#how dare you bring a child into this petty business of yours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blaaaaask · 3 months

Text

This is madness

Hear me out, this was what my head canon was for new Willy Wonka:

Willy Wonka is played by Ben Affleck

Ever since he inherited the factory from the previous 'Willy Wonka' he has been on a downward spiral of hell. Trying to get a new 'Willy Wonka' to take his place is impossible in this modern era because children suck, and each year he attempts a 'golden ticket' tour to the factory in hopes that one day he can fucking retire by finding the perfect child to con into taking on the business.

Harrison Ford is Charlie's grandpa.

I don't remember Grandpa's name, so we're going with Grandpa Ford.

~Charlie has no other grandparents because they're all divorced or dead.

~Charlie (I don't know child actors so pick whatever you want) sometimes visits Grandpa Ford but not super often which spurs Grandpa Ford to want to plan a fun trip to bond with his grandson.

~Grandpa Ford thinks the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory is super cool and so he keeps buying candy bars until he gets the Golden Ticket.

~Scene where Ford is like 'Charlie, look, we get to go to the Chocolate Factory!' but Charlie is on his iPad screaming about Roblox. By the time Charlie hears him, he's like 'Grandpa, that's so unkewl, why the heck would I want to go to a factory? Can't you just give me money for Robucks?" (Is that what it's called? Lol)

~Charlie is forced to go

~WonkaFleck has everyone sign papers. There is at least 1 parent who is trying to read through it all, but their child is throwing a tantrum so they end up saying 'fuck it' and signing it.

~The whole group of odd people have their mini solo scenes including:

-Kid who is allergic to Blue Dye 4000 and like, totally eats something very artificially blue because their parent is too busy on dating apps to pay attention. This kid doesn't make it far. They balloon up so much kid would need like, 20 epipens or something. WonkaFleck like 'not my problem you signed the papers saying you would be responsible for your own actions here'

~Kid who literally touches everything. EVERYTHING. EVERY. THING. You? Touched. Food? Touched. Machine? Touched. WonkaFleck gets kind of rage-y and tells this kid 'NO. STOP.' But kid's mom is a tiger mom and she jumps in and rips into Wonka about "we do not use the word 'no' in our household" and "how dare he think he can parent her child?" They do not last.

~One kid who stands uncomfortably close to people and stares. STARING. And everytime you try to speak to them they don't talk back, they just stare harder. Unblinking. WonkaFleck does not think he can withstand that level of terror in his life, so when the lights flick off (which is actually quite common in this facility) he boots the child into a candy flattener and we all know where that's going.

~We discover that Grandpa Ford is incredibly useful in the tour because he is one of the few people who can read things in cursive.

~At least 5-10 of the kids go around with phones and ipads taking FaceTimes of all the trade secrets and business practices.

~Wonkafleck trying to stop them by putting a ban on electronics, but they don't listen or they steal back their phones/items and their parents are like 'lol kids will be kids, am I right?'

~Grandpa Ford is at least respectable and had forced Charlie NOT to bring any electronics on the trip. The child cries like, 99/100 times the other kids have their electronics out, though.

~Wonkafleck finally destroys all electronics in one of his many rooms of weird shit.

~Grandpa Ford is incredibly good at storytelling, conversing, and trying to help resolve the problems of the children even though their problems are incredibly petty. Wonkafleck is undeniably sad that Grandpa Ford is pushing 90s or he would have forced him to take over the factory.

~Oompa loompas are actually regular people just wearing bright orange haz vests because gotta practice safety, yo

~But also they realize the factory is like, 4 million degrees in some spots and WonkaFleck is like 'sorry, this is a big place, I can't afford air in here'

~Also one room a chocolate "water tower" breaks because of these bad safety protocols and takes out half the tourist group but WonkaFleck is like 'do I look like I give a damn?'

~Grandpa Ford and Charlie do get into a little trouble by taking some candy, but it's because Grandpa Ford wants to 'take a little piece with him' to remember the trip by. Charlie just like 'uh huh, okay grandpa.' Doesn't question it.

~By the end, everyone be dead but Charlie and Grandpa Ford. But Wonkafleck is like 'you guys stole shit.'

~Charlie, realizing he means the candy, takes it out of his pocket and gives it back to Wonkafleck and is like 'here you go, mister.'

~Wonkafleck, totally moved by the fact that this child did something respectable, decides this is it. This might be the child to take over the helm of the factory. He's like "Charlie, since you were honest I'm going to give you a wonderful deal. Take this factory from me. You can inherit everything."

~Grandpa Ford like "oh wow, factory" totes bamboozled

~Charlie like, "No thanks, mister, I don't want it."

~Wonkafleck, almost loses his shit, barely holding on by a thread, is like "what you mean you don't want this factory???"

~Charlie says "I don't really like candy. I like energy drinks. And Robucks."

~Everyone is like 'flmlenwgngegbagbwgeljage'

~Grandpa Ford says, "Charlie, you can buy those things with the money you make from the factory."

~Charlie gives grandpa a weird look. "Why would I want to work for money when I can just ask for it??"

~Wonkafleck woes his fucking life. He rages a bit, then motherfuckin' skips outta the scene and jumps into a hot air balloon to reach the highest peak of the city so he can scream for all eternity.

~The End

What I actually thought after I saw the real trailer for Willy Wonka:

Wow I am totally off, lol.

#Willy Wonka #Wonka Movie #Willy Wonka 2023 #storytime #Ben Affleck #Harrison Ford #charlie and the chocolate factory #Weird fan story #if I were a filmmaker #But like all the worst plot #Me making bad predictions without seeing anything #children being children #I should get off the internet more #sorry not sorry #so if you've seen the movie did I hit any points HAHA #I'll stop

8 notes · View notes

charlezarrd · 1 year

Text

11/30/22 - In the Hall of the Golden Goddess

There it is, folks. The last entry for Novembeat this year. Hope you enjoyed. Let me know which one was your favorite if you want. Keep an eye out for @the-backspin-alchemist's music for my stuff, and I'll probably be making a masterpost for all this tomorrow, if I have time.

See you next year!

Or, yknow. Next week if you're following me here.

Lanter enters Tasimira’s hall, the gilded casino, with rows of gambling tables on each side of him, framed by golden pillars.

At the far end, on a throne of dice, sits the Goddess of Fate and Chance herself, as tall as five men.

“Well, well.” She says. “If it isn’t my delinquent proxy. Did you come to apologize for ignoring me, or did you just miss our face-to-face talks that much?”

“Shut your mouth.” Lanter tells her.

He stands at his full height, ready for a confrontation. He’s only able to make eye contact with her knee.

“Excuse me!?” She blinks, taken aback.

“I’ve met your sons, and I’ve met your daughters. Not all of them, but enough. I see through your facade now. I know you never intended to follow through on the deal we made, did you? It didn’t matter how much money I gathered for you, you never had the power to bring her back.”

“Now. The situation was fairly complicated…” Tasimira frowns.

“No. No, it wasn’t.” Lanter interrupts her. “Shut up and let me finish. You’re a fucking child playing with people’s lives. You had all the guts to stand up and declare yourself queen at the beginning of time, and yet, I have yet to see evidence of you actually wield that title with any level of authority or responsibility.”

“Hold on. To be fair, it wasn’t me that took your fiancee. That was entirely Nera’s doing.” Tasimira holds up a hand to stop him, as if defending herself from his words.

“And now you’re deflecting your responsibility onto the goddess of Pain and Death. If you were really going to act like a queen, you’d keep the rest of your pantheon in line.”

“What are you trying to get at? I’m a very busy goddess, so would you mind getting to the point?” Tasimira sighs.

He’s starting to get under her skin.

Good.

“That you’re either an incompetent fool of a goddess, or you’re outright malicious. Either way, you’re entirely unfit to be a goddess at all, let alone Queen of the Pantheon.” Lanter spits on the floor.

“How dare you. I won’t stand for such acquisitions. Why, I have half a mind to smite you in a thousand different ways this instant!” Tasimira glares at him

“But you won’t.” Lanter smirks. “Because you need me. I’m your agent of chaos, your rogue agent. I’m the wildcard. Without people like me, your ‘story’ falls apart. Whatever you want, you need conflict. It fuels you. You crave drama. And you need me to make that happen.”

Tasimira sighs, and slumps down in her throne sullenly. “Well, then what now? What will the ever observant Lanter Spade do next?”

“Whatever the fuck I want.” Lanter tells her. “Since I know you’re not gonna do jack shit about it. Next time you give me a mission or an order or whatever you call it, I’ll decide if it’s worth my time or not. Because now I see through your facade. And I’m not gonna let you fuck with me anymore. And boy I’m gonna make you regret making me your proxy. Because I’m the only person I know that’s more petty, more selfish, and more malicious than you are.”

With that as his last word, he turns and leaves Tasimira’s hall, flipping her off on the way out. No doubt she’ll be sulking about this one for the next few years, if not a couple hundred.

#novembeat #novembeat 2022 #novembeat collab #my writing #Backspin #14 Souls

6 notes · View notes

thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 3 years

Text

all three heartbeats

bakugou katsuki / f.reader

genre: married au (husband/wife), angst, hurt/comfort?, fluff, katsuki being a sap in lowercase

synposis: katsuki works full time as a prohero, but his time working to ensure the publics safety kept him busy- far too busy at times. he seeks comfort in you and his newborn little girl because the both of you keep him grounded and keep him fighting. he just wishes he could find a way to feel like a better father and husband.

w.count: 3.6k

a/n: hi hello i aint never written for bnha before and i thought i would never write anime fics again but here we are years after (it has been actual years, someone save me LOL). what better way than to start back out with blasty amiright?

It was one of those nights. Katsuki had just walked into his home at an ungodly hour and as he shut the door behind him, he leaned his back against it, He flicked all three locks of the front door shut and dropped his duffle bag at his feet before he tipped his head back to rest on the wood. He closed his eyes, sighing as he had the urge to just sink to the floor of the entryway landing and power nap.

Lord knows when his phone would buzz or ring again- his seemingly never ending work calling him to clock in again. It seemed like recently he never clocked out of his job- always working, patrolling, fighting petty villains trying to commit petty crimes and occasionally stopping more dangerous situations that kept him on edge and busy for hours to days on end.

The duffle he dropped at his feet was full with his gear and his hero suit that was in desperate need of washing and minor repairs- things that if he even muttered to himself about, you would happily offer your aid.

His closed eyes opened and his chin dropped back down, the back of his head coming off the door as he pushed the rest of his body off it as well. He heeled off his shoes and ruffled his hair as he finally walked into his home, leaving his duffle at the door as he made his way to the bathroom.

In all honesty, Katsuki wanted to go immediately to the room he shared with you where he knew you were asleep. He desperately needed a shower though, and he wasn’t planning on crawling into bed to hold you smelling like sweat, smoke and hero work.

You told him before you didn’t mind his post-work scent, in fact you told him it was charming in it’s own way since it was proof that Pro Hero: Dynamight worked harder than anyone else to one day be the No.1 Hero he’d been dreaming of his entire life.

Katsuki never told you, but he’d think about that almost everyday and it always made him smile when he did.

The shower he took was brisk and quick because all he wanted to do was go to bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t just taking power naps on the couch at the agency. He couldn’t remember the last time he got to go to sleep in his own bed. Katsuki couldn’t remember the last time he got to hold you and it was starting to really piss him off.

Since graduating UA, getting engaged, married and then having a child with you, is tempter had considerably settled. He wasn’t entirely tame by any means, he was still a quick fire with insults, refused to use people’s names and stuck to stupid nicknames he thought of, cursed like a sailor and exploded when something mildly frustrating ticked him off- but he wasn’t like he was before.

When Katsuki can stand to be in the same room as Todoroki and Midoriya and not blow a giant fuse within the first sentence exchange, anyone would call that progress.

It was no shock that you were a large factor in his settled image- he had to start leaning self control and how to manager his attitude. The one extremely rocky point in your relationship with Katsuki back when you both were third years and you threatened to leave him if he didn’t shape up made him change. It wasn’t easy, but the arguments and fights you both had back then serve as a reminder of how far he had come according to you.

When Katsuki stepped out of the bathroom, he sighed- feeling refreshed- as he walked to the bedroom with a towel around his waist and another over his head drying his hair. It was way too late to be running the hairdryer, he’d risk waking up his child that he knew was otherwise dead to the world in their crib.

Twisting the doorknob as quietly as he could, Katsuki stepped into the bedroom and his eyes immediately looked to the bed, seeing your body’s shape beneath the comforter of the giant, Alaskan king bed you insisted you absolutely needed.

He felt his lips twitch as he left the door cracked to let in a small amount of light from the hall without stirring you. He went to his dresser and snatched a pair of shorts and a tank top and threw them on before he left the room as quietly as he had come in.

Katsuki went back to the front door and picked up his duffle bag, moving it into the living room and setting it on the couch to fiddle with it in the morning. He grabbed his phone from the side pouch of the duffle and began to shut the lights off and retreated back down the hall.

Before he went back to the room you slept in to join you, he stopped first in the room that was directly across the hall from his and yours and as quiet as a mouse crept in.

The nursey was painted in a pale yellow with sunflowers painted on the walls (curtesy of the bakusquad who insisted they were in charge of nursery decorations). Against the wall was a shelved cubby for toys and items for the baby and beside that was a changing table. Across the room was a tall dresser filled with way too many baby onesies and outfits for the future.

Katsuki walked to the white, wooden crib at the back of the room as the room itself was glowing in the soft, blue light of the baby’s nightlight. He leaned over the crib side and looked down to see his child sleeping just as quiet as can be.

He smiled as he reached down and stroked her chubby cheeks with the back of his knuckles. She was warm and soft.

“Hey there, Girlie,” he whispered, barely audible. Just watching his little girl sleep so soundly made his chest warm. God, he loved her so much. He frowned as he thought about how tough it might be on you while he’s away looking after her by yourself. She was barely a few months old and he hasn’t even had a weekend with you two yet.

Katsuki bit his lip to keep from letting the disappointment he felt in himself slip out in the form of growls.

He stuck around in the nursey for a few more minutes, just petting and admiring his child before he snuck back out and finally, finally went back to his room and as carefully as possible slid into bed.

You slept in the center of the bed that could easily fit four sleeping bodies, and Katsuki shuffled in further towards you before he was right behind you. He stared at your back in the dark room, his eyes adjusting more and more as the minutes pass.

Katsuki lightly grabbed your shoulder before he was pulling you to your back and then reaching over you to lay on your chest. On an ordinary day, Katsuki would be happy just holding you, but he felt especially worn out and drained. So, for once, even if you were sleeping, he just wanted to be held instead.

His cheek pushed into your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat beneath his ear. His right arm stretched over your shoulder to rest by your head and his left stayed beside his own body, his right leg hiked over your waist to be as close to you as he could get.

He felt his eyes roll before he shut them, finally feeling comfortable and warm and safe for the first time in days. He was finally breathing easy and all he wanted to do was stay here, in your arms, for the rest of his life.

As he started to finally doze off, his eyes fluttered open at the feeling of something carding through his hair.

He heard you take a deep breath before you were shifting just a bit to curl around him more and he felt your chin push against the top of his head.

“Go back to sleep,” he muttered, feeling your sleepy gaze on the top of his head. The small, sleepy chuckle that left your chest hummed against his cheek.

“Welcome home,” you whispered, sleep laced heavily in your voice as he felt your lips push against his scalp. “How was work?” You ask so innocently, but the question only made Katsuki burrow his face into your chest further. He doesn’t answer you, so you prompt him further. “Katsuki?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered, lifting his face just enough to speak clearly then pushing it back down again.

You say nothing at that and instead return to just carding your fingers through his semi-damp hair as you bask in each other and the silence of the house. You glance over to the alarm clock, seeing the time 4:03 am in orange, glowing numbers.

You feel like you have loads you want to talk about with Katsuki, things you want to share with him that had happened and things you want to have him tell you that’s happened, but it’s too quiet and too peaceful to bring them up. They’d have to wait.

“’m sorry,” he suddenly spoke from where he lay on your chest. Your fingers stop their mindless fiddling in his hair and he grips onto you tighter.

“What for?”

“Not being here.”

You felt your heart crack at the tone of his voice. He’s always been more open and mushy around you- as much as he denies it and he only get’s more open and more mushy when he was sleep deprived and just plain exhausted.

“I’m always working, always gone, always away doing fuck-knows-what out there and not here. I’m not home and that’s gotta really fucking suck.” He’s silent for a moment but you dare not speak. You feel like he’s been holding a lot in recently and if he’s choosing now to let it all out, you would silently encourage him to do that.

“I mean-” he scoffs at himself, “we’re married for fucks sake. We have a baby and I’m basically leaving you home alone day after day to raise her by yourself.”

“What?” Your shocked to think that’s how he feels. “Katsuki, that’s not-”

“It feels true,” he whimpers. “I feel like if I keep doing this, keep leaving you and Misuzu alone,” his voice cracks at the sound of his daughter’s name leaving his lips, “then you’ll both just disappear and I won’t even have the balls to go after you two.” You think you feel something wet seep through your sleep shirt, but you don’t say a thing about it. “I don’t feel like a husband and I don’t feel like a father. How can I feel like a hero if I can’t even spare the time to be with my god damn family?”

“Well,” you start. In truth, all you want to do is console him, but for all you know that could make him feel worse. You had to figure out what he wanted first. “What do you want to do then?”

He took a deep breath before he let it out again.

“I think I’m going to take some time off,” he concluded. It had been on his mind recently and now was as good a time as any. He just wanted to be home. “Maybe a week or two.”

“If that’s what you really want to do, then I think that’s a great idea. Just don’t forget to tell Eijirou or else he’ll blow a fuse if he just think’s your late because the great Dynamight is always punctual.”

You got a hearty puff of air and smile out of him for that little line. it was no shock that when all came down to it, Kirishima Eijirou and Bakugou Katsuki ended up working in the same agency.

“I’ll just text the bastard.”

“You need to tell the agency too, you dolt,” you lightly whacked him on the bed as he groaned. Getting time off wasn’t going to be hard for him considering the god awful hours he’s been forced into the past however long. Just going into the office to get that time off is annoying and a process he wish he could get someone else do to for him. “Just head out in the morning and let both your partner and your agency know. It won’t be so bad.”

“Whatever,” he huffed. “Just, go back to sleep.”

You glanced back at the clock to see that only about half and hour had passed. You sighed as you closed your eyes happily ready to return to sleep before Misuzu woke up.

You swore Katsuki was out before you.

-x-x-x-

You woke up three hours later, just after 7 am to the sounds of your daughter’s crying from her nursey. When you opened your eyes and sat up, your husband was no where to be seen.

You frowned, knowing that he was awake somewhere and he had only slept a few hours. Shaking your head, you got up and went to Misuzu’s room to get her from her crib and bring her into your arms.

You shushed the infant in your arms as you left the nursey and walked around the house. Katsuki was no where to be found and his everyday shoes were gone from the shoe rack next to the door. He must’ve went out already.

Not thinking much of it, you moved to the kitchen to grab one of Mizusu’s bottles from the fridge. One plus of pumping was getting bottles for the future- but that was one of the only pros among a number of cons.

With Misuzu being still so young, she didn’t do much beside nursing, napping and diaper calls. She would coo and whine and clutch onto your fingers and clothes and hair, but her energy was never prolonged.

After nursing, burping and playing with her she was yawning again. You left to place her back in her crib in her room as you let he sleep a little while longer. Flipping on the baby monitor, you left the room and went to the kitchen. Your daughter had breakfast, it was only fair that you got something to eat too.

As you scrambled the last eggs in your fridge, enough for Katsuki just in case you saw him this morning, you heard the front door open and shut again. You smiled as you heard footsteps come treading into the kitchen and you looked over your shoulder to see your husband.

You smiled at him as he rubbed the back of his head. Dressed in jeans that tore just slightly in the thighs and a t-shirt, Wwhen he saw you, he immediately started going towards you.

“Good morning,” you told him as he was at your side looking over your shoulder. “Welcome home.”

“Mmn,” he hummed at you.

“Where’d you go so early in the morning?”

“Agency.”

“You should’ve slept in a little bit more. You didn’t sleep long.”

“I didn’t want to wait any more to just be able to stay home.”

You smiled at his answer. You brought one hand up to pat his cheek as he leaned into your touch.

“Why don’t you go get comfortable if you’re staying home then?”

He hummed at you again, nodding before he kissed your shoulder and sauntered back into your shared room. He took his time getting changed and getting into more homey clothes, because when he came back into the kitchen you were placing your food on plates for the both of you.

This time, when he came to you, instead of standing beside you, he latched onto you from behind as he buried his face into your neck. You could tell from the feeling of his eyelashes tickling your skin that he was still tired. You had half a mind to tell him to just go back to bed and he could really wake up and eat later.

The way he tightened his grip on your waist and started to sway ever so gently back and forth in the kitchen made you stay silent though. It was a serene moment between you two and you just closed your eyes and basked in it. It had been so long since you just got to bask in him and him in you.

“You hungry?” You asked as softly as you could muster. He nodded but made no effort to try and move away from you. “Do you expect to eat with your face hidden?” You teased.

“Just a little longer,” he muffled, his breath making your skin rise with gooseflesh as it tickled.

Half and hour later, you were taking his plate from him as he cleaned it of food and went to put them in the sink. He jumped from his chair at the table before he was gently moving you away from the metal hole in the counter where you were about to wash the dishes you had dirtied this morning.

“I’ll wash them,” he insisted.

“I don’t mind doing it.”

“Don’t be so damned stubborn. You cooked, so it’s fair.”

You shrugged as you relented. “If you really insist. Thank you, Katsuki.” You placed a small, short kiss on his cheek before you moved back to the table to sit.

As he cleaned up the dishes, you sat at the table and fiddled with your phone, scrolling through apps to see what you missed and then flicking occasionally to watch Katsuki’s back.

“I feel you fuckin’ staring,” he spoke as he shut the water off, shaking his hands before he dried them on a towel. The dishes all sat in a plastic draining rack as he turned around and leaned against the counter. You placed your chin in your palm as you laughed at him.

“Yeah? Got a problem with it?”

“Not necessarily.”

You both jumped when a small whine was heard over the speaker of the baby monitor you had sitting on the center of the table. You pushed your chair out, but before you could even stand up, Katsuki was up and down the hall to check on Misuzu.

When you made it to her door, he had already lifted her out of her crib. She had reached up and snagged a tiny handful of her father’s hair as he hissed.

“Listen you little brat, just because your my baby doesn’t mean you can yank on my hair.” Her small fist only yanked down on his hair more as if to say ‘I can and will’. You chuckled as you walked into the nursey and started to detangle her hand from his blond hair.

Katsuki watched as her fingers released his hair and instead wrapped around your finger as you bounced it slightly. Her tiny arm moved in tandem with your finger bounces.

“Hey,” your soft voice calling him suddenly brought him out of his own mind. You gently pulled Misuzu’s fingers off you as you pushed your palm against Katsuki’s cheek. “Why are you crying?”

Was he? God, he hated crying- especially in front of you. He clicked his tongue, whipping his head to face away from you as he used one of his hands to quickly swipe under his eyes.

“I’m not.”

You smiled at him, holding back a laugh as you pushed your husband into the living room to let Misuzu play on the floor. Katsuki sat on the living room floor cross legged as you watched him play with her as she lay on her back.

Occasionally he would glance at the time and remind you to pump, as if your tender chest wasn’t a constant reminder anyway. You always just nodded and told him you would when you needed to.

The three of you spent the morning in the living room until the infant began to yawn back to back and rub at her eyes clumsily. You let Katsuki put her down for her nap in the afternoon since he never really had the opportunity to. Through the baby monitor you could hear him mutter and coo at her to go to sleep.

When she was down, Katsuki came back into the living room and sat himself beside you on the couch. He sighed, throwing his head back against the couch and closing his eyes, obviously ready for a nap himself.

“Why not try and sleep while she’s down?” You had planned on getting him to rest while you start to go through the duffle bag you had relocated to the corner of the room a while ago to see what all he needed done with his hero equipment.

He opened one of his eyes, seeing you eyeing towards his bag and he frowned. He shifted his body, snatched your waist and threw himself back to lay on the cushions, you following in tow to lay on top of him.

“Katsuki!” You scolded in a hushed tone as to not wake up your daughter who just went to sleep.

“I’ll nap here and you will too. No objections.” He brought one of his hands up to start stroking your head. “Just let me take care of my god damn wife for once.” You just shook your head and pushed your cheek further against his chest to get comfortable. When he says it like that, you can’t really bring yourself to oppose him.

“Hey,” you whispered. You felt him hum in response to you. “I love you.”

His legs shifted and his arms wrapped around you tighter, getting more comfortable. He let out a deep, comfortable breath as you felt him push his cheek into the top of your head.

“‘Fuckin’ love you too.”

444 notes · View notes

heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

Deep End - Chapter 12: Dirty Dreams

…in which Harry and Ezi kiss again…and again…and again… (THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT)

Word count: 4.6k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

Harry didn’t understand dreams. How did dreams even work? Because sometimes he would see someone he hadn’t seen in years in his dreams, even though he had completely forgotten about the person’s existence up to that point. Then there were these super violent and bloody dreams that woke him in the middle of the night in cold sweats. Then, there were some other more inappropriate dreams that made him so disappointed when the alarm rang.

Listen, Harry wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t think about sex 24/7; well, not usually. But lately, he’d been having dirty dreams more often than he would enjoy. He would wake up with his dick rock hard and end up late for work because he had to stroke one out in the shower. And he blamed it on…

“Ezi! Where are your pants? And why are you wearing my shirt?”

Ezi stopped in the kitchen doorway with a bowl of ice cream in one hand, the other holding a spoon in her mouth. “This is my new ‘at home’ look,” she said, while leaning against the door in nothing but his button-up shirt that fell just past her bum. As if the sight wasn’t torturing enough, she had to be licking ice cream from the fucking spoon. It was eight in the fucking morning! And Harry would not go back to the bathroom to wank again.

“But where are your shirts? Why don’t you wear them?” he asked and slipped past her into the kitchen. He would make himself a cup of coffee so he wouldn’t have to watch her being effortlessly sexy in the kitchen doorway.

“They said on the internet that you should borrow your boyfriend’s shirt, and you’re my fake boyfriend.”

“Fair enough,” Harry chuckled.

She gave him a shy smile and left without saying another word. That was the longest conversation they’d had since that night she went out on a date with Dawson. Ezi was always a little bit weird. Okay, well, very weird. But her weirdness had been different lately, in a bad way. She was still doing weird things, but keeping a distance from him.

Harry knew he couldn’t really complain, since he’d specifically told her to her face that he preferred it when it was just him and the cat. Having his own space had been nice for a day or two, then he’d started missing how annoying she’d been. And of course, he blamed this all on Dawson.

Harry had been second to Dawson his whole life. Ever since he’d been a kid and found out that he’d had a cousin, Dawson had been nothing but a burden for Harry. Harry was the only child, but to his parents, Dawson had been their favourite son. His father used to love sports, but Harry had never been a fan of those. Dawson, on the other hand, had been the captain of the school’s football team and was excellent at marathons as well. So if Harry’s father was still alive, Dawson would be the one making him proud by taking over the family business Harry didn’t want.

Now, just as Harry had finally gained his own spotlight as a singer, becoming great at something Dawson wasn’t good at, Dawson swept in and stole Ezi.

Harry had spent a lot of time wondering why it had mattered so much to him that Ezi had gone on one date with his cousin. He didn’t even like her like that, and the house was always peaceful without her, which he enjoyed very much. But why did the idea of her becoming something with Dawson bother him so much? He hadn’t been sleeping well for the last couple of days. Not to mention that Ezi had started keeping distance from him. Well, he’d done it first because of the kiss, but it was weird when she did it because she had always been so fucking clingy. And he’d hated that. Until now!

Ding dong!

“What do you want?” Harry asked in the least annoyed tone he could pull off, while fighting the urge to slam the door in Dawson’s good-looking face.

“Is Ezi home?” Dawson asked.

“Ezi? You mean Ezili? Because I’m the only one who calls her Ezi.”

“Y-Yeah, Ezili,” Dawson said with an awkward smile. This guy was a tool. What did Ezi see in him?

“No, she’s at work,” Harry said, and quickly added, “but don’t think about going there. They’re having a book club meeting; she’d be mad if you showed up and distracted her.”

That was a lie. Harry didn’t even know if people actually hosted book club meetings at random book shops, but did it matter? If he was going to be petty, he must go all the way.

“What do you wanna meet her for?” he asked before Dawson could leave. He didn’t want to have a long conversation with Dawson about Ezi, but it was the only way to learn more about their date. “Did you do something that you wanna apologise for?”

“No. Of course not,” Dawson chuckled and adjusted his glasses. “She bought some books and forgot them in my car.”

“I could give them to her when she gets back from work,” Harry said.

Dawson looked hesitant. “Well, she told me not to give them to you.”

“Oh.” Harry kept a straight face, but he was very offended that she’d made that request. Did she really hate him so much for what he’d said that night?

“So,” he ventured, averting his eyes. “Guess the date went well?”

“I suppose,” Dawson said.

Harry had hoped for a different response. This one didn’t really hurt him but it didn’t make him happy, either. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “So are you looking forward to the second date?”

“I don’t think there’s gonna be one,” Dawson said, to Harry’s surprise. “I don’t think she likes me like that?”

Okay, this was the response Harry had been waiting for. He tried to suppress a grin as he patted his cousin’s shoulder sympathetically, while he was far from sympathetic. “Oh, don’t be so pessimistic. I know she’s a bit out of your league, but dare to dream a little.”

“Very funny,” Dawson snorted and brushed off Harry’s hand. “But I think she has a crush on you.”

“Really? I mean, no!” Harry faked a laugh, crossing his arm and leaning against the door in an unnatural pose. “No way.” Now he sounded like a commercial guy who had never attended a single acting class. “She doesn’t...she doesn’t have a crush on me,” he stuttered. “W-Why do you think so?”

Dawson pressed his lips into an understanding smile that made Harry’s face grow red. “All she talked about for the entire night was you.”

Harry thought Dawson was just teasing him at first. Then he remembered that this was Dawson, not him. So it was true. Ezi had talked about him for the whole night when she was with Dawson.

“What did she say?” Harry asked, trying to seem more curious than excited.

“She told me you were a good cook, and then complained about your bad habits. Then it was all ‘Harry said that’ and ‘Harry said this’. It seemed like she was really into you.”

“Oh, wow.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Harry shrugged, trying to act cool and all that. “I’m just surprised. I thought she hated me.”

“I mean, she can still hate you if she has a crush on you,” said Dawson. “Also, why is she staying with you? Where’s her family?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Why didn’t you ask her?”

“She kept mentioning her mother but nothing more than that, and she’d just change the subject whenever I tried to ask.”

Harry didn’t have enough time to think of a lie, so he blurted, “Her family was abusive.”

Dawson looked horrified, but he completely bought that. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said. “She’s a lovely girl, though. I know that you don’t like her, but don’t break her heart. Turn her down nicely.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“You don’t like Ezili, right?” Dawson asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry laughed, uneasily. “I mean no, I don’t.”

“Yeah, I know you don’t wanna be in a relationship.”

Harry didn’t want to be in a relationship, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel things. He guessed most people would just assume he had no heart because it was easier for them to make sense of why he wouldn’t settle down. In reality it was more complicated than that. He had had feelings for some people in the past, and he’d shut them down before he got to the point of no return. Ezi might be a dangerous creature, but he’d probably hurt more people than she had, mostly himself.

So did he like Ezi? Yes. He’d just realised that when his heart blossomed to the thought of her thinking about him on a date with his cousin. There was no denying that, as he only felt this way about his own songs. But was he happy about it? Well, yeah, of course he was happy about it. He was over the moon even. Still, that didn’t mean he should do something about it. He would just keep it to himself and wait–No, hope for it to pass.

Later that night, when Ezi came home from work, she went straight into the kitchen to eat from the fridge, and Harry came downstairs to find her sitting on the floor, munching off a sandwich in the fridge light glow. He watched her for a moment from the door before deciding to break the silence.

She flinched when hearing her name. She turned around, sandwich still in her mouth. “Did Dawson stop by?” she asked. “He said he would bring me my books.”

“Yeah, he did. I put them in your room,” Harry said, trying his best not to roll his eyes at the mention of his cousin. But then he remembered what Dawson had told him and came to sit beside her on the floor.

She ignored him and continued eating. She looked nothing like someone who had a crush on him, so what if Dawson had lied to him? He had never heard a lie from Dawson, but it didn’t mean Dawson was incapable of lying.

“Ezi, I wanna ask you something,” he said.

She finished her sandwich and reached into the fridge of ice cream. “Go ahead,” she said.

Harry started fidgeting with his shirt. “Why won’t you tell me about that date with Dawson?”

Ezi didn’t look at him as she said, “Do I have to tell you? It was personal.”

“Well, your sister was there,” he reasoned, “and she’s tried to kill me several times so I think I deserve to know some details about that night.”

Yes, Harry was curious about Ezi’s sister as well, but was it bad to say that he wanted to know more about what Ezi thought of him? Was it bad that Ezi’s feelings for him mattered more than his stupid life?

“My sister wasn’t there the whole time,” Ezi sighed and dipped her spoon into the ice cream. “I got rid of her at the fair then went for dinner with Dawson.”

“Oh,” Harry said, watching her intently as she ate. “So—”

“My sister wanted me to go back home.”

Harry froze. “Why?” he blurted, suddenly anxious. “I mean…does your mother want you back? Not that I think she won’t ever want you back—”

“No.” Ezi rolled her eyes. “My sister wants me to go back in return of the throne, so she can be Queen and allow me back into the Queendom.”

“But you wanna Queen?”

“I’m going to be Queen!” Ezi snapped. Seeing the shocked look on Harry’s face, she softened her voice, “I’m the firstborn. I’m going to be Queen. I have a year to…” Her voice trailed off and she spaced out for a second.

“To what?”

Ezi pressed her lips into a tight smile then said, “To stay here. My sister told me that my mother would take me back in a year.”

“That’s the punishment?” Harry chuckled. “Make you stay in this world where a handsome man takes care of you and buys you stuff?” Maybe siren mums weren’t as bad as he’d thought.

“And also bullies me 24/7,” Ezi said.

“Hey!” Harry put up his hands. “You bully me, too.”

“You literally told me you didn’t want to see me around the house.”

“Yeah, well, I like seeing you around the house now.”

“Liar,” Ezi said and took a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. Harry tried not to pay attention to the way she licked the spoon or think about licking ice cream from her lips, but he knew he was going to see a lot of that in his dreams tonight.

“I’m sorry about what I said that night,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ezi held his gaze for two seconds, squinting her eyes. “Fine,” she said at last. “I forgive you.”

“Well, that was easy.”

“For now,” she added, putting the ice cream back into the fridge. “I’ll hate you again when I’m hungry.”

“You’re hungry eighty percent of the time!”

“Yeah.”

Harry chuckled as he watched her amber to the kitchen door. Clenching his fingers, he asked, “When’s your birthday?”

Ezi turned her head. “March 12. Why?”

“So I can say happy birthday to you on March 12.”

“Oh, thanks. Not looking forward to it, though.”

“Also,” Harry said fast before she left. “Do you wanna go to a party with me?”

Niall had just reached one million followers on TikTok, so he’d thrown a huge party at his mansion and invited his friends who had brought their friends and their friends’ friends. So the most influential people in the entertainment industry were at the party tonight.

Jeff had suggested that Harry bring Ezi so they could do some PDA stuff at the party to make headlines for the next few days. At first, Harry had planned to make up some excuses so he could go alone.

He and Ezi hadn’t kissed since that day in his mother’s closet. Well, actually, they had had a few pecks on the lips in public, but it’d only been for the paparazzi. It was hard to think about romance when there were at least ten cameras pointing at you.

Their first kiss, however, had been real and…hot. Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it. He didn’t know how Ezi felt since she never talked about it, but he had the impression that she had enjoyed it as much as he had. He couldn’t stop thinking about her flushed cheeks and plum lips as she pulled back, confused yet wanting more. In his dreams last night, they had been in that closet, but their clothes had been discarded, and he’d been pounding her against the wall. It was so hot. He’d had to wank twice when he woke up and he couldn’t make eye contact with Ezi in the kitchen during breakfast. Now he couldn’t get those images out of his mind.

“Harry.”

Harry jumped when his name was called. Ezi gave him a questioning look. She was wearing a little pink strap dress and her hair was in a high bun. She looked so cute tonight; his stylist had done a great job.

“You okay?” she asked, slipping her fingers into his. He knew it didn’t mean anything and she was only doing what Jeff had told her to. But he couldn’t stop the butterflies in his stomach from acting up. “It seemed like your soul left your body for a second.”

“Sorry, this loud music gives me a headache,” he said and finished his glass of wine. Ezi didn’t drink. “You wanna dance?”

Her gaze shot up in surprise. “Do you wanna dance?”

“What do you mean? I’m a fantastic dance partner.”

“But I’ve never danced before. I just got these legs a few weeks ago.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll be good at it, I’m sure. We’ll wait for a slow song.”

Niall walked by just in time to overhear the conversation, so he shouted, “Slow song for my besties Harry and Ezili!”

Harry tried to stop Niall, but it was too late. Everyone in Niall’s living room was staring at him and Ezi. Jeff would be happy about this, but Harry didn’t think Ezi was. Her fingers tightened around his as she stepped closer, apparently uncomfortable with the intrusive glances they were receiving.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her close. “We’ll show them how great we are.”

“But I’m not—”

He didn’t let her finish and drag her out on the dance floor. There were a few couples slow-dancing around them, but Harry knew he and Ezi were the attention of tonight. In these people’s eyes, they were in love, completely infatuated with each other.

“Follow my lead,” he whispered in Ezi's ear while fixing her posture. “It’s easy.”

For a human who had been to too many of these dances, it was. But Ezi was barely good at walking. And so she ended up stepping on his feet repeatedly. The giggles of some women in the room made her even more anxious, so she almost stopped. But he reassured her by pulling her closer and lifting her chin so she was looking at him instead of them.

“Don’t be nervous. This is your little mermaid moment. Embrace it,” he said, making her smile.

“Ariel was a terrible dancer.”

“True. But she looked pretty stepping on the Prince’s feet.”

Ezi arched an eyebrow, amused. “Are you calling yourself the Prince?”

“I almost got casted for the role of Eric, by the way.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes.

He acted offended. “No, it’s real.”

“As real as Santa Claus.”

“Santa Claus is real,” Harry argued. “Not you saying he isn’t when you’re literally a mythical creature.”

“Shut up,” she chuckled.

“Make me,” he replied.

Harry didn’t know who had initiated it. Maybe they had both leaned in at the same time. But this time as they shared a kiss in a crowded room, it felt like they were all alone in his mother’s closet once again. Of course he had to keep his hands respectfully on her lower back, but the kiss was still hot. He could feel himself being unravelled right there on the dance floor, and he liked the way her fingers twirled the hair at the back of his neck as they melted into one. But then people had to ruin the moment for them by filming it. Jeff would be happy; Harry wasn’t.

He had developed a special talent over the years as a celebrity and could always sense when someone was taking pictures of him. It made him uneasy and distracted, so he had to pull back. He supposed his twisted expression might have given Ezi the wrong idea. She thought it was her that made him uncomfortable. And for some stupid reason, Harry let her think that.

They left the party early because Ezi didn’t seem to enjoy it anymore. On the drive home, Harry tried to find a way to apologise for ruining the moment, but he didn’t know how to not make it awkward. She didn’t say a single word to him in the car, and he knew she wasn’t going to unless he started the conversation. But then he didn’t. And so she went to bed angry at him.

Harry felt really bad about it. He knew it wouldn’t be this way if he had communicated like a normal human being. But it wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to admit to her that he’d enjoyed kissing her, and he would’ve made out with her in front of all those people had it not been for who he was. He had wanted that moment to be real, but then he remembered it wasn’t, and he felt like he was taking advantage of her.

Maybe she felt that way, too. He wasn’t sure. Or she was just tired and didn’t really care about the kiss, and he was the one making a fuss out of it because he assumed he meant more to her than he really did. Again, Dawson could’ve lied. Ezi might not even have feelings for him. She might think he was a bad kisser even.

As Harry fell asleep that night, he dreamed about her again. They were alone in Niall’s mansion. The music was playing as they slow-danced but nobody was watching. She started kissing him, and he kissed her back. His hands reached around her to unzip her little pink dress and let it pool around her ankles. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. His cock was rock hard when they went in for more kissing. Her tongue slid between his lips, her hands reaching for his belt as he fumbled on the buttons of his own shirt. Then he woke up with a tent on his crotch. It was three in the fucking morning, and he was having the worst erection in his life.

Harry slipped his hand under the duvet and started playing with it to relieve some tension, but just as he was about to cum, he heard a loud crash downstairs. Instant boner killer.

“Ezi!” he shouted in frustration, slipped on his boxers and marched out of the room.

“I’m sorry!” Ezi’s voice echoed from downstairs. Harry groaned and headed down to the kitchen where he found her collecting broken pieces of a vase she’d knocked over.

“Just leave it,” he said, grabbing her wrists and pulling her up and away from the glass. “You’d hurt yourself, idiot.”

“I’m sorry. It was dark. I couldn’t see.”

“Why didn’t you turn on the lights?”

She shrugged, which made him laugh, because that was very Ezi of her. “You’re a dumbass,” he said.

“I’m not,” she pouted.

“You are. This only happens to dumbasses.”

“Gosh, you’re an asshole,” she mumbled, arms crossed. She was standing with her back to the counter, and he was blocking her way from the door. Of course she could always sidestep him to leave, but instead, she stayed there, just awkwardly chewing on her nail. She was wearing nothing but a loose white shirt of his. And this time, Harry wasn’t complaining.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said.

“I’m not even looking at you,” he said, yet staring right at her face.

“You are.”

“How would you know? Unless you’re also looking at me.”

“This is stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“No, you—” Ezi’s voice cut off; her gaze dropped to his mouth as if she hadn’t realised how close they were until now. Harry knew that look so well, and usually it would be a sign for him to make a move. But this was Ezi.

“I should go back to bed,” she said, eyes meeting his again.

He nodded, but didn’t get out of the way.

Again, he didn’t know who leaned in first. The moment their mouths collided, all his thoughts evaporated; his walls crumbled, and he was powerless, unable to pull back. There was a kind of power in the way she kissed that he could not resist. He was all hers.

He tightened his arms around her hips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her onto the counter. He could feel his erection growing again in his pants. It didn’t take too long for it to turn fully hard, and she obviously felt it, so she pulled back from their kiss, panting. “It’s…”

“Ignore it,” he breathed, kissing her again, making his way down to her neck and chest. She was squirming now, and he wondered if she was also feeling things down there. “Are you wet?” he asked breathlessly against her lips.

She blinked, confused. “No, I’m dry.”

“No, Ezi,” Harry chuckled, face buried in her neck. “I mean, are you wet between your legs?”

“Oh.” She licked her perfect lips and nodded once. “Yeah. Like most of the time.”

Harry’s whole body went stiff. “What?”

“Like...whenever I think of us kissing,” Ezi admitted innocently.

Harry didn’t know which was hotter. The fact that they were both half-naked and horny right now, or the fact that she got turned on just from thinking of kissing him.

“What do you usually do when it happens?” he asked, adding soft kisses to her lips.

Her fists tightened on his back, her eyelids fluttering. “I r-rub my thighs together.”

Harry smiled as his cock twitched to the thought of it. “Does that feel good?”

Ezi nodded.

“Want me to help you feel even better?”

“You can?”

Harry nodded. He knew it wasn’t right to have sex with her when she didn’t even know what it was, so he wouldn’t rush it. He was just going to help her.

He kissed her once more and got down on his knees between her legs. She looked so hot all spread out in front of him with just his shirt and panties on. She wasn’t lying when she said she was wet. Her panties were completely soaked as he slid them off. She shivered a little yet didn’t protest. She wanted him to help.

He started by kissing her inner thigh. She had the prettiest pussy he had ever seen. He could just cum to the thought of licking her, and he swore he almost did when he took the first try. Her hips jolted, and he glanced up to meet her confused stare.

“If you want me to stop, just say it, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied, biting her nail.

He held her eye contact as he started licking. She tasted as sweet as he’d imagined in those dreams. He still couldn’t believe this was real, but god, the sounds she made sent him to heaven. He dipped his tongue into her and her hands flew to the back of his neck. For a moment she forgot everything and started moving her hips against his face. Fuck. It turned him on so much. He slipped his hand into his boxers and gave himself a few strokes. Then she started to moan, and he worked his hand faster while flicking his tongue into her. He fucked himself until she cummed and made a mess inside his pants, cum dripping onto the floor.

“Is that milk?” Her question got him cackling as he got back to his feet, holding onto the counter on either side of her so he wouldn’t fall. He had never cummed so much; it had literally drained him out.

“No, it’s not milk,” he said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She looked so fucked out as well, which made him feel so proud. “Did you like that?”

“Yes,” she said shyly. “Did you?”

“Very much,” he said. “I would kiss you again if I hadn’t just eaten you out. Not sure how you’d like it.”

A look of horror crossed Ezi’s face as she quickly checked between her legs.

“No!” Harry laughed. “I didn’t literally eat you. It’s what it’s called.”

“Oh.”

“Dummy.”

“Is it like...sex stuff?”

“Not really sex, just part of the sex. So yeah, sex stuff,” Harry explained, not sure how to feel about this situation. Now that post-nut clarity had hit, he started to feel a bit guilty, but it didn’t he wasn’t proud of himself for making her cum so hard her legs were shaking.

“I still want to kiss, though,” Ezi said shyly. “I don’t care.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry smiled. He liked seeing her blush because of him.

With a nod, she pulled him back in.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x mc #harry styles fic rec #harry styles dirty fanfiction

116 notes · View notes

jjkpls · 3 years

Text

first love (m)

genre : fluff, angst, light smut

pairing : kim seokjin x reader (f)

word count : 4.6k

warnings/content : mentions of sexual intercourse, mature language, infidelity, separated parents, unresolved past relationship, dad!seokjin, mom!reader

Seokjin doesn't mean to overreact. He knows he shouldn't. Knows you hate it. Knows, because he's been told enough times, that these types of reactions are unnecessary and possibly harmful for a child.

He can't really help it when deep down he knows he was meant to be an actor. Right before his actual birthday, his mother had dreamt of giving birth on a theatre stage, for God's sake.

But his father wasn't into it, given his ambitions, his own growing company and all the promising opportunities he envisioned both for him and for his only son. Therefore Seokjin went to law school, graduated with excellent mentions, followed an accelerated program in business development and managing and joined his father exactly where he was expected.

He isn't exactly complaining.

He likes his job, most of the time, likes the money and luxury that come with it especially and appreciates the work safety.

Now, you can't blame him for being quite the drama queen in his everyday life. All that pent up, buried alive passion for the arts of acting need to express, somehow.

That's what he'd say to you when you used to yell at him for starting weeping loudly in your ear when he'd call you to cancel a date last minute because he couldn't come, instead of just, cancelling it, aplogize, get over it like a normal person.

Or when you'd kick him in the ribs because he'd be all wild gestures and screeching screams when he'd teach your son to ride a bike and he would fall, as he should to learn, making the boy cry even when he wasn't hurt, solely from the projection of his dad's fear.

You're not here to tell him yourself but the glazed, annoyed roll of his son's eyes tells him precisely what you would. Those eyes are the worst. The prettiest he's ever seen. The ones he loves the most. The ones you also wear on your own pretty face.

"Since when?" He has a hand pressed to his chest, preventing a heart attack it seems, gaze wide and alarmed. Timothy sighs.

"A while. They were already together for Valentine's Day-" He explains patiently. That kid is sweet. The way he's slumped over, obviously annoyed to have to be the one telling his dad and having to deal with the consequences but still, he's watching over him with a soft eye, mouth torn in a sympathetic pout. He wouldn't mind his parents to get back together even though he is almost sure it wouldn't be a good idea for the both of you. He's heard tales of dysfunctional families, of parents hurting each other and their children and doesn't want that for any of you. He can't imagine it happen. You two are too good for that. That's probably why you had decided to separate in the first place.

Seokjin is quickly making maths in his head. Not really counting the time but situating himself in that time frame. Where was he at when she was out with this guy? What was he doing?

He may have been in Japan when it started. He remembers a call from you, you were asking him to take Timothy for a couple of days. You sounded embarrassed and he didn't know why but couldn't take the time to investigate, he had a flight expecting him and a conference call waiting to start in a couple of minutes. Important stuff. None of it would have mattered if he had known what you were up to.

"You okay, dad?" Timothy asks, awkward but kind. His mom basically.

"Devastated." Seokjin says with the widest grin on his face. He's not devastated. It'd be ridiculous to be for something absolutely predictable, fair and normal. He's not mad, nor disappointed. You deserve to be seeing people, have them desire you and make you feel good. He wishes it were him but if he can't do that, if you won't let him, he's glad you still can allow someone else to do it.

He's surprised though, he can't lie about that.

Honestly. That's stupid. But he didn't expect one second that you were seeing someone. You never mentioned anything and you didn't look like it. If there's a way you look when you're dating.

He remembers rosy cheeks and short skirts. You were younger.

"You think it's serious?" He asks casually, surprising even himself. His heart is in a turmoil but he showed enough to Timothy, acting like he was half dying, gasping for air and all.

"I don't know. She doesn't want to bring him home yet. Like, introduce him to me. I asked." Timothy, not only is he nice, he is smart. He's thirteen, shouldn't know much about Love and adults' matters yet. He's supposed to still be at that stage when one believes children and adults are two very distinctive race of humans, one that depends on the other and the other having it all figured it out, having reached a certain knowledge and expertise on all things and can't really be wrong on accident.

Timothy knows precisely what his dad would love to hear. And he gives it to him. Not to feed him vain hopes. Not even for this tiny hidden greed to have you back together. Simply because it's the truth and if for once the truth is pleasant to hear, then he should give it. Seokjin's smile only gets brighter. He shares a glance with his son, a glint winking his way and Timothy rolls his eyes, unable to hide the lift of the corners of his lips.

"Anyway, I heard you won that science fair at school?" Seokjin has already left his seat on Timothy's bed. He's rummaging through his leather bag and Timothy knows what it means. He has a present for him. Seokjin always has a present for him. Most of the time, he can justify it by some event or some success Timothy had encountered. The thing is they don't see each other that often, therefore, almost systematically, something new has come about and Seokjin can explain why he's brought a brand new console, a new laptop, a TV for his room or that one limited edition of this way too expensive branded pair of sneakers.

You used to get really mad at that. You'd say that he shouldn't, that he didn't need to bring him all these expensive stuff because what he'd like (it was a long time ago when Timothy was too young to have his own opinion and you would speak for him) is for his dad to be here more often. You'd say he wouldn't have to buy him shit for any other times than Christmas and his birthday if only he could be here for him. His dad would be his present.

It caused a lot of drama, a lot of crying. You had made sure not to scream, not to be too angry but Timothy felt from the way you squeezed him hard against your bosom that you were very upset. His dad had apologized, had said the most with his eyes only for you to understand. Timothy was staring, trying to get it too because he was involved, wasn't he? But that was one of those adults moments he wasn't allowed to participate in yet.

From then on, his dad wasn't late anymore when he'd set dates with him, his phone would be turned off when they were together and he would text him more often.

It was really nice. Because at first, Timothy felt that maybe if his dad wasn't so present it was because he didn't want to. For some reasons. He thought maybe he was too much of a coward or too nice possibly, to leave you two altogether, to disappear from your lives and start another one somewhere else, one he would have chosen and shaped as he'd want. Turns out Seokjin really appreciated his son and the time he got to spend with him. The more time they spend together, the more Timothy is met with awed eyes and whistling lips, impressed as his dad is by his smartness, his humour and hidden talents. He just was very busy. You explained that to him. That he was passionate by his work, that it required a sacrificial amount of time in one's life, and that he shouldn't ever take it personally because even he loved you and couldn't give you that time.

It's the conversation that led him to think that maybe his parents are meant to be, except they won't because... circumstances.

In any case, no matter how often they meet now, Seokjin still brings him gifts each and every time. The difference is that he has to think of a reason, sometimes make one up to not be struck down by your fury.

"Yes, I did."

"Of course, you did! Cause my son is the smartest." Timothy waits for the moment he says that his brain and the magic fuel filling it all come from him. It doesn't come. Instead, a neat white box is held in front of his face. There's a pretty tie made of ribbons glued in the middle, to hide the picture of what's inside, but there's no doubt that this is an iPhone. He rips the tie off and surprise surprise it's the iPhone 12.

"Mom is going to kill you." Timothy says first, before even thanking him, heart pounding from excitement and face split in two by the wide banana grin.

"Probably." He shrugs, unapologetic.

"Thanks, dad!" Timothy doesn't forget to add, eyes shiny and toothy grin even shinier.

He hopes so. That you're going to be mad. You two are too old to have petty fights now. You don't waste your energy in screaming and finding the worst things to say to hurt his feelings. You just cross your arms under your tits, clench your jaws and adopt that pout on your mouth, eyelids low and eyebrows high, the embodiment of condescendence and you look sexy as hell. He smiles and winks at you, calls you by an old pet name and you're swooning even though you try to hide it. No one is charming like he is, and no one charms you as he does therefore he's not too worried.

His son was just going around with this prehistorical device you dared to call a smartphone. With the broken screen, and the non-functioning selfie cam and the safari app needing a good ten minutes to charge one fucking page -this was deliberate as you wanted him to have a phone to call and text you and not go and lose himself on the internet or whatever. He's almost fourteen though and he's doing a great job at school and is such a good kid at home, he deserves it.

"I know and I don't care. I don't need you to tell me my son is good." You are infuriated. The perfect picture of you he had imagined, the only difference is that, you've just walked out of work, you seem to have had a rough day and your hair is a mess. With the wild locks hanging off of your bun, framing your pretty face, you look even better. "I don't want him to have something so expensive on him, first of all."

"His dad is richer than Cresus, what do you expect?" The cockiness dripping from every pore should suffice to make you explode. Of course, it doesn't. He has that stupid side grin. The one he's got you with in the first place.

"And what about- internet and even just the darn AppStore? He's too young to-"

"Are you worried about porn?" He frowns, you flush. That's precisely one of the things you think about. You don't want him to fall upon stuff he doesn't need to see -in your opinion for a good ten years at least- or start taking interest in social medias where creepy fuckers could hang out.

You flush because apparently, it's a word complicated still to hear from him. "I've made a parental software installed in it. And a localisation too. Not that we really need it with him but you know."

"Oh." All tension escapes from your torn face and tensed shoulders.

"Oh, wow, my first love is such a good dad." He mocks, voice high, hardly resembling yours, barely biting back a smirk. He even goes as far as swiping the right side of his bangs back, eyes closed, mannerism insufferable.

"Shut up." More flush. A fist to his chest for punishment. Bad idea. Apparently, he went back to the gym.

"You should be nicer because I have something for you too." He says, eyes glancing mischievously as his hand dips in the pocket of his trench coat. "Well. I don't want it." You cross your arms on your chest again which only serves to push your tits forward to him and he wonders what you're playing at. Probably the same game he plays when he winks and smiles and lifts his eyebrow to you.

"Wait 'til you see it." He sees the moment you realize it's a jewellery box. He reads the instant wild excitement, he catches also the gloomy shadow you try to paint over it because you don't want to accept it. How many times does he need to be told to stop? He won't ever stop.

"You can't buy me, Seokjin." You're eyeing the velour box in his hand, a tiny beautiful red in this large pearly white palm. You want it. You always do. You don't dare uncross your arms though because you know that if you even do something as reckless as taking it in your hand, just to have a look at it, you won't be able to refuse it.

"Of course, I can." More of that smirk. You glare, it makes him wheeze as he does.

You have never ever been able to refuse any of his shiny presents. You're not a gold digger, that's precisely why you felt so guilty all the time, accepting to receive from him things you could never afford for him -or yourself. He's born richer than you'll ever be, he loves to spend it on his loved ones -and on cars and designer clothes- and amongst everything else he loves, he adores covering you in shiny little rocks.

No one has ever worn diamonds the way you do. You look beautiful without them, magnificent with them. They were made to enhance your beauty and you were made to give them sense.

"You're such a dick." You say, tone way too monotonous to still have been in total control of your free will. Your eyes are glued to the shine of the two dainty clear earrings nested in the case. He's holding it open in front of your nose, like a hypnotizing stick. He sees your determination wavers. Your arms have just untied. Your hand is getting close. He smiles already savouring his victory.

"Take them, petal, I don't think your new boy could ever afford them." Your hand freezes mid-track, face falling you look up. He's a bit surprised to see guilt in those eyes. Shame and guilt. Even though, you have the right to see whoever you want. Obviously.

"How-" His head tilts slightly towards the hallway, where the bedrooms and the one Timothy is in, probably playing with his new phone. "Great. Bribing our son into giving you off my personal information."

"I gave him the iPhone after he told me." Seokjin feels the need to precise. His son loves him and he confided for this very reason. He wants to believe. He hopes that it's not because he's worried his dad would have a mental breakdown if he were to learn the news the day his mom would invite him to their wedding or something.

You sigh. You don't know what to say it seems. He doesn't want you to feel upset. He's not going to congratulate you either. He can't.

"Take them."

"He could- he's a doctor, you know." You sound like a petty little girl saying that, fingers aiming for the box but mouth reshaped by contempt.

Thankfully, the mesmerizing glee on your lovely face makes up for this last information.

A doctor.

He snorts, huffs and rolls his eyes.

"Are you really being disdainful over the noblest of all professions?"

"I bet he's not as handsome as I am." Seokjin says, staring away into space in a very Vogue kind of pose.

"And it's relevant because your face saves lives too, right?" You add to his clownery, biting on the smile wanting to take over your face.

"Precisely." You're already putting them on, watching your fingers work in the reflection on the microwave door. He's loving it. One is on, reflecting the light coming from the window, bringing a new sense to your whole stance. You don't look tired anymore. You look very fancy. Sexier than before. Your butt sways a little in excitement when you take a new look at yourself, now beautifully decorated and he's reminded of an idea he once had but never got to realize.

He wanted to have a fashion designer make a garter holder made of tiny diamonds. Solely diamonds. It would fit you just right, maybe a bit tight on you, would dig slightly in the meat of your thighs, enough to look fucking sinful and not too much so it doesn't hurt. He was quite young when he had the idea first and was probably not rich enough to make it happen.

He now owns a few palaces perched on the last stage of skyscrapers in three of the most expensive cities in the world and he would sell one in a beat if it meant he could get that for you and see you wear it for him.

You'd probably end up accepting it and then wear it for your new boy so that's out the question.

He doesn't hesitate when he reaches a hand forward, slip his fingers through the tie holding your hair in a bun and slide it off. You don't even flinch, he's still allowed to do that.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you." You whisper with a smile, both for the compliment and for the present.

"You went to the hair salon." You nod, forcing yourself not to show your surprise. He doesn't need it to throw himself some flowers, "See? I noticed." He adds with way too much pride for so little.

"Your lenses work, congratulations." Sarcasm is the only answer to his stupidity, you both have figured this out long ago. "Is he nice?" Seokjin can't help but ask. He doesn't want to know too much about him. Kind of hopes that it won't be necessary as the guy won't last too long. But he can't resist his curiosity.

"Yes." You say without much of a hesitation. "Last week, he took me to this nice French restaurant in Songpa." You tell, eyes looking away, a bit pensive, mindlessly playing with one strand of your hair. Your face is taken over by that air. Seokjin realizes then that you really like him.

"I used to take you to very nice restaurants all the time, remember?" He's just messing around now. He knows it's not that relevant. Knows it won't get him higher in your regard,

"And I would spend half the date with the waiter while you'll have yours with your phone. I do remember." Especially given you don't recall your common past the same.

He does remember now that you mention it. His memory has been awfully selective and mainly, what he could picture when he thought about those times, is how beautiful you looked, how much he wanted you and felt like even sitting right next to you, he couldn't satisfy that need, was missing you even if you were right there, and the mind-blowing sex too. The later probably happening because he owed to make it up to you because indeed, his job was on the dates too and you hated that. He remembers the late mornings, the lazy ones, you'd make him carry you on his back because your legs and your hips hurt too badly.

"Ouch!" Toppling over, hand on his bosom where it actually really hurts, he yelps in agony, pretending to have been shot. You giggle and slap his shoulder, pester him to stop when you both hear Timothy ask from his room if everything's okay. You'd think he would know by now that his dad is just a clown whose shenanigans shouldn't be taken seriously.

"Are you seeing someone these days?" What a shame, Seokjin really thought for once he'd be solely cool and collected and handsome. Instead, he can feel his ears start to burn in embarrassment, walks a few steps back, pretending to want to throw a glance through the window when really, he'd do anything to not have see you notice.

"Someone?" He huffs. "Some three, actually some four or five. You know how the ladies get with me-" He sounds dumb as hell. It suffices to make you laugh. You've always laughed at his antics. Even when you were going through complicated times, like the pregnancy and the soon to follow break up, he'd try to dry your cheeks and lighten your gaze, heartbroken as he was to see you like that, and it would always work.

"And I know how bad you are with maths." He nods, doesn't look at you, simply stares at the shiny tip of his italian shoes. "You should call me sometimes, Jin." You don't need to tell him, he knows. You say that to him almost every single time. It's just you being kindhearted, the way you've always been. But first, he hates the idea that somehow, to some degree, it's a pity hand you're holding out for him. And secondly, he knows he'll fuck up if he calls.

He won't be able to talk about his job or politics or what's on the dumb tv these days. He'd probably start by asking what you're wearing and end it all by serenading you. What a bad idea. "You don't ever call, only Tim. Which is fine but-" He is lonely, he does miss you, but he's not that stupid. "I miss you too, you know." You look awfully sincere when you say this. There's still a sad shade to your eyes and he suspects it comes from you worrying about him rather than you simply wanting him more in your life. Maybe it's there for both reasons. He can't be mad at you for caring about him still, can he? Ultimately, it's sweet. It's not your fault he tends to be a loser in his very personal life.

He wouldn't know who he is trying to comfort when he strides forward and place a kiss on your cheek. The other one he's cradling in his palm feels warmer the longer he touches it. He doesn't let it go once he backs up and away. You're looking up to him with your eyes looking all round and childish. Quiet and in expectancy. You look like you do when you would wait for him to kiss you. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip and he smirks.

"Expecting me to kiss you?" He asks with an eyebrow raised high. Pretend judgment in his tone, even remonstrance. As if. "How scandalous, when you already have a boyfriend." You know he's just kidding and he can tell that. He wouldn't play with that if he wasn't sure. He doesn't want to hurt your feelings, make you feel wrong or bad in any way. He loves you too much for that. You could let him kiss you and he wouldn't hold you accountable for it. Therefore he does. Because he's dying to since the last time it happened a couple of weeks back. And when your own lips welcome his, with that much willing and tenderness, he suspects you've had too.

He doesn't allow it to go too far. He thought you would stop him, at some point, but you don't. He's the one pulling away when his tongue, instinctively, means to reach out for your own. He knows what comes after that, and what comes after that and after and after. And even if you transpire guilt and shame, he can sense in the way your eyes stare into his that you would have let it all happen.

He's not lacking in desire, he hopes you know that. Honestly, since earlier, and that random flash of the diamond garter holder, his brain is half clouded by the thought of your thighs and his face buried in between them. You used to make the most delicious sounds, pulling at the root of his hair and chasing your high with your hips. Also now that he's met your mouth again and he envisioned what could happen if he just let go, he can't help but think about that dresser in your room. The gigantic thing you wanted him and Timothy to put together as sort of a father and son enterprise to bound or whatever - he ended up paying a guy to do it for them and they played Mario Kart instead but you don't need to know that. Point of the matter is, that massive dresser has a massive mirror on its door and that massive mirror sits perfectly in front of your bed. And all he can think about is how bad he'd like to fuck you on your bed while you'd watch yourself in it. He'd pull back your hair, hold in tight in his fist like he knows you love so you could see your own cute face while his cock would reshape your cunt to its fitting, all this with the pretty little shiny earrings adorning your ears.

Fuck, what a concept.

And it is to say that right now, he knows, you'd let him. He's not that wicked though. He feels your too weak to resist him today therefore he's not even going to chance it. He doesn't want you to do something you'd hate yourself for afterwards.

"I should go, I still have documents to send for a new contract before-" He takes a look at the expensive watch heavy on his wrist, you roll your eyes. "Half an hour ago, great." He offers you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes no matter how hard he tries before he's off to the hallway, giving you his broad back. "I'm going to say bye to Tim."

"It's just- like that, Seokjin." The words are pretty badly chosen. They don't mean much. Seokjin still gets it though. He can picture you behind him, shrugging your shoulders and tilting your head to the side. It doesn't mean much.

"I know, petal. Don't worry." He throws over his shoulder, faux lightness in his tone even though his heart feels raw. It doesn't mean enough, is more accurate. This kiss like every single one of your shared looks and words and bickering and touches, they all mean that you still fit perfectly good together. However, it's not enough because somehow, someday, you came to the conclusion that you were not meant to be. He's confused as to why and how he agreed with you then. Here's the main reason why he never calls you.

When Timothy looks up from his new phone, wearing your eyes and his smile, he feels a whole new range of pain affected to his sensitized heart. How can you not see that you're meant to be?

A/N: Happy Lunar New Year :) this little thingy was inspired by Arsène Lupin and the relationship between Assane and Claire for those who watched it! I don’t know if i translated well the alchimy and unfightable attraction and connection they still have even after having seperated. ANYWAY, hope you all are doing fine, hope you liked this, LET ME KNOW what you thought, tell me about your day, your resolutions if you have any, what’s the weather like where you at etc lmao xoxo

PS: stay tuned for a new upcoming series i’m quite excited about ~~

#btswriterscollective #thekimlinenet #ksmutclub #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #seokjin fluff #seokjin smut #seokjin angst #bts scenario #seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #seokjin scenario

284 notes · View notes

lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens - A Corpse, Cake, and a Cuppa (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is Death and Crowley is the serial killer who keeps murdering to catch a glimpse of the ethereal being he fell in love with. (1714 words)

Notes: Written for the above Halloween prompt from @new-endings/M.A.D.#8943. Human Crowley au. It’s kind of gory, I’m not going to lie.

Read on AO3.

“Jesus Christmas!" Aziraphale yelps, tiptoeing through the thick pool of red coagulating on the concrete. Threads of it cling to the soles of his shoes when he lifts his feet as if trying to drag him down. Aziraphale has seen a great deal of blood in his time. None of it has been pretty. But this is especially gruesome.

He wonders if that’s for his benefit.

"Look at... look at this! Look at all the… !” Aziraphale takes a pause and breathes in deep, pressing the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to his forehead. Tension causes a vein to distend and throb - quite the feat since, as a non-human entity, he shouldn't be able to experience this kind of pain. Or so he thought. In the thousands of years he's roamed earth reaping souls, he's finally found the one mortal who can give him what humans call a migraine. And he doesn't like it. Not one bit. “Could you please just… stop already?"

Crowley grins, thrilled giddy by the arrival of his intended audience. “No,” he replies, shoving the slicked head of his filthy ax deeper into the severed spine of the fresh corpse at his feet.

Aziraphale grimaces as the blade lands with a resounding slap.

That ax of Crowley's gets on every one of Aziraphale's nerves. It's effective for its purpose but positively unsanitary. It makes his skin crawl every time he sees it.

Crowley lifts it slowly, eyes Aziraphale menacingly.

Eyes his nice, clean coat, Aziraphale realizes.

“Crowley!” he warns, putting both hands up in defense. “Don't you dare... !”

But Crowley doesn't let him finish, hoisting his ax higher with part of the dead man's torso attached. He doesn't need to do anything after that. The torso falls from the blade and splashes down in the pool, accomplishing what Crowley set out to do.

“Holy... GAH!” Aziraphale leaps back to avoid the spray. He frowns at his clothes when he sees he wasn't quick enough. "Look what you've done! You’ve made a mess of my coat!”

“Improved it, I’d say,” Crowley snarks. “Given it a pop of color.”

“I've had this coat for ages and hadn't collected a single stain! Not one! And look at your shoes! Ruined!" He gazes down at Crowley's feet in despair. "I actually liked that pair.”

“Really?" Crowley tilts his head, batting his eyes innocently. "You didn't tell me that.”

“Yes, well... " Aziraphale busies himself fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. Praying he’s swift enough to save the fabric, he pats at the specks on his sleeve "... it’s not my place to tell a homicidal maniac that he looks fetching in snakeskin, is it?”

Crowley pouts, his lower lip jutting out, making him look comically childish despite the streaks of blood running down his cheeks.

Aziraphale’s brows pull together. He glances around, trying to work out what's wrong. "What? What is it?"

"You're being mean."

"How am I being mean?"

"You're calling me names."

"Accurate ones, yes."

"You sound disappointed."

"You think so!?"

“B-but... but why? I took your advice!" Crowley argues. "I changed me m.o.!”

“I didn’t give you advice! I said you should stop killing innocent people!”

“I did! This guy?" Crowley plants the heel of his sopping shoe into the dead man's crooked neck for emphasis. "He weren’t innocent! He was a serial killer, too! He just happened to be shite at it!”

"I can see that." Aziraphale peers into the vacant eyes of the man on the ground, spirit buzzing beneath his skin, waiting to be reaped. But Aziraphale is in no rush. In the choice between filling out paperwork and shooting the shite with Crowley, surprisingly, he chooses Crowley.

Or maybe not so surprising, Aziraphale muses, biting his lower lip and indulging in a private chuckle. He rolls his eyes in disgust at himself right after. What are you doing? Stop that!

"Besides, I'm doin' you a solid!"

Aziraphale scoffs, snapping back to his senses. "How do you figure?"

"You're Death, ain't ya? I'm keeping you in business!"

"I don't know if you've read the papers lately, dear boy, but humans are dropping like flies thanks to their own stubbornness and stupidity. You're slap in the middle of one of the worst pandemics in history, but instead of doing what you can to stay safe, you lot spend your time arguing over petty b.s.! I won't wear a mask! It's against my rights! I'm not taking the vaccine! It'll make me sterile! There is no disease! It's all a big conspiracy! Meanwhile, in the states, some orange lunatic has everyone drinking bleach! Believe me, I hardly need your help doing my job!"

“Oi! Don’t lump me in with those prats!”

“Why not? You’re not wearing a mask, I see.”

“Don’t have to. I got my shot. And I keep me distance.”

“But you’re covered in blood! Did that man you dismembered have the virus!? You don’t know!” Aziraphale cringes at words that sound far more like concern than scolding. Which he should be doing. Scolding and ridiculing, and possibly calling the police.

But he won’t.

If Crowley were thrown in prison, it would be harder for Aziraphale to find an excuse to see him. Aziraphale has yet to decide if that’s something he wants, but either way, he’d prefer it not be at the expense of another life.

"Fine. Whatever. If that's the way you feel about it... " Crowley grumbles, letting what remains of that statement die as embarrassment rises to his cheeks, settling beneath the red already there. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his face away.

Just like a child, Aziraphale thinks.

And as with a child, Aziraphale should have nipped this in the bud much, much earlier - like when Crowley realized that he could summon Aziraphale whenever he wanted by upping the frequency of his murderous antics.

This, to date, is his twenty-seventh kill.

Aziraphale doesn't know how Crowley spotted him. He's pretty adept at avoiding human detection. But after victim number eight, Aziraphale turned around, scythe in hand, and there he stood: tall, gangly, bizarrely besotted, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses at one in the morning. Aziraphale thought Crowley was a run-of-the-mill psychopath looking for attention, seeing Aziraphale as a hapless dolt to play cat-and-mouse with, not knowing for one second who he was dealing with.

Not only did Crowley know exactly who Aziraphale was, but he had taken a considerable shine to him.

Aziraphale humored the man when their paths crossed so he could get on with his work, never for one minute considering the consequences. Thinking back on their past interactions, Aziraphale can pick out the hints Crowley had been dropping.

Aziraphale played right into them, and he could kick himself over it.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Aziraphale quipped dryly after Crowley had beheaded some poor, down-on-his-luck fool. "I'm going to start thinking that you have a thing for me."

"Finally!" Crowley tossed his arms in the air. "At this rate, I was going to have to murder half of London and spell out the words ’Will you go out with me?’ with their bodies. Do you know how time-consuming that would have been?"

Aziraphale had written that comment off as a morbid attempt at humor.

Now he feels like an imbecile.

He’s going to get an earful from Gabriel if he ever gets wind of this. Aziraphale has been able to cover up the increase in London deaths by blaming the pandemic. But once people get their acts together and things calm down, he’ll have to come clean.

There’s a serial killer roaming the streets that has a serious crush on him.

Aziraphale lets out a heavy sigh as he comes to a decision.

A bad decision.

He's going to regret this. He knows he's going to regret this.

But will he really though?

Aziraphale looks Crowley over, still moping with his nose in the air. He examines him at depth - his sharp features, his debonair style (hiding beneath a litre of blood), his devil-may-care attitude, his rowdy sense of humor. If he were another angel, or even a demon, Aziraphale would have asked him out already, body count or no.

So what is he waiting for?

It’s not entirely unheard of, an angel dating outside their dominion. And as for the moral issues of dating a murderer, well, Aziraphale is an angel. He has a responsibility to bring sinners to the light, help them see the truth. That can be done anywhere, not just in church - on a street corner, in a diner…

Back at his flat.

Besides, he and Crowley have a lot more in common than Aziraphale did with his last paramour, an angel he had dallied with solely for the fact that he was guardian of comestibles.

It seemed like a match made in Heaven, so to speak.

Far from it.

“Look - if I let you take me out for coffee, will you stop the gratuitous bloodshed?”

Crowley all but gasps when that question leaves Aziraphale’s mouth, the grin growing on his face transforming, becoming less maniacal and more… normal if that makes any sense. "One cup of coffee. That's all I ask."

"Then come along. Here… “ Aziraphale snaps his fingers, cleaning Crowley thoroughly before he takes his arm. “If you're good, I'll let you buy me a slice of cake.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m a very slow eater. And I figure the longer I stay with you, the more I can keep an eye on you."

“Deal. But, you know," Crowley starts, his tone so filled with teasing he’s on the verge of giggles, "if you, say, spent the night at my flat, you could keep an eye on me for hours. Think of all the people I wouldn’t be able to kill.”

Aziraphale smirks, amused that they both had a semblance of the same idea. “You don’t say?”

“I do.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“More so than you bartering human lives against a cuppa and cake?”

Aziraphale shrugs, but he doesn't relinquish Crowley's arm. He does, however, relieve him of his ax so he doesn’t get any ideas along the way. “Fair point.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

54 notes · View notes

soggy-platee · 3 years

Text

What Do We Do Now?- Chp. 1

Rating: E for now, explicit in later chapters

Pairing: Din x fem!Reader

Summary: A certain Mandalorian picks up your bounty.

Read on ao3 here!

You were really regretting your decision to not cut your hair this morning, as it was the sole reason you were currently face down in some dusty cantina with both of your wrists in a bruising grip behind your back.

In the spare moment you have in the time it takes for the Mandalorian to slap a pair of cuffs onto your wrists, you think back to the events earlier that day.

…

Tatooine was hot, and you hated it. You had been hiding on the dusty little planet for a little over 3 months. With a bounty looming over your head, you knew you needed to find a planet where the Guild no longer operated. Tatooine wasn’t the best option, still filled to the brim with Outer Rim scum, but it would work.

At least, you thought it would.

You stared at yourself in the small mirror, in the small refresher, within the even smaller flat you managed to rent out with your limited supply of credits. Tired eyes stared back at you, this whole “fugitive of the law” was getting to you. You took to the role pretty well, however. You knew you weren’t notable, and that’s the way you liked it. Average height, average build, average everything. You knew standing out would get you into trouble, so you did your best to avoid it at all costs. The only reprieve from this normality you allowed yourself was your hair. It was exceptionally long for a blazing planet like the one you currently resided on. When braided, how you normally wore it, in one long rope down your back, it easily reached the curve of your ass.

Today, like every day, you thought about cutting it off at the nape of your neck. You knew it would be better for you in the long run.

It would at least cool me off, you thought sourly.

Despite the logic in it, you could never bring yourself to do it. Maybe it had to do with your mother and the often horrific haircuts she managed to give you consistently as a child. You shivered at the thought of your mother finding out about the bounty on your head. She would kill you herself.

You didn’t mean to end up like this. Parents dead, no family left, and most importantly, no credits had left you in a tight spot as a young woman in the Outer Rim. You knew there were only two options for someone in your position, and you certainly were not pretty enough to make money off the most common option, so you became a thief. Petty at first, only stealing from those you deemed deserving. As you grew older, however, so did your crimes. Larger values, higher-profile targets, until you stole from the wrong person. Well, not stole per se. More like freed. Some high-profile dignitary from the Empire who still had influence. You had only planned to take the typical valuables, credits, and such. It was only by coincidence that you happened to free what you assumed was a typical house slave.

She had found you mid-job, begged you to get her out. She had looked so broken. So innocent. You cursed to yourself and hauled her out of the mansion with you.

Apparently, that “house slave” had really been “Mrs. Important Dignitary”, so essentially, you stole the guy’s wife. Great. If only you hadn’t been so soft. You knew it would get you in trouble. You knew-

You were shaken out of your thoughts by voices outside your window.

One soft, speaking so quickly they were almost tripping over their words. You creaked the door to the fresher and peaked your head out just enough to see though the small window in the side of your flat and into the alley beyond. You saw the quiet figure, but couldn’t exactly make out what they were saying. A young man you realized now was a local of the area, you had seen him around. But why did he look so scared? You craned your neck in an attempt to see who was frightening this man so, but you couldn’t do it without being directly in the mystery man’s eyeline. So you waited for a response as the other man trailed off. However, one never came. You simply saw a wild reflection of the light of the suns dance over the ally as you assumed the other person turned to walk away.

Armor, your stomach dropped as your mind supplied the explanation. Whether or not this person was here for you was still up for debate, but you knew they were dangerous. Only dangerous people still wore armor in the face of the blazing heat of Tatooine.

Once you were sure the armor-wearer had left, you snuck out of the fresher, grabbed your blaster, and vaulted quietly out the window to tail the other man. You fell into step behind him as he exited the ally and entered the busy street. You followed him through the crowd, staying enough paces behind him that he didn’t notice. You followed him for a good five minutes before he took an abrupt turn down another deserted alley. It was at this point he noticed you following him and tried to break into a sprint.

You were on him before he could even let the first beat land, pressing him up against a building lining the way with your arm at his sternum. He was taller than you, so you pointed your blaster up and dug it under his chin.

“Who the hell were you talking to?” you demanded, dropping your voice to the most intimidating octave you could muster.

The man in front of you sputtered, eyes wide with fear. You needed an answer.

You dug your blaster harder into the soft flesh under his jaw, presumably making it harder to breathe.

“Who?!” you practically growled at him, hoping it would do the trick

The man opened his mouth as if to answer you before the words died in his mouth. His eyes went even wider than before, if that was possible, and fixed on something above and behind your head. Your eyes remained on the man, but something behind him distracted you just as equally.

The same dancing lights you had just seen outside your flat made their way across the building behind the two of you. Your head whipped around to see a wall of armor standing at the mouth of the ally.

That bastard sent a Mandalorian? You were dead. That’s it, game over. Dead.

Even though your brain knew you were dead, your instincts still kicked in enough to release the man and shove him toward the entrance of the ally in one swift motion before taking off in the opposite direction. You fought the urge to turn back as you ran harder than you ever had in your life.

He knew I saw him question that man, he knew I would follow him to get answers.

At least you would get taken down by a clever bounty hunter.

More pressingly, you were coming to the end of the ally, closed off by a large gate. No way over it, you thought, too high. Sides? Pressed flush against the building, no getting through there. Bottom? Now there’s an option. The bottom was just high enough off the ground for you to shimmy through. Even though you only caught a glimpse of the Mandalorian, you knew he was too bulky to ever follow.

You might actually get away with this.

You dared yourself a glance back and the Mandalorian was nearly on you.

How is he so fast with all that shit on him?

You were only a few paces from the fence, it was now or never. You dove. Your upper body sparked in pain as you impacted the rough dirt. You slid smoothly until your ass hit the fence. Dammit. You desperately shimmied the rest of the way under the fence. You were almost there. You were going to make it.

Then you felt a grip on your boot, the only part of you not under the fence. You yelped loudly as you were ruthlessly pulled back, the majority of your calf returning to the other side. Your fingers clawed at the ground and your other leg kicked desperately at the gloved hand that held you.

Maker, he’s too strong

With another tug, you were almost up to your knees on the other side of the fence. While you were grunting and panting hard, the helmet behind you was absolutely silent, unnervingly so.

You knew you had to come up with something now. He still only managed to have you around your left ankle, so you brought your other foot up and pushed at the top of your left boot, hard. It slid free of your foot, and with one more push, your socked foot came out and pushed off the ground for leverage. He grabbed only a moment late as the last bits of you slipped under the fence. You kicked desperately at the ground and ran, only pausing when you were sure there was an absence of footsteps behind you.

You turned briefly and saw the Mandalorian standing there. A thrill ran through you.

What?

This man was trying to kill you, and yet the sight of him just standing there, glowering, still gripping your boot in his hand sent fire to the pit of your stomach. He was tall, taller than you first realized. Even in the alley far apart he seemed to crowd over you with his presence alone. You met where you assumed his eyes would be behind the t-shaped visor.

You could only imagine what he saw. Your eyes wide, mouth open, covered in dirt and wearing only one shoe.

This image of yourself roused you from your frankly insane thoughts, and you turned and ran.

…

After getting over what little pride you had garnered from managing to escape a Mandalorian, you realized how absolutely fucked you were.

Where were you supposed to go?

You couldn’t go back to your flat, that was out of the question. You couldn’t shack up with anyone you knew and liked in town, that would automatically put them in danger. You couldn’t shack up with anyone you knew and disliked because they would never let you in the front door, probably try to deliver you to the Mandalorian themselves.

So you end in the only place in which you knew you could get passage of the planet, the cantina. Thankfully it was busy tonight, so you could blend in well enough. You waited well late in the night, hiding close enough to see the entry and exit. No armor in sight. After your anxiety had built to a crescendo, you pushed yourself out of your hiding place and, on shaky legs, made your way to the front door. You entered with your hood pushed up over your head and your braid tucked into your cloak, trying to move as inconspicuously as possible. That was, until you heard your name shouted as loudly as possible.

You winced as your name echoed throughout the room and heads turned, yours slowly moving to face the voice that gave you away.

Ali. You love her to death, but she wasn’t the brightest one in the galaxy. She beamed at you from behind the bar, surrounded by patrons and their wandering eyes as usual. Ali was beautiful and she loved the attention, something you very much did not need right now.

You quickly made your way over to her at the bar, the serious look on your face made her cheerful expression drop at once.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she questioned, still in a too-loud voice.

“I’m fine, just hiding” you gritted out from behind clenched teeth.

Ali seemed to get with the program then, lowering her voice and body to match your crunched position over the counter.

“Someone’s collecting on your bounty?” she whispered intently, with a trace of concern for you in her voice that softened your previous anger at her.

You had told her about your bounty about a month after being in town, you trusted her, she was good. That is why you very much did not want her caught up in this mess.

“Yes”, you replied, “A Mandalorian”

You saw the same realization hit her as had hit you.

“You’re dead” she said with wide eyes.

Great.

“I know, I’m trying to get off-planet. Are there any ships passing through tonight?”

“Not that I’ve heard, I’m sorry”

She really was.

You gave her a tight smile and turned to leave when you heard your name for a second time that day.

This time, it came from a gruff, older voice, and it came from a man pointing right at you from across the cantina.

The man was standing next to a solid wall of armor, with a familiar visor pointed straight at you.

Shit.

He made for you before you could make for the door, crossing the floor in seconds and grabbing your cloak. The same trick worked twice apparently, as you reached up and released the clasp around your throat and pushed yourself to a sprint toward the door.

You were going to make it, you were so close, you-

The next thing you knew, a blinding pain erupted from the back of your head and the world tilted around you until your shoulders smashed into the rough floor.

He grabbed your braid.

That was low.

One hand still wrapped tight around your hair, his other hand was used to flip you onto your stomach and wrench your wrists behind your back. Cuffs were slapped on and hummed to life as his knees caged your back. You bucked, trying to get him off you, or at least make him move, but he was solid.

The lost chance of cutting your hair this morning flashed in your mind, you grimaced with regret.

You kept thrashing, and in return, he wound your braid around his hand and yanked, earning a yelp from you as your head and chest were lifted from their place smashed into the ground and his helmet lowered so it was level with your face.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold”

You stilled. It was the first time you heard his voice, and it sent a thrill through your spine. Maker, what was wrong with you.

The slight arousal was quickly tamped down and replaced with overwhelming fear as he wrenched you from your position on the ground and to your feet.

The entire cantina had gone quiet with your brawl, all eyes on you both. As he pulled you into a standing position, he cast a glance, or at least you thought he did, at the other patrons, who all quickly averted their eyes and continued their conversations in hushed whispers.

He began to pull you to the door and you made final, desperate eye contact with Ali who looked devastated. You gave her a small smile as a goodbye and the door to the cantina slammed shut behind the two of you.

...

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #fanfic #ao3

33 notes · View notes

noctis-noctua · 3 years

Text

I, Kaeya Alberich, Take Thee

Pairing: Kaeya x Fem. Reader

Count: 1976

Description: Kaeya knows that be does not deserve anything he desires. There is nothing he can do to make you his, but so badly does he wish there was.

Content: Unrequited love, angst, bittersweet ending, marriage.

Warnings: Slight spoiler for Kaeya's backstory but an addition of (non-canon!) Prince Kaeya.

In another universe, maybe I am not cursed so by the Gods. Kaeya resists the urge to nibble on the tail-end of his quill. It was unbecoming for a man of his stature to succumb to unsanitary habits. Plus, this particular pen hailed from a crow’s feather, hunted by the hands of a childhood friend. The intricate quill had not been put to use for a substantial amount of time, but it fits into Kaeya’s hand as if it came to shape its spine based on the curvature of his own grasp. He could get used to signing off documents and organizing civil affairs if it meant succumbing to such mundane sensations. The morning sun dripping onto his mahogany desks and floors, a faint scratch of keratin against ivory paper filling the empty space… It has been a long time since he’s made the decision to take over petty bureau duties. Today is a special day. Kaeya needs to focus on the satisfying echoes of paper and pen, on the sunlight heating his back, or he might just go insane.

The clamor of bells tugs Kaeya from his mechanical performance. Each ring is a song of desperation, a performance begging for his attention. Come out and celebrate! Indulge in the pain. He is not a man that falls prey to anger, but he cannot help that frustrated itch in his stomach as he hears the iron reverberating. Please just be quiet, Kaeya thinks. Let me forget. The hesitant croak of his door alerts Kaeya to the presence of the Acting Grand Master. She dons an outfit unique from her usual uniform - a cream-colored dress, embroidered by floral lace, a single azure ribbon tying at the waist. So even the straight-edged Jean has taken time off today?

“Kaeya, you can’t make these excuses forever.” He knows from how Jean closes the door with unperturbed silence that this is not a conversation regarding hilichurl nests or Fatui diplomats. He can tell from the way Jean drops the mature title of ‘Sir’ in favor of his childhood nickname, that it is a conversation Jean feels must be approached with gentleness as if Kaeya is a stray cat that claws at feeding hands. The Grand Master releases a heaved exhale because both of them dread this discussion as much as the other. There is an inherent wrong in seeing Kaeya distressed. He may not be shedding tears in solitude or resigning himself to the dormitories, but he is hiding, and that is enough for Jean to observe that he is not functioning as normal.

“Please, come for a little while. I know it’s not… something you want to see, but he’s your brother. Offer a small congratulations at the least.” Her heels tap on the polished hardwood.

“I was planning on coming by later this evening. Tell them I’m sorry for not being able to attend the main event. How could I? Just look at all this paperwork.” Kaeya’s signature chuckle follows, putting up a front of careless flirtation. It is not uncommon for Jean to rope the Cavalry Captain into his desk chair. Lord knows he’d never do it otherwise… yet now he claims servitude to the dulling labor. How ironic.

“I’ll tell them of your apologies… but both of us know that paperwork isn’t the reason you can’t make it.” Jean turns around, blonde hair trailing in the breeze left behind before Kaeya can quip up a rebuttal. She’s right. Jean is always right. The papers piling on his desk are from the drawers of his subordinates, filed away to be completed in another five months' time. There is no reason they had to be done today. He is hiding. He is a coward and a pathetic one at that. The thought alone provokes Kaeya to tug on his studded gloves and push out his chair. His sights are set on leaving because to be seen as a frail child is to fail at the sole thing he succeeds at. Being the chivalrous Cavalry Captain renowned for his beauty and failsafe charm is the one thing he cannot lose because he cannot let Mondstadt see how fragile he is behind the visage.

Mondstadt’s avenues are bustling. Oak tables identical to the ones across local taverns have been dressed in linen tablecloths and topped with miniature feasts. Children run between tables, tugging at each other’s shirts in a feisty game of tag as festive music tempts the adults to a dance. The tell-tale strums of Mondstadt’s No. 1 Bard’s lyre lead the crowds to the statue of Barbatos. Behind it, trails of petals line the paths leading to the limestone Cathedral. Couples, singles, and families alike make haste to enter through the carved doors. No one wants to miss this. Kaeya tugs on the collar of his fur coat, gazing at the entry before him. He can hear the music of an organ, romantic and rich, ricocheting from inside.

He steps into the Cathedral. The ceremony has yet to start and the pews continue to fill. Citizens scoot as close as possible to allow for more onlookers to take a seat. He finds a spot next to Huffman and a few other Knights, squished on the outer edge. It is three benches from the front. Too close for Kaeya to be comfortable. The croaking benches have long since met their capacity by now. Not a soul is missing, Kaeya reckons. Diluc Ragnvindr, the wine Tycoon, Mondstadt’s famous magnate, is marrying after all. It is no small occasion. Diluc’s brazen hair is a torch amidst fog, its perk hue garnering the eyes of all in the Cathedral. He is dressed in a suave black suit. It boasts minuscule gold embellishments followed by a hefty crimson cape draped on his shoulders. Even dressed in the furs and fabrics of royalty, one could sense a distinct awkwardness from him. If you’re going to marry her, at least look confident, brother.

It hurts. He cannot lie to himself - not that Kaeya was trying to in the first place. There is a pain associated with seeing the woman he loves marrying the brother that no longer desires to even speak to him. Now, Kaeya regrets standing up from his busy work. These thoughts won’t stop their festering, and it punches a hole through his stomach. Kaeya is all-too-aware that tonight, you will climb into Diluc’s sheets. He’d treat you kindly, of course. He grew up with Diluc and has seen his rigorous nobility tutors shape him into the gentleman he is today. There is no doubt that you will live a lavish life of luxury. A life Kaeya could never afford to give you.

In Khaenri’ah, Kaeya’s title of ‘Prince’ holds as much merit as it does in Teyvat. His people are dead or suffering. His city has crumbled into dust and shards of a forgotten legacy. Kaeya himself serves one purpose, and that is to bring glory back to the Eclipse Dynasty. It is in these times that Kaeya regrets being born royalty to a lost nation. In the solace of his chambers, Kaeya would stare at the painted ceiling and ponder. If I were born someone else entirely, would you give me a chance? But who is he kidding? Kaeya knows he’s handsome. It’s stupid and unreasonable to be so self-deprecating. He isn’t the one marrying you because he wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr. He wasn’t from a line of Mondstadtian heroes; he was from the ashes of sinners and embers of civilization. He was Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, caught between familial loyalty and a stinging betrayal. Of course he wasn’t marrying you.

The Cathedral doors groan as the nuns heave them open. Light floods in and frames the feminine body of the lady of Mondstadt. In your hands, a bouquet of calla lilies. On your body, a silken robe of pearls and diamonds. It flows at your back, fluttering in the blessed gales of Barbatos’. Kaeya swore that as a Khaenri’ahn, he would never see the Gates of Celestia. But this… this, he thinks, might be the closest glimpse he gets. No one dares to speak. She is beautiful. She has always been beautiful. Time slows as Kaeya lets himself take in the sight of you pledging your livelihood to his brother, and his brother’s livelihood to you.

Then, as if he is an innocent child once again, Kaeya closes his eyes as you two kiss. Clapping and cheers fill the atmosphere.

“To the Ragnvindr’s! Oley!”

“Say, Kaeya, do you ever wanna get married?” The girl questions from Kaeya’s backside.

“Maybe. Then I can show off in front of my lovely wife! That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Diluc?” Kaeya jests, elbowing his step-brother’s chest. Diluc rolls his eyes, ever the prodigy.

“We’re still young. There’s no use thinking about such things. Shouldn’t you focus on training?” He grumbles. Kaeya knows that he will never have a lucky wife. He will never have a healthy family, or a thriving home, or a genuine relationship. Those are nothing more than dreams to Kaeya.

The girl grabs Kaeya’s arm and begins running into the fields of grapes and firs. There is a childlike giggle dispersing for all in the neighborhood to hear, fading out as they lose sight of the manor. Reaching the edge of the cliffside, they halt. It overlooks a sapphire river below, fit for one of Master Crepus’ paintings. Diluc had been abandoned long ago.

“Hey, Kaeya, the water kind of looks like your hair.” The girl remarks, nuzzling closer to him. He feels his heart thrashing in its cage, begging him not to react, begging him not to ruin the fate of his country. To the girl, he smells of linen, lampgrass, and sweat, much as a kid his age should. Silence settles onto their shoulders, both of them catching breaths that had been stolen in the wind. “I didn’t ask before because I thought Diluc would get mad, but… Kaeya, how about we get married when we grow up?” How silly, Kaeya thinks. I couldn’t marry you if I wanted to.

“Hmm, okay. So you’ll be my lucky wife then?” Kaeya plummets down onto the grass and grins. It tickles the back of his neck and stains his blouse a verdant green. He dreams of dreaming, because that is all Khaenri’ahns like him can do. He dreams of coming home to your embrace or trudging back from battle hand-in-hand. Either one is okay. Anything with you is okay.

“Of course, stupid. That’s what marriage is. So you’ll be my lucky husband!” Lucky husband. It fills his heart with an immature pride too chaste for a traitor of his caliber.

“Deal!”

“Deal.”

They are naive children making impossible promises, but a part of Kaeya has never unlatched from those delicate whispers. Khaenri’ahns dream of dreaming, but just this once, Kaeya wished he could dream of you.

“So, Sir Kaeya, are you going to marry soon? Youth is fleeting! Get a wife while you’re young.” One of the Knights suggests, sliding him a suggestive beam. Kaeya let’s himself open his eyes. He processes the blinding light from colored panes of glass spilling over him, the jovial expressions of the citizens he has sworn to protect, and you grasping onto Diluc’s arm, a longing of adoration phasing across your features. Happy. You are happy. He turns towards the knight, cracking a smile.

“Don’t be silly - I’m already married, Huffman.” He lets the novice soldier ogle at him for a few seconds. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” Huffman releases a hearty chortle, commenting on his Captain’s sense of humor and putting a hand to his chest. He laughs along, but Kaeya knows there is no joke.

Don’t be silly. I’m already married. It was a deal, after all.

#kaeya x you #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya #kaeya alberich #genshin impact x reader #genshin #noctis-noctua

42 notes · View notes

speechlessxx · 4 years

Text

Bring Him Light - vii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: The reader’s allies provide her with a way out.

Warnings: the reader gets hurt in this (slap), sketchiness, patriarchy, Strucker is an asshole, Steve is an asshole, Steve’s mood swings are in full force here LMAO, mentions of sex, overuse of the word “whore”, oh there’s a reveal in this (but it’s probably not what y’all are expecting), probably really bad writing if i’m honest... this was kinda rushed

Word Count: 2.9k

I hope you guys enjoy!

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

After the execution of Sister Mary, the kingdom seemed to be at a standstill. Weeks later, the woman’s last words – “And you will be put to rest in an early grave and may you rot in hell along with (Y/N) Stark, your future widow.” – still hung in the air. Her headless body had been removed from the platform, but the blood still stained the wood and the ground underneath. When you stared at the dried crimson that later turned into an awful brown shade, you could still hear her strong words and feel her stare.

But the woman’s words didn’t seem to phase Steven. It was as if he expected her outburst. He slept soundly next to you the night he beheaded her and every night after. His snores filled the room and you watched his chest rise and fall. You imagined what he dreamt about. You wondered if he had any remorse.

You wouldn’t know. He’s barely spoken to you in the weeks that followed except for the greetings in the mornings and when he bedded you at night. It felt as if he were apologizing for scaring you through his movements. Gentle, kind, loving. Everything that the man with the cold, murderous glare that took Sister Mary’s life couldn’t possibly possess.

You’d like to think that he was two different people. One was a heartless king that murdered his past two wives. The other was the loving husband who kissed every inch of your body and whispered sweet nothings as he made love to you.

But you’d be wrong, for they were two sides of the same coin that you were too afraid to toss.

Steven watched with a curious stare as his cousin walked up to you in the halls of the castle. Samuel’s words were ignored by the king as his eyes narrowed from seeing you two interact. Your ladies greeting Brock with small curtseys before being dismissed by you.

“Lord Pierce and I would like a private meeting,” Brock whispered in your ear.

“Where?” You asked.

“In the center of the garden – the one with the fountain – “

“I know which one.” You glanced over as your husband approached you both. “Thank you, Lord Rumlow.” He nodded before walking away. You made the motion to walk in the direction your ladies wandered off to, but Steven seized your forearm. His grip alone let you know which side of the coin he had landed on today. “My love, I trust that your matters with the state are going well?”

Steven pulled you close to him, so close you could feel his breath on your neck. “What did Rumlow want?”

He never took you for a liar. You weren’t good at it. You were an outspoken young woman who had a knack for articulating what was exactly on your mind, but you smiled at him – a forced one, he knew the difference by now.

“He was informing me about the change in the orphanage. The children are being housed elsewhere.” Steven saw the glint of fear in your eyes. He relinquished his grip before pulling his hands to his sides.

“That’s wonderful news.” Lord Wilson nodded when his king didn’t respond. He turned to Steven. “Your grace, shall we – “

“I would like to talk to my wife… Alone.” Samuel glanced at you then at his king before bowing his head and walking off. “Everyone, leave us!”

“The people are busy tidying and cleaning. Surely, they don’t need to leave.” You reasoned. You had no intentions of being alone with this side of the king.

“LEAVE. US.” He repeated the order louder and everyone scurried out of the room. With the last slam of the door, Steven glanced at you again. He reached out and caressed your cheek gently. You held your breath. “I don’t like being lied to.”

“I didn’t lie.” He watched the muscles of your neck tense.

“What did Brock tell you?” You repeated your story about the children in the orphanage without hesitation. Steven let out a frustrated sigh. “You know as well as I do what rumors are capable of.”

“Of course.”

“I wonder what the servants are gossiping about when they see my wife – their queen – whispering with my cousin. He was awfully close to you. In a way only I should be. In broad daylight, too. They must think you’re both bold.”

“He was only just informing – “

“When you have my child, there must be no doubt about who the father is. You get close to a man who is not your husband, the rumors will damage us. It will weaken my child’s claim to the throne. Do you understand?”

“This is about your petty jealousy?” You snapped. “Damn the rumors, right? They’re just rumors, right, Steven? You shouldn’t listen to them as much as I shouldn’t.”

“Rumors about a cruel king and whore queen are two very different things.” Steven spat. You frowned at his words. How dare he… “A cruel king is feared, respected. A whore is not. Do you understand?”

You thought about Sharon and the men who favored her. You remembered how Steven had no hesitation in beheading Mary – how he probably had no hesitation in beheading Sharon, too. As much as he showed you affection, you realized he would show no hesitation in taking your life as well.

You bit back your response and nodded. “I’ve only been with you. I can assure you that.” You muttered, adverting your eyes and shifting underneath his hard stare.

You winced when your husband leaned in and pecked your lips. He stared at you though you didn’t meet his eyes. “The Duke will be arriving soon. I trust that you’ll be there when he arrives?” You nodded. And without another word, the king walked off leaving you alone in the empty hallway.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“What is this about?” You asked as you walked towards the fountain. The two men were awaiting your arrival. Alexander sitting on the edge of the basin while Brock stood with his arms crossed.

“Can we trust you?” Pierce was straightforward in his question.

“I don’t understand?” You glanced over at Brock who studied you. “Shouldn’t that be my question? I still don’t know why you told me about Margaret and Sharon.”

“Because you deserved to know the truth.” Brock answered.

“What did the king tell you?” Pierce prompted.

You debated whether or not to tell them the truth. You didn’t know if you could trust these men. But then again, you didn’t know if you could trust anyone in this court. You need allies. Powerful ones that could protect you. Could Lord Rumlow and Lord Pierce be those friends?

You gulped and hoped that they would. “He told me that my friendship with Brock could inspire rumors and if I were to fall pregnant with his child that those rumors could potentially endanger us.”

Pierce nodded. “An affair is treason, too. He’d have grounds for your execution. Even your king father won’t be able to protect you.”

“I know.” You nodded. Your hands nervously tugged at your dress. The fabric felt tight around your abdomen. “To be frank with you, my lords, I’m afraid for my life. I lie awake at night and wonder when will he grow tired of me – when will I meet the same fate as his past wives?”

“Say any word and I will arrange for you to be brought to your home in York.” Pierce offered.

“If I go to York, my father will just send me back. Steven can send armed men to seize me and I’ll be brought back like a prisoner.” You shook your head. “I’m essentially his property, just titled as a princess and a queen for decoration to make it sound luxurious.”

“I can bring you to Wakanda,” Pierce rebutted. “King T’Challa is a tolerable and honorable man. If he hears that you are endangered by your father and your husband, he will shelter you in his kingdom and keep you safe.”

“We’ll smuggle you and your ladies out of Brooken on a boat. We’ll see you are protected in this voyage.” Brock added.

“In exchange for what?” You asked. “You’re risking your lives to protect me. Why?”

“We’ve seen far too many women die at his hands.” Pierce answered. “No more bloodshed.”

You weren’t sure if you should believe him. When you first acquainted yourself with the lords of the court, you quickly noticed how Steven’s moods fouled when Pierce and Rumlow were present. There had to be reason for that… But why were these two men so eager to keep you safe?

Then, your mind wandered to the other people who depended on you. Natasha had grown close to Lord Barnes, who was now openly courting her. You wouldn’t ask your friends to uproot their lives. You thought about your well-kept secret and how you needed Steven, your husband, who appeared to be slowly shedding his kind façade.

This was your way out… But should you take it?

“Thank you, my lords. I will keep this in mind.”

“Please do, your grace. We only want you to live.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Your fatigue was evident on your face as the night wore on. Your husband was hosting another party to welcome a visitor, Duke Baron Strucker. You were briefly introduced to the man when he arrived. From what Lord Rumlow has told you, he had vast holdings of grain and it was his grain that fed majority of the people – and that the extravagant party was to stroke the man’s ego, so that he may continue to provide food.

Wanda was glued to your side the entire evening. The two of you watched as Natasha danced the night away with Lord Barnes. When the three of you were alone, you’d all gush about how the pair made a lovely couple.

“We should excuse you for the night.” Wanda whispered to you. A servant offered you a glass of wine and you smiled and shook your head. “You look tired, and in your condition – “

“I’m fine.” You told her. You squeezed her arm to assure her.

“Have you told him?” Wanda asked, her voice so low you almost didn’t hear her over the music.

Before you could answer, the guest of honor walked up to the both of you with your husband at his side. “The lovely Queen (Y/N)!” The Duke sloppily bowed. He was drunk from the many cups of ale he consumed throughout the night. “You did know how to pick ‘em, eh, Stevie?”

Your jaw clenched as you forced a smile. Your husband was just as uncomfortable as you but he was better at acting. “My love, are you tired?” He asked you. You faked another smile and shook your head. He didn’t believe you. “Lady Wanda, will you escort the queen – “

“Lady Wanda!” Strucker smiled, seizing Wanda’s hand in his and bringing it to his lips. She visibly cringed. In the corner of your eye, you saw her brother, Ser Pietro, tense up as if he felt her discomfort. “Ah, don’t be a tease, milady! You are a sight.”

“Thank you,” Wanda gulped. She tried to pull her hand away, but the man refused to let her go. During the awkward exchange, Natasha and James stopped dancing and hastily walked over to your group. Natasha’s eyes narrowed at the man’s grip on her friend’s hand as did Lord Barnes’s.

“Accompany me with a dance.”

“My king asked me to escort my queen to her chambers. I should heed – “

“Oh, just one dance!” The man argued. He pulled her but she refused to move. “C’mere, you little – “

“Unhand my lady.” You defended.

“(Y/N) – “Steve muttered, grabbing your arm.

You shrugged him off as you snatched Wanda’s hand away from the Duke. You gestured for Pietro to come forward and the knight did so with no hesitation. He took his sister and walked her out of the hall. You intended to walk after them, but the Duke wouldn’t stop talking.

“Oh, ‘em York girls really are a different breed, eh?” Strucker told your husband. He looked over Natasha, but when he saw how close she stood next to James, he adverted his eyes. He looked you up and down. He was shameless. With a smirk, he nudged your husband. “How’s the wife in bed?”

You whirled around and took a step towards the two men. You cocked up an eyebrow at Steven. The king coughed and shook his head. “Those are private matters, I’m afraid, Baron.” He chuckled, awkwardly.

“That Lady Wanda have any suitors? I’d love to – “

“The answer is no.” You said. “You may not court Lady Wanda.”

The man rolled his eyes, bringing his chalice to his lips. “Dresses like that, she looks like she belongs in a whorehouse rather than prancing ‘round court as a lady.”

Natasha’s jaw dropped and before she could defend her friend, you frowned and retaliated. “You are in my court and you will respect my ladies. Is that understood?” The man held his hands up in defense and nodded.

“(Y/N) – “Steven muttered, but you only glared up at him.

“How dare you allow your guests talk like that about my ladies.” You snapped.

The Duke gave the king a shocked look. He was surprised at how outspoken the new queen was. You didn’t hesitate to talk back or defend your friends. From what he understood, you were a princess – King Anthony Stark’s eldest daughter. Weren’t princesses groomed to be seen and not heard? How does the king deal with such fiery defiance? He wondered.

Steven clasped a hand on the Duke’s shoulder and bellowed a laugh. You frowned at your husband. Even Lord Barnes seemed to be taken back from the reaction. “I think you’ve had one too many to drink, my love. You best retire to your chambers. Lady Natasha, if you will.”

“Are you sending me to my room like a child?” You questioned, raising your eyebrows up in annoyance.

Steven only meant to exclude you from the narrative. You were disrespecting and challenging a noble who had control over much needed grain. But you didn’t know that. All you knew was that the man was disrespectful and rude and needed to be reminded of his place.

“Perhaps you should break this one in more,” Strucker chided. “She seems rather mouthy.”

“I beg your pardon?” You snapped. The commotion seemed to drag more attention. Lord Rumlow was rushed to your side. Steven frowned upon seeing his cousin try to pull you away.

“Perhaps, I should.” Steven said dryly. He glared at Brock’s hand on your arm as you glared at him.

“Steve – “Bucky whispered, pulling at the king’s arm.

“Perhaps, should I also sell Lady Wanda to a whorehouse? Since she dresses the part already.”

“Steve!” Bucky gasped. “The king’s drunk, your grace,” he said, turning to you. “He doesn’t mean it.”

Your eyes were nearly bulging out of your head. You pulled you arm away from Brock’s hand as you rushed towards your husband, pointing a finger into his broad chest. “Don’t you dare talk about my lady, my friend, in that manner, you vile monster!”

Steven’s face fell as the words escaped your lips. The whole court seemed to freeze. The music had stopped abruptly as the whole party watched you undermine the king in his own castle, at his own party. He looked over at Brock, who steadily tried to call your attention, trying to take you away from him. He felt anger bubbling up in his chest. He couldn’t stop his hand from striking you across the face.

Your head snapped to the side. You heard someone gasp. And again, the whole court was at a standstill.

Your skin tingled with pain as tears pricked in your eyes. Your shaky hand reached towards your burning skin and winced. His wedding ring had cut your cheek. Blood collected at the slit.

“Your grace, come,” Lord Rumlow muttered, pulling you back. “(Y/N).” Natasha let go of James’s hand and rushed over to your side. You allowed Brock to pull you away and lead you out of the party, your friend beside you.

You couldn’t hold it together. As soon as the doors slammed shut, leaving you alone with the two, you let out a sob. Natasha wrapped her arms around you and ran her fingers through your hair, trying to calm you.

“We should go to your chambers.” Lord Rumlow muttered. “No one must see you cry.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I want to go back to my old rooms. I will not share a bed with him. Not tonight. Never again.” You looked over at Brock. He felt sorry for you. He truly did. “Tell Lord Pierce that I will take his offer.”

The promise of safety and sanctuary in Wakanda had interested you before. It was your very plan when you initially ran away from York. But you did have a reason to stay by your husband. A good reason. But now it was the very reason you needed to leave.

Your hand grazed over your stomach. There was no bump, not yet, but you knew – the midwife confirmed it. The life growing inside of you needed to be protected from all harm, but the greatest threat seemed to be the man you married. The monster truly bearing his fangs to you for the first time.

And if you or your baby had any chance at survival in this court, you needed to leave it.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers imagine #chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #bring him light

627 notes · View notes

kitaychan · 3 years

Text

We need to talk

Summary: After a breakup, Ivan realizes his life was not as fullfilling as he had thought. Reaching out to old friends might prove to be a slow task with interesting outcomes.

Chapter preview: Yao sighed, peering over to the kitchen, he gasped and hurried inside. “How did you set my teapot on fire?”

Ivan could hear Arthur’s alarmed voice and the water tap running. “I don’t know.”

He approached the kitchen, the smell of smoke was stronger and he found Arthur frowning alongside Yao inspecting the blackened teapot.

The brown haired man huffed, leaving the teapot on the sink. “Stop burning things, Alfred is not around, so you can quit gaining his attention.”

“It was an accident and I asked for help, neither of you seemed to notice, are you deaf?”

“You are banned from my kitchen, now. Go and commit arson on your boyfriend’s house, he can manage the fires quickly.”

Ivan let out a laugh. “I am totally going to tell Alfred about this.”

Scrolling down memes on his phone, Ivan glanced at the hour, he had spent at least half an hour just looking at his phone, on the back of his head, deep inside, he knew that he was delaying the inevitable.

He typed out a simple ‘hello’ before erasing it, why was it so hard to start a conversation? Alfred would just send him a random picture and they would talk about it or start a string of random pictures, but now, Ivan found it difficult to send a simple greeting to Yao. What should he say? What if he was busy?

He managed to gather enough words to form a coherent greeting alongside the question of ‘What are you up to?’

Dread invaded him instantly after he sent it. Perhaps that was too vague, or too informal. He sighed, setting the phone aside, it was done and he couldn’t take the message back, that was better, he’d be overthinking the whole day anyways.

This day, he was less worried about the nonexistent alarm that set off in his mind in the mornings, and more focused on the little pang of guilt that told him that he was wasting his time.

He took a breath, reminding himself that he was on vacation, he had nothing to worry about besides his cat and trying not to be a burden to Katya, whom unlike him, had left earlier to give off her classes.

He played for a while with his cat, the entertainment was short as Boris decided it was better to lie on his side instead of hunting the toy, Ivan poked a bit at the fluffy cat to make him move again but it didn’t budge, wiggling its tail.

The day passed rather slowly, Ivan had tried not to go out, not wanting to spend the time by himself in the park again, though the prospect of finding Yao again crossed his mind, he figured the man would be working just as Katya was.

Of course he was, that was probably why he couldn’t answer. Ivan sighed, why did he have to keep worrying about it? this was what he hated about being alone, his thoughts would be nagging at him, he had to find something to do or he would be anxious about a message the whole day.

He sighed, focusing on the lonely plant by the window, he searched around the house, finding some paints. It was time to stop delaying his task and deliver that child’s project.

The base was fairly easy if he remembered well, the background was mostly blue with some clouds around. What worried him was the boat, as he wasn’t used to painting at all, and well, he’d never made a decent boat.

He left the pot aside so the blue paint could dry, perhaps he could ask for help with it later.

Ivan glanced at the clock again, time had passed and Katya would probably arrive soon but he couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed at the passiveness of his day.

His phone buzzed, taking him out of his thoughts. The short message displayed made him pause.

“Hi, sorry, I forgot my phone, I’ve just headed back from work. Do you want to come to my house?”

Ivan had to double check his phone.Firstly, to make sure that it was in fact a message coming from Yao, and secondly, to process the question.

Another message appeared.

“Are you busy?”

Ivan smiled, it’s not like he had anything better to do and at this point he’d be delighted to busy himself with anything.

Feeling less awkward he replied. “Not really, I was trying to paint the boat on the flower pot but I am failing at it. Anyway, yeah it’d be nice to talk”

“In that case, bring it with you, I’ll help. Let’s meet at the park, I have to see Arthur there.”

Ivan pondered for a moment giving out an affirmative reply, he wrote a note to Katya so she wouldn’t worry, grabbed a coat, the flower pot and left.

Once in the park, he went to buy some pastries, it would be mean to present himself empty handed, right? He even got another bottle of wine, to replace the one from yesterday. The cashier handed him everything on a paper bag that he carried quite difficulty.

He sat outside on the same bench, it was indeed a nice place. He could see Arthur and Yao approaching, both of them were wrapped with scarves and heavy coats, the latter was holding two cups of hot coffee.

Yao handed him one of the cups. “I’m so sorry, How long have you been waiting?”

Ivan shrugged, taking the beverage. “Not much.”

“For real, you can be as petty as you want, it was Arthur’s fault that we were held back.”

Arthur, groaned, taking a sip of his own drink. “I only said that they didn’t know how to make iced tea, I thought it was obvious.”

“The barista didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“If they want to make iced tea, they have to make tea, let it cool and add the ice. Not use that horrible mix with water.” The Englishman frowned, observing his drink. “At least they make good coffee.”

“Not really.” Yao let off a huff, ushering them to follow. “Anyway, let’s go upstairs, it is freezing down here. Aren’t you cold, Ivan?”

“I’m a bit used to it, it’s more chilly where I live.” Ivan paused, the englishman seemed to notice his hesitation, taking the paper bag and allowing him to finish his coffee and carry the plant.

Ivan walked with them, taking short steps. They questioned him about the city, about his work, his coworkers, Ivan had to suppress his frown at the last topic.

Yao’s apartment was warm, Arthur stepped in casually, making a beeline to the table while Yao took the flower pot from him so he could take off his coat.

Ivan fumbled a bit with his scarf, leaving it on and approaching the table. There were a few stocks of papers and books scattered on it.

Yao laughed nervously. “Sorry for the mess, I was revising some exams last night.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, setting the bag on the table, the Englishman raised an eyebrow and stared at him. “Yao, did you cook Francis’ recipe yesterday?”

The brown haired man nodded, placing the plant on the table. "Yeah, it took me some time and I had to buy wine because he would not leave me alone until I did."

"You let the frog get away with his quirks, he drinks wine with everything. I hope the dish was worth the expensive wine."

"It totally was." Ivan said, regretting his words as Arthur's expression changed into amusement.

Yao retrieved the books from the table, shaking his head. "Stop staring like that, we met at the store and I invited him."

"Sure… that's why you still have exams to grade, right?" The Englishman taunted, holding out one of the papers.

Yao hummed, fumbling with the papers. “You have delayed exams too.”

"True but why did he bring wine?” Arthur smiled, turning his stare at Ivan. “Are you following Francis’ advice or something?"

Ivan tensed a bit, at this point everything he'd say would be used by Arthur to tease them. “It is polite to bring a present when you visit someone’s house.”

“How dare you speak to me about proper manners,” Arthur chuckled, collecting papers from the table. "Yao has a good collection of books and I need to complain about it, you will help me out, right?"

"Not my fault that you burnt yours to get a date." Yao retorted, laying some brushes and paints on the table and taking a seat beside Ivan.

Arthur gasped. "If you keep that cocky grin on your face, I will kick you out."

Ivan watched in awe as Yao took a pencil, tracing swiftly the sketch of a small boat on the flower pot. "This is my house, you can't kick me out. What books do you need?"

The Englishman stood up, observing the books displayed on the shelf. He turned around with a serious expression on his face “Ivan, have you read ´War and peace’?”

“Uh not really, I have a copy laying around but I don’t think I ever finished it.” Ivan shrugged, toying with a brush.

“What keeps you from reading it? Is it the french parts of it?”

“I am actually fluent in french so...” Ivan saw how Arthur’s smile changed into a grimace, had he said something wrong? He quickly added. “I just hadn’t taken the time to actually read it.”

Arthur grabbed a couple of books, taking a seat. “I remember you once delivered a paper about The great Gatsby, it was very interesting though quite weak at the end.”

Ivan glanced at Yao in an attempt to ask for help but the grin the brown haired man held on his face told him that he wouldn’t get any. He laughed nervously. “I barely remember what I ate for breakfast, I don’t think I will recall something I wrote on highschool.”

Yao’s laughter filled the room, Ivan couldn’t help but stare at him, it was not rare to see the chinese smile, but it was certainly pleasant to hear his laugh, he found himself laughing too, Arthur joining as well.

They shared a glass of wine and devoured the pastries, Ivan painted slowly the small boat and answered more of Arthur’s questions, Yao praised his patience every now and then until Arthur left him alone in order to make some tea.

Ivan watched closely as Yao traced details on the little boat skillfully, silence enveloped them as he finished.

Turning back, he could hear Arthur pacing around in the kitchen but he could not see him.

He took a long breath before leaning over the table, just a bit, in order to gain Yao’s attention, the brown haired man set aside the brush, arching an eyebrow.

“When you invited me over, I didn’t think it would end up like this.” Ivan admitted, smiling sheepishly.

Yao tilted his head, a small smirk gracing his face. “Why?”

Ivan fidgeted with his scarf, he didn’t know how he was able to hold his gaze, he felt his face almost burning with embarrassment but he had already dug his grave so he might as well just die on it already, he reached out to take Yao’s hand, and lowered his voice. “Well… for starters, I didn’t think that Arthur would be acompaining us.”

Ivan considered the idea of not coming back to the town when Yao retreated his hand and chuckled, this was like highschool all over again but perhaps ten times worse because he had hoped to be on the right track just once, and now, he dreaded his sole existence.

No matter how much he tried to shrink on himself, to hide under his scarf, he would not disappear from the situation.

His train of thought was stopped or more accurately, smacked back to reality by a soft hand caressing his cheek. He could barely register Yao’s words. “You are fun to tease.”

Ivan nodded slowly, he was doomed, wasn’t he? He wanted nothing but melt on this man’s hands, he knew he was blushing, but this time, he didn’t mind it.

He gathered enough courage to lean forward, barely brushing his lips with the other, Yao’s hand moved to the back of his head, pushing him lightly so their lips met.

“Bloody hell!”

They both flinched back, Ivan had forgotten about Arthur’s existence, a sense of self awareness flared up in him but it didn’t manage to overcome the annoyance he felt. The Englishman was nowhere to be seen.

Yao sighed, peering over to the kitchen, he gasped and hurried inside. “How did you set my teapot on fire?”

Ivan could hear Arthur’s alarmed voice and the water tap running. “I don’t know.”

He approached the kitchen, the smell of smoke was stronger and he found Arthur frowning alongside Yao inspecting the blackened teapot.

The brown haired man huffed, leaving the teapot on the sink. “Stop burning things, Alfred is not around so you can quit gaining his attention.”

“It was an accident and I asked for help, neither of you seemed to notice, are you deaf?”

“You are banned from my kitchen, now. Go and commit arson on your boyfriend’s house, he can manage the fires quickly.”

Ivan let out a laugh. “I am totally going to tell Alfred about this.”

Arthur groaned. “From everyone you could have chosen to embarrass me in front of, it has to be with the one person Alfred has a direct line with, you are the best of friends, Yao.”

Sending pictures of a burnt teapot to Alfred wasn’t the way Ivan thought his night would end but he was delighted by today’s happenings.

Not only could he get another kiss from Yao before leaving, he had asked him out on an actual date, much to the Englishman's amusement, the remarks the latter made after they left Yao’s house weren’t embarrassing anymore.

Ivan had entered a state of sheepish acceptance, if he had to take on Arthur’s teasing in order to date Yao, then so be it.

#hetalia fanfiction #hws russia #hws china #hws england #rochu #hws rochu #my writing #hetalia

10 notes · View notes

mvnvgedmischief · 3 years

Text

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it’s wildly unremarkable.

chapter: 6/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 1 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Remus was unsure what had come over him when he went into the team meeting at Quill. He had a relatively unremarkable morning. It was an early opening shift at the grind, he spent a lot of time in the backroom taking inventory, counting the same product over and over again. He remembered walking out of the backroom to a line at the front door. He didn’t remember how long it took him to fumble with the lock, or shuffle back behind the counter. He didn’t remember why some businessman was yelling at him because his latte, which just came off the milk steamer, wasn’t hot enough. He didn’t remember why he started yelling back, why he was so short. The entire morning felt like a blur.

Maybe it was all of the emails Sirius had never opened, maybe it was the text from Fenrir that remained unopened on his phone. He had no idea what had caused it, but he felt like he was spiraling out. Had he taken his meds today? All of them? His fingers methodically worked the POS system, his body ran on autopilot, he didn’t know how to handle any of the stress of working with others on something he cared about. He cared so much about this book, and he honestly felt like his toes were being stepped on. He was trying to pretend he didn’t feel that way, but he did. It was tiring. He didn’t know how else to handle this other than lashing out. He didn’t want to be a dick about things, he was just so passionate.

He was so incredibly proud of his healing and his recovery. He was proud of the way he got a handle on his lupus, he was proud of the way his body moved better and worked better. He didn’t know what else to think about or be proud of. He had come so far from the bruised, bloodied boyfriend he was all those months ago. months? years? How long had it really been? Did he even remember? Was he allowed to move on? Was he supposed to? What was he, the perfect victim, supposed to do?

He knew that he was a high-maintenance author, a high-maintenance person. It was one of the reasons he self-published before. But Quill had been so good about doing what he wanted, everyone except Sirius. Sirius was constantly MIA, who never spoke to him about anything, who had asked him on a date. What kind of mind fuck? Did he even read Remus’s book? Did he even think about the implications of his actions, or what something like this would do to his already fragile psyche?

He had always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Look at how far that had gotten him. So he wasn’t planning on doing it again. He didn’t want to get hurt, get his heartbroken, fall into all those same holes and pitfalls he’d been so prone to in the past. The way Sirius had ignored him repeatedly, had refused to talk to him, was a red flag. He wasn’t in the business of ignoring those anymore. He didn’t have the energy left to ignore red flags. He had been burned too many times and had no intention of getting burned again. Or at least, he thought that until he picked the fight in the meeting.

Sure, it might have been petty. It might have been rude to tell Sirius he didn’t like the designs when he did. It might have been uncalled for to tell him that it wasn’t his problem if he couldn’t do his job. But to be fair, Sirius had been wildly unavailable. Remus wanted to send a message, to remind him that he wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t getting anywhere with being polite, so he would have no problem making Sirius hear him. He wasn’t going to be kept in the dark on his own book.

It was unfair, how easily Sirius could get everyone back on his side, after all of the meetings he wasn’t in (Remus had no idea that only the most important meetings even got on Sirius’s calendar, as decided by the rest of the team). He offered a smile and a cordial response, and everyone was back in the palm of his hand. What the fuck?

But he wasn’t going to press the issue. Not when he was sure that all of these people knew something he didn’t, understood something he’d never get. The whole thing felt patronizing. It exhausted him. Was Sirius so great that he didn’t have to follow the rules everyone else did? The evidence remained to be seen, on Remus’s end. He didn’t know why everyone was always bending over backwards to justify Sirius’s behavior. To begin with, he just wanted to make sure Sirius was alright (the man looked so tired all the time), but at this point, it felt like Sirius was just avoiding him. It was so frustrating to think about what he could have possibly done, was it his book? Was it his past? Was Sirius homophobic? If he was, why had he slept with Remus? Was he repressing himself? Was it some kind of dare?

Remus felt himself spiraling with catastrophic thoughts about why Sirius hated him as much as he had. He didn’t understand. But James, who was quickly becoming a true friend to him, pulled him out of his spiral with a text inviting him to “family dinner.” Remus didn’t know who would be there, but he was excited to have this large group of new friends through Quill. He was eternally grateful to Lily for helping him get this opportunity. It was such a kind gesture that opened so many career doors and helped him connect with so many people.

He didn't know what to wear that evening. He usually settled on a soft jumper (not too overstimulating) and a pair of plaid slacks. He wanted to look nice because as much as he didn’t want to think about him, he was still quite hooked on Sirius Black. The thought of him catches in his mind, and he thinks he should probably get a meeting on the docket for the next week. He cared too much about this book, and it would probably be best to see what the man comes up with before the next team meeting. He knew it was unreasonable to get irritated as he had in the team meeting, but it stressed him out nonetheless. He didn’t know how to be calm and collected about all of it, and he felt burned by the way Sirius’s advances suddenly dried up. So he nervously drafted an email asking about it. But as usual, he was met with Sirius’s out-of-office message. So instead of waiting to not be responded to he picked up his phone and dialed Sirius’s number. God, why was he so nervous?

“Sirius Black.” For two people who had spent hours just being vulnerable and intimate, in the act of Sirius falling asleep in his lap, that felt like a clinical greeting, which put him off.

“We need to get that meeting on the calendar.” It was a question, even though he didn’t phrase it as one. He didn’t want Sirius to have the option of saying no, but he also didn’t know Sirius’s schedule.

“I’m out of office Remus.” Remus found himself getting even more irritated. Was Sirius just avoiding him?

He felt his voice rising, this was hurting his feelings if he was honest. “You’re always out of office. You never answer when I call you, it’s fucking nutty how hard I have to work to get you on the phone.” That wasn’t entirely true. He had heard Sirius was online quite a bit, it just never seemed to be when Remus wanted to talk to him.

“It wouldn’t be if you could just check the google calendar or get your nose out of my business.” Well, that wasn’t the response Remus was expecting. Get his nose out of Sirius’s business? Had he been caught out for asking around?

“I don’t think that’s—“ He began, but Sirius was quick to cut him off. This wasn’t fair.

“Stop asking people why I’m not in the office. It’s none of your business. It’s fucking weird. I don’t know you.” Well if his feelings weren’t hurt before, they were after that statement. He wanted to get to know Sirius, that was the whole point.

“I was just–“ Remus wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise. Sirius wasn’t going to let him, and he was finding that incredibly frustrating. He could feel the hot tears welling up in his eyes, even though he was trying to pretend they weren’t there. His breathing was becoming much more shallow, and he found himself picking at the cuticles of his fingers.

“And for that matter, it shouldn’t matter whether or not I’m remote. It seems to bother you so much, but you were the one who tried to put me on the project. You were the one who asked Marlene about it. I’ve been remote since before you got picked up, it’s not news to anyone else on the team. It’s weird that you’re so concerned with me.” That wasn’t a fair statement. Sirius asked him out, not the other way around. And then seemingly disappeared from not only their conversations but also any and all meetings.

“You were the one who—“

“That was a big fucking mistake.” The words felt like they cut into Remus like the scars all over his body were mirrored by the internal ones. This conversation was bringing too much up for him and he could tell.

He paused, trying to stop the flow of tears down his face, to keep Sirius from knowing just how upset he was. They didn’t know each other well enough for that. Sirius was right. “What was the point of it then? Why’d you ask me and then pull this?” His voice sounded far away like it wasn’t his own. He didn’t know why he sounded so small (maybe it was because Sirius made him feel small).

“I liked you until you started prying into my life. I don’t need more people running around trying to dig up information on me.” More people? Dig up information? Remus just wanted to know if he was okay. He wanted to know if Sirius was angry with him, or some other such nonsense. He wasn’t trying to pry or dig up information. But he wasn’t going to say that. So instead, he just mumbles “oh” and hangs up. He couldn’t handle the shock to the system that was more confrontation. So instead he mills about his and Lily’s apartment some more, trying to decide what to wear to this family dinner? He settled on his usual wares because he was already so overwhelmed. He couldn’t risk the way the tags of some of his other clothes, or the fabric blends would make him want to crawl out of his skin. He pulled himself together and left the house, hoping that Sirius wouldn’t make some surprise appearance.

He didn’t understand how he had ended up in this whirlwind, but he was here. He was in James’s home, sitting down to dinner, trying to be chill. He was trying to understand how he had essentially usurped what he understood to be Sirius’s role in the group. He didn’t want to, but seemingly he was because he had no choice but to show up to these plans. These plans at James’s house for dinner seemed sweet, but there were two extra place settings at the table. Remus wondered who the second was from because he was sure one of them was for Sirius.

Who had been seated at the second place setting? Who did Remus not know? It seemed that all of the people at this table were people who worked at quill, or the one-off adjacent person, such as Marlene’s partner, Dorcas, or Alice and Ted. He didn’t know them, so he was assuming that they didn’t work at Quill.

He followed along as they talked, but he didn’t add much to the conversation. He had nothing to say, really. He felt like he didn’t belong here. These weren’t his friends, they were Sirius’s. It felt like he was intruding after that fight over the phone. But he didn’t really have a choice, it was in his best interest to just go with it because these people were directly responsible for his poetic success. He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize his career, so instead, he sat there, staring at the empty chair before him. Was Sirius avoiding him? Had he overstepped his bounds?

He felt the mask he was used to wearing slide back on because he was stressing himself out. He joined into the conversations around the table mindlessly, he wasn’t going to make a mess of this opportunity. But he wasn’t thinking about it until James made a comment about taking leftovers to Sirius’s home. Clearly, his absence was felt around the room, and Remus couldn’t help but feel responsible. He was trying to pretend he didn’t feel guilty, but it wasn’t working. But he went along, in hopes of finding an opportunity to apologize for being so nosy, he just wanted to quell his own fears that Sirius hated him. He was trying to deal with actually being intimate with someone, and vulnerable with someone, after all this time.

He was shocked when they arrived at Sirius’s home and weren’t allowed in. Was the man agoraphobic? Why did he never leave the house? But he didn’t want to think about it, for fear of being considered nosy all over again.

“No, lads. Go home. It’s a school night.” That sounded shocking to him. Sirius was 21, he didn’t have a child. Even if he did, there was no way that child could be old enough to go to school. It didn’t make sense.

“You don’t have a kid,” Remus called, but then his mind roamed back to that first meeting. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Sirius did have a child, and that was the voice he had heard in that meeting. But then he remembers that they had been in Sirius’s house on a Thursday night, and he had seen no evidence of a child. He wouldn’t miss something so big when he had spent so much time in Sirius’s home that day and the day after.

But Sirius doubled down, so Remus dropped it. He wasn’t going to continue to talk about it with them. He just followed along with the group as they left, piled back into James’s car, and headed back to his house. Peter, Lily, and James were the only people who remained in their home. Lily had mentioned James taking them home later, and Remus wasn’t about to pass on a free ride home instead of paying for the Underground. Especially not after a long night of interacting with people. So he waited around, drinking beers and hanging out. Remus found himself becoming more comfortable, getting to know James and Peter even better. He’s caught off guard when James just answers the phone sitting in the room with them. Remus really felt like a member of the group when he did that. But then he suddenly stood up and walked away from the group, and Remus feels like it’s his fault all over again.

“Sirius, I didn’t know. I don’t want you to get him taken from you. I’m sorry.”

Well, that was interesting, because Remus had no idea what any of that meant. Get who taken? By who? He looked at Lily, incredibly confused. She and Peter exchanged a look before he started talking.

“You were going to find out eventually.” He began, but then Lily cut him off.

“Pete, I can explain, don’t worry about it.” But then Lily’s being cut off with a quick look and a dry laugh from Peter.

“At least he’ll forgive me. He wouldn’t forgive you. You don’t know him well enough for that, in his chaotic opinion.” He laughs, but it sounds humorless. God, Remus was confused.

“Sirius is in this messy custody battle over his younger brother. It’s why he never comes out anymore. He’s trying really hard to keep his younger brother happy and healthy, and in his care despite how often he gets taken to court over it. It’s why he’s only in like half of our meetings, and why he’s been working remotely. The poor lad has far too much on his plate.” Peter looks so incredibly worried, and Lily’s working her lower lip between her teeth. This was information he absolutely was not supposed to be privy to, and he felt so incredibly stupid for being so self-centered.

“I– I had no idea.” He whispers, shaking his head. How had he not understood why Sirius was so tired? Or busy? How had he missed all of the signs and the concern, or not thought through that voice that had sounded so terrified and sad? Why was someone trying to take his brother from him? Why was the council so involved? What did “messy” even mean?

“Okay but you didn’t hear it from us, okay?” Lily looks terrified. But Remus is already mentally drafting his apology to Sirius, he didn’t want to cause more chaos in the man’s clearly exhausting life.

So when the conversation shifted away from the absence of Sirius in the group, and when James returned to the group he began drafting an apology. Remus really was pretending that he didn’t hear James saying he was worried about him, that he was alone all the time, and he’d been lashing out. He definitely pretended he didn’t hear the concern in James’s voice as he said “I can’t remember the last time it was this bad.

Remus: I just wanted to apologize for how I was in the meeting, and on the phone earlier. I know I’ve been prying, and I understand it’s not cool. I was worried, and I went about it the wrong way, and I’m sorry. I also shouldn’t have lashed out in the meeting, I swear it won’t happen again.

He didn’t expect a response before the end of the night, but when James was driving him and Lily home, he received a text.

Sirius: Can we start over? I’m not really in the business of making more enemies these days.

He wondered what that meant. Who were Sirius’s enemies? Was that related to the people he was engaged in the custody battle with? He was definitely wary of someone dealing with the council consistently, he remembered his own trials and tribulations with the council, when trying to get a restraining order. But he had made too many snap judgements before, so he was trying not to make any now.

#unremarkable days #my shit #Marauders #modern au #marauders fic #marauders era #remus x sirius #Sirius Black #sirius #James and Sirius #sirius and remus #sirius and regulus black #regulus black #regulus and sirius black

11 notes · View notes

epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years

Text

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 10 | Cintran Ale and Lingering Ghosts

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 5029

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Also I finally decided on a faceclaim for Visenya and to no ones surprise I chose Katheryn Winnick. She does Targaryen too well to not!

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven, I stan you so much! 💕

Splash.

The water pours out of the wood bucket, falling over Geralt’s hair and onto his body. The selkimore guts, now floating in the tub, the stench not nearly as burning as it had been previously. Like a dog, he shakes his head, droplets of water hitting the walls and Visenya. Without moving her gaze from the novel in hand, she wipes it away, turning the page immediately after.

“Could you be a dear Jane, and grab me more of that soap?” Jaskier asks, setting the bucket down on the ground, wipes away the water on his forehead, and pushes his puffed sleeves to cuff around his elbow.

“No.”

Flick.

“Isn’t she just lovely, and so helpful too?” Jaskier exclaims, sticky sarcasm coating each word like honey as he glides across the room, only two paces away from Visenay’s left side. He reaches up, standing on the tips of his toes- despite the shelf being within comfortable reach - and grabs a bar of soap, a distinct lavender scent following it. He twirls, like a dancer on a stage, his large sleeves lightly smacking Visenya’s cheek. She reaches up to swat him with the palm of her hand, but he’s already danced away from her, twirling and spinning his way back to Geralt.

“Oh I’m helpful alright, I help you empty your coin purse.” she mutters, pursing her lips into a tight line.

Flick.

Geralt snorts, a smirk on his lips as he watches Visenya, his amber eyes practically glowing in the dim light. Their eyes meet for a second before Visenya snaps her gaze back to the book.

“You know, maybe the two of you should travel together, you’re both so angry, like a pair of old people - you moreso, Geralt.” Jaskier says, his tone similar to that of a spoiled child groaning about not getting its way. “At least Jane cracks a joke and a smile once in a while.” He picks up the wooden bucket, filling it with clean water.

Geralt grunts, glaring at Jaskier, his white hair slick against his face; Visenya just shows Jaskier her middle finger.

Flick. There’s only ten pages of the book left, yet Visenya can’t remember the name of the leads in the story…, or even it’s plot.

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest.”

Water hits Geralt from above, his hair nearly clean of monster innards as they get washed away from him. The water pooling in the tub ripples, small waves flying out as new water takes its place. Instead of shaking his head, Geralt scrubs at his face, nearly growling as he does so.

“It is one night, body guarding your best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be.” Jaskier says, turning around, and tosses the diary rag from his hand onto a bench, before circling around the tub until he’s standing on the opposite side of his previous spot.

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh, so you normally let strangers rub chamomile on your lovely bottom?” Jaskier’s tone is teasing, a smirk on his lips.

Geralt turns towards Jaskier, arms on the side of the tub, lips set in a thin line with eyes burning like hot coals.

Visenya bites her lip, and despite her desperate attempt to hide the smile that’s pulling at the corners of her mouth, laughter escapes from her tightly pressed lips. Immediately after, she coughs, a fragile and ill attempt to disguise the noise. Even a mute with a bad left eye however would see through the coverup. Jaskier turns and meets Visenya’s gaze, flashing her a wink before looking away.

“Right, that’s what I thought.”

“I thought you were paying Jane to make sure you don’t get stabbed or robbed?” Geralt asks, tone low and raspy.

Flick, eyes scan the book, only retaining every other word carefully written in aged black ink, keen ears intently listening to the conversation.

“I am, and she does a very good job at that. The only wounds I’ve sustained since hiring her are the ones she inflicts onto me. But this isn’t just any old party, my friend. This is a betrothal feast, hosted by the Lioness of Cintra herself! There will be suitors from all over the world, powerful lords vying for the chance at winning the hand of her daughter, who I hear is very beautiful.”

“And?” Geralt asks, raising a single ashen brow.

“And Jane won’t agree to go...but if you go, I’m sure she’ll agree to it!” Jaskier says.

“I’m right here.”

“Yes, reading a book you claim is stupid and frivilous. So pointless, in fact, you haven’t put it down all day.” Jaskier says, turning to face her, a smug grin on his face that’s short lived.

Smack.

The book flies across the room, narrowly avoiding Jaskier’s face by only a few inches. It hits the wall with a resounding thud, pages crinkling as it falls to the ground. Geralt curses under his breath, grip on the wood tightening enough that veins begin to faintly pop out. Jaskier however, remains unphased, simply turning away from her to face Geralt once more.

“Don’t mind her, she's just a bit cranky, she’s been having nightmares I think.” Jaskier says to Geralt, tone nonchalant and even, as if a book wasn’t just thrown at him.

“Shut up.”

Geralt levels his gaze to Visenya, raising both his brows at her, an unspoken question in his eyes.

‘Are you okay?’

She shakes her head, lips in a tight line as she rolls her eyes, not willing to delve into all of her childhood trauma that’s reared its ugly head since that first dream all those nights ago. She’d been successful, nearly all the memories locked away in that same box in the darkest corner of her mind, yet just enough remained to taunt her in her dreams.

Lingering only a second longer, Geralt shifts his eyes back to Jaskier, who bounces on the balls of his feet, watching the two of them as if they were the only entertainment he’s had in weeks.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping track after a while: wives, concubines, mothers - sometimes.”

Both Geralt and Visenya look up at Jaskier, looks of equal incredulousness and annoyance painted on their faces.

“Oh, yes, there’s that face --” Jaskier sits on the small stool that’s pushed up against the tub. “-- scary face. No lord in their right mind would dare come near me with you there!”

Geralt’s jaw clenches just a hair, his eyes twitching ever so slightly that it could be written off as a trick of the light. He reaches over and grabs his mug of ale, bringing it to his lips, but Jaskier intercepts him, pulling the cup away from him as if Geralt was a child.

“Ooo, on second thought, might want to lay off the Cintran ale, a clear head would be best.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the shoulder, stands from the stool and moves towards Visenya.

“A gift for My Lady!” Jaskier exclaims, lowering into a deep bow as he passes Geralt’s mug to Visenya, amber liquid spilling over the brim as he carelessly carries the cup. Face void of any emotion, she grabs the cup...pouring out the entirety of its contents on the ground, far enough away that the liquid won’t touch her feet. Jaskier just huffs, feigning anger as he turns around and moves towards the small vanity pushed up against a wall. He grabs a jacket that’s dark blue, the fit and fabric suited for a party rather than travel, distracting himself by holding it up and then setting it down, only to repeat the cycle.

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone, not over the petty squabbles of men.”

He sets it down a final time, refolding it, and turning back to Geralt.

“Yes, yes, yes, you never get involved. Except you do, all the time.” Jaskier says, huffing as he moves towards Geralt. “Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbelievably cantankerous and crotchety. Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah when they’re slow and get killed.” Geralt says, his tone aggressive but lacking the usual ferocity and fire found in it.

“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster hunting nonsense is over with?” Jaskier says, pressing the conversation further and further, fiending for anything Geralt will tell him.

“I want nothing.” Jaskier looks down at his nails, then moves his gaze back to Geralt. He walks forward, leaning down so his elbows rested on the edge of the tub, facing Geralt.

“Well who knows, maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier’s eyes flash to Visenya, but she isn’t looking at him, too busy pretending to be occupied.

“I need no one, and the last thing I need is someone needing me.”

“And yet, here we are.”

It's silent, each moment dragging on as the three of them wait for the other to break it. Geralt breaks eye contact, looking left and then right, eyes burning in the dim room.

“Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?” Geralt says, snarling like a rabid animal.

“Oh, I had them taken to be cleaned, they were covered in selkimore guts, but you’re not going to the feast as a Witcher tonight.” Jaskier says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, ever present when Geralt is around it seems.

Geralt opens his mouth,a stinging response on the tip of his tongue, but Jaskier interrupts the words before they can fully form.

“But no need to worry about that.” Jaskier waves his hand, straightening his postures and gliding around the tub, and moving towards Visenya. “Now my dear Jane, will you agree to go with me now that our mighty, heroic Witcher--” Visenya just looks at Jaskier, face hard as stone.

“No. I already told you I’m not going.”

“But why not! Please, your presence is absolutely necessary with me!” Jaskier practically throws himself onto his knees, face like a begging puppy.

“I don’t like parties or weddings or betrothals.” She maintains the facade, not willing to break or show any weakness; cold and unfeeling, anything less and Jaskier will never let it go.

“Why not.”

“Because I was murdered at one.” the words are like oil on her tongue, always just a few seconds from slipping out, but they don’t. She won’t let them. If she says the words out loud, it means they’re real, and if they’re real...she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

“I just don’t.” It’s a lie, but an easy one, one she’s gotten good at telling.

“Leave her alone Jaskier, I’ve already been pulled into your mess, no need to drag Jane into it, I’m sure she’s dealt with her fair share of predicaments, thanks to you.”

“Whatever, I'll have you know all of my messes, both intentional and not, are lovely.” Jaskier tilts his nose into the air, sniffling like an injured child playing into theatrics for attention. “I’ll leave you two grumps to it, maybe you can convince her with a smoldering gaze or something.”

With one last teasing grin towards the both of them, Jaskier quickly exits the room like an actor leaving the stage after a staggering performance. The door closes behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room.

Visenya looks at Geralt, who looks at her, neither moving an inch.

“Jane.”

In that moment, with Geralt saying the fake name she gave herself all those months ago, it makes her realise just how much she misses hearing her real name. And she wonders how it would sound coming out of his mouth, whether the word would be like honey, sweet and smooth, sticking to her brain for the rest of her life. Or would it be harsher, his tongue having difficulty wrapping around the Old Valyrian name she stole from Queen Visenya I, like a petty thief. She remembers how Renfri would say it, somehow making her own name, something she’s heard a million times in her life, like sweet Southern sweets melting in her mouth.

She remembers how...nice it felt, being able to be completely open and honest, when her life has been nothing but deceit and shadows for so long. And she almost breaks, pouring out everything from the moment she came into the world, banishing away the darkness that hung over King’s Landing, screaming and crying as she did. But she doesn’t. Fear claws at her mind, doubts that he would think her crazy or a deranged monster trying to work into his life assaulting her all at once. And it’s dizzying, so much so she nearly faints from the feeling.

“Jane.” Geralt says again, firmer this time, banishing away her inebriating fears and worries, everything clear within a single second.

“Geralt,”

She smirks at him, but it’s awkward and strange, looking more like a grimace than anything.

“You alright?” he asks, and even in the dim light, she can see the lines in his forehead, brows furrowing. And for the second time that day, she considers telling him everything. But the same fears hold her back.

“Aren’t I always?” she tries to joke, her voice going up three octaves as she tries to keep out the heaviness that always seems to follow her.

“Hmm.”

Silence washes over them, unspoken words and questions ricocheting off the walls and making everything feel smaller.

“Thanks for the broach by the way.” Visenya breaks the silence first, motioning towards the broach that’s pinned to the left side of her tunic, hanging above her breast.

“It looks better on you than it did me,” Geralt says, a smile that shows all his shiny white teeth on his face. Visenya nods her head, standing from the bench she perched herself on the moment Jaskier pushed them all into the room. Slowly and calculated, she begins to walk towards Geralt, each footstep ringing in the room until she’s by the tub, sitting on the stool Jaskier previously claimed.

“I know, does wonders for my eyes when the light reflects off the gems,” she teases, crossing her left leg over the right. “It was the least you could do after leaving me to wake up by myself.”

“I didn’t realise you wanted me to stay.” Geralt rebuttals, raising a brow as he waits for her next move.

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, I just wasn’t happy to deal with Jaskier’s prying questions alone. Do you know how many times I had to threaten to stab him, rob him, and then leave him for dead until he shut up? And even now he still makes subtle jokes about it.” Visenya says, rolling her eyes, resting her elbow on the edge of the tub, only a few inches away from Geralt.

“My apologies for leaving you in such a dire situation.” Geralt leans forward, mimicking her light tone.

“For shame Geralt, for shame.”

“Is there anything I could do to make it up to the Lady?” he asks, leaning just a hair closer, and like there’s a magnetic field around him that pulls her to him, begging her to close the gap and feel his steady breaths fanning over her face.

“The broach was a good start.” she replies, trying to not sound as breathless as she feels.

She’s burning, her body all over electrified in a way it hasn’t been since the last time she saw Geralt.

And then it’s suddenly cold, all the warmth being forcibly ripped from her body. The water hits against the tub as Geralt moves back, his body pressed against the other end of the tub, all coy smirk and smug eyes.

Payback for last time it seems.

Visenya rolls her eyes and straightens her back, eager for the flush that covers her body to disappear as quickly as it came.

“Yeah whatever, you're naked and vulnerable, I could take you.” she says, waiting a moment before her eyes widen a fraction, Geralt smirk widening. ‘With my sword, that is. I could stab you with my sword and leave you dead. That’s what I meant, nothing else.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Geralt’s eyes glint with amusement, the candles reflecting like roaring fires in his eyes. He’s beautiful in the dim glow of the flickering flames, skin glistening with droplets of water sticking to his body, further accentuating his rippling muscles and broad shoulders.

“I hate you and Jaskier equally, just so you know.” Visenya says, huffing like a child, rolling her eyes and glancing at the bare wall, eyes tracing over the wooden panels, counting each grain as she does.

“I’m sure. So what’s the real reason you don’t want to go to this feast? Jaskier drags you around to all his other parties, why not go to this one?” Geralt asks. Visenya’s eyes flicker back to Geralt. Her mind is blank, yet brimming with a million different words and phrases that jumble together until she can hardly find any words to speak.

“I guess I’m not a fan of weddings or anything related to them.” is all she can say. “It’s not a big deal, just a weird tick I guess.” She nods her head, trying to make the words seem convincing to both her and Geralt. But it’s impossible to swallow the lump forming in her throat, nearly suffocating as Westeros hits her mind, the calamitous memories physically painful.

“Bad experience?”

Her face still sour from the fight with Robb, nearly breaking her jaw from how tightly she kept it clenched.

Lady Catelyn looking shrewd and nervous, but slowly softening to Talissa and Robb’s relationship.

Everyone celebrating and getting drunk in the room.

“I’ve never been a good dancer,” she says, the words are soft and light, a tentative smile forming on her face.

Robb falling to the ground, like a pincushion for crossbow bolts, choking on his blood despite being dead the second he entered the keep.

The camp burning.

Everyone around her dying.

“And if I promised you wouldn’t have to dance?” Geralt says, leaning towards Visenya.

Her heart dropping when the slaughter started, frozen like a statue in the dead of winter, bolted to the floor and unmoving.

Screams lighting up the room, ricocheting off the walls as they were stabbed, bludgeoned, and strangled.

Greywind locked up outside, unable to help and dying alone, butchered like a pig.

“You seem desperate for my presence there, Geralt of Rivia.” Visenya teases.

The wail that ripped through her throat, leaving her drinking her own blood and tears.

The pit in her stomach as her legs gave out.

Their snears and taunting words as the world grew dark.

“If I have to suffer the night sober, I would prefer good company.” His lips pull into a smirk that’s lopsided, making his left eye crinkle an inch further than the right.

And that little piece of her who wished she had died with the rest of her family 17 years ago.

“And you couldn’t think of anyone else?” Visenya replies with a smile on her face that grows, eyes bright as Westeros and all it’s demons dim, leaning her chin onto the palm of her hand.

“Well I’d bring my horse, but I don’t foresee them allowing Roach into the palace.”

“No, I imagine that wouldn’t go over too well.”

Visenya sighs deeply, closing her eyes as she does, resolve breaking with each passing second that Geralt looks at her.

“Do you think Jaskier would give me any say in my dress?”

The door flings open, crashing into the wooden wall and causing it to shake for a moment.

“Have no fear, My Lady, I’ve already got the perfect one!”

o0o0o0o

The water is scalding hot, steam rising from the water and dissipating into the air. But it doesn’t burn, not in the way it should, instead every muscle in her body relaxes the second the it touches her skin. Small waves ripple through the water as her body twists and turns into a comfortable position. A small sigh leaves her mouth, echoing in the smaller room only to be swallowed by the door opening and closing.

“I don’t need help bathing.” Visenya says, weaving annoyance and mild anger in each word.

Just one moment alone would be nice.

“And I’m not here to offer it, I just wanted to quickly discuss a few things,” Jaskier says, completely ignoring any warning signs and moving further into the room.

“And then you’ll be out of my hair?” Visenya says, water splashing out of the tub and onto the floor as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Well funny you should say that, actually…” She doesn’t need to turn around to see how his brows are furrowed, eyes unsure and a touch afraid that Visenya might fly off the handle. He’s never fully learned all her triggers yet, but to be fair, neither has she.

She groans, loudly, sinking as far into the water as much as the tub would physically allow, wishing to be swallowed into an abyss. Always something with the hair, whether it’s pleads to let him style it or to tell him why she keeps dyeing it.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Jaskier exclaims, in an attempt to defend himself, feigning innocence he doesn’t possess when it comes to meddling.

“I don’t have to. The answer is still no.” Visenya’s voice is firm and stern, unmovable like a stone wall.

His footsteps echo in the room, the heels on the boots clicking against the wood flooring as he approaches, each step tentative and slow.

“Well that just isn’t acceptable, you won’t even give a gentleman the simple opportunity to--”

“Just tell me what you want so I can tell you no again” Visenya interrupts Jaskier, breathing heavily through her nose.

“Alright, alright, tough crowd--”

“Jaskier!”

“Okay, alright, your hair! I wanted to talk about that.” Jaskier says, voice raising in volume as many octaves it did. “How do I say this while still keeping my life… it looks, well-- like a wild animal lives there and has lived there its whole life.”

The water splashes and ripples as her hand breaks through the stillness, joining the rest of her body beyond her head and the tops of her shoulders underwater. Jaskier holds his breath, waiting for Visenya to either tell him to fuck off or pretend he doesn’t exist at all.

“I know.”

Jaskiers loudly exhales, physically deflating.

“So I was thinking, what if we made it not look like that for the feast? You really should look your best before a monarch.” Visenya turns her head and glares at Jaskier. “I know you dye your hair, heavens know why, so I was just thinking what if you...washed it out.”

“So you want me to wear my natural hair color for the feast?” Visenya clarifies, her voice not indicating anything she’s feeling.

“Yes, exactly!” Jaskier exclaims, tone becoming more jovial and ecstatic, bouncing on his feet as he does.

“No.”

“But--”

“I said no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“I said no Jaskier.” Visenya growls, the edges of the wooden tub crack under the pressure of her grip, splitters getting pushed under her nails.

“Don’t be so dramatic, let’s see what color your roots are--” Jaskier moves closer, hands outstretched, desperate to see the silver hair shining under the dry brown. Visenya grits her teeth, anger pulsing under her skin, mind going white as all the sound in the room silences for a painstakingly long moment.

“I said, no!” The words are piercing and sharp, nearly leaving both of their ears bleeding. The walls shake, the structure of the building itself rejecting the shrill words rolling off of Visenya's mouth. Her eyes flash like fire, burning anything in its wake; it’s dangerous and untamed, wildfire barely contained in two eyes.

Her hand flies up in the air, palm nearly meeting Jaskier’s cheek, but he manages to duck out of the way, stepping back far enough to avoid the slap, the residual heat radiating from her hand nearly singeing his hair. With wide eyes, baby blues watching her with bewilderment and a small tinge of something else- something she never wants him or anyone else to ever look at her with again.

Fear.

Visenya inhales sharply, simply staring at her own hand with dazed eyes. It’s still hot, she’s still hot. The previously scalding water that had begun to cool, heats up again with a vengeance, boiling wildly around her. Small beads of sweat form at her temple, the room growing smaller with each sharp breath Jaskier takes.

“I’ll just-- I’ll just leave you to it, just… forget I asked, I guess,” he says, the words jumbling and melting together, nearly disappearing into the wooden walls that seem to close in.

Click.

Just as quickly as he entered the room, he exits, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of his perfume and hair styling product. The room is silent, unbearably so. Visenya turns, water languidly splashing, her back facing the door as she stares at the bare wall, eyes glazing as she attempts to focus on every small detail of the wood. Her mind is blank, yet at the same time it’s a storm, ferociously raging in her head, until her ship is pulled under, thoughts drowning her.

“Fuck!” The palm of her hand smacks against the water, a barrage of droplets sticking to the sweat beads. A growl of anger and frustration leaves her mouth as she thrusts her hands forward, creating a wave that forces a large amount of water to spill onto the ground, forming a small puddle of anger and guilt.

Regret weighs heavily on her, like wearing a suit of full plate in the middle of the ocean. She shouldn’t have snapped at Jaskier that way, she wishes she hadn’t. He’s just trying to help, to pull Visenya out of this hole she’s happily buried herself in, clawing at the dirt with perfectly manicured hands and a velvet outfit, humming a sweet melody as he digs. She’d yelled before: threatened to hurt him in every way imaginable, screamed so loud her voice nearly vanished. She’d smacked his chest and shoulders under the guise of seriousness with a sly smirk playing on the corner of her lips. And he took it in stride, laughing it off with a charming smile and a witty quip, bouncing back instantaneously, because she never fully knocked him down.

She tries to believe this isn’t any different, that she’ll walk out of this room, only to be bombarded by Jaskier’s incessant teasing. But no amount of rose-tinted lenses can bury her in that delusion, because this time is different. She could see the way he looked at her, the way he crumbled under the fire in her eyes and rage simmering under her skin.

Her fury in that moment was harsh, but true, and very much directed at him with intent to harm. All because he wanted to see her hair. How could he ever understand that it’s more than that to her. How does she explain how the same silver strands that crown her a Targaryen princess, something that marked her a paragon of her ancestors, but a pariah to the living. She’d never be able to explain how it was the one unmistakable trait that marked her as the daughter of the man who stole away Winterfell’s princess, staining her a traitor to all of Westeros.

No one here knows who House Targaryen was or what her ancestors did -- both horrible and great. And maybe it’s better that way. To wipe her home and family name out of her memories, drown Westeros and all the hurt and pain and misery that came with it until she can’t remember anything prior to Blaviken.

Because what did they achieve, what did any of them really achieve? Aegon the Conqueror along with Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen formed the Seven Kingdoms. They brought war and then peace, only for that to be lost 300 years later due to the madness of a single man, that apparently bled into his eldest son.

With Fire and Blood, they took what they wanted and bathed the rest in dragon fire as they reigned calamity upon their enemies. Some were kind and fair, but most were cruel and callous, seeing themselves higher than the rest because their eyes shone like amethysts with hair threaded from silver.

What did being the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen ever give her, except for despair at the loss of the family he abandoned to the whims of a madman. What did being the granddaughter of the Mad King Aerys give her, beyond the crippling fear that would leave her awakening in the darkest part of the night covered in sweat, fears that she’d descend to that same madness that haunted him. That she’d lose the ability to control her own mind until she was put down like a dog, something Robert Baratheon would’ve done happily as the people whispered ‘What a shame she went mad.’

What did being a Targaryen ever really bring her if not scars and lingering ghosts?

The last time she fully embraced her blood, standing as tall and regal as a Targaryen should, how she believed they would, she burned down half a village.

No, it’s better this way.

Even if it’s just hair.

She sinks further into the boiling water, breathing in the steam like the smoke from a fire, praying and hoping she would just disappear. She continues down until her shoulders and underwater, then her neck, until the back of her head touches the bottom of the tub, eyes closed as her water floats around her face. And surrounded by the boiling water, washing away the day and all her mistakes, salty tears leave her eyes, being swept away into the water.

o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

#geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt fanfic #geralt x reader #Geralt #the last dragon #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones crossover #the witcher crossover #house targaryen #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc #Jaskier

107 notes · View notes

cartooness · 3 years

Text

Mystery March Day 10: Mistake (Her Name?)

Alright my dudes: I know. Tis I, Cartooness, posting a ficlet of sorts. Which I never do lmao.

BUT!

I had ideas OWOWOWOWOWOW

Warning this portrays Mystery in a negative light so if that’s not ya jam, go ahead and skip.

**I START HERE, I’M USING THE READ MORE FOR A DIFFERENT TIME >:3**

SO @nemesis-is-my-middle-name and I were chatting and this is what came out of it XD

In my AU (that’s where my Lavender Grey character comes from lol), since I first made it I thought “omg what if Mystery was like. ‘Afraid’ or just weary of her because of how powerful she is” but now that The Future is out, I’m all “holy fucking shit what if Mystery is almost *jealous* of her because the gang doesn’t want him around her”. They say it’s for her sake (but it’s also for their sake) because they don’t want her to be scared.

He’s both [weary and jealous of Lavender], he’s all “okay. This girl comes LITERALLY out of nowhere and I’m glad they’re giving her a place to stay, she is a child. But this is a very powerful child, one that overwhelmingly outranks me in that field. Why aren’t they afraid of her? Why is it ME that they’re keeping her away from?”

I guess he knows what he’s done in the past was shitty, but he doesn’t know why this random ass kid owns their heart now when he’s the one who was there first. Ya know, like an asshole.

I wanna say that he makes her cry because he just lets all the negativity loose and he’s caught mid rant by ARTHUR.

So. Mystery has basically been fending for himself for a little while, no big deal. Except he can't stop thinking about that damned girl. What has she done for them? How has she won them all over so easily? Only Lewis was the type to be soft for children, but Arthur? VIVI? Being parental figures? The world has gone mad.

He saw them time to time in that mansion of Lewis's, and they all looked so happy without him. Vivi hadn't seemed to be going on missions anymore, which was beyond shocking. Why not, that child is so powerful any threats would back off if they had a single brain cell.

Not to mention Shiromori was now on the girl's side; he spotted her occasionally checking up on her and putting small blooms in her hair, typically while she slept. It made the child look more innocent than she actually was in his eyes. He remembered when he was the one getting flower gifts and such when Shiromori was on his side. And with a protector like her, the child was practically untouchable.

Mystery flirted with the idea of that girl getting hurt and them coming back to him for help. But he didn't let himself ponder too long, that would be cruel. But he couldn't help but think about it.

What *would* happen if harm came her way?

Would they mourn her if such a fate could happen?

Would they come crying back to him?

Or would they blame him for a tragedy he didn't cause. They just *loved* to blame him.

...

He couldn't stop himself anymore. He trotted his way to that stupid little happy home and sniffed out what room belonged to the girl, the unmistakable scent of raw power and flowers filling the air. He peered into her window, in his dog form, and lo and behold she was there. He yanked the window open and sat on her bed, not caring about getting that sickeningly "cute" comforter dirty with his mud covered paws.

"Oh! It's you, Mystery. Can... I help you?" She was a bit puzzled as to what he needed her for, she thought he was fine being on his own.

Actually my dear, you can.

"Oh?-"

Get out of their lives. You don't deserve anything they've given you.

Her pupils shrunk, taken aback from his remark. "Did I do something wrong? I don't-"

Don't play stupid with me, girl. You are the reason I'm not allowed to be with them anymore, that I've been scorned to never return. You just barged your way into their lives, into MY life and took everything I've worked so hard for away. They're so worried about their 'little princess' that they don’t realize how damn DANGEROUS you are!

Don't they feel that power you possess? Aren't they afraid of you?

She looked like he ripped her gut out, her eyes welling with tears, irises ever so slightly tinting blue with sadness.

Don't you DARE cry, he growled, you won't get a drop of pity out of me.

"Mystery”, she started, sniffling as she tried to speak, “please tell me-"

I'M ALREADY TELLING YOU, YOU IDIOT! HOW STUPID CAN YOU BE? YOU RUINED EVERYTHING FOR ME AND YOU’RE ACTING LIKE YOU DESERVE THIS LOVING LITTLE FAMILY? WELL YOU DON'T. *I'M* THE ONE WHO PROTECTED THEM, *I'M* THE ONE WHO KEPT THEM OUT OF HARM'S WAY, THEN YOU SHOW UP AND RIP IT ALL AWAY!!

WHAT ARE YOUR INTENTIONS? WHY DO YOU ACT LIKE YOU'RE HARMLESS? NOBODY WITH POWERS LIKE YOURS STAY IDLE. WHERE DID YOU EVEN COME FROM?! I KNOW YOU'RE NOT HUMAN, SO DON'T TRY AND LIE TO ME. YOU THINK YOU'RE *SO* SPECIAL DON'T YOU?

She was sobbing now, eyes visibly baby blue and tears running down her face.

FOR GOD'S SAKE, SHUT UP WITH ALL THAT CRYING AND-

"Mystery if you don't leave right now I SWEAR I will chop every God forsaken tail of yours off."

Shit.

A-Arthur I-

"Why the fuck are you here? What made you think you were welcome?" His fatherly instinct had kicked in as soon he heard noise from his child’s room and ran over in an instant.

"Lav, baby, go to the bathroom” he started with a kiss to her nose, “so you can go wash your face. I have some business to finish", directing his gaze towards the intruder.

I'm here to open your eyes, Arthur. What has she accomplished while I was gone? What’s been going on with you... five? It seems her army grows every day.

"That is PATHETIC, Mystery."

What is? I'm just stating-

"I don't give a shit about your opinion, you broke into a child's room and you're YELLING AT HER because what, you're fucking....”

He pondered why Mystery was here spreading grief. They did tell him to piss off so that Lav wouldn’t be in danger, and honestly they didn’t need to be so stressed with him in the house all the time either. It’s not a good idea to welcome back a recently possessed kitsune into their home when they were all recovering from the trauma he inflicted. Old and new...

New... is he...

“Are you,,, jealous of her?" he asked, tone on the verge of shock.

Good lord, this boy.

Arthur, I am here because I care and I worry about you, Lewis, and Vivi. And it concerns me that you've thrown all my help away for some MUTT that doesn't belong-

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" Arthur shouted, trembling and trying not to scream so he wouldn’t scare Lav a few doors down.

I will NOT, I'm not done yet-

"YES YOU FUCKING ARE.”

The look of pain and anger was so clear on his face, and Mystery shut his mouth instantly.

"YOU *ARE* DONE BECAUSE YOU JUST RUINED THE VERY MINISCULE CHANCE WE WERE GOING TO GIVE YOU TO PROPERLY MEET HER. YOU’VE MADE ONE TOO MANY MISTAKES."

His voice was cracking, he wasn’t the type to do all... this. Just how much had this girl influenced them?

Arthur, please-

As if on cue, Lavender returned from the bathroom. "Mr. Arthur, am I in trouble?” She asked, big brown eyes looking up at him. “Mystery kept telling me that I did something wrong by being here and it didn't make sense to me."

"What exactly did he tell you, love?" he asked, eyebrows slightly softening just for her.

Oh FUCK. ((A/N: YEAH U DONE FUCKED UP YOU ASS))

She looked almost scared to answer; she was aware the kitsune could be merciless, and didn’t want to be attacked in the mansion Lewis had worked so hard on. Mystery was so angry at her and she didn’t understand why.

"Well... he told me that I ruined his life because I guess I took his place or something. He said I'm dangerous because I'm more powerful than him, and.. he said mean things about me in general.”

Arthur’s metal hand flew up, ready to attack.

“Mr. Arthur! W-what are you doing?-"

And Arthur hit Mystery as hard as he could.

There was an excruciating scream of pain, one that caused Lewis and Vivi to abandon the groceries they were bringing in to see all the commotion.

ARTHUR, YOU BASTARD! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!

"YOU MADE MY CHILD CRY BECAUSE YOU HAD YOUR PETTY FEELINGS HURT? FOR SOMETHING SHE NEVER DID? YOU HAD THE GOD DAMN *BALLS* TO BREAK IN, YELL INSULTS AT A KID, MAKE HER CRY, AND THINK THAT YOU WERE IN THE RIGHT?"

Lewis rushed over, trying to calm his boyfriend down. "Arthur, mi amor, what- MYSTERY?! How did HE get here?!”

S h i t.

Vivi felt her heart drop to her feet at the mention of her ‘dog’s’ name. "WHAT IS HE DOING HERE? I THOUGHT WE KICKED HIM OUT!" she exclaimed, her stomach filling with dread.

Lewis, Vivi, if you just let me EXPLAIN-

Arthur almost made a hole in the wall with the pound of his fist. "So this little FUCKER broke into Lav's room to yell at her because she lives with us and he wasn't invited. I come over to see who's in her room yelling at her, and she's crying uncontrollably while he keeps going at her, spewing a bunch of BULLSHIT, and he thinks he can explain himself and why he's in the right."

"....what?" said Lewis and Vivi, shocked by Mystery's audacity.

Lav started to cry again, thinking she would be punished for this, and Lewis quickly pulled her into his embrace. "Mi florecita preciosa, you did nothing wrong-"

REALLY LEWIS? Mystery growled, feeling patronized, especially as Lewis tightened his grip. SHE'S NOT A BABY-

"Shut your snout right now", snapped Vivi. "Get the fuck out of our house and you BETTER not come back. You have ONE chance to apologize to her and that's it."

Can I come back if I do?

"YOU DON'T DESERVE TO COME BACK" growled Arthur, his flesh hand placed gently on Lav's head and his metal one pointing at Mystery, Lewis glaring so hard it could kill.

Nobody was on his side, and the look on the girl’s face almost made him feel bad.

Almost.

Very well then. I'll be on my way and hope that your ignorance won’t become your downfall.

"Hey Mystery, one more thing", Lewis started. "If you ever come back with bad intentions, we will kill you ourselves. I swear on anything and everything that you will not come here with a DROP of malice towards her. Do I make myself clear? And don’t you dare try and act smart, we are giving you a LOT of mercy when you don't deserve it."

...then I bid farewell. What is her name?

"My name is Lavender Grey."

Thank you. Goodbye, Miss Lavender Grey.

#mystery skulls #mystery skulls animated #cartooness writes sometimes #I HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY OWOWOW #IF U HAVE QUESTIONS MY ASKBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN!!!!!!!!!#mystery #lavender grey #arthur kingsmen #vivi yukino #lewis pepper #shiromori is in here for like 5 seconds

14 notes · View notes

littlesliceofmarvel · 4 years

Text

all in a day’s work

Prompt: Tony Stark x Reader (21 — ‘don’t even think about it.’)

Warnings: angst, mentions of bombings and death, alcohol

A/N: the next chapter of ‘manipulating a god’ will be our very soon! sorry for the wait! been very busy with work and some other issues. thank you all for being so patient! now, enjoy! :)

——————

The heavy rain rolled down the windows of the Avengers tower as storm clouds brewed heavily over New York City, drenching the poor civilians rushing about nearly a hundred stories below you.

You sat facing the city, relishing in the gloomy weather that happened to match your mood at the current moment, sulking away by the large windows as you tried to avoid your problems.

Your problems being Tony Stark, of course.

Your self-sacrificial boyfriend decided to take on a mission that nearly ended in his death. It was one thing that he didn’t tell you about his embankment on said mission, but it was a completely different thing to find out that he had nearly died in a fiery explosion after the attacker had blown himself up.

He had come back to the tower bloodied, injured, and limping, never having told you he was out taking up a Shield mission in the first place.

Your anger was through the roof.

Yes, you were happy he came back alive and well and that none of his injuries were long-lasting, but the mere thought that he could have been killed and you didn’t even know about it was enough for you to bring out your petty side and give him the silent treatment.

Tony took the hint, giving you your distance as he healed slowly.

But he hated it.

“Still not talking to me?” he startled you as he walked into the room, two glasses of wine in hand and his shoulder bandaged up tightly.

You scanned him up and down before crossing your arms and looking back out the window, focusing incredibly hard on the raindrops in order to avoid giving into him.

“Well,” he spoke up loudly, “I guess I’m just going to sit here on the couch and drink two glasses of wine all by myself.”

You clenched your jaw, knowing that if he kept sitting there and talking you were bound to give up your game rather quickly. He always knew how to get under your skin and push your buttons. That, and you really miss him.

“Oh, gee, what to watch?” he thought aloud, pressing the buttons on the remote obnoxiously loud to gain your attention, “Oh, the final season of Game of Thrones is playing! I haven’t watched the others, but maybe I’ll catch up on this.”

You bit your tongue, trying so hard to tune him out. He knew damn well you hadn’t finished watching the series — he knew you were bound to tell him to shut it off in order to avoid spoilers.

But, being as petty as you were, you sat silently while the episode into played.

“Y/N, come watch,” he pat the couch, “I know you like this show.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore, “Turn it off.”

He paused it, cupping his ear, “I’m sorry, did you say something? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my disbelief.”

“I said,” you spoke through gritted teeth, “Turn it off.”

He smirked and leaned back into the couch, “I think I’m actually going to turn the volume up—,”

“Don’t even think about it,” you glared at him, pointing a finger and walking over slowly.

“Then talk to me!” he pouted like a child, slouching his shoulders and patting the couch next to him once more, “I can’t stand the thought of you being mad at me. It’s like torture. And I would know.”

You rolled your eyes, heart aching slightly as you thought about how unfair you had been towards him, “I need you to learn a lesson!”

He sat up, “I did learn it. Loud and clear.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, looking him over. He held his hands up in the air in mock surrender, his eyes gentle and pleading.

“I just worry about you. All the time,” you said softly, barely audible over the heavy raindrops and distant rumbles of thunder.

He nodded, “I know. And I am so sorry I left without telling you.”

You stepped closer to him, missing his contact and wanting more than anything to just run into his arms and forget all of this ever happened, but you couldn’t push past the worry and fear that had been bubbling inside of you for days now.

“You know how much I worry when you’re away,” you looked to the ground, “I never know when — or if — you’re gonna come back.”

He closed the space between the two of you, linking your hands in his and rubbing small circles on your skin, “And I hate that I have to leave you all the time. Believe me. But one of the only reasons I’m staying with the Avengers program is that I want to make this world safer for you. For us to live in.”

You looked up, your eyes stinging as tears threatened to spill, “I know. And I respect that. You’re braver than anyone I’ve ever met. But it’s so goddamn hard.”

“I know, baby,” Tony sighed, stepping even closer to you. Close enough for you to feel his body heat. Close enough for you to nearly forget all of your anger.

“But when I’m home, I like to be with you,” he smiled slightly, “I like to come back from a mission and be able to hug and kiss you. Can’t do that if you’re mad at me.”

The hint of amusement in his voice made you chuckle, stepping closer so your bodies were almost pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, looking up to face him, “I guess I was being a little childish.”

“A little?” he chuckled, “You gave me a run for my money.”

He dropped your hands and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. You responded by wrapping your arms around his neck, placing a light kiss on the underside of his chin.

“Now, can we please cuddle?” he asked with a light smirk, “We can watch whatever you want.”

You nodded, “I’d love to. Thanks for being so understanding.”

He pressed a light kiss to your nose and pulled away from you, grabbing your hand and walking back over to the couch, throwing himself down and dragging you with him. You grinned as he pulled you close, snatching up the closest blanket and enveloping the two of you in comfortable warmth.

“Now, should I press play and spoil the last season?” he smirked, his finger hovering over the ‘play’ button on the remote.

“Don’t you dare!”

#tony stark #tony stark imagine #tony stark imagines #tony stark one shot #tony stark one shots #tony stark x reader #tony stark reader insert #tony stark fic #tony stark fics

52 notes · View notes

calypsoff · 3 years

Text

Eighty Two. Part 6

The drive to the airport was quiet, so quiet because I wasn’t going to speak to him and he’s not going to speak to me when he said what he said about my dad, he had no right too. He’s in the wrong in this situation and he went out of his way to bring up my dad, like it makes his case any better “shall I take Rylee?” Now he asks about her, the driver opened the car door for me, and I just got out. It’s me that packed the suitcases, it’s me looking after our daughter, it’s all me doing everything. Holding Rylee close, she’s got her ear defenders on but asleep so she’s not fussing like she would usually do. She’s exhausted and so am I, this is a mess, and the worst part is that drake is playing in his face, but he doesn’t see it. Part of me wants me to say go, just do what you want because it makes no sense on why I am here saving this ass, let him fuck up because he wants too “afternoon Miss Fenty” I love how I am miss Fenty still “afternoon” I smiled at the flight attendant, he can also sit away from me because I don’t want to hear it. He will hear it from me when we get home, I will get him when he’s alone because he has nobody to bounce off at all. Part of me really does want to say go and do it but I am fearful of what would happen, but why should I keep trying to protect him, but I just need to gather myself and deal with it. He’s ruining my Christmas, I am sick of him doing it too, but I am ready for him to bring up Rocky and that I lied to him, he’s going to make out I am in wrong because that is just Chris all over, I am in the wrong. As much as I love him, he can be a real dickhead and it takes a slight inconvenience for him to switch, and it’s just him being like that. His mother said ever since jail he’s been like that, not even therapy can help a pure asshole. He’s getting above himself; he really is and I can’t even deal.

I’ve realised I’ve not really let go of Rylee; I don’t know. I just feel so attached to her, she’s my peace right now. She’s giving me great peace within; I also didn’t like she was crying like that with me for no reason too. Chris on the other hand, he sat away from me, so he knows that he has done wrong, he also doesn’t have an audience around him. Looking up seeing Chris making his way towards me, he can just fuck off and leave me alone “are we landing in LAX?” He’s asking like he doesn’t know that already “where else are we going?” Stupid question, he sat across from me, maybe his way to get to sit with me “you never know with you” rolling my eyes, of course he’s putting it on me “can we just talk about this, I think you’re hiding your phone from me now because you wouldn’t give it” I knew he would start now “not doing this now” I mumbled “on your terms!? As always” I sniggered “you damn fucking right nigga!” I spat, who does he think he is “right” the way he is, his persona, I need his ass to be beat up because he’s giving me a headache “what you want? Why you come over here with your bad aura” waving my hand at him “sex? I mean what else am I good for, I’m not a good mother clearly” eyeballing him “well I want a son out of you” my hand froze midair staring at him, he was going to grab my hand, but I hit his away “I am joking with you, come on” hitting his hand again and again, I am so angered by him “fuck you! Get out of my face” moving away as he tried to hold my arm as like he was going to console me “don’t” he is an absolute bastard, I can’t even stand him, I just want to scream.

I would say home sweet home, but my home is Barbados, I am deflated but I am here anyway “thank you” smiling at the flight attendant as I stepped down the steps with Rylee, it’s me. I have been here for her, holding her close. He’s done nothing but irritate me, constantly just there being annoying and then have the nerve to say give me a son, I’ll give him a slap before I do any of that at all. Seeing two SUVs, that’s just for me. I only wanted one, seeing Rich as I got to the bottom “Happy Christmas” the pilot smiled at me “and you” smiling at Rich as he made his way over to me “you look a whole new shade” I have been in the sun a lot “I know” placing Rylee over my shoulder, she is fussing of course “let me take her, you look like you’re struggling!” He shouted over the sound of the jet engine “holding her the whole flight but she is not going to settle if I let you, so it’s ok thank you” Rich stepped to the side to let me walk, Chris is stood outside the SUV. Making my way to it “the back one is yours!” Looking up at Rich, I am confused there is two. The door opened on the SUV and Deja stepped out of that, looking at Chris’ face but he turned and hugged her. I am confused and just want to get into a SUV, walking to the SUV behind. I just don’t get why there is like two here, we only needed one so what is this “thank you” Rich opened the door for me, I am going deaf from Rylee crying in my ear, she is hungry now too. Sliding into the SUV, I grinned as I did. Rylee is not light, my baby is a chubby thing and I’ve been holding her since, the door closed and I just laid her over my lap and took off the ear defenders “awww no, you’re so sad” she is all red from crying, I shushed her and placed the pacifier in her mouth hopefully she just takes it while we can go and I can hopefully breastfeed her, like I’m not in the mood so Rylee is not latching on, the SUV door opened and Chris got inside, as he should but it doesn’t answer why Deja is here in that SUV, what was the purpose of that.

They are loading up the SUV with my stuff, a whole case is Rylee’ because I wanted her to never be without, so they are doing that right now “erm, I have business I need to deal with” I knew it, I just knew this was coming. Like I am not shocked but I knew this was coming because why was Deja here “right, you do have business at home too” looking over at him “and I’ll be home, just haven’t seen Cena in a while, it’s important” so he says, “more important than your own family?” Chris sniggered “you’re saying that? You the same one telling me that niggas want you, I am wondering which other famous nigga had you, you do lie a lot Robyn, like I am seeing it. You’re hiding your phone from me now, you told me about Drake because you’re jealous that I am having fun, that someone is letting me live. You made me look a whole fool in front of Rocky, how dare you text him while married to me!” He shouted and made my daughter flinch “shout again Chris, I mean it. I said what I said, at home. We will talk about this, don’t you worry” I was going to say either you go with them, or I leave but seeing as I hold him back he can go “get out of my SUV you sneaky dickhead, asking me where we land. Now he thinks he got some balls because he can book SUVs on my name!” I spat, I am so fucking angry “I knew you would mention about your name, predictable” he’s so petty, now he is turning this on me, who does he think he is “get out of my car Chris! Seriously, go to your little friends. You are upsetting my daughter, leave!” shouted, I will let him go because at the end of the day he has to come home.

I am just glad to be home, it’s been a while and I have a lot of things to tidy but I just want to do my house up with all Christmas stuff for my daughter, I don’t give a fuck if he doesn’t come home. I am doing this for my child, he can fuck his business. I huffed out as I sat down, some peace and quiet actually. Rylee is in her bedroom; she is at peace. I think she is more at peace that she had breast milk; my big girl loves her breast milk. Looking down at my phone, I am not going to run to Mel either. I am waiting on Chris to come home, he probably won’t. I know my husband so well; he is running from me because he knows. Tapping on my Instagram, it’s been a while since I posted a picture of Rylee and I think I am going to post an unseen picture of our photoshoot together. Wait actually let me post a picture of Rylee on her own, I mean a more recent one because my baby is looking like her momma so much, I like that for her because she is going to be a bad bitch, and I mean that shit. Scrolling through pictures, I have so many and mostly because I send them to my family in Barbados, they love to see what she is doing, I think I will post this one. She was happy, she was content and was serving, she was about three months, I say about. Adding a caption to the post ‘Mini Rih’ pressing send on the post.

Chris is complaining about being behind with work, what about me. I have so much more to do but I put that aside, I am not rushing to it but I think why should I hold back, I am not. I am going to do me, I am thinking of my family but wherever I go my daughter will be there, I don’t need a man. Tapping on Jay Brown number, he is going to be shocked to see me calling. I did say next year but whatever, I am in the mood for it also “what a surprise” he said “Merry Christmas to you too” I laughed “it is, I thought I wouldn’t be talking to you until after the new year. Are you back in Cali now? How is the next queen, I was just looking at the picture you put up and wow! She is you; I mean all you” my smile grew “that is what I want to hear but yeah, I am in a mood to do music. I want to record something, a little something anyway. I have time on my hands, I can prepare the album, I know I have the Fenty venture but there is no harm in doing both, so yeah. Book me in for some time in the studio, try and get me the same team that was working before, when I did Higher, I like their vibe. It’s what I am feeling” I know Jay will be pleased “that’s what you are feeling yeah, fine. I can make that happen and I am down for whatever you are wanting, cool. I will get you booked in, I will come around” I laughed out, I need someone to look after Rylee so he can do that “well I guess Rylee has a babysitter, Uncle Jay now!” he laughed down the phone “for sure, I can do that for you. Good, I am excited to see you back in the studio after so long” I know he would be, I honestly think he is pushing more for music and to get that out of the way before my Fenty line.

Chris is predictable, like it’s late and he’s calling me, and I know why, I do know. He doesn’t want to come home so he will make an excuse about something, he has nothing to do “what” I answered “TJ is around, I will be home late. No club or anything, just pure relax and drinks” that makes no sense “then I will see you in the morning, Chris you will have to come home. All I am going to say to you, if I don’t see you in the morning we are done and I mean that, you are running like a little bitch now because you know what is coming, you have been playing havoc and saying the most shit, I know! I have heard it all. You know what, I even know that TJ is in VA too, so you’re lying” he thinks I am dumb “I am coming home” I sniggered, moving my phone back. Rakim is calling me “gotta go” disconnecting his call and answered his “please don’t tell me he’s found you again” this is the only time he calls to say “no, not exactly. I wanted to say you got a beautiful daughter” pulling a face “yeah, and? I am married so these kind of calls should not happen” I don’t get it “Rihanna we are better has friends, I just think we wasn’t the best us when together, but I have a little favour to ask, I know you like into your clothing thing, you good at putting stuff together, I know you had those ideas for your Fenty line, like this been going on since we was together. I remember one fit, look. Can you design me some shit? That is it” he said “I think I remember now; I mean it will cost you. I don’t do friend rates, actually you text me about that already. You know what, I have been so busy, when for? Is it soon?” I hope not “no, next year but I wanted to remind you. Put me in your diary or some shit and keep your husband away, I don’t want trouble. I know I spoke a lot of shit but you a good person, always you know. Just he annoyed me a lot. So you going to do that for me?” rolling my eyes “you want exclusive shit, you want to say you was the first. But I can for you” I know he is smiling wide “thank you so much, anyways I am going now. Peace” disconnecting the call, I need to put that in my diary, let me text Tina.

Tail between his legs, Chris came home. An hour after saying he was, staring at him stood in the bedroom “mhmm, I am going to sleep” turning the TV off “you said you wanted to speak to me?” he is right “oh I do, but remember I am on a power trip so it’s on my time, breezy time” using his own words against him, he put a stupid caption on just a few minutes ago with a picture of himself “you’re not funny?” I shrugged “be careful now, I might force you into having another baby, me forcing you into stuff is me right?” he is so calm, like he doesn’t want trouble and is so innocent and that alone angers me because he’s being that way to show no harm when there was harm, he has been awful with me “so did TJ fly economy that quick to come here?” I asked “huh?” I want to call him dumb bitch but I won’t “that is kind of lying Chris, I shouldn’t have to know this but I do because I was on Instagram and he posted himself shopping with his son, least someone picks their child up but that is besides the point because I don’t know what it’s like to have a father in my life either” I am coming at him, I won’t stop either “you are just a blunt liar too, speaking to your ex and then on top of that you are acting so insecure. As someone as big as you, you are just insecure, and I don’t find that nice. Where is that other girl everyone sees, badgalriri? You’re actually far from that and it’s showing, maybe motherhood but you are so unfair to me, it’s always about you! I can’t do anything; I am married but I can still go out. You are just a girl in a woman’s body that is unsure on how to have a relationship” tilting my head to the side a little “then go, you’re interrupting my sleep so be gone” shuffling down into the bed, if that nigga wants badgalriri then I will give him just that “turn the light off” oh he has pissed me off, he is getting a serve tomorrow.

#chrianna fanfiction #chriannaff #chrianna ff #chrianna #fanfic #fanfiction

5 notes · View notes