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minor-solemnity · 4 years ago

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Curiosity pt. 3

Marie’s footsteps fade and then it’s just the two of you. Immediately, Riddle’s concerned expression clears and he watches you with an annoyingly satisfied smirk lacing his annoyingly pretty features. “Well, this is interesting,” He says and you have to force yourself not to grimace. He must see something in your expression anyway because his smirk grows wider. “Turn out your pockets.”

“Just once more - explain to me exactly what it is that we’re attempting to do?” Maries asks from where she’s lounging against a statue opposite Mr Larkins office. You tilt your head to glare at her and studiously ignore her huff of laughter as you return your attention to the task at hand.

The task at hand being trying (and so far, failing) to break into Mr Larkins office. You’re kneeling on the floor outside the door, tapping the wood with your wand in a methodical order. You’re not exactly sure what protection charms he’s put in place but whatever he’s done, it’s solid work. “As it’s clearly eluded you, we’re trying to get into Larkins office. And you didn’t have to come, Marie. You could have just stayed in the dorm and caught up on your charms homework.”

“Oh, you’re right I could have done that, but this is so much more interesting.” She counters, “Or it would be if you could get into his office. I thought you said you’ve done this before.” You let out a short growl of frustration and she laughs again. The door to the office remains firmly locked. “But okay, we’re trying to break into the Quidditch teacher’s office. Care to share, why? I know you hate quidditch, but this seems a little extreme, doesn’t it?”

“I have. He’s changed the wards. Paranoid bastard.” Though really, can he be called paranoid if he was correct in his assumption that someone would try and break in? You sigh and rest your head against the wooden door, trying to calm down and temper your frustration. Wardbreaking is mostly concentration and patience and you know that getting angry will only increase the time it took to get the door open. “We’re breaking in because Larkins hasn’t been completely honest about what he gets up to in his spare time.” You say, at last, deciding that it's best to keep things as vague as possible.

You love Marie dearly, and you don’t want her to get into trouble just because you can’t let things go. If someone catches you, you’re going to be in so much trouble. Breaking curfew is one thing, breaking curfew to rummage around in a teacher’s desk is something else entirely.

In response, she hums, clearly dissatisfied with your evasion but unwilling to call you out on it just yet. “Have you tried a hairpin?” She asks suddenly. You blink and turn to stare at her, your forehead creasing in confusion. At your expression, Marie rolls her eyes and her hands reach to pat at her hair for a second before she pulls two hairpins from her braid. “Move.” She mutters and flaps her hands at you until you scoot out of her way. She fiddles with the lock for a minute or two and you keep a careful watch on the corridor, not that it would make much difference if a Prefect or Professor were to arrive. Distantly, you hear a click and Marie turns to you with a broad grin, “I swear to god, sometimes you just need to do things the old fashioned way, honestly.”

Mr Larkins office is just as you remembered it being. There are a bunch of quidditch posters pasted on the walls, spare brooms and quaffles stacked haphazardly in the corner, and his desk is overflowing with lesson plans, match timetables and diagrams of different flying manoeuvres. Marie looks around with vague curiosity and settles down against the door. At your questioning look she rolls her eyes, “Well, seeing as you seem intent on keeping your best friend in the dark about what you’re up to, I hardly see how I’m going to be much help.” Which… fair enough, honestly. You have no intention of sharing more than you have to.

You give the room a quick once over before turning your attention to the desk. Unlike the door, the first drawer you try opens with ease. “Arrogant idiot,” You murmur as you rifle through the documents you find. There are few articles about the new League rules but nothing of interest. The next two drawers reveal much the same and you feel the frustration returning as you pull open the last drawer left. Inside is a thick folder and you feel your heart sing with triumph. “This is it,” You whisper as you thumb through the file with increasing anticipation. “Geminio,” You murmur tapping the folder with the tip of your wand and stuffing the replica version back in the draw. Next, you transfigure the original folder into a quill and turn to Marie. “Right, let’s get out of here.”

“You know, I am always going to be jealous of your Transfiguration skills,” She says, gesturing to the quill that you’re tucking into the inside pocket of your robes.

You roll your eyes and move to open the door, “Don’t be ridiculous, Transfiguration and Charms are all I have going for me.” And it’s true, Transfiguration and Charms aside, your grades are severely lacking. You had, at one point hoped to go into Cursebreaking, but that was before you’d found out that you need Os in Defence and Potions for that, as well as a penis. You scowl thinking about the injustice of being denied your chosen career path just because of your gender and are so deep in thought that you almost don’t hear Marie’s hiss of surprise as you leave Larkins’ office.

Lounging against the same statue that Marie had been just a half-hour previously, is Tom Riddle. He raises an eyebrow as you and Marie stare at him. Dread trickles down your spine at his expression. To anyone else watching the scene unfold, Riddle looks like a prefect who is incredibly disappointed to find students stumbling out of a teacher’s office past curfew, but you don’t miss the slight curl of his upper lip or the flash of satisfaction in his eyes. Slowly, as though he hasn’t a care in the world, he pushes himself off of the statue and brings himself up to his full height. He’s at least half a foot taller than you and you find yourself once again having to tilt your head back to see his face. Besides you, Marie stands, eyes downcast, hands trembling slightly.

“I do hope you have a good reason for this. Breaking into a professor’s office after curfew could well be grounds for expulsion.” He murmurs and despite the lowness pitch of his voice, it rings out clearly in the quiet of the corridor. Marie makes a sound in the back of her throat that could be a whimper. Riddle’s gaze slides towards her and his expression changes briefly. You think he might be refraining from rolling his eyes. “As it stands, I would hate to have that on my conscience, we are so close to graduating, after all. And Miss Dawkins, you are a muggleborn, are you not? I imagine it would be difficult for you to find work if you were to leave Hogwarts without your NEWTs.” Marie goes completely still.

Panic flares white-hot in your chest at his words. What Riddle is saying is completely true; it would be difficult for either of you to truly succeed in the wizarding world but you’d probably be okay… You’re half-blood and your family affords you some cushioning, but Marie… Marie would not do well. “Riddle, you can’t,” You say and hate the pleading edge to your words. This would be your fault. Marie wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your inability to leave things alone… Well no, you had told her not to come and she had insisted but regardless, you were the one who wanted that folder and she would be the one to suffer should the worse come to pass.

Riddle shakes his head and sighs. “And I have no intention to, but I will have to dock points. And you both have detention for the rest of the term.” Marie breathes out a deep sigh of relief. “Miss Dawkins, go back to your dorms now.” His tone brooks no argument and after a brief pause, Marie nods and turns to leave, but not before thanking Riddle for his kindness and understanding. “No need to thank me, Miss Dawkins, just please, no more sneaking around after dark.”

You do so, revealing a couple of hair ties, your wand, your fucking history essay of all things, and the quill. He frowns and you smile sweetly at him, silently pleased with his frustration. He turns to look at you and you almost want to shrink away from the intensity in his eyes. “What did you find in the office?” He asks and any amusement in his voice has faded, replaced by a hardness that promises consequences should you lie.

“Nothing.” You snap and thank Merlin your voice doesn’t shake. “There wasn’t anything in there. If there had been, obviously I would have taken it.” You can tell immediately that he doesn’t believe you. His eyes search yours which such scrutiny that this time you do look away, staring at the statue behind him determinedly.

“You’re lying. I don’t appreciate being lied to,” He pauses and some emotion that you don’t have time to decipher flickers across his face before it’s snuffed out and the collected facade that he usually wears is back in place. It’s sort of fascinating watching him school his emotions with such skill and control. The next time he speaks, there’s no anger or frustration to be heard in his voice. “Why are you so interested in Mr Larkins office? And please, don’t forget the situation you’ve found yourself in.” The unspoken threat is clear and it's only Marie’s precarious position that stops you from telling him to fuck off.

Resigned, you stare at the ceiling and say flatly, “Larkins was really against letting Stephanie, or any other witch, play on the house teams. I found out something about him that was enough to make him reconsider. I was looking for more evidence to make sure that he didn’t go back on his decision.” It’s as close to the truth as you’re willing to tell him. Now that he knows part of the story, it probably wouldn’t do any more damage to tell him the rest of it, but the thought rankles you and you stubbornly don’t want to divulge any information.

To your surprise, Riddle doesn’t press you for more information. Instead, he’s looking at you with something akin to puzzlement marring his features. “You don’t care about quidditch, why would you care if girls are allowed to play or not? Is Miss Kirkdale doing something for you in return?”

It’s your turn to look confused and you’re dimly aware that you probably look ridiculous as you stare at him slightly slack-jawed. “No? Why would she do… Stephanie is my friend, Riddle. You do have those, don’t you?” He raises an eyebrow as if to indicate that yes, he does have friends, and no, you’re not making sense. “Stephanie won’t be able to play in any League if she doesn’t even have experience playing for her house,” You explain slowly, “I don’t care about quidditch, but she does and I can do something to help her so…” You trail off a little helplessly. Why was that the most confusing part of it all for him? Surely he did stuff for his friends?

“You should go back to your dormitory,” Riddle says at last. The confusion is gone, carefully hidden, and if you hadn’t been the one having this conversation with him, you would have thought he’d been talking about something as mundane as the weather. You don’t need to be told twice however and you quickly stuff your items back into your robes and make to leave. Before you can walk two steps, however, he catches you by the wrist and suddenly, his voice, soft and low so close, “I will find out exactly what you’re hiding from me. I think by the end, you’ll probably want to tell me yourself.” If you shiver it’s because you’re unsettled. Not because you maybe want to find out exactly what he means.

You shake his hand off and hurry down the corridor towards the safety of your common room. You can still feel where his fingers had wrapped around your wrist long after you’ve gone to bed.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #minific

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somerpmemes · 3 years ago

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Disenchantment S3 Starters

Change as needed

“Who can resist a creepy mom hug?”

“She’s not an ugly, evil bitch. But she is sluttier than I imagined.”

“When I last saw you, you were a lot more dead.”

“Is your life so awful you have to keep wrecking mine?”

“You were a model of regal barbarism.”

“Something’s going on.”

“Like any two numbers, this don’t add up.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty bastard.”

“I’m no decision-maker, I’m an action-taker.”

“Oh, I wanted to gloat directly over our victim’s corpse.”

“Hand me a murder stick.”

“For a dying man, he’s making a lot of noise.”

“World domination can wait.”

“I’m allergic to pandering.”

“Trust me, I’m not playing mind games with you.”

“Just promise you’ll think about giving me another chance.”

“Hallelujah, amen, and ka-ching.”

“You realize you’re all I have.”

“I know you’re lying but I hope one day you’ll mean that.”

“Is it still true love if your wallet is missing?”

“I just figured out this is a bad idea.”

“Oh, this ruins so many fantasies.. but opens up so many new ones.”

“Actually, pretending to care about your feelings was exhausting.”

“___, do what you do best. Take your mommy issues out on somebody else.”

“This is the sinister plot that just keeps giving.”

“Souls are meant for damnation, not soup.”

“Fooling foolish fools is so satisfying.”

“Oh, that’s delightfully craven.”

“Okay I get it, I have a hot mom.”

“It’s not even good cake.”

“Aww, he spelt it ‘yer’.”

“I believe it’s pronounced ‘skedaddle’.”

“I always wanted to get lost in a labyrinth. It's like a puzzle you solve with your feet.”

“If someone else is plotting without us, I will be really miffed.”

“Aren’t boots supposed to bend at the knees?”

“They’re just being really hurtful.”

“I’ll never fall for one of your tricks again.”

“I won’t say that doesn’t hurt.”

“And now, I just wanna lie down.”

“I think we’re getting away with it.”

“Ugh, I swear these tight, sexy clothes were designed to cut off cognitive thinking.”

“Disappointment’s a form of caring.”

“Who you are is a nobody and what you are ain’t nothing.”

“Stop being so agreeable!”

“I dreamed of this moment for so long, but I’m more worried than validated.”

“He looks so different with his head sliced off.”

“You have the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know how this could get any more degrading.”

“Don’t ever walk barefoot around here. And never eat at the strip clubs.”

“But often the craziest thoughts are the most true, you nutloaf!”

“This is a classy affair, more cleavage.”

“This means so much to whoever I am.”

“I’ve got a nice thing going. I don’t wanna mess it up by opening up my big mouth.”

“I would love to have you as one of my exes but I think it’s best if you think of me as your slutty grandma.”

“The faster you run the more beer you get.”

“Sorry, I’m a little damp and cranky.”

“I’m addicted to stealing wallets now.”

“A veritable sandwich of danger.”

“Neither of us are cats.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna knife you in your throat.”

“Now swim for it before the crabs swarm over you.”

“Wow! You can really taste the rage.”

“So it’s agreed, we don’t get caught.”

“Man, after-work drinks taste so much better than instead-of-work drinks.”

“If I were afraid I wouldn’t be here.”

“I know a lot of psychos.”

“Pretend like we planned on meeting here so no one yells at me for cutting in line.”

“It’s as educational as it is moisturizing.”

“Ha! That’s what you get for believing in love!”

“You were always good at sticking to things.”

“I know you don’t trust me, but whatever you do, do not trust him.”

“If I can’t trust you, how can I trust you to tell me who to trust?”

“What are you offering here?”

“This is big, I really need some time to drink about this.”

“Who is interrupting my insomnia!?”

“You act angry on the outside but deep down you’re lonely and inadequate.”

“I look like a macho flowerpot.”

“Like, I’ve hear of fashion disasters but you, sir, are a genocide.”

“Now to blend invisibly into the crowd.”

“I’m your knight in rusty armor.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but, shut up ___.”

“Oh my god, I’m insulting myself.”

“We’re all ashamed of some flaw we can’t change.”

“Nature is full of green.”

“I bring good old-fashioned psychological torture to the party, okay? Just like your grandmother made.”

“Wow! This malnutrition is really slimming.”

“Oh my god, enough with the romantic fantasies.”

“That hot trash is with me.”

“I will never find that boot again.”

“Love is risky. That's what makes it so great, it pays off!”

“All I have is nightmares now.”

“How do you want to die? Slowly or extra slowly?”

“We’re one step away from happily ever after.”

“___, who have you pissed off this time?”

“Everything is either trying to kill me or kiss me.”

“From what I’ve heard, I’m both obnoxious and amazing.”

“Chalk one up for ignorance!”

“Here, drink this coffee. It’s been boiling for hours.”

“I’ve got so much love and nobody to give it to.”

“Apparently I’m not film friendly… or friendly.”

“Tell me what drugs you’re on so I know what to do when you pass out.”

“I got a lot of experience with relationships coming to a grinding halt.”

“Wait sorry, what were we talking about? Oh, wait, yeah, your pathetic love life.”

“Stop looking at me like that! I’m so vulnerable and you’re so mean.”

“Why’d you come back for me?”

“I left because I didn’t want to get hurt again and I came back because... I’ll never learn.”

“I’m not gonna ask where you pulled that from.”

“___, I tried to get help but nobody wanted to.”

“I would say it’s good to be back but I can’t shake the fact that life is meaningless and I’m gonna die alone.”

“I’ve got a lot to do now. Like go to my room and cry in the fetal position.”

“Don’t say “wink, wink”. Just wink.”

“You can bother me again when I grow a new heart.”

“Wallowing is underrated. People no longer expect things from you and you get to stop showering.”

“Sweetie, you’re young and beautiful and sandy.”

“Someday the right man or woman or creature will mate with you. Then you must eat them.”

“Oh my god, I want to shower again. That means I’ve regained the will to live!”

“Love the homicidal impulse but no.”

“But I only like gratification when it’s instant!”

“Oh, this ain’t good.”

“Oh god, they’re getting uglier.”

“Hey ___, who do you think I should punch first?”

“Sorry, I tend not to notice things that aren’t me.”

“I’m crestfallen and I can’t get up.”

“Don’t you know you can’t trust anyone but yourself?”

“I’m not kneeling, I’m dying.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna die soon.”

“You know, you have an impressive number of enemies for a girl your age.”

“Don’t be a drama queen. That is my job.”

“Well those are mixed messages.”

“My needs outweigh your scorn.”

“It’ll either cure him or kill him.”

“You do not wanna go in there unless you’re a fan of, like, dying.”

“Any operating instructions or ominous warnings?”

“You’re afraid to let people in and you hide behind sarcasm.”

“___, work on your issues.”

“So, this isn’t gonna get more normal anytime soon, is it?”

“You don’t have to die at home but you can’t die here.”

“I’ve had a lot of people leave me in my life but I’ve never ever ever not had you before.”

“I always thought you’d be dead in a ditch by now.”

“Why is it, ___, that every time you’re braiding my hair you tell me I’m going to die?”

“Braids hurt my brain.”

“Oh, you’re so going to die.”

“The key to getting dumped is not knowing how to take a hint.”

“Stop tempting fate.”

“I have resting sinister face.”

“I don’t know who to disobey.”

“Haven’t you ever seen an enchanted broom before?”

“Wow. Brutal honesty, that’s true friendship.”

“She blindsided me. While I was looking right at her!”

“I don’t know why you always bring the good half out in me, ___.”

#disenchantment #rp #rp meme #rp starters #starters #sentence starters #sentence starter meme #ask meme

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youmissedone · 1 year ago

Note

"Well the story keeps changing, you know. Every time he smokes another joint, things get more and more embellished," Carlos said with a chuckle. "He does get a lot more interesting when he's high. Do I get that way too? I have no concept of what I'm like when I'm high." He shrugged... but then his gaze lingered on her and he smirked. "You get giggly," he pointed out. "Suddenly, instead of your usual half-smirk and an unimpressed 'uh-huh' at my jokes, you're giggling like a schoolgirl. It's really cute. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone. What's discussed in this van, stays in this van," he promised.

"I'll get some sleep," he reassured her. "Weed supply's getting low, though, so... as for options as to how to suddenly make ourselves tired enough to sleep, we could go out and run a few miles around the camp. Or there is the old fashioned way." Carlos couldn't believe he just said that. Claire definitely wasn't going to go for that, so he just... didn't define it further. But if there was one thing that made Carlos Oliveira fall asleep and sleep well, it was sex.

Carlos sighed. He understood what Claire was saying, all too well. "Maybe you're right. Maybe she did want me to remember her as she was and not as whatever Umbrella had turned her into. That's quite possible, and so's that she cared for me. But here's my issue with it... When you care about someone, you care about their opinion. You don't shut them out, you include them. If she really felt that way, she could have talked to me about it. The fact that she didn't..." He shook his head and shrugged. "...says we weren't ever really that close to begin with. I'm a ride or die kind of person, Claire, and I can't ride if someone leaves and takes my motorcycle with them." He chuckled at himself. "That was a terrible analogy. Maybe I do need sleep."

"And you deserve the same," Carlos returned. "So we're just two eligible people who deserve someone but keep ending up alone? That sucks," he said. "At least this job keeps me too damn busy to care," he joked, but... of course he cared. He cared so much he was aching from it.

When Claire said she couldn't get attached because something might happen, Carlos shook his head again. "That's even more of a reason to get attached. No one's guaranteed to live another day, so you have to make the most of every minute. It can't be all survival and scavenging and killing, Claire. It can't. Otherwise, you know what happens? Your heart starts to die. That's the worst thing that can happen to a person. Like any other muscle, you've gotta exercise your heart so it stays strong. Nothing exercises it more than love and loss. So let yourself feel it."

"Oh yeah?" Carlos asked, smirking like she was telling him juicy gossip. "Is it Mikey? It's Mikey, isn't it," he said, his grin growing. "You know... there's been some buzz around the group about you two. People say you get along really well." He looked at her and wiggled his eyebrows. Did it disappoint him? A little. But hey, Mikey was a good guy and if Claire liked him, then they should go for it. Lucky bastard.

"Carlos... you awake?" (Claire)

@mxrvelouscreations

Carlos rolled over and squinted at Claire in the low light. "Unfortunately, yes. What's on your mind?" he asked, knowing that usually when one of them couldn't sleep it was because they were worried about the convoy in some form or another. Maybe he could help ease her mind about something...?

#mxrvelouscreations #carlos x claire #{ keep moving and stay alive } ᵉˣᵗⁱⁿᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ #{carlos you loveable idiot lol}

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xiu21chen99 · 4 years ago

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hxh headcanon/imagine.

again... still about hisoillu but about their engagement instead of illu's influenced fashion choice.

also this is more of... idk it gave reason why they chose to marry instead of uh other ways i guess??

i've seen so many fanarts where illu would break the news to the zoldycks or how killu would react to having hisoka as his brother in law- like srsly it's meme worthy at this point- and lotsa ones that showed how hisoka proposed as a joke or smtg but... I've been overthinking abt it these past few days sO i present to you how i think "the big question aka the proposal" happened... (manga spoilers??)

it's after hisoka resurrected himself obviously, and def after he killed kortopi and shalnark (so he knew there was gonna be empty slots in the spiders' lineup)

i imagine illu went back to the zoldyck estate after the whole fiasco and only heard of hisoka's "death" from rumors while he was on a mission

and then when he was idk maybe contemplating on whether or not he should visit the body(?) to pay respects or something, he gets a text message from the devil himself

their text went like this probably:

hisoka: hey~ where are you right now?♠️ (and no u can't tell me hisoka doesn't text w card suits u just can't-)

illumi: who are you and how did you get the phone you are currently using?

hisoka: ooh~ illu~ i feel betrayed, did you delete my number?♣️

illumi: hisoka is dead

hisoka: *image attached*

illumi: oh

illumi: hello hisoka, how are you still alive?

hisoka: you sound disappointed~♦️

illumi: i kind of am...

hisoka: rude, just tell me where you are♥️

...and that's how they met up?? ngl i think illu has a know-it-all syndrome where he just has to,,, k n o w everything

he's curious so he agrees to the meetup ofc

he's also surprised when he sees hisoka is in good shape when they meet (idk at a bar in an unknown city?)

they drink whiskey on the rocks because... you know...

hisoka explains how he survived and his next plan of action (which is terminate the spiders)

illumi makes a mental note of nen after death bc he's heard and seen it all before but... not to this extent,

this is gonna be,,, bland but i think this is the logic behind why hisoka chose to get married/engaged instead of just paying up front (reference to the ten dons' commission to get chrollo killed and chrollo's commission to get the ten dons killed)--

anyways here's how their conversation goes:

i: "why did you want to talk in person?"

h: "oh y'know, for old times sake."

i: "...right"

hisoka laughs, "okay so maybe i want to ask you for a favor..?"

confused, illumi asks, "why could you not have just texted if you wanted me to kill someone for you?"

h: "no, no- wait, actually, you're not too far off."

i: ~mOrE cOnfUsiOn~ "huh?"

h: "how do contracts for assassination work in your... family business?"

i: "half the promised pay before, the remaining half afterwards. should the target be eliminated by a third party, the assigned zoldyck still gets the pay and should the employer die, then the contract is terminated and the zoldyck will report back immediately."

h: "and has anyone made a contract to have themselves terminated?"

i: "i beg your pardon?"

h: "what complications will arise should your employer's target be... themselves?"

i: "i believe... i have never encountered such circumstance before. the people who hire us are those who have enough money and resource to have their enemies killed quickly. no one's tried to test the zoldyck assassination prowess."

h: "so... how will that work?"

i: "are you implying this is the reason why you have contacted me today?"

h: "yes~ ♥️" (how he said a heart emoji out loud is up to you, reader)

i: "it will be a pointless paradox. logically, the zoldyck will only get the employment bill. and i, myself, do not find pleasure in going for the kill like you lest i get my reward, so you will not get a contract out of me, hisoka."

h: "is there no leeway?"

i: "a zoldyck stands up to their word. so no."

h: "even for a friend?~ ♦️"

i: "we are not friends, hisoka-"

hisoka raises his glass of whiskey along with his eyebrow.

i: "oh..."

h: "didn't you tell dear killua that a zoldyck didn't need friends?"

i: "you... are an associate, someone reliable in the killing world. it's different."

h: "hypocrite"

i: "i ask you for favors and you make me return them. it is not like we spend our time together leisurely like killu with that island boy..."

hisoka clinks their matching glasses of whiskey even though his is already empty, a shit-eating grin on his lips.

i: "you suggested we meet here."

h: "this isn't the first time we went out to drink, right illu?"

i: "regardless!! i will not kill you just for half the money. i do not like wasting efforts on fruitless missions."

h: "as i said, is there no exception, to make sure you get my money if you were to succeed in killing me?"

i: "are you doubting my skill, hisoka?"

h: "that's not the point right now~ ♠️"

i: "wait, why do you want me to get all of your money?"

h: "haven't we just gotten over this subject? because you're my friend, of course."

i: "i... we are not friends, hisoka."

hisoka claps, "that's it! illumi!! ♣️"

i: "eh?"

h: "marry me! that way in our prenup I'll make sure you get all of my money, and even without a prenup you'll still get it since you'll be my only relative! that solves it!"

i: "hisoka, are you sure death did not took a toll on your brain? you did say you used Bungee Gum only on your heart and lungs..."

h: "i'm being serious, illumi!! and doesn't this solve your earlier conflict? we don't have to be friends, we'll be husbands!"

i: "do not use that tactic with me, you manipulative bastard. stop joking."

h: "this is purely beneficial for you, honestly i don't get why you just won't accept it."

i: "then humor me this first, why now?"

h: "dear illu, i've been to literal hell and back. i think it's time to leave my mark in case i fail to escape death again."

i: "was it that bad?"

h: "you'll love it there, illu~ ♥️"

h: "on a more serious note, though, i do plan to marry you. out of everyone i've encountered, you're the most eligible candidate. you're powerful, fully capable and extremely pretty to boot! you're the ideal husband!"

(blushing obviously, illumi downs the remaining whiskey in his glass) i: "death has changed you, hisoka."

h: "so?"

i: "fine."

h: "excellent!"

and in one fell swoop, illumi has a pin against the curve of hisoka's jugular, wrist held tightly by hisoka- a card matching against his own neck.

"not yet, dear husband." hisoka whispered into his ear, "we have to manage the papers first. and i've a request before you do."

they let each other go at the same time, not even breathing an unnecessary breath in the other's personal space (well, they're nearly pressed thigh to thigh anyways, what's the point of personal space anymore-)

"a condition rather than a request, really."

"what?" hisoka orders them refills, and downs his when it arrives.

"join the ryodan first."

glass already pressed on thin lips, illumi's confused hum resonates softly into the concave utensil. "why?"

"so things can get more interesting. i assume you know of the dark continent expedition that's soon to take place?"

"father has advised i take part on it, since kalluto told me the ryodan plans to rob some cliches who'll join the expedition- to look after him. you want me to join them?"

"yes, and i plan to board as well, don't fret."

illumi's eyes turn to slits, "how should i know you would be there? i can't take your word when you might just disappear when we've all boarded."

hisoka grins, wide then wider, "you should know by now illu, i plan to avenge my wounded pride. that damned chrollo didn't even fight me properly."

tilting his head, illumi stared at the man beside him, "is that not contradictory? i thought you did not mind your opponent using whatever means necessary to win?"

"magicians use tricks and misdirection to awe the audience," hisoka says almost thoughtlessly, "chrollo's a narcissistic hypnotist who used the audience as a damned shield because he knew he couldn't handle me face-to-face."

he groans, tinged in regret. "i shouldn't have picked heaven's arena, if i'd chosen a more discreet location then maybe the damage won't be this bad."

"damage?" illumi rests his chin on his palm, facing his husband.

hisoka swipes a hand over his face, and the glamour comes off. the picture he sent illumi now present in front of him. he was missing a nose, his left hand didn't have any finger left and dried blood chipped on his white skin. "oh."

with another swipe, everything's made correct again. hisoka was grinning again. he downs the remaining alcohol and leaves jenny bills under the emptied glass.

"come, lovely husband. we're to elope and legalize our union!"

illumi follows suit after downing his own glass, "i think there might be another loop hole, if you were to join the family. zoldycks do not kill family."

"so if i were to wed you, here and now, you'd think me more of a family than alluka?"

"alluka is not family."

"are those your words, illumi? or silva's?"

"i..."

"wow, you're really just as fucked up as i am."

"where do you plan to take me? i've just said i cannot kill family."

hisoka chuckles, "then you're the one to take my name, of course."

"preposterous!"

"who the hell still uses that word?"

"i am and will always be a zoldyck-"

"exactly. it's just legal papers, if you kill me then you'll just be a widow and even get your name back! see how everything'll work out in the end?"

"hisoka-"

"are you doubting your skill of assassination, my dearest husband?"

"... i better get the most expensive ring in this damned city."

"that's the spirit! now let's go get married!"

"wait, hisoka. what is your last name?"

later that night, when they leave a chapel, something gold glimmers on hisoka's bungee gum/texture surprise ring finger. a matching one around illumi's finger.

unlike hisoka, though, illumi had an extra red glimmer right under that gold, in the dead center of a silver band of intricately designed pattern. hisoka had foregone the traditional diamond in favor of a 16 carat ruby engagement ring, such a curious choice but illumi accepted it all the same...

(much later on, hisoka took both rings as collateral and reminded illumi that he would get them back even if he died bc it was in their damn prenup- and bc it was technically bought under illumis name and that's how hisoka assured illu that he'd be on that black whale,,, bc he had the rings and planned to give them back to him there)

"I thought a red gemstone was better suited for the rather bloody and murderous ending that our relationship will inevitably come to, wouldn't you agree?"

-Hisoka Morow whenever someone mentions his preference of proposal ring...

"I disagree with most of his ideals, our relationship has always had a fragile foundation, and I knew from the start that we'd eventually end up killing each other."

-Illumi Morow, nee Zoldyck when asked about his thoughts on his husband...

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ladykissingfish · 3 years ago

Text

A Date with an Angel // Part Two // Hidan and Obito

Hidan

“Order whatever you want; I swiped the old fuck’s credit card so dinner’s on him!” Konan panics at this, and refuses to pick up her menu until Hidan takes out his wallet and proves that he was just kidding. Today was Hidan’s turn at entertaining the lovely little lady, and he had originally intended to take her to a heavy metal performance at bar downtown (he was friends with the lead guitarist so they would have gotten in free). However, after he informed Nagato of his plans, he was met with a disappointing “Konan hates heavy metal.”, so he decided to take her to dinner instead. She seemed entirely suspicious when he approached her earlier (wearing a dress shirt and tie instead of his usual dirty muscle tank and ripped sweatpants), but nonetheless agreed to go with him to a quiet little cafe a few blocks down from the house. Konan has never really known what to make of Hidan. He was just slightly older than Deidara, but (in Konan’s opinion) ranking much higher on the “immaturity” wheel. He’s been nicknamed by the rest of the group as “Mr. Never-Dies”, because no matter what happens, what job he takes on, how badly he’s hurt ... he just keeps getting back up. One time he came home with blood running from the crown of his head and flowing into his boots, but rather than let anyone take him to a hospital, Hidan took out a needle and made Kakuzu stitch the gash on his forehead. No painkillers, no alcohol, not even any flinching. Anyone else would have been substantially messed up after such a heavy blood loss ... but Hidan was just fine, in fact laughing and talking like nothing was amiss. He’s extremely foul-mouthed and has a thing for telling dirty jokes, but today, on his date with Konan, he’s making a great effort to restrain himself. Hidan wants very badly to put his arm around her waist as he walks along beside her, but resists as he knows Nagato will tear him a new asshole if he makes her in anyway uncomfortable. He’s at a loss for what to talk to her about, so he simply asks her how she’s feeling. There’s a pause, and she goes “I’m not really sure. I lost my mood ring yesterday.” He bursts out laughing, so hard that she blushes. “That’s pretty damn funny, lady.”Konan tilts her head in surprise; nobody had ever complimented her humor before. In fact she’s usually told that the few jokes she does make are very flat, or somewhat dark. Fast forward to the cafe, where Konan is surprised again that Hidan asks for a table that’s “quiet”, and pulls out her chair for her. The waiter comes back and Konan is amused by the amount of food that Hidan is ordering. When it’s her turn, her mind is a blank, so she just orders the last thing he said (which was spaghetti and meatballs). “That’s all?” he asks, as the waiter collects their menus and leaves. “No wonder you’re so slender.” She asks him how in the world HE’S so skinny when he eats so much, and he explains he has a fast metabolism, like his mother. Konan is interested; she’s never heard him mention his family before. As if reading her mind, he says, “Me and those guys just don’t get along. They wrote me off as a brain-dead bastard when I said I wasn’t goin’ to college.” “College isn’t everything, you know. People have to do what’s right for them.” Hidan agrees, and begins telling her his much he enjoys working for Nagato, and the type of jobs they do. It’s interesting; when you got him away from the others and in a calm, quiet setting, Hidan was ... normal. Normal and actually very charming. And although he never says it out-loud, Konan gets the strong impression that Hidan has come to consider the rest of the group as being a surrogate family. Then the food comes out and Hidan turns into a different creature altogether. He eats much like an animal, viciously and indiscriminately. But instead of being disgusted by this, Konan ... feels relaxed. There’s an unspoken feeling here, that with Hidan, she can let go and be herself. She doesn’t have to worry about looking pretty, or eating daintily, or acting “like a lady”. In fact Hidan orders them ice cream sundaes for dessert,

then challenges her to see who can eat theirs the fastest. Hidan ends up winning, but they end up with a horrible case of brain-freeze that leaves them both paralyzed for several moments ... yet laughing pretty hard. Even though Konan ate far less than Hidan, she feels quite stuffed nonetheless and mentions this to Hidan, who immediately offers to give her a piggy back ride home. She hesitates to accept; it’s a ways home and Konan feels she’s not the lightest woman in the world (especially after a big meal). But he insists, and she lets him hoist her into his back and trot back to the house with her. They laugh and joke the entire way, with Hidan making numerous comments about how light she is and how good she smells. “That’s one thing about living in a house full of guys for so long; I got so used to the smell of ass and dirty socks and Doritos that I forgot there’s people in the world who know what the fuck deodorant and shampoo are!” Konan laughs so hard at this that she slips off Hidan’s back and lands on her knees in the grass, holding her stomach and howling. Seeing that she likely won’t calm down anytime soon to grab onto his back again, Hidan picks her up and carries her in his arms the last two blocks home. He sets her down gently outside the front door, telling her how much fun she is to be with, when she throws her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard,” she says as she lets him go, wiping tears from her eyes. “Thank you.” He hesitates, then leans down and very gently kisses her cheek, before telling her that she’s welcome to hang out with him anytime, because “I’ve got a million more jokes, doll, and I’ll gladly tell ‘em all to you.” He walks her to her room and chances giving her another kiss, this one on the forehead, before bidding her Goodnight.

Obito

“Can I ask you a question?” “Yeah?” “When we’re at home, when we’re around the others, why do you wear that thing?” It’s the next day, and Konan is at a bar (ironically, the same one that Hidan wanted to take her to the previous day) with Obito. Out of everyone in the house, Obito is the one that strikes Konan as being the most mysterious. To begin with, the day she met him he was wearing a unique orange half-mask over his face ... and never took it off. She questioned Nagato about it but he seemed reluctant to speak on Obito’s unique fashion choice, and none of the others acted as though there was anything strange about it. He joined he others for dinner each night but seemed to prefer sweets to actual food, and he was quiet. Nagato told Konan that Obito was more or less his right hand man within the organization, and had helped him recruit the other members. Obito never spoke to her unless she spoke first ... so naturally she had been surprised when he approached her as she was coming out of her room, and asked if she minded joining him for “a quick drink”. The bar, like everything else, was in walking distance of the house; but Obito took her on the back of his motorcycle. It was a short ride but an exhilarating one ... and it got even more exciting when, upon entering the bar, Obito glanced around, saw there weren’t many people, and took off his mask. He found them a seat at a table near the back, and ordered them both a glass of wine. Konan had tried her hardest not to stare at his face ((which was difficult; aside from a few jagged scars on the left side and what looked like a damaged eye, he was quite handsome)) but eventually he caught her looking, hence giving her the bravery to pose her question. Obito paused for several moments, as if contemplating what to say. “Why do women wear makeup? Why do people dye their hair or get piercings or tattoos or wear crazy clothes? It’s because they have something about themselves that they don’t like, so they try to cover it up. I don’t like my face. I haven’t since my accident.” Konan blinks, genuinely surprised at Obito’s answer. She chances it to ask “Accident?” He gave her a wry smile and ordered himself a shot of whiskey (and her an ice tea) saying he needed something stronger to tell her about it. “When I was a kid, my parents liked to go rock climbing. Took me with to National parks every summer. One year my dad got drunk and took me and my mom up a dangerous path. He pulled on a rock the wrong way, and it came out of the mountain, along with a bunch more, and crashed down on us. Really long fall; mom and dad killed right away. But me ... I guess the devil decided he wasn’t done with me. A boulder crushed this entire side of my body, and my face got fucked ... but I lived. Had to go to a lot of physical therapy. Also had to go live with my uncle Madara — that guy’s a piece of work. But anyway I lived and here we are, right?” Konan is quiet for a long while, watching the ice cubes float around in her glass. “I like you like this,” she finally says, and this time she’s looking him directly in the face. “I understand if you want to be someone different, or like, if you feel like your mask makes you different, but, if you ever want to be THIS Obito ... please come to my room. We can talk, we can listen to music and eat junk and watch movies and talk about books and —“ Obito interrupts her by putting both arms around her, squeezing her warmly. “Thank you, Konan.” They stay for another few hours, and Konan is pleasantly surprised to find that Obito without the mask, Obito away from the house ... is fantastic. He teaches her how to play pool, he keeps her laughing with countless stories about growing up with his “crazy uncle”. At one point in the night he convinces her to join him at the karaoke machine on the stage, and the two sing duets of Disney songs (to the thunderous applause of the few people at the bar).The ride back home is mostly quiet, him driving slower this time and her holding on to him, each filled with their own thoughts. Before they get to the front

door, Konan lifts Obito’s mask just the slightest bit, and kisses his cheek. “This is the best night I’ve had in a long, long time. I appreciate you letting me get to know you.” He smiles and blushes, then slides the mask back into place before opening the front door. Some of the others are in the living room, and Obito quietly greets them before heading to his room. Konan was awed by how effortless the switch from animated and somewhat goofy to reserved and calm seemed to be for him ... and found herself wondering if any of the others were putting on a facade as well. She takes her shower and goes to her room, intending to go to sleep early, but after about an hour of restlessly tossing back and forth, she gives it up. She turns her light back on and picks up the remote to her tv, thinking that maybe a good, boring show will put her to sleep. But before she can find anything, a knock comes on the door. She goes to open it, and is surprised to find Obito standing there. “I saw the light underneath your door. Can I come in?” She takes him by the arm and pulls him inside. Once inside, he slides off his mask and, looking around, finds a seat for himself on one of Konan’s chairs. He opens up his jacket to reveal a small book, worn and obviously read many times. “I saw you reading this last week. I remember you telling Sasori that you finished it. I was wondering; what did you think in Chapter seven, when —“

#the akatsuki #a date with an angel #first date #konan #konan akatsuki #hidan #tobi #hidakona #tobikona

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pi-cat000 · 3 years ago

Text

BNHA: something sad (Resentment)

Summary: The last time Katsuki sees Izuku alive the other boy is rushing to save him. A ‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ aka Izuku dies.

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo

Fandom: My Hero Academia

WARNINGS! Major Character death, swearing, heavy angst, graphic descriptions of violence

Other parts in this AU: (Something Sad), (Anger), (Grief)

This is the direct sequel to (Implosion)

......

“Not many people get hit with a concussive blast of this strength and walk away will so few injuries.” Is what the paramedic that looks Katsuki over says, hand glowing a faint blue as he uses some sort of diagnostic quirk.

“It looks like you have a few cuts, bruising, strained muscles and sprained wrist from what I can see. I’d recommend getting a proper examination at the hospital but there’s nothing life-threatening here.” The medic continues.

The emergency doctor at the hospital confirms the diagnosis and shakes his head in disapproval, adding, “…bruising on your ribs and a fractured finger. No concussion, thankfully, but you’ll have a nasty bump on the back of your head. If your quirk didn’t make you naturally resistant to these sorts of shock-based blasts, you would be dead..”

…

After that, everyone is practically falling over each other to lecture him on how irresponsible and reckless he is.

His mum arrives and there is a lot of shouting which just pisses him off.

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REACT WHEN I GET WOKEN UP AT ONE IN THE MORNING BY POLICE TELLING ME THAT MY IDIOT SON, WHO SHOULD BE ASLEEP, IS IN HOSPITAL!!”

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!

Then there is the quiet disappointment he gets from his father when his mum is done yelling which only fuels his resentment.

“I don’t understand why you did it son. Did you want to get into that fight? Or was it a mistake? Please. We can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Eventually, he finally snaps, “I fucking felt like it! That’s why I did it! And you know what, I’d do it again.”

It wasn’t like he could or even wanted to explain that he’d jumped out his window to wander the streets at midnight because he had had a bad dream and his All Might poster had looked at him funny. That the rage and anger were preferable to that sinking empty feeling that had turned his every waking moment into a pointless repeat of everyday routines and useless interactions. That every time he let himself pause and reflect, Deku’s stupid smiling face was mocking him from the afterlife.

Next, he spends an hour with Senior Officer Watanabe recounting every possible detail from his stroll through the streets to his climactic fight with Lanky, Tiny and Grease-Hair.

“Well, you definitely don’t do things in half measures kid. So far we have private and public property damage, unlicensed quirk usage, quirk usage with the intent to harm, vigilantly activity, assault...”

“Assault! Why the hell is that on the list. Those bastards started it.”

“You can’t go around beating people up no matter how good your intentions are!”

“So, you wanted me to just watch!”

“Yes!” A long breath, “I know it can be hard but you need to wait for the pros. You got lucky this time but what if things had been different? You had misread the situation. What if you had been badly injured? What if you had accidentally injured the victim or killed someone? There is a reason we make people get a license for Hero work. Seison Masuyama is a B-rank villain.”

“B rank? He wasn’t that strong.”

“His quirk, Kinetic-Force, collects kinetic energy and releases it in one overpowered attack. It’s deadly to most people. You were lucky he had already used it once that day and that you were resilient enough to withstand it."

After multiple repeats of the ‘you’re lucky you’re not dead,’ with a side order of ‘it’s a good thing you’re still a minor because you could go to jail for this,’ he gets to go home.

It is three in the morning by the time he arrives back at the apartment, two exhausted parents in tow, having been issued an ‘official warning,’ an order to complete 100 hours of community service and instructions to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. He has never felt angrier or more resentful.

A days later and he is back at school, wasting his time watching clocks and avoiding classmates.

Nothing had changed.

…

The car screeches to a stop at the school gates, throwing Katsuki forward in his seat. His mum turns to fix him with a stern glare, eyes narrow.

“If you’re not waiting right here by the gate when I come to pick you up or so help me I’ll be escorting you to and from your classroom from the rest of your school life,” she threatens.

“Lay off you old bat,” Katsuki snaps as was becoming routine since his mum had started driving him the short distance to school, “I got it the first million times.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” A finger is pointed at his nose, waving in an almost menacing fashion. “Remember. Here. School Gates. 4:00pm. Don’t you dare think about ditching again.”

Katsuki sneers and kicks open the car door, turning to slams it shut with as much force as possible in retaliation. He stalks through the gates, shouldering his way through a group of loitering students. They all scatter when they recognise him. In some ways, he prefers dealing with the anger and yelling of his mum than his father’s quiet disappointment. That doesn’t stop it from being annoying as hell.

A spike of pain runs through his hand from where he must have used a little too much force on the door. Maybe he should take his father up on those kickboxing classes. Sure, he had practised punching after reading a bunch of online guides, but reading and solo practice were completely different when compared with real actual fighting. That was assuming he was going to be getting into more real fights. He opens and closes his bandaged fist, feeling a slight sting in his wrist and fingers. He glares. Four days on and he can still feel the echo of adrenalin. The thrill of righteous anger had been so much more satisfying than the directionless rage he was accustomed to. It had rekindled some of that fire that drove him to be the best, to win, chasing away the sickening emptiness which had been dogging his every waking step.

He wants to feel that again…He wants to do something other than listlessly go through the same daily motions as he drifts towards his now uncertain future.

“Hey Bakugō!”

He keeps walking, ignoring whatever loser classmates wanted to talk to him.

“HEY!”

A hand lands on his shoulder and Katsuki twitches, a hairs breath away from spinning and firing a blast point-blank into the pest’s face. Instead, he stops and deliberately turns to glower at the pathetic piece of trash behind him. Murata Taheiji from his homeroom is standing there, one hand on his hip, flanked by two other boys he doesn’t know the names of. Two more appear to stand in front of him, blocking his way. They are all puffed up like they think they’re hot shit. Katsuki scoffs. Are these failures really trying to bully him? HIM!?

“How about you get the fuck out of my way and go find a first year to pick on. You know, someone more on your level.”

That gets him an irritated scowl that transforms into a patronising grin, “You were always such a stuck up prick Bakago…Acting so high and mighty all the time. Not anymore, I know the truth. You’re just like the rest of us.”

“Huh?” he drawls, dragging out the sound, turning so he is facing the boy, “What the fuck are you on about.”

“My dad works for Musutafu police dispatch and he told me something real interesting yesterday.” A dramatic pause, “He said that you got arrested a few nights ago.” There is a laugh that is echoed by the four surrounding him. By now the confrontation has garnered the attention of several onlookers, who are slowly drifting closer.

“All that shit about being a Hero and you got arrested. What’d you do? Steal some candy from a convenience store? We all know you don’t have money.”

Around them, the growing audience is eyeing him with varying levels of eager anticipation like they think he’ll break down and start crying because of some dumb-ass insults. Damn, if that doesn’t just piss him off. How dare these losers think him that weak.

“Don’t compare me to your loser selves,” he dismisses aggressively, making to turn and forcefully elbow his way past. He is stopped by Murata’s hand which is still on this shoulder.

“You know what I think. I think you’re all talk.”

Katsuki stills, letting the words sink and curdle in his stomach. In one short move, he turns and steps in close to Murata so they are almost nose to nose.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he warns. The other boy tenses, looking like he wants to say something else equally stupid. If he remembers correctly Murata has some sort of muscle-enhancer, reflex quirk. One of the only worthwhile quirks in the school.

Katsuki jerks his elbow up and around in a quick jab. It smacks into the loser’s face. Crack. Guess having fast reflexes didn’t make a difference when you never saw the blow coming.

There is a cry of surprised pain and shouts of alarm from the peanut gallery. The other boy falls back, tripping over his own feet. It is ridiculously simple to lift a leg and deliver a kick to the stomach, not even a strong kick, so his failed bully thuds onto the ground, tossing up a small puff of sand. Unlike the fight in the ally, there is no rush of excitement, no spike of anger or adrenaline. No exhilaration. He is just irritated and maybe a bit disappointed. That’s what he gets for expecting anything out of the pathetic losers that went Aldera Middle School. They were more annoying than anything else.

Murata rolls around in the dirt, wheezing, trying to draw breath. He can almost imagine Deku running up to complain about his violent tendencies or sprout some shit about Hero’s needing to protect people like Murata didn’t ask for it when he decided to try his luck bullying someone obviously stronger than him.

The reminder of Deku sours his already shitty mood.

“Ah…you broke my nose. YOU BOKE IT…ah…it hurts. Do something!” The idiot calls to his equally idiotic friends as he tries to stop blood from pouring down his face.

Katsuki gazes coolly at the boy before directing his attention at the four other ‘bullies’ standing frozen around him.

“You extras got something else to add to that?” With Murata out of the game, the rest of the pathetic group shuffles about uncertainly.

“Ah…we’re good,” The tallest one says nervously, “Sorry about that Bakugō. No hard feelings right?”

He scoffs.

One of the boys moves forward to pull Murata upright, kneeling and pulling out a tissue to help stem the flow of blood. “Crap. I…I think Murata needs to go to the nurse. This looks serious.” There are a few more apprehensive glances in his direction like the other boys think he’ll insist on continuing the ‘fight’-ha! like this has been anything near a fight- until they are all bloody messes on the ground. Kaksuki rolls his eyes. As if he has the patience to deal with any more of these losers.

“Cowards,” he mutters, shoving past. The crowd of students who had gathered to watch the failed confrontation, scramble to get out of his way. A strong breeze rushes through the school’s courtyard, drawing attention to how quiet it has suddenly gotten. Barely audible whispers follow in his wake and he can feel many sets of eyes on his back, watching.

“He always did have a bad attitude.” They murmur.

“Guess he’s a real delinquent now.”

“…did you hear what Murata said. Do you think Bakugō actually got arrested?”

“That’s got to be fake right? Murata is full of hot air.”

“No way. I believe it. You don’t have to share a class with him, I’m telling you, Bakugō’s gone nuts.”

“Kind of scary when you think about it. With a quirk like that...”

He doesn’t know why they’re all so shocked. This isn’t the first fight he has gotten into on school grounds. Okay, so maybe he’d held off doing any real harm before now, well aware that U.A. would probably check his school record. It had never mattered to him because there was no point in beating up weaklings when he was obviously superior. Except for Deku…the only person he had ever really hurt, the only person he could get away with hurting without repercussions. And now he feels like extra shit. God, what a huge farce it had all been. Kaksuki clenches his fist and growls, wondering if it isn’t too late to ditch and go find somewhere secluded to blow off steam. Anything to escape this feeling of frustration.

He doesn’t have time to make a proper decision because news of his ‘fight’ had obviously spread to the staffroom. One of the second year homeroom teachers comes barrelling out of the school’s front entrance, eyes immediately landing on him.

“What happened!” Their eyes move past him to the bloody Murata, “Go wait in the principles office. Now.”

Well, he didn’t want to deal with his annoying classmates anyway. He stalks away, the sounds of the teacher fussing over Murata growing fainter behind him. When he arrives, the principal’s office is empty and he flings himself down into one of the comfy couches, irritated. The bell for homeroom goes off and Kaksuki remains sprawled across the couch, arm across his face to block out the light and his view of the clock slowly ticking away.

Just as he begins to contemplate leaving, Principle Fukuhara comes strolling into the room.

“ Bakugō,” the man lets out an exasperated sigh, “Sit up please.”

Katsuki moves his arm to peek out and glare at the man, deliberately ignoring the instruction.

“I just finished talking to Ms Yuki and the school’s nurse. You broke Murata Taheiji’s nose. I hope you realise how serious this situation is and that there will be major consequences. Aldera Middle School does not tolerate this sort of violence on its grounds.”

Silence. That was a fucking lie. Slowly, Katsuki pulls himself upright, meeting the man’s hard stare with his own.

“Well, do you have anything to say for yourself and your disgraceful behaviour..”

Katsuki narrows his eyes, “The idiot was asking for it.”

Obviously, it's the wrong response going by how the skin tightens around the man’s eyes, “I see...I’m sorry you feel that way. Up until now, our school has been more than lenient. We have overlooked your shameful behaviour these last few weeks because we wanted to give you time to settle after going through such as tragic incident. However, I am afraid that this time you have gone too far. Your parents will be notified. You’ll see the school councillor. You will be staying back for after school detention. Since this is your first major incident we…”

“First?” He cuts the man off. He is sick of hearing the moron’s voice. “Hahaha and people say you don’t have a sense of humour.” He laughs an unpleasant laugh which increases in volume until he is almost shouting.

“What sort of shit hole are you running? Three years I’ve been beating up the dumb idiots that come here and now you decide to care. Why is that huh? Is it because I’m no longer going to put this shitty place on the map and become a famous hero! HA!”

He lets his voice quieten, sneering “I’ll never be a hero so you’re shit out of luck.” Finally saying it out loud is like throwing a bucket of water over the embers of an already struggling fire. It hurts deep in his chest. The expression of shocked disbelief is almost worth it.

“Thanks for proving what a worthless profession it is,” he finishes with another hash laugh, rage simmering under his skin. When he tries to stand and leave a hand lands on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

The principal, who still looks somewhat stunned at his sudden outburst, orders, “Sit back down Bakugō! I am far from finished.”

Why do people always feel the need to grab him. He is so fucking sick of everyone pulling and tugging on him, trying to control him and hold him down. Katsuki turns slowly, that simmering rage pulsing, running down his limbs. Pop pop pop go his hands. He feels as explosive fire gathering in behind his eyes and in his shadowy stare. It is not the dramatic, adrenaline-induced anger he had felt when preparing for the ally fight. No, this is a dark burning rage, fuelled by his growing resentment.

“Touch me again,” he growls, low and intimidating, “and I’ll kill you.”

The principal snatches his hand back like he has just been burnt. A poignant silence follows in the wake of his threat.

“Suspension,” the man says, swallowing, “You’re suspended. I’m calling your parents right now.” And is it just him or does he look genuinely worried? There is even a hint of fear in his wrinkled face. Katsuki takes vindictive joy in the achievement. Finally…finally the worthless morons are seeing him, truly seeing him and not whatever Bakugō -delusion they’d all cooked up in their heads.

#bnha #mha #boku no academia #my hero academia #bnha fanfic #MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH #Katsuki Bakugō #‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ aka Izuku dies #graphic descriptions of violence #angst #bakugou swears and gets into fights #coarse language #fanfiction #fanfic #something sad au

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foxpaws10 · 3 years ago

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Don’t Forget Me When I Let The Water Take Me

It was the red hair which had done him in. His eye had latched on and for the first time in a very long time he felt his chest lift with hope. But the man had turned, eyes deadened and brown, not blue, and hope had been squashed under disappointment.

He should know by now that he wouldn’t ever see him again. Kept pushing it down down down. There were more important things to focus on than the ghost of a boy.

But as Andrew sat in the trenches, clothes soaked with mud, rain and the blood of his men, his mind conjured up old memories. Perhaps the memories were the only thing keeping him sane. Giving him a reprieve from the constant onslaught of bombs and gunfire, of men screaming and crying, of rats and lice and flies.

He held tightly to the image of the boy - because that’s what they had been, boys - and he closed his eyes against the fireworks of shrapnel in the otherwise dark sky.

He thought of nights spent on rooftops, smoking stolen cigarettes and making up stories about the bright stars above.

He thought of Nathaniel, and Nate, and Abram and Junior - of Neil.

Neil, always Neil to Andrew.

How his mother cursed them and threatened them and warned them. That boy was the son of the devil, the women of the village swore. They weren’t wrong. Neils father was the devil, with his burning temper and iron fists raining blows down on his son, painting him crimson and lilac.

But Neil, he was mischief. He wasn’t the fire and brimstone his parents raised him to be. He was sneaky and sly and a liar right down to his toes. He was a thief and he burned, oh how he burned, but it was life which coursed through him. Life which lit him up brighter than any star in the sky and drew Andrew into orbit.

He remembered the first time he saw him; galloping a chestnut mare across the fields which separated Andrew’s house from the Laird’s. They were both shiny as copper, Neils hair a fiery crown of curls, the horse dipped in blood - all but her muzzle which was a bright white.

Devils son? Well he looked the part. He took joy in the twin curls which curved like horns by his temples when his hair was wet; a consequence of either being caught in a downpour or Andrew dunking him in the river.

The river. They spent most of their days by it. Stealing the Laird Hingston’s fish, swimming in the clear depths, skimming rocks across the surface of the smoother, deeper pools.

The first time they swam, Neil had stripped naked as the day he was born. No shame in his nudity, though cautious about the scars and bruises littering his freckled skin. By the second week, Andrew was down to his underwear and then nothing at all.

They spent hours floating down the flow. Settling in shallow areas where the riverbed pushed up to the surface, keeping them locked in place despite the rushing water. Jumping off the high banks into pools, or swinging off overhanging tree branches.

They’d begun to ride Fox, Neils glorious chestnut mare, down to the river together. She would graze the lush grass along the banks, and Andrew swore she flicked them dissapointed looks every now and again when they were being particularly rowdy. Occasionally she would travel into the water with them, cooling down in the shimmering summer sun. Once, Neil had backflipped off her rear end and nearly had his skull caved in by her hoof.

She was a birthday present from Neils uncle, a Londoner by the name of Stuart Hartford. A strong Irish breed, she was to be used for hunting; covering vast stretches of land and jumping wooden gates and stone walls and deep gulleys. She had a temper worse than Neils some days; her ears would lie flat back against her skull, her nostrils would flare and she’d bare her teeth like a savage while stomping her hooves. Neil had worked through the anger with patience and persistence, and Andrew with a pocket full of sugar cubes.

Despite her bloodline boasting impressive abilities, she was just as happy pottering down country lanes and cobbled streets, loose and relaxed with the two boys riding atop her bareback.

Neil had taught Andrew how to trot, canter and pop a small jump on her. Just in case, he’d said, with a shifty look in his eye.

Andrew liked the speed of her, feeling the unbridled power in her muscles as he pushed her on until her strides swallowed the ground beneath them. Some days it felt like flying, most days it felt like freedom.

Andrew had been tucked into the corner of her stall late one evening, sharing an apple with both Fox and Neil, when he met Stuart Hatford. A man of high class and strange fashion, he was abrupt and rude but entirely harmless. Harmless to the two boys, that is.

Andrew grew to like him, enjoyed listening to him tear apart Nathan Wesninski with whip quick words. Enjoyed even better the day he’d threatened Nathan with his cane, a deadly look in his eye that Andrew had caught Neil mimicking once before.

After that incident they hadn’t seen much of Hatford, but when they did, he was sure to sneak money into pockets and biting remarks into ears.

The last time Andrew had seen Stuart, he’d been sat upon an impressive dark horse. A coat like midnight, shining like stars under a low autumn sun. He had passed Andrew, taking a shortcut through the fields, on the way to peruse the sweets of the bakery. Pulling up beside him, Stuart had made Andrew promise that he would take care of Neil, keep him out of trouble. And had warned that they needed to leave, the sooner the better.

If Andrew knew then what he did now, he would have left that very same day. But he had a brother to look after, one who confessed not long after that he’d knocked up the baker's daughter.

Their mother had been livid, and Andrew had taken the abuse in place for his brother. God only knew what the woman would have done had she found out about Andrew’s own inclinations.

He’d never understood the fascination with girls. Their curves and their high pitched giggles, their swishy skirts and small frames and sweet perfumes. He’d always been drawn to men, their deep voices and strong hands, the lingering musk of sweat and what lay between their legs.

He’d seen two men kiss behind the pub one late evening, when it was safer out in the cold night than their house. Had been fascinated with the hard press of lips and teeth and tongue, how their hands had gripped and tugged and pulled. It was a memory that wreaked havoc in his sleep, leaving him with damp undergarments in the morning and which haunted him on the days he did slide his hand between his legs.

Neil was the first male he ever kissed. Sitting in the corner of Fox’s stall, a puddle of kittens between them. Neils father had ordered him to drown them, but Neil had stowed them away in one of the outbuildings instead. They mewled and tottered between them on stumpy legs, claws digging through their trousers as they climbed into their laps.

Andrew had been sat on his window ledge smoking and watching the last dim light of the sun dipping below the horizon when Neil had stopped below him, wheels of his bike skidding in the loose gravel and dirt. His eyes had been alight with defiance and mischief as he coaxed Andrew to join him. Andrew had learnt early on he wasn’t capable of saying no to that look. It promised mischief and adventure and danger.

Andrew had mounted the bike with Neil balanced on the handlebars, telling him all about his precious find. One of his mothers exotic felines had been caught by a barn cat and given birth to five small kittens. She had hidden them away in a closet to protect them from Nathan and his hounds, but they soon found their voices and she’d been exposed.

They were a grey-blue colour with dark stripes and squashed faces. Andrew marvelled at how small they were, so soft and warm in his hands, with needle sharp claws and teeth. Despite only being a few weeks old they were strong and bold.

He dared a glance at Neil and felt his chest tighten. A bruise was splattered across his jaw, and a half circle of black skin hugged his left eye, but neither could take away from the soft smile curving his lips.

In the flickering lamp light, with the soothing sound of Fox’s heavy breathing and the grinding of her teeth as she grazed from her hay, he looked soft and melting like butter. Andrew wanted to dip his hands into him, to sip from his mouth and feel the steady pulse of his heart.

Neil came from old money produced through blood. He was the heir to the Wesninski estate, but also the Hatford’s. He had wardrobes packed with silks and chiffon, fancy coats and stiff trousers and hard boots. He had a mansion hung with exquisite portraits and oil paintings, curtains which cost more than Andrew’s house, furniture which dated back centuries yet was polished so bright it could have been made yesterday. He had a bed larger than Andrew’s and Aaron’s shared room. He had prospects and future betrothals and a list of universities just waiting to snap him up.

Yet he sat in the dirt of a horse stall, with mud splattered overalls coated in horse hair, a shirt which once might have been white but was perpetually stained yellow from hard work and sweat, boots gone soft and falling apart at the seams. His hair was an unruly uncombed mess atop his head, bright like the sunrise, and his eyes were blue as a summer sky. He smelt like sweat and horse and the Earth. His fingernails were perpetually dirty, no matter what time of day it was. He spent nights walking dark streets or sitting atop rooftops with Andrew, a bastard boy coated in poverty.

Their lives were miles apart, and yet they fit together perfectly. They had the same blase attitude about most of life, a dark humour others shyed away from, and a belief that there had always been something… missing. They had dark days and sharp days and quiet days. But together, they were learning ways to chase away the dark clouds and foreboding shadows.

Neil had been the one bright spark lighting up Andrew’s life from the first day. Everything was on fire, every atom of his being burned and yearned to be swallowed within Neils own blaze.

Andrew could remember, as clear as if it were yesterday, how his stomach had tied itself in knots. How his palms had dampened with sweat, catching the fine hairs of the soft kittens. How dry his mouth had gotten, all the moisture whisked away by nerves.

He could remember the wrinkle of Neils brow as he glanced at him, concern tightening his eyes as he realised something was wrong. The soft murmur of his name, slipping between smooth lips.

Andrew had asked, because he couldn’t bare to be pushed away once he leant in. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost Neil, if Neil looked at him with disgust and swore to never see him again.

But Neil had merely smiled, eyes gone soft and dewy as he set aside a kitten and leant in. His lips were even softer than Andrew had imagined. They were both inexperienced, and yet somehow it was perfect. The fumbling movement of their mouths as they tried to slit together in an even rhythm; the heavy gusts of breath as they tried to breathe and then forgot how to and almost choked on lack of oxygen; the first quick swipe of tongue to dampen the dry stickiness which suddenly turned the quiet kisses loud and sucking; the gut tightening sound Neil made when Andrew lifted a hand to his jaw, careful of the bruising, and tilted him down into the kiss; how they kept trying to get closer, ignoring the mewling and sharp claws of the kittens between them; Fox’s snort as hay dust swirled in her nostrils and she splattered them with wet droplets; how Andrew opened his mouth to breathe and suddenly Neils tongue was on his and it was like the beginning of a universe.

He could remember it all like it was yesterday. As another whizz-bang exploded overhead, he struggled to decide if it was a blessing or a curse. The memories were a warm blanket, a honey soaked film trying to cover the worst memories he’d occurred over the last few years. Where once everything had been bright and golden and beautiful, everything was dark and cold and horrid, leaking blood and guts everywhere. He could slip away for a second, a minute, an hour, and remember the boy he had cherished above all else. But it never lasted.

He didn’t know what happened to Neil. One day he was there, the next he was gone. Slipped out from under his fingertips, stolen on the wind as more bad news about the war blew in.

Andrew had tried to write to him once, but he’d never gotten a reply. He’d tried to find him, but so far there had been no news of a Wesninski or a Hatford in their ranks. Every glance of red hair was a beacon of hope, yet they left nothing but dark disappointment behind.

When the horses passed them, mud splattered and skeletal, he looked for red with a white muzzle. He dreaded the day he’d find it, abandoned on no-mans-land.

A whistle blew further down the line and he heaved a heavy breath before standing, so used to the feel of his clothes stiff and ridged and mud soaked he knew it shouldn’t bother him anymore, yet somehow it still did. He had a team of men to lead, he couldn’t dwell on the past. His brother, a medic now, among them.

Perhaps one day, the war would be over. Today wasn’t yet that day.

They had an advancement planned, a move to gain back what had been taken. A move closer to the enemy. It would be another week before he heard more than whispers travelling down the lines. They had a new battalion joining them in the meantime, due some time tomorrow evening.

Among them, a new translator. Andrew hoped Private Josten would be more help than their last one had been.

{READ ON AO3}

#my fic #give me validation #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #war au #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #mine #foxpaws10

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 25

first time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Drugs and alcohol. Vague reference to Britishguy Funnyname being Smaug. Gen-Z humor. Reader throwing it back. You can pry my headcanon of Sam being a good dancer from my cold, dead hands.

I literally have a playlist titled "party in Stark tower but a Gen-Z is the DJ". It's good for house parties & dancing. Throw it back my ladies theybies and gentlemen ✌🏻😔

As soon as we heard the muted cheering coming from the spot we'd last seen our friends, my and Loki's head minutely turned in that direction, and only centuries of practice on his end prevented us from colliding with another couple dancing nearby.

Stephen Strange was a... Vision. He was something else, for sure, tight black suit with a sophisticated scale pattern shining silver in the candlelight; the same pattern decorating parts of his face and head, convoluting in a set of small, raised grey-white horns. And his eyes - his eyes glowed like the molten embers of an unholy fire, yellow and gold. He looked terrifying and dangerous and delicious.

And he was looking at us, a cocky smirk on his pale lips and a glass of scotch idly held in a black, gloved hand.

Loki cleared his throat.

I averted my gaze, briefly locking my eyes with Loki's - red and wide. So I wasn't the only one that felt an indescribable sort of animalistic magnetism when looking at the Sorcerer Supreme. "Magic?" I asked, to take my mind off the awkwardness.

"Indeed," Loki replied curtly, stepping slightly closer to me. "Simplistic, but powerful magic. It seems like you had struck a sensitive spot within the Sorcerer," With a great deal of teasing, Loki grinned his trademark 'I-am-trouble' grin.

I chewed on my lip in thought. Low confidence much, Stephen? "We can both agree he is hot as fuck, a gorgeous piece of man, and continue with our party," I spoke after a brief moment, raising an eyebrow towards Loki, hoping to cut the shit at its roots. The trickster couldn't pretend he was unaffected, I had seen his brain stutter.

"Let's shall," He smiled, for real this time, and led us back to our friends. "Strange," Loki's voice was, perhaps, a tad more breathy than usual. I wouldn't blame him for shooting his shot if Stephen actually swung that way.

"Doctor Wizard," Game face: ON, I made my biggest, most innocent eyes and fluttered my wings for the dramatic effect as I made my way back to Bruce. Tony was gone and so was his glass of whiskey - I assumed he had went to schmooze. Bruce patted his lap and I obediently sat down, placing myself nearly face-to-face with the sorcerer.

"Good evening," It took my brain a moment to register that the deep, guttural voice was coming indeed from Stephen himself. "Forgive my tardiness, I was held up at the Sanctum." He stared right at me, flashing those unbelievable eyes in what seemed like amusement. I couldn't tell.

"Smaug," My brain blurted out for some reason. I mean, the eyes, the scales, the voice...

"Touchè," He nodded, saluting me with his glass and taking a hefty swig. "I can't say I'm very trendy," The way he said the word was obviously meant to insult current fashions, "But for an old man like me, I clean up nicely." The little shit-eating grin just about killed me on the spot. Bruce chuckled behind me.

"I won't disagree," I twirled the straw of a drink Bruce had passed me, faking coyness and trying to gather my thoughts in some resemblance of an order. "The eyes are impressive."

"Thank you," Stephen chuckled. "That, and the voice, took some time and patience."

So, he noticed. I was fucked. So, so fucked. I needed more alcohol. "Where's Wanda?" I asked nobody in particular.

"She's dancing with Natasha," Bruce answered, watching me and Stephen with a knowing smirk. The green in his eyes didn't intensify and I took the brief moment to softly touch my lips to his, so quickly it might have been mistaken for a trick of the eye by any peeping stranger. Stephen's close vicinity did something to me. "Wanna go dance with the girls, Princess?" Bruce leaned away slightly, the brown of his irises flashing a glowing green. Oh, he was affected, too.

Stephen Strange, you sly, sly bastard.

"Yes, daddy," I whispered into his ear - just to watch him shudder all over and the hand on my bare thigh briefly turn green, grabbing my flesh possessively... As well as hear Stephen's sharp inhale, the brightening of his eyes. I sashayed off, satisfied with my small act of revenge.

I approached Natasha and Wanda carefully, taking care not to startle them.

"Finally," The witch sighed, moving slowly and precisely to the music with Natasha by her side. "I thought I would find you and Loki in the supply closet." She sounded... Slightly jealous, to be honest.

"Nah, we were thirsting over Strange," I rebuffed the implications firmly.

Natasha whistled. "I can see why."

"I know, right? Almost got Brucie to drag me out of here caveman style with that voodoo shit," I laughed soundly, looking around for the DJ booth. The music was... Nice, but definitely not for solo or group dancing. "You wanna go with me or stay here? I'll bribe the DJ into playing something more... Dancy," I said, reaching into my bra to pull out a fat roll of cash.

"Oh, I want to see that," Natasha proclaimed, pulling me towards our destination by the hand. Wanda followed obediently and curiously. In ten minutes I spent making puppy eyes, Natasha was giving DJ her best murder face and Wanda blankly stared at the array of electronics, I became $300 poorer but the tunes playing overhead slowly turned away from dark rock and into club bass territory.

When a particular song began playing, I pulled out my two girls behind me without a twitch, snagging and downing two shots from a tray standing on the bar. "Tuesday on mind, think about you all the time..." I sang along, body falling into the familiar rhythm of bopping to house music. Natasha joined quickly whereas Wanda was a little confused... But still, she had the spirit.

Few more songs and few more shots in, I was feeling myself. Wanda was tipsy, too, as she had followed in my footsteps upon Natasha's amused urging. Slowly but surely, we danced and drank our way back to our table.

Tony and Stephen were engaged in a staring contest - which was quite funny to me in my state. Tony didn't flinch, didn't blink, just traced his thumb along his jawline just like every time he was deep in thought.

"Loki!" Wanda happily exclaimed, disrupting the tense silence with a fit of drunken giggling. "She bribed the DJ, that was so cool!" The witch snorted as me and Natasha let out slightly embarrassed laughs. Technically, Wanda was still underage and - unsurprisingly - a total lightweight.

"Let's get some fresh air, darling," Loki approached the situation courteously, holding the girl steady and gently steering her towards the patio.

I took the empty chair immediately, plopping with little grace, throwing a leg over the other and leaning back in my chair, exposing the sparkling skin of my legs.

"You're responsible for this noise?" Stephen gestured to the people dancing, now much more closely and loosely, all over the room.

"Baby girl, if you keep dancing like that, I won't mind the terrible noise," Tony winked at me salaciously, evidently having seen me throwing it back like a pro despite my heels and fancy dress. "Where'd you learn that?"

"I just had lots of practice... " I trailed off insinuatingly, eyeing each man for a moment longer than necessary. The darkness in their eyes answered all my questions, the alcohol on my blood making me much bolder in my leering towards them both. I wasn't hiding my eyes as they lazily ran over Stephen's and then Tony's form. The latter knew what it meant, usually his pants were undone in mere minutes after I looked at him like that.

Today, I was a Fae. I was supposed to be playful and I was going to play. My eyes averted before they reached Tony's, focusing instead on Natasha and being all but thrown around by an overly excited Thor. The spy took it like a champ, I doubt I could survive the space-lambada or whatever the fuck it was that the inebriated Asgardian was doing.

A somber silence hung over us, each person eyeing the others with secretive looks. Despite the situation having the full potential to be hot, it was starting to get a little bit unsettling. If I was honest with myself I had completely no idea how to party with old people. Bruce didn't seem to be the dancing kind, Strange looked way too unapproachable and Tony was well on his way to getting shitfaced. I hid behind my drink as I scouted the dance floor for Clint or Sam figuring that they probably wouldn't refuse me a dance or three.

Bingo. Sam caught my eyes quickly and made way to our table in response to the dejected look I gave him. "Sup, baby?" The Falcon-turned-Greek-demigod asked me as he promptly downed a glass of water. The sheen of sweat covering his face indicated he wasn't the one to sit around with a phat beat in the background. "Wanna bust some moves?'

"Sure do," I replied, taking hold of his outstretched hand. "Tony and Stephen are way too busy flirting to dance with me." I pouted, ignoring Tony's indignant shrieking and Sam's laughter. We found ourselves a cozy little spot between all the grinding, writhing sweaty bodies, just barely in direct eyesight of the pouting men we'd left at the table.

"Are you making moves on me now?" Sam laughed as our bodies slid close and moved to the rhythm in perfect sync. The man met all my expectations, he had all the prerequisites for being a good dancer and he did not disappoint.

"Nah, Bird, you've been friend zoned," I snarked, alcohol loosening my lips. "I already have my hands full with my geniuses, sorry man." I was twirled and spun, my hands promptly landing back on his chest. It wasn't that much different than dancing dirty during one of the house parties I used to frequent. Just a lot less pelvic thrusting...

Sam threw his head back, baring his pearly whites in mirth. "At least spare this man a good dance?" The bass dipped lower and I found myself turned around, facing Tony, Bruce and Stephen. Their smirks were dark and nearly identical as they watched me slot and sway my hips in rhythm with the man behind me. "I know you got some moves, baby, don't be shy," Sam teased me.

Who was I to deny such a polite request?Alcohol was fueling my bravery and all but evaporating my sense of shame. Aw, yiss. In short, I was throwing ass like crazy and Sam - Sam was catching it, expertly. My dress wasn't deterring me in the slightest bit, adding an extra flair to my movements. In a moment, my worries were forgotten and replaced by a rush of endorphins coming from the pure joy brought on by dancing.

We danced until my feet hurt. At some point Sam was swished away by a tall, beautiful woman and I traded places with some other girl, landing in the arms of a bulky blonde man dressed as Aquaman. In my drunken haze, Jason Momoa had nothing on him. I threw it back like there was no tomorrow, downing a drink that was given to me with little regard.

Tony's eyes met mine. He was watching me like a hawk, taking tantalising little sips of his whiskey and licking his lips every now and then, diverting his attention only to absentmindedly nod in Strange's direction or smile at a person who wanted a piece of his spotlight. I consumed all of Tony's free attention span. It made me feel powerful, invincible.

I danced a bit more before the booze got to me, making me feel a little too woozy for comfort. Eyes on the table, I stumbled my way to Tony, noisily plopping down in his lap.

His mouth was set in a firm line. "Having fun, Princess?"

"Yeah," I moaned, hugging him around the neck. My body was heating up rapidly, my heart raced. Wait a minute... "Shit," I came to a conclusion as quickly as Stephen's eyebrows rose when he took a look at my face.

"Are you high?" The sorcerer asked me with a deal of concern.

"Prolly," I spoke, sighing. Did I pop X at some point? My memory was hazy. "I'm good tho. Give me some water and I'll be good," I knew my drugs, okay? A little bit of extasy didn't hurt anybody now and then. I had stayed mostly clean ever since my and Tony's and Bruce's relationship started.

To my surprise, Tony chuckled. "I really have no place to judge, Princess, but a warning would have been nice. I hope you had the common sense to get that shit tested, at least." He spoke, slowly stroking my damp hair and allowing me to all but rub myself on him. He smelled so good.

"Tony, please," Stephen rolled his eyes, evidently preparing for a lecture.

I stopped him in his tracks. "Don't act like you're a saint, seventy percent of college students I know do Adderall and coke just to keep up with the curriculum. I call bullshit."

Tony snorted as Stephen rolled his eyes, looking away. Predictable. For all that Strange wanted to appear high and mighty, he wasn't shit. I'd googled him and asked around about him shortly after we'd first met. The sorcerer was no stranger to the lifestyles of the rich and famous. He had more than a few invitation-only parties behind his back. I couldn't wait to tear the self-satisfied, smug smirk off the bastard's face.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

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bloodyshadow1 · 4 years ago

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Beaujester week 2020 Day 3 Dance

Jester was bored and disappointed. When they, The Mighty Nein, received word that the Empire was holding a royal ball in celebration of the war with the Dynasty coming to a quick close, she had been excited. She had been extra excited when she found out that they were going to be on the guest list due to their efforts to push for peace. She thought it would be nice to be at a big party where there would be nice music, fancy people in fancy clothes, expensive food, it was supposed to be something out of a fairytale.

The others weren’t into it, at least not as much as Jester. Veth seemed okay with the fancy food, but regretted that she couldn’t bring Yeza, the Empire still believed he was either dead or a Dynasty prisoner, she couldn’t afford to reveal him. Caduceus was optimistic, at least he seemed to be okay with going, to him it was just another party like the one in Nicodranas. Fjord was cautious, he didn’t think it would be great for all of them to go since they tend to be embarrassments, but his opinion didn’t really matter. Caleb was being cautious too, both a bit too much and a bit too little, like he normally was when it came to the Assembly and their wizards. Yasha seemed ambivalent, she didn’t mind but crowds would make her uncomfortable.

Beau…, Beau seemed the most against going, Jester understood why, Beau didn’t like fancy clothes or expensive food, she had grown up a rich girl in a big house and hated every moment of it. Jester was glad that she got Beau the suit that she seems to love to wear instead of a dress. She looked nice, really pretty, in Jester’s red dress, but she didn’t look right. In the suit that Jester bought her though, she looked amazing, pretty and handsome…, it didn’t matter. Still, as a member of the Cobalt Soul Beau had to be present in case anything was said or she could overhear anything that the Soul would require. Yudala Fon would be there as the High Curator of the Rexentrum branch of the Soul, but they would be watched fair more intently by the Cerberus Assembly or other powers in the Empire who saw the Soul as a threat. Beauregard as a younger member who wasn’t wearing the raiments of the Soul, it would be easier for to move among the crowd unnoticed.

It wasn’t fair to Beau, but Jester was happy that they were going to the ball held by the King. At least she had been, now that they’re here, it was so boring. They split up once they got inside which wasn’t so bad since it was the plan, Caleb went off with Veth, with Fjord and Caduceus nearby to intercept any wizards who might try to corner him. Jester went off with Yasha and Beau, but they got separated in the crowds. It was easy to see Yasha who was a head taller than most of the guests that were invited, and her size made them part like water before her. Despite her trepidation, Beau managed to blend in with the crowd better than anyone in the group.

The people were so boring, they were all dressed in clothes worth thousands of gold and they were mostly boring. Men in suits or robes, women in the newest fashions that they could afford, that left them all looking pretty much the same. The food was okay, it was definitely expensive, but nothing like the spread at the party thrown in Nicodranas before the war. The music was okay too, if Jester was being charitable, it was a couple musicians playing classical Dwendalian music. There were no vocals, not that there was a way to compete with the Ruby of the Sea, but it was very plain classic songs. There were people dancing, but it was the boring kind of dancing that was slow and none of the couples looked all that happy with their partner.

Jester was quickly set upon by a few men who seemed eager to spend time with the exotic looking blue woman in the outlandish dress. Currently she was dancing with a young man who was taller than her with sandy blond hair, Someone Something who was the Son of Someoneelse who owned land Somewhere. He had said it a few times when he introduced himself, apparently his family was one of the wealthiest and most powerful amongst Jester’s would be suitors so the rest backed off for now so Jester couldn’t even use one of them as an excuse.

“You truly have the most wonderful eyes Ms. Jester,” he said with his eyes looking far more south than her eyes.

“Thank you,” Jester tried to say as nicely as she could. He had been at least slightly charming and good looking enough at first and Jester had always wanted to dance at a fancy ball like this so she had agreed to a dance. Three dances later, his leery eye and braggadocious attitude had gotten old, and this was their forth dance together. “For the compliment and the dance, unfortunately I have something I must attend to,” she said curtsying and before turning away.

“Oh come now,” The man said, grabbing her wrist to stop her, “one more dance.”

“I’m sorry,” Jester said evenly, she could tell the man was trying to show off how strong he was with the wrist grabbing. “But unfortunately, like I said I have things to do so I need to leave.”

“I don’t think you understand,” the man said, his faux charming tone dropped, “I have decided that a lovely woman like you is just what I need to make this night entertaining and I always get what I want.” The grip he had on Jester’s wrist tightened, to make his point.

This man might be a threat to other young women, but Jester had faced far more dangerous men and monsters. A spoiled brat that couldn’t take a no, that was the reason why she had to leave Nicodranas in the first place, she wasn’t afraid of him. “I understand perfectly,” Jester said, easily breaking the angry man’s grip with her deceptive strength, shocking the man. “You are a spoiled brat and very rude. I agreed to dance with you and I have, now I am done because I don’t want to dance with you anymore. You’re making a scene and I am not going to humor you any longer.”

The man’s face turned red, then purple, as Jester told him off he looked ready to shout at her but before he could Jester was interrupted. “There you are my dear,” Beau came striding over as if she was some puffed up noble, “I know you enjoy dancing with the menfolk, but really I think you’ve spent enough time teasing,” she said and offered Jester a hand away.

For a moment Jester could stare at Beau, looking so beautiful in her suit, coming over to rescue her like a knight in shining armor from the stories. But it was the way Beau looked at her that made Jester feel warm, her big blue eyes burned with a desire to protect Jester. It didn’t matter if Jester could have handled things, Jester was just glad Beau came to help her. With a giggle and a curtsy Jester took Beau’s hand. “I’m sorry my love,” she said playing along, “but I wouldn’t have to spend as much time teasing if you would just dance with me. It’s not my fault I have to seek out other forms of entertainment while you indulge in the buffet.”

“Excuse me,” the young man Jester was dancing with said interrupting them, “I was talking to her.”

Beau gave the man child a haughty look up and down, and laughed at him, “and now I’m talking to her, and I’m much more important than you are so go away.”

“I’ll have you know I can -,”

“Can what,” Beau cut him off. “Can get into a fight with your betters and humiliate your family, to the point where your father puts you aside for one of your numerous bastard siblings? Go away, you’re not worth it when I have my sweet to talk to.”

For a moment the man seemed like he wanted to say something, but while Jester, for all her power looked sweet and innocent. Beau, with her face covered in scars and hard eyes didn’t. “You haven’t heard the last of me,” he shouted with his tail between his legs.

“Now that that’s over,” Beau said, “you want to dance,” she asked the other woman at the other end of her arm as Beau of the Mighty Nein, her best friend, her roommate, her something more.

“Yeah,” Jester said smiling, she wanted to dance with her monk in a sharp suit.

This is late, and I’ll admit the ending wasn’t my favorite, but it’s already late and I made the mistake of going into the Beaujester tag for inspiration, but while there were good art and stories, there are so many assholes in the tag bitching and moaning about how their ship is better than others and garbage like that. That much negativity just sucks the creativity out of me. Still, I did my best to push through and finish this. I hope you enjoy it

#beaujester #beaujester week 2020 #beaujesterweek2020 #critical role #the mighty nein #sappheau #beauregard lionett #jester lavorre

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yodawgiherd · 4 years ago

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Red flag pt.2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Q and A sessions are surprisingly fun to write. Rating still M, I'm not thErE yEt. ^^

A week.

One week was how long Mikasa managed before the curiosity killed the proverbial cat and her fingers tapped the name of the newest addition to her contact list. Eren picked up on the fifth ring, sounding sleepy, which she thought was strange considering that it was about two in the afternoon.

“Yeager.”, came his muffled voice, followed by a yawn.

It took her a second before Mikasa realized that she didn’t give him her number, as per their agreement, so he had no idea who’s calling.

“Hey, it’s Mikasa.”, she re-introduced herself, “Remember me?”

There was a sound on the other end, a shuffle of bedding as he sat up straight.

“Of course I do, the pretty girl with the pretty name.”

“The one and only. Listen, is that lunch offer still on the table?”

“Totally, just tell me the place and time and I’ll be there.”

“Really? I can pick anything?”

He chuckled at how excited her voice became.

“I’m not a picky eater.”

“And it’s still on you, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well then…”

The sushi place was fancy, far above her poor-ass student budget. She was there twice so far, once Levi treated her when the news of Mikasa being accepted at the university arrived, and once when it was her birthday and Sasha decided to splurge for her best friend. And boy did Mikasa love both those experiences. She felt a bit guilty, abusing Eren’s blind trust like that, but hey, he offered it first, and judging from the state of his flat, he wasn’t doing half bad for himself. If it came to the worst, Mikasa was prepared to split the bill, she did have some money from her part-time job. The food was worth it.

Eren wasn’t there when she arrived, so Mikasa picked a table, getting herself comfortable. When the waitress came, she almost sent her away, to wait for Eren, but then reminded herself that she’s , most likely, not paying. Appetizer it was. When he finally arrived, she was already halfway done with the fried chicken pieces, which earned a raised eyebrow.

“Hungry?”, he asked, removing his coat and sitting down himself.

“Famished.”, she agreed, “Forgot to eat breakfast.”

She skipped breakfast willingly to save space for this feast, but that was something Eren didn’t need to know. Most likely satisfied with her little lie, he nodded before picking up the menu himself. The evening progressed with somewhat casual conversation and excellent food. Eren asked her how she’s doing lately, and Mikasa described the procrastinating bliss she’s been living in since her last exam. That paradise was coming to an end, however, as she needed to get out of the city soon and back to her hometown.

“To visit your parents?”, he asked, understandably not knowing the bitter truth that Mikasa wasn’t ready to share yet.

Instead, she shook her head.

“No, I have a part-time work at my brother’s gym.”, she pointed towards herself, “One personal trainer, right here.”

Luckily, Eren didn’t press the issue. The way he knew when to stop asking was an amazing thing, and Mikasa secretly wished that more people would be born with that gift. To break the silence that followed, and to change the course of the conversation, Mikasa decided to strike back.

“So, Eren, how about we stop beating around the bush.”

His grin was cheeky.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Please, as if you don’t know why I came here in the first place.”

He picked up one sushi roll that he was eating, with a fork like a damn savage, turning it against the light.

“The free food?”

She scowled at his amused expression.

“Because of my amazing company?”, he guessed again, getting a sigh in return.

“As if.”

“Wow, you hurt me.”

The smile present in the answer was infectious, and Mikasa had a hard time resisting it.

“You are quite the egoist, aren’t you?”

“So I’m told.”, Eren shrugged, unbothered by that accusation.

Unsure how to continue, Mikasa massaged her forehead. This guy was something else.

“Since it’s so important to you, “ Eren offered, “Why don’t you just ask?”

“Fine.”, looking back up, she met his emeralds with her own eyes, “What do you do for a living?”

“Care to guess first?”

More games? Fine, you’re on.

“Okay, sure.”, putting her chopsticks down, as she was a civilized person, Mikasa rested her chin on her intertwined hands, “Let’s go over what I know then. First, there is this strange… rope fixation you have, and you said that was caused by your job, right?”

“It’s not only ropes,”, he corrected her, “But it is related to my job, yes.”

“Second, when I called you yesterday you were still in bed, and it was around two, which means that you work late at night, right?“

“I could have been gaming all night, didn’t think about that?”

“Maybe, but maybe not. I’ll take my chances.”

“All right, then put the two together. What do you think I am?”

“A smug bastard.”

Of course he grinned at that.

“That’s true. But professionally?”

Putting on her best thinking hat, Mikasa rolled the facts around in her head.

“A policeman?”, she tried.

“Not a bad guess, handcuffs and night shifts.”, Eren took the time to have a dramatic sip before finally revealing the truth, “But you’re wrong. Try again.”

“Some sort of artist then?”

His eyes narrowed.

“I guess you could say that. But what kind do you have in mind?”

“Singer?”

“Nope.”

“Painter?”

“No.”

Mikasa tried a few more art-related jobs that would fit Eren’s profile, but he shot down all of them. At the end of her rope, she pulled out a trump card. Even looking objectively, outside of that “he was totally her type” thing, Eren was very attractive. Combine that with strange working times and….

“Are you a model?”

“Yea…..Nope.”

Damn it. Out of ideas, Mikasa put up her palms in the international gesture of surrender.

“Ok, I give up.”

“Guess we will never know then.”, Eren leaned back in his chair, smugger than ever before, “What a disappointment.”

Out of words and completely against her usually serious character, Mikasa kicked him under the table. Hard.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Spill the beans, Eren.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll kick you again.”

Rubbing his shin and not sure that his bones would survive another kick like that, Eren decided that the teasing stage was over.

“Very well then.”, leaning closer, he put both his elbows on the wood, looking right into Mikasa’s eyes when he spoke.

“I’m a dom.”

The clueless look on her face was priceless.

“H-Huh?”

“Dom, master, and a hundred other ways you can call it.”

In slow motion, Eren watched as that clueless expression changed. With words falling and clicking into place, the not-understanding look was replaced by a blush that began creeping up to her cheeks. In short, it was adorable.

“Y-You mean like… like….”

“Yes.”

“Err… I…”

And Eren waited patiently, finishing his drink, while Mikasa kept trying to say a word and completely failing at it. It took her about five minutes before she finally closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and steadied herself.

“So you’re like a s-sex worker? P-Prostitute?

“No and yes.”

“Huh?!”

“Technically, you’re right. But since I don’t have sex with my clients, I don’t usually call myself sex worker.”

“Ok, I’m lost.”

“Well, it's actually quite easy. I fulfill the fantasies of the client, I take care of their needs, I make them…. Err..”, he looked around to see if no one was around – they were in public after all, “…finish, but I don’t do it myself.”

“So what you’re saying is…”

“I’m saying that I can satisfy my clients needs without doing it the old-fashioned way. God bless technology.”

Mikasa was rubbing her forehead now, taking the information in.

“And your clients… what are they?”

“I deal with women exclusively if that’s what you are asking. But if you have a male friend in need of similar services, I know a great dominatrix, mistress A, that can take them, she’s a real top of the class. She was my…”, his gaze slid over Mikasa’s face, lingering over the shape of her eyes for a second, “ senpai back when I was beginning.”

She groaned. He had to use that word to tease her, abusing the weakened mental state she was in right now – she couldn’t think of a comeback. And, to salt the wound, he was grinning again.

“You can’t dump something like this at me without any explanation.”, Mikasa demanded, “How did you even end up working like this?”

“It’s…”, kind of personal, he was about to say, but then he met Mikasa’s eyes and that defense he usually held up around his secrets melted.

It was crazy, he didn’t even know the girl that well, he had no idea what she was truly like. But she was here, sitting across the table, and her grey eyes saw right through him. And he… he simply told her.

“When I was a kid, I was a bit fucked up. My dad…. He was not exactly a great role model. My mom was his second wife, he left the first after having a kid with her.”, he answered her follow-up question before she even asked, “Yes, I have a half-brother but we are not in contact. After leaving her, he married my mom and had me. I can’t say that he was a bad guy, from what little I remember, but he was hardly ever home. And one day, he completely disappeared. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, neither does mom, and the police couldn’t find him. He’s gone.”

Mikasa, who had her own tragic parents-related story, remained silent, knowing that even years later it is hard to talk about stuff like this. Eren took a small break, a sip of water, and went on.

“I had a lot of issues from that, anger mostly. I lashed out on anyone or anything that I didn’t like, punching before asking. Bloodying people and getting bloodied myself was the only way to get the anger out, I did not know any better. You can imagine that didn’t go well in school. Mom did her best to keep me in line, but it was hard for her, too hard at times. Through sheer luck and endless patience of my teachers, I managed to graduate, but the anger inside me didn’t die. Even as an adult, I was a colossal dickhead. But all that changed shortly after I turned eighteen and moved to college.”

“Why?”

“Because I met her.”

Who? and How? were on the edge of Mikasa’s tongue, but she held those questions in. Eren would tell her.

“It was one of the college parties, you know how those go. I was there mostly to get drunk and get into a fight with someone because that was about everything I cared about back then. I succeeded in that too, I punched some blonde dude in the face and he didn’t take that lightly.”

“Did you beat him up?”

To her surprise, Eren tipped his head back and laughed.

“No. The dude completely wrecked me. He was a titan, both taller and heavier than me, and I later learned that he was a boxer as well. When I woke up from the beating he so generously gave me, I saw that a blonde girl had dragged me out on the lawn and was standing there still, waiting. Naturally, as I was a real gentleman back then, I spat out the blood in my mouth, told her to fuck off and tried getting up. Do you know what she did?”

“No idea.”

“She slapped me. Hard. I called her a stupid bitch, and she slapped me again. The third time, I got about two syllables out before her palm made another imprint on my face. And after all that, she kissed me, and I realized I was never so turned on in my life.”

Mikasa honestly didn’t know what to say.

“That’s….random?”

“I was a raging asshole back then Mikasa. I know that saying it now, it looks like she was acting out of her mind, but you weren’t there.”, Eren shook his head, “Anyway, that’s how I met the future mistress A. Annie.”

“How did she even know that you won't just flip out after she slaps you?”

“She didn’t. Later she told me that it was a hunch on her part, that watching me get into a fight with that giant for no good reason tipped her off, showed her that I might have some anger issues.”

“So, after that, she showed you the ropes?”

He didn’t miss the reference, it earned a respectful nod from him.

“Yes. She was already working as a domme, on her own back then, and mostly for fun and the experience. Annie was older than me by a year, and she spent that year mostly half-assing school and perfecting her skill for her future job.”

“What happened after that party? Did you two became a couple?”

“Not really. We didn’t date, like at all, but we became good friends, and Annie would train her techniques on me.”

“So what, she like tied you up from time to time?”

He nodded.

“That and other things. We practiced on each other, but we never made it sexual. I know it sounds crazy, but you didn’t meet Annie, she’s can drip hot wax on your nipples without batting an eye. I’d say that’s part of her charm, she’s completely stoic while working.”

“And you?”

“Honestly, in the beginning, it was weird as hell. But when we kept doing it, I realized that my anger was subdued by it, that this helped me overcome it for the first time in my life. With all the discipline and focus this required I managed to be in control of my life for what felt like the first time. It was still difficult for me from time to time, I admit, but Annie was always there to put me back to my place.”

“How did she know that this was what you needed?”

“Annie also had… issues when she was younger. And this thing helped her through it, so she thought I might be the same. For the record, she was right.” Eren was having a pleasant memory trip, and Mikasa kept silent, not wanting to interrupt, “Anyway, after I realized that I prefer being the top, Annie found me a girl who liked being the bottom.”

“Finally a girlfriend?”, Mikasa tried again, but he chuckled.

“Nope, this one had a catch too. She was mostly a lesbian.”

“Mostly a lesbian?”

“Yea, she’s bi, but prefers women.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I? She was tiny and amazingly flexible because she does gymnastics. Incredible performance partner, I still work with her from time to time.”

“But why didn’t she find a female partner then? If she prefers women that is.”

“She did, sort of, Annie worked on her too sometimes, I think that was why she even agreed to do it in the first place. But with a blindfold around her eyes and tied up so she couldn’t touch us, she kind of stopped caring who’s holding the vibrator.”

Mikasa felt like this was all a big joke, but Eren was completely serious.

“You had this little triangle of fun for how long?”

“Till we graduated. After that, Annie and I found the agency and got employed there, and Krista went on to become a doctor.”

“I’ll presume that Krista was that flexible one?”

“You’d presume correctly.”

“She’s a doctor, but she still does… things? With you?”

“She performs with us sometimes if that’s what you’re talking about. Nothing else.”

“You want to tell me that you’ve been doing BDSM…. stuff to each other for years and never fucked?”, Mikasa shook her head, “I don’t buy it.”

“You don’t have to, but it’s the truth. My relationship with both Annie and Krista was strictly professional, however crazy that sounds.”

“Then how did you develop your “can’t have sex until the girl is tied up” thing.”

“I dated in college normally, not much mind you, but a few flings found their way to me. Then it was pretty simple. When I had normal sex, I didn’t find myself half as aroused as I was when Annie slapped me for the first time. So I tried getting my hobby into play.”

Hobby, that’s one way to call it.

“And how did it go?”

“Not great. The first two girls said that I’m a creep and left. But the third one agreed and…”, Eren leaned back again, folding his hands behinds his head, “best sex of my life.”

“Fine, but if you enjoy it, why don’t you do it at work then? I’m sure some of your clients would appreciate it.”

“I’m sure they would, but I have this strange need to differentiate between work and pleasure - I think I caught it from Annie. I can’t get into it when I know that the person I’m tying up paid for it.”

“Strange.”

Eren didn’t argue.

“Strange indeed.”

All right, cool info dump and all, but Mikasa was more confused than anything. He was a sex worker BUT he didn’t have sex with his clients BUT he preferred to have the toys in bed while doing it. What the hell?

“Can you like, describe what you do then? I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

Eren shrugged.

“Sure. After making the initial contact, through the agency of course…”

“You’re still at the same one?”

“Yup, much easier that way. Don’t have to deal with things.”, Eren scrunched his nose, “Like taxes.”

“Okay, so some bored lady picks you at your company’s website, and then what?”

“Then we do the first meeting, through phone, email, or in person, that’s up to the client. There, we discuss important things, like what my hard limits are.”

“Which means?”

“Things that I won’t do, for various reasons.”

Mikasa didn’t ask what those were, so Eren continued.

“With that out of the way, we talk about what my client wants, what sort of fantasy I would be fulfilling. Once I have a picture in my head, I recommend the place to meet – one of the places owned by the agency, dungeons if you want, or even the clients own place.”

“You go to people’s homes with that?”

“If they want it, yes. It fits the best for certain scenarios, and people usually feel much more comfortable there.”

“And they trust you? I mean, you could tie them up and rob the place.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I never thought of that?”, Eren scratched the back of his head, “That’s a valid thing what you said, but I have the agency to vouch for me.”

“Okay. And then?”

“Then we meet at the place we picked, have a quick recap to make sure I’ll do everything she wants, pick a safeword and we are good to go.”

“And you do what?”

“Mikasa, my range of services is very wide.”, putting one hand on the table, Eren began counting, finger by finger, “Bondage, suspension, pain stuff like caning, whipping and more. Waxplay, petplay, some electro, and…”

“Ok, ok! I heard enough!”

“I’d imagine so. From how you reacted when I put the rope around your hands, let me guess that you are very vanilla, right?”

“Huh?”

“It means like basic – that you don’t do anything strange in the bedroom.”

“No, I…”, Mikasa ran her hand over her somewhat heated forehead, “I’m very vanilla.”

“Weird.”

She fixed him with a look.

“Why is that weird?”

“It’s just…” he gestured towards her, “People with your style are usually into it.”

“My style? You mean black?”

“Dark, goth, however, you want to call it.”, he reached up, tapping his ear, at the same place where Mikasa’s cartilage was pierced, “And those things are also not completely usual.”

“I guess I am a bit strange, but nothing compared to you, sir. I never even imagined….”

“Well, the big mystery is over, the cat is out of the bag.”, he looked at her with a strange emotion in his eyes now, one that Mikasa couldn’t quite decipher. It looked like… worry?

“We can still be friends, right?”, he asked.

It was not like Eren did anything bad to her, and while his job was a bit shocking, he was still nothing but the perfect gentleman.

“Right, of course. I… I’ll need some time to digest this, I think.”

Eren watched her, tapping his fingers against the table, teeth chewing his full bottom lip. He was thinking about something, Mikasa could tell, but before she could ask, he dropped the bomb at her.

“Come to one of my shows.”

“Huh?”

“My shows. I don’t do individual clients only, I perform at clubs too. BDSM clubs that is. I’ll write the address down.”

She was shaking her head before he even finished the sentence.

“N-No, I.. .No... I’d never.”

“I’m not asking you to take part, there will be plenty of people as spectators. And don’t worry about being recognized or something, the club is members only and you can grab a mask at the entrance if you want, your identity will be safe.”

His words burned with intensity now, but his eyes did even more, and Mikasa was drowning in it.

“W-Why is it so important to you?”

“Because I can see how you look at me now. You think that I’m some sort of pervert, that I what do is unnatural, not normal. I want to show you that it can be beautiful too, that there is nothing wrong if two consenting adults have a go at something like this.”

“I.. Uhm…”

The address written on a napkin, Eren slid it over to her.

“Listen, I obviously won’t force you into anything, this is your choice. The show is next week and then again in two weeks. You said that you are leaving the city soon, right?”

She nodded, wordless.

“Is it far? Or could you theoretically come back for the evening?”

“It’s not that far.”, Mikasa replied, finding her voice again, “Like an hour and a half drive.”

“All right. Let’s put it like this, if you want, come to the second show, the one that is two weeks from now, the club will be less packed, and I will tell the bouncer to let you in. Just let him know that Eren sent you. If you don’t want to, that’s fine too, I will understand.”

She nodded, once again retreating to no-words strategy. Eren took it as a cue, standing up.

“I’ll go settle the bill.”

When he came back, he grabbed his coat, putting it on while Mikasa sat there, gears in her head turning.

“If you won’t show, I’ll know that you are not interested in that part of my life, but that doesn’t mean we can’t meet again. Right?”, he smiled at her, “If you ever want a free lunch, give me a call, okay?”

That said, Eren half-turned towards the exit, ready to go when Mikasa’s voice interrupted him.

“Eren?”

“Yea?”

“Give me your phone.”

He did so automatically, even unlocking it for her. It wasn’t like there were any more dirty secrets he had to hide from her, not after today. Mikasa worked for a while, tapping the screen before she set it back on the wood and slid it over to him. Picking the device up, Eren saw that he had a new contact added – certain Mikasa Ackerman.

“This will be easier if we have a way to get in touch with each other right?”

Now he was the one dumbly nodding.

“Right…”

“I don’t know if I will turn up for your show, but I want to meet again. I don’t want to cut and run because of what you told me today. You’re a nice guy.”

“You’re saying that because I bought you lunch.”, Eren accused her with a smile, getting some bravado back.

She winked at him.

“Perhaps.”

Still smiling, Eren pocketed his phone, feeling like he got more out of this meeting than he even dared to hope for.

“Well, I’ll see you around then, Mikasa.”

“Take care Eren.”

She watched him leave the restaurant, her own lips curved upwards. When he disappeared from view, she ran her hands through her hair, a half-amused/half-nervous giggle falling from her lips. She had never asked this many questions in her life, not even in her classes. And the answers she got were…. something else.

This guy? This guy was getting more interesting by the second.

#fanfic #snk #eremika #why yes I do prefer doing new drafts instead of finishing WIPs #how could you tell?

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years ago

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the walls have ears | Taehyung

→ summary: in hindsight, taehyung probably shouldn’t have told the paintings about his debilitating crush on you after he had (unknowingly) drunk some magically spiked pumpkin juice. after all, paintings don’t really have all that much going on, except getting excited over the occasional gossip or two. and well... news always travels fast when there’s magic involved.

{based on a prompt by @/alloftheprompts: “Character A tells a painting about their crush on Character B. The portrait spills their secret.”}

→ genre: hogwarts!au, fluff, humor → words: 5.6K → a/n: this is for the lovely @merriblazi who donated a couple ko-fis to fund my grocery bills lmao thank you so much!! also, i’m still accepting ko-fi comms until the end of august, so if you’d like something like this as well, feel free to drop a few ko-fis down my drain!! i’d love to write you all something!! (new banner was made by @jincherie ty girl ily)

The paintings at Hogwarts are all in high spirits today.

Taehyung notices this when he exits the Gryffindor common room, immediately being greeted by the Fat Lady’s cackles of excitement. He jumps up in surprise at her ear-splitting squeals, nearly knocking over a poor first-year student behind him. He shouts out an apology at the kid, but she has already scuttled off, spooked by the loud portrait. Honestly, Taehyung isn’t any better himself, turning back around to stare wide-eyed as the Fat Lady continues to point and giggle at him with her mouth stretched into a smirk.

Taehyung hazards a greeting. “Um, good morning?”

“Good morning indeed,” she singsongs, procuring a fan out of the many folds of her dress (from where exactly she had it stored, he tries not to think too deeply about). “Mister Kim, I’m sure you had quite an interesting evening the day before, did you not?”

Taehyung freezes immediately, his blood running cold at her words. Being a known prankster and rapscallion, Taehyung has grown to learn the importance of running at the first sign of trouble, despite how cowardly that might seem for a Gryffindor. The best way to continue having the pleasure of wreaking havoc is to choose your battles wisely, which is just a nice way of saying that he needs to scram before the authorities can catch him. He had learned all of this from the best, seeing as how his best friend happens to be a Slytherin.

He tries to think of what he had done the other night, but he comes up blank. He remembers being busy the entire afternoon trying to ask you on a date for the fourteenth time this month, only to no avail (as always). While others had already been deterred by intimidation alone, Taehyung remains hopeful that he will get the guts to talk to you eventually. After all, his mommy says he’s a handsome and charming boy who can sweep any girl off their feet, and his mommy has never lied to him before.

At least, that’s what he’s been telling himself these past few years of silently pining over you, but he digresses.

“I… I had an interesting evening?” Taehyung repeats quizzically, becoming more bewildered by the second. Due to the Fat Lady’s commotion, it seems to have caused a stir among the rest of the paintings, all of the nearby portraits peering over their frames to catch a good look at him. Taehyung can even see some of the more lethargic portraits waking up long enough to direct attentive gazes at him.

“Why of course!” The Fat Lady positively screams, clasping her hands together with a loud clap. “The castle is abuzz with excitement over your daring confession last night! Why, I could hardly contain my excitement for when you would awaken.” She flicks away her fan over her shoulder, accidentally hitting her neighboring portrait in the face. She scarely blinks at her neighbor’s barks of irritation.

Oh, jeez. It’s the crotchety portrait that everyone disliked. This isn’t good; no one could ever get the old fart to shut up once you got him going, and Taehyung knows better than anyone else how easy it is to get a rise out of him. After all, it was his favorite pastime.

“Watch where you flap those arms of yours, woman!” He shouts, bulbous features turning purple in mere seconds. The Scholar, or as Taehyung likes to call the Squalor, takes one of his many books from his desk, ready to hurl back at her.

Before he can even think of pulling back his shoulder, a stampede of finely dressed ladies comes rushing in out of nowhere, quickly subduing them by sheer number alone. There is a loud squabble as the ladies all corner him like a murder of multi-colored crows. At a closer glance, Taehyung recognizes them from one of the large paintings near the entrance to the Great Hall.

That was floors away. How had they rushed over so quickly? And for what reason?

“Oh hush, you simpering nerd!” One of the ladies snaps, grabbing the Fat Lady’s fallen fan and slapping the man in the face once more. The scholar sputters, at a loss for words for once in his life. Taehyung thanks the ladies internally, having always wanted to disfigure the bastard’s face ever since he called his yellow sunglasses unfashionable. What the hell did someone who died during the plague know anything about fashion?

“We came as soon as we heard, Lady Fat! Now, where is the boy that everyone’s been gossiping about – oh, my word!” Taehyung assumes it is the leader of the pack who gasps in surprise, her well-manicured finger outstretched as she waggles it at him. He can tell she’s the leader by the ostentatious crown on her head, complete with glittering jewels that he could scarcely tell the names of.

The Fat Lady moves to the side, allowing the women to enter her space until almost the entirety of her canvas was filled with nothing but powdered wigs and poofy skirts. Taehyung can hardly see her crown of vines with how many people were surrounding her.

Her voice sounds muffled when she replies, “For the hundredth time, my name is the Fat Lady, not Lady Fat. And yes Martha, it is him! His name is Taehyung, the one I’m certain who had spoken to Raphael the other night.”

Wait. Taehyung’s mouth drops, taken aback. This is certainly news to him! When had he spoken to Raphael? Who the hell was Raphael, even? Why did everyone seem to know more about his nightly activities than he did?

He doesn’t get to ask, however, as the ladies immediately begin to bombard him with a barrage of comments ranging from excitement to disappointment, no holds barred.

“Oh, it’s the cute Gryffindor boy with the long eyelashes! They would make a lovely couple indeed! I wonder if Raphael has already passed the message to her–”

“He’s the one? Surely not! I was hoping it was the cat-eyed boy with black hair instead. Wouldn’t he be a better match for her?”

“You must be crazy, Marie! This boy is clearly meant for her. My mother was a seer, and I can tell from a mile away that those two are meant to be soulmates–”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Taehyung cries out, anxious from all the chatter coming from all directions at once. He can feel the panic bubbling up, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He doesn’t even know where to start with all this! “Can everyone shut up for a second!”

Miraculously, all the portraits clam up at his request, still gazing upon him like he holds all the secrets to the world. Which, much to everyone’s disappointment, he does not.

The sudden disquiet unnerves him slightly, causing him to stutter in his speech. He swallows thickly, voice meek. “I-I… I’m a bit confused about all this. Can someone explain what everyone’s talking about? I just wanted to head down and get some breakfast.”

It feels like a hundred painted faces are staring back at him, and when Taehyung casts a furtive glance behind him, he sees that even the paintings from two staircases up are watching with rapt attention. Why was everyone so interested in him, all of a sudden? Not even his infamous dungbomb toilet prank got him this much notoriety. When he turns back to face the ladies, they all seem to be just as shocked as he is.

Lady Martha steps forward until she is almost taking up the entirety of the canvas, squinting at him dubiously. Her previously excited demeanor has soured greatly at his words. She tilts her head towards him, unimpressed. “Well? Are you not the boy with the crush on Lady Y/N? Have we sprinted across the entire castle just to find that the culprit of last night’s latest gossip had all been just another prank?”

“N-no, I – Wait. Did you just say–” Taehyung stops in the middle of his sentence to gape back at her, his ears feeling hot as his blood quickly races up to his face. “Did you just say ‘the boy with the crush on Y/N?’” He hisses the last part in a strangled whisper, snapping his head side to side to make sure no one else had heard. He is relieved to find that the only other people nearby do not seem to have heard their exchange, but he still waves his hands frantically to get all the portraits to lower their volume.

She raises her eyebrow at him, hip cocked to the side. “Yes? Had I misspoken? Had Raphael been lying to all of us once again?” She scoffs in exasperation, though it does not seem to be aimed at him. The rest of the ladies seem annoyed at this Raphael as well. “That’s just like him, too! We shouldn’t have trusted him again. That angel never did know how to shut his trap.”

The ladies make muted harrumphs of discontent, noses upturned in the air. Taehyung watches as a few of them begin to make their way back to their own canvas, but he needs to ask them one last thing before they leave. While he doesn’t remember ever speaking to a painting named Raphael, he still does not know how he had found about his crush on you in the first place.

He doesn’t know what he would do if you were to ever find out, even if it was just a rumor for now. This is not how he imagined he would finally tell you about his feelings; everything feels like a nightmare. He can already feel the apples of his tanned cheeks beginning to burn in embarrassment.

“Hold on, did you say an angel named Raphael said all of that stuff?” Taehyung asks hesitantly, sweat building up on the back of his neck. He can vaguely remember a fresco of some angels near the kitchens, but he isn’t quite sure. He never goes there unless he wants to snag some treats from the house elves, but he has started relying on Seokjin to do the food hauls for him these days. Never mind the fact that he had already gotten caught in the act thrice by you – ever the attentive prefect.

Oh, how he hated how much he loved you, despite the stick up your ass. That being said, no one was supposed to even know that he liked you, much less the entire painting population of Hogwarts. Not even Jimin knew, and that was saying something! How did this Raphael fellow find out when he had kept this secret deep inside his heart since the first day he had laid his eyes on you? How had he figured him out, unless Taehyung had been the one to tell him–

“Yes, the archangel Raphael near the kitchens.” Lady Martha nods, her sneer disfiguring her delicate features. “He said that a drunken boy with long lashes and dark brown hair had confessed his undying feelings for the rigid Lady Y/N the other night. Oh, how excited we were to hear the news!” Martha holds a hand to her chest, sighing dramatically. The remaining ladies chorus their sighs as well, one of them even fainting from grief.

The Fat Lady cranes her neck upwards, trying her best to speak above the fallen, wailing ladies. “Yes, quite. What a shame! When I heard from Lady Martha, who had heard from Lord Michael, who had heard from Sire Nicholas, who had heard from Professor Bang–”

“Wait, Professor Bang?” Taehyung mutters in disbelief, scarcely heard over the racket.

“–who had heard from Archangel Raphael that a boy with long eyelashes had been going on and on about his crush on a female prefect, I just knew it had to be you! Then, the Ladies of Commère discovered that the prefect was Miss Y/N, well… It was like a dream come true! We had all been hoping for her to find her prince sooner or later.”

“Her prince? What for?” Taehyung is kind of afraid to dive deeper into this mess, though he is too curious to let it slide. It isn’t like you’re short on suitors, despite how intimidating and uptight you are. It is part of the reason why he’s too shy to approach you in the first place, with how large his competition pool is.

“Well… She had been complaining to me during her nightly rounds about how lonely she has been feeling, ever since her best friend had started dating that oaf with a quaffle for a brain,” Lady Martha tuts, shaking her head pityingly.

Taehyung is familiar with that “oaf,” otherwise known as the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He admits that Jungkook isn’t the brightest boy, but he is a wickedly good player. Plus, Taehyung thinks he’s funny, especially after that incident when he had tried to snort pumpkin juice on a dare and consequently sprayed the entire wall with a myriad of fluids. (You had deducted points out of your own house for that, much to everyone else’s chagrin.)

Lady Martha continues, “She may seem like an independent woman, but I suppose all of us tend to get lonely during the night. And all the paintings love a good romance every once in a while, so we couldn’t help ourselves from jumping the gun a bit…”

Taehyung feels the dread begin to pile up like bricks in the pit of his stomach, reminding him of the time when he had eaten too much cauldron cakes in one go. He needs to go see Raphael as soon as possible and get to the bottom of this. He doesn’t remember speaking to him at all, which is what makes Taehyung the antsiest. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t quite remember what he did after dinner last night.

Somehow between now and then, he had managed to go to bed despite not knowing how or when. Taehyung had woken up this morning with a minor throbbing in the back of his head, but it was nothing to write home about.

At least that was what he thought. He was starting to second guess everything now.

He bows to the paintings, belatedly feeling a little odd for showing respect to inanimate objects. Regardless, the ladies appear to be delighted by his involuntary action, all of them cooing at his manners and wishing him a good breakfast as he scampers off towards the Great Hall.

When he arrives, the tables are still largely empty with how early he had risen, a rare occurrence in Taehyung’s everyday life. He doesn’t think he’s ever arrived to breakfast this early, but he blames the small headache from earlier that prematurely roused him from his slumber. Strange, he thinks as he trudges to his usual place, waiting for the rest of his friends and housemates to arrive. Everything about today has been nothing but a fever dream come to life.

As he spoons a large portion of porridge and fried sausages onto his plate (still piping hot and crisp, which is another weird and new prospect to Taehyung since the food was always a bit mushy by the time he turns up for breakfast), he replays the conversation with the Ladies of Commère.

Other than Raphael, there appear to be no other leads as to who might have found out about his secret admiration for you. The Fat Lady describes a boy with long lashes and brown hair to be the one who had conversed with him, which definitely seems to indicate it was Taehyung himself who had snitched.

An utterly preposterous thought. There is no way that he would ever admit that to some random passerby, certainly not while sober.

Taehyung pauses, spoon midway towards his open mouth. Bits of porridge drip over his lap as the sudden terrorizing thought flits through his mind. Had he been sober last night?

The ladies said the boy had been drunk when he had confessed. Taehyung didn’t drink alcohol, averse to the bitter taste. So how could he have..?

Taehyung rubs his temples frantically, his heart beating out of his chest as he tries again to remember what he had done right after dinner the previous evening. No matter how hard he racked his brain for information, he comes up blank every time.

Even if he had been drunk, do people really lose all their memories from just a sip or two? The only way he could have gotten drunk is if he had consumed it unknowingly, meaning someone must have spiked his food the other night. But who could have done such a thing?

The loud thud of a body barrelling right into the table forces Taehyung out of his reverie, nearly dislodging his head off his neck in the process. He yelps in surprise, before glaring at the new smiley intruder beside him.

The Slytherin grins cherubically, having the audacity to wink salaciously at him. “Good morning, Taehyungie! Surprised to see you up so early,” Jimin says, seating himself on the Gryffindor bench like he belongs there. With how often he visits his table, it’s easy for people to mistake him as his housemate. Even you and the rest of the prefects have stopped trying to get him to leave after their fifth year.

Taehyung groans. “It’s been a rough morning.”

“I can tell. You aren’t even eating any of the bacon,” Jimin whistles in surprise, casually heaping his own (stolen) plate. He gives Taehyung a proper once-over. “You feeling alright? You look kind of pale.”

“It’s…” Taehyung wavers, not sure what to reveal. He still doesn’t feel comfortable telling Jimin about his crush, but he thinks that if the entire population of Hogwarts might soon find out anyway, then his best friend might as well find out from the source himself. But first…

“Did you spike my dinner last night?”

“What?” Jimin laughs, but stops when he notices Taehyung’s serious expression. “Oh. You’re serious. Did you eat something funny yesterday?”

“I don’t remember eating anything weird except for the lamb chops and chicken and mashed potatoes and…” Taehyung trails off, realizing how much he eats during a meal. He looks down at his already half-devoured plate of what was once ten whole sausages before sighing dejectedly.

“It could have been anything, huh?” Jimin hums, rubbing his chin. “That’s weird though, because I don’t think I ate anything weird yesterday, and we ate pretty much the same stuff.”

“That’s the thing! I only realized my food might have been spiked this morning,” Taehyung grumbles. He pauses for a second, steeling himself before he spills his guts all over the shiny mahogany dining table. He breathes deeply, causing Jimin to watch him curiously from his right. Well, it’s now or never.

“What made you realize?” Jimin asks.

“You see, funny story…” Taehyung says, not at all amused by the tale he was about to tell. “This morning, I was assaulted by the Fat Lady and the Ladies of Commère. You know, the hoity-toity ladies near the entrance of the Great Hall? Anyway, they said something that made me rethink my entire existence and that maybe my memories aren’t as reliable as I thought.”

“What the hell are you even saying?” Jimin huffs, wagging his fork in his face. “Stop beating around the bush and say what you wanna say! What does this have to do with spiked food?”

“Basically… The ladies said I told one of the portraits about my crush on this certain someone, but the thing is, I would NEVER tell anyone about my crush on that someone, so the only way they could have known about my crush on that someone is if I had told them, but the thing is, I–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jimin interrupts Taehyung’s rambling, barely trying to suppress his giggles as he appraises his panicking friend. “You told a portrait about your crush on Y/N? When did this happen?”

Taehyung makes a startled sound, practically screeching in horror at Jimin’s nonchalant declaration. He had said it in a way like it was a simple truth, like how the sky is blue and how feet are sexy.

“You knew?!”

“Dude, everyone knows.” Jimin hums, nodding his head sagely. He snags one of the sausages off of Taehyung’s plate, even though he could have gotten a fresh one from the many other platters instead. He chews as he says, “Well admittedly, I’ve always known. Everyone else only just found out this morning as we entered the Great Hall. The hoity-toity ladies at the entrance were telling anyone who’d listen.”

“The ladies were–?” Taehyung stammers, mouth moving too quickly for his brain to catch up. “But I told them it wasn’t me!”

“Well, too late for that now,” Jimin shrugs, taking another one of Taehyung’s sausages. At this point, he was only doing it to make Taehyung’s day worse. “Apparently, Raphael the Archangel swore that it was you who had confessed about your crush on Y/N, and angels don’t just go around swearing, you know? Not that I know anything about Muggle religion, but also–”

“Oh Merlin, I think I’m going to be sick,” Taehyung says, slamming his head into his plate with the remaining three sausages. Jimin whines, lamenting the fate of his fallen riches.

“My sausages!”

“My love life!” Taehyung cries out, lifting his head and letting the greasy remains of his breakfast drip down his forehead.

Jimin is the first to recover from their respective meltdowns, using a finger to wipe some of the oil from his friend’s face and licking it with relish. “Damn, I love sausages. So, as I was saying… Why did you go and tell that portrait about your crush? Is that why you think you got spiked last night?”

Taehyung chokes out a sob, signaling his agreement.

“Oh shit, what if someone slipped Veritaserum in your pumpkin juice? But who?” Jimin wonders aloud, but it’s hard to narrow it down to just about anyone. Taehyung is pretty likable even amongst the most prickly students, so it will be difficult to pinpoint anyone who might have some personal vendetta against him. Then again, there are a couple of pranksters who come to mind…

“It doesn’t even matter who did it at this point. Y/N is going to come through those doors any moment and she’s just gonna know that I’m a fucking loser who spills his deepest infatuations to some random painting that I don’t even remember speaking to!”

“That is pretty lame,” Jimin says, not the least bit sympathetic. In his honest opinion, he feels like he should be thankful to whoever spiked his friend’s drink last night. Pining never did look good on Taehyung, despite all his natural handsomeness. If he had to catch him staring at you with that lovestruck look again, Jimin might as well have snitched sooner or later.

“Do you think I have time to go stop them from announcing to the world that I’m a loser with a huge boner for Y/N?” Taehyung is already rising to his feet, wiping the remaining grease from his skin as best as he can. He only smears it around some more, giving himself a blinding sheen. Somehow, he makes it work.

Jimin looks to his watch. “She usually comes in around five minutes before 8 AM, so maybe you’ll have some time before–”

He has spoken too soon. Lo and behold, you enter the hall with loud, purposeful strides, the entirety of your neck to your forehead flushed an endearing shade of red. You look absolutely mortified. Taehyung can say that he’s feeling the same, if not worse.

You pass by Taehyung in a blur, your gaze twitching towards him for a slight second before you are back to walking straight ahead with your head bowed slightly. Your best friend and Jungkook enter the hall soon after, both of whom were giggling raucously in your wake. The three of you slide into your usual seats a few spaces away from him, your eyes trained so fiercely onto your eggs that Taehyung is afraid that they might burst into flames.

Jimin looks from you to Taehyung, a smirk on his face. “You think she heard?”

The day continues onwards, filled with lots of staring and whispering. Taehyung can’t go from class to class without at least one person slapping him on the back in solidarity or others glaring at him out of contempt and jealousy. Either way, Taehyung isn’t sure whether he likes this type of attention or not.

Being hooted and cursed at for pulling off a fantastic joke? That, he could live with. Being the center of an ongoing cheesy romantic drama? This type of situation is a new world entirely.

The entire day is a whirlwind as he goes from class to class, not even getting to sneak off once to go and search for the ever elusive Raphael. Every time he tries to even look the other direction, his professors seem to be a step ahead of him, snapping at him to stay focused. Judging by the knowing smirks on their lips, they must have heard about the news as well, except they must be under the impression that he was trying to get away and search for you.

Oh, how wrong they are. He doesn’t even know what he would say if he saw you right now.

Luckily (or unluckily) for him, he doesn’t see you that often for the remainder of the day, except for one occasion when he passes you on the way to Potions. You aren’t with your best friend for once, but your eyes are still trained to the floor like they were this morning. Your usual pristine posture is gone, replaced by this timid girl who jumps up in surprise at the slightest bit of chatter. You don’t even scold a second-year for loosening his tie, and that honestly worried Taehyung more than anything else.

Were you embarrassed by him? He isn’t all that surprised that his affections were left unreciprocated – he’s long since accepted that his feelings will always remain one-sided. After all, with how often you like to reprimand him, you must only think of him as some loser seeking attention. In fact, he only ever plans his pranks so that you might be the one to catch him, like some misbehaving child who longs for the love of his absent parents.

Not that he thinks you’re like a mom to him, but then again… You’d be a great mom, but only if he gets to be the dad.

Wow. That went waaaay out of bounds than he was originally going for, but he digresses.

Still, he is a little hurt being ignored by you. Could he at least hope for a proper rejection? Just so he doesn’t have to keep having to speculating his whole life and wondering about what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Oh, how he loathes what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. They are worse than losing an entire femur, in his opinion (and yes, he has lost a femur once. Luckily, they found it in the women’s bathroom, for some reason.)

He can’t blame you entirely though, since it must be hard on your part as well. He doesn’t ever remember seeing you this flustered in, well… Ever.

The afternoon winds down and classes end as quickly as they come. Dinner arrives once more, and Taehyung has more presence of mind to check what he eats before they even touch his lips. For safety reasons, he feeds his portions to Jimin first, just so if he gets spiked with truth serum again, at least the two of them could be idiots together.

He allows Jimin to lead most of the conversation, still not really feeling like everything’s fine despite his friend’s best attempts at lightening the mood. He did just get his heartbroken for the first time, after all. He’s surprised he hasn’t started bawling his eyes out in front of the entire school yet.

Just a few more minutes and I can cry all I want in the safety of my bedroom, Taehyung thinks to himself, feeling even shittier about how excited he is to spend the entire evening soaking his pillow with tears. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

He is in the process of feeding a spoonful of peas into Jimin’s open mouth when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder, breaking him from his trance. He is in the process of telling the person that he’s not in the mood, but the words die in his throat the moment he turns and discovers the identity of the sudden visitor.

It’s you.

It’s you, with your hands wringing the edges of your sweater and the most endearingly rosy tint on your soft cheeks. He feels his heart start pounding automatically, just as it always has whenever he’s near you. He thinks the whole school has stopped talking with how silent the Great Hall has become, everyone itching to try and listen to your exchange.

Perhaps you had anticipated this type of scenario and didn’t want anyone to overhear, which is why you have already prepared a note beforehand, inked with your signature neat scrawl. You slip the small piece of parchment into his palm, folding his fingers over it gently. You bow your head awkwardly, reminding Taehyung of his similar gesture from earlier. You scurry away back to your seat, hands cupping your cheeks to cool yourself down.

Taehyung can’t see himself right now, but he thinks he might be even redder than you are, if that is even possible. Jimin, like the nosey bastard that he is, rips the note out of his hand and reads it before he can even process the last five minutes, guffawing loudly at what he finds.

“Guess you got a date later at the Astronomy Tower,” he says, shaking Taehyung’s hand in mock congratulations.

Well, at least he’ll have the stars to look at when he inevitably gets his heart crushed for real this time.

He doesn’t get his heart crushed. At least, not immediately. In fact, he thinks he might be on cloud nine right now as he sees you waiting for him, a small smile on your lips.

“Taehyung, I… really didn’t expect this from you. At all.” You start speaking the moment you hear him reach the top of the stairs, still slightly out of breath from the climb up. He rushes over to you immediately, letting the breeze cool his sweaty face.

“You didn’t… expect it?”

“Well, I mean! You’re always so…” You trail off, your mouth doing this weird thing where you look like you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“A fucking little bastard?” Taehyung laughs when he sees you start to backtrack, stammering all the while.

“N-no! Well, you sorta are… But in the cutest way… possible?” You say the last part like a question, almost helplessly. You wave your hands wildly, adorable despite being frustrated. “I mean! It’s like! I scold you, but it’s my job, you know? But it’s not because I want to do it? Do you get what I mean? Ugh, I’m so awkward I hate this!”

“You think… I’m cute?” Taehyung lets himself smile a little, and it seems to make you even more flustered.

“Have you not seen yourself? Of course you are! I can’t believe that you even have a crush on me–” You stop yourself, slapping a hand to your mouth in horror. “I-I… I know it’s just a rumor and everything, and I don’t want to assume there’s any basis because oh my Merlin I’m never the type to listen to gossip and I don’t want you to think that I’m sort of–”

“What if it isn’t a rumor, though?” Taehyung has never felt this emboldened in his life, toeing the line of danger so closely that he can feel the electricity rush through his veins.

On the otherhand, you look completely baffled, as if the thought never crossed your mind before this moment. “What do you mean? Are you saying that…”

“That I like you, for real? Maybe I am,” Taehyung says, feeling cheekier the more he talks. It might just be the night sky or the wind against his cheeks, or maybe it’s the way your eyes are reflecting the stars like a mirror, but he feels like there is magic in the air. It’s cheesy, it’s cliché, but it’s everything he imagined it would be like.

He’s spent many daydreams thinking about this, and he isn’t going to let his fear pull him under. Not now, not when he can feel the string pulling the two of you together tighten with every second.

“If the rumors were true, what would you say?” Taehyung whispers, lacing his fingers through yours. Your hands shake imperceptibly, but your stare is as stagnant as the affection he feels for you. What he has always felt for you.

When you respond, Taehyung swears the whole world could hear his heart fluttering for you.

Somewhere in the Slytherin dungeons, Jimin is smiling to himself in the comfort of his own bed, turning in early for the night. It truly had been a good investment to secretly start dating a seventh-year potions prodigy over the summer. What is even better is that the Potions professor never did remember to lock his Veritaserum ingredients with nothing more than a simple deadbolt.

He snuggles himself deeper into his pillow, snickering softly. Good job, Yoongi.

All is fucking well.

#btsboulangerie #btsguild #networkbangtan #bts scenarios #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts #bts imagines #bts fluff #hogwarts!au #kim taehyung #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagines #taehyung fluff #bangtan #bts fanfic

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unfortunatelysirius · 5 years ago

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Goodbye, My Love // Jon Snow

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」 When it comes to saying goodbye, you’ve always had trouble. But it becomes especially hard when saying it to Jon Snow. 「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」 I am SO bad at updating… all I’ve got as an explanation. *shrug emoji* If you guys want a reunion companion piece [season 6] then hey, just ask. Otherwise, here’s this chunk of trash for you all ;) [It’s honestly rushed, I apologize in advance] 「 ❁ 」WARNINGS 「 ❁ 」 Swearing, Angst 「 ❁ 」WORD COUNT 「 ❁ 」

3027

YOU MET JON SNOW ON YOUR FIFTH NAMEDAY. You had always lived in Winterfell with your mother and father, who were (respectively) the seamstress and blacksmith. You were lowborn, but respectable, with parents whose gifts were renowned throughout Winter Town. You were never put in the finest dresses or presented in front of hand-picked husband prospects, that much was true; however, you never wanted nor needed to be highborn to feel like your life had meaning. Your first meeting with Jon Snow had you smitten, even at such a young age. You’d been running around Winter Town, a crown of flowers in your hair, when you’d stumbled into something warm and fleshy—a human body. You squealed and fell, the stranger following suit with a kidlike grunt. Only when you’d managed to spit out one of the petals that had fallen into your mouth did you look up, eyes snapping into some sort of trance. There was a blue-eyed gaze locked on your own. “Hi!” you’d immediately said, not bashful at all. You grinned at the strange boy, near the same age as you. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?” The boy’s face was flushed red, a look of embarrassment on his face. He stood quickly. And he stayed silent, continuing to stare, like someone might would a predator. “Hellllllo?” You tilted your head. “You’re not very nice.” The curly-haired boy shook his own head, defiantly silent. His eyes flickered away from yours and back towards the way he came—the way you were heading towards. When you went sideways to see from around his body, you saw what he was looking at. Eddard and Catelyn Stark, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, as they stood on the railing of their tower. You were incredulous, to say the least, that this was what caught the strange boy’s attention. Was it why he was silent, too? “Why are you looking at them?” you demanded. “D’you wanna be a lord, too?” The boy snapped his head around to stare at you. “What?” he demanded, in a voice much too brusque to be a child’s. You giggled childishly. “Lord Curly,” you teased. “’Cause you’ve got curly hair, and I don’t know your name!” Though he remained alert and angry-looking, the boy finally caved. His mouth twitched into a grimace. “Jon,” he said simply. “Lord Jon,” you said. You smiled toothily up at him. “Bye, Lord Jon.” You pranced around him, sprinting in the direction you were going originally. And as you went, a stray petal untucked from your crown, and it was rushed backwards by the wind. It went and went, all until it fell at Jon’s feet. He picked it up. And he stared at it. What he wouldn’t admit to anyone, much less himself, was that he thought you were really, really pretty. As pretty as someone five name-days old could be. And he hoped he’d see you again. He really hoped he’d see you again.

It was three years and three moons later when you saw the mysterious Jon again. You were eight, hair reaching your waist and eyes ever so wide. You’d become curious and adventure-seeking, still carrying around that same naivety like a sleeve’s patchwork. You were hanging around the kitchens, stealing sweets your mother refused to let you have, just leaving when you caught a glimpse of a curly-haired boy. He was walking briskly. Was he angry? You dropped the biscuits you were carrying and went to pursue him.

“Lord Curly!” you cried, struggling to keep up. The boy was older and taller, his pace like that of a man running from a bear—only he was jogging. Maybe he knew you were following, even before you’d called out his nickname. “Lord Curly, please—stop running!”

He stopped abruptly. A bit too late, perhaps, as you rammed your nose directly into his back.

“Ouch,” you cooed, rubbing the offended spot, blinking. The boy had turned around in the time it took for the pain to disappear, and catching his bleary gaze locked you in place. In a very bad way, given his expression. “Are you alright?”

“I was,” he said coolly. Was that a hint at you being an annoyance? You never could tell with anyone, much less the brooding subject of your childish fantasies. “What do you want?”

“My, my, Lord Curly! I just wanted to speak to you.” You smiled.

“I’m busy.”

Your smile became a frown. “Oh? Doing what?”

Jon didn’t look very pleased that you were still there. He was an inch away from fleeing. He returned your frown and muttered, “I’ll get in trouble if we keep talking.”

You jutted out your lip and made a noise. A very inhuman noise. “Lord Curly, why do ya say that?”

He looked over your head at something in the distance. You knew it was the Lord and Lady of the castle, as that’s all that lay beyond Winter Town.

“You’re not Robb,” you stated. “So who are you?”

“No one,” said Jon in response. Quick—too quick. He didn’t want you to know.

You kept quiet in reply.

Jon pulled his cloak tighter around his neck and face, body twisting around. His back was to you, his curly head of charred hair the framework of his identity.

He was like a shadow and a puzzle, conjoined together to make one very difficult game. You were eager to be his friend, keen to know him better—but he kept disappearing. It’d been over three years since you seen him last. And now he was the one running away.

“Bye, Lord Curly!” you called out to him as his footsteps echoed into silence and his head of curls were no longer seen.

Jon had hoped to see you again.

But Catelyn kept watching.

And she didn’t want him to have any friends.

So many years passed. You got taller and curvier, growing into yourself, until eventually you stopped changing at fifteen. Your fifteenth name-day was a tremendous affair, with the Lord and Lady themselves in attendance. Jon wasn’t there, to your disappointment. You hadn’t seen him since you were eight. It’d been so long, too long, enough to make you forget he ever existed. But he plagued your memories, he haunted your dreams. His name was always on the tip of your tongue. The cusp of a breath.

You’d danced with several boys, wearing a flower crown on your head. Every boy was worse than the last. You always pretended they were Jon, even though you held no picture—hardly even an inkling—of his current appearance. How did he look now, with the two of you older and less naïve? You were sure he’d chiseled out. He probably looked more a man than your own father did, the child that he was.

You wanted to stop being eaten alive by questions. You wanted him to appear on a white mare and take you captive in his orbit. You wanted to fall in love the old-fashioned way, the against-all-odds way, with someone your parents would not approve of. You could not care less. You didn’t give a shite what they thought. All that mattered was finding someone who could give you a happy ending.

That was over a moon ago. You were beginning to feel like you’d never see him again.

You walked out into the snow atop your balcony on a crisp evening, wearing another crown of flowers. You were dressed in an evening gown—feet barren and your hair crowning your face. You’d spent the day dreaming about Jon, and crossed Winter Town over six times, desperate to see the boy again—even if he held no recognition for you. What were the odds that he’d appear? To you, chance was nothing; this was all fate. Whether you’d find him again, you knew not. You knew next to nothing on fate’s plans.

You felt the world was in your hands and odds were in your favor, however. There was a feeling in your gut, a feathery weight, that kept you lifting, refusing to let you land. You were not grounded. You were airborne.

What did this mean?

It meant having hope in naïve fantasies.

Your hair blew around your face, masking your vantage of the navy sky. The moon was a hair away, right above your head, crowning you Luna. It was glowing translucently. It was calling for you to give up your games. But you—really, honestly, truly—refused to leave this for children until you found Jon again. Until you saw his face. Until you knew his coldness for what it was.

Curiosity is a killer. As is love.

You knew it so, but that did not make you any less reckless.

A rustling sounded from below. Could this—be it? You thought maybe. You brushed your windswept hair from your eyes, glancing downward.

From the dark shadows emerged a shape. A lean, muscular shape, clad in black—or maybe that was the darkness. He was threaded with it, wasn’t he? When a glint of moonlight bounced off the shadow’s raven curls, you knew it so.

It was Jon.

“Jon?” you whispered aloud, just to be sure. This fantasy come to life needed cemented.

The shadow moved closer, bringing with him sudden light. It was like a scene from a fairytale, with the ruggedly handsome knight coming to rescue his damsel. Though, this one was much darker and much less renowned than what you’d normally expect; the princes in your books were blond, blue-eyed, and sunlit.

A new perspective, you declared it. Jon was perfect in your eyes.

The boy in question coughed. “Yeah, it’s me, Y/N.” He was silent for a while thereafter, as the two of you stared at one another. Then he said, “I’m sorry for how I’ve made you feel.”

“Sick with longing for a man I know nothing about?” You smiled, though wearily, and laughed at him. “I assure you, there is not any remorse.”

Jon sighed. If not for the crisp air, you wouldn’t have noticed it. “Lady Stark has no kindness in her heart for me. I am a bastard, you see—”

“I know what you are, Jon Snow,” you said. “And quite the contrary to what you think, I don’t care.”

“Y/N, I’m a bastard—”

You snorted, as unladylike as could be. “And I’m not highborn. So why would I give a rat’s arse?”

Jon looked uncertain, glancing between you and the way from which he came. “I came to apologize, Y/N, not to start anything—”

“Lady Stark is a bitter, middle-aged woman, Jon,” you said. “And I’m quite the opposite. I assume you like that. Why else would you come back here to woo yourself into my good graces?”

There was an intensity in the air. It made you want to scale down the balcony and take Jon for your own.

Jon seemed quite puzzled, like he couldn’t tell what to think of you. At last he said, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Then let’s not get caught.”

From this view, Jon seemed like he was considering what you said. You decided not to give him time to take back his visit and his words. You hopped up on the edge of your balcony’s wooden posts and curved your body to face the entrance to your bedroom. You gripped the posts tight, and dropped down a few feet.

Jon hissed, “What are you doing, Y/N? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you grunted, using your limited view to catch what post to drop to next. Eventually you reached the last available post and you realized that you needed to jump down. “Jon, I have to let go.”

“Y/N, stop, no. You’ll get hurt.”

You smiled largely. “That’s why you’ve got to catch me!”

Your hands lost grip on the balcony.

You fell down, the wind gusting in your hair. You were flying, a raven born of air. You didn’t think about the consequences, not the possibility of death or severe injury, brain only centered on the beauty that being airborne was; and the idea you had a prince of darkness to catch your fall.

You roughly hit Jon’s rock-hard body, his arms coming to envelope you, the both of you falling into the snow. He grunted, and you squeaked. You had only dreamt of a proximity this close, and having him as close to you as he was now—

You flipped around to be chest-to-chest with Jon.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you said abruptly.

Jon blinked in surprise. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

You pressed a small peck on his lips, without an actual response.

Jon stared up at you, his cheeks a rosy red. His nose, too. He looked shocked, like he hadn’t expected you to actually kiss him—but then you did, and he didn’t know how to respond. How to think, even. This beautiful art-piece of a human-being, kissing him and touching him like they couldn’t care less what his namesake was.

Jon surged forwarded and kissed you hard, much more assertively than you did him.

You squeaked again, finding this roughness, this ferocity, such a difference from your own faint touches. He was gripping your body like nothing ever had, holding you close and center, with the snow just a background accessory in the face of his body heat, and his kiss—fuck, his kiss.

It was otherworldly.

Eventually, you found this had to stop.

“Jon, Jon, stop—my parents!” You giggled against his lips.

“Fuck the town. Fuck everything, Y/N,” Jon said, leaning back to stare at you. “We’ll have our own town. Our own world. I’m Lord Curly, right? You can be Lady Flowers.” He placed a delicate hand on one of the flowers in your crown.

This direction was so different from where you’d thought it’d go. You thought Jon would use you then discard you like a used towel, and you’d let him because you liked him that much. You had learned to take what you could get, regardless of how hurt it put you in the process. Jon wanted this as much as you, right? So you thought it’d be foolish of you to say no.

You pushed yourself into him and got lost in the midst of frigid wind and falling snow, giggles and growls muffled under the pale light of the moon.

The two of you, for the better part of a few years, were rather invested in keeping up your connection. You’d hide out together and kiss, talk about your hopes and dreams, curse Catelyn Stark and her bitterness; all the while, you fell more and more hopelessly in love. You were once enraptured by Jon, thinking of him as the most honorable man you’d ever met aside from Eddard Stark, his father. But now, it was love.

Eventually, it caught up to you.

Catelyn Stark discovered your forbidden romance when she’d passed by the two of you kissing once. At once, she put a stop to it. She demanded Jon not to see you anymore, forced you all to put the shenanigans in the past. She knew who your parents were, and she disapproved of their child intermingling with a bastard. So much so, she went to your door a fortnight after you had last kissed Jon—and told your mother as she answered the door that you were in relations with her husband’s bastard.

Things got steadily worse after that. Your mother and father began fighting, as your mother did not like what you’d been doing while your father couldn’t bear telling you that you were wrong to love who you loved. Your mother would sleep alone in bed, your father made to sleep outside.

Jon never appeared again. He went moons without speaking to you. You felt like things were getting progressively worse, that the love of your life had been snatched away—

And then the King visited. And you learned from Robb Stark, who knew of your relation to his half-brother, that Jon was leaving for the watch.

You had to say goodbye.

Like you had two left feet, you clumsily left your mother and father’s abode, hurrying to the stables where Robb claimed Jon would be. You were terrified, thinking he had already left. This was the man of your dreams; if he left without giving you a deserved farewell, you wouldn’t know if you could forgive him.

You knew you wouldn’t forgive him.

You were flying through crowds of townsfolk, your legs aching and stomach receding into itself the longer you went, the farther you got. Eventually you reached the stables.

You stopped at the very edge of the entrance, peaking through. Your gaze swept past horses as they quietly moved their heads downward and ate from their haystacks. At one point, your sweeping gaze faltered, and you realized what had happened.

Jon had left you. He left without saying goodbye.

You didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

You knew this day would come. Jon would get tired of running, and he’d get tired of feeling worthless, and so he’d put an end to both. He’d run until he got to a dead end. He’d fight until he was worth more than anything in the world. He’d do all he could to be something more than Eddard Stark’s bastard.

It meant throwing away your memories.

It meant leaving without uttering a single goodbye.

It meant letting your love be just as it was.

Never meant to last.

Jon kept running and running and running. He would run until his legs turned to jelly. He’d pant until his eyes rolled back with exhaustion. He’d scream and fight until he got where he wanted to be—somewhere new, somewhere different, somewhere not Winterfell.

(You couldn’t come with. Why couldn’t you come with?)

The running would stop.

(He never wanted to leave you.)

He only wished it didn’t mean losing the thing he’d loved most.

I love you, Lord Curly.

I love you too, Lady Flowers.

FIN.

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breakingsomething · 4 years ago

Text

missing

basic summary: marvin's returned from anti, and has decided to return to his old favourite flower shop.

trigger warnings: mentions of past abuse, mentions of self harm

it had been over a year since he'd seen her.

of course, it was his own fault. he'd chosen to go with anti a little bit after christmas, and he'd been with him all that time, far away from everything he knew, memories being wiped and meddled with on the daily. but even through all that, he'd remembered her. part of her, at least. there'd always been just the littlest bit of him that could recall a girl with a short bob of light brown hair and a birthmark on her cheek, dark eyes that looked red in certain lights, a smile that made him feel warmer no matter what the weather was, a fashion sense terrible enough to rival marvin's own. remembering that there were people like her outside of anti had helped keep him strong when he thought his mind would go entirely. she had always felt safe, like home, if that wasn't fucking cliche to say.

marvin hadn't been at her store in so long. nai's blomma magi - just seeing the dark red words curling on the sign, bright as ever, made him want to burst right in and also turn and run. still time to back out, he reminded himself. he didn't have to do or say anything. he could just go. he didn't want to, he knew he didn't, but maybe it was for the best. he was clearly a different man than he had been twelve months ago. maybe she would hate him. maybe marvin would deserve that.

the street was cold and empty. winter was ending, but the air was still giving marvin chills, making him shudder. the store was closed. what was even the time? he thought he'd just checked, but his mind was so muddled and confused lately that he didn't know. eight am. not a person in sight, but he knew the store would open at eight fifteen exactly. of course, out of everything he didn't remember, that was what stuck in his mind.

so he waited. fifteen minutes. standing on the step with the wind ruffling his newly short hair, the tiny strands that fell in his face held back by clips. face and body splattered in scars. hands red with burns that were hidden under bandages. he even barely had any jewelry on. who even was he? not marvin the magnificent anymore, that was for sure.

and then - oh. he could feel her at the door. feel her looking through the glass at his shivering form hugging himself on the front step. he didn't dare to turn. he thought if he looked at her face, he'd start crying instantly.

the familiar tinkle of a bell startled him. the same bell as the first day he'd come here, running from everything. he didn't look. fuck, he couldn't even move, he was suddenly so scared.

"pyro," came a voice. marvin squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his hand over his mouth. her voice was the same. what had he expected? "my favourite firestarting magical bastard."

oh, but he was already crying and he hadn't even seen her yet. the door swung shut, and he felt her move in front of him. warmth practically radiated off of her, as always. "marvin. herregud, marvin, it's really you."

he opened his eyes. and there she was.

her hair was shorter too. almost as short as marvin's own. it fell over her forehead in a spiky wave, and her face looked so much clearer now without anything covering it. a dark brown jacket, a pink turtleneck, white jeans and tall boots. he sobbed through his hand, his vision clearing as fat tears spilled down his cheeks like a child. "naomi," he managed. "it's you, it's you."

and then their arms were around each other, holding each other so tightly they were almost one person for a moment, crying onto each other's shaking shoulders. "it's you, fuck, it's you!" marvin cried, and she smelled like roses and dirt, a specific smell that he'd never thought could be so comforting. his knees buckled and he leaned against the wall for support so he wouldn't fall. fuck, but she was really here and anti couldn't take this away from him.

"where were you?" naomi giggled into his chest through her tears. "your brothers said you were staying with - with someone else, but you never told me, you never even said goodbye!"

marvin felt himself crumpling, sinking further into himself. "i'm so sorry," he sobbed, shaking so hard he could barely breath. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, please don't hate me, please!"

naomi pulled away slightly, much to marvin's immense disappointment. he flinched, waiting for her to hit him or something, anything, because he'd fucked up and left behind everyone he loved, why wouldn't she hit him? he would deserve it and he would let her do it. he was hurting so badly and just needed something to make him feel again.

instead, soft lips brushed against his cheek. he practically melted into the warm touch. "i couldn't ever hate you," naomi murmured, hair tickling his skin. he almost wished she had hit him. he was used to pain. he couldn't take this fucking gentleness.

"you should," he spat, and he suddenly wrenched himself away, holding himself again for support, shoulders almost at his ears. he didn't deserve her, he shouldn't have come here - "why don't you? i left without a word, i should've at least said something! i should have… i could have called or something, i - i - you have every right to…"

he was just so tired and crying so hard it hurt his chest and he was hungry and sad and just wanted to - what did he want? part of him wanted naomi to kiss him again and hold him and tell him he was ok. another part wanted her to slap him and tell him the truth, that he was an asshole and she despised him. god, it hurt, it hurt, not knowing. it was pathetic that he couldn't handle how sweet she was anymore.

"maybe you should have," she said quietly. he looked her in the eyes, watching. her brown eyes actually looked more purple in this light. she had chapped lips and a small scratch across her nose. silently, he tried to memorize all the small details of her face. "maybe you should have, but you're here now and i've missed you so badly, marvin, i've missed you."

and when she hugged him this time, it was too much. his legs gave out and she was suddenly holding him up until the both of them sank to the ground, a tangled mess of sadness and missing and a year's worth of unspoken words.

"hey, hey, you're ok," she said soothingly. she ran her fingers through his hair, which was something he'd always used to love, something that would always feel nice and calm him. now it was just anti touching his hair, making his skin crawl and bile rise in his throat at the thought of his manipulative, sickeningly sweet smile.

"don't - don't touch my hair, pl-please," he choked out, unable to look at her, just clinging to her jacket tightly as self hatred boiled in his stomach. "i'm sorry."

"that's ok. hey, marvin, that's ok," she consoled. she moved her hands away, and he sighed with embarrassing relief. "is it ok if i touch your face then? you can say no, of course."

he couldn't take it. "stop being so nice to me," he sobbed. he scrubbed at his cheeks, but the tears kept flowing and he couldn't do much of anything. his face burned with humiliation. "why are you so - you're always so nice! you should - you should be demanding to know where i was, why i didn't contact you, you shouldn't be - being sweet! i don't d-deserve it!"

she paused before speaking again. "of course you do," she told him. her fingers gently touched his cheek, and he shivered. "fuck, you've always deserved the very best because you're my best friend and i love you so much it hurts, marvin. and i don't need to know where you were if you can't tell me." her eyes glittered, and she was crying too. "i missed you, yes. every day. but you - i know you must have had your reasons. and fuck, marvin, i'm just so unbelievably glad to see you again."

she really wasn't mad.

he'd come here with the full, genuine intention to let her yell at him and then go back home to wallow in his self pity. but she - she really wasn't -

"you don't hate me?" he asked, amazed. a shocked laugh escaped his mouth. "like - seriously? you don't -"

"marvin," she said firmly. her face was so solid and real in front of him. he almost couldn't believe it. "i love you with all my goddamn heart. i don't hate you."

marvin had accustomed himself to pain. to hurting. to slaps and bruises and knives to the skin and rough hands slamming him against walls, to ropes on his wrists and fingers grabbing handfuls of his hair to yank back. a sick part of him wanted for that again. jackie told him it was trauma, part of the ptsd. marvin thought he was just pathetic. he wished he could be enough of an asshole that everyone would hate him and then he could go start fights and get drunk and run hot lighters along his arm. he missed pain and it was honestly fucking pitiful.

"you love me?" he asked, one more time. he touched her face with trembling fingers, making sure she felt real as well as looked it.

"i do," she confirmed, sniffling and smiling widely. "fucking hell, of course i love you!"

there was no way this was actually happening. marvin was still with anti and dapper, sick in the head and completely out of his mind. he knew it. but he knocked their foreheads together regardless and revelled in the spark of warmth in his chest. naomi, naomi. what a cruel trick this was.

"we both got haircuts," naomi said suddenly. she went to ruffle marvin's hair again, but pulled back. which marvin was grateful for but also slightly disappointed by; he kind of wanted to feel terrible again before he got used to feeling so warm. naomi grinned at him, showing crooked teeth. "haircut gang."

he wondered how naomi had gotten hers done. had she gone to a hairdressers, paid a tenner or so for a chatty employee to gently snip at her hair until it looked nice? or had she cut it all off herself in a fit of rage and terrified confusion, cutting into her skin with blunt scissors again and again, partially on accident but also slightly not, until her brother came in and held her through a half hour long panic attack like marvin had?

he suddenly wanted to hear everything. everything he'd missed at the magical organization, hecate, everything that had gone on in the city, all the weird customers naomi had had and what she'd done in the year without him. even if this wasn't real. all he needed was her, just her. let me have this, anti, please, i'll be so good if you just let me have this.

the cold wind reminded them that they were still sitting out the front of the shop, huddled together with faces an inch apart. "come inside," she said, lips slightly parted in her smile. marvin almost wanted to kiss her. "i want to show you the shop. it looks a bit different now."

no. if he went inside and saw what had changed, he thought he'd fucking shatter right then and there. "can we walk about the city instead?" he asked, almost shyly, like he was afraid she'd say no. instead, she nodded, eyes crinkling.

"hell yes," she beamed. "have you been practicing your swedish while you were away? you better, you've had a year!"

she was only joking, but marvin's chest still tightened with sudden fear. anti hadn't let him speak any language other than english and british sign for fear he'd use magic without realizing. "i - i'm sorry," he stammered, shoulders tensing. "i haven't - i didn't get to -"

"that's ok!" she reassured. she suddenly untangled herself from marvin properly and stood up, helping marvin to his feet too. "we can work on that while we walk."

they could work on that while they walked.

because - because - because who was going to stop him? anti? dapper? jack? henrik? no. he was marvin mcloughlin and he was going to walk into town and learn swedish with the girl he was in love with while she caught him up on the past year he'd missed. he was going to do that and no one could stop him. no one.

and no one could stop him from doing this, either.

"can i kiss you?" he blurted out.

her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment he thought she was going to yell at him for even suggesting such a thing. but then she gave a breathy laugh, lips upturning, and marvin's heart raced.

"can we maybe save that for later?" she asked. "i haven't seen you in a year. and as much as i'd love to kiss the breath out of you right now, i want to talk to you first."

that was something he was ok with.

"absolutely," he said, and that was that.

the day passed in a warm, comfortable blur of feeling safe and good and happy. marvin hadn't felt so in love with being alive in… a long time. take that, anti. you can't control marvin the magnificent for long.

naomi's lips tasted like chocolate chapstick. and that was something he knew was definitely real.

#boop writes #marvin the magnificent #naomi gudmundson #arc three: righting wrongs

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hellowkatey · 4 years ago

Text

The Plights of Force Vision: Chapter 3

Rating: T for language

Summary: He tries to relax, but of course the Force can’t give Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi a break. Anakin gets out of class early and finds Obi-Wan in the midst of a vision.

Read it on AO3

1 | 2

Chapter 3: Knight Kenobi

There are coveted moments in Obi-Wan's day when the apartment is finally quiet. His thirteen-year-old padawan is not babbling about something or the other that happened in his philosophy class. No excruciatingly loud reverberations echoing through the wall while Anakin fiddles with his latest project. No gaggle of various other padawans running in and out of the quarters, swiping meal bars and grabbing glasses of water as though it is their own home. (The last bothers Obi-Wan the least-- he is pleased to see Anakin making friends and quite enjoys that they feel comfortable traipsing around their quarters. He even picks up extra snacks to leave around for them, but their frequent presence is in no way quiet)

Luckily, there are always a few hours during the week in which Anakin is in class and Obi-Wan has completed his own training sessions and extracurriculars with other knights. He has the freedom to take a nice, long shower, lounge on the couch with a book or watch a holovid, and maybe even take a nap if he's feeling a little wild. It's his guilty pleasure, a time he lets himself relax in a fashion other than meditation.

Today is like any other. He returns from a spar with Luminara Unduli and wastes no time in stripping off his sweaty robes and turning on the shower. After a revitalizing soak, he steps out, wiping off the steamy mirror. His own face stares back at him, and for the hundredth time, he considers the beard.

He never thought he'd be a beard-guy but after a very elderly Master scolded him for not being in his padawan classes at the ripe age of twenty-six, he decided maybe a beard might do him good. For a few weeks, it was horridly patchy, looking as though Anakin had glued pieces of hair to his chin while blindfolded. He got a bit of teasing for it, but Jedi are meant to be patient and so he waited. Eventually, it filled out, cupping the bottom half of his face with an impressive ginger-colored mane. He's taken to trimming it short-- with the amount of saber training and conditioning he does, it gets quite hot and itchy-- but every time he looks in the mirror he gets the urge to just shave it all off.

Then he remembers another interaction when they were on Zonama Sekot and a stranger thought him and Anakin to be brothers. Usually, masters and their padawans are equated to parents and children, so the sibling comparison was... not ideal. Not with a padawan who already likes to test the limits of his master's authority. (It certainly put a glimmer in Anakin's eye, though.)

So he grew the beard. And now, the beard stays.

Obi-Wan finishes getting dressed, throwing on a fresh pair of Jedi robes and running some product through his hair. He feels refreshed, unwound after the tough spar. The knight pads into the kitchen, puts a kettle on for tea, and pulls out some leftovers from Dex's. As his food reheats, he senses a sudden whiff of mint. His body goes still.

"Drat," he says under his breath, using the Force to turn off the stovetop. He walks carefully to the couch, his vision already starting to tunnel. As he has done many times throughout his life, he shuts his shields. Tight. Then lays down.

Darkness pulls him from reality quickly. One moment he is staring at his ceiling as it spins, and the next he is somewhere else entirely.

______

Anakin Skywalker hates philosophy. Hates it. Nothing in the entire galaxy could make him enjoy an hour and a half of learning about what? Theories that don't even make sense? Questions that have no answers? It's infuriating.

He is always glad to leave the class, even though it's Master Yoda's course and he likes the old green guy. (Though, Anakin has a sneaking suspicion that Master Yoda's weird speech patterns aren't making philosophy any easier.)

Anakin says goodbye to Master Yoda and heads to his next slot. It's mathematics-- math at least has a clear right and wrong answer, and Anakin is fortunate enough to find the right answer more often than not. As he approaches the classroom he is surprised to find the door closed. He turns to another padawan he recognizes from his class.

"We have math today?"

"Cancelled," the Mon Calamari boy says with a big grin.

"Wizard," Anakin grins back, pulling his bag off to shove his datapad in. No class means he is done early! Maybe Master Obi-Wan will spar with me!

It's a longshot, but Anakin always hopes that one day he will catch his master in the best of moods, and he will finally agree to an impromptu sparring session. It's not that Obi-Wan doesn't train him in saber fighting-- it's just... always katas and short fights where he spends half the time instructing him or deliberately on defense. For once, Anakin wants a challenge. He wants to show his master that given the chance, he can step up the challenge and put up a good effort.

Maybe that would help him get better quicker. He is already the best fighter of all the junior padawans-- even those a few years older than him! But he wants to be the best of all the padawans. Junior and senior. If he is going to get there, he needs to be practicing against real challenges. Master Kenobi type of challenges.

It's no secret that his master is one of the best fighters in all the order. He killed a Sith! Though Anakin hasn't watched him spar in a while, he has heard rumors from the other padawans of his superiority among the other knights. It brings a smile to Anakin's face to hear them whispering about his master. He was skeptical when Obi-Wan told him he was going to start specializing in Form III-- I mean, who the heck switches Soresu when they are already awesome at a form as cool as Ataru?-- but from the Temple gossip, it must be paying off.

So Anakin walks quickly through the halls, his imagination running wild about the potential spar he and his master could soon be engaging in. He knows better than to let himself get his hopes up, but he just has a good feeling about today. By the time he reaches their shared quarters, he is practically bursting as he rehearses how he is going to propose the idea.

Anakin walks into the quarters and immediately can feel that something is strange. He hadn't noticed it before, but his bond with Obi-Wan is quiet. Not the usual quiet, but a different quiet. He scans the room, his gaze falling on his master lying quietly on the couch. Anakin tiptoes over, rounding the side to look at his master's face. His eyes are closed, but he is not sleeping. Sleep feels different in the Force. No... this is that weird state that he gets in sometimes.

A part of Anakin is a little annoying. A little disappointed. Of course, he'd be having a vision the one day I get off early!

It isn't Obi-Wan's fault. They've talked a lot about visions and how they work, but he still has the urge to curse the Force.

He sets down his bag and runs into the kitchen. There is already a kettle full of water sitting on the stove and an abandoned container of takeout in the heater. Don't mind if I do, he thinks, restarting the heating process. He turns the stove on to boil the water. Anakin glances back at his unconscious master to ensure he is still in his fugue state before using the Force to telekinetically select and bring a teabag to his hand. He grins slyly and puts it into a mug.

The food finishes heating and he takes it into the living room, settling down on a chair next to Obi-Wan and digging into the sandwich.

Now, he waits.

______

Obi-Wan is walking down the corridor of the Jedi Temple. It's bright outside, sending streams of light through the massive windows. He feels a tinge of nostalgia like he hasn't seen such a beautiful sight in a long time.

From behind him, there are quiet, rapid footsteps. A familiar Force presence. The next moment, an arm hooks over his shoulders, and the weight of a taller human being presses into his side.

"Master Obi-Wan, you thought you could hide from me, huh?"

"I didn't realize walking to my quarters was considered hiding,"

"It is when we have plans and you are definitely not dressed."

Obi-Wan finally turns to look up at the young man. Staring back at him is the wry face of an older Anakin. His hair is longer, slowly growing out past his ears and in a bit of an awkward stage. Darker, too. Without the suns of Tatooine to continuously bleach it, his natural light brunette color has taken a sturdy root. Paired with his dark robes, the contrast makes his blue eyes look even brighter.

"I don't recall making plans, Anakin."

"You. Me. Rex, Fives, and Oddball. Drinks." He pats Obi-Wan's shoulder before releasing him from the half-choke hold. "You can invite Cody, too, if you want."

Obi-Wan chuckles. "I quite doubt you actually want to get drinks with me. You go have fun with your men,"

A groan and then Anakin is suddenly in front of him, stopping his forward progress. It's much easier to take in the hulking height of the young man. His sturdy stature and the maturity in his squared jaw. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have tracked you down if I didn't you to be there, Master."

There's a seriousness to his tone. Just a tinge.

"I suppose there is a logic in that statement."

"You act like I'm not logical."

"That is precisely what I was implying, actually," Obi-Wan grins. Anakin rolls his eyes, falling back to Obi-Wan's side as they continue walking toward his quarters. He presses a hand to the back of his head dramatically.

"Master, you wound me," Obi-Wan can feel his eyes on him once again. "So you'll come?"

Warmth spreads through him. The bastard is funneling positive feelings and encouragement through the damn Force.

"I suppose a few drinks could be nice."

Anakin grins, patting him on the shoulders twice. "Landing pad 2, one standard," and then he turns and runs off.

Always on the move.

As Obi-Wan opens his eyes and a familiar sharp pain presses against his temples, he is met with the blurry sight of a blonde-headed boy standing over him. He blinks through the headache and the face of his padawan appears clearly.

"Good morning, Master," Anakin smiles. The same smile as the older version of him. Some things never change...

"Anakin," he slurs, reaching up to rub his eyes. "What time--"

"Nearly three."

A pause. Obi-Wan's hands drop from his eyes and he pushes himself up onto his elbow. "Shouldn't you be in--"

"Cancelled today," the padawan rolls his eyes. "Leave it to you, Master, to come out of a vision and think about my class schedule."

Obi-Wan scoffs, deciding to let that quip go. Besides, he can smell the familiar scent of his favorite post-vision herbal tea somewhere nearby.

"Oh, right," Anakin says, turning and picking up a mug from the table. Lo and behold, a fresh cup of tea still steaming. He hands it to Obi-Wan.

For a moment, he just stares at his padawan standing before him. Those bright blue eyes looking at him expectedly. Looking for approval. The same eyes he saw in his vision. The same man, though right now just a boy. The feeling of warmth still blossoms in his chest, though now it is not the figment of a Force vision, but his real-time feelings. Anakin is a headstrong, arrogant, padawan. Talented, witty, and a royal pain in Obi-Wan's ass most of the time. Yet, beneath it all, he is the special boy Qui-Gon saw the world in. A boy that has nothing yet offers everything.

Even if it's just a cup of tea to ease a headache. When he's coming out of a vision, that is everything.

"Thank you, my dear padawan," he smiles. "You spoil me."

Anakin beams. "Anything to make you less crabby, Master." It's Obi-Wan's turn to roll his eyes, attempting to reach out and tug at Anakin's braid, but the boy manages to evade him. He goes to sit down on the adjacent chair, picking up a tray of food from the side table. Obi-Wan eyes it suspiciously.

"Is that my leftovers?"

Anakin freezes midbite, his eyes flickering over guiltily. "Master I... found this."

"Found it did you?

Anakin holds out the plate. Half a sandwich still remains with only a bite or two taken out of it. "Want the rest?"

Obi-Wan sighs. "No Anakin, that's fine. It just gives me an excuse to go again sooner."

He retracts the plate, still looking guilty but Obi-Wan can feel his faint satisfaction. There are a few moments of quiet. Just the sound of Anakin chewing, and he quickly tunes that out. Finally, the boy finishes his lunch and looks up with a tentative expression.

"What was the vision, anyway?"

Oftentimes his visions are horrible. Graphic depictions of war, carnage, or death. Or all of the above. He doesn't like to tell Anakin about those so he just says it was too vague to tell. At least not while he is so young. No use in worrying him over a silly vision that likely won't come true.

Anakin always asks, though. This time, his outlook isn't so grim.

"Well, as a matter of fact, it was about you, my padawan."

Anakin stops chewing. "Me?"

"Yes, though from your lack of braid it appears you were not my padawan anymore."

"Not-- A master?"

"Knight, probably."

"Wow," the young boy looks wistfully into the distance. 'Was I tall?"

"What?"

"Tall? Was I tall?"

"Well... yes, you were."

"Taller than you?"

"Anakin."

"Taller than you, Master?"

Obi-Wan sighs. He recalls the image of having to look up at an older Anakin. He reminds himself that the future in visions is not concrete. It is always possible his padawan will cap out at an average meter and three-quarter height...

"Yes, Anakin, you were taller than me. Now, do you actually want to know what happened?"

The padawan sobers and nods.

"Right, so I was on a lovely stroll in the Temple and suddenly I am grabbed from behind by an unruly Jedi Knight," Anakin giggles, seeming far too comfortable with his implied designation as the unruly Jedi Knight. "And then you asked me to come to a cantina with you and your friends."

"So we were hanging out?"

"It seems so."

"Did you say yes?"

"Well yes, do you think I would say no to spending time with you, my padawan?"

A grin appears across the young boy's face. A grin that has a suspicious amount of trouble behind it.

"Was there anything else in your vision?"

"No..." Obi-Wan says, eyeing the scheming padawan.

"Well, in that case, when your headache is gone will you spar with me? It would be a great way to--"

"Oh, don't say it, Anakin--"

"Spend time with your padawan."

He said it. Obi-Wan sighs, staring at the hopeful padawan. "You know I hate it when you use my words against me."

Anakin takes another bite. "I like to think of it as active listening."

It seems he walked right into this one, but Obi-Wan doesn't mind today. Not with his headache already waning, a fresh cup of tea in his hand, and a rare vision that didn't ruin his entire day. He sits up to take a long swig of the hot drink, feeling it lesson the tightness behind his eyes even more. "I suppose it has been a few weeks since we have had a proper spar,"

Anakin's face lights up. "Really, Master?"

"You better hurry up and change before I change my mind."

In a flash, he is running for his room. Obi-Wan chuckles to himself, knowing very well the boy is throwing his robes into a haphazard pile on the floor. Silly boy, that one.

Yet, his mind keeps going back to the vision. The young man Anakin will eventually become. Confident. Still snarky, but his underlying kindness was evident even in the short interaction. A man that actually wanted to spend time with his old Master. It's something he often thought about in the wee hours of the night of his own master. If Qui-Gon were... still alive, would they be friendly? Or would they be estranged like he is to Master Dooku?

He imagined it would be the former. Maybe as a knight and he a master, they would see eye-to-eye more.

Obi-Wan hardly hopes his visions come true, but this one is different. This one, he will tuck away and hope to one day find himself walking alone through the temple on a lovely day and hear his former padawan running after him. Feel his arm affectionately wrap around him. Talk to him as though they are quarreling brothers.

Brothers. Huh.

Maybe in this future, however distant or near, he will finally shave the beard.

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