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soulmate-game · 3 years

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Hawkmoth was a bitch, and Marinette meant that with every fiber of her soul. Fu was also a bitch, and Marinette actually had good memories of the guy. Not many, but she had some. The fact that the guy got two ten-year-olds to become super heroes and fight a supervillain for him kinda soured those memories, though. But with Chat Noir not allowed to leave his house? Yeah, even as young as they were it only took about a year to find out who HawkMoth was and another year to take him down.

Except, that left Marinette alone. The final battle took her mom away, and Chat had to move out of Paris after his dad was arrested. Luckily Jagged allowed her and her papa to move into his house in Gotham, and everything was…

Well, it was okay. For about a month.

Then her dad was gone too, and she had no way to talk to Jagged, and the police were scaring her—

Yeah, that was the basic order of events that led to where she was now. Pushing fourteen years old, ex-superhero, protector of a magical box of gods, stealing the tires off of a very nice motorcycle.

Marinette was tempted to just take the whole thing, she loved bikes and knew she could drive it. But the thing had more security than she knew what to do with, and the fact that it belonged to Red Hood… she didn’t want to deal with trackers today, thanks. So the tires it was.

Should she maybe care more about the fact that she was stealing from a vigilante with a violent streak? Maybe. Did she? Hell no. For all she knew, maybe Red Hood was a bitch too. (Yes, she was still learning English slang. She was fluent by educational standards, but learning how to curse in a foreign language was fun and she still had a little bit to go. Her few street friends were very happy to help).

A shadow dropped down in front of her, and Marinette’s hero instincts kicked in. The tire iron she was using cut through the air, slamming right into the side of Red Hood’s knee.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Hood,” Batman’s voice grumbled over the comms, instantly grabbing the attention of everyone else who was on the comms. It wasn’t as gruff as he usually sounded, in fact it almost sounded like… he was trying not to laugh?

“Did you get gassed by Joker?” Dick asked before Jason got a chance to respond. “Need backup?”

“No,” Batman responded, sounding a little more composed. “Not a rogue. But Hood, I need you to join me at my location as soon as possible.”

Finally getting the chance to talk, Jason responded a little warily; “Sure, B. Wait,” he blinked at the location that was sent to him. “Isn’t that where my bike is parked?”

Batman didn’t respond at first, only the sound of labored breathing— again, as if he was trying not to laugh. “Just get here, Hood.”

Sighing, but not too mad since the night had been fairly quiet so far, Jason decided to humor the old man and head over. When he could see the cape-clad back of Batman, he easily leapt over the last roof and sauntered over.

“Okay, B,” he had his thumbs tucked in his pockets as he drawled. “What’s the issue?”

Batman was grinning. As in, actually showing amusement. And he just pointed down, straight at Hood’s bike.

Jason rolled his eyes under his helmet, turning to look. At first he didn’t see anything amiss, until he saw movement and looked harder. Oh. Oh, holy shit.

“Is that a kid?”

“Yep,” Batman’s grin grew.

“Is she… stealing my tires?” Hood was so, so glad he wore a helmet that hid his expression. Because… wow.

“Yep,” Batman finally lost his composure, chuckling. “This seems like Karma, don’t you think?”

“And you just watched her so you could rub it in,” Jason groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. Of course he would. Nobody knew it (except the other heroes who knew him) but Batman was a petty little jerk when he wanted to be. He bought the whole Daily Planet just to spite Clark, for crying out loud.

“Don’t adopt her,” Batman said as he stood up, patting Red Hood’s shoulder. “It looks like she’s almost done.”

“Shit,” Jason hissed, looking down to see that she was, actually, very close to being done. She had already had one tire completely free by the time he had arrived, and now she was only seconds away from getting the other one completely free.

He took a quick assessment— she was tiny, and really thin. Definitely a street kid, he thought, though he didn’t recognize her. He knew most of the street kids that stole to get by, nowadays, which meant she must have been fairly new. But even though she seemed to know what she was doing, her small frame made her take longer unscrewing the tires than it normally would have taken. Sure that she wasn’t a threat by any stretch of the imagination, he jumped down. His plan had been to startle her a little by showing up out of nowhere, but he didn’t want to scare her too badly. Just make her jump a little.

But he had underestimated her, it seemed. Without wasting a second, she jumped up and swung her tire iron at his knee. He cursed, she was a lot faster than her had been expecting. He was able to move so that the weapon only clipped the side of his knee, his knee pad thankfully taking the worst of it. She still hit hard enough to make him stumble and hiss in pain though, which was an accomplishment.

That’s when she abandoned her weapon and her tires, darting to try and escape only for Batman to drop down and block her escape. Though really, it was the grin Batman had that scared the girl most of all, apparently, making her slowly back away from him.

“Please stop smiling,” she begged with a faint French accent to her words. “It is not natural.”

That made Red Hood laugh, already recovered and right behind her. He plopped a gloved hand on her head.

“I know, it’s creepy right?” He joked. “What’cha doin’ stealing my tires, kid? I kinda need them to drive anywhere,” he was careful to keep his voice light and devoid of any anger. He wasn’t really upset, all told. It would be hypocritical of him if he was.

She looked between the two vigilantes for a moment, clear intelligence behind those bright blue eyes as she seemed to consider something. Suddenly she pulled away from Red Hood and stepped away from his reach, straightening up and trying to look tall.

“My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said as firmly as she could. “My father was Tom Dupain, he was killed in a mugging three months ago. We were living in a house that our family friend leant to us after my mother’s death six months ago, and we moved here from Paris. I haven’t been able to contact him, and the police… I don’t trust them,” she admitted, clearly seeing this as the chance she had been waiting for. “I have been living on the streets since my father died. I am sorry for trying to steal your tires, Monsieur Red Hood. But it was a risk I had to take.”

“Did you expect us to catch you?” He asked, crossing his arms as he re-evaluated the girl. She was a lot stronger than he had assumed earlier, both physically and mentally. She seesawed her hand to indicate ‘kinda’.

“Even if you didn’t, I could make good money off your tires,” she justified with a shrug. “To me, I would win either way.”

“Who is your family friend? Can he help you now, take you in?” Batman asked, moving forward and kneeling down to be closer to Marinette’s height. Neither he nor Jason had missed the part where she was an orphan, but they had expected that considering what they had caught her doing. And they both knew that she wasn’t likely to take any apologies they tried to offer very well. It was best not to show pity, or she might get angry.

Marinette frowned. “... Our family friend is Jagged Stone. He lets me call him Uncle Jagged,” she told them, clearly expecting the disbelieving grunts they gave. “I mean it! You can call him, he might even be looking for me! I—“

“We know,” Hood assured her, now kneeling down as well. Man, she was short. “Calm down, we know you’re telling the truth. Jagged has made several public announcements about his missing honorary niece, we just didn’t recognize your name right away. And Jagged doesn’t have access to very many pictures of you, those he does have the Mayor isn’t allowing him to show because that spineless jackass—“

“Language, Hood.”

“—Cares more about keeping bad press off the air than finding a kid, even if it’s a world famous rockstar who’s asking. That’s probably why you haven’t heard anything, the mayor’s keeping it off the radio and not many reporters are brave enough to take the story and get on his bad side.”

“Oh…” Marinette took a deep breath, fighting the tears that were threatening to rise up. “He has been looking…” she sniffled, curling in on herself a little. “Can you take me to him?”

“I think we can do that,” Batman agreed, standing up. “I’ll contact him. Red Hood, can you handle everything here until I give you a place to meet up with Jagged Stone?”

Jason nodded. “No problem, B. Come on, little rabid pixie. Step one of gettin’ you back to your uncle is to help me fix my bike back up.”

Marinette sighed, shoulders dropping. “All my hard work, undone…” she playfully complained. But in the end she didn’t argue or fight against it, she just sat down and helped him reattach his tires.

All the while, Jason’s family kept teasing him over the comms. Clearly they were also thoroughly amused by the cosmic display of karma.

“...Monsieur Hood,” Marinette asked once they were done repairing the motorcycle and he had given her his too-big extra helmet. He tilted his head a bit to show he was listening. She squirmed. “Can… can we stop by my hideout? I have something really important I have to get.”

Jason smiles gently under his mask. She might not have been a street kid for very long, but she really did bring back some memories for him. He got on his bike and held a hand out to her.

“Sure thing kid. Wanna grab something to eat after? Can’t have a reunion on an empty stomach.”

She gave him a lopsided smile— not quite overjoyed, but definitely hopeful and thankful. Maybe this was the end of her streak of bad luck, she could only hope.

“Only if you don’t mind, Monsieur Hood,” she agreed before taking his hand and letting him help her onto the bike.

“No skin off my back, pixie,” he assured her. Then they were off. He followed her directions until they got to an abandoned building about three miles away, not in a good part of town at all but at least not in crime alley. Marinette easily led him through the building, skirting around other piles of ratty blankets and up broken stairs until they got to the badly-maintained top floor. She led him over to an almost invisible door in the concrete wall that pulled out to reveal what was probably a broom closet once upon a time. It was crowded with what looked like junk and empty boxes, along with a few blankets and two or three changes of clothes that were clearly her’s. A few belongings scattered around— a book, a small pink purse, and… Marinette came out of the pile of mess holding what had clearly been a very carefully hidden box. She also grabbed the purse and slung it over her shoulder, but didn’t seem worried about anything else.

Jason frowned at the box. It wasn’t that big, but it was clearly made of old wood. There were intricate carvings that were painted pink, in a symbol that was itching at the back of his mind. He recognized that symbol, but from where?

“Ready to go, kid?” He asked as he thought about it, getting a nod from Marinette. Twenty minutes later they were at a Batburger, sitting in a shaded booth that couldn’t be seen from the street.

She never let the box out of her sight. She kept it on the seat next to her, and Jason noticed that she tried to keep one hand on it at all times. But when she spoke, now her French accent stood out to him even more than before. But why—?

And then it clicked. Paris. Hawkmoth. Ladybug, Chat Noir, magic artifacts called Miraculous. Wonder Woman had raised a fuss when the heroes disappeared, declaring that something was wrong but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Then the magic users they trusted were called in, and returned from Paris with the grim news that the former Guardian of those artifacts had activated a failsafe and passed the guardianship on to someone else while erasing his own memories at the same time. But nobody knew who he could have passed it on to, so Batman had been given the green light to do all the research he and his team could into the Miraculous box to try and help track it down.

And here it was. The carvings were in pink now, which might have been the “cosmetic change” that Constantine had mentioned might happen when the box changed guardians. He had found the box full of super powerful magical artifacts… in the hands of a newly orphaned street kid who couldn’t have been older than fourteen at best.

What the hell?

“...” Red hood reached into his pocket and pulled out an old receipt and a sharpie. He scrawled on the back of the receipt and handed to Marinette. The girl was halfway into a bite of her burger when he did, and blinked at him owlishly before swallowing and cautiously reaching out to grab it. She frowned at the numbers scrawled there.

“What’s this?” She asked.

“My contact info,” he explained. “I won’t ask questions about why you have that box,” he watched her instantly stiffen but continued as casually as he could; “but it doesn’t matter. You can call me if you ever need help with anything, kid. Help with that box, help if you get in trouble in Gotham again, or even if you’re having a bad day. You can call me for whatever, got it? I don’t care if you think it’s stupid, if you can’t talk to anyone else in your life you can always call or text me and I’ll do whatever I can. Got it?”

“...” Marinette sniffled for a second and looked down at the table in silence for a second. “... what if I want your motorcycle?” she joked, but the watery tone of her voice gave her away.

Jason laughed, patting her head. “I need my bike, but we can talk about getting you your own once you are old enough to get a license. You almost done? Bats says that Jagged is ready to meet you, I can take you to him right now.”

“Yeah, lets go!” she was newly energized and shoved the last bite of burger into her mouth greedily. “And Red Hood?” She asked as they headed out to where he had parked.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Permanent tag list (I remembered it this time!)

@rosalineandrosemary @neakco @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @trippingovermyfeet @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @bigpicklebananatree @fantasylover-92 @prongs-flowers @jumpingjoy82 @prettylittlebutterflie @queenz-z @literaryhiraeth @waffelyunsure @deathssilentapproach-blog @waiting247 @theirlmikan @unoriginalmess

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #soulmate-game #platonic jasonette

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ameliora-j · 3 years

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twin flame iii // gw x reader

words: 2.2k

warnings: angst, breakup, mention of bruising, crying, angelina slander kinda (it’s just for the story i love her sm!), yn is sorta a pick me if you squint sry, cringey mediocre writing at very best

an: i used song lyrics for some of the argument and the ending :) i hope you like it besties!

part one | part two | part four

you george! i want you!

the words had been running through his mind since the night you left. he had been going over the days leading up to your explosion in his mind for weeks. your words were in his mind day and night. your pained expression, your anger, your hurt. you consumed him. more than you usually did.

george weasley knew he fucked up. he knew without anyone telling him. but they did anyway. every waking second they did. first it was fred, calling him a jerk. then ron, who called him a “bloody idiot.” then ginny, who told him it was his own fault. and then his mum. of course his mum, who said in exact words: “george fabian weasley, this is nobody’s fault but your own. quit moping around and do something to fix it! i didn’t raise you to treat women this way!”

his last straw, however, was his older brother percy. percy of all people. who looked at him with a disappointed shake of his head. receiving a disappointed head shake from percy was nothing out of the ordinary, especially for george. it was his words that stung. percy spoke ten simple words to him that truly set george off. percy spoke “you lost the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” at his sentence, george lost it.

“i know that percy! you don’t think i fucking know that i lost the best thing that ever happened to me! and fred i know i’m a jerk and ron i know i’m an idiot and ginny i know it’s my fault and mum i’m sorry okay! i know you didn’t raise me like this i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i don’t think she’s coming back!” he fell back onto the couch as he tugged frustratedly at his roots.

“george… do you love her?” molly asked him.

“yes mum,” a whimper escaped the fiery-haired boy’s throat. “i love her more than i’ve ever loved anyone before. she’s my world,” he revealed.

“then go, george. go get her,” his dad said. “for your sake and her’s,” he told him.

“and our’s!” fred called distantly from the kitchen.

“shove off fred!” george called back before apparating to your front door. he knocked three times and waited for someone to answer it. when you opened the door, he was shocked at your state.

makeup streaked down your cheeks with your shoulder bruised and your arm in a splint. your eyes were red and puffy, but they were furthermore accompanied by dark bags as if you hadn’t slept in weeks. the truth is; you hadn’t. “hi george,” you mumbled half heartedly.

“hi butterfl-“ you cut him off.

“yn. my name is yn,” you spoke sternly.

“i’ve called you butterfly since you were three…” he murmured.

“not anymore. hurts too bad to hear it. did you need something?” you quickly changed the subject.

“i want to talk to you,” he said. you nodded and walked in, telling him to follow you. george said hello to your brother and then followed you into the lounge where you two sat on the loveseat and you turned to face him.

you sat in a long silence as your eyes traced each other’s features. you memorized him. every line, every freckle, every bump, bruise, and blemish. the silence was deafening. untill he finally broke it. “what happened to your arm?” he murmured softly.

“it splinched when i apparated home. then i apparated again and made it worse,” you bit your lip softly.

“always so reckless,” he tutted softly, causing you to shrug.

“what’d you wanna talk about? know you didn’t come to talk about my arm…” you attempted to get to the point of his visit.

“right,” he murmured softly. “yn i…” he took a deep breath. “the day that i let you walk out of my life is the day that i made the worst mistake in the history of mistakes. i’ve done some stupid things in my life, but letting you walk away has by far been the stupidest. i’m so so sorry that i hurt you the way i did, i cannot express to you how sorry i am, i truly cannot. i love you, yn. with all of me i do, you have to believe me when i say that.”

“i do believe you george. i just don’t believe that you love me the way that i love you. and carrying around that pain is killing me. i mean absolutely destroying me. you live in my mind rent free. you’ve infested it,” you told him. “you with your stupid pretty smile and your god awful jokes and your ridiculous pranks that you somehow always rope me into and your perfect hair and your pretty eyes and just. you. george. stupid you. oblivious you. godric george,” you roughly shoved his chest. “i’ve loved you for years and you’ve always looked past me!” tears rimmed your bottom lash line and your voice cracked as you lashed out on him.

“for years george, i mean years! i’ve watched you fall in love with countless girls just to have your heart broken by them. i stuck by you through everything. even when you stopped being being my friend because it made angelina uncomfortable i waited for you george! and you just pushed me to the side. i did everything for you. i executed pranks for you. i planned pranks for you. i took the fall for you. i got detention for you! i did it all for you. i mean the countless amount of things i did just to be able to call you mine and i just… you didn’t care! you’ve never cared! you’ll never love me the way that i love you and that hurts. so. fucking. bad.” you wiped your eyes.

“it kills me george. it eats at me, every single day it does. i stood by your side and i took the blame with you even when i had nothing to do with the stupid shit you pulled at hogwarts because yeah i was going down, but hey, at least i was doing it with you, right? we made so much trouble and-and we used to laugh. and be happy. we were genuinely happy and i don’t know where we went wrong but we did, but i still say that i hate you with a smile on my face! i don’t get it george why don’t you love me!” a whimper tore itself from the depths of your chest as you let out a silent sob.

“now look what we’ve became…” he murmured, tears falling from your eyes.

“all the things i did just to call you mine… and… and all the things you said but… somehow, i still hope i was your favorite crime. cause merlin knows you were mine.” you sniffled as you wiped your eyes.

“you were mine. you’ll always be my favorite crime.” he leaned over and kissed your head as another silent sob racked your body. “now it’s bittersweet to think about the damage that we did,” he smiled over at you sadly. “i love you butterfly. just as much as you love me, if not more,” he whispered as he stood from his place.

you rolled your eyes water-logged eyes, but still managed to smile. “i wish you thought about that before,” you whispered.

“i do too… i guess i’ll have to just call you the one that got away then?” he asked.

“in another life georgie… i’d be your girl. and we’d keep every promise that we made,” you told him.

“and i wouldn’t have to say you were the one that got away,” you nodded as he kissed your head again. “i love you, butterfly. i always have.”

“i love you too, georgie. i always will,” you sniffled as you watched him walk out the door. you didn’t want this. you wanted to stop him. everything in your body screamed at you to stop him. but your brain wouldn’t work. your heart said no. you were scared of being hurt again.

you wanted to do something. yell at him. tell him to come back. to hug you. to never leave you. to never let you go. but your heart wouldn’t let you. you were frozen in time.

it’ll all get better in time.

you’d heard the saying time and time again. especially after your parents passed away. it was people’s favorite line to use when they saw you. the truth is… you didn’t stop hurting. the pain didn’t go away. you just got used to it. but the pain you were feeling now… you didn’t know if it would ever go away. at least it didn’t feel like it.

two months. it had been two months since george walked out of your house that night. it was nobody’s fault but your own, and somehow you couldn’t help wishing he would’ve stayed.

you saw him everywhere. in the stars in the night sky. in the sunrise and the sunset. in coffee shops and store windows. even in your dreams when you slept. so logically, you decided to stop. if you didn’t sleep you couldn’t dream. and if you didn’t dream, you couldn’t see him.

you dutifully ignored the pain in your chest like an annoying bug on a picnic. you pretended that you were fine, but the reality was; you weren’t. but you played it off. and you were able to keep up your facade. untill one day… that one fateful day tucked in the corner at ninety three diagon alley. your brother asked you to pick up ten second pimple vanisher because he had a date tonight and just received a pimple the size of jupiter on his nose, causing him to look like “the muggle myth rudolph the red-nosed reindeer” as he put it.

you walked into the shop and kept your head down as you searched the aisles. it wasn’t where it usually was. you knew this shop like the back of your hand, of course you had… you’d worked there for nearly three years. you furrowed your brows as you looked around. the shop had completely transformed. nothing was in the place it usually was. that’s when your eyes landed there. on her. right at the front, behind the till at the register you worked, in the uniform you wore was angelina johnson.

you sighed deeply as you extended your neck around the corner to where the office was. you smiled triumphantly as you saw fred sitting at his desk and began your trek. you gently knocked twice on the opened door and fred called, “come in,” distractedly.

you walked in and sat on the desk, right in front of him, forcing him to look up at you. “yn!” fred exclaimed.

“hi freddie!” you smiled as a giggle escaped your lips and you returned the death-grip hug he had enveloped you in.

“what brings you by? not that i don’t love seeing your pretty face, of course,” he shot you a playfully flirtatious wink.

“ybn needs ten second pimple vanisher because he has a date tonight and he woke up with a pimple the size of jupiter on his nose,” fred laughed loudly at your remark. “i tried to look for it, but the stores completely turned around,” you pouted slightly.

“oh yeah, we changed some things up because we needed room for our new products. they’re still in the making, but george disappeared,” he hummed.

“george what?” you asked.

“you didn’t know…?” he asked you.

“no. i… i had no idea,” you stuttered.

“yeah. after the night he went to talk to you, he left a note on our kitchen counter and all his things were packed and he just… left. we haven’t seen or heard from him since. ‘s just been angie and i running the shop now. couldn’t do it alone,” fred explained as he picked up the box. “here you are l-“ before he could finish, you were halfway out the door. “YN WAIT!” he called. “YOU FORGOT YOUR PRODUCT!”

“SORRY FRED! YBN WILL BE OKAY I HAVE TO GO!” you called as you ran out the door as fast as your feet would carry you. if you knew george weasley… and you did… there was only one place he could be. and you prayed to any and every god that would listen that he was there. you prayed like your life depended on it that he was okay. you needed to fix this. to fix him. to make it alright.

in this moment you knew that he needed you. he needed you like peanut butter needs jelly. the way left needs right. like the sun needs the moon. he needed you like you needed him. you ran and ran and ran for miles untill you got to a secluded area. then you took a breath. and you apparated.

it was exactly the way you left it. a dingy old wooden box house sitting at the highest branch of a sycamore tree. you groaned softly as you began to climb the many branches. “george i swear to godric you better be in here,” you grumbled to yourself as you climbed.

it felt like hours—truly it was ten grueling minutes at most—untill you got to the door of the house. you whispered the password and it creaked open. “georgie,” you breathed when you saw him.

there he was. laying on the floor of the treehouse wrapped in blankets and a sleeping bag with a small pillow under his head. the apple to your pie. the straw to your berry. the smoke to your high. the one you knew you’d marry.

the one that got away. your twin flame.

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* crossed out means i couldn’t tag you

#twin flame #george weasley #harry potter #harry potter x reader #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley #george weasley x reader #best friends to lovers #harry potter angst #harry potter smut #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fluff #george weasley smut #george weasly angst #george weasley fluff #twin flame series #twin flame part three

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wakaoujisenhime · 3 years

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I’m home - Bakugou x reader

Synopsis: Day after day you return home from work to either find your apartment empty or your husband asleep. Your last joint day off is also quite a while back, so you can’t help but feel rather lonely. And as if that wasn’t enough, you read an interview where your man had to give an insight on his married life with you and the questions he had to answer weren’t as pleasant as expected ...

tags/warnings: Bakugou x reader ✅ fluff ✅ (more or less) some domestic bliss ✅ minimal angst ✅

crossed off square: Take a day off

A/N: This has been in my WIPs for waaay too long, so I’m finally happy to have finished it. Hope you’ll enjoy it! (°◡°♡)

→ BINGO Event masterlist

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

“Katsuki..“

“Hm?”

“When was the last time our day-offs were on the same day?”

——

You unlocked the front door to your apartment and stepped in as you silently announced that you were home, waiting for an answer which sadly never came.

So he’s still at work, huh?

With heavy steps, you slowly moved towards your living room, fully expecting to see your husband lying utterly exhausted on the black sofa. Much to your dismay, the only thing you saw was his Ground Zero themed jacket you had surprised him with on Valentine’s day last year.

A sigh escaped your mouth as you let your eyes scan the emptiness you called home, and that’s when you noticed something peculiar peeking out of one of your trash cans.

Upon taking a closer look at it, you realized that it was the latest issue of the monthly ‘My HERO!’ magazine, you always made sure to buy so that you could keep track of what your husband, as well as his friends, were up to.

“Katsuki, you dummy, I still haven’t read it yet, you know?” you mumbled to yourself while you took it out of the waste-paper basket and glanced at the cover picture.

A tall and bulky man whose red shirt emphasized his toned muscles perfectly took up almost the entire space of the booklet. His long black hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and if one looked closely, it was evident that there were still some red streaks left from back in his student days where he used to maintain a completely crimson hairstyle.

There were some of this issue’s top stories listed on the front page, so you skimmed through the short extracts.

Earphone Jack: A life between a hero and a rockstar

“With Sensei’s help”: The way someone from the general department became one of the TOP 20 heroes

ICY-HOT: How to not only follow into your father’s footsteps but completely obliterate them

“Let me show you how it’s done”: Red Riot’s guide to becoming the manliest hero of society and women’s hearts

Some of these headlines were quite funny to you, but that positive mood only lasted until you saw your husband’s name.

Exclusive interview: How is Katsuki Bakugou’s married life going?

Even though the title wasn’t anything exceptional, you couldn’t deny that it felt a bit suggestive and provocative at the same time. Curious as you were, you immediately looked up the corresponding pages and began reading through them.

The questions didn’t differ that much from other typical Q&A sessions with other prominent figures of society. Still, some tried to imply that Bakugou didn’t seem as happy as some other married pro heroes, and that implication was making you quite sad.

At some point, this little questionnaire got quite personal, and even if your husband was trying his best to maintain at least some kind of privacy, the reporter just couldn’t take a hint and continued prying. You could’ve only imagined just how mad he must’ve been at this point, but what interested you most were his answers.

Q: So, how are the two of you managing the housework?

A: It heavily depends on who comes home first, but both of us are trying to take as much load off as possible from the other.

Q: Do you suspect there might be a different reason for your wife’s late returns?

A: I don’t know what you’re trying to point at, but no, I don’t. She might not be a hero like me, but she’s still a very busy woman, and there are some days on which she even comes home when I’m already asleep.

Q: Aren’t there times when you wish to come home and see that everything’s been taken care of by her?

A: If I wanted a maid, then I would’ve simply hired one.

You angrily closed the magazine and stomped towards the sofa, where you plumped down and began pouting like a small child.

Now I know why he threw it away…

Those questions were nothing but pure incitement from the reporter who tried to subtly accuse you of being unfaithful and imply that whatever you were doing was insufficient for such a great hero like him.

Exhausted, you lay down and held onto your man’s jacket, the mix of his favorite cologne, and his scent instantly managed to calm you down a bit. You began imagining how he was kneeling in front of you, running his fingers along your hair while trying to calm your raging heart down by saying that these people knew nothing about his or your private life, and slowly but surely your eyelids grew heavy until they completely closed.

——

“I’m home.”

After quietly announcing his return, Bakugou disrobed his coat and kicked his shoes off his feet. Upon noticing your footwear, he immediately headed for the bedroom to see if you had already gone to sleep, but much to his surprise, you weren’t there. The thought that you were still at work crossed his mind as he scratched the back of his neck, a disappointed sigh escaping his mouth.

He dragged his feet across the floor and headed for the kitchen. When his red eyes fixated that magazine he had thrown away some hours ago, the unpleasant memories returned.

I thought I threw that garbage away.

Just as the man was about to repeat what he’d done today, a particular figure caught his attention.

(Y/N)...

Looking at your sleeping form while tightly holding onto his jacket was both calming but saddening as well. The question you asked him some days ago was still haunting his mind.

When was the last time our day-offs were on the same day?

He knew that this question wasn’t supposed to hint at something, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty. In truth, Bakugou had always requested that his day-offs were on days where you would work so that he could at least help you out even a little bit with the housework. The happy and surprised facial expressions you did when you saw just how much your boyfriend had done around the house always filled him with enormous self-satisfaction, so he figured: why not continue that way?

But now that this stupid interview had planted a small seed of doubt in his mind and after seeing you desperately clinging onto a piece of fabric that bore his smell, it made him realize that he’d lost sight of something quite more crucial than just simple relief of fewer dishes to wash.

His calloused fingers gently caressed your cheek while his red eyes focused on your slightly parted lips. He’d given everything to wake you up with a kiss on the lips, but there was no way he could cope with the guilt he would’ve felt from robbing these small but much-needed minutes of rest. Instead, he carefully picked you up like the princess you were for him, gently leaned your head on his shoulder, carried you to the big and fluffy bed the two of you had picked out together some years back. He was relieved to see that he’d been successful in not waking you up while he’d laid you down as carefully as possible.

After tucking you in like a cocoon, Bakugou shut the door behind him and pulled his mobile phone out of his jean’s pockets, frantically searching for a particular man’s number, and when he’d finally found the one he was looking for, he made no halt. He straight out called it while completely disregarding the fact that it was almost 1 AM.

A tired and grumpy voice picked up after the fourth ting, demanding to know just what the blond needed at such an ungodly hour.

“A favor...it’s about this week’s day-off.”

——

The next day you woke up to someone gently poking your cheeks, and when you finally managed to squint your eyes open, the first thing that stood out to you were spiky blond hairs.

“Katsuki..?” you asked in a silent voice, still unsure whether he was truly standing before you or not.

Said man changed his tactic and softly moved some of your hair from your eyes as he answered: “Yeah, it’s me. Now stop dawdling and get up or you’ll be late for work.”

Just as he was about to make some space for you to get out of bed, you wrapped your arms around his waist, which almost made the both of you fall over...almost.

“You little...what do you think you’re doing, huh?”

A muffled giggle was your answer to his rhetorical question, and no matter how hard he tried to get you off of him, you refused to let go, so for better or worse, he had to return your embrace and stay that way until you were satisfied.

After that short but wholesome cuddle session with your husband, you finally started doing as told and prepared for the upcoming workday.

“Alright then...I’ll be leaving,” you announced half loud, conscious of being a possible disturbance for your still sleeping neighbors while looking back at the already dressed up man behind you. Bakugou was standing there, and after seeing the desolate expression on your face, he immediately spread his arms, initiating the embrace you were so desperately looking for. While his arms rested on your back, rubbing it ever so gently you took his scent in, kissing his neck ever so gently, and wished him a good day.

——

“I’m home.”

You took a look around your dark apartment smiling sadly at the fact that your husband hadn’t come back yet, so you did what you always do on lonely evenings such as these: prepare some dinner, run a bath, surround yourself with soft blankets and watch your favorite shows and movies until you eventually drift off to sleep. The last thing you did before sleep caught up to you was check your phone’s calendar and check whether your partner’s day off matched yours and it sadly didn’t.

Alone tomorrow as well, huh…?

You had fallen asleep on such a sad and rather negative thought that it had killed your entire motivation for the following day. The moment you opened your eyes you immediately wanted to fall asleep yet again, so you turned yourself and were now facing your lover’s bed part. Suddenly something rather peculiar caught your eye. His bedside was way messier than when you slept alone, which could only mean that he had come home at some point and that’s when you heard a silent thud coming from beyond your room.

Could it be..?

You slowly got up and when you opened the bedroom door you were greeted by a rather funny sight. Bakugou was holding onto the kitchen counter with one of his hands and with the other he held his foot and was swearing silently something about how the ‘shitty counter’ had been in his way. He at first didn’t notice your presence but the moment you giggled softly his red eyes darted back to where you were standing.

“S-Shit…! Sorry babe, I didn’t mean to wake you!” he apologized in a silent voice. Instead of answering you simply jogged up to him and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. This gesture was all he needed and his former anger was instantly blown away.

His strong arms glide along your back while his lips plant multiple gentle kisses on your temple. This gentle way of treating you wasn't something so uncommon and every time he did it it made you incredibly happy.

While you cuddled a sudden question crossed your mind that you couldn’t help but ask.

“Say Katsuki...it’s not like I’m ungrateful for you being here, but...isn’t your day off tomorrow?”

You expected him to get grumpy or insulted, but his reaction was quite the opposite of what you braved yourself for. The grin that appeared on his face was one full of pride and satisfaction, it was as if he had waited for that question.

“Well, what a coincidence of you to ask! Best Jeanist called me yesterday and said that he has to reschedule my free day for today, so I figured that I’d surprise you with some pancakes and grace you with my presence!”

His arrogant way of proclaiming this was a rather exaggerated attempt to hide the fact that he was actually the one who called up his superior at 1 AM in the morning, requesting the switch in days.

Normally such a sudden change wouldn’t be possible, but Best Jeanist had a hunch that his sidekick’s decision was most likely because of that interview he had a few days. The pro hero still remembered the way the blond had stormed into his office, screaming something about the audacity of the interviewer, about how these extras were lucky he held back, and how he’d make sure to ‘accidentally’ blow up their main building the next time he fought a villain. Considering his outburst, the older one figured that the questions must’ve been entirely different than anticipated so he decided to wait for the magazine’s next issue to release so that he could have a look as well.

You simply smiled to yourself and pressed your cheek on Bakugou’s trained chest, while the soft and pleasant smell of pancakes and sandalwood reached your nose. The two of you stayed like that for a couple of minutes until your husband gently pet your back, a subtle signal to signalize that it was time for the two of you to let go. With his warm hand still on your back he softly navigated you to one of the chairs he’d placed around your kitchen island and waited until you sat down so that he could serve you his fluffy creations.

“Et voilà! Katsuki’s extra fluffy and freshly prepared pancakes...hope you’ll enjoy them” he announced in a warm tone and kissed your cheek.

Looking at these soft goddesses you couldn’t help but lick your lips in anticipation, but you decided to wait for your beloved to join you so that you could dig in at the same time. It took a short while to persuade the blond who insisted that you start without him so that he could enjoy your blissful expression, but he yielded in the end.

His red eyes studied your positive reaction to the warm breakfast he’d prepared and a loving smile adorned his lips as he listened to the countless positive comments you uttered in regards to it.

Good thing I managed to escape her grasp this morning, ‘cause this expression is so worth it.

While you happily ate one bite after the other, Bakugou recalled today’s morning and how you had subconsciously wrapped your arms around his body and were cuddling up to him. The temptation to just lie there with you and shower your face with kisses until you woke up on your own was truly big, but he repeatedly told himself that your expression when you met him in the kitchen would be ten times cuter and more satisfying...and he was right.

“Hey (Y/N)...I love you, I really do” he said in a silent and almost soothing voice as he gently wiped off some crumbs from the corner of your mouth. You looked at him with slightly widened eyes. Your husband wasn’t that good with words as some so you often had to read between the lines and yet, this time you knew exactly what brought this sudden confession on.

The interview…

After swallowing that small bite of pancake which you’d been chewing on for a tad too long, you got up and walked around the edges of the island that separated you from your loved one.

The blond seemed to follow your line of thought and got up from his chair as well, already spreading his arms and readying himself for your embrace. When you were standing face to face with him you instinctively went for a hug and squeezed him as hard as you could while he placed his forehead on your shoulder and took in your pleasant smell.

It was at times like these where the thoughtfulness of your usually brash and impudent husband came to light and managed to cosy you along with his actions rather than his words.

While you were clinging onto his shirt the trash bin at the corner of your kitchen caught your eye and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you recognized the familiar and slightly wadded front page of a certain magazine…

#bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha fluff #mha fluff #━𝙱𝙽𝙷𝙰 #━𝙼𝙷𝙰

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hyuckssunchip · 3 years

Text

눈빛

~the expression of one’s eyes

Pairings: Mark x Reader, ft. Johnny

Words: 3.3K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst, unrequited love

Synopsis:

It wasn’t as if Mark couldn’t see it, in fact he was almost sure that Johnny could see it too. The way that you looked at him. At Johnny.

“Horror or Rom-com tonight?” You turned to face Johnny, dressed in his familiar pajamas, plaid didn’t do him justice.

“I dunno, it’s your night to choose.” Your eyes followed his figure, and you admired the messy hairdo you had gotten so used to.

“Horror? Are you up for some nightmares tonight?” He laughed, and your heart skipped a beat at the sound.

You giggled at his response, but he recognized the nervous look on your face.

“Don’t worry I’ll keep you safe, just like old times.” He plopped on the cushion next to you, his body flushed against yours. This was nothing new, his warmth was a familiar feeling, but you could never get used to the butterflies that the contact sent through you.

“Remember that time you thought that Pennywise was hiding under your bed?” He snorted at the memory of you huddled on the couch in the middle of the night, begging for him to stay up with you.

“That was stupid, and I told you I didn’t like clowns.” You grumbled, wrapping the blanket around you tighter, trying to ignore the teasing looks.

“Sure, so I’m guessing you don’t like ghosts either?” He nudged you, raising his eyebrows.

“No, I’m fine with ghosts.” You mocked back, but the hint of fear was evident in your voice.

“Great! I know a great movie then!” He moved towards the remote, checking out your reaction from the side of his eye.

“Yeah…” You mumbled, sinking further into the couch.

You were interrupted by the soft slam of the front door.

“Johnny?” You turned at the sound of a new voice.

“Oh, hey Mark. We’re about to watch a movie, wanna join? It’s horror.” He sang the last part, taunting you.

“Oh.” The awkward tension didn’t leave, and you turned to face Johnny, indicating you wanted to be introduced.

“Oh. Y/N this is Mark, Mark Y/N.” Johnny went back to the TV searching for the movie and leaving you and Mark to awkwardly acknowledge each other.

“Hi.” You let out a soft whisper, waving a shy hand at the newcomer.

“Hi.” But all he could do was stare back, a tiny smile adorning his face. You returned his smile, and turned to Johnny, digging your elbow into his side.

“Ow! What?” He flinched, rubbing his ribs and giving you a teasing glare. You nodded your head in Mark’s direction.

“Mark, you gonna join?” He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” He stuttered out, glancing between the two of you as he fell into the seat adjacent from you.

The starting credits of the movie began, lighting up your faces. Throughout the movie you had dug yourself into Johnny’s side, his arm making its way around your shoulders, laughing at the way you used him as a shield.

“You could’ve said no to ghosts.” He whispered in your ear, with a teasing grin on his face.

“Shut up.” You smacked his chest.

From the other couch Mark watched your interaction, the way that you looked at him, the way that you held onto him.

“Oh, hi.” You were startled, looking up from the comfortable position on the couch.

“Hi.” You winced at the awkwardness, suddenly wishing you hadn’t showed up to Johnny’s place early.

Mark slowly sat down on the other couch, as if he was worried that you didn’t want him there. Which wasn’t exactly true, but also not far from the truth.

“Are you waiting for Johnny?” He asked, choosing to look at anything but you.

“Yeah, it’s movie night again, but he said he was running late.” You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, staring at the plant on the coffee table.

“Oh.”

The silence was heavy. Normally you weren’t this awkward, but apparently your social ineptness and his just made things worse.

You giggled at the thought and as a way to relieve the tension.

“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows, worried that he had done something.

“Nothing.” But you couldn’t help but giggle again. The laughter was contagious and soon you found each other’s company comfortable.

You wiped the small tear that was threatening to escape, “Oh my god, my cheeks hurt.” You shook your head, the last half an hour you and Mark had been laughing non-stop, bantering as if you had known each other as long as you and Johnny had.

He had the biggest grin on his face, a goofy look that you thought was sweet.

“What’s going on here?” Johnny entered, chucking his back by the entrance. He commanded attention, pulling you and Mark away.

“We were just talking about you actually.” You smirked, winking at Mark.

“Hey, that’s not nice. What’d you talk about?” At the sound of the both of your laughter Johnny had wielded one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen. He felt content at the sight of the two people he loved most being happy.

“Oh, just some things… like that time where we went swimming and you-” His hand slapped over your mouth as he sent you a glare.

Mark doubled over in laughter, as you ripped his hand away from your face. “I already told him, it’s not new news.” You laughed at the look of horror on his face.

“You said you’d take that to the grave!” He threw an accusing finger at you.

“Oops. I lied.” You giggled at his face.

“Whatever. Horror night again I guess.” He smirked at the way your face fell.

“No, it’s my turn to pick.” You whined at him, to which he promptly shook his finger at you.

“Uh-uh, you lost that privilege the moment you opened your mouth.” He reached for the remote, quickly trying to find the movie.

You pouted, crossing your arm over your chest. “Whatever.” The smile grew on your face as you made eye contact with a very red-faced Mark, who looked as if he was going to combust from holding in his laughter. “It was worth it.”

Mark snorted, unable to keep it in. “I can’t believe you-” But the rest of his sentence couldn’t be heard, his own laughter ruining the story.

“Whooo.” He calmed himself, dabbing the undersides of his eyes dry.

“Okay. You done now?” Johnny teased sarcastically. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the grin that stretched over his face.

“Yeah.” But the tips of Mark’s lips never went down.

“Where are you going?” Johnny shouted at your back as you tried to leave the apartment.

“Mark’s taking me bowling. We’re going to practice so we can whoop your ass next Friday.” You shouted back, shoving your feet into your worn shoes, victims of your lack of patience.

He smiled at the sound of the door slamming, pleased that you two were getting along great. He wanted so badly for your friendship to work out, and possibly move to something more. Mark wasn’t exactly shy in the way that he looked at you, or talked about you. And Johnny could think of no one better he would approve of.

But the problem wasn’t with Mark, it was you. You were oblivious to his feelings, and even more so to your own. No matter how much time you spent with Mark, you told yourself that your heart belonged to someone else. No matter how wrong that was, you had convinced yourself that what you felt was love, and it wasn’t possible to feel that way for anyone else.

“You know I think you should get out there, I mean I know a really great guy that would be perfect for you.” You frowned at his words, not liking the sound of it.

You hated the way he was pushing you into a random relationship, especially when you just wanted nothing more than for him to reciprocate your feelings. But he was doing the opposite.

“I don’t want to get with a random guy.” You tried to push the idea away and move away from the topic.

“But you can’t just keep hanging out with me,” He frowned at your scowl, “I just want to do you a favor, I think you’ll really like him.”

“I don’t want to, Johnny. I’ll get into a relationship when I want to.” You pushed back, grabbing your phone as a distraction.

“When is that gonna be? You can’t just wait forever.” He tried to get your attention.

“Who says I’m waiting? I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy.” You snapped at him, his words now hitting a little too close to home.

“I’m not saying you’re not happy, just that you should find someone that can love you the way you deserve.”

You tensed at his words, not quite yet understanding where that was coming from.

“I know, and I’ll find that when it comes along.”

“I can’t do that for you.” He let out, biting his bottom lip.

Your heart stopped and suddenly you felt your chest tighten.

“So you knew.” You felt hot tears of embarrassment threaten to fall.

“Y/N…” There was a pleading tone as he realized your hurt, but that didn’t stop him from his next words, “It was hard not to.”

You swore you heard your heart break. “How long?” You croaked out.

“A long time Y/N.” He faltered out, watching your expression fall.

The feeling of betrayal hit you hard, and unable to reach his eyes anymore you turned on your heel, just narrowly missing his outreaching grasp.

“Y/N…” He paused, noticing the way you hesitated. It was hard not to, after all your feelings were still so strong and so real.

But he never finished, and you took that as a sign that the conversation, or whatever this situation was, was over.

It was only natural for you to find comfort in the person that seemed to know you best after Johnny. Mark.

“I was talking to Haechan yester- hey, what’s wrong?” Mark immediately found your eyes, a pool of empathy that you longed for.

You sniffled and your bottom lip trembled as you tried to speak. “He...Johnny.” That was all you got out before your voice was swallowed by a sob.

He reached out for you tentatively, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. You automatically melt into his embrace.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, softer than before, but just as genuine.

“Johnny found out I like him…” You faltered, not wanting to come to terms with his rejection.

You were terrified at the sight of his face, he wasn’t at all shocked at your confession.

“Was I that obvious?” You asked, moving to wipe the streaks off your face.

He sighed, trying not to meet your desperate eyes. “I mean…”

Your shoulders dropped, face heating in embarrassment. “Does everyone know? Am I just that transparent?”

“So what if you wear your heart on your sleeve? What’s wrong with that?” He leaned down to make eye contact, trying to console you.

“He doesn’t…”

You didn’t finish, but he didn’t need you to. Once again, his arms wrapped around you and he swayed you in embrace for a moment of silence.

Although he hesitated to ask, he desperately wants to know the answer to the question on his mind. His timing wasn’t great, but he’s human too.

“Do you… still like him?” He asked the top of your head, not daring to move as he felt you stiffen.

“Yeah…”

Neither of you spoke.

“I don’t want to though.”

“Sometimes you can’t help it.” He mumbled, some of his own truth behind his words. “The heart wants what it wants right?”

“Yeah.”

“Y/N.”

You froze, it was too early for you. You knew the moment you laid eyes on him you would break again.

“Are you mad?” He asked gently to your back, although you couldn’t see him, the Johnny you knew was genuine.

You sighed, it was soon, but you wanted to be able to hold yourself together for this conversation.

“No.” It came out as a squeak and you flinched at the sound of your vulnerable voice.

“I don’t want… I don’t want our friendship to be like this. I don’t want things to change.” Your heart sank at his words, although he had good intentions you knew the meaning behind them. That anything more than a friendship was never going to happen.

“I can’t do this right now.” You whispered out, sliding past the door. You felt your throat tighten involuntarily and a sob escaped you as you ran down the hallway, bumping into Mark on the way.

“Y/N?”

You continued past him, not wanting to take the chance that Johnny had followed you.

But the steps caught up with you, and you found a pair of arms enveloped you from behind and your shoulders sank in defeat.

“Y/N?” You relaxed at the familiar voice. You turned around in his arms, choosing to wrap your arms around his waist. You fit snug against his chest, the warmth and his heartbeat calming you.

“Shhh…. It’s okay.” He patted the back of your head, raking his hands slightly through your hair.

You simply hummed, not able to formulate a sentence yet. Together you rocked silence, slowly but surely calming you.

“I’m just not ready.” You answered eventually, muffled into his chest.

“It’s okay.” He murmured back.

“I want to be ready to face him, but it still hurts.”

“Y/N, just take your time, you don’t have to be ready yet.” He comforted you, ignoring the own pain that he felt.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, sniffling as you pulled away. You laughed nervously wiping your nose, “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

He giggled back, trying to make you feel better, “My shirt isn’t worth your apology. I’ll be your human tissue any time.”

You smiled shyly at his words, and you felt a small flutter in your stomach.

Another week had passed before your dreaded conversation with Johnny arrived. You finally felt ready to face the truth, but it didn’t mean you weren’t scared for the change that came with it. You weren’t stupid, awknowledging this meant that things weren’t going to be the same between you two. As scary as that was, nothing was going to get fixed if you avoided it.

“I- I don’t know where to start.” You had never seen Johnny so shy or confused. You were used to him being the powerhouse, the moodmaker. And it hurt you to see him look so defeated.

“Then let me. I have some things to get off my chest, and I honestly don’t know if I can do it if I don’t say it now.” You sighed, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

He nodded, letting you take your time.

“It just hurt, you know. Like not only was it one-sided, but I just kinda felt betrayed that you played along with it. If you knew the way I looked at you and you didn’t feel the same, you didn’t have to play into it so much.” You paused, still looking at the ground. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want things to change. I love our friendship, and I never wanted something to come between us. I thought for sure things would get weird if I said something. I mean, look at us now.” He let out a nervous laugh, something that you couldn’t reciprocate.

“But don’t you think it would’ve been better to let me know, so I didn’t feel like you played with me and my feelings?” You felt bitter when reminiscing the moments he made your heart flutter.

“I never once meant to play with your feelings, I swear. I know it looks really bad, and it didn’t help stop your feelings when I acted like that. But I truly didn’t do it to mess with you, or purposely hurt you.” He reached for your hands, grasping you softly. “I didn’t want things to be like this, I just figured that you would find someone else and forget about me. I mean that’s what I hoped.”

You faltered at his words, heartbroken that he wished that your feelings would just fade.

“I know it was stupid, and it was harsh, but I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt you and I thought this was the best way.”

You pulled your hands from his, fiddling with your fingers. But slowly you nodded, starting to understand him. Of course Johnny wouldn’t do that to you on purpose, you could trust him.

You watched as his expression visibly fell, and you wanted so badly to comfort him. “I know that you meant well, I just wish it didn’t come out like this, I wish you would’ve just told me. But I get that you didn’t want to hurt our friendship and I know this is probably better. I don’t think that there would’ve ever been the right time to tell me. It just hurts, you know. It would’ve hurt at any time though.”

You sighed at your admission, realizing that this was inevitable. With your feelings and your relationship with Johnny, this was inevitable, it was only a matter of when and how.

“I don’t want to say sorry for being hurt, or say sorry for having feelings for you, my feelings were valid. But I do want to say I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. I should have come to terms with it a long time ago but... I didn’t want to.”

He smiled sadly back at you. “Can things go back anytime soon? I don’t want things to be weird between us. I would hate our friendship to end.”

“Me too. I do think that it’ll take some time for things to go back to normal, if it will. But I want everything to work out the way it did before, and I’ll try.” You gave him a small smile, a means of offering your attempt in saving your relationship.

“Don’t be stupid. I told you it’ll never work, you’re just wasting your time.” You snorted at the loud thud that followed your words.

“I’m telling you, balancing upside down won’t get rid of your hiccups, what kind of logic is that?” Mark moaned in pain from his position on the floor, now sprawled out.

“Then what do I do?” He rubbed his head, face still red from the blood rushing to his face.

“Uh I don’t know, learn to live with it?” You snickered at the look he gave you.

“Uh… why is Mark on the floor?” Johnny walked in, staring between the two of you with a weird look on his face.

“He’s trying to get rid of hiccups.” You replied, leaning over the back of the couch to get a good glimpse at Mark.

“That doesn’t work.” Johnny said confidently, “I’ve tried.” He plopped on your right, staring down at the hiccuping boy, who glared back.

He wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you into a soft headlock.

Things were still different than before, but you were starting to go back to normal. His touch no longer sent flutters through your stomach and you smiled at the interaction.

“What you need to do is hold your breath.” He motioned to the way he was holding you, “I can help you out with that.”

Mark glared at the older boy, “No thanks, I rather enjoy breathing.”

He rolled over and slowly sat himself up, leaning back on his hands. He cleared his throat, sparing a glance up at the two of you. “And hands off my girlfriend.”

251 notes · View notes

burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

I really hate you

— Shinsou knows he shouldn’t trust villains. Especially villains who make his mind spin and stomach twist in joy. But there’s something about you that keeps him coming back for more.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: pro hero!shinsou hitoshi x villain fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, a little bit of juicy plot, pro hero!au, reader is a villain, betrayal, biting, marking, collaring, cursing, hate sex, rooftop sex, body liquids, angst

word count: 8,180

a/n: i like deception :) being a chem TA is pretty fun, except when im in lab for 8 am until 4 pm. listen,,, I also really liked this prompt I made last night because the one I had before wasn’t spicy enough for me anymore. I hope you enjoy though! like comment and share for the algorithm (jk been watching too many tikytokys)

kinktober day 8 main kink: collaring

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When the sun sets, and the moon is high in the sky, and the chill of the bitter cold winds raise ceaseless goosebumps on your arms, and the only people who are up are drunken businessmen and tiresome students, it is a common belief that this is when the freaks come out.

The freaks come out to play at night.

You are one of these freaks.

Heh.

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Shinsou nodded at his friends as he walked through the doors of the agency he worked at. Despite the power of his quirks ability, he was an underground hero (unless the ultra-rare occasion where they needed his quirk in the limelight); he was stationed within a large, well-known agency and was one of the founding heroes there at that. His ability to be hidden from the bright lights of the world were both easy and challenging; most of the world knew him as the kid from UA’s Sports Festival that went toe to toe with nearing number one Pro-Hero Deku. It both irked and embarrassed him when that event was brought up; on the one hand, it was true! He had nearly beat Midoriya during that final stage. Yet, on the other hand, their memories seemed to recall some crazy quirk-fueled fistfight where Midoriya had broken his entire body in the duration of their fight.

‘No,’ he often found himself responding back to the gentlemen and ladies who would awe at his school-day adventures, ‘there was a fistfight, but Midoriya handled it without using his quirk except to snap him out of my quirk.’

They always looked embarrassingly horrified by their faulty memory when they pulled the clip up on Youtube, their bows quick in apology before they made off.

But people recognizing him from that was rare as it gets, fortunately even with the large agency stapled to his alias, he was quite good at his job—a shadow in the night, an urgent whisper to the villain freaks who roamed the night.

“Ah, Shinsou-chan!” Kaminari pouted, his body draping over his purple-haired friend as Shinsou moved to change from his regular clothes into the black triple-weave kevlar of his hero suit. He had once sported a black cotton-like costume akin to Aizawa, but after many, many gun shootings and stabbing incidents, he figured he needed something sturdier.

“What is it?” he asked, rising up from his bent position so that Kaminari couldn’t take advantage of his slouched form.

Shinsou’s tired, purple eyes met the exhausted pair of Kaminari.

“Today was so hard,” Kaminari sighed, his lip still put into the stupid pout, and he slumped onto the bench behind Shinsou. His feet were spread before him, fingers drumming onto his directional equipment. “Since it’s winter, the night comes sooo much earlier now. I swear some weirdos really appear out of the woodworks when the night comes! Like just before I was going to make my way back here, I swear I saw Aizawa-sensei hanging out on the rooftops like some super-secret ninja, right?”

Shinsou frowned. He knew his mentor turned friend was actually on vacation at the moment in Hawaii. Something he thought, at the very least, was long overdue.

“Aizawa is in Hawaii right now,” Shinsou quickly spoke, his hands buckling the belt on his pants, before moving to lace up his boots.

“Oh fuck, I told Todoroki he was in Seoul,” Kaminari cursed, the palm of his hand hitting his forehead.

“Good going, who knows what weird message or gift he’ll end up sending to Aizawa now,” Shinsou couldn’t help the small smirk from spreading on his face at that note.

After being accepted into the Hero Course over in UA, Shinsou couldn’t help but be initially disappointed when he was placed within Class 1-B — Class 2-B at that point — simply because his mentor was with Class 1-A. The initial disappointment didn’t last very long when he got to know the rest of Class 2-B better, and he saw that while 2-A possessed raw talent, 2-B were more well-defined with a much bigger take-no-shit mentality that he appreciated more. That and 2-A were being strangled by a new villain of the month far too often, and Shinsou just wanted nothing more than to graduate from high school.

Still, his lack of enrollment in Class 2-A didn’t mean that he didn’t see the rambunctious, nearly intolerable group of twenty in class 2-A. As a matter of fact, he thought he saw them a bit more than he’d like. Aizawa was his mentor, so he understood seeing him around, but for some reason, 2-A was never too far away. As soon as Shinsou was admitted into the Hero Course and the two hero classes had weekly meals together, which meant that to him, just the slightest bit, 2-A felt like an unwanted, annoying, ugly stepchild.

So no, Shinsou could not tell you 2-A’s inside class jokes, but he knew a lot more about the forty other hero students than he’d ever like to admit.

And through his knowledge, he knew that the ever so powerful Todoroki Shouto was an idiot, probably a bigger one than Kaminari.

“I hate that you call Aizawa-sensei just…” Kaminari trailed off, a disgusted shiver running down his spine as if it sickened him to remove the single formality.

“Aizawa,” Shinsou said once more.

“Stop.”

“Aizawa.”

“Hitoshi!”

“Aizawa.”

“PLEASE!”

“Shouta.”

Kaminari hit the floor, his chest heaving with fake, bitter sobs while Shinsou couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his over-dramatic friend on the ground. He had to admit, Shouta felt weird on his tongue too.

“Stop making a huge deal about how Aizawa and I are closer than you are,” Shinsou half-joked half-told-the-truth.

He was more than well aware of his mentor’s former students trying to become even closer to their beloved homeroom teacher. All doing it in their own ways, all relatively unsuccessful because unknown to them (but not Shinsou), Aizawa already loved them all thoroughly, not that he’ll ever tell them.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO SHAVE OFF MITTENS FUR!”

Oh yeah, that had lost a lot of love points for Kaminari.

Sighing softly, Shinsou placed his newly replaced coiled capturing weapon around his shoulders, and his artificial vocal cords mask onto his chest until he was off on patrol.

“Why’d you think you saw Aizawa?” he asked again, trying to finish the conversation so that he could leave. It felt like it was going to be a long night if Kaminari confirmed where his thoughts were already trailing.

“Hm?” Kaminari finally looked up from his puddle of tears on the floor, tears streaking all over his face, small charges of electricity humming off it. He blinked once, twice, his eyes shooting to the ceiling as if the answer was there before his fist came down to hit his open palm in a flash of realization. “Oh, I remember! There was this person, obviously not Aizawa-sensei, standing by the edge of a building watching everyone below. Hair whipping in the wind and his capturing weapon fluttering around them!”

Just as Shinsou thought.

“Where did you see her?”

“Her?!”

“Where, Kaminari?”

“Uh… well, I guess by Gramps convenience store. Don’t tell me this is some super sexy megafan of yours! Wait… do tell me, or… no, I’ll get jealous if you’re having rooftop sex with — eh?! where are you going?! Hitoshi?!”

“My shift started two minutes ago,” Shinsou explained, one of his hands lifting in a wave as he exited the locker room, his heart hammering quickly, knowing just who he was going to need to track down tonight.

…

It was dark.

Shinsou’s eyes squinting as he hopped from one rooftop onto the other, his capturing device assisting him in clearing the dooming crevice. He wasn’t exactly the most physically threatening, and unfortunately, that also meant he wasn’t exactly the greatest at parkour type movements, although he was getting better. Maybe had he started to ask for earlier shifts, where he would be out when the sun was, he could get better faster.

It was tricky with only the moonlight to guide him, but that’s what he could get at the moment.

As he scuffled through the gravel rooftop of one of the abandoned buildings, Shinsou found himself squinting at the figure in the distance. The one perched near what Kaminari oh so fondly refers to as Gramps convenience store.

He studied the form of the picture still person, noticing if it wasn’t for the slight wind through your hair and twisting capturing weapon around your neck, he would think you’re a statue. But he knows better now, he’s known better for quite some time now.

“What’re you doing out here, y/l/n?” Shinsou found himself speaking the moment he stepped behind you, hands shoving into his pant pockets.

You didn’t move, nor did you respond, your body still completely still while peering down at the empty world fascinated on who knows what.

“Y/l—”

“How can I help ya, Mindjack-senpai?” you interrupted him, your gaze still not removed from the world below the building. “I hear it’s supposed to be a busy night tonight.”

Shinsou paused, his brows scrunching at your words.

It was plain to see to Heroes that you were a villain, you did what you wanted when you wanted, whatever the price, but if there was one thing Shinsou had learned with this rather weird cat and mouse game the two of you played time and time again was that you didn’t lie.

What was happening?

“A busy night?” Shinsou questioned, his quirk still unactivated, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to Brainwash an answer out of you anyways. “Where at?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Hero?” you teased slowly, and Shinsou had to deny the way that the way your head finally turned to lock eyes with his made his stomach clench.

It meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

“You know what happens when you slight me,” Shinsou couldn’t help but warn, the bandages on his neck rising under his command. But your eyes blinked slowly, lips spreading into a lazy, cunning smile.

“And you know what happens when you underestimate me,” you returned, fingers gliding against his old weapon — yes, old weapon. Just two months ago, just before your last arrest, you had viciously stolen it from him, your foot crushing his vocal cords while you managed to pry the weapon from his broken fingers. “Anyways, Mindjack-senpai, it’s a bit unethical of you, a hero, to be threatening me in such a way! I’m just a poor girl waiting for the love of my life to show up.”

“And have they?”

You blink, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you nod, “I got him right where I want him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Shinsou snapped despite the lick of warmth against his chest and cheeks. “I’ll have you arrested again.”

Now, this has you turning from the edge of the building, you sit on the ledge of the building, fingers supporting your head as you stare at him without fear. Shinsou really fucking hated how fast you riled him up.

“Arrested? But Mr. Mindjack-senpai, didn’t you know?” you ask, the taunt evident in your voice, the twinkle in your eye devastatingly bright. “I’m a changed woman. I’m what you call a hero now. You wouldn’t arrest an innocent heroine, could you?”

“You’re hardly innocent,” Shinsou responded back smoothly and deftly, not at all yet entirely impressed by you. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He blamed his deep impressions of you on the stupid black and purple attire you wore.

“Well, you know as well as I do that I just got out, but I feel like except what happened two days ago, I’ve really changed,” you emptily promise, pushing off the ledge, sauntering closer to Shinsou until he felt the tip of your nose brush against his. “I’ll make sure to think about you whenever… bad feelings come up.”

He prays you don’t see the scarlet flush on his face.

You’re already back at the ledge when he blinks, and he watches you raise two fingers to your temple in a mock salute as you wink at him.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but two blocks east, seven blocks south from the heart of Tokyo is where you’ll find trouble,” you inform him, dropping the salute as you turn to run.

But Shinsou wants his damn weapon back.

“Y/l/n, wait!”

“Yes—?”

You froze at the ledge, your eyes spacing out, and Shinsou sighed, moving to collect his weapon from you until you suddenly dove off the building, a burst of cheerful laughter on your tongue.

“Oh, I forgot to tell ya!” you screamed from the next building over, your fingers threading through the alloy metal cloths. “I got some earbuds just for when you’re around! They make your voice into electrical signals just for me! So guess what?!”

Shinsou didn’t need you to complete that sentence in order for him to realize what you had just gotten your hands onto.

As long as you wore those, his quirk was useless against you.

Despite knowing that a villain held the key to his demise as a hero, he chuckled, running a hand through his short purple hair.

You really were something.

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Shinsou never took himself as an especially suspicious person.

He figured he had days where he was suspicious of some people the correct amount, especially when they had the most painted on emotions he’s ever seen. Some days he was overly trusting and blamed tight smiles on something acute to nerves. Without meaning to brag, he felt like he was healthily suspicious of people, unlike others he knew who wouldn’t dare to interact with anyone new or would spill their darkest secret to anyone who would listen.

But there was something entirely, conspicuously suspicious with how you were behaving.

Winter had long passed, the long winter nights and graveyard shifts of endless freak encounters had worn a hole in his patience and boots. The spring season was beginning to end, and the warm days and nights of summer were setting on his skin.

Six full months of you, the first-ever villain he had fought as a Pro Hero, the first-ever villain to have openly flirted with him and to have him flirt back, being suspiciously… kind.

Every shift of his, he would find you waiting for him on one of the regular rooftops. Every time he would check in with the database to make sure you weren’t wanted for some crime to find that you were innocent. Every time he would feel pissed off because you wore those earbuds that rendered his quirk useless and you somehow mastered the capturing weapon within weeks.

Now Shinsou didn’t pout, he really didn’t, but there were moments where you would appear from behind him, finger swiping down his spine as you effortlessly twirled around him, a stupid sly grin on your face as you held onto the collar of his hero costume.

“Don’t pout, Mindjack-senpai, I’m here now,” you’d purr each and every time.

He loved the dangerous purr to your voice, the way your eyes hooded over, peering at him through your eyelashes, but he knew better. He had to know better. It wasn’t that villains were terrible people per se; he’d learned a lot of villains were just thoroughly sick of being mistreated (and he had wondered what would have happened if he had been denied from UA… would he be one?). He knew that for the most part, you were quite harmless, merely sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, living a life to your personal laws and rules.

It didn’t make you evil, merely dangerous.

But he had a job to do where even if it was justifiable to beat the ever-living shit out of your sister's abuser, nearly murdering him in rage and refusing to calm down when Shinsou had arrived on the scene with the use of his quirk didn't hold up well in court. It had started this long chain of events where you had absolutely hated him for a time as you were forced to stay overnight in a jailhouse. And many horrible days afterward where you performed what Shinsou had thought to be illegal actions only to find that no, they weren’t. As a matter of fact, entirely legal because Japan had yet to update their codes.

Long after he had discovered this, you had returned to actual crime, your physical ability growing by leaps and bounds as he ran after you after catching you doing something dangerously illegal. Shinsou was a proud hero and was incredibly proud of the impact he made as a Pro Hero, but it was clear as day, even to him, that he often let you slip through his fingers. Like a child opening their cupped fingers and wondering why the water had left.

He wasn’t sure what it was about you that made him act this way, but he certainly didn’t wish to find out.

“So what’s on the schedule today, Mindjack-senpai?” you asked, appearing from the shadows of the rooftop, not scaring Shinsou in the slightest as this was always where you greeted him. “Are we saving the Prime Minister today? Stealing — I mean, protecting those stupid bedazzled eggs in the museum? Perhaps solving an unsolvable case?”

“Smooth,” Shinsou snarked, his tired purple eyes piercing through your bright ones that seemed undoubtedly excited. “How many times do I gotta tell you that there aren't that many actual case assignments? Besides, most team-ups happen in the morning when I’m asleep.”

“Being a hero is so boring!”

“You’re not a hero.”

“Am too!” Shinsou snorted, turning on his heel and began walking away, listening to your footsteps running after him to keep up with his long paces as you cried that out.

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Shinsou stopped, his eyebrow raised in slight forced annoyance but much more amusement, when you spun in front of him, hand on his chest, cheeks puffing with your heavy breathes.

“Look!”

Tilting his head back, Shinsou grunted when your phone was shoved in his face. “What is this?”

“Hero Commission Regulation Handbook, page fifty-four, Article three, sub-article twenty-three,” you chirped, turning your phone back to yourself so that you may read it correctly. “It states that besides attending hero school like a bunch of nerds, civilians have the option of securing internships with approved Pro Heroes and work side by side with them for six months! Once finishing their internships, said Pro Hero must simply sign my licensing papers and bam, a hero I’ll become.”

“And which sniveling hero did you get to do your dirty work?” Shinsou scoffed, not at all buying the notion that you of all people wanted to become a hero. A vigilante at best, an anti-hero much more realistically, and staying a villain as default.

“You,” you smirked, winking at him before turning on your heel and sauntering off, knowing full well the patterns of his routines.

Shinsou sighed, but he let a familiar smirk fall on his face as he walked after you, enjoying the way you glanced back at him with your wide clear eyes. But that suspicious, gut feeling didn’t leave his core, no matter how sweet and beautiful he found your smile.

“So, Mindjack-senpai, who are we apprehending today?”

“You want me to sign your paper this entire time, and you’ve been addressing me as senpai?” Shinsou commented, his weapon shooting off to a nearby building, snapping straight in his hand when it was ready. “Where are your manners? It’s Mindjack-sensei to you.”

He didn’t wait for your response, choosing to swing off the ledge of the building with no hesitation, but a part of him wished he could have heard the sound of your laugh he only seemed to hear through the streaming, far away air.

…

While usually, Shinsou didn’t have actual cases during his patrols, this job, after all, was much more spontaneous than anything else, today was different.

Today was different altogether, really.

First off, he showed up to work when the sun was still up just to get his meeting intel down in time for him to be out on the scene in time. He had nodded plenty, silently taking in Creati’s information on the drug cartel they wanted to in the next few weeks take down for numerous charges. The creation of dangerous, illegal drugs, prostitution rings, robbery, and murder being the main ones. It was some bigger stuff, so they needed all the evidence they could get.

Shinsou stared at the faces of the more prominent names of the cartel, studying every crook, nanny, and scar on their faces as Creati simply ended with where they focused down onto where their drug creating facilities were at, but still needed confirmation. “They’re pretty difficult to get to without knowing where they are,” Creati admitted, handing him a GPS. “You’ll need this.” He would be the first to start evidence gathering; after all, his old classmates would begin tomorrow.

So he had left, going to the first hideout and finding out it was completely empty. Not a single spec of evidence remaining, not a secret door or trap to get him to where they could be hiding from sight.

So was the next.

And the next.

Something sat weirdly in his stomach as he began walking towards the final one on his list, and he froze when he saw lights shifting and moving from around the building. Quickly, Shinsou hopped to higher grounds, his phone already out, ready to take pictures. He lay low to the rooftop, practically army crawling to get to place to place as he neared the windows on the rooftop, allowing him to peer in onto the building he was scouting to find precisely what he needed.

The entire building was a drug production spot.

His eyes scanned the building floor, singling out ten of the twelve main heads on the cartel, and he smirked. Perfect.

“Whatcha doing here, Mindjack-sensei?” your voice whispered millimeters from his ear, and Shinsou bit his tongue harshly to keep the instinctual scream from ruining his covert operation.

He snapped his head over to you, eyes slightly furious, eyebrows knitted tightly as he looked to see you leaning toward him. You were in a different outfit today, completely black, drowning you out in the night. He blinked; even the capturing weapon he had still been unsuccessful in stealing back from you was pitch black.

“What’re you wearing?”

“Do you like it?” you asked, straightening up and twirling for him as if you were wearing a magnificent dress and not personally created ‘hero’ clothes. “Ah, I hoped you would! Sorry, I had to get rid of the purple. I just felt it made me look too cute, right? I know I can’t have villains falling for me like you had me falling for you!”

Shinsou did not blush, no he didn’t, “shut up.”

“So what are we looking for today?” you asked, pressing down onto the floor beside him. Your arm touching his as pressed your face towards the glass. “Is this a stakeout?”

“Less stakeout, more information gathering,” Shinsou grumbled, typing some needed notes onto a file on his phone. It seemed to him that there was plenty here for the drug making charges. “We’re trying to get their bigger names caught in the action.”

“Oh, I thought heroes just burst in whenever they wanted, that’s what they do in the movies. Plus, you always threaten me with being arrested with no evidence,” you giggle, shifting closer to the glass, smile wide on your face.

“After saying that, say goodbye to me signing off that paper of yours,” he grunted, slipping his phone back into his pocket while you scrunch your nose at him. Shinsou couldn’t help but stare at you as the palms of your hands supported your chin as you hummed some song he couldn’t recognize.

“Ne, Mindjack-sensei, did you get the big boss?” you asked, your finger pressed against the cold glass, and Shinsou frowned, returning his head to the glass.

Right where you were pointing was, in fact, the head of the cartel. He was horrendously scrawny, holding no sense of fear or malice, and Shinsou wondered what his quirk could be that he was in charge of an operation such as this one.

“Oh, his right-hand man came too! All twelve are here!” you cheered quietly as Shinsou took documentation on his phone, and that suspicious rock in his stomach finally made sense at this second.

“Y/l/n?” he asked, head turning toward yours, tired eyes glinting with emotions he didn’t know how to handle.

“Mhm?”

“How did you know there were twelve main members, and how’d they look like?”

Silence.

Shinsou’s lips pulled back into a snarl, his canines glinting as he locked eyes with yours that were wide with shock and disbelief.

“How’d you find me—?”

He watched you lean away from the glass, fingers shooting to your earpieces. And with the inkling of suspicion sprinting through his veins, the purple-haired hero still found that he moved too slow.

BOOM!!!!

He blacked out when his body flew with the explosion.

...

Ringing.

Pain.

Numbness.

Shinsou could only hear ringing in his ears as soot and ashes fell down from the sky, falling on his body, coating his gaping, open mouth as he tried to breathe, trying to calm himself. Was he bleeding? Was he dying? Where was the explosion from? Were you okay?

His eyes blinked heavily, altogether so irregularly that Shinsou couldn’t help but feel he was out of his body when you reappeared in his sight. Your hand pressing to his cheeks sympathetically, eyes truly hurt as you shook your head, hand grabbing into his bloodied pocket to take his phone.

“I’m sorry,” your voice seemingly whispered, just loud enough for him to hear you through the ringing from the explosion. “You weren’t supposed to be here, Mindjack… these are the scumbags that hurt my friends and family. I couldn’t let them live. Plus… I didn't have a choice, they were competition.”

He spluttered, the warm goo of blood and saliva choking out of his mouth as he convulsed on the ground, his eyes watching as you went.

“See you later, hero.”

He tried to yell at you to come back, that you were a coward, a fucking menace that he would destroy the next time he saw you, but his voice failed to work. Nothing was working except his pain receptors, his heart that kept shoving blood into his lungs that he kept spitting up, but he saw flashing white and red lights as unconsciousness sank its jagged teeth into his neck.

An ambulance was here.

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It took four months to recover from the accident.

His hearing had been fucked up. Not even medical quirks had managed to save his hearing entirely. But hey, it did get him the chance for Bakugou Katsuki to come to his room, called him pathetic, and showed off his own hearing aid that he had needed since his quirk had damaged his own hearing. Not to mention that for the past four months, he had been teaching him sign language just in case.

He wasn’t alone, it seemed.

But it was four months, and he had recovered fully.

The hearing aid he required in his left ear still made his ear ache in pain, and he found that he liked it much better shoved in the back of a draw than anything else. But he knew it was dangerous to be a hero without his full hearing. If it hadn’t been for Bakugou’s trial through this all and the help of Hatsume Mei to create a more appropriate hearing aid for heroes, he wasn’t sure if he would still be here — working that is.

But today — or well, night — was a new day, and he was going to push ahead. He could do this, no sweat, no problem.

Well, that was until an all too familiar figure sat perched on a ledge on his usual route, legs swaying in the air as uncontrolled rage bubbled in his chest. It wasn’t entirely your fault, but a large part of Shinsou was embarrassed to have been caught up in all of this because of you. He had trusted you above all else even when his instincts yelled at him not to because he knew what it was like to be painted as a villain, and he had hoped by letting you in more, you would have changed. He thought you had.

But you hadn’t.

Not one bit.

…

You sat at the edge of the building, already having heard the loud crunch of Shinsou’s shoes against the gravel rooftop, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t know how to face him, how to tell him that you were both sorry that he got caught up in your schemes, but that you weren’t sorry for what you had done. Those bastards had it coming.

“Give me one good reason not to push you off the building,” Shinsou growled, probably much louder than he intended.

Instead of answering, you shrugged.

You hadn’t brought the earbuds that would keep you from being immune to his quirk, and you slightly feared what would happen if you gave in to the whispers of his words. Would you blackout in a daze before coming back to normal only when placed in the prefectures jail? Would he actually attempt to kill you? You had no idea.

But you turned on the ledge, looking at his tired purple eyes that shook with his anger and betrayal. You had done a number on him.

“So, now you can’t seem to respond back to me?” he laughed bitterly, his teeth bared into a way too fierce smile, one that made your heart thump and sent a shiver down your spine. “What game do you think you’re playing?”

You still didn’t answer as you planted your feet back onto the rooftop and stood up, watching as his binds flared to life. Dancing and weaving around him in a dangerous coil of fabric, like a frilled dragon lion lizard extending its skin in a warning.

“Should’ve taken you down with that first time I found you,” he spat, his eyes narrowing as you took steps toward him, and the weapon seemed to snap at you. “Did your sister pull the same bullshit on him as you did me? Is that why he became ‘psycho?’”

Now that one nearly got the response out of you as fury thrummed through your veins as you were suddenly nose to nose. You couldn’t help it, but you knew there was no point in explaining your reasoning for doing what you did because he would never understand; he couldn’t.

So as his eyes flashed dangerously from your eyes, his breathing coming down harshly against your upper lip, the hatred he had for you (that was probably reignited from a year ago and make it double) simmered between the air between you and him. You couldn’t resist.

Your lips pressed against his in a simmering hot kiss.

Shinsou shoved you away, as quickly as you had pressed your mouth against his, but you were back on him before he could utter a word. Only that this time, he kissed you back with scalding, burning heat.

You never really knew how much smaller you were to Shinsou until you were on the tips of your toes to kiss him, his hands practically burning you as they gripped onto your hips, pulling you so close there was hardly any room to breathe. His kiss was hateful, spiteful, and full of unspoken passion the two of you had never addressed during the period that was good. It had been so good, but he was a hero, he would never understand.

His teeth bit harshly onto your lower lip, and you hissed, your fingers burying into his hair and tugging at the root of his hair as his tongue came and pressed dangerously against yours. His tongue was hot against yours, he was undoubtedly much more hotblooded than you were, and with his emotions heightened, he exhausted what.

Tongues clashed against one another, but it wasn’t even a battle of dominance; it was a battle to find who surrendered. There was to be no joy or excitement for whichever tongue prevailed, just the burning of the tears falling down your face and the acid taste on your tongue as he suckled on your pink muscle.

Your eyes were partially opened, watching his angry yet blank purple eyes meet yours, neither one of you allowing yourself to give in to the pure elation and sensation this was bringing. No, he wouldn’t allow it, and you wouldn’t have it.

The stubble of his beard scratched into your skin repetitively, feeling like sandpaper against your own skin as the kiss deepened, consuming the both of you on a whole new level as your crotches ground roughly against one another. Hisses and groans couldn’t stop pouring from your collective mouths, both of you hating yet craving more from this all. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he spoke to you like this, would he do something to you while you were like this? So when his massive, thick hand made contact with the underneath of your ass, scooping up your leg so that your covered cunt could now correctly grind into his hard cock, the weapon you stole from him a year ago bound around his neck, choking him, collaring him.

“I like my bitches chained up,” you mocked against his lips, but somehow, someway, Shinsou liked it.

You groaned loudly at the way Shinsou gasped for air against the makeshift collar, your grin widening as you nodded your head, pulling away from his mouth as the grin became a smirk. “Didn’t think you wanted to talk when we were fucking?” you lied, teeth biting onto his lower lip and sucking on it as your hips oh so artfully bucked against his covered cock. You could feel the growing slick in your panties beginning to feel uncomfortable with the lack of proper friction, and your head lolled backward when he slammed your core against his, devilishly grinding against you.

He picked up your other leg and dropped the both of you to the floor, the uncomfortable gravel stone floor digging painfully into your back, but you could care less. Shinsou’s mouth was already back on your body, scratchy, scraping kisses placed on your neck, making you moan out, legs wrapping around his waist as you cant your hips upward to grind into him.

Unamused with the lack of his hands on your body, you took his arms that were planted at your shoulders and pressed his heavy palms on your breasts, avoiding the pissed look in his eyes as his teeth marked you painfully. You actually shrieked in pain. The feeling of his teeth tearing through the skin on your neck, while his finger kneaded and pulled at your covered breasts. It was unashamedly painful with how he played with your breasts. He seemed to grow happier with every sound of distress you made.

Fisting your hands back into his hair, you pulled him back to your face level, your eyes fluttered at the way his clothed erection carded perfectly between your sopping wet cunt. Blood stained his mouth, making his teeth slightly orange in tint, and you clicked your teeth in partial anger and pain as your neck throbbed. Slamming your lips back against his, you almost gagged at the taste of iron that soared through your senses as his tongue wasted no time to seek yours out. His lips and fingers were so ardent, manipulating your every body movement, cry of pain and pleasure as thrumming hatred for the stupid, stubborn hero above you still coursed through your veins.

Sweat began to form at your temples as your lips gilded against his, your hips snapping up to meet his grinding hips, and an airy response keened from his mouth as you moaned loudly.

His incessantly grinding hips were making your legs shake with stimulation, your whines and whimpers for more opening like a flood gate as you finally stuck a hand between the two of you and shoved his pants to his knees. You dropped your legs from around his waist, and he assisted you in ripping your pants off from one side of your body, the fabric still clinging to your right leg, but you could hardly care. All you wanted was for him to plant his cock into your blazing heat and to fuck you, to claim you here on this rooftop that started and would end it all. You wanted him, his cock, and him.

“Fuck me,” you begged into his ear, and his back shivered with your words. You hooked your leg around his waist, carding his hot, throbbing cock against your soaked pussy, as you rolled your hips. “I want you to fuck me, fill me with his cock, and cum deep within me to show me just how much you fucking hate me.”

You cried out when his hand shot down to his cock to line it up with your squeezing, dripping hole, his mouth once again covering yours, kissing you aggressively, fueled with an emotion you could taste as bitter hatred. Your legs trembled as the tip of his cock continued to press against your entrance, not entirely entering it, not giving you friction to send you into a euphoric end. You could help the snarl that passed through your lips, your eyes angry beyond repair as the head of his cock continued to deny you. Whenever you tried to grind down, to force your walls around his cock, he went down with you, he wouldn’t allow it, and your cunt clenched against nothing as he gave you nothing.

Shinsou wheezes out a bitter chuckle, his hand raising his cock from between your soaked folds to slap his heavy, thick, and long length against your throbbing clit.

Hatred and desire soak your body, and you needily rub your clit against his cock, your hands shoving up his shirt to feel the scarred pattern of his back as you give him new ones that were produced by your nails.

“Don’t tease me, hero,” you snapped, fingers tearing into his skin to draw blood. “You fuck my pussy so good, right now, or I promise next time you’ll go out with that bomb too.”

That seems to do what you want because before those words settle on your nerves. His cock penetrates deeply within you, bottoming out entirely as your head thrashes back against the gravel of the floor, throbbing pain from that entirely ignorable because fuck, his cock was stretching you out. He was so thick, so fucking veiny that you could feel the pulsating veins on his cock pressing against your puffy, sensitive walls. You scream his name as the pleasure-filled pain pulses within you, your hips thrashing, wildly bucking in your attempt to calm from the sudden placement of his cock.

“Why are you so fucking big?” you splutter, a whining pitch to your voice as you clawed at his back, trying to separate your joined bodies but also trying to get even closer. “It’s so big, my walls feel like! Oh fuck, Shinsou, it feels like Imma split in two!”

It seems that Shinsou holds some great pride over those worse, because he growled deep in his chest, and his hips begin to fuck into you. It sends your hands to the base of his neck, clutching onto his skin with hope as you scream in pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the wet squelches fill the air and tickle your ears. The head of his cock keeps dragging against your spongy wall, brushing over your g-spot over and over again as if he knew where it was, as if it was common knowledge as he fucked you further into the gravel floor. It didn’t even hurt anymore, your skin singing with joy as his cock fucked you stupid.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me!” you whined, and Shiinsou made an approving noise.

He grunts as your cunt flutters and clenches around him, his balls hitting your skin in possibly bruising force and speed. And his pelvis crashing against your stings ever so slightly, but has you begging for more, sobbing for more.

Your vulgar words and moans are unstoppable at this point, your legs and thighs trembling as they are still circled around him, sometimes assisting you in coming up to meet his driving, drilling hips. You whine into his ear, your mouth pressing blind and sloppy kisses against his slick with sweat neck.

It’s when both his hands bring your hips up to him, his cock finally bottoming out entirely within you, does the most primal moan rip through your mouth. You convulse underneath him, trying to move as the head of his cock buries against your cervix, poking your womb with power and speed that has you swearing behind the blackness of your vision that this sensation brings. You can see the entire galaxy, the world lighting up when his cock leaves the thin wall, and you gasp, shocked that the heat and slick of your cunt is still going. You tremble underneath him, wordless cries pittering from your mouth while he bites on your earlobe.

You soon readjust to the numbing pleasure, the bruising pleasure, and pain that comes with his cock slamming against your cervix. The way that he thrusts up into you, stretching out your walls far more than you were ever used to.

A pathetic cry escaped your lips when he rolled over so that you were now on top, your body bouncing as soon as it could against him. You keened and whined, feeling the top of his cock licking your cervix, and you spluttered.

“Fuck this angle, this angle and your cock!?” you stammered, fists curling into his collar as you rode him, his hips snapping up into yours with that same animalistic power and speed.

His pace is irreplicable, near maddening with every successive thrust of his hips. Each snap, each wet noise sends you close to the edge, your inner walls clenching and milking his length with greater power as your senseless cries fill the night sky. His grip on your waist will leave purple bruises later tonight, you just know it, but the fire in his eyes as you lock fazes is enough for you to be okay with it.

Its intensifying, deepening, fire erupting in your core as your cunt throbs.

Sweat, tears, and spit fall from your face, and Shinsou surges upward, kissing you with everything he can. It's a maddening escape of lust and need and hatred being exchanged, saliva spreading between you, covering your hot faces with slimy coldness, But you keep him close, your mouth drinking him in more, begging for more as your tongue sinks into his mouth.

His fingers rake down from your back. Past the curve of your clapping ass and onto your powerful thighs that helped in your action to claim his cock. Your joined mouths, both parted in silent screams, wordless begs for more, branding curses that spoke of his hatred for you, your hatred of his job.

Fuck this, fuck that, fuck, fuck, “fuck!”

You held each other impossibly close. Despite the barriers of shirts and armor separating your chests, you swore you could feel his hammering heart flush against your chest. A steady, consistent beat reminding you that this was a one-time thing, that this was yet another bomb with only one explosion to it.

“S-Shit!” his voice finally managed to escape from the makeshift collar, and you nearly sobbed at the sound of his gravelly, husky voice.

You still hated him, you really hated him and his stupid deep voice.

Your back arches as the control you had on collar suddenly slacks, as if you had never had it there, and his own noises of sex, of hatred, of pleasure fill and echo in your ear. You can hear him mumbling something in your ear, your head pathetically nodding, tears streaming down your face only you can’t seem to figure out why. The throbbing pressure in your stomach made you near uncomfortable as his cock sank and disappeared from your cunt, your walls' vice grip becoming tighter and tighter and tighter.

There’s vigor, untapped lust, pent up frustration as he rolls you both around, pushing you back into the gravel and dives his length into your wet, loud cunt without mercy. You were overworked, over thrilled, the pressure of your coming orgasm snapping into your every fiber of your being, your toes curling, and drool seeping from your lips as he growled.

The noise seemed to resonate deeply in your own chest, and he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, pathetic, needy noises escaping your lips as you stared into his angry, lusting eyes. And as he buried his teeth into your bottom lip, his nose scrunched in an aggressive snarl, he spoke with finality:

“Cum.”

You weren’t sure if you had suddenly fallen under the persuasion of his brainwash, or he just knew you were overfilled with pressure, but you went rigid in his hold, your eyes rolling backward, and your vision going white. You came in powerful waves, electric stimming vibrating through your entire body as your spongey, wet walls clamped around him, and Shinsou came in a guttural groan. His hips snapping into your with five last, robust, resounding thrusts until your trembling abdomen and thighs were stilled with his crushing weight.

You could feel his hot cum pulsing and thriving deep within your cunt, and you panted heavily, your body feeling alarmingly weak as the both of you lay there. A puddle of cum, tears, drool, pain, longing, and hatred.

He lays on top of you, his chest heaving with his breathing, and you felt frozen beneath him. The pain of the gravel roof no longer adds to your pleasure but rather is stabbing you in pain. It’s quiet as you lay there.

He’s quiet.

You’re silent.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked suddenly, interrupting the silence that you hated.

“I can’t tell you,” you admit, voice thick and heavy with untold emotions.

“You know I’ll have to arrest you, right?” Shinsou spoke softly, but he didn’t move to capture you, and you didn’t move to run.

What was the point? It wasn’t as if there was ever a fighting chance for the both of you. The world would have never allowed it, so why bother?

“I don’t think you hate me enough to arrest me right now, sleep on it,” you softly chided, your eyes staring up into the universe, begging to know why they made you a freak?

“Not right now, you spent all my energy,” Shinsou admits, rising up from you, his soft cock removing itself from your humming core, and you looked away to keep from staring. “I really hate you though, y/l/n. I don’t like liars or pretenders.”

“Convince your cock of it next time,” you couldn’t help but fire back, your upper lip curling in your anger and hatred at the sound of his zipping pants.

Silence and a beat follow your words.

“I’ll tell you this now,” Shinsou spoke, turning on his heels, his tone was cold, distant, like a stranger who could care less for you. “Don’t let me see you again. If I do, I promise you, I’ll send your ass to Tartarus. We’re no longer on good terms.”

Anger, hatred, and fury course through your veins as you stand up, legs weak, but spirit wounded as you pull up your pants, uncaring of his cum leaking from your slit.

“Don’t you dare show your face to me again! Next time I won’t save your fucking ass when I blow something up!” you snapped, the tears running down your face uncontrollable although your voice never gave it away. It didn’t have to though, he turned around one last time, and his eyes met yours, and the two of you glared and simmered.

But, he didn’t bother to respond back as he disappeared into the shadows of the night sky.

You collapsed onto your knees, exhaustion finally catching up with you, and you realized his capturing weapon you had stolen was finally taken back by the rightful owner. You fell forward, the tears and silent sobs muffled by your bitten lip as you stayed on that rooftop for an hour. Crying like a freak.

Truth be told, you weren’t even sure if you ever hated him.

...

Incoming Text…

New Text Message Received!

From Unknown: ↳ Good job, y/n. Phase one is complete.

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

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elvish-sky · 3 years

Text

You’re Mine {Fili x Reader}

A.N: i already posted this but my dumb ass accidentally deleted it so here we go again! I’m so sorry! I wrote this for the lovely @guardianofrivendell who deserves lots of things, but especially Fíli fanfiction! It’s based on this post. I hope I did alright, I loved writing it and hope you guys like it as much as I do!

Word Count: 1,951

Summary: You and Fíli have always disliked each other, but something brings you closer together.

Pairing: Fíli x Reader

Warnings: Xenophobia, Angst, Fluff, Injuries

****

You’re Mine

“I don’t understand why she needs to be here!” Fíli slammed his fist on the table.

“Oh yeah? Well, it’s not like you’re adding much to the conversation yourself, sitting there with your arms crossed like a baby.”

It was your weekly evening dinner with the Company, and things were going… about as well as usual.

Everyone else sat there, silent or quietly chatting with the person next to them, while you and Fíli sniped at each other. Even months after reclaiming Erebor, you and the dwarf still detested each other. As a human traveling with the Company, tensions had been high with everyone at first but the rest of the group had eventually warmed up to you, in no small part because of your help getting the elves on their side during the battle. Not Fíli.

Fíli drew breath to retort, but before he got the chance Thorin stood.

“Y/N, Fíli, if you don’t stop this outrageous behavior I will send you to your rooms right now.”

“He started it,” you exclaimed.

“I did not!” Fíli stood up, glowering, but a glare from Thorin made him sit right back down.

The two of you spent the rest of the dinner sullenly glaring across the table at each other, making faces and basically doing everything you could to insult the other while staying silent. Once it was over, you stomped out of the room, closely followed by Fíli. You make it halfway down the corridor before his hand on your shoulder turns you around.

“Why did you say I started it?”

“Because you did,” you huffed,

“I did not!” His face was getting redder with anger.

“You did.”

“I don’t see why you feel the need to make every single thing my fault, Y/N!” Fíli’s face was closer to yours than it had ever been before, you could feel the resentment pouring off of him in waves.

“I don’t! I was just telling the truth!” Your fists were clenched by your sides.

“You never tell the truth, Y/N. You just make things up to make me look bad!”

You threw your hands up in exasperation, too angry to speak so you just walked away, leaving Fíli behind, mouth open as if about to say something else.

You walked through the hallways, heading towards your room, stewing.

Make things up to make him look bad. Bah! He does that himself. And besides, he had started it.

He always started it. You didn’t know what it was about you that rubbed him the wrong way, but something certainly had.

Lost in your thoughts, you eventually looked up to see a door you didn’t recognize. You were so furious that you must have taken a wrong turn. Sighing, you turned around, trying to recognize your surroundings.

They were completely unfamiliar.

You sighed again, picking a random corridor and starting down it, hoping it would lead somewhere you recognized. You made your way through the twisting halls, emerging into a crossroads. You stopped. The archway on the left had those carvings, and the one on the right had Khuzdul for Royal spelled out above. You had never thought announcing where the royalty lived was a good idea, security-wise, but it wasn’t your decision. But if that arch was one your right, and the other was on your left, then that meant your room was in the corridor straight ahead!

Relieved, you hurried towards it, tired and ready to go to sleep and end this day, but before you reached it a dwarf melted out of the shadows next to you. Startled, you backed away, only to find another directly behind you. You moved to take the passageway to the left, but a third appeared.

You were surrounded.

“Um, Hello? Is there anything I can do for you?” Your hands were shaking, but you weren’t quite sure why.

The dwarf that had first appeared, one with ragged brown hair, spoke. “You can get out of our mountain, human.”

Your eyes widened in shock, but before you could do anything else, he kicked you in the stomach. You doubled over, the wind knocked out of your lungs, and your head was met with another kick, snapping it back into the hands of the second dwarf. He grabbed you, and held one of your arms, the third dwarf holding the other so that you were trapped.

The first one stepped closer, fists closed. He started raining blows on your face, hitting your lip, chin, eye, jaw, until it felt like it all was on fire. He punctuated each one with the word, “leave,” until all you could hear was the ringing in your ears and that one word. He kicked you in the stomach again several times, also striking your thighs and shins, your arms, until you were aching all over. Finally, he stopped, and the others dropped you to the ground where you huddled in a heap.

He bent over you. “Your people didn’t come to help us all those years ago. And look! Now, none of ours will come to help you.”

He spat on your face before entering the arch to the left with the two others, leaving you collapsed on the ground.

You lay there for a while, too weak to move, only able to breathe, ears still ringing. You mustered the energy to sit up, but couldn’t do any more than that.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps heading down the hall, towards you. You braced yourself, drawing your knees up and hiding your face, expecting another attack. But all you heard was;

“Y/N?”

The footsteps rushed closer, and you sensed someone kneeling in front of you. Their hand was placed on your shoulder.

“Fíli?” Your voice came out all broken as you lifted your head, seeing him kneeling in front of you with the most concerned expression on his face.

Fíli reached out, cupping the side of your face so gently that it didn’t even hurt. He tilted your chin up, into the faint moonlight shining from a skylight cut into the rock far above. His soft thumb brushed your lip, and he drew it away to reveal a streak of red painted across his skin. Tilting your head at a different angle into the moonlight, his eyes darkened as he saw the swollen flesh around yours. Your heart skipped a nervous beat in the silence, thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it as he looked you in the eyes.

His voice was soft, tight, jaw set, the anger barely restrained as he spoke.

“Who did this to you?”

“No one,” you croaked out.

“Tell me, Y/N. They don’t get to hurt you like this. You are mine, mine, and I am going to make them pay.”

Your eyes widened at the word ‘mine.’ Suddenly, things made sense that hadn't before, like how the seat next to him was the only one left whenever you arrived anywhere like it had been saved for you. Like how Dwalin or Gloin always winked at you after you fought with him. Like how Kíli had called you the Khuzdul word for ‘sister’ for months, not knowing that Balin had been teaching you the language. It explained the blush that had risen on his face when you had pinned him the last time sparring, sweaty. But it didn’t explain why he insulted you at every opportunity, took every chance he could get to make a jab. But you couldn’t have him rampaging through the kingdom, so that conversation would have to wait a moment.

“Fíli. Please, don’t.”

His eyes grew soft again, the golden light of rage dimming into something calmer. Standing, he brushed off his trousers, before reaching down to scoop you into his arms, careful not to jostle you. With you in his arms, he set off along the corridor to the right.

“My room is the other way,” you pointed out.

“I know. We’re going to mine,” he clarified, and you settled back into silence, laying your head against his chest and closing your eyes to ease the pounding in your head.

You blinked your eyes open at the soft sound of a door opening. Fíli walked across the room after shutting it behind himself and lay you gently on the bed. He propped your head up with a pillow, and dunked a cloth in the washbasin before returning to your side and gently dabbing away the blood on your face.

“Fíli.”

His eyes met yours.

“Why are you doing this? You despise me.”

His hand stopped wiping your face.

“I don’t actually.”

“Then what’s with the jabs, the insults, the constant bickering?”

“I thought you hated me. And I had fallen so hopelessly in love with you that it was the only way I thought I could protect myself from hurting my heart even more.”

He sighed. “And it didn’t even work. I’m still hopelessly in love with you.”

You managed a faint smile.

“I guess it didn’t work for either of us.”

His head snapped up.

You continued, “I love you too.”

Fíli smiled, getting up and grabbing a dressing for your eye. “So, we’re not the smartest when it comes to this kind of thing.”

You laughed, ignoring the pain in your chest as he pressed the compress to your eye. “No, we are not. And you can never, ever tell Kíli about this.”

“Deal.”

You smiled at him, shaking the offered hand.

“But seriously, Y/N. Who did this?” His eyes were darkening again.

“I told you, it wasn’t anyone. I fell.”

He slammed his fist down on the bedside table and you were strongly reminded of him doing the exact same thing earlier, in a much different situation.

“That is bullshit, Y/N. Not even you are that clumsy. Now tell me so that I can stop it from ever happening again.”

You sighed. “I don’t know who it was. Three dwarves attacked me in the halls, but it was dark so I couldn’t see them well. All I know is that- that they were mad I was human. That I deserved to be injured and left there, because my people didn’t help yours when the dragon came.”

You started to cry. “And I’m sorry for that, I’m sorry that they didn’t help but I’ve tried to help, I think I helped, and I feel bad that I still need to do more.”

“Y/N,” Fíli brushed a tear from where it had run down to the tip of your nose, “you don’t need to do anything. You helped us get our home back. You’ve never owed us anything, and you definitely don’t now. And I’m going to hunt those dwarves down, whatever it takes, and make them pay.”

You reached out, laying a trembling hand on his arm. “Please stay instead.”

He looked down at you. “Really?”

You nodded. “I’ll rest better knowing nothing can happen to me if you’re here.”

His face softened and he unbuckled the sword belt he had slung on, removing his boots, and then climbing carefully onto the bed next to you. Lifting your head, he moved so that it rested on his chest, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. The soft rhythm of his breath lulled you into a daze, and the last thing you heard before drifting into the unconsciousness was the whispered words, “I’ll make sure nothing like this ever happens again, my love.” You fell asleep with a smile on your face, which Fíli gazed at, not believing that you actually loved him too but so happy that you did until he joined you in the land of dreams.

Everything tag 💞: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @wellofeternalthirst @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit

I’m also gonna tag those of you who commented on the first one, not because of any desire for more notes just because I feel absolutely terrible and like a total dumbass and I want you to know where it is @cassiabaggins @claraofthepen @beenovel @who-ever-said-i-was-nice @thewhiteladyofrohan @hey-its-nonny @anjhope1

Also tagging @gossip-girl-of-middle-earth thanks for some inspiration!!!

#fili #fili x reader #the hobbit fili #fili story #fili imagine #fili oneshot #fili x y/n #fili x you #fili durin #fili fic #fili fanfic #fili fanfiction #maiawrites #lord of the rings #the hobbit #jrr tolkien

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wicked-hg · 4 years

Text

Empire || o.w.

This is a part of @iliveiloveiwrite song fic challenge.

Oliver Wood x reader

Song prompt: Empire by Elle Henderson

Summary: Oliver has an interview with a quidditch reporter who wants to know more about the “quidditch empire” he has built. Oliver reflects on the life he has built with Y/N.

WC: 3.9k

A/N: I am so excited to finally post this! I’ve been working on it for a while and it went longer than I thought it would, but that’s okay. I hope you all enjoy it. Please please please check out the song! I tried to keep it in mind writing this, but overall it is just a fantastic song and one of my favorites. I found the below image when looking for an Oliver Wood gif, and this was so cute!!!! Plus it goes with the story. Italics are the interview.

“Mr. Wood, thank you for sitting down with us,” the reporter greeted. “I know many people are dying to know more about you and your growing quidditch empire.”

“Empire?” Oliver chuckled. “I wouldn’t call what I ‘ave an empire.”

“What would you call it then? You are a renowned quidditch player and now a coach for Puddlemere United. Your wife was a former strategist for the Pride of Portree and is the granddaughter of Kennilworthy Wisp and Devlin Whitehorn. You also have seven children. If that isn’t a quidditch empire, then what is it.”

“Me family,” Oliver answered. “Aye, me wife comes from two great lineages and aye quidditch did bring us together, but I love her for so much more than that. Quidditch was only an excuse to talk to her. It isn’t our relationship.”

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

You had friends at Hogwarts. There were people who enjoyed your company. They were always there to talk quidditch to you, but that was about it. Once you tried switching the subject they suddenly had to go work on homework that had already been turned in. You knew though captains of quidditch teams didn’t lie that they wanted to be your friend. They were straightforward that they wanted your analysis of their team, and the other teams, and what strategies they should use to be successful. Each one came on the same day at the same time like clockwork. Today was Wednesday. That meant Oliver Wood would find her around 6:55. Oliver was the one captain who would seek you out no matter where you were in the castle. You had to always be in the same place for the others.

The clock chimed 7:00 when Oliver found you today. “You’re five minutes later than normal, Wood,” you commented.

Oliver shrugged as he sat next to you. “I knew you’d be here, but I wasn’t sure how loud it would be,” Today’s spot was the clock tower. “So I wanted to wait until after the clock rang.”

You sat in silence. Usually you jumped quickly into the quidditch talk, but Oliver sat silently. “You alright, Wood? You’re quiet today. You play Hufflepuff next week if I recall. I wouldn’t really worry about them. They’ve had a devastating losing streak so far. Their beaters aren’t doing well. They’ve been on injury rotation. Fleet also doesn’t have your skills.”

Oliver smiled. “Me skills? You notice I’m quite skilled, Y/N?”

You tried to keep yourself from blushing. Something was different about how he said this. “Of course I do, Wood. I’m Hogwarts residential quidditch analyst.”

“Oliver,” he said. You glanced at him, confused. “Call me Oliver. Not Wood.”

You nodded. “Okay then...Oliver.” Silence washed back over the two of you. “Do you have any other questions? Or do you want info about the new Nimbus? The rest have wanted that.”

Oliver shook his head. “Why don’t you play? Every house goes to you for advice, yet you don’t even play for your own. Why is that?”

No one had ever asked you that. In fact, no one had ever asked any questions about you yourself. “I used to when I was younger with my siblings. I have six older ones.”

“Me too,” Oliver said. “Poppy, Daisy, Juniper, Ivy, Violet, and Flora. They thought I was gon’ be a girl. When it turned out I was a boy, I was named Oliver instead of Olive. That way all they had to do was add an ‘r’ to everything. Sorry for interrupting you. The Weasleys are the only other ones I know with a family of seven siblings.”

You smiled. “It’s alright. Sounds like your family went for a theme.” Oliver nodded. “I think that’s cool. My parents didn’t. I’m the youngest. I have four brothers—Dorian, Finnigan, Simon, and Leon—and two sisters—Evangeline and Benjamina.”

“So you played quidditch with them. Why not anymore?”

“I got hit in the head with a bludger,” you told him. I know that happens a lot to players, but I was about five. Gramps and PopPop were fighting again. They don’t get along at all, and my parents were out celebrating their anniversary. I don’t know why they had those two watching us instead of just picking one. Granny and Nan were trying to calm them down. We were playing quidditch on PopPop’s prototype of the Nimbus 1650.”

“Nimbus 1650? I’ve never heard of that one.”

“That’s because it was never released to the public. It had too many flaws. Anyway, I played seeker. It’s how I learned to analyze patterns besides listening to Gramps. The bludger hit me upside the head and as I fell it hit me again in the jaw. Honestly though, it felt like two hits to the head because my head was the size of a bludger back then. I couldn’t get on a broom after that. I tried. I tried so many times. I just was never able to fly. The brooms wouldn’t listen. Besides, the healer says one more bludger to the head will kill me.”

“We can’t have that then. I’ll get ya on a broom, but I’m not letting ya anywhere near a bludger.” You grinned at his comment. “You belong in the air though. Every time I find you, you're usually high up. The wind will be blowing through your hair soon enough. I promise.”

“You can’t make promises like that, Oliver.”

Oliver shushed you. “Tomorrow. We start tomorrow at this time on the pitch. You’re not meant to be caged, Y/N. Let me help you fly free.”

“What makes you think that you will be the one to do so?” You asked him, trying not to gain any hope from Oliver’s promise. Your family had done everything they could. How could Oliver be successful?

He smiled and grabbed your hand. “I won’t let you fall. I’ll catch you. Do you trust me?”

There was a fire in his eyes now. He had hope he could do this, and you did too. “Absolutely.”

—————

“And what about having seven children? A quidditch team is made up of seven players. One could assume you are breeding your own quidditch team.”

“Well, one can assume all they want. The truth is, life just happened this way. Y/N and I both came from large families; both of us are the youngest of seven. We were fine having that many kids. Just know though there aren’t any more Wood children coming,” Oliver grinned. “And don’t believe that rumor that all of our kids are named after types of wood unknowingly or fun. It was the result of losing a series of bets.”

“What?”

The reporter paused in thought. “Oh my Merlin. Your children are all named after types of wood. You did that on purpose? Because of bets?”

Oliver blinked. “No…”

“But you just said—” Oliver stared at the reporter, daring him to continue. “So when did people pick up on it?”

—————

He was so small. Granted, Rowan and Willow had been too. Perhaps he was bigger than them though. He was definitely louder. “He’s got quite the lungs to him,” you murmured to Oliver as you handed him your new son. “Rowan and Willow were quiet and pensive. He’s loud and ready to fight. Has been since the womb. Hopefully the bruises will go away now.”

This third babe had been a handful—constantly moving and kicking the bruises actually began to appear on your abdomen. “Reckon he’ll be a beater if he plays some day,” You chuckled in agreement with your husband. “Hello there, Al. Glad you’re finally here. Your brother and sister are so excited to meet you.”

“Al,” you sighed lovingly, “I like it. Al Wood. Is it short for anything?”

“Alder.”

“Alder. That’s nice,” Silence washed over the room until your eyes flew open. “Alder? Did you just say Alder? As in the tree? Oliver, is our son named Alder Wood?”

“Yes…”

“Rowan and Willow are going to ma—” Realization hit you. “Rowan and Willow. Rowan Wood. Willow Wood. Oliver Wood, are our children named after types of trees? Have you named our children after types of trees when I am in a state of fatigue after birthing them?”

“Yes and no,” he replied. He carefully held the newborn close to his chest. “All of these names I suggested to you when we discussed it, and you liked them. I just suggested them in a different light. Rowan is a good Scottish name, and Willow is an old English name and a well respected magical tree. Alder...I don’t think I ever did mention Alder to you. I was hoping to get away with that one.”

You reached for your son. Looking down at him, you couldn’t imagine him being named anything else. “I can’t imagine him being anything else now. If we have more children, we will discuss this first. I just didn’t realize you so desperately wanted a theme. I thought you hated the name theming after your parents have done it to you and your sisters.”

“I do!” Oliver argued.

“Then why name our children after types of wood and trees?”

Oliver sighed. He knew there was no lying to you anymore. “I lost a bet back in Hogwarts to Weasley.”

You sighed. “I’m gonna yell at George when I get out of here. I can’t imagine our children being named anything different now, but still. I don’t care if it was his or Fred’s fault.”

“Actually it was Percy.”

—————

“You were married right before hell broke loose in the Second Great Wizarding War, and if I recall you even participated in it.”

“Aye. I did. Many witches and wizards in the league did once it got shut down in ‘97.”“Did this affect you and your wife?”

“Of course it did. It affected everyone. Plus we were still young and so was Rowan.”

“Rowan?”

“Me eldest boy. How did you not know that? I would’ve thought you’d know the names of me kids the way you’ve been going on.”

The reporter shrugged as he jotted this all down in his notebook.

——————

Oliver had done what he could to help the light in the war, but his priority was his family. He had a wife and a son now. His wife was also expecting their second child. He laid down next to his wife. “Rowan’s fast asleep,” he whispered. “He went down quickly tonight.”

You smiled as you snuggled into him. “She’s being quiet tonight too.”

He smiled and glanced down at your protruding belly. “How do you know it’s a she?”

“I just do,” You were quiet for a moment before asking, “Oliver, do you ever regret how we did things?”

Everything was on track for you and Oliver when you graduated. You had both taken big jobs in the world of quidditch. You were young and everyone knew your names. Then in the late spring of 1995 you found out a baby was on the way. Rowan was born that December. A year and a half later you two finally got married in the early summer of 1997. Now in May of 1998 you were almost 8 months pregnant with the second baby Wood.

“I will never ever regret us or our kids,” he told you. “This is I guess just how it was meant to be. Do I wish that the world was safer for them? Absolutely. I wish we would’ve had more time to fight to give them a better world. I will do anything to make sure they don’t live under these conditions. I hope every day that Rowan doesn’t remember living in a time of such fear and chaos.”

“I am terrified, Olli,” you admitted.

“Me too,” he agreed, “But I will always be here to protect you. No one will destroy what we have created.”

Hours later he was summoned to Hogwarts for one last battle. You waited for him to return. When Rowan woke, you acted as if everything was normal. “Daddy just had to go take care of some business,” you told Rowan when he asked about Oliver. An owl from St Mungo’s arrived close to bedtime. You flooed your mother to stay with your son as you rush to the hospital. Oliver, with his confunded eye, grinned at you. He had a gash on his forehead and was covered in dirt, yet he smiled because they had won.

——————

“So did helping in the war aid your career at all?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“I just didn’t know if it helped your skills.”

“My skills are and were fine both prior and after the war.”

—————

“Sweetheart, I think you need to get your sight checked out,” You told Oliver one morning before he headed off to practice. “You’re missing more shots on your right, even though you’re right handed. People are starting to pick up on that.”

“I still catch the quaffle,” Oliver muttered. “That’s what matters.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t. I’m just saying your reaction time is slower and more have been slipping through. You know, as an analyst for an opposing team I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

Oliver sighed. “That’s the eye.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh. I forgot it was the right one. I thought you got it healed?”

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Oliver had taken a confundus charm to the eye. For a while his eye was completely confounded and unable to focus. Eventually the healers were able to resituate it back to normal; however, Oliver’s vision had not quite yet returned back to normal.

“It can still get a bit blurry and spinny.”

“You need to talk to the coaches, Oliver. That can be a danger for you,” you said. You wrapped your arms around him. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I know you will overcome this and learn to play with it, but I need you safe. You have a family to come home to.”

Oliver nodded and hugged you. “I promise, leannan. I promise.”

—————

“Was there ever tension or conflict when you played the Pride?”

Oliver shrugged. “Y/N and I had a deal. We would note interfere between Puddlemere and the Pride of Portree. Teams have multiple strategists, and while, aye, she was their main one there were others to take care of handling strategies against Puddlemere. As for me, in my entire career, I never played a game against them—even after she retired and took over the broom business. The main keeper during my early years and reserve in my later years always played.”

“Seriously? Not even after she retired? You could’ve. It would’ve just furthered your career.”

“Perhaps, but I also knew that if I did it would make me wife choose between her husband and the team she grew to love. I couldn’t do that to her. Plus it kept me in shape.”

————

You saw Oliver walk down the stairs carrying your newborn girls and Al clinging to his back. “I thought you had a game today,” you asked as he set Al down and tried to put Holly and Hazel into the highchairs. Rowan and Willow followed behind them.

“”Play quidditch, daddy?” Willow asked. “We go watch a game?”

“Puddlemere plays Portree today. I never play against them.” Oliver sat down and started to feed the twins breakfast.

“But, Oliver,” you said confused, “That was when I worked for them. I don’t work for them anymore. You can play if you want to.”

He shook his head. “Today is for us.”

“Us? Like you and mum or the whole family?” Rowan asked.“

The whole family,” Oliver answered. “I’ve gone this long not playing Portree. No reason to start now. Besides, the team means so much to you, Y/N. I can’t put you between them and me. It’ll be a good day for us all to hang out too. Be a proper family.”

You smiled as you set the rest of breakfast in front of your children and helped Al get his food while WIllow and Rowan snatched theirs up. “That actually sounds amazing. Thank you, Oliver. Anything in mind for us to do today?”

“Perhaps the beach? The sun is out for once.”

“You just want to even out your tan line,” Rowan chuckled. Oliver glared at his son, knowing he was absolutely correct.

————

“You could’ve had another few years to your career. Why did you retire? Your retirement came before your predecessor’s exit.”

Oliver thought for a moment, wondering if he should tell the whole truth. “I was a father to six. I had just found out Reed was going to be born—“

“Is Reed your sixth kid?”

“No he’s the seventh and final.”

“Can you tell me who all your kids are. I’m getting them confused.”

Oliver huffed. “In order there is: Rowan, Willow, Alder, we call him Al, the twins, Holly and Hazel, followed by Ash, and ending with Reed.”

“One more time.”

Oliver sighed. He couldn’t take much more of this. “Rowan, Willow, Alder, Holly, Hazel, Ash, and Reed.”

The reporter finished writing those down. “Got it.”

“As I was saying, I had just found out my youngest child was on the way and I had also found out some other news.”

————

“Pregnant?”

You nodded. “I know we hadn’t planned this. It’s kid number seven,” You sat down next to him. “Oh Merlin, it’ll be our seventh child. We’re going to have a full team, Oliver. Al starts Hogwarts next year. Willow is starting her second year this year. Rowan takes his OWLS this year! The twins just started nursery school. Ash is finally no longer scared of the loo.”

“I’m going to retire,” Oliver said suddenly.

“What?” you gasped. “Oliver, darling, you don’t need to do that. Dorian and I run PopPop’s business just fine. You don’t need to give up your career. We support you. I support you.”

Oliver kissed your cheek and rested his hand against your stomach. “I’m almost 40, Y/N. I’ve been missing goals at practice for a while. Coach sent me to a healer during practice. There’s no more quidditch for me. Too many bludgers to the head. We make quite the pair. They found that part of my brain is swollen. I have to have treatment for a few more weeks and I’ll be good as new.”

You threw your arms around him and held him close. “Oh Oliver. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to act differently in front of the kids. I found out all the details today though. I’m telling Coach tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you have to do this, Oliver.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead. “I’m getting old anyway. This was going to happen eventually. I missed parts of my kids' lives because of quidditch. No more of that.”

“They’ll be heartbroken, you know.”

Oliver nodded. “What about you?”

“I just want you safe and happy. I will always support your choice. I can’t lose you, Oliver. You’re silly to think I’d ever let you near a bludger again now.”

Oliver chuckled remembering his promise to you all those years ago. “Poor Al. No more bludgers for the Woods. We’re gonna need to find a place to send him.”

“I ran into an old classmate of ours. She’s married to Marcus Fli—”

“I’m not sending me son to play with a bludger at Marcus Flint’s place! I’d rather take him to Weasley!”

————

Oliver watched the reporter go with a smile on his face. That was the last one. He couldn’t handle continuously doing those. His agent was right; he just needed to write a damn book.

“Is the reporter done?”

Oliver turned and his smile became a grin as he kissed you. “Aye. Thank Merlin too. That was an imbecile. I’m gonna have to write that book so I don’t have to deal with any more of them.”

You grinned and hugged him. “I told you so. Come on now, sweetheart. They’re all waiting for you.”

“Can you believe Al is off to Hogwarts tomorrow?”

You shook your head as you snuggled into him. “That leaves us with four though. We’re not quite at an empty nest, Oliver.”

“I know. It’s just,�� Oliver paused. “As I answered questions I just thought back to different moments in our life. Did you ever think we’d get here? That we’d build this...this...this empire of ours?”

You smiled. “I always hoped. I couldn’t imagine living my life with anyone else. Though our life is full of quidditch, in so, so many ways, you still made sure it was about so much more than that. Now come Oliver. Our little empire is ready to eat dinner.”

————---------

“Are we almost there?” You asked Oliver. “I feel like we’ve been walking forever. Why couldn’t we have just apparated?”

Oliver chuckled as he gripped your hand tighter to make sure he didn’t lose you as you climbed higher on the hill. “That would ruin the magic of it all, leannan.”

“Can you give me any clues, Oliver? Besides the fact it must be a decent spot for a picnic,” You glanced down at the picnic basket in your hand. When Oliver had invited you to his home, you were excited. Never before had you been to his family home in the highlands. You had met his family at his sisters’ homes. “You know the only thing I know about the highlands is that you are from here, and you don’t even live here anymore!”

“We’re almost there anyway,” he answered. “This is a place me dad took me mum when they were like us. When I told them about you, he brought me in case you were my gu bràth. We’re in the midst of Loch Katrine. It can be a popular place for muggle photographers to come take photos but they’re quite intimidated by this mountain, thanks to magic.”

Oliver helped you climb up a few more meters. You saw the giant grin on his face. This must be someplace special. He was just as excited as if they were about to jump right into a game of quidditch. You set the basket down and felt his hand squeeze yours. “Look at it, leannan. It’s beautiful.”

Finally you turned to join him, and he wasn’t wrong The area of Loch Katrine was gorgeous as the leaves had started to change. “This is beautiful, Oliver. It is absolutely gorgeous here.”

His smile grew and he pulled you closer. Your head rested on his chest and listened to the sound of his beating heart. Afterwhile he whispered, “I have found strength in your arms. We have built the foundation for an amazing love, and you will always rule my heart. Nobody can or will ever destroy what we have.”

You burrowed closer into his chest and felt his arms wrap around you more. Oliver had always been a ray of hope, and you knew he would continue to be one for you. You knew, you could feel your relationship growing in many ways at that moment. You hoped to Merlin, as you looked across the Scottish highlands in the arms of the man you loved, that someday you would build an indestructible empire with him. It is what you both deserved.

#oliver wood #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood one shot #oliver wood x y/n #oliver wood reader insert #hp imagine #hp one shot #harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #my own work #iliveiloveiwrite3.5k

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squidproquoclarice · 3 years

Text

Yeehawgust Day 26: Vultures Circling

August 1870

Gerhardt’s Pass, Oregon

Beatrice wasn’t sure whether it had been one day or two since the doctor had come. She’d seen the look in his eyes, heard the hushed tones with which he murmured to Lyle over in the corner, and with Lyle cursing as he left the wagon and the pallet where she lay, she’d known what she already felt deep in her bones.

The fever and the pain that had once consumed her had faded, felt now at some peculiar remove like hearing music from another room. It would all be over soon, and that was a relief. The vultures might be circling, so to speak, and she’d seen so many of them in the five years since they’d arrived in America. She felt them watching her now just at the edge of her vision, not certain whether they were real or phantoms, and not certain whether it mattered. Exhausted as she was, she could only accept it. This was her end.

A part of her wondered whether she had caused this by her thoughts. The nervousness and sometimes despair over being pregnant again, worrying what she would do. David and Arthur both had readily crossed Lyle’s temper, for all David had been just a baby yet when he died. Having lost two already, she knew the signs. But this time, the bleeding hadn’t stopped. Maybe it was being four months along this time that had done it.

We go together then, you and me, she thought towards that child that would never be, now finally able to offer them nothing but love and tenderness rather than having it mingled so heavily with trepidation and fear. Perhaps we shall see David, and your other brothers or sisters.

But peaceful as that notion was, that still left Arthur. He’d be alone with Lyle after this. Lyle had gone to town hours ago, awkwardly grunting something about getting supplies. She suspected it was only that he couldn’t sit here and watch her die, and that he’d be at the saloon nursing his sorrow. Hard-handed and angry as he sometimes was, there was a peculiar vulnerable and tender streak in him all the same. She was only thankful Lyle had taken Arthur with him. He’d chased Arthur off most of the time since Beatrice took to bed, growling for him to go find something useful to do. Sparing him the experience of it, she supposed. She thanked him for that.

She’d managed to talk to Arthur last night, though, when he’d crept in after Lyle went to sleep. Given him the portrait of her taken earlier that year in Wyoming, and showed him the papers she’d hidden behind it. Papers neither of them could read, but papers that would hopefully be the key to a better future all the same. The ones that officially made him an American boy, not just another immigrant child. He would belong here. He already sounded far more American than Welsh, and she was grateful for that. She could only hope he’d have the chances she’d wanted for him, even if she wouldn’t be here to see it.

In the end, that was all she could do for him. It seemed so little, and she was afraid for him all the same.

Hearing the creak of someone climbing in the wagon, she couldn’t help her surprise. Lyle had come back so soon? No, that couldn’t be. But she heard footsteps approaching, and she heard the scrape of glass and the hiss of a match, saw the brightening behind her closed eyes as someone lit the lantern that had gone out awhile ago. It hadn’t mattered to her, but now that there was light again, she opened her eyes to look at who had come to call.

She didn’t know either of them by sight, fair-haired and well past her own twenty-eight years. Neighbors? No, they were far from anyone. Lyle had made certain of it. Who else would simply climb up into the wagon like this? KInd strangers, perhaps. “Are you looking for Lyle?” It always seemed to come down to that. She closed her eyes again. “He isn’t here just now, and I’m sorry for whatever he’s done, but I’m afraid we don’t have much for the taking.” Money ran through her man’s fingers like water, fast as his quicksilver dreams of riches.

“Should we...” The woman spoke, her voice soft.

She was too tired for this. “Are you missionaries, then? I suppose the saving of a soul becomes even more important at the very end. There’s no need of that. I’ve made what peace I might with my God, I assure you.” Even if she’d come so far from the girl who’d attended chapel so faithfully back in Aberdare.

The man finally spoke up, his deep voice low and gentle. “No. You don’t need to worry about missionaries.” The words in Welsh, no less, and the familiar lilt of it lifted her spirits in spite of herself. “Mam, it’s me. It’s Arthur.”

Now that snapped her to attention, and she opened her eyes, finding she had some fury to spare yet for someone who’d tease her like this as she lay there dying. But she saw those eyes looking at her with a sad, knowing tenderness--that familiar blue-tinted green, the eyes she saw whenever she chanced to have a mirror. The ones she saw too every day in her boy, her Arthur. His hair--it was dusted with grey, yes, but the same dark blond as hers. Lyle’s brows for certain, and something of the cast of his cheekbones.

Her boy had just turned seven last month, and yet she’d swear he also sat here beside her now, a man of at least forty, perhaps fifty. She looked at him, and something in her knew him, something deeper than blood and bone, an echo within the soul. “So you are.” She didn’t know how it could be so, only that it was. She drank in the sight of him. Such a large man, tall and broad. He hadn’t gotten that from Lyle, perhaps instead from her own father Dylan, such a large man he’d been permanently stooped long before he died from working in the cramped mine tunnels. Seeing the marks of age on him, the lines etched into his face, and the scars--the small nick on the bridge of his nose, another on his right cheek, and a large one on his chin only somewhat hidden by a short-cropped beard. Child-Arthur was healing a similar cut on his nose even now, earned by tumbling off the wagon while playing out a week ago, and by the look of it she’d known it would scar, just as it had on this man. She glanced past him to the woman. Tawny hair, a riot of freckles, amber eyes, a large scar on her right brow. Watching Beatrice just as carefully as she was watched. She asked, speaking in Welsh and managing some good humor, “Well, my boy, who is this you’ve brought with you?” But she already suspected.

If she hadn’t already believed, that shy smile, that half-lowering of his gaze, would have told her. “This is my wife. Sadie.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Her Welsh was less polished, her accent more obvious to Beatrice’s ear, but it surprised her all the same to hear it. Had Arthur taught her? There were a thousand other questions.

But she licked her lips, needing now to ask the important question: “Why have you come? And...how?” She switched back to English for it. He was an American, her boy, and she would have him be so to her at the end. She’d fought hard for that. It was good he hadn’t forgotten his Welshness entirely, but some things needed to be kept close and secret. She knew that full well.

“How? I don’t know for sure. There’s some red-headed fella named Sinclair who’s gonna have some explanations for this.” He leaned in, and reached out to take his hand in hers. A large hand, work-roughened, so unlike the small hand she still took sometimes to hold onto him in crowds and the like. “Why? That’s a question that’s got more answers than I know what to do with, really. Cause I...” He sighed, shook his head, and the aching look in his eyes told her too much.

“I know there’s no return from this, <i>fy ngwash i</i>. It’ll be soon enough. I knew it last night when I gave you those papers. Did you have the use of them?”

“Sort of. We ended up in Canada, so uh, proving I was born in Wales actually helped us there.”

“Not America, then?”

“There was better land in Canada.”

“So you’re a farmer?” She couldn’t help but brighten at that. She’d wanted something like that for him. Something peaceful, gentle, nothing like Lyle’s life.

“Horses, mostly. Some sheep, cattle, and the like. It’s a good place. A pretty good life. And the rest, well…”

“You’d best tell her, Arthur,” Sadie said, her voice full of the twanging accent she’d heard in New Austin and some parts of Texas. “She’ll see it eventually anyhow.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging. “I reckon you will at that. It weren’t...all what you hoped for me, Momma. Daddy ain’t gonna live but another four years past this. Gets hanged for horse theft in San Francisco just after Christmas. After that, a lot happened. And it took me a long time to get things right.”

“Then tell me how it was, son.” She heard the tone of both inflexible command and gentle invitation in her words, and knew it for the way she spoke to him sometimes as a mother, asking to know the truth of something. Usually when he’d done some petty mischief or theft that she knew was Lyle’s influence on him. You must tell me, and perhaps I’ll tell you that it was wrong and why, but I won’t hate you for it. Because I love you enough to want you to know what’s right. She saw that conflict in him already, a boy who could steal candy from the store and shrug about it, but who’d come home the next day taking a beating to save a stray cat from being kicked to death by some older boys.

So he told her. And perhaps it wasn’t the worst she could imagine after hearing Lyle was dead when Arthur was eleven. But it made for no pretty picture. Hearing he’d been taken in by criminals, and ones far better and more sophisticated than Lyle could ever be, something broke within her heart. She’d wanted so much better for him. But even as he didn’t quite look at her, he kept talking.

He told her of the gang he’d been in, of seeing no other life or future for himself. Told her of a little boy named Isaac, her first grandchild. You’ll meet him someday, long before you should. He’s such a good kid. I know you’ll love him, and he’ll love you. Told her of nearly three decades of mistakes and failures after this. She might have thought it was a life of only regrets, but then he told her of a new life he’d made, of Sadie, of Canada and the children who had lived, grandchildren she would never see: Beatrice, named for her. Matthew. Susanna. Andrew.

She felt that pull, as if being summoned. Light fading, like a fire dimmed now beyond embers. Arthur must have seen it as well, because he stopped telling her about little things, and reached out to take her hand. Beatrice felt someone else take her other hand--Sadie, then. “I don’t exactly know how we got here,” he said quietly. “But I know how it was that day. I came back with Daddy and you was gone already. And...that always stayed with me. That I wasn’t there. And I know how it is. Nobody ought to die alone like that.” There was some kind of knowing weariness to his voice at that, a question she would never be able to ask and he would never be able to answer for her. “So here we are.” So much that would be left unsaid, but no matter. She would see in time. She would see all of it, and there was comfort to it, because now she knew her boy would be all right in the end. That he would remember her too, that he loved her. That put her fear to rest, and so now she could rest. There were no vultures now, only the final words of love and farewell spoken, and the reassurance of the hands holding hers as everything faded into peace.

#yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2021 #rdr2 #beatrice morgan #arthur morgan #sadie adler #sadithur #cw: miscarriage #writing #fic from the parking lot

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liquid-luck-00 · 3 years

Text

WonderBug

Angst Edition

Diana Prince (Wonder Woman) x Marinette Dupain-Cheng (Ladybug)

I am late. SO, so , so late but here it is

1: Soulmates @maribat-angst-fluff-april

My partner is the wonderful @thedragonbug

Ao3

Fuffy Edition

Soulmates exist, and Marinette hates hers. You see everyone is born with their half or part of a complete soul mark. The other parts would appear when you were closer to your soulmate and be permanent when they were close emotionally. For everyone, the appearance or 'drawing' of the mark was light and warm. But not for her, no her drawing was heavy and hot, like a hot knife digging into her arm.

Her parents knew this, and it was concerning, to know that their child was in pain because of their soulmate. Seeing as the marks were not supposed to be painful. Yet as there was no good reason given by medical and mark professionals, and the fact that her soulmate didn't stay near her for long there was nothing that they could do. They did tell her that few, this phenomenon affects one in a million people and she was just lucky enough to be one of them.

Over the years she grew used to the pain, but every time she did it would come back even stronger than the last. She slowly hated her mark and in turn her soulmate. Marinette would cover her mark, ignore it, even wish it away. All her soulmate did was bring her pain. Sure, it upped her pain tolerance, but it hurt her still.

When she turned fourteen, she became Ladybug. She then recognized that her mark was actually the wire of her yo-yo.

The first time Chat Noir claimed they were soulmates she broke down in tears. luckily for her he told her during patrol and not an attack.

"We aren't soulmates, Chat, and I'm glad we aren't." She nearly whispered.

"Why Bug?"

"Because I hate my soulmate, and I don’t want to ever hate you."

"Why would you hate your soulmate?" He seemed genuinely curious. But no one outside her parents knew, not a single person knew what happens to her.

"Because it hurts when they are close, it hurts so badly. The drawing is painful. I never want to meet the person who keeps hunting me." Tears formed in her eyes and Chat hugged her.

"I'm not your soulmate, then." She shook her head. "Good thing I'm your partner, and Plagg help me I am going to be your best friend. Got that Bugaboo?"

A half-hearted chuckle and a small smile escaped her. "Sounds good Kitty." The first person she has ever told, the person who was convinced that they were soulmates, cares for her, to help alleviate some of her pain.

The two became inseparable after that, to the point that most of Paris believed they were in a relationship.

When Nadia asked them about it during an interview, their reactions were memorable. Both all but gagged, turned to face each other, and then laughed almost falling out of the seats.

"I believe we have missed the joke." Nadia commented, worried, and confused.

"Why would I date my sister?"

"Sister?"

"Ladybug and I consider each other siblings in all but blood."

"Everything between us is simply platonic, not even close to romantic.” Ladybug answered after Chat.

“Then why would the whole of Paris believe you to be soulmates?” She may be good at hiding her pain, but the question must have made her react slightly, or Chat knew how sensitive the topic was to her.

“We aren’t soulmates, not the bonded ones that everyone thinks of.” He began. “We are the holders of the black cat and ladybug respectively because our souls resonate with the miraculous. Sure, they are two parts of a whole, but we are practically twins, two halves of coin. She is the sister I choose, she is my partner, and that is our relationship.”

“He’s completely right, now I think it’s time for us to start our patrol, BugOut!” Her smile now in place and their excuse to leave perfectly timed and respectful they made their exit.

They went on their patrol as normal, except just as they arrived at the Eiffel Tower to end the patrol. She was about to land on the platform when a searing pain flashed and radiating affecting her entire body blinding her momentarily. A single moment caused her to collapse on the tower landing, crumpling on the platform.

“LB!” Her breath came out in short bursts, she was clutching her upper arm eyes squeezed shut. This was the worst it has ever happened before, and she wanted it to end. As soon as the cause of pain came it disappeared. Leaving only the memory and a phantom pain.

"Just give me a minute." She slowly got her breathing under control, starting to get accustomed to the new level of pain.

"You weren't kidding that is the worst I’ve ever seen you hurt."

"Yeah not fun."

---

A month after that her mark burned again. This time during class. The teachers knew she would randomly stop due to pain, but they were told they were random migraines. To the point Mari would hold her head and rub her arm to sooth herself, while playing up a headache. Adrien stayed back after the class let out." You know you don't always need to put on a brave face Bugaboo."

Her attention snapped to him. "Well it's easier than constantly answering questions Kitty." She figured quickly.

Sure, they found out one another's identity, but that worked in their favor. After Tikki got sick, Fu started training Mari, and after a month Marinette was given guardianship. Fu still hasn’t lost his memories because Mari let Wayzz stay with him, for the time being, he eventually returns it to Mari in order to move on with his life, his memories fading gradually.

When Adrien got his hands on the grimoire, he of course showed it to Marinette.

“Kitty I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think your dad might be Hawkmoth.” This seemed to perfect for him to have without him being a villain.

“I know, but…”

“Adrien is there any motive anything that might be what he would wish for?”

“My mom. Dad closed himself off when she disappeared. I bet he would wish for her back.”

“Okay, so I’m going to be blunt okay.” He nodded. “So, if your mom is dead there isn’t anything that can be done without the wish, meaning at least one other person is dying.”

“So…”

“But if she is anything but.” She flipped through the grimoire recalling the studies she’s did with Fu. “There are ways we can find or even heal her.”

“This is all riding on an if.” He looked unsure as if this was too much to accept.

“Do you trust me?”

“If I didn’t, I would have turned tail and run a long time ago.”

“You dork.” She lightly shoved him, but he swayed dramatically.

“You two are close.” The new student in their class came up to them.

“Lila, right?”

“That’s right.” She answered sickly sweet, almost fake. “Are you two soulmates by any chance?”

“No.” Adrien answered. “Why?”

“You’re Adrien Agreste! Why would you be in public school?” She finally seemed to recognize.

“Let’s just say it’s a bit of rebellion.” He chuckled.

“We’re still on for video games, right?” She brought up to end the conversation seeing that Adrien was getting uncomfortable.

“Your winning streak is going down.” He announced.

“You want to join us, Lila?” She offered.

“Why?”

“Because your new and I want to get to know you.” Marinette answered honestly.

“Why?”

“Because we know you lied but still want to know you, the real you.” Adrien added.

“Why?” She asked suspiciously now.

“Question! Is it a felony to kidnap her to play video games, have snacks, get to know her, then let her go?”

“Well the kidnapping part is but if she goes willingly, I call that a hangout session.” Adrien mused.

“True, true.” She hummed. “So, what do you say, because now I am determined to get to know you.”

“Wh…”

“Kidnapping it is.” Adrien decided and grabbed the new girl’s wrist pulling her out of the library. Mari picking up their bags.

Lila herself wasn’t too bad once she started telling the truth, lying is a coping mechanism she created, because she is constantly moving schools, cities, and even countries. She is pretty interesting when she isn’t exaggerating. She was on a Hollywood movie set, but she was there on accident, she was looking for the bathroom in a restaurant and they were filming there that day. She did save a kitten on a tarmac once, but one it wasn’t Jagged Stones, it was a kitten who spooked out of their carrier and rushed down the stairs. Lila dove and caught it before it could leave the passenger unloading area to get the tram to the airport. (Some small airports unload passengers in a certain area of the tarmac and either shuttle them to the building or have a sectioned of walkway that is cleared for passengers, to walk back in only.)

After almost two hours Lila left for home when Adrien’s father called, and he was angry. Together she and Adrien ran back to the Agreste Mansion.

“Adrien!” Gabriel came out disheveled and slightly panicked. “And Miss Dupain-Cheng.” He slightly composed himself.

“Sorry I kept him.” She apologized. “He showed me this really cool book and you know how it is when inspiration hits.”

“Ah yes the inspiring fashion designer friend.” Adrien had walked up and handed his father the grimoire.

“It’s quite an interesting spell book.”

“You can read it?”

“Yes, I can. (Come on out little butterfly.)” Nooroo flew out from his hiding spot. “Hello kwamii of transmission and to you as well Hawkmoth.” She was calm deathly calm.

“How?!” Gabriel growled.

“Calm down. I have a question for you first. You want the jewels used by Ladybug and Chat Noir, why?”

“Would my answer change your plan of action to urn me into authorities and to the heroes?”

“My response may change, but you’ll have to answer to find out.”

“My wife wielder the peacock miraculous, it is broken, and she fell ill, and is in a comatose state.”

“Ah! So here is what is going to happen.” She took the grimoire from Gabriel and flipped over pages. “There is a way to revive her without resorting to using the wish.”

“How do you know this?”

She simply smiled. “You mind gathering these ingredients please Adrien?” She text him a list.

“Sure.”

“How do I know that this isn’t a ruse?”

“One I hate liars, and two because all magic has a cost, and this way is less than if you were to use the wish.”

“What do you mean cost?”

“Just like using your transformation wears on the kwamii, and the power affects your limit. Magic has its cost. The wish because it will always rewrite reality, the price is steep. Bringing back one life means you lose at minimum one other person from your life most likely more.”

“And this?”

“From what I understand. Everyone involved in the spell will have their energies deprecated so they will sleep for a day to a week.”

“Randomly?”

“No, the more people the less each person sleeps.”

“Here they are!” Adrien burst back in the room.

“Do you have the peacock miraculous?” Gabriel nodded. “Okay we’ll need that first, so lead the way to the kitchen.” Both men shuffled confused. “You do know where the kitchen is right?”

“Um well find it eventually.” Adrien chuckled. They were lucky and form it easily and Gabriel left while she and Adrien began to individually brew two separate potions. Adrien the more complex one for his mother’s revival. And she did the simpler one to fix the miraculous. Sue her Adrien is the better one in chemistry, sure he can’t cook to save himself, but he has a gift for chem, and Tikki help her she will teach him to cook. It’s practically edible chemistry, right?!

She took the Brock from Gabriel and fixed it, allowing Duusu out. “Okay so who is going to do this?”

“We will,” Adrien answered for himself and his Father, who nodded.

“Please let be help as well.” Miss Sancoeur offered.

Nooroo, Duusu, Tikki, and Plagg (they came out of hiding now) came to her. “We can help.”

She nodded and saw that Gabriel and Natalie were staring wide eyed between her and Adrien. She thought she heard Natalie say, ‘That explains so much’ but she isn’t sure.

Long story short they were able to wake up Emile, but she took back the peacock and butterfly, leaving Plagg with Adrien. Funnily enough the Agreste’s became a second family to her, once Gabriel finally grasped how to be a father. They told Paris that they had found Hawkmoth, but he would be tried by the order of Miraculous, meaning he would be stripped of the gem and his memories of the miraculous erased. It was a lie but Tikki told her that was what would have happened. There was some outcry, but they explained that they would have no recollection of it, and it wouldn’t make sense to try them.

The next few years of her life were blissfully normal, aside from the fact she had a contract under the Gabriel brand as the designer MDC, who was also endorsed by Style Queen. Chloe isn’t as bad as she puts on when she isn’t masking the hurt of being constantly ignored and bought by her parents.

- - -

It wasn’t until she was twenty-two and accompanying Adrien to a Wayne charity gala, one he didn’t want to go alone and two she was invited anyways, Chloe, Kagami, and Luka were also there on their own merits and invitations so they all stuck relatively together. Since arriving there Marinette was a constant pain, her arm burned and ached, but she forced herself to simply breathe and tried her hardest to push it out of her mind. But her luck wouldn’t hold, three hours into the event she was approached by who she recognized as Bruce Wayne, the host of the gala, and a woman to his left, the pain was almost unbearable the closer the two approached. Her friends noticed, they knew what her pain actually meant, as she opened up to them about it after a while, but she grit her teeth and tried to push through it.

“Mr. Agreste, Miss Bourgeois It is good to see you both again.” Bruce Wayne acknowledged. “It’s nice to meet all of you as well, Bruce Wayne.” He introduced to the rest, shaking hands. “And this is a good friend of mine.”

“Diana Prince.” She also went to shake everyone’s hands and had left Marinette for the last. The moment their hands touched she almost crumpled, she shrunk back and into Adrien and Chloe. “Is she okay?”

“Diana?” Bruce pointed towards her upper arm, the mark most of them overlooked before was now complete and glowing lightly. What Marinette remembered was that there was her yo-yo string and a golden rope that she only saw once before on her own arm. She felt sick, Diana was staring at her now, she recognized that Marinette was her soulmate.

“Melody?” Luka now stepped up.

“I want to leave.” She answered flatly.

“You are…”

She completely turned away, but by now her friends knew what was going on and were glaring at Diana. “I want to leave, now.” She repeated.

“Come on bug, let’s get you away from… this.” He threw a look at Diana, who was looking confused and seemingly alarmed.

The other three were putting as much space as they could between their friend and who is unknowingly causing her pain.

“Please is she alright?” Diana asked stepping forward barely grazing her hand covering her mark. This time it felt as if the skin itself was burning and stung almost like it was being pricked over and over and over again.

“Don’t touch me and stay away from me.” On the outside she looks clam and relaxed, but her voice was soft and raw, her eyes burned in pain. “You and that completed mark can stay far from me.”

“Luka, Kagami mind taking her back to the house?” The two in question led her away and once a safe distance away she broke down in tears, sobbing from the pain she was biting down.

- - -

The two that stayed were simultaneously glaring at her and watching their friends leave the gala.

“Is she alright?” Bruce finally bole the tension.

“As soon as she is far enough away from her.” The girl, Chloe, snapped at her. “Now that we know who is the the person causing her pain, we can keep her from them.” She snapped towards her, but it was a slap to Diana.

“I don’t follow. We are…”

“Soulmates, yeah we figured.” Adrien this time spoke.

“They why would she want to leave, without speaking?”

“One one in a million people are in pain when they are close to their soulmates.” Adrien spoke calmly but stoically. “No one knows why.” He began to fidget with a ring on hi# finger, she couldn’t recall if she saw any jewelry on her soulmate, Marinette, but she has a suspicion. After all she feels similar to her Mother’s aura and presence, that of a Ladybug.

“You are wrong. There is an explanation, but only a few know why that is.” She feels certain that she knows what this is.

“Let me guess you know why.” Chloe remarked, sarcastically and unamused.

“Allow me to explain this another time and place, as this is neither.”

“Fine call this number at noon est tomorrow.” Adrien handed her a phone number and the two turned and left.

“Diana?” Bruce snapped her attention. “What was that about?” He was still calm and collected but she knew he would be the one to ask, figuring out what was the next step, what had the best options of success.

“Magic.”

- - -

The next day she called the number and she was invited to a video call by the recipient. It turned out to be Marinette.

“Hello Diana.” Her voice was not cold but it was emotionless, as if she was forced into this conversation. Granted she did think she would be speaking with Adrien and Chloe.

“I never wanted to harm you, I swear that on the river Styx.” she began but before she could continue Marinette cut in.

“Let’s be clear, I don’t care about your apologies. I just want to know why this is happening and how to either get rid of it or to never have contact with you in any way or proximity.”

“I am apologizing because this is known as the curse of the ladybug and black cat.” She saw the young woman tense at that. “The reason I know of this is from by Mother, Queen Hippolyta Of the Amazon’s.” She allowed that to sink in and the other woman allowed her to drop her defense, nodding to what is said.

“When you say the curse of the ladybug and black cat what do you mean by that?”

“True souls of the miraculous, when in their life they come into contract with their given gems, cause a reaction.” Diana explained. “For the ladybug they receive the pain of their soulmate through their marks. Which is what I assume is going on.”

“Yes you’re right, but this has been going ever since I could remember.”

“Call it what you will fate, destiny, but you were always going to wield the ladybug jewel, that is why the curse manifested itself.”

“What about the black cat?”

“I am unsure, the black cat of my Mother’s time died before meeting their soulmate, but I would assume it would be similar to our situation.”

“Then how do we solve this?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha @animegirlweeb @jumpingjoy82 @thedragonbug@astoriaandroses @icerosecrystal @t1dwarrior-of-earth @moon5606 @zalladane

#maribat #dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #miraculous x dc #mlb x mcu #mdcu marinette #mdcu adrien #mdcu wonder woman #wonderbug #wonder woman x marinette #maribat angst and fuff #maribatangstandfuff

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mytwilightimagines13 · 3 years

Text

Memories from the past (Caius Volturi)

Word count: Trigger warning: mention of depression

Okaay, so I have decided to try and make one poly story. It seems they are quite popular and since my bisexual ass loves blondes, I figured I will ship our main character with Caius and Athenodora. Also I haven’t seen this ship just yet and I want to explore it hehe. Also, I got the idea from the facebook post below, so thanks for that person for giving me an idea! Hope you guys enjoy it!

Word count: 1083 Trigger warning: mention of depression, suicide

Here lies Isabella Marie Swan September 13th 1987 – September 16th 2027 "Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field." (Romeo and Juliet, Act IV, Scene V, Line 33)

I stood as I looked at the gravestone. My mother’s gravestone. I knew what I was supposed to feel. I had to feel grief, I had to mourn. Yet I didn’t. I was relieved, happy. She was finally free, she could finally rest. “Are you ready to go, kiddo?” my grandfather asked, his voice still shaking with pain. I nodded my head, finally removing my stare from the gravestone and towards the brown orbs that belonged to my grandfather. The brown was surrounded by red as his eyes were puffy from crying. “Yes, let’s go. Shall we go to the diner?” I asked, hoping some food would lift our spirits. Grandpa simply nodded his head as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to his side. His hand was wrinkled yet laid firmly on them, almost afraid I would vanish as well.

“You know you aren’t allowed to drink, Xandria.” Grandpa said as I took a sip of my white wine. I chuckled. “I turn 21 next month gramps. Besides, I am allowed to drink in Scotland” I said as I took another sip. Grandpa rolled his eyes. “Yet you are in the United states right now. But I guess I can let this one drink slide for today.” He said as he took a sip of his beer. His hair was almost completely white, with some gray streaks woven through it. His face had been wrinkled and a kind yet stern look resided on it. And finally, a moustache in the same colour as his hair accompanied his features. I chuckled sadly at his remark. “Thank you, grandpa. And thank you for letting me stay here.” I said as I played around with my glass. “Anytime panda.” He said, using the nickname he gave me when I was a little chub. Grandma had once dressed me up in a complete panda jumpsuit as a toddler (yes, including with a hat that had little ears on it) and since then the nickname had stuck. The memory of it made me smile as I still had the little jumpsuit back at home.

Grandpa drove us back to his house, the ride back to it was quiet, as had our time at the diner has been. Neither of us felt like talking, not knowing what to discuss without returning to the topic that was my mother. My now dead mother. Once inside I helped grandpa get comfortable on the couch with another beer in his hand watching the football match that evening, yet his eyes where hallow. He merely stared at the screen. I kissed his cheek and made my way upstairs, towards mum’s old room. I jumped on the bed, plunging my face in the pillow as the tears finally came. Truth be told, she never really was much of a mother to me, sure she tried to be there for me but she had a crippling depression that she never could break out from. I had never seen her smile, well truly smile for that. There were only ghosts of what might once had been a genuine smile around her lips, but it never reached her eyes. I sad up and sniffed as I wiped my eyes. I had to remember that she was in a beter place now, and that she was happy. I sighed as I got up to make my way towards the bathroom, only to trip over a loose floor board. I yelped softly as I caught myself on the door handle, my other hand smacking against the wall beside it hard. “Everything okay up there, Panda bear?” Grandpa yelled from downstairs. “Yeah I am fine gramps, just lost my balance. No worries!” I yelled back as I turned around and examined the loose floorboard, only to discover it had a hidden compartment underneath. I knelt down to examine the compartment closer and found a small box hidden in it. I gently grabbed it and sat down on the bed. The box itself was a velvet blue with a simple clasp to keep the lit closed. I flicked the claps and carefully raised the lit, only to find multiple photographs of my mother and a necklace with some sort of crest on it. The crest was made of a lion, with a hand above it and three clovers in a banner underneath the lion. It was beautiful. I felt the tears burning yet again as I grabbed the pictures and started to look through them. It was my mother in her senior year of High School. She had pictures with all of her friends, they were in the parking lot, in classes or they were hanging out. But the last picture intrigued me the most. It was my mother on her 18th birthday, and she was standing next to a boy who seemed to be her age, only there was something odd about him. My eyes traced over his pale white features: the hard square of his jaw, the softer curve of his full lips—twisted in a smile, the straight line of his nose, the top of his forehead—partially obscured by the tangle of rain-darkened bronze hair. He seemed almost unnatural. But the thing that shocked me the most was my mother’s smile. It was genuine. Real. It even reached her eyes. I close my eyes and try to control the tears that are threatening to fall once again. I imagined she might have smiled this way the moment before she jumped off that cliff. I imagine she might have thought about this man. Maybe he was once her true love, before she met my father. Maybe he passed away, and is that the reason why no longer could smile after both he and my father passed away. I could not imagine what it would be like to lose someone you love twice. Even if it might have been years apart. I finally opened my eyes and allowed for one last tear to slip away. I had to believe she was happy now. That she was with my father and her first love again. That she is smiling now like she did in the picture I was holding close to my chest. I just had to believe that.

#twilight #volturi #caius volturi #athenodora volturi #twilight imagine #volturi imagine #vampire

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 4 years

Text

The Softest Shout (Fili x Reader)

Requested by: @guardianofrivendell

Saw that your requests were open 👀 I absolutely LOVE your Legolas fics! But can you maybe write a Fíli oneshot 👉👈? Can be angst with fluff ending, or just fluff. I am WEAK for enemies to lovers or angrily confessing your love without thinking: "But why?" "Because I love you!" I'm happy with whatever really :)

A/N: here you are! My first Fili fic! Was gonna save it for Fili Friday, but couldn’t wait! Poor majestic lion deserves more love! Enjoy! ☀️

How dare he! The audacity! The nerve! What right did Fili have, as to boss those beneath him around?

Y/n grinded her teeth, as she sat on the stone steps of one of Erebor’s many halls. A battle loomed in the distance – one between her kind, and the Elves. It regarded mostly stolen jewellery, and the stubborn streak of Thorin, which she saw all too much in his oldest nephew.

Y/n was just as adept in battle as her male counterparts were. However, Fili apparently thought not.

He had always treated her unfairly, Y/n mused. He was always mean – pulling on her pigtails, making snide remarks and all-around teasing. Oh, how it made her blood boil.

However, this was the final straw for the woman. She was a grown adult, and yet, here she was – sidelined, and forced to sit out the approaching war.

It had startled her, to say the least, when Fili snapped earlier. She was arranging plans for the fight ahead, regarding her armour. However, Fili quickly stormed into the room, and took the chainmail right from her hands.

He then proceeded to seethe and scold her, claiming that she had ‘no place on the battlefield’. She too had said some choice words, which in hindsight, may have been a little brash. Though, she did not regret them at all, for they were birthed from nothing but truth.

So, now here Y/n sat – furious on the stone steps.

Dwalin soon walked past. He stopped, confused, for a moment. Why was she sat down? By Durin! There was a war to prepare for!

“Lass,” he began scolding, “I know for a fact you are not sitting down right now – not when you could be readying yourself to fight against those pansy peacocks!”

“I’ve got nothing to prepare for,” Y/n glumly said. She held her chin in her hand, and glared up at Dwalin.

“Whatever do you mean?” Dwalin asked, creasing his features.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Y/n started, with a roll of her eyes. “Our brave and true heir to the throne apparently has a superiority complex. He has removed me from the ranks. I am not allowed to fight.”

If Dwalin was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, puzzling Y/n, he merely only clicked his tongue, and muttered under his breath. It sounded like something along the lines of ‘that darned boy is utterly hopeless at these sorts of things’.

Y/n tilted her head, and parted her lips. What things? What was Fili hopeless at? He was sure a lousy comrade, that much was for certain. She herself would never have chosen to spend more than five minutes with him, but alas, the journey to Erebor deemed she would do so.

Finally, recalling the woman sat beneath him, Dwalin returned his attention to her.

“I know it isn’t my place to question our leaders’ authority,” he began, sighing, at the thought of Thorin, “but, I think you’ll find better luck in speaking to him again.”

“Shouting, you mean,” Y/n knowingly corrected.

“Aye, that’ll work too,” he mulled.

Smiling through a quick huff, Y/n dropped her eyes to the ground. She definitely had a lot of pent-up anger, so even if she couldn’t take it out onto the battlefield, she knew Fili would do just fine. After all, he was the reason she was so furious in the first place.

“You’re right,” she sighed, standing to her feet. “I’m going to go give him a piece of my mind!”

As she sauntered past, with squared shoulders, a set jaw and burning eyes, Dwalin chuckled, and responded aloud.

“Good luck...”

~ Fili was located in the armoury, and fiddled with the drawstring of his armour. Without so much as announcing herself, Y/n filed into the room.

“I have a bone to pick with you!” she seethed, marching on over to him. “How dare you take me out of this fight! I am warrior, just as much as the rest of you! You may be the future king, but you aren’t one yet! I demand a reconsideration!”

He was startled, but only for a minute. By the time she stood before him, he had regained his ever-cool composure.

Pretending to think, Fili hummed. He then smiled back down at her, but in a very smug way.

“Okay, I’ve reconsidered,” he said, earning a slight glimmer of hope from the woman, “and the answer is still no.”

Growling, she pushed his chest backwards. She spoke with much fury, which did nothing to unnerve the Dwarf.

“How dare you!” she shouted again, with anger written all over her face. “Why? WHY? Why must you always be like this? You treat me the way the men from certain human dwellings treat their spouses – like nothing more than little housewives!”

Fili blushed at this. Did she not hear her own words? Oh, if only she knew how close her accusations were. Of course, he didn’t do this for any narcissism. No, Fili did this for reasons he thought Y/n surely must have already known.

Kili told him how to acquire a woman’s heart – ‘they like it when you’re mean to them, sends their hormones haywire’, Kili had said one day.

Perhaps his little brother was wrong, though? Y/n certainly didn’t hold love in her eyes. Instead, she revered him in disdain. That was not what he wanted.

“You do not know of what you speak of,” Fili warned, raising his brows in gesture.

“Oh? Then perhaps you’d like to clarify for me? Because I’m lost,” Y/n seethed again. She folded her arms over her chest, and quirked a brow.

Fili was at a loss himself. He stammered over his words, before he realized none could form, and sighed.

Dissatisfied with his lack of response, Y/n flared her nostrils. She bared her teeth, and began shouting again. If he would not answer, then she would fill the silence.

“Why do you say nothing?” she began, revving up in her tone, which only hastened Fili’s heart, with every passing second. “Why? Why do you treat me so poorly? Why am I to be sidelined, when all my friends must fight?”

“It simply has to be this way,” Fili said at last, shaking his head at the ground.

“Why, though?” she tried again.

“Because, I said so,” Fili once more said, feeling his own anger boil.

“Yes, but why?”

“Because, I said so,” he growled again.

“But WHY?”

“Oh, for the love of Durin, because I LOVE YOU!”

“Yes, but why-“ Y/n had gone to say.

However, the moment his words met her mind, she halted. What had he just said? Surely her ears deceived her?

“What?” she next quietly whispered.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, and studied her nervously. Well, there was no turning back now.

“The reason I do not wish for you to be on the battlefield,” he slowly began explaining, “is because I care, very deeply, for you, Y/n. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

A pregnant pause ensued.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Pursing her parted lips, it was now Y/n’s turn to stutter and stammer. However, when no words of her own would form, she closed her mouth.

She stared at the ground for a moment in thought. Fili picked at his drawstring faster, for he figured she would now reject him.

Dammit, Kili, he thought. He knew he should not have taken his little brother’s relationship advice. That darned brunette couldn’t even grow a beard!

Lost in his seething thoughts regarding Kili, Fili was startled, as Y/n spoke again.

“Well…that certainly places things in a different perspective,” she said at last.

“A good perspective? Or a bad one?” Fili bemusedly pressed.

“That depends,” Y/n shrugged, “I wouldn’t wish to court someone who taunts and belittles my skills as a warrior.”

“I never meant to do such a thing,” Fili apologised, shaking his head. “I merely only want you safe, and as for the taunting, well…let’s just say Kili gives terrible advice.”

Unsatisfied with his lack of accountability, Y/n quirked a brow. Noticing this, Fili sighed again. He slumped his shoulders, and pressed on.

“And…let’s also just say, for argument’s sake, that I’m quite stupid?” he tried.

This gently extracted a bright grin from Y/n.

“Aye, that works better,” she warmly remarked.

Both then laughed, and reduced the bubbling tension in the room, to nothing but mist. Catching the other’s eye, both slowly died down. Y/n saw Fili in a new light – someone worthy of her consideration. Of course, Fili would still have to work for her approval, nonetheless.

“I’ll tell you what,” she began, “I’ll consider removing the layers in my heart, as to search for what I really feel towards you, if you allow me in this fight. I’ll have no such partner denying me the thrill of a battle.”

“Aye, you certainly love fighting…” Fili sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Indeed, and I’d urge you to make haste and find an answer, before you earn yourself another one,” she sassed.

Unable to fight the grin over her attitude, one he knew certainly couldn’t be missed in their ranks on the battlefield, Fili responded.

“Very well,” he said at last, “I will…step aside, although, let it be known that it deeply irks me!”

Rising up on her tiptoes, Y/n planted a swift kiss to his cheek. Fili then turned five shades deeper, and felt his mind burn into nothing but revving sparks.

“Good choice,” she commended. She then made a move to string up his armour, and spoke again. “Now, how would you like to assist me with putting my own armour on?”

#fili x reader #fili #hobbit x reader #the hobbit x reader #x reader #Tolkien x reader #lotr imagine #hobbit imagine #thorins company x reader #company x reader #the hobbit #hobbit

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somethingqueerisgoingonhere · 2 years

Text

The quill made light scratching sounds as it worked over the pages of the leather bound notebook. The book was filled with many, many pages and many, many of those pages were filled with writing. Wonderful writing, full of all sorts of grand adventures. And every word was true. The writer of this story was none other than Bilbo Baggins and his leather bound book full off adventures were nothing but the truth. Alright maybe there were a few tall tales but if you knew what sort of grand fancies of Bilbo’s to look past than you could easily find the truth carefully inscribed on each page.

Bilbo reached across the table and dipped his quill once more in his bottle of ink. He was fairly lost in his own world as he tended to do and did not notice the little hobbit sneaking his way into his study.

Little Frodo loved his uncle’s study more than any other spot in his house, which said a lot because Bilbo’s pantry stocked with all every kind of cheese, seed cake and vegetable was a close second. But it was the study he was not allowed in that was his favorite. And Frodo having quite the Tookish streak indeed, saw his opportunity to enter while his uncle was distracted.

Bilbo sneaked over to one of the towering shelves, piled high with books of every shade, title and kind you could ever imagine. He laid his hands on a gold trimmed one, pulling it from the shelf, only to cause several more to come crashing out of the shelf.

“Frodo!” Bilbo shouted, he was in quite a temper as the sound had made him make a slash right through the page he’d been writing!

Frodo twisted his hands nervously in front of him, “I’m sorry uncle Bilbo, I just wanted to look at it.”

“These aren’t books for children to play with Frodo, some of them have spells on them!” Bilbo said sternly.

Frodo’s face began to twitch with emotion, tears welling in his eyes.

“Oh dear,” Bilbo said, “come now, there’s no need for that, it’s alright,” Bilbo told Frodo, kneeling down on his level and straightening his skewed collar. “You know you aren’t supposed to play in here.”

Frodo nodded solemnly.

“It’s alright Frodo, no harm was done,” Bilbo said, gathering Frodo into a hug that he returned happily, snuggling into his uncle’s warmth.

“How about a cup of tea? That always cheers me up. Besides I need a break from all this writing for a moment.”

“But you love to write!” Bilbo said, cradled in his uncle’s arms as he walked them both to the kitchen, shutting his study door firmly.

“I do but we all need a moment for some tea and a treat from time to time,” he said and tickled Frodo under the chin who devolved in bursts of giggles, squirming away.

Bilbo helped Frodo into a seat at the kitchen table and then busied himself with putting the kettle on. Then he took out honey and lemon for their tea and a bit of milk of course. And a seed cake and a couple biscuits. And some fruit for the side and a little bit of the candy Mrs. Belby from next door made. He needed to use up some of the cheese so he took that out too and then of course he needed some crackers to go with that and well before he knew it Bilbo had laid out a bit of a feast. Frodo didn’t mind in the least, he looked over the table with delight.

“And we can have all we want?”

“As much as you want,” Bilbo said, “but be sure not to eat too much and get a tummy ache. You can always have more later.”

“Okay!” Frodo chimed.

Bilbo poured their tea and then they busied their mouths with eating and so they were silent for some time.

After eating busily for sometime, Frodo stopped to sip at his tea. He peered over the large cup at his uncle and asked, “what are you writing all the time?”

Bilbo thought for a moment, choosing his reply carefully, “I’m writing a story you can enjoy about all my adventures.”

Bilbo’s ears perked up at that, his uncle’s stories about the time he’d spent with the dwarves and Gandalf were his favorite. He’d always beg his uncle to tell the tales again because he never got sick of them.

“Can we read it tonight?”

“It’s not ready yet.”

“When will it be ready?” Frodo pouted.

“When you are good and grown.”

Frodo’s frown grew, “that’s ages and ages away!”

Bilbo laughed softly, “it only seems long right now but I think you’ll find the time will come sooner than you wish.”

Frodo thought over this carefully, “and then it’s mine to read whenever I want?”

“Whenever you want, as many times as you want,” Bilbo promised.

Frodo smiled a smile so warm and happy it made Bilbo think of sitting in his sunny garden, enjoying the breeze.

Frodo seemed pleased with his answer because he went back to his food, humming between bites.

Bilbo found himself watching Frodo between sips of his tea.

He felt like Frodo would be grown before he knew it. That one day he’d blink and it’d be time.

He thought of the book that still had so many pages to fill and the little boy before him that grew everyday.

All in good time he thought, while absentmindedly curling his finger into his pocket. He was thinking away when he realized he was stroking the cool, smooth metal of the ring without his knowledge. He retracted his hand but suddenly the small piece of metal felt heavy in his pocket. He could almost hear it whispering, perhaps it was just the voice’s of the children playing outside but Bilbo knew better than that.

He turned his attention to Frodo who was asking for another slice of seed cake and tried to put the ring out of his mind. All that mattered was that he was here now with Frodo enjoying tea and a meal on a lovely summer’s day.

#bilbo baggins #thehobbit #lord of the rings #lotr #frodo baggins #the hobbit #hobbit #the shire

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shimmersing · 3 years

Text

Constellation

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Relationships: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Male Republic Trooper, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Republic Trooper Characters: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Qyzen Fess, Yuon Par, Parkanas Tark-Lord Vivicar Additional Tags: Angst, Tython, Emotional, Mentioned Mutual Pining, Fluffy, Sad, Melancholy

Returning to Tython after shielding the last master suffering from Vivicar's Force plague, Aitahea is faced with more struggle in her efforts to heal the Order and keep the Force in balance. Tired, injured, and longing for someone she can't have, perhaps ever, the lines of her responsibility as a Jedi and her own convictions begin to blur. As Aitahea nears the end of her quest to save Yuon Par and the other Jedi Masters, she’s confronted with painful revelations and answers that only give rise to more questions. Shouldering the lives and minds of Jedi across the galaxy – alone – may prove to be more than Aitahea can bear. AN: Welcome back! This story follows shortly after the events in Best Intentions and closes out Chapter One of the Consular storyline for Aitahea (and Erithon, peripherally). The one-shot, first-person piece Impending occurs in the interim between Parts 2 and 3. Thank you and enjoy! *Now with paragraphs in proper order!*

Part One

Aitahea trembled next to Satele Shan on the bridge of the transport, fingers pressed to her lips while starlines streaked past.

“What troubles you, little one?”

The girl dropped her hands to her sides without looking at Master Satele, keeping her gaze focused on the soothing radiance of hyperspace. “Nothing, Master. How long until we reach Alderaan?”

“Soon now, Aitahea.” Satele dropped to one knee and placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe there. Your training will continue. We need you to be strong for the Order. For our future.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I know, Master Satele. I am strong.” But beneath her robes, her stomach flipped and flopped.

Aitahea trembled next to pilot Prelsiava Tern on the bridge of the Luminous, fingers pressed to her lips while they slipped from the grasp of Alderaan’s gravity.

“What’s got your head turned around, Jedi?”

The Jedi dropped her hands to her sides without looking at her friend, watching as the once-familiar constellations blurred out of sight. “Nothing, Sia. How long until we’re underway?”

As usual, her pilot’s concern was genuine, attending in a gently cavalier way that often left Aitahea feeling uplifted. “As soon as we clear the gravity well; just a few more minutes.”

Qyzen had no such compunction, his words blunt as a training saber. “Soldier remains forefront in your thoughts, but past also. Put these away so we may focus on Yuon. Both mate and memories will wait until dark thing is vanquished.”

“I have every int-” Aitahea choked at the sudden comprehension of Qyzen’s words, face flushing a bright rose. Sia craned her head around the pilot’s seat to grin at Aitahea with unabashed glee. Aitahea shrugged at the Mirialan woman and turned to Qyzen. “Excuse me… mate?”

“Herald’s Republic lieutenant, met on Taris. Thought perhaps you’d accepted as mate on Alderaan,” Qyzen mused. Sia whistled low and turned back to the pilot’s console, doing an impromptu and quite thorough safety check of the seat’s crash webbing.

The Jedi took a deep, calming breath, the carefully measured motion keeping her from bursting into terribly unsuitable laughter.

If Qyzen noticed her discomfiture, he gave no sign. “Human emotions strange; sad one moment, amused next.”

Aitahea primly lifted her chin, focusing seriously on her friend. “Forgive me; I apologize for the, ah, unexpected level of emotion. But no, Erithon-” She paused to frown and clear her throat. “The lieutenant and I don’t have… we aren’t what you’re presuming.”

Qyzen squinted in what she had learned to recognize as wry skepticism, usually reserved for someone they were facing in conflict.

Aitahea swallowed, nodded. “We have work to do.”

Sia waved over a shoulder. “Hey, call from Tython on the holo.”

Grateful for the diversion, Aitahea swiftly moved to escape the bridge. “Thank you, Sia. I’ll take it in the common room, please.”

After a few moments, Master Syo flickered into view, looking pleased when Aitahea entered the shared space.

“Master Sidonie just checked in. She seems well but very frustrated with herself.” Aitahea briefly wondered if her own demeanor was similar, though for distinctly different reasons. “She reports that you were able to prevent war from breaking out on Alderaan, however. You’ve once again done exceptional work in a tense situation, Aitahea.”

Despite the obvious praise, Aitahea winced. She had been painfully unsettled by Master Sidonie’s baseless accusations, despite their depraved falsity. They’d sounded conspicuously familiar, another voice confirming all the cynical criticisms Aitahea most dreaded. Unspeakable consequences lurked behind every failure, and Aitahea was certain she would fracture under the burden of responsibility, despite everyone’s blithe confidence. All so certain of her, save Aitahea herself.

And she would never breathe a syllable of it to the people depending on her. She couldn’t. Instead, she slid into a default stillness and bowed her head. “I relied on the teachings of the Jedi,” she insisted, voice trembling through the half-truth.

Master Syo beamed. “A mark of a true Jedi – being able to trust in the Force in all circumstances.”

Aitahea shuddered and hoped the motion wouldn’t be seen in the grainy holo.

Oblivious to her struggle, Master Syo continued. “Tell me, did you learn anything about the plaguemaster, Lord Vivicar?”

“I’m sorry. No new intel came from Master Sidonie.”

“She was the last of the lost Masters, and yet Vivicar still eludes us,” he mused, then waved a hand and refocused on Aitahea. “Return to us here on Tython immediately, and we will discuss what you have learned. Lord Vivicar cannot remain hidden forever.”

Aitahea’s heart leapt. She’d longed for the comfort of Tython for months; now, the call seemed almost too good to be true. Unable to trust her voice, she bowed, lifting her eyes again in time to see Master Syo’s benevolent smile. “Come home, Jedi.”

When her boots touched Tython’s sacred ground – even the metallic plates of the Temple’s shuttle pad – Aitahea felt suffused with new hope. The home of the Jedi never failed to welcome her, making her role in the galaxy apparent and her relationship to the Force simple and effortless. Even breathing felt easier.

Master Syo Bakarn, Master Jaric Kaedan, and Grand Master Satele Shan were waiting when Aitahea arrived at the Council chamber with Qyzen. The rest of the crew had opted to stay in orbit while the Jedi and Trandoshan shuttled to the surface.

“Welcome home,” said Master Syo, leaning forward to offer the greeting. Aitahea bowed low to her mentor, wondering silently if Yuon would be join the meeting as well.

Master Jaric was quicker to the point. “I wish we could greet you with better news.”

Master Satele nodded her own welcome. “Despite using every resource available to us, we’re no closer to finding Lord Vivicar.”

Aitahea, buoyant on the glory of Tython, took a bold step forward and offered her final, horrible theory. “Actually, I believe we are. A common thread binds all the plague victims: the loss of Parkanas Tark at Malachor Three. Vivicar’s influence forced the infected Masters to relive their failures on Malachor.”

The Council’s Force signatures and facial expressions were meticulously shielded with more years of experience than Aitahea could rightly grasp, but even so, emotion in the room spiked, rattling her earnest calm. She continued, her voice hushed. “This is revenge, personal revenge. Only one man would have that much anger and pain. The man who was left behind.”

She hesitated; her next words could unravel everything else she’d accomplished, but unless she spoke the truth, the plague would never end. “I believe Lord Vivicar is Parkanas Tark.”

Master Jaric shook his head in disbelief. “Jedi.” He pinned Aitahea with a steely gaze, and she was certain that her suggestion had indeed gone too far. “Parkanas Tark is dead.” Aitahea took a breath -

“Far from it, Jaric.” Yuon strode into the council chamber, feisty as ever. On the edge of panic, Aitahea broke into an enormous smile that her Master returned with a gracious nod. Even Qyzen, silent until now, uttered a brief growl of approval and welcome.

“Yuon?” Satele demanded, half-rising to address the other Master, exasperation coloring her words. “I told those Padawans to keep an eye on you. You must rest!”

“No. My pupil -” Yuon paused at Aitahea’s side, placing a hand on her last Padawan’s shoulder, “My fellow Jedi deserves to hear the truth about Malachor.”

Aitahea winced, noting the dark shadows under Yuon’s eyes; only one of the victims could explain the twisted path that lay both behind and before them. They all needed the truth. “Don’t speak more than you must.”

Yuon gave Aitahea a wan smile, then continued, turning to address the Council. “Malachor Three isn’t just strong in the dark side; the planet is the resting place of Terrak Morrhage. Our work on Malachor woke Morrhage’s spirit. One by one, we fell under his power. The things we did… still haunt me.”

Yuon shuddered; Aitahea reached for her in concern. Realization clicked into place, and she paused before laying a comforting hand on Yuon’s shoulder. “Somehow, you broke free of Morrhage’s power.”

The Master composed herself and nodded to her Padawan. “Yes. Together, we managed to break his control, but at a terrible cost.” Yuon’s voice grew soft, then broke over the last few syllables. She kept her gaze to the side, as if afraid to look into Aitahea’s eyes. “Parkanas was the youngest and weakest. We had to abandon him to Malachor’s darkness. His sacrifice allowed the rest of us to escape. But it seems he survived and took Morrhage’s dark path.”

“You couldn’t have predicted this,” Aitahea insisted in a pained whisper.

With fierce determination, Yuon shook her head. “I must make amends.” She seemed more vulnerable than ever, perhaps even more so than in the worst throes of her affliction. “I have a plan to help you find Vivicar.”

The Council looked worriedly at each other, and even Aitahea shook her head, uncertain how to respond. “How?”

“If the plague created a link between my mind and his, your shielding ability may allow me to use that link to find him.”

Master Syo stood, his disapproval and worry dimming the Force in the room. “No. You’re already weak from the plague, Yuon. This could kill you.”

But Yuon’s eyes, finally meeting Aitahea’s, were pleading. Aitahea wondered, had her Master’s suffering truly begun with the plague, or had it been long before that? She wasn’t certain she was ready for dealing with either answer, but her path, her role, was to serve. Releasing her Master, her teacher, her friend from this plague surely was of equal importance with stopping Morrhage.

If the work served both purposes, it would be worth it, more than worth it. “Vivicar won’t get the chance,” she said to both Yuon and the stunned Council. “I will stand between him and my Master.”

Yuon’s gratitude was palpable. She turned to the Council, earnest and energized. “It’s our best chance to find Vivicar.”

Qyzen spoke up. “Yuon is fearless and wise – a true hunter, like Herald.”

Aitahea wasn’t certain she agreed, but the Trandoshan’s support could only bolster their position.

Syo eased back into his seat. “Very well,” he said, sighing. “But we will monitor the ritual, and your former Padawan must stay at your side.”

“Of course, Master,” Aitahea said, and offered Yuon an encouraging smile.

“Thank you, Syo,” Yuon said, punctuating with a bow to the entire Council before turning back to Aitahea. “I will go to the meditation chamber to prepare. Please meet me there when you are ready.”

“I’ll be fine, Qyzen; it’s just a short way from the Temple. There’s no safer place in the galaxy.”

“Even from own thoughts, Herald?”

“Let her go, just as you always did for me,” said Yuon, smiling impishly at Aitahea as she approached. “This Jedi knows her own mind.”

“Master, I know you have much to prepare. I don’t intend to go far to meditate, just a little away from the temple, so I might not be disturbed.” Aitahea couldn’t quite raise her eyes to meet Yuon’s, glancing instead toward the tree-lined paths of the outer grounds. Since Aitahea had first arrived on Tython, the issues of refugees, Flesh Raiders, and rogue Force users had been mostly resolved. The forests surrounding the temple were secure, if not precisely safe. Aitahea had played no small part in several of those events and recalled them as experiences of tremendous growth as a Padawan. Yuon seemed to agree.

“Off with you now! I’ve enough for this old friend to help me with; you must make your own preparations,” she stated, ushering Qyzen ahead in a way only Yuon Par was capable of, while waving Aitahea away from the temple grounds. “Go!”

Yuon seemed uncharacteristically upbeat, perhaps even giddy. It’s just that we’re so close to the end of this journey. I’d feel the same, if I weren’t so… her thoughts trailed off as Qyzen and Yuon turned back toward the temple, good-naturedly chiding each other on the perception of stuffy behavior.

Aitahea chanced a smile and wave in reply, inhaling sharply to keep tears from spilling from her stinging eyes. She turned to one of the well-worn paths, tread smooth by the growing residents of the Jedi Temple, their minders and masters, and visitors such as herself.

No, this is home, she thought urgently. Master Syo welcomed me home. I am home. She raised her hood and quickened her pace, rushing by several curious initiates.

Aitahea dashed across the bridge and toward the stream just beyond the grounds. There was a spur of rock suspended over one of the smaller falls. She hadn’t been there in years, her training with Yuon so often off-world or in remote areas. There were usually a few uxibeast grazing in the shade, unbothered so long as they could eat in peace.

She was obligated to ford the shallows to the opposite bank of the stream in order to reach the outcropping. Aitahea considered a simple leap over the stream; a nudge of the Force would keep her robes and boots dry.

Instead, she left her boots with her outer robe folded carefully beside them and now stood at the water’s edge considering the communicator in her hand. She shouldn’t be needed for the brief hour she had to prepare for Yuon’s desperate ritual; who in the galaxy would need to contact her who wasn’t planetside? Was there anyone she needed to talk to privately? Tember? Her parents?

Aitahea fiercely dismissed the memory of Erithon’s smiling face that clamored for her attention, fingers trembling as she thumbed through her contacts to his entry. The hard lump lodged in her throat was the only thing that kept her from pressing the call button.

Cold water splashed over her toes; the nearest uxibeast lowed. Shaking her head, Aitahea unceremoniously shoved the commlink into one of her boots and waded into the water, gasping at the freezing temperature. She splashed across, only slightly questioning her sanity, and padded gingerly up the rock spur on icy toes.

The perch afforded a stunning view of the Temple and grounds, but distance allowed a certain privacy. Aitahea sat at the edge of the outcropping, watching the practiced motions of lightsaber training, but the clashing sounds of those sparring were lost beneath the roar of water. Some in groups, others in isolation, all went about their various practices: meditating, channeling, seeking to understand more of the Force in myriad ways.

Everything will be fine, Aitahea assured herself, bringing her knees up to her chest and closing her eyes. We’re so close to finishing this. Maybe even saving Parkanas Tark if he can just be released from Morrhage’s dark control. Victory is close. Just a little longer.

Aitahea dropped her head into her arms and sobbed, the cries lost in the rush of the waterfall below.

Constellation: Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

#swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #jedi consular #star wars the old republic #fanfiction #fanfic #a03 #oc: aitahea daviin #yuon par #jedi council #angsty

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headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne · 3 years

Text

Sekiro Chain 1

Original prompt: Kuro teaches Wolf how to play Shogi. Mun's note: I love how this chain turned out. Everyone did such an amazing job. Please show your apprecation for the characters by checking out their work and consider giving this chain a reblog.

@ghoulsteak

In Kuro’s tower, the summer air is warm and still. The sliding doors stand open to let what breeze there is pass through unimpeded. Sun streams in through the western door, painting a bright square across the tatami. Motes of dust spiral in the light.

Kuro can see Wolf from where he sits reading, a dim figure with only a foot caught in the sun, seated with his back to the opposite wall. It’s easy to forget he’s there, both because Wolf has been present in the corner of Kuro’s eye for a long time now and because being forgettable is a trait the shinobi has carefully cultivated.

He stands now and pads silently across the floor. Time for another inspection, Kuro supposes; another circuit around the tower’s perimeter (cliff side included), another quiet pass among the sun-streaked piles of books in the upper room. Wolf is always conscientious in his checking and rechecking, but today he seems to be wound even tighter than usual. On a day as beautiful as this one, that strikes Kuro as something of a shame.

As Wolf steps back inside from his patrol, Kuro sets down his book. “Wolf,” he calls. The shinobi’s head turns. “Would you like to play shogi with me?”

“I do not know how, my lord.”

“That’s no matter. I can teach you,” Kuro says.

Kuro himself learned from Owl. The old man taught him the game years ago while he lingered at the castle. He kept to himself whether was simply resting between outings or sniffing around amongst the servants and courtiers. Kuro has beaten him only once, and he suspects that the old man threw that game. He is as difficult for Kuro to read as his son is easy.

But still, he offers Wolf the same reason for learning as the Owl gave him. “They say shogi is good for the mind. It helps one practice strategy.” He knows Wolf struggles to justify doing things that don’t reap tangible results. The shinobi’s chief leisure activity, insofar as he can be said to have one, is sleeping. Wolf inclines his head in agreement.

Wolf seats himself across the table, and Kuro begins setting up the board. He explains the rules of the game to him; they’re a lot to take in, but he knows Wolf prides himself on only having to be told something once, and thus does not repeat himself. He listens in silence, nodding from time to time or interjecting with a murmured question, and they begin to play.

A minute and a half passes. Wolf loses.

“Hrm,” he says, brow furrowed. Kuro hides a smile with his sleeve.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to take it easy on you, Wolf,” he says.

A slight shake of the head. “Of course.”

“Again?”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Kuro offers him no advice. He doesn’t want to teach Wolf to play like him; even after three years’ worth of rainy days spent at the board, he suspects his own style is still too much like the Owl’s. He wants to see how Wolf plays shogi.

As they begin again, he watches the shinobi’s expression. Between turns, his gaze darts about the room, quicksilver eyes beneath a stone brow. His attention is divided a dozen different ways. This, rather than his inexperience, is why Kuro beats him again.

“Again?”

“Certainly.”

Perhaps, Kuro thinks, he should ask him to play next in a room with shuttered windows and a single, easily barred door. He can see the roots of Wolf’s technique, the shape of his quick, guarded mind beginning to describe itself upon the board, but he won’t let himself become immersed in the game. Wolf can’t let go of his awareness of the tower’s points of entry and escape, of the distance between the palm of his hand and the hilt of his sword.

Kuro begins to push Wolf’s slow offense back, intending to corner him on his own side of the board. Confident in his advance, he overreaches. Wolf capitalises on the chink revealed in his armour and cuts behind Kuro’s lines. As he finishes his move, he glances up at Kuro.

“Hah!” Kuro sits back in surprise, eyes alight. A hint of a smile runs along the furrows of Wolf’s face, and is gone just as quickly.

“I apologise, Wolf,” he says. “I underestimated you.”

Wolf inclines his head. “It is no matter.”

As the game continues to its close and the game after it begins, Kuro watches Wolf’s hold on his vigilance relax a little more. Perhaps there’s something comforting to him after all about a battle with no stakes, an enemy who wants nothing more than to pass a summer afternoon.

@dragonbasket

@fateoftheundead

“Are you ready, Wolf?”

Sekiro nodded and knelt before the low table across from the young lord, who busied himself shuffling a stack of papers. Kuro’s movements were not that of a studious priest, or a graceful shinobi, but guileless and clumsy like the youth he was.

“Why is this necessary for my mission?”

“Your sentiments are pure and honorable, but the pursuit of knowledge and understanding is just as pure, just as honorable.”

“As you insist. I do not know exactly what it is I do not know.”

***

The Wolf turned his head back and forth, flustered as he had ever been and rarely showed. “As I told the Heir, I do not know what it is I do not know. I… have heard that that is a good place to start. To start knowing.” A snort emerged from the background, amidst the wooden idols.

Emma, the mild doctor, approached, frowning in the direction of the snort. “That is true. Do not be so hard on yourself.” She took a seat. “Please continue.”

Sekiro handed the stack of Kuro’s scrolls to the man seated on the ground, who blinked with wide open eyes at the documents. Fujioka gave the smile of a man retreating from a tiger. “So whaddya need me for, anyway?”

“My letters are insufficient. You are the right choice, despite your grumbling.”

“Fine, fine, some compliment.” Spreading the papers out, he bent his head to the scroll he had selected. “So… I have heard it said, oh monks, that… hmm, I dunno that’s the best way to begin. You’ve got far more wisdom than you know, Wolf, but these doctrineses may be too big a breakfast. Tell me- what scriptures did you learn as a child?”

Sekiro sighed. “I remember very little from before I was orphaned, and once the Owl had adopted me I had very little time for scriptures or doctrines.”

Another scoffing laugh came, and this time it’s owner came closer. The Sculptor rose creakily and made his way over as well, though much less gracefully than the doctor.

“Ahh, these old bones need a stretch anyway. The Owl? Ukonzaemon Usui? One slip of the pen and he would have been a cloud-and-water man. Bah, you’re more a cloud-and-water man than the old fool ever could have been.” He bowed deeply to Fujioka, his wooden left arm almost scraping the floor. “Forgive me, scroll jumbler. Forgive me, Wolf. Please continue.”

“I suppose that I know as much as anyone. Gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā?”

Seeing the lost look on his face, the others in the room repeated the simple sutra. “You all know it. I’m gald I knew it as well. Perhaps this is not the correct interpretation, but it has always struck me... gone, gone, everyone gone... What does it mean to be shinobi? If we become one with the shadows, then do we exist at all?”

Fujioka beamed. “Oh, that’s wisdom alright, Wolf! As direct as the 6th Patriarch’s famous verse, and maybe as good.” He looked around sheepishly. “What? I know stuff.”

“Do you know who else had something to say about the Heart of Wisdom?” The Sculptor’s grimace was unreadable. Emma turned to him, but cut him only with the gaze of her eyes. “Master Hakuin! Do you know what he said about our beautiful Heart? Scripture scrolls dug from piles of garbage!”

“Garbage?” Emma’s face at last betrayed a hint of anger.

“Easy, sweet doctor. I mean no offense. We may pare our nails at the foot of a burning lamp, we may polish a brick into a mirror, but these base things are not bad. Simply a glimpse of truth. These,” he said, flinging a gnarled finger past the Heir’s donated stack of scrolls. “are wonderful in their own way, but for a man of my inclinations, I prefer the schematics our Wolf brings back. To build wondrous things!”

“Not from piles of garbage.” Sekiro’s face grew dark as he thought back to where he had found many such scrolls and the like that he’d found, in pockets and pouches, in dark corners used as hiding places, and he thought of the secrets he’d found as well, the deep crimson secrets that lay at the heart of men. And monsters.

“Of course, Wolf. Now, of all the treasures you bring back to our little ryokan... I prefer the sake best.”

“Sake!” Fujioka theatrically covered his face, mimicking the voice of a mortified grandmother. “In the midst of our scripture study! Would that not violate the Fifth Precept?”

“Indeed, indeed, sir, but there is one sin that the Tathagatha held more grave than any violation of the precepts.”

“What is this sin, Sculptor?” Emma’s face had lost all anger and she seemed genuinely curious.

“The disruption of the Sangha! Chaos amongst friends and disciples! Vituperation!” He grinned. “I am an old man. I get cranky when I do not get my sake. And when I get cranky...”

“The next time I find any sake, I will bring it right back. For the Sangha, that is.”

“Make sure you do. My friends, is anyone else cold? Without a little something to warm my belly, I feel every draft.” Without waiting for a response he walked over to the hearth where a few embers struggled to produce rarefied strands of flame. “We’re out of firewood.”

The others ignored him and Fujioka produced another scroll from the pile. “The Hekiganroku... some of these things the Heir sent us are quite advanced. Don’t get me wrong, I find a quality koan to be pleasing on its own merits, but the solution of these... beyond me.” The information broker squinted down at another scroll. “Oooh, ooh. The Heir left a little note in the margin. ‘Master Dogen’s commentary is superb.’ Aha! Dogen.” Fujioka became suddenly excited and turned his squint towards Emma. “Waittaminute...”

“I was indeed apprenticed to Dogen.” A faint smile. “Not the original Dogen. He was centuries ago. How old do you think I am?”

Before the broker could reply, Sekiro piped up. “Doctor, you don’t look a day over 200.” She rewarded him with a widening smile at the quip. She rubbed her hands together.

“It is cold. My Master Dogen would sometimes pretend to be a Zen master and jump out of corners to frighten me. He made a crude kesa out of bandages and covered his hair with a sack to seem bald.” She paused in thought. “I am not sure why.”

“Students must sometimes go along with their master’s teaching, I am sure.” Sekiro nodded.

Fujioka continued. “No offense, Wolf, but I got something here from the Hekiganroku that reminded me of you, and our dear ol’ sculptor. Case 54...” He recited the koan and put the scroll down.

“Yunmen Extends His Hands. I see. But I have only one hand.”

“Between the two of us we have two, Wolf,” called the Sculptor from the background, still puttering noisily among the idols. “Yunmen would slap us well if that were the case.”

Sekiro stood momentarily from where he’d crouched across from Fujioka and stretched his back before sitting again. “I recall some dharma if you forgive my rough understanding.”

“Of course!” The broker smiled in anticipation despite himself.

“Yunmen’s koan reminded me of another great master fond of hitting his disciples. Rinzai! What a fearsome teacher. There are tales that I have heard of his striking pupils to teach a lesson, but his most impressive act was worthy of a shinobi. In the meditation hall, during the most serene meditation, he would appear out of nowhere beside any monks whose minds were wandering, and beat them with a stick!”

“That stick is called the kyosaku and the monks must raise their hands and ask to be struck. It is an efficacious remedy for a sluggish mind.” Emma nodded to Sekiro as she rose as well. “I think I prefer your version, though.” “Aha! A fine Buddha indeed.” The Sculptor appeared with one of his wooden idols, one of surpassing craftsmanship. Without any hesitation he flung the idol onto the fire. The others reacted with a combination of horror and disbelief that led into a general clamor. Sekiro himself adopted a blank expression, as there was certainly a finer point to this act that he did not understand. “Protest all you like, it’s only a statue.”

“Of the Tathagatha. Such shame you bring with your recklessness,” seethed Emma. The sculptor scoffed.

Having recovered from his initial shock, Fujioka looked into the Sculptor’s eyes. “This is something I heard about once. That old pervert Ikkyu once did the same. But...”

“A common error, sir. Not Ikkyu, but Tanka.” He turned to Emma. “Do you mean to say that I burned the Buddha himself? Some relic of the Shaka Nyorai?”

“No, it is simply a wooden statue, but-”

“Simply wood,” he interrupted. “Then you do not mind if I burn another as the night grows colder?”

No one spoke for a long moment.

Fujioka broke the silence. “Ya think maybe we studied enough for the young master? I’d like to know for next time... I mean, if there is a next time... who are the masters you’d wanna hear more from?”

“Let us decide which sage would win in a battle, then!” The Sculptor’s face creased with amusement. “Wolf, who do you think?”

“Rinzai, of course. His stealth and fearsome strikes would take the day.” He turned to Emma. “What would you say, doctor?”

“Eno, the patriarch. His touch could make even the most ephemeral things as immovable as mountains. They say in a distant temple he sits mummified, unmoving but still meditating. True strength.”

“I dunno if the Heir thinks this is appropriate. Says here the Buddha himself specified that this subject is not suitable for the path to enlightenment.” He leaned forward with a sly whisper. “I would be like Dorin. Simple, happy teachings, and could spring through the trees like a monkey. Or a shinobi.”

“My turn,” said the Sculptor. “I am sure of my preference for the toughest master. Eka, Damo’s disciple. A great general before that, a fearsome warrior. To prove his devotion to becoming a student of Damo, he cut off his own arm and presented it to the patriarch, and became a great teacher in his own right. Invincible.”

Sekiro’s intuition prickled at him. He tensed, sensing something akin to danger, but...

The sculptor removed his wooden arm and held it aloft. “Wolf, I’ve seen how well you adapted to my previous arm. Such clever uses of the humble mechanisms I installed. But this thing? What use is it? I carved one arm with the other arm. Eka did not even replace his. So perhaps...” He shivered. “Is it cold in here?”

The sculptor tossed his wooden arm onto the fire.

There was no outcry from the others. Only a shocked silence. The sculptor rubbed the bare spot where his shoulder terminated. “Now, Wolf, about that sake...”

A slight smile. “For the Sangha?”

“For the Sangha.” Another uncomfortable pause, then the Sculptor let loose with a cackle.

In the warmth and light of the fire, the others joined him in laughter as the arm lit the room with its flames. @thefatladysang

@poisonhemloc

The old route to Senpou Temple started in the silvergrass field. Genichiro had never been to the temple, but there was a first time for everything. He needed the Mortal Blade, now, that was held there. The crimson one. The black one was further but much easier to get to, and relatively unguarded- but he didn’t want to risk the black one, the one that would kill Grandfather if he used it too much. Grandfather staying alive was the only reason the Interior Ministry hadn’t fully attacked Ashina. And he didn’t dare hasten the illness’s work before he had the Dragon’s Heritage, true immortality, not the Sediment’s poor version. With the Dragon’s Heritage he could stand up to the Interior Ministry, and win.

Grandfather had obviously thought the Sediment was making him unstable, when he stopped to tell him where he was going. A little part of Genichiro still wondered why he had even taken the time to do that. And wondered why he had come out here, where he had lost against the shinobi for the first time by a hair’s breadth, when the more reliable route to Senpou now ran through the dungeons. He turned to leave-

-and a strange depression in the grass caught his eye.

There was an arm. There was the shinobi’s arm, laying here unrotting. It had been a month, something should have at least tried chewing on it, but it looked as though he had just cut it off.

Some part of him knew why. He waited for the knowledge to work its way to the front of his mind through hazes of red.

The Dragon’s Heritage. The same as Tomoe. And Genichiro remembered a spar between Grandfather and Tomoe, when he was younger, before Takeru had died and Kuro had been born.

Neither of them were trying to be careful, but Isshin was always better at swordplay than Tomoe; xe had shined with archery instead, and taught Genichiro. And Isshin had cut off Tomoe’s right arm, with the same lunge Genichiro had used for the shinobi. And had given Genichiro a look, as Tomoe collapsed, and held the arm next to the stump, and when Tomoe revived it had reattached. And it had been like Isshin had never cut it off.

It must have been due to the Dragon’s Heritage. And now…

The prosthetic Dogen had spent days, months, working on, had been given to the shinobi. Every shinobi trick conceivable could fit in it. It would be better, smarter, to leave this somewhere the man would find it, and have him reattach it and lose the prosthetic and the advantage it gave.

But the rational train of thought was being drowned out by the louder, much more insistent voice that had listened to Orangutan complain, sometimes loudly, every time he was at the castle, about the arm he had lost continuing to hurt. And several soldiers, and samurai, who had also lost limbs and complained about the same thing. He shouldn’t delay any longer though, he needed to be moving. Genichiro grabbed the arm and left for the dungeons.

There was a brazier not far from the entrance, next to the cave Doujun had been reduced to using. Genichiro knocked it over and dropped the arm on top of the coals, watched it smoulder, and then catch when he dumped fabric- Doujun probably brought it over to tend to the stab wounds but they were fine, the Sediment was healing everything- and watched as the arm caught and blazed. He had a lot of things he needed to do but… he could wait, for a few minutes, ignoring Doujun grumbling as he retreated to the little cave and watch the armor distort and melt and the arm reduce to blackened bones before he turned and left for Senpou.

Isshin watched the shinobi nod politely, and stand. He would be after the Crimson Mortal Blade, now, like Genichiro was. He half turned- and tensed up, and grimaced, just for a second, but Isshin saw it. The prosthetic definitely twitched, and his good arm looked like he was going to grab at it for a moment, before he went back to the blank face he always wore.

“Something wrong, Sekiro?” Another little hint of emotion, he did not like that Isshin had seen that and commented on it. Now, would he lie, or admit to it? And which would make that shadow in his eyes worse?

“...Just for a second, my… injury, hurt. More than it has. I… believe I need to talk to Lady Emma.”

“Go then! Emma knows what to do with severed limbs.” Isshin watched him leave, not using the prosthetic’s grappling hook like he had to get here. Not using the prosthetic at all, actually. He would have to ask Emma what had happened. He had not painstakingly arranged for this man to get to Kuro and helped him hone his talent for killing just for his arm to twinge a little and have him give everything up.

Wolf had opened the library window Kuro hadn’t been able to budge as soon as he was back, and talked to Kuro, and now was approaching Emma. He looked tenser than he had, had Isshin given him bad news? And he hesitated for a moment, before seemingly resigning himself.

“Something… happened, to the injury.” Emma fought to keep the shock off her face, Wolf was asking for medical help beyond the gourd? When she went to check in with Isshin would she find him cured, talking to a normal, sane Genichiro?

“Okay. We need to take the prosthetic off anyway, I need to check the bandages. What happened?” Wolf had been keeping his voice quiet; Kuro hopefully was too engrossed in reading to notice, and Emma stayed quiet as well.

“It felt like I touched metal held in a fire, with the cut part of my arm.” Emma frowned, helping him remove the prosthetic and the remainder of the kote, not touching the scarf he was overly protective of. Pain from the missing limb, that happened a lot, and he had said it felt like burning. And pain in the remaining limb, from being cut. Burning in the remaining limb was not normal.

Wolf tensed up when she started unwrapping bandages, too, but that was normal for him. There were clean bandages up here, at least, Emma didn’t want to reuse what she was unwrapping. She should have changed everything when he woke up, but there was no way he would have trusted her enough to let her. Nevermind that she had bandaged the arm in the first place and been changing it while he’d been unconscious, and worried that it never looked like it was healing, just not bleeding as much.

Now it did, it looked… like he had said, like someone had cauterized it. Which was normally what Emma would have done anyway, except the Dragon’s Heritage should have healed it completely.

“You were just talking with Isshin?”

“Yes.”

“...Well, it cauterized itself. I don’t know why. It’s still going to hurt- it might hurt more, for a while. I need you to stay here for a few hours, at least, in case something else happens.”

“I cannot. I have Lord Kuro’s orders to fulfil.” Like he hadn’t asked Emma to check his arm. “I will-”

“Not leave until tomorrow at earliest.” Loud enough Kuro heard, hopefully. “Give your arm some chance to heal, since it’s finally started to.” She ignored the dirty look that flashed across his face for a moment as she placed new bandages and helped replace the remains of the left kote that the prosthetic tied onto.

Kuro walked to the front of the library as Wolf pushed Emma’s hands away and finished tying on the prosthetic himself.

“Wolf, please, if you are in pain the ingredients can wait.” Kuro was frowning, one of his hands was fidgeting with the book he still held. “And you did just duel Genichiro. Everything can wait til tomorrow morning, Wolf.” Kuro was probably too far away to hear a bitten back sigh.

“Of course, my lord.”

Emma had her own quarters at night, and Kuro had blankets in this room and had insisted on giving Wolf one of them; he had insisted on giving Wolf several of them, actually, and it had taken a few minutes of careful discussion before Wolf convinced him not to, but he wouldn’t be budged on Wolf having at least one and continuing to refuse was inviting him to order Wolf to accept more. How much Kuro seemed to care for Wolf- Wolf, who had failed at Hirata, who had spent too long trying to find Kuro and get to Ashina, and then failed again immediately- was. Strange. It must have been because Wolf was the only person left from Hirata, this was not how masters treated their servants. At least Wolf would stay awake if he was here, stay on guard.

And he failed at that, too, jerking awake in the middle of the night, biting his tongue to stop a yell like he had with Isshin, feeling like his missing arm had been crushed. It was still gone. The pain persisted for a few minutes, before fading back to the burning pain he had been trying to tune out. Emma was not being told about this, if she came before he left in the morning; Wolf had a duty to his lord, and he did not want to be delayed again because she thought he couldn’t work through pain.

Genichiro, angrier already than he had been, stomped back down the passageway, snapping at the soldiers he had ordered to keep watch down here to pay attention. Senpou was a waste. The monks were easy enough to kill, not one of them could block a swing from him, but every bridge to the monastery was broken. What was he supposed to do, scale Mt Kongo itself just to get to the main hall?

So the black blade would have to do. Open Gate. The weaker of the blades, sure, but it was enough. It was closer too, easier to get to; why had he even bothered with Senpou Temple? He should have gone straight for it. Yes, Grandfather thought it was tied to his life, but no one really knew, just some shrine maiden twenty years ago wrote a lot of stuff on a scroll to justify keeping the sword. It was all speculation. And it was just in a shrine halfway to Hirata and north. And Dragon’s Heritage or not, it would kill the shinobi for good and Kuro wouldn’t have a choice, and with enough of the generals sharing immortality they would drive off the Interior Ministry.

...Here was the remains of the fire where he’d burned the arm. The bones looked blackened, but still recognizable. Genichiro stamped on them as he passed, splintering them into pieces, and continued out of the dungeons, back out of the castle, before it was light.

#sekiro shadows die twice #fanfiction #fanart #sekiro chain 1

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