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yanderart · 4 years

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He caught you when no one else did; defeated you when no one else could. Whether you liked to admit it or not, Eraserhead had clearly proven his worth.

So why didn't you prove yours, little villain?

Another portrait for my POV yandere series, this time of Aizawa. Got a few people requesting me to draw/write for him so hopefully y'all enjoy it 🖤

Below the cut, as customary for the series, is a longshot one-shot that delves further into the backstory (Aizawa x Villain Reader, nsfw, dark themes, 8k).

TWs: dub-con, graphic smut, Bad Bondage Etiquette, degradation/humiliation, brat (villain) taming, cumplay and slight bimbofication. Scumbag Aizawa is real.

— — —

The day you met Eraserhead, looking back, saying your worries had been misplaced would be an understatement. With not being apprehended and losing street cred at the very top of your list, it was decidedly easy to skip over any of the other big red-lettered warnings.

You first felt the tickle in your nape while you carried your acquisitions across downtown Musutafu, accompanied by the familiar presage of someone watching your every movement. The city around you was bustling, as was the norm, as loud and meandering in its complaints as a chronically diseased elder, yet the alleys you took as shortcuts grew quieter and quieter with each step.

It was eerie, alarming, and a platitude of other adjectives you shamefully chose to neglect.

“So this is the great V/N in the flesh,” the lazy cadence of someone calling out your alias froze you mid-step, the way his owner dragged each syllable telling you he hadn’t yet decided whether you were worth wasting his breath on.

Your body was responding before you even had a chance to properly process the threat, running on instinct and muscle memory as you twirled to face the mysterious man and prepared to...

“Cute dress, kid.” Eraserhead in the flesh stood barely a few feet away, glowing scarlet orbs illuminating his preternaturally blank expression and transforming it instead into a visage of pure intimidation. “Didn’t pitch you for the frilly type.”

The growing panic in your chest put a hitch in your breath as you stared back. Yet you couldn’t help but still try, fruitlessly hoping—hands clenched, nails puncturing your own flesh as you tried to force your dormant quirk awake. And all for naught, considering your efforts were only repaid by the hatchet of your sinking realization being buried even deeper.

Although, the Pro-Hero also appeared to notice your meager attempts, taking a few steps closer to your form with a condescending gleam in his otherwise somber features.

Before you were conscious of what you were looking at (and before you had half a mind to attempt a quirkless attack on the hero), you observed the weapon wrapped around his neck unfolding fluidly, the extensions of fabric reaching out to envelop you in a forceful embrace that left your arms tucked to your sides and your back uncomfortably straightened.

“Better to trap you before you get any wild ideas. It’s your fault you’re in this position in the first place anyways,” he was taunting you, prodding you and poking you as you found yourself completely at his mercy, uselessly struggling much in the same way many of your victims had surely felt in their last few moments at your hands.

"Eraserhead," his pseudonym resembled an insult on your tongue, your rage and resentment making for rather colorful enhancements. "Don’t you have anything better to do than trapping helpless girls with this weapon of yours? Didn't peg you for a pervert."

Usually, you managed to reign in some of your nastier attitudes, channeling them into your quirk and the violence you could inflict with it…

But tied up and under the influence of his own ability as you were? All you had was pettiness.

"You can dress up as a civ all you want. Won't be fooling me." He took several steps, closing the distance between you two with barely the hint of a smile morphing his stern expression.

You could see the faint stubble on his handsome face from this up close, blood-shot eyes that refused to blink as they studied you in ample detail. Could even see the scar carved onto one of his cheekbones, a textured promise of the fight he had survived and now wore as a medal.

Such was your luck, that the Pro to finally catch up with you had to be this rugged scumbag.

"I'm not even engaging in any criminal activities, Eraseridiot." Your insult was terrible, but you were never much of a verbal sparrer. Not when you could use your fists instead. "What are you gonna send me to the pigs for? I know my rights."

And you did. So when the condescension on the lazy hero's face turned into a full-on expression of mockery as he approached your "bag of acquisitions," you audibly gulped. Goddamn stalker couldn't have been following you for that long? Could he?

If only you knew.

"Then," he held up the bag with an indolent brand of interest, the contents dangling tauntingly from his clutch. "How do you explain this over here? I reckon even dirt like you knows what stealing qualifies as." His other hand dived for the contents and before you could voice any protest, cheeks blushing furiously, a slow hint of a chuckle was bobbing his adam's apple. "It would be a fun thing to peg you down for, though."

That damned weapon of his didn't give out an inch as you started to furiously struggle, becoming instead impossibly tighter with each futile attempt at freeing yourself.

"You fucking psycho, is this your sick way of trying to pick me up or something?"

But your quip did not deter him at all (if anything, it spurred him on). The hand inside the bag tensed for a moment before he was retrieving the sole object inside. To say mortification was written all over your face would be an understatement.

A dark pantyhose now hung from Eraserhead's nimble fingers, not a second being wasted by the Hero before he proceeded to bring it up to his face, carelessly stretching the garment until you could see every single one of his features through the sheer material. The way the moonlight caught in it, bouncing off and bathing his patronizing face, made for uncomfortably intimate imagery.

(Yet a part of you, one you would never admit existed if further questioned, also could not help but notice the striking attractiveness of it all, making you want to squirm for completely different reasons while the man continued to exert his quirk on you through the fabric of your fucking lingerie.)

"Gotta say, didn't take you for a pantyhose kind of gal either. Girls like you…" He uttered the last part more like an afterthought, tossing the bag aside before his hands continued toying with the tights absentmindedly. "Are suited for something like fishnets much more."

By that point, you were sure he was just playing with you. You were such a harmless joke, restrained and showcased like a prize for his viewing pleasure.

"Reckon you must own quite a few pairs, uh?" He continued egging you on when you failed to give a timely enough answer.

(Perhaps the fact that he so easily guessed that detail should’ve been your first real warning, too.)

Yet you couldn’t help how his condescension and the downright dirty way he stared at you sent dark shivers up your spine, the threat he represented turning strangely alluring under the dim street lights illuminating you both.

As a villain, you had robbed, murdered, set people ablaze, and even stolen a popsicle or two from some crying kids. So why were Eraserhead's words having such an effect on you? Why did, a part of you deep down, seemed enthused by the awful way in which he was speaking to you?

"You don't have any proof I stole them. I just threw away the receipt after I bought them. Very environmentally unconscious of them, too, when electrical ones are a thing."

Now you were just rambling. What an adorable sight.

"Hmm, never thought I'd hear "environmentally unconscious" being uttered by a two-bit criminal." He stopped stretching the lingerie for a moment, thoughtfully scratching at his incipient stubble with his free hand instead, "Are you really trying to sell me the good samaritan angle?"

To his credit too, he seemed genuinely puzzled by your approach for an instant. Guess even an experienced pro like him still had room to be shocked.

"I'm not trying to sell you anything, imbecile." The snobbishly controlled tone of yours was back, the shaking of panic subsiding while you held onto your only hope of leaving this confrontation unscathed. "And my rights clearly state you need proof to apprehend me. Need causality to exert your quirk on me, too, or you would be the one breaking the law."

Now, Eraserhead wasn’t annoyed per se. You could tell from what little he had already spoken (and from the myriad of cautionary tales you had been told) that little could rattle the man at all, but your comment definitely appeared to intrigue him. It made you feel like an animal being studied, pinned down, and ready to be dissected for his own morbid curiosity.

"Isn't this just rich?" His tone was almost lethargic, words dragging on with a faint rumble. "Are you going to run off to the police, then? Tell them how a Pro trapped you and tried turning you in for a very obvious act of theft?", his eyebrows were raised, eyes more awake despite his monotone voice carrying on. "Be my guest then."

Because of course you were all bark, no bite and he was more than willing to call you out on your shit. So instead of continuing down that route, you decided to veer for a new approach, switching from your assortment of insolent tactics.

"Do you get off on this, then?" Your voice morphing into meekness while you adopted an expression of distress, bottom lip jutting out with the sparkle of thinly veiled sarcasm glimmering in your eyes. "Do you like thinking of yourself as the Big Bad Hero, maybe?" And you could tell by the way the incipient smile froze on his lips that your question had caught him off guard. Made you wanna press even harder, "Do you like the idea of taking a defenseless little girl into an alley and showing her just how bad you can be? Maybe planned on teaching me a lesson, is that it?"

His frown mimicked yours now, no longer any hints of cruel enjoyment on his part. His eyes still glowed red, but he was now squinting ever so slightly, zeroing in on you not only due to the limits of his quirk but also due to the words rapidly continuing to escape your impudent mouth.

"Does Eraserhead like to fuck his lays into being law-abiding citizens? Is the power over someone else what really gets you off, perhaps?"

It was like a spell was cast on the both of you. He couldn't drift his attention, his eyes couldn't stop scanning your face — quickly flickering from the hatred coloring your gaze to the slight quiver of frustration shaking your lips. The hand which he still used to grab your stockings was now a closed fist, knuckles growing pale from the poorly contained strength.

"Bet you plotted this entire thing, you creep. Wanted to take me behind an alley and show me my place." Your taunts were becoming increasingly more risqué, the anger blurring your sense of preservation—and the hint of something else too, a secret excitement you were unwilling to recognize. "Wanted to have me all submissive and obedient under you, surely. Show me what a scary hero cock can do, is that it?"

But instead of earning another entertaining grimace, you had a first-row seat to the rapidly darkening expression on his face. Eyes squinted at the same time that the bandages settled even tighter around you, cutting off your breath for a moment before relenting just enough not to suffocate you.

And that's when you first felt it for the first time, just when your jests died on your lips and you drank on his foreboding reaction. The grip of Eraserhead's quirk, more constricting than any ropes, wavering faintly around the prison he had constructed around you; the distinct buzzing in your hands returning for a mere instant before flickering out again.

Now that was interesting.

"Should watch what you're saying," the pro-hero sounded gruff, voice tinted by a new kind of intensity.

Like a shark smelling the smallest whiff of blood, you couldn’t help your instincts urging you to dial down.

"Always knew you hero types had a hard-on for the power trips. Bet you were using all of this as a decoy. Is this when you strip me and hold me down? When you plow me into the floor of this alley and tell me to "behave or else"?"

You knew your jabs were going too far, getting too brazen… yet as much as you enjoyed making the Pro visibly uncomfortable, once he decided to close the distance between you two there was little you could do to stop yourself from flinching. A fire inhabited his expression, the vivid brightness emanating from his stare not only intimidating, but downright frightening too.

"Are you trying to rile me up?" His hand gripped your face with force, bandages shifting until they were enveloping your neck, holding you up and forcing you to reciprocate his glare, "What do you think will you achieve by antagonizing me even more, V/N?"

You just looked at him through your eyelashes, still somehow managing to play up the innocent act through the layers of fear settling in. And as expected, it only served to further his irritation, calloused fingers digging even deeper into your cheeks and coaxing the claws of terror to continue trailing their nails all around you.

"I’m just trying to understand you, Eraserhead." The way you smiled at him was defiance personified despite it all, your tongue wetting your lips while you caught his eyes following the movement. There was the slightest give of his quirk again, a fluctuation in his concentration informing you that you were finally on the right track. "And I think, given the fact that I haven’t been cuffed yet, that we can both still come to a mutual agreement."

Fingers twitched around your jawline, muffling your words while your sides were squished together harshly. But even manhandling you, the Hero couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes, an interest you foolishly believed to be ignited by your former comments.

"So you are indeed trying to rile me up then." It was an assertion, not a hint of doubt in his leisure intonation.

Instead of replying this time, you just slowly blinked his way, observing your imitation of meekness reflected in a gaze that refused to abandon yours. It had been so long since you last tried to play coy, so long since you needed to depend on anything besides your own strength and ruthlessness. You couldn’t help the thrill you got from playing the role.

"Think you’ll get me distracted enough to break away, I bet." He was whispering directly against your skin after getting dangerously closer, the heat from his cushioned lips provoking an involuntary shiver. "Do you believe nobody else tried this approach before, little villain?"

You gulped, feeling caught before you even had time to properly set the stage.

"I wasn’t..."

"Weren’t what, trying to seduce me?" There was a sense of levity hidden somewhere under his timbre, stored between words that kept dragging on in a mantle of aloofness. "Or did you not mean any of your words?"

When you didn’t reply, you could feel the cruel smile resurfacing against your earlobe.

"If I lift your dress right now, do you think I’ll have my answer?" His question sounded almost casual, as weightless as your alias had been when he first called you out.

Your heartbeat sang in your chest, an anxious hummingbird trapped inside your ribcage. Because you knew the answer, you both did.

When the hand still clutching your bunched hosiery came up to press the fabric against your thighs, you could not help the gasp that escaped you.

"I bet all those things you were just saying…" His tone drifted off as the stockings were slowly guided up the vastness of your legs, fingers barely grazing you through the thin layer of the stolen undergarments. He was thoroughly teasing you, enjoying the manner in which your expression contorted in response. "You just want me to do them to you, don’t you?"

Even if you would’ve wanted to object, the pressure of his nylon-covered digits finally reaching your dampened panties was enough to kill any possible refusal. He traced the outline of your slit, soft touches running across it with deceitful lightness, and your mind became positively staggered as you were rendered overwhelmed by his actions.

You didn’t have to worry about his next move for long, either, because barely a moment’s notice passed before his entire palm was eagerly covering your crotch. And the new way in which he groped you was demanding, the heel of his wrist putting just enough pressure to drag a shamefully loud mewl from you.

The douchebag even had the gall to laugh at your reaction, the sound of his mirth prompting you to writhe even harder as he continued to feel you up through your rapidly soaking underwear.

"Knew you’d be a slutty one." His breath was hoarse against the side of your face, the stubble on his jaw scratching against your skin in a way which made you wonder how it would feel pressing elsewhere. "So fucking wet, it must hurt being this eager."

He didn’t specify what exact kind of pain he meant, whether your growing need for release or the insufferable blow all of this represented to your pride. Somehow, though, you had an inkling that he was referencing both.

"Wanna show me just how needy you are?" His words echoed with each laboured breath of his, one of the few signs you had that he was clearly very much into the whole affair despite his detached demeanor. "Maybe you could show me more of your adorable little cries."

As Eraserhead rutted his palm against you another time, you found your hips lowering down to chase the feeling much to your own chagrin, more moans making their way out of your panting mouth while he coaxed you to sing the notes of his preferred melody.

It was true that you hated his guts… but another fact was that you hadn’t had action in a long while either. Even with the threat of imprisonment hanging over you, you could not deny how desirable the idea to get to cum against that veiny hand of him was, to grip those muscular shoulders as you reached the perdition he was so tantalizingly offering.

Decidedly forgotten was your plan of you being the one distracting him. For fuck’s sake, you really were a needy whore.

"Why not show me how you cum for me in this alley, if you’re really that desperate?" His words kept getting cruder, his tongue tracing a languid stripe from your earlobe down to the side of your neck, a beautiful path of distractions threatening to dip your sanity even lower. "Be the dirty little villain that I know you are, doll."

But just as soon as the stimulation was hitting you a second time, so it suddenly disappeared. One second fingers were flexing against your tender flesh, coated by your arousal through the layers of fabric separating you and fluttering with the promise of an impending release, and then the very next instant you were left to whimper (a villain like you, actually whimpering!) in the unbearable wake of their absence.

When your eyes searched for the Hero’s again, in his blown out pupils you could only dare interpret part of the enjoyment he was getting from watching you scram for his touch, beautifully bold handwriting spelling out arousal for all to read.

Watching you so easily betray your own ego after all of your lip service? More than simple music to his ears, it was an entire sonnet.

"But, now that I think of it, you were the one trying to walk away free from this. So why should you be the one getting pleasured?"

Even in your precarious situation, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Apparently, your discomfort at being denied was enough to forego your better senses.

The bindings contracted around you in quick response to your insolence, your neck being craned even further and your arms mishandled until they were behind your back instead of at your sides, a sharp pain blooming from your shoulders as you struggled to adjust.

Treated like this, he really did make you feel like a helpless little doll. (Goddamn, that thought alone was enough to have your juices gushing again, the trails of your excitement starting to make a mess of your inner thighs.)

"You don’t get it, do you?" He asked in a despondent voice, unblinking eyes still refusing to abandon your face as he elaborated, "you should already be on your way to some second-rate villain prison, cuffed and muzzled and someone else’s problem."

At his reminder of what you believed to be your impending fate, the mocking pout on your face transformed into a retelling of real horror. Because your spotless reputation was the one trick in your book that had managed to give you a sliver of notoriety over the rest of the unremarkable criminals, much more significant than any quirk or grandiose crime.

So for someone like you to lose that? You might as well hang up the villain costume and retire, for all anyone would care. (And yes, you had been called an attention whore a lot throughout your life, but who could blame you when you couldn’t help but thrive on it?)

Sensing your spiraling thoughts, the Pro raised his eyebrows in an almost pitiful stint, as if he was truly empathizing with the agonized look of your face.

"I know you don’t want that, doll." As his declaration dragged on, the grip that had been steadying your jaw was swapped instead for the peculiar feeling of damp fabric —your pantyhose being pushed against your cheek and spreading your own juices around, all while Eraserhead intently studied the new wave of disgust coloring your features. "So why not show me that even a villain slut like you can behave? Give me a reason to believe that and..." The slickered garment was now pressing to your closed lips, your eyes starting to water with the weight of the humiliation you were being made to endure. "Maybe then I’ll consider letting you go."

You knew he was lying, had every right to doubt the sincerity of his promise and, in its place, conclude he just meant to take advantage of you in your desperate state and then leave you for the pigs to find anyway.

You knew all of that, and yet you still opened your mouth and allowed him to do as he pleased. When he worked the pair of soiled stockings inside, you had troubles recognizing the pathetic sight being reflected your way from the wild hue of his gaze.

For someone who had always prided herself in being a predator, you had never looked more like prey.

"Fuck, that’s it, doll." He pushed the piece further with his fingers, forcing you to stretch your lips until your jaw started to hurt from the strain. His fingers swirled inside, pressing the soaked material against the flat of your tongue and instructing you to eagerly lick it.

You had never felt as debased in your entire life, being forced to choose between savoring your own arousal while tied up in an alley or ruining a reputation you had fought so earnestly to maintain.

(And yet your thighs were pressing together now, attempting to create some meager friction to alleviate a yearning that did nothing but shift, demand, grow.)

"Look at you cleaning up your own mess," he almost sounded proud of you as you kept dutifully sucking, his other hand brushing your hair away from your shoulders in a strangely consoling way. "Seeing you all obedient like this, one could be fooled into thinking there is yet hope for reform."

By the time the Hero finally took his hand away, bunching up the stockings before fitting them into one of the hidden pockets of his dark costume, you thought you could discern a mocking smile through the clouds of tears.

"But now, now, doll… are you gonna keep crying or do you wanna try and take proper care of me next?"

Not finding it in yourself to raise your voice again, you instead opted to wet your lips hesitantly as you awaited for him to elaborate further. There was a question dying to be asked, struggling somewhere alongside the myriad of insolent retorts and insults you wished you could swing the Hero’s way without being harshly reprimanded.

"I wouldn’t call that proper exactly," a chuckle reverberated from the back of his throat, gravely and dark as he misrepresented your movements. Fingers still slick from your saliva caressed your bottom lip, massaging it in a way which played straight into the undermining tilt of his words. "Although I’m sure you must be dying to wrap your pretty lips around my cock. Would give you a good reason to stay quiet, uh?"

You really had been intending not to fall for his obvious goading, not trying to give the Pro anymore reasons to be harsh with you (or even worse, give him an excuse to leave you alone and to a fate worse than his company ever would be).

Had tried so hard too, but the cocky villain in you could only take so much degradation before it snapped.

"Goddamn it, are you trying to fuck me or bore to death?" As for the slight quivering in your voice, you dearly hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it.

Predictably enough, that slip earned you another harsh tug from the capture weapon, your whole body pulled back until you thought you were about to be snapped.

"I was just about to praise you for being all sweet for me, V/N." The switch from his pet names to your alias felt like a bucket of ice being dumped on you, voice a slow drawl while he tugged once more from your bottom lip, but this time harsh enough to have you wincing. "I’m trying to teach you how to be a proper girl, so don’t make me regret it. Or would you prefer to go take a prolonged vacation in a holding cell?"

He already knew your answer judging by the way his eyes coldly studied you, unearthing the secrets you uselessly attempted to hide with an ease that unnerved you (and, as much as you loathe to admit, fascinated you).

When he tugged at your mouth again, nails sinking just enough to be noticeable, you knew he was expecting a verbal answer. And a nice one, at that.

"Then fucking get on with it…" Words slurred at the end, caught up in the increasingly somber aura of your captor before you swallow thickly, quickly adding as an afterthought, "Please."

At that, his scowl receded enough for some satisfaction to find its way back into his grimace.

The more you struggled, the sweeter your surrender became.

"Not perfect, but better," he conceded with a thoughtful hum.

If you had properly studied just who he was beyond his active Heroism, then you would’ve understood just how accustomed he was to insubordination. If anything, your act only served to make him feel more at home.

You had barely any time to wonder about whatever he had planned next though, because in an instant that damned contraction of his was moving you around once more, twisting you until you were facing the brick wall of the alleyway with heaving breaths.

Your legs were now maneuvered until you were forced to keep them apart just a smidgen, the new inviting space between your thighs surely a most intoxicating promise for the sick man manhandling you. And your back experienced pain afterwards too, harshly pushed until you had no option but to allow yourself to be pressed against the dirty walls; As a result, you found yourself with your ass backed up and for the world to see, the frilly skirt of your dress caught somewhere between all the movements.

Yet even being roughed up as you were, when a hand reached out to tug your ruined underwear away you couldn't help greedily rutting into it, too worried by the fire gathering in your lower belly to care about maintaining a semblance of the reluctance you would later claim to have experienced.

It was almost comical for the Hero to observe the pathetic image you were now serving up on an ornate platter —especially when compared to the list of deviant crimes and horrors your spreadsheet of accomplishments preached. For all intents and purposes, you really were a horrible, messed up individual…

So it was a wonder why his mind had kept supplying him with the same descriptor ever since he first saw you, the same sweet little word that he thought might as well be written all over your skin for how accurate it described you.

A cute little doll (soon to be his cute little doll). Despite believing himself to be a fairly responsable Hero, the man had never wanted to play with anything as much as he did with you.

The sound of a zipper being lowered was alarmingly loud in the emptiness of your surroundings, as loud as a wail to your sensitive ears. When you squirmed below your restraints, nonetheless, you could no longer pinpoint whether it was from unadulterated fear or a sick sense of anticipation.

How easy it had been to break you, even if you would never recognize it openly.

"Knew you were into it, and now watch your ass trembling in excitement for me." He was chuckling again, not pretending like the cruelty coating his words had any other intention but to degrade you further. It had been just his luck, to find the one villain who just so happened to enjoy it. "I really hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I, doll?"

When the lewd sound of one of his fists pumping his cock reached your ears, you didn’t even bother disguising the whines of complaint refusing to be contained any longer.

"Stop..." Words spilled from clenched teeth, growled out with an annoyance that no longer sought to defy, "Fucking..." but to demand instead, "Teasing."

"Hmm, that’s cute. Why don’t you try begging me though?" His cadence was growing as bated as his breath, littered by intermittent curses as his eyes dined on the sight of your glistening core, held up and offered up for him to do as he pleased. "Beg for me to use you, and if you put on a good enough show I might just let you off."

Another shiver rampaging it's way through your body, an exhilaration that could not be entirely pinpointed.

"Please…" You started, rough intonation dripping with venom —But Eraserhead didn't seem to mind the sardonic nature of your pleading though, not as you heard the litany of damnations being spilled from his lips. Your shameful excitement, your bitterness, your hatred… he would feast on it all and do it gladly. "Get on with it, bastard. Didn't anyone tell you never to toy with your food?"

A low murmur was your only response at first, followed by the lewd sound of his pre-cum covered cock being harshly jerked.

"Hmmm, aren't you being a bit too demanding…" His steps echoed again behind you, his unoccupied hand coming up to massage your ass with a rather firm grip. "Even with the begging, I don't think you've learned your place yet."

When he planted a slap in the same place he had been eagerly caressing before, sharp and flaring up your nerves with the sting of pain and humiliation, you couldn't stop your scream from turning into a wanton little moan halfway through.

Even if he was hitting you, it still meant he was touching you, and so enticingly close to the place you actually needed tended to.

"Do it…" your breathing was too heavy to speak in full fluid sentences, body flushed and mind filled with the buzzing of desire. "Do it again, fuck."

You were still not begging him like he asked, but it seemed like your choice of words still greatly pleased him. Another slap rained on your ass, his big warm palm massaging the same reddening spot right after.

And he kept going, the spanking echoing through your body and sending both pain and pleasured shivers up your spine—lewd sounds mixing in with the increasing pace of his other fist pumping his cock. Even without directly touching you, your pussy clenched and weeped with each firm hit.

"Damn, it's my first time meeting such a masochistic whore." Punctuated by his most painful slap yet, the globes of your ass left trembling and a furious shade of crimson to match his lust-filled eyes. "I can see why you've managed to stay free for so long, little villain." The debasement, paired with the pain of his firm strikes, had you moaning even louder. You couldn't even recognize your own sounds, nor the thrills you felt at this entire fucked up ordeal. "Wonder how many other Pros you showed this beautiful sight to."

Even through the fog of sensations impeding you from being wholly coherent, though, you still couldn't help but want to set the record straight.

"None, fuck…" Words merging into another expectant whine when you felt his hand gripping your flesh again, only this time he was kneading you in an oddly tender way —Urging you on, fingers creeping closer to your needy hole. "I'm not… usually in the business of fucking Heroes. Shit, I hate this…"

But you didn’t, and when you were surprised by the warmth of his naked erection barely grazing the sensitive outer lips of your cunt, you couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped you.

"Goddamn, V/N, even while you're an ill-mannered brat you still manage to know just what to say."

And then the older man was sliding his cock in the juncture of your thighs, teasing your core by pressing against it while grunts began to escape him. You thought you could cry from having him so close yet still not where you wanted him, but then his shallow thrusts against your legs proved to be much more stimulating than you first expected.

The fat head of his cock even managed to somewhat stimulate your puffy clit with its movements, pushing in its direction as your essence continued to leak out and cover you both. And It was so absolutely debauched, to think a Hero was using your thighs like a fucktoy while you were tied down and unable to stop it....

But it felt so good. Even without him actually in you, you had never been this turned on before.

"More… ughhh," you were now screaming with the side of your face pressed flush against the disgusting brick walls, needy sounds filling the night and making it privy to your descent into madness.

Another thrust, this time angled just precisely enough not to caress your pleasurable areas. Punishment, you feverishly thought while you attempted to wiggle your ass, eager to force more of that delicious friction you were quickly becoming hypnotized by.

"Now, V/N," his gruff voice had adopted a mocking tone of reprimand as he continued to rut against the soft skin of your thighs. "Haven't I taught you anything, yet? If you want something…" The hand returned to your heated skin, digits underneath you both spreading your pussy enough for the chilly night air to send shivers straight to your core. "You gotta say please."

And say please you did. Screamed it even, so eager for more and already far beyond feeling any embarrassment.

He didn't fuck you, not like you really wanted, but suddenly his thick shaft was sliding between your lips as his capture weapon aided him in angling your body just right, pulsing against your hole while he found a new rythimn. When both of his hands returned, one of them held you back to make the process even easier while the other swiftly joined his cock in tending to your eager pussy.

So lost were you in the new raw excitement seizing you, in the knowledge of just how messed up you both were for engaging in such debauchery —so distracted that you didn't even notice the faint buzzing returning to your arms, the vibrancy of an old frequency being reactivated and allowed to encapsulate you again.

(You didn’t notice, but fuck if it didn’t made your orgasm all the sweeter.)

You were cumming like that, your moans resembling squeaks, your body feeling closer to a used fucktoy than a human being. The hero kept rutting against you, the joint efforts of his cock and hand mercilessly continuing to abuse your spasming cunt while your cries filled the space with their decadence.

You felt dirty, guilty, maybe even a little ashamed as the orgasm briefly gave you a clarity of mind your arousal had clouded.

And yet, despite it all, it had been the best you felt in years, possibly ever. As the Pro now tugged your hair, forcing you to wrench your neck just enough to look at him over your shoulder, you couldn't help licking your lips in expectation of what he had in store next.

"You're gonna show me your face next time you come, little villain." He gave you just enough time to nod, eyebrows drawn as your pleasure got impossibly dragged out by the stimulation he still bathed you with. "And you're gonna keep begging me, keep showing me why you deserve to stay free, okay?"

It was commendable, how collected he managed to sound while thrusting into your thighs like that, the sounds of skin slapping against skin driving each of his words home.

"Yes, fuck, whatever you want…" Despite your senses shortly coming back earlier, you were still too far gone to rethink your poor choices. You just knew you wanted more, and so you asked for it. "Just give me more, please."

So fucking obedient. If your parents could see you know, their failure of a villain daughter being all proper and learning to beg for what she wanted? Well, perhaps saying they'd be proud was a stretch, considering you were also the one getting fucked in the middle of a filthy alley.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was just how well your begging would work.

Because the next thrust of his shaft was not between your legs, but aimed to finally breach your needy cunt instead, easily filling you up in one go with how utterly soaked in both of your juices you already were. The girth of him had you already clenching with renewed vigor, his hand stopping his assault on your clit just to give you enough time to truly savor the new intoxicating sensation.

And when your eyes found his again, so drunk on the waves of pleasure you were that you also failed to notice the lack of scarlet coloring the orbs boring into yours, now inescapable voids of dark desire and a type of intense fixation you thought hadn't been there moments ago.

(Or maybe it was always there, and you had been too busy with your own turmoil to notice the clues being left by your so-called enemy).

"Want me to stuff you properly?" His guttural question hit you at the same time as his sharp movements found your tender spot with experienced ease, walls tightening around him while your entire body struggled to continue holding yourself upright, relying more and more on the capture weapon to keep you from toppling over.

The binds still hurt from how tightly they wrapped around you, bruises sure to be left on their wake, but by that point you weren't so sure anymore the sting was an entirely bad thing. If anything, it just made the pleasure all the sweeter by comparison.

"Want me to fill you with so much cum that you reek of hero cock for the rest of the week?" He laughed while he regurgitated some of your words from earlier, the hand pressing against your lower stomach caressing you with a distinct sense of ownership as he elicited another loud moan with a sharp movement of his hips.

Noticing you reacting not only to his actions but to his quips, you could practically hear the self congratulatory smirk as he spoke next.

"Bet the other villains would love knowing how much of a cockhungry whore you turned into too, doll. Talk about fraternizing with the enemy."

And he was right, in a way. Because what would your fellow villains think, seeing you being wrecked by one of the most infamous Pros in the business, lowering yourself to pleading and screaming as he rearranged your insides.

Would you get called a disloyal whore or just a plain traitor? Not only would your spotless reputation and the myth you had fought to build collapse, but from its ashes your eternal shame could be erected.

A shame that would tower over you, looming around you while the eyes of your peers followed you everywhere. You could even picture the jests veered your way, the looks of utter disgust and ridicule...

Somehow, the idea of anyone finding out only made your screams grow louder, impossibly more fervent.

"Fucking… get on with it."

However, his rhythm was rapidly interrupted after your jab, his cock pulling out almost entirely as your core convulsed with the sudden staggering emptiness it was left to grapple with. More whimpers, struggling against the set of eternally unforgiving ties encasing your body.

"But you're making me do all the work, little one" Another slap shook your entire frame as it landed heavily on your still pained cheeks. You were so sore, both from the previous set of hits and from the sheer exhaustion starting to set in, muscles tight and resentful from the awkward positions your body had been manhandled into. "If you really want to continue this, how about you start doing some of the heavy lifting, uh?" Just like before, his palm started massaging the tender spot he had just smacked, fingers digging into your supple flesh being as close to comforting as the Pro seemed capable of. "Show me just how good you can be."

And you could've argued, truly, could've even attempted to hold onto the last vestiges of your pride…

You could’ve done a lot of things, but the truth was that when his weapon relented its hold at last, retreating from the underside of your knees and giving in just a smidge for the first time since you had been captured, you didn't waste any seconds before you were chasing after your high with renewed vigor.

Greedily sinking into him with an obscene sigh, you audibly marveled at the curve of his member being deliciously imprinted in your insides. While you copied the cadence the Hero had previously employed, his grip on your lower belly fluttered, almost like he couldn't decide whether to take control back or allow you to humiliate yourself further with your own zealousness.

It seemed like the later prospect won him over in the end though, because he remained almost impassively still as you did all the work needed to bring you both deliriously close to your peaks.

The sight must've been spectacular, watching you, renown villain V/N, so thoroughly broken and willing to heed his every command. Impaling yourself on his cock, moaning and continuing to beg him for something you were already taking for yourself.

If he died right then and there, he doubted Heaven wouldn't have as much appeal as the scene still unfolding before his eyes. (But again, considering his actions, Heaven wouldn't really be the right place for either of you.)

You were just about to reach your second orgasm, toes curling inside your shoes, fists clenched and a face that spelt poetic extasis. Angling the way you took his cock, every single movement driving him painstakingly deeper, slamming against a spot that made you imagine the stars falling from the sky all around you, their light being the one bathing you instead of the malfunctioning street lamps.

So goddamn close…

Only to have him pull out again, this time completely. You were clenching against nothing, all stimulation stolen from you, and the bitterness of a ruined orgasm promptly dragged curses and complaints out of you before you could even think to stop them.

Eyes searched his, urgently seeking an explanation for his withdrawal only to find his glare fixated instead on that same dirty pair of stockings that had started it all.

Eraserhead must have taken the garment out of his pocket sometime while he fucked you, unfolding it from its scrunched up state until the crotch was visibly presented for both of you to admire, dark sheer fabric still stained from a mix of your arousal and spit.

When the Pro looked at you again, a beautifully dark smile topped his attractive face. He looked painfully content, the way he studied your own mortified expression reminding you of an artist studying his masterwork.

"Only the truly obedient ones get their cunts filled." You noticed then how his other hand was jerking him off again, erection rubbing against the nylon undergarments in a most obscene depiction. Too bad you were too frustrated to appreciate any of it. "I don't think you've… hell, you haven't earned it yet, V/N."

You didn't even notice you were tearing up from the annoyance until it was too late. And maybe that was what finally did it, seeing you actually crying at his refusal to breed you like the slut you both knew you were, writhing in exaggerated despair as you found yourself feeling jealous of a stupid pair of tights, because not long after your pathetic reaction the man was letting out a pained groan of his own and spilling himself all over the damned garment.

But instead of rubbing your wailing in your face after he came down from his own delicious high, last few spurts of cum slowing down to a halt, you were surprised instead by the weapon that had been binding you for the longest time finally retreating.

As expected, you unceremoniously collapsed to the floor, feet now unprepared for supporting your weight and your entire being wholly exhausted after enduring the roughest fuck you had ever experienced. It hurt all over, although you weren't sure whether your still present longing wasn't what pained you the most.

When you looked up to the Pro again, trying to find an answer to the new freedom you were experiencing, you were surprised by having the cum-dripped stockings thrown in your face.

And quite literally so, the still wet seed dribbling down your cheek and into your trembling lips, all before you collected enough wits to grab the offending item and pull it down with an expression of unadulterated disgust.

"Sorry, doll, but you were pouting so irresistibly," The Eraser user actually laughed, this time the sound coming with an untroubled merriment you did not think he was capable of.

He actually looked worn out while he tucked himself back into his costume, accommodating the pieces of clothing until all hints from your ravenous affair disappeared. The bandages were wrapping themselves around his neck once more, looking more like an extravagant scarf than the most precise set of inmovilazing gear you had ever endured.

However, something about his attitude had you forgetting all about his newest slight, much too worried by a new cause of worry.

"Hold on..."

Eraserhead looked down at you from his place after you raised your voice, urging you to continue as he finished getting himself presentable. The air of nonchalance around him was almost more intimidating than any of the actual threats or vulgar comments he had voiced prior. Almost.

"Are you…" you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, voice still raspy and hoarse after what had just transpired. "Are you really letting me go?"

The man just raised one of his eyebrows at that, eyes crinkling for the first time and looking strangely amused.

"Doll, I stopped exerting my quirk on you while I was still teasing you good and proper," he declared bluntly. When his orbs glimmered again, you now felt like an imbecile as you finally realized they had completely lost the reddish hue to them. "So you know what? I thought you deserved to get an out of jail free card for behaving yourself… even if you still need to work some more on your manners."

To call your shocked expression dumbfounded would be a disservice.

When his now bottomless eyes bore into yours for one final time, all you could do was stare back in dazzled shock. Your quirk was back, the Pro himself had just confirmed it, and yet you were still nailed to the spot, still anticipating his next words without even thinking of attacking him in the meantime.

One little tumble and you were already his brightest pupil yet. He was now so glad to have waited that long, it only made the outcome all the more fulfilling.

"You don’t need to be so surprised, Y/N, we'll be seeing each other soon,” He kneeled in front of you for an instant, both hands reaching out to hold up your face in a gesture more resembling a lover than… well, whatever the hell you two were. So entranced you were then, that the use of your real name barely even registered. “It’s been difficult to keep you away from trouble thus far,” his acknowledgment reverberated in the alley, its meaning something else lost to you as you couldn’t help but become entranced by the new peculiar softness he addressed you with, “but getting you like this now, seeing you break so easily… fuck, I’ll mold you right back up, doll, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything else.”

And just then, for the first time you realized, the Hero’s lips were brushing against yours gently, uncharacteristically careful as he kissed you slowly. Even his hands were tender while they guided you, treating you as if you truly were a doll that could just be snapped with a mere wrong movement. As if he hadn’t just been treating you like a dirty hole for him to use and abuse just short instants ago.

But at least he did not seem to care about the mess that was your face at the moment, about the cum stains or the still damp trails of tears. And, for whatever reason, you found yourself returning the gesture in kind, melting into the oddly affectionate touch of a man you were still halfway sure you loathed.

Even after he left you, alone and a mess still toppled over on the floor with the shadow of humiliation cloaking your shoulders, your fingers couldn’t help but touch your lips with a bizarre mixture of bewilderment and horror.

He told me I would see him soon, your mind supplied as you found yourself irreparably fixating your stare on the pair of now completely ruined tights you were still holding onto. The fact that you felt any type of excitement about the notion did not fail to mortify you.

God, even for villain standards you were fucked.

But it was okay, because misery loved company and, with time at his disposal and the right amount of coaching, Shouta was sure he could teach you to properly crave his soon enough.

— — —

And, 8k of foul smut later, if y’all read through that whole thing... drop by my ask to recieve your congratulatory gold stars! ⭐ (jk but I do appreciate hearing y’alls thoughts, it’s what keeps me halfway productive 🖤)

Last but not least, very special thanks to my best pals @reinawritesbnha, @snappysnapo and @drxwsyni (who actually proof read this and helped me out immensely with her Big Brain Feedback. A TALENTED ANGEL).

#bnha fanart #aizawa #yandere aizawa #aizawa x reader #yandere bnha #bnha imagines #mha fanart #bnha x reader #aizawa fanart #aizawa smut #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #anime fanart #aizawa shouta #bnha art #eraserhead #artists on tumblr #just art tingz

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snifflyjoonie · 4 years

Text

House Call

In which after a week of contemplation, Jimin finally decides to call Min Yoongi.

snz-centric with Yoongi as the sickie and Jimin as the caretaker.

Word Count: 3325

FlowerShop!AU Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

a/n: Um...surprise? 💀 Taking a break from my regularly scheduled request taking to bring you this pure fever dream word vomit. I went back and forth a lot on the prospects of continuing this AU and decided what the hell -- I had a few more ideas up my sleeve for our little florist yet. And I mean...a few of you asked if I’d be adding more to this AU ever so that technically makes this a request fulfillment, right?...right? Hell. We may even see more of these boys in the future. Who knows? Anyway! Without further delay, I hope you enjoy this random af extra content lol.

Oh, god. How long had the phone been ringing for, now? Surely for much longer than normal.

Jimin paced nervously around his flower shop and chewed anxiously on his thumbnail. After a week’s worth of mulling it over, and some gentle (albeit persistent) encouragement from his friends, he had finally decided to give Min Yoongi a call. For one reason or another — and Jimin wasn’t entirely sure why — he couldn’t get the blonde out of his head. But now that the other man wasn’t picking up his phone, Jimin was quickly starting to believe he may have misinterpreted the other’s advances.

God. This had been such a dumb idea. Of course Yoongi wasn’t going to answer — why would he? He should just hang up and never think about Min Yoongi ever again in his entire —

The sudden sound of fumbling on the other end of the line made Jimin stop dead in his tracks, his heart nearly skipping a beat.

“Hello?” A deep, gravelly voice answered. It vaguely reminded Jimin of the way someone might sound after just waking up from a nap, but it was nearly pushing 5pm.

“Um!” The florist cleared his throat and shoved his free hand into the pocket of his trousers. “H-hello is this, uh, Min Yoongi?”

He was met with a brief silence, and for a split second he started to worry that he’d possibly dialed the wrong number before the other finally responded.

“Could be.” The voice hummed with the same deep, croaky tone. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, gosh I’m sorry I-I should have said.” Jimin felt himself start to flush as he stumbled over his words. He was very grateful the two of them weren’t face to face as he knew he’d be even more of a mess than he already was. “This is, um, Park Jimin? From the flower shop?”

“Oh shit, the florist?”

Jimin felt himself nodding. He didn’t know why — the other couldn’t see him. Habitual, he assumed, as he confirmed the other’s statement with a nervous waiver to his voice.

The man on the other end instantly snorted, but it had a very obvious hint of amusement to it. Jimin felt almost as if he could hear the playful smile ghosting his lips through the phone.

“Jimin...why didn’t you just text me?”

Jimin’s expression quickly fell. Right. Texting.

“Oh my god. You’re right I should've just — god. I’m just so used to making calls at the shop, I—“

“Stop panicking, I think it’s cute.” Yoongi cut in with another low chuckle before adding, “Old-fashioned, but cute.”

Jimin flushed even deeper still — he couldn’t help it. He was starting to wish he could go back in time and try the whole exchange over again; possibly even save himself any more potential embarrassment with the anonymity of a text message.

God. Why didn’t he think of that?

The pair stayed silent briefly, the atmosphere heavy and a little awkward, before Yoongi finally broke the dead air with a sniffle.

“So, what’s up? You called?” He sniffled again and quickly added, “Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, of course. I’m glad you reached out.”

Jimin swallowed thickly as he began to resume his anxious pacing. The entire phone call had flowed so much more smoothly when he’d rehearsed it in his head — but now that he was actually executing it, it felt choppy as his confidence steadily dropped. In fact, he debated just hanging up and forgetting the whole thing, but remarkably convinced himself to press on.

“Well, I…” he started, pausing to take a deep breath. “I-it was really nice talking to you the other day, and…I sort of wanted to see if we could, um...get to know each other a little better. So I guess I was, uh, wondering if you might want to grab dinner? Maybe...tonight? With...me…?”

His question hung hauntingly in the air as he waited for Yoongi to say something — anything. Even rejection was better than silence.

“...Dinner?”

Jimin found himself nodding again, his stomach in his throat from the unsure tone in other’s voice.

“If you’re free?” He managed back, his voice catching a bit as he spoke. “I know a, um…really great sushi place.”

“Sorry, but no.” Yoongi’s response was blunt, to the point, and had no trouble instantly making Jimin feel absolutely horrible. Worried he may have overstepped his bounds, the nervous florist wasted no time falling into a self-deprecating, rapid apology.

“O-oh. God. I’m so sorry. Did I...misunderstand? God this was so stupid — look I’m really sorry, Yoongi, I—”

“Jimin. Calm down. I’d love to, just...not tonight.” He broke away from the phone to try and muffle a poorly-timed cough, but Jimin could still hear just how much the sound rattled in his chest. “I caught some kind of bug. I wouldn’t want to pass it along to you.”

There were a million different things Jimin wished he would have said back: “Don’t worry about it” “Your health comes first” “Let’s try again when you’re feeling better”.

Instead however, all that managed to come out of his mouth was a quiet, choked, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi sighed back and it was only then that Jimin started to clue into the way his words sounded much more rounded and nasally. “I have pretty piss-poor timing. But if you would’ve just called me a few days earlier,” His tone was teasing, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, Jimin felt he may’ve smiled.

“I guess I have bad timing then, too.” The florist offered with a meek chuckle, rubbing the side of his neck with his free hand. “I guess we’ll just...take a rain check?”

“Guess so.” Echoed the other before sniffling sharply and breathing out a hurried, “S-sorry, ‘scuse me—”

Jimin could hear him fumble the phone away from himself before stifling harshly, just barely being able to contain the sudden sneeze that scraped its way out of his throat. Jimin’s own nose twitched in response, his damned phantom itch problem rearing its ugly head, before he quickly scrubbed the feeling away as Yoongi followed up his sneeze with a low, unhappy groan.

Jimin pursed his lips. The poor guy really did sound awful.

“God, sorry.” Yoongi apologized again after returning the phone to his ear with another sniffle, this one audibly more wet. “Look, I’d love to keep talking, but.” He let out a tired sounding laugh that made Jimin’s stomach fill to the brim with butterflies. “I really feel like shit. Like… ‘wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy’ type of shit. But...I’ll text you, yeah? When I’m feeling better.”

“O-okay, yeah.” Jimin tried to hide the disappointment in his voice as he spoke. “That sounds good. You, uh…just make sure to get lots of rest.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi huffed out an amused breath. “Will do. See ya later, Park Jimin.”

Jimin ended the call and let out a long, defeated sounding sigh. Min Yoongi was sick. Because of course he would be. Jimin wished he could kick himself. If only he had worked up the courage to call him a few days earlier, then maybe, just maybe, he’d be getting ready to go on a nice sushi date with an extremely cute guy. Instead, any thoughts of a potential ‘something more’ had been squashed indefinitely.

Granted, the other had said he’d reach back out later, but after the way Jimin had stuttered through the phone call he didn’t have very high hopes of ever hearing from the handsome blonde again.

He figured he’d simply try not to let himself think about it, which ended up proving very difficult when he got a curious phone call from his friend Namjoon a mere few minutes later.

“...Sick, huh?” Namjoon gave a sympathetic sigh that somehow just managed to make Jimin feel worse. “Sorry, Jimin. That really is too bad. Doesn’t mean you’ll never hear from him again, though.”

“Yeah...I guess we’ll see.” Jimin grumbled as he flipped his shop’s small ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’. “But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Hey, don’t be like that. Give the guy some credit.” Namjoon encouraged with a small scoff. Jimin knew he was being a bit melodramatic, but he didn’t care enough to stop. “What’s this guy’s name, anyway? You never told me.”

“It’s, uh… Min Yoongi.” Jimin murmured, keeping his voice small as if to pretend he didn’t already have the name memorized.

“Wait — Min Yoongi?”

“...Yeah?”

The sound of Namjoon’s sudden laughter bubbled through the phone line and made the florist cock an eyebrow curiously.

“Jimin — I know the guy.”

Jimin nearly dropped his phone.

“You...know him? Really?”

“Yeah.” Namjoon laughed again, clearly amused. “He used to bartend with me a few years ago. We haven’t spoken in awhile, though. God...what a small world.”

Jimin echoed his laughter, but it sounded much more forced and hollow.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “no kidding.”

There was a brief pause before Jimin heard Namjoon take a deep breath.

“...You said he’s sick?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah.” Jimin hummed in confirmation. “He sounded pretty bad.”

“Well…” Namjoon’s tone had taken on a sing-song quality, reminding Jimin of kids passing secrets in a playground. “Do you want his address?”

“Namjoon, what—”

“To swing by, I mean.” Namjoon was quick to cut in and clarify his intentions. “Maybe drop him off some dinner? To my knowledge he’s never moved.”

“Wouldn’t that be...kinda weird?”

“I mean…” Namjoon seemed to mull it over a moment. “You said he gave you his number, right?”

Jimin hummed a yes.

“Then, no. Not weird. Just tell him I told you where to go.” Jimin could hear Namjoon smiling through the phone. “Jimin. Do you want his address or not?”

“W-well…” Jimin thought it over. “Do you know if he likes sushi?”

Jimin stared at the outside of Yoongi’s door as he chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. He barely knew Yoongi, had only ever spoken to him really just the once, and yet there he stood: take-out sushi in one hand and over-the-counter cold meds in the other. A voice in the very back of his mind kept screaming at him to just leave while he still had the chance, before Yoongi realized he had even showed up, but he did his best to try and ignore it. He had already come all this way, bought all these things, now the very least he could do would be to deliver them. With a nervous sigh, Jimin mustered up every ounce of courage he had left and quickly rapped his knuckles against the hardwood of Yoongi’s door.

Sure enough, a raspy cough could be heard approaching from inside of the small flat, and not a minute later, the door started to unlatch and pull open.

Jimin watched with a tight-lipped smile as Min Yoongi’s head slowly peeked into view, his eyes squinting against the bright rays of sunlight that streamed in through the open door. His bleached blonde hair was disheveled with sleep, sticking out in ways that made him look much younger than he actually was. He had a tissue crumpled in one hand that he kept tightly pressed against the base of his red, raw nose, and he wore a pair of black glasses that, for one reason or another, Jimin just simply had never pictured.

He had only seen the man one other time previously, but his rumpled, sickly appearance still somehow managed to catch Jimin a bit off guard. Out of everything though, the part that easily surprised Jimin the most were the beautiful floral tattoos that ran up and down Yoongi’s small arms. They seemed to stop just before his wrists and extend upwards towards his shoulders, and if the splash of colour at the base of his v-neck was anything to go by, they clearly bled their way onto his chest as well.

“...Jimin?” Yoongi’s voice dripped heavily with congestion and made him sound as if his nose was stuffed full of cotton. He took a deliberate step into the space created by his open door, seemingly trying to stop the other’s view inside, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “How the fuck did you…?”

“Uh! Well, do you know Kim Namjoon…?” Jimin watched Yoongi’s glassy eyes soften as he seemed to recognize the name. “He’s, uh, a friend of mine from high school. He passed along your address when I told him you weren’t feeling well. You sounded pretty awful on the phone so I just thought I’d…” Jimin trailed off sheepishly and raised both of the bags in his hands up a little higher as if that was somehow a good enough explanation.

“So you decided to make a house call, huh?” Yoongi scoffed, “...You really are old-fashioned.” He turned his upper body in towards his apartment and coughed roughly against his fist before facing Jimin again. “I don’t even know what to say. This is—” He gestured to the two bags as he searched for the right words, “—very sweet. Thank you.”

Jimin felt his cheeks grow warm as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. At this point, the logical thing to do would be to hand the poor man over the food and medicine and be on his way. But for one reason or another, Jimin couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to miss an opportunity to chat with the man he’d somehow become so heavily infatuated with. That’s why instead, without too much of a second thought, Jimin simply found himself blurting out: “I brought enough food for two. Do you think I could come in?”

Yoongi seemed to hesitate a moment at the other’s forward request before he stole a glance over his shoulder at the room behind him.

“I mean...yeah, alright.” He shrugged and ran a knuckle against the underside of his nose, sidestepping out of the doorway so Jimin could enter. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors, so uh, sorry about the mess.”

Jimin shook his head in understanding as he waddled his way into Yoongi’s flat, kicking off his shoes in the doorway. He passed the plastic medicine bag over to the other as Yoongi mumbled something about looking for a facemask before Jimin allowed himself a quick moment to look around.

The walls of the flat were filled with stunning floral artwork, and many half-finished easels were scattered in small stacks along the floor. Yoongi had a sketchbook laid out on his coffee table next to a pile of used tissues and a cup of what Jimin assumed could only be tea. The air smelt vaguely of eucalyptus and menthol and there was a gentle beat of music playing from his television.

“Are you...an artist?” Jimin couldn’t help but ask as he shuffled his way towards the coffee table to set down the food. He stole a glance at Yoongi’s open sketchbook and cracked a smile at the beautiful sunflower drawings the other had been working on.

“In a sense.” Yoongi affirmed, joining Jimin by the coffee table with a facemask now resting beneath his chin as he pulled a tissue from a nearby box. “I’m a tattoo artist.”

The surprised expression on Jimin’s face was enough to coax a small chuckle out of Yoongi as the blonde wrapped the new tissue around his nose and twisted his upper body away to blow.

“I didn’t even know you had tattoos.” Jimin admitted as he started laying out the containers of sushi onto the table. “You were in a jacket the last time I saw you.”

Yoongi hummed in remembrance as he switched the pressure of his fingers from nostril to nostril to try and clear himself out.

“Not a fan?” He asked teasingly after finishing, coughing lightly against his fist as he threw the tissue into a nearby bin.

“Oh Yoongi, are you kidding?” Jimin gasped, shifting his attention from their sushi dinner to the artwork that stained Yoongi’s skin. “They’re beautiful.”

Jimin could tell Yoongi seemed a bit taken aback by his sincerity as a small pink blush started to dance its way across the man’s face. He offered him a warm smile before plopping himself down onto the sofa with a small grunt.

“All the rolls are, uh, basically the same.” Jimin explained as Yoongi took a seat adjacent to him. “I just doubled my normal order, so I hope you like it.”

Yoongi nodded, dabbing his wrist against his nose as he made a grab for one of the containers and a pair of wooden chopsticks. If he seemed at all put off by Jimin’s sudden appearance on his doorstep he didn’t show it. Instead, the man continued to carry himself with an air of nonchalance that left Jimin wondering what he might have been thinking about the whole situation.

Suddenly, an urgent sounding sniffle from Yoongi pulled Jimin from his train of thought as the older man hurriedly set his container of food back onto the coffee table. He gasped in a way that bordered on sounding erotic and swiftly tried to yank his mask over the lower half of his face. Turning his upper body as far from Jimin as he possibly could, Yoongi finally fell into himself with three sneezes that he tried to crush into the crook of his elbow.

“hH’INGx’shh! ‘NNGT’tshh! hH’ISSHhh’hiuu!” He rose back up with a harsh sniffle and pulled his glasses from his face. “Jesus, fuck. I’m sorry.” He grumbled as he smooshed the heel of his palm against the corner of one eye.

Jimin shook his head, bringing a sweater-donned hand up to cover his nose and mouth as Yoongi stole some tissues from a nearby box.

“Don’t be sorry.” The florist managed, his own nose itching empathetically from Yoongi’s sudden outburst. He did his best to fight the feeling — his sympathy sneezing always made him feel a bit silly — but his fight proved to be in vain as he sucked in a shuddering breath through his teeth and rocked forward against his sleeve with a single breathy sneeze.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at him from behind a tissue, chuckling slightly mid blow.

“I told you we should’ve done this a different day.” He joked as Jimin scrubbed his nose against his sleeve. “Now look at you.”

“No, no, I’m really fine, trust me.” Jimin assured as Yoongi finished blowing his nose.

“Oh, that’s right. You ‘just sort of sneeze a lot’. How could I forget?”

Jimin buried his face into the sleeves of his sweater and groaned, cringing at the memory as Yoongi placed his sushi container back into his lap with a laugh.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed.” He snapped his wooden chopsticks in two before continuing. “I was a mess the last time you saw me. Honestly I’m shocked you even called me.”

Jimin let out an airy chuckle at the memory of Yoongi’s first appearance in his shop a week prior. The poor man couldn’t have been in the shop for more than five minutes before the sickly sweet aroma of the flora overwhelmed him. With the memory now fresh in his mind, Jimin once again turned his attention to the beautiful sunflower drawings in Yoongi’s sketchbook.

“Honestly I’m a bit surprised to see all the floral artwork you have. I mean...even your tattoos.” He gestured towards one of Yoongi’s arms with another small giggle. “With an allergy like yours I guess I just assumed you wouldn’t be a fan.”

“Hey, I told you before — I love flowers.” Yoongi popped a piece of sushi into his mouth before continuing. “They just don’t love me back.”

“Well I mean, if it’s any consolation, I’m a florist and so far I don’t dislike you.”

“Hey,” Yoongi snorted. “That works for me.”

#d;flksf;aslkfdj;#you guys this is pure word vomit idk how it got so long #the ending is weak i'm sorry it's 2:30am #but REGARDLESS #i hope you guys like some random af bonus yoonmin content lmfao #there isn't even that much snz #god don't hate me pls #bts sickfic #sick!yoongi #mine #yoonmin #it's literally just fluff #bts au #bts snzfic #bts snz

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destinyesque · 3 years

Text

Might Not Make it Home

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32632597/chapters/80949649

North Imaria has been under the merciless rule of the crown for over two decades and it seems the people have finally had enough. Unrest stirs among even the tiniest towns in the frozen mountains. Main streets grow silent as the noble guard rallies. There's enough fuel for the revolutionary fire; someone just needs to light the fuse.

Vizara is a bard, and a damn good one at that. She's played at taverns all across the north, seen the fight grow in her people. Her whole life has been for this. All the sleeping around, the ale and food and coin-all of it is secondary (not that she doesn't enjoy it). She's going to rouse her people into glorious rebellion against the unjust monarchy, and she's going to win. She just doesn't know how difficult it is going to be.

___________________

A young woman in vibrant violet clothes strummed on her lute, tapping her toe in time to the beat of the lively tavern tune. She directed a wink at a bargoer close to her before leaping up onto his table. Carefully avoiding the empty plates, her purple slippers stomped down on the wood with a soft, but audible thump. She sucked in a deep breath and began to sing. The song, “The Pickpocket's Lover”, was well known here, and soon the tavern patrons were singing and clapping along with the music. The woman weaved gracefully between the tables, spinning and dancing as the tune picked up speed. The whip-quick braid in her hair followed her eagerly, drawing curves in the air behind her head when she whirled around to play for the crowd behind her. Cheeks flushed dark with exertion and sweat dripping down her brow, she drew the song to its end. At the far side of the room, she struck the final chord, took a beer from one of the waitresses, and downed half of it in one gulp. The crowd at the tavern, now some forty or fifty people, cheered. The woman raised her mug in the air triumphantly.

"Here's to th' North!" she cried, to even more applause, and then made as if to throw the mug to the ground. The waitress she'd taken the beer from quickly stilled her hand, as if she was expecting it. If she said anything to the bard, nobody could hear it for all the noise. The bard shrugged and took another swig. "'right y'all, I just gotta wet my throat a moment, then I'll be right back with ya." She fired another wink into the crowd as she made towards the kitchen, and if she kicked her lute case (already harboring quite a bit of coin) a little further towards the crowd, none of them seemed to care.

The woman slipped through the door to the kitchen, soon followed by the waitress. At the last glimpse of her violet tunic and teal beads, the crowd turned back to their food and drink. The kitchen door swung shut, and that was the last any of them saw of the bard that night.

~~~~~

Past that kitchen door, the bard nabbed a piece of fresh bread from the cook's hands, to an indignant "hey!" with no real malice behind it. She turned to the waitress with the smile of one who knows she has done something quite wrong, but who does not care. Appropriately, the waitress had a rather unimpressed expression across her face.

"Good show, eh?" The bard said through a mouthful of warm bread. The waitress huffed.

"Quite." The bard went on eating, as if oblivious to the other woman's annoyance.

"I'm thinking about addin’ a few more new songs to my repertoire." she said, "I've been writin’ some pretty songs as of late. 'Specially the ones about the coming revolution." She eyed the waitress at the last sentence with a hint of humor in her voice.

"Give me that!" The waitress ripped the hunk of bread from the bard's hands to another surprised "hey!" from the offended party. "You need to keep quiet about that revolution of yours. The only reason anyone here tolerates your ridiculous ideas is that you bring in good business. Step too far out of line, and we'll all get in more trouble than any of us can deal with."

"The crowd seemed to like me," the bard supplied. "It's strange, how the northerners seem to like the North. Can I please have my bread back?"

"Take this seriously! I know you couldn't care less about the rest of us, but if you get arrested, you won't get any work either!"

"I ain't planning on gettin' arrested, my friend. I'm only planning on gettin' the damn army outta here. And you can plan on gettin' business so long as there's any folk left here. Nobody's gonna care that I think the guard should get fucked. Hell, that's what they all think too."

"I hate you," the waitress growled, wild-eyed.

"Should'a said that 'fore you slept with me," the bard retorted, plucking her bread back from the waitress and promptly turning to walk further into the kitchen.

"Also, stop trying to smash my damned mugs!" the waitress yelled before slamming open the kitchen door open and walking back out into the tavern.

"I think you sang real well t'night, Vizara." the cook put in after a moment.

"Thank you!" Vizara, the bard, answered. "I can always count on you t' give a girl the credit she deserves."

The cook sighed deeply. "I do think you should cut back on the whole--well--the things that Melya was talkin’ about." She leaned over to inspect a simmering pot of stew in lieu of meeting the gaze of the bard.

It was a while before Vizara answered her. "I know. I don't want t' hurt y'all's business, really. I'm just damn tired of the damn monarchy and their damned games. So is everybody else. All they need is a push, and then we can get rid of the guard. Don't you wanna be free of kings? I sure as hell do.

Plus, I'm only here a handful'a times a year. I surely can't bring any real suspicion down here. Hell, Melya was just about the only waitress I recognized when I got here. Not that y'all have many other waitresses."

"Sometimes I think you talk just to hear your own voice," the cook commented. She ladled some of the stew into a bowl and handed it to Vizara. "Take one of the cloaks on the wall by the door and head outside for a bit, ‘kay? I'll talk to Melya,"

"Don't want me 'round anymore, huh?" she joked, pulling a cloak over her thin tunic and bare shoulders. "Really, you're the best, Eviah. The only one around here with any manners,"

Eviah made no reply, simply shooing the bard out the door with a roll of her eyes.

The wind outside was biting cold. It was easy to forget near the fires and warm food of the tavern, but it worked its way through the fabric of the cloak in a matter of moments. Vizara huddled on one of the stairs leading down from the back door, watching for a few moments as her breath turned to mist.

"'bit like a dragon, ain't it?" she murmured to herself. "If only I had a horde of gold to go along with it."

She drew the cloak in closer. "Warm fire'd be good too." She absently cast her gaze around the small, dark alley. There was a bit of snow on the ground, but not enough to cause any trouble to pedestrians and carts, not that the carts could fit into the alley in any case. The overhanging roofs of the tavern and another nearby shop blocked most of the light from the moon, which was probably good, since nobody would've wanted to see the sundry food waste tossed back there. Vizara could hear the quiet rustling of what she presumed was a few rats digging about in the garbage, but far be it from her to take a look. She wrapped her hands around the hot bowl to bring some feeling back into her fingers, a bit numb from both the lute and the cold.

So she sat, eating her stew as the night went on and the comforting bustle of the tavern carried on behind her. After a short while, she set the empty bowl down beside her and took the lute off her back. Soft music began to drift up amongst the scuttling of the rats as she strummed the first few notes to a love song.

“Maybe I’ll play this one next,” she whispered. She leaned back against the door and hummed along to the quiet tune.

Her fingers stilled only a moment later as she heard some odd noise out in the street, past the entrance to the alleyway. The shriek of an animal (or perhaps a child? she couldn't say) echoed off the close walls.

“The hell was that?” She got to her feet, turning her head toward the noise. Again, the same shriek. Certainly the sound of a person now.

Vizara fumbled in the waistband of her pants for a small knife, not much more than a toothpick. She dropped the cloak from her shoulders and slung her lute across her back once more.

With a deep breath, she crept out onto the street, tiny blade in hand. It was dark; few lanterns were ever out at night. The town was small, its people poor. Still, with a cursory glance, she saw the silhouettes of three or four people cast in the light of the brothel across the street. The screams hadn't stopped—they'd just gotten quieter. They'd become yelps, and then wordless protests, and now, just pained whimpering.

She could see now—as she snuck ever closer—the small body of a child held down by the much bigger guards. The blade in her hand felt insufficient, useless. She faltered, slowed almost to a stop. The guards hadn't noticed her. She was quiet and they were occupied with the protesting figure in the dirt beneath them. She could back away into the alley just as easily as she had left it, and nobody would be the wiser. The crowd awaited her back in the tavern. She was much better suited to that kind of work—the rustling up, the inspiring, not the fighting itself. But, hell, who was she if she didn’t practice what she preached? And who was getting hurt in her place if she did nothing?

The glint of silver mail in the low light caught her eye once more. The crest of the royal family glowed gold on the guards' tunics, splashed with mud and blood and violence. Another strangled cry slipped from the child's lips as he was jabbed with the butt end of a spear. She was only a few lengths away from the closest guard. A full body shiver struck Vizara's body, shaking the little knife in her hand.

She started into a run, the movement catching the attention of one of the guards. They shouted to their companions, but the warning came too late. Vizara, much shorter than the guard nearest her, jabbed her knife into his armpit, where she knew was an opening in his armor. He stumbled back with a heavy huff, and the knife was yanked from Vizara's hands. She reached for it again, her left hand up to defend herself from the other two guards. Her fingers brushed the handle, but she couldn't get a good grip on it—she'd sunk the whole blade into his arm. Plus, he and his two companions were getting his wits about him once more. He was going for his spear amongst a slew of curses. It didn't come to that. Vizara heard a monstrous Crack! and then a moment later, her left arm flared up in pain. She fully lost hold of the knife. It didn't matter anymore. Her arm—what happened to her arm? She looked up to the flash of silver as she was struck in the chest with the blunt end of a spear.

She went down with a heavy huff. Her arm throbbed and maybe she couldn’t use her fingers? And her face was in the dirt and her chest ached and she couldn’t see anything for the dark and the terror.

She looked out over her injured arm, bleary and gasping. The child—a young elf, no older than fifteen—still lay prone on the ground, one of the three guards standing above him. Vizara's vision swam as dread descended.

One of the guards kicked her over onto her back and she rolled painfully over her lute. She winced, tried to sit up, but was immediately pushed right back down, slamming her head into the dirt.

"Fuck." she sucked in a breath. "Can—can I at least move the lute? Don't want to break the lute."

The guard who'd kicked her—a woman who Vizara would find attractive in any other situation—grabbed her collar and none-too-gently yanked her into a sitting position. Another guard maneuvered the lute from her back, jostling her hurt arm and eliciting a rather embarrassing whimper from her. She gathered up her wits and forced the stars out of her eyes.

"Ah, thank you." Vizara babbled, forcing a smile. "As a good bard once said 'you can break my bones but not my banjo'."

"You fucking stabbed me!" bellowed the guard she'd stabbed, and swung the body of the lute into her head.

~~~~~~

Vizara awoke with what she at first thought was a bad hangover. She felt groggy, confused, and her head pounded—a situation she'd found herself in many a time before. She moaned in pain and closed her eyes once more, but she found no comfort in sleep, for she had neither pillow nor bed to sleep on. Instead, the surface beneath her was hard, rough, and cold.

Her eyelids were heavy, and as her conscious awareness grew, she forced them open. Bewilderment abounded for a few moments. Where the hell was she?

The room was dark and small. A barred window above her head cast a square of light on the stone floor and glinted off the edge of a tarnished metal bucket. She recognized the trappings of the room—a prison cell for sure, she’d been in more than enough to know—but it took her a few moments to recall the circumstances that had landed her here. She had been all set to perform at the bar the night before; she'd make a bit of coin, flirt with some strangers, and sleep with even more of them. Clearly, something had gone wrong. Such a waste of a good night!

She racked her brain, piecing together all that had happened after her performance: the conversation with Melya and Eviah, the cold alley, and then the sight of the guards kicking a child that had spurred her to action. A grim satisfaction came over her as she remembered stabbing one of the guards in the armpit. At least she'd done some good damage before she'd gone down. Nothing after that came back to her. She must have gotten her ass kicked pretty quick after the stabbing; the pain in her head and her arm could attest to that.

She touched her injured arm, and it didn’t hurt terribly. The ambient light described an ugly bruise. Nothing that wouldn’t heal. And her head ached, but she could deal with that. After all, it wasn’t much worse than her usual hangover. Vizara felt across her chest for any more injuries. There was a pain in her left side when she pressed down on it, but it didn't seem to be too serious. She huffed a sigh of relief and immediately winced when her chest took issue with it. All things considered, she’d gotten off pretty easy.

With a grunt, she stood up. She could make out the shape of a wooden door in the dim. There was a slit under it through which a bit of light trickled. Probably how food was delivered to the prisoners. The thought of other prisoners stuck in Vizara's mind for a second—what had happened to the child? She prayed to any god that would pay her mind that he had gotten away. Although… if there were other prisoners, maybe she could orchestrate an escape. She'd been learning to rouse the masses for years now; surely, she could incite some kind of prison riot or revolution if she had to. But where was her lute? She didn't need that to inspire crowds, but it sure helped.

"If you bastards stole my lute," she murmured to no one. "I'm gonna fuckin' lose it."

She looked around the room, but there were only stone walls and one window and a dingy chamber pot. Nothing practical to help her, and no lute in sight.

Without anything to do and no chance of getting back to sleep, Vizara spent what seemed to be an interminable amount of time pacing about the cell. She found herself shivering in the cold air, but the movement helped. If she didn't find a way to get out of here soon, she could very well be stuck in this hellhole forever. The law of the kingdom wasn't known for its charity.

The light from the small window had significantly brightened and then dimmed again by the time Vizara saw any company. She reckoned it was around sunset when there came the clamor of heavy footsteps outside her cell door. She moved to the back corner of the cell to give herself a bit of space once the guards came in; for they were coming in—the rustle of keys and the sound of voices reached her, dampened by the thick door but still clear enough. There was a soft click, and the door swung open, light from the hallway beyond cascading in. Vizara squinted at the loss of comfortable darkness.

There were three guards, dark in the doorway, just like the night before. She couldn't tell if they were all the same ones, but she vaguely recognized one of the female guards. They were dressed in the customary mail, with the sign of the monarchy across their chests. The longswords at their hip drew Vizara's eyes—she couldn't brute force her way past them, even if she had a weapon of her own.

She allowed two of the guards to approach her and none-too-gently shackle her right arm, hooking the other end of a long chain to a bar in the window. They backed away, now out of her reach, as if she posed any kind of danger to them.

"Vizara Whitecrest," the female guard started.

"Hello, yes, that's me," Vizara said, a fake smile on her lips. "It seems my reputation precedes me."

"I don't care much for pleasantries." she glowered. "I am only here to assess your account and determine an appropriate punishment."

"That's just great." Vizara sat down and put her hands in her lap. "I'm sure you know, I was rather very drunk last night, and quite out of my right mind. Now, I had no intention of attackin' anyone yesterday, but you must understand, certain things are bound to happen when one is that inebriated."

"I didn’t come here for idle chat and excuses." she said. "No proper bard drinks during her performance.”

“Now there’s your problem, sweetheart. I ain’t any kind’a proper bard.”

“You sure as hell didn’t seem drunk when you stabbed Oliver.” The woman harrumphed. “I’ve never seen a drunkard harm a trained guard, let alone one your size.”

Vizara shrugged. “’Spose I got lucky.”

“See, I don’t think you did. You knew just where to aim, and I’m damned if your aim wasn’t perfect.” She considered. “You’ve done this before.”

“I ain’t done nothin’ of the sort.” Vizara insisted, and she could only blame her pounding head when she added “Only time I’ve laid a hand on a guardsman is in bed, and he damn near begged me to hit him.”

The guard’s face screwed up in something halfway between annoyance and fury. Vizara winced, her smile falling. “I don’t mean any offense or nothin’, course! I’m just—"

Patience run out, the guard strode into her space and slammed her into the wall, cutting her off with a sharp gasp. Her left arm pinned Vizara's shoulders to the wall, her right pressing into Vizara’s wounded chest. The bard wheezed in pain, and her mask of nonchalance faded into visible distress.

“We both know you weren’t drunk, you stupid fucking half-elf.” She ground Vizara’s shoulders into the wall. “I’m not here to play games, and I don’t tolerate lies. If you’d like to keep your head, you’ll tell me everything. I want to know if you’ve attacked guardsmen before, and what I can do to make you never attack us again. I want to know about every Northerner who so much as fucking thought about going after the guard. Lie to me once more, and I will make sure you never sing again.”

"I—" Vizara pushed against the guard's adamant armor before she could think better of it. "Fucking—get off me!"

The woman moved in an instant, grasping Vizara's left hand in her armored gauntlet and pinning it against the wall. Vizara couldn’t even tell what was happening until the guard’s dagger was flashing against her throat and she was screaming into it. Her head slammed against the stone wall and she almost didn't feel it when the guard let her drop to the floor.

She took in gasping breaths as her vision returned. She clapped her hand to her neck, now pulsing with blood. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling. Her throat worked painfully, as if trying to swallow back down the lost blood.

“It’s not hard,” the woman said, "all you need to do is sit there and tell the truth.” Then, to someone else, she ordered, “go make sure the windows are boarded for the storm. I can handle her.”

She knelt in front of Vizara and grasped her chin in one metal hand. The bard moaned and tried to turn away, but to no avail. She was weak and reeling from the pain.

The guard turned Vizara's face toward her own. Vizara saw the other two guards had left them, and the door to the cell was closed. She and the guard were alone now and there was no one there to save her from her suffering.

“I’m not afraid to carve out your vocal cords and let you choke on blood until I’m kind enough to let our healer seal you shut. And right now, I’m really considering it for the insolence alone.” Her voice was quiet now. Soft. Almost saccharine sweet with the way she breathed into Vizara’s ear. “You’re lucky I’m nice. This doesn’t have to get any more difficult than you've already made it."

Even bleeding her brain dizzy, Vizara wasn't fooled. She would suffer more tortures before any of these people had finished with her. Not much of anything could save her now from that. But she was hurt. And she was alone. And she was afraid. And she wanted it to be over.

"I'm don't know anyone else," Vizara rasped, tasting copper on her tongue. "I'm on my own. The tavern—they don't pay me or anythin' like that. I'm just there to make some coin and they want more business. 's that simple. 'm not from here, either. Don't know anyone here, 'cept a few folks I'm a bit familiar to. Nobody from my hometown's seen me in months. They're innocent in all this."

All of the sudden, it was very hard to breathe. There was a roaring in her ears.

"Please, I'm beggin' you. Don't hurt them," Vizara felt pinprick tears in the corners of her eyes. "Don't hurt me, neither, please. 'm just a fool of a bard. Wanted t' fight against the kingdom, someway, somehow. And I was stupid. I can’t do anythin’ all on my own. I can hardly defend myself. I ain’t a threat to anyone, ‘specially not the guard. I promise, I didn't want nobody to get hurt, 'least, nobody I cared much about. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’a done that. I’m so sorry."

The cell and the woman before her became watery, submerged in her own tears. The guard straightened up and Vizara waited for a blow to fall upon her. She waited for a reply. Waited for something. Waiting for anything better than waiting.

Damn near an eternity passed between them in silence, and Vizara finally peeked out of the shelter of her arms. The guard was looking at her, but not. She had cocked her head to one side to listen to something outside of the room. Vizara listened as best she could between the heaving of her chest and the tiny gasps hiccupping from her throat. There was a roar, she thought, like a great waterfall or a stampede of animals. She heard it faint, but even as she listened it came closer as if to suffocate her in the noise. She futilely clapped her free hand to a sensitive half-elf ear. A sense of dread came over her, but also a desperate hope. If this loud, horrible noise was as powerful as it seemed, maybe it could tear her away from here. Maybe it could drag the guard away. Hell, she’d be glad if this thing killed her if it meant escaping the grasp of this merciless woman. A woman who was now standing in the middle of the cell, paying no more attention to Vizara.

Vizara removed her hand from her ear, wincing at the booming, cacophonous sound. She pushed herself to her feet, but as the ground trembled, she fell back upon the floor. She pressed her left ear to the ground and her hand to her right, and she tried to keep the blood from slipping through her fingers. She pulled her legs to her chest and huddled close into herself. The noise was now right on top of her. This is the end of the world, rang clear in Vizara's tangled thoughts.

There was a tremendous crash, and everything shook, and small stones fell on Vizara's prone form.

And after a time, the noise receded into the distance.

And it was deafeningly quiet.

Vizara's ears rang and everything that she was hurt. She curled ever closer as wracking cries filled her chest.

But at the very least, she was alive.

#my writing #ayy first time posting my writing here i think #maybe give it a try owo #its original fiction but i promise the main character doesn't suck #like i will maintain that this isnt my best work by a long shot but i still think its pretty good

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Resuscitate (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Teen Warnings: drowning Characters: Law, Penguin, Shachi, Bepo

It was just supposed to be a supply stop. No fights, no ruckus, just a simple investigation of what the town had to offer them (nothing Law cared for) before setting sail once more. Penguin was handling the mundane shopping, or so Law had thought until his attention had been caught by a commotion at the harbour. It was almost as far away from the Polar Tang as possible. He'd thought that was a good thing, until he'd recognised the victim, barely visible between the thickset bodies of the rowdy pirates tormenting him.

"Penguin!" he screamed, blowing any and all chances of taking them by surprise, as his nakama was tossed into the water. It shouldn't be a concern, Penguin was the best swimmer out of the four of them, but he was injured, and Law thought he'd been tied up, too. Could he still swim? He charged the adults, uncaring that they were all twice his size and brandishing knives with a glint in their eye.

"Another brat playing at piracy?" one – the one that had thrown Penguin, and probably the captain – jeered. His breath stank of stale rum and Law wrinkled his nose even as he summoned a Room and slashed with his sword, delighting in their startled shouts as their bodies separated.

Penguin wasn't surfacing. That wasn't necessarily a cause for concern, Law tried to tell himself as he wildly slashed again, relieving the pirates of their ability to use their legs; if Penguin was in trouble, they wouldn't need them again. He might not have known Law was there, so he might be swimming towards the Polar Tang, escaping rather than risking another beating. It would be the sensible thing to do.

Law Shambled his nakama's abandoned hat into his hand, clutching it tightly while he continued to dice the pirates that had dared hurt Penguin. Still no sign of Penguin. Law wanted to dive in himself, to check that Penguin was simply staying out of sight and wasn't in trouble, but common sense prevailed. Penguin only might be in trouble. If Law entered the water, he would definitely be in trouble.

He hated feeling so useless. All he could do was distract Penguin's attackers and hope he was getting himself clear, even though a heavy feeling in his gut told him that even Penguin couldn't swim if he was trussed up. He squashed it ruthlessly, because what could he do? Bepo and Shachi were too far away, and he hadn't finished dealing with the drunk pirates. If he left without finishing the job, they might pursue him to the ship, endangering them all, or dive into the water after Penguin, to make sure he drowned.

"Damn it!" he cursed, his next violent slash taking out the edge of the wharf as well as slicing a man's head neatly in half. If Law was in a better mood, he'd have grinned, but all he could think was that it had been over a minute since Penguin fell in, and there was still no sign. The average human could hold their breath for about that long, and while he knew Penguin was above average, if he was injured, or otherwise weakened, he wouldn't be at his peak. Penguin could already be-

"Captain!" Shachi's yell was perfectly timed to stop Law thinking the worst. He risked a glance back to see the ginger sprinting towards him, and bit back the scolding on his lips. Shachi was supposed to be guarding the Tang with Bepo. But Shachi could swim. "Captain, what's-"

"Find Penguin," Law ground out, finishing dicing the lackeys and turning his attention to the captain, whose face had turned an interesting shade of purple. "He's in the water but he hasn't surfaced yet."

To his credit Shachi didn't ask any questions, leaping straight in. Shachi would be fine. He wasn't injured, had entered the water under his own terms. Law kept himself occupied by dissecting the drunk captain, who had started jeering about how the even the 'water bird' couldn't swim 'tied to an anchor'. If it weren't for the words in question, Law would have been fascinated by the fact that his tongue still worked even after he Amputated it.

"Law!" He whirled around in the direction of the cry, seeing Shachi bobbing in the water frantically. In his arms was the limp form of Penguin, whose lips were far too blue for Law's liking. His breath caught in his chest before he threw himself to the ground, reaching an arm out to the pair of them as far as he could without falling in himself. Shachi manoeuvred the two of them closer, and Law's hand closed on the collar of Penguin's clothes, tugging him up onto the pier with help from Shachi below.

He didn't waste time helping Shachi out, hyper aware that Penguin wasn't breathing as he frantically began treatment, ignoring the jeers of the severed heads surrounding them.

"Don't you dare leave me," he growled as he pounded on the unmoving chest, his vision blurring. He couldn't lose anyone else, not when he'd been standing right there. He should have been faster, used his Room before Penguin hit the water, anything to prevent yet another death right in front of his eyes. "Please, Penguin. Please."

He barely registered a dripping-wet Shachi pulling himself out of the water beside him, the ginger uncharacteristically quiet as he started to reach for his friend, only for his hand to stop short, hovering uncertainly. Law didn't have the time to tell him contact was okay, might help. In the end, he didn't need to, Shachi occupying his fingers with removing all the restraints as he bit his lip, before resting his hand on his friend's wet hair.

"Come on, Penguin," he heard him mumble. "Water? After everything we've been through?"

Whether it was just coincidence, or Penguin had heard his friend, Law didn't know, but he didn't question it as sudden coughs wracked the unconscious form. Law hurriedly rolled him over onto his side, into the recovery position, as he vomited water before valiantly attempting to cough up his lungs.

Shachi's murmured relief was clearly audible to Law, who backed off slightly to let the older teen coax the initial responses out of Penguin. When he heard nothing, but saw Shachi's face relax slightly, he furiously wiped at his face with his sleeve, getting rid of the excess moisture forming there before inserting himself into the one-sided conversation. Penguin was shivering badly, although he seemed unaware of it as he apologised for losing the shopping, of all things.

Law agreed with Shachi's outburst. Penguin's life was far, far more important than some replaceable groceries. His heart skipped a beat when the older teen's eyes began to drift shut again, not reassured in the slightest by the slurred attempts to pacify him. Penguin could be in shock, he was already showing symptoms of hypothermia which needed immediate attention, and Law didn't even want to think about secondary drowning. He had to get back to the Tang immediately.

The groan of pain as he got Shachi to help him shift the taller teen was not reassuring in the slightest. He didn't know how badly Penguin had been injured prior to his dunking, didn't know if moving him was making it worse, but he couldn't treat him there on the jetty, and Penguin was easily the tallest and heaviest of the three human Heart Pirates. Neither Law nor Shachi could safely carry him.

Penguin managed some semblance of movement as they half-carried, half dragged him back towards the Tang. Law's breath caught as he didn't quite make it to the Tang before passing out, but as Bepo had sprung from the deck the moment he thought they were close enough and lifted him bodily into his arms, Law supposed that was the best he could ask for.

"Bepo, take him to the infirmary," he ordered, and the mink obeyed without question. "Shachi-"

"I'm going to the infirmary," the ginger cut him off, his voice tight. Law gripped his shoulder tightly, forcing him to a stop once they were on the deck.

"You are going to dry off and get changed," he demanded. "Then bring a change of clothes for Penguin to the infirmary."

"I can dry off later!" Shachi protested, and Law growled.

"I am not dealing with two hypothermic patients. Dry off and warm up." Shachi wasn't visibly shaking, but Law could feel the starting tremors under his hand. He didn't wait to hear any more protests, hurrying down to the infirmary where Bepo had laid Penguin on a bed.

"He's so cold, Captain," Bepo reported, his voice subdued with worry. Law grit his teeth, approaching his unconscious nakama and frowning. He wasn't shaking quite as much as he had been on the jetty, but that wasn't a good sign. Not when his fingertips were going blue.

"Find towels and blankets," he ordered. "As many of both as you can, but leave a couple for Shachi." The ginger hadn't appeared in the infirmary yet, so hopefully he was doing as he was told. Bepo disappeared with a short sound of acknowledgement, leaving Law alone with his patient.

The wet clothes were the first concern, and Law wrestled them off as best he could, using Amputate when his physical strength wasn't enough. Multiple bruises greeted him, as well as gashes courtesy of the pirates' knives. They were probably infected, thanks to the dunking.

The first thing he needed to do was make sure all the water had left Penguin's system, an easy enough feat with his powers, although still time consuming. Bepo returned, almost hidden behind the mound of towels and blankets, and Law set him straight to drying Penguin off. Shachi reappeared, largely dry (his hair was still dripping but Law would throw a towel on his head once Penguin's lungs were back where they belonged, water-free), and helped Bepo without being asked.

Finally satisfied that secondary drowning was no longer a probable concern, Law turned his attention to the wounds. The bruising he could do nothing for, but the cuts were cleaned and wrapped before he utilised Shachi's help to dress Penguin in the pyjamas he'd brought along. The older teen finally treated and dry, he wrapped him solidly in blankets and watched in relief as the shivering returned.

Eyeing Shachi, and tossing the promised towel on his head, he directed Bepo to curl up with Penguin, hoping that the warm fur and the physical contact would help. That done, he wrapped a blanket around the protesting Shachi, who was still colder than Law would have liked, although thankfully not hypothermic, and ruffled the ginger hair with the towel to dry it off.

Finally freeing Shachi and allowing him to sit by the bed, Law mentally ran through everything he'd done, trying to check he hadn't missed anything, anything that might pose a risk to Penguin's recovery. Get rid of the water, dry him, warm him, wrap his injuries, warm him more-

An arm wrapped around his waist and yanked him towards Shachi, who felt marginally warmer than he had a minute previously.

"Stop worrying," the ginger sighed, pulling Law into the confines of the blanket wrapped around him. "He's going to be fine now, just you wait and see." There was a minute tremble in his voice, and Law knew he was trying to reassure himself as well. The effort was appreciated, and Law wrapped his arms around the ginger to a quiet noise of surprise, donating his body heat to help him warm up as they watched Penguin's steady breathing.

At some point, probably when Law had been fussing with Shachi, he'd passed from unconsciousness to merely sleeping, and Law managed a relieved smile. Everything was going to be okay.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #heart pirates #tales from the heart #tsari writes fanfiction #trafalgar law #penguin #shachi #bepo #drowning #hypothermia

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garbagewhump · 4 years

Text

Double Dealing - 1

TW: man-handling, non-consensual touching, casual power imbalance, forced obedience, exploitation of someone referred to as a child.

Everyone had their dirty little secrets, their guilty pleasures. The things that excited them, or kept them up at night fantasizing, or simply made the day to day more bearable, but which were demonized by society.

The thing about existing for only a short period of time, especially as compared to the world one existed upon, was that while the exact nature of said sinful indulgences varied, at their most basic, they were all primal, even if they didn’t appear to be. The needs for socialization, for amusement, and for comfort and pleasure, drove all mortal creatures.

It was a lovely and oh-so fascinating observation Granville had made about ten years ago, after five years running various Underworld dens of inequity. Whenever the moral powers that be declared something an affront to the deity no one had ever met or had proof of existing, a new den opened. A new niche for the hungry and desperate to stumble into and trade their valuables for a chance to satiate their desires.

For now, and for the past seven years, he and his partner ran the casino, the brothel and the speakeasy, though they’d have previous ventures. Granville had been disgusted by the moral laws set in place on sex for only his first year. In the Underworld, one had to become well acquainted with the inherent disconnect between one’s own morality and that which imposed by the Upstairs.

The desperately hungry and needy trickled down to the Underworld, no matter how often they were warned, how many mundane or magical defenses were put in place, because it was simply in the nature of the world to twist and reshape reality to open the doors to wherever that thirst could be slaked. It wasn’t as though anyone Upstairs had the ear of an actual holy being to enforce the rules created.

And tonight, as testament to that, the casino pulsed and throbbed with life, full to bursting, but that wasn’t what had captured Granville’s attention.

“Kastrom,” he said idly to his partner by his side as they overlooked the main floor. “Do you see it?”

“There’s a lot to see,” she replied. “Be more specific.”

He snorted, then gestured to the oddity.

A child, though obviously old enough they would take great offense to the description, sat at a blackjack table with a glass of amber liquid and a veritable pile of chips. They winked at the croupier and added their latest winnings to their stash.

He nodded at the hellhound croupier at the table. “Rot Bite typically has turned the tables by now. Our guest is skilled.”

She hummed her agreement. “They appear… young.” Her gaze flickered briefly to his, lurid orange cat’s eyes meeting pale brown.

To be fair, recognizing the ages of mortals was hardly a priority for an effectively immortal being such as herself. Demons didn’t typically interact directly with mortals. He was a select exception.

“I would wager they are,” he agreed.

This was hardly the first time a young soul had found their way to the Underworld and it wouldn’t be the last. It was merely the nature of the prices paid in such a place like this that made it tricky. While Upstairs, no child could legally drink, for example, but a soul belonged to a mortal just as soon as they decided that for themselves. A guardian could teach, could bring them to religious institutions or elect not to, but it was the individual who owned their own soul, no matter the age they recognized this natural right. In the eyes of the Underworld, in the eyes of countless demons, that meant the souls were afforded the same responsibilities and contractual autonomy as a legal adult.

Admittedly, Granville had just enough of Upstairs morality clinging to him to keep the youngest souls from leaping headfirst into a contract, to warn them prior to signing that dotted line just what they were selling. He collected enough souls to make quota without being reduced to such easy pickings. It was pride, perhaps, and not Upstairs morality, that stayed his hand.

Kastrom snaked the tip of her tail under his shirt, untucking it to drag a cold line along his lower back. “Their luck has to run out soon,” she said.

Steadfast in place despite the chill, Granville merely angled his head, trying to determine whether she meant that as a passing comment, or for him to make sure of it. “I believe I’ll visit our young friend then.”

With her silence as answer enough, he started to make his way to the main floor of the casino.

“Once you’re finished mingling,” she called, her tone stopping him in his tracks, “I believe you still haven’t finished your collections.”

No, no he hadn’t. Between running the casino, brothel and speakeasy, he’d gotten sloppy. Four souls had escaped in the last month alone, and two the month previous, each taking with them their talismans. Then there were the derelicts raiding the Outskirts, and the squatters camped in the Sweltering Plains. The infestation of Crawlers needed exterminating, and the old opium den was still to be cleared for demolition. Yes, there was work aplenty and yet… Very carefully not clenching his jaw and forcing the muscles in his neck not to tighten, he smirked and offered a flippant wave. “Have a little faith, partner,” he said before continuing down the stairs.

He felt fire on his back and knew she’d taken her leave for the night. What a cluster. His neck ached and his temples throbbed, reminded him of his own outstanding balance several months building. Even he had to acknowledge that he had his limits, much as they were far beyond the typical mortal’s, and he could feel their rapid approach.

Concentrate on the present issue, he thought as he reached the table. Plan for exhaustive collapse tomorrow.

As Granville approached and placed his bet, Rot Bite barely looked up before seamlessly dealing him in.

How to play this, beyond carefully? The kid, perhaps, didn’t recognize him, or they were pretending not to. Either way, so far they hadn’t so much as looked at him, keeping their gaze on the dealing shoe. The other two at the table, a nervous looking kelpie and a snake picking at her shedding scales, didn’t seem to care either about his presence.

It wouldn’t do to tip hands too early, to declare his intentions so immediately. He had to hold off a minute, get a feel for the table and the kid’s tells. And while they would hardly lower their guard quickly, sometimes observing their inaction was twice as informative as catching someone in the act.

As expected, their effortless flow and easy wins became more ragged and sporadic. Certainly they still won, but their luck took an abrupt turn away from the preternaturally profitable. Still, Granville wasn’t about to let the kid off the hook quite so quickly. He could be patient. Dealing with immortal beings necessitated some degree of patience.

Mortal humans, especially young ones, did not have much patience.

A scant couple hands later, the kid’s luck began a miraculous comeback Granville studied them in his peripheral vision, watching their hands fluttering over their own cards and tapping a nervous pace.

Nervous, or were they signaling someone?

No, they had to be working alone. The angle of their seat offered poor lines of sight, the din of the casino was too loud to allow the sound to carry clearly, and the only other two at the table were still wholly absorbed their own business. Desperate, he’d say, and ripe for a deal. Perhaps after dealing with the card shark he’d make a deal or two.

Then the kid doubled down on a eleven and hit blackjack.

That was something he didn’t miss about his youth— the foolhardiness to assume his plans infallible and those around him blind.

Rot Bite gave them congratulations and their winnings. Granville offered only the bare minimum to match the kelpie and the snake’s interest. Another hand later and the kid stood on a twelve while Rot Bite busted.

Interesting. Some sort of card counting, or— yes, there. On the back of the queen Rot Bite had drawn, a mark in the upper right corner.

He’d wasted enough time in observation, now he could act.

Smoothly, he slid out of his seat to move behind the cheater.

“Say, friend,” he drawled as he roped an arm around them. “You and I ought to go cash out.”

To their credit, they merely brought their drink to their lips and took a sip from the trembling liquid.

“I’m going to keep playing,” they said as they tried to pry him off them.

He merely readjusted his hold, left hand digging into their scrawny upper arm and right arm wrapped around their shoulders. “With what money? Not a single scrap of that’s honest pay.”

The kid went very, deathly still, which was smart. Before they could get any wise ideas, Granville allowed a crackle of magic to dance along his fingers as he waved them in their face.

He chuckled, low and smoky, the charcoal taste of his little display on his tongue. “Now… Let’s you and I talk terms. Step into my office.”

They audibly swallowed.

Ah, how sweet youth was. So easily exploited and wrong-footed.

They resisted him for all of a second, long enough for his magic to singe their shirt, before obedience reasserted itself and they leaned into his direction.

“You are going to give me your name,” he said, smirking as he led them across the floor. The other patrons, if they acknowledged them except to move out of the way, tried not to glance too obviously at the scene.

The kid puckered their lips.

Tasting each honey-sweet enchantment on his tongue now, he insisted, “You will give me your name, my friend, or I will take it by force.”

With his every word, their expression strained and crumbled further as they valiantly fought the compulsion, but, like a sapling branch steadily twisted, and bent, and sawed, and folded until it sprang free of its trunk, their resolve split open.

“Jules!” Their name burst from their cracked will, music to his ears and a heady rush through his whole body.

“This will go much smoother with some measure of cooperation,” he reminded them as he led them into his office.

As he all but shoved the kid into the chair opposite him, he smiled, far away from prying eyes. Jules watched him with wide eyes

“‘Jules’ is a very decidedly human name, as is your appearance, and yet you know to be wary of anyone asking for your name. You, my young friend, are multi-talented, worldly. Why, I do wonder what ever could draw you here.”

He leaned back in his own chair and studied them for some sort of reaction. They were very obviously trying to keep from speaking again, going so far as to grip the arm rests with white knuckles, pressing themselves against the chair back.

How cute. If slightly predictable.

Beyond that, they seemed far too out of their depths to manage any sort of intriguing reaction to their situation.

“How fortunate for you I am not truly Fae, or else you’d be fully committed to my offer already.”

“What is your offer? You speak a lot in vague terms, saying barely anything worthwhile.”

Irritation sharpened his smile. “How would you like to walk out of here with both your soul and your winnings?”

Their dark green eyes gleamed, a slight furrow on their brow. Interested, but not yet sold. Foolhardy enough to attempt to cheat the most powerful demon currently known, yet nowhere near desperate enough to leap at the chance to save their soul.

“Say, you may even keep your hands, you filthy thief.”

“I didn’t take anything,” they protested. “Just some liberties with your rules.”

Granville masked his wry amusement. Finally he recognized why the kid’s behavior felt so unduly familiar— his own greed and ambition, his own hungry childhood, reflected in their features. “You have cost me a small fortune,” he said after his study. As entertaining as this has turned out to be, it was time to cut to the quick. He required a final determination now. “My time is a precious commodity, luckily, and you will repay your debt by performing menial tasks to free my schedule.”

“You want me to run errands for you. That’s what all this is about? ‘Run along to the store and pick me up some tea and biscuits, dearie’!”

They laughed, the sound harsh with hysteria, and laughed again when his expression didn’t so much as twitch. Their bravado melted.

“Wh-What do want me to do?”

He reassured Jules, “Nothing overly sordid.” They were too young for his tastes to bind a contract, but there were other methods to ensure some degree of compliance. In a practiced motion, he took hold of their left hand, removed his pen from his inner pocket, and drew a simple glyph on their palm.

“Hey! What gives?”

Granville twisted their arm, their bones birdlike in his grasp. A quick flick of his wrist would be more than enough to get his point across. Instead he left bruises under his fingers.

“Hush. Now.”

They stilled.

His focus frayed to the end of the mark, sparks flying off, but while it was ugly, it was perfectly serviceable collateral. With an exaggerated, insouciant flourish, he released them.

Jules yanked their arm back, nearly tipping over their chair, and cradled their no-doubt stinging hand. Even at this angle he could see his list beginning to form on their skin.

“What the fuck is this?” they demanded. “This isn’t a grocery list!”

“Hop to it, kid,” he ordered.

“You want me to deliver a hand!”

“Yes. Risk disobedience at a cost.”

Pushing past the building tension in his magic, Granville discorporated from his office and left them to their tasks.

#double dealing #granville howlett #kastrom #jules roach #whump writing #i swear it gets whumpier #magic #forced servitude #long post #man handling #magical compulsion #obedience

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a-culture-thing · 5 years

Text

Midnight Moon

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Haechan (Donghyuck) × Reader (Gender neutral)

Promt: With the help of the universe, you realise your true feelings for Haechan. The moment is surreal until his phone goes off due to a not so happy Renjun.

Song Rec: Midnight Moon - Oh Wonder

Warnings: One curse word is used lol

Word Count: 1.2k

A/n: I wrote this a while ago and I honestly don't know why I didn't post it but here you go! This is also the first fic I have posted. Feel free to leave a comment or ask any questions! Enjoy 💓

*GIF not mine, credit to original owner

___

It was never my intention. I had not planned on it. I most certainly had not added it to my agenda for that Saturday. Yet, there I was, falling deeper than the Mariana Trench for the boy huddled into my side.

I guess I couldn’t help it, not with his wispy lashes, irresistibly plump lips, and the moon illuminating his skin.

With the way that they reflected endlessly within his pupils, the stars must’ve wanted it to happen. Same with the wind that blew so delicately through his hair, as if he was a fragile house of cards. As well as the crickets whose hum seem to quiet the very moment we settled on the roof of my car. The universe was working harder than the devil to suffocate me with an overwhelming feeling of infatuation, it seemed.

I noticed the change in my feelings towards the boy when I felt myself holding in a breath as he giggled at a barely audible volume, staring back at me with a face bright with joy. It was just a second after that I realized that the desire to hold him close had always been there.

His head was resting on my shoulder when I decided to speak up about the sudden change of emotion.

“Hyuck?” I whispered.

“Hmm?” He hummed, beginning to caress my hand that laid limp in my lap. The warmth that radiated from his fingertips didn’t help my unsettling anxiety.

I let out a small chuckle while looking down to admire the sight of his sweet gesture, “You’re gonna think I’m crazy but…” I stopped myself, considering the consequences of what I was about to say. After concluding that there were too many to count, I spoke. Lowering my voice to that of a mouse, the confession almost came out as a tiny whimper, “I think I'm in love with you.”

“I know,” he scooted closer, nudging himself into my side.

“W-what?” I stammered, dumbfounded.

I was shaking my head in disbelief, looking down at him in complete shock. He, on the other hand, didn't move even the slightest bit, and in all honesty, looked quite bored with the situation he was in.

“Y/n, I’m not dumb. Well… not as dumb as you at least,” he flicked my thigh with a giggle. Sitting up, he faced the moon and spoke after a moment of silence, “You probably haven’t realized either have you?”

“Realized what?”

“That I love you, too, idiot,” He replied in a snarky tone while turning to give me a raised eyebrow.

“O-oh…” I could feel a heat creep onto my cheeks. Thank God for the shield of darkness the night provides, otherwise Haechan would be able to see the red that painted my cheeks.

He suddenly propped himself on his knees and rest his hands besides both of my hips, leaning in to be just inches away from my face.

“Well?” He huffed.

“Well... w-what?” I responded, as flustered as ever.

“Well aren’t you gonna kiss me, you fool?”

Gulping, I nodded.

My eyes flickered between his pair of doe ones and his pouty lips as I slowly leaned towards him, hesitating just before his awaiting mouth before dipping my head down to press our lips together. I did so gently and softly, so not only to avoid surprising him, but also to not ruin the serene moment.

I pulled away just to catch his reaction, and saw that a shy smile had replaced his disappointed frown from just a minute earlier. I found a small ounce of confidence in this, so I placed my hand on the back of his neck and gave him another subtle kiss. Then two. Then three. Then four, and until I realised he was no longer kneeling but hovering above me and out of breath.

To my surprise, he sat back and onto my lap. He gazed around at the golden field that surround my car and at the stars above us. Then closing his eyes he took a deep breath and slumped his shoulders.

I laid still underneath him after resting my palms on his thighs. I took the time to observe his beauty. And my goodness, did he look like a god made of honey.

Unfortunately, though, Hyuck's phone went off, causing the both of us to jump. His hands scrambled around his clothes to find which pocket he had left it in. Once finding it, he answered the call,

"What are you ruining my evening for, Renjun?"

"Yah! Not even saying hello to your hyung first?!"

Haechan didn't respond, glaring off into space although Renjun couldn't see him.

"... Okay well, I was calling to save you from the wrath of our manager. He's gonna be here soon to make sure none of us are out past curfew. If you don't get home in the next half hour you're gonna be in some deep shit, Haechan-ah,"

"Oh my god- I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THAT," Haechan stood up quickly and jumped off the roof of the car. "Y/n come on! You need to get me home RIGHT NOW!" He shouted.

I slid off the roof and got into the driver's seat, worriedly waiting for him to get in as I put the key in the ignition.

"You really need to start remembering these things-"

"Yeah, yeah. Thank you hyung, sorry for being rude, I'll be home soon! Bye!" He hung up, not wanting to waste another second. He rushed into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

Within a good 15 minutes I had him back at the dorms. As soon as he had opened the door he was bombarded by the scolding of a fuming Renjun.

"Lee Dong Hyuck, I shouldn't have to wake up at midnight when we have 3 interviews to do tomorrow, just to remind you of these things-"

"I know, I know hyung! I said I'm sorry. Okay? It won't happen again!"

"It better not! Where even were you?"

"That's none of your business Renjun..."

I chuckled lightly while standing behind the closed door, turning around to press my back onto the wall besides it. He had told me to wait there for a second before I left.

Finally, I was given a chance to process what had happened. Did I really confess to him? Had we really shared a kiss? Had we really been letting out our true emotions through touch and heavy breaths, pulling and gentle groping, underneath that midnight moon?

Eventually the arguing died down and I heard them bid each other a goodnight. Then Hyuck opened the front door just enough to poke his head out.

"I'm sorry for having to stop our night so early," he apologized.

I turned towards him and rest my head on the door frame. "It's alright," I smiled.

"Okay," he grinned back at me. "We can go again soon, maybe do a bit more kissing, huh? Haha!"

"Yeah, yeah, we can do that," I nodded.

"Alright then," he paused, gazing into my eyes. "Goodnight, Y/n."

"Goodnight Hyuck,"

He swiftly stole a kiss before retreating into the dorm and closing the door.

I stood there for a moment, still unsure if the night had just been a dream. I then headed back to my car and drove away from the apartment complex and into the heart of Seoul.

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eleanor-writes-stuff · 5 years

Text

a language that i never knew existed before - Day 15

For @varksvader, who asked for a modern AU “ where Rey and Ben come out of the movie theater, and one of them is highly emotional after watching it”.

This ended up becoming three times Rey and Ben come out of the movie theater and it’s the longest prompt fill so far, but I hope you like it all the same. Thank you for the prompt, and happy holidays!

If anyone else would like a Reylo ficlet of their very own this holiday season, I’m still accepting prompts!

25 Days of Reylo Also available on AO3

It’s her fourth time watching the movie, but Rey finds herself just as overwhelmed as she was the first time around. The last minute of the end credits is still rolling, a slow score pouring out of the speakers as she and Rose get up to join the crowd filing out of the theater in the kind of zombie-like crawl that’s to be expected after a midnight showing.

It’s that one precious moment between fantasy and reality, that small window of time after two hours of escapism and before real life returns with a vengeance, and Rey is content to savor it in silence until–

“A total and utter waste of time,” a man boldly proclaims in a sharp accent as he and his friend join the line, exiting from the aisle just above her and Rose. “At least the originals had a proper villain instead of this wannabe–”

Before Rey can lunge forward and correct the shallow idiot, a hand wraps around her forearm and holds her back with surprising strength. “Don’t,” Rose mutters as her blunt fingernails dig into Rey’s skin. “Just… let it go, okay? They’re probably just casual viewers who don’t know what they’re talking about anyway–”

“I can’t believe they threw away decades of expanded universe lore for this bullshit,” the man’s companion agrees, his voice heavy with disdain. “Kylo Ren is probably just based off one of the writer’s Sith personas from when they were thirteen or something,” he scoffs dismissively just as the group of them step into the blinding lights of the outside world, and Rose wisely lets go of Rey’s arm with nothing more than a defeated sigh.

“Just don’t get us banned,” is her final request as Rey steps forward to tap the second man on his shoulder. He turns around without her having to speak up to get his attention, and regards her with a look that’s part wary, part weary as he crosses his arms over his surprisingly broad chest.

Rey should’ve seen that coming when she had to reach all the way up to tap his shoulder.

“Can I help you?” the man asks, and the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips is enough to snap Rey out of her observation of his dark locks and thick lips. She offers him a sickeningly sweet smile instead, one meant to unsettle rather than charm.

“Well, first of all, they didn’t throw away the whole EU,” Rey informs him, keeping her customer service smile on, “which you might’ve known if you had bothered to read the full announcement when it was released rather than skim the headlines and immediately head over to Reddit to whine with your fellow purists.”

The man’s hands fall to his side as his flame-haired friend with the grating, carefully affected accent continues to walk away, either not realizing that he’s leaving his companion behind or not caring.

“Second, Kylo Ren is nothing like Darth Vader because he’s not a Sith,” she points out a little smugly even as a part of her realizes she’s gaining steam a little too fast. “In fact, he’s not even fully Dark, which might be why he doesn’t check off all of your traditional, basic boxes of what a villain should look like. And by the way, hating Kylo Ren doesn’t make you a better fan than the rest of us; it just makes you one of the literal dozens of whiny gatekeeper fans I’ve had this conversation with in the last two weeks–”

“I don’t hate him,” the man cuts in quite unexpectedly. If anything, Rey had been prepared for a sneered dismissal of her as a fake fan; the explanation that follows instead is unlike any reaction she’s gotten over the past two weeks. “I think he’s an emotional mess and he makes for a weak villain, but as a character there’s obviously layers to uncover and room for him to grow so…” he trails off with a shrug that disturbs the hair resting on his shoulder and causes a thick lock of hair to flop into his face.

It’s… surprisingly adorable.

“Oh,” Rey mouths to herself, still trying to catch up to the fact that she’s no longer in attack mode. “Oh,” she repeats audibly, and then tentatively adds, “Actually, if you are interested in him, they released a pre-movie novel that covers his early childhood and some of the factors–”

“Solo!” the ginger friend snaps from down the hall, near the counter. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gotten into a debate with your fellow nerds, I simply don’t have the patience for this childishness–”

“Fuck off for one minute, Hux,” her unexpected stranger calls back with a dismissive wave of his hand before turning back to Rey. “So I, um, I’ve got to go but… would you maybe want to talk about this some other time? You seem like you actually know your shit, and believe it or not, the Reddit purist crowd gets kind of annoying after a while,” he grins, as if she hadn’t lumped him in with them just minutes ago.

Rey doesn’t usually like surprises – a childhood filled with instability and unexpected changes will do that to you – but something in her gut tells her that this man might just change that.

Gut feelings – now those she likes and trusts. So against all reason, Rey holds out her hand and says, “Give me your phone, I’ll give myself a call and we’ll see how I feel about this in the morning.”

She texts him a list of pre-movie reading material as soon as she gets home.

“I’m just saying,” Rey shrugs as they walk out of the second movie two years later, hand-in-hand like the touchy-feely couple they’ve been for the past eighteen months, “I called it right from the start. Rendemption, here we come!” she declares a little too loudly for the rest of the midnight crowd, judging by their glares.

Or maybe they’re just the kind of haters she would’ve gotten into a fight with two years ago, and it’s only her giant hulk of a boyfriend that’s keeping them from debating her now.

“Okay, so maybe he’s not as hopeless as I thought he was,” Ben concedes with a soft smile that doesn’t belong on the face of someone who’s just lost a long-standing disagreement with his gloating girlfriend. But then again, Rey’s always gotten the feeling that Ben has been rooting for Kylo to turn his life around just as much as she has; maybe even more, given the parallels he sees between them that he’d once confided in her about.

She stops short just outside of the doors, much to the displeasure of the other grumbling moviegoers, and pulls Ben aside. “Hey,” Rey says gently, reaches up with her free hand to cup Ben’s jaw. “No one’s hopeless. Not Kylo Ren,” she whispers, lets it linger for a beat before she works up the nerve to add, “and definitely not you.”

There’s a terrible beat of silence, a moment suspended in time as their lives fork out into two paths, and Rey has no way of knowing which one they’re taking until–

Ben smiles, turns to press his lips to her palm. “You’re my own personal Kira, aren’t you?” he murmurs gently, bringing his other hand to rest over hers. “The only one who believes in me no matter what.”

Rey nods and stretches up on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Does that mean you’ll leave the past behind for me?” she paraphrases the movie, hiding her nerves behind a teasing note.

It’s been two months since he left Snoke’s company, two months of him trying to decide if he wants to keep going down the dark road he was on when they first met or if it’s time for him to reclaim old noble intentions which have been gathering dust ever since Snoke hired him right out of law school.

“It means I’d give you the whole galaxy if I could,” Ben promises her with that boyish smile of his that lights up her world and warms her from the inside.

“I don’t need the galaxy,” Rey tells him as she draws the hand still in hers around her waist instead and tucks herself against his side as they begin to walk again. “Just you.”

Ben laughs quietly, his warm breath tickling the shell of her ear before he presses a kiss to her temple. “Sweetheart, you’ve had me since the very first moment.”

They linger in their seats long after the music ends and the screen goes dark, taking some time to process the end of the trilogy that’s come to mean so much to them.

“Ready?” Rey eventually asks when she notices that they’re the last ones left, and Ben merely replies with a nod and a squeeze of her hand as he helps her up and they begin to leave the darkened hall behind.

“God, that was perfect,” she sighs as they leave the theater, disposing of her empty extra-large popcorn bucket before she turns to Ben to see if he’s smiling as hard as she is now.

He’s not.

In fact, Ben’s the farthest thing from smiling right now, what with his bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“Baby!” Rey gasps in concern, doing her best to reach up and cup his face with both hands. “What is it, is something wrong–”

Ben turns into her touch, nuzzles her palm before he reaches up to take her hands in his and lower them back to their sides. “It’s okay,” he assures her after a beat, and Rey watches with slow-dawning relief as his lips curve into a smile. “It’s okay, I’m okay,” Ben says with a little laugh, a confusing note of wonder in his voice.

“Then why…?”

“I just… you were right, it was perfect,” Ben agrees with a sigh of his own. “And seeing Kylo at the end there, with Kira by his side and their whole lives ahead of them… I guess it just reminded me of how far we’ve come and how lucky I am,” he shrugs, still wearing that beatific smile that reminds her of the one he’d worn as he watched her walk down the aisle towards him.

“Oh, Ben,” Rey says softly, shakes her head with a fond smile before she tips her chin at him in a gesture he’s grown all too familiar with in the last few months of her pregnancy. At eight months, it’s gotten significantly harder for her to reach up on her tiptoes; any vertical kissing is only made possible by Ben bending all the way down to meet her.

It seems like a waste for all that effort on his part to result in a chaste peck, but they are still in public.

“Let’s get you home, Mrs. Solo,” Ben murmurs against her lips before he stands upright and wraps a protective arm around her.

Rey leans into him with a sigh, rests her head on his shoulder as Ben shuffles them forward. “I say this with all the love in my heart,” she prefaces as they step out into the chilly December night, “but I can’t believe I’m the pregnant one yet you’re the one who cried over a movie.”

Ben huffs as he pulls the keys out of his back pocket and unlocks the car parked just a few feet down the street; he’d waited nearly half an hour to get a spot right outside for her sake. “Hey now, you know better than anyone else that Star Wars isn’t just a movie to us.”

It really, really isn’t. They’d met because of these movies, bonded and fallen in love over them, used their understanding of these fictional characters as a shorthand to communicate their deepest fears and wildest dreams with each other. Every fiery defense of Kylo Ren that Rey has ever delivered was in part inspired by and meant for Ben, and it was his chance at redemption that helped Rey finally convince Ben that there’s no such thing as the point of return.

In a way, Star Wars is as real to them as anything they’ve actually lived through, as fundamental to their relationship and their life together as any other experience they’ve shared.

Hell, if it weren’t for these movies, they might never even have met.

Rey places a hand over her stomach, thinks of everything she’s been blessed with ever since a chance meeting at a midnight showing of a sci-fi movie about space and lasers and hope.

“Yeah,” she tells her husband as he helps her into the passenger seat and carefully secures the seat belt over their daughter. “Yeah, it’s definitely more than just a movie.”

This is more than two thousand words. I don’t even know what happened, you guys; I sat down to write two ficlets and ended up spending all my time on just one. This isn’t even a ficlet anymore, technically.

But... I’m kinda happy with it? It’s not perfect, far from my best work, but it ended up closer to my original outline than anything else I’ve written recently, so I’m okay with it. I hope you are too. Thanks for reading, and please don’t hesitate to like/reblog/comment!

#reylo #reyben #kylo ren/rey #rey/kylo ren #rey/ben solo #star wars #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #ficlet: language that i never knew #my fics

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shelbybroslmtd · 6 years

Text

Fickle Game

Pairing: Tommy x reader

Warnings: swearing, heartbreak, smoking

Word count: 2,198

Notes: This is my first ever Peaky Blinders piece so I hope you enjoy it. I’m also opened to making this a series so tell me if you’d like that. Hopefully it isn’t a waste of your time, lots of love to anybody who reads it. Gif credits: google images

There was really no easy way to say this.

There was no antidote to the venomous silence infiltrating your mind. And with every step you took towards The Garrison, you became more and more indulged in the fact that, yes, there was truly no easy way to say it. No easy way to confess, no easy way to announce, no easy way to contain. So you decided to just spit it out.

Your brain was just blank, an empty shell of what used to be a fortress of thoughts. The calm before the storm. There was truly room for only one thought, and you allowed that single line swim in your mind for a brief moment, just long enough for it to be registered, processed and locked away forever, never to be spoken of again.

Tommy Shelby was the love of your life.

And now when that’s out of the way, you could do anything. Registered, processed and locked away forever, never to be spoken of again.

You pushed against the thick wooden door of The Garrison pub feeling the first wave of hot air hit your face, finding yourself in the centre of a smoke cloud. Your ears filled with silent chatter and drunken echo as you stepped aside, towards the private room, where you believe the majority of the Shelby family should already be sipping their whiskeys and inhaling cigarette smoke.

Even though you weren’t a Shelby, you were a close friend. John Shelby and you went to school together, while he still attended class, and for an unknown reason he enjoyed your company. The majority of your time spent together, however, always included school work and class because, of course, his family was notorious, but also because you just weren’t a Blinder. Nor was anyone in your family. As years went by, you and John remained good friends, even kept in touch when he was shipped off to France and you were eventually introduced to most members of the Shelby family.

The first time you saw Thomas Shelby was in front of John’s home. You two walked home to school together because you’ve lived in the same street for the longest time. Before reaching your house, you would always stop with John in front of his and hug him goodbye. On a particularly rainy Thursday, before John reached his steps, a tall figure emerged from his home. His cap was low on his forehead, his sharp cheekbones the only prominent thing in the shade of the door frame. The coat he had on was darker than black, more worn out than anything you owned but his shoes were shinier than the stars themselves and you wondered who he thought he was fooling with them, when the rest of him appeared just as poor as everything around here is.

Then he raised his head, a half lit cigarette hanging out of the right corner of his mouth, with hooded, but bright eyes. You were never artistic, but you were sure that there will someday be a shade of blue that bears his name, a shade of blue that can capture the piercing ache in your chest when his eyes caught yours, a shade of blue you will never truly know, for it is wild and sneaky, and God, so heavy on your arms, your dress, your head – wherever he drags it across.

However, nothing compared to the warmth spreading through you when his full lips spread into a smile that reached his eyes, a watery smile that you won’t forget until the day you die, and he stepped down, rubbing first John’s shoulder and then ruffling his hair, never taking his eyes off of you.

“I’m Tommy. You must be (Y/N).”

When he spoke, it was over.

In the darkest of your nights, you let yourself think of that moment. In retrospect, you can pinpoint the exact moment he became the only man you’ll ever love. After that particularly rainy Thursday, you got used to seeing Tommy pretty much every day after school. Sometimes he was leaving the house, sometimes he was walking down the street in your direction, sometimes he was lost in thought and other times he was smiling – and you got used to Tommy. John was your friend, but you got used to Tommy. And every time he wasn’t out and about while you were walking home from school, you would instinctively worry. Those days he would eventually ride by your house whistling a tune you didn’t recognize, but a tune that was so unmistakably him it would chase shivers down your spine. Years have gone by and you kept in touch with John, mostly because you were desperately in love with his brother who was older, and out of touch, and free, and magic, and so much more than you’ll ever be.

But, sometimes – in the real world – things just don’t work out.

The War rolled around and boys and men from good families have been recruited faster than anybody could predict. John already told you he got a letter, as well as his older brother. Your brother also got it and he shipped off two days ago. However, John wasn’t quite clear on which one of his brothers was recruited, and you never asked because you had no right to, because you didn’t really know his family, or him for that matter, enough to pry like that. So, you hoped John would eventually mention it.

And he did… Oh, he did.

“Tommy’s the worst of us, I tell you.”, John stated calmly as you made your way into The Garrison, “Arthur and I have to go ‘cause we got the fucking letters, right? But, Tommy…Christ- “, his toothpick nearly fell of his lips as he talked, all hurry, barely audible as you sat down at the nearest table. He raised his legs onto the chair on his left and you took a seat next to him, on his right, and looked straight into his eyes as he took off his hat and threw it onto the wooden surface.

“I’ve made my peace with possible death. Arthur and I’ve made our peace with it because we had to. And then that moron volunteered. Tommy fucking volunteered.”, and with that your heart broke into a million pieces. You hid your gaze in your hair, looking straight down at your hands in your lap, squeezing your fists and scratching your nails into the thin skin of your palms to stop yourself from screaming, crying, dying. Then John took your hand in his.

“I love him because he’s my brother. But you love him too. And he deserves to know what he’s leaving behind if he goes. You should tell him.”, your breath hitched as tears spilled across your cheeks, falling straight onto his hand. Your eyes filled once again before John let go and brushed them off your cheek with a simple thumb rub.

“So…”, you started, unsure “You know?”

“Fuck sake, I’m not blind.”, John laughed, but it never reached his eyes. And how could it, when the air around you was so heavy and your hearts were breaking over again with each new day.

“And before you say anything, everybody in my fucking family is absolutely convinced it is, in fact, mutual. Tommy would swim oceans for you, and so would I but- “, John shook his head, “please don’t let him swim this one for you. Just… talk to him, please. You’re our last chance.”

By the time you finished your conversation with John, Tommy was long gone, leaving you all with nothing but some scribbled words on a half torn piece of paper. And that was the only time you were ready to come clean and admit your feelings for him. And never again.

Your brother never returned from the war, and your mother died of pestilence mixed with a proper dosage of sadness and heartbrokenness. The Shelby boys returned. Well, their bodies at least did fully intact. But, they were merely shells of the vibrant, lively men they used to be. The Tommy you fell in love with, your Tommy died in France without a proper burial and now his body is wondering the streets of Small Heath while his soul floats in between worlds, petrified and lonely, burdened by the things it saw, and heavily outweighed by the things it did, unsure it will ever find peace again. He never rode past your house again, he never smiled at you as he passed you by on the street, and you’ve never heard the whistling again.

His wild eyes have been tamed and the skin on his face was tighter, his palms became rougher and his words scarcer, and the story of you two had ended before it even began. Or it was at least how you thought it is in the haze of his smoke-filled mind.

Tommy Shelby has loved you before the war, he loved you during the war, and he will continue to love you until the day he breathes his last breath. But all of that combined wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t enough. And he let you go the second day he returned, the first time he laid eyes on you in years. You were just the way you were in his dreams, you smelled just the way he remembered and your voice almost made him jump out of his skin because it was real, it was so real and for a brief second Tommy Shelby had everything, and he was happy, and he was alive. He was alive and it wasn’t enough so he locked it away that night when he couldn’t sleep and he got blind drunk, crying for hours because he knew it was only you. So he cried for all the women he’d ever seduce, he cried for his lost marriage, he cried for his unborn children. And he let you go.

Nowadays, Tommy and you barely spoke but everybody in the Shelby family just knew that if either of you ever let their guard down, the other’s desire would literally devour them and you would end up a tangled mess of sheets, a love stronger than a concrete wall. The Shelbys were honestly getting tired of your sneaky glances and Tommy’s soft lowered voice when you would walk into the room. As much as you two tried to hide it, it was apparent, and enigmatic to everybody currently breathing the oxygen of the private room in The Garrison. Why can’t they just…be.

You smiled upon entering, Polly waving her hand, the ashes falling off of a lit cigarette in her hand onto Finn’s sleeve and he shot her a glance as he shook his arm and brushed his palm against his jacket trying to rid it of the remaining prints of little white lines he caused by smearing it. Arthur smiled in your direction as John raised his head to kiss your cheek when you lowered your upper body for him to do so. Your eyes met Tommy’s across the room and it got cold, so cold your fingers numbed. He was standing tall, handsome as ever in his three-piece suit, leaned against the nearest wall with his right leg spread across his left one and one hand on his pocket watch. You’ve made a decision and there was no turning back now.

“You said you got some news for us? I suggest we start off with that.”, Tommy pointed in no particular direction as he lowered his hand onto some papers he had spread out on the table in front of him, his eyes already inspecting the fine print. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, and you allowed this moment of silence more for yourself than for him.

You swallowed hard, took a deep breath and decided to just get out with it already.

“I’m- “, your voice got caught in your throat and suddenly everybody noticed how nervous you are and the eyes of the entire group were on you. Including young Finn and the only man you’d ever really love – Tommy. He raised his head and ran his eyes across the entirety of you at the first sign of discomfort you’ve demonstrated because he would never survive something happening to you.

“I’m getting married.”, the room was quiet. Polly dropped her cigarette, her mouth agape. John blinked once slowly, then lowering his head and muttering a quiet “fuck” under his breath as he turned from you and looked at Polly. They shared a look and then Finn spoke

“Congratulations, (Y/N)” he smiled with a hint of childlike ignorance that you cling to like a lifeline, smiling wide and whispering, “Thank you, sweet boy.”

Tommy cleared his throat and everybody looked at him with what you can only imagine was wonder but was in fact all the compassion they could’ve mustered in this brief amount of time.

“Is that all?”, his hoarse voice rang in the small room. Nobody dared to say anything.

“If it is, this meeting is adjourned.”, and with that he walked out, burning one hell of a bridge.

Part Two

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby writing #tommy shelby fanfic #fickle game

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pillowfluffs · 6 years

Text

Sing For Me Please!Kihyun

Pairing: Kihyun X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You loved to sing but you always hid it from Kihyun until one day..

Author’s Note: I relate a lot tbh. I love singing but when nights with my family such as karaoke come, I don’t even sing.. Do you like singing? As always, feedback is greatly appreciated and please look forward to more works in the future!

Song Referenced: Ellie Goulding - How Long Will I Love You

Music filled your ears without effort, like the waves filling holes in beach sand. The rhythm of it flowed through your veins and swirled in your head. Your body swayed at the gentle sounding music and the soft vocals of the vocalist you were listening to. The sweet sound of Ellie’s voice as well as yours matching hers. You followed along to her song while it played on your phone with your earbuds in. The volume was just right where you could hear your own voice and hear the music. You sat in your shared bedroom folding laundry, even hanging some up. Most of it was your boyfriend, Kihyun’s clothes. He was away on tour and came back just two days ago. You insisted he should stay home and rest since he had about five more days before getting back to work for their next comeback, but he was determined to make up for the days he was gone. You didn’t know how he was going to do it and you didn’t know when either.

Today Kihyun and his members had an event to go to, or at least that’s what he said. Kihyun left around noon, kissing you goodbye and headed out towards the company. About an hour and a half later and here he was at the supermarket, struggling a little bit with pulling out a shopping cart from the long line of carts outside the entrance. He wore a simple white hoodie with black jeans and vans. He brought Minhyuk and Wonho along because they felt rather bored at the dorm. Kihyun put all his strength into trying to pull the cart out of the chain of carts, seeming like it wouldn’t budge. He had a bag of reusable plastic bags hanging from his shoulder.

Wonho and Minhyuk approached the struggling hamster after parking the car. They watched in amusement. “Need help?” Minhyuk offered, chipper than ever. He walked over, replacing Kihyun. “If I can pull this out, then that’s just sad, Kihyun.” Minhyuk shook his head at him. He wore Black jeans with a white shirt and shoes with a black denim jacket.

“It’s hard to pull out!” He stepped aside, watching trying to pull it out. “It’s not just me being weak, and If I can’t then you definitely can’t!” He laughed.

Minhyuk grasped the handle of the cart feeling the cold plastic and metal. The smile on his face began to fade as he pulled, giving a few hard tugs. “Wait why is this so hard?” He began to pull harder, enough to shake the other carts with it.

“See?” Kihyun joined again, helping Minhyuk. “It’s not just ‘cause I’m weak!” They pulled hard, their faces began to scrunch up. “Pull harder!” Kihyun could feel the time being wasted even though it had only been a few minutes.

Wonho stood on the side leaning on a railing, recording the two of them as he laughed at them. “You two are so funny,” his voice shook as he laughed, his smile spread all over his face, flashing his straight white teeth as his eyes formed crescents.

“You give it a try then!” Minhyuk pushed Kihyun and himself out the way, gesturing for Wonho to try. “Here, give me your phone, I’ll record you since you recorded us.” He took Wonho’s phone and began recording.

Wonho calmly walked up the cart, wrapping one hand around the handle and pulled. He wore gray sweatpants with a black shirt. The cart came out with ease, leaving another bright smile plastered on his face as he looked at the two dumbfounded younger members. “I got the cart,” he burst out giggling at them, taking his phone back.

“Whatever, let’s just shop,” Kihyun mumbled in embarrassment, taking the cart and leading into the cold aired supermarket.

“We loosened it for you.” Minhyuk playfully nudged Wonho, making him laugh more as he watched the two videos on his phone following Kihyun through the automatic glass doors.

The three entered the market, faced with row after row of cash registers, some closed since today was a weekday so fortunately, it didn’t face the weekend rush of things. Music from a popular radio station played softly through the speakers. The white lights on the ceiling reflected on the white floor tiles, making the place look somehow brighter and cleaner than the warm sun outside. Some customers walked through the aisles pushing carts, some with baskets. The first section of the market they faced was the bakery.

You sang along with the song as it was on loop, fixing parts here and there everytime it played again. You took all the chances you could to sing whenever Kihyun wasn’t home, but the reason behind it made the most sense to you. He was the main vocalist of an idol group while you were his significant other. So far in your life, you had never done anything musically; you didn’t play an instrument, you never took any lessons for vocals. The only thing you did musically was take the mandatory music classes required to graduate. Well, technically, in high school, the school required you to have a fine art credit and you weren’t as confident with drawing and painting than music so in high school, you took piano classes, which later on, you got lessons for a few years for, but stopped when college came around. It was only then did you play the piano but only when you had absolutely free time which was still rare.

You put away the final articles of clothing into the drawers in your bedroom. You laid on your bed, thinking about any other chores you had to do before Kihyun’s return, which you didn’t even know when it was. “I cleaned the bathrooms, did the laundry and put them away.. Vacuumed yesterday..” You really had nothing else to do for the day since which meant you could just sing. You pushed yourself up, grabbing your now fully charged tablet, going down the stairs at a somewhat fast pace, going straight down the basement stairs. Your basement was tied in first place as your favorite room in the house along with your bedroom. It was so cozy and comfortable. Once down the staircase, there was a bookshelf taking up an entire wall, filled with books, half of which you read. In front of the shelf was a couch with pillows and blankets where you spent most of your free time reading if not singing. But this time, you weren’t going to read. You quickly pulled open TubeYou, a popular app letting you post or watch videos. You quickly typed in the search for “Ellie Goulding How Long Will I Love You piano” where a moment later, millions of results popped up. You clicked on the first video, posted by an account you were subscribed to. You sat in the corner of the basement at a grand piano where you faced the corner of a room, facing a window which looked into your backyard. You couldn’t help the smile growing on your face since the last time you played this song was when Kihyun was on tour and you had gotten significantly better.

You paused the music playing on your phone, plugging your earbuds into your tablet, placing it against the music rack, pressing play. You followed along with the video, singing without Ellie’s vocals. You wished you could play this for Kihyun one day, considering he told you he always listened to this song when he missed you and it expressed a good amount of his love for you.

“So what else do you need to get?” Minhyuk and Wonho were preoccupied, slowly walking down the snack aisle as Kihyun walked through, scanning the list of groceries for the house and dorm in general and the ingredients he needed. The cart was filled with various meats and greens, along with some frozen foods in case they couldn’t go out to eat, nor did they have time to make a full meal. Wonho grabbed a box of protein bars, placing them in the cart next to the energy drinks.

“Don’t forget to get snacks for the others.” Kihyun glanced upwards, seeing Wonho place his snacks in. “Uhhm,” his voice was barely audible to them as they continued scanning for possible snacks to bring home. He paused the cart at the end of the aisle, glancing from his list and cart, pulling a pen out and crossing off things he had already gotten. “I just need to get noodles and broth,” he basically said to himself as the two were in the back, bickering about which snack was better. He tucked the list into his pants pocket along with the pen and made his way towards the noodle aisle, leaving the two behind.

He pushed the cart, glancing around at things on sale, looking up the signs which informed shoppers what each aisle contained. All of a sudden, his mind buzzed to you. He thought how much power you had over him and you hadn’t the slightest clue at all. He dreaded leaving you at home alone while he went out on tour, especially out of the country, which was almost all tours now. The distance, the different time zones where he would be awake and you would be asleep or you would be awake and he would be asleep. As much as you two made it work, he couldn’t help but feel like a burden to you. To be in a relationship where you two hardly saw each other. You, of course, said it a countless amount of times but meant it each time when you told him you understood. You even told him how you felt like the burden. He wouldn’t feel this way unless you didn’t flirt back to him. He looked up to see the aisle he needed to be in. He began turning into the aisle, along with the other two catching up to him, a few snacks in each of their arms, dumping them into the cart.

You sat at the piano, the song coming back with ease into your head so it was basic muscle memory. You couldn’t quite hear yourself that well with your earbuds. You paused the music, swapping your earbuds for over the ear headphones, beginning once again, hearing everything evenly. “A few more practices and then I can perform it for Kihyun..” you thought excitedly to yourself, smiling as you sang along with the music. You had known Kihyun for a while; he knew you better than you knew yourself, except for this little part. As much as you wanted to show him this side of you, you just couldn’t. You two were equals and treated each other like so. He never criticized you for anything except when you were sick, he would tell you “I told you so,” for not wearing enough layers, but aside from that, nothing else. You confused yourself.

“However long you say~ How long will I love you? As long as stars are above you, and longer if I may,” the softness and smoothness of Ellie’s voice suited yours perfectly. Her voice wasn’t too high so the song, fortunately, didn't pose a challenge. You were able to match her tone and pitch, or at least you thought. You weren’t a musical expert like Kihyun, but you hoped he would enjoy it. The song was instrumented beautifully with the piano accompaniment, though it lacked something small due to the nonexistent drums, this didn’t stop you. You kept singing the song and playing it on repeat in your own little world.

“Let’s get these all home quickly so you guys can get your ice cream back home before it all melts.” Kihyun pushed the cart towards the car in the somewhat barren parking lot. “Minhyuk, trunk.”

Without a word, Minhyuk pulled out the car keys, unlocking the car, holding a button which opened the automatic car trunk. He held the cart as Kihyun and Wonho began loading the bags into the car, closing it and returning the cart swiftly. The sun was at the beginning of the setting, giving off a golden light. Fortunately, they were ahead of rush hour, able to drive through the clear streets before they were filled with cars going home from work. Music played through the car, the two in the front jamming out as Kihyun sat in the back of his phone.

“They haven’t texted me..” Kihyun opened his messages, not seeing any new ones since he landed, which he found somewhat strange. He scrolled through the previous messages, rereading the messages you sent, talking about each other’s day. He pulled up his contacts, pressing on your contact to call you. He watched as they passed other cars and pedestrians, glancing towards the orange, golden, and blue skies. The phone continued to ring, only to end with an automatic voicemail. He remembered when you first got your new phone, you didn’t make an official voicemail since you said you hated your voice, especially a recording of it. Now thinking about you, he never really understood why you hated your voice since he found it so soothing himself, especially on nights when he couldn’t sleep so you would wrap yourself around him, telling him fantasy stories you made up right on the spot, drawing imaginary shapes on his chest or stomach.

The longer you played and sang, the better you felt. You were in your own little world, playing your piano, singing a song you knew meant a lot to Kihyun. You felt as if you gave this video most of its views since you believed you were the only one who played this video more than anyone in the world. You were soon able to play without following the video.

“Okay, it’s time,” you spoke to yourself, removing the headphones and shutting off the tablet, neatly moving them to the side. You turned off your phone, moving it to the side with the tablet. You didn’t need any distractions. You needed perfection for this song. You counted off in your head, beginning to play the melody, humming the beginning of the song before singing the lyrics. The lyrics were no challenge for you since they were memorized into your head after listening to it so many times. Now all you had to do was match the tone and pitch with the piano as you sang.

You had to admit, being a singer was no easy thing, especially the idols where they danced and moved so much; there was so much they had to do, memorize lyrics, memorize choreography, where most of the times, were made by someone else. You were astonished how Kihyun and his members did it, especially since they created their own lyrics, pouring their soul into everything they did and will do.

The car pulled into the familiar neighborhood, stopping and pulling into the driveway. “Do you need our help to bring stuff in?” Wonho looked back in his seat to see Kihyun already slinging bags over his arms with the keys to your house in hand.

“No, it’s okay. Get back home though, the ice cream isn’t as cold as before.” He began closing the trunk. “Bye.” He waved them off as they drove away, turning the radio back up. He walked toward your front door, four plastic bags in his arms filled with groceries and snacks. He slid the key in, unlocking the door to be met with the dim sound of the piano playing the recognizable song of Ellie Goulding. He walked toward the kitchen after removing his shoes, placing the bags onto the island.

“I guess they’re reading,” Kihyun wondered to himself as he began to place the groceries that needed to be refrigerated into your somewhat empty fridge. It wouldn’t be the first time he came home to you blasting music with the bluetooth speaker of yours as you read a book, but as he continued to listen, he heard the voice singing wasn’t Ellie’s. He paused immediately, slowly making his way towards the basement, following the music. He stepped down the stairs lightly, trying not to let them creak. He was met with you, playing the piano, singing along, a wide smile making his eyes turn into crescents as he sat himself down on the stairs, absorbing your voice and the way you played the piano.

“How long will I want you, as long as you want me to, and longer by far~ How long will I hold you, as long as your father told you, as long as you can~” Your voice was as smooth and honeyed as Ellie’s as she sang. Yours matched hers very well in Kihyun’s opinion. You couldn’t help the smile on your face grow as you felt very confident and content with how you were currently playing and singing it than your past few tries. “This is the one,” your smile affected your singing only a tad bit, but you were able to adjust to it.

Kihyun lifted himself up with the help of the banister, slowly and quietly making his way over to you so he stood behind you, looming over your shoulders. He was mesmerized with your long fingers as they played each chord and note perfectly. His cheeks were sore from his wide smile, but he couldn’t help it since he had never seen or heard you sing nor play the piano. He had to place his hands over his chest to calm his heart, afraid you would hear how loud it was pounding.

You let the final chord ring out, closing your eyes to listen as it echoed around the room off the walls. The sound of clapping and a sudden feeling of someone’s arms around your back startled you, making you shriek until you realized it was Kihyun. “Oh my god, you scared me!” You turned in your seat, staring into his eyes as he stood above you. A sudden heat bloomed through your entire body until you realized Kihyun had heard you.

“You sing so well!” He cupped your face with his hands with the biggest smile on his face. “Why haven’t you ever sung for me? We could do a duet.”

You looked at anything but his eyes, you couldn’t meet them. You sighed, placing your hands over his, removing them so now you held them. “I don’t like my voice, remember? And it probably wasn’t good anyways,” your voice was quiet, almost inaudible to him as you turned away, closing the fallboard over the keys.

“No, your voice was,” he paused as he sat next to you on the seat. “I don’t even know a word for it since it was so good.” He playfully nudged you. He knew your voice wasn’t something you loved, but now he just had more reasons to add to his list of why he loved you so much.

“Horrendous?” You played with your fingers in your lap, not wanting to look into his.

“Hey, no. The complete opposite. Your voice is my favorite, everything about you is my favorite.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, peppering kisses on your cheek. He knew your weakness and how to use it, especially in a time like this.

A warm feeling slowly spread from your chest, making you smile. “You know, since you told me about it, I actually wanted to play and sing the song for you.” You turned your head, playfully looking at him, adoring his features.

“Really?” He was flattered as he raised his eyebrows.

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’ve been practicing singing and playing the piano again when you’re not home.”

“Woah, woah, wait just a minute. First of all, wow, my significant other is so talented, like me. And second, playing the piano again?” He emphasized the last word as he sat up, trying to lean his head forward so he could meet your face and eyes.

“Oh, yeah, I never told you but I’ve been playing piano since high school..” You lifted your head, looking into his.

His eyes were wide as well as his eyebrows still raised. “Any other surprises?” He broke out into laughter from his own voice.

You shook your head, your smile appearing once again as you intertwined your fingers with his.

“Well, I technically only heard half of the song so..” He squeezed your hands with his.

“I don’t know, Kihyun..”

“Sing for me, please?” He lifted the fallboard. “I’ll play, you just sing.” He gave you his puppy eyes, another thing you couldn’t resist. He played the first chord, looking at you with pleading eyes.

You sighed, humming the beginning note. He continued playing as you continued singing, spending the rest of the night playing more songs, singing them together.

~~~~~

Masterlist for more!

#kihyun #yoo kihyun #kihyun imagines #pillowfluffs #monsta x #monsta x imagines #monsta x scenarios #monsta x x reader #kihyun x reader #kihyun fluff #kihyun scenario #monsta x oneshot #kihyun oneshots

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oliverphisher · 4 years

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Will Kostakis

Will Kostakis is a writer of all things, from celebrity news stories that score cease and desist letters, to tweets for professional wrestlers. That said, he’s best known for his award-winning YA novels. His first novel, Loathing Lola, was released when he was just nineteen. His second, The First Third, won the 2014 Gold Inky Award. It was also shortlisted for the Children’s Book Council of Australia Book of the Year and Australian Prime Minister’s Literary awards, among others. The Sidekicks was his third novel for young adults, and his American debut. It went on the win the IBBY Australia Ena Noel Award.

The First Third By Will Kostakis Buy on Amazon

As a high school student, Will won Sydney Morning Herald Young Writer of the Year for a collection of short stories. He has since contributed to numerous anthologies, including Begin, End, Begin: A #LoveOzYA Anthology.

What are one to three books that have greatly influenced your life?

The Whole Business with Kiffo & the Pitbull By Barry Jonsberg

The Whole Business With Kiffo And The Pitbull by Barry Jonsberg. I read this when I was in high school. The voice was so authentic I thought an Australian teenager was talking directly to me. I knew that if I was going to be a YA author, I wanted to write a book like it.

Notes from the Teenage Underground By Simmone Howell

Notes From The Teenage Underground by Simmone Howell. After first meeting my publisher, I was given a stack of books to read. This was one of them. From the first page, I knew I was going to be a life-long fan of Simmone's writing. She gets straight to the point, and her prose is so sharp it cuts to the truth of everything.

Witches Abroad (Discworld) By Terry Pratchett

Any Discworld novel by Terry Pratchett featuring the witches. I've read Pratchett since I was 12, and he is the benchmark. If I become half the writer he was, then I'll be content with a life well spent.

What purchase of $100 or less has most positively impacted your life in the last six months (or in recent memory)?

A subscription to Audible (which might add up to more than $100 over 6 months, but if I ignore my credit card statement, it doesn't). The time I used to waste listening to political podcasts is now spent immersing myself in worlds that inspire me to create.

How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?

My first book underwhelmed commercially, and after it disappeared from store shelves within months, I set out on the road with a box of books to connect with prospective readers myself. It was a baptism by fire, but I came out the end of it with so many skills that still help me to this day.

Are there any quotes you think of often or live your life by?

Julia Cameron's concept of "filling the well" (via YA author Dhonielle Clayton) is something that I've come to live by recently as I try to write more often:Art is an image-using system. In order to create, we draw from our inner well. This inner well, an artistic reservoir, is ideally like a well-stocked trout pond. We've got big fish, little fish, fat fish, skinny fish-- an abundance of artistic fish to fry. As artists, we must realize that we have to maintain this artistic ecosystem.If we don't give some attention to upkeep, our well is apt to become depleted, stagnant, or blocked. Any extended period of piece of work draws heavily on our artistic well. As artists we must learn to be self-nourishing. We must become alert enough to consciously replenish our creative resources as we draw on them-- to restock the trout pond, so to speak. I call this process filling the well. (https://ift.tt/3hq6Meg)

What is one of the best investment in a writing resource you’ve ever made?

Nothing beats the trusty pen and pad that I keep in my bag. Sure, sending emails to yourself from your phone is a great way to jot ideas down anywhere, anytime, but nothing beats what I produce when writing by hand. It sounds weird, but my brain just works differently when I do.

What is an unusual habit or an absurd thing that you love?

My unusual habit is, when I don't feel like I understand my character well enough, I record audio with my phone and waltz around the apartment, talking in character about my wants. I discard 90 per cent of it, but I almost always discover something about them.

In the last five years, what new belief, behaviour, or habit has most improved your life?

One new belief: 'Your prose doesn't have to be perfect, it has to connect.' Sometimes, a grammatically perfect sentence isn't what you need.

What advice would you give to a smart, driven aspiring author? What advice should they ignore?

As somebody who was intent on publication at 12, driven to send novels to publishers way before I was ready, I would tell them to wait. I know the desire to be an author can feel all-consuming, but having the desire doesn't mean you're ready. I wasn't ready when I signed a book deal at 17, I wasn't ready when that book was released when I was 19, and it showed in my work, I think. Take the time to find your voice and what you want to use it for. Achieving your dream sooner isn't necessarily better.

They should ignore any advice that doesn't work for them. The wonderful and frustrating thing about creative writing advice is, what works for one person might not work for another. Accept every piece of advice, trial it, but if it doesn't work for you, it's okay to discard it.

What are bad recommendations for aspiring authors, that you hear in your often?

It isn't really a bad recommendation but ... there's an entire industry built around aspiring authors. Just know that you don't need to pay to get published. You don't pay a publisher to consider or publish your work. You don't need to have your work professionally edited before you submit. Join a critique group! Swap manuscripts with a friend! Read a lot! Download free podcasts! You. Don't. Need. To. Pay. To. Be. Qualified. To. Create. Art.

In the last five years, what have you become better at saying no to (distractions, invitations, etc.)?

Unpaid labour in all its forms. I am still open to providing my services for free for deserving causes, and I still do, but there's nothing like having to pay rent in Sydney to force you to stop seeing payment in exposure as anything other than exploitation.

What marketing tactics should authors avoid?

"Buy my book, buy my book, buy my book!" on social media. It doesn't work. Never has. Use social media to connect with your readers personally. The hard sell is irritating. If you don't like it when someone does it to you, don't do it to others.

What new approach helped you achieve your goals?

Setting realistic goals. No longer setting the massive "write 2000 words today" and then feeling disappointed. Aiming to write 300 and being satisfied and inspired to write more ... usually results in writing more.

When you feel overwhelmed or unfocused, or have lost your focus temporarily, what do you do?

Whenever I'm blocked creatively, even if under an intense deadline, I walk away and go do something (usually gym or play Pokemon Go), something that forces me to have some distance from my work, so when I return, I'm better able to tackle the problem.

Any other tips?

Read! Read! Read! Read! Be an active member of the literary community. Go to book launches. Listen to authors speak. Read! Read! Read! Read! Recommend books to others. Buy books for others. Fill your well!

________

Enjoyed this Q&A? Want to discuss in more depth? Join Community Writers. You'll get access to 100+ exclusive writing tips. Q&As with successful authors, an exclusive ebook on building an audience and much more. Sign-up for free as a community writer here

source https://www.thecommunitywriter.com/blog/will-kostakis

#Writing WriteMotivation WritingAdvice

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scribomaniac · 7 years

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One Step Ahead, Chapter 5: Pool Sticks and Road Trips

Rowan knew that letting Celaena out of his sight was not an option. If he lost her now, he'd most likely never be able to find her again. Not on his terms, at least. And he couldn't go back to Maeve—or Arobynn, for that matter—empty handed. So after the golden haired assassin left the bakery, he waited sixty seconds before following her into the main streets of Rifthold. This part was easy. Now that he had her scent, Rowan could follow Celaena to the ends of the world. He was all but invisible, and would be harder to catch than the wind in one's fingers. He stayed three cars behind at all times, and, when possible, two lanes to the left. He trailed her down street after street, his green eyes never wavering from his target. Celaena was slippery, he knew that first hand. He wasn't going to let her slip away from him again.

Not taking his eyes off her generic blue car, Rowan pulled out his cell phone and called Vaughan. The white haired man knew when he needed help, and Vaughan was the best researcher in Erilea. He could dig up the dirt on anyone. Politicians hates him, lords of the underworld loved him, and Maeve owned him. Jaw twitching at the thought, Rowan waited patiently as the phone rang and rang. That wasn't unusual for the dark haired man, though. Vaughan was a man of few words, and often screened his calls to limit social interaction. Eventually the ringing stopped and a female automated voice told him to leave a message, “Vaughan,” he greeted, merging into the right lane when he noticed Celaena heading towards the off ramp. “It's me. I need help with some research. I need you to look into the Galathynius family—and their murders—ASAP. I need everything you can find. Thanks,” he hung up. Rowan wouldn't consider himself a man of few words, especially not compared to Vaughan, but he wasn't one to beat around the bush and waste his and Vaughan's time, either. “Where are you going?” He wondered aloud to himself as he followed Celaena down Main Street, past the Rifthold police department, fire department, justice building . . . all the way down to city hall. The tall, imperious building was one of a kind, and almost entirely made of stained glass. The mayor had sanctioned the extremely expensive renovation of the building immediately after he won his first election several decades ago. Rowan shook his head the the monstrosity, wondering how much, exactly, it had cost the city to build.

The cleaner didn't have time to put much more thought into the price of the building, though, when Celaena's car pulled into city hall's parking lot. Frowning, Rowan couldn't for the life of him fathom why Adarlan's Assassin would willingly walk into such a place. Instead of following her into the parking lot, the white haired male turned right and parked on the street two blocks away from his destination. Running his fingers through his hair, Rowan took in a deep breath before stepping out of his car and back tracking towards Celaena. Walking into city hall, Rowan found a security guard and asked, “Excuse me, my wife came in here just before me while I was parking the car, but I can't seem to find her,” he furrowed his brow and scoffed good naturedly. “Women, right? You take your eye of them for one second and—” he trailed off, rolling his eyes for extra measure and the security guard chuckled.

“Yeah, know what you mean. What's she look like?”

“Long blonde hair, white, about yay high,” he raised his hand to his shoulder before adding, “and gorgeous enough to make a model jealous.”

“A model, huh?” The guard scratched his chin, “Yeah, I saw someone that fit that description. Pretty little thing. She went down that way,” he jerked his thumb down the stair well. “Probably wanted to see the old vault—it's open to visitors during business hours, y'know?”

“I didn't know,” he did, but he decided he'd go with the wide eyed tourist look. “Thanks for you help.” Rowan headed down the stairs, smirking to himself. He knew it had been a gamble, parking so far away and giving Celaena such a head start in such a large building, but he also knew that nine out of ten secutity guards were men, and that Celaena was way too attractive to go anywhere without attracting the male gaze. That's what she got, he supposed, for being hotter than the freaking sun. He stepped off the stair well and looked down the hall in the direction of the vault, then walked in the opposite direction. The vault—an empty one, especially—held no interest for the assassin. There must have been something else drawing her down here. The sound of barking laughter, just barely audible, made his ears twitch, and gave Rowan a direction to start his search. Just a few hundred yards away was a solid oak door, muffling the sound of a woman and two men. Not bothering to knock, Rowan swung the door open and narrowed his eyes on a strange sight. Celaena—Adarlan's Assassin, Celaena—was standing off to the side of the room, a pool stick in her hand, looking for just a brief moment like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar before she quickly schooled her features. And on the other side of the pool table stood two men. Both looking at him with wide eyes and one with a mouth agape. Both whose presence was more shocking than the next. Closer to Celaena stood Chaol Westfall, son of the police commissioner and rising star of the police department, and closest to Rowan stood Dorian Havilliard, son of the mayor himself.

“Well, well, well,” Rowan growled, “what an interesting gathering of friends.”

Westfall moved fast—faster than Rowan would've given him credit for—and drew his gun, training it on the spot between Rowan's eyes. “Hands on your head, Whitethorn,” he ordered.

Barring his teeth at the younger man, Rowan slowly began to raise his hands, acting the part of a submissive criminal, ready to give himself in. Chaol's brown eyes stayed glued to his form, but he wasn't infallible, Rowan knew that was true of everyone, and he had to blink sometime.

There.

Rowan didn't hesitate. Diving to the ground, he ducked into a somersault well beneath the gun's range, and as he sprung out of his gymnastic movement, lunged for Westfall's waist, tackling him to the ground. Placing one hand around the police officer's neck, and the other around the wrist which held the gun, the Cleaner squeezed one and used the other to break the grip around the weapon. Forcing his knee into the man's sternum, Rowan secured the gun and placed it against Westfall's forehead. “Try that again,” he warned, leaning in, “and the next time you blink, your eyes will stay closed.”

Something hard and thin slapped against the side of his jaw. Flicking his eyes to his left, he saw Celaena standing over him, pool stick in hand and poised to strike. If it were anynone else, he'd have laughed outright—a pool stick, really?—but this was Adarlan's Assassin. And if Rowan could think of at least three ways to kill someone with that pool stick, he knew without a doubt that she had already thought of five. And considering the hard line of her mouth, and the fire burning behind her eyes, the white haired man knew she also wouldn't give him a second chance. “Put the rutting gun on the floor and get off my friend,” she hissed.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Rowan sighed and nodded. If it were anyone else, he thought. Or if he had just a bit more room between them. But it wasn't and he didn't, so he dropped the gun and peeled himself off the red faced police officer. “That's what I get for being distracted by a gun . . . I should have gone after the real weapon first,” he said, raising a brow at the assassin and adding a charming smirk to complete the look. “Interesting company you keep, Celaena.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” she never took her eyes off him—never blinked, either, damn her—and kept the pool stick trained on his chest. Her brow rose, mirroring his, “Didn't know you and Arobynn were so chummy.”

His smirk fell, “How'd you—?”

Her eyes glinted, “A little birdie told me. Now,” she finally relented and let the pool stick's point fall to the floor. Rowan knew better than to assume that meant she let her guard down, she could still bring him to his knees in less than three moves if she wanted. Westfall coughed to the side of them, but neither of their gazes wavered. “Why are you following me?”

“I told you,” he shrugged, forcing his muscles to relax so as to seem casual. It wouldn't work of Celaena, but if he could get one of the other two to let their guards down, step just a bit too close, the winds could easily change to his favor. “I need that ring.”

“Oh, yes,” her upper lip curled, “for Maeve.”

“I don't mean to interrupt,” a gentle voice called from behind Rowan and both criminals blinked. Then, continued their silent conversation from before.

Truce? Celaena's eyes asked warily.

Rowan nodded slowly, Truce.

“Or, well, actually I do,” that voice continued, much more forcefully and with a bit of bite than Rowan hadn't expected from the mayor's son. Both Rowan and Celaena turned to give the dark haired man their full attention. “Forgive me Celaena,” Dorian said in a tone that was not at all apologetic. “but will you be needing Chaol or my assistance now that our game has been interrupted? Or are we free to leave?”

Scoffing, Celaena rolled her eyes and cocked her hip, “Shut up, Dorian.” She said it like it answered his question. Her eyes flickered to Wesfall, whose neck was slowly turning a dark shade of purple, and her eyes softened. Rowan's nostrils flared dangerously, and he suddenly felt the impulse to throttle him all over again. Swallowing down the sudden rush of anger, Rowan tuned back in to the conversation. “Get out of here, you two. I'll call you both later.”

Dorian nodded, and took a step towards the door, the paused and took a deep breath before looking into Rowan's green eyes. “Just so you know,” he said in a low voice, “Celeana borrowed a book from me, and if anything happens to her and I never see that book again . . . I'll be very put out.” Havilliard turned heel and walked out of the room with his chin held high. Rowan supposed that was how politicians delivered threats. How strange. Westfall was more direct, though less articulate, as he left the room, making sure to check the white haired man's shoulder on his way out.

Once the door closed behind them, Rowan turned back around to find Aelin staring at him with her tongue sticking out. Snorting, Rowan shook his head, “That's attractive.”

Shrugging, she replied, “I know.” Rolling her neck, she tossed the pool stick onto the velvety green table top and sighed, “You're never going to give up on this ring thing, are you?” Rowan raised a brow. He didn't need to justify that question with an actual answer. Glaring at him, Celaena growled out, “Fine. I'll give it to you.” Rowan felt his shoulder slump in relief, but then she started talking again and all the tension that just bled out of him was drawn back, “On one condition.”

Holding back a groan, the Cleaner asked, “Which is?” He was really getting tired of doing everyone's dirty work. First the ring, then the necklace—which he still hadn't brought up to her—now this. His life was turning into a joke.

Smiling coyly at him, Celaena took a step closer and placed a hand on his chest, making his heart stutter traitorously, “Come away with me.”

“What?” He breathed out, sure he had heard her incorrectly.

“Come away with me. I'm going out of town for a few days and I want you to come along.”

All Rowan could think to ask was, “Why?”

“You're easy on the eyes,” she shrugged. He leveled her with a look and she grinned mischievously, “And I find road trips boring.”

“So bring one of your law abiding friends,” he jerked his chin towards the door that Westfall and Havilliard exited out of just minutes ago. “Or someone less likely to kill you in your sleep.”

“See? You're making things more exciting already,” she poked his chest, as if that settled everything. Then she held out her hand, “So, what do you say? We have a deal?”

“A few days on the road with you, and you'll willingly hand over the ring? No trickery?” Rowan clarified. Celaena nodded, her smile never wavering. Sighing and realizing this would be the path with least resistance, he nodded and shook his head. “Fine, we have a deal.”

#tog #rowaelin #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #celaena sardothian #one step ahead #tog fanfic #dorian havilliard #chaol westfall #let me know what you thought!

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ramen-ninja · 7 years

Text

Sleepover

Weeks fly by when no-pony’s watching. Grumbling at the unexpected delivery of mail so early on her days off, Plush Ramen had crawled out of her stupor with a limited supply of motivation to spare. Offering a low audible yawn as she left the bed room with instant regret, the knocking on her door could have only signified one thing, packages. “I’m coming..” She mumbled, orange hooves reaching the front door as she pulled its knob with an effortless swing of her joint.

“Hi..”

Rubbing her eyes at the sudden shock laid out before her, she blinked in confusion. Standing in plain view, was none other than her friend and psychologist Tarascha. Holding a box in his hoof and a warm smile on his face, Plush couldn’t help but gleam back at his arrival. “Tara, what in Tartarus are you doing here so early? And why do you have my mail?” Judging from his instant betrayal in facial expressions and the sun beaming in the blue sky, the Pegasus had begun to rub her head in an almost embarrassing chuckle. It was possibly almost 4pm.. “Oh Plush. Have you forgotten already? I told you weeks ago that we were stopping over for the day. Besides, I’ve missed you. Its time we did some catching up.” Staring at the remaining box, he offered it to her with a small grin. He only hoped he wasn’t intruding by taking it from the post pony on his way here. “Oh.. And this is yours. I saw Ditzy trying to deliver this to your house and well, I think she’s afraid to knock on your door after last time…” Remembering the harsh reaction Plush Ramen had given the grey mare after waking her up the first time was something he’d never forget. Watching her facial features change, it was clear she wouldn’t either.

Understanding the inner workings of his friend throughout the years spent, Tarascha had simply nodded in response. He was a quiet earth pony, often more of an introvert at heart. He understood the peculiarities of the struggling ponies of today. Even more so, was his friend Plush. When he first met her, she was nothing more then trouble wrapped in an emotional blanket. Or so he thought. Learning to understand her behaviors with a more common approach and title to her inner dilemma, he was able to help her in different aspects of their time together. While first getting her to succumb to therapy was a rather pressing and struggling manner, once he achieved his goal of accessing her mind, there were other complications to darken the horizon. For instance, while her anger and frustration could be tracked down her to instability and lack of impulse control, the mare’s violent out bursts had always seemed to be more then he could strap down. Nonetheless, he kept at it. Befriending Plush Ramen and watching her try and reenter society as an average pony on the streets, the tests never officially stopped there. Reforming a pony didn’t take a day after all. Despite her personal file growing larger as his studies went on, he begun to truly care for the mare in ways he couldn’t comprehend himself. In all honesty, was she that different then other ponies trying to make their way in this lifetime? Watching her desperately trying to be happy in a world that wasn’t ready for her, Tara knew one thing for certain. Friendship was the key. And he was right, it worked wonderfully. Introducing the skittish mare to his friends and meeting the open minded ponies that would enter her life for the better was the right thing to do. Realizing he had been staring off into space, the stallion offered a friendly smile. “You are allowed to voice your opinion Plush. I know you and Crystal have many moons left to go. But fortunately for you, she wasn’t who I was talking about. Really, you should read your letters more often.” He beamed, humored at her lack of information.

Shifting at his verbal beat down and flashing back to the stack of letters collecting dust on her kitchen table, Plush Ramen had laughed in a nervous fashion. “You’re right. I should have. I’ve just been preoccupied. Its good to see you. So, where is this guest? I didn’t see anypony following you. Or is it your imagination. Honestly Tara, I don’t know where you get such big ideas.” She giggled, teasing him while she could. Twitching an ear towards the now closed doorway, her bat like ears had given her an advantage. Allowing her to hear each hoof step as it drew closer to her door. Tilting her head with narrowed sapphire blue orbs expecting to see somepony she didn’t like, the door had opened without a knock. Bulging from her eye sockets at the sudden intrusion of privacy, there weren’t many that dared to enter without the softest of alarms. That was, until the Half changeling mare entered the home with a grin spreading from ear to ear. Orange Glow had brought home groceries, unexpected as usual. Still in her pony form but radiant as ever, her spiral horn had lit up almost instantly, transforming back into her normal holed self.

“Oh good, you’re awake Plushie! Please help me..”

Watching her struggling with the amount of grocery bags hanging from her saddle bags and magical grip, Plush wasted no time rushing to her aid. “Orange Glow, seriously? Why did you go alone? I could have helped you.” Retrieving the bags from her back and trotting them into the kitchen with little haste, the sound of wings flapping into a landing position had caught the mare off guard. Wait.. One second… Scanning over the groceries and spotting paper supplies mixed in with snacks Orange wouldn’t rightfully eat, connecting the dots had grown far more frustrating then she anticipated. She was throwing a party! Whipping around to stop her lover, her orange coated frame had smashed into somepony else entirely. Falling to the ground after what felt like a collision with rocks, she groaned.

“We must stop meeting like this.” A sly grin had followed the cocky and attentive voice standing before the kitchen entrance in wait. Brushing himself off, the dark blue Pegasus had offered a hoof to his friends downfall. Toned with a built worth appraisal, the stallion had lifted her up with a small chuckle to her dismay. Caring for the mare as if she were his own sister, Flux often challenged her in ways they never thought possible. While Tarascha seemed to work best on mental extremes, he worked on physical. Often striking at Plush’s ego with a challenge of his own, competition had driven them to many heights. One could call her his best friend, others, a sister in law, either way, he remained close.

Grunting at her own stupidity, sensitive ears weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Rubbing her head and taking a step back from his physique, she needed a moment to process the situation at hoof. “Thanks… I think. What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you. But I think you have the wrong idea.” Keeping a leveled head, thoughts swirled in uncertainty. She had wanted a day alone to do nothing! “Wait.. If you’re here, then is Mox-”

“Plush!” Entering her kitchen with a happy spring in her step, her sister had came lunging. Wrapping her hooves around the taller mare with an overly exuberant squeeze, Moxie gleamed in excitement. “Happy birthday!” Giggling at her reaction and letting go only after Plush returned the hug given, the yellow coated Pegasus had trotted back to Flux’s side with a warm nuzzle, showing her affection to his face. “Was she surprised to see us?” She grinned, watching her reactions with glee. For Moxie, being here meant more then she could express. While she knew large crowds and gatherings meant stress and uncertainty from her sisters point of view, it also brought them closer together. Having just recently found out about their relation by blood, the months that passed were brought together by bonding times. While she had befriended the mare far before she knew of their relation, ties simply brought them closer. Understanding the hardships they both possessed, a sisterhood could only do them good. While she hadn’t spoken a word about their parents since that terrifying night, Moxie knew Plush would need some time to come around. She always did.

“I was, Very.” Plush chuckled in return. Feeling her emotions lighten at the very presence of Moxie in the room, she felt at peace. Meeting Moxie through Flux, she had always felt a deep connection growing between them. In her, Plush felt innocence, purity, and a warmth she never wished to see dim low. In her, was the good she wished she could find in herself. Often finding the need to protect her at all costs, being her sister had only heightened her protective and possessive streak over the wonderful and happily free mare. Noting Flux’s reaction to her comment, while she hadn’t been lying, she would have said anything to make a smile appear on that yellow mare’s lovable face. Turning to finish putting the perishable food in her fridge, blue shaking orbs had caught sight of something wonderful. Carrot cake made from real carrots. Wanting to cry at Orange Glow’s spectacular credit to detail, she smiled wide. Pulling herself away, her eyes ventured over the faces in her kitchen when Tara’s voice broke through.

“Hey Plush, can you come here for a second?”

Breaking her zoned out state, the mare trotted into the living room and passed the Moxie and Flux when she came to a halt. Spotting the red coated stallion eager to see her as well, Shadow bolted to her side. Wrapping her up in a tightened hug, her long distant friend smiled wide. “Plush Ramen, I’ve missed you so. Happy late birthday. I know it was yesterday. But being a weekday, us ponies had to work. Its nice to see you, you look well.” Having known Plush for a very short time, he respected her. While a few years was nothing in comparison to the others, he often wrote letters to her of his journeys. And she, surprisingly wrote back.

Reciprocating the hug before taking the steps needed to acquire a safe distance, Plush felt herself grow warm. Having so many friends that cared enough for her to even come say hello was honorable by itself. While Orange Glow had spent time with her on her actual birthday, this meant something else, it meant friendship. And that’s all she ever truly wanted. “Thank you Shadow, Its so good to see you too. You look amazing.” She was going to ring that Halfling’s neck later, that much was for sure.

As if hearing her thoughts, Orange Glow’s hooves could be heard trotting up to her side. Placing a hoof to her shoulder and leaning in for a softened hug, the dark grey mare had her tricks. “Oh come on, you love me. You’re turning 30, it’s a big deal! Lets drink cider, play some games and just have some fun.” One month, the half pony/half changeling mare had been staying with Plush, and already, things were getting amped up. Orange Glow knew Plush needed this, whether she’d admit it or not. This was the time to tell everyone about them. They were friends after all, they could accept love. Shifting her bright glowing orbs at Shadows arrival, she eyed him up rather carefully to say the least. “Shadow, I hadn’t known you were coming, you never wrote back.” Inspecting his features for any signs of emotional changes, she found herself growing more protective of Plush then anticipated. It must have rubbed off on her…

Keeping himself calm and casual, the unicorn had only chuckled at the creatures response. “Because I thought you’d tell her. Besides, I cant really stay, I need to pick up my sister from the train station.” Returning Plush’s gaze with his own, he appreciated her for all she was worth. Underneath that toughened mare, was a gentle soul. She just didn’t know it. “I wanted to stop by personally and give you a present.” Levitating a small box out from his saddle bag and placing it on the living room coffee table with the small pile of gifts already present, he stepped back. Knowing Orange before her change into what she was now, he dared not find out what else had shifted since he was gone. “Until we meet again. It was nice seeing you.”

“It was nice seeing you too. Thank you so much. Keep in touch.” Waving him off as she watched both him leave and Orange Glow’s reactions, the mare had to note that for a later discussion. She’d figure out why that was so weird. Pivoting her body to scan the gifts with an overflow of emotions daring to knock down her inner gate, she let out a deepened breath. “Thank you all for coming here. I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting it. But you don’t have to sta-” Getting a firm hoof to her shoulder once again by her lovers hoof, realization struck hard. This wasn’t about the money, it wasn’t about their hard work or their opposed wasted time spent here, it was about being there for the birth of their friend. Closing her eyes to take in the moments peace, they fluttered open in a more welcoming approach. “You didn’t have to with these gifts! I mean really. Thank you.” Glancing back to Orange and hoping she made a savable evening, a nod in return was all she needed to get by the day. “Now lets get some music on Orange, and Flux, drinks!” Giving off a hyped vocal range for their hard work, if she could enjoy herself for one night, it wouldn’t kill her. Goodness what was she turning into…

Coming up by her side as Orange Glow pumped her hoof in excitement before spouting some off the rail comments and running to her speaker set up in the corner, Tarascha smiled in a warm loving fashion. Knowing her inside and out, he understood how hard it was for her to just accept the way things were. “I’m proud of you.” He almost whispered, keeping it low before trotting into the kitchen to ensure Flux wasn’t in there about to get them all drunk. Stepping a hoof into the kitchen and watching Moxie get the drinks together, Tara blinked in confusion. Was this legal? Sure she was of age, but did she even know what she was doing? “Uh Moxie, do you need help? Where is Flux?”

Sticking her tongue out to the side in a determined accept to make her sisters party perfect, the yellow mare continued to fidget and fiddle with the liquids given. “I got this!” She shouted, her proud demeanor was far too cute to really mess up, or so she hoped. Spreading out her wings to hold the serving plate on her back, she had begun to place each overflowing red solo cup of liquid onto it with balancing precision. “Move out of the way, Master Moxie coming through!” Walking out of the kitchen with a puffed out chest and a notable strut in her step, she cared not for their opinions, she could make anything if she believed. “W-ait.. Crap.. So.. Close..”

Tara had chuckled lightly, moving to her aid as he pressed up against her for added balancing support. “You filled them too high. The line is down farther then the rim for a reason Moxie. You’re going to get cider all over you.” With his added pressure, the drinks had made it out into the living room with thankfully no causalities to speak of. Even with Moxie’s eyes rolling at his comment nonetheless. She meant well. Nothing could go wrong now. That was, until Flux reappeared.

“Hey, what took you guys so long. Oh hey, they look great Moxie!” Taking a cup off her back before chugging at his hearts content, Flux stopped in his tracks. Spitting out the cold horrid liquid in a squirt filled bee line for Tara’s face, the liquored drink was but a terrible reminder as to why he drank tea instead these days. “Yikes.. Sorry Tara, I wasn’t expecting it to be so..”

“So what?” Moxie scanned his face, her green orbs shaking with dread at the disappointment clear on his face. “Was it that bad?” Continuing to stare into his eyes with a guilt driven formula guaranteed to make anypony immediately regretful, she awaited a response. What she got however, was a gulp on Flux’s part. The normally cocky and smooth talker was a puddle when it came to his wife.

“Cold.” He responded, watching Tara glare daggers through his eyes with a weakened smile. “It tasted awesome though. Caught me completely by surprise.” Scanning Moxie for doubts and picking up another cup, the brave Pegasus had begun to gulp it down a second time. He’d be ready now. That much was for sure. Gulping the entire filled cup and hoping to make her believe him, a goofy smile had spread across his face, finishing his drink up. “See? Now lets party. I’m going to need some more of your special juice Mox.” He grinned, banging his head to the sudden music filling the air. “Lets dance!”

Watching their reactions with a small giggle, it was nice to see someone else in trouble for once. Trotting into the kitchen before swiping a towel for Tara’s poor face, she galloped back to see them placing the platter on the remaining coffee table with ease. Mentally sighing in relief, her carpet had been a burden on the stain removal process. Spotting Tara and handing him the towel with a much greeted wave of appreciation, he took with pride. “I didn’t expect you to be the first one wet.” The mare laughed out, her dry humor good enough for one. Getting a soft nudge in return, the music had grown far too loud for pleasant conversation it seemed. Which didn’t bother her in the slightest. Dancing on her spacious living room floor and swinging to the beat in her own way, Plush was surprisingly not hating herself for having a good time. Making her way to the drinks and taking a cup, she raised it to Moxie’s attention, sipping it lightly. Immediately wishing she didn’t, green eyes had been on her like a hawk. Keeping herself loyal, chugging seemed to be the only way it was getting down at all. At Moxie’s rate, they were going to be hammered after one. How much did she mix in!? What was in this drink? No-one but her knew. Tossing the cool smoky liquid down her throat, it didn’t take long for the tears to dwell. Forcing back the bitter after taste and clearing her throat, she took another in her wing. If she was going to suffer, Orange Glow was too. Trotting to the musically birthed mare with a cup as her offering, Plush gave off a cheesy grin. “You’re doing great. Maybe even Vinyl Scratch Worthy.” She chuckled, hoping it would lift her spirits. “I brought you a drink. You have to chug it down, believe me.”

Taking off her headphones and hearing the majority of what she had said, Orange took the cup in her aura without another word. Placing her head phones back on, she turned to Plush with a small wink. What she wouldn’t give to pull those raven black locks of mane and hold her into a kiss right about now. Keeping them on a down low, she had only raised her cup up in a thankful manner, wishfully thinking for more, way more. Taking a sip of the drink, the Halfling had licked her lips in appreciation. It was delicious! Chugging it out of love, she continued to spin her records as the speakers continued to blare to life, her adoptive mothers taught her well.

---

Two hours later:

Finally crashing from their dancing, the music had since been switched to a softer sympathy, easing them into a lighter buzz as Moxie continued to make the drinks for the night, this time with Tara’s help as warm tea helped ease the ‘cold’ Relaxing on her couch with her friends around her, Plush Ramen’s head had begun to swirl. Taking a piece of pizza from their ordered dinner and biting into its steaming cheese covered cooked dough, the mare hummed in delight. “I think this pizza is the best thing for the party Tara, thank you.” Giggling at his happy nod, he sat across the table from her on a kitchen chair, happy to bring smiles where he went. Sitting next to her, Moxie had been diving into a salad bowl like she hadn’t eaten in days. “Moxie.. Eat some pizza, it’ll fill you more. Where did you even get salad?!” She questioned, her head unable to grasp the concept of always eating healthy.

“Don’t ask.” Flux laughed, trying to swipe out Moxie’s tomatoes for himself. “I’m really glad we did this. I cant imagine anywhere Id rather be Plush. You throw a mean party.” Turning to Orange Glow who had been sitting next to Tara and closest to their birthday girl, he offered an approving nod. “And you, Orange, I cant believe you don’t work with your mother at the club. I’m jealous.” Getting a slap to his hoof for stealing too many tomatoes from the yellow mare’s salad, he had picked up a piece of pizza with a small chuckle escaping from his mouth.

Hearing his compliment with a small blush spreading over her grey colored face, the Halfling smiled “Thank you. I appreciate that. Actually, since I have you all here, there’s something I want to announce…” Placing a hoof on Plush Ramen’s leg as she gathered up the courage to speak truth to their friends, Orange Glow cleared her throat. Hesitation diminishing, she took in deep breath. Why was this suddenly so hard? “Me and Plush have officially moved in together! I’m not sure if you ponies even knew we were dating for a quite some time.. But here we are.” Widened eyes seemed to be the shared result across the room as each pony glanced to her in waves of confusion.

Being the first to speak up, Tarascha had smiled at her announcement. He wasn’t stupid, clearly there were signs of their relationship at work. While he couldn’t understand it, it wasn’t his place to fight it right now. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you guys. Another step in the right direction.” In truth, every bit of him had been in denial. This wasn’t right. Not right now. Plush needed to see this. Giving a knowing look to Moxie, perhaps maybe she could see reason.

Flux and Moxie had shared a blink in uncertainty, their eyes screaming one thing while their smiles spoke another. To them, it was hard to see Plush with anyone else. After ending a long marriage with her husband, jumping into someone new after a year just didn’t feel right. Maybe it wasn’t their place to judge, but for their emotionally damaged friend and family member, hesitation was clear. Finally speaking up, Moxie could almost feel Orange Glow’s emotional eyes sinking in with concern. “Plush that’s awesome. I’m happy for you. Please though, take it slow. Many around here still don’t accept her kind for what they are. Let alone sexuality. Sure its legal, but that doesn’t mean all ponies accept it.” Nodding in response to his wife’s response, Flux hadn’t spoken a word. None of it truly bothered him, he cared little for sexual orientation or lifestyle, what he wanted was his friends to be happy. What bothered him however, was watching Plush absorb the information given. She was still, emotionless and seemingly calm, unlike her average self in the slightest.

Taking in the results of Orange Glow’s speech with respect for their opinions, a small cracked smile had slowly made its way across her face. Plush knew it wasn’t easy, but to see her friends supportive, she couldn’t ask for more. “Thanks guys. I know since Night Whisper left its been awkward, but those days are over now. It may be soon, but comfort comes in waves. Everypony handles it differently. I’m ready to start moving on with my life. I know you all love me, and you want me to be happy. Turning 30 is a big deal, thank you all for coming.” Shifting out of her seat on the cushioned couch to stand up and stretch, it seemed worried faces had begun to lighten up around here. “I don’t know about you, but I could certainly go for some dessert!” Trotting into the kitchen happily with laughter filling the air, they couldn’t be surprised by her food habits, no-one was. Taking out the sugar free cake from the fridge and being greeted by Moxie, the orange mare smirked at her arrival. “You hungry too?”

Simply continuing to stare into her sisters sapphire blue orbs for some time, a hoof had reached up to stroke her softened cheek. “I want you to know that I’m really happy you’re trying to move on. Its been a tough year on all of us.” Shaken green eyes stare into her own with a loving comfort. “Do you think he’ll show today?” Speaking of Night Whisper with pure concern for Plush on this hard day, Moxie kept up her caring disposition.

Pain, discomfort, agony, those were the emotions located with a lock and key to his name. He left her for dead, took her children away, and abandoned their friends, why in the world would she want him there… Keeping a brave face, swollen pupils betrayed her stubborn ways, tearing up at the thought alone. Was she really ready to bring Orange Glow into a world she hated? “I’m sorry… I’m so confused. I don’t want him here..” She paused, resting her now dampened cheek on her hoof for comfort. “I really care for Orange, we could have a future together. But if he comes back… I don’t know what Id do…” Placing the cake on the counter, the older mare had nothing left to hide.

Wrapping her hooves around Plush tight, Moxie understood. “Its okay. I’m sorry for bringing it up. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Stroking along her blackened wavy mane, its smooth texture was something to admire. Taking in her sorrows, having the orange mare fall apart like this wasn’t easy on anyone. Hearing laughter from the other room at what sounded like one of Flux’s cruel jokes, she smiled. He could distract a crowd, that much was for sure. “We’re here to support you, no matter what you choose to do. Okay?” Feeling a slow nod coming from the sniffling mare in her arms, she continued to stroke her mane, hoping for the best. “Lets eat some of this cake now okay? It looks delicious.”

Pulling out of the hug and wiping away her emotions, Plush let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. “It does look good.” Smiling with a weakened expression, getting her fun loving side back together took a few minutes of their time. “Thank you Moxie. I appreciate it.” Getting a gleeful grin in return, she watched her sister carry the cake out with her carefree spring in her step. There was no denying it, she was perfect. Placing her hooves on the sink, she dared to talk to herself in a low and audible voice. “You can do this. One day at a time.” Moxie’s words sunk in deeper then she expected. What if he came back? Would she fall in his arms until the pain went away? Would she destroy whatever relationship Orange Glow and her had over a doomed marriage from the start? No. it wasn’t going to go down like this. Shaking her head and looking to her kitchen window for comfort, a face appeared in the reflection, it was her. Gathering up the courage to walk away, Plush made her way into the living room with paper products for the cake. “Orange Glow, if you get crumbs on my carpet, I swear.” She giggled, watching the Halfling try to eat a slice without a plate in hoof.

“Calm down mom!” She laughed, taking a plate from her lovers hoof for the added stability. Staring at the board game her, Flux and Tara had been equally invested in, a game of monopoly seemed like a terrible idea! Growling lightly and landing in jail, the creature had crossed her arms in a huff. “This game is stupid! Who’s the bank teller anyway?” Playing the supportive happy mare friend was her job. Despite her facial features, Orange Glow’s emotions had swirled. Their friends had doubt, it hurt to think she expected more. But in the end, this day wasn’t about her. It was about the mare she fell in love with. Tomorrow was another day. She smiled, they’d figure it out, they always have. In the meantime, back to being pissed off about the game!

Sitting down in her spot to watch the three play a rousing game that may last forever, Plush watched Moxie speak up for her question. Of course she was the banker. The only one willing to play fair. “You do realize you have a get out of jail free card right Orange?” The mare was humored by her lack of patience. Immediately getting a quick kiss on her cheek before closing out her hears to the amount of cocky cursing going on between her and Flux, this could only end hilariously. Shifting her attention to Tara and his determined grin, pink fifties were handed to Moxie with a proud puff to his chest.

“Boardwalk place Is mine. You both now owe me so much money” He awaited with open hooves as the two grumbling sore losers handed over the fake tricolor papered bills. “Plush, you’re missing out. I could own the world at this point.” He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink and counting the money in an almost tauntingly slow pace.

Slamming his hoof down on the table and causing his piece to shake, Flux had groaned in displeasure. “Tara! You own like 90 percent of the board! How?! Moxie, can I get a loan?” He mused, fluttering his eyes at her for a sympathetic approach. What he got however, was a piece of cake in the face. Followed by her giggles, he had only continued to lick up around his face before shaking It off. “Nice, a no would have sufficed!”

“Stop being such a sore loser! And stop trying to haggle with me!” Orange snapped, her money dissipating by the rounds. While she could play the happy girlfriend card well, the Halfling’s mind had been racing. It had nothing to do with the game, but of her friends emotional reactions to their lifestyle.

“Me? You own two properties! I at least own four and share some profit with Tara. Two in the good districts!” Flux spouted back. Glaring at each other for some time, the smell of carrot cake had caught their attention when Taras chuckle brought them to common ground. There was a silent truce, and it was deadly. Both taking a small piece of cake and sharing an unspoken nod, they turned to Tara with wicked grins.

Blinking at the two knuckleheads with a questionable look of uncertainty, Tara blinked. “Plush I think we have two sore losers here today.” Before he could retaliate, two pies had been smashed against his face with utmost precision. “G-ah!“ Wincing at the collision but unable to stop its path, he flailed in defiance. “For Celestia’s sake you two!” Wiping away his eyes and standing up, he trotted to the bath room in hopes of cleaning himself up.

Watching him leave, Plush questioned following him for help. “I think I better help. You two clean off my rug.” Trotting into the bathroom behind him, cold eyes stared daggers into her soul. Having closed the door behind them, she reached back for the knob in a gulping motion. “Tarascha.. I didn’t think they’d throw the cake. I’m sorry.. We can clean that up..” Before she could continue rambling on, a hoof had went to her sides, pinning her to the door. Shaken with fear, she had never seen her friend in such a state. “T-ara..?”

Gathering the courage to speak, his tone had remained strong, despite his glare softening at the mare’s expression. “Plush. Are you really trying to jump into a relationship so soon? You’re not ready.” Watching the wheels turn in her head, he continued to speak his mind. “It has nothing to do with Orange as a pony, but you’re emotionally unstable. I am just afraid you could end up hurting the both of you. Do you understand where I’m coming from?” He sighed, stepping back to give her breathing room. Turning on the sink and washing off his face, the silence that followed was excruciating. “Plush?”

Lowering her head in a defeated stance, she nodded. She understood where he was coming from. “I know…” She retreated, her mane covering the tops of her eyes as she sunk into a deepened depression. “Don’t you think I know how time works?” Picking up her head and stepping closer to him with a more defiant existence, her eyes while still blue, were vibrant with emotions. “I’m a terrible pony, is that what you want to hear!?” Moxie was right, she needed to keep it slow. Feeling her words slip out, the more she spoke, the more her filter seemed to vanish. Starting to lose control, she could tell Tara had grown from concerned to worried in a matter of seconds. Even still, she couldn’t stop. “I bet you cant wait to add Plush kills another one in your damn studies! Tarascha, mind your own damn business!”

“Plush. Come now, you’re letting your rage control you again. You know how much I care for you. Pull yourself under control, you could provoke Crystal. She’s in tune with my emotions after all.” Keeping a straightened face, Tara knew better then to back down from his friend at a time like this. She always grew worse when she knew they were right. Watching her start to simmer down, he questioned a smile, spreading it over his lips to show no ill will. “See? I believe we should get more drinks in, what would you say?”

Trembling lightly in her place, breathing was about all she could do at this time and place. Letting the air flow through her nostrils and out her mouth, Plush felt herself relaxing by the minute. “Id say it sounds like a good idea. I’m so sorry… Thanks for believing in me..” She admitted, turning and opening the door for their leave. “I guess you can say its nice. To have someone to care for, to share love without the worries of society.. I may not know where this is going, but I can say I’m enjoying myself.” Sharing her information with him as they walked side by side, the living room had been hopping with a different style of dance music. Staring at each other before taking the initial hoof steps out there, Flux and Moxie had been singing karaoke while Orange worked on the musical background. Watching the two of them filled with such love and color, she couldn’t help but grow jealous. “Their connection is beautiful.” She smirked, enjoying the welcoming song to her eardrums, soothing her soul. Trotting her way to the door, the silent and barely existent knock was enough to keep Plush on her hooves. Pulling the knob to see Tarascha’s mate standing before her, Plush Ramen had offered a goofy and overly nervous smile. That was fast. “Hey! Come in!” Not giving her a chance, the pink mare was thrown into the mix before she had a chance at rebelling. “

Spotting his mare friend with a softened apologetic smile to Plush’s presence, Tara had galloped to her side. “Crystal, I’m so happy you could make it. I know we’re excited to have you.” Giving off a cheesy smile before making his way over to the others with Crystal in hoof, he wanted her to have a good time. What he wasn’t expecting, was her own hoof shoving him off.

“I’d actually like to speak to the birthday girl alone if that’s alright. You have fun though. Id love to join you in due time.” Offering a confident smile to his uncertainty, her acting skills could fool the world. Turning to see the orange mare clueless in her place, the changeling in disguise needed to address their situation in silence. “if you can lead the way, it is your house.” With little resistance from Plush, she followed her into what looked to be her bedroom.

Locking the door behind them and letting out a deepened breath, Plush tried to collect her breathing as a whole. Making her way on the bed and sitting up for the pink unicorns attention, her mind was plagued with doubt. Judging by Orange Glow’s face out there, she wasn’t so happy to see this creature either. “What can I do for you? Not that I’m disappointed at your arrival. But to drag me in here by myself, you must have reasoning.” She dared remain calm, sapphire eyes staring into Crystals own with a curious arch to her silence.

“I wanted to give you a birthday present of course.” She smiled, knowing Tara’s affections for the girl, she tried her best to keep her displeasure under control. Pulling out an envelope, its non personable approach to such gifts was a blessing in disguise. Holding it out for the mare and watching her take it with pride, Crystal’s eyes watched her carefully. “You know, I’m really surprised you lived this long. I remember back when we first met. You were pregnant, and a mental disaster. And now, well you’re a divorced mare living with a changeling. But you seem to be more at peace.” She stated honestly. For her, this was making nice.

Laughing at her display and unwrapping the envelope to reveal a card with a kitten, she opened it up to see a blank page. Squinting in realization, the mare’s eyes left the card for a brief moment when the Crystals eyes continued to stare, signaling it wasn’t over. Looking on the back of the card with a surprised grin, she saw it. A happy birthday Crazy with some money taped to its spine. “Awh Crystal, you didn’t have to give me money. I mean I’m excited, thank you.” If being friends meant being overly sappy and sweet, she could fake the world out of it. Standing up before hugging the changeling in a warm and totally uncomfortable tight hug, Plush had let go in mere seconds.

Flaring her horn to life in a distrusting manner, Crystal had taken the blow with an urgent twitch. What had gotten into this mare? Hearing Orange and Tara’s voices within seconds of her door, she brushed herself off with a sigh. “You’re welcome. Just, keep hooves to yourself? I think our guests are looking for us.” Trotting to the door and swinging it open to find their lovers both eavesdropping for sport, her grin grew wide. “Liked what you heard?”

Flapping her cloth like wings over Crystals head and scanning Plush for injuries, hooves wrapped around the Pegasus in a tightened embrace. “I’m so happy you’re okay. Flux and Moxie have resorted to rap battles and I think we need to show them how its done.” She beamed, hoping for the mare to bounce back into her playful self.

Watching Tara and Crystal make their way to the living room without another word, it was a couples night now. Hearing Orange Glow’s request and starting to smirk, she nodded. “You’re right, lets cream these losers.” Trotting in there together, this was going to be a night they didn’t forget!

Hours passed along the nighttime air as the parties activities dwindled to a halt. Crashing out together on Plush’s tan leather couch, Moxie and Flux had been wrapped up in a blanket, their exhaustion clear. Keeping it safe and not daring to fly intoxicated, she was relieved to see them safe. Turning to see both Tara and Crystal snuggled up on her soft floor, it was nice to see them spending some time together While she knew neither were fully asleep, the night had offered many moments of comfort. Spotting Orange in her recliner, blue eyes scanned over her unconscious state with a smile. Trotting to her side and picking her up, wings unfurled as she flew the sleeping Halfling into their bed.

Placing her down gently, hooves reached for the covers, pulling them up to her chin with a small yawn of her own. “Thank you for everything Orange Glow… “ Kissing her forehead, Plush Ramen smiled, adoring every moment of her sleeping face. Finding it hard to leave the room, will power was the key. Closing the door behind her and trotting to her living room, exhausted orbs scanned the package by the door curiously. Picking it up as a hoof stroked over the encrypted symbols carefully, vision had blurred. Taking it to the kitchen with a knife pointing towards the taped center, she cut slowly. The Arabian letters had only meant one thing; this wasn’t from a stranger. Slicing it open to reveal a silver picture frame, she choked up. Inside, had been her two children. Streaming down her face, warm droplets had begun to wash over the frames edge. Turning it over, words had been engraved into the back for her to see.

“To Mommy; Happy birthday From Aries & Nova.”

Unable to hold back, the frame had been clenched against her chest in a tight embrace. Slumping to the floor, she wept quietly. Today had been a whirlwind of emotions. Uncertain on where to go from here, the mare slouched back. Hitting her head softly against the kitchen cabinet, she sighed. “Thank you, I needed this today Night Whisper…” She whispered, a smile creeping to her face. Maybe, just maybe, she could move on. Standing up and placing the frame against her wall, Plush Ramen found a weight lifted from her shoulders. She had a million reasons to fall apart. But what mattered, were her reasons for standing. Friendship, love, and self confidence was the key. “I’ll never know how far I can go… Unless I try.” She smiled, turning off the lights before heading to bed. Today was over, tomorrow’s journey had yet to come, it was time to live things one day at a time.~ [Characters belong to me and my friends. I’ve been avoiding posting this for some time. Procrastination is a b*tch.]

#mlp #mlp fim #mlp ocs #mlp oc #ponies #my little pony #fanfiction #story #Plush Ramen #orange glow #friendship #friends #birthday

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