#*claps hands together* i have too many things to write and not enough brain power! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pilothusband · 4 years ago

Text

All Hail The King

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Alcohol, oral sex, p in v sex, praise kink. I’m a horny bitch, okay? This is purely indulgent.

Word count: 5k

Author’s note: Special thanks to @wyn-dixie for reading this over before I posted it and for enabling this filth. ❤️ This idea entered my brain randomly and I had to write it out. Please let me know what you think! I want your feedback. If I had Photoshop I would have made an edit of Frankie with a crown for this but I don’t have it so here’s this gif instead.

The bar is humming with activity, but the table you’re nestled at in the back provides enough shelter to allow you all to converse without having to yell at each other.

You’ve been nursing a glass of water for a while now, since you’re the designated driver this week. It doesn’t bother you, though— you’re just happy to be out with your friends.

Every once in a while you steal a glance over at Frankie, who’s sitting diagonally across the table, next to Santiago who is directly across from you. Benny is to your left, his large body crowding you into the wall, and his brother Will is at the head of the table.

“Hey Fish,” Benny claps a hand on his shoulder. The force of his hand jostles Frankie’s solid body backwards a little, but to his credit he doesn’t flinch. “How are things with that girl you were seeing? Jennessa? Jennifer?”

You take a sip of your water and look down at the table to mask your interest at the sudden change in conversation.

“Jessica,” Frankie clears his throat. “They aren’t. We didn’t have much in common so she broke it off after a few dates.”

Queue the internal cheering. Jessica was a bit of a wet mop, to be honest. She never had anything to say when Frankie brought her around and she would scoff at everything that was slightly unsavory in her eyes. Deep down, you had to come to terms with the jealous twinge you felt in your gut every time she would squeeze Frankie’s shoulder affectionately, her immaculately manicured nails pressed harshly into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, Fish,” Benny said, slinging his arm around the man, the clumsy movement knocking his hat slightly askew. “Her loss, brother.”

“Here here,” Santi agrees, raising his bottle in the air. “To the king!”

Benny cheers clinks his bottle against Santiago’s echoing his sentiment. Will huffs out a laugh and Frankie groans, hiding his face in his hands.

You gape at the two men in question, but they just giggle like a couple of school girls.

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty,” you say, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. You look over at Frankie as he takes an impatient sip from his drink.

Benny just about spits out a mouthful of beer onto the table.

“Shut the fuck up, guys.” Frankie warns his friends. “Seriously.” Santi and Benny give him an innocent look. Will focuses his gaze on the bottle he’s holding, picking at the paper label, damp and curling at the edges from condensation .

Santiago leans towards you, his breath hot in your ear.

“We call him the pussy eating king.”

You thank the powers above you weren’t mid-sip, because the choked sound that emits from your throat was both involuntary and sudden. Heat blossoms in your stomach and your thighs clench together as you make eye contact with Frankie. He looks away nervously, embarrassed even.

“So was this a self coronation or..” You trail off, grinning at the flush on Frankie’s cheeks.

“It was that really talkative chick he was seeing for a while,” Benny says, turning to you. “Brianna?”

“Brenda,” Frankie sighs.

“So Brenda crowned you the pussy eating king?” You ask Frankie, who still refuses to meet your eyes.

He grumbles in response, waving off the subject.

“Yeah, she went on about it in detail for the whole night one time. I think you were away for a work trip or something” Santiago is absolutely smirking, loving the way Frankie is physically shrinking under the group’s attention. “Come on Fish, don’t be so modest. You’re a beast in the sack, it’s a good thing!”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You remember why you weren’t there. It was because you couldn’t stand seeing Frankie so happy with another woman, so you feigned sick.

“Well, I can see why things with Brenda didn’t last,” you respond, knowing Frankie was kind of a private guy. “But hey, at least she can tell all her friends she got the royal treatment while it lasted.”

Benny, Santiago and even Will all roar with laughter, fists banging raucously on the table. Frankie huffs out an embarrassed laugh, despite himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he takes a swig of his beer, emptying it. “I need another drink.”

“Hey Ben, what time is your fight next week again?” Will calls over to his brother. You’re grateful for the change of subject. Frankie’s had enough torture for one night and you aren’t sure how many more details about Frankie’s sexual prowess your nether regions can take.

Benny turns towards Will to talk about his upcoming match and you take a sip from your glass to try to hide how flustered you’re feeling. Did this bar get hot all of a sudden?

The glass lands back down with a dull thump and you look up to find Santiago studying you, his eyebrow raised.

“What?” You don’t mean to sound aggressive, but his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s trying to suss out something you’re hiding.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smirks and tips up his beer, taking a long gulp. You roll your eyes at him and look down to pick at your nails.

A few moments later, Frankie returns with a fresh beer and you can feel Santiago turning his face in your direction again to read your body language. You school your reaction, fingers digging painfully into your pint glass. Sometimes Pope is too fucking nosy for his own good.

He must lose interest after a moment though, because he turns his attention back to Benny, who’s still talking about his upcoming fight.

The topic doesn’t come up again, thankfully, and you’ve dropped all the boys off at their separate destinations, save for Frankie, who lives the closest to you.

The car ride alone with him isn’t as tense as you were expecting, since his tongue has been loosened with the fair amount of alcohol he’s had tonight. You both chat easily about the upcoming week and how much you’re dreading going back to work on Monday.

You can’t resist one smart remark though, as you pull up to Frankie’s house.

“Your castle awaits, my liege,” you quip, trying and failing to hide your amused smile as you look over at him.

Frankie throws his head back and laughs freely, opening the car door with a wink.

“Goodnight, my queen,” he bows exaggeratedly before shutting the car door.

The butterflies don’t tamp down until you’re securely inside your own apartment, locking the door behind you.

That night was a month ago, which means it’s been a whole fucking month since your brain flew the coop. Every time Frankie does just about anything with his mouth, everything else around you ceases to exist.

Take last Thursday, for example. Frankie dropped by after work to help you change your porch light, since the fixture is too heavy and the light is too high up to easily reach.

He steps up the ladder with ease, unscrewing the fixture and holding it with his left hand. He puts the screwdriver in his mouth so he can hold onto the ladder as he gingerly hands you the fixture. You grab onto it and hand him the replacement bulb so he can swap them out.

He gets the lightbulb in and gestures towards you to hand the fixture back, which he screws back in before stepping down.

“Blegh,” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, an action that has your last two brain cells screeching to a halt. “Screwdrivers taste awful.”

His statement is cute, self-deprecating, and you try to respond appropriately but all you can do is gape at him like a fish out of water.

‘Get your shit together, he’s wiping off the taste of rust, not your pussy,’ you try to mentally shake yourself out of your stupor, but it does no good.

He turns back towards his toolbox to drop the screwdriver in and close the lid.

“All set,” he says, dusting off his jeans. He sounds a little uneasy, probably because you’re acting like a complete weirdo.

“Thank you so much, Frankie. I really appreciate it.” You find your manners and pull him in for a hug, secretly reveling in how good he smells.

“Any time,” he tells you as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes softly.

Before he pulls away you make a spur of the moment decision, and reach up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He’s so impossibly warm and so inviting, you can feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sparse hairs on his face tickle your chin.

Frankie clears his throat and ducks his head down, mumbling a hurried goodbye before he heads back to his truck, toolbox in hand. You don’t miss the way his lips are turned up and the crows feet make an appearance in the corner of his eyes, nor do you miss the brilliant flush that spreads over his face and down his neck.

It’s Saturday now and your torment knows no end. You decide you’re too tired to go out and opt to invite the guys over for a movie night, to which they all agree.

You decide you’ll just have to look away every time Frankie takes a sip of a drink, or eats a handful of popcorn. Or God forbid, if he licks his lips.

The group chat has been a nightmare, with everyone trying to come up with a movie to watch. Benny wants to watch The Expendables, Will mentioned something about wanting to see Dunkirk for ages now and Santi is playing devil’s advocate, disagreeing with all of their choices but not coming up with one of his own.

Frankie has been quiet in the chat, besides initially agreeing to come over initially.

It’s 9:00 PM, you have a 30 rack of beers in the fridge and some popcorn set out for everyone. All you have to do now is wait for the guys to arrive. Your phone chimes with a notification from Benny.

Benny and the Jets 🥊: Sorry lady, I got called in for a last minute practice. Raincheck?

Ironhead 🦸🏼: I gotta duck out too. The lady wants to have a date night. Sorry!

You type out a reply to them, a little disappointed but bidding them a good night all the same.

A knock sounds on the door and you rush over to answer it. The door swings open to reveal Frankie, wearing the softest looking navy blue hoodie you’ve ever seen, along with his Standard Oil cap. He looks as unsure as ever, holding a bottle of red wine.

You chirp an over-enthusiastic greeting, internally cringe at it, and step aside to welcome him in.

“I know you like red wine, so I got some for you on the way here. I hope it’s the kind you like.”

You accept the wine and look at the label. It’s a California Zinfandel. You can’t believe he remembered your favorite wine.

“I love it, thank you so much.” You pull him into a hug, nuzzling into the soft material of his sweatshirt. He returns the hug just as enthusiastically, pulling away to kiss your forehead.

“Is Santiago on his way?” You ask, padding into the kitchen to grab a glass from your cabinet. “Do you want a glass? Or I have some beer if you’d prefer.”

“Beer is perfect, thanks,” he says a little breathily as he looks over at you. “Santiago said something came up and that he’s sorry.”

Something feels a little fishy with the three of them ducking out all at the same time, but you don’t mention it as you hand him a beer and search through your drawer for a bottle opener. A few minutes later, you’re both set up on the couch and are scrolling through Netflix for a movie.

“I have no idea what to watch. Do you?”

“Want to watch Civil War? I know the guys will bitch we’re continuing the rewatch without them but they can deal.”

You tip your head back and laugh, navigating over to your Disney+ app.

Frankie takes off his hat and sets it aside while you spread a blanket over your laps, braving a chance to scoot closer to him. He takes the hint and wraps his arm behind your shoulders, nestling you closer to his chest. You settle in and try to pay attention to the movie, despite the wild fluttering that is taking place in your stomach.

Frankie shifts uncomfortably and winces a little. You can tell he’s trying to hide it, but little does he know you’ve been watching every single movement he makes like a hawk. Or a nervous lap dog.

“Does your back hurt? I can move,” you start to get up but Frankie grabs onto your wrist and pulls you back in.

“No, stay. I just need to find a comfortable position.”

You make a soft noise of surprise when he lifts you up and pulls you towards him, settling back so he’s spread out on the couch. You’re settled on top of him, your legs stretched out over his with your back to the cushion, half draped over his torso.

This position has your heart thumping hard in your chest. His face was just a few inches from yours. All he’d have to do is tilt his face towards yours, and you’d be practically kissing.

Focusing on the movie is harder than ever. Your left hand rests on Frankie’s chest and your right is near his head. Without even thinking, you reach out and start stroking your fingers through his soft curls. He hums contentedly, the pleasant sound rumbling through his chest.

A hand makes its way up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing on your shoulder.

You brave a glance at Frankie and feel your heart stutter in your chest when you realize he’s been looking at you. His eyes are as dark as ever, twinkling against the flicker of your TV.

He closes the gap and captures your lips in a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft, melding to yours perfectly. The brush of your mouths together is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to lick at him and he complies, letting out a guttural moan at the sensation as your tongues meet languidly.

You shift your leg so it slots between his and both of your hands find his shoulders and squeeze them, eliciting a soft mewl from Frankie’s mouth. His hands are hot on your back and he slides one down to your ass, kneading the soft flesh over your leggings.

Your hips press into his, rutting into him, soft pants falling from your mouth– mingling with his. You need to be closer, closer, closer. He tightens his grip on your ass in response and rolls his hips so you can feel how hard he is against your belly.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, breaking the kiss, words tumbling out between his ragged breaths.

You can feel yourself throbbing for him, wetness rushing to your core as his hushed baritone makes your head spin with need. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re convinced this is a dream. That there’s no way you’re dry humping the man of your dreams on your couch right now.

You duck down to hide your expression, not wanting to ruin the moment with your anxiety and doubt. You’ll take whatever this man gives you, even if it’s just this moment.

You busy yourself by peppering small kisses on his neck, trailing them up to his jaw.

“Hey,” he slows your movements and holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up gently up to look at him.

“I want you. I want this. Do you?”

You feel the urge to look away, his gaze is intense and laser-focused on you. Eye contact has never been your strong suit, so this was a lot for you to handle. But you fight the urge to flinch and stare back, searching to see if there was anything that will give away any trepidations. His expression remains hard set, serious but not unkind. It’s just like Frankie to have eyes as clear as day, giving away all of his secrets. They’re just like him— strong, unrelenting in their hardness and softness.

“Yes,” you reply. Your voice cracks a little, thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.”

You feel embarrassment wash over you with the admission, but Frankie doesn’t let it last long before you crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He breaks it off after a moment, lips swollen and pink.

“Baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

He strokes a hand down your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin as a goofy smile blooms over your face.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” he whispers, his thumb catching on the swell of your bottom lip. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

You blink and swallow heavily, a fresh wave of arousal flooding to your center as the deep rasp of his voice utters those words, smooth as caramel– dousing over you like kerosene on a fire.

You nod, not trusting your voice at this very moment.

“I need you to say it out loud, honey,” he says, his lips brushing against yours ever so lightly.

“Yes, Francisco,” you breathe out. “Make me feel good.”

He bites your bottom lip and tugs, then growls playfully before he grabs your shoulders and flips you over. You let out a delighted shriek, giggling as he lifts up the hem of your shirt and kisses every inch of skin that’s revealed.

“Wait,” you call out. He stops his movements immediately. “You first.”

Frankie grins. You want to press your fingers into the dimple that appears and feel the scratch of his beard under your nails. He leans back and lifts his sweatshirt over his head, the grey t-shirt he’s wearing sticks to the inside of it and he rolls both garments down his arms.

His chest is bare to you now, smooth except for a smattering of hairs in the middle of his chest, and a patch leading down into his jeans. You want to reach out and run your hands down the planes of his torso and follow the path of hair, but your arms aren’t long enough to reach.

You remove your shirt, leaving you in your leggings and bra. It’s a soft lace number, a delicate pink with no underwire. You watch as his hungry gaze roams over your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t motion for you to take it off. Instead, he leans over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

He moves downwards, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your neck. He continues his path and mouths between your breasts, one of his hands reaches out to squeeze the plump flesh in his large hand. You nipple instantly pebbles under his ministrations and he pulls the fabric aside to tease it with the pad of his finger. You moan softly at the sensation and yelp in surprise when he sucks it into his mouth and bites it, soothing the sharp sting with a flick of his tongue.

“Mmm, love how responsive you are already,” he hums, moving down. Your back arches as his mouth makes a hot trail down the rest of your torso. You look down and notice he’s left wet patches where his mouth has been, coating you in saliva and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

He reaches the waistband of your leggings and pushes them down, letting out a strangled groan when he gets an eyeful of your panties, the same shade of pink that matches the bra you’re wearing.

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes.

He peels your panties down your legs and pulls them off along with your leggings, leaving you completely bare from the bottom down. You start to cross your legs to hide yourself, feeling self-conscious at how exposed you are, but Frankie grabs your thigh to halt the movement.

“You better not hide this pretty pussy from me,” he says, licking his lips.

You half expect him to dive in, but he takes a moment to look at you. He’s resting a hand on your hip. His pointer finger makes a path down, tracing an invisible line up and down your slit. You hiss at the ghost of his touch and thrust your hips towards his hand, seeking out more friction.

Frankie lets out an amused chuckle at your reaction and leans forward to plant a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You let out a shaky breath in anticipation– your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. He kisses up your thigh until he reaches the apex between your legs, then licks a stripe through your folds with the flat of his tongue, pulling a surprised gasp from your parted lips.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and you can’t help it– you buck up into his mouth and grab onto his hair and tug at the strands. He grabs onto the flesh of your hip and whimpers into your pussy. Despite being almost dizzy with need, you feel a rush of power knowing you have this effect on him.

“You taste so fucking good. So wet for me,” he punctuates his words with bold licks up and down. “Never want to stop.”

He changes patterns, making tight circles on your clit with his tongue. The sudden switch has you mewling and your legs clamp around his head involuntarily. Frankie grabs your thighs and wrenches them apart, hooking them over his shoulders as he latches onto your pussy. His hands are on your ass, holding you up as your back arches off the couch.

All you can do is scramble at the cushions below you for purchase as Frankie buries his face into your cunt, lapping at you with abandon. His tongue licks into you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before; it has you seeing stars.

You have no idea how he knows exactly how to manipulate your body to pull the pleasure from you so naturally. Every lick feels like it’s searching for treasure, every suck hits somewhere deep inside, reverberating through the muscles of your thighs and up in your abdomen.

He gently places you back down to the cushions and rubs at your entrance with his pointer finger, looking up at you for permission.

“Yes, please–“ you whimper brokenly. He complies immediately and plunges it into you, following with a second finger, and curls them up. His pace is slow at first and he flicks his tongue out to play with your clit at the same time. He’s soon spurred on by your moans and sets a brutal pace. You once again feel the urge to clamp around him to increase the pressure, but Frankie uses his broad shoulders to hold your thighs apart.

Seeing his shoulders, bare and perspiring from his intensive movements, so wide and flushed, coupled with the furrow of his brow, his eyes pinched closed, makes something primal within you awaken. You barely have time to feel your orgasm coming before it’s hitting you– thighs shaking, back arching, hands in his hair. You don’t even realize it, but you;’re shrieking his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s groaning in reply, milking you through it with his fingers and tongue, lapping up your release, syrupy sweet and indulgent.

He doesn’t stop until you’re flinching from overstimulation. He kisses up your body lazily, taking his time before capturing your lips. You kiss him back, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. He grinds into you, his jean-clad erection rubs against your aching cunt and rekindles the fire, molten heat shooting through your entire body.

“Wanna fuck you so bad, baby,” he says, panting the words into your mouth.

You moan and break the kiss.

“Want to take this to my room?”

He doesn’t reply, but instead swings his body off the couch and picks you up bridal-style. He stumbles a little with the first steps and you both laugh, kissing each other with each step he takes towards your bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed softly and you let loose another delighted giggle when Frankie flops over you dramatically, caging you in his arms. Your tongues tangle together in an impossibly sensual kiss. He’s momentarily distracted, caught up in the feel of your body underneath his with the soft touches of your tongue, and you take the opportunity to roll him over and straddle his hips.

Frankie is looking up at you as if he’s in awe, like he can’t believe you’re here right now, naked from the waist down and grinding down on his hard cock, tenting his jeans.

You move down his body and zip his fly down, pushing down the denim along with his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, hard and hot and leaking at the tip. You can’t help but lick the bead of precum, and a broken whine rips from Frankie’s throat. His hands are clenched into the sheets, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the mattress beneath him.

You’re bobbing your mouth up and down his length, tongue licking around his shaft and cheeks hollowing out. His moans are loud, constant. He’s babbling praise, telling you how fucking amazing your mouth feels, how badly he wants to fuck you. It’s a heady feeling, bringing a strong and quiet man to his knees like this. You love that he’s letting you know how much he’s breaking for you.

Your tongue finds its way down to his balls and you suck them into your mouth, moaning at the musky taste. His moans are high pitched now and his hand is squeezing your shoulder.

“Baby, you gotta stop,” he grabs onto your hair to pause your movements. “I need to feel you.”

You give him one last broad lick up his shaft and shift back up, and look down at Frankie to catalogue the number you’ve done on him. He’s absolutely wrecked– brown eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly with his uneven breaths.

You remove your bra, stretching it over your head and throwing it to the side. Frankie follows the movement and lets out a needy, staccato moan at the sight of you, completely bare before him.

You reach down and kiss him soundly on the mouth, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“I’ve got you, baby boy,” you coo, sinking down on his length.

“Fuck,” he grits out between his teeth.

You give yourself a moment to get used to his size and rock into him. His hands fly up to your chest, squeezing lightly and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

“So fucking big,” you pant out. “So good for me.”

It seems Frankie loves praise as much as you do, evidenced by the twitch of his cock inside you.

Your pace is agonizingly slow. You’re trying to tease out the moment, stretch it out so it lasts forever. It doesn’t last long– you can’t stand it anymore. You bounce up and down on him, snapping your hips when they meet his.

“So fucking perfect,” he pants out. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

You breathe out a moan and stop your movements. Frankie mistakes your pause for hesitation and reaches up to brush the hair out of your face.

“We don’t have to,” he says, voice gentle, brow furrowed in concern.

“No, fuck. No, Frankie. I want to.”

You gingerly get up and whimper at the loss when he’s no longer inside you. Frankie sits up, shoulders rocking forward and cock bobbing with his movement as he settles onto his knees. You watch him and bite your lip, getting on all fours and lifting your ass up in the air to present yourself to him.

Frankie can’t help the groan that falls from his lips and sinks forward to lay an open-mouthed kiss on your pussy from behind before he lines himself up. He enters you without hesitation, hips slapping against your ass rhythmically, setting a decisively fast pace.

All you can hear is the filthy sounds of your wet pussy as he pounds into you, along with your strangled moans, and his heavy breathing, laced with whispers of praise you can’t discern. The waves of pleasure are too much, too strong. You can feel the familiar build up of an orgasm. Your head is in the clouds as it climbs and climbs– then crashes.

His fingers on your clit is what does you in. Your whole body shakes and all you can do is whimper and moan around his cock while he fucks into you. The strong, practiced rock of his hips become sloppy as he chases his release, muttering words of adoration into the air as he pulls out and cums, spilling onto your back. He pulls every last drop out of his cock before collapsing over you, forehead resting on your spine as he catches his breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Should have done this ages ago.”

You both laugh and Frankie gets up to grab a wet face towel from the bathroom

A little while later, you’re both in bed, blissed out and wrapped up around each other. The movie, drinks and snacks are all forgotten. All that matters is here and now– your breaths mingling together as you kiss each other lazily, tongues probing slowly.

In the other room, both of your phones ping on the coffee table with unheard notifications.

The first text is from Santiago.The other boys follow suit, not a minute apart.

Pope 🤦🏻‍♂️: 👑

Benny and the Jets 🥊: 👑

Ironhead 🦸🏼: 👑

Neither of you see the texts until the next morning.

The following weekend, it’s Santiago’s turn to be the designated driver. He’s parked outside of Frankie’s house, waiting to pick both of your asses up. He starts to tap his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel after the first 15 minutes.

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” He asks Will and Benny. They all know the answer, but don’t say anything.

Meanwhile, Frankie has you crowded against the front door, your sundress is hiked up and his face is buried in your pussy. Neither of you can hear the sound of Santi’s impatient honking over your moans.

And if you end up going to the bar sans panties because you can’t find them before Santiago is pounding his fist on the door, well that’s just a secret you and Frankie will have to keep.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen

#frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco morales pilot of my heart #all hail francisco morales pussy eating king

1K notes · View notes

zarnzarn · 3 years ago

Text

Stolitz fic rec!!

I'm going to just drop my favorite stolitz fics here.

They run at night by @wearemisfortune

Blitzo is always moving because when his body stops, his mind races. This almost always leads to a terrible fucking idea.

Tonight is no different—but the result will be.

-lovely angst, lovely climax, and it captures Blitz's line of thinking in a serious tone but in a way still feels authentic to the character. And I'm ALWAYS a sucker for the sheer unconditional trust trope.

Junctures by @sluttycrimehat

To everything, there is a season.

-I still am in complete awe of how the author managed to fit so much in such little time. The bit at the end always fucking gets me, I love it so MUCH.

The last general by @curtailed

It's in a month after, with Stolas spent and lying on his side, that Blitzo finally musters up the courage to tell him.

-Hello??? BEAUTIFUL post-harvest moon fic, wonderful vibes, love how well they know each other in this one, the trust is amazing. Love it.

You got everything that I want by @bipridemoth

Stolas can’t recall a time where “love” wasn’t synonymous with “pain” for him.

With Blitzo, it’s not love. So, there’s no pain. Stolas doesn’t let there be pain, at least not emotionally, the physical pain is something he quite enjoys. When Blitzo leaves after their monthly night together, he doesn’t allow himself to feel pain, only anticipation of the next time. He likes that there’s always a next time, even though that’s because of his active incentive more than anything else. But that’s alright, he doesn’t want Blitzo to come see him without an incentive. He deserves favors in turn for what he’s giving Stolas.

-Stolas angst!!!! The angst really is delicious in this one, with just as nice of a happy ending. Blitz is confident about the relationship, which is Wonderful to read and the "I know where this is going" segment had me in TEARS.

Between fairy tales and realities by @coloringthegreyscale

Blitzo's a complicated imp and Striker and Stolas accept that. But what happens when the two worlds he's made for himself collide together for one night? Well...

-Okay, so yes, this is striker/blitz/stolas, but it's so good. All three of them have a lovely dynamic, managing to work out somehow, with powerful Stolas, wonderful Blitz and a HILARIOUS Striker. Go read the series, it's a lot of fun and has many cute interactions that made me smile.

The look by @seireileafy

Blitz has been noticing a change in Stolas.

-It's such a CUTE drabble, I adore when one person can tell the other is pining for them, and the LAST LINE FUCKING GETS ME EVERY TIME-

Instead I made my bed with apathy by @thebooklord15

Just like every night before this one, Blitzo glared at the form next to him, already lulled into the bliss of slumber. He had never meant for things to turn out this way-he’d gotten the grimoire already, he didn’t need this man and from the way Stolas treated him it was clear he did not need the imp either.

And yet.

-Jcjdkafj this one is so GOOD I love blitz being pissed off yet too deep in to stop, and like I've said for others already THAT LAST LINE, PLEASE-

Call and response by anon

It was a love story, maybe.

-short but deliciously angsty, with some beautiful imagery, really nice dialogue, and time-doesn't-exist-in-this-motel-room vibes. Love it.

Shovel proof by @kereea

Octavia tries to give Blitzo the shovel talk. He decides to help with that.

-FUCKING cute, love the Octavia/Blitz dynamic, and it has snappy fun dialogue!! Really sweet.

Reaching out, touching me, touching you by @allmightshipserasermic

Stolas hasn’t been able to preen sufficiently in quite awhile, since Stella refuses to do it for him anymore. Blitzo offers to help.

-PREENING FIC is there anything more I have to say?

The skin you could have by @coloringthegreyscale

Stolas catches Blitzo staring and it leads to some talk, some magic, and a little bit of fun.

-Again, BEAUTIFUL dynamic between the two, lots of angsty tenderness, and lovely body imagery.

Different shapes by @sirdust

“Before the exorcist, he taketh the image and shape of a man.”

Blitz catches a glimpse of Stolas’ human form.

-okay, practically a direct opposite of the previous fic, but SO GOOD, I can't describe it. Love the imagery and their comfortable relationship.

A helluva mess by @stratumgermanitivum

It’s not like Stolas isn’t a hot piece of ass, because he is.

And it’s not like Blitzo’s blind or anything, because he isn’t.

It’s just that there’s pleasure, and then there’s business, and never the twain shall meet. (Unless he finally gets Moxx on board with that threeway, in which case, Blitzo fully intends to christen every damn surface of the office except his precious Loony’s desk.)

-AMAZING, love the pining and denial on both sides it's so great especially since you can tell both sides know that they've messed up. Again, LAST LINE!!

Eat the whole cake (it's what you deserve) by @okoyik

"His Highness is on the phone for you, sir," Moxxie says.

Blitzo makes a face. "Who?"

"Stolas," Moxxie supplies, as if that's supposed to help Blitzo understand. His expression is surely one of complete confusion as he stares at the other imp.

"Who the fuck is Stolas?" Blitzo asks slowly, racking his brain for a face to put to the name.

Blitzo's memory starts to slip, and all he knows is he needs that owl that seems to haunt his nightmares to stay away.

-HELLO it's only on one out of four chapters for now but it's already SO GOOD I can't WAIT for the rest!!!

Stand tall, but your hands are shaking by @remymorton

It’s been a month since the Harvest Moon festival. Another full moon night arrived, and after that... Blitz ... He's not well.

-wordless cute comfort, truly very sweet, I love it.

Palaces and souvenirs by @cloudysonder

So Stolas is objectively. Objectively. Attractive. Kinda soft-looking, sometimes. Pretty. Whatever. Fuckin’ whatever. That’s always been a thing. Blitzo knew that, Stolas definitely knew that-- whatever.

"This is not," Blitzo thinks, sounding a little bit desperate even to himself, "some sort of revelation."

His flicks of the lighter get a little more unstable, a little more frustrated.

A clawed hand reaches over and takes hold of the lighter, lighting Blitzo’s cigarette with practiced ease, as if he’d done the same thing a thousand times before (He has, Blitzo realizes).

“Silly Blitzy,” he giggles quietly, giving Blitzo a soft pat on the head before curling up beside him, stretching one last time before closing his eyes to sleep.

Blitzo feels warm.

"This," Blitzo tells himself, and it sounds like a command, "will not be a problem."

-I saw the start of this fic on Twitter and have been following it religiously ever since. It's really a gorgeous fic, three chapters up, with the promise of a Great slow burn, fun dialogue and Octavia & Blitz bonding. The level of denial Blitz is in even as he moves comfortably around every aspect of Stolas' life cracks me tf up.

Can't by @hazbincalifornia

Blitzo realizes he feels something something that he doesn't want to feel. This was supposed to be simple.

-feelings realization fic, wonderful, amazing, lovely, also the exact same way I realized I was gay, funnily enough (girl fell asleep in my lap and I was like oh. Oh fuck.)

Too late to stop by @malkaviancake

Stolas spends some time with his thoughts, realizing that his feelings for Blitzo aren't as one sided as he presumed.

-GORGEOUS vocab, I'm truly very obsessed with it. Like most of these stories, LAST LINE!!!!

Itchy with want, thin on sleep by me

It happens in parts- both falling in love and having his eyes opened.

-I will,, finish this one day, but for now here's a few in between moments before they have The Conversation.

Heaven in hiding by me

Their nights together are good, they always are, both of their tastes lining up to be shockingly compatible, but on the days where they end early and they get to spend some extra time cleaning up in comfortable silence or playful banter- and Blitz would rather take a bullet than admit this out loud- but those nights are pretty great too.

-AFTERCARE FIC, I had to write an aftercare fic ft. Good dom Blitz, Stolas taking care of him in return and a comfortable relationship that they both know is going to cause Problems in the future :)

Love in the bones and sinews of this curse by me

Five times Stolas and Blitz needed the grimoire to break a curse + one time they didn't.

-self explanatory. I tried to make it as funny as possible, everyone bickers a lot and Blitz brings Stolas flowers and gifts, what more could you need?

Life is a curse (love makes it worse) by me

"Alright!" Blitz says, clapping his hands together, "Weapons out, and-"

Half pull out some gun or the other, but half just look at him blankly. Blitz wishes for death.

"Save me from this family," He mutters under his breath, "Okay. Take these then." He passes out the few weapons he'd brought along with him and doesn't ask if they know how to use them because if he hears a no, he's giving up and going back home. "Stick close and talk loudly so the others can hear us. Let's go."

They move out, Blitz taking the lead and the rest forming a circle close behind him, starting up a loud conversation about the neighbour's garden. It gives him enough time to wonder exactly what the fuck he's doing here, in a nightmare world with a bunch of pretentious snobs, searching for his stupid Ars Goetia boyfriend, instead of sleeping in his nice lumpy bed back at home.

-a sequel to the previous fic!!! I had to write some Octavia and Blitz bonding, and accidentally added in a bunch of teenage imps who work for Stolas who imprint on Blitz immediately. And there's Eldritch Stolas, protective boyfriends and found family!!! The whole shebang!!!

This ended up being Much longer than I'd expected, but genuinely every fic up there is really good, go check em out!!!!

#stolitz #blitz #blitzo #stolas #helluva boss #PHEW im exhausted #stolitz fic rec #stolitz fic recs #stolitz fic #helluva boss fic rec #my fic #i mean i put some of my fics up there so #also to all my mutuals in this post ily #stolas x blitz #stolas x blitzo

322 notes · View notes

rosiehunterwolf · 3 years ago

Note

This request is the result of a very awake mind at 2 am. How about a part crack, part tooth-rotting fluff fic about and interview with characters of your choice.

I tried my best with this... it's difficult to do crack in such a short piece (hence this one ended up being a little longer) and although I think writing crack is really fun, I have no experience in the field XD. So... hope this is what you were looking for XD.

The Case of the Forgotten Birthday Gift

Summary: When the ninja are invited to the Ivory City of Shintaro for Princess Vania’s birthday, they find themselves in the most devastating predicament of all- they forgot to bring a birthday gift for Vania. In a panic, Cole offers her a chance to interview them as compensation. Not everyone is thrilled about the idea.

“We thank you for attending Princess Vania’s birthday,” King Vangelis said, hovering before the ninja with two winged guardsmen at his sides. “We ask that you leave any gifts on this table.” He gestured towards a table that was practically groaning under the weight of all the presents atop it.

“Um.” Cole blanched. “Gift?”

“Cole!” Jay whispered harshly in his ear. “Don’t tell me. That you didn’t bring a present for the princess. On her birthday.”

“I didn’t bring one? Last time I checked, we were all invited! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I didn’t, so you better come up with something now or they’ll never invite us back here again!”

“Uh…” Cole’s brain felt like it was whirring a mile a minute, and he reluctantly turned back to the king. “Thank you, your majesty, but our gift to the princess is not something material.”

King Vangelis raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No, it’s a… it’s um… we’re giving you a free interview.”

“What?!” the other ninja all yelped, at the same time that Vania beamed, clapping her hands together.

“I get to interview the ninja? The ninja? Truly, this is the best birthday present ever!”

“Cole,” Kai groaned, putting his head in his hands, “what have you done?”

---

“When I told you to come up with something to give the princess, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Jay grumbled from where he was sitting stiffly in a chair next to Cole. “Did you really have to offer the girl who’s obviously a bit bonkers about us an interview?”

“I didn’t see you coming up with anything better,” Cole snapped. “Besides, she may be a bit obsessed, but she seems nice enough. Just go along with it. She’s like any other fan.”

“Any other fan, you say? I wouldn’t be so sure!”

Cole sighed, glancing back at where Lloyd was standing atop his chair, glaring down at them. “Lloyd, sit down.”

“She’s no normal fan, I’m telling you! I don’t trust her! She was too excited about this interview! She’s out to get us, she just wants to trick us into giving away information so she can exploit our weaknesses!”

Kai glanced back and forth between Lloyd and Cole. “Seriously, does no one else see what an obvious cry for therapy this is?”

“Lloyd!” Cole hissed. “For the last time! Sit. Down.”

“Don’t worry, Lloyd,” Zane said as the teen plopped down grumpily in his seat. “The odds of our team member’s princess girlfriend turning out to be the leader of a criminal gang for the second time in our lives are practically nonexistent! Under seventy percent, at least.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Cole snapped.

Zane blinked. “Well, then whose is she?”

“Not mine,” Jay told them, grabbing Nya’s hand. “I’m already engaged!”

Kai laughed. “No thanks, she’s not my type. Plus, I already have a girlfriend who stabbed me in the back, although luckily for me, mine came around, eventually.”

“For the last time, Vania is not going to betray us!”

“It’s not our fault we have trust issues,” Lloyd sniffed. “You’d think someone would book us therapy, but apparently that’s not a priority.”

“Well, if she herself isn’t evil, maybe she’s related to someone evil!” Kai said. “Skylor’s evil, psychotic father influenced her to turn on me. Do you think Vania has an evil, psychotic father?”

“Definitely,” Lloyd agreed, at the same time Nya said “No way.”

Nya shook her head. “Do you know how ridiculous you guys sound? How many evil, psychotic fathers can there be out there?”

“Um. There’s Chen, Milton Dyer, Skales, my father- need I go on?”

“Don’t forget Nadakhan’s evil djinn father!” Jay chimed. Lloyd blinked at him. “Who?”

“See? That’s barely any!” Nya exclaimed. “Besides, like half of those people are good now, so they don’t count.”

“But they were, which means there’s a high chance of King Vangelis being evil and psychotic-”

“Who’s evil and psychotic?” A cheery voice interrupted them as Princess Vania pushed open the doors.

“Oh, uh… just an old villain we faced,” Cole covered quickly.

“Oh, you must tell me all about them!” Vania smiled, pushing the doors closed behind her and clicking the lock.

Kai blinked. “Did you just lock us in?”

“Of course! I can’t have anyone else breaking in here and trying to eavesdrop on my very special interview!”

“Do people break into your room often?” Nya laughed.

“Not at all! Only a few times a week.”

“Um… you do realize that we’re crime-fighting ninja, right?” Jay told her. “We have lots of enemies. Maybe you should have some people guarding us while we’re here.”

“Oh, don’t worry! If anyone attacks you, Chompy will scare them off!” The ninja looked to where she was pointing to see a tiny dragon snoozing on Vania’s bed.

“Oh, how reassuring,” Kai said dryly. “The overgrown gecko can keep us safe.”

Vania raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky he’s asleep. Mr. Chompy does not play nice when he’s angry.”

“Oh yeah, I’m so scared,” Kai grinned, leaning back.

Vania narrowed her eyes at him. “He killed a dire bat once.”

“Yeah, well, we fought off an entire flock of them from our ship.”

“First of all, it’s called a colony of bats, not a flock. Second, I know that a squadron of our guards had to go save you.”

“We didn’t need saving! They interrupted us just as I was about to use my mighty fire powers to burn them to a crisp!” “Chompy would knock them out of the sky before you could do that.”

“Yeah, well, I could squish Chompy under my foot.”

“Chompy could gouge out your eyes.”

“Oookay, as fun as this is,” Cole interrupted, pushing them apart, “Let’s just get this interview over with. Vania, what questions did you want to ask us?”

“Hold on.” Vania jogged over to the wall and pulled over a small table, setting up a camera on top of it.

Jay stared at it. “What is that.”

“I need to record this, silly!”

“What’s the point of locking us in here and not letting anyone else listen in if you’re just going to broadcast this whole thing to everyone, anyway?” Nya asked.

“Because seeing it live isn’t half as fun as watching a recording!”

“Then why record it at all?”

“How else am I going to rub it in all my friends’ faces that I met the ninja?”

“This is a non-consensual violation of my privacy,” Jay grumbled.

“Oh please, your face is over half the city,” Cole sighed.

“Welcome back to Truthful Tidbits! I’m your host, Vania, and I’m here with an exclusive episode today- with me, I have the famous ninja!” “What,” Lloyd said slowly, “are you doing?”

“It’s for my TV show,” Vania whispered.

“You have a TV show?” Nya spluttered.

“Wait, no one told me this was going to be on TV!” Kai yelped. “The camera’s not getting my good side!”

“Wait, if this is a TV show, shouldn’t we have makeup artists or something?”

“Jay’s right!” Kai agreed. “I can’t go on television without a makeover!”

“My database shows no recollection of the show ‘Truthful Tidbits.’”

“It’s not on mainstream television,” Vania grumbled. “I just show them to my videography class.”

“Oh.” Jay relaxed in his chair. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean, that’s it? People are still going to see me without makeup! Just because it’s a small group doesn’t make this any less of a disaster!”

“I’m hoping to change that,” Vania beamed. “This is the big break I need! An interview with the ninja? Everyone will want to see it!”

“Andddd we’re back to privacy invasion again,” Jay groaned.

“Wanna bounce, Jay?” Lloyd asked.

“Do I ever-”

“Count me in, guys, I’m not doing this without a proper makeup job-”

“If you guys are all leaving, I’m not going to stay!” Nya insisted. “Zane?”

“It seems futile to stay if you all are leaving.” “You can’t leave!” Vania cried. “This is my present! Besides, you’re locked in here!”

Lloyd stared her dead in the eyes. “I will literally jump out the window to get out of this.”

“Are you kidding me? You’ll die!”

“Then tell Chumpy to catch me,” he told her, already climbing into the window.

“It’s Chompy!”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Kai reached out a hand, snatching the back of Lloyd’s gi before he could jump. “I don’t want to spend the rest of our stay in a hospital. What did you think was going to happen, you were going to sprout wings?”

“I’m part dragon,” Lloyd grumbled. “It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility.”

“I have a much less life-threatening way. Stand back.” Kai’s fist lit up in flames.

“I swear, Kai, if you burn down anything, we are never coming back here,” Cole warned.

“A little arson never hurt anyone.” Hurtling a fireball at the door, it burst into flames. Quickly, it burned a human-sized hole in the door, and Kai, Jay, and Lloyd quickly darted through.

“What about my interview?” Vania protested. “You promised!”

“Technically, Cole was the one who promised you the interview,” Zane pointed out. “He never specified which of us you would be interviewing.”

“And since Cole’s staying, we’re technically not breaking that promise!” Nya added.

Cole blinked. “I’m what?”

“Staying. Have fun, you two!” Nya waved, and the two of them shot out the door, spraying ice and water as they passed to extinguish the flames.

“Sorry about that, princess,” Cole said, scratching the back of his neck.

Vania narrowed her eyes. “This better be the best interview ever.”

Cole grinned. “Mark my words, it will be. Fire away.”

“Speaking of fire, you’re paying for my door.”

“... Yeah, I figured.”

43 notes · View notes

cryptiql · 3 years ago

Text

cherry starbursts

pairing: bakugou/reader (male reader in mind but is gender neutral)

warnings: none, i think?? lots of cussing though, courtesy of lord explosion murder

words: 3.6k

a/n: yuzuya's audios giving me so much brainrot...gonna be thinking about this all week. also the way this started out as god tier writing but gradually turned into shit at the end 🏃 nonetheless, i hope i did this gremlin man justice </3

a contemplative hum tickles your throat as you observe the paragraph laid out before you, the pads of your fingers tingling as you trail them across the pages. on the occasions where you've found your nose nestled deep within them, a muted scent of pears and sawdust would invade your senses, and the urge to rest your head in the plains of your chemistry textbook would become overwhelming. however, the threat of being cuffed over the head by a rolled up magazine makes you think twice about slacking off, so you begrudgingly slump back into your seat with a resigned huff. the clock in your dorm is no doubt ticking away like always; the second hand rounding at great speeds while the minute and hour hands crawl by at a sluggish pace; but you aren't there to hear it.

instead, you reside in bakugou's room, basking in the unencumbered atmosphere created solely by his diligent efforts to keep his space clean and organized. it's just the way he is, you have to remind yourself. not because you stubbed your toe on his dumbbells last week and he felt sufficiently guilty as to make sure nothing was in your path the next time you visited. that would be silly. all that considered, bakugou's room isn't much different from your own—save for the few comfort objects brought from home that give off a hospitable air—but the lack of stimulus it holds is apparent. anything that could disturb your tranquil study date has either been stored away or placed beyond your reach.

damn him, the bastard! he's completely oblivious, you silently muse, bracing your elbows on the desk to plant your face in the palms of your hands. you chastise yourself at the same moment for forgetting your headphones, but in your defense, bakugou screaming for you to hurry up had prompted a hasty departure. if he had the patience to wait two more minutes. . .

rather than finishing the thought, you pull the textbook closer, hoping that somehow the enlarged print will stick to your brain like a temporary tattoo. you only need this information long enough to pass the exam, but once it's over, you swear you'll never mention anything chemistry related unless it's the bond between you and your neighbor. the idle scratching of pencil led against paper erupts from his side of the room, lessening the static in your head by a fraction, but it doesn't last. he mutters something unintelligible under his breath as you spin in your chair to look at him in desperation.

he remains ignorant for the next minute or so, only glancing up at you briefly before returning to his notes. your nostrils flare as you reach down to untangle your laces and pull off your shoe. you chickened out last time this happened, but being ignored has successfully fed the flames of your frustration, and you simply will not stand for it any longer. you blame your sleep-addled mentality for the lack of better aim, but it stokes your pride when bakugou flinches as your shoe hurdles past his shoulder.

"the hell was that for, dumbass!?" he growls, his eyes narrowing into slits. you respond with a high pitched whine; one that would be considered overexaggerated in his opinion, but in yours, was perfectly reasonable when being held against your will to study a subject that has no business being this tedious. "sukiii, i'm booored."

the blonde makes a 'tch' sound, positioning his arm in a warning manner before throwing his pencil at you, which you manage to catch easily. you revel in the deflated expression he wears, twirling the pencil between your fingers and kicking a leg over one arm of the chair. all this, while never breaking eye contact, was sure to break through to him. you're hopeful, what with the way katsuki's gaze—gradually failing to hide his infatuation—travels over your build from head to toe. whether because you giggle at his reaction or decide to kick your feet like a giddy child, he snaps out of his trance with an all too familiar scowl and shuts his own textbook with unnecessary force. his demanding stare is fixated on you as he tosses it haphazardly to the edge of the bed.

"give me back my pencil, idiot." he completely ignores your previous statement and jumps straight into business, as always. "give me back my shoe first, hot stuff." you challenge, smirking in a way that you very well know gets him hot under the collar. the teasing endearment will either put the odds in your favor; earning you your shoe as desired, and perhaps the lovely little blush that often dusts his face whenever you flirt with him; or seal your fate in hell where the everlasting flames may burn similarly, if not just as hotter than bakugou's explosions. it has taken years of practice to uphold your smug attitude in the face of his unyielding rage; nose wrinkled and canines grinding. even now, he is the image of perfection—a powerful god emblazoned in brimstone and baneful inferno—and you, a mere lover of art. after a moment, bakugou's resolve seems to falter. his piecing glare relents only slightly to give way for a pensive expression as he sighs, gently rubbing along the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. he throws you your shoe while standing from the bed, and as you slip it on, he shuffles over to his clothes drawer to pull out his own pair of sneakers. this prompts you to raise a brow inquisitively, but your silent question is left unanswered up until bakugou claps a hand on your shoulder and grumbles.

"c'mon, i'm fucking starving. there's a seven eleven nearby that's got spicy ramen."

and just like that, all thoughts pertaining to the test have been pulverized to dust by katsuki's unrelenting fists. the promise of food after hours of relentless mental abuse has you brushing off the sudden change of inclination in seconds, meanwhile the hothead to your right mulls over it during your trek through the empty hallways, stuffing his arms into the holes of his jacket. he had been able to overlook your constant fidgeting and intermittent noises of vexation, but too soon it became obvious that you weren't getting anywhere with the session. he would have simply offered to help if not for his own inability to concentrate, which had made itself known within the last half hour when he caught himself staring at you between taking notes. so what if he found your pouting cute? just maybe, he had started to fall in love with the way your brows furrowed at the instance of a misunderstood question; the absentminded tugging of your earlobe; the way your eyes looked without seeing, as if the smallest things held the greatest importance. sure, the tapping of your nails against a desk was a bit much, but he could always put a stop to your fretting by lacing your fingers together and kissing the back of your hand. just maybe, your bashful reactions made him want to hold you closer; to see you lounging across his lap—a throne befitting for a king—with your rose hued cheeks nestled in the crook of his neck.

not that you needed to know any of that. no fucking way would he endow another reason for you to tease him when the list was already so long.

curfew isn't for another hour, but bakugou would rather not waste time dawdling, so he uses this as reasoning for hooking your arm with his and practically hauling you out the exit. he mutters something about you being "too fucking slow" and "leaving you behind if you don't keep up", but the fact that he's dragging you along at all shows that he would have no problem resorting to desperate matters. the right amount of groveling and or compromising might mean a piggyback ride to the store, but regardless of how tempting the idea is, you decide not to further burden your friend with carrying you.

the towering shape of heights alliance becomes more and more like a speck of dust as your journey continues, the weight of your thoughts heavy on your already weary mind. you eye katsuki's side profile, noting the distinct lack of malice upon his handsome features, and smile softly to yourself. friend. it was the first word that occurred to you, albeit the least desirable and in no way comparable to the term that caused your heart to flutter within the confinements of your ribcage.

you aren't together. you don't know if you'll ever be, but when the the milieu; brimming with chaotic screams, booming laughter and disorderly merriment belonging to that of your closest friends; is whisked from the narrative, katsuki looks at you differently. whatever fragments of disdain and spite tend to crumble within the first few seconds and are replaced by an emotion that was unheard of ever having manifested in the depths of his vermillion hues. it holds a semblance to adoration, perhaps even respect, and for as long as you can recall, that is all you've wanted to see from him: to be regarded like no other.

sure, it's not like how you dreamed—he isn't very affectionate in public, though you doubt he would be even if you were together, and it always stings when he shrugs your affections off with a deriding comment—but that's just it. it's not a dream. after every scornful remark; after the day has passed and the dwindling moon takes its place in the evening sky, breaking through the curtains of his dorm; he'll kiss your hand, your blooming cheeks, your lips, all to atone for it. where no one else can see, he treats you like a divine being, and part of you wishes to think that it's because he's selfish. a bit of possessiveness has lead to many nights of a shared bed, ruffled sheets and smothering cuddles, but who are you to complain? everything he gives you is more real than any well-constructed reverie.

he may not be yours, and you may not be his, but no one else will suffice for either of you, and that is the unspoken truth.

the minimal bitterness in the autumn breeze makes for a refreshing atmosphere with the only discontent being the hunger that claws at your stomach. bakugou has never been merciful towards anyone, let alone the self-acclaimed nuisance who interrupts his studying with half-baked plans of adventure, but you're ever so grateful for the rare times where he is.

you know you won't have to wait long now that the smell of milk bread and takoyaki trickles into the air, much like the faint pitter patter of raindrops on the concrete. the shower is horribly ill-timed, but you hardly mind, especially when the droplets cling to bakugou's eyelashes like crystalline gemstones; glimmering faintly with every blink as they catch the suns rays. it settles below the horizon, only a sliver of golden yellow to be seen dancing in the tree boughs above, and the fuck if the way it illuminates your not-boyfriend's visage isn't absolutely breathtaking. the glimpse of honeyed skin and kissable lips—pulled into a pensive pout—draws you in deeper, and deeper, and oh god i've been caught—

"you got a staring problem, dumbass?" he grumbles, a roseal color dusting his ears that he swears is from the cold.

even his offensive nicknames are laced with an abnormal tenderness, and knowing that you're the only one with the privilege to hear it causes your chest to swell with delight. you nibble your bottom lip, hoping that it will somehow hide the fleet of giggles bubbling in your throat, but it does no such thing. "yeah, it's weird. whenever i see something beautiful, i just feel compelled to stare at it."

you don't need to look at him to know you've struck a nerve, but you do anyways, and his face grows redder under the intensity of your teasing leer. he sputters, curses falling from past his lips like a waterfall, and rips his arm from your grasp to cradle it as if you've burned him. any sane person would have backed down the second mini explosions began flaring up from his palms, however, you are perhaps the exact opposite, as to be expected when surrounding yourself with the infamous bakusquad, who (excluding bakugou) procured one braincell to share amongst themselves. years of having to put up with and, by extension, learn how to effectively handle bakugou's fits have proven to be time well spent.

you remain none the wiser to the concerned stares of others as he spouts a line of insults; incomprehensible from behind his curled fist pressed tightly to his mouth.

"you-you can't just say that kinda shit out loud, dumbass!" and although he may seem mad, he's already dragging you down the street. you test your luck by huddling closer and resting your chin on his shoulder, your steady pace never faltering.

"is the katsuki bakugou stumbling over his words from a little compliment?" it almost feels like you've won, but then the blonde proceeds to cover your face with his still damp hand. the little shit had timed it perfectly so that your open mouth would taste the saltiness of his sweat—quite the contrary to its sugary caramel aroma—and if you weren't so preoccupied by the resonance of his cackling laugh, you might have spent the rest of the trip gagging and complaining about the whole ordeal. he hardly seems bothered, wiping your saliva on his trousers and going forth with that customary lumbering strut, which always has you torn between fawning, chortling or questioning if he has fucking weights down his pants.

nonetheless, you can't help but murmur how cute he looks as you swing your free arm in tune with your steps.

by the time you've arrived at the shop, the sun has long since disappeared; welcoming hues of purple, navy blue and hints of orange to dapple the heavens, along with the foretelling of stars. you can't begin to describe how lucky you are to be living in a city with such beautiful scenery, even when the thin clouds of smog from factories often hinder your view of it. the fluorescent lights from the 'open' sign flash sporadically, casting a cobalt glow to dance across your dazed expression. katsuki watches with intent, chuckling at how easily distracted you can get as he tugs you inside by the cloth of your shirt.

the person behind the cash register spares a customary greeting before returning to their magazine, and bakugou makes a beeline for the intended isle, something akin to excitement radiating from him. he wears it much differently, and it resembles is go-to callous guise in almost every way, but you're able to detect the slight shift in demeanor as if its the easiest thing in the world. you hardly register that he's removed himself from you until the distance grows too large to ignore, and you shuffle over to the place beside him with a newfound adrenaline. the crisp air of the corner store heightens your senses as you tap your foot to the pop song playing overhead.

the only other sound is of katsuki examining the ramen and deciding what level of spice he should get, encouraging you to ponder what sort of hellish nightmare he has planned for the rest of the group. it was just last week when he dared kaminari to try some of the noodles, and the poor boy had spent ten minutes weeping in snot-nosed agony that you would have to be insane to put something that hot in your mouth. bakugou had laughed at his misery and carried on eating with vigor, mocking the others for their weak taste buds.

after a beat of silence, you decide to test your luck again by poking is shoulder, as well as batting your eyelashes at him and cocking your head to the side.

"can we get some candy?"

bakugou waves his hand dismissively, which is all the conformation you need before rounding the corner to peruse the variety of sweets on display. you immediately spot the marked parcels of sour gumdrops and assorted licorice and giggle to yourself as you pick them out, unaware of the gentle smile the blonde wears in regards to your child-like glee.

"yeah, just don't eat it all in one sitting. you go through that shit way too fast—it's unhealthy."

you won't bother commenting on his strict, motherly advisement, because you know it's in his best interest. he's grumbled about "stuffing your body with all that garbage" on numerous occasions, and while the hypocrisy might have annoyed you at one point ("and i assume gouging yourself on spicy ramen is completely different?") you realized rationing your candy would benefit both your health and your wallet. you nod, despite knowing he can't see, and idly feel for your back pocket, wondering just how much katsuki plans to stock up. money isn't exactly an issue, so you suppose it doesn't matter, but the amount of packets he normally brings back is downright criminal.

"don't be shy," he eventually says, "i'm buying. you're responsible enough not to buy out the whole store, right?"

your confusion overwhelms the urge to roll your eyes at his sarcasm, but there also lies a hint of elation that he would offer to buy.

"i figured i'd be paying as compensation for messing with you." you stand on the tips of your toes to poke your head over the isle, feeling very tempted to ruffle his hair whilst he gathers the packages of ramen into his basket.

"nah, you can pay me back in some other way." his eyes flick upwards to meet your devilish smirk, and he turns away with an affronted noise, blood rushing to his cheeks.

"oh? i can't wait to see what you have in mind~."

and there go the sparks. they last but a few moments before katsuki composes himself, presumably because he realizes making a scene won't help the situation, but he still throws a glare at you from a distance as he beckons you closer. it seems like he's gotten all he needs, so you hastily grab whatever sweets are left on your mental list and rush back to the counter. a comfortable silence sits between you both as your items are checked out, and in that time, you observe the significant difference between pre-late-night-shopping-run bakugou and food-deprived-study-date bakugou. his shoulders are more relaxed, as is his facial appearance, and you'll be damned if you ever forget the way he smiles when he catches you looking from his peripheral vision.

it's soft and unguarded and leaves you struggling for breath as he waits for the cashier to turn away, then promptly laces your fingers together. what? katsuki takes the bag and pulls you effortlessly; like a ragdoll; a mere toy at his disposal; out into the brisk evening. his thumb brushes the back of your hand, making you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it, and he titters freely. what? the streetlamps glint brightly, flickering at random intervals as you travel onward at a leisurely pace. the roads closest to U.A. aren't as packed as the ones deeper into the city, and thus you are the only two souls to be found, save for the few cars that speed by under the faint luminescence of nearing traffic lights. katsuki squeezes your palm, then slithers his hand out of your hold to replace it at your waist, methodically caressing the skin there in a way that has your knees buckling. you sputter witlessly, attempting to catch the thoughts that flee from your mind like birds to the wind. the blonde is nothing less than ecstatic to be the reason for your flustered state, and he takes full advantage of it by leaning in and hovering his mouth just inches from your own.

"i'll take my payment now." and oh lord, you think. he doesn't have to ask me twice. your lips collide with his, molding together like melted toffee; just as sweet and addictive. you've shared kisses before; ones that left you bruised and scrambling for a coverup the next day; ones that felt like fire but were tinged with honey that soothed your throat; fleeting ones that were never enough. you were sure that your need for affection would never truly be satiated unless it was from the boy you held most dear, and with the moon as your sole witness, katsuki was happy to oblige.

"starbursts. . ." he huffs after pulling away, massaging your hip to subdue your dissatisfied hum. "you taste like cherry starbursts."

he doesn't seem to mind by the way he leans in for another kiss, and another, and another, until you're a jittery mess in his arms. you press against his chest, a wistful sigh escaping you when you part once more.

"not that i'm complaining, but where's this coming from? you're usually not so touchy." the last bit of your utterance trails off as bakugou presses his lips to your forehead and keeps them there. moments pass, and when he finally pulls away, its to hide his blush by walking ahead of you. "i should be able to kiss my partner whenever i please, shouldn't i?" he doesn't even give you a chance to catch up, because his words have you rooted to the spot. what urges your feet to move is the haughty smirk he tosses over his shoulder, and even then, the race has only begun; your demands for him to stop echoing down the street as you chase him.

cheeky bastard.

#💥.katsuki #bakugou x male reader #katsuki bakugou x male reader #bakugou x gn!reader #male reader insert #mha x male reader #gn reader #mha x gn!reader #boku no hero x reader #bakugou x you

122 notes · View notes

uwuwriting · 5 years ago

Text

Osamu, Sugawara and Kuroo w/ multiple babies

Request: HI YOU WRITE HAIKYUU NOW OMG! Chose whichever Hiakyuu boi you want honey i just want some more-than-one baby action. The reader is pregnant and they find out that they are having more than one baby. KOOMBAYAA. - anonymous

I LIKE YOUR ENERGY ANON. I already know who I’m going to write for and oh this is way too cute. I love twins. I wanna have twins. I wanted to be a twin but oh well. Love yaa. 💖💖��

rules

warnings: fluff, pregnancy

Miya Osamu

-You two ran the shop as a happy married couple for the past couple of years now.

-You stopped helping when the smell of the onigiri made you sick.

-Osamu believed that it was his fault, maybe his cooking was deteriorating.

-But when he bought your favorite snack and you threw up, he knew that something was wrong.

-Going to the doctor was the first course of action and boy were you shocked when you were given the news.

- “It seems that you’re three weeks pregnant. That would explain the vomiting and your sensitivity to smell. Congratulations.”

-Osamu was so happy he even called his brother despite knowing that he would be at practice.

-He’s so careful with you from that point on.

-He cooks everything himself and tries new things trying to find what doesn’t trigger your vomiting.

-Loves to feel the baby when you two are cuddling.

-As much as he doesn’t want to bring it up he believes that you eat a lot.

-Like a lot a lot.

-He doesn’t want to tell you because your mood swings are starting to get worse and he hates seeing you cry.

-So he tries being more sly and he arranges a doctor’s appointment.

-His plan was to ask the doctor when you were out of earshot.

-He didn’t get his chance immediately so he decided to ask after the sonogram.

-Everything was fine until the doctor furrowed his brows and squinted at the screen.

-You knew something must be wrong and you were starting to panic.

-Is the baby alright?

-Is there a problem?

-You squeezed his hand and he reciprocated the action.

-His own thoughts were running wild but he had to stay calm and collected.

-For both of you.

- “Seems like....you’re going to have twins.”

-You both let go of the breath you were holding and were about to celebrate when....

- “Actually no... triplets!! You’re having triplets.”

-The room was silent for a few moments.

-Then the doctor points out each baby individually and congratulates you again.

- “You’re in for a tough ride Mrs. Miya.”

-Osamu called Atsumu again in a state of shock.

-It was like he was living in a haze and he can’t quite snap out of it.

-His fingers were laced with yours as your other hand was rubbing your stomach, your mind going wild with the revelation.

- “What do you want Samu you know-”

- “Triplets.”

- “What?”

- “We’re having triplets.”

- “WHAT?”

-The rest of the months were hectic.

-The nursery had to be changed to fit three babies and you had to buy triple the supplies.

-Your stomach was ready to explode by the ninth month and you were begging Osamu to do something to end this misery.

-Then your babies were born and yall.....I’m wheezing.

-Identical triplets???

-What are the odds????

-And they are all girls?????

-Excuse me are you playing a prank on their poor father?????

-He already was stressing over the fact that he might have a daughter and he would have to chase the boys away.

-But now it was times three???????

-He is really happy though.

-Atsumu buys them matching onesies.

-Power ranger onesies, Powerpuff girls onesies, Sailor moon onesies.

-Anything that had a powerful trio really.

-You did confuse them at times.

-And when I say at times I mean all the time.

-I see Osamu calling them food names.

-Like its Soba, Tofu and Onigiri.

-When they get older and can help at the shop they become the mascots.

-One is on the cashier, the other is taking orders and the last one is giving out the packages.

-Plus everyone knows the Miyas from the infamous multiplying girl joke a critic made.

-He gave his order to one Miya girl and then another one emerged from behind the counter and as he turned around he was met with another one bring supplies into the shop.

-The man almost had a stroke.

-They are angels though and are an immense help.

-They love their dad to death.

-Good luck though trying to separate them when they start fighting.

Sugawara Koushi

-This sweetheart of a man.

-I love him so much.

-And so do you.

-You have been trying for a baby for the past three months.

-One morning you wake up and rush to the bathroom, throwing up.

-You both knew what was going on but before you got too excited Koushi went to get a pregnancy test just to make sure.

-When it came out positive you went out to celebrate with your friends from high school.

-They were all so happy for you.

-Daichi and Asahi both promised to be the best uncles this baby will ever have while Kiyoko started planning baby shopping.

-Everything was perfect, your morning sickness had died down as the months passed and your doctor assured you that everything was well.

-During one of your appointments, Suga couldn’t make it being held back at the school because of a parent-teacher meet up, so you had gone on your own.

-You were fine with it reassuring him that it was fine and you would update him when you were done.

-So when the doctor said you were expecting twins everything started to turn.

-You didn’t know which one was the cause of this dizziness.

-The happy news or the shock from the news.

-You called Daichi to come pick you up because you didn’t want to bother Suga.

-Which was a stupid move since he would move a freaking mountain for you.

-Suga called you later and asked you how it went.

-He was met by just a plain ‘come home please.’

-He was panicking.

-He was almost sure that something happened and you lost the baby.

-But when he was met with all of his friends at home smiling with happy tears in their eyes, he knew that he should be expecting good news.

-You skipped to him and kissed his lips, a large grin on your face.

- “Do you remember how we said that we shouldn’t buy any baby clothes since we don’t know the gender yet?”

-He nodded at your words, waiting for you to tell him if he was going to be holding a little boy or a little girl in a few months.

- “Well the wait was unnecessary, we’ll be needing both anyways.”

-It took him a few moments before the realization hit him.

- “Twins.....We are having twins....Oh my god I love you so much.”

-He picked you up and span you around once before carefully putting you down, tears cascading down his cheeks.

-When the babies are born he is so damn happy.

-The type of teacher who constantly shows photos of his kids.

-Since they are different genders you both get satisfied with having a child favoring you.

-You have a daddy’s girl and a mamma’s boy.

-They both love you equally in reality they just know who to ask when they want something.

-Suga adores them.

-And they adore him.

-You have come home one too many times finding the three of them sleeping on the couch, the twins on his chest curled up into one another while their father’s arms circle them.

-Adorable all three of them.

Kuroo Tetsuro

-You two already have one daughter.

-You have been together since the first year of university and your daughter was born while you two were 27.

-She wasn’t expected.

-Kuroo wanted to marry you first and he was planning on doing so before you announced your pregnancy.

-It caught him so off guard poor baby had to do a double take.

-But he couldn’t be more glad for his babygirl.

-He loved her so much.

-So much that he hated watching her grow up and soon leave his embrace.

-That’s why you were now throwing up in your bathroom, a pregnancy test laying on the counter the two lines facing the ceiling.

-Kuroo and your daughter were so excited.

-Your daughter had no idea what was going on but her dad’s laugh and large smile was enough for her to start giggling and clapping.

-Kuroo became extra careful with you, looking after your daughter and taking care of her more than you.

- “You shouldn’t lift heavy things or bend down much.”

- “You mean she’s heavy?”

- “No no I didn’t-”

-Cue the waterworks.

-Your mood swings were bad during your first pregnancy and he wanted to forget those times.

-His brain legit blocked out those memories after your daughter was born.

-So having those bad times in mind he tends to not provoke or piss you off.

-All three of you went to your appointment, wanting your one year and a half year old to see her sibling.

-Now since you already had an experience with sonograms you were looking for the small lump.

-The thing is that you saw two small shadows .

-You were confused but just scratched it up to you not being able to clearly see your baby.

- “It looks like you are carrying two babies Mrs. Kuroo.”

-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-This man was both terrified and super excited.

-Terrified because how would he deal with two rascals at once?

-I mean your first daughter was already kind of a handful.

-And excited because he was going to be blessed by two angels.

-He immediately calls Kenma and Bokuto to share the news.

-They both drop by your house to give you their congratulations although Kenma’s did sound more like condolences.

-Bokuto is over the moon because yay he was going to be an uncle again!!!

-Then they are born and everyone has a heart attack.

-Identical girls.

-He was leaving in a house with four women now.

-Four women.

-FOUR!!!

-He is the type of dad to get them onesies with a 1 and a 2 on the back so he can tell them apart.

-Suggests to give them different haircuts when their hair grows so they can actually tell them apart with some ease.

-You see another problem you are facing are the similarities between those two and their older sister.

-They are a year apart and while they are toddlers your first daughter is bigger than them.

-But once they hit the ages 7,8,9 you have really try and tell all three of them apart.

-They get confused for each other at school all the time.

-By teachers too.

-Somehow they became friends with the Miya triplets and you should see them playing at the park.

-It’s the most hilarious thing seeing the other parents trying to understand how many of them there truly are.

-They see one Miya triplet accompanied by the Kuroo twins and then after like five minutes the see one Kuroo girl with two Miyas.

-It’s confusion x6.

-And if someone else has twins too???

-And they are spotted by the same face squad???

-You can add another set of identical faces in the mix.

-The twins always buy the same clothes and have the same haircut so they can mess with everyone.

-They always prank their uncle Bokuto with switching their clothes and pretending to be the other.

-They force their sister into it too and now you are trying to understand which ones are the twins and which one is the eldest sister.

-When you find out you’re pregnant again, Kuroo is begging for the baby to be different this time.

- “Please have a different face.”

-Little did he know......

-Poor guy.

-When the girls go to the hospital while you have appointments they totally mess with yalls colleagues psychology.

- “No i’m (first D/N)!!” says the youngest of the bunch.

-A moving circus that’s what yall are.

TAG TEAM AY:

@brattyquirks @the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei

1K notes · View notes

nadisabug · 4 years ago

Text

Anything You Want

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x reader

Warnings: reader is kinda depressed, idk she convinces herself that no one (Kei) could like her, so warning for that, no spoilers though, ooc Tsukki, I am so sorry this was a one am fever dream im sor-

Summary: As old childhood friends of Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, it doesn’t make sense why Tsukishima and you fight so much.

A/N: Ahh I’m so sorry I woke up out of a cold sweat to write this whole thing in one sitting at one am im just 💛love💙 him!! Also!!! I hit 150 followers!! So excited!!! I love you all so much!! Thank you!!!!! (ps requests are open pls send some in)

Haikyuu!! Masterlist

"Kiss me Kei!"

"What? Tch, no that's gross."

"But I'm the mommy!"

"So?"

"You're the daddy! You gotta!"

"I don't even wanna play this dumb game."

"It's not dumb! Pleeaaasseee Kei-chan! For me?"

"Fine, come here."

The slap of the ball hitting the gym floor startled me out of my daydream. My eyes snapped up quickly to the game before me. Did we score? It took me a minute to even register what was going on and who I was looking at. I looked to the referee on his stepladder, waiting for him to call the point.

The whistle blew. He raised his arm. Boys in black and orange jerseys shouted. I clapped and cheered.

It all felt so robotic. But then I looked at him. Then the world shifted into slow motion and began to flow more naturally.

He raised his arm to wipe the sweat off of his brow, the movement mesmerizing. Even the jerk of his body when a teammate patted him on the back seemed graceful. Elegant. He pushed his glasses up a bit and glared at the offender. He turned to say-

"Y/n?" Once again I was startled from my thoughts. My head snapped to the right side where Yachi was standing next to me. She had a concerned look on her face. I swallowed, my dry mouth only producing a lump in my throat. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I responded quickly and looked back to the game. "Just focusing is all." This time I fought not to look at the boy. I didn't want to look at him anyway. I didn't. I didn't.

Finding my eyes drifting back to him, I launched into conversation to pull my mind from him.

"How's the girls team going?"

I was on the girls volleyball team as a first year. I only made the team because I was the only libero and, being honest, I was the best at receiving. I was abnormally short, so I knew I couldn't pull off many other positions.

Well, maybe I could.

I watched as the short, orange haired boy flew across the court and landed an impossible to receive spike. I still wasn't used to that combo no matter how many games I watched. Then again, I only had reflexes, not the raw power that that boy had.

I sighed and tore my eyes from the game to look at Yachi. I slumped onto the railing a plopped my head in my hands. "We need more practice games, honestly. The way we're going we're not going to win our match."

"Don't say that Y/n!" Yachi cried.

I shrugged and looked back at the game. My eyes found blonde hair naturally. "Its true. The girls don't practice enough. I think getting our asses completely handed to us will turn the team around. I just feel bad for the third years who will suffer from it."

Yachi didn't have a response to that. She changed the subject quickly and we chatted until the game ended, the whole time I focused on the freakish number ten instead of the boy I knew deep down in my heart I really wanted to watch.

"Nice net drop, broccoli brain," I smirked and clapped my best friend on the shoulder.

His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I didn't even mean to do it," he bereaved.

"Fucking who cares?" I snorted. "Got us a fat point and they never saw it coming. Just remember how it felt and do it again."

"Y/n," Yama whined and tried to shake me off.

"Y/n giving you crap again?" A rich voice came from behind me, sending shivers down my spine. "That's rich coming from Pipsqueak."

"Says Mr-cant-block-for-shit," I shot back, turning around so that I could stick my tongue out at him.

"I'd like to see you try to pick up a real serve, not that-"

"Hey, hey, cut it out!" Yama stepped in between us, putting a warning hand on us both. "We're all friends."

I glared at Tsukishima but backed down. I didn't want to upset Yamaguchi. I knew how much he hated it when we fought, seeing as it was his two best friends.

I had known Yama since elementary school, when I saved him from some bullies. One day when we were clearly out matched, Tsukishima saved us in his aloof, roundabout way. From then on we were inseparable.

That is until the second year of middle school when Tsukishima and I started fighting all the time. Despite that, we still hung out together. Who knows why he put up with my constant antagonism, but he always reciprocated and never complained.

We got on the bus soon after the game, headed to the school. I was on the girls bus, them on the boys. When we got back to the school we met up again.

When we came to the usual splitting point, Yama spoke up.

"So I'll walk Y/n home," Yama offered like always. I was about to accept when Tsukishima spoke up.

"Nah, I'll do it." Yama cocked an eyebrow. "It's out of your way, Yamaguchi. She lives closer to me."

We all knew this, but the point had never come up before.

"Okay," Yama said warily. "Are you sure you don't want me to come anyways?"

"Tch, we're fine, I don't need a babysitter." Tsukishima rolled his eyes.

"Okay," Yama shrugged. He took a few steps backwards before he said goodbye and started off in the opposite direction.

Tsukishima wordlessly took off in the direction of our houses, so I followed. I was wondering why he suddenly offered to walk me home, but he offered no clues as to why. He used to walk me home before we always fought, but after that he stopped. This was the first time he walked me home in years.

So we walked in complete silence.

When we reached my house, we stood there awkwardly for a moment, looking at it. I wasn't sure what to say, but before I could figure it out, he spoke.

"Why do you hate me?"

I was startled by both the question and the sudden shattering of silence. I turned to look at Tsukishima. He wasn't looking at me, just straight ahead. I tried to read his facial expression, but like always, it was stone cold.

"I don't?" I answered uneasily.

Tsukishima sighed. "Yes you do, you always act so pissy towards me. You even tense up when I'm near."

"I do not," I frowned. I tried to think if I have ever done anything like that, but I drew blank.

"Yes you do," Tsukishima sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "We..." He paused. He brought he other hand up and rubbed his eyes, pressing his two fingers into his eye sockets. After a moment he threw his hand down, clearly having made up his mind, and turned to look at me. I felt hot under his intent gaze, his eyes searching mine for an answer I was afraid I didn't have. "We used to be close when we were little. What changed."

It wasn't a question. It was more of a statement. It was like he meant to say something different.

So I said it for him.

"We changed."

He scoffed, his face twisting into his signature cynical look. "Bullshit."

"No, that's the answer. Maybe you're not asking the right question," I shot back, confidence fueled by his venom.

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it soon after. His brows furrowed and his lips pressed together. It was more emotion than he was exhibiting earlier, and for some weird reason, it made something in me happy.

"Why are you so mad at me?" He finally asked, face relaxing a bit. He seemed genuinely curious as to the answer.

His sincerity almost made me explode with anger. How could he not know? He was the most insufferable person in the entire world, what wouldn't I be mad about.

But then again, that was wrong. He never mad me mad with his snide comments and dirty looks. It was all in play and it never really bothered me, ever since we were kids, and he knew that too. So I couldn't lie and say it was his personality because I loved his personality. It was something else. Something I was afraid of admitting.

I grit my teeth. What did it matter if I said it or not? It's not like he'd understand anyway.

Once I made up my mind I met his eyes.

"Because you will never give me what I want."

"And what is that?" His voice was soft, wispy, breathless. Afraid.

Your love.

I couldn't say it. Bile rose in my throat and tears prickled at my eyes. I opened my mouth but quickly shut it. I wouldn't say it. I was too afraid. My eyes fell to the ground, and with them, all my confidence.

All at once my mind began to barrage me. He will never love you, he could never love someone like you. He-

He laughed.

He fucking laughed.

My mind was thrown to a complete and total standstill by the absurdity of it. I looked back up at him with watery eyes in confusion.

"I thought you were smarter than that," he grinned, one corner of his mouth charmingly quirked upwards. "Than to decide what I think."

"What?" I mumbled nearly incoherently.

"We both know if you ask I'll do anything for you, so quit your crying, Pipsqueak."

I opened my mouth, completely surprised by his confession. He'd do anything for me? That couldn't be right...

But the more I thought about it the more I realized it was true. He had always done everything for me. Whenever I needed him he was there. It was me that started the fighting, all because I let my mind tell me that he could never love me, that he never would.

I met his eyes once again, this time brimming with happiness.

"Kiss me, Kei."

"Fine," he dramatically sighed, hiding a small grin. "Come here."

And he did.

Taglist:

Taglists are open! Shoot me an ask or a dm with what fandom you want to be tagged in and I’ll do it right away! :)

#sorry this is a crack fic #also this is my first haikyu fic pls be gentle #this is not really edited sorry #tsukkishima x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima imagine #haikyu x reader #haikyu!! x reader #tsukki fluff #tsukki x reader #haikyuu tsukki

172 notes · View notes

cherripeach · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 10

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it. Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Chapter 1:5 i’m jared 19 and i never learned how to read

Warnings: Curse words, implied sex jokes

Words: 3.4k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

You three made it to homeroom right before the final bell rang, meaning none of you were late which was boring in your opinion. Being fashionably late especially on the first day just shows character.

The classroom was full of caldrons like from Harry Potter but also full of lab coats like a science lab. There were also just shelves with glass covering them full of plants that you have never seen before and ones you hoped to never touch because you are 100.69% sure they can kill you. Then, there were just shelves of bottles of potions like in the movies which you also did not want to touch not for fear of death but because they could turn you into a frog or something which sounded kinda cool now that you thought about it. Still, you were not going to do it.

Your teacher, however: a hottie. He obviously knows about style and fashion if his dual colored hair and his fur coat are anything to go by. He also had a perfectly shaped face with sharp eyes that you just couldn’t look away from. The whip in his hand told you enough about his life outside of school, and the collar at the end of it also told you enough. This man was def not someone to disrespect, and ngl he could yell at you. That’s for another time; you just hoped you could stare at the man for the entire class.

Once you and your three friends put the lab coats and goggles on and went to your seats (you assumed because Ace and Deuce dragged you there), the gorgeous man started to lecture, “I see you’re the fresh new faces who will be joining my class today.” He walked around the classroom and gazed at everyone’s figure. “Hm~ What an unusual hair color. Not bad at all, I say. Be careful not to take too long to finish, understood?” He made it to your group of seats near the back and stopped, “My name is Divus Crewel.” His gaze was caught on you for a couple of seconds until he returned to walking around the classroom, “You shall refer to me as Master Crewel, if you please.” He had the most miniscule smirk when he turned back to meet your eyes.

You turned to Ace with your wide eyes and muttered, “Please tell me he gets you hot and bothered too.”

Ace just glared and spat back at you, “Only you are dealing with those feelings.”

Master Crewel clapped his hands twice, “Come, settle down. It’s time for class to begin. First off, a few disclaimers.”

The entire class ceased the side conversations, and you even placed the weight of your chin on your hands with your elbows on the desk so you could balance your newfound crush for him.

The magnificent man just lightly placed the edge of the whip on his desk, “I shall have your tiny brains remember hundreds of names of medicinal herbs and poisonous plants. And mushrooms are a whole different topic. I’ll have you remember them so that you don’t accidentally poison yourself if you eat some when you go for a walk. Dogs love to eat anything they see, after all.I don’t want to see anyone getting a failing mark during the exam, so I shall be as strict as I can.”

You don’t even remember what he was saying, but you just nodded the entire time. This was a class you knew you were going to stay awake in. Your eyes were still stuck on his figure, and you knew just from looking at him that you may not have a failing grade because you bet you were going to ask for help.

Your three idiots were seemingly having a conversation next to you while your brain was stuck in your fantasies of after school tutoring.

Your mind was stuck in your fantasy until the end of class when someone had to use his textbook to smack the back of your head, “Ouch!” You spun around only to find Grim and Ace behind you with a textbook in Ace’s hand.

Grim snickered out behind you, “You deserved that, Prefect. Even I, the Great Grim, was paying more attention in this boring class.” By the end of the sentence he sighed all of it out.

“Come on. Let’s not be late.” Deuce grabbed his stuff and motioned to your group to leave.

You lightly and neatly put up your lab coat and goggles because male Cruella De Vil was still situated at the front of the class, and you had to look good in front of him.

“Have a great day!” You gushed out while frantically waving at the man to give him a proper farewell.

Ace slapped your hand down once you exited the room, “Can you please stop? It’s getting real disgusting.”

You blew a raspberry at him while the four of you were on your way to your next class, “Oh, shut up and let me be a simp.”

“A what? You know what I’m ignoring you.” Ace shook his head and sighed at your comments.

The conversation stopped after that when you began to make your way up stairs to get to your next class. You had to go up two flights of stairs which ended with you leaning along a wall, red-faces, and out of breath by the middle of it.

“Hurry up, supervisor,” Deuce advised.

You hissed, “Shut up.”

The three of you arrived at your next class which Decue said was “something-something history.” And you were actually kind of excited because you have no clue what has happened in this world, and it is gonna be so different with magic and everything.

You three took seats near the middle of class, so all of you could still concentrate but still talk some. This class room was structured much more like a lecture hall than the past one with a chalk board at the front behind a teacher desk and desks being on different platforms going up, and so your group had to go up a couple of stairs to get to where you claimed were your seats.

The class all took their seats and shut their mouths once an older man without a uniform came into the classroom carrying a cat.

The cat had your full attention for this class because you now have the human desire to pet and love the cat as one should.

Once the professor sat down with the cat on his lap, he introduced himself, “I am Trein, the professor in charge of Magical History. And this is my familiar, Lucius. I shall have you learn the history behind the magic that you are using now.”

Lucis, the cute little black cat who had a hint of white on his front right under his head, confirmed Professor Trein’s previous statements with a “Meow.”

It took a couple of seconds for you to process the Professor’s words, but once you did you turned to Deuce who was located to the left of you and blurted out, “Wait, is Lucius a real cat? What's a familiar? Can I not pet him? OMG, what if he can understand what I’m saying. That cannot be it-”

Professor Trein cut you off midway with another Lecture (Deuce was just gazing at you with disappointment in his eyes), “I do not only grade by your reports, but also by how you behave in my classroom. I will not tolerate sleeping in class. Now then, please turn to page 5 of your textbooks. This is related to the magic stone that was discovered inside the Dwarf Mines.”

You were taken aback by everything, but you also realized that you did not have a text book. You didn’t even have a book bag or pens, so you turned to Deuce to only flutter your lashes and pout at him until he shared his textbook with you and gave you lose leaf and a pen.

Lucis decided to bring his voice into the conversation, “Meow.”

“The discovery of this jewel led to magical energy being able to spread worldwide. It could also be considered as the 1st year magic was made possible.” Professor Trein continued his lecture, and you were actually actively taking notes because this was like some wack anime and you had to know the full plot line.

“Meow.”

Ace yawned into his hand when you gazed at him.

And Deuce was taking notes but his eyes were also beginning to close, “Oh…! The Dwarf Mines, huh… Oh…! Magical energy, huh…” You had to kick him to keep him awake.

Grim rested his head on the desk, “Ugh… I want a more explosive and flashier magic class!”

You could only sigh at the three idiots not paying attention while your pen kept on writing.

By the end of the class and the lecture was over, all three of the spots next to you were occupied with asleep idiots. You put your stuff into your pockets and got up to nug Grim on his shoulder for him to wake up. His head slowly lifted up with his eyes still closed, so you decided to just carry him to the next class. He was in your arms by the time you got everything together and moved onto the other two idiots asleep.

You kicked Deuce in the calf who jumped up immediately and rushed to get everything together, and then moved onto Ace to pull his hair. Ace stayed still until you found a certain spot of hair closest to his neck and pinched it and tugged on it. That had him reaching for your hand to stop your actions and had him awake and ready to move.

“Get up, class already ended.” You let go of his hair to move to the walkway of the classroom.

Ace shook his head to wake himself further up, “Okay.. but why did you have to pinch me so hard?”

“Were you gonna wake up by yourself?”

“No.”

“I think you see my thought process, then.” You shrugged your shoulders while the two remaining boys got their things together. After that all three of you were off to your next class, causing you to walk down stairs and through hallways until the three of you made it to a field outside.

The boys made you drop off your stuff, which wasn’t much anyway, and Grim in order to go and change into a P.E. uniform. Apparently, in the locker room, there were some extra uniforms for you to change into.

The locker room stunk of mold and fungus from somewhere in the corners of the room, but Deuce led you to a bin of uniforms. He just pulled the first one from the pile and gave it to you. It was a bright green shirt with a dragon or lizard on it. Then, he gave you a black jacket with yellow stripes on the sleeves and a pair of pants with a faded royal purple stripes on parts of the pants. Seems were also ripped out of certain parts of the uniform with most of the colors being lightly faded. Looking at the uniform as a whole, it was definitely going to be too large on you.

You thanked Deuce while he was walking away to the right side of the locker room, and then, you got moving. You observed the locker room to see if there were any bathrooms and to your luck, toward the back there was another door which led into the bathroom. You entered the next room to find no line and no one in the last stall. On your way to the stall, you passed up a bulky male with silver-white animal ears on his head in a yellow uniform who was washing his hands. You set foot in the final stall to only find the toilet flooded and writings all over the wall, causing you to let out a sigh and shut and lock the door just happy you did not have to use the restroom.

Once dressed, you took your cloak and other clothes and walked out of the stall to wash your hands. Looking in the mirror was not on your to-do list, so you kept your eyes stuck on the faucet and your hands because the headache from the rat’s nest on your head and the slight pain from parts of your face gave you all the information you needed. You left the restrooms and found a deserted area where many lockers were empty. You threw your clothes in one of the middle lockers, closed it, and took account of the number of the locker.

You left the locker room to see that you were one of the final people to get dressed and get out of the locker room. Grim, Ace, and Deuce were seated on the ground near the back of the group, and you made your way to them with many different eyes on you.

The hulking man blew his whistle to get everyone in the class and started a speech, “I’m Vargas and I’m in charge of watching over your physical education.Excellent magic starts with excellent bodies! Behold…! These muscles that I train every day! A magician with no stamina is unspeakable! First, do 20 laps around the field! And then, 100 sit-ups!” He blew the whistle again and threw his pointer finger out the motion for you all to start your laps.

The three of you jumped up from your spot on the ground and slowly walked over to the track.

Ace grimaced at the teacher, “Eh… I don’t hate exercise, but I can’t handle teachers like him.”

“I have confidence in my physical abilities,” Deuce had his hands on his hips and was twisting his torso around to stretch it.

Grim shook his head, “What's so fun about running around? I’m not a hamster, yanno?”

You just sighed and joined the group of students starting to run. Ace, Deuce, Grim, and you slowly joined the middle of the group in a jog around the field.

You were left pondering for a second about everything and anything and your mind went straight to how you could get out of the stuffy cloak because even if you did look like an adventurer you could not stand to wear it in the heat all the time. So you started up a conversation:

“Yo, Deuce,” You bumped arms with him, making Deuce’s eyes slowly drifted to your figure, “Do you know where I could get a school uniform? Is there like a store or something nearby?”

Deuce contemplated your question for a couple of seconds until he snapped his fingers, “There is a shop on campus that has everything. We could stop there after school today.”

“Well, that’s one thing covered,” Your feet were still in a constant jog, but they started to cramp in some areas, “I hope they have a clearance section.”

The rest of PE was much more strenuous than you expected. This teacher thought that all of you were Olympic Athletes with all the work he is making you do, but looking at some of the students here (the green shirt-green haired fellow who is racing down the track whenever possible and the furry male who you saw in the bathroom earlier). Everyone was doing better than you. Even Grim.

However, the exercises were soon over and you were all allowed to go back to the locker rooms and change. You were for now stuck lying on the ground wheezing from the physical activities you just completed in the past hour. Ace and Deuce went back to get changed and Grim is asleep on the grass behind you.

“You okay?” A male’s voice could be heard from somewhere above you, but you were too drained to even move your eyes to see who it was.

You groaned, “Don’t mind me. I’m just slowly decaying.”

The male was speechless for a second and did not respond until your eyes fluttered open the slightest bit, “Do you want water? Or the nurse?”

“No, oh gracious savior, but I’d rather you leave me here to be eaten by the birds.” You shut your eyes, listening to Grim groan besides you.

“Um...okay. Please get better,” The male’s footsteps could be heard walking away.

You stayed there for about another hour in your head just trying to breathe in and out and maybe even fall asleep until a kick was landed on your side.

“Get up, you lazy ass.” Ace was blessing you with his presence and his torment.

You hurled your body forward and up to grip Ace’s foot which was making its way to your side again, “Don’t you have a sense of common courtesy to not kick someone when they are dying?”

“You aren’t dying, but you are wasting our break time.” Ace groaned and pulled his foot out of your grip, “So go get dressed.”

Rolling your eyes, you gathered yourself and stood up to make your way back to the changing rooms. You left Grim to be with Ace, so you hoped those two would not cause problems. The rest was a lack of oxygen and lack of water blur until you found your three idiots out in the hallway and began your track to your next class. You decided to take your time a little because you had a ten minute break before the next class.

Deuce was looking around the hallways for the next class, “Let’s see, the next class is..”

Ace was pouting next to you, “For a magic school, it doesn’t really feel that much different from a normal school, huh… It’s a lot more… ordinary than I thought… Guess I don’t have to worry much even without magic.” His body shifted to turn to your side, “Dontcha think so, too, Grim? Hm…”

You gazed at where Grim last was which was to the left of you and let your eyes focus and blink for a couple of seconds, “Are you fucking kiddin me?”

A gasp was heard from Deuce in front of you, “Look outside the window! That fluffball running in the Courtyard…” He pointed out Grim’s exact spot in the middle of the large area.

Once you began your sprint to him, you could hear him cackling about how he did not deserve to listen to boring lectures all day.

You stopped your run when you realized that you would never be able to make it farther due to PE kicking your butt, “If I have to go to school, then, so does he.”

Deuce and Ace were arriving right behind you.

Deuce crossed his arms, “Running away on the first day…” He shook his head, “That guy just doesn’t learn, huh.”

“Being negligent on the first day, are we? So, d’ya want us to help you catch Grim?” A smirk bloomed on Ace’s face.

You scrunched your nose, “If I have to be here, then so does he.” threaded your hands together and squeezed your eyes shut and bowed, “Please, please help me.”

“I want some chocolate croissants from the canteen!”

Deuce blurted in agreement, “Then, I shall have some café latte from the cafeteria.”

You rose from your bow, “Perfect, perfect. Thank yooou!!” not even thinking about how you were going to afford that.

Ace and Deuce pulled their magic pens out of their pockets and joined each other in front of you to start their hunt for Grim.

Ace smirked at Deuce, “And that’s a deal! Alright, shall we go help out our helpless prefect, Deuce-kun?”

Deuce narrowed his eyes and rolled back his sleeves of his jacket, “Sure thing, Ace-kun. I’m most looking forward to lunchtime.”

“I’ll be in the classroom once you catch him.” You waved the two off while they began their hunt for the cat.

By the time you made it to your next class, the three showed up with sweat dripping from their faces, their clothes in disarray, and the teacher right behind them.

This would surely be a great year.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst grim #ace trappola #twst deuce #twst x you

46 notes · View notes

jaskiersvalley · 4 years ago

Note

Feral jaskier and himbo geralt are always lovely!!! “So many questions and not enough brain cells” was absolutely MAGNIFICENT

Nonnie, I am so happy you liked that line. It gave me a chuckle to write it too. Feral Jaskier and himbo Geralt are such a delight, I now feel the need to write a little more for you. Movie stars, stunt doubles and idiots ahoy!

Incidentally, this also seems to fit my @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo square ‘sharing a brain cell’.

Prompt: Sharing a brain cell Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Jaskier, Lambert/Eskel/Cahir/Aiden Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt is the star of a TV series with Jaskier as his on screen arch nemesis. Thankfully that rivalry doesn’t carry into real life.

The set was like a second home by that point. Geralt spent a good nine months of the year there, the crew feeling like family. It was their fifth season of filming, Geralt couldn’t quite get tired of the monster of the week format though. He loved it, loved how cheesy it was and the fact that it was a production that didn’t bait or bury their characters. The natural chemistry he’d had with Jaskier made it so much easier too. They had kissed on screen enough times that he was intimately familiar with the shape of Jaskier’s lips and the taste of the lip balm he wore. That had started three seasons ago and Geralt had been quietly wishing they could kiss away from the cameras too. So he had been planning, even seeking out the advice of those he trusted - namely Eskel and Lambert.

That had been a surprise friendship that Geralt had discovered. Eskel was brought in as he stunt double for more tricky shots. Usually, Geralt liked to do his own stunts but falling off a horse at a gallop was a little beyond him. As was surviving Jaskier’s rather flamboyant fighting style. Just for a laugh Geralt had sat in on a few of Jaskier’s training session and he was so very torn between laughing his arse off and feeling sorry for Cahir who was doing his best to help them train for their fight scenes. For all his patience and expertise, Jaskier seemed determined to add his own flair. The number of times Jaskier accidentally smacked Geralt, Eskel and Cahir during training and on takes was truly staggering. It could have been a blooper reel all on its own.

Thankfully it was a short day, something about a number of the crew requesting the evening off. As it was towards the end of filming, they were within the time budget, it had been declared that they could all have the evening off.

“Just make him a home cooked meal,” Eskel advised. “Guys love that, trust me.”

“It work for you?” Geralt was a little sullen and sceptic. He didn’t think a home cooked meal was what Jaskier would want. On screen they were enemies with a terrible habit of falling into bed. The reality probably wasn’t so far off either. Though, at least, they had become friends after a rocky start.

“Would I be celebrating my fifth anniversary this evening if it didn’t?” There was no small amount of entertainment in Eskel’s face. “It’s not like my looks are what draw anyone in.”

That had been an unfortunate accident from before Geralt’s time. Some pyrotechnic stunt had gone horribly wrong and left Eskel with the scars. If it hadn’t been for those and the different coloured hair, Geralt was sure they could have been mistaken for brothers, if not twins. Still, now Eskel only worked on sets where Lambert was the one in charge of anything fire related. Which was just as well because Geralt liked Lambert, enjoyed trading barbs with him whenever their paths crossed. As Geralt’s fame climbed, he got to ask for more and more things in contracts and, as he was fond of Eskel, he asked for him as a stunt double whenever he could and then asked for Lambert if the set called for it. It was nice to have so much power and be able to work with those he liked. Interestingly, Cahir was fast becoming another person who Geralt got on with quite well. That wasn’t to say Geralt wasn’t scared shitless of him at the start. Nobody should know so much about fighting with so many weapons without having a very colourful past - one that Cahir refused to talk about. Still, the guy was good at his job and Geralt could talk to him, so his advice was sought out too.

“Just tell him. Bring him something you know he will like. Show an interest in him and his life outside of set.”

For the first time ever, Geralt felt that Cahir was in a rush. He wasn’t quite as patient and measured as usual.

“Excited for the evening off?” he asked, trying to be friendly. And maybe he was practicing Cahir’s advice on him so he could be sure it worked when he talked to Jaskier.

A soft, shy smile crossed Cahir’s face, making him look younger and much less severe. “That obvious? It’s my anniversary today. I want to make it special.”

“Maybe bring them a gift that they’ll like?” Geralt offered with an amused smile. “I have it on good authority that it works.”

Laughing, Cahir clapped Geralt on the shoulder. “Best of luck. Now go get your man.”

Finding Jaskier wasn’t an issue, Geralt just had to follow the sound of laughter and singing. Unsurprisingly, Jaskier was sat with a gigantic sparkler while Lambert was packing away. Those two were a dangerous combination at the best of times and Geralt knew Jaskier had, on more than one occasion, dropped by the writers’ room to posit new ideas that centred around more pyrotechnics. The ideas had obviously come from Lambert but they were mostly good so got used surprisingly frequently.

“Aha! My companion for the evening has arrived!” Jaskier hopped off the box he had been swinging his legs off and approached Geralt. “What say you? Dinner. You and me. We enjoy this rare evening off with some good company and good food.”

“Sounds good,” Geralt agreed readily, it saved him having to ask Jaskier.

Turning back, Jaskier waved at Lambert. “Enjoy your anniversary this evening! Make sure you can walk properly tomorrow though!”

Another anniversary. While Geralt had been feeling quite confident about asking Jaskier out, the news that it was yet another person’s anniversary somewhat ruined the idea. Geralt knew Jaskier liked to be unique, adored being different to everyone else. To ask him out now and share an anniversary with three people they knew, it felt a little less special. Mood taking a bit of a dive, Geralt slouched next to Jaskier as they walked towards the cars.

“Why the glum face?” Typically, nothing went over Jaskier’s head. “Would you prefer a night of solitude?”

Shaking his head, Geralt resigned himself to the knowledge that Jaskier would wheedle until he got the truth out of him. So he saved them both a lot of time and agony. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing’s ever stupid, just needs to be valued correctly.”

“I wanted to ask you something. But make it special. It’s not special though, not today. Maybe I’ll try tomorrow.”

That made not a lick of sense to Jaskier and he frowned, bumping his shoulder against Geralt’s. “Just ask.”

“But it won’t be special. Three other couples we know have an anniversary today.”

A soft laugh from Jaskier pulled him from his grumblings. “So many people have their anniversaries every day. It’s not like one single day can be declared as only one couple’s.”

For someone so smart, Jaskier sure wasn’t putting the pieces together to solve just what Geralt was trying to say.

“But would you really want an anniversary when Lambert, Eskel and Cahir each have theirs too?” It was actually a little odd, now that Geralt thought of it. Three good friends all sharing an anniversary.

There was a moment of silence before Jaskier was rounding on Geralt, hands on his shoulders to stop him mid-walk.

“Dear heart, please tell me I’m hearing this wrong. Firstly, if I was so lucky as to have an anniversary, I wouldn’t care who I shared it with. I would love to simply have one, especially if you’re offering to have one with me. Secondly, please tell me you know why those three all have their anniversary date today.”

Mind whirring, Geralt tried to process everything Jaskier had just said. He picked the easier bit to reply to first. “They were on a night out together and met their partners at the same time? Bit like how people date within the same friendship groups or even date siblings?”

Face falling, Jaskier cursed under his breath. “And I thought I wasn’t being obvious enough. Oh dear. Geralt, those three, it’s their anniversary together. As in they’re all dating each other. And Aiden is at home, waiting for them. He got the day off today too.”

Geralt’s jaw fell slack. He couldn’t quite believe it. “They-they’re together?!”

“And they’ve not been subtle at all about it!” Jaskier was laughing. “I love you but you are so dumb, I swear.”

That forced Geralt back into the moment and he smiled. “I love you too.”

He didn’t expect an enthusiastic kiss out in the open but he really didn’t mind it at all. With a huff of a laugh Geralt returned it, arms wrapping around Jaskier’s waist.

“Come on then,” Jaskier finally said as he broke away. I believe we have our zero-th anniversary to have and make a solid start on new traditions. I think we should order takeaway as a treat for our anniversaries from now on.”

Laughing, Geralt linked their hands. He liked the idea of anniversary traditions. Jaskier most definitely had the best ideas.

#geraskier #eskel/lambert/cahir/aiden #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #get together #movie stars au #tldr: geralt tries to ask jaskier out

138 notes · View notes

percabethfiles · 4 years ago

Text

Charlie

Uh... Hello? Anybody still here? I haven't been around in years and years. But I keep my fandoms stored in some corner of my brain waiting for something to tug them out. And of all things this time it was Taylor Swift re-releasing her old songs, because I used to imagine so many percabeth scenes listening to "Fearless". So have this little something that's been sitting unfinished in my archives for years now.

Remember that time Percy saw Sadie Kane and thought “Hey, this is what mine and Annabeth’s daughter would look like”? Yes.

(Also there are small nods to that fic I wrote about Logan, Hidden Heritage, but I've been meaning to re-write it someday because there were SO MANY PLOT HOLES omg)

When they find out it’s a girl it’s a bit too soon to know for sure, or so the doctor tells them. They’ll have to wait for the next appointment to know for certain. “So don’t go buying any tiny dresses yet,” he jokes and they laugh along, but they’ve been together for approximately eighteen years now, they can tell what the other’s thinking with a glance and the ecstatic grin that breaks through their lips lets him know they’re on the same page. Too late. They’re already thinking plush bow and arrows and a Merida costume for her first Halloween.

Percy tries to keep his cool. As the weeks progress, he tries not to get his hopes up, but in his heart he knows already. They hadn’t really had a preference before, they’d been too happy knowing their baby was fully human and had all its limbs (with the number of deities they’d pissed off, you never knew), but a little girl? It feels right after their two boys, it feels like their family will be complete.

(He thinks about a slight blonde girl with streaked hair and a British accent dropping from the sky on a magic camel, remembers thinking “if Annabeth and I had a daughter…” and his chest squeezes tight with happiness so raw he has a little trouble breathing)

When the doctor beams at them next appointment and says “Congratulations, Jackson family, it really is a girl,” he’s not surprised, but no less elated. He doesn’t hear the lame joke about Jackson Five, he’s too busy trying to be a manly man and not burst into tears because he’s going to have a daughter. When Annabeth’s in the other room paying for the appointment, and he’s waiting for the doctor to print the really impressive high tech 3D picture of the ultrasound, the man asks him “So did you go ahead and buy a tiny dress anyway?”

Percy blushes.

The man shakes his head in amusement. “Every time”.

His work colleagues, proud dads of little girls themselves, try to terrorize him with tales of tea parties and future boyfriends, and Percy thinks somewhere in the middle of all that teasing they mean well, but really, he’s mostly annoyed. It’s not like he’s new to parenthood, he’s got two sons already and they seem to be turning out okay, and before, when Logan and Nathan were just a nice dream for the future, there was Estelle, the little sister Percy had never expected, but loved to bits all the same.

And then Charlie is born.

She’s tiny, warm and pink, all curled up in her yellow cable-knit blanket, a tuft of blonde hair peeking out of a tiny, tiny beanie, features scrunched into the most adorable variation of a grumpy face. He’s not new to parenthood, he’s been here twice before, but the rush of affection and protectiveness and awe and raw love is just as genuine. He’s smiling like a dork, can’t seem to stop, walking from side to side, avidly searching her traits. She’s bigger than Nate was when he’d been born, but smaller than Logan. Her hair was light, like Nate’s, would it stay blonde or darken with time? Would her eyes be like his or Annabeth’s? And oh, she had her mother’s nose (they all did).

It never fails to amaze him how such a small, vulnerable being can shake up his whole world until it’s made a space for her. And he’s done this before, he’s no first time sailor this time, he’d thought he had it all under control. But she blinks and looks up at him with half-lidded eyes and a frowny face and—they’re green. Her eyes are the blue-green Logan’s are, Percy’s are.

(He’s got two sons who are his life, and he does love all his children equally, but holding his daughter for the first time, he thinks he understands his friends’ warnings. He doesn’t love her more, it’s just… different. It’s special.)

When he goes back to work, Nick takes one look at him and bursts into laughter. He claps him on the shoulder in commiseration.

“I told you.”

He’s completely wrapped around her finger already.

It’s not too different, he finds out. Especially having been pre-trained by Estelle. He’s got to brush up on his Disney princess knowledge, and hair braiding skills. He hasn’t gotten much better at color coordinating the polka dotted bows and tiny shoes, but Charlie is really forgiving. She is a very happy baby, much happier and easy going than any of the boys had been.

She’s also fucking crazy.

She is smaller and skinnier than her brothers, likes to wear frilly dresses and talk to plush animals and dance around the house in a pink tutu, but she’s wild. She never learned to crawl, just held on to the couch until she was wobbling on two feet, and it seemed like the very next day she was running across the house, the mall, the park, and if he turned his eyes away for one second, she was shooting off in the streets and nearly getting run over.

He’d found her dangling from the kitchen cabinets, trying to reach the cowering cat. She had a phase when she thought she could fly and she would climb furniture and stairs and the window sill and just… Launch herself into the air expecting her flying powers to manifest spontaneously. If they hadn’t been trying to raise them away from the whole mythological world, he would have sat her down and clarified that she had the wrong Olympian Grandparent in mind. She might have had more luck jumping into the ocean.

She had a way to jut out her lower lip, and turn those big green eyes on him that could render his every effort to be a responsible parental presence useless.

Besides, she was so funny. He could never muster enough anger to discipline her, because if he found her on the kitchen table covered in peanut butter, somehow sporting a very sticky Mohawk, and looking entirely unapologetic, well, he just couldn’t stop laughing.

One day he’s coming home from work and he hasn’t even pulled the key from the lock when Charlie calls out ‘you’re back daddy,’ in what sounds vaguely like a new jersey accent. He finds her sitting on the floor of the living room, drowning in one of Annabeth’s bathrobes, pink plastic barbie sunglasses on, holding a pooh bear sippy cup with one hand and a pinky stretched out.

“Charlie, what are you doing?”

“It’s wine Wednesday, daddy.”

“It’s what?”

“Wine Wednesday.”

He had half a mind to check if her sippy cup actually contained wine because they hid their alcohol way up in the cabinets she can’t reach but that girl could climb like a monkey. He knows he should follow that remark up with some kind of questioning of where she’d even heard of ‘wine Wednesdays’ and then explain that kids don’t drink wine or some other kind of responsible parent speech, but a sudden burst of incredulous laughter bubbles up in his throat and he takes refuge in the kitchen, lest he encourages her behavior.

He finds Annabeth there, hand over her mouth, clearly in stitches over their daughter’s performance. He wants to question if she gave her permission to wear her bathrobe but finding his wife nearly doubled over in silent laughter in the kitchen is too much and he finally lets out the guffaw he’d been trying to hold on to.

It’s not the first time Charlie leaves them breathless with laughter, and he’s almost scared of what she’s going to cook up in the future.

Charlie is a hellion.

There isn’t one person safe from her pranks, but she’s so adorable she hardly ever catches hell for it, and she’s learning to use it in her favor – thankfully, just in time for her parents to develop immunity to her puppy eyes. And she’s… difficult, yes, but not always, and not in a terrible way. For all her climbing the roof, organizing illegal cookie sales, getting in fights with her classmates, she’s not a bad kid. She’s got Percy’s penchant for befriending the kids no one wants to go near, and defending her ragtag team of losers. She’s loyal to a fault, and it gets her in trouble often.

She and Nate have epic jealousy fights over everything, including – but not limited to – Logan’s attention, the crayons, the biggest piece of cake and all the videogame characters in the world are not enough, they will always want whatever the other picked. It gives them many, many headaches. Logan, on the other hand, positively spoils her, and whenever Charlie gets in trouble they can be sure to find her hiding behind her big brother while he gives them this solemn look and says “It’s ok, mom and dad, Charlie promises she won’t do it again. We’ve talked.”

When the whole “Logan being attacked by a dracanae in school and thus finding out his Olympian heritage” debacle came to pass, and they started frequenting camp again, there was nowhere in the entire Camp Charlie would rather be than the stables. She’d spend hours there with the Aphrodite kids, brushing the pegasi and talking to them endlessly about all her classmates and her friends, and her dolls, and her new dress, and the new book grandma gave her. It was all really cute until Percy realized the pegasi were talking back, and she fully understood their replies.

And it’s funny, really, because Logan had taken after Percy, to a point where bathing him had been hard as a child because he tended to stay dry in the tub, and Nathan was Annabeth to a T, but Charlie was a perfect mix of them both.

He guesses it makes sense it would be so explosive.

When Charlie is twelve, she gets kicked out of school.

Percy is not overly worried about it himself – the number of schools he’d been kicked out of reached double digits, and this was only her first – but he is worried about how she will feel. Getting the boot from a place that’s housed you for years, where your friends are, where everyone already knows you and having to start over is never pleasant, no matter how used to it you were.

He’d expected the school to have gotten tired of all her pranks and misbehaving, which was fair, he guessed. But when Annabeth comes home from the meeting with the school director, she is seething, and not at their daughter. Charlie is angry too. In fact, it’s the first time he’s ever seen his daughter well and truly pissed off. The two of them are a sight for nightmares, both blondes standing side by side ranting with righteous fury, they look ready to start a revolution. What he gets from her angry snarls and Charlie’s rushed rambling is that Charlie had talked back to a teacher that was picking on the autistic kid and demeaning the thirteen year old who was repeating sixth grade.

She’d called him a brain-washing small minded overgrown bully who, he was quoting, didn’t get enough love from his parents.

And Percy is so proud his eyes even get a little misty.

Because he’s getting old and sentimental and raising kids is very hard. No one knows what they’re doing, not one person, not even the fancy psychologists with those books on raising perfect, well rounded, high-achieving members of society that Annabeth insisted on reading when she was pregnant with Logan. You do your best and you hope for the best, and you don’t know what you get until it’s basically too late to do anything about it. And even if he did have the best mom in the history of the entire world to draw example from, he was also half of an absent Olympian father whose heritage condemned him to dance in and out of battlefields half his life.

He’s always been terrified of being a crap father.

He looks at Charlie cussing out with every mild version of actual cuss words, stalking around the kitchen like a little lioness in a cage, furious at the unfairness of the whole situation, caring less about being expelled and more about who was going to defend her friends from that awful teacher when she’s gone.

His daughter is only twelve, but she’s already so brave, such a force of nature. She won’t stand for injustice, and she won’t take insult lying down. And she’s so kind. She’s growing up, and the person she is slowly turning out to be… is good.

And something in his heart shifts and settles down, smooths over old fears and anxious thoughts.

Percy doesn’t mean to brag, but he thinks he’s not doing half bad as a parent.

#fanfic #pjo #percabeth #percabeth kids #charlie jackson #back at it again with the old unfinished fics #percabeth fanfic

44 notes · View notes

nikki-writes-stuff · 5 years ago

Text

Three Is Company (Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes)

Summary: The first thing you felt upon realizing who your soulmates were was fear; you spent years avoiding the two men whose names were engraved upon your skin, dreading the day they met you and realized how ordinary you were. Your fear of disappointing them haunts you until one fateful day when the universe brings the three of you together...

A/N: Hello! I’ve been itching to write a Soulmate AU, and when a wonderful anon suggested this story idea, I just couldn’t resist. WARNING: This fic contains dub con/non con. Read at your own risk! And please let me know what you think!!!

It was hot outside. Intensely so. The asphalt and concrete of the city had trapped the summer’s heat in until it was stifling, rising up in thick heatwaves from the pavement. Your studio apartment was situated above an old, crumbling used bookstore, and your ancient A/C unit had given up three days ago during the hottest week of the year. Your landlord was getting it fixed soon, but you’d slowly been going insane as you spent your days laying beneath your ceiling fan, only getting up to retrieve glass after glass of ice water from your kitchen.

It was the heat that drove you out of your apartment on that fourth day, and it was the heat that made you break your usual self-imposed rules in regard to your choice of clothing. Ever since your 20th birthday, you’d vowed only to ever wear short-sleeves in the privacy of your home, and you kept your hair long enough to cover the nape of your neck, never daring to pull it up unless you were also wearing a turtleneck. It was safer that way, you’d told yourself.

No one but you could know your secret.

That day, though, you left your apartment in a pair of shorts and a white tank top, your hair thrown up into a bun as you nervously made your way down the street to your favorite café. You squinted in the sunlight and dug through your purse for your pair of sunglasses. Once they were securely on, marched onwards, eyes scanning the street around you closely. You dug your right hand into your pocket, keeping your forearm pressed against your body, and you’d left a few fly-away hairs loose at the back of your head; you could feel them tickling your neck with every step you took in your canvas-colored high-tops.

When you finally reached ‘Cool Beans’, you nearly moaned as a blast of air conditioning licked at your heated skin. People were scattered about the coffee shop; you hadn’t been the first to come up with the idea of seeking refuge within its walls. You ordered a strawberry smoothie for yourself, and when it arrived you pressed the cold, sweating plastic of its cup against your cheek as you made your way to a vacant sofa in the corner. You sat down and pulled your notebook out of your bag, seeing the flash of black letters against your skin with every movement of your right arm.

James Buchanan Barnes

You sighed, pushing the man out of your head as you started jotting down an outline for your next three chapters, hoping that no one saw. You’d made sure to sit with your back facing the wall, not wanting anyone’s eyes lingering on the name scrawled into the skin beneath your neck. Steven Grant Rogers was a name that too many people were familiar with.

Not everyone had a soulmate; in fact, only about a third of the population did. It was even rarer to have two, but you’d been among the lucky few. Or unlucky was more like it in your case.

You were terrified of both of the men whose names were permanently seared into your skin. Their lives were dangerous, full of villains who would stop at nothing to tear apart anything or anyone they cared about. You weren’t cut out for that lifestyle; you couldn’t handle constantly looking over your shoulder.

Or at least…that was what you told yourself.

On the days when you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore, on the days where you drank your feelings until your head spun, you knew that you were really just terrified of yourself, of not living up to them. They were both as powerful as they were beautiful, and you were just…you. A little girl living in Brooklyn, her head in the clouds of whatever novel she was working on at the time. The universe must have been laughing when it chose you to be their third soulmate. How could you live up to the two titans you were meant to love? And how could they ever want you?

You were so certain that you would disappoint them that you fell off the grid, keeping the identity of your intendeds secret to everyone who knew you. You published under a pseudonym and deleted all of your social medias, letting your fear control you.

Now, your 20th birthday was long past you, and it was the first time you’d been around so many people with your soulmarks visible. As you sipped on your smoothie and focused on the scratch of your pen against paper, though, you were starting to relax. No one had so much as batted an eye at you, and inspiration was finally taking hold as you planned out the course of your lasted work-in-progress.

You became so focused on your thoughts, in fact, that you didn’t even notice it when a hush suddenly fell over the coffee shop. People whispered amongst one another all around you as two sets of feet started making their way to the line in front of the barista. Your ears perked up when you heard the word ‘autograph’, though, and after finishing the last sentence you were writing, you glanced up towards the front of the café.

And you swore that your heart stopped beating.

Captain America – no, Steve – was smiling good-naturedly at the girl behind the counter as he scrawled his signature on the napkin she’d offered him, handing it to her while saying something you couldn’t quite make out. The man standing next to him was almost as tall as he was, and his long brown hair was pulled up in a bun. Despite the heat, he was wearing leather gloves and a long sleeved Henley, but you would recognize him anywhere even with his metal arm hidden.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were standing less than thirty feet away from you, and you couldn’t fucking breathe.

You couldn’t help but stare as they placed their orders before shuffling around to the end of the coffee bar, waiting for their drinks as they talked with one another. Bucky said something that made Steve laugh, and you gulped as his eyes lit up and his mouth split into a wide grin. They were even more handsome in person…

You shook your head and looked down at your notebook as your heart beat frantically. You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing yourself to just think. They were right there – they could see you. You needed to leave, but what if they noticed you when you stood up? Maybe you should stay and lay low? But that would just be stupid, right?

Your breathing was heavy as your eyes darted upwards, and you felt your blood run cold when you found two pairs of blue eyes looking right at you. It was the look on their face that made you shiver, though. They knew you. They recognized who you were, despite you having never met. And that was when your instincts kicked in. Run, your brain whispered. Get. Out.

You immediately stood up on shaky legs, shoving your things back into your purse while keeping your right arm pressed to your abdomen. Your knees wobbled as you headed towards the door, and you forced your eyes downward as you watched your unsteady feet move.

As soon as your back was to them, though, you heard one of them suck in a breath, and that was when you remembered the name on your neck. You froze where you stood and clapped your left hand over it, spinning on your heel to look at them with wide eyes.

For a long moment, all three of you just stood there, not knowing what to do. You were starting to feel numb from shock, and your throat was growing tight as tears filled your vision. Not like this, not now, not them…

But then Steve said your name, the question just barely audible as it left his lips. Your arms fell limply to your sides, and Bucky’s eyes widened when he finally saw the words on your forearm.

“It’s you,” he murmured.

A sound that was dangerously close to a sob escaped your lips, and without a second thought, you turned and ran, pushing the café doors open and turning towards your apartment. Your sneakers slapped against the concrete, and you didn’t even feel the heat as you heard two sets of feet chasing after you.

“Please, wait!” Steve shouted. “We just wanna talk!”

You didn’t turn back, sprinting until you came upon the used bookstore. You almost tripped as you turned down the alleyway, not even aware that you couldn’t hear Steve and Bucky behind you anymore. Huffing and puffing, you climbed up the rickety stairs to your front door and fumbled with your key, shoving it into the lock roughly and jiggling it until it opened.

As soon as the door closed behind you, you leaned back against it, closing your eyes as you caught your breath. A flurry of emotions were raging within you, and your heart was hammering in your chest. You let your eyes close as sobs started to shake your body, and tears were starting to make their slow descent down your cheeks.

But that was when you heard someone clear their throat. Your head snapped up, and your lips parted in shock as you watched Bucky and Steve walk out of your bedroom, your open window just barely visible past the broad expanse of their shoulders.

“How…” Your voice trailed off, and your throat felt dry as you swallowed thickly.

The two men shared a glance, seeming to be able to read one another’s thoughts. They turned to you in tandem, and Steve took a deep breath in through his nose before speaking.

“…I really don’t know where to start,” he sighed. “This isn’t how we wanted this to go.”

You bit your lip to stop it from trembling, wincing when you heard the gears in Bucky’s arm shift as he clenched his fist.

“Why did you run from us?” he demanded, his shoulder brushing against Steve’s as he took a step towards you.

You shook your head and looked away, hugging yourself as they started closing in on you.

“I… I can explain-“ you began, but Steve just huffed and shook his head.

“Explain what? Why you tried to run away from your soulmates?” he asked. “Or how about why you’ve been running from us since you woke up with our names on your skin?”

You blinked in surprise, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, doll, you think we haven’t known about you?” he scoffed. “You know who we are. We could track down anyone we wanted to.”

“Then why-“

“We didn’t want it to go this way,” Steve repeated. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you, waiting until you seemed ready for us. We didn’t mean to run into you at the café. But now that it’s happened…”

His fingers drifted towards your face, but you flinched away, suddenly realizing just how close they were to you.

“Wh-What do you mean, you’ve been keeping an eye on me? Have you… Have you been spying on me?”

“We’ve been making sure you’re safe,” Bucky insisted. “You don’t exactly live in the nicest part of Brooklyn, doll.”

“And since you made it clear that you didn’t want us around… We kept our distance. Tried to do this right,” Steve added. “We didn’t wanna scare you.”

“Well you’ve failed!” you exclaimed, shoving past them and backing up towards your bedroom. “I’m terrified. You tell me that you’ve been stalking me, and then you act like I’m the one to blame?”

“We didn’t ‘stalk’ you-“ Steve started, but Bucky stomped towards you, his jaw clenched.

“We wouldn’t have had to watch you,” he growled, “if you’d have just…just accepted us.” His voice broke, and you felt your heart clench as you watched him blink away tears.

“Are we… Am I,” he corrected, “really that frightening?”

You frowned, not understanding what he was implying, but then his eyes drifted towards his metal hand and you understood; he thought that he was the one to scare you, that his past was what kept you from wanting them.

“I… That’s not why,” you insisted. “That has nothing to do with it.”

Surprise flitted over the Winter Soldier’s features, and he seemed too stunned to respond. Steve sighed and set a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“I told you, Buck,” he murmured. He turned back to you, and that feeling of unease came back in full force. “But what was it, then? What was the reason why you didn’t want us?”

“It… It doesn’t matter now,” you stuttered, shaking your head. “You two are scaring me; I want you to leave. This isn’t… This isn’t right-“

“But it is right,” Steve insisted, caging you in between them. “The universe itself wants us to be together, hon. That’s why our names are on your body. And its why yours is on ours.”

He rested one hand on your shoulder, keeping you securely in place while the other pulled back the neckline of his t-shirt. In bold black letters, your name was scrawled over his heart. Your eyes widened, and you felt your fingers twitch with the sudden impulse to touch it. You refused to listen to that thought, though, and tried to turn around, but you only found yourself face to chest with Bucky. He brought his metal arm up to rest on your hip, and you couldn’t help but enjoy its cool sensation in the sweltering heat.

His eyes never left yours as he pulled the hem of his shirt up, and you bit your lip when you saw your name arched across one of his hip bones. Steve’s name was written across his ribs, just above yours, and you felt tears spring to your eyes. They were right here in front of you for the very first time, and you were starting to feel so much more than fear.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, jolting when you felt Steve’s lips descend onto the soulmark of his name written beneath your neck.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “Whatever the reason was for your running, it doesn’t matter. We have you now.”

“And,” Bucky added, grabbing your wrist to bring your forearm up against his mouth, kissing his name, “we’re never gonna let you go, doll. It’s gonna be ok; you’re with us now. Where you belong.”

You struggled one more time, but they were too strong; you didn’t even budge. Their smell was overwhelming – sweat and sandalwood cologne – and it was starting to drown out your better judgement. Steve’s mouth was working its way to the side of your neck, and you gasped when his cool tongue lapped at your skin before he started sucking a mark into it. Bucky, for his part, was running his vibranium fingers up your waist, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His flesh hand reached out, gripping your chin and tilting your face up to his.

“Don’t you want us, baby?” he whispered. “We feel it too, you know. The pull. Why do you keep trying to fight against it?”

You blinked away the moisture gathering in your eyes, feeling your resolve start to crumble as you stared up at his crystalline eyes; he was right. You did feel the pull – it was as if there was a string tied between your hearts, forever linking and binding you to them. It had always been there, but now that they were here with you, touching you, it was harder than ever to resist it.

“What if…” You gulped, looking down at his combat boots. “What if I’m not good enough? What if I disappoint-“

“No.”

Steve’s voice was hard as steel, and you found yourself being turned around by his hands, maneuvered like a ragdoll. His face was stern, commanding, as he looked down at you.

“I don’t ever want to hear you saying something like that,” he demanded. “Forces that are powerful and wiser than you or me have decided we’re meant for each other; it’s disrespectful of you to even doubt for a moment that they’re wrong.”

You let out a sob, trying to push him away, but he grabbed your wrists, holding them against his chest. You bit your lip to keep it from trembling as you looked up at him, finding that his countenance had softened considerably as he watched you.

“And, doll… You are everything we ever could have hoped for and more,” he promised. “We’ve been watching, remember? Everything about you, even the parts you think are ugly, only make us want you more. How could we ever be disappointed with such a gift?”

Maybe it was the years of self-doubt, or maybe it was the bond between the three of you, or maybe it was your own fear that made you act next. You knew, in the back of your mind, that red flags were still flying; you were still horrified that they’d stalked you, and the arms wrapped around you were no less constricting. But a wall came crashing down within you upon hearing Steve’s words, and with a soft noise of weakness, you cupped his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss.

It felt as if his lips were made of fire as he kissed you back. Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips as Steve’s came up to your shoulders, playing with your flyaway hairs as he moved his mouth against yours. Though you had initiated it, he took control quickly, wasting no time in swiping his tongue across your lower lip. He forced it inside of you, licking into your mouth as you clung to him. You couldn’t fight back the moan that arose when Bucky planted his own mouth on your neck, his teeth worrying at your flesh gently. Your toes curled in your sneakers, and your heartbeat threatened to drown out the wet sound of the kiss.

As soon as Steve pulled away, Bucky was moving to take his place, and you only had a second to gulp down a breath before he was kissing you. His lips were more chapped than Steve’s had been, but he was even more certain in his movements. His tongue brushed against yours expertly, and when he nipped at your lower lip, you let out what could only be described as a squeak. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, but Bucky only chuckled and leaned in for another kiss.

Steve was not idle, though. His hands started playing with the hem of your shirt, pushing his fingertips beneath it to map out your heated skin. At first, it tickled, and you couldn’t help but smile against Bucky’s lips. But then his hands started moving upwards, and you were tense all over again. You pulled away, taking a step back and moving to shove your tank top back down, but both men didn’t let you gain any distance.

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” the brunette chided as Steve tsked. “It’s just us. And we’ve waited for so long…”

Your eyes widened at his insinuation, and once again the Captain reached for your shirt.

“W-wait, I don’t… I don’t think I’m ready for, um…that,” you stammered, but all you succeeded in doing was making them laugh.

“Oh, my god… Stevie, she’s fucking adorable.”

“So innocent… C’mon, doll, don’t you trust us?”

You narrowed your eyes at their smiles, about to say that no, you didn’t trust them considering the situation. But you didn’t get to say anything before Steve was pulling you into another bruising kiss, hands on your cheeks. Bucky moved behind you once more, and this time you yelped when you felt cold metal against your stomach. A harsh ripping sound was heard, and you felt your tank top fall away. You tried to turn your head away, pushing at Steve’s shoulders and kicking at his legs, but he didn’t move a muscle. He just ignored your protests, seemingly wrapped up in your kiss.

Bucky hummed and ran his fingertips up the curve of your spine.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” he mused, sounding as if he were talking to himself. “So much prettier than any dame I’ve ever been with.”

You tried to scream when his fingers went to the waistband of your shorts, and Steve pulled away with a heavy sigh.

“Baby, c’mon,” he chided. “This’ll help us grow closer. I promise it’ll feel-“

“Please,” you cried, your nerves coming back with full force. “Please, I… I liked the kissing. We could just kiss; I promise I won’t run anymore.”

Bucky hummed, his nose brushing against your shoulder as he kissed it.

“Sweetheart…” You jolted when you felt something hard press against your ass, and Steve pushed his palm over your mouth when you tried to call out for help again. “Does it feel like I just wanna kiss you? No, baby. I want so much more than that.”

“We both do,” Steve added. He grabbed one of your wrists, pulling your hand to the bulge in his jeans. Your eyes widened when you felt the hardness there, and you tried to pull your hand away, yanking your arm back so hard that your shoulder ached.

“There’s no need to be shy,” he smirked. “Unless… Wait, have you never done this before?”

Bucky froze, still gripping your shorts by their beltloops, and you nodded frantically. Steve pulled his hand away, and you once more took in a deep breath.

“I’ve never… Please, I don’t want my first time to be like this,” you pleaded. “I’m not ready; this is all happening so fast…”

But it didn’t seem like Steve or Bucky were listening to you. They were looking at one another intensely, as if they were reading one another’s minds. And, hell, maybe they were, to a degree – when you knew someone for as long as they’d known each other, you must be able to tell a lot just from one look.

“…C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky suddenly said, “You’re longer.”

“Yeah, but you’re thicker,” Steve reasoned.

“I’ve actually been with virgins before. Remember how good I was for your first time? We do not want a repeat of when I first let you fuck me.”

“I’ve gotten better! You know I have; last night I didn’t hear any complaining.”

“That’s cuz I had to teach you how to stretch me! Jesus, that first time I’m surprised you didn’t split me in half-“

Your eyes grew round with terror when you realized what they were arguing about, and you started flailing again, desperate to get away. No, no, this couldn’t be happening…

Your sudden frenzy drew their attention back to you, and both of them gripped you tight, holding you still against Bucky’s chest.

“Woah, woah, woah,” the soldier breathed, his long brown hair tickling your neck. “Calm down, baby girl. Neither of us is gonna split you in half; we can go nice and slow, ok?”

“Let me go!” you wailed, kicking at Steve. He easily dodged your legs, though, maneuvering you so your legs were off the ground, his pelvis pressing against yours. You winced when you felt just how big his erection had gotten, shying away from him. All that did was press you harder against Bucky, though, which he misinterpreted completely.

“See, Stevie? You’re scaring her. Just let me-“

“I don’t want either-“

You were cut off by Steve’s hand on your mouth again, and the two men shared one more look. Eventually, Steve relented, sighing and giving Bucky a nod.

“Fine,” he groaned. “But you owe me.”

You turned your head just in time to watch Bucky press a peck to Steve’s lips as he grinned coyly.

“Don’t worry, baby. I know how I can repay you later.”

He finally turned back to you, and you found yourself being carried into your bedroom. You gave up on your struggles, quickly realizing that there was no use in trying to fight them; you were no match for either of the super soldiers, much less both of them.

“That’s a good girl,” Bucky praised, setting you down on the mattress. He sat down beside you, and you scrambled away, pressing your back against the headboard.

“Now, doll,” he said, pinning you with a look. “This can go one of two ways. You can be good and stop your whining, or you can keep on fighting. But both of us know that fighting won’t get you anywhere. And if you just let us be with you… Hon, I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

You looked between the two men, feeling your anger start to drain out of you. Because in spite of yourself, of what they were doing, there was a part of you that wanted this. It was the same part of you that had kissed Steve; it was the same part of you that had wondered about your soulmates ever since your 20th birthday. You knew that what Bucky was saying was true; there was no escaping this situation.

After a while, you heaved a sigh and met the Sergeant’s eyes. You gave him a hesitant nod, and that was all he needed to see before he was pulling you towards him by your ankle. You yelped as your head hit the pillow, but the weight of him laying between your legs quickly took up your focus.

“Good, baby,” he sighed, rutting against you. “I knew you would come around.”

You felt the mattress dip beside you as Steve lay parallel to your body, running his hand tantalizingly down your thigh. You winced when he suddenly gripped your flesh and pulled on your leg, maneuvering it around Bucky’s waist. You could feel his hard-on grinding against your shorts, and shame seeped through your blood when you realized you were enjoying it.

Wordlessly, Bucky once more grabbed the waist of your shorts, finally starting to push them down your legs. Your panties rolled down with them, leaving you in just your bra, and both men moaned at the sight of your damp folds.

“Knew you wanted me,” Bucky sighed, his metal hand moving up to cup your pussy. You flinched at the sudden change of temperature, trying to close your legs, but Steve’s firm hand prevented you from doing so.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the Captain chided. “You’re doing so well. Just give in. Relax.”

Your body was still tight as a bowstring despite his words, and the man on top of you huffed out a little laugh.

“It’s ok to be nervous, doll,” he assured you. “But don’t worry. I’ll have you begging for it in no time.”

His fingers started spreading your folds, the vibranium gliding along your heated flesh smoothly. You bit your lip when his digits skimmed over your clit, and you could see Steve lick his lips out of the corner of your eyes.

“So pretty and pink, doll… Your pussy is so cute.” Bucky smirked, and one of his fingers slid inside of you without warning. You whined, letting your head fall back at the intrusion – it was only a finger, sure, and you’d fucked yourself with your little pink vibrator before, but it still stung.

Your breathing grew heavy as he started pumping his finger, curling it and working it in and out of you as the heel of his palm pressed against your clit. You shifted your hips, gasping at the friction it created against your bud, and you once again rolled them, this time upwards into his touch. It was fucked up, being used like this against your will, but your body didn’t seem to mind the violation.

Within seconds, Bucky was adding a second finger, and though you would never admit it, you welcomed the stretch. Your brows were furrowed with the effort it was taking to hold in your moans, but neither of your soulmates seemed to care.

“God, can you hear how wet she is?” Bucky breathed. Steve nodded, starting to unbuckle his belt.

“She’s gonna feel so good, Buck. I just know it.”

You chanced a glimpse over at Steve, and your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you watched him reach into his jeans, pulling his throbbing cock out. Your eyes widened at the size of it, and you quickly snapped your gaze away as he started stroking it lazily. Bucky caught your eye and gave you a wink, smirking as he started to scissor the fingers inside of you.

“See something you like, dollface?” he murmured. “Just wait till it’s inside you. Fuck, I can’t wait to see those big, pretty eyes roll to the back of your head.”

You gulped, opening your mouth to protest, but your words died on your tongue when he added a third finger. A moan escaped your mouth unbidden, and you clapped a hand over your lips to silence yourself.

“Hey,” Steve grumbled, pulling it away. “No, no, baby. We wanna hear you.” His words were thick with his suppressed moans, and you watched as his lips parted in pleasure as he pumped his cock.

“Fuck it, I can’t wait anymore.”

Your head snapped forward once again, and you whimpered as Bucky pulled his hand away and started undressing. He shed his shirt, first, leaving you to watch his muscles flex and contract as he started working his jeans off. Your gaze lingered on the angry scar that was wrapped around the line where skin met metal, and you winced at how red and irritated it looked.

Bucky caught you staring and grunted, throwing his jeans and boxers to the floor with an impatient flick of the wrist.

“Don’t look at it, baby,” he whispered. “I know it’s hard to take in. I’m still all man, though.” He took your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm before guiding it down his stomach. You closed your eyes as your fingers brushed against his cock, trying to tune out Bucky’s moan as he rutted against your palm. “See that, baby? That’s all for you.”

“You’re starting to make me feel left out over here, ya know,” Steve grumbled, his hand stilling on his cock as he quirked an eyebrow up at Bucky. The former soldier only smiled, though, and leaned down to kiss the blonde’s lips. You felt your pussy clench as you watched their mouths move against one another, biting your lip when you saw Bucky’s tongue slide into Steve’s mouth. You felt as if you should look away, not wanting to encroach on such an intimate moment, but when Steve pulled back and pulled you into an even more searing kiss, all of those thoughts went out the window.

As he was kissing you, Bucky knelt between your legs and spread your thighs wider. Your eyes snapped open you felt the head of his cock bump against your entrance, and Steve pulled back, pressing his forehead to yours and forcing you to look at him.

“It’s gonna hurt for a second, baby,” he told you. “But just relax; Bucky’s gonna make you feel real good.”

With that, you felt him start to push inside of you, and you wailed as he stretched your virgin pussy inch by inch. The moan that escaped his lips drowned you out, though, and you watched as he tossed his head back, the muscles in his throat working as he slowly bottomed out.

“Fuck, doll,” he panted, pressing a quick peck to your lips, “God, you’re fucking tight. Tightest pussy I’ve e-ever fe-elt…”

He moaned once again, biting his lip as he started circling his hips. Your pussy felt white-hot with pain, but you couldn’t deny that it was accompanied by a sense of pleasure. You were so wet, and so full, and the noises that both men were making went right to your cunt. You shut your eyes tight and tried to follow their advice, tried to relax beneath Bucky as he slowly started thrusting his hips.

“That’s good,” he praised. “Just enjoy it; lay back and let me take care of you…”

His thrusts started out shallow, just barely pulling back by a few inches before pushing back in, but he was still managing to graze your g-spot with every shift of his hips. His hair hung in loose tresses around his face, and his skin was already starting to grow slick with sweat. Steve, meanwhile, had already shucked off his shirt and his pants, and he was working on shimmying his boxers down when Bucky started moving faster.

“I-I’m sorry, doll,” he grunted, “I know I should be going slow, but you’re so fucking good…”

You let out a moan as he started snapping his hips harder, and your fists clenched around the sheets on either side of your hips. Your legs were splayed out wide, swaying with the movement of his hips, and once Steve tossed his boxers to the floor, his hands were on you. One of them trailed down between yours and Bucky’s body, his fingers seeking out your bud. His other hand was in your hair, pulling your head back as he attached his lips to your neck. You knew that, come tomorrow, you were going to be covered in bright purple bruises.

Your breath caught in your throat when Steve found your clit, and Bucky let out a sharp moan when your hips instinctively bucked up against his.

“That feel good, baby? You like it when Stevie plays with your cute little clit?”

You felt yourself nodding, and suddenly Bucky’s hands were behind your knees, pushing them up towards your chest as he fucked deeper into you. In this new position, you swore you could feel him in your stomach, but between the way his cock was hitting against your g-spot and the swirling of Steve’s fingers, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. Your fear, your pride, they both faded into the background as you were fucked into the mattress, and you were only vaguely aware of your own voice, moaning and begging for more, yes, more, please I need it so bad…

“You want me, baby?” Bucky growled out from behind clenched teeth. “You want this? Then prove it. Cum for me; I know you’re close. Cum all over me; do it now, doll, cum for me-“

Your head pushed back against the pillow beneath it as your body suddenly went taught. A strangled gasp left your lips as the knot inside of you burst, and just moments later you felt warmth flood you as Bucky found his release. Both of your voices were hoarse as you came down from your high, hips lazily rocking with one another as you rose out your orgasms. His eyelids were half closed, and his lips were just barely twisted up into a tiny, satisfied smile.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby… You did so good.” He leaned down, strands of sweaty hair brushing against your forehead as he pressed soft, gentle kisses to your temples and cheeks. You allowed it without complaint, feeling weightless the pleasure finally ceased washing over you. You leaned into the cold metal of his hand as he brushed some of your hair out of your eyes, and his smile grew as he watched you.

“Not to ruin the moment,” Steve said suddenly, “But I’m still waiting for my turn.”

Bucky let out a chuckle and rolled to your left, and two strong hands suddenly gripped your hips and pulled on you. You didn’t struggle as Steve manipulated your body, making you straddle him as his hands rested against your ass.

“I know you’re tired, baby, but look how hard you got me.” You looked down obediently at his cock, flushed a deep red and leaking a bit of precum. “You can do this, baby. I’ll help you. Let’s see if I can make you cum one more time.”

He guided your hips, and when you felt his head press against your entrance you gripped his wrists, your nails biting into his skin.

“N-no, wait-“

Your protests were ignored as he made you sink down onto his cock. Despite just getting fucked, your pussy still felt stretched as he slid inside, but you were so wet that he met with no resistance. Bucky had been right earlier; Steve’s cock was longer, and you felt it brush painfully against your cervix as your pussy finally rested against his pelvis.

“Oh, god…” You planted your hands on Steve’s chest for support, watching his eyelashes flutter and his lips part as he felt your tight, wet heat. “Fuck, doll, you’re… Shit, this is so good…”

“Language, Stevie,” Bucky snarked. You glanced over at him; his arms were crossed beneath his head as he watched the two of you, and his lips were bright pink and swollen from kissing you. You winked at you, actually fucking winked, and Steve let out a growl as he reached over to swat at his thigh.

“Shut up, jerk,” he grunted.

His hands once more found your hips, and you gasped as he started moving them.

“Ride me like this, sweetheart,” he begged. “Please, just… Move those little hips for me, just like that.”

Despite having just cum, you let out a moan as you did as he said, starting to roll and bounce your hips just like he’d instructed. Your walls were sensitive, and every time Steve bottomed out, you winced at the feeling of his pelvis brushing against your clit, but it still felt so good, so unlike anything you’d ever felt while pleasuring yourself alone at night.

You gradually started finding your own rhythm, leaning back to press your palms against Steve’s thighs for better leverage. The new angle made both of you let out a deep, drawn out moan, and unbidden you started to move faster, chasing your second release as it started building up inside of you.

Steve’s hands closed down on your breasts, squeezing them and watching them bounce as you rode him. His thumbs tweaked your nipples and you preened, arching your back at the foreign, pleasant feeling.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” he murmured. “How ‘bout this?” He leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, letting his bottom teeth just barely graze it before letting his tongue lave over it, tracing tight little circles against it.

You nearly screamed at the sensation, bouncing faster on his cock until he had to let his head fall back, his eyes screwed shut tightly.

“Shit, doll, you’re gonna make me cum,” he grunted. “Don’t stop; don’t you dare fuckin’ stop…”

His hands closed down on your hips again, and you glanced over when you heard Bucky moan. He was still watching the both of you, but you gasped when you saw him thrusting into his fist, his cock hard once more. He was biting his lip, eyes focused on your face, and suddenly your second orgasm was hitting you like a freight train.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your lips parted in a scream as you felt your pussy clench around Steve’s cock. You heard a muffled curse escape his lips, and he started thrusting up into you as your cunt fluttered around him. Once, twice, then three times, and he was spilling his seed inside of you.

You slumped against his chest, his cock softening before he shifted his hips, pulling it out as both his and Bucky’s cum started leaking out of you. If you had felt more present, you would have been ashamed of how that must look, but you didn’t give it a second thought as your head rose and fell with the cadence of Steve’s breathing.

“…Fuck.”

Both of your soulmates let out a laugh upon hearing you say that one little word, and you were tempted to crack a smile of your own. But then the gravity of what had just transpired washed over you anew, and you sat up in shame, looking between the two men who had just… They’d just…

“Shhh, doll,” Bucky cooed, pulling you down to lay between them. Two sets of muscular arms wrapped around you, and you felt a sob wrack your form as dread started to overtake you. “It’s ok, shhhh…. I know, I know. You’re feeling a lot of weird emotions right now. But it’s all gonna be ok.”

“He’s right, princess,” Steve murmured, ghosting his lips over your hairline. “Everything is gonna work out; you’ll see. Me and Buck are gonna take such good care of you. You’ll see, in time. You’ll love us, just like we love you.”

#stucky #stucky x reader #stucky imagine #steve rogers #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #steven grant rogers #captain america #the winter soldier #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader

2K notes · View notes

hatterstan-shameblog · 4 years ago

Text

The One With The Room Reassignment

Aguni needs a new room. For, well, reasons. Embarrassing reasons. Reasons that he’s trying not to disclose to anyone, least of all Takeru, who...well, you know how he is.

But it’ll all be okay.

Right?

(Because I simply could not have read this post by @missdrake without writing the Aguni prompt. I mean, come on, the opportunity for banter was just too good!)

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Rating: ‼️18+‼️ Do Not Interact If You Are Underage

Warnings: descriptions of sexual situations, referenced drug use, alcohol, threats of violence

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Of all the places Aguni could be right now, this has to be one of the worst.

It’s not that he dislikes Takeru’s room, per se. On the contrary, he actually enjoys the subtle opulence of the space, spelled out in caramel-colored woods and blue-green drapes.

It’s fancy, yes, but approachable. Comfortable, even.

But, in this moment, Aguni feels anything but comfortable. He feels antsy, he feels jumpy—he feels the angry little teeth of embarrassment nibbling at the ends of his nerves, and its making his palms sweat.

Are the lights in here extra hot, or is that just him?

...It’s probably just him.

It doesn’t help that Takeru is staring at him, those deep-dark eyes filled with their usual mix of subtle scrutiny mixed with glittering amusement and finished off with a dash of smug confidence—like a flourish of whipped cream atop a hot fudge sundae, if the whipped cream had the uncanny ability to see into a person’s soul and the hot fudge sundae was a lovable bastard whose modus operandi involved creating as much drama as possible.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Takeru says—and he is so very feline, stretched into a graceful sprawl along the black leather sofa, his lips curled into a serene, sleepy smile around the lip of a champagne flute.

Aguni doesn’t even like champagne, but he’s been taking small, nervous sips from his own glass all the same because that is infinitely more manageable than talking. Except, well...because he’s not talking, the situation is getting more and more awkward by the minute.

“Didn’t expect you to be alone.”

“I’ve decided to take the night off,” Takeru says, rolling his shoulders back in a slow stretch of spine, “The games, the meetings, the endless parade of unfortunates looking for guidance and reassurance? It wears on you, Mori-chan.”

As if to illustrate the point, Takeru heaves a dramatic sigh.

“There’s something wearing on you, too, isn’t there? You look...pained?”

“I, uh,” Aguni swallows nervously. This is the part he’s been dreading for the last hour, and now that it’s here...well. All he has to do is stick to the plan and everything will be okay.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

“I...” Aguni gulps, “need a new room.”

Although his delivery leaves something to be desired in the “calm and collected” department, Aguni is quite pleased with himself for having managing to get the words out without blushing.

...Okay, he’s probably blushing a little bit, but Takeru hasn’t teased him about it yet, so it can’t be that bad.

“Oh? Why?”

Aguni’s jaw tightens. The problem with Takeru (one of the many, if he’s being honest) is that the man can be particularly difficult to read. Even after thirty-plus years of friendship, Aguni can’t tell what he’s thinking half of the time, which has left him in quite a few...situations. Difficult situations. Confusing situations. Awkward situations.

Situations like these, where Aguni’s brain is spinning like a high-powered carousel on a pottery wheel inside of a giant blender and someone keeps pressing the ‘pulse’ button with a giant hammer and it’s all very loud and very unpleasant.

“The bed,” he answers slowly, “uh, the bed is...broken.”

“Broken?”

Aguni takes another gulp of alcohol—too much for one swallow, and his throat spasms around the popping fizz of carbonation. He coughs slightly.

“Yes,” Aguni clarifies, “Broken.”

Takeru rolls his eyes.

“Always the brilliant conversationalist,” Takeru says, dripping with sarcasm and waving his champagne with a dismissive gesture, “We’ve established that the bed is broken, but you’ve failed to mention how it is broken, and since I do not know the extend of the breakage, I am unable to determine if you do, in fact, need to be moved to a different room. Space is limited, Mori-chan. I can’t afford to be frivolous about such things.”

Had he not been so focused on maintaining some semblance of composure, Aguni might have teased his friend for lecturing him about frivolity—but now is not the time for chit-chat. He is a man on a mission, and the success of said mission is dependent on his ability to, as they say, ‘get in and get out.’

“The frame. It, uh...snapped off of the headboard,”Aguni answers carefully, “It’s...I can’t sleep on it.”

Takeru’s eyes narrow.

“Ah. I see.”

Silence settles between them once more—only for a moment, but it’s enough to make Aguni shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“I can fix it,” Aguni adds, “I just...need a place to stay tonight.”

There is a flash of silver—Takeru is one of the only people Aguni knows under the age of sixty who uses a cigarette case, which is both charming and frequently inconvenient— and it’s only a second before the scent of smoke and nicotine fills the air.

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” he concludes—and it’s a weight off of Aguni’s mind and heart that Takeru hasn’t decided to ask him a million questions regarding the “why’s” and “how’s” of his current predicament.

Perhaps there’s a chance he can make it out of here (relatively) unscathed.

So, when Takeru offers Aguni a drag on his cigarette, Aguni doesn’t much read into the gesture and gladly accepts.

“Hm,” Takeru says.

“What?”

“That is...so interesting.”

Aguni hands the cigarette back to his friend.

“Not sure what you mean.”

“I’m just reminiscing, I suppose,” Takeru says airily, “about the last time we shared a cigarette. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Something blooms in Aguni—something bad and uncertain.

“I don’t—“

“Oh, it’s been years. Three, actually. And a half. Tell me, Mori-chan,” Takeru furrows his brow, “can you remember where we were three-and-a-half years ago?”

Remember the ‘something’ that bloomed inside Aguni just a moment ago? Well, it has a name, and that name is ‘intense discomfort.’ He knows where this is going. He knows he’s powerless to stop it.

“Don’t worry, my dear friend—I remember,” he says, closing his eyes and smiling to himself, “Halloween. Osaka. 2018. I was Freddie Mercury. You were Elton John. It took me ages to get all those sequins sewn on...”

Takeru takes one final hit from the cigarette before stubbing it out into a (decidedly lovely) teacup that happened to be conveniently placed on the coffee table in front of him.

“Isn’t that the year you threw the statue of Colonel Sanders into the river?”

Takeru sneers.

“You mean the year I threw Colonel Sanders into the river alone because...somebody ran off with the mascot from that mediocre takoyaki stand,” he snips, “and then had the audacity to show up two hours later asking for a cigarette. Do you know why you asked for a cigarette, Mori-chan?”

“Oh no.”

“It’s because you didn’t have any on you. Because you don’t usually smoke. Unless,” and Takeru positively relishes his dramatic pause, “it’s after sex.”

Aguni doesn’t say anything.

“You thought you could come into my house,” Takeru shouts, “after having mind-blowing, soul-shattering sex—the kind of sex that snaps bed frames clean in half—and I wouldn’t know about it?”

“But how did you—?”

“I heard you,” Takeru spits, “howling like...like some kind of demonic wolf in the light of a full moon!”

“I couldn’t have been that loud...”

“Loud enough to hear from down the hall,” Takeru adds, “frankly, I’m impressed. And a little jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Of your lover. Nobody’s broken a bed fucking me lately, which is a goddamn shame,” Takeru sips from his glass, “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me who it was, hm?”

“No,” Aguni snaps, perhaps a bit too quickly, “making fun of me is one thing, but I won’t you have you making fun of my...uh, my...”

“Paramour?”

“...Sure,” Aguni says, “Look, the point is, it’s important that I—“

“Yes, yes, you’re about to lecture me about ‘privacy’ and ‘boundaries’ and all the things decent people like you are oh-so-interested in preserving,” Takeru says, rolling his eyes, “Believe it or not, I am capable of discretion.”

“You are?”

“When the situation calls for it,” Takeru muses, “or if it’s simply more fun to keep my mouth shut and watch the drama unfold. You having a secret lover ticks both boxes.”

Takeru jumps up from his seat and claps his hands together.

“So! I have decided,” he announces with great panache, “that I shall, in fact, give you a new room. A nice one, too. Maybe even nicer than the one you’re in currently.”

Aguni huffs a relieved breath.

“Thank you.”

“But!” Takeru flops down on the couch next to Aguni with all the grace of a fleshly-flipped pancake, “You have to do something for me.”

“I don’t—“

“You have to answer three,” and Takeru holds up three fingers in front of Aguni’s face, “of my questions. Truthfully. No skips, no take-backs.”

This is...well. This is not ideal.

Aguni considers his options. On one hand, he’s entirely justified in slapping Takeru across the face and shouting ‘absolutely not!’—and, honestly, Takeru would probably understand because, while he is an asshole, he is a self-aware asshole.

On the other hand, it’s only three questions. Maybe, if he’s able to keep Takeru on topic (a Herculean effort to be sure), Aguni can make quick work of getting a new room and, more importantly, getting the hell out of here.

“Fine,” he mumbles, “but make it quick. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Takeru says, “nothing wears you out quite like an evening of dirty, nasty, animalistic—“

“Takeru!”

“—Depraved, disgusting fucking,” and he makes a very disgusted ugh-ing sound when he notices Aguni shooting him a pointed glare, “Fine. Lovemaking. Whatever. The point is that you got it in real good and that’s enough to make anyone tired.”

“Dealing with you is making me tired. Please, just...ask your questions so I can get a room and go to bed.”

“Fine, fine,” Takeru says, and he makes a great show of thinking the matter over, mouth puckering into a pouty little frown before snapping into a mischievous smirk, “Question one: did you shower before coming here?”

Aguni sighs and looks down at his shoes.

“No.”

“Oh, that is gross,” Takeru shouts, clapping him on the back, “I’m so proud of you!”

Aguni rolls his eyes, trying his hardest to look unaffected by his friend’s prying. But he can’t hide the blush from blooming on his face, because this is all very mortifying and he doesn’t particularly enjoy the way Takeru is looking at him with a devious little smile.

“It’s like looking in a mirror,” Takeru says, running a hand through his hair, “a less-handsome—but taller—mirror!”

“Got a good two inches on you,” Aguni says, and he relishes the way his companion winces. Although he is not a short man by any means, Takeru has always been just a bit shorter than him—which has led to quite a few jabs over the years.

“Maybe in height,” Takeru quips, “but certainly not everywhere else, hm?”

It’s odd, but somehow, Aguni has not yet gotten used to feeling his soul leave his body. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s dying inside, letting the pain shine out directly from his face and hopes it slaps Takeru across the mouth so he doesn’t have to.

“I couldn’t resist,” Takeru says between chuckles, “You know how I am!”

“Unfortunately.”

But Takeru is too busy staring at him now to give one of his classically witty retorts. To the untrained eye, it would appear that he is carefully considering something. Because Aguni knows that the words ‘careful’ and ‘consideration’ are not part of Takeru’s vocabulary, he steels himself for whatever batshit-insane bullshit is going to come flying at him next.

“Now, I know the identity of your new squeeze is off-limits. Which I am sympathetic towards, because I am a sensitive and caring man—which, by the way, is something you should mention to any and all available singles you should happen upon throughout your travels...”

There’s just something about the way Takeru talks—and talks, and talks—that sets Aguni’s blood to boil.

“You know why it took me three years to get laid? Because you,” Aguni snaps, “wouldn’t stop fucking talking long enough for me to get away and meet someone.”

“Ooh, so bitchy! Seems like you could use a little more of whatever you just had,” Takeru runs a finger along the rim of his glass, smiling to himself when the friction creates a high-pitched hum, “if that’s a possibility, of course.”

Aguni feels a headache coming on. He runs at his temples in a (futile) attempt to stave it off.

“I don’t have time for your games, Takeru. If you want to ask me if this was a one-night stand, then ask me if it was a one-night stand.”

“Fine, then. Mori-chan,” Takeru places his glass on the table and turns to face Aguni. He pulls his legs up and hugs his shins close to himself, chin resting on his knobby knees—like a high school girl at a sleepover, “Did you give that mystery individual the fuck of a lifetime because you knew it was going to be a one-time thing...or because this is the start of something more?”

“I...” Aguni pauses, “I don’t know.”

Takeru’s brow furrows.

“Don’t look at me like that! I was, uh,” Aguni rubs the back of his neck uncertainly, “I thought we’d maybe have that conversation when I got back.”

Takeru tilts his head slightly to the left.

“Got back from where?”

“Here.”

“Mori-chan. Darling. Dearest,” Takeru places a hand on his shoulder, fingers gripping into the skin a little more with each passing moment, “do you mean to tell me that you...left your lover alone on a broken bed...to come talk to me?”

“No,” Aguni answers, “Left ‘em in the bath.”

“Oh my God...”

“What? I thought it was a nice gesture.”

“You are so cute and hopeless.”

Takeru scoots close enough to Aguni that their hips are touching, the arm that had been gripping his shoulder now slung around his mid-back.

“Picture it,” he says, reaching his other arm out in front of them as if grasping at a ghost of a dream, “your paramour—whoever they may be—sitting alone in a bathtub. Naked. Glistening.”

“...Glistening?”

“Sparkling, even.”

That is...oh dear. Aguni hadn’t thought of it like that. And now he can’t stop thinking about it. His mind’s eye is conjuring up a most hypnotic display, involving skin and steam and a crystalline droplets rolling down the length of a neck and—

“I put bubbles in,” he admits, voice soft and unfocused as he drifts in his daydream, “Lavender-scented.”

“That’s. Wow,” Takeru sighs, patting Aguni’s knee, “You’re a stronger man than I am, that’s for sure. I simply wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. I mean, you could be in there right now, but...you’re here with me instead.”

Something breaks in Aguni. Something he hadn’t been aware of before now, but was apparently a very important piece of whatever was keeping him from grabbing Takeru by the lapels and shaking him with all the strength and rage that has been building up for the past twenty minutes.

Because that’s what he’s doing right now. He’s grabbing Takeru by the lapels of his weird robe thing and shaking him within an inch of his life. He’s also yelling, something like ‘give me the goddamn room’ but it’s hard to hear over the deafening rush of blood in his ears.

“Not...the...silk,” Takeru begs—well, as much as a man being maliciously jostled can beg—while his hands attempt to loosen Aguni’s own from his outfit, “She didn’t...do anything...wrong!”

Aguni stops shaking him, but not because he wants to—no, he very much wants to continue shaking this annoying man until his head snaps off and flies out the window—but because Takeru has started to take on a bit of a sickly greenish tinge and Aguni is not in the mood to deal with that on top of everything else.

“I will tear that tacky thing to shreds if you don’t give me a new room,” he seethes, releasing his grip on Takeru altogether and enjoying the way the other man falls back slightly as he’s let go, “I snapped a fucking bed frame an hour ago; I could tear that and you in half without even trying.”

“Okay, but,” and Takeru winces, “I just...there’s a bit of a problem. Not...a ‘problem’ problem, but...I’m very worried about how you’ll react after that little outburst you just had.”

Great. Of course there’s a catch. There’s always a catch with Takeru—but Aguni had been naive enough to think that his frustrating questionnaire had been it.

“There’s only one room available,” Takeru continues, as if he’s trying to calm a very angry horse or convince a toddler to do literally anything, “and it’s...well, it’s...the one next door.”

“You mean,” Aguni says very flatly, “the room next to this one?”

“Yes.”

“With the adjoining door?”

“Hit me if you want,” Takeru says, pressing himself against the arm of the couch and, therefore, as far away from Aguni’s anger as possible, “just...please don’t shake me again. My delicate constitution couldn’t possible take it.”

Aguni is reminded of a poem—the Robert Frost one about two roads in a wood or something like that. The way he figures, he’s got two roads in front of him right now: the ‘scream at Takeru and maybe shake him a little more and also refuse the room’ road versus the ‘it’s only one night and things couldn’t possibly get worse than they already are so take the room and maybe try to salvage the evening’ road.

Both are tempting.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it was nicer than your current room. Good view, spacious, well-decorated,” he says, “Except for the credenza under the TV, that’s hideous. Wouldn’t be mad if you, y’know, decided to break that in the heat of the moment...”

Aguni must look positively murderous, because Takeru immediately switches into grovel mode, which includes various assorted platitudes and exclamations of ‘it was just a joke!’ and ‘please don’t kill me!’

It’s kind of funny, actually.

“Listen,” Takeru half-pleads, “I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m over here. Hell, if I smoke enough weed, I won’t know I’m here, which will work out just great! I slip into a light coma, you slip into a comfortable bed with your sweetheart, and everybody’s happy.”

“You just want an excuse to get high.”

“No,” he answers confidently, “I want you to be happy and I want to get high. Use my mind-altering substances for good, not evil. You know, like a superhero. Or maybe even Jesus.”

Aguni decides not to bring Takeru’s half-joking-but-not-really God-complex into question, because that would launch him into an hour-long tirade about the importance of self-love and how he would be an excellent choice for the next mayor of Tokyo. And maybe he wouldn’t be the worst mayor Tokyo has ever had, but...well. He might not be very good at it, either.

And maybe it’s because he’s incapable of staying too horribly angry at his best friend for very long, but Aguni concludes that it’s best just to take the room and let the situation go. He’s had enough drama for one night.

“Fine,” Aguni finally says, “I’ll take it.”

And he moves to stand before Takeru can suck him in to another conversation.

“You know,” Takeru calls casually as Aguni begins to walk towards the door, “I still haven’t asked my third question...”

“You have got to be kidding—“

“But,” Takeru quickly interjects, “I don’t have to ask, because I already know that the answer is ‘yes.’”

“Hm?”

“Yes,” Takeru concludes with a wry smile, “you are happy. Even when you were about to about to slap me, I could see it written all over your face.”

Aguni feels...embarrassed. Again. He’s truly been on an emotional rollercoaster since stepping foot into Takeru’s room, and it’s almost poetic that he has managed to start and end his journey with a begrudging blush.

“Now, go,” Takeru says, shooing him off with a roll of his wrist, “get out of my sight and into bed with that sexy little secret you insist upon hiding from the rest of us!”

Aguni doesn’t need to be told twice. He swiftly makes his way towards the exit, his legs taking slightly-larger-than-normal strides as he attempts not to appear too giddy at the thought of returning to his lover. Maybe they can test out the bathtub in the new room. Or the shower. Or maybe just hang out in bathrobes and talk?

Honestly, he’s just excited to see them again. A nice, soothing presence. Something to help him decompress after...whatever the hell that just was with Takeru. There’s a seventy-five-percent chance that he’ll stay true to his word and be stoned out of his mind by the time they switch rooms, and a twenty-percent chance that he’ll spend the night pressed up against the door trying to listen in. The other five percent? That’s what Aguni likes to call the ‘wild card allotment’ because Takeru is...well, he’s just the kind of guy to do something completely unpredictable, and he likes to plan for that.

“Remember,” Takeru calls out just as Aguni is stepping out, “Break the credenza!”

And Aguni has never been happier to shut a door in his life.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

PS: the thing with throwing the statue of Colonel Sanders in the river is a thing that actually happened and I think it’s really funny so that’s why I put it in here. Plus, like. Takeru totally would.

#alice in borderland #danma takeru #hatter #spicy boy #alice in borderland netflix #aguni morizono #writings and such #this took so long omg but it’s DONE wow what a time what an adventure #listen. I just. we need more of them being actual buddies.#like. just guys being dudes.

44 notes · View notes

darkdevasofdestruction · 5 years ago

Text

Flowers - Nicolas Brown x Reader

(( Special thanks to my fren, @ittokan , for fangirling with me over Gangsta, and I truly hope you start writing for this fandom and all the others that you love, without feeling pressured or anything! <3 ))

“Worick?” Alex’s soft voice asked in curiosity as she noticed there were many vases around the house, filled with lots of colourful flowers. “Yes, Ally?” the platinum haired man lit up a cigarette, looking at the girl with a mischievous smile - He knew what she wanted to ask. “What’s with...All the flowers? Every day they keep adding up...What’s the occasion? I-I’m not saying they’re not beautiful, they are! And they smell gorgeous, it’s a really nice change to this place...But what’s with the sudden change?” she perked up, sniffing a blue flower. “Well, Ally, do you know who bought them?” Worick asked, exhaling, letting smoke come out of his mouth. “You bought them, right? Or are they from Nina?” Alex blinked in confusion, not understanding where the man was going to. “Nope. You’re wrong to the core. Care to try again?” the man chuckled, incredibly amused as he saw her eyes widen in shock “Don’t tell me...Nic bought them?!” she gasped, not comprehending the logic behind it. “You’ve got it right! Nic got them! All 7 vases, and all the different 5 coloured flowers.” he flicked the cigarette softly to get the burnt area out of the window. “But...Why? I didn’t see him as a guy who’d like flowers that much as to waste his money on them?” the girl tilted her head to the side, looking like a confused puppy. “You and me both, Alex! But I assure you, he doesn’t know that either. Buuuuut he knows something that you don’t~! Wanna know what it is?” Worick put out the cig, putting his arm around her shoulders, getting closer to her face. “What is it? Why is Nic buying flowers?!” she asked impatiently, not even caring that she’s so close to the man. “Nicolas is in loooooove~!” the blue eyed man cheered loudly, making the girl squeal in shock at the sudden loud noise, before realising what he just said. “WHAT?!” she gasped, not believing what she just heard. “Yeeees, you heard that right! Nic has a crush on the flower girl! She’s a reaaal cutie, I’m telling you...But not really my style. I’ve talked to her once, she’s perfect for him.” he grinned widely, seeing the girl’s curiosity. “I had no idea there was a flower shop around!” she scratched the back of her head sheepishly. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. There’s only one, but thankfully, she sells for both Twilights and Non-Twilights alike. What a sweet girl. Nic mentioned she started learning sign language for him, and she got a little white table with colourful markers. I’m sure you’d like her.” he winked at her, making her smile softly. “It would be nice to see them together one day. Think he’d ever bring her around?” she asked excitedly. “Nahhh, no way. This place is a dump. She’s sunshine incarnated, she deserves better. Oh, and, she’s a doctor working here because this was her mother’s shop or something like that.” he spoke as a matter of fact. “Woaw, a doctor...She must be so smart. Is she like Dr. Theo?” Alex was full of questions of this young woman that managed to capture the rough man’s heart. “Who knows? We’ll see, I guess. Unless...You want to spy on them one day.” Worick winked at her, nodding towards her to follow. “Come on, I have something to get from her since Nic can’t make it today.”

The h/c girl made a little braid on the side of her long hair as she read a new medical book she received yesterday, a soft smile evident on her face as the sunlight gently illuminated her face. Soft jazz music was heard throughout the little parlor and the mesmerising perfume of the infinite flowers was almost drunkening.

She didn’t even realise someone came in the shop, until the man greeted her with a friendly “Yoooo!” as if they’ve been friends since childhood.

“Oh, hello! Sorry I didn’t notice you, I got a bit too absorbed in this book. I’m Y/N, it’s very nice to see new faces around!” her grin was so dazzling that it almost made Alex blush. “It’s great to meet you too. I’m Worick and this is Alex. We’ve come here to pick something up, since my friend couldn’t come today. Know what I’m talking about?” he leaned on the counter, and just as he mentioned that friend, he saw a beautiful spark glow in her e/c eyes. “Oh, you’re Nic’s friends! I’m so happy to meet his friends, he spoke so fondly of you! I’ll give you the flowers in a sec, please wait!” she spoke enthusiastically, rushing in the back of the parlor to pic them up. “Told ya she’s a beauty.” Worick nudged the flustered woman as the owner of the shop came with a beautiful bouquet of blue hibiscus. “Here you go! I hope he likes them. Tell Nic I said hi, okay?” she handed the man the bouquet of blue flowers. “Red, orange, yellow, green, blue...Now indigo...These are the colours of the rainbow!” Alex gasped in realisation, making Y/N grin even wider. “Oh, yes, that’s exactly it! I promised Nic I would help him find out what’s his favourite colour and flower, so every day, I’d give him a bouquet of flowers, each day, a different colour of the rainbow. I’m so happy that someone realised that!” she clapped her hands enthusiastically. “He has 7 different vases at home, and in all of them, there are flowers of different colours, that’s how I realised. They are so beautiful!” Alex took a sniff of them, a smile forming on her face. “Aww, I’m so happy you like them! Hmm...Ah, I’ve got this! Wait a second...Wait a second...And this...A little bow...And here! This is for you! Blue orchids. They represent delicate beauty, power and stability. I think that suits you a lot, especially since they are the same colour as your eyes!” the girl’s eyes smiled with genuine emotion, as Alex could only stare at her with genuine shock. “N-No, I-I-I couldn’t possibly-...I have no money and-...” she kept ranting on, but the h/c girl only shook her head. “Don’t worry, it’s a gift. Any friend of Nic is definitely a nice person, so I don’t mind! Besides, I keep this place more as an emotional thing, since this was mum’s. All my money actually come from my other profession, so I’m not going to get broke by gifting flowers, you know?” she giggled softly, making the other girl blush even more. “Th-Thank you...Y/N. They are gorgeous. Thank you.” was the only think she could say, holding the flowers close to her. “Well, Ally, we have to go. Thanks for today, Y/N, see you around. Oh, and...Take care of Nic for me, will ya?” Worick winked at the girl, who only nodded and waved.

As the pair walked out of the place, Worick lit up his cigarette, looking up at the sky with a soft smile.

“So, Ally, what do you think of our new friend?” he asked with a tint of amusement in his voice. “I can see why Nic likes her. She’s so beautiful and bright...She is someone that this city needs. Do you think her smile is contagious? I think it is...I hope Nic gets to smile genuinely too.” the girl looked down with a soft smile at the flowers.

The end of the day soon arrived, and along with it, the end of the book that the girl was reading so attentively. When making gifts for people she cared about, she wanted to be 100% informed so as to not make any mistakes, but with this, there was no way she could possibly fail.

She wasn’t sure why she was willing to invest so much time and money on a gift for a person she just met barely a few day prior, but there was something in her heart that burned, screaming at her to do just that and not hesitate.

Y/N has always been a highly rational person, preferring to choose her brain over her feelings, which is possibly why she has always been alone. She never saw herself as an overly sociable person, but she didn’t think she was that disagreeable or intimidating, so the reason why people would treat her like a ghost unless they needed something truly irritated her endlessly, so she decided not to bother with people again.

It was bad enough that her mother, her only true friend, died, and her only family alive was her sister, who was a mean girl with some kind of personal vendetta against the Tags, only for the sake of being discriminatory.

Her trust in people went down the drain further when she experienced how even the people she would call “boyfriends” were nothing more than selfish nuisances that had to be completely cut off.

She completely dedicated herself to her work and to the little flower shop, re-naming it after her mother, so as long as she was surrounded by all the loving animals at the clinic and could be surrounded by flowers, as long as her pets would greet her every day in her gorgeously furnished house with the money that she worked so hard for, and as long as she could travel the world and see all the beauty that life has to offer...

Then she could live without others.

Well, that was quickly shattered when she met the man called Nicolas Brown, a deaf man that came by to buy flowers to gift Nina, the little nurse who helps Dr. Theo, since it was her birthday and he had no idea what to give her that she would actually like.

She didn’t know sign language, so she proposed to write on paper to understand everything, despite the man insisting that he can read her lips perfectly well. Y/N, as soon as she heard about Nina, knew exactly what to give the man, and even thanked him for taking care of the little ball of sunshine, which made him blink at her in surprise, then leave.

She thought that was the end of it, that she’d never see him again, and that was it.

Boy, was she wrong.

The next day, he came by her parlor again, but this time, with no actual reason. He just stared at her awkwardly, looking left and right, scratching at his cheek with his finger, trying to come up with some conversation idea, but he wasn’t used to conversing with anyone, so he just stood there.

Luckily for him, the girl started asking about his favourite colours and flowers, which made them both realise he never even thought of such trivial things...But it was nice to not have to think about fights, death and problems, and just stay calmly to look at flowers...And just...Be mundane.

Much to the girl’s glee, Nicolas’s visits became frequent, so the girl offered to help him find out his favourite flowers and colours, but really, all she wanted was to spend more time with him, because, for the first time in ages, she could feel her heart moving like never before.

She felt alive around Nicolas.

She even bought a little whiteboard with lots of colourful markers so they could write as creatively and colourful as they wanted, encouraging him to try out anything he wanted.

Seeing that he was pretty interested in these little things, she bought him those adult anti-stress and anxiety colouring books with flowers and got him tons of crayolas and markers in all shades existent, letting him hang around and colour whatever he wanted.

Much was her surprise when he asked her to draw one page while he drew the other, which made her cheeks get a tint rosier from happiness.

On the free time between colouring, she would learn sign language and would get help from him to perfect it, because she was so sloppy and messy at the beginning that she somehow managed to tell Nic to kiss his own face with a chair, which made him laugh quite a lot.

Very soon, the end of the 7 days came by, and she had to choose the last flower, a violet one, but what could she give him to make it have a lasting impression...

Oh, of course, easy question!

She waited anxiously for the man to arrive as she made the bouquet be more beautiful than ever before, then went to the counter to look through a fashion magazine she had laying around, and when evening came and the Sun started to set, the man arrived, looking a bit tired, but his expression softened as soon he laid his eyes upon her peaceful visage.

She raised her face, looking at him with big, sparkly doe eyes, only to realise it was him, which made her quickly jump to her feet and get in front of him, and to him, she looked so bright that he thought he was staring at the Sun.

Nicolas signed slow enough for her to understand that he couldn’t stay for too long, so she nodded and got the bouquet, handing it to him gently, with a sad smile.

“Do you like them?” Y/N asked, also signing to make sure he understands what she was saying. “Yes. What are they called?” he signed slowly, gazing at the small flowers. “They are called Forget-Me-Not flowers. They are most usually given to people that you don’t want to get forgotten by.” the girl blushed faintly, as she noticed his eyes grow bigger, than looking away, scratching the back of his head. “I...Could never forget you.” he spoke out loud for the first time, making the girl’s heart beat faster than ever before. “You have a beautiful voice. I wish you’d speak more.” she smiled tenderly at him, which only made his cheeks flare up. “Wanna go for a walk?” he asked again, extending his hand towards the girl. “I’d love that.” she quickly closed the shop, taking her purse and intertwining her fingers with his, they started walking around the town aimlessly.

This supposed ‘Aimless’ wasn’t, however, as random as she thought, as Nic guided her to one of the tallest buildings in town, and without too much warnings, expect telling her to hold tightly to him, he started jumping from wall to wall until they got on top, where they could see the Sun setting down, and the sky being painted in a myriad of colours.

They sat down on the edge of the roof, dangling their feet, still holding hands, enjoying the peaceful silence that engulfed them, until he started speaking again.

“I don’t know what my favourite colour is. The rainbow is nice. But this is nice too.” Nic slurred slowly, making the girl look at him with a gentle look in her eyes. “Nature paints everything with the most beautiful colours. Don’t you want to see the world? See all the beauty that it has to offer?” she asked with a smile on her face. “I’m a Tag, I can’t leave this place.” he signed, his eyes looking at her with a certain kind of hurt that broke her heart. “Actually, there are exceptions. I read the law, they say that a single Twilight can leave this place if a Non-Twilight vouches for them and stays with them at all times.” she smiled even brighter as she saw his eyes widen in shock. “Really?” he signed, as she nodded vigurously. “Then...Where do you want to go first?” Nic offered her a mischievous smirk, making her throw her arms around him. “You’re gonna love it!” she exclaimed, as she felt his arms slowly engulf her in a warm embrace. “Your voice...Is beautiful.” he murmured, barely comprehensible. “What do you mean?” Y/N asked, looking at him with curious eyes. “Your voice’s vibrations are...Warm and soothing.” he explained, burying his face in her hair, drawing her closer to his chest.

Her chest was glued to his, and she could feel his heart beating so fast, so loud, mimicking hers, almost as if they were beating in sync, as one. The emotions they felt were explosive, so powerful, something so pure and warm that was meant to put an end to all of their previous suffering and distress, all the betrayal, the disappointment, the anger and sorrow they’ve ever experienced.

The embrace lasted for them like a whole timeline ending, and after they pulled apart, timidly looking at each other’s eyes, they leaned in, her hands on his shoulders, while one of his was on the back of her head, while the other was cupping one of her cheeks, their lips met in a soft kiss, almost as if afraid that the other would disappear.

But soon, all the emotions their hearts harboured were unleashed, pulling each other closer, the kiss deepening, warmth and love emanating from both of them like never before.

Love

A feeling that neither of them ever hoped to genuinely feel again, and yet, here they were, fate having brought them together to fulfill destiny and mend each other’s wounds.

They stood on the edge of the roof for a few more hours, watching as the Sun went completely down and stars embellished the dark sky with beautiful diamonds sparkling and twinkling endlessly, while the silver light of the Mother Moon was guarding them with her healing light.

----

Nicolas’s birthday came sooner than expected, but for some reason, he forgot about it. Well, it’s not a surprise, that boy had no sense of self-worth, the girl quickly realised, so she naturally took the role of a nurturing and always-attentive girlfriend for him, wanting to make sure he takes care of himself properly.

But today was the day...

Today was Nicolas’s birthday.

Well, not yet, really, as it was not yet midnight, but the way he lay on the girl’s bed while watching TV absent-minded made it easy for Y/N to sneak to the other room and bring the man’s gift without him realising.

When the clock was 12 sharp, she turned on the light and putting the box on the table, making sure he wouldn’t get what it was, he dragged him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, and she could barely resist his confused puppy face.

“Can you close your eyes and only open them when I kiss you?” she signed fast, excitement obvious on her face. “Why?” he asked in a low, confused voice. “It’s a surprise!” the girl booped her nose, only for him to stick out his tongue at her, like a puppy would blep, making her giggle at how cute he looked, kissing him to close his eyes.

She then took the box and took out the hearing devices, gently sitting on his lap and adjusting them to his ears, before caressing his face and giving him a passionate kiss like never before.

“What did you do?” he signed, still smiling from the kiss.

Instead of answering right away, the girl showed him the box that had “HEARING AIDS” written with huge letters, which only made his eyes widen in shock.

“Say something. I want to hear you.” he signed fast, not wanting his voice to be the first thing he hears. “I love you, Nic.” she said, her soft hands resting on his rough visage, and the love she saw in his eyes, hearing her velvety voice that soothed his heart and soul, for the first time... “I love you too, Y/N.” he spoke, cringing a bit at his own voice, but...He missed on so much not hearing her voice. “How...Why...?” his voice was trembling from all the emotions he felt, all at once, flooding him. “It’s your birthday. You are a good person, Nic. You deserve to have your hearing back. So...Happy birthday, sweetheart. I love you.” she kissed his forehead softly, as he quickly threw his arms around her, rolling on the bed, to be able to hold her tighter to him. “I don’t deserve you, Y/N. I really don’t. But thank you...And don’t ever leave me. I love you, Y/N.” he forced himself to speak more, knowing very well that he’ll have to work on his speaking to make it normal, at least to some degree. “You deserve the world, darling, and don’t worry, I’ll never leave you. I promise.” she cooed gently at him, playing with his hair soothingly. “I was right...You truly have the most beautiful voice in the world.” he muttered, closing his eyes to prevent any tear to escape his eyes.

He knew he didn’t deserve such a wonderful woman in his life, but he wasn’t going to deny anything, especially not her pure and genuine love for him. He was going to treasure her and make sure she knows she is the most special person in the world for him.

Because...

Nicolas Brown loves Y/N L/N with all his heart.

#gangsta x reader #gangsta imagine #gangsta #nicolas brown imagine #nicolas brown x reader #nicolas brown #nina #dr. theo #worick arcangelo #alex benedetto

578 notes · View notes

pinkykitten · 4 years ago

Text

everything stays

chapter 1 - blood on her hands :: gisela klein [ an aot oc story ]

note: hey guys i know its been a rlly long time since ive posted anything and u may be rlly let down and underwhelmed that ive chosen to write a aot oc instead of fanfic but its what i want to write and i rlly love my oc and wanna give her some love and some praise and let u a little in how i see her. im sorry i havent posted a lot im going to try to write more and who knows i may or may not finish this but its ok imma try lol but life sometimes is a butthole. i hope you love her as much as i do an tysm for taking time out of ur day to read this story. enjoy!

Even though she knew that this day would have to come and that it was near, it still was a surprise for her. She was taken aback. It didn’t make sense and add up to her; she was trained for this since she was little; preparing mentally and physically for phase one of the plan; and the day appeared through the trees; past the wall; the opportunity was present; the fate of the people were waiting in their hands; and yet she felt a sense of evilness within her heart. Was this right? But there was no time.

The day was written down in history. The stories were spread around like a disease. Heights, jaws, teeth, feet, stench, the screams. If they survived that nightmare they were seen as a tough soldier; as someone that was applauded because they probably had PTSD and had to see everyday as a reason within themselves or God that they were alive. That maybe just maybe they were saved for a reason; for a purpose. That is what Gisela Klein thought. Maybe there was something greater out there for her to do, to accomplish and that was why she saw another day; breathed another breath.

But one thing was for sure. Forgiveness would never come her way; she would never expect it. To be a warrior she had to endure the horror; the pain; feelings of worthlessness; and friendships lost.

This is the story of the 10th finding titan; the Slash Titan.

The pounding of her heart rang through her ears. It had taken everything for her to keep going on this journey; to continue on the path to and through Hell. She felt a loss within her and the light in her eyes died out. The loss of her friend made it hard for her to function. To keep her head in the game and in the plan.

She sighed as she stared at her hands. Broken and bruised like her heart; scars and scratches scattered on her skin. Her bite mark deeply engraved into her flesh. She heaved a huge sigh. Ready to give death a handshake and make a deal with the devil. Panic was rising in her chest from her stomach, almost ready to throw up.

As she thought about her family back home she realized there was no other way; she had to do this. In order to be with her family, to save them she had to do the one thing she was trained to do.

Kill.

A lightning strike shot over the wall. The wall that kept the monsters away and at bay. Something was wrong; the air seemed to change. The lightning strike caused a boom, clap and the ground started to shake.

Bertholdt drew his leg back and with full force swung his leg forward, knocking a hole into the wall that was impenetrable. Many people flew back from the wind of the blow and some were crushed by the debris of the wall.

Many were going to die; but it’s what needed to be done.

The titans were called.

Finally the titans entered the devils homes and started to rip up their lives. “This is right, this is right.” Gisela had to keep reminding herself. “For my family.” And something snapped within her. The image of her mother, tortured, flashed in her mind. And suddenly everything was worth it. “No regrets.”

Gisela eyed Reiner, an agreement, a sign. She exhaled and in a quick motion placed her hand to her mouth and bit into it. In a spark she transformed into her titan form. Her eyes were much like a cats, sharp. She was made into the slash titan, she was chosen for this program. Her titans fingers were like sharp knives, able to cut any object or person. They hung a little past her knees.

Reiner then transformed and both stomped past the hole. Many citizens glanced up, horrified. Gisela and Reiner were titans never seen before.

She nodded to Reiner, bent down and started to pick up debris and pieces of houses to throw over the bigger wall. The chunks started to smash against people. Blood splattering everywhere. Gisela almost wanted to close her eyes from the immense amount of dead bodies piled on top of others, graves upon graves.

She was hauling boulders as high and fast as she could. Her titan held a high amount of power and strength. Being slim, muscular and as tall as the armored titan and female titan. Reiner took a step back and gained his speed to go onward to destroy the bigger wall.

“Fire!” Their soldiers cried out. Fear evident on their face. They shot their cannons, not even slowing down Reiner. Gisela continued flinging, wanting to create a path for Reiner. She was faster than before and many of her hits flattened the men in the front lines. Their screams and cries loud.

“Close the gate!” They tried, it was their last hope to save humanity. But it was not enough. Reiner broke the wall and killed those running and they went flying. They reached even higher than Gisela. It astounded her almost, they seemed like helpless birds flying high in the sky; but that thought was quickly wiped clean because the second they flew up in the air they came straight down with much force that many parts of their bodies broke.

Reiner did what he needed to do, he opened up a way for the titans to get in and they were swarming by the bunches.

In the distance, the survivors fled in boats across the river to get into the other walls. Gisela put herself in their shoes for a second. They had reason to be scared. Everything they have ever known was gone; their houses, loved ones, food, a place to feel the most comfortable you can feel despite situations; it was all gone. Gisela shook the thought out, not caring about these cruel humans feelings. They had none. No emotions. Gisela had to believe that thought; what she was told, she had to believe it with all her heart, or else what was real?

They waited till they were able to not be seen and Gisela turned human first and then so did Reiner. The four of them hopped on the boat. Talking amongst themselves. The wind howled through the vacant homes. Destruction everywhere. Gisela looked around her setting and saw a little girl had been crushed because a tree fell on her, her doll mere inches away from her grasp. She died with her eyes open; almost looking into Gisela’s soul through the eyes. Gisela’s body trembled and she threw up.

“Don’t.”

Gisela looked up to see Reiner wiping blood and debris off his clothes. He picked his sleeve and turned Gisela’s head to look away, he wiped her chin and mouth off the puke. He saw the trauma in her eyes and felt guilty. But it’s what needed to be done. He kept telling himself that the more he did this the more he would understand and get used to it. It was still all new to her and he had to be strong for her. He knelt in front of her small frame. “It’s not your fault. They needed to die. We are in this together. You don’t need them. Look at me.”

Gisela looked into his eyes, away from the sadness. His eyes carried the feeling of wanting to be wanted. That was always what Reiner wanted. But they also had fear in his eyes.

“Stop acting like you’re in control when I know how sick you feel. I know how afraid you are Reiner.”

He paused and took a look at his hands and others surrounding him. “You’re right. But I made a promise to Marcel.”

They joined the other citizens arriving at the food reserves. The master of disguise was needed in this mission. People needed to see four hungry, depressed children that survived the fall of their homes, not mass murderers.

Annie was only able to fetch two loaves. “Alright, who's the most hungry?”

“You girls should eat, you’re more feeble.” Bertholdt sat on a crate, pointing to Gisela and Annie.

Annie tsked, moving a bang from her eyes, “who says girls are more feeble? I recall kicking your ass all those times in training.”

“You guys can eat it, I’m not hungry.” Gisela sat on the other crate and saw the chaos of the crowds. A boy caught her interest. He had dark brown hair, tan skin, and light blue green eyes. He was having bread shoved in his mouth and he seemed to have such a strong personality to him. If only Gisela felt so strongly about her motive and her placement in this life.

“You really should eat, you need your energy after all you did.” Annie broke all the loaves in half and shared it amongst the four of you. “It’s not much but at least it's something.”

Gisela sighed, “you’re right. Thanks.”

After that day there was land given to only a few refugees but there were too many of them. Luckily the four of them had a piece of land that was enough until further inching themselves within society. Through that whole span each day was getting easier and easier living with the lies and day by day Gisela felt more at sure with herself and knowing that she could fulfill this mission. Pills and alcohol helped the pain and ease the thoughts. She taught herself to put a gap between what she came here to do and feelings. She told herself every day that nobody else mattered except her family and Reiner. She trained her brain to not care, to not have strings attached or any love for anything. It was all a play, all a rehearsal for when the curtain would fall. She was readying herself for that fall. Everyday she educated herself more on these scums. What they liked, wanted, needed, craved for, and what they craved more than ever in their life was freedom.

She trained her body as if it were her last day, barely getting sleep. The face of her mother haunting her every night making her get up at three in the morning to do pushups or sit ups. Not only was her mind getting stronger but also her body. Even Reiner would make jokes noticing the muscles that would appear. The six pack that formed on her stomach. Her thighs growing tight and firm, her arms growing stronger. The sweat growing on her forehead longer.

With her body growing her relationship with Reiner also changed. They no longer were the tiny children that didn’t understand anatomy or the air between two people. Reiner and Gisela’s relationship was of being flirty, sharing a few kisses here and there, trying to be a couple but then yelling at each other and breaking it up and realizing maybe this isn’t right a million times. Even Bertholdt and Annie were getting tired of their outbursts. But each time they made up to be friends only and then the cycle started where the feelings came in the way and they wanted to be more. They would tease each other, especially Reiner. They were each other's best friends. Gisela was like one of the boys, loud, obnoxious, burping all the time, Reiner would get a look at her and smirk thinking he taught her well. When Reiner looked at her he felt at home and that everything was going to be okay. Her nightmares continued and each time Reiner would come to her room and hold her, let her cry into his arms. She felt he was the only person that knew her pain.

Gisela understood many things in life and for once she understood her life here, she understood why she was born and chosen.

It was the following year and in order to get closer to finding the founding titan the four became part of the 104th cadet corps.

“Are you ready to train more?” Gisela nudged Reiner, eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean train more? This is going to be a new but scary experience honestly.” Reiner spoke as if he was a different person. As if he didn’t have a life outside of the walls.

“Reiner?” Gisela placed her hand on his shoulder, steadying him. He looked fine on the outside but Gisela knew the issues were inside, his mind. She knew this was becoming disastrous to him, he was starting to have almost two personalities, two lives, two worlds, two people. Gisela tried to tell Annie or Bertholdt, they saw it too but there was nothing they could do.

All that Gisela could do was smile as they made their way to the first day of training.

note: again ty y’all sm!!!! If u liked it lmk and this is kinda new for me cuz I usually don’t post my ocs stories here or much at all but I’m rlly excited for y’all to see her and for y’all to know this oc of mine and hopefully accept her ❤️

Taglist: @witchofinterest @chlobenet @eddysocs @fpxloomis @whctsherncme-archive @ocfairygodmother @fandomchick80 @ocappreciationtag

27 notes · View notes

panda-noosh · 5 years ago

Text

set me free {Draco Malfoy x Reader}

Words: 12.3k

Summary: Death Eaters aren’t supposed to care.

Genre: angst

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - please let me know if you guys would like a part two to this?? because i feel like there’s a lot more i could explore. anyway, enjoy!!

----

You're getting used to waking up in a new place everyday.

The spell wears off after twelve hours, the perfect amount of time for them to move you from one place to another. It does not matter how many times you tell them you will go willingly; they never listen. They don't want to risk it, don't want to put up with a little half-blood, only fresh out of Hogwarts, screaming and kicking in an attempt to get released.

Lord Voldemort has too much to worry about already.

Your eyes peel open slowly. That familiar headache is at the forefront, the first thing you feel besides the cold concrete pressing against your tender cheek. Your hands are shackled, but the chains are useless; you're always weak when you first awaken, much too weak to attempt an escape, and they know that. The level of magic they use on you would be enough to paralyse anyone.

You look up. The room you are in is small – as they often are – and doused in uncomfortable darkness. A little light glows from beneath the door, and above your head you can hear people walking back and forth, the odd whimper coming from whatever victim Voldemort has acquired today. Water drips steadily from a hole in the concrete roof, slapping against the back of your hand which lay flat on the floor; you clench your fist just to make sure your fingers are still working, that he hasn't taken the extra precaution of damaging your limbs, too.

You push yourself up at long last, though the effort is exhausting. Your head feels too heavy, and your limbs too sluggish, and the idea of facing the day weighs you down to the point where you're half tempted to just lay back down and pretend to sleep. Maybe you can convince them they've finally gone too far, used too much magic, killed you entirely on accident.

But you don't, because your curiosity gets the better of you, just as it often does.

You stand on wobbly legs and make your way over to the cell-like door locking you in. You push it, getting a surprise when the door actually opens to reveal a concrete staircase leading up to a rickety looking wooden door at the very top. You poke your head out, glance left and right before slowly making your way towards it.

You know you shouldn't be doing this. Lord Voldemort will order someone to come get you when he wants your presence, but you currently have no idea where you are or who is present, and that's all the sentiment you need to find yourself breaking the rules these days. You were in Slytherin for a reason, whether that reason be as extreme as Voldemort's or not.

Behind the wooden door there is a hallway. Long, empty, eerily decorated with portraits of dark wizards you have only seen in the history books. They grin as you slowly make your way past them, trailing your bruised and cracked fingers along the emerald green wallpaper that almost seems to shine beneath the lights cast upon it. Your feet – bare, bruised, cold – sink into a plush carpet of the same colour – the Slytherin colours.

And part of you recognises this place. You're certain you've seen it before, somewhere, maybe a long time ago, maybe recently. Either way, it makes your blood run cold, a startling fight or flight response settling in the pit of your stomach that you pay no attention to. You couldn't fight if you tried considering Voldemort has your wand, and the idea of trying to flee from him is scarier even than walking through these strangely familiar hallways.

You turn a corner, appearing at yet another large wooden door. It's a double door this time with a brass knocker and shiny gold handles; you approach, slowly open the door-

You realise your mistake only too late.

A spark of green light misses you by inches. It's only because you haven't even got the door fully open yet that the magic whizzes past you, slamming into the wall at your side. A painting cries out and slips down the wall. Inside the mysterious room, chairs are scraping backwards and people are calling out to whoever they believe is behind it – you close your eyes, uttering a curse to yourself that you could be so stupid.

“Open that door immediately, please.”

It's his ice cold voice that makes you step forward, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to turn and run, pretend it was someone else. You enter the room – clearly the dining room – and bow to Lord Voldemort, and Lord Voldemort only. These other wizards pretending to be big and bad can all get locked up in Azkaban in your opinion.

Lord Voldemort smiles. It's fake, and you know it is, but it calms your nerves anyway – maybe he won't be so angry at your intrusion, at the fact you took matters into your own hands and decided to have a stroll around this very large, very confusing mansion.

“Ah. Y/N's awake,” he says, not unlike a husband telling his wife that the child has stirred. “How was your rest?”

“Fine.”

He stiffens.

You quickly correct yourself. “Fine, my lord. Exactly what I needed.”

He grins again, the skin stretching grotesquely across his nose-less face. You want to look away, but keep your eyes forward in fear of offending him.

“And I can see you've made your way around Lucius's mansion just fine on your own. That's good. We don't have to waste time with the tour.”

You flick your gaze over to Lucius – you know him, of course, have seen him parading around Voldemort's feet for nearly as long as you've been here.

“This is your home, is it, sir?” you ask.

Lucius looks up, scowling. “It is. The home of me and my family.” He gestures vaguely to his right, and there you see the rest of them. You don't know why you didn't recognise each of them immediately, because you've heard all about them from Hogwarts.

Standing beside the head of the house is Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco, both of whom look miserable. Narcissa holds herself with the same tough restraint as her husband, pretending she's meant to be here when in reality, she looks so far out of her comfort zone it almost makes you feel bad for her.

Draco, however, isn't even trying. He looks at you, lower lip wobbling, eyes wide, because he knows exactly who you are and where you've come from. He went to school with you before the Daily Prophet was writing about your sudden disappearance, before the wizarding world took a week to look for you before ruling your disappearance off as a murder and leaving it at that.

“Draco,” you say, giving him a bow. “Lovely to see you again.”

“Ah!” Voldemort exclaims, clapping his hands. Around him, Death Eaters flinch, but you've gotten used to his dramatics. “I had a suspicion you two might know each other – you were in the same year at Hogwarts, were you not?”

The question is aimed at Draco, but you answer. “We were, my lord. Both in Slytherin.”

“Interesting. Quite a coincidence.” Voldemort gestures to the empty space beside him, and you stiffen, already knowing what he is offering. “Have a seat, Y/N. Meetings always do feel a little flat without my favourite little helper by my side.”

Nagini hisses, as if scolding you for taking her place as favourite. You give the snake a glance before slowly making your way to Voldemort's side; it's only with all these eyes on you do you take into consideration what you look like. Your hair, a tattered mess, clothes ripped and ragged. You wouldn't even go as far as to call them clothes, more like rags magicked together into something that can cover your body.

You sit down on the ground next to Voldemort. Nagini slips into your lap, swipes a tongue over your fingers before settling down around your shoulders; Death Eaters stare in awe, wondering how on earth you have somehow managed to tame the beast they are all so afraid of.

You look Lucius Malfoy dead in the eyes and stroke the top of the snakes head.

Voldemort smiles down at you for a second longer before he turns back to the table and continues with whatever meeting you had previously so rudely interrupted.

You can't even bring yourself to listen. You're exhausted, brain still reeling from the effects of the unknown magic used against you. You want to close your eyes, try sleeping again – for real, this time – but the weight of the snake in your lap and the tension in the room keeps you bolt upright, staring around at the Death Eaters Voldemort wants you to call family, but will never be family to you.

Your eyes land on Draco. He's not looking at you, because he's wise and he knows his place. Instead, he keeps his gaze dead ahead, hands locked in his lap like a boy terrified of his first day of school. His lower lip continues to shudder, but his parents offer not a single word of sympathy – nobody does. Around him, Death Eaters are in the same position – goodness, even his father looks a little frightened, refusing to look up to meet the eyes of the man they claim to adore so much.

Man. Even that term is used loosely in regards to Lord Voldemort.

The scariest part is, he knows it.

“Y/N here was kind enough to let me borrow their wand.”

You look down at your lap. “My pleasure, my lord.”

You can hear his nails clicking against the wood of your wand, the one thing you have ever truly cared about. It's in his possession now, but you were never under any illusion that it was ever fully yours once Voldemort took you under his control; as soon as Voldemort brought you along with him, every one of your possessions became his. Nonetheless, you have to curl your fingers into fists to stop yourself from reaching out and snatching your wand back. That will end badly for everyone.

“Ten inches, made of hawthorn wood with a. . . What was the core again, Y/N?”

“Unicorn hair, my lord.”

“Unicorn hair.” Voldemort chuckles; the sound slurs through his lipless mouth, and you shudder. “Not as powerful as my own, but sometimes we're not looking for power. Sometimes, we're looking for quick escapes. Isn't that right, Peter?”

A knee smashes against the bottom of the table. “Y-yes, m-my lord. Of course you are correct. Always correct.”

You scowl; you've never liked Peter Pettigrew.

“Thank you, Peter,” Voldemort purrs. “Always so supportive. And what about you, Draco? How do you feel?”

Draco looks up, and so do you. You aren't entirely sure why, considering you've always found it so easy to listen to the suffering of the Death Eaters when Voldemort is questioning them; however, there is something about the way Draco's silence stretches that little bit too long, the way Voldemort's sickly smile slowly begins to drop, the way Lucius leans across the table and hisses, “Draco, answer him!” that has you pulling yourself to your feet, Nagini still balanced over your shoulders.

“Perhaps it is safe to assume Draco is a little bit tired, my lord,” you say.

Everyone around the table goes still. Dolohov utters, “Stupid little wizard,” beneath his breath, but you pay him no mind. Already you have interrupted Voldemort's questioning; you do not want to make it any worse by turning your attention to someone else. You'll get Dolohov later.

Slowly, Voldemort turns to look at you. “Did I say you could stand, Y/N?”

“No, my lord, but I just-”

“You claim Draco is tired.”

You falter. “Y-yes, my lord. I made the suggestion that he is tired, and perhaps that is why he is taking a little bit of time to gather his wits today.” You glance at Draco, who stares at you with wide, watery eyes. “Us youngsters are forever messing up our sleep schedules; you must understand, my lord, he means no disrespect.”

“I'm feeling good,” Draco blurts out, the words rushing so fast from his mouth that his body jerks along with them, shaking the unused cutlery on the table. “I'm feeling very well, my lord. Of course I am. I'm here, aren't I?”

Despite Draco's long-winded answer, Voldemort keeps his eyes trained on you. Slowly, he reaches a hand up and strokes the top of Nagini's head – his finger is so close to your cheek now, close enough that you can feel the wind from each of his strokes. Back and forth and back and forth, Nagini humming in contentment as she bundles a little tighter around your shoulders.

“Good,” Voldemort says quietly. “I'm glad to hear it, Draco.”

You swallow thickly. He continues staring at you for a moment longer before he says, “Pettigrew.”

Again, Peter jumps, his knee slamming against the underside of the table. “Y-yes, m-my l-l-lord?”

“Take Y/N back to their rooms – you know the one. I will have a chat with them later on.”

Peter stands up immediately, wrapping his tiny little fingers around your upper arm. You continue staring at Voldemort until Peter tugs on your arm and drags you from the room, uttering incoherences under his breath. As the door begins to shut, you cast yet another, final glance over your shoulder, feeling your stomach flip when your eyes meet Draco's.

The door slams shut, and you're thrown back into the dungeon.

----

“Sometimes keeping your mouth shut doesn't ensure safety, young Malfoy.”

The darkness responds with silence, as you knew it would. Leaned up against the back wall of the dungeon, knees drawn to your chest, you can make out only the subtle silhouette of Draco Malfoy, leaning against the wall just outside your door, waiting for you to notice him, waiting for you to ignore him, waiting for the moment he can look at you and say you're fine, so he can go on about his day without feeling guilty.

“I am okay,” you call out, never looking up from the patterns you have scraped into the concrete using a rock. “I have much more experience with the Dark Lord than you do, Draco. We all make mistakes.”

There is a sigh, followed by footsteps, and then Draco is there, pale fingers curled around the bars of the door, sharp face illuminated by the light from his wand. “You've been here this entire time. A Death Eater.”

Your skin crawls at the name, the mark on your wrist burning. “I don't like being called Death Eater, Malfoy.”

“Why not? That's what you are. That's why you're here.”

“By here, do you mean the dungeon in your home? By here, do you mean trapped against my will, saving your stupid backside from getting hung up from the rafters like your precious little Muggle Studies teacher?”

Draco doesn't reel back. He doesn't even flinch. If possible, his gaze only continues to soften as he looks at you, and you're certain you must look pathetic right now. Curled in the corner of this dungeon wearing clothes that wouldn't even be considered humane, wandless and angry. Oh, a sight you must be, a joke to the world outside.

You look down at the floor and continue to scrape your name – over and over again – into the concrete. In case you forget you ever had one before all this.

The bars of the door creak as Draco leans against them. “Nobody back at Hogwarts would have suspected you becoming a Death Eater.”

“Don't-”

“Whatever you are. A helper. All I'm trying to say is, you were one of the better Slytherins. People truly thought you'd been murdered.”

“Oh, goodie.”

“And yet here you are.”

You pause. “Yet here I am.”

This conversation is pointless. You want him to leave so you can continue wallowing in fear on your own; this darkness is no place for someone like him, someone who can't even sit at the grandest, most prestigious table in the wizarding world without choking up. He's no Death Eater – you could see that much from the moment his lip started trembling.

“You didn't have to jump to my rescue out there, either,” he says.

You close your eyes, thumping your head back against the wall. “You were just sat there.”

“He was going to kill me, wasn't he? If I didn't answer.”

You shrug. “He gives out chances sometimes.”

“Only to you.” Draco steps forward, curling his fingers around the bars. “What makes you so special, Y/N?”

You find yourself smiling, flicking your eyes to him. He reels back at the glare, so different from the joyful, carefree eyes you used to hold when making potions in Snape's classroom, or studying in the Slytherin common room.

“Wouldn't we all like to know?”

The dungeon goes quiet, nothing more than the drip, drip, drip of water smacking against concrete ringing out between you. Draco shouldn't be here, of course. You can't imagine Voldemort granting him access to your 'chambers' after what he did, and certainly not before the Dark Lord himself has given you your reprieve for the way you acted back in the Malfoy's dining room. The punishment he will bestow upon you won't be light, will certainly not be merciful; you disappointed him, his closest confidant making him look like a fool in front of a room full of his most loyal supporters.

To make matters worse, you are only seventeen years old, barely just turned the legal age for a wizard.

You lean your head back and close your eyes. “When is he getting here?”

“I don't know.”

“You could find out.”

Draco doesn't respond.

You sigh heavily. “But you won't, of course. You're scared of him. Your master.”

“He's not-” Draco stops abruptly. Even in the dim torchlight you can see his blue eyes flick to his wrist, where the Dark Mark is burned into his flesh for good.

You smile. “He is. He owns you now, Draco – that's what that mark means, in case you forgot.”

“Shut up.”

“I don't understand why you're so scared of something you willingly signed up for.”

“I'm not scared. I'd be stupid to go against him – the strongest wizard of our time, of course I bit my tongue!”

“You bit your tongue at the wrong time.” Draco's eyes trace a line along the column of your throat before landing back on your gaze. “He's a bit more lenient with us, Malfoy, because we're the young ones, the ones who will follow in his footsteps if he plays his cards right. But that doesn't mean he's going to let you get away with complete ignorance, and what you showed at that table today – he'll see that as ignorance.”

Draco purses his lips and looks away, because he knows you're right. You've been by the Dark Lord's side since you were fourteen years old, learning the ways of his followers, building your way up the ladder until you could sit beside his throne and hold his beloved python across your shoulders.

“You pretend you know everything about him.” Draco's whisper sounds more like a hiss echoing through the eerie dungeon, Parceltongue. “You think you're in his head just because he chose you.”

“Trust me, Draco; you'd know if I was inside his head. I would not be talking to you as an equal if I was inside his head.”

Draco slams his hand against the bars. “What is it about you? He acts like you're – you're some kind of god-send, and then he locks you up in this dungeon. What have you got that enamours him so much, and what are you missing that makes him hate you just as much?”

The words claw, scrape, make your chest constrict because each question is one you have been wondering for a very, very long time. You gave up trying to get the answers.

You stare at Draco, unmoving, showing no emotion. It's a trick you've learned to master over the years, and it does its job. Draco keeps your gaze for only a moment before he huffs out a breath, looks to the floor and pushes away from the door, muttering curses beneath his breath.

“You should leave, Draco,” you say softly. “Before Mummy and Daddy catch you down here. They wouldn't like you talking to the prisoner in rags, would they?”

“And leave you down here on your own?”

“I think I'll manage.” You tap the concrete with your palm, a slap sound that makes Draco wince as it bounces along the walls imprisoning you. “It's awfully comfortable in here, you know.”

Draco shakes his head. “I'll see where he is.”

His voice is so quiet; you lean forward and say, “Come again?”

“I'll see where he is,” he repeats, louder, stronger. “And then I'll be back, okay?” “Don't put yourself in danger for me, Malfoy. I'm only in here because I saved you earlier – I won't be there to save you this time.”

Draco glares. “I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this to show I'm not afraid. He chose me just as much as he chose you – he'll show kindness.”

Your heart aches for that glimmer of hope etched into his voice, evidence of the innocent boy he once was roaming the halls of Hogwarts with his friends, learning new spells and charms and potions as the world crumbled around him and he knew nothing of its severity. He stares at you for a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving; you wait until you hear the wooden door slam closed before you close your eyes and let the tears slip silently down your face.

---

Draco doesn't return. The next person to open the door of your cell is Lucius himself, tall and white haired with a sneer that makes you want to punch him.

You pull yourself up from the floor, hands behind your back. It's reflex to give the older man a bow, one he does not return; this could mean two things, you have learned – he either doesn't respect you, or he thinks he's too good to bow back to the younger generation. He doesn't think you've earned that kind of kinship just yet.

“Sir,” you say. “I wasn't expecting you.”

“No,” Lucius replies. “You were expecting the Dark Lord, weren't you?”

You don't reply. He's asking stupid questions, questions he already knows the answer to.

“I'm afraid he's too busy to see to you right now,” Lucius continues. “So he's sent me in his stead.”

“You must be honoured, sir.”

A smile twitches at his lips, though he fights to remain stoic and professional; it should be easy to wriggle under this idiots skin. People who have no other personality trait than Death Eater are easy enough to manipulate when you've been doing it for so long.

“He's asked me to use Cruciatus on you for now,” Lucius explains.

“Oh. He's going easy on me. He really is generous, don't you think?”

Lucius's eyes snap down to your own. “Generous?”

“He could do so much worse with a power like his,” you reply, nodding enthusiastically; there's a sick sense of pleasure in watching this grown man's face scrunch up in confusion, horror almost. “When he took my wand, for example; leaving someone defenceless in a world like this is a big, big punishment, Mr Malfoy. If your son ever steps out of line, I would highly recommend giving it a go.”

Sorry, Draco.

Lucius opens his mouth, but words seem to fail him. He raises a brow, shakes his head and tries again. “I didn't come down here to take suggestions on how to raise my son, Y/N. I'm a busy man – let's get this over with.”

“Busy doing what, sir?” you ask, even as you press your back against the wall. “If you don't mind me asking.”

Again, Lucius falters. “Busy serving the Dark Lord, as we all should be.” You nod as if you understand, as if his words aren't pathetic. “Oh, yes. Of course. Right you are there, sir, right you are!”

Lucius scowls, pulls his wand from behind his back, and you seize the moment as soon as you can. It's difficult, forcing a blinding pain to the forefront of your mind that you only just manage to fight off before it completely consumes you; you've been without a wand for only a handful of days, so you're a little rusty when it comes to disarming in this way, but that scowl on his face makes it a little bit easier.

The pull is painful, yet satisfying. Lucius's fingers twitch, his wand shivering in his grip; he just has time to say “What-” before you jerk your head and the wand is flying towards you, the wandless version of Expelliarmus that took far too long for you to learn.

You lurch forward and snatch the wand from the air before pointing it at Lucius; the wand feels strange, fighting against it's new owner, but it still works – it has to, that much you learned from Ollivander.

Lucius stumbles forward, catches himself on the wall before you cry out, “Petrificus totalus!” and his entire body goes still. He clatters to the floor, lifeless eyes staring up at the concrete ceiling.

You stand over him, wand pointed at his chest. “You look pathetic, sir. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Lucius doesn't reply – of course he doesn't. You grin down at him, tilt your head before dropping his wand onto his chest.

“I don't really like wands made of elm,” you say. “And dragon heartstring? Really, Lucius? If the wand really does choose the wizard, I have some questions for you, sir.”

You clap your hands together, ridding them of dust before you give Lucius's paralysed body one last smile and walk out of the dungeon, head held high.

---

Voldemort knows what you've done. He set the whole thing up, a test to ensure you are still useful.

You've had multiple of these tests thrown at you ever since you joined his ranks – willingly or not. He sends people in, Death Eaters, criminals that make most wizards tremble by just being named. He puts them against you and tests your strength, and by the looks of things, you're doing a fine job.

You're still here. He's kept you alive.

You walk into Lucius's office without knocking, knowing full well the Dark Lord himself is behind the door. You keep your gaze locked on the patterned carpet, letting the double, grand oak doors clatter closed behind you.

“Y/N!” Voldemort exclaims, clapping his hands together. You glance up, startled by the smile stretching across his face, the boy sitting across from him; Draco stares at you with wide eyes and an open mouth, glancing between you and the door as if expecting someone to follow.

You snap your gaze back to Voldemort, knowing the Dark Lord won't appreciate your lack of attention on him. “My Lord.”

“Where's Lucius?”

He knows where Lucius is. He's playing a game, pretending he has no idea what he's done, what he's been doing from the very moment you stepped into his presence and he saw potential within you.

“He's busy with some work, my Lord,” you respond, refusing to look at Draco despite your curiosity as to why he's here in the first place. “He told me to go on ahead.”

“Ah. That was nice of him.” Slowly, Voldemort leans back in his seat, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “Did you get his wand?”

“I left it with him, my Lord; made of elm, not really worth it.”

Voldemort grins even brighter; this is a good sign. You didn't take the wand. He thinks you're getting stronger, that your strange ability to use magic without a wand is growing. You can't tell him that it still pains you greatly, that you currently feel as if your ribcage is on fire, that you could keel over at any given moment.

“Very well,” Voldemort replies. “The choice was yours, of course. Come, Y/N – take a seat beside young Malfoy here. There's plenty of room.”

Draco shifts, keeping his cold gaze on you as you walk towards him and sit down. Your back is straight, heart thundering in your chest so loud you're almost certain you will not be able to hear whatever it is Voldemort has to say to you. Nonetheless, you keep your expression impassive, hands folded in your lap in any attempt to look as calm and collected as the Dark Lord expects you to be.

“My two prodigies,” Voldemort begins. The word sends a shiver of repulsion down your spine. “I don't think I've ever had the opportunity to speak to you both without my other Death Eaters lingering over my shoulder; isn't that bizarre, Draco?”

“Yes, m-my Lord.”

“I have to split my time evenly amongst you all, so forgive me if I find it a little difficult to give you the attention you both deserve so deeply.” He bows his head; Draco straightens up a little in his chair, but you're not falling for it. You've seen Voldemort do this multiple times in the past to the exact people he later murdered for miniscule reasons. “I see potential in you both. So much potential. It could be us against the world if you really put your mind to it.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Draco mumbles, before shooting you a glance that tells you he's proud of the fact he spoke up and wants you to notice his achievement, too. You look back at him, trying for a tiny smile that falters the moment Voldemort starts speaking again.

“I want you both to stay close together,” he says. “Work hard, encourage each other, become the wizards I know you are capable of becoming.” Voldemort settles his red eyes on you. You try your hardest not to falter beneath his gaze. “Let's take over the world together, shall we?”

And that's all he needs to say. He smiles that sickly smile of his and dismisses you and Draco with a simple flick of his pale hand. You stand up immediately, whirling and darting towards the door; you don't want to be in his presence any longer than you have to be, and you feel much too ill to try and hide that fact.

“Y/N! Y/N, wait!”

“Not now, Draco.”

He grabs your wrist as the doors to his fathers office clamber closed, leaving you alone in the wide, emerald green hallway. You freeze, resisting the urge to flinch away from him, but only because his grip feels so secure, fingers soft against your racing pulse.

He must notice the evidence of panic beating beneath his fingers, as his words falter and he glances down to where your flesh meets. It's when he starts tilting his head, when you can see the question forming upon his tongue, that you rip your hand from his and whirl around. “What do you want, Draco?”

His eyes snap up. “He sent my father to your dungeon. He said – He said something about the-”

“Cruciatus Curse, yes.” You spin, starting back down the hallway. Judging by the hurried footsteps sounding behind you, Draco has decided to follow.

“Well, are – are you alright? I didn't hear any commotion, but the dungeon is just below my fathers office – I would have heard something-”

“Lucius Malfoy is currently paralysed on the floor of his own prison.”

Draco falters. “What?”

“The Dark Lord wanted to test me, and I passed.” You shoot Draco a glance, noting the colour drained from his face. “Don't worry; he's still alive. A simple Stunning spell, just to prove my point. He'll no doubt be attempting to suffocate me in my sleep by nightfall.”

Draco pauses. The puzzle pieces are there, but he's clearly struggling to put them all together. He keeps pace with you, however, as you march out into the garden, bursting into the fresh air with a deep inhale that you hope can chase this dreaded headache away.

“My father is a very powerful wizard, Y/N,” Draco says. You close your eyes, resisting the urge to rub your temples. He just wants answers; you can't blame him for that. It was only a few years ago you were cursed by the same curiosity. “Don't take offence, but I can't see how you managed to overpower him.”

“It was simple enough.”

Draco shakes his head, pulling more pieces to the front, pieces that just don't fit. “Hold on – you don't even have a wand, do you? He took it. The – The Dark Lord-”

“Yes, He has my wand.”

Your head is going to split in two; you can feel it, that unmistakeable pressure rushing to the forefront, the fresh air doing nothing but poking and prodding at a pain that was already present. You close your eyes tighter still, crumbling against a tree despite your fragile attempts to catch yourself.

Draco grunts at the sudden movement, darting forward to catch you with little effect. “Y/N?”

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not. You're burning up.” He places the back of his hand against your forehead, eyes immediately widening. “You're really burning up.”

“I'm fine.” Maybe if you repeat yourself, what you're saying will become truth.

Draco, however, is a smart boy. He crouches down, dragging you to the floor along with him; you wriggle in his grip, whispering “I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine,” but your fight is only for show. Sitting in the grass is doing you wonders, and you soon find yourself drearily slipping against Draco's shoulder, sinking into this new found relaxation.

“What's happening?” he asks, keeping his palm against your forehead for a moment. “I need to bring someone out. I need to get a medic-”

“I'm fine,” you repeat, the words nothing more than a slur at this point. “I promise, Draco – it will pass.”

Draco opens his mouth to protest, but taking one look at your face has the words dispelling in the air between you. He gives in with a sigh, leaning back against the tree, holding you against his shoulder so you can hear his heartbeat ringing in your ears. You desperately want to pull away; being this close to someone is uncomfortable, not what you're used to, and yet your body is too weak to do such a thing. You sink into the humiliation for a little while, gathering your strength before Voldemort comes out and sees you in such a state.

“What did he mean when he told us to stay together?”

Draco's voice wobbles, and you can tell the question has been playing on his mind for a while.

“He wants us to learn from each other,” you mumble into his blazer. “Make each other stronger. He sees potential in us – that's why he ordered you to kill Dumbledore.”

Draco stiffens. “How did you know about that?”

“I see everything that happens behind the scenes.”

“I still don't understand that.”

You lift your eyes, stare into the side of his face as he gazes out at the gorgeous garden you are sitting in right now. “What don't you understand?”

“Why he trusts you so much.” Draco looks down, eyes meeting yours. “He has prisoners of Azkaban on his side – some of the worst people on the planet. He's got murderers and torturers and. . . and god only knows what else. And yet it's you he calls into his office. It's you he sees potential in-”

“You and me both.”

Draco scoffs, looking back out at the garden. “He would never trust me to touch Nagini. He would never let me just walk into his quarters without notice.”

“It's little perks, Draco. Hardly anything you should be fretting over.”

He scowls, shifting beneath you. Your cheek rubs against his blazer, and you make to pull away before your spine screams in protest and you slump back against him.

Draco doesn't seem to notice your weakness as he continues. “I'm just new to all of this.”

“We were all new at some point.”

“How long does it take to settle in?”

“I'm still trying to work that one out.”

Draco sighs. You don't know if he notices how his grip suddenly tightens around your shoulders, but you don't tell him either way.

“When you went missing...”

The conversation change works as an electric shock. You jolt, eyes lifting. “No, Draco. I don't want to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's not important – you know now that I didn't just drop off the face of the earth. That's all you need to know – and I certainly don't need to know how people reacted.”

Draco opens his mouth, can't seem to find the words and instead takes to shaking his head slowly. “They were worried, Y/N. The whole school was making inquiries about your whereabouts – even the Potter kid and his group of lackeys.”

You scoff, finally drawing the strength to pull away from him and sit on your own. “They were just excited to have a mystery to sink their teeth into.” Draco hums. “Maybe. But that doesn't mean they weren't worried.” He pauses. “I was worried.”

The chill in the air increases. In the distance, the grand apple tree sways gently in the breeze, a gathering of white peacocks drifting back and forth through the grass.

“You didn't know me,” you say.

“I knew you, Y/N. The Slytherins were a close bunch.”

“I was more than just a Slytherin. I was different. I wasn't like the rest of you.”

“That's why you stood out. That's why I cared.”

You close your eyes. “Death Eaters aren't meant to care.”

That shuts him up. You feel the air tighten to your left, his mouth snapping closed, this sentimental mood he's in immediately shutting down with such a simple, obvious statement. You glance at him, noting his tense jaw before you push yourself up, using the tree as leverage.

“I'm going back up to the house. Lucius should be coming back around any minute now,” you say. “Shall I tell him where you are?”

Draco shakes his head. “He doesn't care. He's a Death Eater.”

You stare at the top of his pale head for only a moment longer before turning on your heel and leaving, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart and the uncertainty in your actions. You've never before struggled to leave someone wallowing in their own pity, but there was just something about the way Draco looked – the way he was speaking – that makes you feel like perhaps you should have stayed.

----

“You will use my wand for today's lesson.”

You pluck Bellatrix's wand from her outstretched hand. “Thank you, ma'am. A walnut wand, is it? Dragon heartstring core?”

Bellatrix swats your nose. “Don't be picky. You'll make do with what you've got, do you understand, you little brat?”

You give the Death Eater your best smile in reply. Draco shifts uncomfortably at your side.

Bellatrix hums, pacing back and forth in front of her two students – honestly, you don't understand why Voldemort placed her as your tutor. She has a temper, shows no mercy when it comes to her victims, and these are all traits Voldemort surely places as very important, but she also gets lost in her own head – to the point where the majority of her lessons are put together with her screaming spells and Draco on the verge of tears.

It's been a week and a half since the last time you did magic without a wand, a week and a half since you convinced Voldemort you're ready to take the next step; it was a mistake leaving that office with him thinking you were strong. Your lessons are now beyond your capability, and as Bellatrix paces back and forth in front of you, you can feel the tingle of a headache racing to your skull, fragments of the damage you did to Lucius a few days ago.

The lesson starts off as it always does; a duel between you and Draco. You let him win this time, since he let you win yesterday, and the two of you move on pretty sharply. There's no point wasting time duelling something with equal skill to you – you want the lesson to be over as quick as possible.

Draco drags himself up from the floor, both of you ignoring Bellatrix's hysteric screeching. He gives you a wink, turns to Bellatrix and says, “What's next?”

She goes quiet immediately, narrowing her eyes at her nephew before she moves onto the next stage of the lesson.

“Alright, kiddies,” she says, continuing her pacing. “Today we're going to be trying something a little different. One of you will be moving onto bigger, more challenging defence spells whilst the other will be moving onto bigger, more challenging ways of blocking.”

You raise a brow. “Blocking, ma'am?”

She smirks, crooked teeth showing between a pair of red lips. “I'll have my wand back now, Y/N. You won't be needing it for this section of the lesson.”

Your heart plummets.

Draco looks between you and the teacher in confusion. “How will Y/N do magic without a wand?”

Bellatrix doesn't take her eyes off you, and that's proof enough that she knows the answer. Voldemort must have told her of your abilities, the magic built up inside you that can be released without the use of a wand. He must have told her to help, to train you up, because he thinks you can do it with no problem.

You tug Bellatrix's wand into your chest and shake your head. “Not today, ma'am. Please, not today.”

Draco perks up. “What's going on?”

Bellatrix surges forward. Her black nails dig into your collarbone when she snatches her wand back into her possession, ignoring your startled cry of “Please!” She doesn't understand – none of them understand because you refuse to tell any of them about what is going on, how badly using that type of unnatural magic destroys you.

“Draco,” Bellatrix snaps. “Sectumsempra. An easy enough spell, but it does plenty of damage.”

“I know,” Draco grumbles.

“That is the spell we will be using today, courtesy of Severus Snape.” Bellatrix turns to you, grin growing when she notices your trembling hands, your stiff demeanour. “Y/N, today it will be your job to block that spell using your abilities. Is that what we should be calling them? That makes you sound a little bit more special than you really are.” She throws her head back and cackles.

Draco glances at you. “Y/N?”

“I'm fine,” you croak out. “Just get it over with.”

You know you can do it. You've blocked spells without a wand before. It's the aftermath that frightens you, the aftermath that rips you apart.

You take a step back, turning to face Draco who continues staring at you with a raised brow. His wand is in his hand, pointed at you, ready, but he isn't making a move to do anything. He just stands there, as if waiting for you to give the signal that everything is okay.

And you want to. You know you should, because Bellatrix is getting impatient and her pacing is getting quicker and quicker, her crazed uttering getting louder and louder – but you can't. You want him to keep standing there, want him to continue staring so you can build your strength up for just one more second-

“Sectumsempra!”

Bellatrix's spell comes out of nowhere. Draco cries out, but you're quick; you spin on your heel, collecting as much strength as you possibly can. A barrier breaks from your skin, and the green light cast from Bellatrix's wand reels back, smashing against the lamp in the corner of the dining room. It smashes, glass raining down upon the floor as Draco sprints towards you.

“What the hell?” he cries.

It takes a minute for the nausea to rise. For a single, blissful moment, the room goes blurry, and you can deal with that. There is no pain, no shock, no sickness. For a single moment, you are floating.

And then it crashes upon you all at once.

Your knees buckle. Bright lights flash behind your eyes until you can see nothing but your own hand darting out, grabbing for Draco. He catches you mere seconds before you fall, and yet you still feel your knees crashing against the marble floor. Your fingers twist in the soft fabric of his shirt, and he's there, whispering in your ear, or maybe he isn't whispering, he's screaming, crying out, but you can't hear him properly because there is something pop pop popping in the back of your head and it's all you can focus on, all you can cling to to stop the world from disappearing for good.

It's a reminder, you know. A reminder that your form of magic is dangerous, unpredictable, unusual, and you shouldn't possess it. No wizard should be able to do magic how you can, how you so desperately wish you couldn't.

“What's wrong, Y/N? Tell me what's wrong! Bella, what is wrong?”

Your eyes slip closed. Draco repeats the same word over and over again: “No.” It's a mantra, a lullaby that stirs you to sleep even though he's tapping your face, trying to force consciousness into your body. You're too weak for that now, and it's with a grunt that you finally slip beneath the waves that have been pulling you under for years.

----

You wake up back in your dungeon, and he is there.

You knew he would be. You would have been foolish to believe he hadn't got news of your downfall the very moment it happened; Bellatrix most likely relayed the story to him in great, great detail, laughing the entire time.

He's standing over you when you wake up, a ghost in the darkness. He's dressed in a set of grey robes, and your wand is twirling in his fingers. His red eyes stare as you sit up, though he offers no assistance, not even when you wince and press your fingers to your abdomen.

Everything hurts, but at least you're not dead.

“My lord,” you manage, voice weak and hoarse. “What an honour it is to have your presence in my-”

“Be quiet, Y/N.” His voice is calm, smooth, too casual. “You embarrassed me, Y/N. Terribly.”

You swallow and nod; you're too scared to speak right now.

“I have been singing your praises to my Death Eaters for a long time; Bellatrix was disappointed. She expected a lot more from you.” He runs a hand over his bald head. “As was I.”

“Where is Draco, my Lord?” The question is out before you can process it.

Voldemort's eyes cast down to where you cower in front of him. “You worry about the Malfoy boy in a time like this? How sweet. How caring. How human.”

“No, my Lord. It was just curiosity that-”

“Draco has done a wonderful job in his lessons. No harm will come of him.” Voldemort stands up a little straighter, as if to make himself more intimidating. “He was awfully distraught when you collapsed, however. Have you both been bonding over these lessons you partake in together?”

Your heart skips. “No, m-my Lord.”

“And now you're stuttering. You never stutter when speaking to me, Y/N. Is this line of questioning making you nervous?”

You don't even bother with a response this time, instead casting your eyes to the knotted hands in your lap.

Voldemort sighs. “I should have expected, of course. Two young people, the world at their disposal – you don't understand the consequences of love yet.”

“I do, my Lord. You have taught me plenty in my time with you.”

“I have.” Voldemort nods solemnly. “Such a shame you do not listen.”

Your head snaps up; this is what you wanted to avoid. “I'm sorry if you feel that way, my Lord, but I make it a priority to put your advice into action whenever I can.”

Voldemort hums. “So you claim not to have feelings for the Malfoy boy?”

You don't understand why your denial is so difficult to articulate; you don't. You can't. You and Malfoy have lived in two very different worlds, experienced two very different lives; it would be bizarre to even think those two lives could mingle with one another, come together as one.

“No, my Lord. I do not.”

“So you would not care if I were to order his execution?”

Your head snaps up so fast your neck cricks. “Why would you do that? He's useful to you. He – He's a strong wizard, my lord, he can serve you in very useful ways-”

“It sounds as if you're sticking up for him.”

“No, my Lord, of course not! You are free to do as you please, but I wish you would just look a little deeper into-”

Voldemort holds up a silencing hand. Your heart thunders, fingers curling into fists as you try your hardest to bite your tongue; he's right, of course – you cannot be sticking up for Draco, especially if it means going against Voldemort to do so. You don't care about him that much.

You can't.

“If I am forced to pick between you or the Malfoy boy, the Malfoy boy will be the first to go,” he says. “You must know that, Y/N. You're too valuable to just throw away for a particularly skilled wizard. I don't want skill – I want something the wizarding world has never seen before, and you are the perfect candidate.” He sighs. “It's such a shame you've fallen into the trap of love.”

You squeeze your eyes closed; there is a denial on your tongue, but Voldemort knows when you are lying, and he will not be pleased to hear such false statements coming from your mouth.

“I want to see you working harder,” he continues, tapping your wand against the concrete wall behind him. “I want to see your strength improving. I want to take you into war with me, Y/N. And soon. We've wasted enough time as it is.”

You nod slowly. Voldemort smiles, skin stretching, your stomach turning, but you say nothing as he nods at you a final time and walks out of the dungeon.

And you know there's no hope for you here.

For years you've tried avoiding the truth, but now Draco has been added to the equation and denial is no longer a possibility; you've tried your hardest to show strength, to convince yourself you can be just like them, but it's not working. It will never work. You were not built for the life of a Death Eater, and such things have never been so clear as they are now.

The door above you clambers shut. You push yourself up, gripping the wall to stop yourself falling, your head pulsing with the aftershocks from your last lesson with Bellatrix. You're driven by your masters words, the threat behind them, the risk you are taking by staying here when you feel these things for the boy you barely even know.

But that isn't really true, is it?

You know Draco better than you will ever be willing to admit. He was your schoolmate, a Slytherin, a part of your life long before Voldemort was a part of your life. He's one of the few people on earth who can relate to the things you've been through, the things you're still going through, because he's going through nearly the exact same thing.

And that's why you have to leave. That is why you can't stay here. You won't be able to disguise your fondness for him, and Voldemort will see that, and he will end it all. He will kill Draco without a second thought if he believes it will make you stronger.

You drag yourself to the top of the stairs and shove the door open. The hallways are empty, the only sound being Peter's hysterical laughter ringing out in the room above you; he does that sometimes, though nobody knows why.

You shuffle along the corridor as quietly as you can, keeping tight to the emerald green walls as you search for the door leading to Draco's bedroom. You have seen it only a handful of times, but the door becomes instantly recognisable as soon as you see it; wooden, glittering with protection spells, a brass knocker stamped in the centre. You don't even bother using the knocker, instead shoving your shoulder into it and stumbling inside.

Draco spins around. He was pacing. There is sweat on his upper lip, his top button undone to reveal sweat soaked collarbones. His white hair is sticking up as if he's been running his hands through it continuously.

He looks scared.

You kick the door closed. “Draco.” It's all you can manage, all your brain will let free at this moment in time.

Draco rushes to your side immediately, grabbing your arm and directing you to the massive, plush bed pushed against the back wall. “Y/N? Y/N, are you okay? What are you doing up so soon after the accident?”

“I'm fine.”

“Stop saying that.” He presses a hand to your cheek, tilting your head up so he can get a better view of your eyes. “God, you look like you're about to keel over. Let me go grab my mother and she will-”

You latch onto his wrist when he tries to stand. “We need to leave, Draco.”

He pauses. Beneath your fingers, his pulse quickens. Slowly, he turns his head and narrows his eyes, inspecting your face for any sign of humour, any sign that you're just telling a joke to ease the tension forever in the air.

“We need to leave,” you repeat, quieter this time. “Now. Or – or as soon as we can. I won't be able to Disapparate, but you-”

Draco shakes his head. “What are you going on about?”

“We need to leave!” you bark. “He thinks we're both useful, but he wants us under his thumb. He wants to control us, Draco, and we need to leave before he gets that control.”

You're not making any sense. You know that. You can see in the tilt of Draco's head and the paleness of his face that he has absolutely no idea where all of this is coming from, why you have suddenly changed sides.

You close your eyes, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I will explain everything,” you mumble. “I promise, I will explain every single thing, but we have to get out of here first. It won't be long before he sees I'm not in the dungeon any more, and he'll know immediately where I've gone – and then it's not just me he's going to be angry at.”

Slowly, Draco lowers himself onto the bed, his eyes never leaving your face. “O-okay.”

Your head whips around. “Really?”

“When do you want to leave?”

You shake your head dumbly, still struggling to process his quick agreement. “As – As soon as-”

“You're too weak to Disapparate.” He stands, grabbing your hand. “I'll do it, but we've got to be quiet. My father knows when anyone is making moves in or out of the house – it will only take seconds for him to notify Voldemort someone is gone.”

You stand on trembling legs; Draco notices your struggle and wraps a secure arm around your waist, dragging you into his side.

“Are you sure you're going to be okay?”

“I didn't expect you to agree so quickly,” you whisper.

Draco purses his lips, sending a final glance towards the door. “I – I think I may have marched into this life a bit too soon. I didn't fully understand what I was getting myself into.” He glances at you, faces inches apart. “But if you say we need to leave, we're leaving.”

Something jolts in your chest, something you haven't felt in a very, very long time – if ever. Draco doesn't seem to notice the effect his words have on you as he tightens his hold on your waist and says, “Now, I'm new to this Apparating business, so just bare with me. Are you ready?”

“Let's go.”

Draco inhales deeply, closes his eyes and you watch the world shift around him. Suddenly, Draco is the driving force; your body goes numb, his fingers tightening against your flesh. Your own eyes slip closed of their own accord, your body tipping and screaming and aching – but it all lasts for only a second, and then your feet are slamming against grass and you're slipping out of Draco's grip and crumbling to your knees in the middle of an area you cannot place when your head is hurting so bad.

You groan, falling to your elbows. Draco slips to the ground and grabs you, pulling you into him. “It's okay. It's over, it's over. We made it. We've just got to keep going a little bit further.”

“Where are we?” you grumble.

“Hogwarts.”

Your head snaps up. “Draco, no.”

He grabs your arm and pulls you up; he looks just as ruffled as you, his hair still sticking on end, his hands trembling. He bites his lower lip before responding. “We'll figure it out. They won't come to Hogwarts tonight – not with the security. We'll be safe for tonight, and tomorrow we can – we can figure it all out.”

You resist the temptation to argue; there's really no point. Neither of you are fit enough to go wandering through Hogsmeade, anyway – staying the night in Hogwarts is your best bet whether you want to admit it or not.

In truth, you know your discomfort with being back at Hogwarts has little to do with the fact that Voldemort will know this is the place you and Draco escaped to. You don't care about that; you can deal with Voldemort when the time comes, when Draco is safe, but the memories latched onto this place make you hesitant when crossing through the gates you were once so familiar with.

You remember these hallways. You remember the sneers, people glaring purely because you were Slytherin. You remember hearing Death Eaters in your head, their screams for mercy in the cells of Azkaban before Voldemort rose again and freed them all. You remember sitting in the Great Hall, deciding once and for all that you weren't supposed to be a normal wizard – you weren't normal, were never going to be considered normal. You had no other choice in that moment – at fourteen years old – than to join the dark side.

What more could you lose?

Before you know it, you're slipping your hand into Draco's. He glances down, shocked by your timid actions, but does nothing more than give your hand a comforting squeeze. Together, the two of you walk through the doors of the castle.

And are immediately greeted by wands pointed directly at your faces.

Draco pulls back, raising your joined hands in a sign of surrender. His breathing is ragged, and if you listen closely, you can almost hear a rattle emerging with every breath, like he's getting some kind of sickness.

McGonagall slowly lowers her wand, staring at you, and it's only then do you remember – these people thought you had died.

You offer a bow. “Ma'am.”

“Y/N L/N,” McGonagall whispers. “Is this real?”

“It is, ma'am,” you respond. “And I've brought a little guest with me along the way. You might recognise him?”

Draco scowls. “I'm meant to be making the-”

McGonagall rushes forward and embraces you before Draco can finish; his hand unwinds from your own as you wrap your arms around the frail waist of your old Transfiguration teacher.

“Thank god you're safe! Thank god!”

You awkwardly pat her back; this kind of affection has been lost on you for many, many years, and you're not entirely sure how to reciprocate it. “Yes. Thank them.”

She pulls away, holding you at arms length. “Goodness, you must be starved. The both of you!”

“No, actually.” Draco steps forward and takes your hand again. “We just need a room, Professor. A room is all we're here for.”

McGonagall raises a brow, glancing at your joined hands. “I'm assuming there will be no explanation for us tonight?”

You smile lightly. “Soon, ma'am. But for now, we need – we need rest.” Your head thumps at the mention of rest, making you wince.

McGonagall sighs and nods. “Very well. Argus – lead these two students up to the Slytherin dormitories. Make sure they're well settled.”

Filch appears from behind the tall woman and starts towards the staircase leading from the main entry hall. Hand-in-hand, you and Draco follow.

“I wasn't expecting her to be so lenient with letting me back in,” Draco whispers.

“Why not?”

He glances over at Filch before lowering his voice even further. “She's not exactly too keen on my father.”

“Lucius?”

“He's a Death Eater, Y/N. I can bet you that all the teachers in this damn school think I'm going the same way.”

You raise a brow. Draco glances at you, blushes and rolls his eyes.

“I guess they're not exactly wrong...”

Filch leads the two of you directly to the Slytherin dormitories. He says the password, gives you and Draco a final once-over before the door swings open, granting you access. The common room is almost entirely empty, meaning you and Draco are free to make a direct cross to the guests quarters without being bothered.

As soon as the door to the room closes, you fall to the floor.

Not in pain or discomfort, but in relief; your brain is working at a million miles per hour, so many things to concentrate on flooding your system in the two seconds it takes for the door to shut behind you. Draco follows your lead, sliding to the floor and leaning his head back against the emerald green wall.

You stare at him. Just him, sitting there with his eyes closed, the column of his throat on show. Around his neck is an array of silver necklaces. On his wrist is the Dark Mark.

Subconsciously, you find yourself rubbing your own brand, engraved into your skin forever. It burns sometimes. You wonder if Draco's does, too.

As if sensing you staring at him, he opens his eyes and looks back at you. “We're out of there.”

You nod. “We are.”

“How do you feel?”

“Lost. I don't know what to do with myself.”

Draco hums like he understands, and maybe he does; he might not have bore the Dark Mark for as long as you have, but he was raised in a family of believers, a family of Death Eaters that brainwashed him into thinking evil was the only way forward.

He sighs and tilts his head back again. You could stare at him in this position forever, comfortable and content. You don't recall there ever being a time in which he possessed such human emotions.

“Why did you warn me?”

You blink. “What?”

“You came to my room and warned me about what he was planning. Why?”

“He told me he was going to kill you.” You say it so simply, and Draco takes it as such; he doesn't flinch, doesn't look at you in horror. He just nods, eyes slipping closed again.

“Makes sense. You were clearly the more powerful one.”

You scoff, crossing your feet at the ankles. “Oh, yes. Me collapsing really showed my true strength.”

“You're still young. You have magic that no other wizard possesses – I can see why he wanted to keep you around and not me.” He shrugs, eyes still closed. “Maybe you should have just let him get on with it.”

Your heart judders. “What do you mean?”

“You could have stayed, Y/N. Let him kill me. You would have been his right-hand man after that. Love him or hate him, he would have given you the world if it meant he could use your magic for himself.”

For a moment, you're convinced he's joking; you have to believe he's joking. You're aware you are powerful, that Voldemort would kill for the chance to use you as his own, but Draco surely can't believe you would just let him get murdered so you could live a better life?

“Did you not see the dungeon he kept me locked in?” The question is out before you can stop it. Draco opens his eyes, lifts his head to check if you're actually angry or not.

You're not even sure how you feel. Your clenched fists and furrowed brows, however, must convince Draco that he's said the wrong thing, as he immediately sits up straight and grabs your hands in his own. You flinch back, pulling your hands back to your chest.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he says quickly. “I shouldn't have said anything. I was just. . . I'm tired, okay? Very, very tired.”

You slowly lower your hands. “Yes, well, today has been a stressful day. We're probably better off going to sleep.”

Draco nods, pulling both of you up from the floor. Neither of you speak as you strip off your clothes and get into one of the single beds pressed against either wall; Draco turns the light off, drowning you both in darkness almost immediately.

----

It's been a while since your mind was free to have a nightmare.

The magic Voldemort puts you under has always suppressed dreams; most of the time, you wouldn't even count yourself as asleep. More knocked out. Perhaps unconscious. It's very rare you're in control enough to have a nightmare, and maybe that's for the best.

Tonight, however, the magic is gone and the nightmares take its place.

They're flashes, but they're bad. Bad, and gory, and they take the shape of memories because you see his face in every single one. You see his smile, those blood red eyes and that pale skin, a human destroyed by the power he craved for so many years. You know his story, and it replays in your head on a loop. You watch people scream, mouths open and eyes wide as his magic blasts them to pieces. You watch the Potters die on a loop. You watch an alternative ending where Harry himself is blown to smithereens, a child so innocent, taken so soon for a reason so selfish.

Everyone is screaming. It ricochets in your brain, echoing the horrors over and over again until you feel yourself screaming, too. It's the only way to beat them. You want to rip your throat out. You want to rip everyone elses throats out. You want this to end, please make it stop, you'll do anything-

“Y/N!”

Your eyes snap open.

There are no dramatics to waking up from a nightmare, not like they show in the movies. Your eyes snap open, and that is all; the sheets are tangled round your legs and Draco is standing over you, but you don't scream, don't lurch forward, don't gasp for air.

No. What they show in the films isn't real – it's all on the inside.

A thundering heart, sweat dripping down your face despite the night time chill. Once you're conscious, you reach for Draco's hands and drag them into your chest without explanation or warning, just needing to feel something, proof that you are out of that world and back in your own.

Draco leans forward, brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face. “Are you alright?”

It's such a simple question, and yet the answer is too complicated to contemplate right now; you simply look at him, lower lip trembling until he gets the message. His exhausted features soften, and it's with hesitant, shy steps that he peels the covers back and crawls into bed beside you.

He tugs the covers to your chin, but you grab them and pull them over your heads. Draco laughs softly, his breath fanning your face, calming you down. You close your eyes and curl against him, feeling his arms wrap around you despite you never telling him to do so.

And maybe that's what has you so enamoured by this boy; you have lived many years being the one everyone is afraid of. Death Eaters – genuine, real life criminals – were terrified to even talk to you without you talking to them first. They saw you as an attachment of the man they were supposed to fear, and so that instantly made them fear you, too. Nobody touched you. Nobody cared for you. Nobody dared go near you without permission first.

But Draco is here, bundling you in his arms purely because he can see that's what you need. He doesn't ask permission; he just looks in your eyes and he sees the tiny, helpless human that made a bad choice at a young age, and he doesn't feel the need to waste time asking.

In the darkness, his fingers tap at your wrist. You close your eyes, breath trembling when he slowly starts to roll your sleeve up until the area where your Dark Mark is engraved becomes exposed. He cannot see the mark in the darkness, but he doesn't need to see it to know it's there. He has no doubt looked at his own Dark Mark thousands upon thousands of times, can probably outline it from memory at this point.

He runs a finger along the skin, goosebumps following in his wake.

“Did it hurt?” he whispers.

“You know it did.”

He pauses. “Did you know then?”

And even though he has not specified what he means, you know he is talking about the regret – did you know then, as you were being pinned down, as the wand dug into your skin and make the mark now permanently etched into your flesh, that you were never meant to live that kind of life.

You nod against his chest, feel his breath leave him in one clean swoop.

“You got out of there, though,” he whispers. “I'm proud of you.”

That single phrase pushes you off the edge.

You lift your head from his chest, tipping the covers off you both. He opens his eyes just as you whisper “Lumos,” and the headache that strikes you is nothing when the light suddenly crackles to life and you look down and Draco is there, and he's just said he's proud of you, a sentence nobody has ever, ever said to you in your entire life.

It breaks your heart and mends it all at the same time.

He looks up at you, eyes wide. “Y/N? Are you-”

“Say that again.”

He pauses. “S-say what?” But he's slowly starting to grin, knowing full well what bit you want him to repeat, what part of his sentence was like music to your ears.

You sit up fully, bouncing just a tiny bit on your knees. God, you're like an excited schoolkid, an experience you were robbed of. “Please just say that again.”

Draco pushes himself up onto his elbows. “I'm proud of you.”

Your smile grows. “And again.”

Draco pushes himself up a little bit more, his own smile spreading. “I'm proud of you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck. “One more time.”

He pushes himself up entirely, face inches from your own. “I'm proud of you.”

You kiss him.

You don't know how it works, how any of this works, but it feels right nonetheless. Your lips against his, hands tightening around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. He laughs gently against your mouth, his own hands rising so his fingertips tickle the edges of your throat.

It's easy to lose yourself in this, in him.

He is the first to pull away, his swollen, bright red lips taking the shape of a grin. You laugh, cupping his chin and swiping your thumb along his lower lip; he pretends to bite you.

“Where the bloody hell did that come from?” he asks breathlessly.

You shake your head. “I have no idea.”

“Are you going to keep doing it?”

You falter, smile fading just a bit. “D-do you want me to?”

Draco scoffs, and in response, he kisses you again.

The world is falling apart. Nothing is right and everything is wrong and Voldemort will never, ever be happy with this outcome, but for this moment, you can forget about all of that. Right now, it is just you and Draco, the captives finally set free.

314 notes · View notes