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rocorambles · 3 years ago

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Set My Heart Ablaze

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Non-Con/Dub-Con, Creepy Matsukawa, Obsessive Behavior, Public Train Sex

Prompt: Chikan/Trains/Public Sex

Summary: Neither of you can deny the mutual spark of interest between the two of you, but Matsukawa takes the matter of turning that spark into a fire into his own hands. Only time will tell if that fire will provide you warmth and comfort or burn you alive.

A/N: This is my submission for the HQHQ NSFW Collab! Masterlist can be found here. Be sure to check everyone’s content once the masterlist goes live tomorrow night~

The train doors open and Matsukawa briefly glances up, smiling to himself as you step onboard, looking left and right for an open spot despite how you always end up in the same corner of the moving vehicle. He doesn’t know anything about you, not even your name. Yet he finds himself drawn to the normalcy you bring, the comfort of knowing you’re a clockwork fixture of his everyday life.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Matsukawa is just a man at the end of the day and he doesn’t deny that he took note of you long before you became so ingrained in his life. But it had been no more than a man observing an attractive woman and he doesn’t give you another passing thought as he returns to gazing out the train windows.

But working with death on a daily basis makes you look at life differently.

He prides himself on being a practical and level-headed man and despite the heavy nature of his profession, he never thought he’d get too bogged down by the environment, by the grimness of his business. Sure, maybe someone like Oikawa would freak out within hours, if not minutes, of being in a funeral home surrounded by corpses and coffins. But he’s not Oikawa (thank God for that). It’s just a job to help keep a roof over his head and food on the table.

But the longer he’s surrounded by caskets, the more grieving and sobbing families and friends he has to comfort yet professionally guide through catalogs and brochures and price tags, he can slowly but surely feel the weight of his daily work resting heavy on his shoulders, digging deeper into him with every corpse and tragic story he reluctantly becomes privy to. Matsukawa finds a new appreciation for life, for every tiny and minute detail, and suddenly you aren’t just another stranger who happens to share his train route.

You’re a reminder that he’s still alive, that despite the curveballs life throws at some, he’s still blessed to enjoy the routine and monotony of it. Life looks different, clearer, as he begins to really pay attention, appreciating every moment he has.

Maybe he’s paying too much attention. He doesn’t know when he begins to focus so intently on you, shocking himself with the realization that he’s observed you so closely when he nonchalantly notices that you’re using a different tote bag than your usual one. When did Matsukawa Issei become someone who notices the details of a woman’s outfit and accessories?

He knows it’s not right, knows even Hanamaki would crinkle his nose in distaste if he found out Matsukawa was creepily studying a random unknown female on a daily basis. But he can’t help himself, his realization only seeming to make him unconsciously focus on you even more. He notices what hand you use to hold your phone. He memorizes every expression you make as your mind drifts off, lulled by the machinery of the train.

But looking from afar only satisfies him for so long and he finds himself creeping closer to you, adjusting where he sits to be closer to your preferred corner of the train. He always tells himself just a little closer, but it’s never enough. And although he’s now standing right beside you, close enough to see every eyelash, every pore of your skin, it’s still not enough. He needs to hear your voice, feel your body against his, know everything about you inside and out.

He understands the irony of the situation he’s found himself in, reminiscing on how Hanamaki and him had gagged at how disgusting men could be as they watched older businessmen grope and grab at poor unwilling female passengers on their way to and from school. He knows how wrong it is, how like an uninspired porno this is, but when the train conveniently rattles, he jostles his body into yours, “accidentally” bumping into you.

Acting isn’t Matsukawa’s forte, but he thinks he damn well deserves an award for the performance he’s putting on as he profusely apologizes to you, hiding the groan of satisfaction he feels from the brief contact he’d had with you, from the way your attention is solely focused on him, from the way your voice seeps into his ears like the loveliest melody he’s ever heard. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, meaningless small and polite talk leaving his lips as his mind focuses on what’s more important, mentally recording every syllable and movement you make as you continue conversing with him. But whatever words are spilling out of him seem to be working and something hungry and possessive stirs in him when your face lights up as you board the train the next day, making a beeline towards where he stands as you cheerfully greet him.

Maybe it’s foolish of you to so easily trust and warm up to a complete stranger. But he’s tall, attractive, and interesting, which is more than you can say for most of the men you’ve met and your friends and family are always telling you to put yourself out there more. Is there really much of a difference between finding a random stranger on the countless dating apps you’ve installed versus connecting with one in person? You’d even argue that there’s something whimsically romantic about how the two of you met, even though you don’t know for sure if this is really going to lead to anything. But at the very least, your daily commute becomes more exciting.

You’re everything and more compared to what Matsukawa had imagined and if he thought he was infatuated with you before, he’s completely and utterly obsessed with you now. You’re all he can think of, all he can see in his mind’s eye, even hours after you’ve parted ways on your morning commute, even as he lays in bed in the middle of the night. And as his hand slips underneath the hem of his boxers, wrapping around his aching cock to his imaginations of what you’d look like writhing underneath him, how you’d sound moaning his name, he knows he needs to have you.

After all, as pretty as a meal can be, it’s ultimate purpose is to be devoured.

You giggle when the train shakes and you feel a long toned body shift into yours, squishing you against the wall you’re leaning against, sighing in bliss at how right, how good it feels to be in Matsukawa’s embrace even if it is just for a fleeting moment, a little accident all too common on jam packed trains. But your face heats when you continue feeling his warmth, when his body seems to press even further into you until you can feel the expanse of his body against yours, not even an inch of space left between you.

“Matsukawa-”

Your words are caught off by a gasp as Matsukawa buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, lips and tongue mouthing and licking the sensitive skin there. You’re confused, scared, and aroused, hands reaching up to clutch at the lapels of Matsukawa’s suit, unsure whether to hold him tight to you or push him away. And your humiliation only increases when a nearby elderly couple scowls at the two of you in disdain, clearly unamused by the scandalous gestures of what they believe to be a young couple in love.

Yet you can’t help how your heart beats faster, wondering if this is proof of Matsukawa’s attraction to you, wondering if your hidden feelings for him are returned. But this isn’t the time or place for that conversation and you fervently whisper in his ear, begging him to stop, telling him people are watching.

“Is that the only reason you want me to stop? Because people are watching?”

You grow flustered at the implied meaning of his words, shame filling you at how much you’re enjoying this, hating how your neck arches for more attention as he straightens up once more, his body hiding yours from view as he stands in front of you, still pinning you to the wall.

“Better be as still and quiet as you can, sweetheart.”

You don’t have time to register his words before your mouth opens in a pathetic whine as a calloused hand trails under the hem of your shirt, sliding across the stretch of your stomach, mapping your torso before finally shoving your bra above the swell of your breasts, kneading one of your mounds, tweaking and swirling around your hardening nipple. It feels so good and you almost succumb right then and there, lost in the predatory lustful gaze he pins you with.

But when the train makes its next stop, the conductor’s voice jars you from your trance and you clutch at Matsukawa’s forearm, silently pleading for him to stop with desperate eyes despite the way you quietly mewl when he just quirks an eyebrow and pinches your nipple in retaliation.

“We can’t- We shouldn’t-”

Your hand trembles, jaw going slack when he slides one thigh between your legs, digging his hard muscles into that already dripping hole only protected by the fabric of your pants.

“You’re not very convincing. How about we play a game? If you can tell me you don’t want this without moaning like a bitch in heat, I’ll stop.”

There’s no room for disagreement as he abruptly begins grinding his thigh into your aching cunt, flexing and relaxing his muscle in a pattern and rhythm you can’t keep up with. It takes every last bit of will power in you to not wantonly ride his leg and hump against him like the lewd slut he had just accused you of being.

“I don’t want-”

You cry out in agonized pleasure as his fingers still hovering near your breasts begin to roll your nipples between calloused tips, his thigh never losing its momentum. And under the dual points of attack, your resistance crumbles. Matsukawa’s eyes widen in awe as you bounce and roll your hips against his leg, hiding your face in his chest as you try to muffle the lewd sounds slipping past your lips in the fabric of his jacket.

You’re gorgeous like this, a needy, lustful mess. But as much as he loves to see you suffer so beautifully, there’s only so much time before your stop and he decides to have mercy on you, to reward you for being so honest, so good for him. Your face snaps up to stare at him with pupils blown wide as his hand reaches underneath the waistband of your pants and panties. He groans when his fingers are instantly soaked in your arousal, your panties sticky with your fluids and his digits slip inside of your tight wet heat with no resistance at all.

He wants nothing more than to push the pesky fabric out of the way and lay you bare for his viewing pleasure, to have easy access to thrust in and out of you. But he’ll save that for another day. Instead his fingers slip out of you, tips circling your swollen clit, rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves as you resume humping his leg, body trembling, drool beginning to trickle from your lips as you frantically chase your end. And as the train stops once more, passengers trickling in and out, you silently scream, body convulsing as he brings you over the edge, pleasure washing over you and leaving you exhausted as you shiver and slump in his arms that are quick to embrace you and hold you steady as the train begins to move again.

You submissively let his fingers coated in your essence enter your mouth, obediently sucking and licking him clean, finding strange comfort in the action as you remain rested against him. But you keen in confusion, cheeks still hollowed as you mindlessly continue sucking while he guides one of your hands to the bulge in his pants.

But although Matsukawa is a man of few words, his desire is clear despite the silence and your face heats in embarrassment as he unbuttons his trousers, bringing your hand to the waistband of his boxers, dark eyes expectantly staring down at you. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Not when you can literally hear the other passengers surrounding the two of you, only Matsukawa’s tall frame hiding your illicit activity. But your body has a mind of its own and you greedily slip under the fabric barrier, moaning around his fingers at how large, hot, and heavy he is in your hands.

You hate how badly you want to see it, to feel it inside you, splitting you apart. Your pussy clenches, leaking in interest once again despite having just found blissful release mere minutes ago as your hands curiously trail up and down the shaft, trying to memorize how every bit of it feels against your skin, trying to visualize what it looks like. But you whimper as Matsukawa finally pulls his fingers free from your mouth, squeezing your jaw and giving you a warning look.

“Don’t tease me, doll.”

Your fingers wrap around the length and it’s your turn to stare up at Matsukawa with eyes full of hunger and awe as you watch his Adam’s apple swallow, as you feel a pleased groan reverberate in his chest with every stroke of your hand. Up and down. Up and down. Your hands are slick with pre-cum and you know it’s just your imagination, but you swear you can hear the lewd wet sounds of his sticky essence coating his shaft with every movement of your palm against the velvety skin. You’re so mesmerized, so lost in the experience that you startle when something hot and thick spurts onto your hand, mixing with his pre-cum, making an even bigger mess of his boxers and you.

You stare stunned at the hand you pull out from between his legs, gazing at the white and transparent fluids that coat your flesh. But before you can even think about wiping it off or scavenging around for a spare napkin or paper in your bag, a large hand grabs your wrist and brings your stained fingers to your mouth. You try to resist him, the spell he had you under broken now that the haze of lust isn’t blinding you. But his grip tightens until you wince and finally relent, stomach churning in disgust and shame as you tentatively lick at the bitter liquid.

He doesn’t release you, not until every last drop is coating the inside of your mouth, his taste heavy in your mouth, seemingly in every crevice of your orifice, your hand completely clean and void of your sinful interaction.

You want to hate him. You want to wipe the smug satisfied look clean off his face. But as you readjust your disheveled clothing, you’re reminded of your own body’s betrayal, your own carnal desire and pleasure, by the uncomfortable mess in between your legs. And all you can do is silently stand there and pretend that nothing has happened as Matsukawa nonchalantly tucks himself in and checks his phone.

There’s an uncomfortable silence as you wait for him to acknowledge what has just happened, only to be disappointed as he doesn’t even spare you another glance, too observed in the glowing screen in his hand. You wonder if this was just a one time thing, if he had been stringing you along all this time for one quick public tryst. And you hate the way that thought makes your chest hurt, hate how much you dislike the idea of never seeing him again, never talking to him again, never feeling and tasting him again.

But as the train pulls into his stop, your eyes widen when his face hovers by your ear, lips grazing your lobe as his voice melts into your soul.

“Wear a dress or skirt tomorrow. No panties or bra.”

He laughs as surprise turns into an endearing scowl that barely hides the apparent relief in your eyes and he just casually waves farewell as you send him on his way with a tirade of angry words about his fucking audacity. But it’s all empty heat and he chuckles at the self-conscious embarrassment written all over your face when he sees you the next morning, a pretty dress fluttering around your knees.

There’s no preamble, no pretense of what’s about to happen and he smirks in appreciation at the unobstructed feeling of skin against skin as he slips his hand under your skirt, not an inch of fabric covering the treasure at the apex of your thighs.

#haikyuu smut #matsukawa smut #yandere matsukawa #yandere haikyuu #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #tw: yandere #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon

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shihalyfie · 3 years ago

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With Digimon Ghost Game starting, I thought about how different it is from previous Digimon series, though it's still undoubtedly Digimon... and then I realized all Digimon series are like that. So I wonder, what do you think sets each Digimon series apart from the rest?

I think both Ghost Game but also the reboot have been a wake-up call for people in terms of realizing that likes, dislikes, and tastes are subjective, and I think it's especially important in terms of this fanbase that is so obsessed with this idea you can objectively rank things by quality -- especially when each series is often deliberately trying to have its own identity, so it's arguably apples and oranges -- and forcing this idea of what's Good and Not Good on everyone else (especially when there's a nasty double standard phenomenon where Adventure and often Tamers get to be so impervious to criticism that people conveniently forget they're perfectly capable of being scrutinized for a lot of things they're weaker in). Very frustrating to see everyone who likes less popular series treated as if they have to accept that they like a "badly written series" for some things and everything else is a guilty pleasure, which I find to be incredibly dumb.

The most important take-home here is that the fact each series has its own identity is always going to be the main factor in what makes it "good" or not to you, not some arbitrary bar of comparison that's based on some narrow-minded view of "good writing" (which is usually unreasonably based on Adventure). For instance, the reason why 02 is so important to me is because (see below), to me, it has the highest amount of meaningful, important life lessons and themes that it wanted its audience to remember, to the point that I frankly do not care about where the plot goes in comparison. That may not be the case for everyone else, and that's fine, but should my tastes be called unreasonable for that? I think we're also coming to realize that because of Adventure (and kind of 02)'s precedent, so many people have been judging series purely by how intimate their individual character development style is, but this is unfair because Adventure and 02's ridiculous level of character depth to psychological detail is extremely unusual and unrealistic to expect of others; Adventure and 02 only achieved this by practically considering the plot utterly subservient to its character arcs, and it's arguably why they have some of the weakest "plots" in this franchise. It's so bizarre that I can see character development in other Digimon series that outstrips even most kids' anime on the market, but it's not as much as Adventure's so apparently it's bad. And, moreover, as it turns out, some people have priorities other than characterization; just because Adventure had that as its strength doesn't mean that's the only thing anyone should care about. Is the plot fun? Is there a meaningful message besides characters (also important to me)? Do you vibe with the tone being dark, or being silly? How much do you care about resourceful usage of Digimon lore? That kind of thing. Everyone is different, so that's why everyone has their own priorities. If you’re someone who prefers darker content, you may not realize that writing good and well-timed comedy is actually a very, very difficult task, especially when said comedy simultaneously has meaning (in comparison, it’s surprisingly easy to write “dark” but shallow content).

I think it's fair to like every Digimon series for its own thing, depending on your personal tastes. I can't speak for everyone, but my impressions are that it has to do with the following:

Adventure: Significantly easier to understand than 02 due to its more straightforward plot, and focus on individual character development ("individualism" being a strong point here). In terms of characters, it goes a lot into some very real social problems (the divorce around the Ishida and Takaishi families and the pressures surrounding Jou, for instance) in a very realistic manner. Also, it has that sense of mystique and absurdism to the Digital World that's both whimsical but also mysterious, and while 02 has it too, Adventure's the isekai story that has it the most.

02: The first is its focus on the importance of human relationships and the compelling group dynamic unparalleled in this franchise, and the second is its important themes and life lessons that I think are some of the strongest in said franchise. I have a whole tag for the ridiculous amount of nuance packed into every detail and dialogue line for this series, and I think every time I've rewatched an episode I've learned something new about it because there are so many things that clearly wanted to be said in each line. The entire series is basically an unpacking of the feelings of insidious self-hatred and the crushing feeling of being subject to society's expectations, and ones that are so deep-seated that you often don’t even have a single answer to how to unpack it (for instance, Miyako hardly has a tragic single event in her backstory, but she says and does a lot of things that'll be painfully familiar to those who have experienced chronic anxiety). Almost every plot point can be said to connect to each character arc in some way, and the mantras for appreciating and treasuring your own life and living life the way you will make this, in my opinion, the strongest series in terms of speaking to those who struggle with this kind of existential crisis for reasons of depression or otherwise. (Oops, I think I went too passionate about this; my biases are obvious...)

Tamers: I think it forms an interesting study and unpacking of the kinds of things you take for granted in Digimon or the monster-collecting genre in general, and an examination of how they'd work in a real-world context (although 02 had a focus on daily life, it didn't quite merge the Digimon and the real world factors until very late in the series). Also, probably the second highest on "hard sci-fi" (the only one that outstrips it is probably Appmon, but Appmon has a very different, more simplified take on it).

Frontier: A series that lies somewhere between Adventure's scale of individualism and 02's scale of group dynamic, and one more discussing the feeling of having your heart hardened from being an outcast, and what it takes to accept the idea of opening yourself up to others again. Recommended for those who like transforming hero and magical girl stories, too. From the Digimon perspective, also the one with the most detailed and consistent Digital World mythos.

Savers: I think this is the series that most drives home "life is complicated" (i.e. there isn't a single mastermind behind everything) in the most tasteful manner, because while it drives home the point that you can't just simplify everything into a good side and a bad side, some bad things really are evil (hi, Kurata), and it doesn't change the fact that everyone's responsible for cleaning up the fallout. The portrayal of the evils of government bureaucracy is probably the most realistic out of any of these series.

Xros Wars: For those who like fun, most of all! For those who like seeing Digimon finally get more of the spotlight and individuality since so much of it had been geared and biased towards the humans prior to this. For those who really like worldbuilding, and, after all, this is called Xros Wars, so it's interesting to see shakeups on the usual formulas in the form of the different factions and their priorities. Hunters is very different in tone, but I do think they have some of these aspects in common; that said, it being closer to having single partnerships brings it a bit closer in line to conventional Digimon partnerships, and it also has more of a picture of daily life. Also, as much as Tagiru is probably your-mileage-may-vary since he's not exactly a very nice kid (I get it if you don't vibe with that), which may also rub those hoping for not nice kids to become nice the wrong way, I do have to say I find him to be one of the funniest characters in this entire franchise, and you'd be surprised how hard good comedy is to write.

Appmon: Probably one of the strongest theme narratives besides 02, since it has a very clear and obvious theme about the importance of kindness in a world where technology is dominating and we're almost encouraged to strip the feelings out of everything. (Bonus for more straightforward plot than Adventure or 02 while still retaining a lot of its elements in terms of how to characterize them.) Also the first series to be speculative about the near future instead of taking place around the time it airs, and it's very obvious it wants to provide important and necessary commentary about what we need to do in the incoming era, especially as a lot of what it has to say becomes increasingly relevant.

Reboot: For those who like Digimon mythos and null canon -- this is probably the only series to show it off in this level of detail -- and the kind of cool action fights that would usually be saved for the climax in prior series (and animated in much more intimate detail with battle choreography than prior series would have). There are a lot of people into this franchise who felt like it genuinely was not making enough use of its Digimon roster and its potential because it kept going back to the old standbys (especially Adventure-based ones), so it was a huge relief for that crowd to see attention finally being paid.

#digimon #shiha's ask box #demonoflight #digimon multi series talk

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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the age old divine

hela x hecate!reader x agatha harkness / masterlist

summary; the mass of murdered witches draws your attention, shooting down to earth to speculate the scene. two goddesses, and a outcast witch, need i say more? / warnings; death, smut, threesome, biting, blood, threatening, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, squirting

“dead, dead, dead.” the goddess of death herself spoke, as she traipsed through the loitering of witch carcasses. despite her words, her dark eyes showed anything but pity, rather what was bestowed upon her power endorsing pools was amusement. the scene was quite satisfying to her, it was a certainty that she would not be one to complain about the number of bodies.

“say it with a little less stride in your tone, these are my children. they were gifted magic by my hand, and now all that reprise has gone to waste.” you bit verbally at the daughter of odin, looking respectfully down upon the slaughtered. “only one of their own coven could have strung them to her heart so enthrallingly, we have to find the witch.”

“isn’t all this hocus pocus your jurisdiction? there is no we when it comes to reprimanding the order of this nature.” hela responded, brushing her hair back into its tarantula alike webbing. “hurry now, so we can carry on with our reckoning of the realms, earth is rather dirtying my feet with distaste for the humans that loiter pathetically on this planet.”

“oh hush, just because you are your daddy’s number one executioner does not mean that structured by your thoughts, that life is a waste. mortals may not be gifted with long life, nor the representation of elaborate thinking, however there is some beauty to their weak race.” a rustle in the bushes had you snapping your head to the side, focalising on the greenery as a nervous shake prompted the arms.

“there is no beauty to avid weakness.” hela noticed the listener’s location too, though she continued to speak as though it were a regular conversation at one of asgard’s infamous banquets. “nor hiding from those that reign higher in a seam of nature. come out little witch, and show us that digressed face of yours.”

“hela.” thoughtlessly elbowing the executioner, your thoughts drifted to her borderline mistake. the witch could attempt to escape after her whereabouts being called out, though perhaps you should have had more faith in the face of death, for a ragged haired, young woman approached from her hiding spot, seemingly worried for her own safety.

her eyes drifted over the various bodies that she had cast from life, and then they landed on you. instantly she recognised the description that your form visibly upheld, she had heard various tales and stories about you as a child, the mother of the witches.

“agatha harkness.” you knew her name, inside she panicked, it felt as though she were to be punished for her sins. but with one flick of your enchanted wrist, the evidence of her reprisal disappeared, her mother’s corpse turning into nothing more than a wisp drifting through the air. “i suppose it is you that had vanquished your family, may i, the sorceress over all, get an answer to why?”

agatha fumbled her shoulders for a second, as she thought of the best response that she could possibly bestow. she couldn’t say that she had seen the darkhold, nor disobeyed the ways of her coven, that would only make her appear as the villain. “well, are you going to tell me, or am i going to have to take a peak in that chaotic mind of yours?” your tone was harsh, as your demanding eyes bore into her.

from beside you, hela tutted, as she nonchalantly picked at her nails. “aren’t you the one always telling me to have patience?” out of all times, this was when the goddess had to intervene, it seemed as though she herself had no patience to sit there and allow you to carry on. after all, as she had spoken, this was your area, not hers.

“shut it.” the demand provoked the woman that lurched death upon her victims, she was fast to swoon forwards and cast her tough hand upon your jaw. her impending pupils glazed over, washing over with dominance, as her spare hand reached out, shaking her pointer finger at agatha, whom had tried to creep away from the debacle scene.

“not so fast little witch, i want to show you how weak and vulnerable your deity is in my hands. one snap and i could break this pretty neck of hers; and that would be such a shame.” hela hissed, sinking her teeth into your chin, hard enough to cause a puncture mark to render your flesh, with your crimson humanity lightly escaping from the small wound.

the goddess of death threw you upon the ground, as you turned and glared at the witch, who remained frozen at the play that was rolling out before her eyes. hela sunk onto her knees, grasping the crooks of your ankles to pull you closer, straddling you to permit no option of escape.

“i thought that you were smart enough not to talk back to me y/n, but it appears that i, like the ways of my forefathers, was wrong. did all those lessons i introduce you to amount to nothing?” her porcelain hands tore at your white robe, exposing your nudity to the crisp air, that sent ripples of bumps along your immortal skin. “i will bend and break you until you understand. i will rip everything away from you, until you see that your whimsical tricks are nothing in compared to what i am able to do.”

a whine escaped your lips, and agatha’s eyes widened. she shouldn’t be witnessing this, much less standing by as her legendary, tale told idol fumbled beneath a mass of dark seduction, braced to be as barren of clothing as you were the day that you had been birthed as a symbolic presence within the universe.

“get off of me, otherwise i shall inform the hellish mould of the devil’s crown how to defeat you; you and i both know that ragnarok will have you splitting in half like a fallen icicle.” the threat, albeit honest, was half empty, like a cauldron with the incorrect ingredients. hela could only smirk at the predicament that you had adjourned into the compass of.

her suspicious hand slithered down your body like an albino serpent, cradling the mound of your inherited artefact, rubbing her murderous thumb upon your rose, toying cantankerously with the petals, pricking at them like established thorns, drawing a spike in your breath. agatha rubbed her thighs together, trapping her full bottom lip between the jailhouse of her teeth, lightly gnawing upon her own flesh.

“get off of you, or get you off into a climactic example of true ecstasy, that is not accompanied by vengeful curses, nor midnight felines that bring the warning of arising karma?” she asked teasingly, shaking her deviant head as you thrusted your hip against her hand, rubbing the length of your treasure chest upon her thrilling palm.

“don’t be stereotypical hela, otherwise i will make sure you see some entrapment of your own fears; you and i both know that i am well equipped to take a guess at what they are.” hela prowled her top lip up in the stance of a silent snare, quickly disconcerting her attention away from you in your appeasing pose, as she beckoned the bushy haired witness over, grinning contently when the witch silently complied.

“i suppose you’ve never thought that the night would come where you would see your historical figure writhing under the affections of death. touch her, fulfil the one legacy that you bestow upon your enchanted selves, and serve her.” the woman cloaked in a skin of thin armour spoke, glaring frighteningly up at the witch, with a primal infrastructure edging the outside of her feral orbs.

“i, i, what do i do?” agatha wanted to be certain that the thoughts that ceremoniously rushed to her mind. if she were to worship your body with the passion that she had refrained from sharing with any of her coven, then she wanted to be certain that she knew the extents that she was allowed to perform to. a forbade groan sheathed like a revealed dagger from your mouth, as you located your neck in an alternate position so that you could look at your kin.

“eat my cunt harkness, now, before i decide to punish you for your treacherous sins.” within a minute, she scrambled upon the dirt, clawing her way so that she was met with an inspector’s sight. hela untangled herself from her masterful clothing, basking her body in nudity, as she climbed upon her face, sitting on it as you eagerly began to swipe your tongue through her folds, sucking earnestly at her clit.

agatha found that to be her moment, she craned her head down, swiping her fingers through your self accumulated slick, watching with a transparent gaze as your essence coated the pads of her skin. she delved her face closer, inhaling the immoral scent that radiated from your most intimate parts, tracing your lips with her explorative tongue. the witch hummed, as though she had succeeded at a spell, gasping herself as she felt your hand comb down and pull at her messy locks.

hela ground against your face, half suffocating you, just the way that she liked it. you moaned into her pulsating flesh, inserting your primitive tongue inside her, roaming around the dark caves that staved many secrets, feeling how each one perfectly moulded her soul, and made her into the dependant warrior that she was. it was unarguable, she was a difficult person to get along with, but you could feel the impact that her younger years had shaped her; she had been taught to be this version of death.

but ironically, there was much life in her as she made huffs that she often saved for the episodic scenery of the battlefield, huffing her perky chest out as she felt valhalla erupt in her abdomen, urging her to sink onto your tongue, and use you for her own advantage. agatha was admittedly not doing as bad of a job as you had inwardly predicted, she was eager to please, specifically more so, since it were you, hecate that she was intimately tending to.

you moaned up into hela, lurching your bottom half down and further unto agatha’s in inquisitive face, sending ripples of sound up through the raven haired woman’s sly body, stringing more leverage over her, in more ways than one. a shout bellowed from your chest, as you felt tendrils of aura surround the interior of your stomach, poking it to no end, sending you closer to the edge. witches, you’d show this one in particular.

harkness squealed as she felt a heat penetrate her entire being. she was a witch, you were a deity, that was perception enough that there was a range of power between the two of yours abilities. “hecate.” it was the name that her ancestors had taught her, and thus, the woman used it, trying to mush her not so innocent face back into your pussy in attempts to shut her own self up.

it felt as though the bifrost was soaring through her, sending her to another land; hela came onto your face, mumbling incoherent, presumably dominant, words to herself as you used your oral appendage to help clean her up. “by the dead, are you good at that.” it was far from the first time that she had told you that. agatha was on the route to her second orgasm, the bliss that you intuitively blessed her with had rendered her to a first.

she however continued to bring you to the overall whits of your sexual expression, introducing her fingers into your nest, watching euphorically as they entered you, and sunk delightfully through your folds, being swallowed into the spongey abyss. hela dismounted from your face, tracking over to position herself from behind agatha, turning up the ends of her skirt, throwing the supporting material over her ass, grabbing the cheeks as she pressed a bite into one globe.

the goddess sunk her face into the subsequent area that had been indulged in privacy for far too long, stroking up the ways of agatha’s slick cunt, nibbling upon her clit as the maleficent light you bestowed continued working inside of her. shaking your head, a finish line was installed as you raced towards it, surpassing the line as you pushed the simple witch’s face closer to your heat, coating her lips with your personal gold, forcing the pressure within her to explode.

her body shook as a violent flurry, which was surely anything natural, reckoned her body. juices spurted out behind her, coating hela’s torturous tongue as she pulled away, silently comparing her taste to your own. once more, in an instant, hela was robed once more, as she steadied your knees, pulling you up to your trembling feet. “now that is what i would call a divine intervention.” a smirk riddled your lips as you stood, your robe still torn, exposing the curve, and the entirety to your beautiful breasts; agatha felt as though she were in a trance.

you were so perfect, like all the tales had foretold. hela shook her head at your incensed pun, rolling her eyes at your consistent humour. “i liked this one, she was less bold than the others that we have previously visited.” noted the goddess of death, stepping back and dragging you back with her as a beam of light cascaded down through the sky, ripping the pair of you away from your current destination.

once it disappeared, the pair of you were gone; vanished. though evidence of your presence remained, agatha licked her lips, tasting you, as she simultaneously felt the affect that the pair of you had endured upon her between her dampened legs. it was a day that the stray witch would never forget, it was indeed, a memory that would surpass through her mind as she gained control, and thus more power.

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bukojuiice · 4 years ago

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something in the rain — todoroki shoto

ೃ you and shoto were once childhood best friends and sweethearts who had lost touch and communication. 12 years has passed since then, and on a fated summer day in june, there was something in the rain that brought two lost souls back to each other’s arms.

ೃ pairing: shoto todoroki x fem! reader

ೃ tags: childhood friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff

ೃ warnings: none!

ೃ wc: 1k

ೃ my nav → my mha writing masterlist → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ please do reblog if you enjoyed!! it really helps writers and content creators on tumblr! if you want to be a part of my mha taglist. send me an ask! ♡

ೃ song inspo: film out by bts

Puppy Love…

What a sweet and trivial concept.

Was it not?

You and Shoto met each other at the tender age of 7. Roughly two years into his intense and odious training brought upon him by his father. His mother who still unwaveringly continued to support him, would sneak the half and half boy out in between his trainings. Whether to bring him out to play in the local playground, run around in the flower fields, or to just go shopping in the local grocer. These simple things were enough to make the boy happy. Even for just a short moment.

Then, during one fated day, the sun was about to go down, and no other child was frolicking around the playground.

It was just you.

Alone on the swing, your eyes cast down on the ground, wriggling your feet and dipping them into the play sand. You hear a faint creaking sound of the seat next to you and now you were accompanied by a boy the same age as you were. Heterochromatic eyes filled with innocence and love, a smile that looked like it never left the curves of his face, floofy half red and white hair that gave him a very distinct yet striking appearance.

“Why are you all alone?” He inquires, tilting his head. “It’s almost night time too. It’s going to get scary…”

“You came here alone too.” You snapped back, averting his gaze and your mouth forming into a pout.

He shakes his head, “No I didn’t. My Mommy is just there.” He points to a faint silhouette of a woman not far from the two of you.

“Oh.” You blink. “Well, um- my house is just over there! So, my parents don’t need to always keep an eye on me!” You cross your arms, pointing to your house a few feet away from the playground.

“You’re lucky. My dad keeps an eye on me a lot. He’s scary most of the time too and I think it’s because of my quirk…” His shoulders visibly slump as he breathes out a hefty sigh. “Mommy takes me out to go play when I’m done with my training and I’m happy because of it!”

“D-do you wanna play on the slide?” You ask him, twiddling with your fingers. A faint shade of pink present on your cheeks. “If it’s okay, I wanna share my happiness with you!“

His eyes sparkle. “Sure! But…. wait! I don’t even know your name yet!”

“Ah my name’s (Y/N)!”

“I’m Shoto!” He grins, his eyes sparkling once more and you can’t help but become flustered even more.

Oh, how you wish to see those bright blue and grey eyes again. His fluffy white and crimson hair, and just… feel his lingering presence in your life once more.

Why did time have to go by so fast?

Why did he have to leave?

After a year of feeling nothing but the purest and most blissful emotions whenever you were with him, that all came crashing down when Shoto and his family moved to another city. The reason why was because the neighborhood that you lived in wasn’t “healthy” for him or rather, it was too friendly and Shoto was getting attached to you even though he shouldn’t.

Heroes are built to be as strong as steel after all. Emotionally and Physically. Endeavor doesn’t want his son to be a soft little marshmallow who only beams so brightly whenever he hangs out with the little girl from the quaint neighborhood.

…It’s been 12 years since then.

You’re now a perpetually tired and no-nonsense sophomore college student. Studied hard enough to get a scholarship at one of the most prestigious universities in Japan and now it feels like you’re drowning in a massive amount of school works and extra cred.

Now, looking back at your whimsical childhood life that was only made possible because of one particular Icy-Hot boy, you get a sudden feeling of euphoria course through you as you reminisce the good times.

There was a feeling of inevitability when you met Shoto.

There was something about him that drew you in.

Even at such a young age, you had the sense that the two of you would be together.

That a moment in time would come in where he would look at you in a certain way and the two of you would cross the threshold of friendship into something so much more.

Which proved to be true, as he has always felt the same way as you did.

The two of you knew each other a little better than everyone else.

All the little secrets shared through giggles and fits of laughter, the embarrassing moments shared in a small and dusty playground, and the sweet little memories that the two of you were too young to understand, but what your prying yet loving mothers both noticed.

Your lives were fated to converge like some cosmic dance. Like two shooting stars descending from the night sky. It was always fate.

It was fate that the two of you met. It was fate that the two of you would become friends, playmates, and childhood sweethearts.

But you guess it wasn’t fate that the two of you would remain friends forever.

You are still hoping for a sign in the sky or a word from the stars.

If the two of you are fated to meet again.

The soft boom of thunder and sparkle of lightning awoken you from your slumber.

You had fallen asleep whilst studying for your finals. Just ten minutes of rest. You whispered to yourself.

Those ten minutes ended up becoming an hour and a half wasted and instead of studying and memorizing the chemical formulas, you ended up dreaming about ramen instead.

Some pages of your chemistry book were creased as you had ended up using it as a pillow. You pay this no mind as you mindlessly rub your eyes out of habit, looking out the window, as rain had begun to pour outside.

You continue to observe the rainfall as the soft sound of droplets hitting the windowpane was so soothing to you, giving you a momentary peace of mind.

Your short meditation moment was soon interrupted with the grumbling of your stomach.

“Mom and Dad aren’t home till 9…” You stretch your arms, groggily murmuring to yourself. “Might as well have a trip to the convenience store.” You hop out of your chair, reaching for a grey hoodie and matching sweatpants from your closet, trying to channel the comfy girl look as you head out.

You lock the door to your house, opening your umbrella as you whistle your way to the convenience store, taking each step carefully hoping you don’t step on any dirty puddles and hoping you see some cute little frogs on the pathway.

You stop in your tracks when you notice a black sedan parked not too far from your house. You raise suspicion a little bit until you remembered that a new family was moving in the house near you, so you decided to just brush off your skepticism.

“Welcome to Conbini! May I kindly ask you to leave your umbrella by the door?” The cashier greets you, trying to force a customer-friendly smile. They might have had a rough week and you don’t want to be labeled as those jerk kinds of customers so you nod at her and leave your parasol at the entrance.

“Oh my god.” You were about to drop the bags of food in your hands when you notice that your umbrella was gone from the parasol stand, another customer possibly mistaking their umbrella for yours. You sigh in defeat. “You know what, heck it. I could care less at this point.” You pull up your hoodie, dashing your way back home, hoping you don’t end up getting sick from this careless situation you’ve put yourself into.

You stop in your tracks once again when you see a dashing-looking man standing in front of the gates of your house.

tall, well built, half and half colored hair that was wet and tangled, wearing a long and patterned coat, hands in his pockets… it felt as if he was waiting for someone to come out of your home.

Could this be…?

He was alerted by the sound of your steps rippling with the puddles in the pavement, turning to face you, his umbrella twirling with him.

His eyes grow wide at the sight of seeing you, and you notice his chest rise up, like a feeling of relief and of hope.

“(Y/N)…?”

“S-shoto?”

These are still the beautiful heterochromatic eyes you know and love. Only this time, it had a darker hue reflecting from his orbs. These are eyes who have seen and who have gone through so much.

You can’t even believe it.

Here he was, standing right in front of you. The boy you loved all those years ago.

Even more handsome, mature, and striking, and yet you could feel this broken emptiness radiating from him. Emotional scars that still run deep through him and… at this moment, you just want him to bare his heart to you. All this pain and suffering he has felt all these years.

You feel droplets of water sliding down your cheek like crystal teardrops.

“It’s really you…” You were about to drop the bags of food in your hands due to your blissful bewilderment but Shoto rushes to you with his umbrella, shielding you from the storm.

He was a bit too close and you could feel the heat rush up to your cheeks again, a feeling you have not experienced in so many years.

“Ah. I’m sorry.” He steps back a little from you and you can hear yourself internally monologue “nooo” as he takes a few steps away. “It’s been 12 years isn’t it?” He catches your attention again.

“It is. Yeah...” You nod, still looking up at him, a certain twinkle in your eyes and an inexplicable feeling growing in your chest. “W-what brings you here?” You add, your voice soft and sweet, whether you did this on purpose or not will forever remain a question.

“My family… we’re moving back here.” He replies quickly. solemn, yet there was a tint of excitement in his tone. “My father thought it was best if my mother, my siblings and I lived in a different house than him after… all the pain that he made us go through… and so… here we are.”

“Oh! Would you like to come inside and have some coffee?” You ask, pointing your finger to your humble abode. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” You giggle jokingly, trying to keep the atmosphere light and warm despite the cold weather present around you.

You start heading to the direction of your house, knowing that Shoto will follow you inside until…

he grabs you by the arm, enveloping and pulling you in for a tight yet soft and comforting hug. A feeling that you’ve been wistfully longing for such a long time.

A feeling that only Shoto Todoroki could give.

“I missed you so much (Y/N)… can you share your happiness again with me?”

In the midst of the rainy summer season that brought nothing but dim and grey skies, wet and damp atmosphere, and endless floods of sorrow, you were his spring. The rosebud opening in the watery sunshine.

The whimsical girl with grass-stained knees running around the meadow with him… like a prophecy telling him that new beginnings were about to come, your personality and your appearance reminded him of the cherry blossom trees that symbolized a time of renewal.

You were the rainbow after a storm. Spreading light and color to those around her…

The one who brought back light and color to his life again.

“from all the memories stored in my heart”

I only picked up and connected the ones of you.”

ೃ taglist: @chibishae34 @lovelytarou @ramunegoddess, @serossimpy @laudthingcat

#shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #todoroki x y/n #mha fluff #bnha fluff #mha #bnha #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto x reader

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passionesolja · 2 years ago

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Now, a Mf like me see and hear what Andor is about and the reception and I get interested. “A Star Wars show where they curse, have brothels, murder, and steal shit?? Damn reminds me of the EU days.” And I get interested. Why? Because that shit is geared towards adults and I’m not a child. Like you get to a certain age and the family friendly shit isn’t appealing you want something that’s raw.

Not extremely gratuitous and tasteless, but not something on the level of kids show meant to teach a basic moral lesson

I like the series I watch to not sugarcoat the realities of life from me. It doesn’t have to be gruesome or extreme but hoes and murder are things we see irl.

However, I’m seeing mfs who bashed Kenobi for being too childish and not dark enough bash this show, and I’m like “???”

These are a few examples but I really don’t understand why there’s tension. I think that the issue is that mfs want to watch Star Wars with the same childlike wonder they had when they were 7, but they’re full grown adults. So that feeling is gone.

Y’all know I was the biggest troll ass hater ass bitch when Kenobi dropped but I’m not a hater for no reason, Andor looks decent. It’s taking it’s time to build shit up and establish shit. I appreciate that.

Im a firm believer that Star Wars should have a family friendly side and an mature audience side—kinda like it did in the EU.

Like dawg you will never get that feeling back. You aren’t a child watching Star Wars for the first time, you know the series and the lore. You have a clinical and thorough knowledge of the source material.

I have no idea what a lot of these Fandom Menace people want from Star Wars.

No, actually, I do.

They want Star Wars to bring them back to a simpler time in their life. They remember watching it as a kid and remember it being captivating. However, that time is gone. Im sure for younger audiences, things like Kenobi and Rebels are that.

to the Fandom Menace, yall will NEVER get that feeling back. The shows you bash are meant to give children that whimsical feeling you once had watching the OT and PT. You’re seeing exactly what you want but you can’t get the feeling because it isn’t meant to be there.

Now, me personally, my childhood was reading the EU Wikipedia pages. Like i remember looking through em and being like “goddam that’s too grown for me” because the EU had a lot of relatively mature themes given my age at the time. Nothing whacky or traumatizing but stuff for people not 8 years old, you know . So I’m always looking for something that’s real and makes me say “damn I can’t believe they did that wow.”

Y’all was watching the OT, I was reading about Sith Species and Sith Order lore. We are not the same.

I know people on Star Wars Tumblr and Twitter may think I’m Fandom Menace but I’m just “hehhehe time to hate🤓😈” ass bitch. I’m just outspoken on my perspective.

I can give a show it’s flowers and admit when it looks interesting and I’m Intrigued.

#star wars #sw #sw prequels #sw sequels #original trilogy #sw hc #sw headcanons #sw memes #sw andor #andor #sw meta

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hintofelation99 · 3 years ago

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Hi! I love your posts and want to ask your opinion on something. Who do you think in the batfam has the most and the least common sense of a normal person? If you can, can you also list how they are arranged? Thank you!

Ooohhh, this is a fun one! In my mind all bats lack common sense. Like obviously they're hella smart, after all they are a family of detectives, they just aren't very bright.

Here's a quick rundown (least to most): Tim and Dick tie for first place, both lack common sense in just in completely different ways. Then Damian (mostly cause of the whole 'being raised by league of assassins' thing), Bruce, Cass (controversial ik), Steph, Jason, Duke, Babs, and last on the list is obvs Alfred. (Kate is probs between Cass and Steph, but I've only really seen her in the DCAMU and need to get to know her better).

And Ima add a 'keep reading' cause this is gonna get long.

Tim:

Tim is one of the smartest in the family. He deduced Batman's identity as a child, majorly fucked up the League of Assassins, and has been honored (I say this v sarcastically just btw) with Ra's creepy obsession. He's smart, plain and simple. However, when it comes to just day to day survival and being loved, goddamn that boy is dumb.

He regularly mixes energy drinks and coffee. Sometimes he even mixes energy drinks, alcohol, and coffee.

In his mind warnings are optional. "Tim, did you just sniff that drano?" "Yeah, why?" "IT LITERALLY SAYS DO NOT SMELL" "Oops"

He regularly tests shit on himself. "Why is Tim on the floor?" "He mixed joker venom and fear gas to see what would happen" "HE WHAT"

Also if you try to compliment him or tell him you love him he will find a way to misunderstand. "Tim, I love you and you are an amazing son." "I don't know who this Tim is but he sounds great" "It- it's you, literally you. Timothy Jackson Drake." "I'm a bit confused, I didn't know you knew two Timothy Jackson Drakes. You should really introduce us."

Dick:

Dick in many ways is a total himbo. He's a complete sweetheart, super supportive, and very ditzy. His ditzy-ness directly correlates to how relaxed he is. Chilling in the manor? Peak himbo. A mission in space? Absolute genius and amazing leader. Just took down a bunch of thugs? Slowly reverting into dopey boi. He always has the ability to be super analytical, smart, and big brain, but he likes being whimsical and even airheaded. And that's not a bad thing, it's just him taking mental breaks, being lighthearted.

"YOU PUT DIESEL IN YOUR CAR?" "...Yeah, in my defense the nozzles look basically the same" "They're different colors?! Also the diesel nozzle doesn't even fit into your gas tank, how did you get it in?" "I'm a good pourer."

He always responds to the word dick and it always confuses him. "God Ra's is such a dick!" "What?" "Ra's is a dick" "I'm not Ra's!" "Wha- no! I mean penis dick!" "Ohhhh, yeah he is a penis dick"

Once Dick is safe he reverts into himbo pretty quickly, even after stressful situations. "Hey Wally?" "Yes babe?" "I forgot how to change my lock screen again" "Dick, you just hacked into an alien spaceship not even an hour ago??" "What's that have to do with anything?"

Damian:

Damian lacks common sense from growing up with the League of Assassins. He's an amazing warrior and super analytical but casual human interaction alludes him. He is getting better though, so eventually he'll be lower on the list than Steph. But for now he's a senseless bby.

The first time someone tried to give him high five he assumed it was an attack and flipped them. Same with a fist bump.

This is complete canon but his original treatment of Alfred, his brothers, and, well, everyone. Like bby boy please read the room.

His ego can easily override common sense. Like he wouldn't jump off a bridge if everyone else was doing it, but if someone said he couldn't he'd immediately swan dive off that bridge.

Bruce:

For the world's greatest detective he can be a major dumb bitch sometimes. Some of it's growing up rich and some is being so wrapped up in his 'crusade for justice' that he just misses basic shit.

One time he walked in on Roy and Jason making out, the next day he saw them cuddling, then they mentioned moving in together. It took him three months to realize that they're dating.

He doesn't understand coupons, like at all. Jason has tried to explain them but Bruce just gets even more confused.

Bruce tried to make coffee once. He literally just poured coffee beans in water and microwaved it. He was surprised when it didn't taste good.

Cass:

Cass is similar to Damian in she lacks common sense from an unconventional upbringing. However she's learning way faster than Damian and depending on where in the timeline you're looking she might have more common sense than Babs.

Basic things like lines, turn taking, and speaking when spoken to aren't innate to her. Like, she knows and understands them, but often forgets about them.

There are many times that she blurs the line between civilian and vigilante because she'll do something that looks v stupid and dangerous for a civilian. The thing is she never notices when she does this.

One time she was in a restaurant and there was a cockroach on the wall across the room (cause Gotham) and instead of getting up and killing it like a normal person she threw her steak knife and impaled it.

Steph:

Steph is probably lacks common sense the most conventional yet slightly concerning way. She lacks common sense in the same way a cartoon character or sitcom character would. Like it's sorta realistic but at the same time damn bby girl why are you such a disaster??

She will do anything on a dare. Anything. There is a rule against daring Steph to do things while in the manor or on patrol.

Every time she hears someone say Red Robin she yells yum. This has gotten both her and RR shot.

Steph is v lucky that 1) she's a badass and 2) the batfam loves her because she annoys absolutely everyone just for shits and giggles and the only reason she hasn't been murdered is that Cass scares everyone.

Jason:

All common sense is lost when dramas at stake. Say what you will but Jason is the (second) biggest drama queen in the family. Also he, like most bats, lacks a sense of self preservation which leads to shit common sense.

He tried to steal Batman's tires.

Sometimes he listens to music during patrol and tries to hit people/shoot on beat. This has lead to stab wounds.

Jason loves to loudly quote classic literature while on stake outs. This is a problem for obvious reasons.

Duke:

Ok this is around the time you get to average common sense levels. But he still runs around Gotham beating people up in tights (or kevlar) so he doesn't get full points. Also he's still not Babs level common sense. One area Duke lacks common sense in is how to deal with the Batfam (which is v understandable tbh)

One time Duke was joking around with Jason and decided to steal a roll off of Damian's plate. This ended in blood.

Other than lacking Batfam common sense, most of his poor judgement moments are less notable but still concerning.

For example the time he challenged Dick to a hot dog eating contest then went on a roller coaster.

Babs:

Other than being a vigilante Babs almost has normal human common sense. However being a vigilante has negative side effects on ones common sense.

While Babs' sleep schedule isn't as bad as Tim's it's not a whole lot better. She's stayed up 72 consecutive hours multiple times.

She has accidentally poured coffee onto her computer instead of into a coffee mug.

One time she drank an entire gallon of milk before realizing it was a month expired.

Alfred:

Most assume that working for Bruce Wayne is a sign of him lacking common sense. But nah, it's him knowing, understanding, and challenging his own limits. Also it's him being a charitable human being. Like he has enough common sense to go around and tbh it's the only thing keeping the family alive.

"Master Bruce, you may not use Elmer's Glue All to close a wound."

"Master Dick I would encourage you not to teach Master Duke acrobatics on the glass coffee table."

"Miss Stephanie I would not advise trying to consume an entire jar of peanut butter in one sitting, and no, I do not care if Master Jason dared you to."

Tada, there's the list! Sorry that was probably a lot longer than anyone wanted, but I enjoy talking about how ditzy the batfam is. Like they're all geniuses but at the same time they're just sooooo dumb.

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wistfulrat · 4 years ago

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this week’s fics! feat. bakeries, bookshops, bisexual awakenings of the angsty and fluffy sort, wolfstar goddads being tender as hell, desi harry reconnecting with his culture, domestic drarry, a lap dance set to akon’s smack that, and more!

But That’s History by @ebbet - 54k - T Harry Potter starts his first year as Muggle Studies Professor only to find that Draco Malfoy has been hired to teach History of Magic.

listen to me. this is one of the funniest drarry fics i've ever read. i was cackling in my bed at 2am because harry’s internal monologues throughout this fic are unhinged. insanely quotable. “what was he, a lothario” and “you were crushing me with your muscular thighs!” are lines that live rent free in my empty head. harry has never played anything cool a day in his life. there’s a faculty meeting where the teachers are planning the yule ball and debating the merits of a DJ when harry decides he must defend his muggle-music-loving honor by dancing seductively to akon’s smack that while a blushing draco loses his mind. i fucking screamed. and the best part is that in between the comedic scenes threading the overall story, you have extremely tender moments of like, padma patil helping harry become a more rooted desi by sharing their cultural traditions, harry proudly donning his sherwani. draco wrestling with his past, going to harry’s lgbtq+ club for students, being sheepish with ron and hermione. ugh, comedic writers with emotional depth are clever and talented as hell!!

Realities, Unfurling by @ebbet - 45k - M Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban into a changed world.

incredible collage-fic told from multiple povs. 8yrs post-war and everything’s changed. the current state of the magical world unfolds via slice-of-life snapshots from a truly stunning cast. non-binary harry whom is running a non-prof org dedicated to building tolerance and establishing equality for marginalized identities. post-prison-release draco whose life will be changed by the internet. neville’s tender relationship with blaise. andromeda’s fiercely protective mothering. remus and sirius being alive and very hot and just, the tender goddads harry deserved. cho chang being brilliant. baker pansy’s softened edges. found families abound. harry being flustered by their crush on draco and making personalized playlists on an iPod nano.

that all might sound narratively cluttered but the author more than pulls this off. glorious, start to finish.

Knead by @jovialobservationanchor (an @hd-erised fic) - 83k - E This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

cinematic. a love letter to oregon’s expansive landscapes and lively cities. it’s harry finding home in unexpected places and people. in the vast silence of rolling fields, endless coasts, and starry night skies big enough to feel like you’re adrift in space. and it’s also the lingering, intimate quiet of early mornings in a bakery, sitting on a park bench overlooking the city as you eat ice cream next to your crush. it’s harry watching ginny and luna dance and work around each other like bees. it’s the slow unfolding of harry and draco’s relationship as they fill each other’s quiet. finishing this fic is like waking from a good dream. transporting, immersive, lovely.

Harry Potter and the Bisexual Awakening by @writcraft - 20k - E Harry is perfectly content being single, heterosexual and living in Godric's Hollow with his very clingy rescue dog, Snitch. When Draco Malfoy turns up on Harry's doorstep demanding that Harry teach him how to drive, things quickly become a lot more complicated.

first of all, i feel very seen by draco being a gay-who-can’t-drive. it’s called representation. but mostly i love the ease of harry and draco’s banter, a flustered harry discovering his sexuality, and the way this fic addresses biphobia. also very emo over this exchange: “I think I might be scared of you, but probably not for the reasons you think.” “Yes.” Draco stares at Harry. “I think I might be scared of you too.”

Forged through flowing water by @tedahfromtayla (an @hd-erised fic) - 40k - E When Hermione sets up a diplomatic mission to begin repairing the damage British colonisation did to Indian magical communities Harry isn’t going to pass on the opportunity to visit and help his family’s home country. Maybe he should have asked a few more questions about the personnel she had recruited for it before signing on because Malfoy surely has an ulterior motive to be there.

so much to love about this fic. the beautiful settings, from kolkata to mumbai, to the holi festival and colorful lively streets, to remote cave settlements and old intricate temples. it’s harry in the homeland, reconnecting to his family’s heritage and confronting the weight of imperialism in his history. it’s nipping the white savior complex in the bud. this part: That is what England left behind. That is what it still stands for, despite whatever mask of respectability and honour it presents. . .You don't get to step aside and let someone else deal with the mess. You have to listen and learn and then act, Malfoy, you need to learn how to fix your own mess. This is why we're here. my indigenous ass cheered. HP certainly sells the british fantasy but HP fanfic?? fuck jkr, fuck the crown. i love that this fic doesn’t romanticize england’s history. i love that we get to see the vast resilience and beauty of post-colonial india.

Purity Control by yrfrndfrnkly - 28k - T In which Harry tries to ignore his trauma with fantasy Quidditch but Malfoy's Thereness™ is distracting and all his classmates want to talk about are unicorns, virginity, and Muggle music.

tender 8th year fics where they go from bristly as fuck to understanding and soft 100% guaranteed to make me emo as hell. all the teens have traumas and no one wants to talk about it but eventually Things are Talked About. it’s good of the adults to finally notice. everyone just wants someone to hold their hand. and this part: “You’re the only person around here who’s a bigger mess than I am.” “I thought maybe we could be a mess together,” pls don’t look at me as i weep over their gentle empathy.

Advent, a comic by dustmouth - WIP - T It's Harry and Draco's first Christmas together and Draco is determined to live his full yuletide fantasy, come hell or high water.

dustmouth, patron saint of whimsical drarry. whose illustrations singlehandedly reinvented wizarding fashion. whose cheeky and tender comics are like a soothing balm to the utter depravity of this carnal world. harry and draco being domestic, draco’s xmas spirit brand being “traditional unhinged”!! extremely my shit. we’ll absolutely be reading this all december.

Little Spaces by @dracoladon and @lazywonderlvnd - WIP - E Draco's back from France and working on the spell damage ward at St Mungo's with Hermione, who invites him over for dinner. Without telling Harry. This is a roleplay, which means Harry is written by one author (lazywonderland) and Draco by another (dracoladon).

the switch in distinct character voices works so well for this fic!! tonally i feel like i'm watching an episode of the office. i personally love harry and draco being Pissed Off at how much they want to bone each other. the battle of the tapenade was the most riveting dinner scene i've read in a minute. clever, hilarious, emotionally tense. can’t wait until that inevitable moment post hate-sex when they’re gonna be like “oh noooo it’s a Heart Boner as well!! >:((” hell ya we’re subscribing for chapter updates.

Dragons Don’t Know Paradise by @teacup-tai - WIP - E In 2004, when Remus spends two scary weeks in the ITU due to complications of pneumonia and his HIV condition, Sirius walks around the house like a ghost and Harry finds comfort and strength in Draco through a chat in an online LGBT forum. Harry falls for him, but Draco has a lot of secrets and, before long, will need to come clean—even if he believes that no one is able to understand a dragon.

non-magical bookshop AU. remus and sirius’ relationship is a marvel. the ease of their affection with harry makes me so emo. draco’s friends being insistently present even as he tries to isolate himself. this is a story about acceptance, found families, and falling in love at a distance. the intimacy, the longing, the tenderness. what a fic!! i keep coming back to this part:...he looks at ease, inside his body, a body he needed to fight for. He’d made peace with his struggles and his scars. And Draco realises he wants that. He wants to be at ease inside his body, the body that now carries a virus. He wants to be at peace with his own existence. you hurt for draco so deeply but you get moments like these where he affords himself a kindness that feels foreign and it’s just!! the boys navigating grief and learning to be vulnerable. so good.

#drarry fic rec #drarry #we live and die for desi harry aka hari poddar bc fuq jkr #a lot of soft drarrys this week but in my defense ive been reading hella angst and my depression was not finding that cute #weekly drarrys

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

Text

Dolce

3x06

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, blood, drugs

Author’s Note: I don’t want to leave Florence :( but i do be missing the dogs

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary: Jack seriously doubts Will's loyalties as the two renew their alliance. Mason Verger plots Hannibal Lecter's capture, while Lecter plans for his final stand.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus�� @vlightning95 @sweetgoodangel

(not my gif)

all gifs @/rocktheholygrail

Hannibal sat in the bathtub. His head leaned against the side of it. Bedelia sat beside him. She wrung a sponge over his broken, beaten and cut body. Hannibal's eyes landed on hers and his pain saw you, wishing that you were there. He had been waiting for you and Will to arrive, wishing that it was going to happen. He wanted it to be you cleaning his wounds.

He needed it to be you cleaning his wounds.

His wish to have you come with him in the first place that was so strained he didn’t even realize the severity of it until just that moment. In pain, bleeding, sensing the end of something.

Jack Crawford looked at the dead body of Pazzi. It was being carted off by the police, the duck tape still pressed onto his face. Jack was tired. He had gotten a few scratches from his fight with Hannibal but none as severe as Hannibal’s.

Will walked up to Jack. Jack saw him out of the corner of his eye and situated himself toward his former colleague.

“He’s wounded and worried.” You emerged from the crowd behind Will and gave Jack a simple look. Both of you were scratched up. Dried blood covered Will’s forehead and there was a scratch on your cheek. You both clearly had been through something but Jack had not time to ask.

“Hannibal doesn’t worry. Knowing he’s in danger won’t rattle him any more than killing does,” Will said. The three of you looked into the Atrocious Torture Exhbiit, the place where Hannnibal and Jack had fought it out.

“If Rinaldo Pazzi decided to do his duty as an officer of the law, he could have detained Dr. Fell and determined very quickly that he was Hannibal Lecter. Would have taken thirty minutes to get a warrant,” Jack said solemnly.

“All those resources were denied to Pazzi. Once he decided to sell Hannibal, he became a bounty hunter,” Will stated. You scoffed.

“Serves him right. Mason Verger is trying to capture Hannibal himself for purposes of personal revenge. I've often wanted to use my own resources to drop him in his pig's den,” you muttered.

“Have you told la polizia they’re looking for Hannibal Lecter?” Will asked Jack.

“They’re motivated to find Dr. Fell inside the law. Knowing who he is..and what he’s worth, will just coax them out of bounds.”

“It would be a free-for-all,” Will pointed out.

“And Hannibal would slip away.” Jack paused. Both you and Will were facing opposite directions, looking at different artifacts. “Would you slip away with him?”

You and Will shared a look.

“Part of me will always want to,” Wil said.

“You have to cut that part out,” Jack argued.

“You aren’t FBI anymore Jack. You can’t tell either of us what to do,” you sneered. You believed that. Jack had no bearings over your feelings for Hannibal. You were annoyed he thought he had any.

“So you’ll go with him to jail?” Jack asked. You faced him completely.

“If I had come with him to Florence he wouldn’t be going to jail.”

“And that’s what you want?” Jack challenged. You stepped forward to him.

“I hate to see you win Jack.”

“You had him. He was beaten. Why didn’t you kill him?” Will asked, stepping in. Jack, eyes still on you, considered it.

“Maybe I need you to.”

Hannibal looked out the window. He was wearing a cozy sweater, cuddling into it for the last glimpse of hope he may get before a cage. He sketched into his book. Memories of Florence.

“I want to be able to draw these streets from memory. I want to be able to draw the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo,” Hannibal said whimsically. Bedelia approached him and took the book from his hand.

“You won’t be coming back here for a very long time,” she whispered.

“Memories of Florence will be all I have. Florence is where I became a man. I see my end in my beginning.”

“All of our endings can be found in our beginnings. History repeats itself and we can’t escape it,” Bedelia stated, turning into the home. Hannibal glanced at the small suitcase. Hsi coat was draped over it.

“You packed lightly,” he stated.

“I packed for you.” She paused a moment and off his questioning look, moved forward. “This is where I leave you. Or more accurately, where you leave me.”

Hannibal nodded slowly. His eyes scanned from the suitcase to her eyes. In essence he was aware he was giving up his Florence hope of you and him. He was aware that he was saying goodbye to Bedelia and also your alternate self.

In hopes to see you again, perhaps for real this time.

Bedelia put a needle carefully on her table. She saw the face of Chiyoh in the back of her mirror and turned around simply, confused at her presence.

“You must be looking for Hannibal Lecter. One of his patients?” she questioned.

“No, not a patient. Where is he?” Chiyoh asked. Her gun was in her hand delicately. It looked like it weighed a feather.

“Gone. Seeing how you let yourself in, I hope it’s not too forward to ask, who the hell are you?”

“Family,” Chiyoh landed on.

“Ah. You’ve come a long way from home,” Bedelia pointed out.

“Who are you?”

“I’m his psychiatrist.” Chiyoh glanced at the ampoule and needle. Bedelia shrugged.

“Medicinal purposes.” Chiyoh studied her further, her eyes narrowed.

“You’re like his bird. I’m his bird, too. I met another one, on the train ride here. He puts us in cages to see what we’ll do.”

“Fly away or dash ourselves dead against the bars,” Bedelia suggested.

“You haven’t flown away.”

Hannibal Lecter looked between the Primavera and his sketchbook. He was drawing it for the thousandth time but this time, in place of the garlanded nymph was your face. In place of pale zephyrus was Will.

Over Hannibal’s shoulder, Will walked into the room. Slowly, the suit that he was wearing suddenly seeming so stuffy. Will’s eyes landed on Hannibal for the first time since Hannibal gutted him. Both men battered and bruised.

He moved forward and gently laid a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal looked up at Will and smiled, pleased to see him. Will sat down beside Hannibal and for a moment they both absorbed the moment.

“Good to see you,” Will said.

“If I saw you everyday forever, Will, I would remember this time,” Hannibal said as he stared at the man that he loved. They stared at each other for a moment and Will’s smile seemed the brightest thing Hannibal had seen in so long.

“Strange to see you in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven’t been in years,” Will stated.

“To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig,” Hannibal said lightly.

“I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. She wondered if our stars were the same.”

She.

You. “I believe some of our stars will always be the same. You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings.”

“I wanted to understand you before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be clear what I was seeing,” Will explained.

“Where does difference between the past and the future come from?” Hannibal questioned.

“Mine? Before you and after you.” He paused. “Yours? It’s all starting to blur. Mischa. Abigail. Chiyoh.”

“How is Chiyoh?”

Between both boys shoulders, you emerged. You were wearing a gorgeous dress that you usually wouldn’t have pulled out. You bought it here in Florence. It reminded you of Hannibal. Plus your other clothes were bloodied. You looked just as battered and bruised as they did.

You all pulled it off with a regal amount of elegance.

“She pushed us off a train,” you said. Hannibal turned around to see you. The first time you had laid eyes on each other since you had kissed. It was interesting for Hannibal now. He had to double check that Will had heard you too.

“Atta girl.”

“Ah, it hurt,” you said. You walked around the bench and sat between them. They allowed you enough room. You looked at Hannibal and smiled. He smiled back at you.

“We have begun to blur,” Will said after a moment more of absorbing.

“Isn’t that how you found me?” Hannibal questioned.

“Even as the possibility of free will dissipates, my experience of it remains the same. I continue to feel and act as though I have it.”

You looked over at Will and then back at Hannibal. You placed your hands on your lap.

“Why did you let Bedelia live?” you asked. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I figured she had been long dead, gone through and out of your digestive system at this point. There should not have been an ounce of her left so imagine my surprise when I see her completely alive. Confused and lying, but alive.” Hannibal looked into your eyes and you understood.

“I think you know why.”

You held your gaze and then had to leave it in fear of getting emotional.

“Every crime of yours feels like one I am guilty of. Not just Abigail’s murder, but every murder streching backward and forward in time,” Will said after a moment.

“Then what’s left to do? Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you, they’re the same. No longer seeing you in people who aren’t you Y/N. You are part of his equation just as much as Will and I.”

You smiled solemnly.

“We’re conjoined. Curious if any of us can survive separation,” you mused.

“Now’s the hardest test: not letting rage and frustration, nor forgiveness, keep you from thinking.” Hannibal stood up and gestured for you to take his hand. “Shall we?” You took it and stood. Will’s hand was already interlaced between yours, something you did subconsciously when you sat down.

You all stood.

“After you,” Will muttered.

Together the three of you left the gallery. Worse for wear but something blossomed in your hearts, something that only the other two could bring out. You had walked only a few steps before Will was shot to the ground.

Hannibal held Will close to him, trying to get him into the chair. You stood beside him, helping him take his jacket off. Will winced and fell forward, his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. Will’s shirt was soaked with blood. It was dripping down his arm from where the bullet wound entered.

“The bullet is still inside you. This will hurt.” Hannibal took the jacket all the way off and Will watched as Hannibal cut off his shirt. The three of you hadn’t been this close since you were last covered in Will’s blood.

“Chiyoh’s always been very protective of me,” Hannibal said as he looked into the wound.

“Tell her to back the hell off,” you sneered.

“Did she kill her tenant or did you?”

“She did,” Will choked out.

“Excellent.” Hannibal took Will’s knife you didn’t know he had with him, back into his limp hand. “You dropped your forgiveness, Will.” You stared at the blade, bloodied. You caught Will’s eyes. He hadn’t told you he had brought a weapon. “You forgive how God forgives. Would you have done it quickly, or would you have stopped to gloat?”

“Will?” you whispered.

“Does God gloat?” Will asked.

“Often,” Hannibal answered.

Hannibal moved a sharp needle into Will before you even noticed he had it. Will dropped the blade into Hannibal’s waiting hand. Will passed out.

Your mouth hung open as your gaze held the knife. You still had your hand putting pressure into Will’s wound but it loosened.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, looking up at Hannibal.

“I know,” Hannibal responded. “You wouldn’t have done it anyway. I’m going to dress his wound and get the bullet out. Would you mind waiting in the kitchen? Dinner is almost ready.”

You were so stunned that you stood up. You felt the pull of needing to be by Will but wondered what he would have done to Hannibal. Would you have gone with it?

Chiyoh was right.

You were not the kind of girl who followed a man's lead.

You grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder and pulled him up.

“Why are you staying?”

“Why didn’t you come with me?”

You stared at each other.

“I love Will.”

“The Bloody Valentines.” You scoffed and took the knife from Hannibal’s hands. You threw it off to the side.

“Will is drugged.”

“Are you going to drug me Hannibal?” You stared at each other and he kissed you feverishly, the way he had wanted to since you kissed him last. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him for dear life. You hadn’t touched him in so long.

You pulled away after a moment.

“I wanted to go,” you whispered. “I regretted now going.” You pulled away and stepped back. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Please fix Will.”

Will’s eyes fluttered open. Hannibal walked into the dining room with a large bowl in his hands. Will had a dish set out in front of him.

“I do not indulge much in regret, but I am sorry to be leaving Italy. There were things in the Palazzo Capponi I would have liked to read,” Hannibal admitted. In from the kitchen came you, holding a different dish. You placed it on the table.

A last dodge attempt at normalcy.

“I would have liked to play the clavier and perhaps compose. I might have cooked for the Widow Pazzi, when she overcame her grief. I would have liked to show you both Florence.”

You sat down beside Will and spoon fed him some soup. He looked over at you, confused, doped up.

“The soup isn’t very good,” he slurred.

“It’s a parsley-and-thyme infusion, and more for my sake than yours. Have another sip, let it circulate,” Hannibal explained. Will took another spoon from you. Will and you finally noticed the final place setting at the end of the table.

“Are we expecting company?”

Hannibal grabbed your arm tightly and stood you up.

“It will be Jack,” he told you.

You glanced at Will, out of his mind and slowly losing sight. Hannibal was giving you the invitation you had wanted since Jack stepped into Will’s classroom to talk about Garret Jacob Hobbs.

Jack opened the door to Pazzi’s home. He had his gun held up high as he looked around every corner before he stepped forward. Eventually, Will at the end of the table came into view.

He walked forward and up to Will who blinked, focused on Jack and took a deep breath.

“Hannibal’s under the table, Jack,” Will muttered. Before Jack could react you had grabbed him from behind and a blade slashed Jack’s achilles heel.

Jack dropped hard.

Hannibal turned to you and his gaze softened.

“You will not join me in prison,” he whispered. Your eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed your arm and shoved a needle into your side. You let out a small, betrayed sigh and passed out.

Jack came to and found himself seated opposite Will.

“I’ve taken the liberty of giving you something to help you relax. Won’t be able to do much more than chew, but that’s all you’ll need to do. I didn’t have an opportunity to ask you during our last encounter, but did you enjoy the exhibition? A different kind of evil minds museum,” Hannibal said to Jack.

“Not so different,” Jack retored. He noticed you were gone from the room.

“The promoters are failed taxidermists who formerly got along by eating offal from the trophies they mounted things that bring people together.”

“We were supposed to sit down together back in Baltimore...the three of us. And Y/N.”

“You were to be the guest of honor,” Hannibal said, ignoring the mention of your name. Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine and took a leisurely sip.

“Where…” Will started but he didn’t finish.

“Jack was the first to suggest getting inside your head,” Hannibal said. “Now be both have the opportunity to chew quite literally what we’ve only chewed figuratively.”

Hannibal held a bone saw in his hands. Jack suddenly realized what was going on. For a moment, all Jack could think about was what you would say if you were in the room.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!”

Blood trickled down Will’s head despite his protests.

3x07

#hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #will graham x reader #will graham imagines #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal imagines

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yeti-the-infinity · 3 years ago

Text

hanami

matchaloveblossom - founder's trio festival day 1

Kojiro and Kaoru were from respectable families themselves once upon a time, but even back then they had not been permitted to visit Adam’s family estate due to the fact that they were pierced up, loud-mouthed, skateboarding hoodlums that had once landed a teenaged Ainosuke in a holding cell for an hour and twenty-three minutes.

It’s part of the reason they eventually agree to Adam’s invitation. The other parts being that 1.) Adam will not stop asking, 2.) they are trying to give Adam a second chance, and 3.) they want to see what he’s planning.

Adam spends the better part of the first hour of their visit leading Kojiro and Kaoru on a tour of the Shindo estate’s sprawling gardens. He lists off the names and meanings of flora and fauna like poetry before leading them across a stream over a whimsically ivy-hung stone bridge and into a grove of vibrant, sweet-smelling cherry blossom trees.

As Adam steers them both by the arm into a small clearing, they set eyes on a large blanket sprawled across unnaturally healthy grass. A hefty picnic basket weighs the center of the blanket down, with a bottle of a wine poking out of its top, and a cat has settled itself just beside this, snoozing in the warm, breezy afternoon.

“Well, isn’t this fucking adorable,” Kojiro croons, the first to settle on the blanket, kneeling, one leg stuck out as he pops open the basket and peers inside. “Did you do all this yourself, Adam?”

Kaoru recognizes that Kojiro’s gauging how much effort Adam put into this versus Adam’s servants, trying to understand how much this gesture matters.

“Yes.” Adam shoos the cat away with a feign of his boot and a canine snarl and then lowers himself gracefully onto the blanket as if he hadn’t. He sprawls onto his back, not unlike the cat had been sleeping, and crosses his arms. Kojiro catches but ignores the mild glare he receives before lifting small containers of strawberries, cherries, and sliced peaches out of the basket and retrieving three stemless wine glasses.

“Not all of us went to culinary school, sweetheart,” Adam drawls and kicks at Kojiro’s thigh across the blanket. “You could at least pretend to be impressed. Wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.” He pulls a long face, his hands flutter over his heart, and Kojiro snorts.

Adam turns toward the shadow stretching above him and reaches out both hands, his long fingers callused for an aristocrat’s, but clean. “Sweet, delicate, Cherry Blossom, will you kiss my feelings better? You like it don’t you?”

Kaoru smothers an indulgent smile with the back of his hand and makes a show of surveying the picturesque, sugar-scented, sunny grove, with its swaying pink trees. Petals drift on the wind like fresh, warm snow, and Kaoru’s always been partial to the trees he had been nicknamed after, even if sweet, delicate cherry blossom had once been an ironic title given to a teenager who enjoyed getting into brawls and beefs and generally didn’t lose them.

It’s difficult to argue that the scene is not idyllic.

“It is very beautiful here…” he allows, his eyes gradually drifting back down to Adam and Kojiro, sprawled comfortably on the blanket. They look fairly idyllic themselves, well-dressed, casual, relaxed. Kojiro with his sleeves rolled up, to show off his absurd muscles as he pours out a Riesling, liberally as always, and Adam licking sugar from a strawberry a little too slowly. “And I see you brought wine, so, I’d say I’m content.” Kaoru lifts his sandal delicately onto the edge of the blanket, feeling for rocks underneath. The garden is immaculately manicured and all is smooth as he folds himself neatly by Adam’s legs. “Although, I didn’t expect we’d be roughing it…”

“Hm.” Adam’s hum stretches too long, his smile a little nasty as he rises to sit, the better to hold his wine glass—the better to reach out with his free hand to run his thumb across Kaoru’s cheek, just before pinching it. “You must be misremembering my proclivities.”

Kaoru snaps teasingly at Adam’s fingers with his teeth—he knows better than to rap at them with his fan—and Adam retracts them with a smug smile, as Kaoru mutters, “I remember them just fine.”

Kojiro pretends to ignore their antics, his eyes shifting from the trees to the picnic arrangement, drawing both of their gazes as he replies to Adam as if he hadn’t paused, “No, he’s right. It’s… nice… Just not exactly your usual fare.”

Adam holds Kojiro’s stare for a moment in recognition of the challenge in it. Kojiro seems to both tease and approve of Adam’s softness at once and it makes Kaoru’s stomach flutter faintly.

Adam breaks the gaze with a downward glance and then sighs. “Mm, yes, well,” he tilts his glass, making the wine swish, “my therapist might have suggested it.” Adam’s gaze shifts to Kaoru, because Kaoru asks more often, “And I do rather like this one. I think I’ll continue courting her a while…”

“You have your therapist giving you dating advice now?” Kaoru bats back, the muscles of his jaw stiffening.

“Not exactly,” Adam dodges and frowns back, fine lines between his brows, and leans forward to smooth Kaoru’s hair and give him his wine glass, since Kojiro had been distracted from pouring a third. “Relax. There you are, pet.”

Kaoru’s lip juts out, eyes narrowing, and he gives Adam’s shoulder the mildest of bats with the back of his hand. “I am not your pet.”

“No, of course not,” Adam sings, fond yet dismissive. He looks perfectly aware he has the upper hand as Kaoru accepts the glass and leans unconsciously into another caress of Adam’s palm, also callused, against Kaoru’s cheek. Kaoru’s skin is faintly pink from the blatant attention, and Adam wonders dimly and not for the first time if that’s why Cherry Blossom really wears a mask.

Kaoru swats Adam’s palm away when he lingers too long, but Kaoru does not flit his golden eyes away from the ruby ones that stare longer.

“You’re our beautiful Cherry Blossom,” Adam sings.

Kaoru can see Adam’s eyes flicker with devilry as his lip curls. “Joe’s our pet.”

Kojiro grunts an objection. “Come say that to my face why don’t you?” he challenges from over Adam’s shoulder, smiling and rising up to his haunches, all rippling muscle.

“You are our tiger,” Adam flirts, pleased with the response, crawling across the blanket on all fours, with more catlike elegance than either of the other two. “Big, strong, fiercely protective. Overly fond of very bold prints.” Adam reaches his target, and Kojiro leans back to let Adam climb into his lap. Adam sportingly tugs open the collar of Kojiro’s loud sky-blue shirt with its pattern of palm leaves, as he straddles Adam’s thighs.

Kojiro laughs, bright and overwhelming as direct sunlight, as Adam rests one hand on his collar bone. The other plucks one of the various blossoms Adam had collected in his coat pocket earlier and tucks it prettily behind Kojiro’s ear, smoothing back green curls with his thumb. “A tiger lily for a tiger man.”

Kojiro bares his teeth at Adam with a sly smirk, and then his eyes shift Kaoru’s way, smile warming, tone mocking, “I’ll take that over gorillaany day.”

Kaoru rolls his eyes, sips at the wine, and watches Kojiro’s brawny arms wrapping Adam’s broad chest as Adam shifts in his lap to watch Kaoru. Heat rises under Kaoru’s skin, and he feels a bit like a steaming up kettle as he exhales slowly.

“And how does your therapist feel about your fascination with pet play?” Kaoru counters, closing his eyes to better appreciate the feeling of the sun with its fuzzy pink cherry blossom glow heating the bare skin of his cheeks, neck, ankles…

All the sun, of course, he tells himself.

“Need I remind you your skateboard calls you Master, darling?” Adam counters quickly enough that he may have had the comment on standby for just such an occasion.

“I…” Kaoru grimaces.

“Yeah, wait a second.”

Kaoru finds himself saved by Kojiro who wraps his hands around Adam’s which have absconded with Kojiro’s wine glass and is lifting it daintily to his lips.

“What exactly are you focusing these sessions on, Adam,” Kojiro echoes, “that led to sappy, romantic picnic?”

“Oh, the usual.” Adam gives an exaggerated eye roll, ruffles his own hair in mild exasperation. “We’ve been talking about healthy outlets: ways to relax, destress, let off some steam without…” Adam swishes his hand in a euphemistic circle, “maiming anybody.”

Kaoru tenses, eyes flickering open and finding Kojiro’s already on him, soft with concern. Adam is oblivious, head leaned back on Kojiro’s shoulder, watching the flowers above shift and shimmer in the breeze like a mirage. Adam’s hand shifts restlessly with his explanation, “Not an entirely fruitless effort, I suppose. Recently, I’ve been experimenting with yoga and the sacred art of meditation, and my therapist suggested hanami.”

Kaoru’s shoulders relax again hearing him sound so comfortable with such formerly foreign concepts.

“Meditating and connecting with nature, huh?” Kojiro’s hands have wandered from Adam’s arms to his chest, roaming with a thoughtless kind of ease. “Well, look who’s turning over a new leaf.”

“Everyone could do with taking a little time to stop and view the cherry blossoms,” Kaoru says, voice unusually soft, shifting closer to the center of the blanket, where the basket had been. Petals polka dot the warm fabric, and Kaoru scoops up a handful, leaning forward to lift them over Adam’s head. “Here, let me help you appreciate them properly.” They flutter down his face and broad chest, catching on his hair, his cheek, his lip.

“Full of yourself, are you?” Kojiro teases, flicking a few petals from Adam’s shoulder.

“I deserve it,” Kaoru counters, eyes still focused solely on Adam’s.

Adam chuckles quietly, as Kaoru touches the petal sticking to his lip, and then Adam kisses his palm and wraps his wrist in his hand.

“Not just view them, Cher,” Adam purrs, “breath them in, admire them, meditate with them, worship them… and I thought…” Adam sets down his glass and reaches for Kojiro’s wrist, drawing Kaoru and Kojiro’s hands together, watching their fingers intertwine.

Kojiro’s grip is firm and Kaoru’s tightens to match it. Their eyes meet, always, Adam observes, with that sharp sizzle of tension and the thick underlying glow of trust.

Adam eases himself off of Kojiro’s lap, squeezes their wrists and releases them. “…Who would know more about viewing Cherry Blossom in all his glory than you, Kojiro?”

“My glory?” Kaoru smirks but his eyes flicker nervously between them, his fingers twitching. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

Kaoru watches Kojiro’s pupils dilate as a smooth, confident smirk slides across his face, his expression beginning to mirror Adam’s.

Kojiro’s knuckles bump Adam’s shoulder. “You know I never pass up a chance to show off.”

Adam reaches to the shoulder and begins to shrug off his suit jacket. “I’m going to have to insist that you do. For my therapy.”

Kaoru’s scoff catches in his throat and his voice comes out a little thin, “Need I remind the two of you,” Kaoru pauses as Kojiro lifts their folded hands and kisses the inside of his wrist, and Adam crawls to kneel at Kaoru’s back, his hands settling possessively on Kaoru’s shoulder blades, “where we are right now…?”

“In a grove of sweet, ripe cherry blossoms…” Adam’s fingers knead hard into Kaoru’s back, and Kaoru can’t help but lean into the warm, certain attention.

Kaoru’s head rests against Adam’s slow, steady heartbeat, his chin tilting up as Adam’s face draws closer. Kaoru can feel Kojiro’s lips pressing and nipping their way up his arm, drawing the flowy fabric of his sleeve up to his shoulder. “Ah…”

“Flowers waiting to be outshone by a more…” Adam whispers, his tongue tracing Kaoru’s lips before Kaoru leans up to close the distance. Adam’s kiss is firm but brief. “… superior specimen…”

Kaoru feels a faint pinch in his bicep and a low pained noise comes from Kojiro’s direction. Kojiro watches a string of saliva pass between their lips, before the distance closes again with a muffled squeak from Kaoru that might have been inspired by Adam’s teeth or Kojiro’s hands dropping to wrap Kaoru’s slender, muscular thighs, effortlessly easing them up onto Kojiro’s thick, stony ones.

“Ko… Kojiro,” Kaoru scolds, voice thin, half-breathless, hand reaching out and grabbing blindly for Kojiro’s arm, as the hands slide slow and hot up his thighs. “You big, thirsty galoot—” The heels of his palms trace the grooves of Kaoru’s hips on their assent toward the belt of his trousers. “We’re out-outside…mm.”

Adam’s fingers press briefly to Kaoru’s lips.

“Hm, so, what?” Kojiro purrs, his massage spurred on by the way Kaoru melts and rises against his hands.

“On private property…” Adam tacks on, sliding his chest down Kaoru’s back and wrapping Kaoru’s hair around his hand. “You said you’d help me appreciate you properly.” Adam’s lips find the back of his neck and Kaoru’s eyes flutter half shut. “Let us appreciate you, Kaoru. All of you.”

“I have not had enough wine,” Kaoru insists smooth and articulate as ever, leaning the back of his neck into Adam’s teeth, sliding his hands along the muscles of Joe’s upper arms, “to take off all my clothes in the middle of your garden, in the middle of the day…” Although the thought of skateboard rough hands on his bare skin makes him sound increasingly less certain with every breath. “Why don’t you ask Six Pack Joe here?”

“I can get you more wine,” Adam muses into the nape of Kaoru’s neck, and gets swatted in the shoulder by Kojiro for his trouble.

“You spend so much time appreciating my muscles,” Kojiro answers, and Kaoru watches Kojiro’s tan arms stretch as he grasps the collar of Kaoru’s shirt. “Maybe I just want to return the favor, Lord Cherry. What, too intimidated?”

“Our tiger’s muscles might be intimidating, but you’re captivating in your own right. I’ve seen you at S and on the news. People line up to see you too.” Adam’s hands wrap Kaoru’s stomach and reach toward the lower buttons of his shirt, as Kojiro’s thumb presses in on the top one. “What are you so afraid of, Master Cherry?”

“I’m not intimidated by you, musclehead,” Kaoru leans forward to butt his forehead against Kojiro’s, the challenge straining his face slipping into a more thoughtful expression as he worries his lip, “I suppose I’m just afraid the three of us, the two of you, are too good to be true. But…”

He realizes Kojiro and Adam have gone still. Their playful expressions hardening with concern, maybe guilt, and it’s contagious.

Kaoru shakes his head, feeling the light delicious pull of his hair against Adam’s immobile hand. “I don’t want to feel that way anymore.” He meets Kojiro’s eyes and burrows further into Adam’s chest, “I want to let you see all of me, touch all of me, have…” “We’ve got you, Kaoru,” Kojiro leans forward to brush their lips together carefully.

“There’s no safer place in the world…” Adam’s tone is half comfort half-threat, as he presses his lips to the back of Kaoru’s neck once more and begins to pluck open the bottom of Kaoru’s shirt. His touch is almost unfamiliar, his palm smoothing over Kaoru’s abs careful as if he’s cradling a flower blossom. “Yes, I know.” Kaoru closes his eyes, giving into the friction of their hands, feeling the warm air on his chest mingle with the damp, mind-dazzling softness of their lips, their kisses falling everywhere like petals. “I trust you.”

#shows up 7 days late with a day 1 fic #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #matchaloveblossom #cherry blossom #lovematchablossom #shindo ainosuke #kojiro nanjo #kaoru sakurayashiki #adamcherryjoe #foundertriofest2021 #sk8 fic #adam #joe #my writing #hanami

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doridoripawaa · 4 years ago

Text

Zenderella

What’s the point of wishing upon a star at night?

Could stars even hear wishes from up in the sky?

Zen continued to dream, with aspirations bright,

And hoped that one day, he would be able to fly.

Each day felt like a nightmare, trapping him inside,

As he strained to endure his family’s abuse.

Their cruelty was something he could not abide,

As they treated him like some hideous refuse.

But he found a release in the form of the stage

When he was not tidying up around the house.

Theater helped to free him from his family’s cage

That forced him to act as a quiet, ugly mouse.

One fateful night would transform his entire tale.

A night that’d show dreams and love would always prevail.

Clean as could be. Not a speck of dirt or dust in sight.

To meet these goals, Zen would likely need to work all night.

His parents and his brother would be off to the ball,

While they expected him to stay home and clean the halls!

Little did they know, tonight in that grandiose gala, the primary source of entertainment would be coming from the one who they had scorned, ridiculed, trampled, abused. The highlight of the night would come not from the dancing and music--which were to be expected at this type of event--but from the players who would take the stage and enchant the guests with a whimsical tale. Apparently, the princess of the kingdom had been struggling lately, living a life devoid of joy, hope, wonder, or optimism; thus, the king and queen had demanded a riveting tale that could restore the spark to their child’s eyes.

What kind of life was that? Even Zen, pitiful as he was working on his hands and knees in his family’s home, had his dreams. He had a reason to live, a reason to keep pushing forward. Did royalty ever feel troubles, though? At first, he hadn’t been sure; he thought all nobles and royals were born with a silver spoon in their mouth and would never understand what it meant to truly toil and suffer. However, after hearing the plight of the princess….

Maybe, just maybe, that princess was different.

A sudden rap at the door interrupted Zen from his tumultuous thoughts. With a grunt he lifted himself off the floor to his feet, and he brushed the dirt and dust off of his apron and his knees before heading over to the front door. The rest of his family had already left for the ball, leaving him behind to make their home sparkling clean before they returned.

Maybe, just maybe, today would be the day he wouldn’t have to return.

A second knock came, sharper and more urgent than the first. Zen brushed some sticky, loose strands of his feathery grey-white hair out of his face, and then he hurried over to the door, not wanting to keep his guest waiting.

Honestly, he’s lucky that he decided to run, because as soon as he opened the door and saw a brunette woman scowling at him, he realized that she probably would have broken down the door if he had taken much longer.

“J-Jaehee,” he stammered as he looked down at his castmate. Out of all of the members of the troupe, she was the one with whom he felt the closest connection. She had an incredible work ethic, a true passion for the stage, a meticulous eye, and a personality that wouldn’t shy away from any task given to her. She would always be the first person to speak up if she didn’t like the idea for an upcoming show, but she’d also be the first person to shower the rest of the cast in praise for their heart-wrenching performances.

She also seemed to have a special fondness for Zen, which did wonders not only for his ego but also for his motivation. An actor’s job wasn’t to smile--it was to make others smile.

However, Jaehee also was the type of person who could easily kick you to the ground in three seconds flat if you messed with her or her crew. Apparently, running late was something that could land you on her hitlist, because the glare that her fierce coffee-colored eyes gave him was one that sent shivers down the young man’s spine. He was already ashen, but somehow, he felt as though that stern look made his face grow even paler. “What a delight to see you, babe.”

A soft blush rose to her cheeks, but she quickly managed to force that down. “Don’t b-babe me,” she muttered. “You were supposed to arrive backstage an hour ago. I had no choice but to fetch you myself.”

A whole hour? Zen glanced at the clock and his ruby eyes flew wide open in a panic. “Shit,” he muttered. “I got so distracted by this stain that I… well, that isn’t important.” He sighed and began to untie his apron. “Let me gather my belongings, and I’ll scamper off with you into the sunset, okay?”

He couldn’t tell if her face was flushing red from embarrassment, ire, or exasperation. “P-please make haste!” was all she managed to sputter before Zen headed to his room with a wink and a flick of his wispy ponytail behind him.

~~~

Ball gowns and smiles, pressed suits and polished shoes.

A room full of guests who appeared amused.

As MC stepped down the staircase that night,

Her eyes swam with woe, rather than delight.

Royal life was difficult to abide.

She felt lonely, with no one by your side.

What sorrows could have the heir to the throne?

A life of solitude, scared and alone.

She hoped to enjoy herself at the ball.

She wondered if you would feel joy at all.

When she descended the steps, her eyes glowed.

They had arranged for her to see a show.

The lighting in the room dimmed down and a hush fell over the attendants as actors made their way to the elevated platform at the front of the room. Murmurs and mumbles began to spread throughout the crowd. What was happening? Was this planned? Of course, the king and queen would never allow for any tomfoolery to take place at their event, so this must have been carefully orchestrated. But why take time away from the socializing, the dancing, the mingling? Would this show be enough to dazzle the audience?

Zen had the drive and the skill to ensure that it would.

A sharp inhale of breath, as Zen smelled the perfumes of the ballroom.

A twirl of his long, cascading hair around his fingers, as Zen relished in its softness.

A glance at Jaehee, as Zen sought comfort in her level smile.

A bite of his lip, as Zen tasted the remnants of berries on his tongue.

A twitch of his ears, as he strained to hear the music that signaled his cue.

And as soon as the clock struck, Zen departed from behind the scenes, and Cinderella strode out onto the stage.

Cleaning, cooking. Obeying, behaving. Little “Cinderella” was stuck, trapped at the whims and wills of her abusive family. As Zen knelt down to “scrub” the stage and enact all of her chores, he couldn’t help but feel a growing pit growing in his stomach and anxiety welling in his mind. He wasn’t worried about not portraying the character accurately-- on the contrary, he was nervous that he had embodied her too well. The parallels in Cinderella’s life with his own were almost frightening.

But here, on this stage, this was the one place where his chains were released, his shackles were open, and he could fly, free as a bird. He could forget his worries, he could abandon his burdens, he could become someone else and live his ideal life.

He could sing to his heart’s content, as a free bird, rather than a caged one.

A step. A song. A smile.

The fairy godmother was spinning her magic and casting a spell on the entire crowd, watching with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Above all, however, Princess MC found herself absolutely entranced, hooked on every word and her eyes tracking every single motion, every spin, every twirl, every wave of a wand, every flutter of a skirt. The costumes, the dances, the makeup… they were all spectacular. But above all, the star of the show, Cinderella, really shone like a princess in her own right. Who was this actor with skin as white as snow, hair as soft and pale as the clouds, and eyes that sparkled brighter and warmer than the reddest flame?

Cinderella, despite all of her hardships, had never let go of her dreams.

As Cinderella spun around and her filthy rags turned to magnificent robes, MC’s eyes twinkled and she felt a rush of excitement flood her. When was the last time she had genuinely felt so… happy? Watching this character’s aspirations be realized, watching Cinderella break free and manage to escape for one night of whimsy and fantasy at the ball, made MC��s heart swell. She wanted to cheer Cinderella on, encourage her, support her. Cinderella, who suffered at the cruel hands and horrible words of her family.

The way the actor walked forward, radiant white locks tumbling down his back as he took those first steps towards his dream. The way his drab brown and grey costume melted away, revealing a soft pink tunic and radiant periwinkle cloak, perfectly accentuating his figure while giving him an air of regality. He reached up and clutched a hand to his chest, and then when he opened his mouth to speak, MC felt certain that she had died and been transported to heaven.

That was no mere mortal whose voice she was hearing. She was currently being serenaded by an angel.

Princess MC was only snapped back to reality by the sudden sharp increase in volume of the music.

“And so Cinderella went to the ball,” the narrator announced in a booming voice, trying to orate over the echo of the strings and percussion. “Hoping to grab a dance before midnight should fall. Please, esteemed guests, enjoy your time to dance. Like Cinderella and her friends, may you find your fairytale romance.”

At once the actors and actresses began to mix with the crowd. Most of them moved in pairs and began dancing with the lads, lasses, lords, and ladies of the party. A few of guests rushed up to the actors and actresses--one of the actresses, a slender young woman with short chestnut-colored hair and eyes warm like mocha, was particularly popular--to try to woo them and coax them into a dance.

Perhaps on any other day, MC would have rolled her eyes and tutted softly, disappointed in their fawning and flattery. Today, however, she felt… softer. More in touch with her emotions.

Emotions that she had feared had disappeared into thin air, vanished as she drowned in the duties and obligations of her station, without a chance to fantasize or dream like she had done as a child.

The princess wasn’t normally one to take advantage of her station, but as she stepped forward, heels clacking against the tile ground, the crowd seemed to part ways before her. Out of reverence, out of fear, or out of pity, she couldn’t be sure, but their motives were the least of her concerns. As long as she could reach her destination, her goal, the means didn’t matter.

“Excuse me, Cinderella?”

Silence befell the folks gathered around the grand actor, as the princess of the kingdom spoke. The actor himself looked somewhat startled, but he masked it well; MC could only detect a faint glimmer of apprehension flicker in his rich red eyes before it faded away and a smile settled onto his white lips. “Good evening, Princess,” he greeted MC with a wink. “Did you enjoy our show?”

Enjoy? That would be putting her feelings mildly. “I absolutely loved it,” she whispered, and then she cleared her throat. No point in being meek with her request-- she was determined to obtain exactly what she wanted. “In fact, I liked it so much,” she went on, tilting her shoulders back and lifting her chin to stare directly into his eyes, “that I have a request for you.”

He tipped his head to the side in confusion, causing his flowing white tresses to sway with the movement. Nevertheless he kept that same smile on his face. He then nodded firmly and asked with that little coy look in his eyes, “Of course. Anything for you, babe.”

Babe? Now that was a new one. MC could feel her face flushing as crimson as the actor’s eyes, but she tried to ignore it and hoped that he wouldn’t be so brash as to actually draw attention to it. Nobody would dare to tease the princess, right? “If I may be so bold as to tear you from your fans,” she began, “then might I ask Miss Cinderella for a dance?”

A new expression lit up those eyes, that pair of flames that stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his ashen features. Was he… surprised, flattered, bewildered, flustered, or…?

She couldn’t be sure, but despite whatever turmoil was burning in his eyes, he kept the rest of his expression level. In fact, the corners of his mouth twitched upward into a… smile?

“It would be my honor,” he told her with a wink and a bow at the waist.

“We haven’t much time left in the night, so to the dance floor, we shall make haste.”

And so he extended his hand, which MC graciously took with a squeeze.

To the center of the dance floor they scurried, where they could dance as they pleased.

With one hand on MC’s shoulder and the other resting right on her hip,

Cinderella led her across the floor, with a waltz, a twirl, and a dip.

The princess, for the first time, let herself give in to another’s demands.

She simply followed, losing herself to the feel of his step and his hands.

His grip was firm but gentle as he guided her to and fro ‘round the floor.

The princess could lose herself in his rhythm, dance with him forevermore.

His radiant ruby eyes matched the ribbon in his flowing, snowy hair,

But it was the warm smile on his face to which no gem could ever compare.

His statuesque features glimmered under the chandelier’s glorious light,

And as she took them in with her gaze, she knew she’d never forget this night.

As the music reached a crescendo, the actor pulled her close to his chest.

“Thank you, mademoiselle,” he whispered, and she felt her heart pound in her breast.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she told him, as she reached up to caress his face. “Thank you for making a world of magic and wonder in this humble space.”

He laughed at her words, and as he leaned in with his breath hot against her ear,

“Princess, you’re the one who made my night magical,” he whispered, “my dear.”

The chime of a clock tower suddenly boomed, and quickly they pulled apart.

Princess MC felt relief, as she struggled to steady her pounding heart.

The actor’s expression, however, had shifted from mirth to misery.

“They said they would return at midnight,” he murmured, “which has arrived, I see.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he lifted her hand and gave it a kiss.

“Thank you for this memory,” he told her, “and for a night I’ll truly miss.”

Then he dropped MC’s hand and dashed away to the entrance to the grand hall.

As he flew away like a frenzied dove, something from his outfit did fall.

Princess MC tried to scamper after him, but she was left in his wake.

Then she spotted the fallen accessory, which from the ground she did take.

A ruby-red ribbon, which matched the mysterious actor’s gorgeous eyes.

“I never got his name,” she said; his identity remained a surprise.

~~~

As soon as the sun rose the next morning, Princess MC followed suit. She knew that she had to hurry after that actor in fast pursuit. What if he belonged to a traveling troupe and they’d be gone by the end of the day? Princess MC knew she could not allow the object of her affections to get away.

With any luck, he was still somewhere within the territory, but she would have to act fast. The princess carefully scrutinized the team of knights she had amassed. She told them, “We’re searching for a young man with hair and skin fair.” Then she lifted the ribbon: “With eyes the same color as this ribbon,” she declared.

Near and far, to and fro, the princess’s team began to search. They checked the shops, the plazas, the gardens, the parks. They asked residents, merchants, children, adults--anyone who might have a hint. Every now and then, the princess would find someone who looked vaguely reminiscent of her prince, but as soon as she lifted the ribbon to their hair, she would just shake her head and sigh; his hair would be too dark or his eyes too brown. What was it about her Cinderella that made him so… ethereal? Someone that beautiful must have been a mistake from God, an accident that wasn’t supposed to bless mortal eyes.

Here and there, high and low, the princess’s team continued their quest as the sun traveled overhead. They had left at the first pink and orange streaks of dawn, carried on as the burning bright sun hovered directly overhead, and now they were finally allowing themselves to take a rest as the sun grew ever closer to the horizon once more.

Could the troupe possibly have left town? That thought kept creeping into the back of her mind, and she desperately tried to push it away, push it down, push it… somewhere else. She couldn’t afford to let such doubts sneak up on her, or she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t give in to her despair and cease her search altogether. This Cinderella, her first glimmer of light, her first ray of hope, in days, weeks, months. While her life as a princess was entirely different from Cinderella’s, who was practically a slave in her own home, MC could relate to the feeling of being trapped in one’s duty, being trapped by one’s circumstances, being trapped by one’s family, being… a bird with clipped wings.

This actor had given her the power to fly again.

“Your Highness,” one of the knights murmured to her as they rested for a minute underneath the overhanging shade of an oak. “May we take a moment’s respite? Most of us haven’t eaten since the morrow,” he asked tentatively. He looked full of trepidation, which only served to send pangs of guilt emanating from within her chest.

“Of course,” she told him with a feeble smile. “Let us find some food or drink to sustain us, alright? I wish to keep searching until the sun goes down, but…” Her gaze flickered to the sky, and even though the colors of the sunset were unobscured in the clear sky, she could feel dark clouds beginning to rumble in over her heart. “I’ll go fetch something,” she offered, barely suppressing a sigh. “It’s the least I can do,” she insisted quickly, before her knight could open his mouth to object. With a reluctant but firm nod, he watched as MC walked away, in search of a cheap, quick bite. They could feast upon their return to the castle, but candidly… as twisted as her heart and stomach were right now, the princess didn’t have much of an appetite.

This was a part of town with which the princess didn’t have much familiarity-- while the constant growth of her city was definitely a welcome sight, since she hadn’t ventured out of the castle too often recently, she found herself a little confused and disoriented by the unexpected developments. Had that shop always been there? What about these homes?

Exhausted, distressed, and admittedly hungrier than she had initially realized, MC nearly began to weep with joy as the sudden scent of batter wafted up to her nose. A freshly baked bun, calling for her, crying her name, luring her person. What delectable treats had she almost passed? What delicious delicacies were waiting in the middle of the street?

MC followed her nose and her soul, yearning to fill every one of her senses with whatever this mysterious morsel may be.

Her surprise upon reaching a humble little stall in a side alley was, to say the least… significant.

‘Don’t judge a book by its cover,’ she chided herself gently as she neared the stall, although anxiety began to tug at her and drag her feet. ‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’

Sometimes, gifts came in the least expected places. That actor had been a surprise to her last night, after all. Maybe this snack--a fish-shaped bun, judging from the sign--would be a pleasant surprise as well.

Nothing could have prepared MC for the surprise that awaited her as the customer in front of her turned around, though.

Glittering white hair, like sunkissed snow.

Pale, translucent skin, with a gentle white glow.

Above all, the element that caught her by the most surprise,

Was this young man’s resplendent ruby-red eyes.

With a gasp, she immediately began to shuffle around in her satchel for the ribbon. “E-excuse me,” she stammered, “but… have you… lost this?” Her hands trembled as she pulled the little accessory out of her bag, but judging from the way his mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide, he was equally as stunned as she was. Nervously she reached up to brush a feathery lock of hair from his face; his hair was pulled back in a ponytail, so she couldn’t be exactly sure that this was the same man who had enchanted her last night.

As if on cue, he put down his bag of fish-shaped buns and pulled his hair out of the hairtie, allowing it to cascade around his shoulders and tumble down his back.

As if that hadn’t already confirmed her suspicions, MC lifted the ribbon and placed it gently in his hair. In the glow of the setting sun, its scarlet hue shone vividly, perfectly matching the sparkle in his eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, princess,” he murmured, and a shy smirk played onto his lips. “Have you been… looking for me?”

MC felt a coy grin tug on the edges of her mouth as well, but the salty tears that were beginning to sting the corners of her eyes were probably ruining the effect. “Only for my entire life,” she breathed.

A Cinderella who dared to dream.

A princess who dared to wish.

Their fates overlapped by chance,

But were now sealed with a bean-flavored kiss.

This is my piece with @/watereddowncoffee on instagram for the @mysme-rbb! I hope you enjoy our fairy tale!

#zen #hyun ryu #mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mmrbb #cinderella #fairy tale

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hyrule-kingdom-updates · 4 years ago

Text

Asivus took a few steps closer, looking around the green house, as passing under some of the tinted light. “How did you know it was me?”

“Practice. I know many a footstep that pass through these castle halls. You can tell a lot about someone that way…”

“Is that right…”

Asivus looked around, taking in the lush green colors that scaled the floors, the elevated counters, and even the stone wall that connected the greenhouse with the castle. Though most of the skylights were open and unfiltered for the glory of the natural sun, the window he was passing by now was stained blue. He stopped in front of some orange flowers.

“So what exactly can you tell?”

The sound of trickling water returned as Lady Asu returned to her plants. “I know The Rito Warrior is outside—the clicks of his talons again the tiles are graceful, yet with intended sound, as if to let one know subtly of his arrival.” She smoothed her dress of some stray droplets, the silk seeming to shimmer in the light. “The Zora Princess paces outside as we speak, either out of excitement or worry, or some combination of both, which wouldn’t be surprising considering what happened to the two of them.”

Asivus hummed to himself, a bit impressed. “Alrighty, well what about mine?”

The Lady paused for a moment, looking outside at the blue sky and thinking. “I must admit, it’s gotten slightly harder to pin down as of late. It used to be so simple. The leather boots that seemed to slap the floor in uneven steps, as if any moment you were preparing to slouch off and escape into the wild.” She stopped to inspect the leaf of one of her plants that seemed to have a spot of rot. “However, now you’ve developed a better pace, better stance. You’re not a walking drunkard, at least, not as often.”

She turned around slowly, hands leaning against the counter behind her. “But I can tell the difference when someone walks with practiced grace, and when someone walks to make others think they have grace. You walk quietly, you walk unassumingly, but it’s forced. Because for some reason, the loud mouthed Hartell, for once in his life, wants to be unseen.”

Asivus looked away from the orange flower, and locked eyes with her. After a moment of silence, he simply shrugged and gave a smirk. “Sure is a lot to interpret from some walking.”

“I don’t get to where I am by surrounding myself with people who stand still. Moving up, and staying up, means being on the move.”

“Except…” he rocked from one foot to the other, and waved his arm in a circle, “...for right now, of course.”

“Not many know that I take breaks in the greenhouse. I’m curious as to how you knew as such.”

“Maybe I just got lucky.”

“Maybe you were using that peculiar ability of yours.”

Asivus raised an eyebrow, but kept his friendly grin. “Gee, now I’m curious as to how you knew that.”

“I didn’t, for sure. Until you just said that.”

Asivus frowned. “Well, rumours come from somewhere.”

Lady Asu played with something in her lash. “Oh, well you know how it is. Ligero Hartell loves to talk under certain circumstances.”

She walked closer now, tilting her head, curiously. “Now, is there something I can do for you today, Quill Master Hartell? Or perhaps that’s too posh for you...Orator, then?”

He messed with the hair on his, before giving another half shrug. “Just Asivus would be great, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She started walking back to the other flowers, passing through the purples and blues that trickled from the sky. “You’re infringing on my valuable time. I have to go kiss some general’s boots in ten minutes before anyone gets any ideas about banishing every Sheikah that works in this damn castle.”

Asivus walked around and explored the other plants. One that he thought looked like mint, peaked his interest. He plucked a leaf and licked it, before immediately sputtering it back out, and placing the stray leaf back in the plant’s pot.

“That’s Poison Oak.” Lady Asu said, her back still turned as she hung up her garden gloves. Asivus suddenly started flickering his eyes between the plant and his hand, before she turned around with a smile. “I jest, I jest. It’s Mugwort. You’ll be fine. If you’re looking for the weed, I’m afraid that’s three floors down.”

He brushed his hands on his pants. “I’m not here for drugs.”

“Then what are you here for, besides plucking around and ruining my herbs?”

Asivus bit his tongue for a moment, thinking through his words. “I’m looking for your son.”

“Tsk. Isn’t everyone these days…”

“You don’t seem as concerned as I thought you would be…”

She suddenly narrowed her eyes, walking forward from the gold to blush red light. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He raised his arms in surrender, back by the purple tinted windows and shaking his head. “Now, now, now! I wasn’t trying to say anything!”

“You mean to insinuate that I don’t care for my son? That I don’t care for his well being?”

“Whoops...looks like I touched a nerve there. Sorry ‘bout that—”

“Like the hells you are. How dare you think you can waltz in here and assume anything about me! Some homeless Hylian who barges in and asks about people’s personal lives!”

“Well, all I’m saying is, this ‘homeless Hylian’ seems to have spent a lot more time with little Z-bag than his own mother…”

The two stared each other down for a long moment. Blue skies on sunset red. Hylian frown on Sheikah glower.

Finally, the Lady’s glare loosened, and she turned away with a sigh. “You think I don’t care because I was never around. You think I don’t love him because I was never there. And perhaps you’re half right, I won’t pretend to be the perfect mother, or even a mother at all.”

There was a pause, but he didn’t say a word. She closed her eyes and held her arms, as if dreaming of the memory. “I don’t know how to be a mother, we weren’t even supposed to have him. The lineage was supposed to mainly come from my brother, who led Kakariko Village. Then...not even a year after a little Zavis was born, my husband was found to be a member of the Yiga.”

She whipped back towards him, eyes ablaze. “Do you know what it’s like, Hartell? How the process goes when such treason is found at such high positions? For Sheikah? It’s not just the traitor themselves, but the families. The fathers, the daughters, the brothers, the aunts. For 10,000 years ago nearly Sheikah were all banished out of fear, except for a small, tucked away mountain village to the south named Kakariko. And luckily for us, by the time anyone found us, the Royal Family was practically grovelling for the help. And thus we retook our place as servants…”

Her eyes narrowed again. “But that just means that they wish to keep us all as perfect as possible. One slip up, and it’s not just a nip of the bud, but the whole plant, the soil itself. ‘We wouldn’t want such flaws spreading to the rest of the Sheikah,’ and all that.” She shook her head and sighed once more. “My divorce the year prior spared my head, but there was still that perception on my back. ‘The wife of the Yiga Spy.’ I did what I had to to spare my son from my fate.” She jabbed her finger at Asivus’ chest. “I let him be loved by those who could love him the way he deserved. Which we both know isn’t me. I worked my ass off to give him everything else, including my whimsical dream of working off the dark stain my stupid husband left us with. I worked every day of my life for my people, and for him, and if it costs him hating me for the rest of my life, I will gladly take it. It’s better that way, so long as he grows safe and sound.”

She finally backed away, taking a shaky breath, and the delicate silence filled the greenhouse once more.

Asivus dared to break it. “But it wasn’t enough.”

Lady Asu stilled, before nodding, slowly. “But it wasn’t enough.” She paced back towards the door, holding the bridge of her nose.

“Look, I get that your kid means a lot too you—”

“What. Do. You want. From me?”

“I’m sorry alright, but—”

“Goddess Hylia...I thought you were supposed to be the bluntest out of the Hartells. Spit it out, already!”

Asivus chewed his lip for a few seconds, before answering. “Who’s his father?”

The Lady placed a hand on her hip. “Why on earth would you need to know that?”

He stepped out from the purple light, calmly chasing after a red butterfly. “No reason.”

“Then you’re gonna need to try harder than that.”

He scoffed. “I need to know in order to find him.”

She regained composure, tucking stray black hair behind her ear. “Well now...perhaps I’ll be more talkative if I knew a bit about how your ability in finding him works?”

She was met with an eye roll before she smirked. “Come now, didn’t your father teach you how these work? No one around here cares for favours or money anymore. We like to be updated, we like information. That’s the true currency of Hyrule…”

The Orator thought to himself for a moment. “I can’t just see anything. It has to be someone. Someone I know. Someone I can connect to.”

“You out of anyone would know my son well.”

“Yeah well,” he clasped his hands together. “Our mutual understanding has been...let’s just say rocky, as of late. I feel like I know him less and less. Don’t know what’s true, and what’s all a lie…And I’ve tried, oh believe me!”

Lady Asu tapped her chin, thoughtfully. “So you wish to gain a better understanding of him based on who his father is?”

“Considering he’s not dead and Zavis sought after him and the Yiga to find comfort in his life, yes I’d say his identity is important.”

She stilled. “How did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

A click of the tongue. “...Well played.”

Lady Asu paced back through the light, now under the royal blue stained window. “Alright, alright. Why should I tell you information that should lead to his capture, then? If anything I should know for future reference to keep my mouth shut.”

Asivus let his arms drop and let loose a playful whine. “Awwww, well THAT’S not how the game is played, is it?”

“Tsk. Didn’t you spend your youth as a con artist?”

“I hardly see how that’s relevant.”

She wagged a finger and clicked her tongue again, before placing a hand on the door. “Well, if that’s all your attempted interrogation is gonna be then, feel free to be on your way then.”

Assivus eyed her, dangerously.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. I’ll spill the beans, but you gotta promise not to tell anyone.” He winked, and she turned back to him, intrigued.

“Very well then. Tell.”

“I don’t plan to capture your son. Sure, I need the logbook he rudely stole, but capture? Execution? Pfft. I mean, obviously, no one up top knows I’m personally looking for him.” He paced across the floor.

“But if you must know, when I do find him, I intend to beat that manipulative brat to death with a fucking stick.”

“WHAT?!” The woman started to march towards him.

There was a knock at the door.

“I mean, do you know how much I poured into that kid? How much I didn’t know I sacrificed for him until it was too late? SUPER annoying how everything was a lie and that it was all for nothing. I’d say the lying little shit should get a bit of what’s coming to him.”

There was a knock at the door again. But no one noticed.

“SAY THAT AGAIN, HARTELL. I DARE YOU, YOU BASTARD!” With her dress touching the floor, she seemed to be flying towards him.

“I said your son is a four-eye freak with a fake personality who seems to be following in his daddy’s footsteps of being a manipulative, uncaring, stupid bitch.”

There was a shing of metal that rang through the air, and a sword came into Lady Asu’s hands seemingly from out of nowhere. Paper talismans littered the floor under it.

“I’LL KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND.” Lady Asu moved into a practiced stance,

Well, that seems compelling. Were what Asivus’ lasts thoughts would have been.

Suddenly, the door burst down. Revali and Mipha had their weapons at the ready.

“What's going on here?!”

“Ma’am, please put the weapon down!”

The Sheikah rolled her eyes. “Oh relax. I’m only taking out my frustrations. Healthy habits, and such.”

Asivus rubbed his chin. “Hmm...some nice Yiga blades you got there.”

“And those talismans on the floor…” Revali eyed the papers just beside Lady Asu.

She scoffed. “Gods, don’t be stupid. Those have the eye of the Sheikah, it’s not inverted. It’s simple ancient techniques. Where do you think my niece learned everything from?”

“Wait a moment…” Mipha stepped closer, cautiously, “That blade…”

Asivus stepped closer as well, eyeing their unique design. Not quite a Windcleaver, but stronger, and sturdier, with unique black and red grip.

“No fucking way…” Asivus grinned, though unsure what for. “It’s those very same blades.” This is exactly the tip I was hoping for.

He looked up at Lady Asu.

“Don’t tell me now, Mrs. Jou Asu...you were married to him?! The fucking Right Hand of the Inverted Eye?”

#???#Didymos Astor #blades and masters

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pearl-blue-musings · 4 years ago

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Perchance to Meet pt. 4

Hi again!

Back at it again with anotha one. I didn’t put it on the other ones, my bad, but it is a fem reader. I apologize if that makes anyone uncomfortable!

Warnings: language, suggestive language, angst, you’ll probably hate me at the end but oh well

Part 5

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that night, Aizawa tried his best to do what was best for him and his girlfriend. Regardless of what that enailed, he would do it. By no means did that mean he worked any less, he did what any over zealous workaholic does.

He began to stretch himself too thin.

On top of his teaching, patrolling, and keeping (Y/n) safe, the pro-hero barely had time for himself. He felt it was worth it, so long as work and personal life never interfered with each other or her work life for that matter, things were fine.

He did his best to believe his own façade until an early on staff meeting. He sent his love a quick text letting her know that he’d be late to her store because of a staff meeting. That’s alright, she responded, I’ve had some extra stuff come up at the shop with the café portion. Be safe baby uwu

Aizawa rolled his eyes, if you ever say that again I’m not picking up sweets on the way home.

Uwu uwu??

You’re lucky I love you

Uwu!

The man chuckled and put his phone down, preparing himself for the meeting. So far the school year had gone pretty smoothly regardless of his attempts to expel students from the first week. The meeting at hand was just a normal staff meeting, going over the upcoming calendar for the whole school and going into smaller details like who would be at the USJ in the upcoming two weeks. He doesn’t show it, but he’s very excited for his kids to begin training at the USJ and with All Might and Thirteen there they are sure going to learn and grow in the right way.

After the meeting ended, everyone was rounding up their belongings and having idle chit chat. Aizawa is so close to tasting the sweet relief of the end of the day when he’s stopped by a couple teachers.

He’s met with whimsical sapphire eyes that match a grin on the ravenette’s face. “So, when am I going to meet the mystery woman that’s clearly stolen your heart.”

“Nemuri,” Aizawa sighs, “it’s not appropriate to talk about personal relationships during school hours.”

Ruby lips frown and pout, “Aw come on Aizawa! You’ve been together for almost a year now! Why haven’t you brought her to any of the staff outings?”

“Maybe because she’s busy too? I don’t wanna get into it.”

“It’s true!” The loud voice interrupting can only belong to one obnoxious blond. “She runs her own bookstore and bartends to make money for said bookstore! She’s a workaholic just like him. A match made in heaven!”

Upon his arrival, Present Mic had wrapped his arm around his friends shoulders to bring the three of them closer as they walk out of the room. As much as he wants to shove the arm off of his body he doesn’t feel the need to.

“Oh,” Midnight surmises, “so that’s why I haven’t met her! Stop hiding her from us Eraser we want to meet her.”

“You will, eventually.”

Nemuri scoffs, “Eventually?! You’ve been saying that for months.”

“Ah but what if he’s keeping her a secret on purpose?”

A new voice shocks the trio as they turn around to see Principal Nezu walking with a frailer looking All Might. All Might shakes his head and points to Nezu. “I mean, Eraserhead is a very busy man who puts his life on the line for his students and community. Who’s to say he’s not doing it for her safety?”

That makes the three teachers stop and think, but Aizawa’s train of thought isn’t exactly the same as his peers. The principal has a point. Up to this point, he hadn’t been able to bring her because of their crazy schedule and diligence to their respective jobs; granted they always made time for each other. But what if that’s a big part of it? Now that the number one hero is at the school he teaches, having a close connection to his class he might add, doesn’t that put a bigger target on his back for villains?

He’s tried not to think too much about the increase in villain activity since All Might’s presence, however it is now unavoidable. There’s always the possibility of an attack, the press made that pretty obvious, but Aizawa wouldn’t put it past any villain to do their research. Has he been safe enough when he’s been out with (Y/n)? Were they being tailed or followed by anyone on their many dates? Shit, has she gotten any new customers that might be a problem?

How could he have been so stupid and blind to not see the potential danger she’s in just by being with him? He had never felt like this before; never been so pulled into one person. He had avoided dating for this reason but how could she make him forget all of those reasons?

“It’s clear to me you love her and that you have a lot to think about Aizawa,” Nezu finishes, “but you always know what to do! I may not know her but I wish the two of you happiness!”

*****************************

(Y/n) tried her best to hold back her anger and frustration, but it was inevitable. Even with the addition of the café and a couple extra workers, she still needed to pull hours at the club. The struggle was indeed real. She desperately wants to slam her head on her desk but she knows that it’ll only upset Aizawa to see her physically hurt. So she keeps her head up with her arm and continues to look through the books for the last month.

No one had been stealing, everyone was working hard, hell even Kona had taken extra hours to help ease her stress over keeping the business running. But it wasn’t enough. No matter what she did, it wasn’t enough to keep working like this. Her tired eyes bore into the calendar knowing she can’t take much time off soon regardless of how much she wants to. Her time off will come in the form of a conference she’s been invited to attend and hold a small lecture. It’ll talk about how running a business you love while using your quirk for good is still considered heroic in its own right. I mean, she and all her friends knew that but there are still so many people in this society who feel less than because their quirks aren’t heroic…

Her mind begins to wander to her friends, Aizawa, one of her older favorite customers…

Ah yes, she hadn’t seen them in the last couple of years. She couldn’t remember the moms name, but her child always came in with another daycare every now and then, Eri. She had the prettiest white hair and red eyes, and the cutest little horn that was on her head. (Y/n) really missed her, but she assumed because of something with her quirk she stopped showing up, or maybe they moved; they would always come around the same time as if on some schedule.

A deep exhale escapes her mouth as she attempts to focus on the task at hand. She was finally making some headway in organizing the schedule and financial books when she hears an abrupt knock on the window. In a daze, (Y/n) leaves her office to walk toward the front, staring at the turned off ‘Open’ sign in frustration. But who is she to deny someone who might need help?

“Sir,” she yawns, “I’m sorry but we’re closed right now.”

The man in front of her has a menacing look that sends a chill down her spine. The mask covering his face makes it hard to distinguish his figures, and she notices the gloves over his hands. “Are you not (Y/f/n)?”

“Uh, yes? And may I ask who wants to know?”

The man chuckles, “I have a request from someone you may know.” He hands her a piece of paper and she hesitantly takes it. All that is on it are a few words that she is able to identify as a particular book in a children’s fantasy, her quirk coming to her aide. “I have the money already if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Unsteadiness rises in the young woman. She searches his eyes for any kind of familiarity but fails to find any. “Ah, well sir I have the right book in mind. Could you wait right here?”

The man waits for her as he watches her go inside the store. So this is the place that good for nothing woman would go to? Hmm, it has appeal and he can see why his subject enjoyed it. Anything to put his plan into motion and keep it within his reach.

“Here you are, and may I get your name?”

Upon receiving the book, he exchanges the money and politely bows. “Chisaki Kai.

“And Eri says hello.”

********************************

The drive to the airport was filled with content silence, as (Y/n) leans her head onto Aizawa’s in the car they shared. It was early in the morning so the pro-hero was already adjusted to being up at this hour, however his girlfriend wasn’t. He had debated about escorting her to the airport, Nezu’s words still in his head two weeks later, but figured she’d be happier and more at ease having him see her off. It’s not everyday someone he knows and loves gets invited to talk about something they’re very passionate about.

He’s overly ecstatic about it and is upset he can’t be there for her. But he knows that he’ll do his best to stream her talk when it’s available.

This is what he loves, this equal give and take they have for their relationship. He’s met some of her friends and family, albeit on a tight schedule, and vice versa; minus the pro-heroes. They both have a strong respect for what they do and when they do it. Even though this will be the most time they’ll have together, he’s glad he can see her sleep so peacefully on his shoulder. A content grin adorns his face as he does another thing out of character and snaps a picture of her.

Damn, he really is in love with her. Once he sees the airport in sight, he softly nudges her, “Hey, princess. We’re almost there.”

“Unngg, no…”

Aizawa chuckles at her whining and lightly kisses her forehead. “I wanted a couple extra minutes of you awake before you get out and-“

“Sh, sh,” she interrupts. “You act like I don’t get it,” her words are slurred from being too tired. “You do a lot for me, love. We gotta be safe I understand; gossip is so bad.”

He loves how extra snuggly she is when she’s too tired to function. “You know I’d walk you to the gate if I could,” his voice rumbles huskily that ends up making her mewl.

“I hate when you talk like that.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll be sure to call you tonight and talk just like this.”

“Oh sure! Just forget that I’m in the car! Now hurry up your students have a big day coming up!”

The couple giggles at Hizashi’s words, despite their truth. His friend rolls his eyes as he sees where they parked. It’s a bit of a walk to the airport but this gives them privacy from any prying eyes, especially of the villain nature. The two of them step out of the car and gather her overnight luggage from the trunk.

“I’ll only be gone for the night, I’ll be back tomorrow evening.” She leans up to kiss him.

“I know,” he kisses her back, “I just wanted you to finally meet my students and see them in action.”

Her eyes widen at his words, and so did some golden ones at that. “You..? What?”

“Heh, I figured it was way past time I let you into more of my world. I know I’m not the most open person, but I want to keep you safe and where else to do that than at U.A. with other heroes? They’re going to be working on rescues, and since you’ve shared so much of yourself with me, well it’s about time.”

Tears threatened to spill in his girlfriend’s eyes at his words. “Are you sure? I understand we kept our relationship a secret for our safety but, are you sure? I’m content knowing only your family and Yamada and- mmph!”

He silences her with a kiss and chuckles into it. “It’s dangerous yes, but you’re worth it.”

*******************************

The flight back wasn’t as enjoyable as the tired woman had predicted. Since her presentation went well, she was on a high until midway through her flight. Poor (Y/n) got stuck in the middle seat surrounded by the most unbearable people on the planet. She couldn’t wait to get back to Aizawa and just let him ravish her.

Once she had collected her luggage and turned on her phone, she tried to find the raven haired man and his loud blond friend. But after ten minutes of waiting and searching she came up empty handed. “What the hell,” she muttered to herself. She had no missed calls or texts from Shouta so what was up? He promised he’d pick her up but she’s been in the airport for almost an hour now and no such luck.

Getting frustrated she ended up hailing a random taxi and input her address. No matter, he could have had something come up at school which is entirely possible. She wasn’t going to let that get in her way of returning to the man she’s absolutely head over heels for. It might have been just one night away, but it felt like an eternity. Despite all her work, all his work, the world pretty much telling them no they found a way. Sure they had their fair sure of arguments but what couple didn’t? At the end of the day, they loved each other and that’s what was important.

She suddenly began to feel her phone buzz and pouts at the caller I.D. “Yamada, I have half a mind to come to your place and demand you drive me around for the hell of it! I thought you were supposed to pick me up!”

“(Y/n).”

The laugh that was in her throat retreated when she noticed his serious tone. This wasn’t like him. Damn, what happened?

“Hizashi, you’re scaring me,” her voice trembles, “where’s Shouta?”

She can hear him take a deep breath and his voice is not as boisterous as it typically is. “Answer me!” She’s clutching her phone as tears threaten to fall, “where is he?!”

“(Y/n), dear, I’m so sorry. There was an attack yesterday during the training, and he’s injured. Really badly.”

He’s met with silence on the other end and slowly continues. “He’s at the hospital. I’ll send you the address.”

With that he hung up. (Y/n) felt her jaw go slack. Her heart begins to pound faster than before as her breathing increases. The urge to vomit overwhelms her senses as the feeling in her stomach is one she’s never felt. Nothing makes sense. Why? Why didn’t he tell you immediately? Or why didn’t Present Mic tell you earlier? It’s almost 5 pm school ended hours ago, this makes no sense he would’ve told her, he would have he would have-

Her phone lights up with a text from the blond man Here’s the address. I did this for him. Please go to him.

The rest of the ride is a blur after she tells the driver to switch addresses. Her conference didn’t matter, her shitty flight didn’t matter, her new found knowledge didn’t matter… Shouta needed her and fuck why can’t this person drive faster!

She barely recollects paying her driver as she pulls up to the hospital. She runs in with her bags up to the front desk and politely yet frantically asks for her boyfriend. The nurse up front is apprehensive but relaxes upon seeing her stressed out face and Hizashi coming up to vouch for her. He glances into her eyes and gives her a hug in solidarity and apology. The pair of them pass by rooms, quickly going to the elevator to find Aizawa’a room. Along the way, she assumes she passes some of his students as the blond man pushes them out of the way.

Hizashi holds her luggage as she makes her way inside. In the room, she finally sees him and falls to her knees. Her presence is finally announced as an older nurse and a frail looking man turn to her. His face is completely covered in bandages and his arm is clearly broken. It takes everything in her to not wail at the sight.

“Who is it?”

The voice is soft and muffled but she’s able to make out who said it. The elderly looking nurse comes to his side and removes some of the bandages on his face in order for his eyes to be revealed.

It had been a few hours since he had been able to see, but what he was greeted with confirmed his newfound resolve. The sight of his girlfriend’s face covered in tears for him was almost too much.

“Sh-Shouta, why? What happened?”

“Why are you here?”

That sentence alone stunned everyone in the room, including Hizashi who had just walked in.

“What are you talking about? You got attacked! Why else would I be here?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he coughs out. “This isn’t a place for you.”

Confusion crosses her features at his words. “I don’t? I don’t understand, I thought you wanted me to be part of your life.”

“Present Mic told you I was here didn’t he? I told him not to.” He sighs and tries to lay back down. “Recovery Girl, could you cover me back up?”

“Whoa, whoa wait! I come back from a conference and I find out that you are severely injured and you don’t want me here?! What the hell happened to everything we spoke about literally yesterday? Why didn’t you tell me, or at least have him tell me you were okay or something!

“You’ve been like this for a whole fucking day and if I’m correct, you weren’t planning on telling me?”

He lowers his voice from the yelling and mutters loud enough for her to hear, “this is why pro-heroes don’t date.”

Gasps were heard around the room and Present Mic is most surprised, “Eraserhead come on,” he breathes. “Don’t do this, man. And you need to take a break! You can’t just go back to work like everything is fine!”

“He’s what!?”

Aizawa puts up his in broken hand to silence them, “no she needs to hear this.” He points to the now confused and angry woman in front of him. “You don’t understand that this is my life and I will get hurt.”

(Y/n) shakes her head, “I know that! But you need to rest, I’ve missed you and I’m sure your students would understand. You saved them!”

He interrupts, “I can’t stop being a hero and a teacher because of some injuries. My kids need me.”

“I need you too.”

“But you’re not putting your life on the line every day are you? You just sell books and make drinks, how is that helping people?”

Her heart sank at those words. How could he say something like that? She can slowly but surely feel her heart be torn and repaired by thorny weeds holding it together. She can’t even look at him, knowing that he was aiming to hurt her intentionally with those words. Those words were why she does what she does and he just mocked her. After all this time, it seems his true colors were finally showing. This is why he never let her in, because he’s a coward. A coward too afraid to let anyone come close. It’s a miracle to her now that he has friends.

The silence is deafening after his last questions as all eyes on are on her. (Y/n) straightens her posture and begins to head out of the room. She stops briefly to whip out her keychain. She removes the key to his apartment, struggling to get it off and finally throws it on the ground, the clanking of the metal against the tiles louder than anyone thought. And through her gritted teeth she spat,

“Fuck you Aizawa.”

She grabs her luggage from an unusually quiet Hizashi and storms out, tears cascading down her face.

Once she was out of earshot, Mic turns to his friend and takes a deep breath. “What the hell was that!? That wasn’t what we practiced!”

He’s greeted by silence from his injured and heartbroken friend. Aizawa knew what he was supposed to say, but the attack on his students left him feeling some kind of way. Even though the villains were after All Might, they attacked his students and he couldn’t have that. He told no one of that trip and feared that someone may have overheard him talking to her at the airport. He knew these villains were ruthless and as he said, he would do anything to protect her at all costs.

Aizawa sighs, the weight of his words and actions falling onto him. “It was the right thing. These villains are crazy, attacking students and teachers in broad daylight. Who knows what else they know about us? I can’t get her involved in that.”

The blond shakes his head in disappointment. “No you don’t get it. (Y/n) loves you and would do anything for you. I understand you want to keep her safe but breaking her heart like that…”

Aizawa knows this too well as he speaks to his friend again. “It’s better if she’s not in my life. I don’t want her connected to this and you know she’d throw herself into this to support and be there for me. I can’t have my students and my girlfriend with targets on their backs.

“What kind of hero would I be if I can’t save the ones I care for?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist!: @kiribaku-queen @cupcake-rogue @shinsouskitten @prk-pyo @therealwalmartjesus

#my writing #i did the thing #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #bnha x reader #bnha aizawa #hizashi yamada #nemuri kayama #mha nemuri #sorry its so long

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michaelevans27 · 3 years ago

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I've got to leak somewhere at this point regardless of the vulnerability of the dodgy 1 way mirror that can exist. When you're in a position of trust with another person and depth of entanglement and deliberate growth around and with someone and yet consistently have the vines of life leave the sunlight and spread sidewards and pull the sweet fruits/berries into the shade or start to find this vine you are building with help question where you can flourish and blossom it leaves you with so much uncertainty with what you have left when the growth works to pull apart. Sometimes plants have to be seperated for the benefit of their respective health. Sometimes they take too much of each other's sun or they struggle to work synchronously. Sometimes plants will grow and find themselves tangled again. Vines and gardens and plants all beautiful but all unable to know their own needs. It takes a skilled gardener to know what's best and sometimes even then it's not an absolute.

Humans are not plants, we are far more complicated, we are filled with emotion, judgement, issues and conscious thought. Who are we to know what in the fuck we want? How are we supposed to trust in others when we can't even trust our own opinion or struggle to form one? Whether through my own twisted lense of perception, gaslighting or struggles and moments of first experiences and dealings with the many complications to any moment with many people and feelings and topics all that came to my mind was feeling like a robot like maybe my emotions aren't with as much depth or good enough or come out wrong. Yet without the comparison of the past and the need to be clear and therefore properly understood, with the simple and only requirement being to myself... well it doesn't get easier to know your own thoughts but at least it's clearer the depth and strength of feelings one has. The kind of feelings that make you question what feelings are and how you might interpret them.

The ones that are so fiercely strong that you can't tell if you're angry because you're upset or upset because you're angry, whether you're upset because you're thinking about a happiness or upset because you're thinking about the pain, the kind of feelings that tell you you're an idiot for not protecting yourself sooner while also telling you that you ought to not need to protect and all emotions and thoughts between. They say pain makes you stronger but they fail to ever say how it makes you stronger. How one converts or ignites strength from or through the pain, whether pain is to be replaced or forgotten or constant. At what point do you stick true to who you are or maybe were, possibly either foolishly trusting and quick to do so whimsically or refreshing and positively quick in trusting or maybe even both at once since it comes with benefits and goodness but through enough exposure and unfortunate chance you'll be able to have it taken advantage of.

Are there any right answers in the end? Any correct paths to take? In such a perfectionist world high on emotions low in patience and so particular and picky in tastes will there be any humanity able to step back and be hopeful but not condemnful? Any chance of understanding and fair expectations while not sacrificing oneself and not settling for less than ideal but the composure and treatment one would hope in return in this world? I want to be myself, my ideal self in this world, the young man with dreams to do it all and be around for all, to be interactive and caring and trusting with all as I can be, to do as much as I can with my time and to build a pure family with no distances with energy to spread something further with cosiness and trust and openness I was so ready for all of that, I was so ready I took on more than I could, I rushed about the place, I grew tired and pulled in my sphere expanding from a quiet furnishing floater to much more too quickly. I saw my vision in even the worst of times even with each moment of collapse where it would feel like there was a poisonous atmosphere out to get me, with little mind of my mind but there was always enough to keep me going. Didn't matter whether it was external or internal when it mattered most it was internal, when my mind and opinion wavered on whether my feelings were in need internally if needed I'd smooth over and repair as best I could whether I was reckless and blind excusing the damage or smoothing over without the proper external material or against external or internal counterparts is a matter somewhat. What matters to me the most though is having a hold on understanding, ironic how often it can be to feel misunderstood and to not quite understand the new or unknown around you and yet worst of all not have enough perspective and capacity or perhaps too much of the capacity to think so much and not understand yourself.

So much blabber that might not make sense but ultimately it comes to this, I've felt deeply, and strongly regardless of how many times I've felt empty from depression and of the opinions of others. How do I know I've felt that strongly about something? Well for starters I already knew it in each moment where there was effortlessness and yet knowing the moments that had and would take all the effort which meant so little amounting to effortless when achieved. It was clear in the way I'd feel when things would seem to co-incide literally with moments that would match and I'd tell myself that it's a tie at a level deeper with fate, souls, voodoo whatever shit you can think of that becomes your own metaphor keeping minds and states and moments as one or close to one. It's so much more that told me so much about myself and my insides that it'd be a disservice and silly to bother for many reasons to go on.

The biggest thing that told me about the strength of my feelings and opened the Pandora box and decided to make me feel like I finally understood my robot belief and build the knowledge of not knowing what I know or feel or what to trust even within my feelings as to which is central rather than which is in control, the biggest thing that ripped it all open was playing to my biggest weakness, my desire to help anyone that needs it, especially those important to me. My eagerness to drop everything for now and focus on what matters to me most, being there for someone that I trust and I see as positive as a person who simply feeds that fuel of what's good and feeds into a future I know I can keep working for because those people can show me or make me feel there's a positive world and that I am not fighting against an ocean but a stream wide as you want but never endless. I trusted and eagerly took into place the most important and sacred and meaningful things to me in being there and I always will trust in even people that in now way or form have had a chance to earn it, but yet that trust was broken, it isn't often I let my upset take control of me, I keep my emotions in check as much as I can so I'm not hurting others because you can be upset and share upset without doing harm. The most important thing and pure thing I can ever feel like doing, something I struggled to do in moments that I was never prepared for, something I'd do without even noticing in smaller moments, something I do no matter the distance or the positional issues and yet my trust was taken freely advantageously whether maliciously or not, my feelings plain and simply feeling shit on all the while sharing the best of them freely.

Knowing what you truly are feeling and thinking, wanting or needing is hard enough on a basic unaltered state, figuring it out while having no real trust on your own understanding or trust in your ability to trust alongside the deservedness or maybe the potential usage of that trust is an entire different level. People will do all sorts of things in life and may change who they decide they'll be whether it follows their best version of themself, their best vision for themself or just what they feel they ought to be or can only be. There's no way of ever knowing whether someone is reaching out to you and asking how you are to simply do their part in the world, to spy on you and judge or wonder and simply update their info on you, potentially care about you, keep you at arms length as a controlled growth that's simply a body to have contact upon just due to having been part of their life or hell anything under the sun. There's no knowing if it's in your interest to respond and be accomadating to become the next generic and used person in their life that is simply kept up on tabs to know for the sake of knowing or if you'd be accomadating the a simple position where you'd be simply supplying gratification or comparison to their journey, maybe it's in your best interest to share with them regardless since it's progressive in some way? No idea what way or maybe through accomadating the asking of how you are and asking back it would do some good to them and you or even just good for them and it'd be better to do the non-selfish thing and likely what you'd want being good for them by helping them out by doing so but leaving yourself with no betterment from the exchange maybe even worse off. You're supposed to wish people well if you care about them but if you care about them that much don't you also know that it'll hurt ever knowing that would be a case.

Maybe I'm more emotional than I ever realised or maybe people would call me emotionally immature or say that I'm toxic or selfish to not immediately stray towards the most beneficial befitting accomadation of another but last time I did that it made me feel like an object a used object. When it's constantly on loop and stuck on your mind is their a reason? Is there a purpose or direction the universe is pushing you deliberately with all this stuff all these strong deep entrenched thoughts and feelings never giving any long pause of rest? Is it supposed to be a reason to go against in spite of it and trust and respond and engage or is it to follow and close up to, is it stupid to trust someone without constant proof and effort from them showing trust? Is it supposed to stick around and be the way it is for any connections made? Or is it a shitty curse among a strong memory that keeps so much in long term storage that never let's you forget anything. Am I supposed to avoid or forget about or hate or enjoy or be indifferent of little details that I couldn't forget even if I tried, should I be able to forget details. Thinking about it a robot was never a good representation of myself because it focused on a lack of or a disconnection with emotion, feeling miles away from emotion capable and shared by so many more normal people who fit into society or whatever dodgy society may be around, it didn't focus on the confusion of and difficulty with emotion, it didn't focus on the overly believing attitude the childlike expectancy to things working out no matter what and to everything being possible without any sacrifice, the sensitivity to even some violence and small issues among bigger moments thinking everything can be perfect with some ease the rarer of the idealistic over the top optimism moments. At least a robot can know or think and decide in a certain way. It will always make a decision based off of something and wouldn't be unsure of itself. At the end of the day I don't care about it's label because it's the outside world or the stagger into the dark that'll eventually tell me something about my thoughts even if it never comes or my mind is changed more than once. I do really hope it being the first birthday I'll be so seperate from that it'll somehow be as personal and enjoyable as any before, I wish I could somehow have any factor on it but I also wish I'd stop wishing because there's plenty of reason or stories I'm sure to explain that there's nothing good from such stuff being wished since it's at my own detriment maybe. I think that's enough to look back at and know roughly my own thoughts and hopefully give me some peace on it all for a while. Maybe I'll not have to use this ever again.

P.S Michael you might not even understand half the crap you're writing but at least it's been written also there's a wasp and who cares about readability or thinking more about this until it has a reason to be thought about more with a wasp

#diary of my brain #why trust #things aren't simple #are well wishes well wishes in a certain state of your own mind #what's good #still figuring things out #not a writer for grammar

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ddarker-dreams · 5 years ago

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Puppet. Yan Charles Grey x Reader [COMM]

The phrase “your life” feels more like an oxymoron than an accurate description.

Every task that you carry out -- from the moment the sun rises from the east, and sets in the west -- is not of your own autonomy. A marionettist pulls the strings from above, you but a mere puppet that concedes accordingly to its wishes.

You play the role of the perfect daughter, hours of tutoring and diligent planning from your parents ensuring your success. In your heart, there is little abhorrence for the distant yet prickly relationship you have with them. They mean no harm, you often have to remind yourself, when your thoughts gain a negative edge. It’s all for the greater good of the family.

Pressing the cold glass you plucked from the buffet table against your lips, your eyes take in the sight before you. Inhabitants from high social standing cluster together, speaking of benign matters or hoping to further their position in some way. It’s a familiar scene, despite the significance of the event.

The Queen, in all her normal benevolence, is hosting this ball in hopes of raising funds for a new orphanage in London. To turn down an invite to such an occurrence would be a kiss of death to your social standing. Your own family invested a hefty sum into the charity, a small hope of getting noticed you surmise. It’s a gamble, but nothing is gained without taking a few risks.

Your parents have an apparent agenda of their own tonight, centered around you. They’ve been introducing you to a variety of possible suitors, since you are now of the age to wed. Throughout the flood of faces you’ve met, none of them have seemed inclined to lead the conversation to taking your hand. The barrage of social interaction has sapped away at your strength, weariness settling in as the night progresses at a snail’s pace.

Being left to your own devices for what feels like the first time in hours, you lament the thought of when it’ll come to an end. Perhaps tonight simply isn’t your night? Your mother gave you a stern look when you spoke those words, critiquing every little nuance of your prior interactions. It isn’t your fault the men simply haven’t been interested in marriage, you did what was expected of you. That leaves no room for fault of your own.

One common string of actions you picked up on, was their hesitation in initially speaking to you. It could only have been your imagination, however, they spoke to you with rigidity. Polite, yes, but they seemed eager to leave your side. Almost as if they were hesitant to even speak with you in the first place, though any reason for this is beyond you.

How peculiar.

Your parents have left your side for a few minutes now, undoubtedly searching for another possible suitor to introduce you to. The string of bad luck isn’t enough to stop them from advancing their goals. Standing here for too long on your lonesome isn’t an option, the public eye judgmental and lips prone to entertain gossip. This night couldn’t come to a close any faster.

Adjusting your position, you consider the best course of action here. It’d be ideal to find a suitable person to speak to, but most of the people here are already in conversation with one another. Stopping a sigh that threatens to leave, you decide to get some fresh air. Distant laughter, chatter, and orchestral accompaniments go ignored as you walk to the doors of the balcony.

Guards open the door for you, allowing you to step outside. The moon is shining brightly above, illuminating the various plants interwoven with the wood railing. Corset constricting you harshly, the ability to breathe without trouble feels like a distant luxury. Being introduced to a possible husband one after the other doesn’t help, the interactions a whirlwind of stress.

“Not into events like this, huh? Not that I could blame you.” A male voice, light and whimsical, startles you from behind.

Placing a gloved hand to your chest in surprise, you look back to see a young man around your age. With long, snow white hair, playful blue eyes, and wearing a white tailcoat with a black buttoned up shirt underneath. He flashes you a lazy grin, before taking his place by your side.

Your breath hitches at the unexpected advance. Whoever this is either ignorant to social rules, or cares little of them. As he takes a place by your side, you consider making an excuse to go back in. A light breeze caresses your warming skin, a few strands of hair tickling your face.

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” you respond in earnest, unable to get a solid read on his aloof attitude. “Looking at the stars is a pleasant change of pace.”

In saying so, the pair of you look up towards the sky. It’s a rarity tonight, the usual smog not as apparent. His attention returns to you soon enough, mouth set in a straight line. He considers your input, crossing his arms.

“Hm… really? I’ve always found these events to be a drag.” he replies with a raised eyebrow, a hand pressed against his hip. You take note of the sheathed rapier, but think little else of it. The understanding the fashion choice of men has never been your strong suit.

“At first glance, perhaps. Legends behind the constellations are what I take the most interest in. Take those five stars there, for example,” you point a finger for extra emphasis. “That one is named Cassiopeia. In Greek mythology, Cassiopeia was punished by the gods for her vanity; forced to forever be imprinted in the sky.”

Biting your lip for a moment, you manage to collect yourself. When it came to topics you found compelling, rambling came naturally. If your mother were here she’d scold you, stern eyes saying more than words ever could.

“Seems over the top, if you ask me.” he concludes pointedly, pushing his lips to the side in thought. It almost comes as a relief that he isn’t irate with your passionate speaking, the window to criticize you for it now gone.

A light laugh leaves your lips, skin around your eyes tightening in amusement at his blunt assessment. “Yes, well, Greek gods were not known for their compassion.”

Mimicking your earlier action, he points to a cluster of stars in the sky with childlike enthusiasm. “And? What about this one?”

“Ah… I don’t believe that is a constellation. It has a similar appearance, however.” you speculate with a frown, silently hoping the answer isn’t too disappointing. His shoulders droop at your lackluster response, leading you to attempt and patch it over.

“You could always make a constellation of your own. I recall doing that as a child, it’s a fun game to play with yourself.” Memories come flooding back to you of your childhood, the nights you spent creating impossible yet fun scenarios to go along with the night sky.

Turning on his heels, he bends his face down ever so slightly to get a better look at you. Tilting his head to the side, an unidentifiable emotion flashes through his light sky blue eyes, before he returns to his former position. You feel your pulse quicken, concern over saying the wrong thing rearing its ugly head once again.

Instead of admonishing your thoughts, he encourages them. “Humor me. What story would you give this then?”

That isn’t what you were expecting. It’s an entertaining request, different from the dreary talk you’ve slugged through earlier. A topic that you’re well endowed in. Childlike wonder returns to you, flashes of memories from your youth returning.

“I can’t think of anything.” you confess with a sheepish frown. “I fear my interpretations would leave much to be desired, anyhow. The original stories are too timeless to compete with.”

Before he can offer a rebuttal, the sound of doors opening hurriedly behind you gains your attention. Your mother, eyes darting around before landing on your form, strides over to you with practiced ease. She freezes her movements when she looks over at your eccentric conversation partner, gulping at the sight.

“Earl Grey, I take it you have met my daughter?” she guardedly inquires, showcasing a tight lipped smile.

His title and name registers instantly, and you instantly feel an ocean of regret collapsing over you. Not only did you lose yourself in conversation with someone, it happened to be such an important individual? He could have you socially ostracized if he felt inclined to do so, being a guard of the Queen herself.

In a desire to save face, you mirror your mother’s stoic visage; praying she didn’t catch anything you said earlier. You gulp as he holds off on a response, her eyes narrowing briefly at you in the silence.

His own relaxed demeanor doesn’t change in the slightest at the new company, finally breaking the tense silence. “Indeed I have. We were having an exciting conversation.”

She shoots you a look that makes your blood go cold, fingers twitching by your side. The carriage ride home will be a harrowing event. You can already picture the chastising comments she’ll make at your expense, critiquing you from head to toe.

“Ah, I’m pleased to hear she was good company for you then. Please forgive her for any slips of the tongue, she’s always been an imaginative child.” she offers a timed laugh, one that you know well. Another sign of how you’ve surely upset her with your antics.

Your mother doesn’t need to say anything else, you more than capable of reading in between the lines of her strained gaze. She’s smoothed over any possible grievances to the best of her abilities, and wants you to dismiss yourself.

Earl Grey has kept his attention on you, paying little mind to her. You silently inhale, praying that your face doesn’t waver at your next words. Face burning in defiance of your wishes, you excuse yourself.

“It’s been a pleasure, Earl Grey. I thank you kindly for your time.”

---

When your father called you to his study this afternoon, you knew it would be grim news.

The past month has been a tense one, misfortunes piling up one after the other. It all started when one of his companies main investors pulled for no understandable reason, not even offering an explanation.

Matters only grew worse as rumors of scandal plagued him from an anonymous source, further discrediting the company's name. The staff of your house whispers that perhaps he’s been cursed by a malevolent spirit. While you initially scoffed at such an unfounded notion, you can’t help but begin to wonder if it holds some truth.

Weariness was apparent in his gaze, skin tight to the bone and dark circles underneath his eyes. Money is running out, he told you with a shameful sigh. There will be lifestyle changes in the near future, such as cutting a significant amount of staff at the estate; and even having to lay off employees under his company.

He wanted so desperately to shield you from this frightful information, but the times are growing dire. It’s frustrating -- how all of this could happen from out of seemingly nowhere -- leaving you at the mercy of the law. There must be something you can do, but what?

It’s the question that has led you to the gardens outside. Birds chirp contentedly, leaves rustling about in the wind. Nature always brings with it a taste of sweet solace, but today, even it fails to mitigate your anxiety. Negotiations for any possible engagements have also led nowhere, to make matters worse.

‘I could offer to sell some of my wardrobe… would that even do anything, though? It’s surely couldn’t hurt.’

Delicately wrapping your fingers around the teacup handle, you take a sip. Could it be you were not a desirable enough wife? With all the problems your family has had of late, suitors must be too cautious to approach you. As unfair as it may be, it frustrates you further.

“I was told I’d find you out here.”

Whipping your head around, you’re met with a sight that brings back pleasant memories. Earl Grey walks from behind a hedge, inviting himself into your presence without any hesitation. There’s a light spring to his step, like something had put him in a good mood.

This melts away instantly when he sees your downcast gaze, frowning deeply at the pitiful sight.

“Earl Grey,” you greet with a strained smile. “If you’re looking for my father, I can show you his study.”

Grey waves off your offer with disinterest, plopping himself down next to you. “There’s no need, I just finished speaking with him.”

You cross your legs at the information, muscles taut and frown deepening further. The investigation into possible racketeering brings a sense of shame, knowing in the depths of your heart your father would never do that. He’s been a lawful man his entire life, instilling in you good morals and reverence of the law.

It would be impolite to ask for the state of the investigation from Grey, who was assigned to look into the rumors by the Queen. It is still a tempting prospect, but you bite your tongue nonetheless.

‘How embarrassing… The Earl has only ever seen me in compromising situations such as this.’

“I wanted to speak to you before I left,” Grey explains, leaning closer to your person. “Not as an interrogation or anything relating to the recent allegations. I’ve been curious about you.”

Even at his insistence that this is off the record, it does little to help you. In the short time you’ve spoken to him, you’ve found his laid back personality to be off putting. Grey speaks whatever comes to his mind without caring how others might interpret it. This foreign confidence must come as a right to those in high power.

“About... me?” you repeat back for further clarification, blinking rapidly and tilting your head.

“We didn’t get to talk as much as I wanted to,” he explains, finding amusement in your wide eyes. Maintaining eye contact never felt so difficult. “And I just so happened to be here. It’s worth taking advantage of.”

Shifting in your seat, you respond. “I’m all yours then.”

He picks up on your poorly hidden discomfort with a frown, resting his chin on his hand.

“Don’t feel the need to be so tense around me,” he chastises, thin eyebrows furrowing together with displeasure. “I liked how you were before more. So open and honest! It’s a breath of fresh air, really. Everyone can be so stiff and boring... it drives me mad.”

“You must be worried about the ongoing investigation. It’ll be fine, really. There’s been no hard evidence found -- only rumors -- which is a different kind of damaging. But in the eyes of the law, it’s ultimately useless.

He winks, causing your face to flush. “Just a little secret between us.”

You feel yourself eased by his spontaneously serious words, the affirmation much needed. Offering him a natural smile, you express your heartfelt appreciation.

“Hearing you say that makes all the difference,” you fumble over your words, incapable of hiding the well of emotion within any longer. Putting a gloved hand to your mouth, you continue. “You’ve offered me such kindness.”

Grey perks up at your gratitude, leaning in closer. “I’m only being honest. I’ve seen the worst humanity has had to offer, but your father is nothing of the sort. And neither are you.”

Guilt over your previous assessment of the Earl sprouts like a weed within your mind. You thought little of him at first, believing him nothing more than a soul too lighthearted for their own good. But here he is, offering you comfort in one of the darkest seasons in your life despite having nothing to gain from it. If anything, it could be a risk to his own character to associate with you.

Yet he’s here nonetheless.

“There actually is another reason I wanted to speak to you,” he interrupts your thoughts with an excited hum. “Seeing as your father is almost entirely cleared of suspicion, we had discussed arrangements relating to you. I asked for your hand, and he enthusiastically accepted. Wonderful, right?”

“W-wait, what?” you sputter in utter disbelief, uncertain of whether or not you’re dreaming. Is Grey being honest with you, or is this a practical joke in the works? Men from lesser standing than him looked over you as a possible wife, what does he stand to gain from this arrangement?

He seems happy enough to repeat himself. “We’re engaged. There are some little details that still need to be ironed out, but, other than that...”

You never were expecting to receive news of an engagement like this, your thoughts incoherent. It’ll do little for your image to so clearly reflect your inner feelings, prompting you to gain any semblance of control of your outward reactions.

This is a good thing, after all, perplexing as it is. With his connections and influence, no one would dare question your father’s integrity again. Doing so would be questioning the Queen’s own bodyguards, an extension of herself in many ways.

Grey looks at you expectantly, unusually silent while giving you a moment to process. From his upbeat, almost sing song tone, you get the feeling he wants this engagement himself.

“So don’t worry about those things anymore. I’ll be taking care of you from now on, after all,” he hums, looking down at you. Lithe fingers grab hold of a strand of your hair, playing with it. He’s close -- closer than a man has ever been to you -- warm breath hitting your face. “My only request is that you be yourself around me. That’s what drew me to you, and all I care for.”

Giving you a moment of respite, he tucks your hair back into place. Grey takes in the sight of you. Afternoon sun shining upon your face, highlighting your flushed cheeks, and soft lips. Smiling with contentment, he leans back into his chair, closing his eyes.

“Do that for me, and we’ll have no problems. A win-win situation.”

#charles grey #black butler #yandere black butler #yandere black butler x reader #charles grey x reader #yandere charles grey x reader #kuroshitsuji #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff #commissions

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