#i just don’t with these two bc these seem like the Correct Inks For Them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinceregalaxy · 2 years ago

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fic masterlist

better call saul (mcwexler)

Between the Dirt and the Stars (M, 24474): Jimmy already knew there was no escape from the tragic looks from his parents and the bragging from some of his friends and the empty platitudes from everyone at church. Maybe Jimmy wished he was the one who would melt into the carpet. It seemed like God had already decided there wasn’t anyone out there who would really, truly miss him anyway. (Or, soulmates are a thing in the BCS universe, and nothing really changes.)

Litost (M, 4363): It’s raining, just like Glen said it would. (Or, Kim in Florida, the week after Jimmy calls.)

Wiedervereint (M, 2236): In the back of the store there’s a whole row of stalls for trying on the thrifted fare. An older woman stands off to the side with a pinched look on her face, sorting through the clothes left behind by other customers. “I’ve only got one room open right now, so one of you will have to wait,” she informs them with a deep sigh, pointing towards the stall at the very end of the wall. “Oh, we can share,” Kim says immediately. (Or, Kim and Jimmy go thrifting before the Lubbock scam.)

Notecards and Ink Marks (T, 2954): The first thing Kim Wexler learned about James McGill was that he was terrible at sitting still. (Or, Jimmy’s propensity to doodle, through Kim’s eyes.)

Wastin’ Away Again (T, 3606): The inside of the elevator has the audacity to have the words “Breathe in. Breathe out. Move on,” printed in big blue letters. The font is extremely tacky, even by his standards, and it makes Saul want to kick something. But there’s nothing on the ground except his suitcase, and a nice-looking elderly couple is hopping on the elevator behind him, so Saul just downs the rest of his margarita and crushes the plastic cup in his fist. (Or, Saul is depressed at Margaritaville.)

Three-Way Call (M, 1258): He maneuvers himself on top of her so he can stretch and grab the phone. “Jimmy, don’t,” she tries again, but he’s already pressing the green button and holding the phone up to her ear. (Or, Kim talks to someone on the phone while Jimmy distracts her.)

A Given Thing (E, 2774): It takes Jimmy an embarrassingly long moment to pick up on the meaning of her words. “Oh.” He tilts his head at her. “You want me to come with you?” Kim’s gaze returns to him. “Of course I do,” she says seriously. “Are you sure?” (Or, some angsty smut set in S4.)

Toothache (M, 2637): “Hi, James.” “Hi, Dr. Wexler, good to see you again. You can call me Jimmy, by the way. No one ever calls me James.” “Okay then, Jimmy. I heard you were having some pain.” (Or, Kim is a dentist AU.)

Light Years (M, 21639): Kim, Jimmy, and the years in between. (Or, a Kim POV covering the time from when Jimmy passes the bar up to 1x01 Uno.)

Push and Pull (E, 1514 words): She still hasn’t looked at him. She’s angry with him. She must be. Occam’s razor. The simplest explanation is always the correct one, and she wants this to be true. But it’s rarely applied where Jimmy is involved. (Or, a missing scene from S2E9 Nailed.)

hold my hand to the bone (T, 1637 words): Jimmy is talking and talking. He might be trying to talk to her, but she’s also pretty sure he’s just talking to talk. He does that sometimes. (Or, Kim and Jimmy do some recreational drugs and light trespassing.)

The Sunshine State (T, 13536 words): Skyler reaches into her pocket and pulls out her new ID. It says it was issued in the state of Florida two years ago, but she knows it was actually issued in the back of a mechanic shop, just yesterday evening. It won’t be air tight, Saul had told her. He had missed his chance with the expert, and the guy wouldn’t take all four of them. The new IDs would do in a pinch, though, according to Saul. (Or, the one where Saul and the White Family go into hiding together. In Florida, of course.)

a bridge to nowhere (T, 3673 words): Saul Goodman was Lalo Salamanca’s lawyer, and now Lalo Salamanca is dead. Saul Goodman can get off any criminal that stumbles upon his doorstep, but he’s not for business needs to be handled discreetly. The cartel would be much better off looking for a different lawyer. They hope it’s enough. It has to be. (Or, Kim stays after the whole Howard thing.)

the mastermind (T, 2381 words): Jimmy made a plan. It was probably a stupid plan, but even if it didn’t work it would just be step one in his scheme to get Kim Wexler to like him. (Or, Jimmy and Kim’s first few moments in the mailroom.)

some vast, unnamable fear (T, 2208 words): It felt like Jimmy was making a choice of his own, right there on top of the mail room table. She’s pretty sure he did, but Kim is still deliberating. (Or, how Jimmy fits into Kim’s plans. Sequel to the mastermind.)

game of thrones/asoiaf (jaime x brienne)

Funny Way of Showing It (T, 3544 words): So, with two University of Winterfell labs and one Addam, Podrick found himself sitting at a fancy steakhouse in Harrenhal late on a Sunday evening. (Or, academic AU dinner from hell.)

if one thing had been different (would everything be different?) (T, 5119 words): Brienne called the landlord and he arrived a few hours later and fixed the sink while Sansa did homework and Arya watched him suspiciously from the dining table. And when he was done he told Brienne to have a nice rest of her day and to call him if they had any other issues. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except that the landlord wasn’t just anybody. It was Jaime Lannister. (Or, Jaime is Brienne’s landlord, and everything in her apartment keeps on breaking.)

falling down the stairs of your smile (T, 3140 words): “Well, I guess you probably have to get home and… see your boyfriend.” She rolled her eyes at that. Wanted to laugh out loud at the absurd notion. “Jaime, I don’t have a boyfriend.” His eyes sharpened. “Well, in that case,” and his uninjured hand grasped her shoulder and he leaned in. (Or, a simple cute college AU).

rogue one (rebelcaptain)

second nature (T, 1506 words): "Didn't you volunteer for this?" he replies, and the confusion is so clear on his face, so honest, that he really must not know. "In a way," she retorts. There's no use telling him the truth. He'll know in a few moments anyway. He'll know everything. (Or, a quick mind meld AU).

Arm’s Length (M, 6421 words): "You want me to hate you?" he hisses. "Okay, I'll hate you." (Or, my own take on somebody lives/not everyone dies.)

the x files (msr)

Resonance (T, 889 words): And suddenly she’s there next to you, popping bubblegum and tapping a beat on the center console. (Or, an angsty little oneshot set somewhere between IWTB and the reboot.)

succession (tomgreg)

permanent stains on fleeting bodies (M, 3322 words): And it’s not like Tom was looking. He fucking wasn’t. But Greg was manspreading obscenely under that towel and his shorts were riding up in a weird way and Tom saw it. (Or, Tom and how badly he deals with having a soulmark.)

GLOW (sam x ruth)

Better Left Unknown (T, 1599 words): No matter what happens, things always seem come back to this. In his car eating greasy gas station food. In his car to look at venues or meet with sponsors. In his car when he doesn’t want you there. In his car when he asked you to be. In his car with a bag of pink donuts on your lap because he wants to comfort you but just doesn’t know how. (Or, Sam and Ruth drive back to Vegas.)

#fanfic #self rec #better call saul #mcwexler #game of thrones #asoiaf #jaime x brienne #rogue one #rebelcaptain #the x files #msr #succession #tomgreg #glow netflix #sam x ruth #fic rec #ao3 #fic masterlist

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sunder-soul · 4 years ago

Note

first of all your work is AMAZING- like damn that smut? 👀 but anyway- i’ve had this concept for awhile imagine that reader was the one who made the design for the dark mark for tom riddle? like y/n is an artist and likes to draw, paint, all that jazz, and she saw the symbol in like her dreams or something and decided to draw it. and then tommy boy sees it and takes a liking to it like, “...i could use that-“ i don’t if this is a weird ask or not but i thought it was interesting. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

So this has been in my inbox for so long bc I just couldn’t crack how I wanted to tackle it and then yesterday BOOM I had an idea so here I am!! Hope you enjoy 💖

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Consume

Summary: Reader looks into Tom Riddle’s tea leaves on an unlucky day in Divination. Something looks back.

Word count: 1.5k

Content warning: none.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’ve heard of the domino effect before, but never has it been so grimly demonstrated to you than in that exact moment standing in front of the entire Divination classroom with the only spare seat left opposite Tom bloody Riddle.

It started (or at least, as far as you can tell) an entire week earlier when you’d walked in on Ophelia Greengrass sobbing in the fourth-floor girl’s bathroom during second period. Up until then you’d not spoken more than half a dozen words to Ophelia across your entire time at Hogwarts, but it had felt wrong not to say anything – and as it turned out, Ophelia had been in dire need of someone saying something to her. She’d been dating Lestrange for a little over three months and by the sounds of it things were not going well.

So of course you’d comforted her as best you could but it was hardly surprising when she tentatively approached again you the next day, and the next, and the next, and then every single day for an entire week there had been a new horror story until yesterday you’d finally had enough and told her that she should break up with him.

That, of course, was why he’d confronted you in the corridor that morning on the way to Charms, angrily accusing you of losing him his girlfriend. And that was why you and Lestrange had been caught by Peeves with a watering can full of Bulbadox juice brandished gleefully in his spindly hands.

Which was how you both ended up in the hospital wing for the entirety of first period, Lestrange with boils all over his face and down his back, and you with them on your hands from where you’d managed to shield yourself.

You’d left Lestrange behind complaining loudly as the matron peeled back his school shirt, sprinting all the way up to the Divination tower at breakneck speed, throwing the trapdoor to the classroom open and scrambling inside, the trapdoor falling shut behind you, the very final domino.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor,” you gasp as you spin around to face her. “Peeves caught me and Lestrange!”

The class snickers.

“That’s quite alright, quite alright…” Cassandra Trelawney says, deep and ringing, “we have not yet started, take a seat with Mr Riddle and we shall begin…”

You freeze. Riddle…?

That’s when it hits you.

Lestrange always sat with Riddle in Divination.

And you’re so late that everyone else already has partners.

You turn to see Tom Riddle sitting at the back of the room looking at you with a polite but blank expression on his face. The class giggles again. The vast majority of Hogwarts students are at least somewhat in love with Riddle – beautiful, intelligent, polite Riddle, orphaned and poor but refined and successful. Better yet he barely speaks to anyone, leaving a lot of empty space of endless possibility for people to fill in with their personal daydreams.

He scares you.

Those horrible boys that hang around him remind you of flies hanging around rotting meat. And if they’re the flies, that makes Riddle…

You grit your teeth and step forward, weaving between the other tables and snickering students to take your seat, dropping your bag to the floor and eyeing the tea set on the small table apprehensively.

“Begin your readings!” Trelawney calls.

You frown and turn to Riddle questioningly. “We’re doing tea leaves?”

“Tasseography,” he corrects smoothly, leaning forward and picking up the burnished copper pot with one hand and pouring steaming tea into the little china cup in front of him.

You blink at him silently. There’s something manufactured about his face that you can’t put your finger on.

“Shall I go first or would you like to?” Riddle asks casually, pouring you a cup, too.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, looking away.

Riddle sets the pot down and picks up his cup in long, elegant fingers, lifting it to his lips. “The instructions are on page seventy-nine,” he says after taking a sip, looking around the room disinterestedly.

You pull out your book and find the right chapter and scan the first few paragraphs as Riddle finishes his tea, sipping absently at your own, and by the time he finally hands you his cup your heart rate has finally returned to normal from running up eight flights of stairs.

“You have a scattered-type formation,” you say, checking it against the diagram on your page, “and it’s north-west oriented.”

“Mhmm,” Riddle says noncommittedly, his dark eyes level on the parchment before him as he takes notes.

You lean forward over Riddle’s cup and frown as you compare it to the pictures in the book. “That looks like shepherd’s crook,” you say, pointing to a cluster shaped like a pinched hook, “which means… either the responsibility to protect, or the exertion of power and authority over a group of people.”

Riddle scoffs very lightly, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he continues to write.

Something about it had clearly struck a chord with him, but you pointedly train your eyes back on your book. “Oh,” you frown, checking his cup again. “Or it’s the old glyph for seven.”

Riddle stops writing. You look up curiously at the sudden lack of his quill scratching evenly on his parchment to find him perfectly still, his eyes on your face. “Seven?” he repeats, tone distinct.

You nod and push your book around to show him. “The number seven used to be drawn like that, too.”

Riddle’s eyes drop to the page and linger there for a moment before he resumes taking his notes – though his expression is much more preoccupied than before.

But something in Riddle’s cup has caught your eye. Beside the shepherd’s crook/number seven is a lump of tea leaves so distinct in form that it’s almost comical – the round of the cranium, the square of a mandible, and gaps in the leaves to indicate two eye sockets.

“Oh,” you say in surprise, pulling your book back around. “Wow, that’s pretty clearly a…”

You trail off, frowning. You’ve noticed the tea leaves below it, the long twisting trail that leads directly into the skull’s mouth. A cold, creeping feeling is curling in your stomach as something about the image before you seems to move, you can almost see the thing writhing, it almost looks like a…

“How are we going?” Trelawney asks, suddenly right beside you.

You jump, looking up at her in panic. “Fine,” you say quickly.

She lifts her brows, assessing you thoughtfully. “Hmm,” she says, before glancing at Riddle. “And you?”

“Fine,” Riddle echoes smoothly. But he’s not looking at Trelawney.

He’s looking at you.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The image worms into your thoughts like a deep root, twisting into places you don’t expect to find it and spreading itself out more and more. The dreams are first, and then the nightmares, and finally the night terrors. The skull hovers before you, its pitch, hollow eyes bore into you, the snake coiling endlessly with its fangs yawning wide.

Something about it is cold and evil, some sort of strange perversion of an ouroboros, the eternal snake broken by the skull’s mouth.

Consuming it.

“What is that?”

Your head snaps up from your parchment feeling like you’ve just been jolted awake from a deep sleep, and it takes you a second to process the sight of Tom Riddle before you, his eyes fixed attentively on the parchment strewn on top of the essay you’re supposed to be writing.

He’d caught you drawing it for the hundredth time.

“Nothing,” you say hastily, sliding it away under a book. “Just a doodle.”

Riddle’s eyes flick to yours. There’s a cold rigidity to his expression that you don’t like. It’s a coldness that feels horribly familiar.

For a moment you almost think he’s going to force you to show him, but after a long moment Riddle looks away and he’s gone, disappearing off further into the library. You exhale in relief and pull out the parchment again.

Drawing it made the thoughts go away for a bit, like manifesting the horrible thing distracted it from its need to live in your head. You lift your quill and carefully write a single word next to the skull.

Consume.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The parchment goes missing the next day.

You never prove that he took it, never even mention it to him, but Riddle’s eyes have a cold glimmer to them when he catches your eye in Divination next, the smallest curl to his lips like he’s daring you to bring it up.

The dreams abruptly stop.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

When you see it next, it’s in a photo on the front page of the Daily Prophet beneath a terrified headline, a spectre hovering just like it had in your nightmares at school years prior. Except this time it’s real. This time it’s above the burning remains of the family home of a prominent Muggle-born politician and Voldemort’s name is a shadow on everyone’s lips.

You stare at it on the page, the snake writhing in ink, the black, hollow eyes of the skull, and you think about Tom Riddle’s cold smile watching you from across the classroom, his manufactured beauty, the boys that hung around him like flies around rotten meat.

He’s named it the Dark Mark.

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salsdemise · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request a Sally face x reader fic? Possibly a confession and first kiss an da party or something like that, thank you!

Hey anon, sorry if this is bad, I'm assuming you meant sal, and if not just lmk and I'll re-write this for another character if you want.

Warnings: Underage drinking, underaged smoking, parties, y/n used in place of your name, really awkward with the confession part? idk how to write those

word count: 1479

other: gender neutral terms used, sal's speech is in blue bc sometimes its unclear whos talking bc i didn't know what to put between the words spoken lol playlist listened to while writing: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SMv6Go27KIcbfL07wkQ4m

This party wasn’t where you wanted to be right now. Hell, you’d rather be at school, getting pushed around by the kids in the hall right now. Anywhere was better than this loud, flashy,party filled with the smell of cigs, weed, alcohol and sex wafting off of every teen you passed.

Why you had come to this party in the first place had slipped your mind, as now you were more focused on not getting backed into a corner with a potted plant by a group of your peers. Maybe it was because your friend Larry wouldn’t shut up about how fun it was going to be, maybe it was because you would have felt bad saying no, or maybe it was because you certainly weren’t going to pass up on an opportunity to potentially hang out with Sal Fisher, your long time crush and close friend.

Holding your now empty red cup, you navigated your way through the crowd of drunken and dancing teens, most who were nice and giggly as you passed, slurring apologies at you if they bumped you.

While you weren’t all sober yourself, you had enough remaining cognitive ability to form full thoughts, and the only one on your mind was finding one of two people; Sal or Larry. You had no doubt Larry was off smoking with gods know who, so that left one option, and if your brain wasn’t mistaking you, you had seen the electric-bluenette near the door to the backyard in the kitchen not too long ago. So that’s where you set your sights.

When you arrived at the kitchen, you were happy to know that you were indeed correct on where you had last seen Sal, just outside on the patio, sitting hunched over a cup, the bottom straps of his prosthetic undone and dangling. Murmuring a few ��excuse me’s at the teens you passed on the way, you made your way out to the back, opening and exiting the door and catching the bluenette’s attention. Seating yourself next to him, you said nothing, not sure of what to say.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show. Lar said you were coming, but I thought he was bluffing again,” Sal spoke, sipping on his drink.

You laughed at this, “yea, no, he actually convinced me to come. Not sure how, but he did. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d see you here either. You always talk about how much you hate parties, especially ones that have inebriating drinks,” you set your cup down next to you, and a small breeze knocked it over as soon as your hand left it.

“I don’t, hate em. Managed to get someone to get me something non-alcoholic, though. What have you had to drink?” He motioned to your, now rolling, red cup to emphasize.

“Oh, nothing too strong. They had a punch bowl in there so I took some of that,” thinking back to it as you spoke, it was odd the hosts of this party put a punch bowl out at a party with no need for it. However, you and Sal both seemingly shrugged it off and continued talking.

Conversation between the two of you had always come so naturally, switching between topics and tones, talking about people, your home state, his home state, and the likes.

“Man, I cannot believe he did that! It was like, super awkward between us for a week,“ you laughed, finishing a story about how Larry had tried to ask you out when high. Luckily the guy wasn’t too upset and took no for an answer.

“Hey, y/n, about asking people out...have you ever done it?” Sal questioned, messing with his sweater sleeves now that his drink was gone and his cup had also flown off.

“Oh, uh, not like, here at Nockfell, but in the past I asked a guy in my grade to go to a valentine’s day dance with me. Why?” you responded, tilting your head at him.

“I want to ask this person out, but I’m not sure how.”

“Oh. Well, what do they like? How long have you known them? And how close are you two? You can’t just ask out a random person you barely know, it won’t go well.”

“Well, they like a lot so it’s...kinda hard to put into words. I’ve known them for years now, and I’d like to say we’re pretty close.”

Thinking, you went quiet. As much as it hurt you to know your crush liked someone else, you were going to help him as best you could.

“Well, I’d give them a note, personally. I’d probably piss myself if I tried to tell them upfront. But it depends on how you wanna do it.”

Sal quietly thinks for a few seconds before standing up and fixing his mask, “Thanks for your help dude. We should get going, I’ll go find Larry and we can get out of here.”

You nod, standing and following Sal back into the house, heading for the front door while Sal went off to find Larry. With your mutual friend acquired, you all left for home, depositing Larry at his place and heading to your own beds, tired now that the social buzz had worn off.

Over the next week, you and Sal talked less and less, notes popped up in your locker, and small things like patches, stickers, pins and snacks appeared with them. You were confused to say the least. You loved everything this admirer gave you, and the notes were adorable, even if they were typed and printed rather than hand written, but you wondered why Sal had stopped talking to you as often as he did.

As the weeks progressed, you had started to like the secret admirer that was leaving you small gifts and notes reminding you how much they liked you. But the most recent note, which you had gotten on a sunny and warm Wednesday, really caught your attention. This time, it was handwritten in blue pen ink, the handwriting surprisingly neat, completely eliminating who you thought it was.

The note read: “y/n, meet me in the courtyard during lunch/break time. -<3”, and not wanting to disappoint, you waited with an uneasy shake until lunch came around where you went straight to the courtyard. Seeing no one, you sat on the ground by a tree to wait until your secret admirer got there.

10 minutes later, the heavy doors opened and closed with a thud, catching your attention and causing you to look up where you saw Sal, mask in hands, and looking down.

“Sal? Are you the one that wanted to meet me here?” You were..puzzled to say the least. Sal had hardly talked to you in weeks, and you thought he liked someone else like Ash, but it seems you were mistaken.

“Uh, yea, I am. I know you’re..probably upset at me for not talking to you in the past few weeks, but I didn’t want to say something stupid too soon. I hope you’re not too mad..”

“Sal, I’m not mad. I thought you were busy trying to get your mystery person to like you..and I guess I was right, but I didn’t think it’d be me..”

“Who else would it have been? You and I are as close as Larry and I are, we like the same things and I’ve known you since you got here. Hell, I’ve been pining over you for years now, but last year when Lar told me he was gonna try and shoot his shot, I tried to get myself to like Ash so I wouldn’t feel like shit if you said yes.”

“Oh, Sal. I thought it was Ash, you talk so much about her sometimes, I thought you actually liked her.”

“Oh, no, I don’t. She helped me with this, actually. Which reminds me, if its not obvious already, I really fucking like you. Like, you make me feel happy and just thinking about you makes me feel like I’m on cloud nine.”

Smiling at his words you stood to go over to him, putting your hands on his shoulders so he would look up at you, “I like you too, Sal. Like, a lot. I have for a while, and when you asked how to ask someone out,I..it hurt a little bit.”

Saying nothing at your words, Sal moved forward and wrapped you in a hug, his mask landing in the grass behind you two. Before you could return the hug, Sal backed up and his hands grabbed your face pulling you in for a kiss. Giving you time to react this time, you kissed back, your hands placing themselves over his.

Now, sitting at a college party with your boyfriend, you think to yourself, ‘Maybe parties aren’t so bad after all.’

#sally face #sal fisher #sally face x reader #sally face game #sal fisher x y/n #gn!reader

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

Note

“You can call me whenever you want… Even if you don’t have a reason to.” with Javi 😩 OR marcus moreno bc I think it fits him too

Personal Number (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: You’re lonely working as the American ambassador’s secretary. You miss the days of being down with the agents as a receptionist. At least you get to talk with Javier Peña on the phone somewhat often.

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: language, brief mentions of sexual content. this is pretty tame.

A/N: I LOVE JAVIER. can you tell?? thank you for this idea Thea!!! I love it so much and I hope you like it too. Also, can you tell I like writing phone calls? I just think it’s so fun and a medium that isn’t covered super often.

it’s definitely not because I like not having to write about body language or action.

Javier Peña was a flirt. You knew that from the start, from the stories you’d heard from the other women around the embassy. He was cute, you admitted. Tight shirts and equally slim-fitting jeans, dark hair, lean and strong. He walked with power in his stance.

You liked him. He was a nice man, respectful. He flirted with everyone, but he never went too far. Sure, he’d slept with a solid chunk of the women who worked here, but he was supposedly a wonderful lover. His methods were unorthodox in the field, but he got what he needed. He was incredibly clever, setting up traps and getting information by any means necessary. You talked occasionally, when he’d stop by because you had a message for him at the receptionist desk. He was good for conversation. He liked the cinnamon candies you kept on your desk.

The other women talked with you more than he did. You and the other women chatted, ate lunch together. The rare female presence was much appreciated in such a testosterone-laden environment. You all got along well. Even compared stories of sleeping with certain agents, how their skills at finding the clit ranked, how snuggly they were after, how receptive they were to certain acts. It was fun.

Javier was a busy man. The phone on his desk rarely rang. If someone needed someone around the embassy, they went and talked to them in person. It was an excuse to get away from your desk, people figured. You rarely used the phone too, even as a receptionist. You’d answer calls when they came, but they were usually directed other places, with specific extensions. People here were more direct.

That was before you’d been appointed as the ambassador’s secretary. It was an honor. It meant you were good at your job. You’d taken it, bragging to the other girls over lunch. Everyone was excited for you.

The job, you found out, was dry. It consists most days of making phone calls. Stechner, Ambassador wants you. Ambassador? Stechner’s here. Yep. I’ll let him in. Hi, we’ll take three orders of arepas- sorry, yes sir? Scratch that, he wants four. And can you throw in a coffee- one second, yes sir? Got it- with four creams and two sugars.

You doodle on a notepad many days. You read newspapers or reports. You proofread memos for the ambassador before he sends them off to someone important. It’s draining and dry and you have to admit you hate it.

“Peña,” a voice answers the phone.

“Hi Javier. Are you busy?” You ask.

He smiles a little as he hears your voice, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “When am I ever around here?” He asks, and you chuckle.

“I know the feeling.”

The two of you had talked a few times before. He was nice enough, if curt. Usually, he was busy. People only came to you when they needed something as a receptionist, and now even more so as a private secretary.

“How’s the promotion treating you?” He asks. He’d heard word as he talked with others. Noticed your spot was empty for a day or two before being replaced by another woman. He missed the little candies you kept on your desk. You always kept cinnamon disks stocked in a separate jar from the seasonal candies for him.

“It’s… good,” you nod, drawing a little fish on your notepad. “Kind of feels like a demotion sometimes. It’s boring up here. And lonely. I miss being around to talk with people.”

“We miss you,” he admits with a smile. “You still keep those cinnamon candies on your desk up there?”

You shake your head, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder. “No. Ambassador doesn’t like them, so I switched over. I did get some new fun caramel flavored stuff though.”

“Damn,” he chuckles.

“Would it make you come up here if I had them?”

“I may have to visit the ambassador more often if you did,” he teases, and you chuckle softly. “Poor little social butterfly, cooped up on the highest floor, away from humanity.”

“I do feel like Rapunzel some days,” you sigh, still smiling. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I was supposed to ask if you were busy for the ambassador, not for myself. He wants to see you if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Right now?”

“Right now.”

You can hear shuffling on the other end. “Let me put my signature on one more paper and I’ll be up.” He hangs up and you sigh. There was the most interaction you’ll get for the day.

It seems that the closer the men get to Escobar, the more the ambassador needs to see Murphy and Peña. You don’t mind. The two men are funny, and the way they interact makes you smile.

Peña talks to you more than Murphy. Steve is more likely to go outside to smoke, while Javier smokes at his desk. That means you dial him more often simply because there’s a higher probability he’s at his desk. Not because you enjoy talking with him more.

The two men had picked up on calling you Rapunzel. Your energy and excitement was draining day by day, and they compared your new position outside of the ambassador’s office, high on the top floor of the embassy, to Rapunzel’s tower.

You playfully called them Javi and Stephen in return to annoy both of them. It didn’t work on Javier. It turned out he liked that, and you could tell by the way his voice softened. So you kept that.

“Peña.”

“Guess who?” you ask dryly, tapping your pen against your notepad.

The man chuckles. “You must be having an exciting day up there. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Ha.” The word is humorless and flat. “Ambassador wants to see you two.”

Javier groans. “Kind of busy.”

“Well, I’ll tell him that,” you nod and write down on a legal pad- separate from your doodling pad- Peña busy. 11:30. “How are things going down there today?”

“Annoying. Steve is a pain in my ass- hey, shut the fuck up,” you can hear him say even as he removes the receiver away from his phone. You giggle at that, smiling as he speaks again. “Sorry. Can you guess who that was?”

“What was he saying this time?” You ask, twirling the cord to the phone around your finger.

“Nothing,” he insists, but you can hear Murphy shouting. Some message he’s trying to get to you.

“Well, alright. Call up when you’re less busy,” you ask him and hang up.

You really want to know what Murphy was going on about. You dial his desk and he picks up. “S’this Rapunzel?” A southern accent twangs.

“Of course,” you chuckle. “What were you shouting into Javi’s phone?”

“Oh, nothing. Oh, hey, wait,” he says, pulling the phone down and pressing it to his chest. You can hear the muffled voices of the two men, but not what they’re saying. He puts it back to his ear quickly after. “Anyway, it’s nothing. We’ll call you back when we’ve got a minute to come up.”

Odd, you think, before going back to your work on your desk.

The phone rings again an hour later. “Ambassador’s office,” you say with a gentle lilt to your voice.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” a kind but rough voice speaks through the phone. Javi.

“Hey,” you chuckle a little. “You guys ready to come up?”

“Uh, no, not yet. But I do want you to write something down for me.”

“Anything,” you nod, priming your pen above the piece of paper.

Javier rattles off ten numbers, and you diligently write them down on the paper. You repeat it back and he affirms that it’s correct. “Got it. What is it?”

“It’s my personal phone number.”

“Javi, the ambassador already has your phone number.”

“No, I know. It’s for you.”

Oh. Your heart flutters excitedly in your chest, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

“I like talking with you. Our phone calls are the highlight of my day. You can call me whenever you want… even if you don’t have a reason to. I just… like hearing your voice. I like you.”

You clutch the paper, grinning ear to ear. “Well, I like you too, Javi. I’ll be using this,” you assure him, looking down at it and beaming. “Now, you said you’re busy. Get back to work.”

“Yes ma’am. See you in a bit.”

Click. Dial tone. Your heart fills with sparks and little fireworks, sending you into a loud laugh of excitement.

The thick oak doors swing open. The ambassador looks at you with concern. “Everything alright out here?” He asks you.

You nod, biting your lip and looking down to hide your grin. “Yeah, yeah. Great, sir. Peña and Murphy aren’t ready yet. They’ll be up later.”

The man gives you a nod and closes the door behind him.

The grin returns. You trace the freshly-dried ink, the nine numbers that will connect you directly to Javier at any time you want. You pull your contact book from your purse, sitting beneath your desk, flipping to a clean page.

Javier Peña, you write.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

personal number

You go back and draw a small heart next to his name.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña #narcos fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pascalpanic

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specialagentsergio · 3 years ago

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love, in ink

summary: Spencer wants to do something special to commemorate your relationship. (or, reader and spencer get a couples’ tattoo)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: tattoos & tattooing, one very light sexual reference bc i'm a hoe

a/n: i recently got my first tattoo and i’ve been absolutely obsessed with tattoos ever since, so here you go. location and design was purposefully left vague so you can imagine anything you want, but i do write reader as already having at least two tattoos.

word count: 2.9k

masterlist

Spencer’s been thinking about it for years.

Two years, eight months, and twenty days to be exact.

Looking back, four months and ten days was pretty early to be thinking of something so permanent. But he couldn’t help it—contrary to how he thinks people perceive him, he’s a romantic. A bit of a hopeless one, really.

In any case, he had been right. Almost three years after your first date, you’re still together and absolutely in love. You live together, your lives are inseparably entwined. Every day has been an affirmation of the conclusion he came to three months into your relationship—you’re the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

So really, four months and ten days wasn’t all that early to think of getting a tattoo with you.

He doesn’t have any, but you do, and he’s always loved them. He likes running his fingers over them, pressing kisses to them, rubbing moisturizer into them, and aiding you in making sure they’re all well covered in sunscreen before you’re going to be outside for a while.

He’d never really considered getting a tattoo until he saw how much you loved yours. It’s one of your favorite forms of self-expression, you’ve told him. You say the body art helps you feel more confident, comfortable, and at home in your body. Confidence in your body—that’s definitely something he could do with. But above everything, because it’s something you love, and Spencer loves you, it’s an experience he wants to share with you.

He brings up the idea over dinner forty-five days before your three-year anniversary. You’re reading while you eat—a common occurrence in your home for the both of you. He spins his fork in his hand a few times, then carefully sets it down and says your name.

You hold up a finger to ask him to wait; he watches your eyes move across the page as you finish the paragraph you’re on. Your attention is on him as soon as you’re finished. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” He’s nervous—he knows you love him, but what if you say no anyways? What if you don’t want to get a tattoo with him? They are permanent, after all. “It’s… I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits.

Your eyes widen when you pick up on his anxiety. “Oh god, are you breaking up with me?”

He nearly chokes on the water he’d nervously sipped. “Wha—no, no!” he rushes to assure. “I—I love you. I don’t—I don’t ever want that.”

You take in a deep breath, carefully putting your book aside. “Alright. Okay.”

“Why would you think I was breaking up with you?” he asks, concerned about the conclusion you’d jumped to. “Are… are you not happy? Are things not good between us, for you? I thought—well, think, they are. Maybe I’m wrong? I could be. I’ve never been the best at reading social clues. Have I missed something? I’m sorry if I have. I--”

“Spence, Spencer.” You interrupt his nervous rambling and reach across the table, placing your hand on top of his. “Things are great between us for me. I love you, too. You were just so serious when you said you wanted to talk, it caught me off guard. It’s… not an uncommon way for a conversation about breaking up to start.”

“Oh. Sorry. I—I didn’t realize it could come off like that,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. As long as we’re not breaking up, I’m happy.” You give his hand a squeeze before leaning back in your chair. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Right.” He squares his shoulders and wipes his damp palms on his pants. “Our three year anniversary is in forty-five days, and I was thinking to celebrate, maybe we could… get a tattoo together?”

Immediately you break into the most beautiful smile—he’s happy to have an eidetic memory when it comes to moments like this. “Really?” you ask, body tense with excitement.

“Yeah. Really,” he confirms. “I, um… I guess you’re on board, then?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Spencer this is so exciting! Your first tattoo!”

He doesn’t bother to correct you about calling it his first. He’s got no plans to get more, so this could very well be his only tattoo. But he doesn’t want to dampen the moment, so instead he says, “I don’t really have any ideas for it. I just want to do it with you.”

“Wait here.” You disappear into the bedroom and return with a folded piece of notebook paper. It’s worn and wrinkled, the edges curled in. He unfolds it carefully to find the page covered in your handwriting. Some of the writing looks more rushed than other parts. Some sections are in blue ink, some are in black. It’s clear you’ve been compiling this list for quite a while.

He reads it at his normal, rapid pace, but it takes him a few moments to understand it. “Is this a list of…?”

You nod. “Tattoo ideas.” He looks up at you in… well, in awe, and you shrug. “I don’t want to just get your name on me, as nice as it is.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Um.” The answer seems to embarrass you a little. “A… a couple of years.”

“Years?” he repeats. “But you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into getting a tattoo,” you say. “Since they are, you know, permanent.”

“Relatively.” He looks back to the paper, running his fingertips over the indents left by the pressure of the pen. “They naturally fade with age, and can age prematurely through sun exposure.”

“Yeah. Listen, it’s okay if you don’t like any of my ideas.”

Spencer shakes his head—he likes a lot of them, but he already knows which one he wants—he knew as soon as he read it. He points. “This one.”

You bend down to see it and smile. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

---

You handle pretty much everything, contacting one of your favorite artists and pitching the idea. You’ve been tattooed by her before—specifically, she did his favorite of your tattoos. So he’s happy to have her do this one, too, putting down the deposit without hesitation. The artwork she sends back is everything he pictured and more. She’s taken the idea and brought it to life better than he could ever hope to. A few tweaks here and there, then the date is set. You’ll be getting tattooed the Friday before your anniversary.

Yours will be done first, near the end of his work day—when he arrives, you should be just about done. It’s not exactly how he imagined it happening, but you said it would be better this way. If he sits and watches you get the entire thing done, you think he’ll end up psyching himself out about his own tattoo.

“Is it really that bad?” he had asked.

You shrug. “Well, it’s pain, so it’s obviously not super fun, but it’s tolerable. You overreacted when I stubbed my toe last week, so I think it’s probably best if you’re not there watching me the entire time.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he defends sheepishly.

“Exactly. I’ll keep you updated with texts and pictures, though, okay?”

He agrees, because honestly, you’re probably right.

Getting into bed with you the night before he asks, “What does it feel like? Besides it just hurting.”

“It’s different for everyone. It also depends on where you get it.” Spencer bumps your arm with his nose, silently requesting for you to adjust your position in a way that allows him to press as much of his body as he possibly can against yours. You place your hand in his hair once he’s settled, as usual, then continue. “It does kind of… vibrate. That’s something I didn’t expect going into my first tattoo.”

“Vibrate?” he repeats. “That’s… well, I guess it makes sense, considering how tattoo machines work.”

“Mm-hmm. But I wouldn’t worry about that part if I were you. Last time I checked, vibration isn’t a sensation that bothers you.” A very slight tug on his hair. “The opposite, actually.”

The squeak he makes is involuntary. “I, um… okay. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s treated to a little laugh, but then your tone changes. “Seriously, though, Spencer. It’s okay if it ends up being too much, or just not for you, and you can’t finish the tattoo. Or if you just don’t want to finish it. I won’t be mad.”

He’s taken by surprise at first. It is a worry that he’s been harboring, that all the sensory input will be too much, but he’s never said anything about it, so how did you know?

Then again, it’s you. Of course you know. You always do.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

“Hey, how can I help you?”

Spencer looks up from his phone to the woman who’s just come into the front of the shop from the back. As promised, you’d kept him updated on your tattoo process with texts and pictures.

“Um, I—I have an appointment?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he’s really nervous—you were definitely right to have him come in later than you so he doesn’t have enough time to get really worked up.

“Who’s it with?”

“Megan.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Megan is currently with someone. I can go ask her how long the wait will be.”

“No, it’s okay, she’s working on my partner. We’re—we’re getting tattoos together,” he explains.

“Oh, fun! I’ll lead you back, then.”

He follows her to an open doorway. Your body is still and unmoving; Megan is hunched over your skin. You smile when you see him. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Hey. Um, how’s it going?”

You sigh. “Well, to be honest, I think this is going to be my last tattoo.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Megan says without looking up.

The little angry huff you make before replying with “I know” makes him smile, and his nerves settle a little. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Spencer can tell it’s just a rhetorical question, asked in good humor, but he can’t stop himself from answering it regardless.

“There are many different reasons that could drive someone to get a tattoo despite the pain, including the adrenaline and endorphins the body produces in response to pain, stress relief, and the need for creative expression.”

“Stress relief?” you repeat. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

“It is a strange concept at face value. An example, though, would be getting a tattoo to mark the end of a difficult period in your life. Some people get them to symbolize personal difficulties or trauma, or to memorialize people they’ve lost. It can be a form of catharsis that helps them process painful emotions, memories, or other stressful feelings.”

Your head tilts as you take the information in. “That’s interesting.”

“Alright.” Megan leans back. “It’s done. Go take a look.”

Spencer follows you to the full length mirror. “Oh, wow,” you breathe out as soon as you see it. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Spencer.” You touch his arm. “What do you think?”

It takes him a few moments to answer because he’s been overcome with emotion. He’s overwhelmed with just how much you love and care for him to have permanently embedded a reminder of him into your skin. “It’s perfect,” he whispers.

“It is,” you agree.

You return to Megan and she takes a few photos of the tattoo, promising to text them to you, then gets started on the aftercare. “You know the drill,” she says, but still gives you the instructions for what to do as the artwork heals. He only barely registers what she’s saying—his eyes are glued to the tattoo.

“Okay, let me get everything switched out and cleaned up, and then we can start on yours, Spencer.”

“Hmm?” He tears his gaze away to find Megan looking at him. “Oh, right. Okay.” He sits off to the side with you while she disposes of supplies, replaces them with new, sterile ones, and wipes everything down.

She works fast—before he knows it, Megan has shaved and cleaned his skin, and has him in front of the mirror as she places the stencil. It takes a few tries to get it just right. He apologizes when she has to print the stencil again, but she waves him off. “It’s your tattoo and it’s going to be on you forever. I want you to be one-hundred percent happy with the placement.”

His nerves spike back up when he’s settled down and all ready to be tattooed. You sit in a chair on the opposite side of him than Megan, and when you offer your hand, he grabs it immediately.

“Breathe, baby,” you say gently. “Try not to tense up too much.”

He does try, but still jumps a little when Megan’s gloved hand touches him. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” she reassures. “I won’t start until you’re ready.”

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. I’ll start with just one small line.”

It’s a strange sensation, unlike anything he’s felt before, but it’s… not horrible. He’s been scratched by cats in the past, and it feels kind of like that, but hot. There’s the vibrating you had mentioned, too.

“How was that?” Megan asks.

“Not so bad,” he answers honestly.

“That’s great. I’ll keep going then. Settle in. Just let me know if you start feeling funny or if you need a break, alright?” At his nod, she goes to work, and he switches his attention to you. He knows he shouldn’t, that it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he can’t stop himself from teasing you.

“I don’t know why you were complaining earlier,” he says in his best innocent voice, with his best innocent expression. “It’s not that bad.”

The way your mouth drops open just a little bit is adorable, and so is the noise of disbelief that follows. “Yeah, okay. Tell me that again at the end.”

“I will,” he replies, mentally adding probably not to the sentence.

You roll your eyes and let go of his hand to sort through your things. You give him a lollipop when you find it.

“What’s this for?” Suckers aren’t really his favorite candy.

“Your adrenaline is probably going to drop now that the tattoo has started and I don’t want you to pass out,” you say. “The sugar will help prevent you from getting lightheaded.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The tattoo goes well overall, he thinks. It’s definitely painful, but like you said, it’s tolerable. He’s certainly felt worse. Near the end, though, he really starts hurting, and a grimace slips across his face.

“She’s almost done,” you reassure. He hasn’t been looking at it, but you have. “Also, what was that you saying earlier?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “It’s not even the needle, you know. It’s the paper towels.”

“A lot of people say that,” Megan says. “Just a few more minutes left.”

He spends those last few minutes questioning every decision he’s made in his life that has led him to this moment, and swearing to himself that he’s never going to do this again. But then it’s over and he’s looking at in the mirror, and it’s suddenly like the past five minutes never happened.

Spencer loves it. He absolutely adores it. Not just the art itself, but how it looks on his body and how it’s making him feel.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, making him jump a little. He’d been so fixated on the tattoo that he didn’t notice you joining him.

He ponders for a moment to find the right words. “I’m beginning to understand why you like doing this so much.”

You grin. “It’s great, huh?”

“It is, yeah. I kind of want to touch it; is that weird?”

“No, but don’t,” you reply. “It’s an open wound.”

“I know.” He looks back at Megan. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “Thank you for trusting me with your first tattoo.”

When he drags himself away from the mirror, she goes over aftercare with him, and he listens more intently this time. A few things are going to be a little inconvenient, he thinks, but it’s more than worth the trade off.

You take his hand as you leave the shop. “I’m so happy that I got to do that with you.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Me too.”

You reach the car, but before he can move towards the passenger side, you pull him in close. “I love you.”

His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek. “I love you, too.”

You kiss him, soft and sweet. “Happy three years,” you say when you pull back.

“Here’s to three more?” he offers, a little nervous, but mostly hopeful.

Your smile leaves no room for doubt. “I like the sound of that.”

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

hit up my inbox if you wanna talk tattoos bc i fucking love them. what do you see spencer getting with his partner?

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor , @spencerreid9

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #tattoos rlly are a rabbit hole for some of us like i already have an appointment for my second one lol

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antiloreolympus · 3 years ago

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10 Anti LO Asks

1. I agree with that other ask. It’s not correct to assume Hades is automatically evil in myth to justify critiquing RS (we have a lot to pick from that regard, thank you very much) because everyone in myth, save perhaps for Demeter and Hestia, were deeply flawed and complicated, Hades included. That doesn’t mean irredeemable monster, it just means complex.

The bigger issue to me is clearly RS was and is thinking from that POV, where everything is black and white, and not just in the clothes. The issue is her mentality is to ��redeem” Hades from centuries of misrepresenting him is via making him even worse than all those depictions but have her and Persephone justify them for … reasons… and pinning any actual crimes on others to make him look better.

Actually, now that I think about it, the whole r//pe plot line actually seems to show us RS also is coming from this warped POV, where she thinks the text was literal (ie Hades assaulting Persephone) and decided instead of actually looking at it from a cultural/symbolic standpoint (or you know, not lying and sticking to her promise not to include SA to begin with) she instead decided her genius way to “fix” it was to just pin this likely non-canon crime on someone else to push the couple together. It’s not just a gross depiction and handling of a serious crime and trauma for the sake of “romance”, but it also shows she is not even interacting with the texts (when she’s not just making stuff up) in good faith or with nuance. She’s only interacting with it after it’s gone through and been mishandled by Tumblr a few dozen times before putting her own uneducated and biased spin on it.

2. Ok a few things on that Maia and Hermes panel:

- why is Maia smiling like the joker 💀

- isn’t Hermes designed off Rachel’s partner? Why does he look so ugly please apologize to him

- anatomy? Even stylized? Never heard of her.

- the wings on Hermes head don’t even look like wings, this thing is getting way too into uncanny cuphead valley with how the style has gone down

- I have to imagine this is an example of her “loose sketches sent to the assistants” bc I too will draw base sketches looking goofy before tightening it up for the final inks … and these just look like they went literal with the sketches.

- Maia is the name for a literal star and yet the only actual design put into it is some .. Daisy pin? What? No stars on her dress or anything?

- Maia being only one of two named characters who don’t fit into the “tiny skinny woman” or “Lego block man” and she seems to be depicted looking rather … lazy and unkempt is not lost on me. Must have been absolute torture for her to sketch a woman who doesn’t look like a child.

Speaking of, she looks younger than her son. Can she seriously not put some eye lines or something to show she’s older? It’s reminding me if that panel if Hera with Ares and she looks like his tween daughter over his actual mom.

3. Honestly I don’t get how anyone can read LO on a weekly basis. If you binge several episodes or the whole thing at once maybe it seems to give the impression it’s moving along, but when you read it weekly and barely anything happens each time it becomes clear how just how mind-numbingly boring and slow it actually is. I don’t buy the excuse Rachel is being “forced” to drag it out this ridiculously long either, because you can still get these many episodes out and still have stuff happen and have the story progress, yet Rachel doesn’t. She’s taking stuff that could be at most four episodes and making it be 40.

4. i dont think its just the weird color choices, but minus maybe hera on occasion and whenever someone on the team doesnt make persephone look like a sexualized baby doll, the characters do not even look human. the color adds to this, but the atrocious anatomy, the wonky facial expressions, lack of basic models for consistency sake, and even the wild tone shifts and lack of basic characterization just make them seem like aliens attempting to look and act like humans and failing miserably at it.

5. Even beyond the shit pay (I have to imagine the ppl defending her are very aware Webtoons is watching them and has to defend these practices so they’re not canned. I’m sure a fair few are fuming BTS they aren’t getting paid better, how could they not?) but it’s like you have HOW MANY people working on LO and it still looks like so rushed and sloppy?? Like what insane time crunch are they one that literally one panel in a blue moon looks half way decent while the rest is a hot mess? like I get it’s a job and all but don’t any of them and especially Rachel (bc her name is on it) give a damn it looks this bad? Does she not care as long as she’s paid? There seems to be no pride left in the work, only monetary gain. It’s sad to see.

6. I think when RS makes a chapter she should ask herself “does this answer anything plot important” like we knew Persphone and Hermès were friends, but their meeting has given me more questions than answers, why is Persphone so smug? She’s not like that in other flash backs. Is this suppose to be a true telling of the story or just his version? Idk her character has been pulled in different directions with an impossible time like to follow.

Like Hermès mom I bet is a cool character but I think Maia was just used for to show RS being body inclusive and trying to be like “I don’t draw same face syndrome” but she was kinda awkwardly drawn. She got like 2 panels and didn’t really add much to the story other than we know a little more about Hermès motives but we weren’t really asking what they were considering how the plot treats him and it was already a theory he was a wholesome guy like that.

Like I guess it gave Hermès a bit of a spotlight but did hardly much for the plot other than confuse me about Persphone character development path.

7. That anon calling HXP boring cause they don’t grow! Right on the money! To mix in the whole “isn’t slave labor bad” that’s where the two disagrees and not challenge each other in the ways of how the underworld is. Hades is king and can change it. If Persphone really cared she would do more about it, but that scene (a perfect chance for the character to actually grow) was used more as comic relief which is sickening . I feel like the couple only knows each other’s trauma but not basic stuff about one another which is so frustrating. Although a million things are happening in the story it’s just bland . I’m not saying they need to fight but they don’t challenge each other they don’t drive each other’s plots their story is “things happened and now we’re stuck like this”

8. AND ANOTHER THING IF PERSPHONE cared about the dead people wouldn’t she prevent them from becoming shade slaves to hades????

9. One recent critique you shared mentioned how the trial is just dragging on and on. I agree 1000% but I think the main problem with the trial is that it’s a shit show. I don’t even think “circus” is a proper definition. Rachel could’ve done something really interesting and modeled it after—well—actual trials. Instead, Rachel’s using it to drag out the story without actually contributing to the plot. This most recent chapter is a perfect example of that. It’s so frustrating.

-----FP Mention/Spoilers-----

10. FP// i'm glad i'm not the only one noticing Persephone's "sweet and empathetic" schtick isn't holding up. She clearly shows no remorse for her actions and how they harm others, and it's played off as "cute and funny" by Rachel instead of horrifying, especially because we all know if any other character acted like this with the same reasons and scenarios they'd be condemned for it, but because it's "the precious cinnamon roll" it's ok. The stans are claiming murder and torture is "girl power"

#anti lo #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years ago

Text

Curiosity Killed The Cat | Owen Patrick Joyner

Requested: Yes/No

Hi! I was wondering if you can do an Owen imagine kinda based off his Instagram story of him finding a cat. I was thinking he’d actually find the missing cat though and come ring your doorbell at 4am bc he’s chaotic. You can decide everything. Thank you in advance!!!

A/N: The cat doesn’t actually die in this, it’s just a saying that i liked for the title, so don’t worry! It’s got a happy ending!

Pairing: Owen x Fem!Reader

Song(s) used: none

Warnings: none

Words: 3,949

A week. It had been exactly one week since y/n last saw her cat, Tunabean. The white, grey striped Ragamuffin cat had been absent from y/n’s apartment for way longer than she normally would be and it worried y/n to the point where she’d be out looking for the little rascal every night after work.

“Found her yet?” Jamila asked as she entered y/n’s apartment after coming home from work.

Jamila was y/n’s roommate and best friend since college. The two had lived together through their college career and decided to be roommates after too, as long as neither had significant others to go live with.

“No,” y/n’s lip stuck out into a pout as she feverishly reposted the message on all her social media platforms. “People have been tearing down my posters as well. Did you see the ones near Andrews Park? They were torn to shreds!”

Jamila pulled her lips into a tight smile before putting her bags on the dining room table and joining y/n on the couch. “Yeah, I saw. I’m really sorry, y/n. If you want, we can go and put up some more posters? Exchange the torn up ones with some fresh ones?”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course! Sweetie, I’d do anything to get little Bean home, you know that, right?” y/n nodded her head in response, though she wasn’t sure if she knew that.

Jamila wasn’t the biggest fan of Tunabean at first. She hated cats. Growing up, she’d always had a dog but never a cat. She didn’t trust the little rascals for one second. So, when y/n showed up with little Tunabean after having had what felt like the worst week of her life, Jamila was a tiny bit angry. But eventually warmed up to Tunabean when the little kitty seemed so placid, you could easily cuddle up to it on the sofa.

“Let’s go find Zach at his work, bribe him to print me more posters for cheap, hang ‘em up around town and then maybe Tino’s?” Jamila’s eyes lit up at the mention of her favorite restaurant.

She snapped her fingers and pointed finger guns at her best friend. “Sounds like a plan!” she said and wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. It was a cold November day and no person could leave their house consciously without being bundled up into layers and layers of clothing.

“I hope Bean didn’t hide under a car and the owner didn’t tap the hood before getting in…” y/n muttered, her voice thick with worry, as they exited the apartment building and stepped into the blistering cold.

“I’m sure she just found a few boyfriends and is spending her time with them,” Jamila tried to reassure her, but knew all-too-well that Tunabean wouldn’t stay away this long, even if she had a lover cat to make little kittens with. She loved Jamila and y/n’s home too much.

“Are you slut shaming my cat right now?”

“Our cat,” Jamila corrected, causing a smile to find its way to y/n’s face, “And no, I am not. I’m just trying to be optimistic here, y/n.” Jamila tucked her cold hands into the pockets of her tan peacoat. “I’m sure Tunabean is alright.”

“What if she isn’t though? What if she’s like meowing somewhere in the middle of Norman and no one to hear her pleas?” Jamila rolled her eyes at how dramatic her best friend was being.

“Norman ain’t that big, sweetie. I’m sure if she’s meowing somewhere, we would’ve heard her already.”

“Exactly! Which means she’s either dead or god knows anywhere! She could be in Oklahoma City! We don’t know that!” y/n exclaimed loudly, using excessive hand gestures more so to keep herself warm than emphasis.

Jamila stopped in her tracks and grabbed y/n by the shoulders, stopping her too. “Stop being such a drama queen, y/n! I’m sure Tunabean is fine. Maybe she’s on an adventure or making new friends, you don’t know that!”

“You don’t care about our child, admit it,” y/n muttered. This rendered Jamila silent. “Admit you don’t care about our child, Jam!” Passer-byers shot them a weirded out glare, which Jamila sent right back.

“Oh, please! Don’t pretend there are no lesbian families in Norman too!” she yelled at them. The comical side of the whole situation made y/n laugh a tiny bit. “There’s that smile I like to see.” Jamila softly touched y/n’s chin with her knuckle before grabbing the girl’s hand in hers. The warmth of Jamila’s hand radiating through to y/n’s made her feel all toasty. “Let’s go print some posters!”

The girls reached a one-storey building with red decrepit letters stuck to the roof.

HOOPER PRINTING CO.

As y/n opened the glass door and held it for Jamila to walk in, the smell of ink reached her nostrils. Though not a very traditional scent to love, it reminded y/n of one of her best friends. It was like her brain just knew that the muscles in her cheeks would soon start to hurt thanks to Zachary. A boy the girls had met in college as Xana.

Jamila spotted the bleached blonde mop of hair immediately and signaled to y/n to sneak up to him. On their tippy toes, the two approached the tall slender man, and when they were close enough, they took in a deep breath and-- “Don’t even think about it,” Zach mumbled without even looking at them.

Jamila and y/n glanced at each other, cheeks puffed out from the breath they were holding. “How’d you--?” y/n didn’t even finish her sentence as she looked past Zach and her eyes landed on a tiny tv screen. Cameras, of course.

“Since when do you have security cameras?” y/n asked as she hopped onto the counter Zach was sorting invoices on.

He shrugged, “Sometime this week, I think.” His bright blue eyes met y/n’s as she sheepishly looked at him while kicking her legs. The boy sighed exasperated, knowing all too well what the girls are here for. “No. Not again.”

“Please, Zachy! Tunabean is still missing and her posters have been ripped down!” Her eyes teared up at the thought of her kitty being out there all by herself in Norman. All she could hope was that the creepy dudes from Doyle’s didn’t get their filthy paws on her little princess.

“Come on, Zach. You love that cat too!” Jamila chimed in, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at him knowingly.

“Fine, come here,” he reached out his hand and y/n handed him the thumb drive on which she kept her self-made posters. “You’re gonna have to buy me Tino’s though.”

“We were going there afterwards, if you wanna join?” y/n’s voice was teasing and sly.

“I’m off at five,” he simply stated before pressing a few buttons on his desktop and waking up the printer closest to them. “How long has she been gone for?” he then asked after a few beats of silence. Y/N dropped her head and stared at her still moving legs for a moment.

“About a week,” she replied.

Zach pulled his lips into a tight smile. He reached his hand out and placed it gently on top of hers. “She’ll come back.”

“How can you be so sure? She might be hurt somewhere or dead and I won’t even know. I won’t even be able to say goodbye to her.” Tears pooled in y/n’s eyes as she thought of the sweet little kitten she had found in a ‘take one for free’ box on a curb one day. She was the last one left.

“I’m not sure, y/n. But I’d like to be optimistic. Besides, Tunabean is resilient and the most independent kitty I’ve ever known. She’ll survive. She’s probably out adventuring with some friends.”

Though the words weren’t very reassuring and y/n knew she had every right to be worried, they did calm her down a little. Tunabean was resilient and extremely independent. She’ll find her way back home.

“I’ll see you guys later, bye!” Owen waved at his friends as he stepped into the cold November night. It was 4 am and he was just returning home from a day spent with friends. He had fallen asleep during the movie, only waking up in the middle of the night, realizing his parents were probably worrying about him, seeing he’d told them he’d be home by midnight at the latest.

He softly hummed along to the song that was playing in his head as he walked down West Main Street, his hands tucked deep into his pockets to try and keep them warm. He should’ve brought a thicker coat or a thicker jumper.

“Ah, mister Joyner!” a familiar voice with a thick accent made him shake out of his train of thought about the cold. The friendly face of the robust Italian greeted him in the dim light of the restaurant behind him.

“Still working, Tino?” Owen asked as he stopped in his tracks to talk to the man everyone in Norman, Oklahoma loved.

“Already back at work, ragazzino!” he replied in his thick Italian accent. Owen always thought it was fake and just for show to lure clients, so that they knew he was a pure Italian man, sharing his love for the Italian cuisine in his restaurant.

“At four in the morning?!” Owen exclaimed, stunned at the man’s determination for his job.

“Deliveries don’t wait, signore.” His laugh boomed into the empty, dark streets of Norman. Owen couldn’t help but let out a laugh too while his eyes averted and landed on a poster in the window. A black-and-white picture of a small cat stared back at him.

MISSING: TUNABEAN

Grey-and-white striped ragamuffin cat, listens to the name Tunabean.

“She’s been missing for a week, the poor girl who owns her is worried sick,” Tino told Owen when he noticed what he was looking at. The blond twenty-year-old pressed his lips together. He only ever had a dog that had never run away, but he could imagine what it would be like to not know where your pet is. He would totally lose it if Bindi ever went missing.

“I feel sorry for her,” Owen said, unsure of anything else to say.

“Yeah, me too,” said Tino. “Keep an eye out for Tunabean, yeah?”

“I will.”

And with that, Owen continued his walk back home. The cat on the poster kept haunting his mind. Those big eyes were something he wouldn’t forget anytime soon. Thanks to said image plastered in his brain, he even started hearing meowing when he got to Andrews Park. It was a soft, fragile meow that had to echo through his brain for a few seconds before he realized it actually came from the bushes he was walking past as he passed through Andrews Park.

Curiously, and kind of feverishly, Owen started to dig into the shrubbery until he found a tiny cat. “Oh, don’t worry, little one. I got you.” He said as he carefully detangled it from the branches. As he held it up to his face, he found the big, round eyes from the poster staring back at him in real life. “Tunabean?” he cooed, and the cat tilted its head ever so slightly.

He stroked the cat’s head and scratched behind her ear before pulling it closer into his chest. She was shivering, but Owen wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the fear. If she’d been missing for a week, God knows how long she must’ve been stuck in there.

“You hurt, little one?” he mumbled to it as he absentmindedly made his way to the one person he knew could help.

“Owen,” Emmy groaned when she’d opened the door to find him standing on the curb with a pout on his face. “It’s four in the morning, I have to be up in an hour for work.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he said and showed her the cat he had tucked in his jacket to keep it warm. “I found her in the bushes near Andrews Park. Can you check if she’s okay?” Emmy’s eyes darted from the cat to Owen and back. “Please, Emmy? You’re the only one I know could help her out.”

“Come on in,” she sighed, clearly disgruntled at the early wakeup call. But she couldn’t say no to a little kitty in need. She’d been rescuing animals since she was a little girl, she wasn’t going to leave this one in the dust.

Owen placed the cat on the table as it meowed and nudged Owen’s hand with her head. “It’s okay, Tunabean, Emmy here is gonna make sure you’re okay.”

“Tunabean?” Emmy asked as she put on latex gloves.

“Yeah, I think it’s the cat from the missing posters you see all around town?”

Emmy gingerly took the cat in her gloved hands and started her check-up. “Ah, yes! My brother and his buddies took some of them down, thinking they were ‘rebellious’.” She rolled her eyes. “You gonna bring her back?”

“Of course, Tino said the owner was worried sick about her.”

Emmy smiled at this. Owen had always been the compassionate one in their friend group. He’d only act upon things if he was sure it wouldn’t hurt anyone else. Though, sometimes that compassion vanished when they were with their friends and he got a ‘brilliant’ idea, which was most likely kind of dangerous.

“Oh, look,” Emmy whispered as she showed Tunabean’s paw. There was a thorn stuck in the little pad. “Poor thing! Hold her for a second, please? I’m gonna get my tweezers to get it out.” Owen placed a hand on the cat’s stomach, his fingers lightly scratching at the white fur.

Emmy returned with everything she needed, and within a few seconds, Tunabean was freed from the thorn in her paw and back on her feet. She suddenly seemed a lot more peppy than she was before.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Owen said as he scooped the kitten back up into his arms, holding it close to his chest. Emmy took her gloves off and scratched the cat’s head.

“Goodbye, Tunabean,” she cooed, earning licks from her rough little tongue. “Ooh, I think I got the girl’s address here somewhere. Tunabean is Anna’s client and we’ve got them in the system.”

As quickly as she’d said it, she’d handed the address over to Owen. After thanking her profusely, Owen went on his way with the cat tucked safely in his jacket for warmth.

He was nervous as it was already five in the morning and the woman most definitely was still asleep. But he didn’t want to keep her in even more suspense and worry about her cat as she already was.

“Hello?” a sleepy voice sounded through the intercom.

“Hi, I’m Owen, I think I got your cat, Tunabean?”

A silence fell, only Tunabean’s sleepy snoring disrupting the peace and quiet of the night. The poor girl had fallen asleep in Owen’s arms. He almost felt sad he had to give her away again.

It took a good minute before the door to the apartment building opened up and a girl in red flannel pj’s opened the door. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun with big strands falling out of it. Though she’d probably rather not be seen like this out in public, Owen thought she looked breathtaking, even in the dim light from the hallway of her corridor and the street lights.

“You really got Tunabean?” she asked as she held onto the door, squishing herself in the small opening she’d granted herself. Owen opened his jacket and carefully showed her the cat who’d woken up from her slumber. “Tunabean!” the girl exclaimed and grabbed the grey pet from the boy’s hands. Their fingers brushed ever so slightly, and though y/n was too busy with her cat, Owen felt it. He felt the spark.

“I would invite you inside for a drink to thank you, but my roommate is still asleep and I don’t want to wake her.” Owen held up his hand, a smile tugging at his lips as he shook his head.

“That’s okay. I don’t need a reward. I’m just glad I could reunite the two of you again,” he said, smiling at the girl and her cat. “Oh! She did have a thorn in her paw though, but my friend is a vet and I took her to her for a check-up before I came here.”

“Aw, poor Bean,” she scratched the cat’s head before turning back to the blonde boy. “Thank you. That’s very considerate of you.” He tipped his head forward, the smile still persistent on his lips.

“Glad I could help,” he repeated, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jacket again. “I’m gonna go though. I’m sure you’d rather go back to sleep right now than talk to a complete stranger on your doorstep.”

“Oh, uhm, okay… Goodbye then? And thank you again for bringing Tunabean back.”

Owen took a few steps backwards as he said, “You’re most welcome. Goodbye, Tunabean and…”

“Y/N.”

“Goodbye Tunabean and y/n.” His eyes lingered on hers for a few more seconds before he turned around to really make his way home now, no distractions.

“Wait! I didn’t catch yours!” she whisper-shouted after him.

He turned again, but kept walking. “Owen,” he said.

“Goodbye, Owen.” She grabbed Tunabean’s paw and waved at him with it, causing a giggle to rake through Owen’s body. With his hand still in his pocket, he waved back.

The more distance he created between them, the bigger his smile became as he thought of her. She was the epitome of a beautiful dream come to life. It made him wonder what she’d look like if she did put effort into her appearance. That could just be the death of him.

After two more hours of sleep, the alarm blaring through her room woke y/n from a beautiful dream with the mysterious blonde boy that rang her doorbell very early in the morning. It caused her to wake up with the thought of him, wondering if she’d ever see him again.

“Morning,” she greeted Jamila when she found her best friend in the living room, gathering all her stuff. “Guess who came home last night!” As if on cue, the little cat pattered across the hardwood floor towards the dark beauty that was Jamila. Her eyes widened as did her smile upon seeing the white-and-grey ragamuffin.

“Bean!” Jamila shrieked as she knelt down to pick the four-legged friend off the floor. “Oh, baby! I missed you!” She peppered the cat with kisses, receiving the kisses back from her tiny pink tongue. “Where’d you find him?”

“Oh, I didn’t. This guy, Owen, did. He brought her back at, like, five in the morning,” y/n explained as she absentmindedly smiled at the thought of those pretty blue-ish eyes.

“And this Owen guy is pretty cute, isn’t he?” Jamila asked upon noticing her best friend’s flustered demeanor. “Did you ask for his number?” Y/N rolled her eyes before she started gathering her things she needed for work.

“It was five in the morning, I had just woken up and I was too busy with Tunabean’s return to even think of that,” she explained, mostly cursing at herself for not asking his number. “Besides, I looked disgusting, I doubt he thought I was the epitome of beauty.”

Jamila simply shook her head, debating against saying any more about it before pressing a kiss to y/n’s cheek and leaving the apartment.

A silence fell over the space, leaving y/n alone with her thoughts. Her beautiful, yet annoying thoughts of the handsome boy at her front door. “He was handsome, wasn’t he, Tunabean?” she asked her cat, who simply tilted her head to the side as she sat in front of y/n on the floor.

Once y/n had gathered her stuff for work today, she said goodbye to Tunabean and left the apartment. She was fumbling around in her handbag to look for her car keys when a vaguely familiar voice made her look up.

The gorgeous blue eyes she’d been dreaming of for two whole hours were staring down at her whilst the plump pink lips curled up into a dreamy smile. “Oh, hey, Owen.”

“I wanted to come and check up on Tunabean,” he carefully said, pointing up at the building she’d just come out of. “You know, see if she’s okay and stuff.” He suddenly seemed nervous. More nervous than he did at five in the morning.

“Uhm, she’s okay, actually. Slept well and seemed very chipper this morning,” y/n reassured him, a smile playing at her lips as her eyes scanned his face. She made sure to make a mental note of every single detail of his face. Like how he stuck his tongue between his teeth as he smiled or how his eyes squinted slightly or the stubble faintly growing on his chin.

“Oh, okay, good. That’s--that’s all, then…” He awkwardly coughed.

Y/N awaited anything else, her eyes darting left and right as they just fumblingly stood on the curb in front of y/n’s apartment. “I-uhm… I have to get to work though, so…” She pointed somewhere behind Owen, indicating she needed to pass him and get going.

“Right!” he said and took a step aside to let her through. She offered him a little wave and a soft ‘bye’ as she passed him. He watched her walk away, cursing at himself for not asking what he really wanted to ask. “Wait!” he yelled, making her stop in her tracks and turn around again with an expectant look on her face. “That’s-that’s not what I wanted to ask. I mean it was, but it wasn’t the only thing I wanted to ask.” He scratched the back of his neck as y/n’s eyes searched for an answer on his face.

Y/N looked at him with a piercing glint in her eyes, urging him to continue.

“Oh, right! Uhm… Would you -- would you maybe wanna go have a drink with me later today? Or something?” Her smile grew wider as she slowly nodded her head in response.

“I’m off at five. Meet me at Gray Owl then,” she told him before turning to walk away.

Owen was left on her curb, wondering if he had died. He thought she looked pretty when she’d just rolled out of bed, but now that she was all dolled up for work, she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. And that smile. That smile was killer.

She was more than the epitome of a dream come to life. She was beauty and grace. She was a poem and the poet. She was the lyrics and the melody. She was the question and the answer.

Owen grew more and more curious about that girl the more he thought of her. He wanted to know what she liked and what she absolutely hated. He wanted to know how she laughed and how she cried, if she sang whenever her mind wandered. He wanted to know how she liked her eggs in the morning.

Even though he knew curiosity killed the cat, he knew for a fact the cat in this story was just the beginning of something beautiful.

JATP taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon @caitsymichelle13 @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost @notasofti

Owen taglist: @alexpjoyner

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #julie and the fat ones #jatp #owen patrick joyner #owen joyner #owen x reader #owen joyner fic #owen x fem!reader #alex jatp

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its-not-a-phase-mom-i-d8-demons · 4 years ago

Text

The Undateables Reaction to MC having a Nightmare

Pairings: Diavolo x MC, Barbatos x MC, Simeon x MC

Warnings: FEM!READER!!!, swearing?, kissing, a miniscule mention of blood and zombies lol, luke being a sweetie pie (as per usual), just comfort in general bc i’m needy, mention of a panic attack, big daddy diavolo can fucking rail me ok?

A/N: people make fun of me for liking diavolo :(( so I had to get this out of my system

Diavolo

Confused

I mean, he’s had nightmares before of course, but he’s never seen a human have one

He didn’t even know humans had the capacity to dream until a few nights before

So when he wakes up to you writhing around in the silken sheets, crying and begging some unknown entity to “please stop” and “don’t hurt him” with tears soaking your face, he was stumped

You seemed distressed so he did the only thing he could think of; wake you up

Now, this baby

He didn’t know, ok?

When he grips you firmly by the shoulders and gives you a good shake he only succeeds in scaring you a lot more

Your hand shoots up and you drag your nails across his pretty face in blind defense and wake up, tangled in mounds of silk, with a hulking figure hunched over next to you

Falling off the bed, you scramble as far as you can away from the monster and into a corner of the room

Barbatos, after hearing all the commotion, enters the room at that moment, allowing light from the hallway to flood the dark bedroom

“My lord, MC, what on earth is going on?!” He asks, noticing you crouching in the corner and he goes to you and rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, “My lady, are you alright? What did the young lord do to you?”

“Barbatos?” You whimper, tentatively peeking up from your hands.

“You can tell me, I’ll deal with him myself.”

“MC? Where’d you go, dove?” Came Diavolo’s disoriented voice from the bed, “Why’d you scratch me?”

A second later Barbatos was on his feet in a somewhat defensive stance, protecting you from any advance the demon lord could make.

You were still behind him crying less stormily, but crying nonetheless. Noticing how the butler was posed, you only started crying harder.

“Barbatos, please, i-it wasn’t him! It was me!” You said, emotion choking your sweet voice, “I h-had a bad dream and when I woke up, I hurt him!”

Cocking a brow, the butler strode toward the light switch (i think they have electricity??) and upon flicking it on, understood what had happened.

The demon lord was still slightly hunched over on the mattress, nursing a scratched, bloody cheek, you were crouched against the far wall, sniffling and crying out of fear, the bed was a mess…

“Correct me if I’m wrong MC, did you have a nightmare?” He asked gently, “Can you move?”

“M-hm.” You nodded shakily, tears stil streaming down your flushed cheeks.

“Let me help you stand… there. Lord Diavolo, humans are fragile creatures, especially after such an ordeal. I trust you can calm her down?”

“Of course! Ah, Barbatos, would you mind getting some tea and possibly a bandage or two?”

“My thoughts exactly. I will be back promptly.”

Then the butler left the room.

Diavolo dabbed at his face with the shirt he’d discarded before getting into bed and turned to you. “MC, love, what happened?”

With a sob, you threw yourself into his arms, buried your face in his chest, and began to cry again. It was a terrible dream, all seven brothers and the rest of the devildom, including Barbatos had turned into zombies. After running and fighting for most of the dream, you and the Demon King had finally been cornered by an endless horde of zombies and slowly you realized there was no hope. Just as the brothers were about to pounce on your royal boyfriend, he’d looked behind him and said, “I’ll always love you my darling MC-” and that’s when a zombie grabbed you and started shaking you violently, effectively and abruptly rousing you and causing a minor panic attack.

Diavolo stroked your hair oh so gently until Barbatos returned with the tea and handed you a cup of the steaming, sweet-smelling liquid to calm your nerves. After taking a few teary sips, the warmth spread down to your toes almost immediately and you were able to stop crying.

“Talk to me,” He murmured, tilting his face to Barbatos while he cleaned and wrapped his wound, his amber eyes on you all the while, “What happened?”

“Bad d-dream,” You stuttered, clutching the delicate teacup with white knuckles, “The brothers got hurt, t-turned into zombies to be specific a-and it was just us but then they got you and Mammon started screaming a-and shaking me-”

“That was me, dove. I sincerely apologize, I didn’t know what was wrong, nor a way to properly handle it.” Diavolo brushed stray tears from your flushed cheeks and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, “Forgive me?”

You nodded, sighing with a body-wracking shudder and settled back into your boyfriend’s muscled arms.

“My Lord, in case this happens a second time, why don’t you ask MC how she would prefer to be roused from such a dream. These things can be traumatic for their minds, it’s best to put her at ease.”

“Indeed.” The tanned redhead nodded, holding out your empty teacup for the butler to refill, “Dearest, how can I help?”

Barbatos

Knows this happens to humans and wasn’t surprised when you had one only a few weeks into staying at the palace

Prolly read a book or seven to learn this human bs

You claimed it was only from your new surroundings at the breakfast table, as to but the Lord and his butler at ease, but Barbatos is very intuitive

In fact, he’d seen you walk from your bedroom to the bathroom, hugging a blanket around yourself and sniffling, looking very frightened for a reason he didn’t know

Now he did

Hmm

The next evening, around two in the morning, you come running out of your room crying, hoping to find someone, and eventually, you did

Thinking it was one of the brothers, you crashed into them, wrapping your arms around their waist and burying your face in their chest, crying stormily until you felt the demon awkwardly pat your head with a gloved hand

…

Lucifer didn’t wear his gloves to bed… did he?

Did he even go to bed in the first place?

Probably not

Since when did Mammon wear a tailored waistcoat to bed?

Levi smelled different too, more like tea leaves, dishsoap, and ink than the salty ocean and fabric softener you were used to

Satans forearms were thicker than these as well; hours of holding books to his face gave him a little muscle

Where was the gentle coo and giggle you always got when you snuggled with Asmo?

Where the pecs your head usually rested on when Beel gave you one of his otherworldly hugs?

Why wasn’t Belphie’s shaggy hair tickling your face?

Wait

You look up and to your horror and embarrassment, it’s Barbatos. Not Beel, or Mammon, or Asmo (who you had been hoping to see) instead, it’s an extremely handsome butler with a very concerned look on his face

“MC? What happened?”

“B-Barbatos! I-I I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” You begin to back away, stuttering and tripping over your words while tears continue to soak the collar of your nightshirt, but before you can escape, gentle hands stop you.

One slender, gloved hand cups your cheek, brushing away tears, and another gently holds the small of your back.

“It’s alright, no need to apologize,” He spoke softly as not to scare you any further, “Come with me, I’ll make us some tea.”

The butler wraps you in a blanket and makes you comfy on the couch in the sitting area before starting the hot water and returning to the room.

He stood in the doorway awkwardly until you asked in a tiny voice, “Would you… would you mind s-sitting with me?”

“Of course.”

Not too close at first, but eventually after you cuddle up to his side, Barbatos settles an arm around your shoulders and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What happened?”

“Um…” You kept your eyes downcast, knowing you’d told him your dreams weren’t a big deal, but he knew.

“Dreams again?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Tell me about this one.”

“You g-got crushed by a m-massive stack of papers a-and Lord Diavolo was just laughing. I couldn’t move, I-I wanted to help, I just-” You sighed, “Th-Then a big stack of paperwork started falling toward me too a-and I woke up before I got squished. I know it’s silly and ch-childish but it was terrifying. I hope I didn’t mess up your schedule.”

“That would be rather upsetting, I’m sorry MC,” He murmured, getting up for the whistling kettle, “But don’t think like that, it’s normal. One moment please.”

You nod and sink deeper into the luxurious warm cocoon the butler had made for you. He hands you a teacup and settles down next to you once again.

“Is there anything I can do to make these dreams stop?” He asks softly, dabbing your face with a handkerchief, “The Demon Lord requested for your utmost contentment during your stay, so-”

“C-Can I stay with you?” You blurted out, quickly taking a gulp of hot tea and instantly regretting it.

Even in the dim light, your convulsing form noticed a light pink tint on his cheeks as he rushed to get you water.

Simeon

He’d only ever known Luke to have nightmares (since he is baby) so you can imagine…

Deadass, when he wakes up to you writhing around and screaming at two in the morning, he almost called an exorcist

…

In the devildom

Does anyone else see the irony-

Nevermind

“LUKE, SOLOMON! WHAT’S WRONG WITH MC??? SHE’S CRYING AND SCREAMING ALL OF A SUDDEN, I THINK A DEAMON GOT HER-” *heavy scared boyfriend breathing*

Solomon was kicking Luke’s ass at Uno (yes, at two in the morning) so both of them follow the distressed angel back to his room

You’re awake, curled up in a little ball against the headboard, rocking back and forth and crying into Simeon’s pillow

“MC?” Luke asks, a little scared as he approaches the bed.

You lift your head just enough to see his pretty baby face and then reach for him, caressing his cheek to make sure the tiny angel was really there

“You ok?” He murmurs, resting one of his smaller hand on your own, “Bad dream I’m guessing?”

You nod, lip trembling with emotion and residual fear, “Don’t go-” You begged, “I don’t know where Simeon went…”

“I’m here love, right here.” The taller angel now knelt down next to where Luke was standing, took your other trembling hand, and pressed comforting kisses to your knuckles.

You whisper a soft ‘thank you’ to Luke and Solomon as they take their leave. As soon as the door shut behind them, Simeon slid under the blankets next to you and let you attach yourself to him like a koala while his pretty nose fell into your messy locks.

Gradually, your breathing went back to its normal, comforting tempo and you began to melt into his embrace. He seemed to radiate warmth to the very marrow of your bones and soon, everything was ok again.

“What’s troubling you so, love? What caused this?” He asks, running slender fingers through your tousled locks.

“I don’t know,” You sigh, breathing in his heavenly musk, “I guess I’ve been a lot more stressed than usual. Exams are coming up and it’s hard to study when I’m at the brother’s beck and call since they can’t get along for more than 3 seconds. Plus, these classes are a lot more difficult than the ones we have in the human world.”

The angel nods, giving you a squeeze and a reassuring kiss to the crown of your head, “I can see why. Unlike you, most humans are very simple minded and plain dumb. I’ve already learned this material because of my ranking as an angel, so if you need a tutor, I’m here to help, sweetheart.”

“I’d like that.” You smile, tender aquamarine orbs meeting your own before closing and lips meeting for a slow, sensual dance of your unbounded love for eachother. Your interlocked fingers gave a squeeze before he released you, panting.

“Anything for my seraph.”

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kaminobiwan · 4 years ago

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stargazing

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader

summary: Existential musings under the stars. Real Disney Princess moment here, folks. (Obi is the princess obviously)

a/n: The prompt demanded it be given to Padawan!Obi. I simply complied. Also, I sprinkled some of my astronomy knowledge in there, bc uni. Thank you AST 104.

This was part of my 175 follower celebration (still open), requested by the ever lovely @highcouncil! Please, for the love of all that is holy, do your Obi-Wan Kenobi-loving hearts a favor and read her amazing work. You’ll thank yourselves for it.

“That one’s the Burning Snake.”

Obi-Wan points to an ambiguous spot in the sky, his too-big robes flapping across his face. He shakes his arm, readjusting the folds, and gestures again.

“Sorry — that one.”

He hears you toss a snort over your shoulder, your back to his as you lean on each other to stay upright. Both of your necks are craned towards the constellations that dapple the ink-black backdrop blanketing Coruscant, and the night is soundless with the exception of your voices.

“Are you sure you’re remembering these right? I’m pretty sure you were reading that starmap upside-down earlier.”

“Was not,” he exclaims, though there is some truth to each of your statements. He’d quickly corrected the map before too long, and he was sure of his memorization after spending so much time in the archives. Positive.

You shift against him, seemingly placated, and he relaxes too, careful not to tug on the Padawan braid behind your ear. It’s predictably still sore after Quinlan had tangled your braids together in a practical joke only three hours ago, the two of you too engrossed in your readings to notice that the Force was being manipulated against you. It had taken fourteen minutes and half a jar of flounut butter to unravel the knots that had formed in the fray.

You gesture towards a star in the distance, and Obi-Wan follows your lead. “What’s that one, then?”

His answer comes immediately. “The Eye of the Pirate. At least make it a challenge for me.”

Your noise of lofty glee jolts him from his position, and he nearly falls flat on his back as you maneuver your body above him so that you’re face to face. Though from his point of view, you’re upside-down. “It was a trick question. The Eye of the Pirate is only visible from Corellia.”

He frowns, his hands moving to cushion his head. “No, it’s not. We can see it from here, too.”

You make an unpleasant face at him, but he thinks it’s rather cute from this angle. As soon as the thought passes through his brain, though, it’s gone. He shuffles away to hide his face from you, but you’re too close to escape.

“You’re wrong. Not every red star is the Eye of the Pirate, Obi!”

Truthfully — and it’s not just because he doesn’t want to admit he might be incorrect — he’s not sure if the star is in fact the one he claims it to be, or whether he’d mixed up Coruscant with Corellia in his studying. But he’s desperate to get out of your line of sight — even though it’s late into the evening, the moonlight pouring into the Temple garden illuminates the entirety of the landscape, and no doubt his embarrassment along with it.

Ever since you’d started to call him Obi, it was hard to handle being in close proximity to you. The physical reaction his blushing upper body always displayed was definitely not something Qui-Gon would be pleased by.

“Okay, maybe it’s not!” He retorts, and you tumble down next to him with a laugh. He blinks some of your hair out of his eyes, but doesn’t ask you to move away from the spot you’ve placed your head, snug into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. Much better.

“Enough with the quizzing, anyway.” Your murmur brings him back to the stars, and he has to remind himself not to turn his head to look at you. “Let’s just take it all in.”

“But you love quizzes.”

“Yes, when the real thing isn’t right there in front of us,” you tease, and Obi-Wan clamps his mouth shut once more. “It’s called stargazing. Not star-analyzing.”

“There is such a thing as — ”

“Shh!”

He fidgets in the grass, unsure of what to do in the silence next to you. As he connects the dots between the clusters of stars across the dark expanse, his memory supplies endless cascades of information and astronomic facts, filling his mental capacity to the point that —

“Obi-Wan.”

Your voice is hushed, as if you’ve just woken up from slumber, but he hears the slight command in your words. “Yes?”

“I can hear your thoughts from here.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

You lean up on your outside elbow, tilting towards him and tucking your hair behind your neck before it can prick the skin of his forehead. “Aren’t you the prodigy of meditation among your crèchemates? What’s wrong?”

Instead of meeting your eyes, Obi-Wan shrugs, and feigns a stretch. “Just having trouble, I guess.”

“You guess.” You echo, unconvinced, but lay back down regardless. “You’re worried about something.”

“I’m not worried, I’m restless. It doesn’t seem right to be stargazing if we’re not going to at least study them. We both have upcoming assignments, might I remind you.”

As if you could have forgotten. Your mission to Halcyon was all you’d been talking about the past week. Still, you’d gushed more over your excitement at hearing his stories than chronicling your own. Obi-Wan had promised to tell you all about the planet of Naboo upon his return to the Temple.

“You’re fretting over the trade dispute? I’m sure you’ll be able to handle the Federation representatives. Though I’ve read that Neimoidian workers regularly compete amongst themselves, and the winning team gets to eat the other — !” You catch the look he sends you out of the corner of your eye, and he allows himself a half-smile as you bashfully fall silent. “Sorry. Probably not what you want to hear right now.”

The apology wasn’t necessary. You both know it. But sometimes, he appreciates that you’d rather it still be said.

“I’m just…feeling unprepared. Luminara and Shaak Ti both faced the trials at my age, and I thought I’d be ready. But I can’t even tell if Qui-Gon thinks I am or not.” You’ve stilled beside him, but he feels you latching on to every word. “I don’t know.”

“You are ready,” you say simply.

“Yes, and if I am, then what?” He asks, to no one in particular. He knows the stars have as much a probability of knowing the future as you do. Maybe more, judging by how often Qui-Gon called to them in exasperation. “Everything changes. I can’t help but feel as though nothing will be the same, soon.”

You’re quiet for a moment, but then he hears what sounds like a chuckle from you. He raises a confused eyebrow, but doesn’t shift his body.

“Obi, of course everything will change. Nothing can stop that,” you say, reaching your fingers out and upwards. “Even the stars can’t prevent themselves from growing and dissipating. Eventually, they’ll all turn into nebulas, or supernovas, or black holes in violent implosions.” You trace an imaginary line across the air, drawing your own constellation, joining together specks that Obi-Wan imagines must be hundreds of parsecs apart. His eyes follow the pattern as you go. “You’re not a star.”

He blinks. “I’m not?”

Immediately, he wants to palm his face, because obviously he’s not a star, no matter how luminous Master Yoda professes him to be, but he just hadn’t known what you meant and now he’s gone and made himself sound like an idiot. But you continue, unfazed, as if you’d predicted he’d respond in kind.

“You’re not,” you repeat, and lower your hand down to your stomach. “You can choose what you become. You’re not born with a predestined fate. You have control.” Obi-Wan feels his body sink further into the ground, and some voice in the back of his head has the agency to surmise that you sound much wiser beyond your years right now. “What matters most is whether you take that control, or give it back to the universe.”

And now, he’s silent, because how in the name of the Force is he supposed to respond to that?

But you bound up again, high-spirited and bubbly and not nearly as prophetic as you had been a second earlier, and conclude, “At least, that’s what Master Koon says.”

He groans as you release a peal of laughter, and slumps further into the dirt. “Did you seriously just recite one of his lessons to me?”

“No! I made it much more interesting,” you clutch a hand to your chest in mock displeasure, and Obi-Wan crosses his arms. “I mean, I ad-libbed along the way, but I still meant what I said. I don’t think it’ll do you any good to worry.” As you speak, he lets his eyes unfocus towards the stars, white and yellow and blue diamonds alike blurring together in a disjointed mosaic. The tip of your nose rims the edge of his vision, and he exhales slowly with what feels like relief, though he isn’t completely sure. But you seem to be more at peace, too, and your voice even drops to a solemn resonance. “What you ask for tends to come and find you. Serenity, wisdom, trouble…”

“I’ve definitely heard him say that,” Obi-Wan muses, and he knows you’re hiding a grin next to him.

“It’s true,” you reply.

You both lay in the garden for several long moments more, until the voices of your masters can be heard calling your names.

Neither of you get up, despite it. A smile of his own creeps up his cheeks, and Obi-Wan knows you’re thinking exactly the same thing he is.

“Pretend we’re asleep so they’ll have to carry us back to the dorms?”

“Master Koon might break another arm, but yep. Worth it.”

“Worth it,” he agrees, and closes his eyes.

#rini writes #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi x you #star wars imagines #YES THEY’RE STUDY BUDDIES AGAIN WHAT ABOUT IT #AND YEAH HE’S IN HIS 20S BUT WE ALL LIKE BEING CARRIED BACK TO BED DON’T WE #and yes plo koon is your master bc he is dad™#obi has high functioning anxiety and feels like he must be doing some thing productive at all times 25/8 #tbh i never thought i’d write padawan obi but after this i must return to him he is a soft boi #also he is so damn fine in that gif like whew he’s beautiful #anyways that’s my thoughts #this was so cute to write 🥺#made myself soft LOL #i love you all xxx #hope you like it #rini reaches 175!

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mulletcal · 4 years ago

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memento mori - an ashton irwin one shot

a/n: hi friends!! i’m reposting this bc the first time i completely didn’t give the proper credit and i wanted to correct that! this whole thing was inspired by @sexgodashton‘s answer to this ask. and while i could have just edited the original post to include the credit, it wouldn’t have sat right with me personally to do that and just pretend like it was there the whole time. lau’s brain blows my mind every day w her creativity and she inspires me so much, thank you lau. thank you also to @myloverboyash for reading this over for me i appreciate u sm! word count: 2.5k

warnings: talks about needles, ashton being tattooed, smut, there’s riding, voyeurism (sort of? i don’t know rly but i wanna put the warning there just in case), ashton having a pain kink, light dom ash, spanking, i reused two things in these that i’ve used in the past but you know what??????? i kind of love it

****

Ashton’s felt the pain of a tattoo before; he kind of enjoyed the sting, the drag of the needle. Ashton also enjoyed pain, but he never noticed how erotic the pain of a tattoo could be, the intimacy of being so close to someone’s skin, until he began to date a tattoo artist.

You met Ashton when he came into your shop one day, on the hunt for his typical tattoo artist. He was nothing short of a gentleman, something you weren’t used to when men came into the shop that you owned; Men didn’t take kindly to women being the boss of men they saw as the epitome of masculine, let alone the owner, the ultimate boss if you will. You would never forget the way his eyebrows shot up when you said you were the owner, a small grin on his lips as he asked if he could get his tattoo from you instead.

That was for his snake tattoo, and he was so excited at how it turned out that you did his rose tattoo as well. Ashton kept coming back to you, insisting on the rest of the guys coming to get tattoos from you; it wasn’t until you finished touching up Michael’s finger tattoos did he ask you out.

“I appreciate the boost in clientele, but if you wanted to take me out you could’ve asked sooner,” You had replied, slipping him your card with the business phone number crossed out and your personal written above it.

After that, the two of you had talked nearly every day while he wasn’t on tour, and he often slept over, leaving you being taunted from your employees the next day due to marks on your skin.

It wasn’t until the lockdown did you truly see how wild Ashton could be; he had chosen to quarantine with you, the most responsible option you felt because you would have tried to find a loophole to see him anyways. Ashton encouraged you to try new things with him you never thought were possible, and you were surprised at how much you loved it.

You were shocked to realize that he enjoyed not just the pain of being tattooed, but he had a little bit of a pain kink in general. He tried to shy away from it at first, but when the two of you seemingly had run out of exciting news hobbies to learn, Ashton brought up the idea of watching porn together, to get a feel of what the other person liked. You wish you had felt safe enough to record his reaction when you put on a favourite video of yours, watching him take an invisible pencil from behind his ear and pretending to jot it down.

A few moments after that, with Ashton and you definitely quite in the middle of something, your phone went off, alerting you that you would be allowed to reopen with a set list of guidelines. You’d tried to get as many of your clients in before the shutdown as possible, so you didn’t have too many to reschedule when you got back.

You and the rest of your team had decided to operate on a weekly basis, your employees being allowed to have the shop for the week, with the rules of you setting up additional cameras so you could check in to ensure they were following sanitary guidelines, and all transactions were cashless unless absolutely necessary.

The reopen was going well so far, from what you could tell. Your week had finally rolled around, and you made sure that you left yourself a free day so that you could deep clean the shop; however, that didn’t exactly go according to plan as Ashton asked if you could tattoo him, stating how it had been so long since he’d gotten one and he missed it. Of course, you immediately agreed, pulling up the list of ideas you both had brainstormed throughout the course of the lockdown.

When he got there, you enthusiastically unlocked the door, greeting him with a kiss. You were excited to use him as your canvas, even though it would likely only be something small.

“You ready love?” You asked him, scrolling through the list before looking back up at him.

“Mhm, I’ve been thinking about the list and I’ve really wanted that coin of mortality piece you drew, would you do that one on me?” Ashton had placed his hands on your thighs, tracing his thumbs in small circles against them.

“Well that makes it a bit easier for me, since it’s already drawn, let me just pull it up. Where do you want it?”

You cocked your head, your eyes slowly scanning down his body, checking him out in a way, but also curious where he would say to put it.

“M’thinking on my ribs, yeah?” He pulled back, eagerly lifting his shirt to show his left side.

You nodded, reaching out to gently trace your finger over where you thought the tattoo should go, “Like here, maybe?”

Ashton shivered at your touch, simply nodding before letting his shirt fall back down. With that, you went to print the stencil, definitely not unaware to Ashton’s eyes burning a hole into your skin.

When you turned to him with the freshly printed stencil, you grinned, “You know the drill, Irwin, hop on the chair.”

Rolling his eyes, he made a big show of stripping off his shirt and sitting in the chair. You decided it was probably the best option to have him lay on his right side with his arm just out of the way. You prepped his skin, cleaning it and shaving it to make sure that no stray hairs would be in the way before you laid the stencil. Ashton shivered once again, this time at the cool touch of the cleaning solution.

“Okay baby?” You asked gently, tattoo gun poised in your hand and ready to begin.

He hummed in acknowledgement, licking his lips though you couldn’t see. You started with one small line, not missing the way Ashton sucked in a breath at the drag of the needle. Pausing to wipe at the ink, you briefly glanced up at him to see if he was alright. Since you didn’t hear him oppose, you continued on with the outline.

Once the outline was completed, you wiped the area once more, sitting back to admire it so far, “Wanna see the outline or do you wanna wait till it’s done?”

Ashton’s breathing was slightly irregular, goosebumps raising on his skin as you cleaned off the area some more, looking for any spots in the outline that you may have missed, “I think I’ll wait til the end, thanks love.”

“Are you doing okay? We can pause you know, I know the ribs are a bit harder.”

“No, no. It’s not that,” He was quick to say, glancing over his shoulder at you. You could see something in his eyes, but it wasn’t pain or discomfort, instead his pupils were blown wide and he seemed aroused, maybe? “I’m just kinda enjoying the pain and I’m bracing myself for the shading.”

As you continued on, Ashton would occasionally, which would cause you to pause instantly to check on him. He would wave you off, saying instead to keep going, that it felt good. Had the two of you not been dating, Ashton may have felt a little embarrassed the way his cock was straining against his pants, but he knew that should you have free time afterwards, you could make complete use of the empty shop - or at least, he hoped you would.

With the shading completed, you wanted to finish off with some small white detailing. Glancing up at Ashton, you sucked in a breath, “It’s time to do the white. You gonna be alright or are you gonna cum in your pants if I do it?”

Ashton let out a laugh, swatting at your hand holding the paper towel, “Would rather cum in you, so hurry that ass up.”

You laughed, but the way he spoke made you press your thighs together as you changed the gun for the white detailing. It took you a moment to get everything switched over, your mind continuously wandering to the very man whose back was facing you, lingering on the night before. His bite marks on your breast and collarbone were still sore, but it made the anticipation of what was to come after you finished the tattoo even better.

Ashton let out quiet curses as you started the white detailing, the goosebumps returning to his skin. He couldn’t believe how on edge he was, just from the sensation of the tattoo alone. It was almost as if he understood now what Calum had meant when they discussed his chest tattoo, the vibrations sending chills up his spine.

He had to remember to keep breathing, that was the only way he was going to even be able to hold out long enough to make it through the tattoo, using your breaks in tattooing to take a deep breath, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. Once you were done, you smiled brightly at the piece you had just finished, enjoying the fine detailing you were able to fit within the tattoo.

“Alright baby it’s done, go look in the mirror,” You spoke, touching his shoulder lightly so he could come down out of the daydream like state he seemed to put himself in.

Ashton stood, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the very obvious bulging in his jeans, your eyes unable to look up from that as he headed to the mirror to check it out. “Shit, baby, it looks amazing. You did a really good job.”

“Don’t I always?”

Ashton chuckled, nodding his head and headed back over so that you could clean it one final time and put the protective bandage over it. As soon as that had been completed, you looked up at him.

“Alright, Irwin, sit in the chair laying flat,” you demanded, standing to your full height and looking him in the eyes.

“Oh she wants to be in control, does she?” Ashton asked with a quirk of his brow, but sitting in the chair and doing as he was told to anyways.

“I mean, sure, but it just makes the most sense to ride you while we’re here. Also it’s easier to clean this up than the floor.”

“How do you know all of this?” “You wanna ask dumb questions, or do you want to fuck me?” You asked, hands on your hips.

Ashton smirked, running his fingers through his black locks before he reached down to undo the button on his jeans, tugging them down. By the looks of it, he had gone commando, almost as if he was anticipating this.

You shimmied your leggings and panties down, checking behind you to make sure that you had the curtain fully closed. Though the door was locked, you didn’t want passersby on the street to see into the shop. Taking Ashton’s hand, you straddled his waist, placing your hands behind his head on either side of the chair once you got your balance.

“Finally can check something off our list, hm? Fucking in my shop.” You spoke next to his ear, removing one hand from behind his head so you could line his cock up with your entrance, sinking down slowly. Both of you moaned at the feeling, now all too familiar for you.

Ashton grabbed your hips, keeping you steady as you got adjusted. He had only been in you 12 hours before, but the size of him made you take a moment to adjust almost every time. It was something you weren’t sure you could handle the first time you and Ashton had slept together, but that was also one of the first times that you didn’t need to be afraid of sex if it was with the right person.

Rolling your hips as a test, you groaned at the pull of his length against your walls, clenching around him.

“Keep that up kitten I really am not gonna last long,” He purred, squeezing your hips as you began a slow and steady rhythm.

You pressed kisses to his lips, his neck, just below his ear, anywhere you could reach really; you also took to tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging gently at each delicious thrust. The pace of slow and steady didn’t last too long though, Ashton usually the type for hard and fast, which anyone could have guessed just by looking at the drummer.

While you were on top, Ashton decided he needed to take control, so his hands slipped to your ass, gripping tighter as he started to meet your hips at a brutal pace. Tossing your head back, you gasped, digging your nails into his scalp; this only seemed to drive Ashton more, an almost animalistic growl tearing from his throat.

His right hand left you for a split second, only to come crashing down against your cheek in a harsh slap that brought you forward so you could bury your face in his neck.

“So good for me kitten, you like being spanked, don’t you? You love the pain almost as much as I do.” Ashton’s words were low in your ear, causing you to shut your eyes and nod in response.

“Yes, fuck. Please more,” You begged, fingers clutching at any expanse of skin you could, dragging your nails across. You began to nip at his neck as he delivered more slaps to your ass, the sting bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “Ash, so close…”

“Yeah, baby? You gonna cum for me?” He moved lower in the chair, giving him a different angle so that his cock was dragging against your g-spot each time, “You wanna fuckin’ scream for me? Come on, who’s gonna hear you?”

His words drove you over the edge with you calling out his name, loudly at first, but then softly whispered like a prayer as he fucked you through it. Ashton wasn’t far behind, his thrusts only growing more and more sloppy until he finally came with a low curse, your body shivering as he filled you.

When the two of you came down from your highs, you lifted off of him, whining at the loss of him, and also the warmth beginning to trail down your leg.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Ashton chuckled, still panting from the exertion.

“Please,” You laughed, bending down to pick up your pants when you had a thought. “Hey Ash?”

“Yeah love?”

“Ever wanted to make a sex tape?” You asked, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“Never really thought about it, why?” Ashton looked at you, confused before brought over a dry paper towel and a wet paper towel to clean up the mess.

“Because we’re on not so candid camera,” Motioning to the newer camera you installed, the two of you burst out in a fit of laughter at the idea that you almost didn’t need to watch porn together, as you could watch yourselves if you really wanted to.

tag list: @haikucal @talkfastromance4 @calmlftv @canyon-moan @wildflowerirwin @irwindoll @notinthesameguey @heavenisapeach @ridingcthood @loveroflrh @mantlereid @irwinkitten @n-ctarinenga @g-l-pierce @thecurlsofgod @idontneedanyone @boomerash @clemmings @cthofficial @ashtonsos @yikesguys @blackbutterfliescal @mashlums @ohhoneyofmine @monimickell @petunias-pet @treatallwithkindness @castaway-cashton @tea4sykes @begluketostay @wheniminouterspace @another-lonely-heart @ghostofmashton @myfavfanficsever @xsongxbirdx @stardust-galaxies @karajaynetoday

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin one shot #ashton irwin smut #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin blurb

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hoekaashi · 4 years ago

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For Better or Worse | B.K. + M.I.

a/n: this took me so long to complete, but here it is. yes, i was inspired by that one picture of tattoo artist deku w bakugou, ya know. that one. yes this came out longer than i wanted to it to be bc i have no self-control. also no banner bc im a lazy poop. also also, i had no idea how to end it, so yeah characters: bakuguo, izuku, mina, kirishima, sero, kaminari, a pinch of todoroki warnings: language, alcohol (they are all aged up), bakugou’s inferiority complex, deku looking dangerous in an all black outfit and a beanie yes yes taglist: @babydabi @suckersuki @bakugoustanaccount @animoozies @haiikyuuns @depths-of-your-soul @differentballooncollection @waitforitillwritemywayout

The thumping from the bass made Bakugou feel like his brain was rattling in his skull and the dim lights of the club were straining his eyes. He needed a break from the sweaty people around him, but his friends wouldn’t let him leave. He looked around the dancefloor, sure that he wouldn’t remember this moment in a few days from now. Lifting his half empty glass to his lips, he took another sip of his drink, the strong taste of the alcohol hitting him hard. He narrowed his eyes when the DJ let out a strong gust of wind again from the hoses on the ceiling next to the confetti cannons that had gone off not long before.

Again, Bakugou needed a break. One look at his friends taking care of the birthday girl was the only confirmation he needed that he could step away from them. Mina’s drunken complaining fell deaf on his ears as he pulled away from Kirishima’s grasp. As he made his way off the dance floor, the groups of people around him tried to push forward to fill the space he was leaving vacant. He walked over to the bar and leaned back against it, wishing there was an open seat for him to take. Downing the drink in one shot, he placed the empty glass on the counter and watched his friends from where he was standing.

Bakugou hated clubs. He hated the crowds of people who invaded his personal space as they danced on him or with other people. He hated being around people who couldn’t hold their liquor and did stupid things with their inhibitions thrown out the window. But most of all, he hated having to deal with drunk people constantly using their intoxicated state as an excuse to persistently hit on him or even feel him up. It was frustrating and annoying, and as he got older, he learned how to best deal with those situations rather than getting into fights. But it had been a while since he had been out and it was Mina’s birthday. Sure everyone had to get together and persuade him, but in the end he agreed that it wouldn’t be an awful time.

And it wasn’t. Hot, sweaty, smelly, claustrophobia inducing, and even sticky, but not awful.

He had been scrolling through his phone in hopes to prevent anyone from talking to him when his friends approached him.

“Bakugou, I want a tattoo!” Mina shouted. Even after all she drank, she seemed pretty sober.

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re all okay with this?”

“Nah bro, we’re all wasted so we told Mina that it was your decision.” He looked at Kaminari who was leaning on Sero for support.

“My decision?”

“Bakubro, just take care of her,” Kirishima said, placing both his hands on Bakugou’s shoulders.

“Take care of - what the fuck are you on?”

“Alcohol bro,” Kaminari said with a serious face. “We’re on alcohol.”

Sero chuckled. “I’m taking these two home to try to sober them up before going to bed.” He was DD for the night, in charge of everyone until Mina decided to go on a little adventure. “They’ll thank me for this before they head out to work tomorrow.”

Sero began to walk away with Kaminari using him as support and Kirishima shuffling behind them, leaving Bakugou alone with Mina.

“Please! Please Bakugou? It’s my birthday.” She looked at him with pleading eyes.

Bakugou didn’t even hide his annoyance. He looked at the time. It was one in the morning. “If there is a shop that’s open right now within a seven mile radius, we can go.”

Mina squealed and grabbed Bakugou by the arm as she ran in her heels to the exit. It didn’t take long for her to stop running with her grip still tight on Bakugou’s arm.

“Where’s my phone…” she mumbled to herself looking around for it. Bakugou watched in amusement as Mina began to pat herself down with one hand while searching the ground around them for her purse.

When he was fully amused, he reached into his pocket and pulled out her phone. “Here.”

Her eyes slowly lit up as she recognized her phone in his hand. Mina had no recollection of leaving her purse at home and Bakugou being nominated to carry it for her. She managed to get on the internet and started looking up tattoo parlors near them. After a few minutes of struggling, she managed to find one. Bakugou didn’t even try to hide his annoyance over the fact that he had to sit through Mina possibly getting a tattoo. It had been a long night and he wanted nothing more than to take a cold shower to wash away the feeling of all those people who were around him.

Bakuguou trailed behind the birthday girl who was dancing in the middle of the parking structure as she walked to his car. The chilly breeze and the fresh air were both helping her sober up and she had a vague memory of where he had parked. As annoying as he found his friends, Bakugou enjoyed moments like tonight where everyone could be themselves and forget about the stress of being an adult. When they could let their guard down and just enjoy life for a night. Why was he on board with this whole tattoo business in the first place? Because who was he to stop his friend from living her life the way she wanted to? It was a harmless tattoo, and he would be there to make sure it would be something she wouldn’t regret later on.

Getting into the car, the first thing Mina did was put the top down while Bakugou grabbed a water bottle he brought just for tonight and opened it, handing it to her so she could hydrate herself. Once he managed to get her to drink at least half the bottle, he took off, using her phone’s GPS to guide him to the shop.

Mina stuck her arm out of the car and leaned back in her seat, enjoying the feel of the cold air on her warm body. Bakugou relaxed as he drove, one hand on the wheel, and the other propping his head up. Even if this felt like a chore, he enjoyed nothing more than the feeling of the cool night hair on his skin as he drove.

True to her word, the shop wasn’t far from where they were. Bakugou was able to park right out front due to the ungodly hour that they were out at. Mina didn’t wait for the car to be fully parked before jumping out and running to the door, ignoring everything Bakugou was yelling at her. He followed behind her, taking his time as he waited for the hood to come back up, slowly feeling regret creep in.

When he entered, Mina was already sitting at a seat, talking the ear off of who Bakugou assumed was the artist. He was wearing a black short sleeve shirt, with a beanie that covered his green hair. Once he got closer, he saw that the man sported his own fair share of tattoos along with glasses and freckles that adorned his face. There was no other person in the shop.

“Bakugou! I decided on what I’m getting,” Mina giggled.

The artist glanced back at Bakugou but said nothing to him as he began to prep the design. Bakugou raised an eyebrow to her. “Are you gonna tell me?”

Mina continued to giggle. “Nope, it’s a surprise!”

“Why the fuck is the tattoo you’re getting a surprise for me? Now tell me before you get something regrettable inked on yourself. I won’t hear the end of this if I don’t.”

“No!” Mina stuck out her tongue.

“Alright, you said on your left shoulder, correct?” the artist asked.

“Yes ma’am!” Mina lowered the dress strap so it hung off her shoulder. He got to work, transferring the design to her skin and began the inking process.

Bakugou watched with his arms crossed as the artist worked. He noticed how there was a small crinkle on his forehead and how his tongue peaked out as he concentrated. His hands moved skillfully and quickly. Mina was talking about something that went over Bakugou’s head to which the artist replied to. He wasn’t engaged in their conversation, he didn’t have the brain power to be at this point. Mina fell silent when the stinging from the tattoo was finally hitting her. Bakugou refused to give her his hand when she asked for it, saying that she got into this mess herself and she needed to deal with the pain on her own.

“You know, you could just give her your hand,” the artist muttered. Mina wasn’t making a sound from the pain but she did flinch every now and then and hiss.

Bakugou blinked. Did the artist just say that to him? “Aren’t you not supposed to give tattoos to drunk people?”

He cocked an eyebrow but didn’t break his concentration from his work. “My method of tattooing is a bit different. I can give tattoos to tipsy or slightly drunk customers without the design getting messed up from the alcohol in the blood. She would also be much worse off if I tattooed in the traditional sense as well.”

Bakugou leaned forward and noticed that he did in fact use a different method of tattooing. “A different method isn’t going to prevent the alcohol in the blood from ruining the way the ink sits.”

The artist sat back and sighed. “Look, you don’t see me barging into your workplace and tell you how to do your job -”

“Because I’m not fucking dumb.”

He rolled his eyes. “And I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know how to do my job.”

“Yeah, scamming people into getting some ink and for it to be fucked up like a month later. They paid full price for it and you don’t have to worry about anything because they signed paperwork just for this occasion.”

The artist took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “You could hunt down every one of my customers and I bet my entire business that not even a single one would say they were dissatisfied with the work done. But since you’re so hellbent on making me feel ashamed, why don’t you check back here in a month and tell me how fucked up you think the tattoo looks?”

“And what if it is? You’ll give her money back? She’ll still have a shitty piece permanently on her body.”

“You can tattoo something on me, anywhere you would like doesn’t matter how big it is,” he replied in a heartbeat.

That piqued Bakugou’s interest. He thought about the proposal while the artist got back to work. “What’s in it for you then?”

“If it doesn’t look bad, I get to tattoo you. Same conditions.”

Bakugou took a seat at the front of the shop without saying anything else. The shop itself looked pretty fancy, there was no doubt in his mind that this guy was probably famous in the tattooing world. But at the same time, anyone with some money could get a place that big and make it look impressive. He knew he should check out the reviews online, but it felt like that would take some of the excitement out of this bet.

Watching him work, Bakugou wondered if he gave himself those tattoos that decorated his body. If he did… he was about to be even more annoyed because they looked damn good. From what he could see on the artist’s arms and neck, they were all different tattoos but they flowed together effortlessly. It felt like they were trying to tell a story even though most likely they weren’t. Bakugou knew he was staring, but he felt himself get lost in what little he could see. Before he realized it, Mina was finished and wrapped up. She refused to let Bakugou see it properly since he wouldn’t let her hold his hand. Instead of staying with her inside, he got his car ready as she paid and the artist went over proper care with her. Just as Bakugou drove away, he realized he never got the artist’s name.

“Deku,” Mina said as the wind whipped past them. It felt different now that she was sober, but she loved it either way. “His name is Deku.”

“Okay, okay. My turn. Truth or dare?” Kirishima spun the bottle and everyone watched as it landed on Bakugou for the first time that night. Kaminari howled and Sero whistled.

“Make it a good one because this might be our only chance with him,” Sero commented.

Kirishima nodded and waited patiently for Bakugou’s answer.

“Truth.”

Kaminari booed.

“Why do you keep talking about Deku? I’ve seen his work and he’s good and all, but are you like… in love with the dude?”

Bakugou’s frown deepened. “I’m not fucking in love with that nerd. I’m annoyed. Pinky won’t show me her damn tattoo and I’m not about to lose this bet to him.”

“Oh, that tattoo looks awesome. I made an appointment to get one too,” Sero said, pointing to his arm where he was planning on getting it done.

“I just got a new piercing there this morning.” Kiri moved his hair out of the way to show his new helix piercing. “Deku is so chill, bro. We made plans to get lunch this Friday.”

“Man, I went by his place with Mina last night and he was a mess,” Kaminari said as he laughed from the memories.

Bakugou watched, slightly annoyed, slightly in awe of what was unfolding in front of him. Within a couple weeks, Bakugou felt like his world was tilted on its axis. All by one man whom he just met. As much as he told himself to not let it bother him, he couldn't help but to hyperfixate on this new person in his life who made a rage he didn’t know he had in him erupt. Never had he wanted to beat someone so bad in his life. As awful as he knew it was, he was hoping the tattoo came out looking shitty so he could have this victory.

He needed this victory.

Because to him, it felt like his friends were slipping away.

He felt like he was being replaced by someone more likable. More friendly. More easy going. Someone better than him.

And he would never admit how much that hurt him.

Bakugou stood up abruptly. Without saying anything, he headed outside of the apartment he was in and made his way to the curb to sit down. Was he overreacting? Probably. Most likely. But he knew his feelings were valid. He wasn’t the best friend, but they all stuck around for some reason. So he couldn’t be that awful. Right?

He let out a deep sigh and looked at the clouds that were passing him by. His gaze didn’t move even when Kirishima joined him.

“You know we aren’t replacing you, right?”

Bakugou didn’t respond.

“We don’t know why you hate him so much, but we respect your feelings. No more Deku talk in front of you.”

“That won’t stop you from hanging out with him,” he said drily.

“No, but even if I hang out with him and enjoy his presence, you’re my best friend dude. And that’s never changing. You’re stuck with me for life.”

A pair of arms wrapped around Bakugou’s shoulders and the force of the hug pushed Bakugou forward. “You’re stuck with all of us!” Kaminari shouted.

“Get the fuck off of me dumbass!”

“Not until you believe us!” Kaminari leaned forward and tried to kiss Bakugou’s cheek. Sero and Kirishima were laughing, enjoying the scene that was unfolding before them. It didn’t take Bakugou long to shove Kaminari off of him. The blond didn’t miss the small upturn of the corners of Bakugou’s mouth either.

“Okay, but since you’re boring as usual, we’re going to give you a dare.”

Bakugou stared at Kaminari in disgust. “No.”

“Get a piercing from Deku. Unless you’re too chicken…”

All three of them smirked. They knew Bakugou would do it. He never backed down from a dare. As long as it was sensible.

“You want me to waste money on a dare?”

“Nah bro, we’re all paying for you,” Sero said.

Bakugou took a minute to think about it. “After I complete this dare, all of you are gonna shut the fuck up for a week.”

“Bro, it’s not a bet. It’s a dare.” Kirishima frowned. “You’re not even paying for it. And we’re letting you choose where to get it. Kaminari wanted to you get your di-”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Kaminari interrupted, shoving his hand over Kirishima’s mouth.

Bakugou stood up and dusted his jeans. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

The shop looked a lot different than how Bakugou remembered it, but it was also currently daytime. He took a good look at the sign, Deku written in front of some sort of drawing of an ugly, green, bunny ears mask. There were a lot more people inside as well. Bakugou hesitated going in - he wasn’t in the mood to talk to, or even see, the artist. Deku. Deku, the tattoo artist.

When he walked into the shop this time, he was greeted by someone at the register. He easily found Deku in the crowd of people, his green hair visible today. His outfit still consisted of all black, but it made him seem more edgy than how his friends make him seem to be. From the stories he heard, he would never have guessed they were talking about the same person he met that night with Mina. The Deku his friends knew was a clumsy, anxiety-filled guy who seemed to be in his head a lot. The Deku in front of him was too sure of himself and his abilities to be the same person.

“Hey Midoriya!” Kirishima said as he waved.

Deku looked up and smiled at him, casually passing his gaze over Bakugou. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. We came here for someone else.” Kirishima gently pushed a pouting Bakugou forward. “He’s here for a piercing.”

Deku raised an eyebrow and didn’t even try to hide the cocky smile on his face. “Is he sober? I might get a lecture if he isn’t.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes and took a seat without being told to. “Gimme the damn paperwork and let’s get this over with.”

Deku motioned for the person at the register to come over and told him to prep Bakugou. As he filled out the paperwork, he couldn’t help himself as his eyes kept wandering over to wherever Deku was. What was so good about him that made people flock to him? What about him attracted so many people to his shop? He internally cursed himself every time he got distracted and went back to finishing his paperwork. He handed it off to Kirishima who went back to the front with the others to pay for what he was about to get done.

“So what’ll it be?”

Bakugou crossed his arms as he remained seated. “My tongue.”

Deku nodded and went to get what he needed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that walk-ins weren’t common during the day. All the artists in the place were busy with their clients. Deku actually had walked away from someone he was working on but the man didn’t seem to mind. There was a small crowd waiting for their turn to be seated - Bakugou assumed they were also walk-ins from how half of them were glaring at him. And from how one of them started arguing with the cashier who looked visibly scared and confused.

The sound of a stool being dragged over to him brought Bakugou’s attention back to the task at hand. Deku placed his materials down on a small table next to the two of them.

“What made you want to get this done? By me of all people?”

“They dared me.”

“Your friends?” Deku got everything ready before he got to work.

“Yeah.”

“Known them long?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “What’s with this small talk?”

Deku grimaced at his tone. “I’m just trying to be nice. Get to know you. I don’t think you’re a bad person…”

“And how would you know that?”

His expression softened. “You have some great friends. They wouldn’t hang around you if you were a bad person.”

Bakugou felt himself relax slightly. He motioned to the guy with the two tones hair Deku was working on before Bakugou came in. “What about him? Is it okay for you to leave your client like that?”

“Yeah.” Deku scooted his stool closer to Bakugou. “He’s a friend of mine, he didn’t care. Tongue.”

Bakugou leaned forward and watched as Deku put his gloves on. He picked up the needle and held Bakugou’s tongue between a pair of tweezers with two circles on either side to help him know where exactly to pierce the tongue.

“You’ll feel a pinch but it’ll be fast.”

Bakugou couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning up slightly, amused by the warning. Deku didn’t lie, it was quick and he barely felt a thing. The rest of the process was quick and Deku talked him through care and maintenance of the new piercing. The cold metal balls felt foreign in his mouth and he kept moving it around to feel a bit more comfortable.

“And the pain will get worse the next couple of days. Soreness is normal, but make sure you keep cleaning it properly to avoid getting it infected. Also pay attention to the foods you’re eating.” Deku kept talking as he walked Bakugou to the front where his friends were waiting for him. Bakugou felt his annoyance increase with each word that left Deku’s mouth.

“Shut up ya damn nerd. You literally gave me a paper with all this fucking information.” Bakugou did his best to keep his voice down, but ended up yelling anyway.

“Sorry!” Deku replied instinctively.

“No need to apologize to him. That’s just how he is.” Kirishima slung an arm over Bakugou’s shoulder. “Thanks for taking him right now.”

Deku smiled. “No problem. I’ll see you on Friday.” He looked at Bakugou as he began to turn away. “And I’ll see you in a few weeks for your tattoo.” He walked away before Bakugou had a chance to reply.

It pissed him off even more how cocky Deku was acting about this bet. He was so sure that he would win, it made Bakugou want nothing more than to crush him. But that would have to wait until the one month was up.

Mina stretched when she got out of the car. “Thanks for driving us Bakugou!”

He grunted in response. All of his friends thought he always drove because he hated everyone else’s driving, which was partially true, but it was just that he enjoyed being in control of where he was going. He got out, eying the tattoo on Mina’s shoulder as she rushed into the shop with Sero and Kaminari rushing in after her. Kirishima waited for his friend as they walked in together. The shop was unusually empty for this time of day, but Bakugou didn’t question it. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would be going home with some new ink today and he didn’t need to deal with an even greater audience.

Mina was already showing off her tattoo to the two people inside. Deku’s friend nodded along as he listened to whatever Mina was talking about. Bakugou felt his palms get sweaty. He hated losing, everyone knew this, but where was this extra anxiety coming from? Why did Deku of all people make him feel like he would never be able to reach him - like he was on some immeasurably high platform and Bakugou could try to climb up there but he would never reach the peak.

Kaminari waved a hand in Bakugou’s face. “Earth to Bakubro. What’s your vote?”

He blinked once, twice. Looking at Mina’s tattoo properly for the first time, he couldn’t find a single thing wrong with it. No line looked droopy, nothing looked distorted. “It...looks great…”

Kaminari laughed. “So it’s unanimous! All six of us think the tattoo looks fine.”

Bakugou didn’t realize the voting had already taken place. He was so deep in his thoughts, not that it would have mattered if he was paying attention.

He shrugged, not having enough mental power to fight this. “What’s it gonna be, nerd?”

Deku prepped a chair that was next to a set up table. “Take off your shirt and sit back.”

Everyone gathered around, wanting to watch Bakugou receive his punishment. Deku got to work, not bothering with transferring a design onto Bakugou’s skin beforehand. Seeing that made Bakugou worry about what was going to happen as Deku dotted his skin over and over again with the gun. Bakugou listened to everyone talk, never once speaking up, as he took in this moment. Seeing his friends interact with Deku and his friend pissed off Bakugou, but at the same time he felt warm inside. Something about this moment felt right to him, he was meant to meet all these people, they were put into his life for a reason. Deku? He was just the newest addition even if he hated to admit it. They were friends, sort of. But rather than the friendship he felt with anyone in his life, Deku made him want to be better. Bakugou felt so complacent after meeting Deku for some reason. Seeing him own his own successful business, have his own fanbase, but still be humble and kind. Bakugou felt like he needed to work harder before he could feel good about himself. And he was determined to get there even more now that Deku was in his life.

For better or worse.

The tattoo was finished faster than he thought, fully colored and swollen. He looked down at his hip where his new tattoo lived, and groaned. “You gave me that shitty green bunny mask? What even is it? Are you coming out as a furry?”

Deku blushed. “W-what? No! It’s like…” He hesitated, feeling embarrassed. “It’s a symbol that I adapted from this hero I liked as a kid from a comic.”

Bakugou squinted at the tattoo and realized what it was. “All Might.”

Deku looked at Bakugou in surprise. “You used to read his stories too?”

“Tch, of course. He was the best superhero and anyone who thinks otherwise is fucking dumb.”

The other five watched, all feeling different emotions, as they watched Deku try to have his first bonding moment with Bakugou and couldn’t help but share the same thought of how those two would become fast friends. Sure there would be lots of fighting, but there would never be a dull moment with them. They also knew Bakugou wouldn’t rest until he was able to tattoo something on Deku. Maybe that was a good thing, maybe it was bad. But no one could wait.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou fic #midoriya izuku #midoriya fic #deku #deku fic #bakudeku #kirishima eijiro #sero hanta #mina ashido #kaminari denki #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha fic #mha fic

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transvavsquad · 4 years ago

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the dark baby jordan thing, with ianite making the deal with the darkness. she assumes jonah is the one the darkness claimed because jordan is just so so bright (she doesn't think of what happens to the brightest stars until much later) she knows it's not fair, but in small ways she favors her lighter child, knowing the darkness is using her brother, and soon she'll be imprisoned,(when Jonah's dropped she thinks the darkness will finally claim its child, she doesn't realize.. 1/2)

she doesnt realize until much later that jonah wasn't the dark one, when jonah been steady in his light since birth and jordan just got brighter until he flickered and in one fell swoop her supernova became a black hole, and shes so angry with herself because she knows it's not fair to love a child more or less for things they can't control, and they can't control the light or dark within them, and she was the selfish one in the first place, condemning a child to the dark so she could have sons ok more than two asks, oops, and she knows it's u fair when she clings HARD to her lighter son when she feels his brother go dark, she knows it's not fair to jordan when he finally comes home, stained with darkness like ink and smoke and she cant help but be weary because the darkness is what got her imprisoned(but jordan is who saved you and she wants badly for that small voice to be louder than the one telling her her own son is something to be feared now) but wait, there's more, and now jordans gone dark and hes been gone for who knows how long from family that's only just reunited and now they both just seem. scared. upset. angry. dissapointed. and jordan, for all that has been claimed by his other parent, for all hes dark now, that last spark inside him is snuffed out like a candle in a storm and jordans gone before they can even start to work through it, before they can correct the mistake, before they can tell him that they still love him and poor, poor jordan, all alone in the dark, once blinded by faith and love and justice, now blinded by the darkness that took him in and claimed him and brought him home, he's so hurt and angry and the darkness gives him gifts, soothes him, trains him hard, the perfect champion, the perfect son, bringing back darkness to to the world, finally creating the balance he always strived for, even if he has to go up against everyone and everything he's ever known. alone. and, as we know, the only time you can see a black hole is while it destroys, the only time it can be seen is in the light of others, where its absence is glaring (and for all jordan has been trained, claimed, taught, he'll never be able to really hurt them, scare them maybe, but hurt them never. his brother, mother, friends new and old, he'll fight but when it comes down to it he can't kill when he knows they can't come back. who knows if they share the sentiment) and his friends, his family, well that's a coin toss ain't it? some might be willing to put him down, see it as a mercy on his dark and tattered soul, others wouldn't be able to do it without seeing the man that shone so bright before the fall, and others still, well whos to say all his trust was deserved. who's to say the darkness has to lie about everything? there's always a bad apple. and now, for my grand finale, I offer to you, jonah and jordan, a battle of light and dark while the other heros fight with the darkness's minions, the gods trying to deal with the darkness itself. (and maybe, maybe one falls, but not alone, you can't have dark without light, light without dark, if one goes the other must follow, and there's a reason the boys were twins, mirror images, every freckle, mole, and scar included. one gets a lucky hit, and they both fall. the battle ends) anyways thanks for coming to my dark baby jordan Ted talk

bro i don’t think i paid enough for this ted talk i think you need to cost more for attendance bc???? HOLY SHIT

#answering #Anonymous

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clairecrive · 5 years ago

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“Dear Alfie,”- Alfie Solomons fanfiction

Chapter 5 - “Alfie’s letter”

Finally, we read Alfie’s letter! I’ll admit that I was so scared bc we all know that Alfie has a very singular way of talking but I did my best and I hope you like this. Let me know what you think! I’m open to any suggestions regarding the story.

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye @mollybegger-blog @br0ck-eddie @shadow-of-wonder @fandom–0verdose @innerpaperexpertcloud @evelynshelby (let me know if you wanna be added)

Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5

Camden Town, London

April 22, 1904

Dear Clara,

there has never been a day where I’ve been more grateful for the bastard that invented ink and paper to have lived. As resolute as ever, my lovely mother has updated you of my wretched life. Not that I got up to much in prison but I should have seen it coming. Although I’m grateful that she’s taken the time to write to you, I would have actually preferred you to be in the dark about this. Not exactly a selling point for a gentleman to let the girl he’s courting know that he’s in prison. Who am I kidding, I’m no gentlemen. Unlike the ones that came to your house the other day, for sure.

They really sound like bloated wops and honestly, I’m still unsure about how you manage to stay in the same room as them for more than a second. I reckon there would be carnage if it ever happened to me. Hence why I went to prison. I’ll save you the gruesome details but I know that you’re a curious kitten and you’ll probably want to know what happened. So I’ll tell you. Even if in doing so I’m risking ever getting another letter from you. I’ll take that risk knowing that you’re worthy of the truth. No matter if I’ll be heartbroken, you should know who you’ve been corresponding with for the past month.

As you know, me and Sabini have never been the best of mates, no matter the appearance he’s trying to keep. Acting all right and just in front of my face and then going around and speak utterly bullshit about me and my people behind my back. Now, you may not know this about me, or you’ve already realized it anyhow, but I do not take kindly of racist, disrespectful and hypocrites people. Wops above anyone. So when a mate of mine comes to tell me that my “dear friend Darby” has been talking shit about us, I have to do something about it, you understand. So I go and confront him about it, right? And what does the fucker do? When put before the fact he has the audacity to laugh at my face. To fucking laugh at my face, claiming he was just joking. So I showed him how we joke about wops. It turns out that policemen were around and they didn’t think it was funny. Not really surprised, to be honest, those fuckers don’t have an ounce of sense of humour if you ask me.

It wasn’t too bad, to be honest. The only thing was how it affected my mum. And also you, it seems. Never understood how I got so lucky as to have two women worrying for me but I’m really sorry for making you worry. My mum has kind of made her peace with it but I know it may sound new and shocking to you. So for that, I apologize. If you ask me, all men are shit and absolutely undeserving for the attention and affection that women in their life provide them. Me and those fucktards you talked to me about are the living proof. Never thought you had it in you Clara, what a pleasant surprise. Turns out the noble girl isn’t so noble when she wants to. Have they kept coming to you? If that’s so, I’ve underestimated them. They’re far more stupid than I thought them to be but also far braver. Although I kind of understand why they can’t stay away from you. If I were they, I know I couldn’t be able to. Have you told your parents about your plans? Maybe you’ll have more luck looking for a suitor here. Just saying.

I’m writing this letter with the hope that it’ll bring you joy and peace to receive it and not disdain and shame when you’ve finished it. I’ll patiently wait for your next letter but I totally understand if you choose not to associate with me anymore. If that’s the case, I just want you to know that despite my initial apprehensions, I really enjoyed this correspondence of ours.

Forever yours,

Alfie

P.S. oh and by the way, your cousin was right. Your letters were the only source of entertainment and it brought with them sunlight and warmth.

Naples, Italy

May 23, 1904

Dear Alfie,

you can’t even imagine how delighted I was upon receiving your letter. How could you ever believe that I would be anything but happy? Of course, I’m not happy that you got thrown into prison but now you’re out and you’re certainly wiser for it, right? Jokes aside, I do not condone acts of violence, I’ve already told you that. However, I understand why you did it. Being a woman I’m constantly subject of racism and offensive behaviours. I’ve kinda made my peace with it but God only knows how many times I had to refrain from smacking some assholes’ face. So, see? Can’t really blame you.

Maybe seeing as you and I are alike in a sense, you’d never feel like you better hide something like this again. I thought that you, above anyone else, would never use the fact that I’m a woman against me. I know that the situation is less grave than what my words made it out to be but is a very small step to make. You know, even Plato, in V b.c., understood that the difference between men and women is cultural. At least that’s what Ms Alice has taught me the other day. I was utterly surprised to be honest, I had never thought about it that way. But if you think about it, it’ true. The only difference between my male siblings and me lies in what others tell me what I can do and what I cannot. There’s no one that has that same kind of conversation with my brothers or other siblings. Not that I know of at least. Do you reckon for it to be true? I’m sure that as a young Jewish man, many have told you that you can’t be somewhere or doing something, correct me if I’m wrong. So you see, we’re not very different, you and I.

Oh Alfie, just the fact that you’re saying these things proves to me that you’re worthy of every last bit of affection your mum gives you. And also some kind of special girl? We never really talk about it but please don’t feel like you can’t talk to me or anything. I’m not going to be jealous if that’s what worries you. I’m sure that there’s enough place in your heart for her and my, your dear friend. Am I wrong? As for the blokes of whom I’ve talked to you about in my last letter, yes they have kept coming. Just less often. I’ve recently met them at a party a common acquaintance held and you know what I’ve noticed? Whenever I was in the same group of people, they would avoid speaking of any serious subject. Honestly, it was quite amusing to see how they would shift on their feet whenever they would see me approaching and I should think that they should learn a lesson from this: to never speak like they possess all the knowledge. Never understood how anyone can be so pretentious as to feel like they do.

As for the other matter, I haven’t talked about it to my parents. Not yet. And as a result, they haven’t stopped looking for a suitor. However, I’ve mentioned to them my desire for travelling, especially in England, and that Ms Alice is happy to be my mentor and my chaperone. They also know that I’ve been keeping correspondence with someone from England but I thought it best to leave out the part that you’re a man. Please don’t take it personally Alfie, it has nothing to do with you but rather with the fact that they wouldn’t allow me to write back if they knew. They’re all so very concerned with etiquette and how someone is expected to behave that they would think this is inappropriate. As with many things, I totally disagree with my parents on this. But knowing them, I thought what I had to so that this thing we have can continue. I’ve kinda grown attached to you.

So how was it like, going back home? Has your mother cooked you your favourite food? Has there been some kind of special activities for your return? I love when you tell me more about your days, it really feels like I’m there with you.

I’m happy that my letters, with my frivolous banter, have helped you through that difficult time. I hope there never comes a time where you stop writing back because you can’t be bothered too.

I’ll wait for your next letter with the usual trepidation and anticipation.

Yours,

Clarissa

P.s. was that a promise or a suggestion?

#dear alfie #alfie solomons #alfie solomons au #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fanfiction #letters #epistolary novel #early 1900s #london #italy #peaky blinders au #peaky blinders fanfiction

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tsaritsa · 6 years ago

Text

the end is the same (for everyone)

hi guys. here’s the 6k fic i wrote for day 1 of royai week. i incorporated all 3 themes bc i’m that Hoe

warnings: allusions to child trafficking (but it has a happy ending)

“He knew we were on a lead! But sure, let’s just drag us out of that because of some third-rate mobster-”

“Brother-”

It was late afternoon at Central Headquarters, with the sun lazily hovering in the sky, drenching the Western Wing in deep hues of orange and pink. The majority of the administration personnel had already turned in for the day; instead leaving the night staff flitting around the building like moths around a candle. Edward had only been inside Central Command a few times in the short years since he became a State Alchemist, but it still gave him pause when he considered just how vast the place was.

They certainly weren’t in Resembool anymore.

He threw up his hands in frustration as they rounded the corner and opened the door to the office they’d been given direction to. “Al, he knew! Next time he asks for my help-”

“I can’t think of a time when I’d be asking for your help Fullmetal, but I certainly wouldn’t be complaining about it as much as you are,” Mustang answered smoothly, standing up from the desk he had been hunched over, ink stains all over his hands. “You have been ordered to join this mission and you will perform your duties as such.” He turned to Lieutenant Hawkeye, who Edward realised wasn’t in the familiar navy of the military uniform – none of the occupants in the room were, actually. Blues had been replaced with blacks, uniforms with formal suits, and for the Lieutenant – a slinky black number that was practically dripping in what he could only assume were diamonds. It almost looked like armour, with the way the fabric was sewn, and how the gems laid on top of on another, interlocking in a complex pattern.

Mustang cocked his head to the side as he considered the Lieutenant. “Do you need more diamonds?”

Hawkeye hummed and stretched her arm out to inspect her shoulder better – the diamonds glinted and dazzled with every movement. “I think we should be fine now, sir. Anything more and I wouldn’t be surprised if Bobby suspected we were there for him.” She turned to face the brothers properly, an expectant look on her face. “You have received the dossier we sent to Eastern Headquarters, correct?”

Edward and Alphonse nodded.

She gestured to the couch, accepting the file the Colonel handed her. “Then tell me your role. This operation has to go smoothly, and the last thing we want is for you to get caught in the crossfire if something goes wrong.” Hawkeye settled herself neatly by the low table, adjusting her dress as she knelt down. It was a far cry from how he had seen her before – Lieutenant Hawkeye wasn’t someone Edward would personally call scary…but her no-nonsense attitude left Edward with the impression that she didn’t have the time to suffer fools. How Mustang made himself an exception to that rule was a mystery.

“We’re acting as decoys, right?”

The Lieutenant nodded. “Us two, as well as Colonel Mustang will be acting as a lure for Bobby Carlsberg. The event we’re attending tonight is a charity function that’s actually a front for a black market auction. The man has done far worse than peddling illegal goods on the side, but we need to arrest him with an actual crime to ensure we can make all the other charges stick.”

“What has he done?” Alphonse asked.

Hawkeye’s lips thinned. “It doesn’t need to be repeated,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “In any case I’m sure more will be uncovered once we have jurisdiction over his financial records and can do a through sweep of his townhouse apartment. But those aren’t details necessary for tonight. What I need from the two of you is absolute compliance with any orders I give, or that the Colonel gives tonight. This isn’t an operation where you can just fight your way out-”

Edward scoffed. “We’re not that bad-”

“Tell that to the expense reports the Lieutenant is continually filling out on your behalf,” Mustang said pointedly from one of the desks, not looking up from his work. “I’m not in the mood for a tantrum tonight, Fullmetal. This is our only chance to get this guy and I will not have you screwing it up for me.”

“Please, Edward. We know you and Alphonse are capable – but in this instance you’re simply playing the role of a child.” Hawkeye’s tone was less acerbic, but no less insistent. “Working as a team is the best way to catch this man.”

Edward crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why aren’t we including Al in this? If it came to blows, then-”

“Alphonse is a civilian. We are not endangering his life when there are plenty of soldiers to spare first.” Mustang pushed himself away from his desk, passing the Lieutenant a small bracelet that glinted in the office light similarly to the gemstones attached to her dress. “Is that too gaudy for Mrs Phillips?”

Hawkeye shook her head, a small smile curling up her lips. “Such a shame you won’t let me keep these diamonds – I could afford to rent a better apartment if you kept me supplied. I doubt the lapidists would notice you transmuted them.”

“Knowing you, you’d only adopt more dogs. The economy would crumble overnight as you bought out every breeder in the country.” Mustang’s tone was teasing, and this annoyed Edward for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

“I thought State Alchemists weren’t meant to use their abilities to create personal wealth.” The words were careless and thrown out, and he knew he had overstepped as soon as he had uttered them.

Mustang’s jaw tensed, and he knelt down next to the Lieutenant as she extended her wrist towards him. He was quiet for a moment as his fingers worked over the catchments. “And I thought you had been told before that I won’t have any backtalking when we have a job to do. We ordered you here because you are beholden to, and I will use any advantage in my arsenal to ensure this operation goes smoothly. If you do not follow my orders tonight, you will be court-martialled Fullmetal.” His hands dropped from the Lieutenant’s wrist and he looked squarely at Edward, eyes hard. “Do I make myself clear?”

Edward sunk further into the couch. “Yes sir,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that-”

“Yes, sir,” he said louder, irritation as clear as a bell. Mustang’s eyebrow lifted slightly, before he sighed.

“Lieutenant, I can trust you to get Fullmetal ready?”

Hawkeye nodded shortly, watching as the Colonel strode away towards where Havoc was preparing some handguns, hands shoved deeply into his pocket. “I wouldn’t try my luck if I were you,” she admonished, standing up and dusting off her knees. “There’s a lot riding on tonight.”

“But-”

Hawkeye shook her head, signalling him to follow her. “We’ll be back in a moment, Alphonse,” she said, opening the door and waiting for Edward to pass through.

He kept quiet as he followed her down the hallway. It was…strange seeing her out of her uniform, truth be told. The idea of her having a life that existed outside of the military – one that didn’t revolve around tailing Mustang – still seemed like a foreign concept, like those old adventure movies with the fantastical creatures that he and Al would watch when Mr Smith brought his projection box to Resembool.

The Lieutenant stopped before a door, and unlocked it, glancing down the hallway as she did so. Inside was what Edward could only describe as a costume closet and he found himself wedged between boxes marked ‘shoes’ and a rack of black suits. Hawkeye ran her hand over the selection, her tongue poking out as she peered at tags. “I guess you could always do some alterations if the pants don’t fit well,” she said, selecting one of the coat hangers and holding it at length. She passed the suit to Edward before stretching up onto the balls of her feet – as her arms lifted to pull back a box on the highest shelving level, he noticed the shoes she was wearing. The dark fabric of her dress had hidden them before but now, even in the dusty yellow light of the supply-closet-cum-undercover-outfit-storage, the diamond embellishing covering the nude satin of the heel glinted and sparkled.

“The Colonel really goes all-out for this stuff, doesn’t he?”

Hawkeye nodded as she rifled through the box. “It takes a bit of time – I spent most of the afternoon with him sewing all these diamonds on – but we’re mingling with the highest that society has to offer in Central and they’re very good at sniffing out those who don’t belong.”

Edward frowned. “Why not use alchemy? I do it with my coat all the time.”

Hawkeye laughed – a proper one, that caused her lips to stretch widely across her face. “The Colonel is very talented when it comes to alchemy, but we agreed it would be easier to simply do it by hand, rather than risk ruining the dress if he calculated a part of the transmutation incorrectly.” She handed him a tie – a deep burgundy one with flecks of gold thread woven in the silk – and pushed the box back into its place.

He adjusted the suit and tie in his arms as she shifted next to him, peering into one of the boxes labelled ‘shoes’. “I didn’t realise the Colonel could sew.”

“How did you think he managed with his gloves otherwise? I taught him the basic skills when we were younger-” she abruptly paused, hands hovering over another box before she sighed. “It goes without saying, Edward,” the Lieutenant said quietly, voice barely carrying over the hum of the heating pipes overhead, “but in the same way that we carry you and your brother’s secret – you will carry ours as well. Is that understood?”

Edward nodded quickly. There was no mistaking the ‘we’ – both on the level of the inner team themselves, undoubtedly entertaining his brother with jokes while they waited for the two of them to return; but also, the deeper meaning. It wasn’t hard to catch wind of the rumours, not certainly when he was still seen by most of Eastern Command to be something of an oddity and not truly considered part of the Colonel’s men. The most salacious ones were whispered in the mess hall with an air of incredulity and exaggeration – but there were little comments thrown his way, ones that he sometimes didn’t understand and sometimes wished he didn’t. He might’ve only been fourteen, but Edward wasn’t that unobservant.

The two of them reminded him a bit of binary stars – the theorised phenomena where the gravitational push of each affected the other in a constant, ever-shifting dance. It was easy enough to argue that was simply a result of the Lieutenant’s skill as a bodyguard, but even in the environment of his office, where danger was supposedly at its lowest, the two of them still shifted and adjusted, seemingly unaware of their actions. A shared history made a lot of sense, he supposed, accepting the shoes she passed him, still deep in thought. But it also raised questions of just how long they had known one another, and he had remembered the Colonel making a comment about the trials of trying to flirt with girls when he was a teenager and learning alchemy at the same time –

Yes, perhaps there were secrets better left untouched. Mustang’s alchemy was legendary with good reason, and men had killed for less.

He blinked rapidly as Hawkeye rested her hand on his shoulder, head cocked to the side in concern. “Are you okay?”

Edward nodded. “Yeah. Where do you want me to get dressed?” He followed her out of the small closet and waited as she locked the door.

“There’s a bathroom just around the corner. Come back to the office when you’re done.”

He shuffled into the office twenty minutes later, the tips of his ears burning with shame. The pants had been fine – one quick transmutation later and the fabric no longer bunched embarrassingly at his ankles. But the tie – the bloody tie! It wasn’t something he had ever learned how to do – there were no fancy school uniforms when he and Al were kids, and even if he did wear a military uniform, the need was only if you were a cadet. The fabric was crumpled tightly in his automail hand as he shut the door as quietly as he could manage, not wanting to attract any attention towards himself, but it was too late: as if on cue, everyone in the office turned their heads towards him expectantly.

Second Lieutenant Havoc grinned at him brightly from where he sat, his hands full of ammunition clips. “Looking good Chief!”

Mustang looked up from the desk he sat at. “Havoc’s right – you don’t scrub up too badly at all, Fullmetal. But where’s the tie?”

Edward sullenly held up the offending fabric. “I’ve never had to do one of these before.”

A small smile pulled at the older man’s lips – one that Edward was surprised to recognise not as unkind, but sympathetic. “Lieutenant, can you-”

“You know how to tie a tie better than I do, sir,” Hawkeye answered, in a manner that Edward felt was a bit more pointed than it necessarily needed to be, not looking up from a clipboard Sergeant Fuery had given her. “And I daresay you know more than just the Windsor knot.”

Mustang nodded, chastened. He beckoned Edward over, pushing himself away from the desk, which he realised was covered in blueprints and diagrams as he neared. Exits had been circled in thick red marker, with the Colonel’s familiar handwriting spread across the paper, scratched out furiously in places.

“I couldn’t do my own tie for the longest time either,” Mustang told him, flicking up the collar of his shirt and smoothing down the fabric of the tie to lie flush to his shoulders. Edward shifted awkwardly at the contact but said nothing. “My mother had to tie them all for me and then I just loosened them enough to get them over my head. But it’s bad form for the fabric to be twisted continuously.” His hands were sure and methodical as he worked the fabric. “Let me know if it’s too tight for you – can’t have you fainting in the middle of all this.”

“I thought a black tie dress code meant a black tie.”

Mustang nodded. “True. But you’re a child, and children are allowed to break the stupid rules that adults make up. It’s also so my men can identify you quickly in case of emergency.”

Edward snorted. “Would’ve thought you’d be basing that on my height-”

The knot was pulled up against his throat firmly, but not uncomfortably as Mustang drew back to admire his handiwork. “No, that would be unprofessional, Fullmetal, and I don’t have time for mucking around tonight.” He smoothed the collar back down and dusted the tops of his shoulders quickly. “And now you’re all set. We’re moving out in ten, so keep close by.” He tossed some white gloves his way, and Edward caught them easily.

“What’s wrong with my gloves?”

Mustang gave him a sceptical look, sitting back down. “Mine aren’t stained with oil.”

Jerk. Edward turned on his heel, and walked to where Al was perched, hilariously oversized on a chair that somebody had brought him. He rested his bare hand on his brother’s head, absorbing in the cool steel. “You’ll be okay without me?”

Alphonse nodded energetically, armour clinking. “Yeah! Mr Fuery is going to be in the building over handling all the communication, so I’ll be hanging out with him. It won’t be as fun as what you’re doing though.”

Edward laughed, rubbing the helmet. “At least you’ll be safe if things go sideways tonight.”

Alphonse scoffed. “If you’re going to be there, something is going to go wrong, brother.”

He flicked the top of Alphonse’s head, wincing as pain bloomed briefly across his finger. “I don’t think the Colonel has left any space in the plan for me to muck up. Anyway, you should have more faith in me! I’ve been in plenty of situations where things could’ve gone badly but didn’t.”

“Only because things were already bad enough by the time you came onto the scene,” Alphonse muttered.

Edward opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the door to the office opening once more.

“ROY!”

“Hughes,” Mustang replied in a bored fashion, standing up. “Everybody’s ready on your end?”

Hughes nodded, winking at the boys as he crossed the room. “We’re good to go on your order. Team Arthur and Bruno are already in position.” He turned to Hawkeye and placed a hand dramatically over his heart.

“First Lieutenant, I’m sure Roy has already told you numerous times how wonderful you look tonight, but truly, you will outshine every guest there.”

Hawkeye tucked some hair behind her ear. “I hope you don’t mean that literally, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. The plan rides on our ability to identify our target.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “Right, right, we have a job to do, and there’s no time for dad jokes – by the way, have you seen the latest-”

“Later, Hughes.”

The subsequent briefing had been quick and to-the-point: they couldn’t arrest Bobby until after lot number two-hundred and fifty-two, and the little radio headsets that Fuery had kitted them out with would only work within a certain range in the building – if they strayed too far from the main floor they’d run the risk of losing the signal and his team would be unable to forewarn them of any issues. The earpiece felt uncomfortable in his ear but there was no point – nor time – to complain. Within minutes he was being escorted into a flash-looking car and sitting opposite the Colonel and Lieutenant.

“I still don’t understand why you needed me on this mission.”

“Bobby has a thing for blonds,” Mustang replied darkly after a beat and Hawkeye sent him a furious look.

“We weren’t going to tell him-”

“He’s going to find out anyway Lieutenant-”

Edward frowned. “I don’t get it. Lieutenant Hawkeye is blonde, so-” Realisation dawned on him and he felt the contents of his lunch churn dangerously in his stomach. “I see.”

Hawkeye was staring daggers at her superior officer, who in turn was watching the city lights flicker by as they made their way down West Avenue. “It is insulting that you don’t think me capable, sir.” The title was thrown out bitterly, and Edward shrank back into his seat as best he could. This was a conversation he had no wish to be involved with.

“You’re more capable than any other person in the military, dear,” the Colonel answered finally, as the car slowed down in front of the glittering Heritage Hotel, “but we have a job to do and I need my wife-” he stressed the word as Havoc opened the door for him, “to be supporting me as best I can tonight.”

The Lieutenant stared at him, stony-faced as he offered her a gloved hand. “Of course, sweetheart,” she responded, a practiced smile forming on her face. “Come along, son,” she said to Edward as she accepted Mustang’s hand. “We have an auction to attend.”

Two hours into the evening and Edward was near ready to tear his hair out in frustration: auctions were the most boring thing he had ever attended in his life, and he had been subjected to some frankly inane military ceremonies before. Lieutenant Hawkeye stood out in the crowd in her bejewelled dress, but not by far – Edward was sure he had seen the entire wealth of his hometown on many a neck tonight. The numbers being tossed towards the auctioneer were absurd too – but he had long given up on his game of calculating just how much money was being transferred, instead busying himself with arranging his string beans by various qualities; first by length, then by shade, then –

“Bobby en route.” Fuery’s voice crackled in his ear and Edward felt himself stiffen despite the fact that he needed to appear as uncaring as possible. The Lieutenant had sat up straighter as well, though she masked it well by leaning to whisper something in the Colonel’s ear, who smiled after a few moments. The two of them seemed completely at ease in the roles of new money banker and ditzy socialite wife – it didn’t quite make sense to Edward why nobody was questioning his presence there: he hadn’t seen anyone near his age and he’d spent a good portion of the night people-watching from the second floor while his superiors blended in with the dancing couples below. He had noticed Bobby skulking at the edges of the dancefloor and had made a mental note to keep his distance while he wasn’t within shouting distance of either of his ‘parents’. Alphonse was right: he did have a unlucky habit of trouble finding him, and the fight that he had witnessed in the drive over put to rest any ideas of sorting the problem by himself. Trouble was sure to find him tonight, in the form of a man who boring name belied the monster within, and Edward was more than happy to delay the inevitable for as long as he could manage.

Bobby Carlsberg was a thin man with thinning hair and an even thinner moustache that only served to make the man look as sketchy as his report indicted him to be. There was an oily, slippery aspect to him too: and when he spoke Edward felt the revulsion slide down his spine unpleasantly.

“I must say sir, I have been admiring your wife all night and I’ve only just gathered up the courage to come say that.”

Everything about the man screamed sleaze and dishonesty – Edward shifted in his chair, adjusting the way he rested his head on the back of the chair so Bobby would be obscured by his fringe. The less he had to see him, the better.

Hawkeye’s laugh was airy and almost as disturbing as the man who stood before them. The auctioneer droned on in the background – some dusty old vase depicting a field of wheat was being frantically bid between two old men who looked to both have one foot in the grave already.

“You’re far too kind sir! Victor told me I had been turning heads, but I was terrified it was for the wrong reasons!”

Oh. That was why the dress had been sewn with what looked like a million diamonds – it wasn’t as a method of blending in with the society here – but to be seen, even amongst a dense crowd. For him to be seen.

“Nonsense! Your husband has an excellent eye for the latest fashion. Bobby extended his hand, and ‘Victor’ rose to shake it, a charming smile on his face. “You’re a very lucky man. The name is Bobby Carlsberg.”

“Victor Phillips. And yes, I am lucky. More than I will ever know,” Mustang said proudly, glancing back at his ‘wife’, his eyes passing over Edward as he did so. A warning. He sat up a little straighter and fiddled with his beans.

“Can I ask what interests you in this auction tonight, Victor?”

Mustang signalled a server to being them another chair and placed an order for some whiskey. “Well,” he began, casting the most obvious furtive look Edward had ever seen before leaning in closer to Bobby. “There have been a lot of very interesting auctions, but one has really caught my eye. Do you know about number two-hundred and fifty-two? I hear there’s a surprise included by request of the seller. I have a hunch I know what it is, but I’m dying to find out.”

Bobby’s eyebrows shot up. “A surprise?” His gaze slid to Edward, who grinned as toothily as he could manage before shoving all thirty-two string beans into his mouth.

“Alexander!” Hawkeye’s voice was playful as she leaned over the table to bat at his arm, but there was an undercurrent of sharpness woven into his ‘name’. “Don’t make me send you back to etiquette class.”

Victor laughed loudly. “Ah, boys will be boys, my fair-faced friend! As soon as a girl as pretty as you comes along he’ll change his tune.”

“Nobody will ever compare to my sweet Violet,” Mustang replied, his eyes glittering as he took the Lieutenant’s hand and kissed the ring on her finger. She smiled benevolently, before rising from her seat and leaning close to kiss the Colonel on his cheek.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart,” she said softly, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “But I must dash for a moment.”

They watched her leave, and Roy waited until she had passed through the ornate stained-glass doors before leaning in conspiratorially. “I have an inking the surprise in two-hundred and fifty-two might kick my wife down to second place.” It was incredible how well Roy could change the tone of his voice to mimic that of Bobby’s. The other man’s eyes were wide, glancing quickly between him and Edward.

“Do you mean-”

Mustang tapped the side of his nose, smirking. “I thought you might be a kindred spirit because you were one of the few who hasn’t bid on anything yet. I fear I’m not well-versed in the language here in Central but-”

“Not to worry my good man,” Bobby responded easily, his body relaxing as he accepted the whiskies from the server, passing one to Mustang with a lecherous grin. “We’re a little more refined than other places but I assure you the sights are even more pleasant than you could possibly imagine.”

It took everything in Edward’s willpower not to vomit his dinner as auction number two-hundred and fifty-two took to the stage. It was a necklace – even more ornate than the one the Lieutenant was wearing. Hawkeye flipped through her programme and gasped audibly as the auction house employs set up on stage.

“Oh – ! Victor! You must get that necklace for me. Bethany will go positively green with envy at Monica’s garden party next month!”

Mustang and Bobby shared a knowing smile. “Of course dear. But our good friend Bobby here also wishes to buy the necklace for his wife. We may be out of our depth, love.”

‘Violet’ pouted. “I guess we’ll have to see,” she said, disappointed. Her hands rested in her lap, fiddling with her fingernails. The tension was palpable as the auctioneer stood behind the podium and cleared his throat.

“Tonight, our last piece up for auction is the priceless Louiban set – a dazzling necklace that can be taken apart to make three more stunning necklaces. Ladies, this is a piece that only comes up for auction every blue moon, and it’s unlikely to be sold again for another sixty years. Can I get the bidding started at thirty million cenz?”

Edward choked on the water he was drinking, and the Lieutenant shot him a sharp look. Her entire posture had changed in a single moment; no longer was she a vapid socialite, but the woman he knew as the ‘Hawk’s Eye’ – and with good reason too. Other servers had slowly put down their trays – Team Arthur and Bruno were preparing too for what had every possibility of becoming a bloodbath.

A literal one.

Bobby looked back at Edward, before winking deliberately and he raised his hand. “Sixty million!” he called out in his oily voice.

What happened next was utter chaos.

The Lieutenant leapt across the table to pin Bobby down; Edward felt his chair being pulled back violently by some unknown force and then a pair of strong hands grab onto his upper arms. Shots rang out and they echoed loudly in the ballroom; there was a second of silence while everyone looked for the source of the original commotion, and then screams erupted as the high society of Central began to scramble for their nearest exit. Edward briefly caught sight of the Lieutenant wrestling with Bobby on the ground, a gun flung out of her reach while Mustang was dealing with his own mystery assailant.

Edward realised very quickly that the person dragging him away was not from Team Arthur or Bruno – and he roared as he clapped his hands together before slamming his palm onto this automail forearm as best he could manage. The scream behind him told him his aim had been true, and he fought off off the other arm that went to wrap around his neck.

He didn’t recognise the man who fell back to the ground, clutching at his shoulder that was bleeding profusely, but decided that it wouldn’t be a good idea to let him escape. The sound of his automail arm shattering the man’s jaw was immensely satisfying. Dimly, he could hear Fuery’s voice yelling frantically in his ear about something –

More shots rang out across the ballroom and Edward whipped his head to the front of the stage, breaking into a run. The crowd was thinning now, and he could see Mustang running towards the front of the ballroom too. It was probably only a matter of seconds before he caught sight of Hawkeye, standing over the twitching figure of Bobby Carlsberg with a gun firmly aimed at his head. Her dress had ripped: a thousand diamond crystals were scattered around the two of them, sparkling in the growing pool of blood despite the wound Bobby was desperately trying to staunch.

“Get the medics here, sir,” she said firmly, shrugging off the hand that tried to lower her gun. “We’re not risking him dying out on this floor so his operation keeps going.”

Mustang sighed and nodded, turning towards one of the approaching undercover servers. He looked pale – almost as pale as Bobby, who was busy swearing black and blue that he’d get her for this, the cocksucker –

Edward stood next to her, and she shook her head, gaze and gun still firmly aimed at Bobby. “You don’t need to see this,” she told him firmly. “Havoc and Breda will be here in a moment to escort you out-”

“But-”

“That is an order, Fullmetal,” she said tightly. “Go.”

A warm hand clapped on his back. “We’ll be alright here Edward,” Roy’s voice came from his right, his hand steering him away from the situation before him. “Simon here is going to deliver you to where Sergeant Fuery is. He’ll bring you back to Headquarters after you’ve been checked over.”

“The Lieutenant-”

“She’ll be fine.” The Colonel’s tone was worryingly hesitant. “We’ll see you back for the debriefing soon.”

Said debriefing took a lot longer than the briefing had: Edward was sure he had started to doze off towards the end as leaders from Team Arthur and Bruno recounted their version of events for the record. As far as he could tell, the operation had gone as smoothly as could be expected: Bobby, most importantly, had been captured alive, and so had a number of his associates. The child who was to be sold off had also been successfully located in a separate sting that happened elsewhere at the same time.

Edward recounted his own version of events quickly: “Some guy tried to pull me away but I stabbed him and then punched him to make sure he didn’t run off.” Hughes sat next to him on the couch, writing away furiously in a notebook. After what felt like hours, he closed it and stretched his hand.

“The rest can happen tomorrow. The details are all accounted for,” he told Mustang. “Your job is done, and Central Headquarters thanks you for your service.”

Mustang nodded and waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. “Everybody get some rest tonight,” he called out as they began to shuffle out of the office. Edward blearily opened his eyes – when had he shut them? – and spied the Lieutenant sitting opposite him, curled up with a dinner jacket resting loosely on her shoulders.

“You did some quick thinking tonight,” she told him, pride evident in her voice. “I’m sorry it came to that.”

Edward shrugged. “We caught the bad guy,” he said simply.

“Hardly a good reason,” Hawkeye replied, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. He could see the need for the jacket now – in the fight with Bobby, a whole section of the dress had torn down the side. Diamonds were hanging on by mere threads, and Edward quickly ducked his head when he realised he could see the skin stretching over her ribcage, already marred with dark purple bruises. She nodded at Hughes, before wrapping the jacket tighter around herself, and slipped into Mustang’s office.

Edward let himself doze once more and was dimly aware of a blanket being draped over him.

Later, he woke to the smell of takeaways and low chatter and got himself a plate, sitting next to his brother and hearing his versions of events. From what he gathered, it had been very boring with Sergeant Fuery for Alphonse; it was only within the last five minutes before all hell broke loose that he could pick up on anything exciting.

However, there had been a friendly stray in the alleyway behind their building and so Alphonse had spent most of his time playing games with the cat and talking to the soldiers positioned there. Edward let himself drift off while Alphonse continued to talk, watching the remaining soldiers talk in low tones to each other over heaping piles of chips and fried rice. It struck him as strange that he hadn’t seen neither the Colonel or the Lieutenant since the food had arrived – glancing towards the door that led to the inner office, Edward made up his mind to let them know, if nobody else was going to. Almost everyone had gone home by this stage; the outer office was nearly empty as he walked towards the door that was left slightly ajar.

In hindsight, that should’ve been his first warning.

His hand was raised ready to knock as he pushed on the door – the heavy wood gave way under the pressure of his hand slowly, and Edward paused as he took in the scene before him.

The light was low in the office, as the two of them sat on top of the desk, looking out over the parade grounds. Hawkeye had discarded the jacket – which Edward realised was Mustang’s dinner jacket and was resting her head on his shoulder. In the dim light, he could almost make out their hands intertwined as they spoke to one another in low tones.

It was hard to look away, and even harder when Mustang turned and pressed a soft kiss onto her bare shoulder.

A hand reached out from behind Edward and pulled back the oak door. He twisted jerkily, so tired at this point he didn’t have the energy to cry out in surprise.

Hughes raised his eyebrows deliberately as he shut the door with a definitive click. “Not now, kid,” he said quietly, guiding Edward back towards where the remaining men were, dealing out cards and promising to go easy on Alphonse. “That’s a story for another time.”

#royaiweek18 #royai #fullmetal alchemist #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #edward elric #alphonse elric #my fanfic #this just....kept growing #title taken from 6 billion by nothing but thieves #i hope u enjoy!!!!

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