#i have done nothing but color for the past six hours and i am so tired and there is still so much more to do LOL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

incorrectpizza · 7 months

Text

Hehehe know how I said literally 72 hours ago that I wouldn't be posting anything for @sabezraweek because of my concussion and general life chaos?

Fic also available under the cut for anyone who would prefer to read here on Tumblr. :)

Ezra’s cleaning up the tower when he finds the holoprojector.

He’s halfway through a drawer of seemingly sentimental junk - an old comm of his, one of Ursa’s hair clips, Sabine’s own paint sprayer - when he spies a puck he doesn’t recognize. Curious, he flicks it on

He’s greeted by a younger Sabine, not much older than when he’d left. Her hair is the same dull dark purple as when he’d left with Thrawn all those years ago. It’s a bit longer though. Sabine sighs and runs a hand through it.

“So, it’s been a while since I’ve dyed my hair. I haven’t been able to since- since you and Kanan. But, well, things go on. I hoped you would be back by now but still no leads. So, I decided today would be the day.” Holo-Sabine holds up a can, shaking it. Then the image flickers and she returns with flaming pink hair. “Not bad for my first dye job in a year.”

Ezra’s eyebrows scrunch A year ? Sabine Wren, Mandalorian artist extraordinaire who dyed her hair at least once every six months, if not more, had been so out of sorts she hadn’t dyed her hair for a year ?

In their brief reunion, he’d gotten the sense she’d missed him a lot. But not dying her hair?

Before his brain could come to any dramatic conclusions, the hologram glitched, faded, and returned. Sabine’s hair, a solid, shimmering lilac shifts into a gradient, the tips darkening to indigo. She tilts her head and spins to show all the angles before disappearing.

Holo-Sabine reappears with a full head of indigo holding a hair tie, a single odd lilac strand hanging down. A padawan braid?

“So, it’s been two years.”

She gathers her hair together as she speaks, knot nearly reaching the nape of her neck.

“I decided after the last dye job to let it grow out a bit. What do you think?”

Holo-Sabine smiles, but the expression is hollow.

“So much has happened. Hopefully you’ll be able to come see yourself soon.”

The image fades and for a few seconds there’s nothing before Indigo Sabine reappears.

“I’m going to try something new. I’ve never done any sort of red hair because I dyed Tristan’s red once and he looked hideous. It doesn’t mesh well with the Wren complexion, but I’m feeling creative and I think this shade might be just the ticket.”

She pulls out a box of chestnut dye and sits it directly in front of the holoprojector.

When she pulls it away, her hair is an odd shade of red slightly akin to the sky on Atollon.

“That was a very bad mistake.” She shakes her hair out of the ponytail.

“Unfortunately, I can’t fix it for at least a week, and there’s a big banquet coming up soon.”

A static image displays next. Red brick haired Sabine in a floor length gown unlike anything Ezra had ever seen her wear.

A meow from Murley alerts him to the fact his jaw is no longer aligned with the rest of his face. He clamps it shut, quickly, biting his lip in the process.

“Lesson learned.” A blissfully dark haired Sabine says. Hair the color of caf dangles past her chin, brushing against her shoulders, a few strands hitting her collarbone. “Worst two weeks of my life so far. I am never dying my hair anything close to red again."

The image shifts to Sabine sitting with a towel wrapped around her hair.

“I wish you were here.”

Sabine closes her eyes and yawns, leaning her head back against the back of the coach.

“Force, Ezra. I just don’t know what to do without you around sometimes. I don’t see much of Hera or Zeb these days, which doesn’t help. I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.

“I guess I have to, though. I can’t go anywhere or do anything until this dye is done. And there’s still so much to do here on Lothal.”

The hologram pauses and skips forward to Sabine unwrapping her freshly-dyed hair. It’s a damp teal blue fading into white.

The next image to appear is not Sabine, but Jacen. The little boy’s face takes up the entire span of the hologram, one lock of green hair brushing against the recorder for a moment before Sabine yanks him back.

“I told you to be careful, Jacen.” She scolds, teasingly, setting him on his lap.

“Do you want to tell your big brother what you did?”

“I helped Aunt ‘Bine dye her hair!” Jacen giggles, hands gathering some of her hair and tossing it in front of the projector. Her brilliant green hair. Then he scampers down to go find Murley.

“Don’t worry. It’s temporary,” Sabine laughs and tosses it around, too.

Her hair is blonde next - kriff , it looks so weird on her - and then purple again. She doesn’t say anything in these brief clips; Murley’s in the second one, playing with her padawan braid.

Then a Sabine with a purple and pink gradient comes into view.

“It’s been five years now.” She sighs, and Ezra can practically hear the weight she’s carrying. He has some idea what she was going to say next, from what first Sabine herself and then Hera had told him about what happened. It doesn’t make it any easier.

“The Empire’s gone. So that’s nice. Well, almost gone. A few stragglers but Hera and Zeb’s recruits will finish them off soon enough. And Jacen, if he has his way.” She smiles, slightly.

The fond expression quickly disappears and as she turns her head slightly Ezra notices her padawan braid is conspicuously absent.

“But the Empire struck one last blow. A retaliation against random worlds. Hera says one of the defectors called it Operation Cinder.

“They bombed Mandalore.”

“I haven’t heard anything from Krownest. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. But still, millions. I wasn’t- I couldn’t save them. My people.”

The transmission cut out and stayed quiet for several seconds.

Sabine reappears with jet black hair, pinned up in a bun with the Clan Wren clip Ezra found earlier.

“Krownest’s gone.” She sniffles, wipes her nose on the back of her orange shirt. “Mom. Dad. Tristan.”

“I wish you were here. I don’t know- I don’t know how you did it.”

Seven more hairstyles appear in rapid succession, solid pictures, flicks of hair. Black with pink tips. Black with green tips. Black with blonde tips. Brown, the color of her brother’s hair. Her natural color? Ezra wonders, absently. The same brown, but faded into pale pink. Then a whole head of pink, slightly darker. Pink into orange.

And then purple faded into white, the reverse of the dye job she’d done after Malachor. The one she’d let him pick, that day she forced him to snap out of his trance with Maul and be himself again, if only for a few hours. It’s braided up into a severe bun, almost like the one Ezra remembers her mother wearing all those ages ago.

This Sabine sits still in front of the camera for a few seconds, then speaks.

“Ten years.” She said. “What are you like now, Ezra? Have you changed your hair at all? Does the Chimaera have any razors or do you have a scraggly beard?” Ezra scratches his chin, fingers deep in his magnificent beard, and he scoffs slightly at Sabine’s lack of faith in his ability to grow facial hair.

“I miss you.”

Then she shakes her head, letting it out. Hair spills past her shoulders, past her elbows, almost to her waist. Ezra gasps. Murley opens one eye and looks over at him, annoyed.

Ezra doesn’t care.

He’s transfixed, wondering what it would have been like to run his fingers through Sabine's long hair, and how much she’d experimented with that much canvas.

He doesn’t have to wonder long.

Sabine appears again with hair dyed four different colors: Orange into yellow into pink into purple.

“Pretty cool, huh?” She asks. “I think it’s getting a little too long, though.”

She chops it off, live, on screen. She doesn’t say much - just a bit about how she misses even Chopper but doesn’t get to see any of the old crew often.

“I miss you the most, though.” She confesses. “Hera told me that maybe recording would help, and I think it has. But I’m ready to start looking for you. Really looking. Not just researching and waiting on Ahsoka or Hera to find a lead.”

She finishes with her hair still well past her shoulders.

“Not yet, though. I still have a piece of artwork to finish.”

One last Sabine pops up, with freshly dyed purple-pink-orange hair. “Almost done.” She says.

Then a much more familiar Sabine pops up - shortly cropped, dark purple hair. A bit of makeup. And armor.

“It’s time. Ahsoka found something, just after I finished my mural in Capital City. I can't wait to bring you home."

The holo goes still, fades, and Ezra's sure it's done.

He bends down to pet Murley and nearly falls over when Sabine's voice came back a solid thirty seconds later. He scrambles back to his feet, grabbing the counter to pull himself up. He found himself staring right into Holo-Sabine’s eyes.

“If you’re seeing this, I guess I’m not there to hit pause and I owe you an explanation.

“I knew you were counting on me, and I knew you needed to come home. There’s so much in the galaxy you need to catch up on. And you have a little brother to meet.” Sabine smiles, a hint of sorrow lacing her expression.

“But most of all, I needed you. Whatever it took. If I’m not here…I don’t have any regrets. I’m just glad you’re home.”

She pauses a moment, runs a hand through her too-short hair, lets out a shaky breath.

“Ni kar’taylir darasuum, Ezra Bridger.”

Ni kar’taylir darasuum ?

Ezra furrows his brow as he pulls out a datapad and types in the best approximation of Sabine’s words. Murley jumps up and meows, and Ezra pushes him aside gently to reveal the confirmation of the hunch he's had she held him on Peridea like she never wanted to let him go.

“I hold you in my heart forever,” literally.

Or, in plain Galactic Basic, “I love you.”

#star wars #star wars rebels #star wars rebels fanfic #sabezra #sabezra week #sabezraweek #sabezraweek2023 #sabezra week 2023 #i am the worst ever at titles #oops

51 notes · View notes

mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 1 year

Text

Just your regular trip to the mall

Warnings: suggestive content but not too explicit

It's a rainy day with nothing to do - but Wei Ying isn't the type to just laze about the house, so he suggested he and Lan Zhan go to the mall. It's sales season after all - maybe they find something nice to buy for A-Yuan for when he returns from his school trip.

It's a short distance by car and Wei Ying loves watching his husband drive, a focused look on his handsome face and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal his toned arms - not to mention the redness of his ears when Wei Ying tells him how irresistible he looks doing it.

It's obvious all eyes are on them when they walk into the building, and Wei Ying delights into the possessive arm Lan Zhan wraps around his waist as people walk past, looking at them more or less subtly.

Before they get any shopping done, though, Wei Ying drags Lan Zhan into a coffee shop. After all, he hasn't had his dose of caffeine yet.

The barista seems a bit flustered when Wei Ying cracks a joke and winks at her, but all color drains from her face immediately after she hears him order "a large black coffee with 6 shots of espresso and no sugar".

"I apologize for asking again but... six? That's... really strong coffee, sir..."

"Oh, I know, I know!" And Wei Ying smiles in a way that's only slightly mischevious. "This one", and he points towards Lan Zhan, "...has kept me up for hours last night and I really need something to keep me awake for the day!"

The barista flushes red again and scurries off to make Wei Ying's order. Lan Zhan sends his husband a warning look and fishes through his thick wallet for a large tip. The poor lady definitely needed it after that.

They chose a seat by a window, watching the rain as Wei Ying daintily sipped at his drink. "This is almost as hot as you, Lan-er-gege~"

"Make sure you don't burn your tongue. I will need it later."

Wei Ying nearly chokes at that. "So shameless, Lan Zhan!"

---

The table next to them is soon occupied by two young ladies - who seem too caught up in their conversation to notice how loudly they are speaking.

"I am telling you, I don't regret buying that mascara at all!"

"Didn't you say it runs immediately? 50 dollars for nothing!"

"You're really not creative at all! It may not be good for makeup, but you know what else it's good for?"

"What?"

"Blowjobs!"

"How so? You're gonna put mascara on his pubes or what?"

"How uncreative! I'm putting the mascara on me, so when I blow him, it runs down my face! He loves it so much!"

Wei Ying snickers at the conversation and gives Lan Zhan a sultry smile.

"I should ask them what brand they're talking about. I bet you'll love me looking up at you with bruised lips and runny mascara while you-"

"Wei Ying."

"What, you wouldn't?"

Lan Zhan huffs, ears red. "...I didn't say that."

"Of course not, you don't lie." Then Wei Ying gets up from his seat and casually walks up to the ladies.

Lan Zhan wishes he didn't have to hear such an explicit conversation. Women (and Wei Ying) are so open about such things!

---

They enter a clothing store next. It's one of the largest in the mall, with sections for both men, women and children, maternity clothing and accessories.

Wei Ying seems to be picking up something from everywhere, throwing his choices at Lan Zhan to hold onto.

He's just about to go to the register when his eyes glint in that playful way Lan Zhan both loves and fears, and says, "Lan Zhan, I've just noticed something! They put the lingerie section right next to the maternity stuff. I wonder if that's an indirect advertising method!"

Lan Zhan sighs.

Wei Ying, disatissfied with the reaction, rushes to pick something Lan Zhan doesn't manage to see and then calls out to him to go to the fitting rooms.

He emerges from there in a red lace bodice, his hair down. "Think you'll have me shop in the maternity section soon?"

Lan Zhan doesn't pounce him right then and there only because a sales assistant passes too close by.

They get the bodice.

---

Letting Wei Ying loose in a toy store is a mistake - and Lan Zhan learned the hard way as the cashier fills up a third large shopping bag with various toys and plushies.

"A-Yuan's gonna love these! I can't wait to try them together!"

The cashiers looks a bit terrified as the total moves into the four digits, but neither of her two clients appear fazed.

"I believe Wei Ying said we should not spoil our son so much."

"Yeah, but he's been doing great in school and in his extracurriculars and the Easter Bunny is coming anyway, he deserves it!"

"I agree. But why were you angry at me when I bought him-"

"He doesn't need a PS5 of all things, Lan Zhan. He's too young, that's why I told you to reel in with the spoiling."

"Children love the PS5, I was told."

"Well I also love a lot of things, that doesn't mean I get them!"

"What would Wei Ying like that he doesn't have? I can buy it, no matter what it is."

He hands the cashier a black card as he says it and the woman looks wistfully at him, then at Wei Ying. "They don't make men like this anymore..."

---

Wei Ying very disrespectfully watches Lan Zhan carrying the dozens of heavy shopping bags with no effort at all, loading up the car without breaking a sweat.

"You're so strong, Lan Zhan~ I bet you could hold me up with one hand!"

"Wei Ying."

"Well, it's true isn't it? You've held me up in the air before while we-"

Wei Ying finds himself pinned to the boot of the car. "Shut up, or I will make you - here in the middle of the parking lot."

"As if you'd let anyone else see the way I look when you-"

"Is everything alright, sir?" One of the security guards asks, not too good at concealing a knowing smirk.

Lan Zhan lets go of Wei Ying and immediately apologizes as he gets into the car, husband in tow.

"You will put me into jail."

"That's alright, they have conjugal visits~"

"Not everyday."

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts

60 notes · View notes

tsaritza-mika · 2 years

Note

Helloooo can u do a mc who is Muslim w the main six plzzzz

I certainly can ^--^

I will be very upfront tho, I am largely a secular person outside of my literal mish-mash of random beliefs. I also tend to see most characters that way, unless otherwise specified within their respective canon universe, so this will be done as if the Main 6 either have their own beliefs, or none at all. This is not meant to offend anyone in particular who see otherwise. Ok, disclaimer over XDDD

~~~~~***~~~~~

The Main 6 w/ a Muslim MC

Asra

Is thrilled if you invite him to join you in practicing. He’s learned little bits and pieces of a ton of other religions during his travels, even joined in a few celebrations here and there, but this time it’s special. This time it’s with you

Absolutely adapts his cooking for your religious dietary restrictions. As a total foodie, he’ll even go the extra mile to try finding the most delicious versions of anything to fit your needs as well

Need to set aside time for prayer while traveling? Need or desire privacy? Of course you have it. He’ll be just a short walk away, ready to go whenever you are

Has no trouble at all fasting with you during Ramadan. Stocks up on a bunch of stuff for crafts to help pass the time so you aren’t thinking of food when the last few hours start to really sink in

Would love to help you add a few things of significance to the shop if you wanted

If you cover your hair/head, Asra will be all about making special ones for you. Tie-dye, fabric paints, needlepoint designs, even a few colorful beads if you let him.

Nadia

Familiar with the religion and its practices, but please, do tell her more

She’s had to both visit and entertain various officials and special guests who practice, so she’s happy to join in if you wish for her to

Has a great appreciation for Arabic calligraphy, and makes sure to put your favorite Quran passages into true works of art just for you

Though in the past it's been so people don’t recognize her, she’ll gladly join you in covering her hair now and then. Who knows? Maybe she’ll come to like it as a norm

Helping you through those last few hours of fasting for Ramadan is a breeze. Nadia is nothing if not determined, so as if she would allow herself to fail in this

Please tell her more. She wants to know more, and she loves seeing your face when you speak about things that you are passionate about and are important to you

Julian

“Oh, so that’s why you cover your head? Thank goodness, darling, I was worried you might not love your beautiful hair as much as I do...”

Likely knows a bit of conversational Arabic from his travels, but doubtful he could read any of it. But please teach him, he’s an eager baby when it comes to sharing knowledge

Really gets into the stories you tell him from the Quran, and can also go off on tangents about similar ones he’s heard from all over

Totally fine with your dietary restrictions and that you don’t drink. Drinking has mostly been a social thing in the past, and unfortunately he’s used it to help cope with difficulties, so he could really stand to pull it back a little

You will get constant questions about how things work within your faith and if there are any details he needs to know. What’s the right way to interact, if there are any special ways? Has he been unknowingly disrespectful in the past due to his ignorance? What are the rules?

He tries daily to make sure you know he wants to know all of you, faith and everything included. But keep an eye on him, because we know he can sometimes go overboard trying to please <3

Portia

She is determined to learn how to wrap/cover your hair perfectly, and is very into the idea of trying so herself. Never know if it could end up being her new thing if she never tries~!

Totally all over the food part of things. She goes the extra mile to take any dietary needs/preferences, and making them tastier than the originals

Will go out of her way to surprise you with Arabic script embroidery she’s done herself on some of your clothes and/or head coverings. Sometimes she’ll even get daring and add a few beads for some extra sparkle

Not gonna lie, Ramadan is tough the first time around, but she powers through it because no one can stop Portia Devorak when she’s on a mission!

Please teach her some Arabic so she can read with you. She’s an adventurous soul, and wants to learn more about everything

Invite her to perform your daily prayers with you! Of course she’ll respect it if you want privacy, but she’ll be over the moon if you want her there with you

Muriel

Very chill with everything, most chill of all of them, let’s be honest

Fasting with you for Ramadan goes over easily enough. He’s gone without a meal here and there before, so doing it with you as a simple show of support for your beliefs is easy

Literally the easiest to work with dietary and drinking restrictions based on your faith. He doesn’t mind not doing any of that, and he doesn’t even miss any of it

The easiest alongside Nadia when it comes to your daily prayers. Invite him if you wish, he’s not hurt if you’d rather have privacy. The important thing to him is you always come back, and hopefully happier and a little more peaceful in the process

Nobody even considers being disrespectful and removing your head wear when he’s with you. His past aside, Muriel is a huge dude, and that alone is enough of a deterrent

He will ask you about things, but it’s better if you offer the first few times. He doesn’t want to pester you, but he also wants to know more about you and how your faith has shaped you

Lucio

He... ok look, Lucio adores you; loves you to the ends of the Earth and back, but things like religion and religious practices have never been his forte. You’re gonna have to be patient with him, but the effort is definitely there.

Tries so hard to learn what everything means and why it’s significant to you, but he does struggle

The one part he gets without issue is that it’s a ‘dry religion’, so you both can sit down and talk about things. He doesn’t really ‘need’ to drink, so he’ll at least try to abstain to show you support, but he might still end up having a few if it’s for things like fancy dinners or important gatherings

Never really understood things like ‘prayers’, but is more than fine with giving you a special room in the palace so you can have your privacy during

If you cover your hair/head, it’s just another fabulous accessory to gift you from the best artisans and tailors he can find

Enjoys the stories and passages you tell him from the Quran, tries to remember your favorites

48 notes · View notes

survey--s · 2 years

Text

370.

Habits

Do you tend to speed when you drive? Hmm, I rarely break the limit but I am one of those people who probably drives too fast down country lanes lol. I don’t really like overtaking people or anything though, I get too worried.

Do you smoke cigarettes? No. I have done in the past, though.

Does your temper flare a lot? Not really. I do get easily irritated but that rarely transfers into full-blown anger.

Do you get emotional easily? Definitely.

Do you get obnoxious when you're drunk? I don’t drink anymore.

Which shoe goes on first? Right one, I think? I don’t really pay much attention to be honest, lol.

Are you lazy? I’m a really hard worker when it comes to my business and I work hard at my riding, but during my down time, I do like to just relax and watch TV and mess about online. My job is really physical though - if I just sat at a desk all day I suspect I’d have more energy lol.

Name one thing you do that people always tell you about. Check my phone far too often.

Are you superstitious? Not in the slightest.

Do you get bored with relationships quickly? Nope.

Can you sleep without blankets covering you? I can but I much prefer to have a blanket or something covering me.

What position do you sleep in? On my side.

What do you do when you're angry? Complain.

What do you do when you're sad? Cry, rant online, go out for a walk or a drive to clear my head.

Who do you call when you have a bad day? Normally my mum.

YOUR ABC'S

A - is for the last person that made you ANGRY. A couple at the beach who had their aggressive collie off the lead and allowed it to approach me and my dogs who were sat nicely on their leads.

B - is for BEER you prefer. I’m not really a big fan of beer.

C - is for do you have a CAT? We have three black cats.

D - is for can you DANCE? I actually did a few grades in dance/ballet as a kid, but I certainly couldn’t do any of it nowadays lol.

E - is for do you have your EARS pierced? Yes, I have eight piercings in my ears now, but it’s been 14-15 in the past.

F - is for your best FRIEND. I don’t have one, really.

G - is for did you ever watch GUTS on Nickelodeon? I’ve never heard of it, so I’m going to go with no, lol.

H - is for the last person who HUGGED you? Mike.

I - is for close your eyes.. what IMAGE do you see? Nothing, just darkness.

J - is for have you ever been to JAIL? Nope.

K - is for when is the last time you flew a KITE? About six years ago when Mike tried to teach me to fly one of those huge beach kite things. I wasn’t very good at it lol.

L - is for the LOVE of your life. Mike.

M - is for the last piece of MAIL you got. A pair of boots I ordered off eBay for work.

N - is for do you remember NERF guns? I mean, they still existed but I’ve never owned or used one before.

O - is for do you OWN a car? I do own a car, yes.

P - is for your favorite PASTTIME. Watching TV, taking surveys, walking dogs, riding, eating and sleeping lol.

Q - is for do you like peace & QUIET? I do, but equally I don’t like sitting in silence. I like background noise (music or TV) but I don’t really like sitting and talking or having to deal with small talk.

R - is for do you like the color RED? Not bright red, but I love burgundy and dark shades of red like that.

S - is for how many hours of SLEEP you need to function? I can function on 4-5. My average is 7-8 hours and my ideal would be 9-10, but that pretty much never happens lol.

T - is for what TIME is it? It’s currently 2.16pm.

U - is for what is UNDER your bed? Nothing on my side. Mike’s side is just a storage space for a whole load of crap lol. It stresses me out so I just pretend it’s not there.

V - is for what you did last VALENTINE'S day. I worked, lol. We never do anything for hallmark holidays like that.

W - is for do you drink a lot of WATER? No.

X - is for have you ever had an X-RAY? Yeah, numerous ones on my teeth and some on my head and hips.

Y - is for the last person you YELLED at. Mike, but not aggressively, more to get him to hear me as I couldn’t be bothered to get up and move lol.

Z - is for have you ever watched ZORRO? Nope.

RANDOM

Who do you wish you could hang out with right now? Nobody. I’m fucking exhausted and my back and hips are killing me. I’ve spent the day on the sofa with a hot water bottle as it even hurt to drive to feed the cats this morning.

Name one thing you absolutely can not stand. People who don’t use their indicators.

Where do you spend most of your time? Out walking dogs or at home.

If you could fly, where would you go first? Somewhere hot and sunny.

What was the best vacation you've ever been on? Skiing in Canada.

Have you ever hit a squirrel when you were driving? I’m sure I have - I was always taught that for anything smaller than a cat, it’s safer to keep going than to slam on the brakes or swerve, as a small animal won’t damage your car, but slamming/swerving will almost certainly cause an accident and a lot of damage.

Did your car ever break down? I’ve had a couple of flat tyres but it’s never just stopped driving or anything.

What's your favorite thing to do on the weekend? Sleep.

What radio station do you listen to most often? The only radio station I ever listen to is Radio One.

Pick one: Papa John's, Dominoes, or Pizza Hut. Papa John’s but we don’t have one anywhere near us unfortunately.

What is the longest amount of time you've been awake? Almost 48 hours.

What would you do if you found out the world was ending in one week? I wouldn’t even be remotely surprised at this point, lol.

Do scary movies make you paranoid when you watch them alone? No, I just don’t enjoy them.

Name one thing you've lied about recently. I said I was full at work when I wasn’t lol. I had space but I was exhausted and couldn’t be bothered to take on an extra last-minute job.

What is the worst movie you've ever seen? Big Momma’s House 2.

Who was the first person to ever give you flowers? Probably my dad lol.

#survey #surveys

0 notes

tolietfrog · 2 years

Text

Anachronism

Chapter Two: We’re Not in Kansas Anymore, Charlotte

Summary: In 2017, Charlotte Pierce is not exactly thriving. She's reeling from a break-up and trying to move on. When she and her best friend, Julia, drive to the abandoned town of Hawkins, Indiana, Charlotte has two goals: tag some buildings and get over her ex. She certainly didn't expect to fall into the Upside Down and reappear in front of Police Chief Jim Hopper in 1983. Now Charlotte has to blend in until she can get back to her life. And what better way to blend in than to hang out with Eddie Munson and his crew? Oh, and do some major monster slaying along the way.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: hospitals, not edited (please let me know if I should add anything!)

Jim Hopper sat in the hospital waiting room, a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Powell scowled at him.

“Chief, I don’t think you can smoke in here.”

“Don’t care.”

Frankly, Jim needed that smoke. Needed that cig dangling off his bottom lip. Because now, he had a bigger problem.

Instead of finding Will Byers, they found someone else. A girl. A girl who couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Jim remembered the clenching in his gut when he saw her, dazed and bloody and stumbling towards them. She was so pale. So fucking pale, and part of him couldn’t help but think that she looked like Sarah towards the end.

Maybe that’s why he scooped her up in his arms. Carried her to his car, drove her to the hospital. Maybe that’s why he had been sitting here for the past six hours, waiting on an update from the doctor.

“Chief?”

Jim stood quickly, brushing off his pants and dousing his cigarette on the arm of the chair. A doctor had walked out of the double doors.

“Yeah? How is she?”

Dr. —Jim glanced at her name tag—Greene sighed and looked down at her clipboard, “She’s sleeping. Not by choice.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. The doctor continued.

“She woke up about thirty minutes ago, screaming. Begging for us to find a person called Julia Hampton. When I told her to calm down, that she was in the Hawkins Hospital, well, that set her off even more. I did a quick concussion test, asking her the year and the president. She couldn’t answer, so I told her. Reagan, 1983. She started shouting some… colorful words at me,” Dr. Greene tapped the back of her clipboard.

Powell chuckled, “Spitfire, huh?”

“A nice way to put it,” Dr. Greene answered, “We’re planning on calling child services so they can attempt to find her next of kin. And get her into foster care for the time being.”

“No,” Jim interjected.

“No?” Dr. Greene looked at him. Powell cocked his head.

“Look, that kid is scared. Confused. Putting her in foster care? That isn’t going to solve a thing,” Jim was rambling, words spilling out of his mouth before he could shove them back down his throat, “I’ll take her. She can stay at my place. Until we find next of kin.”

Greene and Powell stared at him.

“Chief,” Dr. Greene started, “I don’t know if that is exactly within the bounds of the rules.”

“This is Hawkins,” Jim asserted, “Nothing ever happens here. Until now. And I’m not sending this kid into foster care. So she’s coming with me. End of story.”

Greene exhaled, “I’ll get the paperwork and call child services so they can transfer her care to you for the time being. You want to go see her?”

“Yeah.”

Dr. Greene motioned for Powell and Jim to follow her, and then walked through the double doors she had come out of.

“Chief,” Powell started, “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“Is your house even child proof? You smoke, you drink, you have lots of women over. You think a kid needs to hear that?”

Jim narrowed his eyes, “She’s easily a teenager. Guarantee she’s either done that or been exposed to it. And I’ll cut down on the women while she’s living with me.”

“Uh-huh,” Powell monotoned, “Sure you will.”

Dr. Greene winded along the hall before stopping in front of a closed door.

“She’s in here,” She motioned, “Let us know when she wakes up. I’ll go give child services a call and get this sorted out.”

Dr. Greene breezed away and Jim opened the door. He and Powell sat in the chairs beside the girl’s bed.

“Jesus,” Powell said, “She looks rough.”

Rough was an understatement. Seeing this girl in the bright, fluorescent lights of a hospital accentuated the purple bags under her eyes, the cuts and scrapes on her face. Her left arm and hand were bandaged in a thick, white linen. Dried blood tinged the edges.

Her hair was tucked to one side on the pillow. It seemed like a nurse had attempted to wash the caked dirt and blood out of it with no avail. It was a faded pink, maybe it had once been dyed purple. Jim couldn’t tell with the dirt mucking it up.

“Chief, I think she’s waking up,” Powell leaned forward.

Her eyes were fluttering. Fingers slightly twitching.

Fluorescent light momentarily blinded Charlotte when she opened her eyes. She groaned, throwing an arm up to block it out.

“Welcome back to the living, kid. Have a nice nap?”

She blinked, lowering her arm, “Frog-man? Waiting at my bedside.”

The man beside Frog-man let out a howling laugh, “Gotta say, Chief, I think Frog-man is my new favorite nickname for you.”

“My name is not Frog-man. It’s Jim Hopper. Chief of Hawkins Police,” Not-Frog-Man-But-Actually-Jim-Hopper scowled.

Hopper. Hoppy. It made sense now.

“Well then,” Charlotte pursed her lips, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Chief Hopper?”

Hopper’s scowl deepened, “What’s your name, kid?”

Ignoring the question. Great.

“Charlotte Pierce.”

“You got any family, Charlotte?”

Charlotte paused. She remembered the doctor telling her it was 1983. And that this was Hawkins. Which the apparent Chief of Police had just confirmed.

Not possible. This had to be a sick joke, a prank. Julia was going to come out any minute and start laughing, asking if the Old Charlotte was back and better than ever.

But Julia couldn't have created that flesh-wall. Julia would never let her get hurt. Julia couldn’t get a bunch of adults on board with a stupid prank to make her best friend smile.

“What year is it?” Charlotte asked.

“1983,” Hopper answered.

“Place?”

“Hawkins, Indiana.”

“Are you fucking with me, Chief Jim Hopper?”

“Are you fucking with me, Charlotte Pierce?”

Hopper and Charlotte locked eyes. Charlotte ran through all the possible answers in her head.

My parents are actually probably children right now, and they didn’t even grow up in Indiana so good fucking luck finding them.

I was born in 2001. Yesterday was 2017. I must have really hit my head, sir, can you direct me to the nearest flesh-wall?

Is that pranked show about to crawl out from under my hospital bed? Can you ask them to hurry up?

“My parents are dead,” Charlotte settled on, “I don’t have any family.”

“What about that name you were shouting? Julia Hampton?”

A boulder settled in Charlotte’s gut. Julia. Julia, who wouldn’t be born for another seventeen years, if Chief Jim Hopper was telling the truth. Julia, who in 2017 was probably freaking out right now.

“Dead.”

“When’d that happen?”

“Recently.”

Hopper paused, looking at Charlotte for a moment. His face slackened. Finally, he said, “Alright. You’re coming home with me.”

“What?” Charlotte fully sat up.

“Kid, your parents are dead, we don’t have a guardian for you. The doctor is contacting social services, but who knows if that will turn anything up. You need a home, a routine. We’ll get you enrolled in school. What year are you?”

“Junior.”

“That’s good, maybe we can contact local school districts and see if any of them have your records.”

Charlotte snorted. Good fucking luck, she wanted to say.

Hopper stood up, “I’ll check with the doctor on social services and discharge papers for you. Powell, keep an eye on her.”

“Hey! I don’t need to be watched!”

Hopper looked an indignant Charlotte up and down, “Yeah. You do.”

He walked out of the room and the door slammed behind him. Charlotte slumped down in her bed, glancing at Powell.

“So are you like his bitch or something?”

“Hey!” Powell leaned forward, “Language.”

“So you are then.”

“Chief is my superior. But I’d like to say we’re also friends.”

“Mmhm.”

“Listen, Charlotte,” Powell said seriously, “I don’t know you or what has happened to you. I can only assume something awful that no one should have to experience. But what I do know—” He pointed at the door “—is that Hopper has a soft spot for kids. He already made up his mind about giving you a place to stay before he walked in this damn door. I wouldn’t have done the same. Not many people would. So lose the attitude and be grateful to the man who has had his heart ripped out one too many times.”

Charlotte glanced at Powell, her cheeks heating.

“You’re not so bad,” She said.

“Wait to make that judgment until Hopper makes me help you with your math homework.”

An hour later, Charlotte had been discharged and was sitting in the front seat of Hopper’s car with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She had on her dirty jeans and a scrub top. Her jacket was crumpled on the floor.

“How far did you get into your Junior year?” Hopper asked, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t. I haven’t started.”

“Jesus, kid, how long have you been on your own?”

Charlotte looked out the window at the bare trees and leaves littering the ground, “What month is it?”

“November.”

“About four months, then, I guess. Feels like less than a day to me.”

Hopper turned down a gravel road, “I’ll give the school a call when we get back to my place. We’ll see what we can do about getting you in.”

“Thanks.”

“In the meantime,” Hopper tapped the wheel, coming to a slow stop and subsequent turn into a drive, “We’ll get you set up in my guest room. Go shopping, get you some clothes, anything else you need.”

Hopper stopped in front of a run down trailer and threw the car into park, “It’s not much but it’s home.”

Charlotte stepped out of the car and the brisk wind hit her face. Her hair blew around—still in chunks due to whatever grime had gotten into it. She grabbed her jacket and shut the car door. Rocked back and forth on her heels for a moment.

Hopper walked around the side of his car and up onto the tiny porch. He jammed a key into the lock and jiggled it around for a moment before the door creaked open. He turned, seeing Charlotte still standing by the car.

“Come on, kid.”

Charlotte walked up and into the trailer. Or, man cave. Boy, did it smell like a bachelor pad. Microwave dinner tins, empty beer bottles, and cigarettes littered the living room. Hopper noticed Charlotte looking around and rubbed the back of his head.

“Not exactly the cleanest person, I guess.”

Charlotte cracked a smile, “Guess you might need a roommate after all. We can make a chore chart.”

“Chore chart? What the hell is a chore chart?”

Charlotte just laughed as Hopper guided her back to the guest bedroom. He opened the door and flicked on the light.

“I’ll let you get settled. I’ll go give the school a call.”

Charlotte barely registered Hopper leaving her. The room before her was reasonably-sized, with a full sized bed crammed in the corner. It had a closet, a dresser, a mirror. It had bare walls. Charlotte walked over the dresser and ran a finger across the surface. Dusty, but not bad. She walked over to the bed and sat down, letting her weight sink in. Letting everything sink in.

She was alone. In 1983. Julia was gone. Her parents were gone. Jen was—well, Jen had been gone before this. She had lost her phone at some point too, so she couldn’t even go back and look at pictures. Would her phone have even worked in 1983? Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. A lump swelled in her throat. She tried to swallow it, but it just choked her instead.

She gasped for breath and a loud, rib-crushing sob escaped her lips. Tears fell down her face and she could taste the salt mixed with snot. Gone. Her life. Her friends. Her family. Everything was gone. Sob. After sob. After sob. At some point, Charlotte had started to hyperventilate.

She just let it loose. Let all her emotions fall out into the dusty room. Wipe her bare.

What she didn’t know was that Hopper was leaning against the wall outside her new room, outside her view.

And he was crying too.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x original character #jim hopper

1 note · View note

ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Text

Buds of Marigold. Yan Childe x Reader x Yan Scaramouche

Warnings: Implied forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, depictions of anxiety, darling threatening violence against someone, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 2.5k.

“I never thought the day would come where I’d be so stumped,” Ying’er runs her fingers over glass bottles of essential oils and varying plant nectars. “For such an important customer too… everything needs to be perfect.”

You don’t lift your eyes from the task in your hands, scrubbing valiantly at a stain blemishing an incense pot. To affirm you have been listening, even if you won’t spare her a glance until you’ve finished cleaning, you hum with a rising intonation. Ying’er sinks to the ground with all the grace of a drunken sailor, sniffling in a final attempt to pry out your sympathy.

She hobbles over to where you’re sitting and places her head on your lap. Your body tenses at the sudden touch, but you steady your breathing before it can get noticeable.

“Oh, almighty Yun, the lost Archon of fragrances, have thee no pity for thy devout follower,” Ying’er lifts the back of her hand and presses it against her forehead in a show of unparalleled theatrics. The sight does as she intended, a light giggle leaving your lips at the impromptu melodrama. Her timing lines up well as the stubborn grime you were fighting finally concedes.

You place the incense pot aside and sheepishly pat her head. “Ying’er, how are you going to learn if I give you the answers every time?”

“By your ingenious example!” She exclaims, jutting out her lower lip into a pout. “I’ve already picked out the base, I just need a little nudging in the right direction for the top and mid notes.”

Your eyes soften and your heart is strum with conviction. You soothe your grumbling friend by stroking her hair, humming a soft tune, all the while feeling somewhat baffled by your growth thus far. A few moons ago, you couldn’t have pictured allowing yourself to be touched like this by anyone. It wouldn’t matter how innocent the contact was. The moment someone got too close for comfort, you were willing to reduce them to nothing but a pile of cinders.

You pause your ministrations and sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you compose your perfume. This is the last time though, okay?”

Ying’er ailments seemingly vaporize into the air at your begrudging assistance. She shoots up from her kneeling position like her feet were coiled springs, an overflow of gratitude fumbling past her lips.

“You’re the best, Yun,” she praises and pinches your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Now that I’ve won you over with my charms, how about—”

The front door’s chimes ring, alerting you both of someone entering. You two exchange a look of confusion, as Scent of Spring is closed for the day, the oil lanterns extinguished and doors locked. Your finger twitches by your side in anticipation. Ying’er is blissfully ignorant to your Vision and subsequent ability to command forward a blade, a façade you wish to sustain.

“I’ll handle it,” Ying’er says before you can contemplate your options another second. You nod, an unspoken appreciation etched onto your countenance. The details of your circumstances were purposefully murky and she never presses. Whatever conclusions Ying’er has come to, you prefer it stays that way, not wanting to upset the delicate balance that is your current life.

You straighten out her collar which had wrinkled. “Call me if anything’s wrong.”

Ying’er winks reassuringly and presses her hands over yours, the touch featherlight. “I’m a fearsome opponent, no one would dare cross me.”

Let’s hope that’s true, you think. Frowning, you observe her retreating figure, taking caution to remain out of sight. Ying’er steps out of the backroom, the thick wooden door closing loudly behind her. You keen your ears to listen, cursing internally over how the thick walls muffle their voices. Her voice is one you instantly recognize, but the other belongs to someone with a deeper timbre. Your boss is an elderly woman, so that rules her out. A Millieth, perhaps?

You’re not left waiting for long, much to your relief. Ying’er pops her head back in a few minutes later.

“It was just a returning customer who was pleased with his latest commission, the one you helped me with no less. He had nothing but high praises for it!”

Waves of relief crash over you, but your senses remain on high alert.

“I’m happy to hear that. Still, how did he manage to get in? Didn’t you lock up for the night?” You inquire, hoping you don’t sound overly paranoid. In the back of your mind, you can’t fully discount the idea that it’s him, the thought alone enough to have you shaking in place.

“Must’ve forgotten or something,” she shrugs. You let out a breath you were holding in at her nonchalance, it seems plausible given her airheaded nature. “By the way, Yun, can we work on the perfume in the morning? I just realized how tired I am.”

“Of course. It has been a long day... I’ll finish things up here, go home and get some rest.”

Ying’er waves and wishes you a good night.

It’s now your turn to slump onto the ground, grasping your chest when your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you tell yourself. Everything is going to be okay.

This peaceful existence that you’ve fought tooth and nail to build for yourself… the only way it could ever get be stolen from your hands is if air no longer filled your lungs. Your fingers travel underneath the foreign fabric of your Liyue garments, the warmth of your pulsating Vision giving you solace. Tending to the last few chores, your subconscious drifts elsewhere, to an island beyond the sea. What is it you would be doing this time of day again? Ironically enough, you realize you’d be working with incense as you are now, but for different reasons. The reason you excel with curating incense to produce the best aroma is because you were trained to do so.

Your work now is your lifeblood, giving you enough to scrape by undetected. Those days, however, were a different story. It constituted survival like now, but to a far more humiliating degree. It was expected of you to perform your duties with grace and discipline. You would retire early to your shared chambers, prepare and burn your husband’s favorite incense, and fuss over your appearance in the vanity. Then you would loosen the sash of your obi, just enough so that if it had been a frustrating day, he could lose himself in your body for a momentary escape. Those customs had been ingrained into your mind. Had you needed to, you’re certain you could’ve done everything with your eyes closed from memory.

You head for the back exit. Surely, your past self would be thrilled to know your meticulous plans had come to fruition. All those smiles through gritted teeth, submissive language, and patience that could rival that of a god… everything was worth it.

Now you’re no longer the number Six of the Fatui's Eleven Harbingers’ spouse. You’ve taken the identity of Yun, a Visionless worker for a perfume shop in Liyue, everyday defined by freedom. To do as you please, go where you please, speak to who you please. The little details that were stolen from you by his hands return like tentative buds in spring.

You’ve yet to fully assimilate with Liyue’s cuisine, but it’s steadily growing on you. Maybe you’ll make an Inazuma-inspired dish tonight? In the months that have passed, you’ve found a taste for your nation’s food coming back. So as not to repeat Ying’er’s mistake, you double-check the backdoor’s locks, finding it is as it should be. Behind the humble shop is an alley which you use to creep back home. It’s best not to risk traveling out in the open if you can avoid it, you never know what eyes might be hiding in plain sight.

“Liyue apparel compliments you very well.”

With the speed of a descending phoenix, you pivot on your heel, summoning your weapon and pressing it to the jugular of whoever spoke just now. Squinting, your eyes take a few long seconds to adjust. Once they do, your body feels like it’s being drug into the underworld, the air in your lungs forced out. This man… you’ve seen him before. He gives you an all teeth grin, azure eyes swirling with delight and face contorting in amusement.

You remain steadfast through your bewilderment. “Try and scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not much of a screamer,” Childe replies, laughing as if the situation was comical. “It’s good to see you too, [First]. Never thought I’d happen upon an old face in Liyue. I knew I recognized that unique combination of perfume, looks like I was right.”

It hits you that this is the first time you’ve heard your actual name in months. How Childe says it doesn’t feel right, he utters it with familiarity. Though, from what you remember, he’s never been known for having boundaries. Scaramouche would complain about his conduct for hours if given the opportunity. This would be the first time you’ve spoken with him, not from a lack of trying on his behalf. When Childe paid a visit to your husband’s estate, you were expected to be present at the start of their meetings. They would discuss business together while you stood there and looked easy on the eyes. Occasionally, you would refill their tea, but that was all you were permitted to do.

The look Scaramouche shot Childe when the latter tried speaking with you was enough to give you nightmares for days.

“What… what are you going to do now?” You murmur, anticipating the worst. This isn’t going to end well no matter what. If Fatui are in Liyue, that means Childe’s likely told someone where he was going; meaning that him going missing would be suspicious and warrant an investigation. On the other hand, who is to say he won’t just return you to Scaramouche if you let him live? You doubt your tears and pleading would have any effect on the youngest Harbinger. He’s similar to your husband — acting altruistic and kind — only to show their true colors when it suits them best.

“Right now? I’m trying not to get my throat slit,” he raises an eyebrow like that was the most obvious answer.

You bite your lower lip. “We both know you could get out of this hold if you wanted to.”

“Emphasis on the ‘if I wanted to’ part. As of right now, I don’t believe I do, being held by you is rather enjoyable,” Childe tests the waters by moving forward, humming in contentment when you lessen your grip as not to slice through his skin. “See? You’ve never even killed someone before. Call it intuition, but I don’t think you could.”

He reconsiders the proposition for a second. “Well, maybe if it was him...”

“You’re as insufferable as I remember,” you hiss, imbuing heat into your blade. Childe barely backs off and the unspoken threat. “Everyone who refuses to take me seriously comes to regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I fully agree with that. The Balladeer reduced you to nothing but a pretty little ornament. He underestimated you and this is the consequence.” Childe has an easier time maintaining eye contact than you do. It’s another minute detail that expresses the gap in your experience. You may be adequately trained in combat, but that pales in comparison when faced with a trained killer. This sorry charade will end the moment he wants it to.

Hate floods through your veins like venom. He’s looking down on you, just in a different way than how your husband would. Where Scaramouche was condescending and sadistic, Childe is brutally honest and teasing. It’s a split-second decision on your behalf, one motivated by the desire to prove this smug bastard wrong more than self-preservation. You loosen your grip on him and jump back. It’s not a lot of space, however, it should be enough to allow you room to react when he strikes.

He goes silent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to get a read on you, now that you’re veering into unexpected territory.

“You were waiting for an opening, weren’t you?” Your words come out with more strength than you thought possible, deep from the chest and guttural. “Well, here you go. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Childe blinks. Once, twice. His shoulders start to tremble, his chest following soon after, and he lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Hearty laughter leaves his lips and pierces your self-esteem. You don’t understand what’s so humorous to him — though you’re well aware these Harbingers hold no humanity — repulsion flooding your system. This feels nostalgic in the worst ways possible. Early on in your marriage, Scaramouche would regard your resistance with a similar air of blatant dismissal, like your protests were nothing but a tantrum.

“You were wasted with him,” Childe’s loathsome cackling dies down, a maniacal grin splitting his face ear to ear. “Now I understand… the way you’re looking at me now is chilling. Exciting. In what ways have you evolved to survive? I love the fight in you, unlike him. Your adaptability is remarkable, like that of the most cunning prey. ”

Prey. The dehumanizing word makes you frown, yet you remain firm in your stance. This is the best chance, you think, now that you’ve managed to surprise him once. There’s plenty more where that came from. Tendrils of molten flames, like they were stolen from the sun itself, would make for a considerable challenge. Harbinger or not, he should know better than to charge in without thinking twice when you hold a Pyro Vision.

His face returns to a more casual visage and he waves his hand. “I never had any intention of bringing you back to Inazuma. You think a Mora reward would be a good enough motivator for me to do that?”

“T-then why are you here?” You challenge, ever the skeptic. Childe can weave a tale of lies as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean you’ll allow yourself to be ensnared in it.

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” his nonchalant admission leaves you speechless. “Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint. A pretty face with the feist to match. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snarl, your vision almost going red from the fury holding you hostage. Now that you no longer need to play the subservient partner, vulgarities come to you with ease, and you have no shortage of them for this blight in the flesh.

Childe’s smile widens. “No can do, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten the better of me this time. Could I tame you? Break your spirit better than he did? So show me your resolve to be free, sweet [First].”

He readies himself and you do as well. It’s in the dull illumination of the overhead lanterns that you realize there is no light in his eyes. How fitting, you think. That even his body has come to accept his lack of humanity.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ten second head start. After that... well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

#childe #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #scaramouche x reader #tartaglia #scaramouche genshin impact #yandere scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #my stuff

948 notes · View notes

books-and-catears · 3 years

Text

Right everyone hold on to your feels, you will shortly be boarding Angst Express 101. Just look at this brilliant and angsty ask I'm speechless. Even the pairings you asked for are so unique and well thought this is a perfect angst concept. And I really hope I could do this justice. Thank you so much for this ask @saltypaperdestiny

So very sorry for the delay, this was the longest ask I've ever written and boy was I delighted. Though I have to admit I had to cry through some of them myself. This is PART 1. Rest of the brothers and the newly Dateables coming soon in part 2.

Who loved you first? Pt1

Lucifer : Simeon

It was time, he decided. After months of being in your presence, his prideful heart had melted enough to recognise his feelings for you. You were the only he'd truly humble down for, because the affection and care you displayed was unparalled.

"MC please get dressed in something nice. I'm taking you to Ristorante Six as a thank you for helping me with Cerebus and the council paperwork" He says to you, barely containing the excitement. He couldn't wait to see the look on your face when he confessed and how you'd blush when you kissed your knuckles and your cheek and wait - What is Simeon doing in your room at this hour?

He didn't want to interrupt, surely it might be nothing to bother about. He patiently waited outside until he heard what Simeon said.

Simeon: MC... You look beautiful, what's the occasion?

MC: Aw thank you Simeon. You're always so kind. It's nothing much, Lucifer is taking me out as a thank you.

Simeon: Oh do you have to leave right away...?

MC: Oh no no. It's okay I have some more time.

Simeon: Well I originally came here to invite you to try Luke's latest attempt at some new recipes but now there's something else I feel like I must tell you. *Blushes* Something I've been holding back for too long.

MC: *joking* Oh what have you been hiding from me, angel? Speak I beseech you!

Simeon: *laughing and then going solemn* MC... *Takes your hands in his* I love you. I love you with all my heart.

MC: ....me? You love..me? But I'm not nearly-

Simeon: You're the most beautiful soul I've ever met. You radiate kindness and forgiveness and everything pure, overcoming the seven biggest evils you reside with. How can I not love you? Tell me, MC, will you accept me as yours?

Lucifer had a half a mind to storm in and laugh in Simeon's face. What a failure this attempt was going to be. His pride grew inside him as he stifled a laugh. MC was his and only his and now he would take pleasure in watching Simeon learn that. Surely MC was going to turn him down nicely but still. He creeped closer to the door, looking through the open crack.

MC: *in tears* Oh Simeon, I love you too! I never thought an angel could ever love me back!

Simeon: *kisses her knuckles* So... It's a yes?!

MC: Yes yes yes! Oh of course it's a yes! *Hugs him tight* My guardian angel who protects me in the dark, oh how I love you.

Simeon: *laughing as he picks you up and spins you around* Oh how happy you've made me MC! I'm the happiest being alive!

MC: *kissing his cheek* So am I, Simeon. I love you with all my heart.

It took Lucifer all his strength to not collapse or go into a violent frenzy. He balled up his fists so tight, the gloves started tearing at the seams. He watched you smiling so gleefully in his arms, looking so radiant. When Simeon dipped his head down to kiss you, the moonlight poured in through the window as if blessing your union.

It was supposed to be him. If only he made it to your room sooner, it could have been him. Embracing all your beauty, being the cause of the shining smile. IT COULD HAVE BEEN HIM.

At his best

"Are you really that happy with him?" he asks you later that night. The blush on your cheeks and that cheeky smile says it all.

"Congratulations MC." You look so joyous even at the thought of Simeon, how could he ruin that?

His temper is worse, more unforgiving towards all his brothers. He has to bear with your absence in the house all day. The fact that he knows you're at Purgatory hall, sipping tea and arm in arm with him pains him to think.

You bring Simeon along to the council to help him too. He outright denies and asks both of you to leave.

He only ever feels calm to see you alone, but that is even rarer with his brothers around to hog his remaining time.

Eventually makes his peace with it, maybe you're better off with someone as pure as yourself than a demon like him.

At his worst

His wrath is back. It's almost bad enough to birth another Satan. His sense of entitlement is through the roof.

He snaps three weeks later when Simeon and you tell everyone about it and decide that you'll be moving to Purgatory hall soon. Everyone claps and rejoices while Lucifer, drunk off Demonus, crashes the fun.

"Simeon, you dirty cheat, pretending to be all pure with your white wings and devious smile. How dare you?!" He says in calm and deadly rage.

"Lucifer... what's wrong-" You approach him to ask. He looks at you and you see the little tears in the corners.

"MC WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MINE THAT NIGHT. MINE. NOT YOURS. THE ONLY BEING THAT CAME CLOSE ENOUGH TO STEAL MY HEART AND YOU TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME."

Lucifer was louder now, hysterically angry, throwing his glass on the floor. "AND I KNOW THEY WOULD HAVE PICKED ME IF I GOT TO THEM FIRST! I LOVED THEM TOO DAMNIT." Simeon stood in front of you to protect you from Lucifer's rage. You hid your face in your hands, breaking down in sobs. What is happening? Where did you go wrong?

"Look at them, Lucifer. Look. At. What. You've. Done. And don't tell you've forgotten how many times you've threatened their lives before." Simeon said, holding you tight as you cried into his chest. "How dare you still feel like you deserve them?"

Lucifer sees you broken down, clutching onto Simeon for dear life, crying. You were smiling just a minute ago what has he done? Simeon blocked off his view with his pearly white wings. A reminder of what Lucifer used to be and cannot be again.

Mammon: Asmodeus

You were his human. And he was your first demon. No one was more territorial about you than him. So he finally made up his mind to seal the deal. No more lying about his feelings. He was going to claim you, once and for all. He imagined you smiling and running your hands through his hair and kissing him returning his feelings.

"MC! I brought the movie of the day!" He barged into your room excited, but you were nowhere to be found. Where could you have gone? It was your movie night with him. You were supposed to be waiting for him inside. He asked his brothers and they said you were with Asmo. He stomped his way up to Asmo's room and called out your name. No response. Not till he peeked inside the dark washroom. You were holding Asmo who looked very unstable and weak, sitting at the side of the bath.

MC: Asmo why don't you listen to me when I tell you not to drink so much!?

Asmo: I'm sorry MC *hic* I needed it today...

MC: Why? What's so scary that you don't have the confidence to do sober?

Asmo: MC do you think I look beautiful?

MC: Of course Asmo, you always do.

Asmo: Even with my runny make up, red nose and swollen eyes and this horrible complexion?

MC: *grabs his face* You're always beautiful to me MC.

Asmo: I...I stopped sleeping around MC. I couldn't do it anymore. *tearing up* Because to them, I'm only beautiful with a perfect covered up face.

MC: Asmo...they're blind and shallow demons who don't know anything! I know you, and I know how much more beautiful you are inside out. Don't listen to them.

Asmo feeling insecure about his appearance? What a big fat lie. Is this his new ploy to get to you? How irritating. It's not going to work, Mammon knows you're smarter than that. The Avatar of Lust can manipulate in many ways. Surely his human was smart enough to see through that!

Asmo: MC, I knew you were the one only who truly loved me. And today, I found the one I love too. Much more than I love myself. So I needed a drink to tell you this.

MC: Asmo...

Asmo: *holding your face gently* MC you saw past this pretty face. You saw the things I do more than what I am. Or what I pretend to be. I know it's hard to believe coming from the Avatar of Lust... But MC, I truly really love you. *looks down and sobs* But you probably can't believe me right?

MC: Asmo. Look at me. *You run your fingers through his hair and he looks up with teary eyes* I believe you. And I've loved you too. You're the only one who never hurt me. The one who willingly made a pact with me. You've been so sweet to me since I came. How could I love anyone else?

Asmo: MC I want you all to myself. Will you be mine? Only mine? I swear I'll keep you happy always!

MC: Of course Asmo. I'll all yours. I'm your little human. *giggling and kissing his head*

Asmo: *grabs and kisses you* MC, if you want, I can be your actual first tonight.

Mammon fell to his knees. He wanted to barge in and scream. He wanted to wrestle Asmo to the ground. He wanted to break his face for saying the words that were special to him and you. But your response had him paralysed. You...accepted him. You agreed to be his.

Silent tears streamed down his face as he watched you embracing Asmo, peppering kisses all over his face, running your hands through his hair, laughing and frolicking in the water with him. The colored moonlight through the stained glass danced on their skin like a scene from his favourite movie.

At his best

He cries to himself for days. Spends as much time outside as he can.

Maybe he is an idiot for thinking he had a chance with him. How could he compete with Asmo's charms.

Maybe it hurt more because Asmo didn't even have to use his charms.

Only ever tries to talk to you if he's sure your alone. One time he barged into your room and caught you and Asmo tangled up together and it broke him all over again.

He watched as you twirled around in a new outfit Asmo bought. He scoffs. He could have bought it for you too.

You both look so cheerful and in love, he decides to accept it. For the sake of his little brother and the human he loves.

At his worst

Breaks down and lets his emotions out in the worst way possible. Too desperate to win you back somehow.

Asmo and you were just telling Solomon and Simeon about your relationship when Mammon barged in through the doors of Purgatory halls.

"MC look! Look what I got you!" He came in all ragged. He knelt down and pulled out a ring. "Take me instead! I was your first wasn't I MC? Don't let him take my place please!"

"Mammon no... No please don't be this way...I'm sorry..." You kneel down next to him as he screams and sobs like a child. You feel guilty. You caused this. You lead him on. You fight your own tears as you keep apologising.

Asmo yanks you up and wraps his arms around you, staring down angrily at Mammon. "Mammon, leave."

Mammon lunged at Asmo. "I was going to tell them. That night was our movie night. You stole that night from me. YOU STOLE MY CHANCE AND MY MC!"

Asmo mocked at him with a sardonic laugh. "You still assume MC is yours without even telling them. You kept lying about your feelings and hurting them in the process. And yet, when they finally look happy, you come and make them cry. You are a scumbag Mammon."

Mammon looked at your tear stained face, nestled inside Asmo's arms and wings. He really felt like nothing but a scumbag.

Leviathan : Belphegor

Levi fell in love with you since your first act of kindness. As a shut-in whose only conversations were with his own eccentric and dismissive brothers, you were an angel who had brought him the gift of true companionship. Honestly he was okay being your best friend, until the day he started craving more. So he decided it was time to tell you.

'MC come to my room! I have a new game to show you!' It was a virtual dating game where he was going to confess digitally. You always loved his creative ways of doing simple stuff after all. He decided to play your favourite game while waiting for you. He even left the door ajar. Now he wished he didn't.

Belphie: MC do you have a minute?

MC: Yeah I was just heading to Levi's room what's up?

Belphie: I think I fallen in love with you, MC.

MC: .... Huh?

Levi almost burst out laughing hearing Belphie's confession. What kind of a bland confession is that? How can someone say that so easily? No that was definitely a joke on MC or something. Surely MC wouldn't take this seriously.

Belphie: I had a dream just now. About you.

MC: Uh huh?

Belphie: In that dream, we were up in the sky, among the stars. And you looked so pretty glittering along with them all. So I kissed you impulsively. And you kissed me back.

MC: ...that's a sweet dream. *blushes*

Belphie: *takes your hand* I woke up and my first thougt was I wish that was real. And then I realised it can be.

MC: ...

Belphie: I want to be able to kiss you always. I want to be able to take you far away. I want all your time. I love you MC. Be mine.

MC: Belphie I-

Belphie: I know, how can you possibly love your own murderer...? *Sighs* I cannot undo what I did. I'm sorry MC. I can only swear that I won't ever let that happen again.

MC: *smiles and cups his face* You were locked away for 3 millenia I can imagine your endless anger and grief for your sister. I forgave you long ago.

Belphie: So does that mean you'll accept me?

MC: You're already mine, silly. And now I'm yours. You're the only one I can relax with in the whole realm.

Belphie: MC... Come here. *holds you close and kisses you*

Levi's game screen displayed the message "GAME OVER: You lose". Levi couldn't see it clearly. His vision was blurred by the tears brimming on his eyes. You and Belphie looked to distant shadows on the moon.

He blamed himself for even thinking he had a chance with you. But maybe just...maybe if he had gotten there before? He stared at the screen and then at his spare console that he had declared yours. He picked up it, and locked it inside. Probably won't be needing it anytime soon.

At his best

He barely comes out of his room anymore. He tries to return your smile at breakfast but then returns hurriedly, leaving Beel to finish most of his food.

"Are you sure you want to play games? Wouldn't you rather go up to the attic" He mutters under his breath sometimes and then says it's nothing when you ask him.

Pains him when he sees you curled with Belphie in random places, dozing off. Might cover you with a blanket. Just you though.

Spites Belphie. A lot of people have said they look and act alike. But somehow you like sleeping more than anime and gaming?

Just accepts it as his fate. Atleast he's still your best friend, right?

At his worst

He's called the Avatar of Envy for a reason. He can barely hold it in seeing the both of you together constantly.

Belphie you and Beel were having a jolly time watching a movie and eating snacks while Belphie slept curled up in your lap. Levi happened to walk in while you were rubbing Belphie's head soothingly.

For some reason, Levi couldn't hold it in anymore. "UGH YOU FUCKING NORMIES!" he screamed out of frustration.

Belphie woke up drowsily when you stopped at stared at Levi holding back tears in the doorway. "Levi..what's wrong.." you call out to him.

He barges in and pushes Belphie off you and grabs your hands, tears falling and him screaming. "Why do you care, MC?! I'm a just disgusting shut in otaku right?! But guess what even as that I do more than just sleep and drool all fucking day! AND MORE IMPORTANTLY ATLEAST IM NOT THE ONE WHO KILLED YOU! So why him? WHY NOT ME MC?!"

"Levi...no..." You plead with him to calm down, tearing up yourself. You should have known. You should have known this would happen.

Belphie violently pushed Levi off you and grabbed him by the collar. "You were the first one to attack MC in this house. And I'm sure you would have killed them if not for Lucifer. So stop pretending you're better than me, you ridiculous creep. A shut in like you is worthless. The only thing you're good at is making MC distressed."

Levi looked at you trying to pull Belphie back, tears streaming down your face and hung his head low. It was simply an Otome game and MC didn't choose him.

Satan: Solomon

Satan took his time to fall. With late night studying session, every cat cafe date, every trip to the museum - he fell more and more each time. To the point where he wanted to spend every waking moment with you. And he was ready to tell you.

For a whole week, he kept writing and scrapping the perfect love letter for you. Then he realised you were someone who preferred simple honesty. "MC please wait for me in the library I'll be there shortly." He'd said before he dashed out to bring a boquet of your favourite flowers and a book which reminded him of you. He'd almost made it to the library, he saw you waiting inside for him eagerly. That was until someone flew in through the window.

Solomon? What's he doing at this hour? Satan peeked in through the half open library door. He wanted to be alone with you so he'd wait till Solomon was gone. He shouldn't have waited.

MC: Solomon! You scared me silly!

Solomon: *laughing* Your face just now MC...so adorable! Like a scared kitten!

MC: You wooshed in through the window!

Solomon: Okay okay my bad. Now what are you doing in the library so late at night. I went to your room and couldn't find you.

MC: Oh Satan called me out here. Told me to wait for him. Maybe there's a new book he wants to read.

Solomon: Do you guys do that often? Reading books this late?

MC: Haha yeah usually we just read in my room or his at night, in case we fall asleep.

Solomon: *sigh* So unfair.

MC: What's unfair?

Solomon: You and I are the only humans here. Why did they put us in different houses? Shouldn't we... be together more often?

MC: Well logically yes we should. Just classes and magic lessons aren't enough! You should live here too!

Solomon: I doubt Lucifer would be okay with that. But well.. here's the real reason I'm here now. *brings out a little basket*

MC: That's...that's a kitten! Hi baby! What's her name!?

Solomon: MC.

MC: Yeah what?

Solomon: No I named the kitten MC. This way I get to call your name as much as I want haha. The silly things us humans do for love, huh?

Satan had a sick feeling in his stomach. Watching you and him sitting in the moonlight, surrounded by books, cuddling a kitten and confessing...that should be him. Him not Solomon. He didn't like where this was heading. But just like you can't help but stare at disaster - he couldn't look away. What was MC going to say...?

MC: Solomon... *blushes*

Solomon: Does my affection scare you? *reaches for your hand*

MC: Of course not...I.. *gets closer and intertwining your fingers together*

Solomon: Is this your way of showing-

MC: *blushes* Yes. I love you too.

Solomon: I believe I've lived for a 1000 years just to hear those words. *kisses you against the bookshelves*

MC: I believe you've gotten 1000 years worth of romantic lines stored away in that head of yours. *Laughs and kisses him back*

Solomon: Let's take this to the moon shall we?

Satan watched as he took you and kitten in his arms and flew out the window. Satan rushed in not wanting to lose sight of you, dropping the flowers and books. Balling his fists, he choked on his angry tears as he watched you both laughing and kissing against the bright light of the moon. He felt like his own happy ending was stolen from him.

When you disappeared from view, he let out a blood curdling scream, pulling at his own hair and knocking over the bookshelf against which Solomon kissed you. The wrath inside him made him thrashing around in pain, burning him inside out. The flowers he dropped, lay there next to his sobbing body, wilting in his pain.

At his best

He manages to put on his best fake smile and go about his day. Tries hard to hide his annoyance if you bring him up.

But you seem so happy and you often invite him to new cat cafes and shelters. So despite Solomon's presence, he feels calm because of you and the cats.

Is secretly happy you get to spend more time with him than Solomon. Takes advantage of that and hogs you all to himself while in the house

While he can't hold or kiss you the way the Solomon does, you're here next to him, reading his recommended books. That's enough to soothe his yearning heart.

At his worst

The war for love is on. He doesn't care if Solomon already won. He will still declare his love no matter what.

It started out as subtle, he did what he knew Solomon couldn't. Cooking MC's favourite dishes whenever it was his turn to cook.

Tries to subtly reinforce his intelligence over Solomon when you're around. What's 1000 years of knowledge worth, Satan has been there since the first millenia ever

But the day Solomon and you announced you'll be moving to Purgatory Hall, he charged at him, his demon form angry and glowing. "How dare you think you can take them away from us? You think you can win against us... against me? You may have taken my chance with them but I won't let you take them away! They belong here with me!"

You inched closer to Satan's form. You'd never seem him this angry. "Satan please calm down-" Satan wasn't listening. He let out a feral growl and attacked Solomon.

Solomon held MC by his side and made a protection shield Satan couldn't get through. You started crying, watching his wrath take over, he must be in so much pain.

Solomon felt you curl up against him in fear and guilt. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Satan by the scruff of his neck, like you'd do with a misbehaving cat.

"You say you want to protect them and yet look what you did instead." Solomon said. Satan looked helplessly at you, crying with your face buried in your hands. Glancing at his horns in the mirror, he called out to you sadly, "MC..."

Solomon creeped closer and said in a deadly low voice. "You love fairy tales right Satan? Well in the story of Beauty and the Beast, they could only be together because the beast was actually a human." And Satan was far from being a human.

Asmo : Mammon

It happened the day Asmo looked into the mirror and felt something missing. Suddenly his own reflection wasn't enough anymore. He pondered what it was when you happened to walk into his room and hug him from behind. And then he found the missing piece. You. He simply had to make sure you would become a part of him now.

Now contrary to popular belief, he did get nervous while thinking of proposing. This man is all about lust and a little kid when it comes to love. It's a whole new emotion and he's unsure how to deal with it. With some advice from Satan's romance books he lights your room up with candles, groomed himself perfectly, waiting for you to return to your room. Only you don't come. "What's taking MC so long?!"

He headed out and found you in Mammon's room instead. Asmo saw in the reflection off the mirror, Mammon's shirt off and him lying on his front as you poured ointment over his scars.

Mammon: Oi MC please don't be so upset...

MC: You didn't deserve this. You didn't. I did.

Mammon: MC, not again.

MC: You took my punishment. You took the blame for the broken vase for my sake.

Mammon: I didn't want ya getting hurt ya stupid human!

MC: Don't be calling me stupid and then go off doing stupid stuff yourself! *cries*

Mammon: MC...no don't cry. Please I'm sorry.

MC: Don't apologize for this! Mammon you're too kind... You keep taking blame for others, and the others just UGH.

Mammon: I've gotten used to Lucifer's punishments, MC! I'm more used to it than my brothers so I can take it!

MC: .... You're such a sweet big brother. You can't stop protecting the people you love, can you?

Mammon: *turns around to lie on his back* Now you get why I need to protect ya, don't ya?

Asmo's eyes flew open as did yours. Mammon just confessed to you. Albeit indirectly, but really did. But he felt pity for his older brother. Sure he was caring and sweet sometimes, but mostly he was a thief and a scumbag who constantly gets into trouble. He didn't stand a chance against Asmo's charms.

MC: Mammon... You silly demon. I love you too. *Lays their head on his chest*

Mammon: *blushes and coughs* Of course ya love the Great Mammon, human!

MC: *smiles against his skin* Swear to me, you won't ever do that again else I will fight Lucifer myself!

Mammon: *smiles* He's attacked ya thrice and yer face still loses its colour whenver he's around and yet yer thinking of fighting him for my sake, MC?

MC: OF COURSE!

Mammon: But I don't want that. Ya did too much for all of us when ya sacrificed your life to bring Belphie back. I should know, I held ya in my arms. *Tears up* Ya know ye were smiling still?? So calm and undisturbed as if ya didn't care what happens to ya now that all the brothers are together?

MC: You caught me...

Mammon: And I never want to catch ya like that again, get that human!? I will be a good protector as I was meant to be.

MC: Mammon... you're far too kind to be a demon. *Kisses him and gets on top of him*

Mammon: *grips their arms and holds them close* Stay with me tonight.

Asmo watched as you nodded and took off your top and lay down over him again, your skins in gentle and intimate contact and you both wrap your arms around and you presses kisses onto each other. The moonlight danced on your entangled bodies.

He stared and stared, his insides burning with an alien feeling. He hadn't known envy till you came along. His signature move would be to call both of you out and suggest a threesome, but what you both seemed to have was impenetrable. And in the mirror where he saw your reflections, he couldn't see himself.

At his best

This demon had never known love. He might have if Mammon hadn't decides to confess that very night.

But who cares? What's done is done. It's time to root for the both of you. He still has his followers to turn to.

"Mammon finally confessed huh?" He asked jokingly. Until he saw you blush and nod.

"You both must have fun together huh?" He says with a dry laugh.

Your hugs and headpats still keep him going. He takes you buy new dresses knowing it's to impress Mammon instead.

Tries so hard to conceal his tears and tantrums around you. He doesn't want to lose the small part of you that he had left.

At his worst

He cannot stay home. The sight of you both together makes him irritated and stressed both very bad for his skin.

He drinks and parties uncontrollably, bringing home demons and succubi that always seem to resemble you.

One night, Lucifer had enough and caught him by the collar, forbidding him to go to his room. Asmo giggled until Mammon and you showed up.

He swiftly escaped Lucifer's grasp and lunged at you, holding your face between his trembling hands. You look at him closely, his make up was messier than usual, the cresent underneath his eyes was darker than usual.

"MC...look at me. Look at only me. Just for a little while." Asmo said and his eyes glowed. He'd turned on his charm on full force as he leaned into you for a kiss.

Mammon pushed him back and stood before you protectively. Asmo fell back, laughing like a maniac. "Stupid Mammon they are with you out of pity! How long do you think you can make them stay with that stupid brain and sub par beauty?"

You teared up and screamed, "Asmo stop saying things like that! You dont even know anything about him!" Mammon hugged you tight, trying to calm you down.

And then in a lowly growl he said, "Asmo don't let me see ya laying a finger on MC again. Ya would see how people really see ya if you learnt to look away from your own reflection!"

But Asmo did. He did look away from his reflection. He looked at you. Only you didn't look back at him.

Keep reading Pt. 2

#obey me angst #obey me heavy angst #obey me headcanon #obey me headcannons #obey me angst headcanon #obey me Lucifer #obey me Mammon #obey me Levi #obey me Leviathan #obey me Satan #obey me Asmo #obey me Asmodeus #obey me Simeon #obey me Solomon #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me MC

704 notes · View notes

soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

New fic *test*

New Bio!dad Bruce story? I’m testing out this first chapter, and if I like where it’s going I might add it to my growing pile of WIPs. If I have inspiration, I might as well use it. Because of life events stressing me the hell out, I’m throwing any writing plans out the window and I’m purely gonna write to destress right now. Whether that means updating THG or not, or continuing Maribat March, we’ll just have to see how this all pans out. Things are subject to day-to-day change.

I got inspiration from this from rereading my day 1 story for Bio!dad Bruce Wayne month from last year. I’m just gonna change a few things.

—*—*—*—*—*

For once, an unfamiliar face attracted the attention of everyone who caught even a glimpse of them. It wasn’t even because of the person themselves at first, but their dress. The skirt like the most fantastical of storybook ball gowns, fluffy layers of satin over a luxurious petticoat, with a stunning pink floral pattern whose busy appearance was tastefully offset by a shorter, sheer layer of leaf green tulle artistically weaved and somehow sculpted over the floral in order to tame it. The effect turned what should be a grandmotherly pattern into something softer, sophisticated and youthful and yet also reminiscent of fairytale princesses. Over top the short layer of green tulle was an even shorter later of white tulle, almost invisible except for the elegant embroidery of crystal-white vines that twined all over it, connecting the green below it to the bottom-most floral pattern and oddly adding a layer of childishness instead of maturity. At the waist of the dress was a dark plum pink satin ribbon, to separate the elaborate ballgown skirt from the bodice. Attached to the simple ribbon was a large brooch of fabric flowers, with a single plastic ladybug in the center.

The bodice of the dress came up into a cheongsam neckline, but was sleeveless. It was a simple design, of half green and half dark pink, with a white border separating the two. The white border had expertly done embroideries in a soft silver thread that would only be visible close up, the images the thread made being that of fairies and ladybugs dancing around one another.

It was, all in all, a stunning display that made the small eurasian woman wearing them look like absolute royalty. Perhaps a long lost fairy princess. Her black-blue hair was even done up in elaborate looping braids and a braided bun, with silver and green pins that further completed the regal ensemble. And yes, while the expertly done dress was what initially captivated her current audience, it was not what kept them from leaving her alone. That was all her personality, bubbly and bright as her blinding smile. It was a sunny disposition that very few people present had any exposure to at all, and it drew them like a sunflower to the daylight. They could not help but flock closer, or even just stand back and keep themselves turned to her presence. Already she had been at the gala for two hours, but there was no issue. She just kept proving her generosity, admitting she had donated both a dress and a suit of her own making to the charity auction that would begin soon, one of the main attractions of the gala. She skillfully charmed the more snooty of the attendants, and artfully twisted her words so that they felt compelled to donate more money that they truly had no use for. Later, they would remember their donation and wonder what compelled it, but come up with no satisfying answer.

And yet she was entirely unaware of her more silent audience, who stood back and observed. Truth be told, every one of them was glad to not be the center of that attention for a change, to have room to breathe for so long at an event where usually that commodity was so scarce that it demanded a fierce competition for. Compared to her garden of color, they were all shadows in shades of blacks and blues and whites, with a touch of red here and there that was entirely too thematic for their home city. The one who sported a royal blue suit tilted his head at the scene they were all calmly witnessing, his bright azure eyes glittering.

“She’s like magic,” he mused, clearly enchanted despite having not said a single word to the woman. “Perfect socialite. She’s kind, generous, she made that dress and the ones she donated to the auction herself so she’s obviously got an intimidating amount of skill for her age. She even tricks those old fuddy-duddies into spending money. It’s like a dream come true!”

“I don't trust it,” the one to his right said, a man just a few inches shorter in a classic black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. He absently swept his bangs away from his face as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. “It seems too perfect. She doesn’t have any identifiable character flaw, except maybe being a little clumsy and too energetic. She does babble a little… but nothing that actually suggests any depth besides her just being— good. That’s impossible, and I don’t trust it.”

“Tt. I agree with Drake for once. She seems entirely too comfortable with this setting, despite her blushes and rambles,” the one who spoke this like was taller, clearly a teen in the middle of his growth spurt. He, too, wore a plain black suit but his had subtle charcoal embroidery and he wore an emerald-green dress shirt under it that made his matching eyes gleam dangerously. “It seems almost playacted. Expertly so, but nonetheless not entirely genuine.”

“Wow, not many pick up on that. I’m gonna give your observations a solid eight out of ten. They’re all perfectly sound, but not quite complete,” a new voice made all of the silent group stiffen— somehow they had been snuck up on. The newcomer smirked at them as if having fully expected their reaction but still being pleased at being able to evoke it. This was yet another stunner; far too much color in her outfit to be a Gotham native, and far too much skill in the construction for it to signify anything less than extreme influence. She had bright golden-blond hair that was coiled into a low bun, with her bangs artfully curled and arranged to display her crystal blue eyes.

In contrast to the garden-themed dress of the Eurasian woman who had garnered their attention at first, this newcomer was wearing a pantsuit. It was all in a dark honey-gold, in a stiff fabric with construction that made it lay entirely in perfect, straight lines and hug her form in the right places. Black embroidery decorated the long, flared sleeves and pant legs and dripped around the square neckline like a faux necklace. A cape made out of the same material as the rest of the pantsuit was draped on one shoulder. It started out as the same honey-gold color, but it became a gradient as it faded to a solid black at the ends. Gold thread embroidery decorated the solid black bottom of the cape in delicate, deceptively simplistic swirls. The top half of the pantsuit was clearly inspired by military garb, simultaneously rigidly constructed yet fitted, with circular onyx buttons going down the center of the chest and a thick metal belt, all in swirling silver and black, sat perfectly clasped around her waist. It was far more solid-colored and simplistic compared to the fairytale dress in the center, but no less show stopping and luxurious. It simply showcased an entirely different attitude, almost as if the two women could never get along if their personalities matched their outfits.

“And who are you?” The man who had been the center of the group of shadow-like adults spoke up, back straightening to milk every speck of his generous six-feet-and-three-inches of height. This was none other than Bruce Wayne, the host of this annual charity gala. And normally, his current stance would either intimidate or utterly charm whoever it was directed at— but not this pantsuit-clad blond warrior. Her smirk merely widened, and her blue eyes took on a slight shade of teal as if trying to mimic the dangerous ocean depths.

“I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the mayor of Paris, and Audrey Bourgeois, the Style Queen. It’s nice to meet you again, Monsieur Wayne,” she introduced herself imperiously. “I also happen to be the best friend of the girl you were just staring at.”

Bruce nodded, but had trouble reconciling this clear powerhouse of a woman with the bratty and entitled preteen he had met years ago, at the last gala she had attended with her mother. “Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first Chloe. You’ve grown a lot since the last Gala I saw you at.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose, clearly not appreciating the reminder. “I was a bitch,” she admitted easily, seemingly not at all bothered by the confession. It caused not only Bruce but also the oldest three of his sons, who had all also met her in the past, to blink in silent shock. “Things have changed. Paris is apparently the perfect chaotic environment right now to promote emotional growth and smack spoiled kids over the head with reality,” she shrugged. Part of the reason her and her whole class had even been able to come to the Gala in the first place was the fact that Bruce wanted to offer the most attacked group of Parisians a respite and some support from their crazy lives. The fact that even Gotham seemed sane in comparison to Paris was a bit of a hard hit for both involved parties, but in the end everyone understood that “more sane” didn’t always equate with “less dangerous.” Considering all that, Chloe had no reason to sugarcoat the situation in her home city. “But it wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette was largely responsible for my improvement too.”

“Marinette?” The heathen who somehow got away with attending a gala in a black leather jacket over a dress shirt and suit pants asked, raising a brow. Chloe nodded.

“The girl you were just goggling at. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class president and resident workaholic. Does she ever sleep? Nobody knows,” Chloe shrugged.

The blue-suited man, Dick Grayson, shot a suspicious glance at Tim, who was standing to his right, as if he was worried his brother had made a female clone of himself just so he could continue to work hard and never rest. Tim ignored him and sipped from the thermos of coffee he had somehow snuck in.

Bruce cleared his throat to bring the focus back onto himself, and shot his most charming smile at Chloe. “They would have known who she was, if they had read the brief information I gave them about your class. But they never do listen to me,” he complained with good humor. “But back to the original topic, Miss Bourgeois, do you care to correct us on how our observations are lacking?”

Chloe laughed easily, smiling and nodding to indicate Marinette, still stuck in a circle of socialites and not seeming the least bit worn out.

“Of course. First; She is not completely acting. She really is like magic sometimes— disgustingly kind, generous, far too willing to help just about anyone for just about any reason. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, as much as it pains me to admit it. But she is exaggerating her personality a bit and hiding the parts she doesn’t want anyone to see, so there is a little acting involved. Just not as much as you seem to think,” Chloe then waved her arm in a flourish as if she were presenting Marinette to them. “In short; behold Mari Dupain-Cheng, the ridiculously likeable, disgustingly cute, extremely philanthropic mask that she shows everyone at public events like this. You don’t see any of the insomnia, or the anxiety, or the self doubt. Just the parts she wants you to see, accompanied with a smile to blind you to everything else,” her all-too-deep blue eyes settled back on Bruce then, a knowing glint shining in them. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculously similar to Brucie Wayne for you, Monsieur? Utterly, ridiculously, similar?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected anyone else to know about his exceptionally well hidden secret, not even his kids had caught on or found his buried evidence yet. Yet his heiress comes up, nearly flaunting her knowledge in his face with all too many unspoken questions and criticisms.

And her cryptic words had succeeded in making all of his kids look at him with extreme suspicion. Shit.

“What are you saying, Miss Bourgeois?” he cautiously prodded. She hummed noncommittally before dropping the bomb all too casually;

“I’m saying I’ve seen her adoption papers, and you won’t be able to run from her for long Monsieur Wayne. As soon as she gets an opening, she’s going to pounce,” Chloe’s eyes glittered dangerously again. “And nowadays, Marinette doesn’t ever let people escape her. Your problem with adoption has created a rather unique problem, you know. You’re at fault for a large majority of her self confidence issues, and I want you to know that I am not going to forget or forgive that anytime soon.”

“Bruce,” Jason’s voice was dark and threatening. “What is she talking about?”

“Something we don’t want getting in the tabloids,” Yet another new voice popped up, allowing Chloe to smugly sink back into the background.

Somewhere during their discussion, Marinette had ambushed them.

“Chloe and I are very good at locating all the reporters in a room and distracting them, but we’re not infallible and this event has far too much coverage,” Her smile reeked confidence and charm, but this close all the Waynes could see the doubt hiding in her bluebell eyes. “Since I’m about to turn eighteen, I figured this would be as good a time as any to finally confront you. I want to make it clear that I seek nothing from you, except the occasional contact. I would like to keep in touch, if nothing else. But if you are adverse to that… then at least answer my questions after the gala,” her eyes developed a hint of carefully controlled desperation. “Please.”

Bruce met her eyes evenly, trying to read her. But she was difficult, simultaneously too many emotions to sort through in her demeanor and much too little. After an extremely tense moment of silence, his voice came out barely above a whisper:

“You do not want anybody to know?”

And hell, if she didn’t recognize the hidden vulnerability in his voice as the very same she heard in her own far too often. In a much tamer version of her own rambling, he went on:

“I can keep it silent if that is what you want. But I want you to know that I will not be adverse to you admitting it anywhere. I don’t expect you to change your name, but I would not be ashamed of the truth getting out. I am not ashamed of it, of you.”

Marinette’s smile grew a little watery. She had to clear her throat to keep herself from tearing up. “Maybe eventually, but not yet. I… I want to stay a little more anonymous for now. It’s one thing to be a well known designer with good connections. It’s an entirely different thing to be…”

“A Wayne?” Bruce finished, ignoring the daggers that were being stared into his back. “I understand completely.

“Father,” Damian’s voice was all sharp edges and rapidly suppressed panic. “What. Is going. On?”

Marinette shot him an apologetic smile. “Apparently, eighteen years ago, his prerogative was to put the child he actually knew about up for adoption when the mother died in childbirth,” her voice was once again only barely loud enough for them to hear, since she didn’t want any eavesdroppers. “Imagine my surprise when I find out he completely flipped sides only months later.”

--*--*--*--*--*

Hey, so please share your feedback on this. This is just to test out a possible new bio dad, multichapter fic and this is the opening scene I'm trying out. If you like it, please tell me what you like about it and please suggest titles for the story! I love you guys' feedback so much!

#maribat #bio!dad au #bio!dad bruce wayne #platonic daminette #platonic jasonette #platonic dickinette #platonic timinette #platonic timari #mlb x dc #ml x dc #maribat fic #platonic brucinette #older sister Marinette

873 notes · View notes

itsallyscorner · 3 years

Note

This could be a request or not depending on how much time you have 😅 but for your information, yes, I am thinking Tom giving y/n hickies on her neck like the night before a bunch of interviews the next day and she's like, "Are you serious?" and he's like "I couldn't resist, I just love you so much!" and when y/n shows up the next day wearing a turtleneck after she told Zendaya that she would be wearing a dress Z immediately gets suspicious and figures it out bc I feel like she's like that 😅😂

Hehehe I haven’t written anything smutty lately and I miss it. So thank you for requesting this anon, much love to you🥰 Ugh, the thought of this gave me butterflies in my stomach😭 Happy reading!❤️

Also, little note for everyone who’s sending me requests! Yes, I see all of them! Part of the reason why I haven’t done some of them yet is because I have to think of concepts on how to execute them properly. So bear with me, love you all🥰

💌.

Love Bug

My soft boi🥺

Warnings: implied smut

(Gif from Pinterest)

The AC in your bedroom was just not doing you justice. The Californian heat was at an all time high today and has transformed you home into an Easy Bake oven. Though you were probably exaggerating, your thin crewneck sweater still clung onto your skin, making you uncomfortable. Peeling the sweater off your body, you toss it into your laundry basket. You’re left in a tank top and some lounging shorts as you sprawl yourself out on your bed. The coolness of the comforter bringing your body some relief from the heat.

Sinking into the sheets, the hustle and bustle of the day finally hits you. You’ve had a long day of press with your cast mates, promoting the movie you were all in, Spider-Man: Far From Home. You loved your job, but the press tours could just be so tiring. You were forced to wake up early in the morning and sit in a room for how many hours of the day to only be asked the same questions (most of the time). Though press tours did have its pros, meeting fans around the world and traveling to new countries was something you always looked forward to.

Marvel being Marvel, they always had to make it big. For the last few weeks you have all been traveling around the world, tired but nonetheless having an amazing time. Thankfully, this was the last stop of the press tour, California. You were back in your own bed and your boyfriend was staying with you for the time being.

You were on your phone, going through Instagram and looking at various photos that were taken today during today’s press engagements. You’ve even made your own contribution and posted your own batch of selfies and funny videos.

The door to the connected bathroom in your room opens and reveals your boyfriend. Your eyes break their focus on your phone and shift to the man in front of you. You smile and turn your phone off giving him all your attention. A smile forms on his own lips as he crawls up the bed to join you.

“Missed you all day.” He whispers against your skin, placing his head on your chest. His arms are wrapped around your figure, one leg hooked over yours. You move the hood of his sweatshirt from over his head and began to run your hands through his hair.

“Mmm, I missed you too.” He cuddles closer to your chest, arms tightening around you. His eyes momentarily shut, basking in your soothing motions.

“How was your day with Jake?” You ask him. As much as Tom wanted to do press with you, he was stuck doing them with Jake, while you did your interviews with Z and Jacob. Tom enjoyed having his interviews with Jake, but he missed being near you, even if you were just a room away.

Tom shifts so his lips are near the skin of your exposed neck. He hums against you before his lips come into contact with the soft surface. He had been tempted to mark you up all day. You wore a beautiful spring dress with a low neckline that displayed the skin of your neck. All he wanted to do was scatter red and purple love bites all over you, letting the world know you were his.

You gasp as he nips on the space between your neck and shoulder. “Interviews were good, but I just couldn’t get you out my head.” He slots himself between your legs and presses you down into the mattress.

“Teasing me with the pretty little dress of yours. Just wanted to kiss you and mark you up.” He says huskily against your neck. His breath sent shivers down your spine as goosebumps formed on your skin. His mouth sucks harder on the spot, teeth nipping gently, while his tongue soothed the bruising spot. He moved up so one of his hands are holding him up beside your head while his other strokes your side.

“Baby, we have an early morning tomorrow.” You didn’t want him to stop, but it was currently 2am and you were both expected to be awake by 6am.

His lips have made their way to the other side of you neck, pressing light kisses that turned to open mouthed ones. You giggle gently pulling him away from your neck so you can look him in the eyes.

“Babyyy.” He whines trying to shove his head back into the spot. A pout is on his lips, which were now a darker shade of pink from how much he was sucking on your skin.

“Tom, we need to be up at six.” You reminded him. Tom leans closer a boyish grin now on his expression. You couldn’t help but kiss him back when his lips captured yours. You feel him smirk against you as he pulls away.

The hand on your side moves to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “We’ll be quick, I just wanna feel you. Please?”

You stare at him for a moment as his hand drifts down your body and by your shorts. Excitement swirls in your belly as his fingers get closer to your growing heat. He kisses your cheek as his hand slips past the band of your shorts to cup your mound. The wetness brings a smirk to his face as his dark eyes gaze into yours.

“Baby, look how wet you are.” He praises you as he moves your panties aside and dips his fingers into your wetness. You sigh, eyes slightly rolling back as his fingers spread your wetness on your folds.

“Fine, but—“ You bring your finger to point again him, “No marks on my neck, I’m wearing a dress tomorrow with a low cut again.”

Tom nods connecting your lips again, “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” He assures you before diving his head back into your neck.

~next morning~

You enter the bathroom, tying your hair up to keep it away from your face. You turn the shower on and wait for the water to warm up. While you wait you take a look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes widen when you get a glimpse of you neck. You gasp out loud as you see the sides of your neck with red bruises with hints of purple on them. You had them on both sides of your neck and a small one almost on the center of your throat.

“TOM!” You yell, your voice echoing in the bathroom. There was some rustling behind the door before it was yanked open. Tom entered in nothing but his boxers looking disheveled, hair pointing in all types of direction and his eyes barely open.

“What happened?” His voice was raspy, something that usually made you swoon but right now you couldn’t even focus on it.

You turn to him, aggressively pointing to your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful!” You mock him, repeating what he said to you last night before he railed you into the mattress.

Tom’s eyes widen as well before he cringed. To be fair, you did warn him. He just didn’t know how to hold back when it came to you. He cautiously approaches you a sheepish grin on his face.

“I know it looks bad..” he begins. You shoot him a look, “Are you serious right now? Tom it looks like an octopus strangled me!”

Tom moves back to look at you, “Well you weren’t complaining last night.” You shoot him another look and he nods knowing you were annoyed with him at the moment. He stands behind you looking at the mirror you were both in front of. His arms wrap around your torso as he tries to soften you up.

“I’m sorry, I just love you so much and I couldn’t resist it. I love making love to you and I just get so lost in it and I know you warned me too, I’m sorry.” He apologizes hugging you from behind. You could tell he actually felt bad by the genuine look in his eyes. You sigh leaning back into him and resting your hands above his, interlocking your fingers.

“I forgive you, it happens.” You mumble, head trying to come up with ways to cover up your neck. “How do I even cover this up?”

Tom looks at your neck through the mirror, “Makeup will work right? Just put on some concealer or that color corrector thing you use.”

You nod at his suggestion. “That’ll work for a few hours, but makeup wears off. What if I accidentally wipe it off?”

Tom pursed his lips together in thought, “You could ask Laura to bring you something with a turtleneck.”

“It’ll barely move and your neck will be covered the entire time.” He suggests.

“Yeah, it’ll probably work. I just hope she hasn’t left yet, I should text her.” You move from Tom’s hold and turn the shower off. Before you leave the bathroom, Tom pulls you into a hug again. His face nuzzles against your hair, “I’m sorry, again.”

You smile and stroke his back, “I told you I forgive you, it’s ok love.” You pull away and peck his lips. Tom smiles and leans down to kiss your shoulder. Something he always did when you guys were having a moment. Instantly, you jump back and push him off, “Get your fucking lips away from my neck. I don’t need anymore hickies right now.”

~later~

Your stylist, Laura, ended up bringing you a stunning white dress that stopped above your knees. It was short sleeved, hugged your curves perfectly, and had a turtleneck that covered your neck. She gave you a pair of leather knee high boots which pulled the look together. Your hair was curled, pulled back into a half up and down style while short strands of hair framed your face. Compared to the panic you felt when your first saw the hickies, you were relieved when you saw yourself in the mirror again an hour later. You felt like a modern Go Go Girl as you admired your outfit.

You arrived at the hotel where all the interviews were being held. You make your rounds of greeting everyone, saving Z and Jacob last since you’ll be with them the whole day. You enter the room and see the two of them already sitting in front of the cameras. Jacob spots you first, “Aye! Good morning!”

You smile and walk up to them, giving them both hugs. When you pull away from Z she gives you a look. Her eyes scan you from head to toe, squinting at your dress.

“Weren’t you just complaining that yesterday was too hot? Why are you in a turtleneck?” She interrogates you. You smile nervously at her while you settle in the seat on the other side of Jacob.

“Um, you know, it’s a bit chilly today.” You lie. Jacob eyes you as well catching on Z’s point.

“(Y/n), it’s 95 degrees outside.” He tells you eyes panning around the room. Zendaya smirks leaning forward to get a better look at you, “I think someone was busy last night.”

“No, I wasn’t. I had a very nice sleep, thank you very much.” You sweetly smile at her crossing your arms.

Jacob snickers beside you, “I bet you did.”

“I guess Thomas couldn’t keep his hands off you last night.” She teased, exposing you.

“Or his mouth.” Jacob quickly adds smirking. Your cheeks get flustered squeezing your eyes shut. Jacob and Z burst out laughing at Jacob’s comment.

“I don’t even have a come back, blame Tom.” You throw your hands up in the air giving up. Z calms down and leans over Jacob to rest a hand on your knee.

“Hey, it’s ok, man. If I were Tom, I wouldn’t keep my hands off you either.” She tells you jokingly, helping you get over the embarrassment of wearing a turtleneck. You catch on and wink at her, “Aye, say less.” Your hand resting on top of hers.

Jacob puts his hands up looking shocked, “What did I just walk into? I—I gotta go.” He pretends to shove your hands away and gets up from his seat.

“I’m telling Tom about the sexual tension I felt in this room.” He yells over his shoulder as he walks out the room. You and Z look at each other amused, “Is he actually?”

Z shrugged, “Honestly, he’s probably getting some water. He was thirsty.”

The two of you catch up with each other. Talking about the press tour and what you were both planning on wearing for the premiere. You were in the middle of describing your dress when Tom bursts into the room with Jacob trailing behind him.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY WOMAN.”

#marvel #mcu #avengers #Tom Holland #Tom Holland x reader #Tom Holland smut #tom holland drabble #tom holland one shot #tom holland headcanon #ally’s requests

1K notes · View notes

yourcooladdiction · 3 years

Text

i didn’t have a back-up plan | bucky barnes

summary: reader x bucky break-up but nothing one of tony’s infamous galas can’t fix ;)

pairings: bucky barnes x female reader

warnings: 18+ only pls!! (smut, unprotected sex, public sex), angsty, little bit of fluff, jealous bucky, cuss words

You’re sitting at the kitchen table with your head cradled in both of your hands. Your cheeks are stained from the hour's worth of tears and for a second you are so glad you didn’t put on any mascara this morning. You hear the screeching sound of a chair pulling out across from you and you refuse to look up. You’ve been going at it for hours now.

He just got back from a three-month-long mission, and everything had been fine until he told you how long he was going to be gone this time. You couldn’t do another three, four, maybe even five months without seeing him. You’ve been together for almost two years, yet it seems like you’ve only physically been with him for maybe 4-5 months. You didn’t expect much from this relationship. You knew when you met him it was going to be hard, and if you’re being honest, you didn’t think it was going to last this long…but there was something about him you couldn’t get over. You fell for him hard and now you are dealing with the consequences. You weren’t accustomed to his lifestyle, and you knew you’d never adapt to it. Being an Avenger isn’t something you just sign up for and it’s certainly not for everyone. He didn’t force the lifestyle upon you, he never forced you to Tony’s lavish parties even though he wanted you to but he knew you’d be too uncomfortable. He loved you. You knew that. You loved him. He knew that. But you knew he deserved more, someone like him, and you deserved someone more like you, with nothing too special about them.

“You want to yell at me some more?” You ask.

“Doll...” His tone is cold and emotionless. You know where this is going. You both have known where this is going.

“Do you think we need to break up?” the words escape his lips, and you finally glance up at him.

“If that’s what you want.” You state.

His shocked response is not what you were expecting.

“What do you want? Do you want this to work? Do you love me?” His tone now filled with sincerity. Where the fuck has this been the past two hours you think to yourself. You could’ve sworn you were taking the words out of his mouth, you wanted to beat him to it. But his puzzled look is telling you otherwise, telling you he doesn’t want this at all.

“Bucky, we haven’t been doing well for so long. It’s just... it’s just not working. Our lives do not mesh together anymore. You are all over the place and I can’t drop everything when convenient for you.” You explain your decision and he sits back in his chair.

“I’ve never once expected you to ‘drop your life for me.’ Jesus fucking Christ.” His tone back to irritated. There he is. There’s the Bucky that you’ve been dealing with for the past few hours and the past few months.

“We fight all the fucking time! That’s all we’ve done for months! When you’re gone it’s over the phone or in text, when you’re here it’s in person. Nothing has changed. Nothing helps. It’s not fucking working.” Your voice cracks and his eyes begin to water.

“I... I love you, I don’t want this to end. We can work on this. I can work on this. I can tell Sam I need a break and take some time off.” He attempts to save himself and you shake your head.

“Buck – I love you but I’m holding you back. You need to be with someone who understands your world and I- I’m just not that person.” You try to fight back the stream of tears and he drops his head in defeat.

He attempts to save himself one more time as his mouth opens but nothing comes out. You stare deeply into his piercing eyes. Trying to memorize his face. Trying to memorize him.

He stands up from the table and stops beside you. He reaches down and squeezes your hand. You squeeze back and glance up at him one last time. His eyes fill with tears once more and he takes off to the door. You sit there and force yourself to stare at the now empty seat across from you. You hear the door shut and the floodgates of emotions hits. You sit there for the longest time. Tears and tears flow down your face. Your heart has found a new home in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes eventually dry up and you know that this was the right decision. It was never going to work…

You are pulled out of your poorly timed reminiscing when your date reaches out and grabs ahold of your hand,

“Ready babe?” He asks.

You force a smile and step out of the car.

You find it oh so incredibly ironic that your work is co-hosting one of Tony’s infamous charity galas. After you and Bucky broke up you landed a big-time PR job which involved working the one and only…avengers. You haven’t seen Bucky since the breakup but he had to know that you were practically working for the team by now. You had wondered how long you two could avoid each other, it was bound to happen eventually.

Nevertheless, 8 months post break up...here you are. The guy you’ve been seeing, a stockbroker on Wall Street was more than eager to be your date to this event. He wouldn’t shut up about the networking opportunity, and a chance to “meet the avengers.” Eyeroll.

You, on the other hand, didn’t want to go. You’ve been staring at the guestlist for weeks, well, you’ve been staring at one particular name on the guestlist for weeks. You’ve been racking your brain on why he would come to this event. He usually never goes to these stupid gala events, but yet he is attending a random gala…that you are in charge of…come on. You also find it convenient that he had a plus one beside his name. Of course, he does. He’s Bucky Barnes, why wouldn’t he have a date.

You and your date walk the imitation red carpet that’s laid out. You are the chair of this event so you have to pose for pictures and stop for questions. You hated this part of your job, you just wanted to be behind the scenes but unfortunately, people love you and your work, so they want to know all about you at all times.

You make it through the interviews and pull your date inside. He is enjoying this publicity a little too much. You find some co-workers/friends and push him off on them, and quickly head to the bar to get the strongest drink possible.

You order a dry martini with extra gin and take a sip.

“Some things don’t change, hm doll?”

You stand there frozen. The accent. The beautiful Brooklyn accent that you miss every fucking day. Those six words send chills down your back. The way “doll” flowed off his lips. This fucker. You take a deep breath and pray your makeup has remained in tack and your hair looks good from behind.

You slowly turn around and are met with those deep blue eyes. His hair was much shorter than the last time you saw him, but still so damn handsome. The scruff along his chin almost makes you drool because you miss the feeling of it against your skin. Your eyes make their way back up to him and he is smiling.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” You say back.

“You look...fantastic,” he smirks.

You bought this dress specifically for tonight. For this moment. You got it in his favorite color because you wanted him to see you and admit you looked good. You give yourself an internal high five before responding to him.

“Thank you, so do you.” You gesture at his tux. One of your favorite looks on him.

“I-uh-I hope that it’s not weird that I am here,” he says as he takes a step into you.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I am glad you’re here.”

You quickly realize what you said and try to recover,

“SO you can take part in the donations! The more avengers the merrier!” You laugh nervously

You idiot.

He chuckles at you and shakes his head.

“Is there somewhere more private we can talk?” He asks.

“Uh-I shouldn’t. I have to-“

“Oh right, yes, of course, you’re working. Well, maybe we can meet up before the night is over? I would love to catch up,” his voice is almost a whisper as he is only a few centimes from you. You can smell his unique scent. You used to joke that if he could bottle it up and sell it he wouldn’t have to run off and save the world every other day.

“Yeah, mhm, enjoy your night!” You respond and walk off.

An hour or so passes as you get caught talking to other donors before you can make your way back to your date. He is completely sloshed and making a fool of himself. Great. You call him an Uber and tell him he has to leave. He doesn’t take this very well and begins yelling at you. You and a few co-workers manage to get him outside as you wait for the Uber but he continues yelling at you.

“You’re just a fucking bitch! Get over your fucking metal-arm freak of an ex and you will be happy! I could make you so happy!” He says as he points a finger in your face.

Before you can respond a man quickly jumps in between the two of you and slams him into a wall

“Call her a bitch again and I will kill you, yeah?”

Your date's eyes go wide, and he runs off to the Uber as it pulls up.

“Bucky, what in the absolute fuck is wrong with you?” You yell and he chuckles.

“Really? I just helped you with that fucking asshole and you want to yell at me?”

Without thinking you take ahold of Bucky’s hand and pull him inside and off to a side room. You slam the door behind them both of you and he takes a few steps inside before turning around to face you. You cross your arms along your chest and tell yourself to be calm, give him a chance to explain himself, but as he opens his mouth you cut him off.

“What the fuck are you doing here, James?” You question

A smile splays across his face as you use his first name. He takes a few steps towards you, attempting to close the gap. You slowly take a step or two back still allowing the distance between the two of you. He smirks as he realizes what you’re doing.

“Well doll, if you must know. I needed to see you He says. His accent was thicker than before, which is a clear indicator he’s been enjoying the open bar or some Asgardian liquor or both.

“What about your plus one? Where is she, hm?” You question.

“You mean Sam? Yeah, I’m sure he’s having a great time in there.” He chuckles.

Of fucking course it’s Sam.

“Why was Sam not on the – oh forget it, we aren’t together anymore Buck, you don’t get to just show up and call me doll and pretend that everything is normal.” You sigh.

“Why not?” He asks playfully.

“We broke up, Bucky.” You sigh once more.

“Yeah and?”

“And!? And YOU walked away” You scoff

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me, doll?” His voice irritated.

“No, I’m not fucking kidding ‘you.” You tilt your head and mock his accent. His eyes narrow and the muscles in his jaw clench. You forgot how fucking sexy he is when he’s mad.

You two stare at each other for a few seconds as if you’re having a contest. Your emotions begin to overwhelm you and you feel the tears swelling in your eyes. You look down in defeat and you hear him let out a small sigh.

“Love.” His voice cracks. Fuck. You can’t hold the tears back any longer and you feel them fall down your cheek. You look back up at him and his eyes are bloodshot too.

“I fucked up, doll.” He mutters.

“Yeah. You did.”

“I know I did! I know! I should have stayed and fought for you. I know that now. I am sorry. But I’m here now. I’ve been working on this little plan for weeks now, to see you and –“

“No! No, no. You can’t do this. You don’t get to do this.” You interrupt, you wipe a tear away, and turn around to leave.

“It wasn't just me, doll! What about you, huh? You couldn’t adjust to my lifestyle yet you’ve been parading around all the other avengers for the past 8 months. Helping Tony with these bullshit galas!” He challenges.

You spin around and narrow your gaze at him.

“It’s my job.” You defend yourself.

“Yeah? I was your fucking boyfriend, not a lot of effort given there though?”

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky. Fuck. You.” You ridicule.

You both stare at each other down. Waiting for the next one to say something. You are soon questioning why you were so excited to see him tonight. Why you picked out this specific dress. Why you enjoyed it when he defended you against your douchebag date. You feel another tear fall and you quickly wipe it away.

“I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry. I couldn’t handle the distance and I gave up on us too easily because I was scared and I’m sorry.” You finally confess.

He stares at you. Contemplating what you just said. His jaw is still clenched, and both of his hands are stuffed into his pockets. The silence is almost deafening, and you turn to leave as your heart can’t take this anymore. 8 months later and you’re still not over him. You’ll never be over him.

Bucky grabs your hand as you begin to turn and spins you back around to face him.

“Doll, I miss you. God, I fucking miss you.” He croaks.

Before you can speak his lips crash against yours. He quickly has you pushed against the wall as he deepens the kiss. You moan as you feel his tongue enter into your mouth. You wrap your hands in his brown locks and attempt to pull him further into you. He slides a leg in between yours and you moan as he grazes your sweet spot.

“Buck, we’re in public-“ you let out a raspy moan.

“I need you, please.” He groans.

And with that, you’re gone. You give in to whatever he wants. He slips off the straps of your dress and you step out of it, he takes you in as if it was the very first time seeing you. You attempt to cover yourself up, you haven’t been this exposed since the last time you were together.

“Don’t,” he demands.

He lifts your chin with his finger and places the sweetest kiss on your lips.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers.

“Buck, I haven’t- I haven’t been with anyone else.” You admit.

“Me either, baby. I couldn’t bring myself to think about anyone but you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Let me show you how much I've missed you."

This time the tears swelling in your eyes were happy ones. He smiles as he finally renders you speechless. He wipes the tear away and kisses you once more. The kiss goes back to heated and passionate. You reach for his belt buckle, and he groans as your hands brush up against his erect member. He pulls his bow tie off and quickly unbuttons his shirt. He slips off his pants and underwear and once again has you pushed against the door. He begins kissing down your neck as he slips off your bra. He hooks a finger into your underwear, and you moan as his hands slide down your thighs.

“You ready?” He asks

All you can do is nod as the sight of him is enough to make you come.

He hoists you up against the door and you wrap your legs around him as he slips himself inside of you.

“Fuck, baby girl.” He groans.

“Buck – Jesus.” You cry out as he fills you up. He stills as he thinks he hurts you and pulls away to check on you,

“Move, please.” You giggle and he nuzzles his head into your neck and begins peppering kisses along your collarbone.

He thrusts himself in and out of you at an unrelenting pace. Anyone else would probably be embarrassed with how quickly you’re about to fall apart but you don’t care. You’ve missed this touch for months. You’ve craved it for months. You knew you needed him again. You just needed to realize it.

“Y-you close baby? I’m so close. Fuck.” He moans.

You attempt to speak but all that comes out is a loud moan of his name. He smiles at how easily you fall apart for him. He’s always loved this effect he’s had on you. Even though you held your own, there was something about Bucky that made you putty in his hands. He knew he had to get that feeling back. He knew the second he walked out he wanted to come back. He almost did. He stood outside your door for the longest time but couldn’t bring himself to knock. He knew you’d come back to him. He knew he’d find you again and you two couldn’t help but get back together. You were meant to be.

“Fuck, I’m-“ is all you get out as your orgasm takes over.

“That’s it, doll. Let go. Fuck. I love you. I love you so much.” He praises you as you clench around his cock.

Your head spins as you see stars. With a few more sloppy thrusts, Bucky is moaning your name as he lets go inside of you. He slowly places you back down on the ground and kisses you all over.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I love you.” You say as you lean up to steal a kiss.

He smirks against your lips and wraps his arms around your waist. You two stand there in each other’s embrace.

“Can we make this work? Can you be mine again?” He whispers

“Yes.” You smile.

“Good, I didn’t have a backup plan if you said no.” He smirks and you laugh.

“Let’s get dressed. I’m sure everyone heard us.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey that’s never bothered you before,” he teases.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes one shot

333 notes · View notes

thesolferino · 3 years

Text

Blood Red

⤷ knight!dream x assassin!fem!reader.

— summary: technoblade hires you to kill sir dream at king george’s ball while he’s off duty; sir dream wants a dance with the peculiar lady wearing a peculiar gown.

A red gown flashes past the sea of white and baby pink ones in a dazzling fashion, one of a Duchess or a Countess, surely not of a simple lady, but it flies by quick, so quick that you simply don’t get to catch the face that matches it. Quick enough that it leaves you stunned, slow enough for a knight’s eagle eye to spot.

The red is dark, darker than the simple scarlet red that the women wore on top of their buns or at the ends of their braids in the form of carefully tied bows. It’s dark, a dark maroon red, walking the line between uncomfortably red and obviously brown finely, careful not to cross each side. It’s an unsettling red, which makes it even more intriguing, especially to a knight - a knight who dances, off-duty, but fails to keep his eyes on the Dame in front of him, and he’s sure it might’ve gotten him in trouble if the porcelain mask hadn’t stayed stapled on his face, shielding his eyes from betraying him.

The red is outstanding, eccentric amongst all the pale, and the knight isn’t the only one who steals a look - the red was noteworthy, among the rest, and wasn’t that what a killer like yourself was made to avoid? Getting seen, getting noticed? Being the center of attention was for the masterminds, after all, not the ones who get their hands dirty; somebody might catch them staining.

It was a bad idea, the ones in charge had said many times before, but you always wore red to the job. They always dumbly ask why, you always repeat the answer. The blood would become invisible, you said. It was as if nothing had happened, at all.

That’s why your maroon flashed amongst the sea of ivory and lavender unapologetically, beautifully shining against the blush pink tiles, matching red heels clacking in obedience with your footsteps, feet moving lightly, gracefully, as if made for such a setting.

And when the song decrescendoed into silence and the violins started moving in a different pattern, the knight callously let go of the Dame’s hand and his feet carried him to where his eyes remained fastened on for hours, pale hand outstretching to your own, finally getting to see your face for the first time in the evening.

The red was too much for a Lady, and that’s why he knew exactly who you were. Maybe not by name, or by age, but profession and motivation were a strong guess. He’d been waiting for this moment - might as well make the most of it.

“May I have this dance, miss?” He spoke, hand still hovering in the air calmly, as she stared dead into the mask, right where she could imagine his eyes were. The stare gave him the answer to an already solved question - your gaze gave away absolutely nothing, and that’s what made him sure of it all. You’re good at your job, he supposes.

Beats of silence pass as couples sway behind you, some more gracefully so than others. You set your hand in his, lightly, carefully, so timidly it almost made him rethink it all. How could such a hand commit such vile things?

“Alright.” You spoke in return, placing your hand behind his shoulder, touch still as soft as before before slipping your other hand in his, not letting your fingers intertwine the way he may have wanted them to. He placed his arm on your back, just below your armpit, beginning to dance and move towards the center of the ballroom.

“From what I’ve observed, you seem to be a good dancer.” He mused, stretching his hand to let you spin, gown flapping around as you did, and he could’ve sworn it might’ve left trails of stardust on the floor everywhere you stepped. You smiled, in a way that screamed at him to escape, but his hand stayed glued to yours, moving further.

“I know a couple of things here and there.”

“How come? Excuse me if I am being intrusive, but I have not seen you at many balls. At least not the ones I attend.” He knew exactly why this specific ball was the one she attended, and the whole conversation inevitably leads to the answer he’s already aware of - he just wants to see how good of a liar you are, though.

“This is my first time here. I’m not a woman of some importance.” You replied, charm beaming off you like rays of light off the sun, and Dream could almost feel his legs tripping after the very hem of your dress. He’s playing with fire, and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself and pour heaps of gasoline. He’s always been like that, and perhaps George hates him for it, but George doesn’t matter anymore - he doesn’t exist as long as he doesn’t look at him. He’s off duty, and if he wants to play with the fire that lights just to burn him, then he shall do exactly that.

“Oh, believe me, you are of utmost importance if I’ve ever seen some.” He says, and you reply with nothing, simply spinning another time under his arm that holds yours firmly. He takes it as an invitation to spark some panic in you.

“Besides, the color of your dress would suggest otherwise. How come a simple lady’s wearing such kitsch cloth?” Dream points out when the two of you move a bit farther back, led by you, and he’s just about impressed at how well you are at suppressing all of this, especially when you let out a perfectly timed, airy chuckle in response, not a single flash of fear or danger in your eyes. It’s the first time that night that he’s actually felt like prey. Techno taught you well, didn’t he?

“I don’t think you’re one to speak on that, Sir Dream.” you respond, eyes flashing from the collar of his basil green suit to the nicely paired olive points of his shoes, back to the hollow eyes of the mask with a mischievous glint in your eye. He exhales a laugh.

“The color is pretty, isn’t it? Aren’t simple ladies allowed to feel like Duchesses every once in a while?” you continue, pulling the two of you mere centimeters closer, enough for any of the passing guests not to spare a single look, and enough for him to notice what you’re doing. He can almost feel a bead of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Maybe he’s more scared of death than he thought.

“I don’t think you’re a simple lady.” He professed, following your lead. You were pulling him dangerously close to the south side, where the balcony stood. You were impressingly good at this. “Simple ladies don’t have knives strapped to their thigh.”

He waited for a slip up, and he got none. Not a single hitch in your breathing, a stutter of your tongue - your lips, marked with a red lipstick that suddenly looked a lot like smeared blood even though it wasn’t, simply stretched into another coy smile. You say nothing, simply keep dancing, feet moving in a little bit of a different direction now, as to delay the operation, and he likes to think that’s enough of a slip up.

“Are you scared of death, Sir Dream?” Violins stammer in staccatos behind him, an awful representation of the tension he knows both of you feel, yet not a single other soul in the room can behold. The back of his neck grows warmer, and maybe it’s fondness, maybe lust, or maybe danger and that known feeling of being the prey in this situation, that he taps in with one foot, the other safely yet artificially placed on predator territory, because he refuses to admit he’s no longer the one with the upper hand, and his leg has lifted off predator land long, long ago.

“My death will be nothing more than a false victory to you.” He offers instead of an answer, hips swaying to the music and steals a glance at the rest of the couples dancing. It’s such an airy atmosphere, so calm, casual yet fancy, elegant. Gowns fly around and snake around naked ankles, but none of them are as pretty as yours. Dream refuses to think about the way his blood would look soaking it, and that’s when it clicks. You’re not so dumb, after all.

“I suppose it will, but your murder will be a true one.” you say, and your feet are tapping on the tiles a few feet too close to the balcony. Dream feels crazy, still dancing like this. He feels crazy, and maybe he should ask for help, scream, but he doesn’t. He dances on, dancing until either the stars or you take him.

“Will you feel alive if I take it off? Will he be more satisfied?” His head moves comically, just to bring attention to the mask that feels so unbelievably tight and suffocating, the strings pressing to the back of his head, threatening to snap. He wants them to snap so badly.

“It’s too late for me to feel alive now. I’ve been dead for years, and I’ll stay that way. Whatever you want, though, honey.” Your voice feels more like music than the actual musing of the fuse of piano and strings in his ears, and he still feels crazy. He feels high on something he’s never known. You haven’t killed him yet - maybe you’re high as well.

“I can bring people back to life.” He replies simply, six simple words that are nothing more than conversation fuel, but they hold so much meaning that he can’t miss the glint in your eyes. Your step falters for a second, but the knight’s eagle eye never misses.

“You don’t want me alive, you want yourself alive.” You whisper, heels clacking louder and louder now. Dream is convinced he’s going insane, but his feet move at their own accord, of their own body and soul.

“I want both of us.”

“Only one gets to stay.” You say, and it doesn’t make his blood go cold like he expects it to. It’s sort of depressing to know that his heart accepted his morality so quickly, much quicker than his stubborn brain.

“I don’t think you want me to go, though.” It’s one hell of a ballsy move, but when you press your lips together, he knows he’s done it. Unsure how, but happy he did, nonetheless.

“I’m quite unsure of what I want, I must say. Sir Technoblade does, though.” You spit his name out, and it forces an unwilling laugh out of Dream.

“Be careful, it’s death you’re dancing with.” You say, gaze as fiery as ever, reflecting the blood of your dress and the blinding lights of the chandelier that light your eyes on fire. He returns the gaze just the same.

“May I get one last dance with Death, then, before she makes up her mind?” The knight cheekily smiles, even though you can’t see it, but he’s sure you feel it. Your hand manages to go warmer in his own when you grip it tighter, and he thinks he’s got his answer.

“You know what? Death’s a pretty good dancer, but so are you. She’ll allow it.”

#dream x reader #dream imagine #dream fanfic #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken fanfic #dream angst #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x y/n #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #dream fluff

539 notes · View notes

chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

Heart-Shaped Wreckage

Day 16, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: Heart-Shaped Wreckage

Author: adenei

Pairing: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger

Prompt: Songfic

Rating: T

TW: implied violence and near-death experience (but nothing explicit)

A/N: This is the part two follow-up to Rewrite the Stars.

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

Hermione’s hand trembles as she reaches over to her nightstand and turns on the light. She can’t sleep, which is a common occurrence as of late. Where she once relished in the quiet of her flat, now the serenity is too much to bear. She is running out of changes to make that will erase the worst, most painful decision of her life. The ultra-soft linens she purchased for her bed are anything but comforting and luxurious. They feel scratchy and cold, and the fresh and clean look of the white comforter with its floral patterns gives off more of a sterile vibe than the new slate she’d been hoping for. Instead, it serves as another stark reminder that all the vibrancy and color had evaporated from her life when she pushed Ron away.

It’s been 62 days since the disaster of the Auror gala, and 50 since Hermione’s received any form of contact from him. Ron has honored her wishes to break things off no matter how much it pained them both to do so. Part of her still wishes he’d floo into her fireplace or knock on her door, begging her to give them another chance. But she knows deep down none of that will ever happen. He is a man of respect, and he will always abide by her requests, even if she no longer wants to keep them herself.

It’s better this way. She reminds herself of the constant scrutiny they’d face if they stayed together, and the hurt and discomfort even at the mere thought indicate that her feelings haven’t changed. There is no way she could put him through that sort of subjection just so she can be selfish and happy. Their lives are too different, and they live in a world where the acceptance of all kinds of love doesn't exist.

So, in the grueling months since they ended things for a second time, Hermione has worked to make changes, some drastic, some minute, in an effort to force herself to move on. She is too proud to let anyone in her life know the pain that she feels with every conscious breath that she takes. Hermione has thrown herself into her work, staying at school late to mark papers, redecorate the classroom, or develop new lesson plans to benefit the students and create more hands-on experiences.

And once she realized that her preparation was complete through the end of next term, Hermione turned to her flat. Weekends have been spent on home projects. Painting the walls, updating the decor, and cleaning every square inch of her flat, all to help her forget.

But the problem is, her heart doesn’t want to forget. Every book she sits down to read reminds her of time spent with Ron. Her renewed efforts in the kitchen never fail to bring a smile or a chuckle to her lips as her mind traitorously wonders what Ron would think if he were here to observe the barely edible mess she’s created. Yet, Hermione is not naive enough to believe that it will change anything. She knows it won’t.

As she sits up in the enormous queen-sized bed, she reaches for the parchment that lays in tri-folds on the nightstand. The paper is worn, with visible wrinkles preventing it from lying flat and tear stains causing the corners to curl as she unfolds the delicate sheet. Hermione’s not sure why she’s opening the letter to read. She knows it won’t bring her the comfort she craves or the answers she desires.

The messy scrawl gives way to Ron’s only correspondence with her since the last time they spoke, and she latches onto it as if it’s the only life preserver on a capsizing vessel. It’s the only thing she has left. The only reminder of the life she could have had.

I’m not scared to tell the truth.

I went to hell and back and I went with you

Remind me what we were before,

When you said you are mine, and I am yours

Hermione,

There’s a lot I want to say and I’m not sure if I can fit it all in this letter, but I’m going to try. I never meant for any of this to happen, but I did mean everything I said that night. I’m not afraid to tell you how I feel. What we have, er, had, I guess, is special. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life, and I don’t think I ever will. And it’s not just about the case and finding comfort in each other.

When we broke things off after graduation, I felt like a part of me was missing. The Auror academy kept me busy, and sure, my life moved on, but I wasn’t really happy. Not as happy as I was when we were together. And then fate brought us back together and we decided to make another go of it, that’s when I realized that you were what was missing. You make my life so much brighter, so meaningful, and I’m sorry if I sound like a sap, but I need you to know how I feel.

I would give up everything for you. Social status means nothing to me. If the Aurors sack me because of my personal relations, then so be it. I’ll work with George, or find something else. If my family can’t be supportive, then it will be their loss. I’m not willing to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it, and I refuse to give in to the Ministry’s stance on bloody purity.

I know this is all probably ‘too little, too late’ or whatever that Muggle saying is that you like to use, and I promise you I’m going to respect your wishes. But I had to tell you. I had to let you know because...well...there’s this mission that’s come up. It’s going to be bloody dangerous and Robards asked for volunteers because he knows how risky it’s going to be. Anyone who goes isn’t guaranteed to come back and, well, I won’t go into the details, but I volunteered to go.

I know, I know, I can hear you in the back of my head telling me that it’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and not to throw my life away because we’re not together, but Hermione, it’s been twelve days and I can’t go on day to day like this. I can’t. Working is the only thing that eases the pain and gets my mind off of everything. I’ll be as safe as I can be, I promise.

I hope you find the happiness you deserve. You’re brilliant, always remember that. Just know that I love you, and it’s because I love you that I’m going to try to let go.

Ron

Tears threaten in Hermione’s eyes once again. It’s no different than every other time she reads the letter. Nothing has changed; Ron’s gone, still on his mission six weeks later and no end in sight. Hermione is sure this is the reason she’s not sleeping. With every passing day and no news of Ron’s whereabouts, she turns to the only object that can provide her with any source of comfort: the letter.

After three weeks of constant worrying and bags under her eyes so prevalent that even her eight-year-old students noticed, Hermione caved and wrote to Harry. Even though they can’t be together, she knows deep down that she can still care about his well-being.

Harry’s response had been timely and brief. He didn’t have details of the mission but reassured Hermione that no news is good news. Hermione thanked him and asked for updates if it wasn’t too much trouble. The two had been friendly in school, growing closer as her relationship with Ron blossomed as well. She didn’t expect his alliance to stray from his best friend but still appreciated his willingness to be cordial with her after everything she’d put Ron through.

“Please come home to me,” she whispers into the darkness.

Her heart aches more as her eyes hover over the parchment once more, searching for the three words that she knows she’ll never read too many times: I love you.

For some reason, this three a.m. readthrough hits differently. She carefully folds the parchment, places it back on the nightstand and turns off the light. There are still a few more hours left to find sleep.

Hermione tosses and turns as she attempts to focus on sleep and quieting her thoughts. At some point, a flash illuminates the night sky, and that’s when the pieces begin forming more vividly in her mind. The clap of thunder follows seconds later, and with it, a realization is born. As the rain begins its slow cadence of pitter-patters on the window, the brevity of Hermione’s decision hits her with the force of the storm strengthening outside.

I don’t know much, but I know myself

And I don’t want to love anybody else

So let’s break the spell and lift the curse

Remember when we fell for each other head first

There is only one question that forms in her mind. One question that surpasses any of the other thoughts she’s managed to cope with over the last two months.

What have I done?

None of her previous attempts to move past this matter anymore, even though it’s too late, and there’s nothing she can do.

Three days later, Hermione is finishing up her night-time routine when there’s a knock on her door. She looks at the antique clock on the wall that reads 10:45. Her heart plummets to her stomach. No one calls this late at night with good news. She stands frozen in place, amazed that the glass of water in her hand hasn’t spilled to the floor as a result of her shock.

Another knock, and Hermione manages to lift her feet from the floor. She reaches over and sets the glass on the counter before pulling her dressing gown tight around her waist. The carpet feels thick and heavy, as if her feet are wading through mud and sludge as she makes the torturous trek to the door. Five steps feel like five thousand. She’s sure all of this has happened in a matter of seconds, but it feels like minutes. Maybe the caller will be gone by the time her eye reaches the peephole.

Her hope is instantly quashed when she peers through the tiny circle to see an older gentleman that she doesn’t quite recognize at first. He’s wearing an overcoat and tan bowler hat, and is looking down at a torn piece of parchment. A pair of cerulean blue eyes drift back up to the number on her flat’s door, and that’s when the familiarity hits Hermione like a muggle slamming into the brick wall that separates platforms nine and ten at King’s Cross Station.

She can feel the blood drain from her face as dizziness overcomes her. Falling forward, she clasps onto the doorknob to steady herself. The noise catches the gentleman’s attention.

“Er, Ms. Granger. Are you home? It’s very important that I speak to you. Please, I mean no harm if you’ll open up.”

Hermione struggles to find her voice to respond. Her hands are shaking so violently that she can barely latch on to the deadbolt that has been fastened for the evening.

“Oh, er, please forgive me. We haven’t formally met, but it’s Mr. Weasley out here. Ron’s father.”

Hearing Ron’s name gives Hermione the strength that she needs to click the deadbolt to the left as she manages to turn the door handle with her other hand. Pulling the door open, she slowly looks up at the elder Weasley.

“Is—is everything okay?” Her voice is raw and weak, and she’s sure the shock is the only thing preventing the tears from pooling in her eyes.

“Er, no, it’s not. May I come in?” His eyes dart around, as if he doesn’t want to discuss the matter out in the open.

Hermione opens the door wider to let him in and manages to shut it when he’s through the entryway. Her free hand fiddles with her wand that’s still inside her pocket—just in case—though she fears no imminent threat from Ron’s father.

"Ms. Granger, I’m sorry for calling so late. I wouldn’t be here at all, actually, if it wasn’t for Harry mentioning—ah, well, that’s no matter...”

Mr. Weasley is rambling, and Hermione has trouble processing his words. Her breath catches at the mention of Harry’s name, which draws Mr. Weasley’s attention to her, helping him get to the point of his late-night visit.

“Ron’s been gravely injured. He’s at St. Mungo’s now. They brought him in an hour or so ago. Molly and I met Harry and Ginny there as soon as we heard. He’s stable for now, but the Healers are unsure if it will hold.”

Hermione grasps the back of the couch to keep from collapsing to the ground. A sob bursts from her throat as the tears that threatened moments ago now spill freely down her cheeks.

“Wh-what happened?”

The words are spoken with great effort.

“We don’t have many details. The Aurors are still trying to clean up loose ends on the mission, but it sounds like the operation was successful thanks to Ron’s efforts. One of the target’s accomplices hit Ron with an unknown spell before he was caught.”

Even through Hermione’s own devastation, she can hear the tremor in Ron’s father’s voice. He’s scared, though he’s hiding it well as he continues to explain what he knows. There’s a sheen in his eyes as the moisture appears, emotions raw as he finishes bringing Hermione up to speed.

“Everyone was apprehended, and Ron appears to be the only one who got hurt. We should know more in the coming hours.”

Hermione can only offer a blank stare as she processes the information. His letter said it would be a dangerous mission. He didn’t sound as if he was hopeful that he’d come back alive. Or maybe he was hoping—no, don’t think like that. It was her fault that he’d gone in the first place. By some miracle, he was still hanging on, and the haziness of Hermione’s previous decisions about their relationship begins to give way. The fact that his father is there in her flat informing her has to mean something.

“Why are you here?”

It comes out harsher than Hermione intends, but after their less than amicable meeting at the gala, Hermione can’t be bothered with pleasantries. Even if his wife’s behavior was ruder than his own.

The older man pulls out a handkerchief and wipes beads of sweat off his brow as he sighs deeply.

“Ms. Granger—”

“Hermione.”

“Right, yes, Hermione. I am aware that we did not get off on the right foot. I’m sorry I never introduced myself on the night of the gala. We weren’t expecting Ron to have a date. I’ll admit that Molly and I were ignorant in the way we treated you that night, and for that, I am sorry. Nothing can take back our words, nor can it change the way others view you based on your blood status, but please know how wrong we were.

“Ron was devastated after you broke things off after the gala, and I suppose that was largely due to our behavior. It’s clear to us how much he loves you, and we don’t want to stand in the way of that. So, when Harry mentioned you had asked for news and wanted to come tell you, I insisted that I should be the one to see you. Please don’t let our ignorance stand in the way of your happiness.”

Hermione stands there, listening to Arthur’s apology. While she appreciates the olive branch, part of her can’t help but feel that it’s too little, too late, and a new wave of tears flood her eyes as she sees those exact words in Ron’s letter. She offers a curt nod to let him know she appreciates the gesture, even as her voice can’t find the words.

“I won’t keep you. I should be getting back, but Ron is in room 408. You are on the approved list as a family member if you decide you want to see him, and Molly’s agreed to let you stay with him if you’d like.”

Arthur gives a weak nod as he dabs his forehead once more before making his way to the door. It takes Hermione a moment to realize what’s happening, and as soon as everything processes, she’s pushing herself off the back of the sofa and calling out to Arthur.

Look at this heart shaped wreckage

What have we done?

We’ve got scars from battles nobody won

We can start over, better

Both of us know if we just let the broken pieces

Let the broken pieces go

“I’m coming! Please, er, if you don’t mind waiting. I just need to get changed—”

“Of course.”

Arthur offers a paternal smile as Hermione rushes into her bedroom and throws on the first thing she can find. She almost forgets to grab her bag as she throws on her coat and locks the door behind her.

Moments later, they’re entering St. Mungo’s, and Mr. Weasley leads the way through the main hall to the lifts. It’s only as the gate shuts that nerves begin to bubble up in her stomach. She’s been running on the adrenaline of the news, and now she can’t help but wonder how the rest of Ron’s family will react when they see her. Or, what’s worse, how Ron will react if and when he wakes up.

When. It has to be when.

As if sensing her trepidation, Mr. Weasley places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The lift opens, and the first person she sees is Harry in the waiting room. Her feet gravitate toward him of their own accord, and when Harry sees her, he meets her halfway and wraps her in a tight hug.

“He’s going to be okay. He has to,” Harry whispers in her ear.

Hermione nods, forcing her brain to believe his words. When they let go, Ginny hugs Hermione next, which helps her feel more relaxed.

Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

After one final squeeze, Ginny lets go so Hermione can follow Arthur down the hall to Ron’s room. He opens the door, and Hermione enters the sterile, white room. The most color she sees is his shock of red hair against the fluffy white pillow that’s cradling his head. Her heart begins beating faster as she spots his mum sitting vigil at his side.

Mrs. Weasley looks up to see the two standing there. A hard, stony look immediately sets on her face in defense before it softens slightly. She stands and walks over to Hermione. She knows that she’ll have a harder time winning over the Weasley matriarch based on this interaction, but if Ron wakes up—and will take her back—she’s willing to do anything to make it work.

“Let’s give her some privacy, Molly. The healers will call us in if he wakes up,” Arthur coaxes his wife out of the room as he gives Hermione one last reassuring smile.

When the door closes behind them, Hermione walks up to the chair Molly was perched at and takes a seat. She moves the chair closer to the bed as she observes Ron in his sleeping state. A tear slips down her face as her hand reaches out to take his. It isn’t cold, but it’s also not as warm as she’s used to.

“Please wake up. You have to wake up,” she pleads, choking back a fresh wave of tears.

I can’t find you in the dark

Will we get back to who we are?

And I can’t fix this on my own

Our love is still the best thing I’ve ever known

She’s not sure how long she sits there, watching his chest slowly rise and fall as he breathes. No matter how hard she tries, Hermione can’t look away, for fear that his breathing might stop if she does. She’s so focused on his chest, that she doesn’t see his eyes flutter open.

“Er-my-nee.”

His voice is breathy, with more rasp than she’s used to, but she’d have given all the gold in her Gringotts vault to hear her name on his lips again if she had to. He lifts the hand that she’s holding, and Hermione leans in closer to press her face into it.

“You came,” he whispers.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she lifts off the seat and leans over him, capturing his lips with hers. They’re cracked and dry, no doubt from being undercover in who knows what kind of conditions, but none of that matters. Ron’s alive, and he’s kissing her back.

Look at this heart shaped wreckage

What have we done?

We’ve got scars from battles nobody won

We can start over, better

Both of us know if we just let the broken pieces

Let the broken pieces go

“I’m so sorry.” The apology seems frail as she mutters the words against his lips.

His other hand reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear and wipe the tears from her face. “It’s okay.”

“Don’t ever do something that stupid again.”

“Only if you give me a reason not to.”

Let the broken pieces go

Just hold on to each other tonight

“I will, I promise.”

She pulls away to look into his tired, bright blue eyes that carry the hope she feels in her chest.

“Does that mean…?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know what life is going to throw at me, Ron, but I only want to take it if you’re by my side.”

“It’s about time you came to your senses.”

The hand that’s still cupping her cheek adjusts to pull her back to him as he does his best to crash his lips into hers for a searing, though still tender, kiss. His breath is hot as he groans against her mouth, solidifying their reunification. There’s an unspoken agreement to let the broken pieces of the past go.

Tonight, they’ll start over, rewriting the stars to match their love story the way it’s meant to be.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #tw: implied death #tw: implied violence #romione #ron weasley x hermione granger #hermione granger x ron weasley

75 notes · View notes

stolen-pen-name23 · 3 years

Note

13 for the prompts? (If it hasn’t been done yet) with obi wan and qui gon because yes 💜

I sure can! Thank you for the prompt! // From these prompts.

So I think I'm going to actually write a prequel chapter (or 2) for this fic later, so keep an eye out for that!

Anyway, here ya go:

---

As a Jedi connected to the Living Force, Qui-Gon has greater respect than most for life — human or otherwise. So for a practitioner of the Living Force, it is a little unusual for him to feel this homicidal.

No, Qui-Gon has rarely felt rage quite like this.

Of course, he does not want the people… No, wait. "People" is too kind of a word for them. He does not want the vermin slavers who did this to his Padawan to die. He just wants them to suffer for a bit. Suffer like his Padawan is currently suffering — and maybe a bit more after that.

“Let me go!” Obi-Wan screams, pulling on the restraints holding him in place on the bed. Neither Qui-Gon nor Vokara Che had wanted to do this — not after Obi-Wan had just been freed from chains — but he was clawing at his skin and objects around the room had started floating with every aimless gesture of his hands. “Please, Master, let me go,” he begs, his voice raw from screaming.

“Soon, Padawan, soon,” Qui-Gon soothes. “The drugs just need to work their way through your system.”

The logic was lost on Obi-Wan. The young man before him, just barely 18, looks as though he has been betrayed.

“Let me go. Please let me go. I need to stop it, I need…”

“Stop what?” Qui-Gon prods, hoping that humoring his padawan will help him work through it faster.

“Stop him.”

“Who?”

“The man!” he says it plainly like it is a well-known fact who the man is.

“What man?”

“The man with the scar on his eye.”

Qui-Gon tries to think through everyone he knows. He can’t think of a single person with a scar on their eye.

“What is the man’s name?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says, frustration mixing into the fear that hangs potent in his Force presence.

“Why do you have to stop him?”

Obi-Wan stops straining against his bonds and his eyes clear momentarily. The sudden stillness feels heavy — like something lying in wait.

“He will tear everything down,” Obi-Wan turns to look at Qui-Gon and his eyes are clear and certain. “Everything.”

A chill runs down Qui-Gon’s spine.

Then the fog returns. Obi-Wan strains against his bonds once more.

“Let me go. Let me out. I’m not supposed to be here!”

“You are exactly where you need to be, my Padawan.”

“No no no no no.” There is a crazed look of hysteria in his eyes. It is so unnatural an expression for his Padawan, Qui-Gon almost cannot bear to look. But he looks anyway because he swore to stand by his Padawan’s side through all things, even this.

“Stop!” Obi-Wan screams. “Stop it! Please! I don’t want to hurt you!”

Qui-Gon shifts uncomfortably. “Who are you talking to?” he asks.

“You were my brother!”

What?

“You… Obi-Wan, you don’t have a brother,” Qui-Gon stutters. Who is he talking about?

Obi-Wan tosses his head to the side and then tosses it again until he’s looking at Qui-Gon.

“Let me go!” Obi-Wan yells.

“So there’s been no change huh?” A female voice cuts in.

Qui-Gon jumps. His attention was so fixed on Obi-Wan, he didn't notice Vokara Che slip into the room.

“What the hell did they drug him with?” Qui-Gon growls, his anger threatening to spill over at just the thought of the slavers and what they did to Obi-Wan.

“We’re still running tests on his blood. But we narrowed it down to some sort of hallucinogen.”

“I could have told you that,” Qui-Gon mutters.

Vokara fixes him with one of her strongest glares.

“Apologies, Master Che,” he amends. “I am just concerned for him.”

“I know,” Vokara says. Qui-Gon is grateful that she does not tell him to release his anxieties to the Force. He is not quite ready to part with them yet.

“Do you have any idea how long this will last?” Qui-Gon asks, hoping this nightmare will end soon.

“It’s hard to say. It depends on his body and how fast it works through the drugs. Hallucinogens can last six hours or they can last as long as fifteen hours.”

“It’s only been three hours,” Qui-Gon says, feeling sick at the possibility of his Padawan enduring this for twelve more hours.

Vokara squeezes his shoulder in sympathy. “He’s a strong boy,” Vokara said. “A strong young man, I should say,” she adds on. “He’ll make it through this. I can’t say for certain without knowing what exactly is in his system, but most hallucinogenic drugs don’t cause any permanent damage.” “Most?”

“What I’m saying is that I think your Padawan will be okay. I have him on an IV so he won’t get dehydrated, which is usually the biggest concern with hallucinogens.”

Qui-Gon turns his attention back to Obi-Wan. Sweat has matted his hair and his skin is a sickly pale color. His screaming has turned into sobbing.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he cries. He pulls at the restraints. “I don’t like these.”

“We don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Vokara says calmly. She runs a scanner over Obi-Wan’s body and looks at the readings. Whether it is good or bad, Qui-Gon is not sure. Her expression gave nothing away.

“If anything changes, please come get me,” Vokara says.

Qui-Gon nods. “Of course.”

Vokara takes her leave and Qui-Gon gives his undivided attention to Obi-Wan.

“Let me go,” Obi-Wan begs again.

“I can’t,” Qui-Gon says. “You heard Master Che. It’s for your own safety.”

Obi-Wan groans. “What is happening to me?”

Qui-Gon’s heart feels like it is breaking open in his chest.

“I’m so sorry that this is happening to you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says “You’ll be okay soon.”

“But what’s happening?” Obi-Wan asks. Qui-Gon is hopeful that this moment of partial clarity lasts. Obi-Wan has been giving him false hope over the past few hours. Moments of clarity, all chased away by delirium.

“You’ve been drugged,” Qui-Gon says.

“Oh. I feel weird. I feel… not good. Hot.”

“Do you want some water?” Qui-Gon asks.

Obi-Wan looks like he’s going to answer, but his eyes glaze over and he is no longer looking at Qui-Gon.

“I keep seeing…”

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asks.

“I see…”

“What do you see, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asks, hoping he’ll be able to help Obi-Wan realize his hallucinations aren’t real.

“No!” Obi-Wan screams.

Qui-Gon’s hope vanishes. With a sigh, he begins stroking Obi-Wan’s sweat-drenched hair, smoothing it out from all of his tossing and turning.

Hours of begging and screaming and pulling at restraints pass until it seems Obi-Wan’s body is exhausted beyond its limits. His howls turn to whimpers. His sobs turn to hitched breaths. And finally, he passes out. Qui-Gon sighs a breath of relief and prays to the Force that when his Padawan wakes up, he will be his Padawan once more.

***

Qui-Gon can sense Obi-Wan coming back to consciousness before he even notices him stirring. He squints at the bright light of the room and groans.

Obi-Wan tries to move his arm but is held back by the restraints still keeping him down. Panic sets itself in Obi-Wan’s widened eyes.

“Why am I… M-Master?” His chest heaves with growing panic and he starts pulling at the bonds with renewed vigor.

“Hey, hey, Obi-Wan. It’s me. You’re alright,” Qui-Gon says, moving into his line of sight. Obi-Wan stares at him, unblinking and terrified. “What do you see right now?”

Obi-Wan hesitates. “I see you. I… I see this room. There’s not much in it.”

“Okay, good. Can you take a few deep breaths for me while I got get Master Che?”

“You’re leaving?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice going an octave higher.

“Only for a moment. You need to get looked over before I can let you out of those things,” Qui-Gon says, gesturing to the restraints with disdain.

Obi-Wan eyes the restraints and nods his approval.

Qui-Gon races out to find Master Che and she follows him back to Obi-Wan’s room.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Vokara says in greeting. “Are you feeling better?”

He nods glumly but does not offer her much else.

“All right, well I’m just going to perform a quick examination okay?”

Obi-Wan nods his consent and Vokara gets to work.

“I’m going to take these restraints off of your hands and ankles all right?”

He nods vigorously and Vokara undoes the buckles. When his hands are freed, Obi-Wan rubs his wrists. They’ve been chaffed raw and the skin is an angry red.

Vokara does not judge. She does not say a word about the welts. She simply takes a jar of bacta gel and rubs it on Obi-Wan’s wrists.

“Those should feel better in a few hours,” she says. Vokara follows the gentle administration with a blood sample. She runs a scanner over his body.

“Your vitals are normal, which is a good sign,” Vokara says. “I’m going to run your labs, and after that, we can see about letting you go home to rest.”

No protests, no haggling, no complaints come from Obi-Wan at the prospect of staying in the halls of healing even longer. Even Vokara raises an eyebrow at this.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” she asks. “Any nausea? Headache?”

“A little,” he says softly. Vokara exchanges a glance with Qui-Gon at the admittance.

“That’s pretty normal,” she says. “Is there anything else bothering you? Any other pain?”

“Just tired.”

“That’s to be expected after what your body has been through.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to run these labs, but let me know if your headache gets worse or if you feel like you need to throw up.”

He nods obediently.

Vokara leaves Qui-Gon alone with his Padawan.

Obi-Wan’s face scrunches up in concentration.

“What is it, Padawan?”

“There was something… something important…” Obi-Wan starts. Some of his earlier panic starts to return and his chest begins to heave. “I saw it. I just… I don’t know...”

“Hush, it’s alright. None of it was real,” Qui-Gon soothes.

“No!” Obi-Wan says forcefully, and for a moment, Qui-Gon worries the drug has not completely left his system yet. “It was… it felt…”

“How did it feel?” Qui-Gon asks.

Fear, sorrow, and anguish all flash across Obi-Wan’s eyes. His fingers dance in a nervous tapping pattern on the frame of the bed.

“How did it feel?” Qui-Gon asks again.

Obi-Wan stops tapping his fingers.

“Like the end of all things.”

The young man is still, as though he is afraid that the next move he makes will set his visions on a path to fruition.

“You need to stay grounded, Padawan. Stay in the here and now.”

Anger flared in the Force — white-hot and foreign.

“Oh yeah? You try to stay grounded after you get kidnapped by slavers and then drugged with some unknown substance that makes you question everything you see and feel,” Obi-Wan snaps.

Qui-Gon gives him a moment. He needs a moment.

Obi-Wan’s face crumples and he buries his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice muffled by his own hands. His shoulders shake. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright, Padawan. You’ve been through a lot in the last 48 hours. I will not fault you for taking a tone with me.”

Obi-Wan offers him a strained laugh and he wipes at his eyes before looking back up at Qui-Gon. “I just…”

“Tell me, Padawan. Anything.”

“Is this real?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan. This is real.” Qui-Gon grabs Obi-Wan’s hand and squeezes it. “Feel this?”

Obi-Wan nods.

“That’s because it is real. You and I. Here and now. We are real.”

Obi-Wan takes in a shuddering breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Qui-Gon reaffirms.

Obi-Wan nods. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Qui-Gon reaches over and tugs on Obi-Wan’s braid.

“Hey!” Obi-Wan exclaims, rubbing his scalp. “What was that for?”

“For scaring me,” Qui-Gon says, giving Obi-Wan a faux look of reproach.

“Apologies, Master,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

Obi-Wan grins at him before yawning.

“You should get some rest.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, but he yawns again.

“You are obviously tired,” Qui-Gon says, unimpressed. “Why don’t you want to sleep?”

“I don’t…”

“Yes, Padawan?”

“If I fall asleep, will you stay?” Obi-Wan finally says, his voice quiet and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “You don’t have to,” he quickly adds on. “I just. I don’t want to be alone and I’m still not sure if any of this is real and I want it to be real, but I—”

“Of course I will stay,” Qui-Gon says. “You’re real, I’m real, and I’m staying.”

“Thanks, Master,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes fluttering closed.

Qui-Gon stays and keeps guard over Obi-Wan’s dreams.

#my writing #tw non consensual drug use #tw mentions of slavery #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn

90 notes · View notes

tsukkiseasalt · 3 years

Text

Eyes That Won’t Wonder

“What, what!?” You shriek.

Another low laugh erupts from him as he leans against the door, his large frame blocking any potential view of the inside.

“I believe that is a compliment.” He mumbles his lips curling up into a sly smile.

“Y-yeah, it was.” You stammer, words barely making themselves out of you as your stomach begins to do cartwheels.

“As much as I'd love to stay right here and chat, you’d probably find it to be much more comfortable inside.” He says, smile fully present now, and you take a moment to admire the sight-storing it in your mind. He moves enough for you to slip right past him and pause the moment your feet touch the dark hardwood floors.

The aroma is the first thing that invades your senses. It smells of pine and a rich tobacco, with slight hints of something sweet- maybe vanilla, you can’t really tell. The home is just as beautiful on the inside as it appeared from the outside. The dark hardwood floors complimented the ivory walls and dark rust colored trim. The living room was sparsely decorated though, it had only one couch, a chestnut loveseat and a matching recliner. He obviously doesn’t get many visitors.

“Your home is beautiful.” You say breathlessly, eyes roaming the space in awe.

“Thank you.” He exclaims, a large hand grazing the small of your back as he slips behind you and towards the kitchen. His touch makes your knees go weak and you steady yourself by placing a shaky hand on the door.

“Would you like something to drink?” You hear him call from the kitchen.

“Ah, water please.” You answer, taking a few deep breaths before you saunter over to the counter placing your folder in front of you. He slides the glass in front of you and you nod as a thank you before you begin to sip.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name.” He says leaning back onto the fridge, arms folded over his massive chest.

“Oh, uh, my name is y/n y/ln.” You mumble your index finger rubbing the rim of the glass.

“Lovely, it fits you.” He says, eyes catching your own. You can't help the blush that arises on your cheeks.

“T-thank you.” You manage to stammer out, silently cursing yourself for getting so flustered so quickly. He was a patient not some guy at a bar, you needed to get a grip and you needed to get it fast. “Uhm, you’re a bit younger than most of the other patients i have worked for. Is there actually anything wrong with you?” You quiz, but the words come out a bit harsher than you intended. “Oh goodness, I did not mean that in a bad way at all sir- Mr. Wakatoshi, oh my goodness. I am so sorry.” You exhale letting your head fall into your hands. Your words are all becoming a jumbled mess and you can't help the shame that creeps up your throat. Great, now he probably thinks I'm some kind of asshole.

“No, it's okay. I understand what you were trying to say. Two years ago I had to get a disc in my back replaced and it took a lot out of me. Though I can still get around pretty well, there are still certain tasks that I need help with. I am also set to have another surgery on my knee two months from now, so I thought it would be better to have someone get accustomed to me and my habits beforehands.” He says voice monotone. Is he angry?

“Mr. Wakatoshi, I am so sorry if I came off as rude earlier- I didn’t mean to offend.” You say feeling guilty.

He shakes his head. “You’re fine sweetheart, I’m actually quite flattered that you think that.” Before you have a chance to relish his words he starts again, “I’m going to go put some clothes on, but here. I made a list- well a schedule really- of how my day usually functions. You can look over it and if there is anything that seems to be a bit much for you let me know and we will make alterations to it.” He says walking out of the kitchen and returning with a piece of paper. “Here, I will return shortly.” He says handing you the paper. Your eyes skim the page as you read the text.

7:30am- Arrive & make coffee ( I prefer mine black)

7:45am- Read the newspaper

8:00am- Feed Randy & Lyle

8:15am- Pour second cup of coffee & wash dishes

8:30-9:30am- 2nd Workout (If you could have a bowl of fruits waiting that would be lovely)

10:00am- Post shower stretch (Help isn’t required but appreciated)

10:30-12:00pm- Take Lyle to the park (You are more than welcomed to join us)

12:30pm- Lunch / with Aone* (*Mon. & Thurs. only)

1:00pm- Stop at farmers market

1:30pm- Arrive home & check on Randy

1:35-4:00pm- Varies (You may leave at this time or you may stay for dinner.)

4:00-6:00pm- Prepare dinner

6:05- 6:45pm- Eat then wash dishes

All that is required of you is bolded, the italicized text is completely voluntary, though I would enjoy your company.

“Goodness.” You mumble, placing the paper down. “This is even less than I did with Washijō.” You thought you had it easy then just checking his oxygen, helping him up, and taking him wherever, but you were basically an in-home barista.

“I hope it isn't too much.” The voice startles you as he appears beside you now fully clothed- well not really. He had on a pair of dark sweatpants and a gray sleeveless shirt putting biceps on display for all to see.

“Uh, no, not at all sir. I was expecting much more actually.” You admit eyes darting between the paper and his arms.

“Oh, well I'm sorry to disappoint you.” He says voice low as he bends down to tie his shoes. “I’m sure that there will be more for you to do after my knee surgery.”

“Yes, and I'm not disappointed sir, I'm honestly kind of relieved. I haven't worked with anyone in quite a while, so this is a good refresher to allow me to get back into the routine of things.” You say words falling from your lips before you realize it.

“Is that so?” He asks standing back up to his full height, face full of curiosity.

“Yes, my previous patient passed away and I took some time off. He and I were close, friends even, and the death really hit me hard even though I knew it was coming. It still hurts ya know.” You exclaim as feelings of sadness wash over you at the thought of your friend.

You didn't know what you were expecting when you told him that, maybe an ‘i'm sorry for your loss’ or nothing at all but it is safe to say a hug was not one of those things. His body was warm and his chest was solid- it felt good. You wrapped your own arms around his waist and closed your eyes.

“I hope that one day you and I could be friends as well.” He says quietly pulling away.

You don't fight the smile that graces your face, “Yeah, I feel like we will.”

The words seem to liven him because a large smile spreads across his face again. “Well I’m gonna go lift now, feel free to look around. There's food in the fridge and snacks in the pantry. Make yourself at home.” He says walking to the back of his home.

“Oh, Mr. Wakatoshi!”

“Yes love?” He asks, turning back around, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Who are Lyle and Randy?” You ask looking back down at the paper, partly to hide the blush that you are now sporting. “Are they your children?”

“Yes, they are my children. I’ll introduce you when I return.” He laughs before turning back around and disappearing into a hallway.

You sigh as soon as he is out of eyesight dropping your head onto the cool marble countertop, raising your head just enough to read the time on the clock that sits unwavering by stairs. 8:37. You had just under an hour to get somewhat acquainted with the home you would now be in for ten hours a day for six days a week. You decide to begin with the kitchen, opening and closing drawers & cabinets identifying the contents within them, occasionally rubbing a light hand over them. Next is the living room. The wide open space is mostly vacant and you take a seat on the loveseat sinking back into the cushions. “Nice.” You mumble.

Pushing yourself up you wonder to every room opening the door just enough for you to peek in and see what it is. You hesitate though when you get to the room at the end of the hallway. It’s his. You could sense it, nonetheless you slowly push the knob down and peek inside. It’s clean just like the rest of his home. You don't linger and decide its best to close the door & move onto the next.

By 9:15 you’d looked throughout his entire home, and it was more beautiful than you could have imagined. The ceilings in the bathrooms were high and had beautiful artworks painted atop of them, they looked as though they belonged in a museum rather than someone's guest bathroom. The spare bedrooms were just as lovely. Each had a shelf that was littered with books and knick-knacks that looked foreign. All of this just fueled your curiosity- what did he do & how long did he do it?

You shrugged as you went back into the kitchen jumping when you saw his large frame in the fridge. He was shirtless, again, but this time his hair was wet and clung to his head. The small gray stripes were clear as day against his dark olive locks.

“Oh, hi. I didn��t think you’d be done yet.” You say awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

“Yes, I finished early and decided to shower & grab a snack.” He says waving the bowl of strawberries.

“I was about to prepare one for you.” You said.

“Oh, thank you. You don't really have to do anything today, just get accustomed to things.” He says popping the small red fruit into his mouth.

“Would you like me to stretch you out?” You ask, remembering the list.

His eyes shoot up to yours as soon as the question escapes your lips and you realize how wrong it sounded and before you had a chance to correct yourself he spoke. “You stretch me out, I mean i’ll try anything once but i’d prefer the opposite..”

His words startled you to say the least, and almost instinctively the words flowed from your lips, “I’d like to see you try.”

His eyes widened at your remark and at that you began to spew apologies. “Shit, fuck, DAMMIT. God, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, the stretching part I mean. Well I meant that, but not what I said afterwards. Ok, let me start over. What I meant to say is do you need help stretching considering you just got done working out. There, that's what I meant.”

Your eyes are frantic as they lock with his. God, it's the first day and I'm already gonna lose my damn job. Just great. His lips are pressed in a straight line for a moment before he finally lets the edge of them glide up into a small smirk.

“I’ve already stretched, but I suppose I could go a little deeper, maybe a little harder this time.” He says emphasizing the two words as he pops another strawberry between his lips smirk still evident.

“The stretches of course.?” You ask for clarification.

He hums and pops another strawberry between his lips setting the bowl down onto the counter stalking towards you, his large figure quickly engulfing your much smaller one almost instantly. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.”

You can feel his warm breath on your lips as he leans down, “But if that is what you insist.”

A loud bark bellowed throughout the kitchen causing you to jump. He smiled and wrapped a protective arm around your waist. “No need to fret, he was probably just getting anxious to meet you.”

“He?”

“Yes, my son, or at least one of them. Come on so I can introduce you.” He says guiding you down the hallway, to his room you assumed. You were correct, you realized as he pushed the door open revealing a large dog.

“Don’t worry sweetheart he doesn’t bite. Daddy made him promise to be on his best behavior.” He whispers lowly into your ear.

Fuck, this may be harder than I thought.

hiiiiii, this is the second chapter & you can just check the tag eyesthatwontwonder to read the first. anywaysssss i hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are always appreciated <33

#haikyu x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu!!#ushiwaka #wakatoshi ushijima #shiratorizawa #smut #eyesthatwontwonder #haikyu headcanons #haikyuu smut #haikyū!!

91 notes · View notes