They hadn’t even eaten anything yet. Cordelia ran after him.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Back inside. I changed my mind, I don’t want to have a picnic with you.’

Cordelia didn’t understand. He’d invited her, he’d wanted to spend time with her. Had she done something wrong to change his mind? It didn’t make any sense, she might have been a little pushy, but he had to understand it was for his own good, right?

‘Why? Am I suddenly not good enough for you anymore?’ Cordelia yelled, grabbing his shoulder.

‘Leave me alone, Cordelia,’ Alastair hissed. ‘I mean it.’

Cordelia was taken back by the sudden vehemence in his voice.

‘Fine, go back inside to stupid Charles and his stupid lessons!’ she yelled after him as he walked inside.

He didn’t look back, not even once. As if she was nothing. Great, that was her one chance to win back her brother, to improve her situation here somewhat. Now she had no idea what to do.

She returned to the picnic site and collapsed onto the blanket she’d laid out for the two of them. She stuffed some chocolate into her mouth. Chocolate she’d specifically requested for Alastair, because she knew he liked anything sweet, and loved chocolate most of all. Cordelia did too, curse stupid Charles and his stupid comments about her eating habits. She was the princess, she could eat as much chocolate as she wanted. She needed some way to cope with being alone all the time and if Charles thought it was bad for her maybe he should go find her a friend. As it was, she returned to days of loneliness and practicing with cortana. What else was she supposed to do?

***

‘Your father didn’t show up to our meeting again,’ Charles said. ‘We were supposed to discuss your progress weekly, but most of the time he isn’t there. Do you know if he’s alright?’

‘He’s just sick,’ Alastair said, terrified Charles would find out about his father’s drinking. ‘No one knows what’s wrong with him, but it’s been getting worse. Mother has taken over most of his tasks so he can rest. Thanks to you, I can start helping out too. I’ve been working on my correspondence, and I was wondering if you could double check my letter to the Duke of Weselton?’

Charles nodded. ‘I’ll look at your letter. I am sorry to hear about your father’s illness, Alastair, I know it’s been hard on you. How’s your sister under all this?’

Alastair sighed. A couple of months ago, he’d thought he was making progress. Around Charles he felt so much better, he felt as if the ice wasn’t even there unless he called for it. He had thought maybe he could give his sister another chance and he’d invited her to a picnic. If everything had gone well and he’d felt in control around her, he could have told her the truth there, and show her what he was capable of. But when he’d met with Cordelia, everything came back in full force and he’d have to fight with every bit of his willpower to repress his fear and keep the ice inside of him. Cordelia was still mad about his sudden departure, but he’d had no other choice if he wanted to keep her safe. When he’d gotten back to his bedroom, he’d lost control and caused a snowstorm. While he thought his control had improved since Charles had come, the size of any outburst that slipped through had grown.

He was lucky Cordelia hadn’t seen it and at least now that Father was drunk all the time, he wouldn’t notice and put Alastair in chains. He knew it was all his fault though, his father wouldn’t have started drinking if it weren’t for him.

‘I think it’s difficult for her,’ Alastair said. ‘She mentioned you made some comments about her eating habits the other day. I know you mean well, but she doesn’t like it.’

‘I’m just concerned for her. It’s unhealthy to eat so much chocolate,’ Charles insisted. ‘She’ll thank me when she doesn’t have to throw out another of her custom made gowns.’

Alastair didn’t think it was fair to shame her for growing out of clothes when he did the same. He’d started his growth spurt lately and most of his suits had become too short. They weren’t thrown away either, they were sold second hand, as were Cordelia’s old gowns.

‘I think she’s insecure about how she looks,’ Alastair said. ‘And she has plenty to worry about, I don’t think she should be worrying about her weight on top of that. Your comments aren’t helping her.’

He didn’t understand why his control was so much worse around Cordelia. A long time ago, he’d hurt her, and he was terrified it would happen again. Perhaps that was different with Charles. With Charles he could not feel, like he was supposed to.

The problem, of course, was that with Charles he did feel. Just like he had with Thomas. It had not appeared as fast as it had with Thomas, but it was so much stronger now that he’d gotten to know Charles, had spent nearly a year with him.

He wanted Charles. Loved him, even. Alastair didn’t understand why he felt this way. Years ago, he’d met his cousin Jem who’d told him how he loved both Will and Tessa romantically. Alastair couldn’t imagine loving more than one person at the same time, nor could he imagine loving a woman, but perhaps some men longed for the love of other men instead of women.

Perhaps being in love was what calmed his moods, as long as he wasn’t scared. Right now, he wasn’t, not yet. He knew it was unlikely Charles felt the same way. That was alright, because he still wanted to be near him and then everything would be fine.

‘You know, I always found it unusual how empty this castle is,’ Charles said one day. ‘No one else ever stays, your parents always travel to meet foreign leaders and never invite anyone over. There aren’t half as many cleaners and servants as there were in my old palace.’

‘We minimized the staff,’ Alastair said. ‘It seems wasteful to spend money on staff when that could be spent on improving the kingdom.’

‘You don’t even have friends,’ Charles said. ‘No other noblemen visit, ever. You don’t have any companions, nor a page. You sleep alone. It’s odd.’

Alastair frowned. ‘How is it odd that I sleep alone?’

‘When I was still a prince, I had a page. A boy around my age, who shared my bed at night. It was normal at home, for noblemen and women to have a page or lady in waiting share their bed. A good way to make sure your virtue remains intact and you do not share your bed with a woman you are not married to.’

Alastair wasn’t sure that would be effective. Who was to say nothing improper happened between the nobleman and the person who shared their bed?

‘There’s no one here I could lose my virtue to,’ Alastair said. ‘But I know what you mean, my mother does share her bed with Risa, her lady in waiting. My father doesn’t though, he sleeps alone.’

No one could find out he was a drunk. No one would believe in him as a king anymore, and therefore it was up to Alastair to keep anyone from finding out, just like he had to keep everyone from finding out about the ice inside of him.

‘I imagine you don’t have a page anymore at home?’ Alastair asked.

‘We had a fall out shortly before my mother gave up the crown,’ Charles said in a tone that indicated he did not want to talk about it.

Charles did not bring the topic up again for some time, not until he was complaining about his younger brother one day.

‘He’s been campaigning for the right for men to love other men,’ Charles said with a sigh. ‘And for women to love women. Here I was thinking he’d never give up on being silly and going out partying, but this is worse.’

Alastair tilted his head. ‘Why? Is he not fighting for a good cause?’

‘He will make everything much harder for me, for our family,’ Charles said. ‘People are shunning him, of course. They’re wondering, why is he campaigning for this, what does it mean about him? And my brother does not have the good sense to hide he likes both men and women.’

So Charles’ brother was like his cousin Jem, then? Alastair had not met Matthew Fairchild, but it was difficult to hear Charles talk like this. He felt a familiar tingling in his fingers, a warning he might lose control. Something he had not yet felt around Charles.

‘That is very brave of him,’ Alastair said.

‘I prefer to think of it as foolish,’ Charles said. ‘The people won’t accept him, he won’t change a thing. He’ll just make everything harder for himself, and for me. People will watch us more closely. No one batted an eye when Daniel, my former page, shared my bed for years.’

Alastair gasped. ‘You mean to say you love men?’

‘Unfortunately I do. It’s not easy for someone like me. I have to keep it a secret, or I risk losing everything. No one would vote for a man like me to be president. But with the proper precautions, I’ve been quite successful at hiding my affections and desires while still indulging in them. I wish my brother understood that.’

Alastair put his hand on Charles’ and felt the tingling fade. It wasn’t gone, not entirely, but he wouldn’t lose control. ‘Does your brother know about you?’

‘No. I never wanted him to. You’re the first person I’ve told after Daniel, I know I can trust you to keep my secret.’

Alastair felt special to be entrusted with such a secret, and could it mean Charles returned his feelings? Had Charles told him because he hoped Alastair might want to be with him?

‘When I’m king, I will do what your brother has been campaigning for, I will change the laws and allow two men or two women to be together,’ Alastair promised. ‘Get married, even.’

Charles waved his hand dismissively. ‘Don’t be silly, Alastair.’

His heart sank, the tingling increased. He had to tell Charles about his affections, or else everything would become snow and ice.

‘But I’m like you,’ Alastair said. ‘I like men. And I don’t want to hide forever. What’s even the point in being king if I can’t change such things?’

‘They’ll cast you out, Alastair,’ Charles said. ‘Don’t waste your birthright on something the people will never accept. Best to keep your affections a secret. You’re a prince, you can pick any boy you like to be your page or companion and share your bed. No one would suspect a thing.’

Charles put his hand on Alastair’s shoulder, a bit too long for it to be called friendly, right?

‘What about you?’ Alastair asked. ‘I feel choosing a page to be my love would be unfair. Like, would he even get a say in that? It wouldn’t be like that with you.’

Charles smiled and cupped his cheek with his hand. It was smooth, the hand of someone who had not done manual labor. ‘You’re in love with me, aren’t you?’ he said, his voice gentle.

Alastair rubbed his hands together, forcing the tingling to stop. He felt frost underneath his gloves, but it was still hidden. Conceal, don’t feel.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘I suspected as much,’ Charles said. ‘I like you too, Alastair. You’re smart and beautiful, and you will be a great king someday. But this has to be a secret. You understand that, don’t you? I will be with you, but only as long as you can keep your affections concealed.’

Alastair nodded. ‘Of course.’

Then Charles kissed him, and it was like fire, a sudden heat that melted his frozen heart, that stopped the tingling in his fingers, that calmed the storm inside of him. Perhaps love was the answer after all.

Alastair and Charles explored much more than just kissing together. Charles came to share his bed, claiming it was improper how Alastair slept alone all night. No one suspected a thing, but then of course, there was no one who could suspect. It was the first time in years where Alastair felt he might be happy. Even if he was still too dangerous to be around his sister. He tried once more. No promises this time, he just sought her out in her room to see if they could talk. The storm returned almost immediately and Alastair realized his sister would never be safe if he went near her. The only one he could be around was Charles.

It was amazing at first. Long nights together, Charles touching him, making love to him. He’d never known being touched by someone could feel so good, nor that it would melt the ice inside his heart. Charles knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted, and Alastair was happy to oblige.

It was wonderful outside of the bedroom too. He loved how Charles would gently touch his shoulder, his wrist as he guided him through their lessons. But it didn’t take long for the secrecy of it all to start to weigh on him. Charles’ younger brother had fled farther south for his own safety, confirming Charles’ beliefs it was better to keep their love a secret. Alastair was scared the same might happen to him, but what could possibly be worse than people finding out he was a monster with ice in his heart?

Perhaps it would be better to leave, to flee into the woods and snow touched mountains and make his home there. The cold didn’t bother him, he would survive. But Charles could not come with him there, and so he stayed. Even while Charles mocked his ideas, told him he was still too young to understand what it was to rule a kingdom and treated him like was a child despite being old enough to be Charles’ lover.

Once he’d been in control around Charles, but not anymore. He wasn’t sure why it had gotten worse, why he was so scared Charles would leave him, that he wasn’t good enough anymore. He redoubled his resolve, made sure to read everything Charles asked him to, be everything his lover needed him to be. Charles was all he had, he didn’t think he could survive being abandoned. They stayed like this for several years. Alastair never took his gloves, not even when they had sex, and never explained why. Charles thought it was odd, but had come to accept it.

Even when he lost control, the gloves kept it in for a little longer, offered a bit of protection, and the time to get away before the storm began. Whenever he didn’t trust himself anymore, he went to his own private bathroom, a place even Charles wasn’t allowed to enter. Now that Charles shared his bed, his bedroom wasn’t a safe place to lose control anymore and he couldn’t exactly ask Charles to leave. So instead, this bathroom had frozen several times over, and whenever he was going to lose control he just told Charles he needed to use the bathroom. At this point, all the pipes had broken, so nothing could be used, but everything had been cut off from the water network long ago and his outbursts didn’t affect the other bathrooms. Charles had not uncovered his secret, and although it was difficult to keep it from him, it was for the best.

***

Cordelia took her father’s hand. ‘Where are you going? Are you sure you’re well enough to travel?’

‘I’m feeling much better, Cordelia dear,’ he said with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before you know it.’

Cordelia wasn’t sure where exactly her parents would be traveling. It wasn’t the first time he left, of course, to meet with foreign nobles, but this time he would be going on a much longer journey, and it had been a while since he’d traveled anywhere. He’d been too sick and Mother had written letters to keep up relations instead.

‘Can’t I come with you?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Not this time,’ her father said. ‘But I promise on my next journey you can come with me. It’s almost time for you to be presented to the world. But this is something I have to do myself, I’m afraid.’

The idea of being presented to the world sounded good, but perhaps that would be a bit much all at once. Perhaps it would be nicer to start with a smaller group of people who could be her friends.

‘What if the people won’t like me?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Of course they will. You are beautiful, compassionate and nurturing, what’s not to like?’

Cordelia could always count on her father to tell her she was beautiful, even if not long ago she’d had to throw out nearly all of her gowns because she’d gained too much weight to fit into them.

‘I’ll still be here, azizam,’ her mother said, which surprised her.

‘Oh, I thought you were going too,’ Cordelia said.

‘I was, but Alastair insisted he was not ready to take over while I was gone and needed me to stay,’ her mother explained. ‘I know that’s not true and Alastair is more than ready, but I thought staying would put his mind at ease.’

Cordelia supposed that should make her less lonely, but her mother spent all her time on filling in for her father and she wasn’t sure where that left her. She knew everyone was keeping something from her, but she couldn’t figure out what and it was frustrating. She’d tried asking her father, who had told her not to worry, that everything would be alright in the end. Then she’d asked her mother, who’d told her that her brother was going through a difficult time, without offering any explanation. Apparently, boys his age often went through times like this, except in Alastair’s case that had been years now. Not that Cordelia knew any other boys Alastair’s age to compare his behavior to, but that was hardly her fault.

It turned out her father wasn’t back before she knew it. It took months to even get word from him. Of course, it was a long journey by ship and it made sense they did not hear anything at first, but after a couple of months Cordelia began to worry. They should have heard something by now, what could have become of him?

‘He’ll be alright, Cordelia,’ her mother had said. ‘We’ll hear from him soon enough. He must have decided to stay longer than intended and it would take time for a letter to reach us.’

But Cordelia could tell her mother was worried too, more so with every passing day during which they did not hear from Elias. Several months after he’d first left, a messenger came.

‘I am terribly sorry to bring you this news, Your Majesty,’ the messenger said, addressing her mother. ‘The King’s ship went down in the southern seas. There were no survivors.’

Cordelia had been in shock at first. Then she’d burst into tears. Mother had cried too, although a bit more concealed. Alastair though, had not shown a thing. He’d taken the news quietly, asked a few questions, and then retreated to his room. As if he didn’t feel a thing, as if he didn’t care.

The funeral was a quiet ceremony, and Alastair didn’t attend. She had been forced to ask Charles where he was and why he hadn’t come to his own father’s funeral. Charles didn’t know the answer either, said something about Alastair being upset and indisposed, but she could tell it didn’t make sense to him either.

Determined not to let him slip away from her like he always did, she went to his room after the funeral, knocking on the door. No response. When she was younger, Alastair would yell at her to go away, he would get angry that she had the nerve to bother him. As awful as that was, his silence was worse.

‘Please, Alastair,’ she said. ‘I know you’re in there. I don’t know why you didn’t come to the funeral, and maybe it was just too hard… But people asked about you, where you’ve been. And I want to be there for you. Just let me in, and we can talk about.’

‘Leave me alone, Cordelia!’ she heard from the other side of the door. He didn’t open it. ‘I don’t care Father is dead, that’s why I didn’t go the funeral. You shouldn’t either.’

It was not the answer she’d expected, although it wasn’t the first time it had seemed like Alastair did not love Father. Sometimes she wondered if Alastair could feel anything at all. She guessed not. There was ice inside his heart, and Cordelia did not know how to reach him anymore. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

With Father gone, her mother was Queen-Regent for now, taking on all of Father’s duties with some help from Alastair here and there until his coronation. Her mother was pregnant, and Cordelia didn’t think it would be good for her to spend so much time working while expecting a child. At least the pregnancy meant that once the baby was here, she would have someone to play with.

In four months, Alastair would turn twenty one and would be crowned king. He only ever spent time preparing for his coronation and his reign, Charles always hovering around him. It was impossible to catch him alone.

Of course, a coronation brought opportunities. Alastair couldn’t be crowned in a small, private ceremony, people from all over the country and even beyond would be invited. Cordelia would finally have a chance to meet actual real life people.

***

Alastair did not attend his father’s funeral. He’d expected knowing his father was gone would bring relief. No more hiding the empty bottles, no more covering up his sickness. No risk Cordelia would find out. Most of all, no risk Father would decide he was too dangerous and would chain him in the dungeons. He had never forgotten that day and even now he still had nightmares. Father had always been cruel to him, and he thought his death would set Alastair free. Instead, he felt empty, he felt a horrible guilt for hating a man who was now dead. He felt the snow and ice tingling against his fingers, seeking release. He pushed it back down with all he had. Conceal, don’t feel, that was what his father had taught him. No emotion, push it all down. Alright then, he would not feel. He would not mourn Father, would not care that he was gone. He would not attend the funeral and pay his respects, it was too dangerous anyway, and Father did not deserve that.

He knew people would ask why, where he’d been, and he made something up about being too sick and overcome with grief to attend. It was a lie. Even without the risk of exposing his ice, he would not have wanted to attend. He hated his father, and he couldn’t bear to listen to people speak on what a great king he’d been. Worse, what a great father he’d been. And there was no one he could talk to. Charles didn’t know what Father was really like, he believed in the lie of his illness. Cordelia was the same, worse even, for she adored Father, she always had. He’d considered telling her the truth, but that would be selfish. It would break her heart, and for what? And Mother had loved Father. Now that he was gone, she wanted to remember the good parts. She was having another baby, and was devastated the baby would never meet his father. Lucky child, he thought. That almost sounded like he resented the baby for getting the safe and carefree childhood he had never had, but that wasn’t true. He was almost glad Father was gone for their sake, and he hoped the baby would grow up happy and loved and protected, even if Alastair could provide none of that himself. It was too dangerous and he would never forgive himself if anything happened to the baby because of him.

***

‘Alastair, are you in there?’

No response. Sona had gotten used to that at this point. She had grown more worried every day. Alastair was to be king in a couple of months, but he had barely left his private quarters since Elias’ death. The only person he spoke to was Charles, and even then Charles had confided in her that he felt Alastair pull away from him. That he wasn’t sure Alastair was ready to be king.

She’d thought, perhaps, as his mother she could reach him. Charles didn’t know about the ice despite them being very close. But with her and Cordelia, all Alastair did was push them away.

He had seemed happy, at least, when she’d told him of her pregnancy, excited to meet the new baby. Mostly, he’d been terrified though and Sona thought perhaps Alastair was scared he’d hurt the baby. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She had to protect her baby, of course, but Alastair was her child too and she didn’t know how to reach him.

Sona knocked on the bedroom door once more. He couldn’t hide in there forever. It was Charles who opened, wearing a dressing robe. Sona knew Charles had been sleeping in Alastair’s bedroom for the past years. It was a way, apparently, to make sure Alastair’s virtue was intact for marriage. Not that Alastair had shown any interest in getting married and with his ice, Sona feared it was too dangerous. She wasn’t sure how Alastair had managed to keep his ice from Charles while sharing a bed, but that was impressive, right?

It pained her, she wanted nothing more than for Alastair to be happy, but she didn’t know how. She’d considered going back to Tessa, had asked Elias to reconsider, but he’d refused. ‘Alastair belongs here,’ Elias used to say. ‘That witch will only take him away from us.’

And now he was to be crowned king and it was too late. At least Charles had been good for him, right? Sona had noticed the way Alastair lit up around Charles, the way he seemed so eager to please him.

‘Your Majesty,’ Charles addressed her. ‘If I knew you were coming, I would have dressed for the occasion.’

‘I am sorry,’ Sona said. ‘Did I wake you? I didn’t realize you tucked in early, I’ve always been a late sleeper myself. I was just looking for Alastair, is he here?’

‘No, he must have left when I was asleep. Usually he goes to the bathroom, his own private one. Even I am not allowed in there. He’s very attached to his privacy.’

Sona knew about the bathroom, the place he went to when he lost control. It was good for him to have such a place right? Somewhere it didn’t matter if the ice became too much for him, because no one would get hurt.

Sona forced a smile. ‘Thank you Charles. I think I’ll look for him there.’

‘I don’t think he’d like that.’

‘He’s my son, and I am worried about him.’

‘He’s been showing progress in his lessons lately,’ Charles said. ‘I do not think you have to worry.’

Sona just nodded, and closed the door. Charles was smart, responsible, and he knew politics, but sometimes she felt he didn’t know Alastair, didn’t understand him. Risa hated Charles, acted as if he’d stolen Alastair away from them, but Sona felt that was a bit too simplistic. It was a difficult situation for everyone, and they were all doing the best they could. Alastair had chosen to spend his time around Charles, and if that was what made him feel better, who was she to judge?

Sona knocked on the bathroom door. No response.

‘Alastair, I’m coming in!’ she called.

She didn’t like invading his privacy, but at least he’d be forced to acknowledge he was in there if he wanted to stop her. He didn’t say anything. Perhaps he wasn’t in the bathroom after all, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

She pulled on the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Had Alastair locked himself in there? When she pulled a little harder, it broke open and Sona realized why she’d been unable to open the door. It was frozen. Everything in the bathroom was frozen, about half a meter of snow lying on the floor. It was a good thing the door opened to the outside, or she would not have gotten it open at all.

Alastair was lying on the snow, covered in a thin summer blanket. The cold had never bothered him, but he had always liked to hold a blanket when he slept. When he was little, he would sleep with a thin summer blanket in the coldest days of winter, perfectly content.

Should she wake him? He seemed peaceful, at least, now that he was asleep. But he had lost control in here before falling asleep, and she wanted to know what had happened. He hadn’t responded well to his father’s death, and she knew Elias and Alastair had never had the best relationship, but instead of grieving with her and Cordelia, he’d shut them out even more. Sona didn’t think he was alright.

Before she could make a decision, Alastair opened his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position. Sona wrapped her arms around herself, it was freezing cold in here. That couldn’t be good for the baby, but she was determined to talk to her son.

‘What happened, azizam?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry, maman,’ he said. ‘I lost control.’

‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘What happened?’

‘I was with Charles,’ he said. ‘He told me he’d been writing with the Duke of Weselton.’

Sona frowned. ‘What’s wrong with that? He’s one of our closest trading partners. Charles has not sabotaged our relationship with Weselton, has he?’

‘No, not like that. You see, the Duke has a daughter around my age and no other heir, and Charles wants to marry her. She will be here for the coronation, and Charles intends to propose there. He thinks the Duke is a powerful ally for him as well as for us. And the laws in Weselton are pretty backward, so if the Duke dies his daughter’s husband will inherit the title, the lands, everything.’

Sona knew Charles liked power, of course. Risa hated him for it, thought he couldn’t be trusted, but Sona couldn’t help but see that even if Charles was a little too power hungry for his own good, Alastair adored him. But if he took the title and became Duke of Weselton, why would that upset Alastair so much? Wouldn’t he be happy for his friend?

‘What does any of that have to do with you?’

Alastair sighed. ‘I know, it’s stupid. But he’ll leave me alone if he marries her. He’d go live in Weselton in the Duke’s palace. He cannot stay here anymore. He’s all I have, I couldn’t bear it if he left.’

Sona took his hand. It was ice cold. ‘You always knew he would return home someday, right? Charles was here to teach you and prepare you, and he has done that. You are ready to be king, joon-am. I know controlling the ice is hard, but you’re smart and compassionate and you will do fine if he’s not there.’

Secretly Sona thought perhaps Alastair would do even better without Charles there. She knew Alastair was kinder, and she feared perhaps it came from a place of self loathing but Alastair was not the kind of king who’d put his own needs before anyone else’s.

Alastair nodded weakly. ‘But I’d be all alone. When Charles and I first became friends, it was the first time I could control myself. As long as it was going well, I mean. I did sometimes lose control when he was upset with me, but he never saw. I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone.’

Alastair was crying. The tears froze into snowflakes before they even reached his cheeks. Watching her son cry had always been one of the strangest thing, as if he started snowing. It was heartbreaking to watch, and Sona wished she could hug him, but she knew Alastair wouldn’t let her. He was far too scared he’d hurt the baby.

‘You’re going to be alright,’ Sona said. ‘You’re lonely, I know that. Cordelia is too. But the coronation offers opportunities. Perhaps you’ll meet someone else who helps calm your moods and your ice. You could invite someone to stay, if you want, open the gates.’

Alastair shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous. Charles is the only one I can trust. I tried, maman. I tried with Cordelia, but every time I go near her I am so scared I’ll hurt her and then the ice takes over.’

‘Perhaps we should return to Tessa,’ Sona suggested.

‘No. The coronation is too close. This curse, it can’t be controlled. Best to be alone, and do what’s right for Arendelle.’

Sona guessed if Alastair wouldn’t return to the village, she’d try to send an invitation for the coronation. Perhaps Tessa could come here and help figure out why Alastair couldn’t control the ice. It was the least she could do for her son.

#Alastair Carstairs #Cordelia Carstairs #Sona Carstairs #Charles Fairchild #Conceal don't feel #Frozen AU #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

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justcafewriter · 3 years

Text

The Warmth of Family

Pairing : Aizawa Shouta x Fem! Reader

Genre : Fluff

Warning : None

Prompt : Fireplace

Summary : Just as Shouta enjoys the winter night with you and a special someone in front of the fireplace he set up, he decides to take your relationship to another level.

Word Count: 1.4K

a/n : this is a collaboration that I do with some friends from haikyuu simp discord. You can check the -> masterlist <- for other stories. Also, a special thanks for my sweet friend Clio (@akaashirin ) and my twinnie, Sky (@moonlitspring ) for helping me beta-ing and improves this story, ily Clio and Sky ❤.

"The dinner was delicious, thank you!" Aizawa hears your words while you're busy moving the dirty plates from the dining table into the sink.

"You're welcome… It's just a simple dish actually." He replies after he put the used glasses into the very same sink.

You smile at the rough looking guy in front of you before you pull him closer and kiss his lips. There, you can feel how he smiles upon your action before he kisses you back.

"Uhm.." Both you and Aizawa break the kiss before you look at the source of that voice who's suddenly 'interrupting' you. "Sorry, I just want to help by bringing this."

Smiles are forming on both of your faces as you see a little girl with long pale blue-gray hair standing not too far from you. Her red irises move back and forth between you and Aizawa which makes her already cute face look way cuter.

"Eri-chan, thanks for helping out." You say and you invite her to get closer to you. "Let me put this in the sink okay?" You say once she's standing in front of you. You take the plates and cutlery from Eri and she nods her head, a big grin appearing on her beautiful face as you thanked her.

"Remember to only bring your plates and cutlery, okay?" Aizawa says to the little girl.

"Okay! I might hurt myself if I bring the non-melamine one right?" Eri states, repeating what Aizawa has told her about helping after the meals.

You look at the scene in front of you, a warm feeling creeping inside your heart as you feel like you would melt into the sensation of seeing Aizawa and Eri;how they look like a father and daughter, and how you wish that you are the mother.

"Y/N?" Aizawa's voice calls you back from your thoughts. You look at the tired looking man before you put on a warm smile and let out a single hum. "Eri and I will be waiting in the living room." He says and you nod in response.

You continue to wash the dirty plates as you look outside through the small window in front of you, admiring the snow that fell from the sky. It's the time of the year when Aizawa and you will spend the night cuddling in each other's arms after a nice dinner, in front of a warm fireplace. You think that this time is gonna be a bit different, as you have another special guest accompanying both of you in this special time.

You heaved a satisfactory sigh as you put the last plates into the cabinet, then you dry your hands before walking towards the living room. There you see Aizawa sitting on the big couch in front of the fireplace and Eri laying flat on her stomach not too far from the couch as she draws something on a piece of paper.

"Thanks for washing the dishes." Aizawa said after he senses your presence. You walk faster, saying it's not a problem before you squat beside Eri, asking her what she's drawing.

"It's a secret." Eri giggles and tries to hide her drawing. "I'll show you once it's done!" She says again, a wide grin appeared on her face.

"Okay! I'll be there with Shouta." You respond while you pat Eri's hair. She hums happily before she continues to draw.

You get up after that and walk towards Aizawa. You look at that man before you slip inside his embrace, resting your head on his toned chest as he wraps his arms around your body.

"Hmm.. this feels so nice." You state. "I missed you. Both of us have been so busy."

"I missed you too." Aizawa replies, one of his hands caressing your back while the other one rubs your cheek softly before he plants a kiss on your crown.

Both of you stay still in that position, as if saying that you both feel blissful in each other's company. Your mind feels at ease as you listen to Aizawa's heartbeat and Aizawa feels like he's finally home as he's cuddling you like this. Everything about you screamed home to him; your scent, your voice, your smile, everything.

"I'm done!" You heard a joyful scream from Eri as she sits down and now she's looking at her drawing.

"Oh, is it time already?" You heard Aizawa say before he unwrapped his arms around you so he could get up from the couch.

"What time?" You ask, a confused look decorating your face.

"Y/N-Sensei please wait here." Eri says before she's running into her room and there you heard she called for Aizawa.

You were so confused. But after 10 minutes had passed you finally saw Eri finally come out from her room, wearing a cute Santa costume and in her hand you saw that piece of paper which she was drawing earlier.

"Whoa Eri-chan you look so cute!!!" You squeal as soon as you see Eri. "Can I take a picture?" Eri nodded and you began to take her picture. You saw how cute she looks and you can't help but to take a few more pictures after she gives you permission.

"Y/N, you act like a paparazzi now." You heard Aizawa's voice and as you're about to protest, you saw him standing not too far from Eri, his hair is already tied in a bun and you give him a questioning look.

"Do you need to go somewhere?" You ask.

"No?"

"Okay…" You say, still looking at him with a confused look as he's walking to you and finally sits beside you on the couch. He then tapped on the empty spot in between his legs, asking you to move there so you did, you sit there, your back facing him and you rest your head on his left shoulder.

"Are you guys trying to do something?" You ask which makes Eri let out a soft giggle, amused on how confused you are.

"Yes, we are. I've told you that I'll show you what I drew." Eri says and you feel like a light bulb appeared on the top of your head.

Eri then walks forward so you and Aizawa can see what she drew.

She's holding that paper up and you can see three figures inside the picture, one adult man, one adult woman and a little girl. They're all cuddling in front of the fireplace and on top, the word "FAMILY" was written with a green crayon.

Your heart filled with mixed emotions, is Eri missing her family? Did you and Aizawa not give her enough care?

"This is Aizawa-Sensei, this is Y/N-Sensei and this is Eri." You heard her explain and you suddenly feel tears starting to form at the corner of your eyes. Aizawa is now holding your hands, playing with your fingers and rubbing them in a comforting manner.

"Eri-chan, that is so cute." You say as you feel overwhelmed by her action. "I'm glad that you're thinking of me as your family."

"Aizawa-Sensei said that we're gonna be a real family now." Eri states and as she's saying it, you feel a cold metal lingering on your ring finger.

You look at it and find a simple diamond ring decorating your finger beautifully. Your heart is beating so fast and you look at Aizawa, a sly smirk hiding the nervous feeling he felt.

"I told Eri that you're the one who will decide." Aizawa says.. "Whether we can be a real family or not."

Tears start running down your cheeks, you can see how confused Eri looks when she realizes that you're crying. But then you open your arms wide, inviting Eri to come into your embrace while you're still inside Aizawa's warm hug. With a smile beautifully decorating Eri's face, she runs into your embrace.

"So, Y/N-Sensei, what's your answer?" Eri asks.

"I don't think you should call me Y/N-Sensei from now on, because you need to learn to call me Mom instead." You answer which only makes Eri's eyes shine brightly.

You feel the hug from Aizawa getting tighter so you look at his direction which only gained a sincere kiss from him. You know that it's his way of thanking you, of telling you that he feels thankful for your answer and he's glad that you're accepting his simple proposal.

"Thank you." He says after he broke the kiss.

You smile while you're looking at the love of your life before you say, "I'm the one who feels so thankful, Shouta."

collab taglist: @animatedarchives @azxmii @yamaguchi-stan

#shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha #mha #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa

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serowotonin · 3 years

Text

❝︎be mine❞︎ | valentine’s special

➽─ a love letters collab piece dedicated to @play90soi ─❥

#SYNOPSIS ❥ a letter of confession after nearly a year leads you back to a lost love.

#PAIRING ❥ ushijima wakatoshi x gn!reader #WORDCOUNT ❥ 1.3k #GENRE ❥ mostly fluff, maybe a bit of angst? exes to lovers #WARNING ❥ mentions of breakup, uh not well written emotions, unedited

#NOTE ❥ um it’s not the best but happy late valentines !! and i hope u like it<3

Dear L/n Y/n,

This Valentine’s would be the first we spend together as a couple and I’m hoping I will be able to make it memorable enough for you. Although we haven’t been together long, I have grown very fond of you over these last 2 months. Which is why I wanted to give you something special and personal for Valentine’s day.

I have never given anyone anything on Valentine’s day before so please forgive me if what I prepared wasn’t enough.

Honestly, I don’t know what to write in this letter. Tendou says to just write how I feel about you but my feelings are somewhat hard to describe.

If I think about it, I would say being with you is as fun as playing volleyball. They are different of course but as volleyball is a big part of my life, so are you.

You are easy to talk to and a generally engaging person to be around. There are many things about you I find curious and drawn to but all of those little things make you who you are and I am drawn to you as a whole.

I know I may not be as expressive as others but do know I care for you a great deal and do take notice of the little things about you. I may not show it outwardly though as I am unsure how to. The best example of this would be when you smile.

I don’t know how to react when you smile because it gives me an indescribable feeling I want to feel again when the moment fades. This is why I often bring you your favorite foods or snacks. It is to see that smile painted on your happy, cheerful face.

Hopefully, this letter too will bring a smile to your face.

Happy Valentine’s day Y/n. Thank you for being patient with me so far and thank you for being in my life.

Sincerely,

Ushijima Wakatoshi

You stared at the letter in your hand. This wasn’t your first time reading it, but funnily enough, you still felt all the same emotions as you did the first time around.

It was hard to believe that was two years ago, when you and Ushijima were experiencing the freshness of high school romance, and all the ups and downs that came with it afterwards.

Would you say you miss him? You did. But you two were on a break… a break that seems to be lasting nearly as long as the time you two were together.

It was for the best though. High school relationships barely made it past college anyways. You two were both busy people too.

Well, those were the same excuses you always used.

Excuses or not, you two weren’t together at the moment and although you may not want to admit it, it hurts.

It hurts even more once you realized tomorrow was going to be Valentine’s day.

First time spending it alone in a while… Oh well, no point in dwelling on it too much now. Might as well just go to sleep.

➽───────────────❥

Waking up to sunlight streaming through the cracks of your curtains would’ve been a great way to start the day was it not for the terrorizing shrieking of your alarm clock that accompanied it.

Tired, you moved one hand to shut the alarm as the other pulled off the blankets with a flourish.

Yes today was Valentine’s day, but it was also a Sunday, your day off.

After a satisfactory breakfast and shower, you draped yourself lazily on the couch thinking of anything you could do today.

‘There was that pile of mail from yesterday I could go through?’

And so you left the couch in favor of something more productive.

Pulling the pile of envelopes from the cupboard in which you stashed them, you brought them over to a nearby table and begun sorting through them.

Most were just the usual, coupons and bills. There were some advertisements littered through the pile too, and an envelope with familiar handwriting adorning the front.

You took in a deep breath, and opened the envelope. Unfolding the paper found inside, you were met with the same curves and strokes from the letter you read just last night.

Dear L/n Y/n,

How are you? It’s been a while since we talked to each other. It’s been even longer since we’ve seen each other last. I hope you are doing well, in both your studies and any other ventures you may have.

You might wonder why I sent you this letter after all this time and the truth is that I miss you. It took me a while to realize but I miss being with you. You were always a comforting force and my rest from volleyball and school activities.

I understand that we aren’t together now due to distance and the fact that we’re both busy people. I am not asking that we get back together because that in itself would have enough complications. However, if you’re willing, I would like to at least be able to spend a day with you.

Are you free on Valentine’s this year? Because if you are, I would like you to be mine again, if only for a day.

Sincerely,

Ushijima Wakatoshi

You read it once, twice, and once again. Were your eyes deceiving you or did Ushijima just write you a love letter, again, nearly a year after you broke up.

You looked at the date and saw this was sent to you almost a week ago, but since you didn’t collect your mail until yesterday you didn’t see it..

You started panicking slightly wondering if it’s too late to answer. It was still morning though. There was still time.

Rushing to find your phone, you opened your contacts and scrolled down to Ushijima’s name. Before you could think, you pressed call and held the phone to your ear, waiting for a response.

On the second ring, he picked up.

“Hello Y/n.”

“Hi.. Ushi,” you replied not quite sure what to call him. “Um I just read the letter you sent me and I’m sorry for the really late reply but yes.”

You heard a deep breath from the other end.

“Yes..?”

“Yes I am free today and yes I would like to be yours again.”

He didn’t say anything but you swear you could see him smiling through the phone.

“Then, shall I come over to your place?”

“That would be great. Thank you Ushi.”

“Thank you too Y/n. I’ll see you in a while.”

“Ok, see you.”

➽───────────────❥

As night grew and morning loomed close, it was time he left. Today had been enjoyable, more than that even, and you could tell Ushijima felt the same.

Goodbyes were difficult, this one seeming especially so. Standing at your door, he turned to face you.

He didn’t seem to know what to say and neither did you.

“I’ll be going now then. Goodnigh—“

“Wait, um, I know you said only for a day but really, I don’t think I want it to just be a day…”

He looked at you, eyes widened, and he smiled.

“I didn’t want it to be just for a day either.”

You smiled back, “Well, I guess we’ll figure something out then?”

“I’m free on Wednesday if you want to talk and figure it out,” he replied almost instantly.

“I think I’m free too. It’ll be a date then.”

He nodded and looked at the time, saying he probably should get going now. As he opened the door though, you snuck closer and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. You could see he practically melted at that but he didn’t say anything except for a goodbye and a goodnight.

You returned those before closing the door behind him and walking back to your room.

Laying on your bed a while later, you stared up at the ceiling.

You weren’t sure what the future would hold, but you knew you were looking forward to what’s coming.

#TAGLIST ❥ @lilikags @luna-in-luv

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu oneshot #hq oneshots #hq fluff #ushijima fluff #ushijima fic #ushijima oneshot #haikyuu ushijima #haikyuu fic #love letters collab #www.pink-ink.com/writing #/fic

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tainted-wine · 4 years

Text

Evil Demonic Music

Priest!Reader X Demon!Present Mic

Hizashi has a large and filling feast on every Halloween night. He’s been doing it since before you were born. Yet here you are crashing his party while smelling like fresh meat in a den of wolves. It’s entirely your fault for throwing off his groove.

Disclaimer: Reader is more reminiscent of an action priest in a gothic action movie or anime. There’s little to no accuracy here. Lightning will most likely strike me the next time I venture outside.

Words: 7.9k

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, Christian Themes, Possession/Mind Control, Orgy, Public Sex, Sorta Corruption, Downer Ending

🎃👻🎃HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE!🎃👻🎃

------------x------------

Yuuei Club Presents “Dance With The Devil” Halloween Event LIVE Music by Present Mic Costumes Encouraged // Doors Open at 8 p.m.

It looked innocent enough; a graphical poster on the door of a building surrounded by smaller businesses in the outlet. It masked itself well in the daytime with its plain exterior, devoid of any attractive decorations save for the club’s name that glowed in hypnotizing neon when night falls. All of its temptations were contained inside, dormant until it was filled with careless souls seeking unholy pleasures.

You didn’t hate them for it. The temptation to sin is strong. It’s how evil thrives, and the average person lacks the strength to resist. It’s your duty to protect all people, even the faithless, from evil’s many devices.

Like this nightclub.

Party locations like these were an uncommon feeding ground, although now that you think about it, the muddled and vulnerable minds residing within should make for easy meals. The loud and nonsensical “music” and absolute lack of restraint that the people displayed was baffling, but your task is to guard souls, not convert and guide them back to Heaven’s path. One demon in particular, however, favored ‘party animals’ more than any other creature from the vile depths.

“Easy there! You glare at this place any harder and it might combust!”

To the average human, the monster that appears beside you is nothing more than a tall blonde man with an inviting smile, but he can’t hide himself from the blessed and perceptive. Beneath the guise of spice and incense, he reeks of smoke and brimstone.

Hizashi, as he called himself, will never fool you.

“Stay back,” spit nearly flies from how harshly you say the words. You know that he can’t harm you, not while you wear your cross around your neck and calmly hold thoughts of your Lord in your mind. Still, you warn the dangerous fiend to keep his distance.

He obeys and innocently raises his hands. “Hey hey, you know I’m not out to hurt you, and you’re not gonna pull anything with that crafty little weapon there, right?”

No, you weren’t going to take a stab at him with the blade hidden in your holy necklace. You tried it before, an attempt to drive it into his back when he wasn’t looking. His hand caught your wrist at a speed you couldn’t comprehend – you were certain that you didn’t blink, yet you didn’t even see him move at all. His friendly smile didn’t waver, not a hint of anger visible on his face.

“Careful, baby priest! Don’t mean to sound cocky, but I’m way out of your league.” The warning wasn’t in his words, but in the heat of Hell itself that briefly washed over you, a sensation so powerful and real that you feared you were being dragged down that very instant. But the unseen flames died off the second he released your hand, eyes flashing a bloody red before returning to their usual emerald hues.

That was the first and only time you tried to banish him.

“I don’t trust you, but I’m not stupid,” was your answer, making sure not to let your hatred and disgust cloud your mind. He might take hold of that.

It was a satisfactory response, going by his bright beam of a smile. So friendly and inviting.

Months had passed when you finally accepted that he was a demon who genuinely enjoyed living alongside humans. He never spoke ill of your fellow men and commended them for their many ways of enjoying their short lives. Most demons you’ve dealt with favor negative emotions. Fear, sorrow, anger… those cold and bitter feelings attracted hellbeasts like flies to honey.

But this one? He fed on mortals that were as cheerful and carefree as him. All of this still wasn’t enough to convince you that he is truly gentle, however.

Hizashi stayed where he was, staring at his own promotional poster. The urge to leave was almost overwhelming, but you couldn’t let him know how much he unnerved you with just his presence alone. Instead, you shuffle awkwardly and try not to utter prayers of protection. Whether or not that will anger him is something you don’t want to find out.

He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Are you pumped for the best night of the year? Man, Halloween never gets old for me, especially in this day and age. Everyone dancing while dressed like a bunch of monsters...it’s almost like I’m at home! Humans sure know how to party like tomorrow is The Cleansing.”

“Yes, and it’s shameful,” you humor him. “I have no interest in debauchery.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s called having a good time, babe. Put the tome down and loosen up every once in a while.”

Put down the tome?

Loosen up?

Babe?

How dare he make you even entertain the thought of abandoning your teachings. You just know he’s trying to rile you up, to make you lose control. You won’t let him have his way. “I have my good times in moderation, on days when I praise God with my brothers and sisters with a glass of wine. There is discipline in everything, even celebration. Heathens simply get drunk and lose themselves in the madness.”

The demon chuckled as he ran his fingers through long golden locks. Just the beautiful sheen of his hair could probably attract the greedy. “Yep. Times sure do change, don’t they?”

“They don’t just change, they’re desecrated. What was once a day to ward off evil spirits now does the exact opposite. They’re too busy with their consumerism, candy, haunted houses…”

“Oh yeah, those haunted attractions are wild. So many of my buddies gorge themselves there. Free fear for the taking, ya dig?”

Despicable.

“And you don’t?” You test him. He was a conversationalist; a few probing questions won’t bother him, surely.

He withdraws his phone, scrolling through the screen for something. “Come on, you know me by now, don’t you? That sour stuff isn’t for me.”

“Forgive me for still struggling to trust you.” Sarcasm felt too risky, actually. You won’t use it again.

“Heh, no offense taken! You priests know just how cruel we can be sometimes. Mortals learned from the best, after all.”

Your lips twitch. His curve into a more wicked grin.

Every single passerby can’t seem to resist giving you odd looks. You can feel the eyes behind you as people make their way around the shops. Your garb wasn’t that strange; they’re acting like they’ve never seen a person in a robe and wearing several divine artifacts before. They would too if they knew what Hizashi was, who has yet to garner a single look of suspicion.

Ridiculous, his casual getup is actually fooling them. Perhaps the silly villainous mustache wasn’t big enough to give him away.

“Ah, here it is!” You nearly jumped from his voice and how quickly he leaned in, a video playing on his phone. “Just tap on the screen to play it an-”

“I know how to use a phone,” You hiss, taking the device from his hand and shooting him a glance every few seconds in case he tried something.

The video was chaos, an unsteady view of flashing lights and thumping heavy beats. Whoever held it was smack dab in the middle of an energetic crowd that sang and danced like barbaric animals. It was an orgy of overindulgence. Too much drinking with their comically shaped cups and bottles, too much lust in their crude excuse of a dance, and synthetic drums that dragged on for so damn long, even the beat sounded drunk. It’s not the first time you heard the horrid noise; it unfortunately appears to be popular among the masses.

God help these poor souls.

“Last year’s party.” Hizashi’s words cut through your thoughts. “Pretty hype, huh? Nothing gets my listeners goin’ like a hard trap beat!”

Oh? So he’s fully admitting it now? “So you’re calling it what it is, are you? Trapping them with your satanic melodies?”

The confusion on his face was very convincing, but you knew better. “What? No, that’s what the music is called.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “Please, demon. What do you think sounds more believable: A genre of music with such a simplistic and misleading name, or evil tunes that your kind uses to ensnare unassuming mortals that don’t know any better?”

“....um…”

“I thought so.” To think that he’d slip up so easily. He wasn’t as clever as he thought. “Tell me what happened to the people in this video. Are they alive? Or did you drain them until they were nothing more than lifeless husks?”

There was a snicker behind you. Both you and Hizashi turned around to see a young man holding his phone up with an amused smile, giving a little wave after being noticed. “Sorry,” he didn’t sound sorry at all. “I really like your costume, miss. Your acting is awesome, too.” With that, he put away his phone and whatever images he now has of you and continued on his merry way.

Impertinent juveniles.

“Anyway, they’re all fine,” Hizashi said, eyes returning to the door while tapping his feet to a beat you can’t hear. “I know how to feed without causing any serious harm. Even if I do go a little overboard, they’ll just brush it off as having too much to drink.”

“It doesn’t matter how good you are at controlling yourself. You’re an evil entity invading human minds.” It takes every bit of strength to not flinch when he looks at you. Again, there’s no anger – there’s never anger with him – and it makes you all the more uneasy. Maybe a being as ancient and influential as him doesn’t find a novice exorcisor like you worth getting angry or even annoyed over. “Your stench will remain on those people forever, attracting more of your kind to them unless someone like me finds and cleanses them.”

He shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck. “Come on, your boy is doing his best here. What do you want me to do? Starve?” He considers what he just said for a moment before laughing. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. Look, I ain’t leaving the stage, little priest. I’m addicted. The noise, the energy, the way everyone just loses themselves in all of it.”

The way his tongue peeks out to swipe over his upper lip has every hair on your skin sticking up.

“Man, I wish they knew just how sweet their own essence is when they’re caught up in the lights and music. Sweeter than any candy the kids will be bringing home tonight.”

He compares consuming pieces of a soul to children’s treats. “You’re really not helping your case,” you remark.

Another shrug. “C’mon, you say that like I actually have a chance at winning with you! I won’t hurt anyone in there. You have my word.”

You scoffed. “A demon’s word is-”

“Worthless, I know. See what I mean?” He withdrew a ring of keys out of his pocket. “Welp, I think we’ve stood here and stared at the door long enough. I gotta prep for the big night. Thanks for the company!” A few more seconds pass when he finds the right key and opens the entrance to the club.

You didn’t follow him inside. That would be careless.

Now it’s only you observing the building that will soon hold a giant living feast for the hungry monster. After another passing compliment about your “cool and authentic costume”, you figured you’ve stood around long enough. It was time to head home.

And find a way to keep everyone safe.

He was right; you have no way of getting rid of him yourself. That doesn’t mean you’ll stand by while knowing what danger these people will be walking into when night arrives. You’re not afraid to put your life on the line if it means protecting His children from the many evils on earth. When the first step of your plan takes root in your head, you change routes and make your way to the nearest costume shop.

Hizashi won’t be having his fill tonight.

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

8:30 p.m.

You weren’t expecting to encounter two demons tonight.

Well, perhaps that term isn’t appropriate. There is no sort of aura attached to the dark-haired man that you can trace back to the pits of Hell, but he is undoubtedly a creature of evil. One that was birthed from the shadows, living for eternity by lurking in darkness and drinking the blood of any unfortunate mortal that catches his eye.

“I knew it. I knew someone so close to Hizashi couldn’t be human.”

The vampire at the lively club’s entrance didn’t seem fazed by your accusation. He wasn’t even hiding himself. The sly bloodsucker knows that his crimson irises and enlarged fangs will be mistaken for prosthetics. Very convincing prosthetics.

“Nice to see you too,” he deadpans.

You’re getting a little tired of these beasts brushing you off. “So what’s your feeding plan here? Waiting to find an innocent maiden who wishes to see the sinful wonders inside, then take her to the back and drain her dry?”

“Like you?” The smirk doesn’t reveal any teeth, but his predatory eyes are enough to make you step back and grip the cross that still hangs around your neck. Your reaction makes him chuckle darkly before he returns to his regular disinterested self. “I already ate.” That monster. “I’m here because Hizashi thought I’d make for good security.”

“So you intend to drink from anyone that steps out of line?”

“No.”

“Lies. Look here, vampire…”

“My name is Shouta.”

“...You and your friend won’t be preying on these naive humans for much longer. He told me about his trap music, but I won’t let his songs bewitch anyone tonight.”

He stared at you, one eyebrow quirked high up. “Alright...can you give me your hand already? There’s a line growing behind you.”

You look over your shoulder, and there is indeed a line of disgruntled people dressed as various monsters and characters. You have to admit that their costumes look to be of higher quality than the angel outfit you hastily bought in the store’s clearance section. The fuzzy headband for your halo was itchy and your flimsy wings were on the verge of falling off with every sudden movement.

With a glare that messaged him not to try anything, you cautiously extended your arm. He took your hand in his – deathly cold – and wrapped a thin paper tag around your wrist. “Have fun.”

You always hate it when you can’t read their smiles.

The suffocating darkness around him was lifted when you made your way to the same doors you were looking at with so much contempt this morning. Glancing back, you saw others happily complimenting his ‘spooky’ appearance, to which he responded with either a quick thanks or a grunt. None of them seemed to notice his chilling aura or ice-cold touch.

Why must they be so blind to the evils that walk beside them everyday?

When you stepped in, the music nearly blasted you back outside. So loud, but not like the angelic choirs during gospel. You didn’t feel lifted, you just felt bombarded by pure noise. A repetitive tempo made the entire building pulse like a heartbeat. This didn’t sound like the music Hizashi supposedly used to put the crowd under a spell. It just repeated the same forsaken beat over and over again. Perhaps the repetition is meant to ease the victim’s mind and lure them in a false sense of security, then those long rolling beats will come in next, ensnaring them when their guard is down. Clever, but not clever enough.

You passed the lounge and bar area, paying no mind to the lecherous behavior around you. Boisterous laughs, alcohol being carelessly chugged…

“Hey there, angel.” A man dressed as a superhero nearly tripped over his own cape in his attempt to approach you. “You as innocent as you look? I can introduce you to the boUUUURP.” The sudden belch burned your poor eyes with the stinging smell of rum.

Lord have mercy on both you and these savages.

“No thank you,” you said through gritted teeth and brushed past him. The lights and colors are disorienting. Strobe lights, spotlights whizzing across the walls and floor, and vibrant ever-changing shapes on every surface. The intoxicated folk probably welcomed the flashing chaos. When you drink at the church, your sips stay modest and controlled, ensuring to never reach the stage of drunkenness. If you were feeling ‘buzzed’, as they would say, this musical and optical discourse would likely feel pleasant, like entering a world devoid of rules and consequences.

Also known as a world of sin.

A huge mass of bouncing bodies covered the dancefloor, and there on an elevated platform, acting as an advanced musical throne, was the evil orchestrator of the chaos.

And those long curved obsidian horns were most definitely real.

Even as he tampered with the many buttons and dials before him, Hizashi moved as wildly as his prey, too caught up in his own infernal electronic hymns to even notice your presence. Surely your chaste energy sticks out among these wrongdoers like a dove in a pit of serpents.

You need to activate your blessing before he eats. Good thing the vampire didn’t bother to inspect your costume for any natural evil repellents that you happened to be carrying.

Your self-made pockets were filled with sage and rosemary, common herbs used to drive away demons and spirits. You sprinkle them onto the floor as you continue to make your way to the center, where your power will work most efficiently. Hopefully their scent will not be overpowered by the sweaty bodies and breaths laced with alcohol of all kinds.

Pushing through the dancing crowd was an arduous task. The music had since switched to something faster and more aggressive. The hectic sounds in this one was making you miss the boring but calmer tunes from before. You never considered what the sound of a robot vomiting would sound like, but it would probably sound similar to the cacophony of ‘whirs’ and ��wubs’ that were assaulting your ears.

The mass was pushing and tossing you every which way. The variety of masks and makeup beneath the constant moving lights was rather frightening. Of course, you’ve dealt with plenty of real monsters, but it disturbed you to see your fellow man acting in such a frenzied matter in such a perplexing setting. You can see why Hizashi adored this environment. You couldn’t tell the difference between man and beast.

Straightening your halo, you decide that this spot will fare well enough.

Now it was time to apply holy water around your feet. Just a few drops of the blessed fluid will be enough to protect everyone here.

You close your eyes, ignore the many bodies bumping against you, and pray.

O Lord, protect me from temptation.

The water trickles out before you.

O Lord, forgive those who have been led astray.

“WOOOO SHIT! THIS IS MY JAM!”

The nearby exclamation makes your eyebrow twitch.

For we know that your power is greater than any evil.

The song is deafening, but you keep going.

Grant, O Lord, the protection fro-

Someone violently collides into you, knocking the bottle right out of your hands and rolling away to disappear behind the wall of stomping shoes.

Shit! Forgive my language, Father!

You elbow the fools blocking your way, ignoring the occasional “hey” or “watch it” during your desperate search for the most important tool against evil influences.

You didn’t even finish your prayer. You need to at least do that first, before it’s too late. Clapping your hands together, you shut your eyes again and moved your lips rapidly.

OLordprotectmefromtemptationOLordforgivetosewhohavebeenledastrayforweknowthatyourpowerisgreaterthanany-

“HERE COMES THE DROP!”

The rhythm and bass changed drastically, and with it came a powerful wave of raw exhilaration.

It’s like a force was injecting every positive chemical directly into your bloodstream. The abundance of newfound energy needed to be released, just like the tension that was released from that beat drop.

Your hips are swaying in a way you’ve never moved them before, and you can’t make them stop.

Stop! Stop, please! This is his doing!

“How are my listeners doin’ tonight?!”

The demon’s voice booms through the speakers, seeping into your ears and filling you with so much excitement that you can’t help but cheer with everyone else. Your senses feel simultaneously enhanced and dulled. The humans around you were out of focus, but the diabolical DJ up ahead was so clear, it’s like you were right in front of him. The hunger in his currently red eyes struck fear in you even as you danced.

“Woo, I’m lovin’ this energy! Thanks for coming by this Halloween, ya little monsters! Now...bring this house down!”

Your heart accelerates from the rush and you begin to jump in sync with the possessed crowd. Even the people standing by or sitting at the bars couldn’t resist, joining the growing horde on the dancefloor to jump in unison.

It was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Not a care in the world. No customs, no praise. It didn’t give you that warm feeling of ascension. Instead you just felt...liberated.

No!

Struggling in the demon’s grip, you cleared your thoughts just enough to try to calm yourself and regain control.

Utter a prayer. Hurry. Focus. You need His protection.

‘Baby priest? Is that you?’

That is not the mighty entity you wanted to hear. The voice echoes in your head, impossible to escape. When your eyes open, you see that above the vast sea of faces, Hizashi is staring right at you.

‘I thought the dancefloor smelled a little weird! I was so busy feelin’ the beat that I almost missed you!’ You watched him laugh as he continued to violate your mind. Damn him. Wasn’t possessing you cruel enough? ‘Please, no prayers when I’m about to dig in. That’s gonna leave a bad taste in my mouth. Just keep groovin’ like everyone else!”

Your limbs obeyed without your consent and followed the rhythm. This didn’t even sound like the music you heard in the video. Were you just foolish in thinking that he only used one specific sound to trap his victims?

With another change in the bassline, a heavier weight invaded, reaching right into the depths of your heart and tugging at your very soul. You know that fear will only make you more defenseless, but there was no fighting the terror that overtook you.

Not when a demon was feeding from you.

Your brain clashed with itself. You had to keep fighting, even as he stole a fragment of what your gracious Heavenly Father had gifted you and every human, but the cheerful voices implanted in your mind begged you to stop worrying and just give in already.

There was no stopping your movements or the unending rush that surged as strongly as the music. Only now, as he completely ignored your holy safety measures and tainted your soul as easily as the oblivious heathens surrounding you, did you fully understand just how great the differences in power between him and you were.

‘Whoa...holy shit.’

The breathless moan in your head made you shudder.

‘I haven’t tasted a human as pure as you in ages.’

“Please! You’ve already fed from me!” You scream out loud as the mob revels in the thrilling sensation of having a part of them sucked away. Your voice is drowned out by the music and shouts, yet you know that the horrid fiend can hear you loud and clear. “Just get out of my head!”

The dancing stops.

The music stops.

Everything stops.

It’s relieving to finally let your body rest from the forced celebration. The lights still flash and move in the dead silence. Every single person in all of their costumed glory turns and pins you with a sharp glare. Their eyes were unfocused and glazed over, consciousness elsewhere. Hizashi was in full control of all of them.

The demon himself looked down at you, no longer wearing his usual friendly and carefree smile. He was now showing the more twisted happiness you were used to seeing on his kind.

Crazed and eager to devour.

He spoke into the microphone on his headset, voice low and eerily calm. “Angel, you can’t just give me a sample of a five-star meal and expect me to not want more.”

The dread threatens to make you faint.

“Hey, none of that!” He laughs and switches back to his cheery tone. “I told you the negative emotions aren’t for me. I mean, a lady as sweet as you is gonna taste delicious either way. Why don’t you come on up here?”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to flee from this entire situation that you foolishly believed you were ready for. You thought you could sneak into this age-old creature’s gathering and force him to go hungry for the night.

Cockiness treads horribly close to pride, and pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

You clearly didn’t have a say in the matter, what with your feet moving forward on their own. Every individual in front of you stepped aside to create a clear path from you to Hizashi’s platform. Their eyes never left, heads slowly turning as they watched you slowly climb the steps with legs that trembled from your resistance.

As he stood tall clad in leather behind the large mixer table, you noticed along with his sturdy horns, he also sported a black pointed tail that lazily swayed behind him. And his stench...the foul smell that would often make you crinkle your nose was replaced with a pleasing fragrance, like a sweet and fruity beverage. It was undoubtedly the work of his spell; everything about him has suddenly become tempting.

At this point you were wishing for the music to return so that you couldn’t hear your thunderous heartbeat as you stopped right in front of him. His hellish eyes observed you from head to toe, holding his chin between his fingers before shaking his head and smirking.

“Ya really couldn’t find a better costume?” He snickered as he got closer and fiddled with your cheaply-made gown. You avoided looking directly into his eyes, afraid of falling into the blood-red depths and never finding your way back out. “Or do you priests work on a budget?” He pauses when he notices the contents in your pockets. “Oh?” A hand is shoved inside and pulls out a handful of herbs.

“Aww gross! Sneakin’ herbs into the joint?” He winces from the smell before tossing them aside, leaving them to scatter into the unmoving group below.

How? His reaction should have been much stronger…

“Not that this stuff really works when I’m vibin’ in my element, but I’m hurt! I thought we had some trust!” He pinches your cheek, knowing that you’re unable to pull away. “And I thought you knew that I was way out of your league. You’re gonna need the big guns if you plan on keeping me away from my food.” The breath blowing into your face is abnormally hot.

There’s a layer of something otherworldly hidden in his tone whenever he emphasizes his words, like a filter poorly attempting to cover up a monster’s true guttural voice.

But once again, he switches back to normal, which does nothing to calm you. “But I’m not gonna get mad at some rookie that doesn’t know better, especially one as tasty as you!” Twirling around, he pushes a few buttons on the table that you didn’t even know where to begin to figure out.

“Sorry about the interruption, listeners!” He says to the crowd, cruelly acting like they have any ability to respond. They continue to stare blankly. “I hope you don’t mind if I switch things up a bit. Your boy is gonna be a little preoccupied during the next few tracks.”

The deafening silence is lifted with the start of a new song, and the people suddenly spring back to life, completely unaware of the mindless state they were in. Their only goal was to keep partying.

Your body was moving again as well, this time bobbing gently to the double and triple beats and low frequencies that vibrate through the floor and up your spine.

This...this was the type of melody you feared, and yet it didn’t affect you any more than the other songs. All of them were traps.

The only way you can think of fighting back is by filling your head with songs of praise. Keep your Lord in your thoughts. He will protect you.

“Tsk...angel, that stuff doesn’t work when I, ya know, already ate a piece of you.” His face tightened from hearing just a few seconds of the holy song in your head. “I told you, ya gotta loosen up a bit. You’re already dancing better than I thought you would!”

He paid no attention to his other prey, instead admiring your simple but energetic movements.

Then he began to move as well, shoulders doing a slow shimmy and following each of your steps with his own, moving closer and closer until he was able to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you in.

He’s warm. Not burning or emitting an aura of terrifying darkness. The music suddenly feels softer, easing your fears. Like an intimate embrace.

“There, it’s not so bad, is it?” He says lowly, lips almost touching your face. “Quit thinking about your big daddy for once.”

You want to protest against the disrespectful nickname for your God, but he predicts your reaction and tightens his hold on your spirit.

“You taste so damn incredible right now, don’t mess it up,” he groans and savors you. With every part of you that is consumed, it becomes harder to resist. It would be so easy to just hold onto him and keep swaying like this, rocking back and forth as his hips press against yours, grinding into you.

The unfamiliar sensation startles you, but Hizashi shuts down your panic with a growl. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’ve forgotten.” he murmurs into your shoulder, breathing deeply to take in your scent. “I’ve been so hooked on the party life that I forgot just how heavenly innocents like you taste. To think that I’d have an actual priest dancing with me, tasting that revelry from such a pure source...pardon my blasphemy, but goddamn.”

You’re swimming through the fiery haze clouding your mind, clawing against it in a desperate search for an opening. But with every beat, the haze thickens and you sink further in.

You couldn’t find the light. No salvation.

More sinful feelings assault you from the friction of his groin against yours, a growing bulge rubbing on your most sacred area. It sends a foreign tingle down there.

“Ooooh, don’t think I can’t feel that, baby” he rasps, holding you so closely in a dance fitting for two lovers. “I can sense everything now that you’ve let me in.”

That angers you enough to find your voice again, just barely. “I didn’t let you in...” You tense from another hard grind. “Foul...beast.”

“Are you sure? You’re giving in pretty easily. It’s nothin’ to feel bad about, I promise. Humans aren’t built to resist life’s basic needs, so I don’t know why the big man in the clouds gets so wound up about it all the time.”

How dare he.

“Damned snake!” You force your hands to beat against him and push him off. “You will not corrupt me with the Devil’s words!”

He’s actually shocked for a moment, even to your own surprise, but he laughs it off. “Geez, my bad! I guess you are pretty persistent. Must be…” He grabs the cross around your neck, ignoring your horrified gasp. “...this.”

With a sharp yank and a pinch at the back of your neck, your one remaining object of holy protection is removed.

And with its loss, his influence completely overpowers you. The clearness of your senses switches on and off.

The music is muffled. It’s too loud.

The roaming lights are blurry. Too bright.

Are you still moving? Or is your body too heavy?

“It stings a bit, but that little thing can’t do much when the wearer’s already under my control.” An unfocused image of the demon tossing your precious necklace over his shoulder, the necklace you’ve held close to you since the day you first stepped into the cathedral and accepted your role as a righteous defender of man.

Your essence is now being stolen so quickly that it makes you shiver. He shouldn’t be taking this much.

“Mmm, I can’t get enough of this,” Teeth that are too sharp brush against your neck, threatening to pierce your skin. “I’m an old guy, ya know. I’ve done a lot of experimenting over the centuries, to see what I’m into.”

There’s a rip, and your gown is being pulled down along with your wings. It only relieves you from the growing heat of your surroundings.

“Y’see, our daddy isn’t a helicopter parent. He brings us into the world and just...lets us decide what to do. So no, my words ain’t the Devil’s words. They’re just mine, honey. I live for myself.”

Tilting your head, he presses his lips against your throat, making your breath hitch. No, your body is sacred. Don’t let him do this to you.

You don’t even know when the music had changed, but you’ve noticed the club was filled with a synthetic ambiance, the colors switching to magenta and cyan.

The party demon is so captivated by you that he doesn’t even acknowledge the change in tune. “I used to stalk the depressed. Wasn’t worth it, they were too bland.” He peppers kisses down to your collarbone. “I tormented scared paranoid folk. Fun, but it loses its flavor fast.”

Your bra is removed to expose your breasts to him and the entire populace within the building. Your heart races, but the synths don’t stop seeping into your ears, the bliss wrestling with your fear.

“Shh, don’t freak out. I’ll make sure everyone forgets everything that happened tonight.” He attempts to reassure you while massaging your newly revealed mounds. “So time went on as I treated my palate to different tastes. Wasn’t long before I realized my favorite vibes were the good ones. Festivals, games, a few buddies hangin’ out,” he lowered himself and flicked your nipple with his tongue. “Or a couple fucking, I ate all of it up. And after a while I decided that I just liked people in general.”

The pleasure felt when your breast is engulfed by the heat of his mouth is shameful. Hizashi moaned at your taste, though you weren’t sure if it was the taste of your flesh or your lust that was exciting him.

“I liked it when humans were having good times, so I figured out how to join in on the fun and damn, how do you guys keep finding new ways to rock out? The prudes keep droning on about how my favorite type of people have lost their way, but I think they’re the ones who found paradise, and they’re not even dead yet!” After nursing on both of your breasts, he rises and grabs your face to turn it toward the crowd. “I mean, just look at how these guys – oh.”

‘Oh’ indeed.

The people were no longer dancing. They were grabbing at each other, at men and women they probably didn’t even know, tearing apart clothes in a vicious urge to fornicate right there on the dancefloor. Some of them were already completely nude. You avert your eyes to stare at your feet instead.

Hizashi cleared his throat. “Whoops. Look what ya made me do, angel. My lust got the best of me!” He held you close while watching the horrid act before him. You’re trying to move your heavy arms to cover your bare body. “No wonder I’m feeling so horny. Think I should make them stop?”

It takes effort to nod your head.

His lip sticks out in an exaggerated pout before going, “Nah. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an orgy. I bet this is a first for you.”

Something tickles your hips, your eyes wandering over to see the arrow-like point of his tail curling around your white panties, tugging them down.

Part of you already knows that Hizashi is allowing you to struggle for his own amusement. With all of your protection gone, he can easily stop you from swatting at the flexible limb as it brings your final article of clothing down to your ankles.

Wearing nothing but the small strap around your wrist, you want so badly to curl up and hide yourself. You were completely bare on a stage with a demon quietly taking in your form. The contrasting feelings of anxiety and calm threaten to tear your psyche in half.

“Given how anal you guys are about chastity, I think it’s safe to say no one’s ever touched you before?” The way you tense tells him enough. “Alright alright, relax. I’m gonna make this easy for you.”

‘How? By letting me leave?’ You want to say, but your vocal chords aren’t cooperating.

He grinned from ear to ear. “Well, no. I told ya I know everything goin’ on in that head.” He grabs you by the shoulders and places you right in front of his mixer.

There were many suggestive sounds amongst the pile of writhing bodies before you. It was the most depraved sight that you’ve ever witnessed. These people may have been sinners for their immoral pursuits, but they were still victims of a wicked creature’s influence. You wish you could apologize to all of them for failing to protect them.

Slender fingers massaged your shoulders. “Ain’t it beautiful?” He whispers hotly into your ear. “I’m not that crazy about lust, but I can’t resist when it’s coming from someone like you.”

His aura has you shackled on the spot, unable to move or even tear your eyes away from all of the sex. His voice meshes with the increasingly sensual tunes, both him and the music putting you in a deep trance that leaves every nerve in your body extra sensitive.

You’re gently pushed to lean forward until your hands are supporting yourself on the table. The leather of his clothes pressed against your back is irritating, but easily overshadowed by the hands trailing down your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“One of my favorite hobbies was hunting down faithful maidens like you. All demons love doing it, really. You can’t top raw innocence, it’s always a delicacy. It’s the closest most of us will ever get to fucking an actual angel. I managed to fuck an angel, and lemme tell ya, it’s a once in an eternity experience.”

He reaches your mound. There is still fear and an urge to pray, though it’s drowned out by the electronic harmony and all of the hot sex.

“Now she’s a fallen one that hangs out with me. Pretty little devil’s obsessed with sex now. If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll give you a visit in your sleep at midnight.”

His fingers reach your untouched folds, making you gasp. You’ve never felt so much lubrication down there before. Was that normal?

“I was really good at the whole corruption thing, so good that I caught the attention of the big holy boys. They were toughies, gotta hand it to 'em. I decided to lay low after that little showdown. That was all a preeetty long time ago.”

The demon’s voice is background noise as you watch deplorable acts that you didn’t even know existed. One woman was taking a cock into her mouth while another man pounded into her from behind. A new male approached and grabbed her free hand, wrapping her fingers around him and encouraging her to stroke him.

Three men pleasuring themselves with the same woman. They were probably complete strangers.

The repulsive sight makes you wetter.

They sure were having fun.

Hizashi hums at your arousal, sinking a digit into your folds.

“Ah,” you choke on your own voice. His other hand plays with your breast again while you’re being penetrated for the first time. Some sort of flame was growing within you, burning and pleasing at the same time.

“I thought I’ve found my place. Going place to place and bringing in crowds who just want to forget their troubles for a day and groove.”

The finger pushes through your tightly clenched walls, or at least they try to.

“Fuck, relax a bit, babe,” he groans.

You do exactly that, giving him enough leeway to push in and out at a steady pace. You don’t think about the violation, only the strange friction that has no right to feel as good as it does.

“And then you come along,” An unexpected sharp thrust causes his finger to brush against a spot that fills your vision with even more blinding lights. “It’s not like I was after you or anything. You’re a solid negative ten on the threat scale, but ya just wouldn’t leave me alone!” He relentlessly hits the spot again, and again, until you’re crying out and your legs are shaking. “Then you waltz in here and try to ruin my favorite night of the year?

He’s able to hide his anger as he speaks, but fails to keep it from entering his possessed victims. The orgy becomes more violent, all of the people looking no more civil than savages in torn rags as they try to dominate and fuck each other senseless.

It affects you as well, going by how annoyed you’re getting by his rambling. Can’t he just focus on pleasing you?

His finger leaves you too soon, your cunt already missing the brand new sensations. “Sorry, babe,” he says when he releases you and begins to undo his pants. “Normally I’d spend more time warming up, but I gotta join in on the raunchiness now before I go nuts. Just...do me a favor.”

You whined, wiggling your hips and rubbing your ass against his freed cock. He only chuckles at your impatience.

“Slow your roll, I’ll get started as soon as you push that button riiiight there.”

You push one of the many glowing buttons, and stock phrases are shouted out of the speakers.

“No, the one next to it.”

You press it, and another song begins.

Hizashi hums in approval. “I usually do a smooth transition between songs, but…”

A hard impact knocks you forward with the overwhelming feeling of being completely filled all at once. The stretch and pressure has your mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

“....Yeah, I just wanted to do that. And-” He yanks the halo off your head and drops it at your feet. “-I always loved the symbolism in that.”

He wastes no time building up. You’re being pounded as hard and consistently as the energetic beat. It should hurt, but the euphoric state of your mind dulls any pain and discomfort.

With the demon inside both your head and your womanhood, there was no saving yourself. Your prayers wouldn’t even be heard through this thick depraved fog.

“Oh fuck yeah,” He growls loudly with his wild thrusts, hands gripping your hips tightly enough to bruise. “I’ve been missing out. So hooked on the party life that I don’t even remember how it feels to eat up a modest little soul like this.”

Was he still devouring you? You can’t even tell, not while you’re trapped in this melodic dreamworld as his cock rams you.

“Ya mind if we do this again sometime?” He angled himself to ensure he was hitting that sweet spot with each rhythmic pump. Despite his aggression, his hips moved with musical purpose. “Not like you’re much of a priest anymore. You’re fuckin’ a demon, sweetheart. I think the pearly gates have closed for you.”

That sounds sad and all, but God does he feel good. The entire moment was feeling like a hallucination. Your world was saturated with fuzzy images and muffled bass as your virgin pussy was ravaged. The tightened heat in your core was growing hotter by the second.

Hizashi just wouldn’t stop talking even as he became short of breath. “Ah, don’t worry, my doors are always open to misfits!” His rhythm falters a bit when you give him an especially tight squeeze. “Ya like that? I can always wipe your memory of tonight along with everyone else’s, and you can head back home. I just don’t think your next visit to the house of God is gonna end well.”

How does he expect you to care with the way he’s plowing into you?

His arms wrap around you in an embrace. “No pressure, angel. You can decide later. For now, just enjoy the show.”

And finally, he shut up and focused on fucking your divine lights out.

With his pelvis flush against your ass, Hizashi humps with newfound vigor, his thrusts rapid yet precise enough to keep stimulating your most sensitive areas.

The blinding stars in your eyes make it impossible to even make out what’s happening in front of you. A shame, because you want to know if you’re being dicked down as good and hard as the whores on the dancefloor.

The demon may not be talking anymore, but he was still being very vocal about his pleasure with feral moans and growls right into your ear.

An extra hard slam forces you to nearly topple onto the controls, hands scrambling to keep you upright and hitting several buttons in the process.

A series of sounds and distortion effects are added to the song.

It unexpectedly riles him up. “Shit, that wasn’t a bad mix, angel. I might have a junior DJ in the making,” he praises.

The tempo changes - different speed and new layers - and Hizashi follows suit by switching his quick bucks into deep thrusts.

The fire inside was close to doing...something. You weren’t sure what it was or what exactly will happen if this lasts any longer, but part of you knows that it’s about to feel very good.

With the head of his dick striking you nice and deep, you quickly learn that you were right.

The explosion of spasms was too pleasurable to even comprehend, each contraction tearing filthy screams from your throat. Hizashi bursts soon afterwards and fills you up with a cry even more lewd than yours.

Just like that, your mind is freed and the weight of his aura is lifted...and you feel gravely tired.

A coldness sweeps over you and saps every ounce of your strength. You find yourself dropping to your knees and falling over as a distant voice expresses genuine worry.

“Oh.......I overfed.” Though it doesn’t sound as panicked as it should.

You don’t want to close your eyes. You fear that something terrible might happen if you do, but your eyelids are quickly becoming too heavy to fight.

“Really sorry, little priest! I didn’t mean to! Look at the bright side - my friends are gonna love ya down there! Home isn’t half as bad as those books make it out to be!”

Each word sounds fainter than the last, but you still catch each one.

Home?

Your eyes shut.

And the remains of your soul become stained with ash and black before heading downwards into the demonic realm.

Welcome home.

#smut #present mic #yamada hizashi #present mic x reader #broke: EDM is soulless #woke: EDM steals souls #tw noncon #tw death #tw mind control

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secretpeachtea · 3 years

Text

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 7

Title: the fox’s den

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

A/N: Hey y’all! There’s gonna be quite a lot of dialogue in this chapter, but I hope it’s not too boring. I was really excited to write this chapter since Inarizaki is my favorite team :D Hope you enjoy!

Previous///Next

There was always something entrancing about the second half of the year when the green and gray streets transform into a multicolored wonderland as a response to the incoming shift of seasons. You admire the different shades of red, orange, and yellow that litter the ground that you’re walking on as you make your way to work. The only things going through your mind right now are serenity, peace, and-

“‘SAMU, YOU BASTARD!”

At the sudden voice, you almost trip on your own feet in surprise. Once you’re sure you won’t fall flat on your face, you look up and see two familiar twins right outside the front door of Onigiri Miya, clear irritation written on their faces.

“How could you say that?! Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?” Atsumu yells at his brother while clenching his hands by his sides.

Osamu’s eyebrows are furrowed in distress. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one with common sense here. I’ve done what I can to convince you, but you just won’t listen to me!”

You start to worry now as you continue to watch the two glare at each other from where you’re standing a few feet away. You know it’s best not to interfere, but there��s a part of you that wants to stop them before things get out of hand. It seems like you don’t even have to make a decision as Atsumu’s eyes meet yours. “Hey, sweetheart! Come over here and tell this tasteless scrub that he’s wrong!”

“Who you calling a tasteless scrub, you uneducated swine!” Osamu crosses his arms in disdain but softens his gaze when his eyes land on your approaching figure.

“Hold up. What are you guys even talking about?” You try your best to keep your voice as relaxed as possible but still proceed with caution in case one of them were to blow up again in anger.

What you didn’t expect, however, were the next few words that came out of the blonde’s mouth. “The best Disney princess is obviously Rapunzel, but ‘Samu doesn’t agree!”

“You just like her ‘cause she’s blonde! Clearly, Belle is the superior princess!” The other twin spits back.

You pause for a moment to process the situation. That’s...not exactly what you expected when you first saw them arguing outside of the shop (and quite loudly too). A deep sigh leaves your lips as the two childish men in front of you continue to banter.

“Oh yeah?!” Atsumu suddenly directs his attention on you and places his hands on your shoulders for emphasis. “Sweetheart, who do you think is the best Disney princess?”

Already feeling an incoming headache, you just say the first thing that pops into your mind in hopes of stopping this madness. “Oh, uh...I don’t know. I think Mulan is pretty badass.”

The twins go silent as they contemplate your response for a brief minute. It seems like you gave a satisfactory answer because they both make eye contact with each other and nod their heads. Their strange twin telepathy is something you’ll never understand.

No longer having the patience, you just brush off Atsumu’s hands and use your spare key to open up the front entrance of the shop. The two men just follow you inside and the blonde is the first one to break the silence in a much calmer tone than before. “Okay, fair. But, I really do think-!”

Atsumu halts his footsteps as you and Osamu just glance at him confused. The blonde gasps dramatically as he stares at the new additions to the shop’s walls. “HEY! Why do you have their autographs on your wall?!”

Not wanting a part 2 to the previous fiasco, you just head over to the back room to put your belongings away and get yourself ready for work. Securing the cap on your head, you walk out of the room and stroll to your spot on the register. It seems like Atsumu is a lot more fired up than usual because he’s still arguing with his brother.

It took everything in Osamu to keep his voice at a normal level while responding to Atsumu’s pettiness. “They came over to eat one day and I thought it would look good for the shop.”

“Don’t you know that we’re ultimate rivals?! You can’t be siding with the enemy!”

“They’re your rivals, ‘Tsumu. Everyone’s technically considered a customer to me.”

“Traitor!”

You swear you saw puffs of smoke pop from Osamu’s ears from his frustration. You were about to place a hand on his shoulder in hopes to keep your boss from throwing something at his brother, but a smooth voice interrupted the tension in the room.

“Calm down, Atsumu.”

You and Osamu jumped in surprise, while Atsumu let out a startled yelp at the unexpected guest. The three of you turned toward the front entrance to see who showed up an hour before opening. Although you only heard one voice, three tall figures in casual clothing stand at the doorway. They step inside the building and you vaguely remember seeing their faces in a picture Osamu once showed you from high school.

The person in the middle of the group brushes away a couple strands of his gray hair with black tips while his other hand sits on top of the handle of a small suitcase. The one on the left has a built body with dark skin sporting a kind smile. The one on the right has a lanky body and long fingers that reach up to his face to cover a yawn on his bored expression.

If you remember correctly, Osamu had told you about some of his former teammates and the ones standing in front of you were Kita Shinsuke, Ojiro Aran, and Suna Rintarou.

The twins brighten in recognition and make their way over to the newcomers. “Kita-san! Aran-san!”

“I’m here too, you know.” Suna comments.

All of the guys greet one another in the middle of the room with smiles on their faces. You’re not really sure what to do since you’re the odd one out.

You stand off to the side behind the counter awkwardly, but you are interested in their little group dynamic. The Inarizaki alumni all hold completely different demeanors and postures, but one thing that they all share is that all of them are incomprehensibly attractive in their own way. Why are all of the former and current volleyball players that you’ve met so far like this?

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that you’ve been staring at Kita in particular for a couple minutes. He must have felt your eyes on him because he momentarily looks away from his current conversation to make direct eye contact with you. You let out a small squeak after getting caught staring, but it doesn’t seem like Kita is bothered at all.

“Ah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” Kita leaves his group to walk over to where you are and this catches the attention of the other four males as well.

“It’s no problem! I wanted to give you guys room to catch up.” You lift up your hands to wave off his apology and give Kita a bright smile as you speak. “It’s finally nice to meet the oh-so-praiseworthy rice provider for the shop, Kita-san.”

Your reply elicits a soft laugh from the man’s mouth. “Nice to finally meet you too, (Surname)-san.”

“You know my name?” You ask, surprised.

“Aside from looking at your name tag, yes. I’ve heard some things about you from the twins,” Kita answers.

Your cheeks turn a bit pink in embarrassment because you completely forgot that you were wearing your name tag for work. Your embarrassment doesn’t last for long, however, when you quickly realize what Kita had just implied about the twins. You shoot an intimidating look at the two culprits and neither of them meet your gaze. “They talk about me?”

“Only good things. No worries.” Kita tries his best to reassure you that there hasn’t been any slander against you, but you still feel a bit insecure.

Knowing that feeling this way is probably unnecessary, you just resort to a little bit of teasing. “I don’t worry so much about Osamu-san. It’s the other one that needs to be kept in check.”

“Hey!” Atsumu’s head quickly turns to your direction at your very obvious accusation.

Suna snickers while ignoring his friend’s outburst. “She’s a smart one.”

“Hey!”

Aran chuckles in amusement and Osamu just smiles at his brother’s distress. You try to fake exasperation by placing a hand on your cheek and Kita’s smile falters as he catches something from the corner of his eye. The charm bracelet that you received from Osamu is secured to your wrist with the small onigiri charm shining under the fluorescent lights.

“Oh, so you’re the one…”

You look back at Kita in confusion. “The one what?”

Kita hesitates for a moment before simply shaking his head in dismissal with a knowing grin on his lips. “Ah, it’s nothing.”

You’re bewildered by his mysterious response, but it doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it anymore, so you just brush it off for now.

As everyone else continues their own conversations, Kita thinks back to a conversation he had a couple months back.

“The rice should be coming in a couple days, Osamu.”

“Sounds good, Kita-san.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Actually...I have a quick question.”

“What is it?”

“What would you...um...give to someone who just graduated that’s not so generic or meaningless?”

“...Are you asking for your coworker?”

“Scary! Are you sure you don’t read minds or something, Kita-san?”

“I don’t believe I can. But, to answer your previous question, if you want to give a gift that holds more meaning, I would say buy or make something that’s personal to both of you. It could be from a fond memory you share or a common interest. However, based on the positive things I’ve heard about her, she would probably appreciate anything you give her.”

“Hm…”

Kita is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears Osamu’s voice nearby. “I’ll get you guys the usual, right?”

The rest of the guys all nod their head and Aran makes the motion to take out his wallet. However, before he can do so, Osamu lifts up a hand to stop him. “No worries, Aran-san! All of this is on me!”

Atsumu’s ears perk up. “You’re not gonna make me pay for my food this time, ‘Samu?”

Kita looks towards Osamu and slightly tilts his head in confusion. “You make your brother pay for his food?”

“Always.” Osamu answers without hesitation and with one of the most deadpan expressions you’ve ever witnessed on him.

“I see.” Kita simply nods his head in understanding. “It would be detrimental to your business if you gave things out for free too much.”

Atsumu grabs onto his former captain’s arms in exasperation. “Kita-san!”

A quiet giggle leaves your mouth at the scene in front of you. It seems like the twins are a bit more competitive and bicker more often when their former teammates are involved. Seeing this side of Osamu amuses you since you’re more used to his laidback nature.

Eventually the brief comical moment calms down and Osamu begins to prepare all of the food. Kita and Atsumu seemed to be in their own world, so you decide to try and speak with the other two people in the room that you have yet to be acquainted with.

Suna and Aran seem to have been thinking the same thing because they are already walking up to the counter in your direction. Suna raises his right hand in greeting, while Aran gives you a polite smile before speaking, “You must be (Surname)-san. Apologies for taking so long to greet you.”

“No worries.“ You wave off the apology. “You guys were also teammates with the twins in high school right? The only thing I really know are your names. What were your positions?”

“I was a wing spiker. I’ve actually known the twins since we were in elementary school,” Aran replies.

You clap your hands together in realization. “You guys are childhood friends then! I’m surprised you haven’t come up in my conversations with them more.”

“Those two were always running around all over the place just to compete against each other, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t remember half of the things they experienced in school.” Aran lets out a deep sigh, but you couldn't detect any real annoyance.

If the counter wasn’t in the way, you definitely would’ve patted the man on the shoulder. “Well if you’re as patient and calm as you are now with their antics for all those years, then you definitely deserve the appreciation, Ojiro-san.”

“You deserve it just as much since you see at least one of them almost every day now.” Aran sends you another kind smile and you can’t help but mirror it.

Not wanting to leave out Suna from the conversation, you turn your head towards the male who is just listening with his hands shoved into his pockets. “What about you, Suna-san? What was your position?”

“Middle blocker. Although, I did work as a part-time witness to the twins’ stupidity.” The stoic male smirks and looks at you in the eye. “Seems like you’ve taken up that job?”

You burst out laughing. “I can’t really deny that. We should be compensated for all this work.”

Suddenly, you feel a heavy weight on your shoulder that catches you off guard. When you look up, Osamu’s elbow is leaning on your shoulder and there are pieces of rice stuck to his fingertips. He has one of his eyebrows raised in suspicion. “Hey, why do I get the feeling that you guys are talking behind our backs?”

Suna looks directly at Osamu with his usual expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Feeling a bit playful, you also answer with the same deadpan tone. “Yeah, we’re just bonding over some relatable stuff.”

Suna takes one of his hands out of his pockets and raises it up next to you. Without hesitation, you give him a high five while holding back your smile. Aran just chuckles at the unexpected tag team between you and his former teammate.

Before your boss could make any more comments, his phone dings from where it’s sitting on the counter between his work station and the register. Osamu seems briefly conflicted since his hands are covered in rice but quickly comes to a decision. “Hey, (Name)-san. You mind holding up my phone for me? I think it’s a message about a shipment for some ingredients we needed to restock.”

“Yeah, sure!” You pick up the phone and a picture of Onigiri Miya with a large ‘Grand Opening’ sign in front of the entrance illuminates the lock screen. “Oh, you have facial recognition. I’m gonna have to borrow your face for a bit, Osamu-san.”

Osamu leans down as you place the phone in front of him for a couple seconds, but nothing happens. You try to angle the screen differently and wait a little longer, but it’s still not unlocking. Across the counter, Atsumu watches the two of you struggle through a few more attempts before losing his patience. “Just put the phone up to my face. It’ll probably work.”

A bit curious to see if the phone will actually unlock for the other twin, you move your arm to where Atsumu’s waiting. You keep the phone up for a few moments, but there’s still no response.

The blonde just stares at his brother’s phone in disbelief. “What the hell? Why isn’t it working??”

“Wow, even my phone can tell who the uglier brother is.” Yup. Osamu’s definitely feistier today.

“WE LITERALLY HAVE THE SAME FACE.”

The twins look like they’re about to start another round of unnecessary bickering. From the side, Kita sighs at the idea of having to intervene in yet another argument. He opens his mouth to stop the madness, but you beat him to it. You shove Osamu’s phone into his face again and surprisingly it unlocks. “Alright, guys. You can shut up now. I got it to work.”

Both Atsumu and Osamu shut their mouths immediately. They still looked a bit irked at one another, but no longer have the will to fight. Kita stares at you with shock. He’s never seen anyone other than himself dissipate the twins’ bickering so quickly and you haven’t even known them for as long as he has. Even Aran gives up at some point. Perhaps you are a much more important presence than he realized.

Clicking on the message notification, you lift up your arm just enough so that both you and Osamu can look at the screen comfortably. The message consisted of a picture of a shipment with a list of items. The list is barely legible due to the small font, so the two of you have to lean in closer to the screen.

“The text is so small. Can you read anything?” You ask as you bring the phone closer.

Osamu squints and wipes one of his hands on a clean towel before placing it over your own to steady the phone. “Barely. Why did he send such a terrible picture?”

The close proximity and subtle touches between you and your boss do not go unnoticed. As you’re discussing the contents of the picture, Suna and Aran share a knowing look with each other.

After a couple minutes of trying to decipher everything in the message, you and Osamu have successfully written down a complete list of all the shipment contents on a napkin. Osamu pockets his phone and the napkin before turning to look at you. “Okay, I think everything’s all good. Thanks, (Name)-san.”

“No problem!” You rub your eyes from the slight strain and move back to where you were standing before while Osamu finishes up making the last of the group’s food. Suna and Aran just watch you both go back to whatever you were doing before as if your cheeks weren’t millimeters away from each other a few seconds ago. The two males make eye contact once again, but just shrug their shoulders.

“Food’s ready! Grab your onigiris and drinks. We can sit at the table for a bit.” Osamu announces to his friends. Your boss turns to you briefly as he starts going around the counter. “Wanna join?”

“No, that’s alright. You guys use this time to catch up. I can take care of setting up the shop on my own, so take your time.” You give him a reassuring smile and he returns a grateful one back.

While the guys chatted about their lives, you set up the chairs and checked each of the sauce bottles to make sure none of them were empty. About fifteen minutes went by and you now had a broom propped up against your shoulder after sweeping. On your way back, you pass by the table where everyone is still talking with one another.

“I am funny! There just wasn’t anyone competent enough to get the joke!” It seems like Atsumu was yet again becoming a victim to the endless teasing of his former teammates because his face is slightly flushed and he’s fidgeting with pent up frustration. In hopes to ease his heated face, Atsumu roughly starts refilling his cup with ice water with a tight grip on the glass.

Suna shakes his head. “I thought it was funnier when you almost passed out from being overheated from the Jackasuke suit.”

“What?!” Atsumu abruptly stands up from his chair and in his haste, he doesn't realize that he had also raised his cup just as quickly causing the water to splash onto the nearest thing which just so happened to be you. “Oh shi-! (Name)-chan!”

The front of your shirt is entirely soaked and water drips down from your face and the tips of your hair. You mentally thank your boss for making the uniforms black. Lucky for you, your pants are completely dry because your apron took all of the damage. Aran, who is the next person closest to you, takes the broom from your possession and hands you a couple napkins to at least dry your face, but it’s definitely not enough to make a dent in your drenched clothes.

Atsumu frets over you with a look of immense guilt in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, (Name)-chan! I-I didn’t mean to do that!”

“It’s...it’s okay. Just try not to lose your cool so easily next time.” You can’t really say you’re happy about your current predicament, but it wouldn’t do anyone any good if you lash out in anger. The running A/C is much more apparent now that it’s much easier to feel the circulating cold air and you start to shiver a bit.

Osamu catches your attention from the corner of your eye when he stands up from his seat. “You good, (Name)-san? You should probably go put on a jacket or something.”

“I didn’t bring a jacket or any extra clothes with me today.” You sigh at your misfortune at how something like this happens on the one day you don’t have your hoodie with you.

Osamu’s frown deepens at the growing unfortunate circumstances. “Ah, damn. We usually have extra shirts in the back, but I left them at home to wash.”

You dread at the thought of either working with a wet shirt or having to walk all the way back to your apartment to change while suffering through the chilly breezes. However, the universe must be taking pity on you when you hear another voice join in.

“(Surname)-san, I have some spare clothes in my suitcase.” Kita pats the suitcase that he had brought into the shop with him.

You know that the best and most efficient way to get out of your misery is to accept his offer, but you’re still reluctant. “Oh no! It’s okay! I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble for you.”

“I don’t mind. It wouldn’t do you any good to go around with wet clothing. You might catch a cold, especially since the weather is becoming cooler.” Kita immediately brushes off any concerns you may have. He zips open his suitcase and grabs a simple navy sweater from his pile of folded clothes. There’s a slight pause when he holds out the shirt to you before continuing the conversation, “It would mostly cause Osamu to be very distressed.”

There isn’t much room for arguing, so you slowly take the soft sweater from the older male’s arms and nod your head in understanding. “Yeah, I guess he would have to work twice as much if I’m not able to help out.”

Kita blinks at your oblivious rationale. “...right.”

You hear a hint of something in his tone but don’t dwell on it for too long because another blast of cold air hits your body causing you to shiver again. Muttering a quick thanks, you rush to the bathroom to change. After peeling off your uniform shirt and bundling it up with your apron, you wipe off any water that remains on your skin before slipping on the borrowed sweater. It’s much larger and warmer than you thought it would be. After gathering the wet pile of clothes, you head out of the bathroom in your new attire.

The table that everyone was sitting at is now completely cleared of any food and some of the guys are sitting at the counter while Osamu is washing all of the used dishes. Atsumu’s head is laying on the counter and still has distraught laced into his expression. He immediately stands up to apologize again when he hears you come out of the bathroom, but his words get caught in his throat when he sees you.

Kita’s sweater is definitely too big for your frame. The sweater reaches your mid thigh, but you’ve opted to fashionably tuck the front of it into your pants. The sleeves go past your hands only exposing your fingers and the collar reveals a sliver of your collarbone. The overall fit of the sweater creates an image that can make anyone stop and stare.

Atsumu’s ears redden at the sight in front of him and Osamu is frozen in front of the sink. Even Suna and Aran have briefly halted their conversation to stare silently. The only one who is visibly unaffected is Kita.

Kita decides to walk over to where you are and hands you an empty plastic bag. “You can place your wet clothes into the bag so it doesn’t get anything else wet. You can return the shirt to Osamu and he can give it to me before I head back home.”

“Ah, thanks! I’ll wash it tonight and give it to Osamu tomorrow when I come in for work.” You smile at him gratefully and do as he suggested. During the process, your sleeves roll down uncomfortably and you have to constantly pull at it so that it doesn’t get in the way.

Kita notices the way you are fidgeting and gives you an inquisitive look. “Are the sleeves bothering you?”

“Oh, um...just a bit, but it’s not too bad.” You reply.

The male just pulls the plastic bag away from your hands and puts it off to the side for the time being before holding out his own hands in front of you. “Here, let me help.”

You accept his assistance and hold out one of your arms to him. Kita calmly folds the sleeves to a proper length while you just watch quietly. Once he’s finished with one arm, he gently lifts the other and proceeds to fold the sleeve as well.

The rest of the guys were just watching silently. The entire scene is almost like it’s from some kind of shoujo anime. Atsumu swears there is even a sparkling background with multiple flowers to match the sweet moment. There’s a strange feeling bubbling inside Osamu’s chest, but he chooses to look away and continue washing the dishes. You and Kita looked really good together.

“Thanks again, Kita-san!” Once Kita finishes up the last sleeve, you smile at him once again. “I guess I was lucky that you decided to visit so suddenly today or I might’ve been in trouble.”

“You’re welcome.” Kita returns the smile. “We were all busy on the twins’ birthday last week, so it’s a good thing we rescheduled to today.”

“What.” You blink once. It takes a few seconds for you to process what the man in front of you had just said, but once it clicks, a wave of shock passes through your body. “What?!”

You scramble over to where Osamu is avoiding your gaze and grab onto his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me your birthday was last week?!”

“Oh uh… it never came up?” A bead of sweat runs down the side of your boss’ face.

Still enraged, you swerve your head towards the blonde twin and point an accusing finger at him. “And you! I would’ve expected you to be all over having the attention!”

Atsumu shrugs his shoulder in an uncharacteristically nonchalant way causing you to drop your arm in confusion. “Meh, I’m not really all that big on birthdays. I thought my brother would’ve told you.”

When you look back at Osamu, his hand is rubbing at his neck sheepishly. “It was your day off and you looked like you weren’t feeling well the day before, so I thought it’d be best if you rested.”

You’re not sure if you should feel touched that he noticed that you weren’t feeling so great last week or upset that he didn’t think to tell you about such a special day. Your boss has also been pretty busy lately due to work, so there is a part of you that is understanding of the situation. There isn’t really anything you can do about it now since it’s already too late, so you just sigh in defeat.

Kita decides to intervene before you get even more upset. “No worries, (Surname)-san. There’s always a next year for birthdays. If you wanted to spend time with him, I’m sure just asking will suffice.”

“Indeed. Osamu would definitely not mind making time for you, (Surname)-san.” Aran adds.

Atsumu seems to be feeling a bit left out and chimes in, “Wait, but what about me? It was my birthday too.”

“It’s not like Osamu knows how to do anything but play volleyball and work. Might as well take him out somewhere nice.” Suna mentions while ignoring Atsumu’s outburst for the nth time today.

“Woah, guys!” Osamu’s face flushes a bit from the teasing. You laugh at the group's antics and feel your frustration melt away.

Suddenly, a phone alarm goes off and Kita pulls out his phone to shut it off. “Well, we should get going now. We wouldn’t want to be in the way of your business, Osamu. We’ll see you tonight with the rest of our former teammates.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys later.” Osamu replies with a wave of his hand.

“I have to get to practice too, so I’ll walk out with all of you.” Atsumu walks towards the exit with his hands folded behind his head. Aran and Suna get up from their seats to get ready to go as well. The two say their goodbyes to both you and Osamu before stepping outside to catch up with Atsumu.

Kita is the last one out, but before he closes the door he gives you one last glance. “It was nice to meet you, (Surname)-san.”

“You too, Kita-san!” Your lips curve upwards at being able to have met yet another kind person at work. Kita finally closes the door and now it’s just you and Osamu left in the shop. After having such an eventful morning, the peace and quiet is pretty refreshing.

Osamu looks at you from the corner of his eye thoughtfully. His gaze then shifts down to where his former captain’s sweater rests on your figure and he feels a twinge of irritation but keeps his expression neutral. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and change? You live pretty close by too.”

You think for a moment but eventually shake your head. “Hm...no it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to miss work just to change into another shirt. I think my extra uniform needs to be washed anyway. Is there something wrong?”

“...no.”

“Jealous that I talked to your friends more than you?”

“N-no!”

A giggle escapes your lips when you hear your boss stutter. “You know you’re my favorite onigiri chef, right?”

“I’m the only onigiri chef you know.” Osamu points out and you giggle even louder. The male can’t even be upset because your laughs are quite contagious. Although, he does make a mental note to bring one of his own sweaters to keep at the shop from now on.

Leftovers

The Miya household is a simple two bed apartment with a decent view of the suburbs around the area. Both Miya twins are considered residents of the complex, but Atsumu usually stays in the dorm available for MSBY players. Today, both twins are in the apartment.

“‘Samu, I swear this shirt makes me look fat-...?” Atsumu barges into his brother’s room without knocking but cuts off his words when he sees his brother intensely staring at a pile of hoodies scattered on his bed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to figure out which hoodie I wanna keep at the shop.” Osamu responds distractedly.

Atsumu stares at him incredulously. “What? Just pick whatever. It’s not like you don’t go to work every day. Why does it matter? ”

Osamu pauses for a moment. “...for emergencies.”

“Whatever, man. I’m heading out to go buy some new volleyball shoes with Shoyo-kun.” The blonde shrugs off his brother’s strange behavior and chooses to just walk away since he needed to leave soon. He momentarily looks out the window and notices some dark clouds filling up the sky. “And, I’m taking your umbrella!”

Osamu doesn’t hear what Atsumu says and barely registers the slam of the front door because he’s too deep in thought. What was your favorite color again?

A/N: Ouch. I realized that if you were to actually follow the haikyuu timeline, some of this wouldn’t actually make sense. BUT I don’t care :D Also, not me indulging on some Kita action cause I am whipped for this man (but not as much as Osamu hehe)

taglist: @kiyoo-omi @tris-does-stuff @livshotel

#onigiri miya #onigiri miya tidbits #secretpeachtea #inarizaki #atsumu #osamu #kita #aran #suna #haikyuu fanfiction

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1rintooru · 3 years

Text

Same Old Explosive Love

Pairing: post-timeskip Semi Eita x fem!reader

Themes: angst and some fluff in the end

Word count: 2273 - one-shot

Warnings: mention of alcohol and breaking up, swearing

Summary: You don’t know anyone that can fight like you and Semi. The rise of his music career has put a strain on your relationship and end up arguing over the same old things. Neither of you can let go of the other and so the cycle continues.

It always surprised you when you remembered how low Semi’s alcohol tolerance was. To his credit, he didn’t look like someone who couldn’t handle their liqueur. He was a member of an up-and-coming band that was rapidly gaining popularity across the globe. After months of being on the road, Semi had finally returned home where you, him and all of your friends celebrated the release of his latest single. You’d always thought that the lifestyle would have hardened him up, but as you watched him struggle to open the front door of your shared apartment, you knew nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Here, let me help,” you were already reaching for his keys before he pulled his hand away.

“Babe, I’ve got this,” he giggled as tried his luck once more. You heard the satisfactory sound of the key twist in the lock on cue with his words. You both stagger into the apartment and you couldn’t help but laugh. You were convinced that if anyone would have seen you two, they would have thought you were teen lovers caught up in a whirlwind romance. It didn’t matter how ungraceful you both looked or how loud you spoke or even how heavy Semi felt as he leaned on you for support. If it were up to you, this could go on forever.

You kicked off your heels, letting out a small gasp at the immediate relief you felt and watched as Semi clumsily tried to hang his coat. You giggled seeing him visibly deflate and grumble as the coat slid off its hanger and crumpled to the floor. He bent down to pick his coat up but the familiar jingle of his ringtone stopped him. He fished his phone out of his pocket with ease and glanced at the caller-ID before quickly sending you an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta take this. I promise I’ll make this quick; I’ll be back before you even know it.”

He didn’t wait for your response, instead giving you a swift peck on the cheek and disappearing into the bedroom to answer the call. To you, it felt like the room had gotten hotter; In reality you were actually seething. He hadn’t told you who had called him – he didn’t need to. Semi had given most of his contacts a specialized ringtone, so after a while you knew exactly who was on the other line before he would even answer. This particular jingle was one that you were only all too well acquainted with.

It was his manager.

You let out a terse sigh. While he promised he would be quick, you had come to learn the opposite to be true. Of course you were supportive of his career; you loved seeing Semi completely unravel on stage and make his dreams come into fruition. However, you’d slowly come to resent how accessible he needed to be even during his time off, whether it was for his bandmates, his producers, the fans or especially his manager.

You snuggled yourself onto the couch, engulfing yourself in a blanket. You were tired but too angry to sleep. Hearing Semi occasionally exclaim excitedly from the other room only cemented what you already believed. Even if their manager wasn’t around physically, he had still begun to feel like a third-party in your relationship. You were convinced that Semi mentioned their manager more than he even said your name.

This was also the core reason why you and Semi would fight. The couple of weeks you did spend together always came and went in the blink of an eye. It didn’t compensate for the months of separation, missed calls due to time zones or bad connection. It didn’t make up for all the nasty things you read online, whether from journalists or his own fans. Sometimes it felt like it was his world and you were just living in it. On the surface you and Semi had an idyllic relationship that most people coveted, little did anyone know that with you, Semi had finally met his match. The screaming matches you had, were fiery and explosive – you both shared a prideful stubbornness that only worked as gasoline to an already massive flame. Thankfully the fights were infrequent and would end as quickly as they started; neither Semi nor you held onto a grudge and you’d both quickly return to your gentle and chipper selves.

“Oh, you’re in here.” Semi’s gentle voice tore you out of your thoughts. You were so busy brooding that you hadn't noticed him leaning on the doorframe of the living room. His hair was more disheveled than usual, a lazy smile replaced his usual scowl and his cheeks were still flushed pink from the shots earlier. He’d even changed into a pair of comfier clothes. He stared at you intently with relaxed eyes before finally continuing, “Do you want to watch a movie or…” he paused briefly, “We can do something else.” There was a teasing lilt in his voice.

“No, not anymore,” you huffed. Your words were cutting and you were glad – you wanted them to be. Semi raised an eyebrow, his features quickly tensed up as concern replaced his formerly relaxed expression.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No Semi you didn’t do anything. I’m fine, really,” you patronized, freeing yourself from the blanket with an aggressive yank. A little too aggressive.

The jig was up.

“You’re clearly not.”

He already started to sound irritated – he hated to play these guessing games with you. You jumped off the couch, stopping abruptly in front of him as you held your phone up to his face, completely ignoring his accusation.

“What’s the time, Semi?”

His eyes flickered to the screen, then locked onto yours again. The grooves between his furrowed brows just seemed to get deeper and deeper.

“4:02”

You hummed agreeingly, turning around and flicking the television on with the remote. It was petulant, you knew that, but you felt like pressing every one of Semi’s buttons. Usually, infomercials would play at this hour – it didn’t matter though, anything was better than seeing him glare holes through you.

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t infomercials that were playing, instead the clear voice of the weather lady sounded through the room as she delivered the weather report for the following day.

“Y/N!”

You continued to ignore him, dialing the audio up until the bass made the walls tremor.

“Dammit Y/N, we have neighbors!”

He snatched the remote from your hands and quickly shut the TV off. The two of you now stood face to face. The light buzz you felt from earlier was completely gone and you could tell that Semi had sobered up as well. He was trying his hardest to stay composed; you could tell by how he was breathing – slow and deliberate.

“What is going on? You were fine just earlier.”

His face softened slightly, almost as if to plead with you. You hesitated for a moment before finally relenting. You didn’t even try to conceal the bitterness that was wrapped around every single word you spoke.

“Hmm, I don’t know Semi, maybe ask your manager since you spend so much time with him.”

His eyes widened for a brief moment, shocked by the coolness of your tone. “I didn’t think the call would drag on for that long – I can’t just not answer!”

You opened your mouth but Semi quickly cut you off, “Are we really doing this? Are we really going to fight about this again?”

“You answer his calls more than you answer mine!” you snapped back, “maybe we wouldn’t fight about this if you weren’t always working.”

“Oh my god,” he ran his hands through his hair, the clamminess of his palms made tufts of hair stand upright. If the two of you weren’t fighting, you probably would have laughed because of how odd it looked. But seeing him with his jaw clenched tightly and his eyes filled with a seething rage was no laughing matter. He continued, his voice a low growl, “this is my job, Y/N. Actually no, fuck that, it’s my dream. It’s been my dream since I was a kid!”

“I know that,” you hissed, “But you’re the one always complaining about you and the band being overworked. That one time you almost collapsed due to exhaustion, yet as soon as you get time off you start working from home. Make it make sense!”

He smiled at you – a wicked and deceitful smile – as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. You were reminded again of just how tall and imposing Semi could be. “Well then babe, tell me,” his tone was condescending, “what do you expect me to do? Ignore my manager? Ignore our producer? Maybe even block my bandmates from contacting me?”

“That’s not what I said Semi and you know it,” your words came out as pure venom.

Your body relaxed once he took a couple of steps back. But if you had learnt anything from all the other times you’ve fought, it was that that wasn’t necessarily a good sign. It only meant he was going to get louder. You breathed deeply, frantically trying to organize your thoughts. No, you didn’t actually want to fight with him. You loved Semi, after all.

“I wish that you would actually take me into consideration for fucking once, Semi. It’s always about you, but when the hell was it ever about us? I only get a couple of weeks to spend with you and you’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”

“Well maybe if you stopped bitching all the time, I would actually want to spend time with you.”

“You treat me like I’m an afterthought!” You screamed. At least, that was what you wanted to do. Your voice came out more like a shallow squeak compared to Semi’s wall-shaking shouts. The lump in your throat grew; no matter how much you tried to swallow it down, it wouldn’t go away. You realized that the warmth radiating off your face wasn’t from the alcohol, nor was it from the anger; you hadn’t even noticed how your hot tears rolled off your face, staining your cheeks. He shook his head, almost as if to physically shake off your remarks.

“Don’t come with that shit now. Why do you think I work so much? I’m the only one that works around here. I’ve paid for the TV, for the couch – for every single piece of furniture. I pay the bills, I pay your bills and I paid for this goddamn apartment,” he jerkily motioned to the space around him as he shouted this, making you flinch. His whole body had started to shake in anger.

“Did you already forget who paid for your university tuition fees?” He sneered. “Without me, you’d be nothing and you know it. So don’t fucking tell me to work less when it’s your life on the line too!”

“Well, maybe I should leave since I’m such an inconvenience to you!”

There was a pause. The tension in the air was suffocating as your words seemed to echo through the room. Semi cleared his throat, cutting through the deafening silence.

“Then leave. Just don’t come back.”

“You’re the worst,” is all you managed to utter as you quickly brushed passed him, avoiding his death glare as you escaped into the solace of your bedroom. You crumbled onto the floor once you heard the door slam, desperately stifling your cries into the fabric of your shirt.

He left.

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

You weren’t entirely sure how much time had passed once your eyes fluttered open. Based on the bright light that was cascading in from the window, you could only assume it was midday. The confusion you felt when you saw yourself on the floor quickly dissipated as you felt the pain in your throat and the swollenness of your eyes. Your chest ached just thinking about what happened hours earlier.

You gingerly got up off the ground and opened the door and paused. You could faintly hear the sound of a guitar. You recognized the song, making your heart race and you instinctively followed the sound of the music, it finally leading you to a separate room. You didn’t even think twice before opening the door and what you saw inside made your heart leap.

His hair was still disheveled and much like you, he was wearing the same clothes from before. His face was relaxed, his eyebrows furrowed just slightly as he focused on hitting the notes and his mouth had dropped into a small ‘o’. There was something incredibly enamoring about seeing him like this and it was a stark contrast to the Semi you’d experienced earlier. You liked this side of him more.

His eyes darted to yours and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards upon realizing it was you. He nodded at the empty space next to him, inviting you to sit down and you happily complied. The song you recognized was one that Semi had written for you – a confession of his love essentially. He knew, even back then, how straining his job was on the relationship and he wanted to give you something that would remind you he was always there. The words that he failed to find to describe how he felt got poured into his music. He never apologized to you for all the things he said and as you listened to him hum alongside the melody that sounded from the guitar, you knew he didn’t have to, either. You knew exactly what he meant.

You and Semi were going to be ok.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq!!#haikyuu x reader #semi eita x reader #semi x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #selfmade

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suzu-kun22 · 3 years

Text

Not Quite Invincible

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30488721

Prompt: Hallucinations Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairings: Nanago, Satosugu Warnings: Illness, mentions of past canonical character death Summary: Nanami returns home to find a sick and delusional Gojou, talking to his long-gone best friend.

@badthingshappenbingo

If there are any specific prompts you’d like me to write and any specific scenarios/fandoms/pairings you’d like me to write for, just send in an ask!

Story below the cut!

To most, Gojou Satoru seems invincible.

To most that encounter him, he seems as though nothing bothers him. He doesn’t seem to know how to take a hit, what with an ability that stops just about everything from making contact and a tendency to reach speeds incomprehensible to most human eyes. To most, he is flawless. A beacon of hope. The pillar that holds up the feeble roof of Jujutsu Sorcery. Were it not for Gojou Satoru, would the institution even still be standing? It’s a question that has been posed many times, and yet it’s never one that Nanami Kento has seen answered in a way he finds satisfactory.

Still, for all of his power, for all of his strength, and for as many opponents that have fallen to Gojou Satoru, there are still things that even one such as he is weak to. There are still things that can leave him as vulnerable as the child that he pretends to be. There are still things that steal that confidence from his voice and leave him doing just about everything that he possibly can to cover up the shaking that’s left in its wake.

Apparently, Nanami Kento is one of few privileged enough to see it.

“What are you doing in my house?” Nanami asks with eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest. He had walked through the door to find a pair of shoes that were most certainly not his and a pitch black coat hanging on one of his hooks. Nanami owned nothing black. He had discovered, while working in a boring office where the only goal was money, money, and more money, that black made him look far too uptight, and made him feel the same way. If he was going to be saving people, he would be better served wearing a less depressing color.

There’s only one person who Nanami knows well enough to suspect them of being in his house, who also wears a black coat and... whatever the hell those shoes even are. How frustratingly annoying, that it’s also the man known for his ability to inflict just about anyone he speaks to with a migraine that just might last days, depending on his mood. If Gojou Satoru is feeling particularly annoying today, then Nanami will have to make sure to stock up on painkillers. If he’s feeling just mildly frustrating, then perhaps Nanami will manage to kick him out the door with minimal incident.

“Hmmmmm…?” There’s a long hum coming from the lump on Nanami’s couch. Wrapped up in blankets, Nanami can barely make out a head of ethereally white hair resting against one of his throw pillows. “…oh, you’re home?” The voice is familiar, but also not. It’s obviously the voice of Gojou Satoru. There’s no way that Nanami would ever be able to mistake that voice for anyone else. And yet, there’s something off about it. Something shaky, quiet, weak, vulnerable, and maybe just a bit broken.

“Yes. What are you doing in my house?” Nanami repeats his question, and there’s a long minute with no answer. Then the pile of blankets shifts, groans, and settles once again. This is going to take a while, it seems. “Are you going to answer me, or are we going to stand here all night?”

“…head hurts.” The pile mumbles. “Stop talking so loud–“ A hand pokes itself out from the mountain and waves at Nanami, as though asking him to quiet down. “–Shouko said… uhhh… somethin’ about sleeping until it goes away,” Gojou’s voice says with an edge to it that Nanami doesn’t recognize and most certainly doesn’t like. He furrows his brow, reaches down, and shakes the pile until it lets out another loud groaning sound and rolls over. Finally, there’s Gojou Satoru’s face. His signature blindfold is nowhere to be seen. His hair is even more disheveled than normal. His eyes are squeezed firmly shut and Nanami can make out beads of sweat on his brow. His skin is flushed, and Nanami would be willing to bet that those scarily blue eyes hidden behind lids are glassy.

“You’re sick.” Nanami states, and Gojou seems to flinch at the statement. “Why did you not go home?” Nanami asks with a raised eyebrow. Gojou lets out yet another groan and rolls over, tucking his face into the back of the sofa and hiding himself from view once again. Honestly, what a child. He can’t even be bothered to look Nanami in the eyes when they’re speaking. “Gojou–“

“Satoru.” Gojou interrupts. “When’d… When did you stop callin’ me that..?”

Nanami blinks. He stares, for a moment, unsure of what to do. As far as he remembers, he’s never used Gojou’s given name. Certainly never to his face. He reaches a hand forward, trying to rest it on Gojou’s forehead to feel for a temperature. The moment his fingers brush against the man’s hair, however, Gojou almost seems to jump away. Nanami pulls his hand back. Stares, for a moment, before reaching forward again and this time managing to rest his fingers against Gojou’s forehead. He doesn’t pull back, despite the intensity of the burning that he finds there.

“Mmmmm…” Gojou hums. “…your hand’s cold, Suguru.” He whispers, and it gives Nanami pause. Of course it does. What else is he meant to do, in response to that?

“Gojou, I’m not Getou.” Nanami says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. Gojou has a fever – which was obvious even before Nanami rested a hand on his forehead – which seems to be high enough to be giving him delusions. Nanami wonders, briefly, how the older of the two of them could be irresponsible enough to let himself get so sick. Then he remembers that the older of the two of them is Gojou Satoru, infamous for his strength and his complete and total lack of responsibility. “Why did you come here?”

“Missed you,” Gojou mumbles. “Ahhhh, prolly shouldn’t have said that. You’ll never let me live it down,” Gojou laughs. It’s humorless. Nanami hates the sound of it. “…Shouko said somethin’ about staying in bed… but bed is super boring when you’re alone,” He grumbles, turning his head as though going to look up, but his eyes stay firmly closed. Nanami wonders, absently, if the six eyes serve to worsen his headache or improve it. “…been a while since we could hang out, Suguru. How’s the afterlife treating you?” Gojou’s lips quirk up, into a smirk. Nanami could spot how fake it is from a mile away. “Having fun in hell?”

“Gojou.”

“Awww, c’mon!” There’s a shakiness to the happy tone that Nanami is certain most would miss. Most, however, haven’t known Gojou Satoru quite as long as Nanami Kento has. Most would assume that he’s playing some sick game with himself that no one else is allowed to get in on. Nanami knows better. “…j-just cause I killed you… d-doesn’t mean that we can’t still…” Gojou breathes a heavy exhale. As though something is pressing on his chest and Gojou can’t quite shake it. Nanami sighs. No matter what he says, it doesn’t seem to be working. For now, he might as well try and do something about the fever.

Gojou continues mumbling. Nanami crosses the living room and makes for the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he collects a rag and a basin, quickly filling it with cool water and allowing the rag to soak in it for a moment. With a sigh, Nanami lifts the basin and makes his way back to the sofa. Gojou has shifted slightly. His eyes are still closed, but he’s lying on his back now. One arm is slung over the back of the couch, and the other is resting on the floor. Normally, Nanami would comment on what a messy pose it is. Now is not normally.

“Stay still,” Nanami commands, setting the basin down beside the sofa. Gojou mumbles something that Nanami can’t quite make out – aside from the use of the name Suguru once again – but otherwise complies. What a strange sight, a Gojou Satoru who actually follows orders.

Nanami lays the damp folded cloth over Gojou’s forehead. It causes the white-haired sorcerer’s brow to furrow and his lips to twist into something of a grimace, but he doesn’t complain. The thought briefly crosses Nanami’s mind to take a picture. He can think of countless people who would appreciate a picture of the world’s strongest Jujutsu sorcerer in such a state. But the thought fades as quickly as it came. No matter how satisfying it might be to see someone as strong and insufferably annoying as Gojou humbled like this, that’s no excuse to take advantage of his pain for something so petty.

“…’m sorry, Surugu,” Gojou mumbles. His hands clench into fists and then unclench once again. “…’m sorry… d-didn’t wanna kill you.” There’s another moment of silence. Gojou’s breathing is labored and maybe a bit pained. Nanami wonders, for a moment, how Ieiri could even allow him to head anywhere on his own, if he was this sick. The thought is quickly replaced, however, with–

“…miss you,” Gojou whispers.

Nanami feels something ache in his chest.

He buries it. Like always.

“Go to sleep, Gojou. You’re sick.” Nanami gives another command. The last one worked well enough. Perhaps all it takes to get Gojou Satoru to actually listen for once is to give him a high fever and a bit of delusion. It just might be useful information, somewhere down the line.

“Mmmm… fine,” Gojou mumbles. His eyes stay closed, but the expression on his face relaxes a bit. “…see ya later… Suguru.” It’s the last thing he says, before his breathing begins to even out and his muscles lose a good amount of their tension. Nanami breathes a sigh of relief. He can only hope that the fever will break before Gojou wakes up again.

Gojou Satoru seems invincible, but Nanami Kento knows that he’s far from it.

As satisfying as it is to see the mighty Gojou Satoru humbled, Nanami can’t say that he wants to see any more of it.

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