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huggingkoalas · 2 months

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ride me it

pairings natasha romanoff x fem!reader

synopsis riding a motorcycle should be similar to riding her face, right?

word count 1.8k

warnings smut, use of vibrators (using a literal motorcycle), mentions of ‘exhibitionist’ kink, mentions/use of ‘mommy’ kink, pet names, teasing, cursing, established relationship, bottom!reader, top!natasha

author’s note am i going absolutely feral over nat's motorcycle scenes in age of ultron and black widow? yessir :P + this fic is inspired by this tiktok edit of nat too <3

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“Will you teach me how to ride, Nat?” You asked, stopping your gentle scratches on her scalp.

Natasha, lying on the bed with her head on your lap, turned her attention from the movie playing on the television to you. Amused, she raised her eyebrows, her infamous smirk on her lips. “Are you talking about my face?”

You slapped her hard on the arm and shook your head in amusement. “I meant the motorcycle, you weirdo.”

“Ouch, that hurts.” Natasha hissed with a pout on her face.

Both you and Natasha knew she could handle physical pain since she was literally the Black Widow. Even if she didn’t have superpowers like Thor and the Hulk, she was still one of the most powerful women in the world. Fighting the desire to roll your eyes, you played along with her antics. You rubbed her arm, eyes twinkling in faux pity while mouthing ‘sorry’.

“I read the mission reports everyone sent from the Ultron Offensive mission. I had no idea you knew how to ride a motorcycle.” You remarked, continuing your featherlight strokes along her hair. You wish you were there that day. If you witnessed Natasha riding a motorcycle, skillfully navigating through traffic and avoiding danger, you’d be drooling right away.

“I guess it just never came up. I wouldn’t mind teaching you, though. It would be hot if you rode something other than my face.” Natasha teased.

“Nat!” Your cheeks turned bright red from her comment. “I-I mean, you’ll have to teach me the basics first, though. I don’t think I’m ready to drive one yet.”

The thought of driving a fast vehicle sent shivers down your spine. Despite feeling scared, you wanted to impress your girlfriend. Maybe if you tried something dangerous, like learning how to ride a motorcycle, she wouldn’t keep calling you a scaredy cat.

“I can teach you the basics now.” She replied, removing her head from your lap and sitting up.

“N-Now? You sure?” You hesitated. “I mean, sure, yeah, okay.”

You didn’t think she’d teach you how to ride a motorcycle now, but you weren’t complaining. Natasha intertwined your fingers with yours, dragging you to the garage quickly.

You could see the excitement in her eyes as she led you to the garage. The green in her eyes was brighter than usual, and you couldn’t help an endearing smile appearing on your face. Seeing this side of her made your heart melt. Sometimes, she reminded you of a puppy.

Your eyes adjusted to the amount of sunlight flittering through the ceiling-to-floor windows once you reached the garage. It was your first time here, and the spaciousness of the area amazed you. Numerous cars, including SUVs and Humvees, were lined neatly side-by-side. Your gaze immediately spotted the familiar black and red motorcycle you had read in her mission report.

“What’s its model again?” You asked, walking to the motorcycle and running your fingertips along the tank cover before resting your palm on the leather seat.

“It’s a Harley-Davidson LiveWire.” Natasha walked up behind you, resting her hands on your hips. “It’s brand new. The motorcycle from the mission got totalled, so Fury and Stark had to buy me another one.”

“Yeah, I know. I had to deal with financial reports afterwards. It’s... really expensive.” You turned your head to look up at her, leaning up to kiss the tip of her nose. “Only the best motorcycle for the best woman in the world.”

“Enough compliments or I’m bringing you to my room and showing you how much you’re the best woman all night.” Natasha husked, her teeth tugging at your earlobe. Her hot breath whispered in your ear, making you weak to your knees.

She released herself from behind you, her famous smirk on her face as she noticed your flustered state. “Alright, get on the motorcycle.” She said, her voice an octave lower than usual. You looked at Natasha, and she was looking at you with darkened eyes.

You both knew what that tone meant. It was the tone she would use on you when you were writhing on her sheets, moaning her name over and over again as she brought you to multiple orgasms. Both of you knew what the tone did to you. You’d willingly get on your knees and do anything she asked if she used that sultry voice again.

Clearing your throat to brush your mind off the filthy thoughts your brain had come up with, you inquired. “Won’t it tip over if I get on it?”

Natasha lets out a short laugh as you shoot her a nervous look. There’s a mixture of amusement and something else entirely in her green eyes. You're not sure. She’s making you even more nervous than you already are.

“See that little stick on the side propping up the bike?” With a nod of your head, she points to the black pedal holding the vehicle up. “That’s a kickstand. The bike doesn’t magically defy gravity, and it certainly doesn’t fly.”

You wanted to wipe the smug grin off Natasha’s face. Normally you’d make a snarky remark now, but instead, you let her off with a shrug.

“I promise to catch you if, for some reason, the kickstand doesn’t do its job, detka (baby).” The use of the pet name relaxes you a bit, and you nod your head.

“Fine, I trust you. Is there... A specific way to get on it?” You asked.

“Just mount it, lyubov’ (love). It’s the same as riding on my face.” Natasha replied in a teasing tone. Your head snaps towards her, and your cheeks warm. Her arms are crossed, and her biceps are clearly visible as she wears a black sleeveless sweater. You know you won’t survive the rest of the lesson if she acts (and looks) like this.

You grab the handles and slowly swing one leg over the seat. Your feet barely touch the ground, and you’re tiptoeing while sitting on the vehicle.

“I think the motorcycle is too tall for me.” You looked at her with a frown.

Natasha expertly climbs onto the bike behind you. “Shortie.” She taunts.

“Careful!” You exclaimed, holding onto the handlebars as the bike tilted left and right due to her movement.

You shift in your seat, getting used to the weird position. The motorcycle seemed larger between your thighs. Furthermore, there were a bunch of pedals, levers, and buttons. You were familiar with what the side mirrors do, but you were not sure what everything else does.

Your heart pounded in your ears. The seat slope caused Natasha's body to press up against you. You shudder slightly as you feel her breasts press up against your back. You tried to make yourself comfortable, but her breath against the back of your neck sent a small shiver down to your core.

“You’re so tense, detka (baby). Do I make you nervous?” She rests her chin on your shoulder, her hands running down your arms to take your hand in hers while you hold the handlebar.

“You’re sleeping on the couch if you don’t shut up right now, Nat.” You replied, gritting your teeth. As much as you liked her relentless teasing, the heightened adrenaline and fear in your body spiked your anxiousness.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry, lyubov’ (love). Let’s start the lesson then.” Natasha said, turning her attention back to the task at hand.

She turned the key in the ignition on. The rumbling of the motor startled you as the engine started to thrum softly beneath you.

“I’ll put it on neutral since you’re not driving.” She added.

You nodded your head. You had a license to drive a car, so you knew some driving language. But even though you had experience driving a car, you knew that riding a motorcycle was something completely different. You could feel your heart racing and your grip on the handlebars trembling slightly.

“The lever above the left handle is the clutch lever. The one on the right is the lever for the front brake.” Natasha continued, showing and explaining the parts and their functions.

You couldn't concentrate. The vibration of the engine below you and the slight vibration of the seat had your attention instead. You pursed your lips and nodded as you pretended to understand what she was teaching you.

Closing your eyes for a moment, your breath caught in your throat as Natasha’s lips touch the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “Are you listening to me?” She murmured against your skin.

You pursed your lips and speak shakily. “Y-Yes.”

Natasha smirked as she watched your face, she could clearly see that your mind was somewhere else entirely, exactly where she wanted it to be. “I can make you feel even better...”

“This is the throttle handle that gasses the motor.“ She taps a finger on the right handle. She slowly turns the handle towards you, her wrist applying pressure, and the engine revs louder.

“Shit, Nat-” You gasp out loud, the vibrations beneath you getting stronger the more she turns the handle. You feel even more wetness gathering in your panties.

“Nat,” You whimpered with desperation. “Please, I..I-”

You arch your body against her and throw your head back against her shoulder, enjoying the vibrations from the seat. Natasha almost moans at the sight of you aching for her. She gently pulls your shirt off, throwing it behind her. The cold air sends goosebumps down your arm and her left hand rests on your thigh, squeezing and kneading your clothed thigh.

“Shh... Quiet. You don’t want someone to walk on us like this, do you?” She warns you.

Your lungs are struggling for air as you gasp. Shame and desire course through your veins at the thought of someone catching the both of you in this position. You bite your bottom lip, biting it hard you think it might bleed.

“Want me to go faster?” She asks in a sultry voice. Without waiting for your response, she twists the handle down quickly, the seat pulsating quickly and louder.

Your torso jolts forward and you can’t stop the moan that leaves the back of your throat. Your panties and pants are sticking to you uncomfortably as the leather seat vibrates harshly against your folds. You’re rutting down onto the seat desperately, aching for release.

“I-I’m close, Nat, don’t stop, please-” You somehow manage to plead through the haze.

You moan loudly as she revs the engine loudly once more, and you scream ‘mommy’ as you orgasm, stars blinding your eyes as your body shakes with bliss. Your arousal sticks to your thighs and pools onto the leather seat below you as you come down from your high.

Natasha switches off the ignition once you finish tumbling over the edge. The vibration and the sounds from the motorcycle quiet down, and all you can hear is your increased heartbeat and the silence of the garage. You feel your legs and body twitch slightly from the orgasm.

You turned your head towards her, seeing a shit-eating grin on her face. “Wow, ‘Mommy’, huh? That’s a first.” She teased, licking her lips. “I’ll have so much fun cleaning the bike later.”

You groaned, hiding your face in her neck. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

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#lumi’s fics!#marvel #mcu #the avengers #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #smut #wlw #fanfic #fanfiction

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soaqrudyz · 28 days

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i like to think another reason soap and ghost trusted each other so quickly is because they could smell the low income upbringing on each other.

ghost was a slum kid through and through, with shoes that felt perpetually too large and cigarette holes through his hand-me-down jackets. if his mum didn’t have time to cook, or if her hands shook too violently to handle silverware, he was the one to scrape together enough passable nutrients to feed tommy, and some nights himself. he was born into back alley business and when his time came, if the worms didn’t get him, the stray cats could feast on his carcass for the next two generations.

soap grew up in a full house. when his da left with that droopy-eyed, pale sack of infections he deemed more important than his wife of seven years and their five children, his mum and older sister were the sole providers in his life. he learned very early on to make do with what he had unless he couldn’t, splitting funds for so many people, along with bills and groceries and clothes and school supplies, was an enormous task that he couldn’t very well make more difficult like the rest of his sisters seemed to want to with a clean conscience.

they both see it instantly — soap, the way ghost refused to ask for anything; and ghost, the way soap only asked for the cheapest, weakest, most useless version of what he needed, still with a guilty bite to his bottom lip. the way they both (metaphorically) lick their plates clean, afraid to waste a single crumb; the way each of them preferred to mend instead of simply buying something new like gaz; the way they both opt for one practical and one frivolous gift each holiday for both useage and enjoyment.

it’s easy to relate to the anxious pinch of eyebrows at the till when you’ve been too involved in financial discussions your whole life, and even easier to remind each other that money wasn’t a problem anymore. soap could remind ghost that he didn’t have to conserve anymore, and ghost could remind soap that he didn’t have to buy scratchy clothes or food brands he didn’t like just because they were cheaper.

and even if ghost didn’t want to ask for something he wanted, soap would get it anyway. and even if soap made a fuss of how much they threw in their cart, ghost would throw more in anyway.

because they can. because no matter their financial worry, they have someone who will understand and make everything feel okay again.

#you can just see when one of your friends grew up stable #dickheads #i know this because i lived this now shhhhhh #call of duty #cod #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #soap cod #soapghost #ghostsoap #soap x ghost #ghoap #once again logan is ranting incoherently

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mrchiipchrome · 4 months

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The Mechanic

W.C. - 4.2k

A/n: This was a bit rushed and not very good but anyways I’m going to bed now

——————————

Growing up, your father had been a mechanic and when you had days off from school he would bring you down to the auto shop he owned and worked at. Later, that would turn into you spending your afternoons and weekends down at the shop, learning everything there was to know about cars and how to repair them.

After graduating secondary school you were employed by the shop you had grown up in, rising through the ranks like any usual person would their job. You had close to no help from your father after your employment, he had always been clear that you had to work to get to your position especially if you wanted to one day inherit the shop.

So when your father died, you had more than enough experience with how to run an auto shop. In reality you were nothing less than a parentless kid trying to navigate their way through life without their biggest role model and simultaneous favorite person.

But eventually you found your footing, with the help of a bit of therapy that you'd gone to reluctantly, and had managed to find the balance between repairing cars and handling everything else that came with owning your own mechanic shop.

Still you consider yourself lucky, lucky for having Mitch who had been helping you with all the financials and all the other confusing things.

Mitch, or as you knew him Uncle Mitch, had been one of your father’s childhood friends and had been around since before you had been born. He was there for your father when your mother decided that she didn’t want to be part of your life and when he had no choice but to become a single father. He took you to school on the days your father couldn’t and helped you with school work.

So when a very pretty girl with car problems appeared one day, he was the first one to tease you about your obvious starstruck behavior.

—-

08.00 on a thursday and you’ve already been at work for a few hours, finishing up some paperwork and a couple small repairs on easier cars before all the other mechanics came in at 9. Hearing someone walk in through the open garage door is not an unusual feat, in fact you were used to your other mechanics coming in a bit earlier, so when uncertain footsteps echo in the peopleless shop you don’t roll out from where you’re situated under the car.

“Um, hi. My car just broke down like 2 minutes from here and I have no idea what to do.”

The soft fleeting voice is feminine and unfamiliar, definitely not one of your mechanics with their gruff chain smoking voices. Your head perks up and the hand holding the wrench from your tool set stills. With hands covered in soot and oil like most of your work clothes, you slide out from your place underneath the car.

“What seems to be the problem with it? Did it indicate something might've been wrong before it broke down? Any unusual sounds…?” Your voice trails off as you see the gorgeous blonde standing there looking around in curiosity, seeing all the different cars around the large shop. You just stand there, like an idiot seemingly enamored by the pretty stranger in front of you. She doesn’t seem to acknowledge your clear inability to act like a normal human as she directs her eyes toward you, eyes not even the greatest poets could try to describe.

The woman fiddles with the rings adorning her slender fingers as she rushes to explain the moments prior to her car stopping functioning.

“Oh god, yeah. I was supposed to come in for an oil change but then out of nowhere, my car started to make these kinds of crunching sounds and then there was a slight pop before it just broke down. Since I was supposed to come here, I knew it wasn’t that far so I left it with my friend and ran here for help”

The stress she’s feeling is evident in her actions and a surprising sense of protectiveness overtakes you, a feeling you can only describe as wanting to wrap her up in bubble wrap and protect her from the cruel world.

“Alright, have you called a tow truck yet?” The blush that immediately covers her face indicates that she had not, apparently not thinking that far. A sly smile takes over your face, fingers wrapping around a towel laying haphazardly on the deep red metal bench.

The soot and grime your fingers are covered in transfers over to the white surface of the towel, more soot at your hairline and your nose.

“You’re in luck miss, we have our very own tow truck.” Your hands shake deliberately as you try to lighten the mood, leading the blonde girl over to the regular truck you had. It was an old model, but damn if that car didn’t run perfectly. It had been a gift from Mitch for your 18th birthday, he knew that you adored putting excessive amounts of effort into your projects, and that car was truly a piece of work.

It had taken you a few short weeks to get it done, you were somewhat of a prodigy.

“Hey, take the passenger seat! I need you to show me where your car broke down.” You shouted as the blonde girl made no motion to move in any direction. She slowly shuffles her feet towards the car,enjoying the way your eyes raked over her body.

“Okay, so basically it’s just up the road, you’ll see a tiny dutchie standing beside it panicking.” She laughs softly as the last words escape her mouth, and in that exact moment you decide that it’s the greatest, most beautifully enticing melody ever created.

Your eyes are glued to the road, knowing that if you were to look into her eyes once more you’d get stuck looking at her. She felt like home even though you’d just met her moments before.

“Oh yeah? Why do you have a tiny Dutch person in your car?” The banter with you the girl you’d yet to get the name of was like you’d been friends for decades, you easily bounced retorts back and forth like great friends would.

“My teammate, we were driving to training and then my car decided that it didn’t want to work anymore. Wait, I haven’t phoned Jonas yet, I’m so dead.” You didn’t understand what she was talking about at the last part, the girl seemingly talking to herself.

Just like the woman beside you had said, there was a seemingly frantic short woman besides a white Mercedes. “How’d you know?” You ask the woman sitting in your car, her expression silly beyond comprehension. Her tongue was trapped between her teeth, her bright smile on display and her nose scrunched up adorably.

“A magician never reveals his secrets, right?” She fixes you with another cheeky smile, dark pink lips pulled together in the most admirable way. She was nothing if not perfect.

Her eyes shine brightly as you pull up next to her blinking car, the Dutch girl pulling the door open with a surprising amount of strength.

“Less, we are so late, Jonas is going to kill us!” Her foreign accent is quite noticeable, not that it bothers you. What did bother you was the way she threw the door of your beloved car up so violently.

“Yeah Vic, I know.” Less, as you’d come to know, told the other girl, Vic. Vic’s eyes flit over to you, taking in your non-threatening appearance and awkward smile. You wave at her before exiting your truck.

“So if you don’t mind, I’ll just pop your hood and try to find the problem.” You spoke to the taller of the two girls in front of you, who nodded her head vigorously, allowing you to do whatever it was you needed.

The smoke that escaped from beneath the hood concerned you, as did the heat of the motor beneath your fingers. It didn’t look too good for the blonde’s car, but for both her and your sake, you didn’t tell her.

“Well it’s definitely a problem with the engine, that much I’ll tell you.” A bit of worry seeps into your tone and Alessia doesn’t seem to like it.

“But my car will be fine right?” She was worried beyond recognition.

“Yeah, they say that I’ve got magic fingers for a reason” You sent her a quick wink, the statement true in both ways. The blonde’s face darkened significantly, red sprouting at every soft turn of the face.

“Okay there Casanova, why don’t you just hook the car to yours and take it back to the shop?” The dutchie’s tone left no room for argument, clearly she was protective of the blonde.

Pulling the wires from your trunk, you quickly hooked her car to yours in a safe way, making sure that her keys were out of the ignition and that her car was completely turned off.

Vic jumped into the backseat begrudgingly whilst Less took her place in the passenger seat.

You drove back to the garage in a slow pace, not wanting to damage the car behind more, plus you got to have the beautiful blonde in your car for longer.

“Less, how are we supposed to get to training if your car’s like that?” The girl in the backseat frowns at the blonde through the mirror, but you’re already multiple steps ahead, having put your thinking hat on before.

“I can drive you, and if y’all want we can take my coolest car too.” You spoke up nonchalantly, even though you were riddled with anxiety inside.

Less shakes her head softly, putting a soft and warm hand on your shoulder, stroking down your arm.

“It’s no problem really, we’ll just take an Uber.” She waves you off, despite seeming quite excited at the prospect of showing up to ‘training’ in a cool car.

“It’s no bother, my mechanics don’t come in until 9 so I’ve got time to kill. Plus, I haven’t been able to take the baby out for a while, needed to fix her up a little after the last time.” You laugh out, hand coming up to rub at the back of your head as you pull into the workshop.

“Take your things from your car and follow me.” The two of them do exactly as you say, getting their duffle bags from the white car.

You take them to the very back of the workshop, back to the garage where you kept your most prized possessions. In the smack middle it stood, your baby.

A 1968 Ford Mustang.

It was a gorgeous, shiny black color and you’d picked up a fair few ladies with it, just like your father did before you. He’d got it from his father, they’d started working on it before your grandfather died, and your father vowed to complete the work with his child.

Unluckily, your very own father died before the project was done, and so you were left to finish it.

“Here’s my beauty, my 1968 Ford Mustang, ain’t she a beaut?” You asked the two girls, standing behind you with their mouths wide open.

“Where’d you get it? Aren’t they super expensive?” Vic asked and Less slapped her arm harshly at the latter question.

“Passed down to me and yes, they’re incredibly expensive.” You could see how their eyes looked over your car, it was safe, modernized just enough so that it wouldn’t lose its charm.

“Right, you two can squabble about who sits in the passenger seat and who sits in the back, I’ll take your bags though, no scratching my paint.” You pluck their bags from their hands and put them in the trunk whilst Less and Vic actually squabbled.

Eventually, it was Less who won the battle, her hair blowing in the cool wind that passed you by as you drove. You’d gotten the address from the younger of the two as soon as you all got settled in the car.

When you finally pull up in front of the seeming training center, it’s to the sight of multiple girls standing with mixed expressions. Some were stern, others were shocked and some were confused.

“Alessia Russo, Victoria Pelova, where have you been?” The short woman at the front asks sternly, though shock does seem to flutter over her face for a second as she clocks your ride.

“Well my car broke down so I walked to the workshop not too far away-“ Alessia starts sheepishly, her fingers scratching at her forearm.

“Where she met Casanova, who decided to help by getting Lessi’s car to the shop and then driving us here in her sweet ride.” Vic finishes off Alessia’s sentence, patting your shoulder as she climbs out of the car. Alessia once again blushes at the name Vic gave you, just as you roll your eyes at it.

“You have a really beautiful car, miss.” One of the more sheepishly shy looking girls tells you, she had an accent you just couldn’t place.

“Thank you dear, tell me, where is it you come from? I can’t place your accent.” You ask her softly, not wanting to scare the young girl.

“Uhm, Denmark miss.” She looks down at her feet, shuffling them around as she blushes more than usual.

“Oh, I’ve never been, do you have any recommendations for me when I visit?” That seems to set the young girl off as she starts to babble on about different places to visit and where you could find the best food.

Alessia looks on as you engage with her teammate, with you leaning back on the side of your car and Katherine standing in front of you.

A sudden loud noise comes from your phone, and you recognise it as the jingle you’d put for Mitch.

“Hey uncle Mitch, whatchu calling me for?” You answer the call quickly, waving a little at the girls you’d met before.

“Where are you? The shop’s empty and I don’t know if I need to remind you, but your employees arrive in 10 minutes.” He was pretty clearly stressed about your current predicament.

“Oh shit, listen Mitch I needed to help a client and I took the Mustang so I’ll be back in like, 5 minutes.” You knew that he knew exactly why you’d taken the mustang, it was simply a lady magnet.

“A ‘client’ of course, that's what your dad always said when he wanted some alone time if you know what I mean.” Even if you couldn’t see your uncle’s face you knew that he was smiling and winking slyly. Your face scrunches up uncomfortably at the insinuation, not really wanting to know of your father’s ‘endeavours’ before you.

“Ew gross Mitchy, it’s not like that.” The whisper-shout you let out into the mic has the women around you looking at you weirdly.

“Alright, alright, I’ll open for the guys but you make sure that you don’t get in too late, you still have that car from a couple days ago to finish.” Rolling your eyes at the older man, you climb back into the car and put the keys into the ignition, turning the car on and saying a quick goodbye to the girls you’d given a ride to, telling the gorgeous blonde that her car would be done in the next few days.

You were fully on the road when the blonde realized that you hadn’t given her your number, which meant that she didn’t know when her car would be done.

You on the other hand knew exactly what you were to do when the car was done, it really wasn’t hard to make the plan.

—————

“Uncle Mitch? I’m going away for like an hour to help a client, so let the guys go on break for an hour and a half. They sure do need it.” You call out for your uncle who found himself at the shop more often than not.

“Okay kid, just make sure not to fool around too much okay? I know how you are-“ He starts off with a large smile on his face before you interrupt him with your own sentence.

“Yeah just like my father, I know, it’s kind of who I was raised by, you know.” You smile at the old man whose hair was graying and face wrinkled. He was like another father figure.

“Yeah, yeah, off you go to see Juliet.” He responds, shooing you out of the main room and towards the private garage where your Mustang was located.

“What is it with people naming us after old romance stories?!” You say exasperated, but the blush covering your face tells a different tale.

Revving up your car, you quickly pull out of the garage and pull out onto the road. The wind blows through your hair and the freeing feeling makes you smile, the hot summer breeze never failing you.

As you pull up to the training grounds there’s a large group of people exiting the building, training bags over their shoulders as they talk eagerly with each other. They do notice the car that didn’t fit in, black leather seats and black shiny exterior.

When their resident clumsy friend spots the car she trips over her feet, luckily enough for her, Vic is right beside her and she manages to catch the falling forward. It’s no easy feat by any means, but the smaller midfielder manages to pull her back to her feet.

When you pull up next to them, she comes up to greet you.

“Hi Casanova” She starts off, smile splitting her face open from ear to ear. Your face mirrors hers, the stupid nickname seemingly stuck around.

“Hi Alessia, I was popping by to pick you up as the work on your car is done.” The forward eagerly puts her bag in your backseat before she’s plopping down in your passenger seat. She smiles even wider as she realizes the soft rock flowing out from your radio. All of a sudden her face turns into a mess of confusion and a bit of fear.

“Wait, how did you know when my training ended?” She was staring deep into your soul, eyes glistening in the sun.

“Well I had a little help.” Turning around to face her Dutch friend, you can see the way she winks at the blonde sitting beside you, who merely raises an eyebrow at her. There were more questions to be answered but she decided that it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Are you ready to go back to the garage?” You ask her softly, her face just so enticing that you could do no more than whisper in her presence. She nods her head though and as you’re pulling out of the parking lot you both hear a:

“Don’t forget protection!”

The blush that comes over her face makes her look like an overly ripe tomato, though you don’t have much to say, looking like a tomato yourself.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, Alessia looking out at the streets of London like she'd never seen anything like them before and you admiring her at every red light. It’s not until you pull up at the shop that she looks at you properly, her eyes glimmering.

“So if you just follow me out here, I’ll lead you to your good as new car.” She exits your car to follow you out and towards her own, the Mercedes that you’d put extra time and effort into. Nothing but the best for the gorgeous girl.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here to save the day, I really do owe you one.” Her seemingly never ending smile shines even brighter at the sight of her car, and as she turns to you it seems to get impossibly brighter.

“Well it’s my job you know, I kind of own the place.” It’s a hastily thrown out comment that seemingly piques her interest, Alessia’s hand coming up to rest on your slightly sooty arm.

“How do you own this place? I don’t mean it in a condescending way or anything but it’s just that you’re so young and pretty and you don’t seem like the type to buy a workshop.” She rambles in her nervousity, eyes shifting around the shop like they’d done only days before.

“I inherited it from my dad, the same with my car. He uhm, he died and my mom is like fully out of the picture so I got most of his stuff, my uncle Mitch also got some stuff but I was the main person.” She was so easy to talk to, you’d only met her days before and it felt like you’d known each other for years. Your dads death wasn’t something that you talked about often or with most people, so your heart had really taken a wild leap for the young striker.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, I know that he’s watching you with pride wherever he is.” Her hand rubs up and down your arm comfortingly, smiling sorrowfully at you as you recount your grief at the most important person in your life’s death.

“It’s not your fault, he lived his life to the fullest so I know that he was content when he died…” Alessia notices the want to change the topic of your conversation and so she shifts it to something more trivial.

“Uhm, how much do you want me to pay for this?” She asks, her voice wavering slightly at the whiplashing change of topic.

“You can pay with a hug and a kiss?” You joke lightly but it seems like the forward takes it seriously, as her hands come up to slither back around your neck, fingers tangling in your baby hairs.

Big hands settle on the blonde’s waist as she moves her face closer to yours, leaning up to rest her lips against yours in a soft embrace.

The kiss is nothing short of magical and as her tongue pokes against your lips you open your lips, basically french kissing the girl in the middle of your workshop. The kiss only breaks apart as whistles from your employees ring out throughout the shop, the guys having come back from their break.

When they finally quiet down it’s by the threat of you withholding their next paycheck and they all look away as you peck the girl’s lips a few more times before letting her leave in her fixed up Mercedes.

“Not a word of this to Mitch.” You look at them all sternly, but the knowledge that all of them had basically watched you grow up made you realize that they definitely weren’t scared of your empty threats. They sealed the deal by chuckling at you before turning back to their individual projects.

————-

In the weeks following the blonde leaving your motor shop she’d come in more than once for imaginary problems with her car, which you knew was just an excuse to see you. No one had that many problems with their car.

When she comes in fully unexpected one Thursday it’s with a fleeting problem with her motor from before.

“Hi Y/n, my car has been acting up a little again, mind checking it out for me?” She pops her head into the shop after hours, you’d just been finishing up some paperwork that needed to be done.

“Alessia, you do know that you can just ask me out on a date instead of making up problems with your car?” You prayed that you’d read the situation right, otherwise it’d be quite the awkward conversation.

“Oh thank you, it’s really hard to just come up with problems out of the blue” Her body leans on her hands that are now pressed against your desk, her face close to yours.

“So, are you going to ask me?” You ask her the question you’d been thinking about for a while, her face and the tops of her ears turning red.

“Y/n/n do you want to go on a date with me?” She asks nervously, like you’d ever reject a girl like her, a beautiful and kind soul that did nothing if not light your day up with her made up problems.

“Of course I would Less.” You respond to the girl, only for her to lean forward and capture your lips with her own. People always talk about the first kiss, but the second kiss was always so much better, and all the kisses after that were pretty great too.

Who would’ve thought, a footballer and a mechanic getting together, the very own Casanova and Juliet of the world.

Maybe some weird romance book would be written about it in a few years, but for now you were content with watching the stars with your gorgeous girlfriend in your less gorgeous (but still very beautiful) car, sharing deep kisses into the night.

#woso #alessia russo #unc soccer #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #lionesses #arsenal wfc #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso fanfics

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flynnriderishot · 2 months

Text

three - m.s

a/n: i had this waiting for three days pookies 😭 sorry for the wait

requested by anon!

originally, you weren’t going to appear in the sam and colby x sturniolo triplets video that the fans wanted oh, so badly, but it was proven by colby himself that their supporters wanted to see you as well.

you had quickly become a fan favorite on the triplets channel along with nathan doe so they wanted to see you as much as possible.

it was practically impossible to catch you on your own account nowadays. you did social media as well, having taken a bit of a break after you got pregnant with matt’s baby.

not only was the pregnancy unexpected, but it was a bit inconvenient considering the triplets were still at the height of their careers and you were as well.

the fans were aware of your situation as you told them in a quick instagram story before you disappeared off your account. they also got a few clips of you on the triplets channel and picked up on small comments chris would make before he would get smacked by nick for talking too much.

while matt was ridiculously excited to find out that you were pregnant with his baby, he knew it stressed you out greatly. you were only 20, and though you were financially stable enough to have a kid, the thought of being a mother so young sent shivers down your spine.

luckily, matt reassured you that he would be there for you every step of the way, with chris butting in on how he wouldn’t mind teaching your child a few curse words. nick made the comment on how he hoped the baby was a girl as he couldn’t handle being in the presence of a mini matt.

you were ever so grateful for the support the three brothers were giving you. but with support, came hovering.

even if the fans hadn’t suggested it, matt practically begged sam and colby to allow you to come to the haunted hotel, not wanting you out his sight for so long. especially since you’ve been getting headaches more and more frequently, he wanted to be around you as much as possible.

which is why you were next to chris with matt stood behind you, his hands gently rubbing your stomach as sam explained to the camera what they would be doing for their next clip.

the estes method.

you had seen enough of sam and colby’s videos to know what the estes method was and it was safe to say that this was your favorite part of their videos.

you moved to sit on the edge of the hotel bed with matt behind you as colby helped nick and chris get set up. (matt is sitting how he was in the video, his legs on either side of you with his chest to your back)

chris gave sam a thumbs up when he asked if he was all set, matt making the golbach chuckle as he told chris he was dumb.

“this is so fun.” you put your hands over your mouth in excitement, something you’ve picked up from your boyfriend in the years you’ve been dating him.

sam turns the camera in your direction as you speak, the camera picking up on the way your eyes shined.

“i heard the estes method is your favorite?”

“yeah.” you nodded, “it’s just so interesting.”

matt smiled into your hair as colby moved away from nick, signaling that they were ready.

sam and colby swapped positions, the dark haired man now holding the camera, getting an overview of the now green hued room.

“i just got learn.” chris spoke up, unknowingly cutting sam off.

“is there anybody in here with us? or anybody that wants to make themselves known?”

it was silent for a few seconds before you nick spoke,

“afterlife.”

“feel right.”

“crimes.”

chris and nick went back and forth for a few seconds, chris mentioning how he heard a full sentence before nick cut him off,

“three.”

matt’s brows furrowed, “three?”

“three what?” colby asked, looking between you, matt and sam, thinking that maybe one of you had a clue.

“boys.” chris said.

“three boys? like triplets?” you asked, the camera picking up on how you moved your hand between nick, matt and chris.

“yes.” “no.”

sam adjusted his footing, “are you referring to the triplets in the room right now?”

“yes.” “no.”

“yes or no?” the confusion could be heard in colby’s voice, “are you referring to the sturniolo triplets? the three boys in the room with us currently?”

“yes.” “no.”

“they’re contradicting each other.” sam concluded, seemingly speaking for the viewers as everyone in the room, aside from nick and chris, could tell that was happening.

“pull them out.” colby told sam, moving to turn on the lights while explaining to the camera that they would move to the bathroom and have matt do it instead since the ghosts seemingly like him best.

chris blinked harshly at the light, looking around blandly, “what happened?”

“nothing.” matt shrugged, “you guys were contradicting each other for everything we asked, we were getting nowhere.”

“really?” nick looked at you for confirmation, his blue eyes scanning your face.

“yep.”

“to the bathroom we go!” colby exclaimed, handing the camera to sam, brushing past everyone to get to the small restroom.

as you all huddled in, matt sat on the edge of the tub, colby behind him, nick sitting on the toilet with you, chris and sam closest to the door.

“you don’t want to participate in this one, yn?” nick asked, earning a snort from your boyfriend as he knew there was no chance.

“i’d much rather watch than have ghosts whisper in my ear.”

“i thought you said it was cool?” chris joked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “you scared now?”

at the mention of you being scared, matt’s eyes snapped to yours.

“not scared, just cautious.” you elbowed him softly.

“let’s start.”

“we’ve moved into the bathroom, is there a specific person with us?” sam kicked it off.

“wait. wait. wait.”

“does anyone wanna talk—“

matt cuts him off, “a breath, like—“ he mimicked what he heard.

“have we been talking to you all night—?”

“love.”

“is that why you’re here? because you love the hotel?”

“three.”

“three.” chris repeated, “three what?”

“boy.”

colby’s eyes met yours before they darted to sam, “they said the same thing when they were in.”

“three boys—“

“girl.” matt said, “they said girl.”

the word resulted in all the attention falling on you, the men thinking that there was a possibility the ghost were talking about you. though, matt’s words stopped that idea—

“baby. babies.”

“baby.” nick learned forward, spotting chris tugging you closer from the corner of his eye. “yn’s baby?”

you could feel your heart pounding in your chest when matt grew silent.

“this is so freaky.” you whispered, chris’ hand patting you shoulder in hopes of easing your nerves. as your bestfriend, he knew he could do just enough to calm you down for a few but he also knew that matt did it best. and with matt being in the position he’s in now, he would have to do.

“…babies.”

you let out a breath of air, you hands subconsciously holding your stomach bump.

“to confirm…” colby cleared his throat, wanting to end this as soon as possible as he sensed the uneasiness you were feeling. last thing he wanted to do was make either of his guests uncomfortable, “yn has three babies? boys and a girl?”

“….yes.”

sam eyes widen, “pull him out.”

colby placed his hands on matt’s shoulders, the brunet taking the blindfold and headphones off. he knew what he was saying, but he wasn’t aware of the questions being asked, so when he saw the looks of concern coming from you and his brothers, his shoulders fell.

“what’s wrong?”

chris, being the blunt man he is, looked at his brother with a smile.

“you might be having triplets.”

——

comments:

| chris and yn’s friendship is so dear to my heart

| yn’s favorite method being the estes method is so real

update; i don’t think she likes it anymore 😭

| no one:

the ghosts: ‘i know something you don’t.’

| her belly’s gotten so big 🥹

update: i now know why…

| W COLLAB 🔥🔥

| yn’s so pretty

>>> MILF 🙌

| the way yn stopped posting for a while just to come back on youtube to some spirits telling her she’s pregnant with triplets 😭💀

| NICK’S FACE WHEN THEY SAID YN AND MATT WERE HAVING TRIPLETS 😭😭

>>> bros thinking about the future mess

| stephanie being obsessed with yn was the highlight of this video

>>> who tf is stephanie 🔥🗣️

>>> i meant samantha 😐

>>> yn got the motherly energy 😫🙌

| chris looked so good blindfolded 🤭

| has nick been working out??? bros arms are crazy 😫

| YALL BETTER LIKE FR I WANT PART 2 OF STURNIOLOXSNC

>>> X YN ‼️

>>> she’s not coming back 💀

| imagine they were all boys?? no girl dad matt 😔

>>> the ghosts said boys and girl ‼️‼️

>>> idk about you but i’m riding with the spirits on this one 🤷‍♀️ girl dad! matt for the win

tap to view more comments

dt: @ruedowney @sstvrnioloo @electrobutterfly @sturnsgasoline

#sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo #sam and colby

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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months

Text

falling is easy, catching is hard

rated m | also on ao3 cw: recreational drug use, implied sexual content tags: friends with benefits, secret relationship, shotgunning, mutual pining, getting together, love confessions

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @sidekick-hero!!! Sandy, you deserve the world, but this 3000 word thing will have to do for now 💖

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

December 19, 1985

Steve Harrington needed sleep.

Eddie Munson had the only thing that would put him to sleep.

But Eddie Munson also held a grudge, a reasonable one, but an annoying one.

“You want me to sell you the last of my good shit? For half price?” Eddie snorted. “You’re out of your damn mind, Harrington.”

“Munson, please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Steve begged.

“Why would I do you any favors? You never did me any.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, waiting somewhat impatiently for a response from Steve.

Steve didn’t have one.

Eddie was right; He didn’t really deserve a favor from someone who had let his friends make his first senior year absolutely miserable.

But Robin’s voice looped in his head: “Be vulnerable sometimes, Steve. People may surprise you.”

“Listen man, I just really need to sleep, alright? I’ve tried everything else.” Steve sighed. “This is pretty much my last hope.”

Which was a truth and a lie. He’d already tried smoking some weed, knew that it worked.

Eddie’s forehead creased in the middle.

That’s kinda cute, Steve thought to himself before shaking his head. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted by big, brown eyes and shiny lips.

“You been to a doctor?” Eddie asked.

“The sleeping pills make them worse.”

“Make what worse?” Eddie pushed.

“The nightmares.”

Eddie nodded once, understanding flitting across his face as he relaxed his arms by his sides.

“How long you been havin’ them?” Eddie asked as he walked around to the bench at the picnic table, opening his lunchbox.

“I guess…technically years. They’ve been worse since July though.” Steve knew he had to be careful about what he said, couldn’t give away more than what the public knew about what happened at the mall, but Eddie seemed trustworthy enough to handle this part. “Doctors said it’s normal for trauma or whatever.”

Eddie nodded, whispered something under his breath, and shuffled through his box.

“Forgot you worked at the mall over the summer. Kinda crazy what happened,” he said as he pulled a small discolored plastic bag from the box. “I’ll make you a one-time only deal, Stevie.”

Steve ignored the butterflies in his stomach at the nickname, kicked at the dirt under his feet, and gestured for Eddie to continue.

“I’m not giving my product away for half price. I’m a businessman and that’s not a smart financial decision for my business.” Eddie held up a hand when Steve looked like he was going to argue. “But! I will share a joint with you right here, right now, for free.”

“Um. What?”

“I was gonna smoke this one tonight as a celebration for passing all my first semester finals by the skin of my teeth. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.” Eddie’s smirk made the butterflies even worse.

Steve was going to regret this.

God, he was so stupid.

“Yeah, okay.”

Smoking with Eddie the first time was nice, but the second, and third, and fourth times were even better.

— — — — — — —

January 16, 1986

“You’re late, Stevie. I was starting to worry you’d gotten frostbite.” Eddie’s smile warmed Steve from the inside out, the shiver wracking his body more to do with the growing fondness he had for the curly-haired man in front of him.

Eddie was bundled up like they were in Antarctica, and to be fair, it was below freezing outside right now.

Steve offered to meet somewhere else, but Eddie insisted they come to his usual spot.

And then Steve saw it: Eddie had built them a fire. It was small, he probably didn’t want to draw any attention from the road, but it was throwing heat that Steve craved.

“Come warm up before we get into it,” Eddie waved him over, his gloved hands looking out of place.

Steve was used to seeing shiny rings on his fingers, blisters on his fingertips from playing too much guitar.

Steve stood next to him in front of the fire, holding his own gloved hands out to try to warm his body as much as possible.

“Any reason I couldn’t just come to your house or something?” Steve asked, not quite getting rid of the attitude in his tone.

“My Uncle has tonight off. He’s a pretty chill guy, but I think actively watching me sell drugs to someone would maybe cause a heart attack.” Eddie sighed. “I told him I had a date tonight so I couldn’t really have you show up after that.”

“A date?” Steve grinned, nudging Eddie’s arm. “I didn’t even bring flowers.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but looked away to cover a blush. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to put out until there’s a dozen roses in my hand.”

He meant it as a joke surely, but something in Steve’s chest clenched at the thought of spoiling Eddie like that. Maybe not roses, that didn’t quite seem his style.

“I’ll try to remember them next time,” Steve managed to say, nearly choking on his own words.

What was he even doing? Flirting? Eddie didn’t even consider him a real friend, why would he want him to bring him flowers?

“Got a new strain tonight. It’s supposed to be a little stronger, but fades faster, so you should be good to drive back home in a couple hours.” Eddie pulled the baggie out of his pocket, lunchbox long gone after meeting twice a week for the last month.

Steve wasn’t really a customer anymore, no matter how they tried to keep up appearances that he was.

He still tipped Eddie, or tried to, but usually Eddie ignored it and just said it was a favor to help him sleep.

“How strong?” Steve finally asked as Eddie pulled the lighter from his pocket.

“Might make you a little floatier than usual. Not hallucinogenic, though.” Eddie knew he couldn’t handle that kind of trip. That’s why he stayed away from his other offerings. “I tested it out myself earlier this week.”

Steve wasn’t reading into that.

“Okay.” He fought off a shiver, this time from actually being cold. “Guess it’s worth a try.”

“I’ll drive you home if it’s too much.” Eddie’s offer was kind, going above and beyond what a dealer would do for a customer, but Steve wasn’t reading into it. “Or you can nap it off in the van for an hour or so before heading home. Whatever.”

Eddie lit the joint, breathing in long and slow, holding the smoke until Steve was sure he would pass out before slowly letting it out.

He handed the roll to Steve, who didn’t think about what Eddie meant by stronger, and took his normal pull, choking halfway through.

Eddie’s eyes widened as he took the joint from him, his hand grabbing onto Steve’s arm as he coughed.

“Jesus Christ, man, you good?” Eddie asked him.

“Yeah,” he coughed. “Sorry. It is a lot stronger.”

Eddie searched his face, relaxing as Steve’s breathing went back to normal. “Good?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe take it slower?” Eddie teased. “Or- no never mind.”

“Or what?” Steve asked, already feeling the heaviness that came with smoking.

“Ever shotgunned before?”

Steve’s heart stopped. He’d venture to say he was even stone cold sober again after that question.

“Um. No.” He hadn’t. He’d wanted to with Nancy, figured it would be the only way she would be interested in trying weed, but it never worked out. “Would it be easier?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “Usually. We can give it a try if you want.”

Steve nodded before he really processed what he was being offered.

Eddie’s mouth would be very, very close to his. Possibly even on his.

And he’d be sharing breath with him, probably more than one if it worked.

Eddie pulled the picnic table closer to the fire and sat on the bench. He patted the seat next to him.

“Might as well get comfy, then,” Eddie said.

Steve sat next to him, close enough to feel the warmth coming from his side, close enough to hear Eddie’s hitched breath when they made contact.

Close enough to want to be closer.

“Alright, so I’ll start with a small one, and you just have to breathe in when I breathe out.”

“Is it-” Steve played with a loose thread on his gloves. “Your lips are gonna touch mine?”

Eddie suddenly looked nervous, like he regretted offering this at all, and Steve couldn’t allow that.

“I don’t mind! I mean, I want you to!” Steve panicked. “Like, it’s fine! I know we have to for the whole thing to work.”

“Yeah. Um, it’s not like, weird or anything. It’s just me helping you get high.”

It wasn’t weird, but it definitely was hot.

Eddie took a drag, leaned into Steve’s space, and cupped his jaw, tilting his head back for easier access.

Steve couldn’t breathe.

But he had to, that was the whole fucking point of doing this.

His lips parted and Eddie’s warmth coated him, covered him better than the fire.

He breathed in as Eddie breathed out, his hand seeking contact with anything solid to keep him on this earth.

He found it in Eddie’s hip, his fingers gripping tight as Eddie lingered beyond the point of the smoke clearing from his mouth to Steve’s.

Their lips brushed lightly, an agonizingly soft touch that Steve tried his best not to chase as it drifted away.

He bit back a whine at the loss, opening his eyes to see Eddie still surprisingly close, pupils huge.

It’s just the weed, Steve thought to himself.

It definitely wasn’t their almost-kiss.

Steve breathed out, swallowing once the smoke was gone from his mouth.

“Good?” Eddie asked.

Steve should answer him, should nod and thank him for doing this, maybe ask him for another hit so he could try to blame his fidgeting on being high.

But Steve wanted to kiss him.

Not shotgun, not barely brush lips, not act like this wasn’t something more than what it started as.

Robin told him he deserved nice things, and he deserved to be happy, and he did.

So Steve let himself try to have a nice thing.

“Again?” Steve asked, leaning in before Eddie had a chance to take a drag.

“Woah, big boy.” Eddie’s hands grabbed his shoulders, not pushing him away, but holding him back from making contact that he so desperately wanted. “Think that first hit might have gotten to you already. Let’s take a minute.”

“No, I-”

“Steve. You’re high.”

His tone was final, and something about the way his eyes darted away made Steve think that maybe this wasn’t the first time someone tried to make a move on him because he was giving them something.

He didn’t know Steve was into men, either.

Steve could just tell him, though. Let him know it’s not just the drugs, that he’d already had feelings for him before.

But the high was kicking in and Steve’s tongue felt like an iron weight.

“How about I get you some water?” Eddie asked, pulling away and walking swiftly to his van.

Steve didn’t protest. He did need some water.

Eddie sat on the other side of the table when he came back, handed over a bottle of water with a small smile, and watched as Steve gulped most of it down.

“This is good shit,” Steve admitted, slurring his words a little from the effort of moving his mouth. “Better than usual.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice treat once in a while.”

They sat in silence for another 30 minutes or so, though the time didn’t even feel like it was passing to Steve until Eddie stood up and guided him to the passenger seat of his van.

“Wha-?”

“I’m gonna drop you off at home. You got someone who can help you get your car tomorrow?” Eddie buckled his seatbelt, Steve tried not to be too endeared. “Maybe Buckley? Or Wheeler?”

Steve’s brows furrowed.

Nancy had barely talked to him in months, not since she gave him one awkward hug after Starcourt. Robin couldn’t drive, or at least said she couldn’t. That’s why he drove her to school and all of her work shifts.

“Maybe you could?” Steve suggested.

Eddie sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

— — — — — — —

February 14, 1986

Steve got him flowers.

He hadn’t seen him since the night he drove Steve home.

By the time Steve woke up the next morning, his car was parked in the driveway with a note on his keys that said ‘Promise there’s not a dent on her.’

And then Eddie had ignored his calls. He’d conveniently never been at his spot anytime Steve had ever met up with him before.

He couldn’t even pass a message through Dustin because Dustin was too curious for his own good and would probably figure out that Steve wanted to kiss him.

Which is all Steve thought about for the last month while he figured out what to do next.

Robin was no help at all, said he should just corner him after Hellfire one night and make a move if he wanted him so bad.

As if that could ever be an option.

This was his last chance, though.

He’d confirmed with one of his bandmates – Garrett, maybe? – that he didn’t have plans tonight and refused to sell on Valentine’s Day.

Steve stood in front of Eddie’s trailer, a bouquet of white and pink daisies in his hand, feeling particularly stupid.

The van was here, so Eddie was here, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk up the steps and knock on the door. This was maybe the most idiotic thing he’d ever done and he probably should leave before he was seen by someone.

“Steve?” Eddie opened the front door, confusion clear even from a distance. “The hell are you doing here?”

“I said I’d bring you flowers.”

He felt so dumb, standing here holding a bouquet of flowers for a guy who didn’t even want to sell drugs to him anymore. He considered dropping the flowers and making a run for it, but Eddie leaned against the door frame and scrunched his nose up.

Like he was trying not to smile.

Like maybe Steve did something right.

“Better bring them in so they can get water, then,” Eddie said with a hesitant smile.

Steve would take any type of smile, as long as it meant he wasn’t being sent away with his tail between his legs.

He rushed inside, didn’t think about the smell of Irish Spring coming off of Eddie, or the way his arm brushed against his side as he passed him.

Steve stood in Eddie’s trailer, taking in what Eddie called home, holding the flowers in front of him with hope.

Eddie closed the front door and walked over to him, holding his hand out.

“You didn’t have to get me flowers just for me to sell you drugs again, ya know.” Eddie smiled sadly. “I would have let you buy if you really needed it.”

“You won’t return my calls so how would you know if I needed it?” Steve countered.

“Ouch.” Eddie sucked a breath in through his teeth. “You’re right. I, uh, was giving you some space.”

“What made you think I wanted any?” Steve took the flowers back from Eddie’s hand, setting them on the coffee table behind him. “If I wanted space, I wouldn’t have bothered calling at all.”

“That’s what Wayne said, but-”

“Well, maybe you should’ve listened to Wayne.” Steve sighed. “I’m sorry I fucked things up by wanting to kiss you. I’m sorry if the flowers are too much. I’m sorry if I’m too much.”

Steve couldn’t look at Eddie after his confession, or his attempt at one. It may have been more of an apology, but he figured his intentions were clear enough.

“Steve. Stevie. Look at me.” Eddie cupped his cheeks, that familiar warmth covering Steve in safety. “You’re not too much. Don’t ever, ever let anyone tell you that you’re too much. You were so high, I didn’t wanna take advantage. I thought if I just left you to think about it long enough, you’d realize what happened was just from the weed.”

Steve shook his head, reaching his hands up to circle Eddie’s wrists. “It wasn’t just the weed. You’d know that if you let me talk to you before now.”

Eddie rubbed his thumb along his cheekbone, eyes dancing across the freckles that covered Steve’s surprisingly sun-kissed skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain.”

“You’re forgiven if you listen now,” Steve took a breath, letting his hands run down Eddie’s arms and settle on his hips. “I like you. A lot. Definitely more than a customer should, more than a friend should, maybe more than a regular boyfriend should. It’s okay if that’s too much, but it’s what I have to give.”

“You’re really something, Stevie.” Eddie leaned in, pressing his lips to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “I think I’ll take what you’re giving if that’s alright with you.”

“Please,” Steve breathed out as Eddie’s lips crushed against his fully.

Steve always felt so much, always gave so much, hardly ever had anyone who would take what he had to give.

But Eddie was taking it, forcing it from Steve to his own body, his own heart, like it was the only thing he wanted or needed.

“If you wanna buy tonight, you’re gonna be real disappointed,” Eddie gasped out against his lips when they came up for air minutes, maybe hours, later. “I don’t sell on major holidays.”

“Is Valentine’s Day a major holiday?” Steve asked, brows furrowing.

“It is when I get to have you in my bed.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“That sound okay to you, big boy?” Eddie was smooth. Who could have possibly guessed?

Steve barely got out a ‘yes’ before Eddie was pulling him down the short hallway to his bedroom and rattling off things he wanted to do to him.

Steve Harrington probably wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.

But Eddie Munson would make it worth his while.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #birthday fic

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sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan · 4 months

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Forger Fam and WISE Budget😅

Sylvia’s current concern according to Endo: Balancing WISE Budget

I mean how couldn’t she be concerned when maintaining Strix is so financially consuming.

I mean look at all the expenses the Forger family has made in less than a year:

1.Anya’s tuition that costs about $35,000 to $40,000, and that doesn’t include the uniform and school supplies.

2.Anya’s clothes and she seemed to have new clothes regularly and Endo said these are mostly bought by Loid/Twilight.

3.That castle rent that costs more than $77 000 and added the other check, I'm guessing for the furniture they used, that costs $17 600. (Yes, it costs more than Anya's tuition fee, I mean it's a castle 😂)

4.Loid could also not just be purchasing clothes for Anya. It looks like he also pays for Yor’s wardrobe and Yor mentioned that he got so many clothes for her in the boutique before the Eden Interview.

5.Loid is also the one who pays for their dates, seems like, and his dates with Yor doesn’t seem cheap at all, they seem to dine at fancy restaurants that require reservation.

6.The big heap of cash he pays Franky every time he babysits Anya and Bond.

And here it looks like the check his giving Franky costs 20,000 dalcs that is equivalent to $44,000 (one dalc is quivalent to $2.20). It's even more expensive than Anya's tuition, what?! 😂😂 (Twilight is literally willing to spend a lot money just to be sure that Anya won't be home alone ever again, he's not taking a chance on her being kidnapped again when he left her alone on ep1)

7.Loid didn’t seem to also hold back in spending a good amount of money for their apartments furniture and for Anya’s bedroom and even bought her a lot of toys and picture books.

8.And of course their out of town/out of the country family trips featured in the Code White movie. Those must’ve cost a lot considering they have to book a hotel and all. And according to a movie spoiler from tiktok, that wasn’t the last time they went on a family out of town trip.

Loid Forger does have a high paying profession. However, according to Endo, his earnings as a psychiatrist were only about $140,000 per year, not per month, PER YEAR. How could he cover that much expenses? Of course WISE covers the rest if it was crucial to the mission, or when Twilight insists it to be. I mean he always says that everything he does is for his mission so the one who has to pay was the one who gave him that mission.

(Most of these expenses didn't even contribute to the progress of Operation Strix. It just funds Twilight into sinking deeper into his fake fam and keeps the family even more attached to each other😂)

Endo said WISE is not really generous when it comes to paying their agents but they seem to be lenient on spending their money on the Forgers. I mean they have to invest for their Top Spy's family and World Peace do depend on them.

So Twilight, pile the bills and let Sylvia handle the rest😂

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gurugirl · 2 months

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The Ranch Hand | cowboy!harry

2.5k word preview below the cut

Your boyfriend, Jessie, sat down a bucket of beer on the table you were sitting at and pulled his stool up as you grabbed a cold one for yourself and twisted the cap off.

You didn’t know the band that was playing but they sounded pretty good, especially for a Friday night with a cold beer in your favorite little rowdy country bar.

Jessie hated the bar. He was more into cocktail joints with white tablecloths and live classical piano. The kind of place you had to dress up to go into. You didn’t blame him. He didn’t come from where you came from. You two had only a couple of things in common.

The first was that you were both from wealthy families. Your dad was a rancher and he owned half the county. You’d never hurt for anything. Jessie’s family ran the county and were all involved in politics. He went to some fancy school in a different state and only came back because his father wanted him to step into the role of prosecuting attorney.

The second thing you had in common was that you lived in the same town.

That was probably where your similarities ended. You liked Jessie. Mostly. He was usually pretty nice, if not boring, and your parents liked him so that was a plus. In fact, they set up your first date with him and it was easier to just keep things going to make your mom and dad happy.

“You look uncomfortable,” you spoke as you kept your eyes on the band and Jessie struggled to pull the metal cap from his bottle.

“I’m just… there’s peanut shells all over the floor and everyone’s staring at us.”

You laughed and shook your head. You were gonna have to break up with the guy. He couldn’t handle you and you knew that was the truth. He hated getting his hands dirty and even though he looked like he should be able to remove a bottle cap, it wasn’t the first time you had to do it for him.

Taking his beer you looked directly at him and twisted the cap off, dropping it to the floor before handing it back to him.

“I never drink beer. Not used to taking caps off…” he spoke as he took a sip. Shitty excuse.

You noticed that some of the workers from your dad’s ranch were in the bar. Probably causing trouble. The guys who worked for your dad could be rough around the edges but they were always nice to you. Just a bunch of cowboys looking to make ends meet. They all had a place to stay on the ranch at the bunkhouse provided and they were also paid pretty well. So on almost any given Friday and Saturday night, you could find some of them at the bar picking up local women, dancing, fighting, drinking…

This was your scene. This was what you enjoyed most. The rough and gritty. Salt of the earth. Phonies were quickly sniffed out in a place like this. It was why people were staring at Jessie.

You took another gulp of your beer and then you caught sight of one of the ranch hands already looking at you from across the room. Harry. He was very easy on the eyes. He’d been working at your dad’s ranch since he was 19. He’d earned a spot of trust with your father after all his years of hard work and now he had quite a lot of responsibility given to him. He had his own small cabin out of the way of the bunkhouse. He made a lot of financial decisions for your father as well. Negotiated prices for cattle sales, went to auctions to buy large equipment, handled the daily goings on of the newbie ranch hands, and did all the hiring and firing. But he also still worked his ass off. He’d pick up slack when the other workers needed help or couldn’t do the job. You imagined he was at the bar to keep the guys in line and make sure they didn’t land themselves in jail.

You and Harry were close from the beginning. You always went out of your way to meet every new worker that came on but Harry was a little different because he’d been around for almost ten years. You certainly favored him over all the others.

“Why’s he coming over here?” Jessie whined as Harry walked through the crowd with his eyes on you and a mischievous grin on his face. You just knew he was bout to do something to piss Jessie off, which was easy to do.

“Cause he’s comin’ to say hello.” You smiled at Harry as he tipped his cowboy hat to you, stepping between you and Jessie, and reaching in to grab a bottle of beer from the bucket your boyfriend bought.

“Uh, that’s ours,” Jessie sat up straight in his stool as he watched Harry uncap the bottle and take a swig, ignoring him completely, jade eyes still on yours.

Harry placed his elbow on the table and leaned in close to you, those handsome green eyes running over the features on your face, “Hi.”

You felt yourself heat up and kept your eyes on his, “Hi.”

You would have forgotten all about Jessie but then…

“Excuse me. Is this for real? That’s our beer,” Jessie reminded the cowboy.

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up with his hand on your shoulder, softly squeezing before he looked at your boyfriend, “Sorry about that bud,” and then he looked back down at you, “Okay if I have this, sweetheart?” He lifted the bottle of beer upward.

You nodded, “Of course you can have it, Harry.”

Harry’s grin widened as he took another drink and Jessie stood up to move in front of Harry. Maybe in an attempt to intimidate him? You weren’t sure exactly. But one thing you knew was that Harry would put Jessie down in the blink of an eye. Jessie wasn’t a small man but Harry was scrappy and liked to get dirty. Didn’t mind a scuffle when the moment called for it either. You’d seen him put a lot of men in their place.

“Next time you ask before you take.” Jessie pointed. You snickered to yourself. It was a good attempt at least.

Harry laughed and dragged his eyes down your body before he tipped his hat again and walked right into Jessie’s shoulder, making him stumble into the table. Harry looked back in faux surprise at Jessie and then at you with a wink before he went back to where he’d been before with the other guys.

Okay, so maybe Harry was a bit of a dick. But he’d never been rude to you. And you liked him, unfortunately for Jessie. Harry was not a fan of your boyfriends. He’d made that clear since Jessie started coming around four months ago.

“You just let him take a beer like that?” Jessie gestured toward where Harry had gone.

“I did. What’s the problem? I know this bucket wasn’t expensive so you’re not hurtin’ for the money.”

He took a deep breath and looked off toward where the cowboys were drinking, “Do you like him, Y/n?”

You pursed your lips to the side in thought as you watched people line dancing and stomping on the peanut-covered wood floors in their cowboy boots. Now you didn’t really need to think much about that question. Because you did like Harry, and he liked you the same. All the stolen kisses and sneaky moments you two had… it’s just that that could never happen out in the open. Your dad would never go for it and Harry might lose his job if your parents ever caught wind of anything happening between you two. So you’d always kept your distance because that was the most practical option.

But you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t like the man. Anyone with two eyes could see how handsome he was.

“Sure,” you shrugged and looked at Jessie.

“Like him, like him?” Jessie looked back toward you across the table.

“Why are you worried about it, Jes? Even if I did, it’s not a good match. My dad would kill him.”

He shook his head and watched the people on the floor dancing with their big, shiny belt buckles glistening under the shoddy lights, the strum of guitars, and a twangy voice singing an old Garth Brooks song.

You got up and waved when you saw your friend Chelle. She was among those dancing and you weren’t going to miss it, “You coming with me or not?” You looked back at the dud sitting on his stool with a scowl.

“Go on ahead. I’ll be right here.”

You rolled your eyes. There was only so much more you could take of Jessie. If he had even shown an ounce of something that looked like fun you might want to stick around longer. Hell, if he even would have just stood up to Harry about the way he had been very clearly flirting with you in front of him (rather than get so worked up over the beer Harry took) that could even be something for you to think about. But the man wouldn’t dance with you, he wouldn’t ride horses on the ranch, he wouldn’t go to rodeos, and he most certainly didn’t want to do anything that could sully up his nice clothes once in a while. Stepping over peanut shells was his limit. If it weren’t for your parents you’d never have considered him in the first place.

“Y/n!” Chelle pulled you in next to her and you began moving yourself in line in a weave; right, back, front… You always felt like an idiot when you joined in on line dancing but that was part of the fun. Everyone looked like hillbillies and idiots out there and it was a blast.

The music, the atmosphere, the raucous noise from everyone laughing, singing, shouting, stomping… your country girl roots were in full bloom that night. And beer after beer then a couple shots of whisky probably did you no good but you were going to enjoy your night with or without your boyfriend who did not move from the spot where you left him. Part of you, at one point, hoped he’d just go. He was uncomfortable and not having fun. You knew the only reason he was there was to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t do anything dumb.

And the later it got the more wild the bar became. More people filled in the small space, the music was louder, some of the lights at the edge of the room were dimmed, and the line for the bathroom grew longer.

“He gonna sit over there watching me all night?” You heard Harry from behind you as he moved in step, a bottle of beer in his big hand you noted as you turned to look up at him.

You laughed, “Probably. He’s jealous.”

Harry licked his pink lips and tampered what you knew was a big grin, “Oh yeah? Why’s he jealous?”

You both did a clumsy pivot turn together and you just smiled up at the handsome cowboy and shook your head.

There was no need to answer Harry. He knew what was going on. He knew you liked him just the same as he liked you. It had always been something secret between you two but it was obvious to almost everyone around. Except for your father. That was one time when you were both on your best behavior.

“Surprised you’re still here. Don’t you have an early morning tomorrow?” You asked.

He nodded, “Sure do. Just keeping an eye on everything going on here is all. I’ve got a responsibility for most of the people in this bar right now.”

“Oh yeah? All the guys seem to be doing okay. No one’s getting too crazy tonight it seems,” you looked around at the other workers, and most of them were two sheets to the wind but they were tame and having fun.

“Still my responsibility. Plus you’re still here.”

You grinned, “That I am. Figured I’d close the place down tonight.”

Harry laughed, “You usually do anyway. Always have been like one of the boys. Just as rowdy as the rest of us.”

You loved it when you got to talk to Harry. Loved how he looked at you and how he’d say your name. Loved how so many times you’d done just this and it felt exactly like what you wanted.

Another shot of whisky at the bar with Harry and you started to feel woozy. Your world was spinning but you were still having too much fun to call it a night.

“I should take you home,” Jessie appeared, taking you by your shoulders and pulling you away from Harry. For a short time, you’d forgotten he was still there.

“No, I think Harry’s gonna take me home.” You looked up at Harry.

“That’s right. Was just about to take her home.” Harry spoke as he stepped in closer to Jessie.

Jessie laughed and you felt his firm grip moving you away but you were too drunk to really put up any kind of fight.

“Nah, just stay here with the rest of the drunk cowboys. I got her.”

Harry followed you and Jessie out the front of the bar as Jessie opened up the passenger door of his nice car.

“You gonna be all right sweetheart?” Harry ducked down to ask you before Jessie could close the door – Harry blocking the space so he could look at you as he reached up for your face and softly turned your head to look at him.

You nodded, “It’s fine. I just need to go to bed.”

“That’s enough. She’s fine,” Jessie closed the door.

Your memory was only clear in bits and pieces as Jessie drove you home. You remembered him berating you for acting like a clown and then when he brought you to your room the memory of him kissing you and taking your hand to cup over his crotch was vivid. You remember telling him you had to go to sleep but he was angry at you. You could feel that too. You remembered his anger and how he shoved you down into your bed before he was hovered over you.

But then you remembered being on your knees in front of your toilet and expelling the contents of your stomach furiously. Jessie’s words rang in your ears about how you were gross and just as nasty as all the cowboys on the ranch. How he didn’t want to fuck you anyway when you were drunk.

You woke up on your bathroom floor and Jessie was long gone.

NOTE: This is a 15k+ Patreon-only one shot. If you'd like to read more consider signing up!

xoxo

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #firstpost #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #cowboyrry #harry styles fan fic #cowboy!harry #harry styles fanfiction #ranch hand harry #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

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cecilysobsessions · 1 year

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DESTINY (m.) | zuko

↬ fem!reader, protector!reader & protected!zuko

↬ genre: fluff / smut

↬ one bed trope, reader & zuko are adults (i am not writing no minors), fake dating for like one second, suggestive language, mild swearing, awkward cannon zuko, submissive zuko, typos but pretend you didn’t see them

↬ word count: 6k

↬ summary: you are hired as fire lord zuko’s personal bodyguard. being the stubborn man he is, he doubts that you can protect him. you’re going to prove him wrong.

↬ a/n: i was upset i couldn’t find any sub!zuko fics so i said screw it and wrote one myself.

m.list

Destiny is a funny thing. And, of course, Fire Lord Zuko knows all about it. After firmly believing for so long that his destiny was to kill the Avatar, the world threw him a curve ball and he ended up joining the Avatar’s team to defeat his own father.

So when his palace staff appoints you, an experienced assassin, as his personal bodyguard, he rolls his eyes at your stupid destiny that just so happened to intertwine with his.

When he became the Fire Lord, Azula almost immediately tried to get rid of him so that she could steal the throne by hiring you to kill him. Of course, she would have done it herself if she weren’t thrown into an asylum after their Agni Kai. However, after one of his staff overheard the conversation between you and his sister, they offered you twice as much payment as Azula did, and you couldn’t refuse the offer. Besides, what was Azula going to do? At this point she had already been taken away.

Although it seems shallow and a low blow to betray Azula because of money, you had to do what you had to do to get by. Growing up an orphan on the streets wasn’t always so good on you financially. You discovered you had a talent for stealing things for money, and even though you weren’t proud of it, it was the only way to survive. After running into some gang members who had heard about your talent, you began to work for them. Eventually you went from stealing for money to killing for it. Although it was not the life you wanted, it was the life you lived.

So how did you end up coming to the royal palace as Zuko’s personal bodyguard with questionable work experience and blood on your hands? Simply put, you were skilled. As one of the few fire benders known to use lighting, you were pretty good at it. Being able to both generate and redirect it impressed those around you, and word went around with some saying you were even better at it than Azula.

•••

“A bodyguard? I’m not a child; I don’t need protection.” Zuko rolled his eyes, his voice echoing through the large meeting room.

“Nobody said you were a child,” his advisor clarified, his voice filled with anxiety. Zuko always had a short temper.

“I can protect myself just fine. Besides, what will people think if they see the new Fire Lord with a body guard stuck to my side all the time? They’ll think I can’t handle myself.” Zuko was offended that his staff thought he needed a personal bodyguard to be near him 24/7. Sure, he was young, but he is capable. He rolled back his shoulders in an attempt to calm himself as he tried to explain his thought process. He has never been good with words, and he was already losing his patience.

“No, the people will know that you are taking your job seriously. And besides, we found an excellent fire bender that is able to both generate and redirect lighting! She’s excellent, and—”

“You already hired one without asking me first?!” Zuko cut off his advisor abruptly, his loud and stern voice rising along with the wall of fire in the room. He was already fired up and upset at the thought of having a personal guard, but the fact that his staff had already hired one without telling him first set him off.

“Please, think about this.” his advisor’s calm and collected voice soothed his rising anger a bit. “As your staff, we are dedicated to protecting you and making sure you are safe at all times. The girl is a strong and smart bender and might even be able to teach you some things. Please, give her a chance and reconsider.” his advisor lowered his head in obedience and hoped for an answer.

After a moment of silence, with the only sound being the low flames in the room, Zuko took a deep breath and spoke. “Fine, but let me test her first. If I am able to knock her down, she leaves and you’re not allowed to hire a new one.”

•••

“He wants to fight me? Zuko?” you let out a fake laugh filled with arrogance as you stared down at his advisor.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” he corrected you. “And well, yes. He is against the idea of having a personal bodyguard and the only way he will accept it is if you are able to fight him and not be knocked down.” the man explained, gesturing to the training courtyard outside the hallway window in the palace.

You followed his eyes and focused in on the former prince in the courtyard, eyeing his grown out hair. While you understood that Zuko wanted to make sure you were as good as his advisor said you were, you found it ridiculous. As far as you knew, he was constantly being bested by his younger sister. Although you weren’t as good a bender as his sister, you knew for sure you were better than him.

“Alright,” you shrugged as you began to make your way to the courtyard, his advisor following your steps. “Whatever makes him feel better. Wanna bet I can knock him down in sixty seconds?” a smirk grew on your face. You were not cocky in your ability, but confident. If you were being honest, you could probably knock him down in thirty seconds.

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not betting with you on whether or not you can knock the Fire Lord down in a minute. That’s inappropriate!” his advisor shushed you.

•••

Although you had seen the man from afar, you never realized how short Zuko was. You were almost taller than him (not that it mattered, it just made you feel superior when you were taller than men).

“Your royal majesty,” you sarcastically greeted, your deep and exaggerated bow earned you a scowl from the Fire Lord. You were unsure of why you had chosen your first words to Zuko to be sarcastic and cocky, but you knew you wanted to show that you were a capable bender and not some little girl who knew how to throw a fireball.

“Your bending better not be as horrible as your attitude,” he stared into your eyes, unamused at what you thought would be taken as a joke. “Let’s get this over with. Try and knock me down, if you can, and I’ll reconsider having you protect me.” you might have imagined it, but it seemed like Zuko didn’t believe you could beat him. You smirked, excited to prove to the royal that he was wrong and you are in fact the better bender.

“Aw, you think I can’t knock you down. That’s cute.” you winked, distancing yourself from him and taking a fighting stance, readying yourself. “Well your majesty, I’m ready when you are. Take the first move too, I’ll let you have that.”

Zuko clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Only because I want to get this over with,” he widened his feet and took a stance, his arm coming down to shoot fire at the ground, coming towards your feet.

As he shot his first move, you took a deep breath, rolling your eyes to show him what you thought of his predictable and easy to avoid move. Avoiding it simply, you punched the air, sending red flames towards him. But what he didn’t know was what you were going to do next. Distracted by your punch of fire, you quickly generated lighting through your fingertips, taking a deep breath before you aggressively pointed your hand towards where he was standing, making sure to miss him on purpose. As quickly as you sent the first shot of fire, Zuko saw a large lighting strike heading his way. Too slow to react and try to redirect it, your strike burned the spot on the ground next to him, the blackened spot on the ground inches from where he stood.

“How,” he started in disbelief. “How did you generate lighting so fast?” his eyes widened as he looked at you. Still in shock from how quickly you created lighting and nearly killed him, you moved quickly, running towards him and jumping in the air and sending multiple strikes of fire at him through your hands. Still focused on how you created lighting through your fingertips with such speed, he held his arms up to block you. His attempt was sloppy and weak, and you knocked him down to the ground and stood over him.

Zuko grunted, sitting up quickly and looking through the bright rays of sun blocking his view of you. “No way,” his hand came up to shield his eyes from the sun rays.

“How long did that take me? Definitely less than a minute, right, Mr. Advisor?” you hollered over at the staff who was standing off to the side. You crossed your arms and stared down at the royal man below you.

“You lasted less than a minute in this fight and I barely tried. Hopefully you’re not like that in the bedroom, Fire Lord Zuko.” you smiled down at him crookedly, a laugh escaping your lips as you started to walk off. “I’ll see you when I officially begin tomorrow, sir.” you bowed once again exaggeratedly. You couldn’t help but beam, you already knew you were going to win, but you didn’t expect to feel this good. Zuko was a handsome and talented fire bender, so something about beating him at something he is good at made you smile.

•••

It has been three years since you began to work for Zuko and he has learned three things in those three years.

One. You never refer to him using his title as you should be doing because you apparently hate all “royal blooded bitches” as you say. But if Zuko was being honest with himself, he was pretty sure it was just because you simply didn’t want to. The staff around you always shot you looks when you yelled out his first name to grab his attention, but you never cared. He admired that about you. You didn’t care what other people thought of you, something Zuko himself always struggled with.

Two. You were an absolute thug. What did he expect? You’re an orphan with a criminal background and a couple bodies on your list of people you’ve killed. Past Zuko would’ve thought you were some low life peasant, but that’s not what he thought of you at all. With a questionable past himself, he knew not to judge you for your past actions and choices. After all, some of his own past choices were questionable.

Three. You wear your heart on your sleeve and have a massive crush on him. So naturally, you make it known. As someone who doesn’t have a lot of relationship experience, or experience with women in general, Zuko never knew how to respond to anything you ever said to him that was even the tiniest bit flirtatious. After the breakup with his ex Mai, he had told himself to focus on his people and to stay out of relationships. When you first made it known to him that you fancied him, he thought you were joking.

“So, Zuko,” you had begun while escorting him to a meeting. “People are asking if you’re courting anyone. You’ll need a Queen soon.”

“I’m not interested in that right now,” he sternly told you. “And besides, nobody’s interested in me at the moment.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I am.”

Zuko shook his head, pushing away the past conversation that confused him because did you actually like him and were you just casually confessing your feelings out of nowhere? Or did you only say all that because you pitied him?

She flirts with every guy here, he told himself (not true, but telling himself that helped convince him that you did not in fact like him even though you did and expressed that on multiple occasions). There was just no way you could ever like someone like him. He was easily upset, always busy with his royal duties, and only had one eyebrow. Literally. The scar his father gave him convinced him that he wasn’t handsome or in any way attractive. Who would ever want to love someone with a scarred face?

“Zuko,” you barged into his quarters, shutting the door behind you as you interrupted his inner thoughts. “Are you ready?” you stood there, feet firmly planted on the ground like you didn’t intend on going anywhere.

“Do you not know how to knock?” he stood and looked at you, gesturing to his small luggage sitting on his bed. “I’m ready.”

The two of you were going on a secret mission (actually it was just him and technically you were just coming along to protect him) to spy on an unknown enemy of Zuko’s, most likely someone who did not want him on the throne. He had wanted to do it himself, saying that he needed to get a good look at the person who wanted to dethrone him.

“Just because I’m your bodyguard, that doesn’t mean I’m also your servant,” you eyed his belongings. “Carry your own shit.”

•••

You and Zuko quietly arrived near the location in a close forest of the unknown person who was apparently planning to rebel and dethrone Zuko. Tightening your hood, you created a small flame in your hand and searched around for any sign of danger. It was midnight and the two of you were planning to camp here for the night before resuming the mission in the morning to search for the unknown person.

“Stay close to me,” you instructed in a whisper.

“I know that.”

“Then come closer to me, idiot.” you aggressively grabbed onto his sleeve, yanking him closer to you as you quietly stepped around the area of trees.

“Ow, can you please be gentle?!” he complained, attempting to pull away from your gorilla grip but failing.

“Zuko, shut the fuck up.” you warned.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“One more word and I’ll burn the shit out of you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh yeah? Then—” in the middle of your banter with the Fire Lord, you saw a flame heading towards the two of you. Reacting quickly, you pushed Zuko behind your back and pushed away the flame with your hands before throwing a punch and firebending towards the threat.

“Who’s there? One step and I’ll burn you,” you threatened, eyes frantically searching the dark for a sign of life.

You felt Zuko behind you, chest pressed up against your back and heart rapidly beating against your body. He was nervous and scared and if you didn’t feel his panicked heartbeat, you wouldn’t know. You had to get out of there.

“Relax little girl, I only want what’s in that satchel.” you heard a gruff voice that came from a few feet in front of you. Zuko gripped the satchel around his body, debating if he wanted to just give it up to the intruder or help you fight him.

“You want it? Come and get it,” Zuko taunted, standing in front of you and kicking a flame towards the mysterious man.

“Zuko!” you warned. “Get behind me!”

“You might be my bodyguard, but I don’t always need your protection.” He spoke with determination in his voice as he stood firmly, his hands in the air and ready to firebend at any second.

“Your bodyguard is a woman?” the mysterious man cackled, jumping out of the dark and attacking Zuko with fire.

“Yeah, and what about it?” he shot back, easily defending himself against the wannabe thief. You stepped back, wanting to see how Zuko would protect himself. They began to fight close up, engaging in hand to hand combat, which you knew Zuko was good at. You had seen him at times training and were impressed. He easily overpowers the man, knocking him out with a swift kick and turns back to you, the unconscious man laying on the ground.

“If that were me, I would’ve beat you.” you commented.

“I know,” he responded, searching the man for any weapons. After patting him down, he takes a knife from the man’s pockets.

“That was hot,” you said, winking at him in the dark and hoping he’d see it. You grabbed the knife from him and started walking.

Apparently he didn’t see the wink. Wonder why. “Well yeah, fire is hot.” Zuko responded.

You did a mental facepalm. “I know fire is hot, you dumbass. I was talking about you being able to defend yourself. That was hot.” you repeated. How many times would you have to hit on this guy for him to understand you liked him?

“Oh…” he trailed off, unable to form his confusion into words. Why would you find that hot?

You sensed he didn’t know what to say, so you spoke first. “Let’s go to a nearby village and hope that we can find a place to stay there. It’s too dangerous to be out in the woods.

•••

Luckily the two of you wandered into a village not too far from the forest, and were able to find an elderly couple kind enough to house the two of you for the night.

“It’s so late, a young couple like the two of you shouldn’t be out and about at this hour.” the woman lectured after seeing the two of you walking down the street and hurrying you in her home.

Zuko wanted to correct the woman. “We’re not a cou—”

“Thank you for your kind hospitality. We really appreciate it. We were a little lost on our way and are traveling.” you cut him off abruptly and offered a kind smile to the lady. You grabbed his arm, squeezing it aggressively as a warning to shut up.

After showing you to their guest room, Zuko lit the only candle in the room, the low lighting barely bouncing off his porcelain skin.

“Why did you let her think that we’re a couple?” Zuko questioned, shutting the door behind him.

“Are you stupid? It’ll be suspicious if we tell her we’re just two people traveling together. It’s easier to just pretend we’re a couple so no one questions us.” you explained, but secretly you were happy the lady called you guys a couple.

You set your bag down by the door, taking in the small bedroom. There was an open window across from the door, the bright moonlight shining into the room. Other than a dresser and a chair, a small mat that was big enough to fit two people laid in the center of the room. Eyeing the singular mattress, the silence turned into an awkward moment of hesitation between the two of you. While Zuko probably felt awkward, you were happy. The thought of snuggling up to him claiming you’re cold as an excuse to be close to him crossed your mind. You were secretly excited.

“So I guess we have no choice but to sleep next to each other,” you started, trying to hide how happy you were feeling.

“What? I’m not going to sleep next to you!” he complained.

“Then where are you sleeping?” you questioned, gesturing to the singular mat. “There’s only one.”

“I’m sleeping on that mat. You can sleep on the chair.” he motioned to the uncomfortable looking chair in the corner.

“What?” there was no way you were going to let him take the mat for himself. “But I’m the woman! You should let me have it.”

He was already pulling out his sleeping bag. “You’re my bodyguard, so sleep on the chair and protect me. A man needs his beauty sleep.”

“Beauty sleep my ass,” you were beginning to grow tired and cranky and laid on the mat next to him. “It’ll be easier to protect you if I’m physically closer to you, don’t you think?”

Zuko’s eyes widened, his eyebrow furrowing in annoyance. “Whatever. Just don’t touch me.” he sighed in defeat, turning his back against you and pulling his blanket up and laying on his side his scar is on.

Your eyes trace the lines of his back muscles that are showing through his thinly made shirt. His shoulders are broad, hair covering his nape. Combing his hair behind him, you get a whiff of his shampoo. You can’t help but stare, even though he isn’t facing you. And suddenly you feel nervous. Too nervous to say anything, too nervous to do anything, too nervous to even breathe. The room is filled with silence, the only faint noise being the single candle in the corner of the room burning. What if you’re breathing too loudly? What if he can hear it? What if he thinks you’re a loud breather?

“No weird pickup line?” Zuko’s voice suddenly breaks the silence and your inner thoughts, his voice soft and low in a careful attempt to not wake the elderly couple.

Has his voice always been laced with such sultry and sexiness? Why was he suddenly making conversation? You thought he wanted to sleep, so why is he asking why you’re not flirting with him? Does he know you’re nervous?

“I thought you wanted to sleep,” a lame excuse, but some part of it was true.

Zuko’s body shifts and he turns on to his other side to face you, laying on his arm as his golden eyes search for yours in the dark. When he finally looks at you, you unintentionally hold your breath. The way he is looking at you makes you nervous. His eyes are staring into yours as if he’s all yours and you’re all his. As if you two are lovers and are sharing an intimate moment of eye contact before a kiss.

“The mattress is a little uncomfortable.” he whispers, his voice small and soft.

Was he already laying this close to you?

A beat of silence passes between the two of you, and his eyes refuse to break contact with yours. “What a spoiled royal,” was the only thing you said, you were feeling a little awkward and unsure of what to say. Normally you felt confident flirting with him, but something about tonight made it feel different.

“Of course you’d say that,” he lets out a small chuckle at your comment, his eyes moving down your body as if he is checking you out.

“You smell nice.” you say after a beat. You don’t know what came over you. Only that you thought it and wanted to say it.

“You’ve always been so straightforward,” he says and you’re not sure if he means that as an insult or compliment. “I admire that about you.”

Zuko admires you? You always thought he didn’t think much of you, but maybe you just thought that way because he never actually voiced his opinion of you.

“These last three years have been different,” he continued. “Good different. Ever since I took the throne I’ve been busy with my duties and haven’t had much time to relax. But spending time with you and getting to know you has been really… great.” Zuko has always been a little awkward, understandable since he often does not speak about his feelings.

“That’s it?” you laugh at his awkwardness. “Just great?”

“I think you’re amazing. Getting to know you has been so fun for me. And I’m starting to feel really comfortable around you. You make me feel safe.”

You make Zuko feel safe? Your heart swells at that compliment. “Well, I would hope so. I’m supposed to keep you safe, too.” you joke, and his eyes light up as he smiles. Or maybe it’s just the candle.

“I’m sorry I doubted your ability to protect me. You are a talented bender and an amazing bodyguard. But I want you to know, I will always be there to protect you, too.” he whispers, voice sweet like honey as he leans closer to you, his eyes moving down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your eyes again.

Zuko is even closer to you now, his face lit up by the moonlight. His tongue peeks out and he licks his bottom lip for a second, wandering eyes flickering down to your lips once again.

“You look beautiful in this light,” you comment, your eyes scanning his features.

“Are you saying I don’t look beautiful in any other light?” he asks, a teasing smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah, you only look this good when it’s almost completely dark and the only source of light is the moon.” he laughs at your response, a low chuckle escaping his lips.

“Can you see my scar?” he asks, insecurity in his voice.

“Yes, and it looks good. Scars build character.” As someone who’s received scars from living out on the streets and constantly getting into fights to rob people, you have a couple scars yourself. Although they may be an imperfection on the skin, all your scars tell a story and are unique to you.

Zuko wonders if you knew that he was feeling insecure about it. He has always been insecure about it since it’s a reminder of what his father did to him, and it’s never helped that he hears people always whispering about it in the palace.

“Do you have any scars?” he asks, unsure if the question is crossing a boundary.

“A couple.”

“Can I… Can I see them?” he anxiously asks you, his voice softer and more submissive. He is afraid you’re going to say no and afraid if you do that it will be awkward.

“Do you just want to see me naked, Zuko? You could’ve just asked.” you tease.

His eyes practically jump out of their sockets. His face flushes and his embarrassment travels down to his neck, red and and feeling even more awkward and nervous than before.

“W-What? That’s not what I meant! I was just—I didn’t mean for it to come off like that! I was only asking that because I’m insecure about my scar and—” Zuko keeps speaking, faster than before and more panicked. You chuckle, amused by how he tries to back himself up. He continues to rant and stutter a bit before you hold up your hand to shush him.

“You know, Zuko, for someone who doesn’t say much, you’re saying an awful lot right now. And you’re not even saying much. You're just rambling on and on.” you lecture, raising an eyebrow to prove your point.

“I’m just a little nervous,” he confesses.

“Why’s that?”

“Because. I can't tell if you’re joking with me when you say the stuff you say.”

“What do I say?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t. What kind of stuff do I say to you?”

He sighs in frustration. He doesn’t want to say it. “Like, like when you called me hot… earlier.”

“You thought I was talking about the fire.”

“Yes, and then you said that you weren’t.” he says all confused; all you’re doing is trying to get him to stop beating around the bush and be straightforward, but it’s too nerve wracking for him.

“Because I wasn’t.”

“Right,”

“Right.” you agree.

“So, then you said—you said you were talking about me.”

“I did say that.”

“Yeah…” he trails off, unable to form a sentence.

“What’s your point? What are you trying to get at?” you’re teasing him. You know exactly what he wants to ask. You know he wants to ask if you have feelings for him, but he’s too afraid you’ll say no and he’s afraid to make it awkward.

Cute.

“I guess what I’m trying to ask is… if you, maybe, perhaps, possibly…”

“Like you?” you finish his question for him. Because if you don’t, he’ll take all night.

He stops himself from saying anything, face full of uncertainty and confusion. He stares at you, waiting—hoping that you will speak first. You have always led the conversations between the two of you, so now that he has to do it, he is lost and looking for help.

“What do you think?” you ask, turning the question on to him. You want to see what he will say.

“I…” Zuko trails off once more. “I would hope so.” His voice is hushed, low and subtle. If you weren’t listening so closely and weren’t so close to him physically, you wouldn’t have heard him. Through his whispering, he sounds hopeful, almost as if he is asking—begging you to feel something for him.

“You would hope so?” you repeat and he nods in response. “And why is that?”

“Because… I think I would feel upset if you didn’t like me.” he confesses, taking a deep breath. He looks as if he is trying to control his breathing. Is he nervous? Turned on? Or does he just have trouble breathing?

You smirk. “Why would you feel upset, Zuko?”

A faint pout forms on his pretty lips. His eyes droop and he looks like he is about to complain. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

You nod.

“I would feel upset because I like you. I like you more than just my bodyguard. I like you more than just a friend. I like you more than just a talented bender who can take my life with a single lightning bolt. I like you more than you can even imagine.” Zuko finally confesses, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“You like me? More than you like your honor?” you joke; you don’t want him feeling so tense around you.

“Yes. A lot more.”

“Good,” is your only response before you lean in. His lips are warm and soft and inviting. You feel your loud heartbeat through your ears and it feels as if the entire world has paused just for the two of you to kiss.

To him, your kiss is intoxicating yet sweet. Addicting, so addicting he wants more. Zuko has never felt aroused by a simple kiss until now. He tilts his head, hopeful to kiss more of you. He feels himself losing control, his thoughts are wandering yet he is still staying put, his hands to himself because even though he wants more, he doesn’t want to make the first move. You have always led the conversations, so he is hoping you will lead this kiss too. Trying to control his breathing through his nose, he can’t help but moan quietly into your mouth, heat reaching his cheeks in embarrassment. He feels you smirk against his lips, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Your soft fingertips cup his cheek, gently caressing his scarred skin with a tender love he has never felt before.

His hands hesitantly make their way to your waist, gently wrapping around your middle as he pulls you in closer to him. Zuko presses himself against you, desperate to feel more than just your lips against him. You feel his heart beating hard against your chest, the right grip on your waist firm. He quietly moans against you, slight whimpers being held back as he pushes himself into you, desperate for more. Desperate for something, anything.

“Ah,” he quietly whimpers, his hand grabbing at yours and holding it to his chest. You flex your hand slightly, taking the opportunity to feel his pecs. Someone has been working out. “Please,” he begins. He sounds so desperate; you’ve never heard him like this before, but you like it. “More, I want more. Please, do something.”

Zuko wraps his legs around yours, pushing his hips forward to meet yours, his body desperate for more affection and more friction. He is starting to slip, becoming more and more desperate each passing second. You can feel him through the thin material of his pants, dick hard and pressed up against your body. You take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. Looking into Zuko’s eyes, you can see everything he is feeling in them. Aroused, in love, submissive, and breedable desperate.

“Would you like to see my scars?” you ask, earning a gentle smile from him.

“Only if you would like me to see.”

“I don’t mind.” you smile back, pulling away from him and lifting the blanket. Eyeing the wet spot on his crotch, Zuko quickly pulls part of the blanket onto his lap, embarrassed that you noticed.

“Sorry,” he says shyly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you grin, sitting up and lifting part of your shirt to expose your lower stomach. “See this?” you ask. Zuko sits up with you and leans in slightly to look at your lower stomach. He can’t tell if you have been stabbed or sliced, but whatever happened, the scar looks deep and painful. “Got it in an assisination mission.”

“It must’ve hurt,” he whispers, his fingertips reaching out towards it. He looks up at you, eyes asking for permission to touch your scar. When you nod, his fingers gently ghost over the imperfection, feeling it slowly.

“Well I killed him, so he was probably in more pain than I was.” you laugh, remembering the man you killed.

“Do you have any more?” His eyes are full of curiosity, eager to learn more about your past and about your body.

“I have one on my thigh,” you tell him.

Zuko eyes your pajama pants. “You don’t have to show me. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh, so you don’t want me to take off my pants?” you joke. “I see how it is…”

“No! Of course I would like to see. Please?” he smiles shyly, hoping you’ll say yes.

“Hmm, I don’t know… you don’t seem very desperate to see…”

Zuko shakes his head in defeat, giving into you as he leans in. He kisses your cheek sweetly, his lips slowly moving down towards your neck. “Please,” he whispers. He leaves slow and sweet kisses, his hand coming up to your thigh to caress it. His large hand glides upwards on your thigh, nearing where you want it the most. “Please, show me…” his hand stops, gripping your thigh.

“Since you wanna see that bad, I suppose I could show you.” you begin to unlace your pants.

“You just wanted to see me beg,”

“Well, yes. And it was nice. I quite enjoyed it.” you laugh, kicking off your pants so you’re wearing nothing but your underwear and your top. Zuko looks, stares, admires your beauty. He looks down at the scar, smaller than the one on your stomach, but it still looks painful.

“I got stabbed. Another assassination.”

“Did you end up killing them?”

“Yeah, so no biggie.”

Zuko is quiet, unsure of what he should do. Should he let you talk about it, or should he ask about it? You’re quiet and he doesn’t know if that’s because you want something else, or if you don’t want to talk about it. Unsure, he leans down, his lips leaving a gentle kiss on your scar. At the same time, he eyes your underwear, a wet spot forming where he wants to kiss the most. He looks up, feeling himself grow hard again.

“Even with your scars, you are still beautiful.” he whispers, leaning up to leave a kiss on your lips.

“I know that, Zuko. I never said I didn’t feel beautiful because of my scars.”

“Oh,” he feels so stupid. Why did he assume you felt ugly with all your scars? You were not like him. “Sorry.”

“If you’re so sorry, make it up to me.” you smirk and lift your shirt up, exposing your breasts to him.

His eyes begin to wander, trying to memorize the curve of your breasts and where your scar is on your stomach. Leaning down, he buries his face into your chest. He leaves a gentle kiss on one of your nipples, his hand coming up to massage the other. His entire hand wraps around your breast, squeezing and kneading as he opens his mouth around your nipple, sucking on the skin. He leaves wet kisses as his lips move down on your body, stopping to kiss your stomach scar. Laying you back down, he starts kissing your lower stomach as his fingertips tease the band of your underwear. Your hips jerk up, signaling to him that he needs to do something. Gently pulling your underwear down and off, he crawls between your legs, eager to please you.

You spread your legs, exposing your wetness to his lips. He leans in, tongue carefully licking at you. You let a breath out, tugging on his locks to where you need him the most. He moans, almost more excited than you are and sucks on your clit. When you pull his hair, desperate for him to be tougher, he moans again, his hips grinding against the mattress in an attempt to relieve himself. Zuko pulls away for a second, sitting up in front of you. He pulls at his pants, impatiently yanking them down as he frees himself. His cock springs upwards, and he moans in relief.

“Can I touch myself?” he begs, his voice a whimper as he leans back down, face in between your legs again.

You nod and he leans back into you again, his tongue working at your clit again and sucking on it. One of his hands grips your thigh, slowly making its way to your entrance. His other hand strokes himself, his hips bucking into his own hand as his other hand begins to tease your entrance. You’re practically dripping, hips bucking up into his face as he pushes himself into you. Zuko’s fingers rub at your entrance, a mix of his saliva and your arousal allowing him to push a finger into you. He moans into you, his finger curving as he strokes himself faster. His hips desperately fuck into his hand as his lips desperately suck on to your clit. He moans, excited to please you as he also pleases himself. Feeling him moan and whimper against you and seeing him so desperate for his release he touches himself has you gripping his roots and pulling him into you. Your grip on him is strong and hurts, but arouses him more and his moans begin to grow louder.

“Ngh, fuck,” he pants, his hand stroking his dick. “You taste so good.”

“You’re too loud, Zuko,” it’s late at night and the elderly couple housing the two of you might hear and that would be absolutely mortifying.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” he moans again, pulling away to bite down on his lip. His hair has been messed up and there is a blush on his cheeks, his lips wet with your arousal and his saliva.

He leans down again, inserting a second finger and curling them, making you let out a loud moan. You cover your mouth with your other hand as the other one continues to grip his hair. He licks at you in desperation, eager and determined to make you orgasm. His long and thick fingers move in and out of you as he continues sucking at your clit, licking and tasting it as you move your hips towards him faster.

“Ahh,” he whimpers again, moaning against you as you desperately buck your hips upwards, the vibrations of his moans and the sweet sound of his whimpers sending you over the edge. Your legs wrap around his neck and he continues to finger you, his own hips moving faster as he fucks himself. The moans you let out make him move faster, desperate to hear you as he pleasures himself. He shakes, thrusts staggered as he finishes off of your moans and your own orgasm. The only sounds in the room are your heavy breaths and Zuko’s kisses he leaves on your thigh and stomach again, making sure to kiss your scars as well.

“So…” he begins. “Do you like me? Or….”

“What?” you ask, out of breath.

“Well, you never said if you do or not.” he questions, sitting up and reaching for his bag to look for something to clean you up.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It’s not.”

“You’re so clueless,” you smack his head playfully. “Yes, I do. I wasn’t lying the previous times I hinted at it.”

“Good,” he breathes a sigh of relief before kissing you again.

•••

“I told you that you were too loud!” you nag Zuko, angrily shoving his shoulder as the two of of you walk down the road in the middle of the night after being kicked out of the elderly couple’s house.

“Me? You were the one who wouldn’t shut the fuck up!” he rubs his shoulder in an attempt to soothe it. You were much stronger than you looked.

“No stupid, that was you! You were louder than me and got us kicked out! See what you did!” you yelled.

“Oh, shut up! You liked it!” Zuko fires back, rolling his eyes.

••• a/n: bye i didn’t even mean to write smut it j happened 💀

m.list

3K notes · View notes

hp-hcs · 6 months

Note

HEYY I SAW U WANYED SOME THEODORE REQUESTS SO I WAS WONDERING IF YOUD WRITE SOME ANGSY W FLUFF AT THE END?

promise — theodore nott x gn!reader

Requests open

‼️ TWs: references to past domestic abuse & violence: emotional, financial, and physical ‼️

U.S. National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233

Text line: Text START to 88788

YOU DESERVE SAFETY. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Theodore Nott had his suspicions.

You’d never told him about any of your past relationships, but some of the odd things you did helped him draw his own conclusions.

Like that one random Tuesday night, when you were making dinner together in the kitchen, just chatting and laughing like usual. Theo had finished washing the dishes and shook his hands dry while reaching for the hand towel hanging from the oven handle, when you violently flinched back.

He froze, looking at you with wide eyes. You’d just laughed and patted his shoulder, apologizing for startling him.

Or that one time Theo had been trying to organize some bank statements, and had innocuously asked you if you’d bought something from a certain store when he couldn’t remember having made the purchase himself. You immediately froze up at the question, staring with a deer-in-headlights expression. You had timidly apologized, looking meek and like you were playing dead, to protect yourself, Theo had realized.

Or that time when you were going to a group get-together at a friend’s house and assured him there’d be no other men there.

Or when you couldn’t find your house key before work and panicked.

“I’m working from home today anyways,” Theo had reassured confusedly. “I can just let you in when you get back. I’ll be here all day.”

“You won’t lock me out?” You had asked, genuinely bewildered.

Theo hadn’t known how to respond to that.

But when you had accidentally been decked in the mosh pit at a punk show and rushed home in hysterics, Theo opening the door at your frantic knocking and finding you in the middle of a panic attack, he knew he needed to find out the truth. While trying to calm you down from the attack, you accidentally called Theo the wrong name, pleading with him to not hurt you further.

Theodore’s lips thinned and the blood drained from his face as his suspicions were only solidified. “I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N. Did somebody use to hurt you?”

You had nodded shakily, still beside yourself with anxiety. Theodore skimmed his thumb across the knuckles of your hand, shushing you gently.

“It’s alright, darling. What’s the bastard’s name?”

You mumbled it quietly, your sobs slowing to just shuddering breaths. Theodore had nodded in response, making a mental note to kill the motherfucker at his earliest convenience.

He helped you up from your spot, collapsed on the floor in the entryway of your home, and led you over to the couch, where he hastily tucked a fluffy blanket around you and all but sprinted to the kitchen to make tea. He came back with a warm mug and an ice pack for you, sitting down on the couch near you—but not next to you, so that you wouldn’t feel trapped or boxed in.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your tea before tugging him over to your spot, untucking part of the blanket so he could climb under it. Theodore wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and sighing comfortably. He kissed the top of your head and whispered in your ear,

“I swear I’ll never lay a hand on you, darling. I promise.”

#harry potter #hp #fuck jkr #hp x male reader #x male reader #gay #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x male reader #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #x reader #this one was pretty heavy to write ngl #hit a little too close to home #x gn reader #hp x gn reader #gn reader

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ultra-violet-heart · 5 months

Text

Fanfare for Frieren (a fan translation)

This is the English fan translation of Fanfare for Frieren (奏送), the accompanying short novella for the opening theme of the Frieren anime, Yuusha by Yoasobi, written by Jirou Kiso with the supervision of manga writer Kanehito Yamada. The images here are from its print/digital version, which has been a bonus from the special edition of Frieren: Beyond Journey's End Volume 12.

Disclaimer: This translation is made by me for fandom purposes only. This unofficial translation is not affiliated with the official Frieren franchise or with Yoasobi. All rights reserved for Frieren: Beyond Journey's End to its respective committees, committee members, staff and rights holders.

Please ask my permission and credit me+this post if you will be re-translating this to other languages. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THIS OR ITS IMAGES TO OTHER SITES. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE ESPECIALLY ON YOUTUBE AND TIKTOK. Please take the fan translations here with a grain of salt.

I'm posting my Ko-Fi here as currently, I've been having financial trouble regarding my medicine, so if anyone can donate, I would be much grateful for the help, thank you very much.

Five years after the death of Himmel the Hero.

Central Lands, the Capelle [1] Region.

A small city, commonly referred to as “Music City”, was located not far off west of the Royal Capital.

Many renowned musicians, who had established the foundation of court music, went there to study, and they each created orchestras there which continue up to this day. Day and night, orchestral and operatic performances kept theatres crowded, and these performances were well-known in the Central Lands.

The hymns that could be heard from the church also evoked such amicable ties between culture and religion. The singing voices and the performance, both tranquil and powerful, were pleasing to the ears.

There’s unexpected magic in places like this, huh, Frieren thought while walking through the streets with light steps.

She couldn’t visit this place during her journey to defeat the Demon King, but she thought it would have been nice to have taken a detour on the beginning. The journey started from the Royal Capital to the east, she recalled with a little regret.

To that extent, the city was much of a beautiful and isolated place.

The cobblestone pavements reminded one of a flowing music score, while the radial houses reminded one of a well-organized orchestra. The entire city had this atmosphere of welcoming people, so that there was music there for people to listen to.

There might be a wealth of music-related magic in this place. She wasn’t particularly knowledgeable when it comes to music, but folk magic rooted in a distinctive culture was worth collecting for that reason alone.

Following the signboards that were shaped like sheet music and musical instruments, Frieren continued walking.

Just near were an opera house and a museum adjacent to it, and the sound of some rhythm coming from somewhere.

Various sounds overlapped the whole city, however, strangely enough, there was no cacophony at all.

Suddenly, among those sounds, one of the most awkward sounds caught her ear. The timbre sounded like it was carefully walking on ice.

Apparently, a small marching band was passing by in front of the church located in the city’s center. The boys and the girls were preparing for their practice that day, carrying brass instruments too big for their stature and with more percussion instruments than their hands could handle.

A boy wearing a red feathered military hat―or rather, was made to wear one―had this desperate expression as he continued blowing his horn, unconcerned about his reddening face.

Even though from a very young age, all this city’s people had been living together with music.

The sound the boy made while carefully holding the horn, which was said to be the most difficult instrument in the world for humans to play, was not the clearest at all.

However, sometime in the future, that sound will reverberate gallantly and kindly.

Frieren felt it was a timbre suitable for the city.

Frieren continued to walk, as if the small orchestra was pushing her back.

The rustling of leaves, the gurgling water of the fountain, the happy hubbub from the cafeteria. All the sounds of nature and the noise of daily lives here and there gave the impression they were all pleasantly tuned.

It might be said she could stay in here for years while exploring the city thoroughly.

In one corner of the city, there stood an old-looking music store. Its appearance, reflecting its long age, made it stand out.

For some reason, she entered the store. It was a place she wouldn’t normally stop by, but her feet were strangely drawn into it.

Beyond the store’s creaking door, however, a strikingly different but still atmosphere hung about.

Beautifully polished wind instruments. Stringed instruments without a speck of dust. They were placed on a cramped space, lined like capillary vessels. The store’s appearance made it feel like one could hear the breathing of the old craftsman running the store alone.

As she searched for a narrow foothold and was about to head deeper,

“You.” A voice said. Frieren felt it was a matured voice that carefully aged over many years.

An old man, whose white hair was tied up clumsily, peeked out from the back of the store. His sleeves were still rolled up, as if he was still tending to his instruments a short while ago. She caught a glimpse of the old man’s muscles, which were well-toned for his age.

“You… seemed to have lived a life unconnected to musical instruments.”

Adjusting the monocle on his eye, the old man fixed his gaze on Frieren.

“How can you tell?”

“Because you are a face I have not seen before. Those who love music and those who are loved by music will have visited this place sooner or later.”

The old man asserted his words with such sincere belief.

“Those who love music will immediately be obsessed with the instruments here. Those who are loved by music are people my eyes immediately recognize. So, yes, I can tell. Will you let me see your face?”

And then he beckoned her to come closer.

“My, my, I am surprised. It seems like you are the latter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your ears, the corner of your eyes, your features. You appear to be an elf.”

“I am an elf, but…”

Frieren didn’t immediately catch the drift of the conversation.

“I have something I want people like you to have.”

After saying, “Wait for me,” the old man turned on his heel and took out a small wooden box from the back of the store and opened it. Inside was a palm-sized ocarina-like musical instrument.

The instrument’s intricate design was obvious even to the untrained eye.

“This is the Möglich. [2]”

“Möglich?”

“Its other name is ‘the Impossible’ [2]. It’s an instrument said to take a hundred years to master.”

“I once heard the horn is said to be the most difficult instrument in the world for humans to play.”

Frieren replied, recalling the boy from the marching band earlier. She remembered him struggling to play.

“That is a topic for ordinary humans. This instrument, however, was originally made by elves. You seem to be unaware of this.”

“That’s right. I didn’t know. Though it’s not strange if some elf did invent something like that.”

Frieren knew some of her own kind who spent so many years just killing time. [3]

“My great-grandfather inherited the Möglich, and he analyzed its structure. Apparently, it is impossible to produce a sound with this instrument unless they continue infusing in a small amount of mana while maintaining a perfect equilibrium. It would take more than ten years to produce a proper sound on this instrument. Fifty years is not even enough for an experienced mage to play one tune with it.”

“Really?” Frieren replied vaguely, not making it clear whether she was interested or not.

“I heard after one hundred years of diligently studying it, the sound one can play from this instrument is unparalleled.”

In fact, the old shopkeeper spent his life trying to master it. However, it was impossible for him to master the instrument as he did not possess any magical power. He could not even make it produce a sound.

“There is yet no one who has mastered it, much less know how to play it, so this instrument is still for sale, waiting for a buyer.”

The instrument had this eye-popping price tag. It was an amount that could already buy a house, and there was no way Frieren could afford it, not with the travelling-expenses-money she had on hand.

Of course, Frieren had no intention to buy it.

Certainly, it was rather interesting a fellow elf spent part of their long life in the form of developing this musical instrument. What kind of elf are they? Why did they give it to humans?

Most likely, she felt that this might be no more than a prank. It was an instrument that made sounds that could not be produced within the very short, fleeting lives of humans, after all.

“I am here because I want to hear the Möglich’s melodies one day. I have long sought for that timbre no words can describe. For so many years, this whole time. I eagerly awaited any who loved music or is loved by music to come here and finally fulfill my wish. It might be an impossible dream now, but I feel the guidance of the Goddess is at work that I am able to meet you, an elf.”

“I’m sorry, but…”

“I have no need for your money.”

“I can’t pay, then.”

“I want an elf like you to have it.” The old shopkeeper said with a strong tone.

His eyes held no arrogance on them, as if he was pushing his impossible dream onto someone else, but instead were filled with unadulterated hope.

“………”

After some hesitation, Frieren replied.

“If there’s no other buyers, I’ll think about it. This should be bought by someone who should own it though.”

“I see… Come back. I am sure you will.”

“I’ll be back. I plan on staying here for a while.”

The old man, as if to remind himself, called out to Frieren as she was about to leave.

“What is your name?”

“Frieren.”

“What a fine name. A name loved by music.”

The dusk was casting its shadow over the city by the time she left the music store.

Frieren felt how the city’s tune changed between day and night.

Unlike the bustling daytime and the soundless midnight, the comforting evening was like a soft breeze caressing her cheeks.

Let’s have dinner, Frieren thought.

During the time she traveled with Himmel and their party, Himmel always decided where they would eat. He had this exceptional ability to find out any restaurant that had what Frieren and the others wanted without them telling him what they were in the mood to eat.

How did you know? She once asked him at the dinner table.

“You all have this way of showing what you’re thinking on your faces.”

Himmel smiled as he said this.

“Heiter’s face now has the color of a ditch.”

Eisen took a glance at the drunkard next to him.

“What?!”

Heiter looked back at Frieren, his face looking like an undead. He was so dead drunk he couldn’t tell the difference between Eisen and Frieren.

“You reek of booze.”

Frieren kicked him while Himmel laughed.

“Frieren, you see, I enjoy nothing more than having a meal with the four of us like this. I choose the food every one of us like as I want to make sure we all have a good time.”

She recalled wondering even then if it was the answer to her question.

She then looked at the restaurant now in front of her and thought it had the same appearance and atmosphere as the one from that time.

This restaurant, called Parlante [3], was such a calm place it was like it was not her first time entering it.

“What did Himmel like?”

Thinking back, Himmel always ordered his food last. It was often a different dish from theirs, or he would choose a dish that was easy to share between the four of them.

After that, he would portion out his food little by little, share that, and say, “Isn’t it more fun to have a variety of dishes at once?”

They had eaten around the table in as many places as she could remember. They partook of seafood when they were in coastal towns, they ate wild greens and hunted game in campgrounds, and they particularly were fond of each region’s local specialties.

“The food that can only be eaten in the place you’re in becomes a shared memory with the people you went in with. Even if you forget, you’ll remember again when you go there and eat the local food. That’s how I want to travel.”

Frieren remembered them talking about this one day, so she then called the waiter.

“Is there any dish you can only eat at this restaurant?”

Would Himmel be surprised to find out she had started thinking like that? Or would he laugh and say, “It’s written on your face,” as if he had already predicted this would happen?

The waiter flipped carefully through the menu pages.

“Our specialty is the l'oeuf omelette [4], made of ten chicken eggs. This dish has four servings, so shall I bring you a quarter of that?”

“No, I’ll order it as it is. If I can’t finish it all, I’ll have the rest on take-out.”

This dish, which was loved by well-known musicians, was bigger than expected and took up a large space on the table.

The evening for one person went on, her recalling that lively dinner table she once shared with others.

It has been a month since she stayed, but she had been so distracted by the magic tool shops and the cityscapes, she wasn’t able to fully explore the small city.

Every time she passed the music store, however, the old shopkeeper would enthusiastically call Frieren’s name.

It had become routine for both of them to exchange small greetings.

It wasn’t particularly a trouble to Frieren, but somehow, she felt like going somewhere a bit different for today.

Not far off the city center, there was a street lined with monuments of musicians. Some were well-known, but others were unknown to Frieren.

At the end of the line, however, she found a rather out-of-place statue.

It was a bust of Himmel holding a violin. It was probably commissioned by the time he was travelling alone in neighboring countries after the Demon King’s defeat.

“He was here, too…” Frieren muttered unconsciously.

His eyes were closed, but his facial expression on the chin rest conveyed such a strong will. This must be the work of a skilled craftsman. One could tell a lot of time was spent making the statue. The finish it had was unique even among the more than one hundred types of heroes’ statues.

“So, he could play such a musical instrument.”

She muttered those words to herself, not wanting anyone else to hear, but from behind her came an unexpected response.

“It’s just as Master Himmel said.”

When Frieren turned around, she saw the speaker was an old woman. There was quite a gap between the woman’s voice, which was quite youthful, and the woman’s elderly appearance. The woman continued with a well-projected voice.

“Might you be Lady Frieren?”

“……?”

For a few moments, Frieren couldn’t understand the words directed at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Master Himmel said that when he came here before.”

The old woman, using skillful vocal acrobatics, reenacted her and Himmel’s state during that time.

“One day in the future, a mage named Frieren will visit this city. I want to make a statue that will serve as a landmark for her.”

“A landmark? Won’t everyone just stop in front of Master Himmel instead?”

“I’m sure they will. But I’m also sure they’ll recognize her immediately as she gazes at me.”

“Is that how it is?”

“Yes, it is.”

The old woman cleared her throat once, ending her little performance. Frieren felt it was strange, given the woman was surprisingly good at imitating voices. She was then told the woman was a former star performer at a circus troupe. It was no wonder that the woman’s voice carried through strongly.

“My apologies for the late introduction. My name is Flöte [5]. I got too excited at meeting you, Lady Frieren. This is embarrassing…”

Her cheeks blushed, a complete change from moments earlier when she was still acting with different voice tones.

“I witnessed a good performance.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Flöte smiled like a blooming flower.

“It seems like the statue was worth making.”

“Master Himmel lamented the statue wasn’t enough to convey his charm to the public.”

“Himmel would probably say that.”

Frieren then wiped the rust off the bronze statue’s flowy hair with a rag she carried.

“If only there was a ‘spell that removes rust from bronze statues’, this clean-up would be easier.”

“Let me help you.”

“It’s all right. I can do it on my own. So, why did Himmel say that?”

As all the rust was wiped off and the statue’s smile returned, the old woman answered Frieren with a mysterious look on her face.

“I have a favor to ask of you, Lady Frieren.”

She said it so apologetically that Frieren got an anxious expression.

“…What’s the reward?”

“A grimoire with the ‘spell to record sounds in a book’.”

At that point, Frieren broke into a smile.

“All right, I’m in.”

“So, you want to dispel a spell that will not dispel until the caster dies?”

Frieren asked again, repeating the old woman’s words.

“That’s rather difficult. Nearly impossible, even.”

“’I’m sure Frieren will do it’, that’s what Master Himmel told me before.”

“That’s absurd.”

“I’m also embarrassed to say… I am the caster in question.”

“I’m not getting the situation. What do you mean?”

“I ought to speak in order, then.”

As the old woman said this, she began narrating her personal history.

Flöte was not born in the Capelle region, but in a family of mages, and her parents moved to the area as they hated the horrors of war, and there they established a magical circus troupe. She didn’t originally want to join the troupe, but due to the education she received, she was able to use various magic spells back then.

One of those spells was the ‘spell to erase one memory until death’. It would be a terrible spell if abused by others, but the spell was restricted so that it can only be cast on oneself.

There were many rumors about its effectiveness, which were never true. Some people said it reminded them of the moment of death where one’s whole life flashed before one’s eyes, while others said it meant like being buried in eternal darkness.

In any case, it was a mysterious kind of magic.

One day, when she was 15 years old, having mastered the spell at such a young age, she then cast it upon herself.

Since then, Flöte had lost that one memory, even until now.

“In short, I want to dispel that oblivion spell I casted upon myself.”

“What memory did you erase?”

“That’s the thing: I don’t know. I did erase it, after all.”

With downcast eyes, she connected her words.

“However, I began to wonder if I did lose something important on a whim, especially as I grew older and get closer to death. If, due to the heat of the moment, I buried that memory I shouldn’t have lost with the magic spell I learned, at least, I want to remember what it is before I die. I’m sorry, you might think of this as a selfish request.”

The old woman finally spoke in a voice appropriate for her age.

“When Master Himmel was in the city, I got an opportunity to tell him about it. He then told me about you, Lady Frieren. That Lady Frieren is sure to do something about it.”

Observing Frieren carefully, the old woman then appealed to her.

“Please, will you grant my request? I want to spend the little time I have left, which will pass in the blink of an eye, without any regrets.”

The old woman spoke eloquently, but Frieren didn’t reply, seemingly getting lost in her thoughts.

She walked through the city after, letting time pass, and when night came, she booked a room in a tavern.

Late at night, when the tavern earlier filled with cheerful music finally went quiet, the events of the day came to Frieren’s thoughts as she leafed through the pages of her grimoire.

“This journey must have been a blink of an eye for you,” Himmel said.

The comment came as perfectly natural as picking vegetables in the market.

“I’ve almost died so many times, but now that I’ve made it here, everything feels so nostalgic.”

After the Demon King’s defeat, Himmel continued on as he rode the shaky carriage back to the Royal Capital.

“Frieren. I know you don’t think of this as nostalgic yet, but the day will come when you remember this journey, us, and this moment. I don’t know when that will be. Maybe after I die. Even so, I’m sure you’ll be able to laugh and say, ‘That was a silly journey, wasn’t it?’”

“It’s too early for the serious talk! We haven’t truly defeated the Demon King until we return home!”

Heiter continued to tease them while smiling.

“Well, we still have requests to fulfill.”

On his return to the Royal Capital, Himmel received many requests. He took on small tasks to help people, fixing roads, even searching for lost things.

Their current request back then was from the village undertaker, who asked them to eliminate a monster that only reacted to human corpses.

When asked for more details, the undertaker said there was a dragon blocking the only bridge that connected the village and the town. Since the dragon damaging the area only occurred when corpses were carried away, it was concluded that the dragon had the tendency to target only corpses.

It didn’t respond to scarecrows, and pretending to be dead didn’t work on it either. Since it only paid attention to real human corpses, Frieren guessed it might have eyes that could detect whether a person is alive or dead.

“I’ll act as bait.”

Himmel spoke resolutely, as he always did.

“You just defeated the Demon King, and you want to die here?” Eisen said. “Stop being reckless!”

“Even Eisen, who doesn’t die even if he was eaten by monsters, is useless this time, huh.”

“Heiter, shut up.”

Frieren looked at the two badmouthing each other and then asked.

“Can’t we just borrow a corpse?”

“We can’t do that, Frieren.”

Himmel continued, as if to admonish her.

“A dead person is the image of a life lived fully. We can’t recklessly put that in danger. Besides, even if I’ll be acting as bait, I won’t truly die. Frieren, you can put me in a state of suspended animation, yes?”

“A state of suspended animation?”

She once casted the ‘spell to encase a living creature on ice’ on a ferocious enormous fish. Himmel must have that time in mind when he said this.

“Are you sure? If I make a slight mistake, you’ll truly die.”

“You can do it, right?”

“I don’t know.”

Frieren shrugged her shoulders and…

“Just do it this time. You’re capable of it, after all.”

“Go for it!”

Heiter and Eisen happily cheered.

“I don’t know what will happen.”

Himmel stood on top of the bridge as Frieren took out her staff.

“Frieren. Fire at me.”

A flash of mana concentrated on the staff’s tip then enveloped Himmel. The air around froze, and Himmel quietly collapsed.

Soon after, a very large shadow appeared on the bridge. A dragon came on sight. As it circled the sky above, it went straight at Himmel, as if it had set its sights on him. Its piercing eyes and the sharp claws it brought out now loomed nearer.

Facing that, a large swing of the warrior Eisen’s axe violently exploded.

A heavy, dull sound echoed throughout the area.

White smoke and cold air blended, then wafted away as if they were thawing. One could see that Eisen was the last one standing.

Frieren then promptly used the ‘spell to warm up the skin’ on Himmel’s cold body.

Regaining his breath, Himmel smiled at Frieren with a reddened face.

“See? I told you; you can do it.”

Frieren snapped her grimoire shut.

“The ‘spell to erase one memory until death’, huh.”

The next day, as the morning sun rose, the city became slowly filled with sound.

Frieren woke up on the hard floor far from her bed, and with bed hair she went to Flöte’s house.

It was to put a theory into practice. This was a drastic measure, but in Frieren’s opinion this measure would work.

“Lady Frieren, good morning. Did you find out anything?”

The old woman’s voice seemed refreshed.

“You’ll have to die.”

“Huh?”

“That’s why I’ll put you into the state of suspended animation.”

“……”

There was a moment of confusion from the old woman, then silence. However, after a while, she looked like she had made up her mind.

“Please. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

As soon as she heard those words, Frieren gently raised her staff.

“Lie on the bed. I’m starting.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes, indeed, but are you all right with this…?”

“I’ve done it once before. I can do it.”

“If Lady Frieren says so, then it will be all right. Please do so.”

The spell Frieren casted on the old woman enveloped the latter’s body, and for a moment her body stiffened.

Soon after, however, the old woman’s body regained movement, just like how coloring paint flowed when dissolved in water. She then wore this childlike expression, showing a trace of the young girl she once was.

“How are you?” Frieren asked shortly after. “You technically have died once, so your memory should be back.”

“Hahaha… I was worried like a child…”

The old woman seemed to have recovered her lost memory.

As an adolescent, she didn’t want to join the magical circus troupe. Instead, she yearned for a particular musical instrument.

“The Möglich, the instrument said to take a hundred years to master…”

She strongly yearned for it, but it was too expensive, and she could not spend a hundred years on it, so as a child, she thought she could just forget it existed.

So, she sealed that memory instead. She put the lid on that unattainable wish and began to live on reality.

“I’m glad I remembered… I’ll put my life on the line even if it takes years before I reached my dream, and I’ll start learning from now on.”

“I see. Then, you should have that instrument.”

As the Möglich was an instrument which used magical power to produce sound, without doubt, it would be a good match for Flöte, who was a mage.

“I’ll tell the music store shopkeeper. That there is this customer who has wanted it for a long time.”

“Oh, no. Are you truly sure?”

“I want someone who loves music more than me to have it, you see.”

“Thank you very much. Lady Frieren, I cannot thank you enough.”

“I get rewarded anyways, so…”

“Yes, you’re right.” The old woman took out a grimoire from her bookshelf. “This is the grimoire with the ‘spell to record sounds in a book’. I’m ashamed to say I have already recorded various sounds in this book…”

Flöte’s eyes went downcast as she said this, just like when she and Frieren first met.

“It sounds like a strange hobby, isn’t it? As it was routine for me to travel to various places as part of the magical circus troupe, I had a lot of once-in-a-lifetime chance encounters, and I wanted to preserve them in some form. The local people and the sounds from nature became my source of support. Among these are the recordings of my meetings with Master Himmel.”

“This isn’t a strange hobby. Himmel would have said the same.”

Frieren said she would return the grimoire when she finished reading it, then left the room.

On the same day, Frieren went to Restaurant Parlante, which was now a completely familiar place for her, and ordered an omelette. When she went to bed with a full stomach, she then opened the grimoire the old woman gave her.

Just as Flöte said, the grimoire had sounds from various ages, places, genders of people… some of them were sounds from nature, some being the noise of daily lives.

“You… you look familiar.”

Was this how the old music store shopkeeper sounded like when he was younger?

“I’ll have the ten-egg l'oeuf omelette, please!”

The voice of a very well-known musician continued.

“This time, I’m thinking of starting a marching band in this city.”

“One day in the future, a mage named Frieren will visit this city. I want to make a statue that will serve as a landmark for her.”

She heard Himmel’s voice as she turned a page. His voice was a bit different from the last time she met him, but it was still Himmel’s voice from her memories. It felt nostalgic, too.

And she realized that Flöte’s voice imitation before was a bit exaggerated.

“Please pose quickly! You’re just holding a violin…!”

This was probably the heartbroken cry of the craftsman who made that Himmel bust.

It seemed like Flöte, as a young girl, followed her interests and recorded these sounds from the various places she went, and the chance encounters she cherished. Frieren could just imagine how she looked like during then.

“………”

It might not be a bad idea to retrace that journey with everyone, she thought, looking at the east towards the Royal Capital.

In the end, Frieren decided to leave after staying in the city for around three months.

When she said goodbye to the music store shopkeeper, he excitedly said, “Flöte loves music and is loved by music.” He said the old woman mastered producing sounds on the Möglich at an extraordinarily fast pace, something that would have normally taken ten years.

After all, it was appropriate for those who should own it to have it.

As she was preparing herself to leave with these thoughts in mind, a marching band passed by in front of the tavern.

The boy playing the horn had grown taller in a short time, and his hat now fitted him better. His fingers holding the horn now had calluses on them, and his blowing on it sounded less labored than before.

The sound was brave and gentle, but eventually became grainy.

A celebratory fanfare sounding like a parade salute echoed on Frieren’s back as she left the city.

(END)

Translator’s Notes:

[1] Written as カペッレ in katakana. I decided to translate it as “Capelle”, as the word means “the private orchestra or band of a prince or church”, which is a reference to the marching band in this short novel.

[2] Written as メークリヒ in katakana. In German, “möglich” means “possible”.

[3] Written as パルランテ in katakana. “Parlante” means “a piece of music to be sung or played in the style of a recitative”.

[4] In French, "l'oeuf" means "egg". In short, this word is just a fancy term for "egg omelettes".

[5] Written as フレーテ in katakana. In German, “Flöte” means “flute” or “whistle”.

[6] Frieren was most likely thinking of Milliarde, an elf friend of hers who first appeared in Chapter 69.

#frieren: beyond journey's end #sousou no frieren #frieren #葬送のフリーレン #フリーレン #yoasobi #frieren anime #frieren at the funeral #himmel #heiter #eisen #kanehito yamada #jirou kiso #yuusha #勇者

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kentopedia · 10 months

Text

easy living

FEATURING. nanami kento x f!reader — wc: 3.9k

SUMMARY: after many stressful weeks at work, nanami plans a relaxing beach vacation for the two of you.

CONTENTS: soft nanami <33, surprise beach trips, extra extra sweet, salaryman nanami era, sfw!!

note: so lol this was a request, but it took me so long to finish, and their account is no longer active :,) also i could tell you this is an au, but i won't & it isn't! i guess i love suffering so just know this takes place during nanami's canon salaryman era

Nanami had always been perceptive to the subtle changes in your mood, even when you tried to hide them from him. He could sense a slight downturn of your lips with his eyes closed, could feel any rueful air disseminating from you as you attempted to distract yourself from whatever gave you grief.

To others, Nanami could be indifferent, his naturally stoic expression causing him to appear uncaring. Though, you knew that was far from the truth—perhaps, he just saved all of his display of emotion for you.

That’s what made it so difficult to hide your worries from him.

When you returned to your apartment that evening, you were exhausted and worn down from too many hours spent at labor. Your feet were sore from uncomfortable shoes and your back ached along each notch of your spine. With a deep inhale, you scrubbed your hand over your face, hoping to dispel any obvious signs of trouble before opening the door to your bedroom.

Kento was sitting against the bedframe with a book resting in his lap, the lamp casting a warm glow over the otherwise darkened room.

Although you knew he wouldn’t be annoyed with your complaints, you didn’t want to bother him when you weren’t the only one who had been working hard recently. Nanami had logged more hours at the office in the past few weeks, and only now, was he finally getting a reprieve.

It seemed cruel to unload your burdens onto him when he had already settled in for the night. Besides, it was nothing you couldn’t handle.

As you stepped through the doorframe, Kento set the book down, eyes on you with that ever-patient, gentle smile of his. “You’re back late,” he said, and you couldn’t help but hear the hint of concern in his voice. He regretted taking a job that demanded so much of him, and naturally, he wanted to spare you from the same troubles.

Although, as much as you hated the job you were at, you’d been having trouble finding one that was better for you, both in an emotional and financial sense. Which, really, led you to feeling that there was no other choice but to tough it out, just as you always had.

“They gave me a last-minute project that needed to be done before tomorrow. I didn’t really have a choice.”

Kento opened his mouth, before he closed it and sighed instead. You could tell he wanted to argue, but you’d been through it too many times before. With the world you lived in, it was only natural to feel chained to your career from time to time—you were certain he knew that better than anyone. “Did you eat already?”

The feeling of tears was heavy against your eyelids as you turned away from him, shrugging off your stiff blouse. You knew that if you met his gaze, you might just melt into him, releasing the irrational wave of emotion that you’d been holding back all day.

“Not yet,” you said with as much optimism as you could manage, but with even the smallest change in your voice, Kento could see right through you.

He didn’t comment on the way your voice broke, the way that you were worn out, your features much less full of life than usual. His feet were quiet on the carpet as he padded over to you, his hands soft against your bare shoulder. “Okay. There’s plenty of leftovers in the fridge. I’ll warm them up for you.”

You smiled as he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead, squeezing your hand comfortingly. Visibly, you relaxed, and you watched him make his way out the door to the next room.

“Kento?” You stopped him just as he was shutting the door with a click, the knob twisting into the hinges.

“Yes?” he hummed, sticking his head around the doorframe. His blonde hair was freshly washed, the delicate strands falling over his forehead softly. He looked so much younger without the corporate attire, the serious frown plastered on to his lips. Flannel pajama pants fell loose on his hips, and he wore a t-shirt that he’d probably had since he was nineteen.

Your heart felt warm and light in your chest.

“Thank you.”

Kento smiled, his eyes brightening as they always did. “You’re welcome, darling.”

With some renewed energy, you forced yourself into the shower, scrubbing your body until the grime from the morning felt like it’d been whisked away. While you were normally adamant about fulfilling every part of your nightly routine, you skipped a few steps, too tired to ignore the aches in your body.

Nanami had already set a plate of hot food on the table for you when you finally dried off and changed into clean clothes.

He sat comfortably, watching you with his head in his palm. You took a seat beside him, your eyes heavy, and you contemplated resting your head against his shoulder before deciding it’d be too difficult to eat that way.

“I’ve been thinking about taking some time off.”

After taking a bite, you smiled, envisioning it for just a moment. “I think that’s a great idea.” You swallowed, not even realizing how hungry you were, and regarded him with warmth as you observed all the signs of his fatigue. “You deserve a break.”

“At the beginning of June, I think. Maybe I’ll go outside the city for a day or two.” He paused, drumming his fingers against the table. “Would that be a bad time for you? I don’t want to waste my days off if you won’t be around.”

You pictured your crowded calendar, envisioning the blocks of color in your mind. It started to look a little less like a rainbow when summer came around. “No, it’ll probably be alright. All of my projects are due at the end of this month, so it shouldn’t be an issue.” You set down your utensils. “I think I can manage things around here by myself.”

Kento nodded, his smile innocent, and satisfied. “Alright, then. I’ll finalize it on Monday…” He seemed contemplative, studying you with a sort of intensity that you didn’t think too hard about. He always seemed like he was observing things much too deeply. “Think you’d be able to take off too? You’re working so hard. I hate seeing you not get a break.”

You sighed, knowing that he was right, but as hard as you tried, you couldn’t seem to get the workload decreased. Too many people had been quitting recently, and you’d grown to bear the weight of their responsibilities. “I probably can. Why, have you been missing me?”

Kento laughed, taking the dirty dishes from your place once you finished off the last bite. “Yeah, something like that.” He washed them off, and you watched him lazily from the table, too relaxed to bring yourself to your feet.

When he was finished, he held out a hand, dragging you up to him, before letting you rest most of your weight onto his side. “Come on.” He draped an arm around your shoulders and held you close, hugging you warmly. “I’m tired.”

“Me too,” you said through a yawn, as if it wasn’t obvious, your eyes falling shut. You thought you heard him laugh, though it was stifled, like he was trying hard not to shake you.

Three days later, Nanami pulled out two airplane tickets and a reservation to a beach resort, showing them to you casually like he’d bought nothing more interesting than groceries.

The dates on the tickets were for the same dates that he’d suggested before.

You stared at him, then back at the tickets, knowing he’d probably spent way too much on something that seemed too frivolous for the frugal lifestyle he tended to lean towards. “Kento…”

He stopped you, rolling his eyes before snatching the tickets away, like he thought you might toss them into the fire. “That better be followed by a thank you,” he said, and while he sounded serious, you knew he was only teasing you.

You grinned, and drew yourself closer to him, peppering kisses all over his face as a senseless flash of emotion took over you.

For the weeks leading up to your vacation, you’d worked yourself to near collapse, making sure no loose ends were left, and no one could possibly need to contact you while you were away. Your boss seemed less than happy to grant you time off in the midst of the chaos, but you’d been a dutiful employee, and there was nothing he could do to prevent your leave.

The resort was a few hours train ride away, far enough to feel that you were in a different place entirely, but not too far that you needed to worry about passports. It was nice, to get away, and you felt free and unstifled from the bustling chaos of the city.

The train announced your stop, and you made to gather your things, tucking your phone in your brand-new beach bag, before reaching down for the backpack that you’d both shoved things into.

“Kento,” you said through a groan, as you picked up his bag from the floor, so much heavier than you’d anticipated. “What did you pack in here?” It felt loaded with bricks, nearly bringing you back down in your attempt to get off the train quickly.

“A few books,” he said, pulling his sunglasses from his pocket as you shuffled into the aisle with both of the bags. “I thought I’d have a lot of time to read.” You looked over your shoulder at him, and he made a face, defensive. “Why? Do you think we’ll be too busy?”

You weren’t sure why he was asking you—he’d done all the planning, barely letting you take a look at any of the information in order to surprise you. “Well, did you really need this many?” You struggled to swing it over your back as you balanced the other bag on your shoulder.

He sighed, holding out his hand. “I’ll carry it for you, honey.”

“No, I can get it.” You swatted his hand away stubbornly when he tried to take it from you. “My things are in here too.” Although, the more you thought about it, the more you wondered if maybe it was your toiletries weighing down the backpack, and not the paperbacks that Kento had shoved into the front pocket.

Your back grew sore. Eventually, you let him carry it.

The resort was about as crowded as you’d expected for an early summer vacation, and you struggled to stake your claim on a nice part of the beach, where there weren’t too many wandering eyes. The two of you laid your chairs down near the ocean, the sun beating down on you, hot, and warming your skin.

It was nice to be away from the clouds and the rain that had plagued your home for the past week, and you were grateful that the bad weather hadn’t followed you to your destination.

You closed your eyes, shuffling through your music as you propped your sunglasses on your nose. The music played at a softer volume, just quiet enough to hear the waves of the ocean, creating a peaceful ambience that lulled you into tranquility.

“Did you put on sunscreen?”

You popped open one eye, shifting your neck to face Kento, who wasn’t even looking at you, legs stretched out with one of his books in his hands.

“Yes, of course,” you said in an obvious tone, even though you appreciated him checking.

He nodded as he flipped the page, his attention more on the inked words than his surroundings. It made you smile. “Just wanted to make sure, in case you fell asleep.”

“I might,” a yawn left you, as if on cue as you settled onto your back, and Kento’s lips quirked up in a subtle grin. Though your face was shaded by the umbrella, the rest of your body laid out in the sun, heating you quickly as the bright rays sent healing vibrations through the fluffy clouds.

You’d spent so much of your time cooped up inside that you’d forgotten how calming it was to escape from the world for a moment, to pretend that that part of your life didn’t exist. It would be so nice to live like this forever, to bask in the sun without any responsibilities.

You felt warm from the thought of it and shifted onto your back, head resting on your arms as you stared at the man sunbathing beside you. His sunglasses had fallen down on the bridge of his nose as he bent down over the book. A thin sheen of sweat had started on his chest, making the skin glossy, like the picturesque muse of a magazine cover. His shorts had slipped down on his hips, revealing the beginnings of tan lines that you hadn’t noticed before.

Cheeks burning, you gazed helplessly, like you’d forgotten how beautiful he was, even though that was the only thought on your mind half of the time. For a moment, you were glad that you were secluded, away from the crowd, on a quiet part of the beach. You weren’t sure if you would be able to handle anyone else gawking at him the way you were.

You looked away before he could tease you about your staring. If you got too caught up in him, you would have no choice but to march over and plant yourself on the chair alongside him.

It didn’t take long before a sweat had also broken out on your forehead, and you took out your earbuds, throwing them back down on the chair. The waves had finally settled, and a few of the younger children had cleared out of the water with their parents, leaving the ocean much more peaceful than it had been before. “I’m going for a swim. Want to come?”

Kento looked up over his glasses, marking his place in the book carefully. His eyes roamed over you like he hadn’t already noticed you were in nothing but a swimsuit, leaving little to the imagination as every angle and curve of your body was on display. “Well, I certainly can’t say no to you.”

You smiled, pleased that his irises had blown a little wider, that he’d swallowed once before making his way to his feet.

Taking his hand, you dragged him towards the ocean, his larger palm hot in your own, the veins visible with each movement. The sand formed to the outline of your heel, sticking to your sweaty skin before saltwater swirled around your ankles.

The water was cooler than you expected, and you suppressed a shiver, smiling over your shoulder at Nanami, tugging him farther into the expansion of blue. When you were deep enough in the water that your body had cooled, you sunk your hips into the ocean, letting the waves drag around you.

With your head tilted back towards the sky, you closed your eyes, basking in the freeing energy that the ocean provided. Kento sifted through the water, already right beside you when you opened your eyes once more, staring at you with so much adoration that it was impossible to resist him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, uncaring about anyone that happened to look your way. Saltiness lingered on both of your lips, and Kento tasted of coconuts and the sea. He grinned against your mouth, resting his hand on the small of your back as he balanced you in the turbulent waves.

Before you could lose yourself in his indulgent touches, you pulled away, teasingly, and dipped yourself back into the ocean. Nearby, there was a collection of seashells, reminding you of how you’d loved mermaids as a child. You picked them up, studied them, and wondered where they came from.

Kento rested lazily in the ocean, watching as you pulled yourself onto a large rock, your skin sticky and water dripping down to your shoulders. While you dried off, he swam over to you, before bringing his head above the sea, brushing darkened blonde hair off his forehead messily.

There was a renewed life to him; he was so much more at ease than he’d been in weeks, and that fact alone filled you with more joy than you thought could be contained in your soul. His cheeks had a sun-kissed glow, his skin marked with tan lines. He was a statue carved perfectly from bronze, and you smiled widely to yourself, engulfed in an overwhelming sense of happiness at the palpable art before you.

Kento pushed his way through the water to stand between your knees, looking up at you with so much love that your heart constricted painfully in your chest. His forearms rested on your thighs, and he dropped his chin on top of them, squeezing your knee.

“I’m glad you came with me,” he said, like it had even been a choice, like you’d ever say no to spending time with him. “It’s nice seeing you relax.”

You could say the same about him, but it wouldn’t have had the same effect now that he’d stolen the words already. “It was such a hard decision to make,” you teased, running a finger through his wet hair, the blond strands twisting and bending into a mess on top of his head. “I sure do miss being at work.”

Kento laughed, and you felt a jolt of pleasure rush through you at the action, knowing that he’d never button himself up around you, and no one else would see him as carefree as you did.

“We should move here,” you said afterwards on a whim, full of excitement and fanciful images of the beautiful nature. “Don’t you think?”

Nanami kissed the inside of your thigh softly, knowing, just as you did, that that was the kind of dream you saved for the nights that you found living the hardest. “Maybe,” he smiled, amused, even though it’d be too hard to leave the city where your friends were, where your home was, and neither of you were fond of making thoughtless decisions. “Maybe when we’re both too old to do anything but sit with each other’s company.”

“That’d be nice,” you said, picturing it with ease, and while getting older had always scared you to some degree, it didn’t seem so frightening when you were doing it with him.

“Really. You want to be with me that long?” he teased, though there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes, wide and warm, and it was such a ridiculous question, because you’d told him over and over how much he meant to you, and for such a smart man, he’d never seemed to grasp it.

You leaned over, kissing both his cheeks, feeling very much like a teenager in love. “I’m yours forever, Kento Nanami. You already know that.”

His smile spread whiter, forming into a toothy grin that he rarely revealed to anyone else. Kento grazed your knee softly with his lips, a touch barely there, and you were certain he was trying to get a rise out of you, only to leave you cruelly alone on the edge of the rock. He looked up at you from under his soft lashes. “I’m a lucky man, then.”

You thought you were the lucky one, but you rolled your eyes playfully, climbing down from the rock into his waiting embrace. His arms were strong around your back, and you tried not to get too distracted by his hot breath on your cheeks.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of fond memories and blissful relaxation, and time went by much faster than you would’ve liked.

On your last night at the resort, you stood in front of the mirror, wiping any remaining sea salt from your legs as you dried off from your shower. Already, you missed the beautiful blue water, the spacious bed that had overlooked the sandy shores.

The bathroom door opened as you were ruminating, changing into a fresh pair of pajamas. It was late, and you’d grown tired from being in the sun all day, even though you remained relaxed and refreshed from the vacation.

Kento stared at you from the doorway, his brown eyes sparkling as he watched you moisturize your face evenly.

“Why are you staring?” You held his gaze in the mirror, amused, as you set the tube down and switched it for one of toothpaste.

“No reason.” He came up behind you slowly, extending his arms to wrap around your waist. You looked a mess with your hair undone and your eyes were tired without any makeup. Still, he kissed along your shoulders before burying his face in the crook of your neck, holding you tight.

You melted, squeezing his hand tightly back as you leaned into him. Kento didn’t release you as you brushed your teeth and finished up your routine, and occasionally bit the sensitive skin on your neck.

When you spit the toothpaste out, he held your hair up, then gently massaged the back of your neck to release all the aches and pains that slowly dissipated each day you stayed well-rested.

“I had fun this week,” you said, leaning up to kiss him, the glasses he wore only at night slipping down the bridge of his nose. You held his cheek in your hand, brushing your thumb against the sharp angles of his face. His cheeks were dusted pink, sun-kissed, and his hair was even blonder than usual. “We should go on vacation more often.” The lines from stress had smoothed on his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes had disappeared completely.

Kento snorted, kissing the top of your head before throwing an arm around you, dragging you back to the bed. “We’ll find a way to talk ourselves out of it. We usually do.”

“I’m serious, Kento.” You rested against him for just a moment, before shuffling with a yawn to the other side of the bed. With the sun-down, the room had grown cooler, even though the humidity was still stagnant in the air. You toppled on the mattress, twisting around to make sure that he was still meeting your eyes. “Neither of us should be working as much as we are. It’s exhausting.”

Kento’s expression darkened, his features dimming before his eyes crinkled again and he rested a heavy hand on your hip. “You’re right.” He squeezed you affectionately. “Maybe we’ll take a trip this winter. You can pick where we go next time.”

You grinned, closing your eyes to imagine the possibilities. It could’ve been the bliss of the vacation talking. The future might become full of empty promises like it always had. Though, something about this felt different. It felt like maybe you’d both decided that you needed to change something about your lives.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said, and hoped, fleetingly, that you’d die by the beach with Nanami Kento at your side.

#nanami kento #nanami jjk #nanami imagine #nanami x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami x reader #nanami x fem!reader #jjk fluff #nanami kento fluff #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

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crooked-wasteland · 5 months

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The rapresentation of abusers in helluva boss is something that particularly frustrates me, Stella in particular, it seems to be done just to victimaze certain characters not to show the complex dynamics of those relationships. It seems to me the writers aren't mature enough to handle these topics properly.

Abuse: The Heart of Vivienne Medrano

Christmas 1962, a man renowned the western world over for his revolutionary approach to animation sat in a withering melancholy as he watched what could only be called a cinematic masterpiece based on a novel classic. Walt Disney, now in the twilight years of his life, saw the walls closing in and his legacy coming to a close. This man, who pioneered the animated feature film, saw his greatest accomplishment as his greatest obstacle. The man responsible for the tales brought to life of Cinderella, Snow White, Pinocchio, and Dumbo felt trapped in his achievement. “I wish,” Walt lamented, “I could make a picture like that.”

To Kill a Mockingbird was a piece that challenged its audience. The discussion of a white man defending a black man in southern America, decades before the civil rights movement. The movement that, at the time the movie hit cinemas, was in its infancy. Released during the height of the historically revisionist counter movement taking place to combat the rising push of African Americans towards their human rights. The last film Walt Disney ever saw the production of before his death in 1966 was The Jungle Book, a movie that was the epitome of “Safe” and a message that upheld the status quo of segregation.

It wasn’t until 1972 that the media of animation became raucously adult with those political and challenging concepts Disney felt were unattainable. Fritz the Cat was an X-rated animated film composed of vignettes that were unapologetically perverse, violent, and aggressively political. Critical of politicians and the police with a sympathetic if exploitative lens towards the LGBT and racial minority communities Brooklyn-based director Ralph Bakshi grew up around. Bakshi proved that animation was not strictly a child-friendly media and that adult animation could be financially and critically successful.

(For more on Ralph Bakshi's career and animation history)

If one has ever had the opportunity to listen to a Brad Bird (director of Ratatouille and The Incredibles) interview, it is clear to see that the success of Bakshi was generally quite limited. That animation is considered a genre and not a medium of art has resulted in animated films being knee-capped in the box office. There is far more potential to animation, highlighted by Howard Ashton in his collaboration with Disney studios during the Renaissance. Responsible for resurrecting the feature-length animated movie through The Little Mermaid and credited for the monumental success of Best Picture Award winner Beauty and the Beast, Ashton once said that the potential animation was ideal for musical theatre. The limitless possibilities given the medium gave the possibility of introducing Broadway to the common folk who didn’t live in New York and otherwise couldn’t afford the theater. He was quoted saying that live action musical films were “an exercise in stupidity,” highlighting the freedom that comes with a blank page.

However, the success of animation, and media in general, comes down to the message the media wishes to send. The reason the Disney Renaissance films have enjoyed their position as cornerstones of pop culture and creativity was because it did introduce the artform of musical theater into homes and made them readily accessible to everyone with an even heightened sense of fantasy that revitalized Walt’s ethos of making films for the child in everyone.

With Bakshi, it was the loud and violently political message of a revolution taking place. This continues in adult animation with the Simpsons, a series critical of hyper-capitalist America and the fallout of Reagan’s economic disaster that the effects of which are still being felt today and a satire of toxic masculinity and abusive family dynamics.

So, ultimately, the value of a piece of media is a cross between its social artistic influence and the message the creators are intending to make. While Medrano’s influence on the field of indie animation is often mischaracterized as a “pioneer”, the fact is that indie animation and pilots have existed and been funded before Spindlehorse existed. It is simply that Medrano has had the spotlight handed to her for the myth surrounding the production and subsequent success of his indie projects. Artistically, her influence can be summarized as a double-edged sword. For some, she is the motivation for inspiring artists to connect with the community to one day, hopefully, create their own work. On the other hand, she is the cautionary tale of why investing in an indie project is a financial risk for an audience member and a risk to the community as a whole that poses a real danger of making the indie sphere financially cannibalistic, as her public persona is off-putting to “normies” and her show is simply not good.

Much like Disney, the man in 1962, and Disney the company circa 2023, the revolution of animating "because you can" loses its luster very quickly. Without something profound to say, an entire company, regardless of its social influence, can fade into irrelevance despite still being "successful". The story of Disney is a cautionary tale for Indie animation as a whole and Spindlehorse in specific.

And that is the other axis on this chart. Her narrative lacks a message worth telling, and that’s very much due to her not having anything worthwhile to say.

“I really liked when things and shows and stories allow the characters to be flawed, and allow them to grow and to change. And I think that’s something that’s, you know, the world is not black and white. And I like things that explore the gray and that and the complexity, of life and mistakes and of things like that.” - Vivienne Medrano

It is not for want of mockery that I carefully transcribe Medrano’s words in her interview. To read the words aloud tells the story just as clearly as I have set out to do here. This is someone who is highly inspired by better media, who has ideas and a belief that she has something to say. But that is where the belief ends. There is no conclusion to that thought any more than there is one in the unfocused and run-on sentences she rambles along throughout the interview. She talks of “Things” without clarity, because she herself is a fundamentally incurious individual who has never once spent the time critically analyzing herself, let alone the work of others to better grasp what about it resonated with her. She merely consumes art insatiably and without any substance. Like a diet of fruit, it has a superficial veneer of positive value. Fruit would be considered healthy as it is “natural”. However, it is the nutritional equivalent of candy, lacking vital components that are necessary to sustain basic life, it is pure sugar. Her work, similarly, lacks any value of depth that would qualify as meaning.

Which comes back to what the message is in her work.

When it comes to others in the field of indie animation, Medrano does not have many friends. In response to the Lackadaisy situation, creator Tracy explained why she returned Medrano’s donation. For one, the donation was not Medrano’s money, but money she crowd sourced from her employees. While the $5k for the producer spot of the fundraiser would have not been a dent in her personal wallet, Medrano is so uninterested in supporting fellow creators while presenting an impression of camaraderie that she instead took money from the people she is in charge of the paychecks for to get her name in the credits of another creator’s work. In regards to why Medrano was declined her support, it was due to numerous individuals who had such an awful experience working for Medrano that they did not want her involvement associated with the project to any extent. When the money was returned, she made the situation extremely public and encouraged harassment by liking tweets attacking Tracy and the Iron Circus team.

A well-known member of Medrano’s crew, Hunter B, was leaked speaking crassly of other animation projects that were still in the process of production, met with support from other members in the discord. One of these creators being Ashley Nicoles from Far-Fetched. A former friend and creative partner on the Hazbin Pilot whose podcast streams featuring Edward Bosco and Michael Kovach single-handedly maintained interest in the show until the winter of 2021, free of charge. Ashley once spoke of how Medrano would speak disparagingly of an employee to her, saying that this individual was “Too unstable to work with”. Which, regardless of whether or not that is Medrano’s honest opinion, counts as defamation by an employer. It is the exact reason why most previous employers will not give a negative, detailed review of a former employee, maintaining instead to verify facts of the employment. If Erin Frost was more experienced and less involved in social media exposed culture, they could have easily sued Medrano and Spindlehorse for damaging their reputation in their field of employment.

Which circles back to Medrano’s self-assigned message of her show:

“Abusers rely on your silence. They rely on knowing you can’t retaliate without consequence. That they can tell any lies and vague around without getting called out. But we see you, and you don’t have the power you think you do anymore. A message I put into my work. “Fuck you!” - Vivienne Medrano

Medrano, who has vague and sub tweeted individuals like Lackadaisy Tracy, The Diregentlemen, Michael Kovach, and Ashley Nicoles. Medrano who has instigated and incited harassment campaigns knowing that no one can call her out without severe and relentless backlash from her cultish fanbase that she personally encourages through positive reinforcement of liking the tweets of fans. Medrano who relies on the silence of other creators in the field due to the fear of her ire collapsing their projects before they even have a chance to begin.

Vivienne Medrano with an extensive abusive history that continues to this day, has something to say about abuse.

What Medrano has to say about abuse comes from someone who has the position of superiority in all of her relationships, but feels like she’s the outcast and bullied loser. Her self insert that is repeatedly expressed in every character at one point or another is how easily they abuse those around them just because they can, but that the narrative justifies their “acting out” because they are sad. According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, “An abuser externalizes the causes of their behavior. They blame their violence on circumstances.”

Indeed, the lists of abusive characteristics and traits, according to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, overwhelmingly encompasses the characteristics shown by characters like Loona, Blitz and Stolas that Medrano repeatedly has attempted to rationalize, justify and minimize. Which, “An abuser often denies the existence or minimizes the seriousness of the violence [including emotional and mental abuse] and its effect on the victim and other family members.”

It is not surprising, then, that the conversation of abuse in Helluva Boss is often infuriating. The narrative underplays the harm done by characters we are supposed to see as “good”. Not allowing for them to grow or change, but ignoring and minimizing the behavior, justifying it through circumstances and perpetuating the false belief that victims are not, themselves, abusers.

One of the first blog post rants I ever made about mental health and abuse was the affirmation that not all victims of abuse are survivors. I wholly stand by that. Victims of abuse perpetuate abuse. A victim and an abuser are one in the same, whereas a survivor is someone who has actually done the difficult work of being self-critical. And the one thing we all are very aware of is how much Vivienne Medrano rejects criticism.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #vivienne medrano #vivziepop #vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #spindlehorse criticism #vivziepop criticism #helluva boss #perpetuating abuse #narcissistic abuse #abuse breeds abuse #essay writing

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toomanythoughts4myhead · 4 months

Text

One of a kind

Summary: You are a rich Capitol-born, he is a boy from the districts that was forced into a fortuen. Two different world seem to colide and find solice in one another. A unique bond is formed, a breath of fresh air for both, changing your worlds. You enjoy the brightness he shines on your life.

Warnings: None (he has gone through enough), mentions of past mistreatment (nothing graphic to be fair), overdose of longing and yearning from both parties.

AN: This was so much fun to write and i will be writting more for him, he is my pookie wookie. Love him and hope this reaches all the Sejanus stans, he deserved so much more love, i just wann smooch him and keep him in my pocket.

Word count: 2.3k

Sejanus Plinth who even after all these years of being forced to endure the company of rich snobby students and their even more classist and stuck-up parents, still hasn’t been able to or even remotely wished to befriend or in any way connect with any of these heartless animals.

Capitol!reader who is among said rich old money children. Despite everything you have grown to be kind thing, considerate and sheltered from the world’s worst issues by your parents. Ever since Sejanus got transferred to the Academy you have wanted to talk with him. The rich clique you went out with (mostly your parents ties or leeches looking for connections) discouraged any sort of show of empathy for the district boy, saying that breathing the same air as him was below any self-respecting Capitol citizen.

Capitol!reader who is not as stupid as other people make her out to be, with a surprisingly deep rooted morals, born from nurturing of empathy shown from the avoxes taking care of the penthouse you grew up in. As any other child of busy businessman, you had been handed off to the nearest nanny or avox to handle as your parents carried on with their financial legacy. The avoxes couldn’t speak but they could write and after you had managed to learn to write from a very young age, you gave been communicating with them. Your parents would have been worried to find out all the time spent playing or writing to the supposed capitol traitors if they had noticed sooner, alas they remembered they had a child when it was time for you to join the Academy and ever since then you have been forced into a social group of spoiled delinquents. You often missed the quiet and peace you had before.

Capitol!reader who manages to escape from the hold of said clique for the lunch break and finally after almost 4 months goes and sits by Sejanus.

Sejanus Plinth who gets jump scared as he sees one of the riches students in the Academy saunter over with a small smile to sit on the seat opposite of him. He had been too focused in his own head, mulling over how all the people surrounding him get the best food there is and even throw away a big chunk of it while people in the districts were dying of hunger, but the light click-clacking of heels on the marble floor snaps him out of his trance.

Sejanus Plinth who is ready to take whatever insult you decide to throw at him. It wasn’t uncommon for other students to go from passive aggressive remarks to verbal pushing and shoving, he never reacted to it. Your small smile and clam friendly eyes, the effortless way you moved with grace and no fake bravado threw him off a little. He was aware that good or semi-sensible existed in the Capitol, they usually just didn’t go near him, scared to taint their reputation. But here you were sitting with your legs crossed and with a warm smile, asking how he found the Capitol.

No demeaning tone or hidden message, no games or mockery, no looking down or judgement.

Just a simple polite question, he hadn’t had the privilege to hear that in a long while.

Sejanus Plinth who finds himself drawn to you ever since that encounter. You had stayed with him and listened as he went on and told you about all his observations on the Capitol, perhaps not all, just the ones he knew were appropriate to say to someone he barely knew. Despite that he found his voice grow louder and surer, his statements held more meaning and more personal influence.

Capitol!reader who listens completely enthralled in whatever he is speaking. No one had shared an honest opinion on the Capitol with her, all her family, friends and overall surrounding circle were too busy sucking up to the injustice that brought them more money. The closest is some fleeting notes from some avoxes as she had grown more of age, but they couldn’t share too much, they were on a thin line as it is. And here was Sejanus speaking truths she had only pondered in her head when alone.

It felt refreshing, no bravado or overcomplicated explanation, no bending of morality to further make his life better. He felt like what she had been looking for, the fresh air she hadn’t been allowed to have.

And in this moment, it seemed that they had both found what they need. A calm and sincere connection based on truths and freedom, shared ideals. Something calm and grounded, far from the tacky taste of the Capitol.

Capitol!reader who starts to feel a tingly feel anytime she sees Sejanus, its not love, she thinks, she wasn’t particularly sure, but she was so happy to talk with someone who saw her for her and not her parents bank accounts. With every week she managed to find newer and newer excusses to leave her friend group, not even caring if they believed her. She would spring the random excuse and almost dash to go find Sejanus who somehow was always near. Shed feel her smile grow and with time he returned it.

Sejanus Plinth who couldn’t believe that someone from the Capitol would spend willingly time with him, and even go as far as to ditch her friends for him. You cleared up for him how things worked in your controlled life and how most things weren’t really your choice.

The bell of the Academy rings and all students start packing their belongings, ready to put the end to another tiring day. The mass of red uniforms moves and parts like a thunderous sea and yet amidst the chaos he spots you almost immediately. Maybe it’s the serene calmness and comfort your presence brins along as you walk with a bag swung over your shoulder and uniform just barely out of place. Or that’s jus the effect you have on him.

You seem to also spot him from your position between your circle, your face immediately shifts from expressionless and deep in thought to happy despite the obvious tiredness. You slow your walking and your friends don’t notice as they continue to walk until they eventually exit and are gone from your sight. You and Sejanus meet in the middle, both walking over hastily to the other. There is little room between you, your shoulders almost press ad you head in a slow step for the exit. Sejanus fixes your collar as you walk, putting the material back to its place, never daring to look up in fear of making things too obvious.

“How was your day? Did your history test go well? You were so worried about it.” – he asks calmly with a quiet voice as he returns to his upright position still not looking at you, despite how sweaty his hands had become from the nerves.

You feel the heat radiating off of him as you walk, as his fingers linger jus ta second too long as he touched up your uniform, but don’t say anything. You simply wanted to bask in the warm feeling it brough to you. There weren’t any butterflies or nerves jittering in your stomach, but it seemed that flowers had taken root and were blooming inside your chest, making your body feel warm and at peace, excited to be near him.

“As well as it gets with professor Plextor, I swear the man truly wants to fail us. He hates children, not sure how he got the job or why.” – you reply and rub your tired eyes, feeling the hours of stressing and studying over the week catch up with you.

Sejanus notices, he notices everything about you. He lets out a small hum, an amused breath through his nose that made it crinkle up a bit. He was so pretty.

“I always knew you had it in you.”

You continue to walk in comfortable silence, soaking up the shared feeling of content that seemed to follow your pair. Sadly, everything is measured and the entrance is reached. It had started raining on top of everything and you didn’t have and umbrella, God knows it wouldn’t fit in your overpacked bag.

You both come to a halt trying to figure out what to do. You can spot the outline of the private car that drives and picks you up from school, sitting in the parking of the school amongst other expensive vehicles. Sure, with the downpour you will get soaked even from the brief ten to fifteen minutes it will take you to reach it, but you will go home and shower before you manage to get sick.

A rustling of clothes snaps your attention back to Sejanus. His academy jacket was off leaving him in the white shirt branded with the Academy initials, it hugged his broad torso and shoulder well and tempted you to feel the soft skin and muscle under.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us as dry as I can manage. Come closer.” – Sejanus whispers and uses the jacket as a makeshift umbrella over the both of you. With his arms raised you can clearly see how the shirt was straining with his ribcage and shoulders, smell the expensive cologne he had sported that day, something smokey and foresty, it fit him well and made your head spin just a bit.

“You are ridiculous”

You say with a smile, voice barely above a whisper, too scared to break the bubble of your own little world. Sejanus throws you a smile with that boyish charm he often doesn’t show and you both take off. Shoes splash and splat against the wet stairs and later pavement. You’ve never ran through the rain, often just waiting for an avox to come and escort you with an umbrella.

Now you were laughing like an idiot alongside Sejanus, feeling light on your feat and at peace with the world. You had never heard him laugh, not like this. With full voice and honest happiness, nothing compared to the stifled huffs of laughter you had grown to long to hear. This was your new favorite thing.

Eventually you do reach the car and both of you come to halt Infront of it, breathless from laughing and breathing in the cold air as you ran here. You are just looking at each other, grinning like idiots. His curls were stuck to his fore head, damp but not wet, his cheeks were stretched by a big smile and his eyes shone so sincerely you would believe they were jewels.

A honk from the car and the opening of the passenger side for you startles you both. You whip around to look at the avox in the front seat who was urging you on to hop in so you wouldn’t be late for the annual family gathering. As you turn back you almost hit your head on his shoulder and you almost wish you had.

He is still standing with his arms raised protecting you from the rain and you smile. You place your hand on his shoulder and lower it down to his collarbone, feeling the slight stiffness that follows in its wake. The warmth emitting from him almost makes you dip your hand under the crevice of his shirt and feel the soft skin underneath, almost. Instead, you opt to look at him and the wat his gaze his fixated on you like you are the center of his universe, like the stars and the planets go round for you.

“Thank you, Sejanus, thank you for keeping me from the rain. Take acre and don’t get sick, would be hell to go here without you.”

You reluctantly take your hand off of him, already missing how nicely it fit against him and hop into the back seat of the car. His eyes follow you and his face has become unreadable and deep in thought as you had seen many times. You wonder if you have over stepped a line, maybe your own delusions had seeped too far in reality this time. His arms drop once you are sitting inside, both waiting for the automatic door to close. The rain falls on him in all its might and gets him soaking. His hair is stuck to his face and the shirt seems to uncomfortably cling to his frame, even if it gives you a better view of his torso you are busy worrying for his health.

He never lets his gaze drop now and simply extends his hand out for you. You look at the the broad palm and long fingers for a moment before you wrap your own around it giving it a squeeze.

“Anything for you.”

He squeezes your hand and barely visible warmth creep on his face, but you blame it on the cold. He lets go of you as the door finally kicks back into action and closes. Behind the tinted window you see him and smile, waving even if your appearance is obscured. You see him wave at you even as the car goes by him and heads for your house. You sit back down on the seat normally after you are done trying to spot him from the back window.

Your hand feels warm, the ghost of his touch still living on even after the moment, forever branded in your mind. A huge grin is plastered on your face and your cheeks have grown warm and red. Your heart is beating fast and you feel like you are glowing.

This was what love feels like.

(Being friends with the avoxes pays off, they are great wingmen. You try to avoid the smile and funny looks the driver sends you.)

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bisexual-horror-fan · 8 months

Note

I know you’re requests are closed but I had an idea for a Mickey fic and I’m an awful writer and you’re amazing so imma just leave this here. What if reader and Mickey are both the Ghostfaces along with Nancy and they’re both like, literally insane. Like to the point where after they kill they gotta fuck then and there whilst covered in their victims blood blah. blah but in the end Nancy kills one of them and it makes the other completely fucking INSANE for revenge.

OKAY! SO! Anon! I fucking love this ask. I went so hard. I hope you enjoy this enemies to friends to lovers over 7K massive fic! I stretched out the timeline of Scream 2 because fuck you, this is fanfic and we can do whatever we want to! I love this request and where it leaves off? I already have a sequel planned and mostly plotted. So thank you Anon seriously. Also, shoutout to @mrsaltieri-real for helping me out on this one! You are the best.

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.9K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Ghostface! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer. Reader Has Anger Issues. Fighting. Taunting. Teasing. Mickey And Reader Are ASSHOLES To Each Other. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Mild Fluff. Enemies To Friends To Lovers. Ghostface Partners In Crime Couple. Mickey Is Crushing Hard. Angst. Hurt. Crying. Emotional Pain. I Apologize In Advance.

—

“So Good To You.”

—

You never cared much for the idea of getting a college education, or at least that is what you told yourself because financially it was way out of reach for you, an impossibility. That was until you got an offer you simply couldn’t turn down, what that offer was? It was for a free ride at a college by a benefactor with money to burn and some revenge she needed to be carried out. It would be a hindrance for some, but not for you. The reason you were chosen was because of not only your previous experience with this, but your outright willingness to spill blood. So you accept, you follow her instructions to the fucking letter and arrive at school in September.

Once moved into your dorm, a few days into college you were meeting up with her in person, all the correspondence up to this point has been online and on the phone, meeting her had to be done carefully. The meeting is not even in town, the process must be delicate, and the wrong people cannot see you together lest there be talk and suspicion. When you show up and see that she is not alone you are confused, when you sit down, and she explains that you are not the only student she is “sponsoring” you are pissed.

You don’t hide this either, gripping your menu, so tightly it might bend, speaking in a hushed yell whisper, “Nancy, what the fuck?”

He, whoever he was, agreed, leaning forward and voice low, “Yeah actually, what the fuck?”

Nancy tried to have a measured response, attempting to calm you both, she set her own menu aside, fingers laced together, hands resting on top of the tablecloth. She says your name and then his, “Mickey-” you scrunch your nose, who the fuck is named Mickey? Like the fucking mouse?

“-I have to make sure this happens. You both know the motive and I figured having two of you would make this better, all the easier. I can be very hands-off and honestly, you are both such great talents. How could I choose just one of you?”

That pissed you off further. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to be overheard, “It sounds to me more that you don’t think I can handle this myself and that I need some shitty fucking guy’s help to kill.”

Mickey scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he said, “Yeah, you are such an empowered woman who doesn’t need any help to kill. So tough. So strong. If you are so capable, why do you need someone to fund your college career?”

You hated him. Everything about him. His stupid spiky hair, the dumb shade of blue on his sweater, his face, his voice, what he said in tone and also in content. “It’s called a scholarship. I know it’s a big word, you’ve probably never heard it, and what about you? She thinks that YOU need a woman’s help to kill, how sad is that for you?”

By the way his eyes narrowed, you feel like he doesn't like you either. Good. You don’t want him to.

The dinner is tense, but you manage to make it through and Nancy makes it clear that if you want to go or if he does that you can, but she will pull her funding and whoever is left will get to do it alone. You don’t back down and neither does he, so you are forced to work together, and you accept this fact with extreme reluctance.

The plan is for you and him to get as close to Sidney and her friends as possible, to insert yourselves and get in the right position at just the right time to make sure that this happens just as Nancy wanted. You did, and you were barely able to restrain your rage against him, it comes out sometimes, everyone else thinks it is an affectionate thing, a long-running joke of both of you disliking each other and exchanging barbs, but no one thought it was serious.

You had to get used to his presence, but that proved to be difficult, you would sometimes get so riled up after an argument with him that you felt like screaming and ripping your hair out, he got under your skin in the worst way possible. You got to him similarly it seemed, you sometimes knew he left your interactions being the one who could barely reign in his temper, part of you liked getting to him like that.

Staying away from him and avoiding any time you and Mickey were solo was a must, but sometimes you can’t help it when you are in the same friend group like this. You and he were at the same party and Sidney left to go use the bathroom, and Randy went to go get a drink, and that left you and him in proximity.

You and Mickey were both leaning against the same wall. He speaks first, “Getting real friendly with Sid there.”

You smile, proud of yourself, you were making a great impression, fantastic progress, you allow yourself to indulge in feeling pride as you agree with his assessment, “Yeah, I am.”

“She seems super invested. You do know that you need more than a low cut shirt to get her fallin’ all over herself for you, right?” He turned to face you, and you turn too as you respond, “Yeah unlike you, I am not a total slut, I am not trying to fuck her.”

“Why not?” He asked, and you laughed into your cup, making sure to keep your voice low enough just for him to hear, “Who am I? Billy Loomis? Gonna fuck her then gut her?”

He shrugs before taking a sip from his own cup, a swallow before he says casually, “I’ve read your papers in film class, derivative is your whole thing.”

“Is it now?” You ask and he says, “It is. Taking from someone great, and regurgitating it back out as if it is some amazing new or profound thought, something original all your own, when it very obviously is not.”

He was such an insufferable asshole.

You swallow what is left in your cup and then push off the wall, “I need another fucking drink if I am gonna have to be around you.”

He lets you go.

After lunch one day you, and he ended up in the same direction, you don’t want to deal with him and so you pick up the pace, walk faster, and he makes sure to speed up too, “Awe where you off to in such a rush? Gonna be late for your gender studies class, princess?”

“Gross, do not call me that shit.” You say as you adjust your backpack, rolling your eyes before you retort, “You ready to fail that test tomorrow? I know you haven’t been studying.”

His hands are thrown up, eyes skyward and a grin as he says, “Heaven forbid, I wanna enjoy the college experience and make the most of it out and about, not with my nose in a book all the time.”

“I think you could stand to be a little more well-read, you are painfully fucking dull whenever I am forced to talk to you.” Breaking off for the turn you head towards the building for your next class, he calls after you, “I am so, so hurt. Hey, don’t forget to spell women with a y, you’ll lose points otherwise, okay?”

He knew just how to really fucking bother you.

You know how to bother him, too.

A different day, you and him were meant to have a meeting with Nancy. You were waiting for her to arrive, and he was boasting about how he had gotten in with Randy and Derek, you said, “Finally, took you long enough. It’s weird, though, considering that you are the fucking worst.”

“I’m the worst?” He asked, and you nod, “Yes you are, I don’t know how you pulled it off, I have seen your acting ability.”

His hand rubs over his eyes as he asks, “You insult my acting ability now? What is wrong with it?”

“Mickey. Virgin teens faking on prom night are better actors than you are.”

His jaw drops, brows pinch together, and you pile on before he can respond, “You seem so chummy with Randy though, you blown him yet orrr?”

Nancy walked into you both locked in another augment, and she slammed the door, making you both stop. “Can you please, please, for the love of God, not fight for one day? I know it must be very hard, but do it for me?”

“It isn’t my fault she is such a frigid bitch.” He spits, and you say back, “Rich coming from the school slut, seriously, do you sweat chlamydia?”

Mickey opens his mouth and Nancy cuts him off, “Please, save it! Can’t you be the bigger person here?”

Mickey doesn’t even look at her, eyes locked with you, he says, “I know you are a real maternal figure, but I am not your fucking son so can you not talk to me like I am?”

You have to bite back the laugh you were about to bark out, and Nancy was just done, thoroughly over you both and your petty rivalry. “If you both don’t knock it off, I will call off the whole thing!”

That had you and he both turning to her, “You can’t!”

It is reminiscent of a tired parent on a car trip sick of hearing, “Are we there yet?” and responding with, “I will turn this car around!” When she tells you both, “I can, and I will if you don’t play nice at least in front of me!”

You and Mickey both know she is serious. You do your best to chill the hell out and just get through this without killing each other.

The road is long until the first kill is meant to happen. You and he have ebbs and flows of seriously deep hatred, neutral times of acceptance and even an instance or two of actually kind of getting along, at least on the surface. Below that, you still find times of hating each other.

One night after yet another tense meeting, after yet more endless frustration, you and he locked in another fight it happens without you meaning to. Both of you are just too pent-up and when he spits, “I am so tired of you being such a bitch, have you tried loosening up sometimes?”

“How would you recommend I do that in between keeping a low profile, getting closer to Sid and the rest, and keeping my grades up?” He tells you with crossed arms over his chest, “I’d recommend you taking a good dick every once in a while.”

“Does it always gotta come back to that? Just fuck my stress away and that will fix me?”

“Why not try it?” And he says it so smugly, something inside just snaps inside of you, leading to you both being in your bed. Your clothes don’t even totally come off, it is a messy hate-fuck, “I knew you wanted me-”

Your teeth sink into his throat, a sharp bite that makes him jerk back, his hips faltering as you respond, “I don’t want you, this means fucking nothing, you mean fucking nothing, okay?”

“Fine, fuck.” Another roll of his hips pulls a moan from you before he mutters out, “Crazy fucking bitch, just stop biting me.”

A terrible idea hits, and you execute it, a slap to his face as opposed to a bite and it is so shocking, catches him so off guard he has to actively fight the urge to cum. “Better?”

You ask sugary sweet, and he grits out, “I fucking hate you.”

“I fucking hate you too.”

Hate fucking when the wait for the plan to kick off becomes a somewhat regular occurrence, one neither of you chose to acknowledge unless you were splayed over a surface together.

Currently, you were in Mickey’s place. You and he agreed to head over to a party together to meet up with everyone else, you were in one of those times when you didn’t totally hate his guts, just mostly did, so you could tolerate his presence. You were getting impatient, you were a punctual person, and he was not when it came to things like this. You were tapping your foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you sat at the bar as you waited, calling out to him while he is in his bedroom, “What are you doing in there? Jacking off? I’d like to go sometime this century.”

“Yeah, I bet you like to think about that.” He called back, and you scoffed, “As fucking if.”

While you waited, your eyes flitted over the bar, and you noticed there were scattered papers about, you are so bored you start to sift through them, looks like some kind of project he was working on. You look further, wondering what it was, you skim pages and words caught on, “slice” and “blood”.

You start to look further, flip through pages, and you find descriptions of murder, violent kills, strangulation, knives stabbed into warm bodies. You read of terrible brutality and the feelings that are invoked while experiencing it. You become so absorbed in the reading when his hand touches your shoulder, you jump nearly a foot in the air, heart hammering.

“Catching up on some reading?” He asked with a grin, and you roll your eyes as you shake off his hand, “Creep.”

“Says the girl who is currently rummaging through MY shit.” Your eyes are back on the papers, ignoring what he said, and instead you ask, “What even is all this? Some fucked up project for a class?”

He takes the seat on the stool next to you, “It’s my work before coming to school.”

Your eyes go wide, you look at him, “Wait is this-”

He brightens further, “A scrapbook, yeah! I was rearranging it before you showed up, got a bit too into it, lost track of time, so I couldn’t clean it up before you came in, and then you were fucking rushing me-”

“Holy fucking shit, you have a scrapbook of your previous kills?” You flip through, detailed accounts, pictures, small souvenirs, more still. It was amazing but also infuriating, how the fuck did you never think to do something like this? Most you had was scrawled out diary entries post kill, but this was truly in depth, a testament to his commitment to wielding a knife and bringing pain.

He leans closer, starts pointing out particular details, and you have to admit, an impressive body of work, clear effort put forth into this catalogue of violence. “She was the first. She was in my math class in high school, the kind of girl who thought she was way too good for everyone, you know the type.”

His eyes meet yours, a taunting smile, and you find yourself letting out a laugh. He kept talking, and you kept listening until he says, “You are being awfully quiet.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” You ask, and he laughs, “No. It just isn’t like you, normally you make your opinions very painfully known.”

You sighed, “I just can’t get over what a good idea this is, I’m fucking pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” You admit, and he laughed louder, “I got one up on you and you admit it? Fuck, it is a good night.” He gets up, collects the papers and puts them in the open box nearby. You try to stop him, “Wait, where are you going?”

You ask as he takes the box back to his room, and he says, “We have a party to get to, remember? I’ll let you read it in full another time for you to cream yourself over, alright?”

Yeah, sure, cream yourself over is what you’d do. You are simply curious about his work before you both met, you liked getting a feel for him and what he had done, it only makes sense since you are going to work together. He comes back and you both leave, but that night you had to admit is what started the shift, you started to look at Mickey a bit differently, had more respect for him. He obviously had skills to back up his talk, it was a comfort as well as just nice to get to know him on this level. No one else understood that side of you, getting to talk with someone else who has killed, he understands the depth, the complexity and more, you didn’t know how nice it would be.

After that night, you and he talk some more about it, his kills and yours, it is bonding, and it goes from hating each other and somewhat tolerating to being more like co-workers. A different night you were in your dorm room alone and both going over what your pasts. He showed you his newly minted scrap book, and you read aloud from your diary about how your first date ended in your killing the guy.

“How often have you gotten blood in your mouth?” He asks, and you gagged jokingly, “Too many times! You never think that it is gonna spray like that until the first time you slash a throat, right?”

“Seriously. Okay, okay. Least favourite part?” He asked, and you groaned, “Disposal, dead weight is such a bitch at times. Once a guy almost got away from me, I cornered and killed him at the bottom of some stairs, but once he was dead I had to drag him back UP those same stairs.”

“Fuck, how did you do it?” He genuinely asked, and you tell him, “With ropes and determination. How about you?” He hums, “My least favourite part has to be when the chase goes on for too long. Nothing worse than being winded before you even get the knife in them, feel like I can’t enjoy it properly, and I hate to do a rush job like that. It’s like the option is taken from me.”

“Lack of control is truly the worst.” You agree.

While you felt closer, a small kinship as well as more mutual understanding, Mickey could still be a bit much at times, you still clashed on occasion, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. It makes the path to the plan easier. You study on occasion, able to have meals together, Nancy is pretty pleased you’d both calmed down, and you find yourself consumed with regular daily life. The hate fucking isn’t so hateful and has also slowed considerably to a near stop.

When you got the go ahead, you and he were giddy. Alight. It caused one of the worst fights you had with him where you insisted that you be the first one to kill, you wanted to show that you could, prove yourself and also, it had been so, so fucking long since you had. Eventually, Nancy sides with you but insists Mickey be nearby in case shit goes screwy, and you can deal with that.

You revel in it. The phone call, the break in, the case and the actual kill. You being on top of her, stabbing her, running her through with one hand as your other is over her mouth. She struggles and whines, and you feel powerful, watching the light drain from her eyes the same way the blood does.

Perhaps you linger just a touch too long, but you just can’t help it. Mickey comes to get you, urge you out, and then he sees it, the aftermath. You still sitting on top of her in your costume, the knife to the hilt inside of her, and you turn, ghostly white mask with small spots of red and his breath catches. He read your accounts, you’d talked in depth, he’d killed people himself, but this, seeing it, you, post kill, was a totally different animal.

You pull off your mask, hair a mess, face sweaty with the effort, a manic smile as you ask, “What’s up?”

He lingers by the door of the balcony you were on, stuck in the threshold, the sliding glass was acting like a metaphorical doorway as much as a physical one, a turning point, one that cannot be forgotten or ignored. A shifting tide, your relationship, how he viewed you, permanently changed. His mouth feels dry, he swallows and says, “We have to go.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right, just got a little uh-” You look down at the body, pull the knife out and drive it in one last time, you sound gleeful, “-stab happy.”

The laugh spills from you both unbidden and then, you flee the scene of the crime. Costumes stowed in bags and knife hastily wiped down. He couldn’t stop looking at you after that night. Every time he saw you, it was like you went from black and white static to live and in colour, as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. He had it and had it so fucking badly for you, it was embarrassing.

You could get him, understand him on levels no one else could or probably ever would.

Mickey started treating you differently. You think it is because of what he saw, he finally was respecting you and sure it was part of it, but much more than you could have realized went into it. He was being much more than pleasant to be around, he was nice, fun to be around, he wasn’t an asshole like previously and slowly, much, much too slowly, after many meals bought, coffees given and notes shared you figure out that you think, he has a crush on you. It slips through even when with your “friends” and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially because he doesn’t hide it. He is kind, he flirts shamelessly, he makes his wants and intentions known.

You don’t know how to deal with or process that.

So you don’t.

You let him treat you better, you feel previous hate and anger melt, but you write it off as friendship, nothing wrong with that considering what you were doing. You take his compliments with a smile, you laugh off his over the top promises of “I’d be so, so good to you.” with a wave of your hand.

The plan continues on, stretches out from days to weeks, Nancy claims she wants Sidney to really suffer, and you aren’t going to question or complain.

The next kill is up to Mickey, you weren’t able to be there, but you got to see him after. Amped the fuck-up and excited, he told you about it all, how it went. “He was so pathetic, you should have seen him, begging for his life, crawling on the ground, oh my God.”

You watched him pace back and forth, animated hand gestures, his t-shirt was sticking to him from the sweat, your eyes aren’t sure where to linger, defined arm muscles or that wide sick smile. He flops onto the couch beside you, a large exhale, “It was fucking incredible.”

“And what are you feeling like, right now?” You asked as you looked down at him, and he says as his head pitches to look up at you, “I am feeling fucking starving. You want to order in a pizza?”

So you did. You ate sprawled on the floor and talked about the fact everything was meant to ramp up soon, that you and he were expected to both go in hard within the next few weeks.

It still goes on, you and both grow closer, another kill here, one there until finally there is a night where you have to murder together. The talking beforehand is frantic, both planning what was going to happen, honestly excited to do this together. You and Mickey started off hating each other's guts, but that seems so far away now, you and he were actually good friends and a united front on this plan.

It doesn’t go well at first.

The struggle is hard, you and he almost lose the two people you were planning on killing, but you manged it. Watching Mickey up close, not only that but you both doing this together, it makes something in you and your perception of him change. It is startlingly intimate, you are so in the moment, weirdly in sync with very little verbal communication, at one point you are gutting one of them while he holds them down and even through the masks, you know your eyes are locked, you can’t see his gaze, but you feel it.

It’s then. Between the smell of blood, the sweat making your black robe stick to you, over the screams of your shared victims, that all of it hits you.

It all comes crashing in, you thought he was the only one with a crush, with deeper feelings, that is not the case. You’ve come to realize that you have feelings for him too, deep and intense, scary and all consuming feelings, you care about Mickey and more than as a friend, a fellow killer, a partner in crime. You like him. Old memories flow through your mind now tinged differently, a highlight reel of neon recollection, synapses sparking, forcing you back, dragging you along to really look at those moments in the new light and context of your now fully exposed feelings. Raw and wriggling and out in the open air for you to contend with, screaming for acceptance and to be dealt with in some fucking fashion.

You had liked him for a long while and were far too stubborn and stupid to realize it. And you can’t ignore it any longer.

Snapped back into the moment you are staring. His strong gloved hands around the bitch’s throat, you can see the power he has, the way his arms strain from the effort, you can’t look away.

Once it was over, once they are both dead, you and he had to separate, and it made your mind run. You were so nervous, you trusted him completely now.

You knew Mickey was more than capable, but still, the thought of him actually being caught, you don’t know how you’d handle it. The sudden change steals your breath, you feel crushed by your new feelings, the unexpected care you feel for him.

The emotions run high during a kill night on the best of times, but the rough and rocky start, the joined act of killing, the fact the police presence as stepped up, it all mixes together. You were worried, very fucking worried, and that makes you terrified.

When you come back to the meeting point, he is already there, his mask is taken off, and you hastily remove your own. Staring across the space at each other, heavy breathing, and the look in his eyes upon meetings yours, he knows. He knows you feel differently now, and it can be felt in the air. You stride forward first as you exhale out, “Thank fuck you’re okay-”

As soon as you are close enough Mickey’s hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you to him and his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing you up in him, preventing you from speaking, stealing all words, you return his affection hastily, clumsily and with a moan of relief. Even during all your hate fucking, it wasn’t like this. There were no presses of your mouth to his, the only times your mouths were used were to bite, cause pain, or on occasion give each other some truly rough but brutal oral sex.

You are greedy, need to make up for lost time. You kiss him hard, want to make him as breathless as you are, more than the chase made him. You and he end up on the couch in his place. Costumes are long forgotten on the floor. His hands wander, touch you all over, help pull clothes away and aside, “I’ve been thinking about this so fucking much.”

A laugh slips out as you straddle him, helping him out of his shirt and throwing it aside, “Yeah Mickey?”

He takes in the view of you in just your pants and bra perched on his thighs, his hands run up your sides, fingers press over an already flowering bruise left from when one of your murder victims kneed you in the ribs. You hiss slightly, a sharp intake of air from the stab of pain, you retaliate, fingers in his hair, you thread, twist and pull. He gasps, smile widens, and he nods as much as you allow, “Yeah, been thinking about you just like this.”

“Just like this?” You grind on his lap, bare down on his clothed erection, short muted sounds of pleasure leave you both as you lose yourselves in the action, the friction before he manages to get out, “Almost, there are no clothes in the way, and I am buried deep again in that sweet fucking cun-”

You pull even harder and his sentence breaks off with a groan as you prompt him. “Stop talking and start doing.”

He was losing it. Normally whenever he hooked up with people he was sure, in total control, but you got the drop on him. He should know better, especially after all the previous very violent hook-ups.

At first, he was on top, or rather, he was trying to be, but all of a sudden a leg was around his hip and hands were on his broad chest pushing him until he fell onto his ass, back propped up on the arm rest of the couch. You settle into his lap quickly, straddling him and then lowering yourself, taking him deep, to the hilt, before he could protest. The moan leaves him on an exhalation at feeling how soaked and hot you are. His hands are on your hips, and he rocks up into you once before your hands are in his hair once more. Fingers thread anew, wrap around and twist before pulling, it makes his eyes shoot open, a harsh inhale from the pain, brows knitted together in confusion when you tell him firmly, "Stay fucking still. This is for me right now, not you."

He is shocked, stunned, your tone so harsh, leaving no room for argument, and you start to move, hips rise and fall as you ride him for all he's worth.

You look fucking stunning, gorgeous, and you feel even better.

He didn’t know he could be so into this, but he thinks it is because it’s you. He has seen you kill, seen how capable and powerful you are, he is so fucking into you, feels so deeply for you, he thinks you could carve your name into his flesh and he’d beg for more. The praise tumbles out between groan and gasps, timed with the falls and of your hips, the rolls of your body, and it makes you laugh breathy, “You are really into this.”

“Been a, fuck, while.” He confesses, and you slow your hips, “Mickey, have you kept it in your pants? Stopped fucking half the student body?”

You knew he was seeing other people in between your fucking for a while, but when you and he stopped, did he not get his fill elsewhere? He shrugs, tries to seem unbothered, but it’s hard when his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, browns pinched together, you clench on him and his head is thrown back against the arm rest of the couch. Sweat is down his temple, tendons in his throat as he swallows thickly, “Been busy.”

It is all he can force out. This is serious. Mickey the slut stopped screwing anyone else because he was crushing on you so severely. He did really like you, holy shit. Not an act at all, he was so consumed with you that fucking other people wasn’t something he wanted.

The emotion radiating off him is filling you, bleeding back into you, and you let it take you without trying to show it too heavily. You fucking care about him, you really fucking do.

Your hand below your waist, quick fingers bring you to your peak twice in short succession as you ride him before he finds his own high. The first time is frantic, needy, more about getting it out of your systems after so long without. It is undeniably satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable.

The next time happens that same night. With reheated Chinese and in his bed. You talked about it all, how the kill that night went and in the process worked yourself up once more and made the shower you shared after your time on the couch utterly pointless from how sweaty you got again.

After that night, you were together. You and he often fucked, maybe more than you should, but you just could not get enough. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t really fucked anyone other than him since getting here over a year ago. Times in your dorm or his, shared showers, traded oral in places that you shouldn’t like between library stacks. Once you had sex in the band pit of the theatre, your hands over his mouth and his over yours as you worked to keep quiet, him thrusting up into you, and you are slamming down on him as you worked each other over, bringing him and yourself to Earth shattering pleasure.

Both of you kept it more hush, hush, but another secret just added to it. You didn’t run from your feelings, nor did you attempt to hide how into him, you were. The dates squeezed in everywhere you could also try to make up for your stubborn bullshit earlier. Affection was, often, moments of tenderness and vulnerability in private were shared.

There is a moment that you keep coming back to.

Another kill. You and he are blood splattered, you had a quickie next to the body, a rushed moment of passion with you pushed over a desk. Your legs were shaking from the strength of the orgasm he fucked out of you. Over the past while you’d gotten much more comfortable with him taking control, it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was shared responsibility that you give into as often as he does. His cum was leaking out into your panties that you had just pulled back into place. You were heaving, body slick, and resting for a moment when he comes around the desk. His mask is pulled up, and he leans down, gloved hands come to your face, one hand holds the knife in his leather clad grip, the other holds your cheek. You feel the knife handle against the opposite side, and he moves in, he kisses your forehead half-in-half-out of his killer garb, and you melt. You smile up at him and he returns it.

The lies and secrecy shouldn’t turn you on like this. Lying to Sidney and everyone else, the high you are both on from so far getting away with it is immense. You and he are too perfect of a fit.

It’s the day of. You and he are about to head out when the urge strikes. “Hey-“ Your hand quickly reached out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door, so he was stood facing you again. His hand dropped to your waist, and he smiled down at you, that stupid damn devastating smile you used to hate that you now couldn’t see yourself living without, “- before we do this, there’s something I wanna tell you. Just in case.”

He noticed you looked almost nervous, weight shifting from one foot to the other, he had never seen this emotion on your face before, and he knew exactly what was coming before you took a deep, unsteady breath and opened your mouth to speak again. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” He said quickly, eyes wide, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, an action you had both done to each other God knows how many times in a much different context. “Save it. Tell me after we’ve won, okay?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, prying his fingers away from your mouth. “God, you’re such an overdramatic dork, Mickey. Okay.”

It was stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to him. You should have said it.

You and he and Nancy were in the theatre with Sidney. The monologue was underway, big speeches, reveals, shock and awe. You’d been watching from afar, waiting for your cue to come in, when it happens all too quickly. Sidney made Nancy so angry so fast, unable to control herself, and she points the gun and with a simple move of her finger, the trigger is pulled and all of a fucking sudden just like that night your world is coming crashing in. He wasn’t expecting it, the bullet holes in his chest pour blood out rapidly.

You are frozen in place. Rooted to the spot. You watch as his body falls. Here then gone. Stole from you in a single moment, no time to react, nothing to do, no time to process either. He was ripped from you, and it takes a moment for everything to come back into focus. Sidney and Nancy are struggling, and you find the strength.

You move.

The weapon in your hand is used on Sidney, not the way you’d intended to, the butt of your own gun is smacked full force on the back of her head. You knock her out and let her fall to the stage. You are left standing there with Nancy, who is wondering what you are doing. You are holding up the gun, pointing it straight at her, questioning her in the same way, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why are you pointing that at me?” She asked in seeming disbelief, and you scoff, “Why do you think?! I heard you! I heard what you said, I watched you shoot Mickey, I know you want me dead next, right? Clean up the loose ends?”

You spit it at her with vitriol before you do your best impression of her annoying voice during her speech to Sidney, “There was a big scuffle, and you-” your foot kicking Sidney’s boot for emphasis, gesturing down to her with your other hand, “-shoot Mickey-”

Saying it makes you sob. Tears start to stain your cheeks, “I cannot believe you! Bringing us here, making us do your dirty work, and you were planning on killing us the whole fucking time!”

“What, did you really think that he’d get away with it? His big plan about blaming the movies? What jury would believe that-” She shouts, and you stomp your foot, “Shut the fuck up, that isn’t the point!” You weren’t going to tolerate her speaking ill of him, not while he is still bleeding out in the band pit, you kept talking, “You double-crossed us!”

Your gun moves down, and you shoot, getting her in the knee. She crumples under the weight of her own body. She is on the ground, and she is the one sobbing in short order. You make your way to her, you step onto her busted knee, grinding your boot down into it and revelling in her anguished screams. Blood gushes and you still are not satisfied. You sink down, you lay into her. First the gun across her face, teeth are knocked out, displaced and rattle as they roll across the wooden stage.

You hit her again and again, next the gun is dropped, your hand takes over, punching her, nose breaks, cartilage cracks, bones snap, she is coughing and wheezing and weak. Your knife is removed from the holster stored in your boot, and you hold it to her throat, “You are such a stupid fucking bitch.”

She was delirious, and you slammed her head against the stage, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes are unfocused, but they are on you, “This is your fault. You are going to die, but you didn’t have to. You killed him first, and now I’m gonna kill you.”

The response is weak from her dry cracked lips, “Why?”

“Why?” You asked, a bitter laugh, you hold the knife closer to her throat, “Dumb cunt wants to know why? Sure, I can tell you.”

A deep inhale before you say, “You brought me here under false pretenses, made me work with one of the most annoying and insufferable people I have ever met in my life, forced me to be around him and in the process made me realize that…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it, but you instead say, “-That I care about him. That I needed someone else who could truly understand me on this level, who cared, who showed me how I deserved to be fucking treated and then, you just…You kill him, snuff him out, like he was nothing!”

You feel the tears falling again, “After all we’ve done to make your fucked up dream of a revenge plot come true, and you expect me to just lie down and take it when you kill him?!”

You can’t see her properly, not through how watery your eyes were. A steadying breath before you say, “And the way you did it. With a gun? It is insulting! Where is the intimacy? The care? The artistry, if he had to die by murder, he deserved better! Do you care about the art form at all?!”

You are tired of her, the anger and sadness had been bubbling up, it all comes to a head and bursts, the knife slices through her throat, she is choking on her blood when you tell her, “I’m not playing along, I’m not doing your stupid plot, not anymore. I’m rewriting it, Sidney’s gonna live.”

You don’t stop there. The knife is forced into her over and over. By the time you are done, her stupid white unflattering white suit is stained completely red.

Getting up from the complete mess, you look over your shoulder, Sidney is still passed out. This is your chance to run, but you can’t. Not yet.

Your steps are tentative, your knees hurt from how long you were on them while hunched over Nancy’s body while you were killing her. Your hands shake, and you peek over the edge of the stage and see him down there, amongst upturned band chairs, and your breath is stolen. You and he hooked up down there weeks prior, and now he was down there, looking wrong, totally fucking wrong. He looks lonely, and you hate that, you move quickly, one hand on the edge of the stage, and you jump down, it hurts your ankles from the height, you don’t care.

You stay there with him. You cling to him, you are reminded of that conversation, your least favourite. Dead weight. Quickly going cold, lifeless eyes staring up, past you, to some point on the ceiling, unseeing. You let yourself cry. You want to say it, tell him the depth of your feeling want to force the words out, you want to tell him you love him, but now it doesn’t feel right at all. He should have been able to hear those words from you while he was alive, while you still had a shot at a future together, whatever it would have looked like.You let yourself say this at the very least.

“You were right…” You sniff, you wipe at your cheeks and say, “The time we had was short but fuck. You were so good to me. I should have let you be good to me sooner. I should have been better to you, too.” The next words sit heavy on your tongue, no matter how much you want to they are left unsaid, and you make yourself leave him.

Before you do, there is one thing that feels necessary, like you have to. Hands cradle his face, one hand still holding the knife, and you lean down, you press a blood stained kiss to his forehead, near his hairline just like he did to you before. A mirror of that previous act of tenderness on a scarlet tinged afternoon but so much sadder because it was the last moment like this you’d ever have with him and again still, it was totally wrong. He can’t feel it, because he’s dead.

You get up and with one last forlorn look to him, you run.

Sidney wakes up unscathed but dazed, Mickey dead and Nancy too. You hadn’t revealed yourself, she hadn’t seen you, Nancy and Mickey hadn’t made mention of you, you’d been wearing gloves and there was none of your blood or DNA at the finale’ site, so you got away with it. They think the last person is still at large, but they have no clue who.

Your sadness is understandable, your real grief is able to be spread around, it is believable that it is for Hallie and Derek and everyone else but Mickey on the surface. You and Sidney drift apart. You tell her it’s too hard and she more than understands, she was initially suspicious at first, but you were too good an actor, your alibis too well planned and airtight.

The unmarked account that your tuition came out of was still full. You intend to transfer to a different college next semester. You can’t stay here, the idea of graduating from here without Mickey is horrible. You need a new state, a new school, a fresh chance to try and attempt to move on. It’s after winter break at that new school that you meet.

The events happened over a year ago, and you were still not doing good. Still sad, you wonder how you can ever process this pain, this total loss, no way can you talk about it, no way another person could ever understand.

Until that is one fateful day, you get a knock at your apartment door. You answer it and standing in front of you is a ghost, one person who you thought, just like everyone else, was dead, and maybe, perhaps, the only one who can relate to you.

Brows furrowed and gripping the door, so your legs won’t buckle, you asked nervously, in total shock and disbelief, “Stu Macher?”

He grinned with a point to himself, “That’s me. Can I come in?”

#Mickey Altieri X reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HERE #HAVE IT #ENJOY IT #FUCK #FINALLY #Been working on this one for a WHILE

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