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visionofvoid · 1 year

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Homewrecker - MV1 Part Seven

Summary: “these are for you.”

Warnings: simp max

Pairings: max verstappen x oc

Word Count: 2.5k

Taglist: @ravenqueen27, @octaviareina, @formula1mount, @evans-dejong, @ditttiii, @vita-di-moda, @imheretoread, @alwaysclassyeagle, @luxfrances, @tall-tanned-tattoo

PART SIX

“He definitely heard you call it a date.” Carmen spoke through the phone as Blake cleaned up her mess around Lewis’ condo before he came back home. She wanted to leave it in better condition from when she arrived. It had been one week since Max had taken her to his secret spot and the two had been inseparable, up until this moment. She loved being in his company, getting to know him beyond being the dick that she was convinced hated her, beyond Kelly and beyond being a World Champion race car driver. He had so many quirks and tidbits about him that Blake found herself admiring, thinking about when she was all alone.

“No, no. It definitely slipped out but he didn’t say anything about it.” Carmen scoffed through the phone and Blake could just picture her best female friend rolling her eyes playfully. Of course she never saw Max’s reaction when she let the word slip but she can’t imagine he was paying that much attention to her, or she gathered he was just assuming she meant a friendly date, she did mean that right? “Besides, nothing will ever come of it. It’s like a twisted Romeo and Juliette. I work for his biggest rival team an-”

“And what, Blake?” Carmen questioned making Blake take a quick break from her frantic cleaning and listen to what she had to say. “What could be the worst thing that could happen? You already have fan pages you know. Do you like Max?” Blake didn’t find herself searching for an answer, she already knew. She obviously knew where Max stood with his feelings and he was very respectful with giving Blake all the time and space she needed before anything would ever eventuate but Blake was certain there was some attraction there. Okay, maybe a bit more than some, more like a lot.

“But what will the boys think? What will Toto think?” The boys were referring to Lewis and George, Max’s biggest rivals. She was also afraid that if she was to engage in anything with Max that it might jeopardise her career though everyone knew she was a vital part of the Mercedes team.

“They can all learn to deal with it if they truly value you. Besides, they would all want you to be happy, no matter who the other person was.” Blake found herself strolling onto the balcony where she sat down on a chair, looking out over the sea. Boats and yachts were coming in and out of the port and she could only imagine what that would be like, to sail away and enjoy the sun warming her skin. She was heading back to her home in England the following day, all of her bags already packed. She would have to get a bus to Nice in France and then a flight from Nice to London. From there she would pick up her car from the airport and drive to Brackley where she had her apartment, only a few minutes from the Formula One base. It would be a long day of travel, that's for sure. “Hey babes, it’ll all work out. Do whatever feels right.”

“I will, thank you. Listen, I have to go, I have to finish cleaning the house for Lewis before I head home tomorrow.”

“Let me know if anything changes, I’m always here.” The two girls bid their farewell, Carmen hanging up after sending kissing sounds through the phone leaving Blake to giggle at her friend. She was left to her lonesome now in Lewis’ condo. She knew she could easily message Max now that they had each other's phone numbers but she also needed time to sort of process her own feelings, figure out where her head was at.

The past few days had been amazing; Max showed her his favourite places in Monaco and surrounding, took her out for breakfast, lunch and dinner, invited her over to his condo to watch a movie or a TV show or have a cocktail night where they could dress in their pyjamas. He was extremely respectful, working on getting to know Blake whilst she enjoyed her time one-on-one with him.

Max had reached for his phone a number of times before finally deciding against it. He knew that Blake was leaving the next day and wanted to give her some space so she could relax a little before but it took every ounce of his being not to just send her one simple message. He knew that the time they spent together for the past few days would probably be the most amount of time they will spend together one-on-one for a long time as they start the prep for the new racing season but he just felt so mellow and himself around her.

He still received communication from Kelly every now and then asking for him to take her back or trying to guilt him by using Penelope as a pawn which made Max feel quite disgusted but he was strong. He is in love with Blake, and nothing and no one would ever change his mind.

* * *

Blake made it through security with ease which was a relief given the fact that she had a restless sleep the night before. There was just something that was keeping her up which was annoying as she spent most of the day prior cleaning Lewis’ house and making him a vegan slice for him to come home to. The drive from Monaco to Nice was dark, reminding her of when Max drove her an hour away to show her a sunrise like no other, but it was peaceful. The shuttle to the airport had several other tourists; a trio of young girls most likely on a gap year, an older couple with the man sleeping on his wife’s shoulder and a small family. Her flight wasn’t for another few hours so she had time to get a coffee and relax at her gate before it was time to leave.

She had her carry-on bag over her shoulder, her earphones in and a double shot coffee in her hand as she strolled through duty-free and back to her gate. Blake was recognised by some Formula One fans and happily waved, said a brief hello or even took a photo with them but she was beating herself up about not wearing something a little bit more fashionable. She would choose comfort over fashion any day of the week. It’s not that she looked terrible but she didn’t want to look at tagged photos of her wearing baggy sweatpants that were tighter around her thighs and waist than her calves or see her shirt bunched up at the back but appear oversized from the front. She was highly insecure about it but was working on trying to not let it get to her.

As one song changed into another she heard a slight fuss but chose to ignore it. She was itching to get to her gate so she could sit down, get her book out of her bag and just read until it was time to board her flight. The airport was starting to become busy as time wore on, Blake settled into a chair in the middle of her area at the gate and watched fondly as travellers passed her by. She liked to create different stories for them such as where they were going, why they were travelling and so forth.

Blake was interrupted by a shadow casting over her as a stranger moved closer, gesturing to the seats near her. She briefly looked up at the man, noticing his cap and face mask and nodded whilst her music continued to play, assuming he was going to take the seat a couple down from her even though there was ample space at her gate. Instead, he sat down in the seat beside her, nodding at her before looking forward, toying with something in a backpack that was placed beside him on another seat to the right of him. Blake was caught off guard, feeling slightly uncomfortable yet didn’t make a big deal out of it as she didn’t want any sort of drama.

She was about to get her phone out of her pocket to get ready to message someone to make it look like she was busy or had people waiting for her incase worse comes to worse and this man had ill intentions. Instead, the man pulled out two flowers and sat them in his lap; a sunflower and a rose, both fake for the sake of security. Blake watched from her peripheral vision and felt her heart start to race.

Max’s hands were clammy as he held the two fake flowers in his lap, his cap hiding his gaze and his face mask shielding most of his face. He couldn’t let Blake fly back to England without him getting a chance to say goodbye and honestly he wasn’t too sure what he would say if everything was going to go to plan. It was immensely cliche and he knew that Checo would probably tease him about it, or anyone would tease him about it when word eventually got out about his romantic gesture but here he was.

Blake found herself taking her earphones out and placing them carefully in her case before turning to the man beside her.

“If this is some sick jok-”

“It’s me.” The voice was familiar. It calmed Blake as soon as she heard his accent. He gained some attention as he removed his hat and face mask revealing Max underneath. He had a nervous look on his face but Blake felt herself sigh with relief. At least now she knew it wasn’t some strange man that had been stalking her.

“What are you doing here?” They weren’t yet at the point of wishing each other good mornings or good nights every day but the two would easily fall into a conversation via text or social media every day. As far as Blake was concerned, Max should still be in bed, lapping up all the free time he had before he was to start his training regime and then start to focus on the upcoming season. He most definitely shouldn’t be here in an airport with Blake and he most definitely should not be seeing Blake when she wasn’t as put together as she would have liked. “It’s barely even six in the morning.”

She noticed that some people were beginning to notice that Max Verstappen was sitting at an airport gate with the general public but he paid them no mind and everyone else seemed to understand that he was busy right now. That and it was early in the morning. Blake was no stranger to early mornings, or lack of sleep, so this was rather normal for her. Of course she was tired hence the coffee but she was functioning.

“I couldn’t let you go back home without saying goodbye.” Max cringed at the fact that he sounded so dramatic but Blake’s heart just pounded in her chest.

“You have my phone number and all my socials.” Blake chuckled, crossing one leg over the other and leaned against her arm rest towards Max. Max noticed this and remembered seeing something online that if someone’s body faced you during a conversation or in general that it meant they were focused on you, you had their attention. He was suddenly nervous. She was right, he did have many ways to contact her but in all honesty he just had to see her in person before the two of them both got extremely busy.

“I know but,” Max began to trail off, thinking of what to say. He had practised in his bedroom that morning, whilst making the booking for the same flight. He added different emphases on words on his drive to the airport, bought two fake flowers impulsively after posing for several photos once he got out of security and bought a brand new hat and face mask to surprise Blake. And now he sat beside her at a loss for words. “These are for you.” He held out the sunflower and rose and hoped she wouldn’t notice how clammy his hands were when she took them. “They're fake, as you can tell.” He mentally slapped himself in the face, of course she could tell. “I don’t think you can take real flowers on a flight but they last longer. God, that makes me sound like a wanker.” Max’s face was flushed red as Blake giggled, the flowers pinched between two fingers as she touched her forehead to his bicep with a grin on her face. At least he was making her laugh.

“You’re absolutely right, you cannot take flowers on public. I cannot comment on private flights though. I would say you're the expert in that.” Blake went back to her normal position before looking back to Max. Max seemed to ease a little more as she spoke and he felt less guilty about not knowing more about flying publicly. “What I really mean is what are you doing here? Past security and everything.”

“I have never felt more at ease or at home than I had this past week. And before you say anything I know you want to start off as friends and I am absolutely okay with that I really am. Plus, I have never been to Brackley before.” Blake’s eyes softened as she looked up at Max, the man turning his head to return her gaze. Brackley was where her apartment was located and where the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 based was. She was surprised Max had remembered where her new home was. Though, it was hardly a home as she had only spent no more than two months staying in it since she started her new job with Mercedes and Toto. “I know I should have mentioned something. It was all rather last minute and I thought it would be a movie like romantic gesture but I really should have asked if it was okay with you.”

“Max, it’s okay.” Blake placed an arm on his bicep as a form of comfort. “I just wish you told me so I could help you navigate through security and everything. I bet you haven't done that in a long time, you know, since you have a private jet.” She teased Max, chuckling before rolling his eyes. “Just one thing.”

“Yes, of course. Anything.” Blake thought back to her conversation with Carmen on the phone the day previous. She thought about everything that had happened in the past year from fights and assumptions that Max hated her and working with Kelly to the confession, a new job and relocation, new friends that were a found family. He patiently awaited her answer, the one thing she was asking of him. He would do anything in a heartbeat.

“Take me on a date. A date date.” That he can do.

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msmarvelwrites · 3 years

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For Old Times' Sake

Summary: “Years you had craved to hear your name spoken from his lips. Countless nights, forcing yourself to remember how it fell from his tongue,”

Pairing: TFATWS Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Explicit sexual content, Vaginal penetration, fingering, Choking, Bucky with the filthy words, mutual pining.

Word Count: 2.8K

Authors Note: WOW! It has literally been a hot minute hasn't it? I cant say that I’m not a little excited about this 3rd lock-down in Ontario because it means I can actually find time to write. I’m sorry it’s been so long, babes. Anyways, enjoy! (I’m actually the worst and it’s been so long since I’ve done this!) The Biggest Thank You to @sweeterthanthis for literally cheering me on the entire time. This was such garbage before you came along 😂 I had so much fun with this one babe 💕 thank you for all you do ✨

The wind whipped against your face, bruising your skin with it’s callousness. Though the unwelcomed lash was nothing compared to what was to come. Or who, for that matter.

It had been longer than you cared to admit. The dodged calls hanging at the bottom of the icon on your phone serving as a cruel reminder of how cold you had been. Of course, it was never in your job description to take care of Bucky after Steve left— but there was an implication that made you run for the hills.

You couldn't do anything for him - give him anything. The last five years had consisted of running and trying to start over.

Besides, after the Accords, in the government's eyes you were just as fucked as Hydra. An ally turned fugitive the moment you’d chosen your side in that airport. You’d fight with yourself most nights that you decided with your head, but your first evening with a man who had bruised your lips with promises of what would come may have had more pull than anything else.

The same man that had called you every week for the past six months… The same man you had spent countless nights with, years of your life you would never be able to scrub away, no matter how hard you tried.

You had watched from afar as half of the world returned, their loved ones welcoming them home with teary eyes and broken hearts. You watched as he came home. His eyes, always scanning the crowds waiting for you. Waiting to see your face.

It made all of this so, so much worse. This was definitely not the homecoming you could have hoped for.

“We’re nearing the drop.” Your comm’s rang with a woman's voice who had helped smuggle you onto the craft. You weren’t exactly welcome in europe at the moment- or anywhere for that matter. The government did not take lightly to your’s and Sharon’s betrayal. You’d think that after everything the world had seen they would be a little more forgiving, but you couldn't exactly blame them for their trust issues either.

You could, however, blame yourself.

As soon as your feet hit the ground you were off. The distress call had come from Sam earlier that evening and now with the sun setting you could only hope you weren't too late. You tried to push the man who had haunted your thoughts for the past few years out of your head, desperate to focus on the task at hand.

Bullets exploded through the air, a warning as you were approaching the large shipping container unit. Your comms went static as they began to connect with Sam’s, his voice ringing through your ears as—

“Sam, a little help here!”

His voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

“I’m on my way - called in some back up.” Sam grunted as the sound of strangled yelps echoed around you.

“Back up? Who do we know that-” Bucky’s words were cut short as he let out a growl, the sound of his vibranium arm whirling in the background.

You rushed in without a second thought, the sound of his pain too raw as it ripped through your chest. Before you could assess the danger, you charged forward, hurling yourself at a large man pointing his gun right at-

With a loud thud, the man hit the ground. Your combat boot, heavy on his throat until he went still, and with it came silence. It was deafening despite the explosive gunfire around you.

“Y/n?”

Your name ripped through the air, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. Back turned and body rigid, you were frozen in place. Years you had craved to hear your name spoken from his lips. Countless nights, forcing yourself to remember how it fell from his tongue, soft and get so personal. Like no one had spoken it before.

“Y/n, what are you-”

Sam's voice cut the newly cropped brunettes words off, “I got two coming in on your left, Buck. Oh- and welcome back, Y/L/N.”

You smiled sheepishly at Bucky, pulling your gun from its holster and flicking the safety off as you closed your distance with him. Despite the aggravation apparent on his face, a broken smile seemed to be pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Here we go again, huh?” You chimed, your eyes locking with his just as all hell broke loose.

The trip back to Sam and Bucky’s base was one filled with uncomfortable silence, and a tension that had your blood running cold.

Once the adrenaline of the fight had worn off and you were left face to face with Bucky Barnes, the guilt began to creep in.

“So…” Sam started from the backseat of the beat-up truck, the suddenness of his words startling both you and Bucky for a moment. “Long time no see.”

The scoff that left Bucky’s lips wasn't as subtle as you imagined he meant it to be. You tried not to let it bother you; in fact, you had prepared for this. How he might react when you finally returned home. What you weren't prepared for, however, was how indescribably gutted you would feel to watch him - eyes trained to the road ahead - as he gritted his teeth at your proximity.

To say that yours and Bucky’s relationship before the snap was easy would be incredibly delusional. It was messy and at it’s best dysfunctional. But for whatever reason, the two of you looked beyond that. He saw through you like no one ever had and before you knew it, the two of you were glued at the hip. It didn't make sense, but no questions were ever asked.

You just fit.

And of course there was the sex. Good god, you could feel your thighs clenching at the thought.

The way’s Bucky knew how to take you apart, with an accuracy that only he had. How he had your toes curling and body vibrating from the flick of his tongue. How he would have you screaming the most filthy things for him, all while begging to never ever—

“Y/n?”

Sam’s voice was like an ice bath. Your name yanking you back into the present and the question at hand. What was the question again? You couldn't think straight. Not when Bucky was staring at you the way he was, one brow cocked and that same familiar smirk plastered on his lips. If you didn't know any better, you’d think he could read your thoughts.

“Sorry- I… I was…” You couldn't seem to bring yourself back to this realm, too lost in the Super Soldier’s stormy eyes to remember what exactly you were trying to say.

“He asked you where you’ve been, Y/n.” Bucky spoke your name like it was a curse, laced with razor sharp ache and pain. His eyes told a different story though. The way he looked at you; the same way he always did.

With a warmth that only he had for you. It made you shiver.

“Running, mostly.” You started, your body physically breaking your gaze with Bucky. It was too much, watching him glare down at you. And maybe you deserved it.

“And you never thought to, I don't know, call me?” Bucky’s words were spiteful, oozing with a disdain that was beginning to wear down your patience.

“It wasn't like that, Buck-”

“You can’t call me that anymore.” He snapped, his eyes trained on the road. Your gaze snapped to him, brow arched as you all but scoffed at him.

“Oh, I can't?” You chuckled, but the sound came out flat. He had every right to ask you where you've been. Hell, get angry if he wanted. But the way his words seeped with disgust made your blood boil.

“Okay, okay guys. Let’s all take a breath and just—”

“Shut up, Sam.” You both snarled, causing Sam to roll his eyes as Bucky pulled into a long winding driveway with a small log cabin sat at the end of it. You reached for your seatbelt until your door swung open.

“You two figure your shit out. Whatever this is,” Sam motioned to the space between you two, “ isn’t leaving this car. I’ll be inside. Feel free to come in when y'all have killed and made up, okay?” With that, Sam slammed the door leaving Bucky and you alone in your static tension.

Bucky worried on his lip, his eyes trained to his lap. You opened your mouth to speak, but your words seemed caught in your throat.

“You didn't even call…”

It was so quiet, you almost didn't hear it. But you did…

Voice small and so filled with ache; it kicked you in the stomach, the guilt washing away any anger you had felt.

“Bucky… I- I couldn't.” You forced out, tentative as you met his gaze, stomach dropping as your eyes locked with his.

“I thought I lost you. I thought - I mean, fuck - you were all I cared about.” He sighed, clearing his throat as if it would help ease his discomfort. “I looked for you, ya know?” He chuckled, but there was no warmth behind it. Just a brokenness that made you squirm.

“It’s not your fault—”

“Oh, I know it’s not.” Bucky quipped, his eyes flicking away from yours and turning back to face the cabin. “It was your own selfish decision.”

You scoffed, head snapping back to meet his glare. “Selfish? Bucky, I had no other choice. Not everyone can be pardoned for their crimes. It’s not like I had Steve Rogers advocating for my freedom!”

Bucky only rolled his eyes, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight, you swore he might rip it clean off the car. “Don’t bring him into this. You don't think that I would have done everything to get to you? To clear your name?”

You laughed bitterly, blinking away the tears that welled at the corners of your eyes.

“You gotta at least give me more credit than that, Doll.” The pet name rolled off this tongue easily, washing over you, and making you freeze.

“Please don’t call me that…” You faltered, wiping away a stray tear that rolled down your cheek.

It seemed the tension dissipated in that moment, silence heavy between you both as Bucky reached out, his flesh fingers finding a tear and brushing it away. You tried to speak, but with everything that had been said, and all that would never be, you decided words just weren’t enough.

You didn't have time to object before his lips were on yours, your body moving at its own accord as he pulled you onto his lap, your thighs either side of him as his tongue swept across your bottom lip. You tried to moan, but his mouth swallowed the sound. He rendered you breathless, his taste intoxicating as you melted into his embrace, grinding into him and shivering when a familiar growl slipped from his lips; vibrating against your mouth.

“Fuck, I missed you.” You moaned out, clutching his jacket as you licked down his neck. His skin was burning against your lips, the rumble of his breath heavy against your ear as he let out a dark chuckle, urging you on.

“Well, if you had just called me—”

Before he could finish the sentence, you reached for the recliner, snapping it forward as you toppled forwards onto Bucky’s chest. His words fell back into his throat, hands automatically finding your hips to steady you while you fumbled with his belt.

“Doll—” He tried to start, but you swallowed the name with your kiss, heated and rooted in a desperate need to feel him again. You ached for him in a way you’d never felt before.

Maybe what you had was unfixable. Maybe it was beyond repair, but with the way he was kissing you and hiking down your pants, it didn't matter. You were drunk on him, and by the way he bucked his hips, so was he.

You shivered as his vibranium fingers looped into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down over your legs as you both awkwardly tried to move in the cramped seat. You wanted to laugh, but as his cold thumb swiped through your slick folds, all you could do was whine.

“So wet for me…” He hummed, teeth sinking into your throat as he pulled a whimper from your lips.

You cursed, hands propping you up on either side of him as he dipped his index finger into you, the intrusion enough to have your back arching into him, desperate for more.

But Bucky was a tease. And even now, after all of this time, it was the very thing that had your buckling above him. Pleading and begging for more.

“Look at you.” He started, his eyes dark as he pushed deeper inside, his finger curing into you as you gasped.

“P-please, Buck.” You begged, grinding down onto his hand. To your dismay he only chuckled, watching intently as you came undone around him.

“I told you,” He started, lifting you off of him and tossing you against the backseats, “Don’t call me that.”

You couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out of your throat as he awkwardly crawled towards you. But the look in his eyes had your stomach twisting into something that emulated fear. It was guttural as he pressed into you, the outline of his cock digging into your drenched folds.

You bit back a moan, eyes rolling back in your head as his cold fingers brushed against your core, pulling himself free from his boxers.

“Do you still love me like you did?” He spoke, and though the words were soft and filled with promises you had broken before, there was a darkness in his voice.

“I never stopped.” You admitted. And it was true. But that didn't seem to be the answer he was looking for as he licked his bottom lip, eyes trained on your throat.

“I’m afraid isn’t gonna’ feel much like love, doll.” He breathed out, lining himself up with your entrance. Before you could speak, he thrusted into you, knocking the air out of your chest as he bent you uncomfortably in half. You could only scream as he caged you in, forcing you down against the seats as he fucked into you.

It’s not like you forgot how Bucky filled you, but his size was something you would never be able by to fully adjust to. Especially not now, when he was holding you steady, his hips snapping against you giving you no time to ease into the assault. And by the looks of the lopsided smirk plastered on his swollen lips, he knew exactly how shredded you felt.

“Fuck, you take me so good, sweetheart.” The pet name doing nothing to quell the ache he sent ripping through your body as he sank deeper into you. You could only cry out, head smashing into the door as he kept up his brutal pace.

“B-Bucky, please.” You weren't exactly sure what you were asking for, but at this rate you wouldn't last long, the familiar coil building in your abdomen as he nudged up against your cervix.

“Slow down, baby.” You choked on a sob, eyes glassy as his vibranium fingers coiled around you thoat, pining you to the seats.

“Did you miss this part, doll?” He whispered against your ear, a shiver ripping through your body and igniting a flame you had so desperately craved since the moment he vanished from your world. “Miss the way I ruin you, Hm? I can feel you, coming undone. You’re so close, aren’t you?” he teased, pressing his fingers deeper into your throat until you were coughing around the pressure.

“All I need to do is-” His flesh thumb ran circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back into your skull as you croaked out his name, begging him to ease up. “There it is.” He chuckled, quickening his pace until you were a shivering mess beneath him.

“Bucky, I-”

“I’m going to ruin this cunt, sweetheart. Stay still, and let go for me” His voice was like gravel, only letting you breathe once you nodded your head in complicity, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth as the orgasm wrapped itself around your core.

“Fuck.” You managed to scream, your head lulling back as a title-wave of ecstasy crashed over you, pulling you under.

“That’s my girl.” His words tipped you over the edge, his name on your lips like a prayer as you quivered, your body violently shaking. “God you're so tight when you- Shit!”

With a few sloppy thrusts, Bucky came undone. His hot spend coating your pulsing walls as he gasped. Your bodies a tangled mess as he puffed out a breath against your neck.

You both just stayed frozen, too afraid that the moment you pulled away, reality would sink in. And the truth was, you weren't exactly sure what that meant.

Bucky slowly eased himself out of you, gasping a little as you spilled out onto, what you only hoped, would be easy to clean seats.

“Doll, that was-”

“Hey,” Sam knocked hard against the now foggy glass, “You two hungry, or what?”

#bucky x reader #bucky barns x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #tfatws

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lokiondisneyplus · 3 years

Video

'Loki' takes over: Tom Hiddleston on his new TV series and a decade in the MCU

Ten years after Hiddleston first chose chaos in Thor, Marvel’s fan favorite God of Mischief is going even bigger with his time-bending Disney+ show.

Tom Hiddleston is Loki, and he is burdened with glorious purpose: After playing Thor's puckish brother for over a decade in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, no one understands the mercurial Asgardian God of Mischief as well as the actor. He can teach an entire seminar on Loki if given the opportunity — which he actually did during pre-production on his forthcoming Disney+ show. In conversation, Hiddleston quotes lines from his MCU debut, 2011's Thor, almost verbatim, and will playfully correct you if you mistakenly refer to Asgard's Rainbow Bridge as the Bifrost, which is the portal that connects Loki and Thor's homeworld to the Nine Realms, including Midgard, a.k.a. Earth. "Well, the Bifrost technically is the energy that runs through the bridge," he says with a smile. "But nine points to Gryffindor!" And when he shows up to the photo shoot for this very digital cover, he hops on a call with our photo editor to pitch ways the concept could be even more Loki, like incorporating the flourish the trickster does whenever magically conjuring something. The lasting impression is that playing Loki isn't just a paycheck.

"Rather than ownership, it's a sense of responsibility I feel to give my best every time and do the best I can because I feel so grateful to be a part of what Marvel Studios has created," the 40-year-old Brit tells EW over Zoom a few days after the shoot and a week out from Thor's 10th anniversary. "I just want to make sure I've honored that responsibility with the best that I can give and the most care and thought and energy."

After appearing in three Thor movies and three Avengers, Hiddleston is bringing that passion to his first solo Marvel project, Loki, the House of Ideas' third Disney+ series following the sitcom pastiche WandaVision and the topical The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Led by head writer Michael Waldron (Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, Heels), the six-episode drama sees Hiddleston's shapeshifting agent of chaos step out from behind his brother's shadow and into the spotlight for a timey-wimey, sci-fi adventure that aims to get to the bottom of who Loki really is. "I wanted to explore slightly more complex character questions," says Waldron. "It's not just good versus bad. Is anybody all good? Is anybody all bad? What makes a hero, a hero? A villain, a villain?"

Even though Loki — who loves sowing mayhem with his illusion magic and shapeshifting, all with a major chip on his shoulder — has never been one for introspection, the idea of building an entire show around him was a no-brainer for Marvel. When asked why Loki was one of the studio's first Disney+ shows, Marvel president Kevin Feige replies matter-of-factly, "More Hiddleston, more Loki." First introduced as Thor's (Chris Hemsworth) envious brother in Kenneth Branagh's Thor, Loki went full Big Bad in 2012's The Avengers. That film cemented the impish rogue as one of the shared universe's fan favorites, thanks to Hiddleston's ability to make him deliciously villainous yet charismatic and, most importantly, empathetic. The character's popularity is one of the reasons he's managed to avoid death many times.

"He's been around for thousands of years. He had all sorts of adventures," says Feige. "Wanting to fill in the blanks and see much more of Loki's story [was] the initial desire [for the series]."

The Loki we meet on the show is not the one who fought the Avengers in 2012 and evolved into an antihero in Thor: The Dark World and Thor: Ragnarok before meeting his demise at the hands of the mad titan Thanos (Josh Brolin) in 2018's Avengers: Infinity War. Instead, we'll be following a Loki from a branched timeline (a variant, if you will) after he stole the Tesseract following his thwarted New York invasion and escaped S.H.I.E.L.D. custody during the time heist featured in Avengers: Endgame. In other words, this Loki hasn't gone through any sort of redemption arc. He's still the charming yet petulant god who firmly believes he's destined to rule and has never gotten his due.

Premiering June 9, Loki begins with the Time Variance Authority — a bureaucratic organization tasked with safeguarding the proper flow of time — arresting the Loki Variant seen in Endgame because they want his help fixing all of the timeline problems he caused while on the run with the Tesseract. So there will be time travel, and a lot more of it than in Endgame. As Loki makes his way through his own procedural, he'll match wits with new characters including Owen Wilson's Agent Mobius, a brilliant TVA analyst, and Gugu Mbatha-Raw's Judge Renslayer. The question in early episodes is whether Loki will help them or take over.

"One of the things Kevin Feige led on was, 'I think we should find a way of exploring the parts of Loki that are independent of his relationship with Thor,' or see him in a duality or in relationship with others, which I thought was very exciting," says Hiddleston, who also serves as an executive producer on the show. "So the Odinson saga, that trilogy of films, still has its integrity, and we don't have to reopen it and retell it."

Yet, in order to understand where Loki is going, it's important to see where he came from.

Hiddleston can't believe how long he and Loki have been connected. "I've been playing this character for 11 years," he says. "Which is the first time I have said that sentence, I realize, and it [blows] my mind. I don't know what percentage that is exactly of my 40 years of being alive, but it's substantial."

His time as Loki actually goes a bit further back, to 2009 — a year after Robert Downey Jr. big banged the MCU into existence with Iron Man — when he auditioned for Thor. It's no secret that Hiddleston initially went in for the role of the titular God of Thunder, but Feige and director Kenneth Branagh thought his natural charm and flexibility as an actor made him better suited for the movie's damaged antagonist. "Tom gave you an impression that he could be ready for anything, performance-wise," says Branagh, who had previously worked with him on a West End revival of Checkov's Ivanov and the BBC series Wallander. "Tom has a wild imagination, so does Loki. He's got a mischievous sense of humor and he was ready to play. It felt like he had a star personality, but he was a team player."

Hiddleston fully immersed himself in the character. Outside of studying Loki's history in the Marvel Comics, he also researched how Loki and the Trickster God archetype appeared across mythology and different cultures. "He understood that he was already in something special [and] it was a special character in a special part of that early moment in the life of the Marvel universe where [he] also needed to step up in other ways," says Branagh, who was impressed by the emotional depth Hiddleston brought to the part, especially when it came to how isolated Loki felt in the Asgardian royal family.

There was a lot riding on that first Thor feature. For one, no one knew if audiences would immediately latch onto a Shakespearean superhero movie partially set on an alien planet populated by the Norse Gods of legend. Second, it was integral to Feige's plans for the shared universe. Loki was supposed to be the main villain in The Avengers, which would not only mirror how Earth's mightiest heroes joined forces in 1963's Avengers #1 but also give Thor a believable reason for teaming up with Iron Man, Captain America (Chris Evans), and the rest of the capes. Feige first clued Hiddleston into those larger plans when the actor was in L.A. before Thor started shooting.

"I was like, 'Excuse me?' Because he was already three, four steps ahead," says Hiddleston. "That took me a few minutes to process, because I didn't quite realize how it just suddenly had a scope. And being cast as Loki, I realized, was a very significant moment for me in my life, and was going to remain. The creative journey was going to be so exciting."

Hiddleston relished the opportunity to go full villain in Avengers, like in the scene where Loki ordered a crowd to kneel before him outside a German opera house: "It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation," says the Machiavellian god. "The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel."

"I just knew that in the structure of that film, I had to lean into his role as a pure antagonist," Hiddleston recalls. "What I always found curious and complex about the way Loki is written in Avengers, is that his status as an antagonist comes from the same well of not belonging and being marginalized and isolated in the first Thor film. Loki now knows he has no place in Asgard."

Loki did find a place within the audience's hearts, though. Feige was "all in" on Hiddleston as his Loki from the beginning, but even he couldn't predict how much fans would love him. Feige recalls the reaction at the 2013 San Diego Comic-Con: "Did we know that after he was the villain in two movies, he would be bringing thousands of people to their feet in Hall H, in costume, chanting his name? No, that was above and beyond the plan that we were hoping for and dreaming of." It was a dream Feige first got an inkling of a year earlier during the Avengers press tour when a Russian fan slipped past security, snuck into Mark Ruffalo's car, and asked the Hulk actor to give Hiddleston a piece of fan art she created. "That was one of the early signs there was much more happening with this quote-unquote villain."

Despite that popularity, the plan was to kill Loki off in 2013's Thor: The Dark World, but the studio reversed course after test audiences refused to believe he actually died fighting the Dark Elves. Alas, he couldn't out-illusion death forever. After returning in Taika Waititi's colorful and idiosyncratic Thor: Ragnarok, Hiddleston's character perished for real in the opening moments of Infinity War. In typical Loki fashion, before Thanos crushed his windpipe, he delivered a defiant speech that indicated he'd finally made peace with the anger he felt toward his family.

"It felt very, very final, and I thought, 'Okay, that's it. This is Loki's final bow and a conclusive end to the Odinson saga,'" says Hiddleston, who shot that well-earned death scene in 2017.

But, though he didn't know it yet, the actor's MCU story was far from over.

Credit: Charlie Gray for EW

When Hiddleston returned to film two scenes in Avengers: Endgame in 2017, he had no idea where Loki portaled off to after snatching the Tesseract. "Where'd he go? When does he go? How does he get there? These are all questions I remember asking on the day, and then not being given any answers," Hiddleston recalls. To be fair, it's likely the Powers That Be didn't necessarily have answers then. While Feige can't exactly recall when the writers' room for Endgame first devised Loki's escape sequence, he does know that setting up a future show wasn't the primary goal — because a Loki series wasn't on the horizon just yet.

"[That scene] was really more of a wrinkle so that one of the missions that the Avengers went on in Endgame could get screwed up and not go well, which is what required Cap and Tony to go further back in time to the '70s," says Feige. Soon after that, though, former Disney CEO Bob Iger approached Feige about producing content for the studio's forthcoming streaming service. "I think the notion that we had left this hanging loose end with Loki gave us the in for what a Loki series could be. So by the time [Endgame] came out, we did know where it was going."

As for Hiddleston, he didn't find out about the plans for a Loki show until spring 2018, a few weeks before Infinity War hit theaters. "I probably should not have been surprised, but I was," says the actor. "But only because Infinity War had felt so final."

Nevertheless, Hiddleston was excited about returning for his show. He was eager to explore Loki's powers, especially the shapeshifting, and what it meant that this disruptive figure still managed to find a seat beside the gods in mythology. "I love this idea [of] Loki's chaotic energy somehow being something we need. Even though, for all sorts of reasons, you don't know whether you can trust him. You don't know whether he's going to betray you. You don't why he's doing what he's doing," says Hiddleston. "If he's shapeshifting so often, does he even know who he is? And is he even interested in understanding who he is? Underneath all those masks, underneath the charm and the wit, which is kind of a defense anyway, does Loki have an authentic self? Is he introspective enough or brave enough to find out? I think all of those ideas are all in the series — ideas about identity, ideas about self-knowledge, self-acceptance, and the difficulty of it."

“The series will explore Loki's powers in a way they have not yet been explored, which is very, very exciting.”

The thing that truly sold Hiddleston on the show was Marvel's decision to include the Time Variance Authority, a move he describes as "the best idea that anybody had pertaining to the series." Feige and Loki executive producer Stephen Broussard had hoped to find a place for the TVA — an organization that debuted in 1986's Thor #372 and has appeared in She-Hulk and Fantastic Four stories — in the MCU for years, but the right opportunity never presented itself until Loki came along. "Putting Loki into his own procedural series became the eureka moment for the show," says Feige.

The TVA's perspective on time and reality also tied into the themes that Waldron, Loki's head writer, was hoping to explore. "Loki is a character that's always reckoning with his own identity, and the TVA, by virtue of what they do, is uniquely suited to hold up a mirror to Loki and make him really confront who he is and who he was supposed to be," says Waldron. Hiddleston adds: "[That] was very exciting because in the other films, there was always something about Loki that was very controlled. He seemed to know exactly what the cards in his hand were and how he was going to play them…. And Loki versus the TVA is Loki out of control immediately, and in an environment in which he's completely behind the pace, out of his comfort zone, destabilized, and acting out."

To truly dig into who Loki is, the creative team had to learn from the man who knows him best: Hiddleston. "I got him to do a thing called Loki School when we first started," says director Kate Herron. "I asked him to basically talk through his 10 years of the MCU — from costumes to stunts, to emotionally how he felt in each movie. It was fantastic."

Hiddleston got something out of the Loki school, too. Owen Wilson both attended the class and interviewed Hiddleston afterward so that he could better understand Loki, as his character Mobius is supposed to be an expert on him. During their conversation, Wilson pointedly asked Hiddleston what he loved about playing the character.

"And I said, 'I think it's because he has so much range,'" says Hiddleston. "I remember saying this to him: 'On the 88 keys on the piano, he can play the twinkly light keys at the top. He can keep it witty and light, and he's the God of Mischief, but he can also go down to the other side and play the heavy keys. And he can play some really profound chords down there, which are about grief and betrayal and loss and heartbreak and jealousy and pride.'" Hiddleston recalls Wilson being moved by the description: "He said, 'I think I might say that in the show.' And it was such a brilliant insight for me into how open Owen is as an artist and a performer.'"

Owen Wilson as Mobius and Tom Hiddleston as Loki in 'Loki.'| Credit: Chuck Zlotnick/Marvel Studios

Everyone involved is particularly excited for audiences to see Hiddleston and Wilson's on-screen chemistry. "Mobius is not unlike Owen Wilson in that he's sort of nonplussed by the MCU," says Feige. "[Loki] is used to getting a reaction out of people, whether it's his brother or his father, or the other Avengers. He likes to be very flamboyant and theatrical. Mobius doesn't give him the reaction he's looking for. That leads to a very unique relationship that Loki's not used to."

As for the rest of the series, we know that Loki will be jumping around time and reality, but the creative team isn't keen on revealing when and where. "Every episode, we tried to take inspiration from different things," says Waldron, citing Blade Runner's noir aesthetic as one example.

"Part of the fun of the multiverse and playing with time is seeing other versions of characters, and other versions of the titular character in particular," says Feige, who also declined to confirm if Loki ties into Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness and/or other upcoming projects.

Making Loki was especially meaningful to Hiddleston because they shot most of it during the pandemic, in late 2020. "It will remain one of the absolute most intense, most rewarding experiences of my life," he says. "It's a series about time, and the value of time, and what time is worth, and I suppose what the experience of being alive is worth. And I don't quite know yet, and maybe I don't have perspective on it, if all the thinking and the reflecting that we did during the lockdown ended up in the series. But in some way, it must have because everything we make is a snapshot of where we were in our lives at that time."

While it remains to be seen what the future holds for Loki beyond this initial season, Hiddleston isn't preparing to put the character to bed yet. "I'm open to everything," he says. "I have said goodbye to the character. I've said hello to the character. I said goodbye to the character [again]. I've learned not to make assumptions, I suppose. I'm just grateful that I'm still here, and there are still new roads to explore."

#Tom Hiddleston #Loki #Disney+#interview

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itgirlification · 3 years

Text

supermodel | jjk

the last three months have been hell for you, but Jungkook seemed to be living his best life.

pairing: ex-bf!jk x thick!reader

warnings: explicit mentions of body image and insecurities, infidelity, anal sex, oral (male receive), foul language (kinda), etc.

now playing: supermodel by sza

part two part three

Exactly three months ago, your and Jungkook’s 2 years relationship officially ended. Unofficially, it ended about 5 months ago. And for about one month now, Jungkook’s been seeing someone else.

Your heart and mind told you not to do it but you couldn’t help calculating. Three months ago, you were still dating, two months later, he started dating someone else. That must mean he’s known her for a while. Did he cheat on you with her? Well, it’s not like it matters now anyway, does it?

Her name was Yuki, an undeniable Japanese beauty. You were still in college, studying music and she was a famous model who appeared in internationally known magazines. You assumed she met Jungkook during a photoshoot since he was a professional photographer who often worked for companies like Vogue and Playboy. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to her.

It wasn’t the fact that he moved on so quickly that hurt you the most. It was the fact that he knew all about your low self-esteem and how you lack confidence. Especially about your body. And he still went and dated a model, of all professions in the world. He was definitely over you.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he did it on purpose. But thankfully, you knew better, he looked too happy for that to be even considered. He forgot about you.

You’re making yourself sadder by remembering all the times he assured you you were beautiful and your body was nothing to be ashamed of. The times he let his fingertips run over the lines of your stretch marks, whispering in your ear how much he loved them and how they reminded him of Tiger stripes. The times he caressed your jiggly thighs and told you how sexy he thought they were.

Then your mind would drift back to the phone in your hand, the Instagram page of Yuki Sakurai opened, careful not to accidentally like anything and expose yourself. Not that she’d notice anyway, she had 3.7 million followers, while you had a private one with 500 followers and no posts, and she gets around 300 to 700 thousand likes on each post, depending on whether she posts random photos or pretty pictures of herself. Or newly, your ex-boyfriend, Jungkook. Oh, how crazy everybody goes whenever she posts him. People love them together. You couldn’t blame them. Two attractive people? Of course, they’re gonna look great together.

Fucking great.

That the end of your relationship with Jungkook would look like this was semi-predictable from the beginning. He did admit to you that he never thought he’d date someone that looked like you when you first dated. And your heart broke a little. But he also made up for it in those two years, it was a beautiful relationship nonetheless.

While you weren’t exactly his ‘ideal’ type, he was definitely yours. You always heard from other women ‘when in a relationship, the man always has to love the woman more than she loves him. Otherwise, it won’t work.’ You never really got the saying until your breakup with Jungkook happened. It was the fact that you clearly loved Jungkook more than he loved you that lead to this.

“Oh my goodness!”, your roommate, Jane, dramatically exclaimed. “Will you stop feeling bad for yourself and do something? That’s not what hot girls do, sis.”

Jane was a lovely girl with a not so lovely temper. She always means well and you got along perfectly as soon as you met. Which was around 3 and a half years ago.

She looked over your shoulder to see what you were looking at. You obviously didn’t want her to see you snooping around your ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend’s Instagram but it was too late.

“Seriously, yn?”, she took your phone in her hand and threw it on the bed. “Let’s go somewhere, you can’t do this to yourself anymore. I’m not letting you.”

Jane was clearly worried about you at this point. The only thing you did these last few weeks was eating, shower, cry, sleep and miss a whole bunch of classes. This wasn’t good at all.

“Where?”, your question was short.

“To the mall? Or the nail studio? Anything that’ll get you out of this fucking dormitory.”, Jane sighed, pulling the blanket off of you, making you whine a little. “C’mon, go put on some cute outfit and we’ll go.”

You felt bad since she was trying hard to make you feel better. But it didn’t really work.

You nodded, standing up from the bed, nonetheless. You picked out a cute two-piece dress, that brought back blurred memories of the time you went on a date with Jungkook, wearing the same two-piece. Bet Yuki would look cuter in this...

‘Shut your petty ass up, yn. It’s embarrassing, the way you’re stuck on a taken guy who wants nothing to do with you’

You wish you could change the way you think, even if it’s just for an hour or two. You wish you would stop imagining Jungkook judging you when he saw you naked or when you told him that you wished you could cut off some of your fat with a pair of scissors.

You were beyond ashamed of yourself. Why wasn’t it easy for you to just stay by yourself? why were you so desperately in need of Jungkook by your side to the point where you’d lock yourself in your room for a month just because he isn’t there?

You needed Jungkook. You became so attached to him in those two years, because you always saw him as a permanent, a forever. Not just a temporary, not just a distant memory. You already saw him as the father of your children, as the man you’re gonna marry.

You were so blinded by the fact that you had him, that you forgot you could lose him anytime.

“I’m done, let’s go.”, unenthusiastically, you announced to Jane, who was already waiting for you.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here!”, In contrast to your spirit, hers seemed to be all roses and daisies. “Lord knows you need it...”

__________

“Look at this cute ass skirt, girl”, Jane pointed at a chic, wine mini skirt she was holding. “You know, when I saw it back there I wanted to have it, but it’d look so much better on you”

You took a few seconds to admire Jane’s beauty. She was about 3 cm taller than you, had a great posture, and almond, dark brown eyes that suited her dark skin tone perfectly. Her body leaned more towards the slimmer side.

“Shut up! No, it would not”, you let out a small giggle. “It would look gorgeous on you, buy it.”

She smiled a little at your laughs. She was happy to see you at least a little cheerful again. “Yeah, but I think it’d look better on you. I’m entitled to my own opinion, am I not?”

You knew this debate was gonna go back and forth, because of her stubbornness. “Let’s both buy the skirt.”

You ended up doing so, added by a bunch of bags full of clothing. This may’ve turned into your new coping mechanism. Who needed therapy when you can go on a shopping spree?

Two hours were spent in boutiques and clothing stores and Jane decided she was tired, wanting to visit the local spa.

“No, seriously, these Riverdale seasons just keep on getting worse and worse. Netflix needs to step up their game ASAP”, Jane ranted, making you laugh at how serious she takes it. “It’s getting embarrassing. I’m being for real.”

The two of you were sitting in the whirlpool at the spa, relaxing your whole bodies a little.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I don’t watch these new Netflix shows anyways. Been stuck on the vampire diaries for the last 7 years”, you chuckled, knowing you hated trying new things. “Can you pass me one of those magazines?”

Jane nodded, grabbing a random one from the table next to her and handed it to you, without looking at it.

The cover of it caught your eyes immediately. How could it not, when your ex’s new girl looks absolutely dazzling on the front page of it.

‘Supermodel Yuki Sakurai talks summer fashion tips, struggle with self-love and most importantly, her hot, new boyfriend the media is going crazy over’ was the headline of the Harper’s Bazaar Magazine cover.

You felt your stomach getting sick and your breath getting heavier, but you still flipped the pages until you found the one with her interview. You began reading it, skipping the boring parts.

‘Int: so, we see you have a new boyfriend. Tell us, how did you guys meet?

Yuki: Yeah, he’s an amazing guy. We actually met about six or five months ago at one of my photoshoots, since he’s a photographer and we exchanged numbers and stuff, and then we made it official mid last month.’

About six or five months ago? You were with him back then, but her answer was too unclear to find out if he cheated or not.

“Woah, yn, you okay?”

You entirely forgot about the fact that you were with Jane, let alone somewhere other than your bed.

Before you could react, Jane snatched the magazine out of your hand.

“You really can’t escape them, huh?”, She sighs, taking you in her arm. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. In a few months, you’re gonna look back to this and think wow I really was stuck on a guy who’s scared of microwaves and cried like a bitch when Iron Man died.”

You laughed, punching her arm playfully. “You know, I actually love these things about him. Shows his sensitivity and the way he perceives things.”

Jane looked at you as if she didn’t believe you were actually saying that stuff. “Girl, you’re overanalyzing this. Let’s just throw this shit in the trash, okay?”

She put the magazine aside.

“I just don't know what I did wrong.”, You murmured. “I know we weren't the best, but we didn't even fight that much. We could’ve talked it through.”

Jane pursed her lips and cooed. “You know, relationships are complicated sometimes. The reason why he broke up, to begin with, is probably not your fault.”

“Well, what if it is? I mean what if I was too fat or too ugly for him?”, you asked. “If he wanted a skinny girl so bad, I could’ve lost weight for him, I don’t get it.”

Jane looked at you like you lost your mind entirely. “I can’t believe you just said that! Even if that was the reason, which it wasn’t, you shouldn’t make yourself suffer because of it. That’s his loss. You’re beyond gorgeous and you have an amazing body.”

“You’re just saying that.”, tears slowly started coming up in your eyes. “But the thing is Jungkook knows all about my insecurities. Why would he do that to me? I know he knows that I’m still not over him.”

You usually didn’t like crying in front of other people, but you didn’t really care at the moment, besides that was Jane. You trusted her with your life.

“Girl, men are trash, I can’t believe you’re crying over one right now, seriously.”, she wiped your tears and held your face between her hands. “You know, honestly, I’ve read so many articles about how models actually hate themselves and have like the lowest self-esteem so in conclusion, no matter how miserable you are, his new girl is even more miserable.”

You knew Jane didn’t mean it in a harmful way, but it sounded harsher than needed. “I don’t hate her, she probably doesn’t even know about me. I’m just really insecure. He upgraded from me. He’s dating a whole model now.”

The situation just felt like a deja vu of these last few weeks laying in your bed, even though you were at the spa with your friend. You were supposed to have fun, yet you didn’t feel like having any.

“Why would you feel insecure when all you’ve seen of her are Instagram posts and red carpet pictures? She’s supposed to look beautiful, it’s her job.”

To a certain extent, Jane was right, but that didn’t really help your situation, you still felt bad about yourself. You stayed silent.

“C’mon, this isn’t fun anymore. Let’s leave.”, Jane mumbled.

_______

it’s been two days since the incident at the spa and you felt a little bit better now.

Those days were spent reading the same three book series you’ve read your entire life, overthinking, hot Cheetos, Indian takeout, and Netflix. It really wasn’t as miserable as it sounded.

You were just taking a little rest before term break ends and you have to go back to the shithole college again.

Jane was using the time until college starts again, but in different ways than you were. She was planning on going to some frat party in an hour and forget about the world’ for a minute. Or till 4 in the morning, where she will most likely drunk call you and ask you for a ride back to the dorms, because the friends she went to the party with were shit-faced as well and were in no way capable of driving anywhere without the cops stopping them.

Going out partying on a Friday night was a Jane tradition. In the past, you’d sometimes go with her, but you mostly spent your time out with Jungkook doing something more fun than partying could ever be. Now you can’t do that anymore, but laying in bed is more ideal than a party for you at the moment.

“How do I look?”, Jane twirled around to show off her black cocktail dress. She looked beautiful.

“You look beautiful.”, you responded to her question. “Are you leaving now?”

“Hm”, she said, to which you nodded. “You sure you don’t wanna come with me? It’s gonna be really fun.”

You shook your head no.

“Alright”, she shrugged, making her way out of your bedroom. “But I told you, it’s gonna be fun.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “I’ll stay here, I have shit to do.”

“Yeah, right, like binge-watching the vampire diaries and taking 5-hour naps”, she said in a sarcastic tone. “Anyway, bye-bye, Vic’s already waiting for me in the car.”

Victoria was perhaps one of the most obnoxious people you know, yet she was too much of a nice person for you to talk shit about her. The voice of your intrusive thoughts couldn’t help but to, though.

“Alright, bye, take care and say hi to Vic from me.”

After Jane left, an hour went by like it was just a couple of minutes. You were starting to get real bored and decided to watch some regular tv in hopes to find something you enjoy. You ended up not finding anything fun, but you still watched it, because you didn’t have anything else to do.

A few moments later, the doorbell rang and you were suddenly worried. Either this is a serial killer or Jane forgot something.

But to your surprise, it was neither, but it was none other than

“Jungkook?”, truly, those were the only words you were able to mutter out at your shocked state. “What are you do-“

At the speed of light, you were interrupted by your ex-boyfriend pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t say a word.

You weren’t expecting him. Not knowing how you were supposed to feel at the moment, you just let it happen. You were sure your mental state couldn’t get any worse than that, no matter how this will affect you in the end.

“Is Jane home?”, for the first time in 3 months, you’re hearing his silky voice again.

Jungkook knew Jane always had some type of special hatred for him with her killing stares and her bitter comments. You didn’t notice either though.

He also knew she must hate him even more after your breakup. Or maybe she liked him more now since she was able to get rid of him without killing anyone.

“No”, your answer was short and it made a weight fall from Jungkook’s shoulders before he continued kissing you.

It wasn’t anything you haven’t done before, yet it felt like it’s been ages since it last happened. Your mind drifted to the thought of Jungkook and his model girlfriend. You were asking yourself what their sex life was like, if she was tighter than you or if she had stretch marks and scars.

Jungkook’s lips were moving south, giving your neck wet kisses, while you were wondering why he broke up with his model girlfriend. Or if he even did. You felt selfish for not caring.

Removing your clothes one by one, you were left in your underwear, while Jungkook only had his boxers on.

This body was yours. You knew it inside out. Where he liked to get touched and where he preferred not to. You knew him better than anyone else. You were sure.

You already moved to your bedroom, since Jungkook effortlessly carried you there. You were sat on his lap, facing him and your hands were in his messy hair. His hands were around your waist, he was slightly smiling into the kiss, as you started grinding on him. He loved how easy it was for him to turn you on. You were still his.

Cutting off the kiss, he looked you in the eyes, while his hand was on your cheek. “Say aah.”, he said.

You widened your mouth obediently, which was followed by him collecting as much saliva as he could in his mouth and spitting it into your mouth.

“Swallow.”, demanding, he spit on your face, his eyes become darker with every passing moment. You did as he said.

You looked at him with big eyes. He knew you loved it. You’ve always had a thing for him degrading and humiliating you during sex.

He started grinding on you almost desperately. You knew exactly what he wanted.

Getting out of his grip, you dropped to your knees and freed his hard dick from his drawers. You reached for it and started pumping it, and licking it. Your spit was leaking down his dick as you used it for lubrication. Then you started sucking on it, just the way you used to.

Jungkook’s groans and satisfied sighs were enough to make you even wetter than before. You enjoyed giving more than receiving.

Your mouth was wet and warm around him, giving him a feeling of familiarity. You lick over the tip a few times, then proceed to fully take him into your mouth.

The bulge in your throat could be seen and the way your eyes were tearing up a little wasn’t bothering you at all. You loved giving.

Jungkook started thrusting in and out of your warm, welcoming mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat multiple times.

“Fuck”, a throaty moan left Jungkook’s mouth, giving you hints that he was about to cum. And he did, releasing in your mouth before you swallowed it. “Shit, baby, that was so good.”

You felt your face heat up and a sheepish smile made its way to your face. Your throat was sore.

The two of you were on the bed again. To you, it felt like it was the times before your breakup again, when you’d purposely start an argument just for the makeup sex because Jungkook wasn’t giving you any anymore. It was like sex was the only thing to look forward to.

You felt attached to Jungkook to a point where it was dangerous. You weren’t okay when he wasn’t around. He affected every part of your life and God knew it wasn’t always a positive thing. Maybe it was the fact that he took your virginity. Maybe because he was your first boyfriend, the first guy that made you believe you were worthy of love and that someone was actually capable of loving you. One thing you knew was Jungkook had an expansive influence on your life.

While you were practically drowning in your own thoughts, Jungkook was busy taking off your underwear.

“You okay?”, Jungkook calmly asked you, looking at your riddled face.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m okay.”, you sounded distracted, Jungkook wasn’t sure about asking you what it is though. He didn’t feel like getting personal.

So he shrugged it off and started kissing you again, his dick was unsurprisingly hard again as he played with your tits. He drew lines over the stretch marks of your thighs and kissed them.

“Can I fuck your ass?”, Jungkook’s raspy, tired-sounding voice casually asked, to which you quickly nodded, knowing that Jungkook’s favorite position had always been anal. He was massaging and gripping your ass firmly.

“This is gonna hurt at first, but I promise it gets better.”, He warned calmly into your ear, while putting some lube on his dick and just went right into your ass, slowly thrusting so you don’t feel as much pain.

He was right, it did hurt a lot when he first put it in, but the pain just changed into pleasure in a matter of time and his slow-paced thrusts helped with the adjustment.

“Fuck, I missed this ass”, he practically growled into your ear, as he kept on thrusting in and out, steadily gripping your wide hips with his big, veiny hands. “It just doesn’t feel right when I’m inside her ass.”

You knew your confidence shouldn’t rely on Jungkook bringing his girlfriend down, but you couldn’t help but feel good about your body when he said that. It’s been a while since you felt even a tiny spark of confidence. You weren’t so fond of him mentioning her while he was inside of you.

Your soft moans rang through the whole room like sirens, while he watched your ass jiggle against his pelvis, thrusting in and out faster every second. He missed this.

You had always thought you were indecisive, but you knew exactly what you wanted. You just couldn’t have that, so you’d eventually have to settle for less.

Jungkook wasn’t to blame for it, you just couldn’t concede your shortcomings. The movie’s villain wasn’t always the real villain.

Your hands traveled to your pussy to make sure you’d orgasm as well, when you heard Jungkook’s breathing getting heavier and his thrusts getting gentler than before, indicating that he was gonna cum soon. You were certain he could make you cum with just anal, but you wanted to cum with him.

With furrowed eyebrows and drops of sweat dripping down his body, Jungkook looked down at your arched back. The whole scene was sticky, especially when Jungkook presses his upper body to your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and kissing the spot.

It was kinda odd, having sex with your ex-boyfriend you were crying over just a day ago. There was a certain intensity to it though. Like your long-lasting nostalgia was finally fulfilled.

You’ve realized you couldn’t imagine yourself being intimate with anybody else. Jungkook already knew your body, how it looked without the material protecting it, the strawberry skin, the slightly sagging breasts you swore you’d surgically remove once you had the chance to but didn’t. He knew where you liked being touched, he was the first one to even touch you in those places.

You were unsure what you’d do with yourself when he leaves.

Jungkook’s thrusts slowly started stopping and you too felt the familiar sensation in your stomach.

Suddenly, you two were nothing but desire, fear, and pleasure. And faster than you could process, you came together.

For minutes after your orgasm, you were just laying on the bed, thoughtless. Maybe a little regretful. Not you, but him.

You weren’t facing each other, but you could hear each other’s breathing. Your stomach was filled with something you’d describe as post-sex melancholia.

All of a sudden, Jungkook stood up from the bed, startling your resting self a little, but you decided to keep quiet, wanting to see what he was going to do.

He made his way to the door to leave what he thought was your sleeping body laying there. You couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“Where are you going?”, your soft voice suddenly rang in his ears. “Don’t you wanna stay?”

He didn’t know how exactly to tell you. You’ve always been a gullible little girl, you were the type of girl to think fucking equals love. Little did you know that wasn’t the case at all.

“Yn.... you know I can’t”, Jungkook responded, you knew it wasn’t gonna be good when he said your name like that. “I got a girl at home and I don’t wanna mess shit up with her.”

There it was. Your suspicion was corroborated. He was still going out with the model and you were a certified home wrecker. Great.

You physically felt your heart breaking. “Bu- but why are you here then?”

You were incapable of being mad at him at the moment. It was your fault for letting him in, again. After breaking your trust and your heart.

“This was a mistake”, he declared, not looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry, yn...”

He’s moved past your room now, already at the exit of your dormitory. He was about to leave.

“You already ruined shit with her when you came here and fucked me.”, your voice was small, but your words were heard.

Without looking back, he left.

And you went back to your room, standing in the middle of it for a minute in silence before your brain fully processed what had happened and your tears started pouring.

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Cry-Baby

A commissioned continuation of this soulmate AU by the lovely @pokemonfreak666 - thanks for your patience, bby!!

Bakugou Katsuki x Female Reader, Kirishima Eijiro x Female Reader

TW non-con, nsfw, double penetration, rough fucking, minor mentions of blood, kidnapping

The water’s not hot enough.

It should be; it should burn. The knob’s twisted all the way up, steam rising in billowing clouds, fogging up the bathroom mirror, but it’s not hot enough. You can still feel them on you. Everything else – the blood, saliva, their cum, you’d watched it swirl down the drain, sitting on the shower floor, arms curled tightly around yourself as if that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart and shattering entirely.

But the water’s scalding, and you can still feel your soulmates’ hands crawling over you… their mouths… their cocks tearing you apart from the inside out. Why won’t it wash away? You’ve scrubbed and scrubbed, your skin’s red and raw but the filthy feeling won’t go.

And they’re just outside. Sitting in your bedroom, or maybe wandering around your living room, sprawled across your couch flipping through channels on the TV. Maybe they’re out there looking at the pictures that line your walls, you and your family, your friends. Fuck, maybe they’re in your kitchen, rifling through your fridge for a late night snack after fucking their soulmate six ways from Sunday.

You can’t go back out there. You don’t want to see them.

Is it awful to hope for some kind of horrifying villain attack or massive accident to force them to go and leave you in peace?

… Would they?

You can’t imagine Pro Heroes not running off to do their duty, but before a few hours ago, you couldn’t imagine them holding somebody down and raping them either, and clearly they had no qualms about doing that, so maybe your Heroes aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

Then again, what difference would leaving make? They know where you live, probably where you work. There’s no anonymity anymore, it’s not like you can just slip away and hide from them.

You’ve been in the bathroom too long already, you know that – you can almost feel their anxious energy seeping through the crack in the door. Too much longer and they’ll surely come bursting in.

Patience clearly wasn’t their strong point, and it’s nothing short of a miracle they let you come in and shower alone. Kirishima at least had been more than eager to come join you, grinning widely and tugging you by the arm towards the bathroom– it’d been Bakugou, watching you pale and flinch through red, unreadable eyes who’d reined him back in.

Maybe he saw how scared you were, how fragile the thread that was holding you together was. Maybe he thought that gifting you these precious minutes alone after what they did would in any way come close to starting to mend the damage they’d just wrought.

Maybe he just hadn’t cared enough beyond getting his dick wet.

You’d grown up thinking your soulmates would make you happy, love you in a way that nobody else ever could. The possibility of ever deliberately hurting them seemed like such a foreign and uncomfortable concept to you. But obviously they didn’t care enough about your feelings or your lack of consent to stop them from forcing themselves onto you, maybe you were nothing but an object to them. Something to take and fuck, because naturally you were made for them.

What did it matter if you didn’t want it?

Your eyes drift down to the timers on your wrists, run down to zero. A quaking sob rips from your throat and you bite down harshly on your bottom lip to stifle it.

“Why am I even here? In less than an hour you’re gonna meet them, and what am I supposed to do then, hmm?” your friend had asked with a laugh. “Be the world’s most awkward fourth wheel?”

You’d laughed with her, knocking your shoulders against hers with a fond little smile, “Well if they’re gonna be in my life for the long haul, don't you think it’s important that they meet the person who matters to me the most right off the bat?”

You’re terrified of going back out there and facing them, but what other option do you have? The only window in the bathroom is too high and too small to squeeze through, and even if you could, getting an apartment on the seventh floor had seemed like a great idea at the time, but it doesn’t exactly lend itself to an easy getaway.

The flimsy lock on the bathroom door is all that’s keeping them out – with their strength it’s hardly much of a barrier at all, but it’s all you have.

Here in your bathroom, under the scalding water, you’re safe. They can’t hurt you.

You’d like to think that now they’ve gotten what they wanted, now that they know that you can’t run and their reputations can’t be tarnished, they’ll go. And there’s a little voice inside your head that tells you it’s a stupid, foolish hope. You know that the moment you set foot outside that door, things’ll never be the same again.

A few years back, you read an article on some tabloid website about an up and coming Hero who’d disappeared out of the blue after joining Hawks’ agency as an intern. Supposedly, they were soulmates, and once the Pro realised it, he’d swooped her up and taken her to some secret safe house to hide her away from the rest of the world, supposedly ‘for her own protection’. It was all rumours, of course. No way for them to actually prove the theory – and no one actually cared about some missing, low level Hero at the end of the day. It was news for a week and then everybody moved on.

Are they gonna do the same thing to you?

Spirit you away to some hideout where they can keep you all to themselves – so they can fuck you whenever they want without having to worry about you running off? You’ll never see your family again, or your friends… they’ll be your entire world, and just like that intern, everybody else will forget you ever existed.

Or maybe they’ll be satisfied enough just forcing themselves into your life, letting you go back to your job, your boring, mundane nine to five, never knowing when they’re going to pop up and take what they want. They’ll come over and play house, acting as if this is a normal relationship, waiting for you to come around and accept them.

Love them.

The thoughts makes bile rise in your throat. Your entire body aches from inside out. There’s bitemarks and bruises littering your skin, marks that won’t fade for days… you can’t let them do this to you again.

As if they can hear your panicked thoughts, a knock sounds on the bathroom door, and your heart clenches.

“Hey, babe?” Kirishima calls out, “You okay? You’ve kinda been in there a while…”

That same voice, chanting breathlessly above you, “I love you, I love you– f-fuck– I love you!”

Panic, cloying and sharp tears at you. You try to answer, tell him to leave you alone, that you need more time, but the words catch in your throat and all that comes out is a pitiful squeak and he knocks again, louder, more insistent and it’s too much.

They're gonna break down the door and hurt you again. Hot tears well up and spill down your cheeks with an audible sob, and you clutch at yourself tighter, willing them away–

“Babe? Talk to us, sweetheart, you’re making us worried.”

The door handle jiggles insistently, and you bury your face between your knees breathing rapidly, they’re gonna break it down, they’re gonna break it down, they’re gonna–

“Move, Kiri,” Bakugou snaps.

You don’t register the snap of the lock breaking or the frantic footsteps that approach, the harsh sound of your heaving gasps drowning out all else. Then suddenly there’s strong, muscular arms pulling you out from the water with a muffled curse.

It’s Kirishima who’s holding you, you realise as a flash of blond darts back behind you to turn the shower off. And it’s suffocating, the way he clutches at you, big hands running along your back, pulling you closer, holding you tighter, words of comfort you can’t hear over the pounding of your own heart spilling from his lips.

And then Bakugou’s face is filling your vision, the scowl on his face growing more pronounced as he studies you – shaking, teary, eyes wide and swimming with fear–

Something inside of you just gives and you don’t fight it when the darkness swallows you whole.

—

When you come to, you’re lying on something soft – a bed, you realise, but not your own. There’s an arm slung over your waist; corded with muscles, tan, covered in fine, golden hair and faint white scars; Bakugou’s.

Which means that the warm breath gently tickling at your neck must belong to him as well.

You’re not naked at least; a quick glance down at your body revealing they’d dressed you in one of your old tees and a pair of panties. You’re not sure whether that observation is supposed to calm or unnerve you; you’d rather be clothed than not, but the thought of your soulmates rifling through your things, dressing you while you were unconscious… is not a pleasant one.

“You’re awake.” It’s an observation, not a question. His voice is gruff, an edge of sleepiness clinging to the words, but it lacks the heat you’ve come to expect from the explosive Hero. He sounds comfortable almost – at least that’s the sense you get as his face presses up against the nape of your neck, his arm drawing you closer with a low groan.

Still, you haven’t uttered a sound.

It feels surreal, lying there in your captor’s arms – and he is your captor, soulmate or no, there’s no denying that fact anymore. There’s a part of you that realises that you should be panicking, kicking scratching and clawing because you don’t know where you are, but it’s certainly not your apartment and you definitely don’t want him touching you after what he’s already put you through.

But rather than the sheer, unrelenting panic that had gripped you before, it’s just… nothing. Dormant, lying simmering just below the surface, and you’re almost scared to draw breath, to shatter the sweet, tender facade between the two of you.

There’s no point in asking where you are, no point in demanding he let you go. They’ve shown you that what you want doesn’t matter here, so instead you ask the obvious question.

“Where’s Kirishima?”

Bakugou grunts, burrowing himself closer. It’s not cold in the room, but his bare skin burns like a furnace, just on the wrong side of comfortable. “Makin’ breakfast.”

Breakfast.

You swallow tightly, but Bakugou isn’t done.

“Scared the shit out of us, fainting like that,” he scoffs. “Should’a fuckin’ known you’d need us to come take care of you.”

His fingers, resting over your stomach, dip lower, sliding roughly beneath the hem of your panties as he grinds his hips along your ass. He’s hard already, you can feel every inch of it, long and thick pressing insistently up against you.

Shame and indignation flare up like a match struck, but before you can even open your mouth to snap a retort, Bakugou yanks his hand out of your underwear to stuff his fingers inside your mouth.

Your first instinct is to bite down, but the blond at your back just growls, “Suck,” and you’re not stupid enough to think that hurting him (or trying to at least) is going to stop what’s about to happen.

Or maybe you’re just scared to test exactly how far you can push them before they really hurt you.

Obediently, your tongue swirls around his thick digits, hollowing out your cheeks and earning a grunt of appreciation from your soulmate.

“Always thought that my soulmate was gonna be someone strong,” he mutters, his hips still rocking up against yours. “Somebody who could keep up with Kiri ‘n me, hold their own in a fight. Never thought you’d be some weak as shit, quirkless little cry-baby.”

It stings more than it has any right to.

Slowly, his fingers slide from your lips, a long, thin glistening strand of saliva connecting the two. It’s hard to fight the whine that escapes you as they return to your pussy, angrily shoving aside your panties before thinking better of it and ripping them off of you completely. The warm puff of breath that ghosts across your skin sends shivers down your spine, and though you can’t see his face when he speaks next you can tell that he’s grinning.

“But fuck, sweetheart, you’re goddamn perfect – everythin’ we didn’t know we needed.”

He kisses you as his index and middle fingers plunge eagerly into your cunt, not the rough, biting kisses he’d gifted you with the night before, no. These are almost tender, sweet – or at least as sweet as a monster like Bakugou is capable of – entirely at odds with way his calloused fingers curl inside of you, fucking you, stretching you out while he cruelly thumbs at your clit.

Katsuki wants you strung out and whining for him. For Kirishima.

He wants you helpless.

“We’re gonna keep you nice ‘n safe, baby. Won’t have to worry about a goddamn fucking thing ‘cept keepin’ your soulmates happy.”

It sounds more like the passing of a sentence than a reassurance, but you can’t tell him that you don’t want this. He knows – he has to by now. He just doesn't care.

You don’t hear it when Kiri comes back, not when Bakugou’s sucking at your neck, your pussy throbbing with need as his fingers drive relentlessly into you, hitting your g-spot with every flick of his wrist.

You might not have noticed the redhead lingering in the doorway, his cock tenting in his pants, eyes dark and glazed over as he watches the show unfolding before him, but Bakugou certainly does.

“Oi, shitty hair. You just gonna stand there and watch or are you actually gonna fucking do something?” His voice is rough and a little breathless, closer to a growl than speech – it makes your gut clench, a shiver run down along your spine.

When your eyes finally do meet Kirishima’s, your heart squeezes, your stomach flipping. Kirishima’s staring at you like a wolf readying itself to pounce, like he wants to devour every inch of you and savour the taste.

He grins widely, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Bakugou’s the one with the bad reputation – as explosive as his quirk, brash at the best of times and overly aggressive even with his friends – you have every reason to be terrified of him, even before he broke into your home to take you.

Kirishima might be kinder, gentler with his touches (at least, he tries to be), but you’re a fool if you think you’re any safer with the redhead.

“Thought you said you were gonna wait,” he says, advancing towards the two of you as he kicks out of his shorts, but the grin on his face doesn’t waver for a second. He’s not nearly as put out as he pretends. “I could hear the pretty little thing moaning all the way in the kitchen.”

Shame would be enough to flood your cheeks with heat, but it’s the sight of Kiri’s cock, flushed an angry red, veiny and thick, hanging heavy between his muscular thighs that does the job. The spit in your mouth dries, your heart thumping unevenly even as pleasure pools in your gut courtesy of Bakugou’s attention. You let out a sharp shriek as he quickens his pace, one hand reaching to grab at his wrist, the other clutching desperately for purchase at the bedsheets, but it’s not enough.

Heat burns at your core, and unwittingly, you find your hips bucking up against him, fervently searching for more.

At your back, the blond chuckles, you feel the deep vibrations echoing through your chest, “Yeah, well you were taking too long.”

There might be more that he says, but at that moment he slides a third finger into your dripping cunt, calloused fingertips slamming against your tight, gummy walls and you’re robbed of the ability to think.

Your first orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, the building pleasure snapping like an elastic band stretched too far. A strangled moan slips out of your lips, and you don’t even notice the teeth sinking into your shoulder, Bakugou once more staking his claim as you cum for him. You quiver and quake in his grip, your cunt tightening around his digits and sucking them in further with a lewd squelching sound that you might be more embarrassed about if you could focus on anything but the pleasurable aftershocks of your peak.

All the while, Kirishima drinks you in, salivating at the sight of your drooling, fucked out expression, the syrupy slick that’s all but dripping out around Bakugou’s thick fingers, still stuffed deep inside of your pussy.

And maybe if he were a better man, he might allow you a moment to breathe and hurtle back down to earth, but patience has never been a virtue of his. He lunges forward faster than a man of his size has any right to, jumping onto the bed and all but tearing you out of Bakugou’s hold. You’re still reeling, panting and sore and dizzy with pleasure as Kirishima’s lips crash against yours, stealing what little breath you have left in a burning kiss.

Your attention’s caught on the way his tongue’s sliding against yours, trying to coax you into kissing back, the sharp, minty taste of him – you miss the way he grasps at his flushed, leaking cock, dragging it along your puffy slit. You miss the sound of Bakugou shedding his own pants.

You’re still weakly trying to push at his chest when Kiri slides his cock into your warm, welcoming cunt, his low, guttural moan lost to your lips. And despite Bakugou’s attempts at preparing you, it still burns, the sheer girth of his fat cock filling you up and stretching you uncomfortably. Tears sting at your eyes, a whimper catching in your throat as he hums in pleasure, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer, impaling you further onto his length.

Yet you’re not given a moment to accommodate the massive cock inside of you – not as you feel another blunt, flushed cockhead pressing up against your already stuffed pussy. Realisation hits a moment too late, your face blanching, your heart skipping a beat as panic – sheer panic – chokes at you.

You try to push back from Kiri’s embrace, only to feel Bakugou once again pressing up against your back, trapping you between them. You squirm in vain, trying to kick and push, fighting even as the blond’s cock, not as girthy as Kirishima’s but still far too big for you to take with Kiri still inside of you, starts to force its way into your plush, velvety walls.

“F-fuck, she’s tight,” he grunts as you arch up against Kiri, your tits, still covered by your thin, cotton tee, squishing up against his bare chest in an attempt to writhe away from the overwhelming feeling of fullness, the burning, stinging, throbbing pain between your legs.

But your soulmates are far from considerate, not even as you start to wail, your nails raking down the redhead’s broad shoulders.

“Your pussy’s a fuckin’ dream,” he continues, swearing with a hiss as he finally bottoms out.

It’s too much, you feel like you’re being split in two. Every twitch and throb of their dicks, every vein, every inch of them is pressed too tightly against you, your walls struggling to take them both. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, oh god it hurts so fucking bad, but neither one of them care as you start to sob–

No, Kiri just kisses away your tears, taking your face in his large hands and cooing sweetly when you beg them through gasping, heaving sobs to stop.

“You’re doing so good for us, baby. Look how well you’re taking our cocks – it’s like you were made for us,” he laughs at his own stupid joke, and all you can focus on is the pain as he starts to draw his hips back, your oversensitive walls screaming in protest. “We’re gonna make you feel so fucking amazing, just wait.”

And it’s not his wide, beaming grin that shatters you, or even the hunger blazing in those crimson depths. It’s not Bakugou panting at your back, his hands coming up to shove your top up so he can palm greedily at your tits, or even the lewd almost feral sounds the explosion Hero’s making as he and Kirishima settle into a maddening rhythm, not allowing you a moment to catch your breath and steady yourself as they fuck you.

No, it’s the sheer, feverish love you can see written across his face clear as day, the softness with which he holds you, even as he chases his own pleasure.

This is their version of love, and you – quirkless, weak as shit and entirely at their mercy – have no hope in hell of escaping it.

#yandere bnha #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere kirishima eijiro #yandere bakugou katuski x reader #yandere kirishima eijiro x reader #yandere bakugou x reader #yandere kirishima x reader #tw non con #tw kidnapping #tw blood #it's like one mention but still #me posting this when my dash is dead instead of at 2am #more likely than you think

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Epilogue

Summary: You and Ransom attend the launch of his book and the cover closes on your story.

Warnings: Bad language, Mature (NSFW, 18+) NON-CON situations, kidnap, violence. Blood. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER…READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED…YOU HAVE BEENWARNED.

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: The end! I can’t believe all this span from @jtargaryen18’s Halloween Challenge last year. I hope you have enjoyed his as much as I have.

Word Count: 3.6k

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK series so don’t @me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18 get off my blog!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 7

The town car and it's driver took you to whatever swanky hotel Ransom and his publishers had decided upon, you not caring the slightest inwardly, outwardly only half paying attention. You glanced out the window watching the lights of downtown pass by as your husband of merely three weeks held your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb.

It was a warm July evening, the two of you dressed to the nines in formal attire. Ransom had insisted the launch be an invite only, formal event. Therefore, he was dressed in a two-piece suit, black of course, with a crisp white button down, silken black tie, and you, you looked like an ice queen's slutty sister. The powder blue silk dress you wore tied together with thin straps on each shoulder, your feet already hurting in your nude six inch sandals. Your free hand tapped a neatly manicured finger over your clutch that matched your shoes. A delicate white gold and diamond tennis bracelet adorned your wrist whilst the necklace you'd been gifted at Christmas hung around your neck. You wore your hair the way he said he loved it, in a ponytail full of waves and wisps framing your face.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, you’d spent another two weeks in the confines of the basement. All luxuries removed and you were used and abused in exactly the way you had been when Ransom had first taken you, until he’d once more sucked the fight out of you. Only this time you didn’t have the strength to find it again.

You played the part you’d been cast in his sick little fantasy and became totally passive to his whims. You let him fuck you which, in all honesty, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant situation as he knew his way around your body and it felt good. You had given up denying it, and for the moments he was teasing those carnal reactions out of you, you escaped, let yourself imagine you were with someone who you wanted. And by keeping him sweet, you fooled him into thinking you were content. And things settled down, you had that halfway to normal life that you’d achieved before you discovered his manuscript.

But it was bullshit. A means to an end. And you deserved a fucking Oscar.

He’d had the audacity to propose to you, too. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. He asked you the question, like you had a fucking choice.

Angry, desperate tears had filled your eyes as you’d simply gaped at him, tears the deluded cunt took for you being overwhelmed with happiness. With a smile he slipped the gaudily large diamond on your finger, sealing your fate.

It weighed as heavy on your hand as the grief for your lost life, and the despair at your situation did in your heart.

You’d had a small wedding. Attended simply by your parents and sister. He sent an invite to his mother and father but they didn’t show up. Your dad walked you down the aisle and as you walked towards the man you hated with every breath in your body, your father kissed your cheek and asked you if you were sure you wanted to do this. And no, of course you didn’t, but what could you do?

There was no way out.

“You look as gorgeous tonight as you did on our wedding day.” Ransom’s voice slightly startled you and you turned to face him.

You smiled at him, the smile you knew he wanted to see, as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your hand, his lips ghosted over the top of the obscene rock and matching band on your finger which caught the lights of the city, sparkling with all the ferocity of a supernova.

Before you needed to reply with some half assed compliment back, the town car stopped as the driver got out and opened Ransom's door.

"Wait here," he instructed and walked around with the driver on the other side, escorting you out the minute your own door opened.

Flashbulbs fired off in your eyes, no doubt the press there for some absolutely ridiculous notion that this book was anything but its true nature of terror and disgust.

Ransom’s hand pressed into the base of your back as he guided you along in front of him, various members of the press calling his name, and you heard the excited shouts from some as they spotted the bands on both yours and Ransom’s hands, positively shrieking as they asked when you’d gotten married.

The headlines flashed in your mind now, 'Grandson of the Great Harlan Thrombey Releases First Suspense Novel'. 'One of Boston's Most Notorious and Eligible Bachelors is Strictly Off The Market' . 'Trust Fund Playboy Sinks His Bunny'.

It made you want to puke.

In fact, as the press line faded and you stepped foot into the lobby, you swallowed back the bile forcing its way up. A tray with champagne flutes passed you by and you immediately snagged one.

When Ransom had been distracted for a brief moment, you quickly glanced around and swallowed back the entire flute of the bubbly drink. Delightfully enjoying the brief taste and quick head rush it gave you.

The further you walked into the event, his hand still against your bare back, the louder it grew and the more trays of champagne and appetizers were floating by.

As typical, the two of you were fashionably late so, you had little chance to take part in any nibble or further, a drink, because the supposed "man of the hour", more like terror of life, was due to give a speech.

His agent pulled the two of you aside and made mention that it was time for Ransom to greet his guests. He pressed a sickening sweet kiss to your lips and confidently took to the small podium atop a small stage nearby.

“First and foremost, thank you to everyone who came out tonight. But more importantly, thank you to my beautiful wife, without you Sweetheart, this wouldn't be possible.”

The smile he flashed you was loaded with meaning as the pair of you looked at one another, his eyes shining with the depraved private understanding you shared.

And you hated him then just about as much as you ever had.

Excited muttering spread around the room as he had knowingly referred to you as his wife. It was the first time he’d announced your marriage to the world but, as he smiled and held his hands up, nodding smugly and confirming whatever people were asking him, you felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of nausea. To everyone else it was a sweet dedication, to you it was a sickening truth. This book was based on what he’d done to you. What he was saying was literal truth.

And the fact that the people currently applauding whatever he had said would never realise the true nature of those words on the pages of his book made you want to vomit in your handbag.

Applause rang around the room and you realised everyone was turned in your direction. Drawing your shoulders back you stood tall and once more fixed that fake smile on your face before Ransom cleared his throat and began to speak again.

But you didn't listen, you drowned him out, the sound of his voice distant and murky like Charlie Brown's teacher. You allowed you mind to think of anything but the present, other than the fact that these people were in unknowing full support of the hell you'd been through the last nine months.

Eventually a loud, rapturous applause signalled the end of his speech and he stepped back, smiling and then turned to the man from his publishers who shook his hand furiously, before the pair of them posed for photos.

That was when he beckoned you to him, looking at you in such a way that made your skin crawl and your teeth seethe with each breath. This bastard expected a photo op from you above all this, commemorating this disaster.

On autopilot you headed towards him, indifference obedience now your specialty and his arm curled possessively round your waist, fingers splaying on your hip. You posed and smiled as the flashes went off, but as you stole a glance at the large, ornate clock on the wall, you suddenly felt your head beginning to swim.

Seeing a convenient way out of this bullshit, you made sure to falter just a little, placing your hand to your chest. It caused Ransom's attention to turn to you.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

“I’m feeling a little light headed and warm.” You looked up at him. “Could we maybe get some air?”

"Sure, yeah," he looked to his agent and they nodded towards a side door in the room.

His arm still round you, playing the doting husband, he led you towards it and opened it with a flourish, allowing you to step out in front of him.

You emerged into the alley at the side of the building and took a huge gulp of air, steadying yourself.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

You were warm, flushed, your skin tingling as the now cooling air hit your slightly damp skin, your nipples perking at the temperature change were visible through the silk dress, and you didn’t miss the heated glance he gave them as you spoke. "I, I don't know. I think it's all the commotion."

“You do look a little flushed.” His eyes moved back to yours and he studied you for a moment, his large hands gently cupping your face as he kissed your forehead before his lips pressed to yours. “Wanna take a walk?”

Despite the fact you really couldn’t walk far in the ridiculous shoes you were in, you nodded. Anything to avoid going back in there and listening to all those sycophants kissing his ass.

He took your hand and started walking slowly down the alley. You were mid-way down when a man jumped out from behind the dumpster. You screamed and instinctively Ransom jumped to the side, pulling you slightly behind him.

“Give me the money and the jewellery, no one gets hurt.” The man spoke gruffly and you felt Ransom draw himself up to his full height as he glared at the dirty, dishevelled man, disdain on his face.

“Eat shit.”

“Ransom, just... please give him what he wants.” Your voice trembled as your body shook, your right hand already removing the rings on your left.

“I’d listen to your pretty wife, if I were you.” The man spoke as he reached into his pocket and when he withdrew his hand you swallowed at the unmistakable flash of metal.

“Fuck, Ransom, he’s got a knife!” You clutched his arm. “Please just give it to him!”

"Fuck, no," he started reaching for his phone but the man lunged toward him.

In the melee that followed, you were thrown to the side, your rings clanging to the floor somewhere along with your clutch, your palms and knees scraping painfully on the floor. By the time you’d pushed yourself up, you saw the man scrambling to his feet, Ransom’s watch and wallet in his hand. He turned to look at you and you backed away, stumbling once more to the ground letting out a blood curdling scream as he advanced. He stopped, picked up your rings and your bag, before he turned, bolting up the alley and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

"Y/N," the croaking voice came from your husband as he staggered towards you, a deep red seeping through his white dress shirt, his one hand attempting to stave off the bleeding. The other, cradling his phone. But he didn't get more than a few steps as he collapsed nearby.

"Ransom!" You shrieked and heels be damned, you ran to him, looking around, "help!"

"Call 9-1-1, Baby," he begged, trying to thrust the phone into your hand and you leaned over him.

With a jittery hand you swiped over to the emergency call option and hit the first two digits before you glanced around again and hesitated, rising slowly to your feet.

“What...” Ransom’s chest heaved as he looked up at you, his face white with shock as you turned the phone in your hand and shrugged.

“Yeah, you see, I could call for help but...” with that you tossed his phone to the hard ground and crunched it with your stupidly high heel, rotating your foot to make double sure, the glass and metal grinding between the stiletto and the tarmac. “Whoops, looks like it got smashed in the fight.” You gave a little chuckle. “And of course, mine was in my bag which he took. Isn’t that ironic? I mean the first time you permit me to use it for something other than to contact you or my mom, I can’t.” You made a little tutting noise. “Guess I’ll just have to keep yelling and hope someone hears.”

With that you turned and screamed, a frantic yell. “Please, someone help us! Please, he’s been stabbed, call 9-1-1.” You slowly dropped back to a kneel, ignoring the sting of your grazed knees and smirked. “Dammed, I really am good at this acting shit, don’t you think, handsome?”

Ransom coughed a harsh and wet cough. His chest heaving raggedly as he struggled between catching a breath and bleeding out.

“Y/N...” he spluttered, “you...please...”

"So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” you emphasised the 't' of the last word as you spoke the very same line that he had delivered to you months ago, the threat he had held over you and used to keep you in check whenever you stepped over that line.

His eyes widened further as the realisation set in, you could see his brain working and it gave you a buzz, a sense of satisfaction to know that he understood this was your doing.

You wanted the last thing this bastard thought about to be how you were responsible for his death. But more so, his narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies be damned, you wanted him to completely understand exactly how it was his fault.

And given the way he was bleeding and struggling for breath, you didn’t have long.

Another scream for help flew from your mouth as you pressed one hand on top of his which were now both clutched to the wound in his stomach, the other brushing his hair back slightly as you smiled down at him.

“I told you when you threw me back in the basement that the way you treat people would come back to haunt you.” You gave a little shrug. “And, when you told the homeless guy looking in the bins on collection day a few months back to eat shit and get a job, well, he took it kinda personally. He didn’t even blink when I asked how much it would take to knock you off.”

"You..." choking on blood, "vicious..." choke,

At that you gave another loud hysteric yell for help before you turned your head back to look at him.

“See, once upon a time I thought you’d changed. But here’s the thing, a person like you doesn’t change, Hugh. You’re incapable of love. You take what you want when you want for no reason other than it pleases you.”

Another scream for help, and this time you could hear someone answering and a lot of yells as people started running towards you.

“Well, now I’ve taken your life like you took mine.” You bent down, your forehead pressing to his as you smirked. His arm reached up to grab you, his blood soaked hand curling over your cheek and side of your neck. "And you know what? It feels good."

His palm was warm and slick against your skin and his eyes blazed with anger as his fingers squeezed. You knew he was desperately trying to hurt you but you felt nothing. You smiled, as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, your words whispered as you pulled back ever so slightly. “Karma’s a bitch, and so am I. See you in hell.”

As the fake tears started to pool in your eyes once more, you allowed your lip to tremble for distraught emphasis. Blood was now trickling out of Ransom's mouth, along down his ear and to the tarmac. You pulled back just a little so as to see his eyes. You wanted to watch him choke on his own blood as he took that final breath. You started sputtering words incoherently as you amped up the hysteria, hearing the footfalls now just behind you.

He didn’t even make it to the hospital.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was pronounced dead at 21:05 hours on Friday 17th July where he lay in a pool of his own blood, in that dark alleyway down the side of the hotel.

Leaving you a widow.

And free.

***10 months later***

It was as simple as it sounded, closing your eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Your finger ended up on Boulder.

Colorado was far enough from the last year or so of your life that you could feel comfortable. You'd researched it, finding it to be something worth interest. Affordable. Breath-taking scenery. Incredible life altering activities and quaint little towns. The summers were supposedly warm but rarely did the temperature rise above ninety-five, the winters were supposedly very cold, dry and windy; rarely dropping below six degrees with partly cloudy skies year round.

The months following Ransom’s death had been as draining as humanly possible. The investigation had involved countless interviews before the police and authorities settled for it being a mugging gone wrong. But then there had been the months of wrangling and private law cases his parents had attempted to bring against you to prevent you getting his money, despite the probate law being fairly simple. You were married. He left no will. It was yours by default.

Eventually, when the Drysdales had exhausted every last option, they were forced to concede and that was when you made the decision to leave, a decision of which your parents were highly encouraging. They practically talked you into this whole thing to begin with. Helping you leave your nightmares behind. Despite them not suspecting anything at first, you weren't blind to the fact that things still had not sat right with them. You knew they had suspected a level coercion, that maybe you'd had a manic episode of mental illness, but you never had divulged the full details and by the time he was gone, they hadn't cared. Your relationship with them had strengthened and healed and that was what you cared about.

Now, you were newly nestled in Boulder with a great condo downtown, a stone’s throw from the historic district that was filled with cliché shops and bars. Whilst you didn’t need the money, you’d taken a job working in the media department of a private law firm. It was a far cry from your journalist days, but it suited you just fine.

The more distance you put between who you were now and who you had been, the better.

You were at peace.

The May evening air was temperate as you crossed the street and opened the door to the designated bar in which you were meeting your new group of friends, mostly gathered from work, for a girl's night out. You’d been held up a little in the office so they were already waiting at a table. You waved and gestured to the bar, indicating you were going to get a drink.

As you sidled up to the wooden counter, you were jolted a little into a man to your right. You turned to apologise and gave a little double take. You recognised him instantly. But you didn’t want to make that obvious and cause him to feel uncomfortable. You knew how it felt, to have everyone looking at you, hushed whispered comments as you went about your business, people trying to figure out if you were who they thought you were.

That was part of the reason you had moved, and you sure as hell weren’t about to subject the man next to you to the same, uncomfortable experiences.

Recovering quickly, you hastily apologised and he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” His Boston accent was evident and you smiled.

“I miss that accent.”

The man chuckled, his warm blue eyes creasing slightly as he looked at you. “You from Boston, too?”

“Concord.”

“Newton.” He replied, “well, I lived there anyway, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Should I? Know that, I mean?”

He studied you for a moment, and you kept your face as passive as possible. You could tell he knew that you knew, but you gave a shrug none-the-less and he smiled, a gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face, perfect white teeth flashing from beneath an immaculately groomed beard, as he extended his arm towards you.

“Andy Barber.” His fingers gently brushed the back of your knuckles, as you shook his hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Oh, of course.” You smiled back. “One of our attorneys.”

“Our?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m Y/N. I work in the media department. I mean I only started a few weeks ago but...”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to meet you, Y/N, and welcome aboard.” His smile didn’t falter as he let go of your hand and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a moment before you took a deep breath.

And nodded.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

******

Sequel: Follow Andy and reader’s story in Consciousness Of Guilt.

#murder he wrote #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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ssson-of-sparda · 3 years

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Fathers Do Cry (DMC Vergil one shot)

Summary: Vergil remembers his last Father's Day with Sparda and doesn't really realise how similar to him he has become.

Tags: Father's Day special / DADGIL! / Vergil acting like a dad to Nero

Author’s note: I woke up this morning suddenly inspired. Doesn't happen very often so enjoy ;) ps: I just love Dadgil!

***

His big blue eyes staring without blinking, the child was observing his father sitting by the fireplace in the parlour. Full of admiration, he was detailing all the features of his serious face, all the details of his confident posture and all the different luxurious fabrics that made his purple finery and as he did, he repeated to himself, wished, prayed, that someday, one day, he would grow up to be just like him. “Aren’t you going to speak, Vergil?” The father’s powerful voice asked as he finally acknowledged the boy’s presence with a small amused smile, wondering what brilliant thoughts were occupying his eldest son’s sharp mind this time. “I made this for you, father.” With a solemnity that didn’t suit a five-years-old but that somehow fitted Vergil’s young yet wise spirit and his will to be perfect son in the eyes of Sparda, the boy handed a paper sheet to his father. “ And what would that be?” The man said as he took his son’s gift. “It’s father’s day so … I made you a poem… or tried to.” The adorable embarrassment tensing the child’s traits in funny grimaces made the father's smile wider but Vergil, suddenly too preoccupied with the blue paint stuck under his fingernails, didn’t notice it as he didn’t notice the paternal pride and the love shining in his eyes. “I thought your mother wanted you and your brother to make a gift together this year.” “ You know Dante” Vergil sighed. “He has no artistic talent whatsoever. He wanted to make you a wooden sword to play with us.” “ That’s actually a very good idea.” Vergil frowned; suddenly worried that Sparda would not like his gift and preferred Dante’s – if he had made one of course. “Except when the sword looks like two twigs glued together. You should have seen this, father. It looked ri.di.cu.lous.” Sparda laughed at his son’s attitude, finding amusement in this sibling rivalry. “Why don’t you read me your poem then?” “ I learnt it by heart actually. The paper is for you to remember this day by … and also because I wanted to illustrate it. Look.” Vergil approached his father, seized the poem from his big hands and climbed on his lap to show him the delicate aquarelle he had painted around the lines. “Impressive. Did your mother help you with this?” Vergil shook his head. “No, I did it on my own. I used a book I saw in that old man’s house I often go to as a reference.” “ The old academic that lives down the hill? I thought you found him boring.” Vergil shook his head again, furiously this time and with a serious frown. “That’s Dante. Me, I really like him. He teaches me a lot of things. And he has lots of books. It’s incredible.”

Sparda ruffled his son’s silver hair whose hairdo was always made in order to somehow mimic his, thinking what a promising young boy Vergil was. Maybe more promising than Dante to be honest – though he knew he shouldn’t think that. But there was something that Vergil had that Dante lacked. Perhaps rationality beyond his age … or some kind of maturity … wisdom maybe? He couldn’t really pinpoint what it was exactly. All he knew is that it was something unique and special, just like his son, something that made Sparda certain that one day his eldest would grow up to be a great man, a man greater than him, a man worthy of the Yamato and capable of handling its burdening power.

“Can I recite my poem now?” Sparda smiled at the sparkle in Vergil’s eyes. “Sure.” The boy quickly took back his previous position in front his father, cleared his throat, put his hands behind his back and stuck out his chest.

Sparda listened to every word, fascinated and amazed by his little one’s talent and profoundly moved by all the love, all the meticulousness and the time he put in each line and in each word. “Oh Vergil. The world is not yet ready for someone like you.” The father said as he let a tear roll down his cheek. “Why are you crying, father?” Vergil worried. “Because fathers cry, my son.”

That day was the last time Vergil truly celebrated Father’s day for a few weeks later he had no father, no one to make poems to, no one to admire by the fireplace. Just a memory that he feared would sooner or later fade but that he would cling to dearly for as long as he could.

“Why don’t we bring flowers to Daddy’s statue in the park today?” Eva asked when Vergil was six, when Vergil was seven, when Vergil was eight only to be welcome by a heavy silence that was no longer hiding brilliant thoughts but a painful sadness. But each time he did as Eva suggested, maybe more for her than for him, maybe because he still loved and admired Sparda even if he had left him, maybe because he thought that his father might see him and smile from wherever he was now, the same way he had smiled when he had read him his poem on his last father’s day.

And that’s certainly why, more than three decades later, he was back in this park, on this very special day with a bouquet of purple peonies he had bought on his way here and a memory that never faded. A memory he could still recite.

"Whether the sun shines or the sky cries, Whether the day breaks or the night wakes, My father always as a rampart stands Protecting my house with his bare hands.

He is strong, he is brave And the day he always saves. A knight in cockroach armor To scare my terror away."

Vergil scoffed at the lines, at the way they rolled off his tongue, finding them funny and childish and not worthy of a Blake or a Fielding at all unlike what he thought when he wrote them as a child. The over-confidence of youth probably.

“Did you just come up with that?” Vergil turned around to see Nero walking towards him with a smirk. A surprise but not a bad one. “Cause the rhyming sucks a little. I expected more of you.” “ And I suppose you’re an expert in poetry now?” “ I may read have read one of your books.” He said as he tapped the pocket of his marine blue coat hiding Vergil's most sacred book with pride. “You still have it I see.” “Hey! It’s a real page turner! Can’t get my nose out of it.” Vergil had a crooked smile, understanding perfectly what his son meant.

Son? Even a year after this reveal he still couldn’t believe this boy before him, the one he had lived such a terrifying yet incredible adventure with, was his own flesh and blood.

A sigh almost escaped Vergil’s lips. How did he make such a fine young man? Someone so selfless, so generous, so loving when he was nothing like that. “ What are you doing here, Nero?” He asked, trying not to think more about this. “ Well it’s father’s day, no? So … I made you something… or tried to.” The embarrassed grimace Nero suddenly made made Vergil’s smile grew larger but Nero, too worried to keep the gift covered with the pieces of newspapers he had taped together, didn’t see it as he didn’t see the paternal pride and the love shining in his father’s blue eyes. The same paternal pride Sparda had displayed when Vergil was a little child with a small paper in his hands. “Thank you Nero.” The man said as he gently took the present from his son's hands, wondering what it was even though the long shape didn’t leave much place for imagination.

He cautiously unwrapped the thing, already feeling a happiness he hadn’t felt in years warming his heart. And when he saw a katana-like wooden sword that purposely looked like Yamato he couldn’t help but smile and let a tiny drop of water blur his blue eyes. “It was Dante’s idea. Though he might have suggested gluing two sticks together.” Nero said as he scratched his head. “It looks amazing.” Vergil’s honesty was like a knife in Nero’s chest but in a good way. It was as if all the stress and all the stupid fear he had felt while making this toy sword had been stabbed away. He felt relieved, joyful even that his always so stern father was genuinely grateful and seemed to appreciate his gift. “That way, you won’t have to tear my arm apart again cause look, you have two now.” Nero tried to joke but his words just erased the smile on Vergil’s face.

“There is not a single day I don't regret what I did to you.” This was Vergil’s way to say he was sorry. Nero was certain of it. He didn’t need to know his father that well to know it. After all, he was somewhat the same. “Hey, it’s in the past. Plus it grew back, so no harm done.” He winked, trying to ease the atmosphere with a bad pun worthy of Dante even though there was a time he would have ripped Vergil’s chest open for what he had done. And a part of him knew he would never forget and maybe never fully forgive what happened. But right now he was just happy to have a family, to have a father and to finally be able to celebrate a day he has so long hated. “ This world doesn’t deserve you, son.” Vergil solemnly declared. He had never called Nero that way and that name felt strange yet beautiful to both of them. It made the son and the father smile in ways they never thought they would smile at each other. “ Damn, are you crying old man? I thought devils never cry.” Nero suddenly harrumphed when he finally noticed the water growing in his father's eyes. “ Well, fathers do cry." Vergil declared as he allowed a tear of joy and pride to fall along his pale cheek. The first in a very very long time but one he will never regret or brush away. "Father do cry.” He repeated with a glance at the statue of his father behind him.

#vergil #devil may cry #devil may cry one shot #dmc one shot #vergil one shot #nero #sparda #fanfiction #dadgil

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bananaofswifts · 3 years

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Taylor Swift Turns on a Facsimile Machine for the Ingenious Recreations of ‘Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’: Album Review

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

By Chris Willman

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

There is no “best actress” award at the Grammys, perhaps for obvious reasons, but maybe there should be this coming year. And the Grammy would go to… Taylor Swift, for so persuasively playing her 18-year-old self in “Fearless (Taylor’s Version),” her beyond-meticulous recreation of the 2008 recording that did win her her first album of the year trophy back in the day. It’s impossible to overstate just how thoroughly the new version is intended as an exact replica of the old — all the way down to her startling ability to recapture an untrained teen singing voice she’s long matured and moved on from. It’s a stunt, to be sure, but a stunt for the ages — mastering the guile it takes to go back to sounding this guileless.

There are two different, very solid reasons to pick up or stream “Taylor’s Version,” regardless of whether you share her ire for the Big Machine label, whose loose ways with her nine-figure catalog precipitated this, the first in a six-album series of remakes where she’ll be turning on the facsimile machine. One is to marvel at her gift for self-mimicry on the album’s original tracks, where she sounds as possessed by her younger self as Regan ever was by Pazuzu. The other reason is, of course, to check out the six “vault” numbers that Swift wrote during that time frame but has never released before in any form, which dispenses with stylistic fealty to the late 2000s and frames her “Fearless”-era discards in production and arrangements closer to “Folklore.” Those half-dozen (kind of) new tracks really do sound like modern Taylor Swift covering her old stuff.

But those original lucky 13? It’s the same damn record… which is kind of hilarious and marvelous and the kind of meta-ness that will inspire a thousand more think-pieces than it already has, along with possibly efforts at forensic analysis to figure out how she did it.

It would not be surprising if, as we speak, Big Machine was putting a combined team of scientists and lawyers on the case of the new album’s waveform readouts, to make sure it’s not just the original album, remixed. Honestly, it’s that close. The timings of the songs are all within a few seconds of the original tracks, if not coming in at exactly the same length. The duplication effort doesn’t allow any detours. If “Forever and Always” had a cold open then, it’s going to have a cold open now. If the 2008 “That’s the Way I Love You” had slamming rock guitars with an almost subliminal banjo being plucked beneath the racket, so will the 2021 “That’s the Way I Loved You.” A drum roll to end the old “Change”? A drum roll to end its body-snatcher doppelganger. And if she chuckled before the final chorus of “Hey Stephen” 13 years ago, so will that moment be cause for a delighted giggle now.

Of course, much analysis will be put into whether the new laugh is a more knowing-sounding laugh. And that will be part of the fun for a certain segment of audiophile Swifties who will go looking for the slightest change as evidence of something meaningful. When “Love Story (Taylor’s Version)” first came out weeks back to preview the album, there were reviews written that swore she’d subtly changed up her phrasing to put a contemporary spin on the song. And maybe they were right, but, having done a fair amount of A/B testing of the two versions of the album, I found myself feeling like I do when vinyl buffs insist there are significant sonic differences between the first stamper version of an LP and one that was pressed a year later. If you can spot those very, very, very modest tweaks, go for it.

But my suspicion is that if Swift has decided to turn a phrase a little differently here or there on this album, or done anything too differently aside from brighten the sound, she’s doing it more as an Easter egg, for the people who are on that kind of hunt, than anything really designed as reinterpretation. Because the last thing Swift wants most of her fans doing is A/B-ing the two versions, the way I did. The whole point is to have folks retire the OG “Fearless” from their Spotify playlists, right? The Swift faithful were already threatening to rain down damnation on anyone caught sneaking an audio peek at the old version after midnight. What she intended was to come up with a rendering so faithful that you would never have a need to spin the vintage album again. In that, she has succeeded beyond what could have been imagined even in the dreams of the few self-forgers who’ve tried this before, like a Jeff Lynne.

Is there any reason to find value in the new versions if you couldn’t care less about the issues of masters and contracts and respect in business deals that made all this strangely possible? Yes, with the first one being that the new album just sounds like a terrific remastering of the old — the same notes, and you’d swear the same performances, but sounding brighter and punchier just on a surface level. But on a more philosophical one, it’s not just a case of Swift playing with her back catalog like Andy Warhol played with his soup can. It’s really a triumph of self-knowledge and self-awareness, in the way that Swift is so hyper-conscious of the ways she’s matured that she has the ability to un-mature before our very ears. With her vocals, it’s virtuosic, in a way, how she’s made herself return to her unvirtuosic upstart self.

On Swift’s earliest albums and in those seminal live shows — at the time when she was famously being told she “can’t sing,” to quote a song from the follow-up album — there was a slight shrillness around the edges of her voice that, if you lacked faith, you might’ve imaged would be there forever. It wasn’t. That was partly youth, and partly just the sheer earnestness with which she wanted to convey the honesty of the songs. She’s advanced so much since then — into one of pop’s most gifted modern singers, really — that the woman of “Folklore” and “Evermore” seems like a completely different human being than the one who made the self-titled debut and “Fearless,” never mind just a woman versus girl. It wouldn’t have seemed possible that she could go back to her old way of singing at the accomplished age of 31, but she found and recreated that nervous, sincere, pleading voice of yesteryear. And maybe it was just a technical feat, of temporarily unlearning what she’s learned since then, but you can sense that maybe she had to go there internally, too, to the place where she was counseling other girls to guard their sexual virtue in “Fifteen,” or wondering whether to believe the fairy tale of “Love Story” or the wakeup call of “White Horse,” or proving with “Forever & Always” that writing a song telling off Joe Jonas for his 27-second breakup call was better than revenge.

If at first you’re not inclined to notice that Swift has re-adopted a completely different singing voice for the “Fearless” remakes, the realization may kick in when those “vault” tracks start appearing in the later stretch of this hour-and-50-minute album. The writing on the six songs that have been pulled up from the 2008 cutting room floor seems primitive, even a little bit by the standards of the “Fearless” album; there are great lines and couplets throughout the rescued tracks, but you can see why she left them as works-in-progress. But she doesn’t use her youthful voice on these resurrections, nor does she employ the actual style of “Fearless” very strictly. Of course, she feels more freedom on these, because there are no predecessors in the Big Machine catalog she’s asking you to leave behind. Her current collaborators of choice, Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner, divided the co-producing work on these fresher songs, as they did for the two all-new albums she released in the last year. (The “Fearless” recreations are co-produced by Swift with Christopher Rowe, someone who worked on remixes for Swift back in that era.) They co-produce the vault songs in a style that sounds somewhere between “Fearless” and Folklore”… a more spectral brand of country-pop, with flutes and synths and ringing 12-string guitars and a modicum of drum programming replacing some (but not all) of the acoustic stringed instruments you’d expect to be carried over from “Fearless” proper.

Of the previously unheard tracks, Swift was right — she’s always been her own best self-editor — in putting out “You All Over Me” first, in advance of the album. With its imagery of half-muddy stones being upturned on the road, this song has advanced lyrical conceits more of a piece with the level of writing she’s doing now than some of the slightly less precocious songs that follow. Still, there’s something to be said for the sheer zippiness with which Swift conveys teen heartbreak in “Mr. Perfectly Fine,” which has a lyric that shows Swift had long since absorbed the lessons Nashville had to offer about how to come up with a high-concept song — the concept, in this case, being just to stick the word “mister” in front of a lot of phrases relating to her shallow ex, as if they were honorary titles to be conferred for being a shit, while she employs the “miss” for herself more sparingly.

Some of the remaining outtake songs go back more toward the sedate side of “Fearless”-style material; she didn’t leave any real bangers in the can. “We Were Happy,” the first of two successive tracks to bring in Keith Urban (but only for backgrounds on this one), employs fake strings and real cello as Swift waxes nostalgic for a time when “you threw your arms around my neck, back when I deserved it.” It’s funny, in a good way, to hear Swift at 31 recreating a song she wrote at 17 or 18 that pined for long-past better times. The next song, “That’s When,” brings Urban in for a proper duet where he gets a whole second verse and featured status on half a chorus, and it’s lovely to hear them together. But, as a make-up song, it doesn’t feel as real or lived-in as the more personal things she was writing at the time — and the fact that its chords are pretty close to a slightly more balladic version of the superior “You Belong With Me” was probably a pretty good reason for dropping it at the time.

the 18-year-old Taylor Swift is a great place to visit, but “Folklore” and “Evermore” are the place you’ll want to return to and live, unless you have an especially strong sentimental attachment to “Fearless”… which, sure, half of young America does. It’s not irreconcilable to say that the two albums she issued in the last year represent a daring pinnacle of her career, but that “Fearless” deserved to win album of the year in 2008. Has there been a greater pop single in the 20th century than “You Belong With Me”? Probably not. Did the album also have lesser moments you probably haven’t thought about in a while, like the just-okay “Breathe”? Yes. (I looked up to see whether Swift had ever played that little remarked upon number in concert, and according to setlists.fm, she did, exactly once… in 2018. Because she’s Taylor Swift, and of course she did.) It’s not certain that her duet with Colbie Caillat really needed to be resurrected, except it’s fun, because hey, she even roped former duet partners back into her time warp. But there are so many number that have stood the test of time, like “The Way I Love You,” an early song that really got at the complicated feelings about passion and fidelity that she would come to explore more as she grew into her 20s… and just kind of a headbanger, too, on an album that does love its fiddles and mandolins.

It doesn’t take much to wonder why Swift put up “Fearless” first in this six-album exercise; it’s one of her two biggest albums, along with “1989,” and it’s 13 years old, which does mean something superstitious in the Taylor-verse. In a way, it’ll be more interesting to see what happens when she gets to more complicated productions, like “1989” or “Reputation.” But maybe “Fearless” did present the opportunity for the grandest experiment out of the gate: to recreate something that pure and heartfelt, with all the meticulousness a studio master like Swift can put to that process now, without having it seem like she’s faking sincerity. Let the think-pieces proceed — because this is about six hundred different shades of meta. But, all craftiness and calculation aside, there’s a sweetness to the regression that’s not inconsequential. It harks back to a time when she only wondered if she could be fearless, before she learned it the harder way for sure. What they say about actors “disappearing into the role”? That really applies to Taylor Swift, playing herself.

#taylor swift #fearless #review

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emotionallyits2009 · 3 years

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deancas fic rec list!

hello everyone! happy christmas to those who celebrate it, my gift to you is my fic rec list that i said i would make like a month ago. the only thing it is organized by is canonverse vs alternate universe. tried to cover a variety of subjects but there are in particular many fics of the genre “postcanon where cas is human and he and dean live together and slowly finally get their shit together” because i know what i’m about, son. HOPE U ENJOY. and if you wanna talk about any of them or rec me other fics please do. :)

Canonverse:

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo, 30k, explicit “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.” There are many fics set in a post-canon universe where Cas is human and he and Dean live together and slowly fall into a relationship. Imo this one is the best of the best of that genre. This was one of the first fics I read back in July when I was getting Back Into Supernatural where I was like oh fuck I’m like in this. Dean builds Cas planters and bookshelves and a chicken coop and they fight and work through it.

Cuckoo And Nest by komodobits, 10k, explicit For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental. It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless. Really Gets the dynamic of Cas doesn’t think Dean wants him to stay/Dean thinks Cas will leave the first chance he gets. Also a nice example of Cas thinking he’s not wanted if he’s not useful/powerful and being told otherwise. Another all-time fave!

lonely hearts by outphastthemoat, 4.5k, gen He thinks he might give up having his own anything just to be able to step foot inside the room next door and sit on the edge of Dean’s bed instead. This one is for the CAS GIRLS who know what LONELINESS feels like.

Helionneiros by aeli_kindara, 24.2k, mature In which Dean visits his mother, and Claire takes Cas on a hunt. I’m always on the lookout for more fic with Claire and Jack. Jack doesn’t show up until the end here but the relationship between Cas and Claire is really nice.

Crawl by aeriallon, 11k, explicit It’s been almost four years since Castiel left Kansas; he'd eventually settled in an island town where he has a job, a house, and a life without the Winchesters. Every winter, Dean drives down to the coast to see him. Another fic where Cas is human but in this one he took some time for himself and got some distance from the Winchesters! He gets to be competent and weird as a human and we love that for him. I must warn you all that this fic contains one use of the phrase “making love” which would normally put me right off but it’s still worth reading. The first of a three-part series.

home where you hold me by microcomets, 1.6k, gen Cas and Dean, in the moments between their battles, ache for quiet spaces. Technically this is a coda to 10x20 but you don’t need the episode for context. Short and very sweet.

Build a Home by domesticadventures, 20.1k, teen After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them. He doesn’t. This one is so cute it’s like what if once they were done saving the world Sam and Dean actually invited other hunters to move into the bunker with them. Obviously Dean wants that to include Cas but doesn’t know how to use his words.

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo, 22.4k, explicit This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore. Angst fic! They go on a road trip and Dean is severely fucked up post-Mark of Cain.

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon, 8.6k, explicit No one ever tells Dean anything. Another nice getting-together fic.

Creature of Habit by trinityofone, 5.2k, teen The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. Or: How Cas developed some bad habits, and Dean coped surprisingly well. This one is ancient by destiel standards (written during season 5) but it manages to nail the married couple vibes they give off in later seasons. Cas is a bitch and Dean likes him so much. <3

The (Mostly Accidental) Courtship of Dean Winchester by Tuesday, 11.2k, mature Angelic marriage rites were never intended to go quite like this. Another old one that is a lot of fun! They get Accidental Angel Married and if you don’t enjoy dumb fanfiction tropes like that I don’t know what to say to you.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit by pyrebi, 4k, teen In which angelic marriage bonds are apparently stupidly easy to trigger, Cas wages multidimensional war in Heaven, Dean can't catch a break like ever, Sam rather enjoys being a dick, love saves the day, and nobody consummates anything. The OTHER accidental angel marriage fic written in 2010.

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord, 24.8k, explicit A week ago, Dean was pulled out of Hell. Now, he’s apparently woken up in 2018, and the angel that a mere twenty-four hours beforehand had threatened to chuck him back into the pit is sleepily pouring himself coffee and wearing Dean’s second-favourite Zeppelin shirt. It all seems like a perfect happy ending, but with Hell’s scars still so fresh, Dean can’t imagine how he could have possibly gotten there. At the same time, the Dean who went to sleep in the bunker, right next to Cas, wakes up on Bobby’s couch in 2008. He’s instantly bombarded with questions by a Lilith-obsessed brother and a man who’s been dead for years, and must decide between keeping his finally-perfect life intact, and the lives he could save by re-writing history. Regardless of these choices, both Deans are trapped in the wrong decade, and their only way back lies with a Castiel still very much under Heaven’s thumb – one who might find the future Dean describes difficult to believe. Time travel is FUN. There’s an excellent part where (minor spoilers) future!Dean is like, “Guess what, asshole? You like me so much you marry me!!!!!!!!!!!” to 2008!Castiel that made me laugh out loud the first time I read it. Also just a good reminder of how most problems in life are temporary and if you could go back in time to talk to your younger self you’d be like, “Hey man. Chill out. You get through it.”

The Path of Fireflies by museaway, 63.7k, mature After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years. There’s a lot of amnesia fic and djinn fic out there were Dean wakes up ~suddenly together with Cas~ but I like this one in particular because he’s initially very confused and kind of a dick about it until he acknowledges that being with Cas makes him happy.

take the long way home by dothraki_shieldmaiden, 95k, explicit Three months ago, when Dean decided to retire, he thought his life was going to end up differently. He'd thought that he might get to have it all, Sam, Cas, Jack, and nice little place to live. Instead he gets Sam and Jack off on their Summer of Love Tour, radio silence from Cas, and a never-ending road trip consisting of himself. Still reeling from the loss of his grace, Castiel travels the country in search of hunts. Driven by a need to prove his usefulness, he pushes himself beyond all limits of endurance. Together, with the help of a few friends, a crumbling Victorian house, and a stray cat, Dean and Castiel patch themselves back together and create a home together. Do you wanna read almost one hundred thousand words of Dean and Cas having extremely intense feelings but refusing to voice them aloud? Haha of course you do that’s why you’re here. There’s also a lot about Cas adjusting to being human and being depressed about it which might resonate if you’ve ever felt weird about having a body. To be honest the author could stand to use a few more commas but there were also half a dozen moments that made me put my phone down and drag my hand slowly over my face and whisper “oh my god” to myself which is like, the ultimate measure of a good fanfiction so it gets to be on the list.

like moses and batman and james dean by saltyfeathers, 31.6k, explicit dean used to turn tricks. over a decade later, he met cas. Have you seen the fanon (apparently pioneered by Mr. Jackles “Original Deankin” Ackles himself) that Dean used to prostitute himself to feed himself and Sam when they were younger? Are you interested in exploring that concept in fanfiction? Well, this is the only fic you need. Mind the tags on this one! It’s not what I’d call happy but it’s good.

Some Assembly Required by narrow_staircases, 47k, mature It’s September of 2005, and Dean Winchester, in an attempt to outrun old mistakes and painful memories, finds himself in southern Kentucky on a wild goose chase. He’s completely certain this weird religious movement he’s “investigating” is a hoax, despite the miraculous healings people report, and he’ll be back on the road in a day or two. Things are looking up when he meets Cas, an awkward (and gorgeous) graduate student who’s actually doing honest-to-god research into the local tent revival meetings. When that research takes a weird and personal turn, Dean’s left to face two very serious realities: one, this may be a real case after all, and two, he’s fallen way harder for Cas than he should ever have let himself. Stanford-era AU of Dean trying to avoid his father and getting in over his head on a case.

Alternate universe:

And This, Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets, 57k, mature Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen. Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on the poetry of Jack Allen. Mundane AUs in this fandom have to be really, really good to catch my attention and this one is! It’s exactly what it says in the summary and the characterization is spot-on.

Out to Drift by deathbanjo, 20.9k, mature Dean drives a black car with a loud engine. He lies too easily. He keeps a gun in the back of his jeans, and Castiel isn’t sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean has killed someone before. Two people in fucked-up unstable situations meeting and forming a connection. Honestly guys I really just love deathbanjo.

#fic #deancas #destiel

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rheawritessometimes · 3 years

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A Bad Deal

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } A continuation of "Childe gets an owie." Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Mention of Injury, Physical Intimacy, Undefined Relationship, Questionable Behavior, Bad Writing, Please Let Me Know if Anything Needs to be Added.

{ Notes } I realized when I decided to write this that I didn't title the last fic, but the best works are always untitled. Not really I'm just forgetful. This time Childe can have mercy. I was so surprised with the response to the last fic, the amount of people who liked it was a huge surprise. Also, the comments on it were so kind. So obviously I needed to write a follow-up right away. I hope it's equally as enjoyable. Set up for a continuation if people like it. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,940

Getting Childe back to Liyue was a simple affair, he wasn't hindered by any pain he might have been in. The Snezhnayan wasn't one to complain about pain, even if he wasn't numbed up. He seemed to be in a cheerful mood, chattering animatedly as you walked. The fact he intentionally moved closer to you so that your shoulders occasionally brushed did not escape your notice. Neither of you said anything about it.

Luckily the Golden House wasn't very far from the harbor and the path was clear of any monsters, for which you were thankful. You were more than capable of handling most monsters on your own, but you were worried Childe would jump into combat and end up hurting himself more than he already had been. He was capable as a fighter but you thought him to be too reckless.

The visit to Bubu Pharmacy was entirely uneventful, it was confirmed that Childe had two broken ribs on his right side and he was given some medication for the pain. There wasn't much else to be done other than recommend regularly icing the area and no strenuous activities. That was expected, broken ribs were good at healing naturally, given rest. You wondered if it would even be possible for him to take it easy as a Harbinger, but it seemed the other Harbingers weren't as active as him so perhaps it was possible.

"I think I can just take it easy for two weeks and then go back to business as usual," Childe remarked as you began down the stairs. You looked at him with a frown, wondering if he was serious. This man had no regard for his long-term wellbeing.

"You need to rest for six weeks, at least. It's better for you to recover entirely before you get back to... whatever it is you do," you said with a stern tone. Sometimes it really did seem like Childe was a child. Haha.

"I'm a busy guy, I can't take that kind of time off," he argued, not seeming concerned by that in the slightest. It was true that broken ribs weren't the worst injury to work around, but it still wasn't wise to be so careless.

"Well, you're a valuable asset to Snezhnaya, surely you'd be allowed time off to recover. The Tsaritsa must be at least that understanding," you reasoned, now realizing you were walking along with him not sure where you were going. You didn't even know where he lived, it was clear he didn't spend his nights on the streets at least.

The Harbinger hummed thoughtfully, clearly scheming. You wondered what excuse he would come up with. Probably something about how he was 'very strong and can recover quickly'. You could almost scoff at the mere thought, it seemed entirely in character for him.

"Alright, I'll request time off to recover," he said, grinning cheekily, "if you help me while I recover."

You raised a questioning brow, that was something you hadn't predicted he was considering. Still, you cared enough for him to want him to fully recover, and helping him out wasn't beyond your abilities. Aside from one attempt to destroy Liyue, he had been pretty harmless.

"You'll rest for the whole six weeks?" you asked, still skeptical. You weren't sure it was possible for him to stay away from a fight for that long.

"Yep, I promise."

"Alright, deal."

Childe offered you his hand to shake, and you took it. Looking back on it, it was probably not the best idea to solidify your agreement in the land of contracts. Not when the terms hadn't been thoroughly discussed, at least.

"Great, you can stay at my apartment while I recover," he chirped, opening a door to what you assumed to be his apartment. You hadn't even realized you'd arrived in front of the building, too busy trying to convince Childe to take care of himself.

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly closed it when an ominous feeling washed over you. For some reason, it felt like it would be unwise to break your agreement. You silently cursed your past self, maybe you were the careless one.

Your displeasure must have been showing on your face because Childe laughed after seeing your expression. You clenched your jaw, but decided it would be better if you didn't say anything, he was certain to tease you if you rose to the bait.

"Second floor," he said as you walked down the hall, gesturing to a stairwell. He huffed once as you were going up the stairs, and you could only assume the numbness was beginning to fade. A wave of guilt washed over you at the thought. You broke his ribs and forced him to take off work for six weeks, so you were probably out of the running for friend of the year.

You could immediately tell which door led to Childe's apartment when you got to the second floor, there was a Fatui guard standing outside of it. He looked entirely out of place and you could imagine he was bored out of his mind just standing there. When he noticed your presence he eyed you suspiciously but said nothing, instead bowing his head to Childe.

The Harbinger completely ignored his subordinate, opening the door to his apartment and ushering you inside. Once the door was closed he ran a hand through his hair, letting out what sounded like a sigh of relief. It was probably nice to be home and finally able to relax after all that walking around with broken ribs.

"Your guard doesn't seem to like me," you remarked absently as you scanned his apartment. It was clean and surprisingly spacious, but a little bare. The floors were hardwood and there was a large carpet in the middle of the living room, with a sofa and some other furniture atop it. There were no houseplants to be seen.

"Yeah, I don't bring many people home," Childe laughed in response, plopping down on his couch which had no throw pillows or blankets. There was a wooden coffee table in front of it, but not much else around it.

"Oh, are you having relationship troubles?" you quipped in response, lips quirking up at the corners. He scoffed indignantly at your words.

"Have you seen this face? Of course not, I'm just waiting on the right person," he stated, lying sprawled across the couch. You shook your head at this, moving to the kitchen in hopes of finding some ice. Childe didn't say anything about you snooping around his kitchen, so you assumed there was nothing he felt he had to hide in there.

After gathering a dish towel and some ice, you came back with the make-shift icepack. He hadn't had a proper icepack in his freezer, which surprised you considering his line of work. Maybe later you would head back up to the pharmacy to get some.

"Ice your side for now. You should wash up and get changed soon," you told him after you handed him the icepack. While there had been no blood the fight was physically straining, so he probably needed to clean up. You realized after saying this that you had no change of clothes here, you'd need to go back to your place to get some things if he planned on having you stay here for six weeks.

"Okay, mom," he joked in response, you could only roll your eyes at this. He left the icepack laying on the right side of his chest, not bothering to hold it in place. You didn't bother to nag him about it, it was close enough.

"I'm going back to my place to get some stuff, I shouldn't be gone for long," you announced, turning to leave the apartment.

"Wait!" he shouted, sitting up suddenly, the icepack sliding down into his lap. "You owe me a kiss!"

You turned to look at him, a bit surprised by him shouting. You had forgotten about that entirely, but you did promise. So you walked over to the couch and leaned down to press your lips against his. You had intended for it to be a brief kiss, but his hand gently held your wrist and the other went up to brush against your jaw.

With a sigh you deepened the kiss, allowing yourself him to indulge for a little while. You were surprised by the slow pace he set, but certainly not displeased. He gently bit your bottom lip before pulling away, opening his eyes and giving you a smug look when he noticed your face had become a bit flushed.

"Get washed up and put clean clothes on while I'm gone," you said as you pulled away, trying to seem as unflustered as possible. It wasn't very effective, if his laughter as you fled the apartment was anything to go by.

Gathering everything you thought you would need from your apartment was entirely uneventful, you tried to pack everything you'd need for six weeks into a duffel bag but it was hopeless. You were bound to forget things and a duffel bag isn't much space, so you decided you could just come back whenever you needed something.

The Fatui guard stationed outside Childe's apartment was not shy about giving you a dirty look as you approached. It was safe to say the Harbinger probably didn't often have company. The guard seemed particularly suspicious of your bag, like that was the thing to worry about when it was commonplace to materialize weapons out of thin air.

"Stop," he ordered in a booming voice as you neared the door. You followed his order, halting outside the door. You proceeded to stare him dead in the eyes as you knocked three times on the door.

It swung open shortly after, Childe stepping out of the way to let you in. The way the guard clenched his jaw made you feel very smug.

"You don't have to knock, just come in," he said, and you were silently very thankful for those words. It was a little something extra to rub it in. Perhaps your loathing was a little misplaced, that man was likely not one who had attacked you in the past. But, he did still give you a dirty look and was none too polite, so there was something. Sometimes people are petty, and that's okay.

Once you were inside the apartment, you noticed Childe had showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes. The white t-shirt and grey sweatpants were rather different from his usual look, but it strangely suited him rather well. Maybe everything looks good on him because he's a pretty Fatui boy.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, shifting the weight of your bag as you followed him to the kitchen.

"Good, doesn't hurt much. What do you want for dinner?" he asked, opening the cupboards to survey their contents. How casual the atmosphere was made it feel awfully domestic.

"Um, I'm fine with whatever you make," you replied, banishing the thought from your mind. You weren't really sure about your feelings on the matter yet so you would push them all off to the side and sort through them some other time.

"Oh, right. There's a spare room down the hall across from the bedroom. You can put your stuff in there," he said, looking over at you standing in the doorway with your bag. You were already walking away when he added, "Or you're welcome to stay in my bedroom with me~"

"You wish."

Maybe six weeks with Childe wouldn't be too bad.

#genshin impact #genshin #childe #tartaglia #childe x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #gn!reader #injury #intimacy #undefined relationship #tartagalicious #i still don't know how tags work #i hope y'all like it #i'm so in love with the people who commented on the last one #fatui #not me setting myself up for ANOTHER part

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tomorrowxtogether · 3 years

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There’s Nothing Holding TXT’s Soobin Back

PAPER is spending this week inside the minds of Tomorrow X Together (known as TXT). Check back tomorrow at 11 AM EST for our interview with 4th Gen It Boy Yeonjun.

It's hard to imagine that there was once a time Choi Soobin felt shy. Still, six-foot-one and dashingly dimpled, the leader of Tomorrow X Together has nothing but deep fondness for his timid younger self — who, in 2019, stood shakily in the center of the K-pop storm that would eventually become his life. He knows he was a bit of an anxious mess at the start of his idol career, but he was an endearingly anxious mess.

What a difference a few years in the spotlight makes.

Fans might have noticed a change in the 20-year-old performer when Tomorrow X Together (known as TXT) began promoting their album The Chaos Chapter: Freeze in May. He seemed more confident and outspoken, eager to speak his mind and have more fun. There was a different kind of fire in his eyes, burning with mischief and mirth. That's because Soobin, like so many of us, spent the past year realizing things about himself.

"I have changed a lot since [my] debut and I'm also trying hard to change myself as well," he tells PAPERfrom a sunlit room in Seoul. He's wearing a leather jacket, the ideal sartorial choice for a young man experiencing his first taste of rebellion.

It's not that he didn't love who he was before, but rather that he saw an opportunity for growth. "In the beginning, I was really introverted," he explains, his voice soft and his speech slow and measured. The thing you have to know about Soobin is that he takes his time. "I couldn't really say the things that I wanted to say," he adds. "Now, I can't hold myself back anymore. If there's something that needs to be said, then I say it."

He credits this newfound assertiveness to his bandmates Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun and Hueningkai, who help him stay present and attentive. In return, he offers them reassurance. Part of his leadership duties within the group involves delivering pointed, honest feedback and bearing the weight of responsibility that comes with it. Too afraid to hurt one another's feelings, the members of TXT used to hold regular team meetings in their shared apartment to discuss their worries and concerns; now, Soobin says, he encourages them to speak their minds freely whenever they feel like it. Why wait to say what's on your mind?

"Our relationship has evolved," he says. "I used to think that we were like a family that couldn't get any closer, but each month we do become closer. I can read their expressions so well. I look at them, and I can predict what they're going to say and how they're going to act. We've become more family than family."

There are, of course, some things that never change. He still coos over photos of raccoons and hedgehogs (he's now raising his own pet hedgehog, named Odi, in his dorm room). He indulges in baked goods, from cookies to madeleines to bread (his favorite). He prefers tactile hobbies, like baking, mixology, plant parenting, taking polaroid photos and editing videos. And he's a huge fan of the K-pop industry's formative years — an unabashed second gen stan, if you will. A clip of Soobin singing Block B's "Nillili Mambo" went viral on TikTok and Twitter, reaching instant meme status among stans and locals.

"Now, I can't hold myself back anymore. If there's something that needs to be said, then I say it."

In fact, it was the charisma of Block B, INFINITE, 2PM, Miss A and his future labelmates BTS that inspired his dream of becoming an idol. "Growing up, I really loved K-pop," he says. "I watched all of the music shows, and I always felt like I was watching something amazing." (A true full-circle moment, Soobin is now a MC on Music Bank, a weekly live music show.) He felt moved by it. Beyond the dynamic performances and unparalleled work ethic, what appealed to Soobin most about being an idol was the chance to give "strength" to those who needed it. "[It] looked like a great job."

So he took matters into his own hands and emailed an audition tape to Big Hit Music when he was in the ninth grade. His parents initially opposed the idea of him pursuing a career as an idol. The youngest of three siblings, Soobin was used to being coddled. However, his mother's concerns weren't unfounded. The idol trainee system for auditioning and creating stars is notoriously difficult and hyper competitive, and the odds of making a company's debut team are so low they're subterranean. "They wanted me to study," Soobin recalls. "They didn't want me to be a trainee, but they saw how much I wanted this and how hard I was trying." After he made it to the second round of auditions, his mother allowed him to put his studies on hold to follow his dream.

They couldn't have predicted the success that would follow: debuting atop the iTunes charts in 44 countries; sweeping the industry's new artist awards; a sold-out US showcase (back when touring was a thing); and most recently, bowing at No. 5 on the Billboard 200 with The Chaos Chapter: Freeze. Its repackaged version, The Chaos Chapter: Fight Or Escape, released last week, has sold nearly 500,000 copies, bringing TXT's cumulative 2021 album sales to over 1 million.

To be honest, Soobin is still getting used to it. "Just this morning my parents told me how proud they were of me," he smiles.

For what it's worth, he's proud of himself too. He's credited as a songwriter on two of the songs on Fight Or Escape: "Ice Cream," a funky pop song inspired by the "small happiness that comes from mean thoughts," and "MOA Diary (Dubaddu Wari Wari)," written for their fans. For Soobin, the creative process is a solitary one. He prefers it that way. "When the other members write their lyrics they'll show it to everyone and get feedback, he explains. "I actually don't do that. I put a lot of emotions into my lyrics. I'm maybe a little too honest." That vulnerability, he says, is his strength as a lyricist.

Whether he can see it or not, that openness has been guiding him the whole time, from the childhood days he spent mesmerized by dancing idols on screen to the years of training he endured for the chance to live his dream. Now, he's ready to fully harness those emotions.

"I always felt like I was holding back," he says. "I was a bit shy. Then, we debuted, and for the first time I felt like I had done something that was really meaningful."

#txt #tomorrow x together #210824 #Paper Mag #article #soobin #choi soobin #PAPER #The Chaos Chapter: FIGHT OR ESCAPE #Paper Magazine

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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

Note

If you’re still taking prompts: 22. “When you’re feeling better, I swear, we’ll talk this out.” Qui-Gon& Obi-Wan. You’re writing is so lovely btw!!

Yay, more prompts! And I do love this one. Thank you for choosing it!

CW: this one got rather dark. there are heavy implications of and references to attempted assault of a minor, child death, and other horrors of war.

From this various prompts list.

Requests are currently closed.

They were three days out from Coruscant when the fever made a turn for the worse.

The Jinn/Kenobi team had been deployed to Calzec III to investigate the disappearance of an ambassador, an assignment that had led them down very dark paths into the minds and heart of a planetary society.

A mere two days into their investigation, Obi-Wan had vanished — kidnapped, it was quickly discovered, by the party responsible for the disappearance and murder of the ambassador.

Qui-Gon had assumed that the six days between Obi-Wan’s abduction and his recovery would be the worst of it.

That the growing dread inside him that had gnawed away at his concentration and serenity, the likelihood that he would not reach his apprentice in time, his fears that Obi-Wan was being hurt, would be the most difficult things to handle.

Or even the mingled relief and panic when he had finally found his sixteen-year-old Padawan bound and unconscious in a cellar with a floor half-flooded in dirty water — that after that, they had survived the worst.

He was mistaken.

Obi-Wan was ill when he was pulled out of that cellar. There was no one to trust and nowhere to flee except off-planet, and the the distance between Calzec III and the nearest medically advanced planet was no shorter than simply returning to Coruscant.

So he set a course for Coruscant and settled Obi-Wan in his bunk, stripping off the soiled clothing he had been wearing since his kidnapping and replacing them with a clean set of tunics.

The boy was exhausted, unfocused; his skin was clammy to the touch and he had brief periods where he seemed fully awake and mostly functional.

After the first day of hyperspace travel, they had settled into a routine. Qui-Gon kept to the cockpit, while Obi-Wan kept to his bunk and the fresher, trying to rest and to contain his illness. Qui-Gon knocked periodically on his door, reassuring himself that his apprentice was all right.

And that he was there, because working alone on a hostile planet without knowing anything of his Padawan’s wellbeing aside from being sure that he was in danger had been more of a trial than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

And then, on the third day, he knocked lightly on the door and received no reply.

“Obi-Wan?” he called.

He thought he heard an indistinct mumble. Qui-Gon chuckled, imagining the boy emerging from his blankets like an irritated loth-cat, rumpled and annoyed.

Then Obi-Wan screamed.

Qui-Gon’s mind conjured — for a split second — a new version of the image he had pictured in his mind for over a week — his Padawan, attacked in his sleep — drugged — dragged from his bed —

Then he blinked and the image vanished. Qui-Gon inhaled sharply and pressed on the entry pad, opening the door. He stepped inside the cramped cabin and was relieved to see the boy securely in his bed, the room completely absent of any impossible intruders. But Obi-Wan’s face was flushed with fever, and he was struggling beneath his blankets, thrashing as if he were actually being attacked.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said firmly, shaking his shoulder. “Obi-Wan, wake up.”

The Padawan didn’t seem to register Qui-Gon’s presence at all. He struggled with his bedsheets, small whimpers escaping his lips as he fought.

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon said more sharply. “Wake up now!”

Obi-Wan rolled onto his side and dry heaved, his eyes flying open. His Master dropped to his knees beside the bed, running a hand soothingly up and down the boy’s arm. “It’s all right,” he said. “You were dreaming.”

“C-C—” Obi-Wan choked.

“Shh,” Qui-Gon said again.

“Cerasi—”

Qui-Gon’s heart plummeted. Obi-Wan was not coherent, that was obvious.

The boy had not mentioned that name in over two years.

“Padawan, you must focus,” he said softly. “This is not Melida/Daan. We are on a ship, heading home.”

“Cerasi is…”

…dead…

“…gonna… kill you.” Obi-Wan’s words, and the sheer venom in them, shocked the Jedi Master. Obi-Wan was still struggling, but more slowly now, almost as if he didn’t realize he was doing so. His eyes flickered feverishly to the middle distance, seeing things that weren’t there.

“Padawan…” Qui-Gon said slowly.

“Let them go!” Obi-Wan shrieked suddenly. One arm came loose from the blankets and missed striking his Master by inches. “Let them go, they’re too young! Let them go let them go let them go!”

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon seized his Padawan by the shoulders.

Bloodshot blue eyes suddenly snapped directly onto Qui-Gon’s face, but instead of calming, Obi-Wan’s panic only increased. “Get off me!” He screamed, twisting, kicking, squirming away. “Don’t… don’t you touch me! Stop, stop, stop!” he was wailing now, utter despair twisting his face beyond recognition. “Please don’t!”

Qui-Gon released his Padawan as if burned. He pulled away sharply, horror rising in him, tasting bile.

I wasn’t — I wouldn’t —

It’s a fever dream —

A memory?

Qui-Gon tasted bile. “No,” he heard himself say aloud. “No.”

Obi-Wan had squirmed away, pressing himself flat against the wall the bed rested against, his body curling inwards — the last defense of the helpless, the frightened. The abused.

“I won’t,” he was saying frantically. “I won’t. Get out. Get out. They’re flying in the morning, they’re flying — Nield said — we tried to take the tank but — we lost too many — no. I tried! I did!”

Obi-Wan fell abruptly silent again, staring vaguely, his breaths coming in uneven little puffs. Sweat glistened on his brow, in his hair.

Qui-Gon wanted desperately to reach out and touch his shoulder, wipe his brow, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, terrified of causing another panicked outburst, of hearing —

I don’t know what happened on Melida/Daan.

“Trevor, Meola, Hanta, Chassi, come with me,” Obi-Wan said, still gazing vacantly. His voice, however, was firm. “We need to clear the streets. Gather up the bodies. Any pieces large enough to carry. Leave anything too small.”

I never asked him. I just assumed. He told me about the end of the war and Cerasi’s murder and I never thought to ask for more.

“Hanta?” Obi-Wan said. He coughed. Kept trying to talk even though he could barely breathe. “Hanta? Dammit… she’s gone. Infection. Infection. We’re out of medicine. We’re out. They can’t. I won’t go. They can’t they can’t. Get out.”

Obi-Wan dissolved into jumbled sentences, his eyes fluttering open and shut and open again, his cheeks blazing with fever.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon whispered.

“Cerasi?”

“Obi-Wan.”

“I can ask,” Obi-Wan said, and he sounded very small, so uncertain, nothing like the slowly-more-confident but quiet Padawan who had accompanied him last week. “I could. But he’s not. He’s not. He left, he doesn’t — he doesn’t want me.”

Another chill swept through Qui-Gon. He held his breath, waiting for more, not wanting to hear it but needing to know.

“He left me, I’m not meant — he said I wasn’t meant to be — I’m not good enough for it, Cerasi,” Obi-Wan murmured. His eyes fell closed again. He almost seemed to be sleeping. “He was right about… right about me. I’m not. Not. I can ask. He might not… come back. For you. For you he might. He’s good. Not me. Not me.”

Qui-Gon dropped his head onto the bedsheets, his breath sharp and painful in his chest.

I never asked.

“Nield. I will ask. I’ll ask the Jedi I will, I will. I’m not one of them. For you. I’ll ask for you.”

We never talked about it.

“The little ones, Cerasi. I can watch them. I’ll watch them today. My fingers. The man, he broke my fingers in the alleyway. I’ll watch the little ones, little ones. It’s story time, Jilo. Shhh.”

I let everything that happened afterwards consume it. Consume me.

“Qui-Gon doesn’t want me,” Obi-Wan said, so, so softly, his tone perfectly reasonable. Calm. “My fault. I’m not. It’s okay. I’ll talk to them. It’s okay. I want to… I want to go home. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t,” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked. “I want to go home.”

My Padawan.

With utmost care, Qui-Gon rose to his feet, feeling the floor sway beneath him as if he were at sea and not flying through hyperspace.

He went to the fresher and poured a glass of water and dampened a rag, carrying them both back to the beside. He set the glass on a table, and seated himself cautiously on the side of the bed, radiating as much calm as he could, trying to make his presence known through their training bond.

It must have worked, because Obi-Wan did not panic or flinch away from the person sitting beside him. Or perhaps he was simply too tired, delirious to the point of vacancy.

Qui-Gon reached out with one hand and gently pressed the boy back against his pillows, resting the cool cloth against his forehead once he had settled. He kept his hand there for awhile, and gently stroked the sweat-soaked hair with his thumb, watching the boy’s eyelids flicker as he began to doze, to dream.

With his other hand, Qui-Gon gently took one of Obi-Wan’s, holding it gently as if it were fragile, a treasure beyond price.

“Oh, my boy,” he whispered, and was not shocked to taste salt on his lips as he spoke. “Sleep now. When you wake, we will talk, I swear it. We’ll talk about everything. Anything you want.”

Obi-Wan continued to dream.

As he fell deeper into sleep, his fingers curled gently around Qui-Gon’s, and he did not let go.

fin.

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Note

Hi love!

Sorry for bothering you, but could you do something like really cute and fluffy between Charlie Weasley and reader where he's all shy and delicate maybe teaching her about dragons and their characteristics pls? Like, something that feels really intimate, you know?

I absolutely love your writing and I believe that you could make justice to the character.

Take care darling,

-A

Thank you for the request, loveliest anon! This is actually the first fic request I’ve ever gotten and I’m so happy you like my stuff so much, this makes me very very soft.

This fluff piece was just what I needed to get my mojo back hopefully. Please let me know if this is like what you had in mind - I for one had a lot of fun with it! <3

***

Favourites

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Word Count: ~ 2.800

As a Care of Magical Creatures test covering dragons of all things is imminent and you were too distracted in class to pay proper attention, you know just who to turn to for help.

“You want me to do what?”

Charlie Weasley blinked at you in confusion. He could feel his blood rushing in his ears as he looked at you standing in front of him, clutching you Care for Magical Creatures book to your chest as you raised your eyebrows at him.

“I asked if you could help me studying for the test next week?” you repeated your question, brow slightly furrowed. “I can’t keep track of all these dragon traits and who would know them better than you?”

Charlie felt the heat creeping up on his face. Of course, the test. It was all he had been able to think about ever since Professor Kettleburn had announced the topic; all except you of course.

He tried to formulate a coherent answer that wouldn’t make him look like a blabbering fool in front of you, but the way the dappled sunlight that broke through the trees reflected in your hair distracted him more than he cared to admit.

So he resorted to a weak nod. “Uhm, sure, I’d love to. See you at six in the library?” he managed to stammer out eventually.

A beautiful smile formed on your face as you nodded in enthusiasm. “Sounds great, see you there!”

Charlie watched as you swished around and walked back to your friends, who greeted you with giggles and whispers as they glanced in his direction. You gave one of them a playful swat on the arm, before your clear laugh carried over to him onto the warm summer air and made his heart clench.

He knew all of his dragons by heart, of course he did; this test was the first he hadn’t bothered studying for at all. But now, he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to prepare himself.

The light of the sun had already started to turn into the beautiful golden shade that heralded the end of a warm autumn day as you skittered into the library. You were a little bit late for your study session with Charlie, and the exertion from running all the way from your Common Room flushed your cheeks slightly red. Your friends just hadn’t let you go, all of them just as excited for what they called ‘your dragon date’ as you were. Not that you’d ever tell them that.

You found Charlie sitting at a table near the windows and your breath caught for a moment as you took in the warm light that washed around his frame; it was making his ginger hair glow like fire, the only vibrant speck of colour in this dusty old room full of books.

He had his nose buried in a big, leather-bound tome, his eyes darting over the pages frantically; you noticed how the tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration. He was so immersed in his reading, that he only noticed you approaching as you sat down next to him. Jumping in shock at your sudden appearance, he almost knocked over his ink bottle, only catching it at the last second before its dark, inky content could wash over the thin pages of his book.

“Oh, you’re here already, I didn’t even notice you until now.” His freckled face had flushed a shade darker than usual as he put his ink bottle back into its position and made room for you on the table.

“I’d rather say I’m here finally,” you responded, feeling a little bit guilty at making Charlie wait. “But I see that you started without me.”

He hurriedly closed the book. “No, I was just reading up on some facts about Welsh Greens so I have them sharp in my mind,” he explained, “in case you have questions, you know?”

It was only now that your eyes took in the numerous heaps of books piled up on your table. “First question,” you said as you ran your fingers over the backs of the tomes stacked on top of each other. “I thought the test was about dragons native to Europe and not every single one in existence,” you pulled out a particularly old looking book containing myths and fables, “and beyond.”

You silently counted the numbers of books Charlie had amassed and your eyes went wide. “Charlie, these must be all the books about dragons in the whole library,” you laughed, giggling at the flustered expression of the boy beside you.

“Well, not all the books,” he clarified sheepishly. “There are quite a few in the Restricted Section and then there’s the two I have up in my dorm but forgot to bring and- “

You cut off his rambling by gently touching his arm; he shut up almost instantly, glancing nervously down to where your hand was lying. “It’s alright, it was just a joke.”

“Of course,” Charlie muttered slightly embarrassed. What was wrong with him?

He watched as you pulled your notes from your bag; they were rather sparse compared to the almost three scrolls of parchment he had scribbled down himself.

“Where do you want to start?”

You hummed to yourself as you considered your choices. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread inside Charlie’s chest as you drew your lips into a pensive pout and tapped your index finger against it.

Finally, a neat stack of white flashcards, that lay hidden behind a book on Sea Serpents, caught your attention. You reached over Charlie and pulled them towards you.

Your mouth dropped open as you flicked through them; on every one of the laminated cards was an extensive profile of every kind of dragon imaginable. The descriptions were written out in a neat, accurate hand that looked nothing like the careless scrawl you’d seen on Charlie’s class notes.

But what took your breath away were the detailed drawings below the text. They were done by pencil and although they didn’t move like magical pictures often did, they were so lively as if they only waited to pounce off the paper and take into the air.

Charlie watched you apprehensively as your fingers traced the outline of what appeared to be a Swedish Short-snout. He felt his heart beat faster at the soft, admiring look in your eyes as you turned towards him.

“Did you do these yourself?”

He nodded in response. “It’s hard to find decent descriptions all in one place,” he explained quietly. “I don’t know how accurate the sketches are though; I’ve never seen a dragon in real life.”

You flashed him a radiant smile that had his heart rate pick up considerably. “I don’t care if they’re realistic; they’re brilliant!”

Encouraged by your excitement, he took the flashcards out of your hands and fanned them out, their blank backs facing you. “Then I’d suggest we start with them; pick one!”

Running the fingers along the cards twice, you finally settled on one and drew it out of his grasp. Charlie’s freckled face lit up as he saw which one you had chosen.

“The Ukrainian Ironbelly,” he exclaimed, “my favourite!”

All of his former shyness was suddenly forgotten; this was his prime discipline.

“The Ironbelly is native to the Ukraine, as its name suggests, obviously. It’s considered the largest dragon species in existence with an immense wingspan, long talons and scales that are said to be harder to pierce than steel. It’s name stems from the metallic grey colour of his underside and ever since one particular large specimen carried off a whole sailing ship in the late 18th century, they are under strict observation by wizarding authorities.”

You did your best to jot down the information Charlie dumped on you with impressive speed but there was no way you could keep up with his excited ramblings. So you resorted to listening to him as he lectured you about feeding habits, hunting methods and the average temperature of the flames an Ironbelly could produce.

He sighed wistfully as he paused for breath. “They’re amazing.”

You couldn’t hide your smile at his dreamy expression as you picked out your next card from the stack. “Okay, how about this one?”

The dragon it showed had ridges running along its back, ending in a nasty, arrow-shaped spike at the tip of its tail. It barred its teeth at you in a vicious snarl.

“That’s my favourite, the Hebridean Black,” he repeated his words from before, positively bouncing with energy this time around.

You glanced at the card you two had just worked your way through. “I thought the Ukrainian Ironbelly was your favourite?” you teased him.

Charlie’s bouncing stopped instantly as he blushed bright red; you hadn’t meant to bring him down and felt sorry all of a sudden. So you propped the card against one of the book piles and turned to him.

“So, tell me more about it.”

Relieved to be able to tread on secure ground again, Charlie immediately recounted all the facts about one of the two dragon breeds native to the British Isles to you.

You continued in this fashion; your pulled a random card from the stash and Charlie would tell you everything he knew about it. He grew more animated with every new flashcard; as it turned out, every dragon you talked about was his favourite.

Seeing him so caught up in his favourite subject had a warmth spread in your chest and the smile on your lips never vanished even once. You had given up on writing Charlie’s words down about four cards ago and were merely staring at him explaining to you everything about these fantastic beasts that made up all of his dreams and musings.

His excitement quickly spread to you and you found yourself hanging onto his every word. But the more you were listening to him, the more you found your concentration shift from the dragons you were discussing to the boy beside you.

Your head propped on your hand, you admired how recounting scale colours and preferred environments of Romanian Longhorns brought a twinkle to his blue eyes and how his contagious laugh had you chuckle at the idea that people would confuse a Hungarian Horntail with a Norwegian Ridgeback.

The dimples forming in his freckled cheeks as he smiled at you were the exact reason why you had needed help with studying for this test in the first place. When you had talked about dragons in class, the eager smile and the slight scrunch of his nose as he scribbled down every single word Professor Kettleburn had to spare had left you breathless and unable to concentrate on anything but the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

The pile of flash cards had dwindled down until only a few more were left. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned around your next pick; the pictured showed a slender dragon directly from the front. It’s wings were outstretched and it seemed to be staring directly at you out of wide, pupil-less eyes. It was the only drawing so far that was coloured.

Your finger traced the subtle colour gradient rippling over its pearly scales as Charlie looked over to see which one was next.

“The Antipodean Opaleye,” he murmured, taking in your fascinated expression, “it’s singularly coloured scales and eyes are the stuff of legends.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, trying to imagine how the scales of a real life Opaleye might shimmer in the sunlight.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Charlie suddenly blurted out. The words had fallen from his lips before he’d even had a chance to stop them.

Both of you froze as what he had said sank into your consciousness. You couldn’t believe your ears and were half sure that your mind must have played a trick on you.

You carefully glanced over to Charlie out of the side of your eyes; he looked incredulous and you could watch the colour of his face turning from ghostly white to a deep, vivid scarlet that clashed with his ginger hair in a matter of seconds.

Feeling your own cheeks starting to blush at the unexpected compliment, you desperately were looking for something to say to take the shock out of his widened eyes. But your mind wasn’t working properly anymore, so all you managed was a meek “Wow, uhm, thank you Charlie, that’s really sweet.”

It was apparent your words didn’t help his flustered situation as he covered his face with his hands and groaned “I can’t believe I said that out loud; I’m such an idiot.”

You didn’t know what to do to help him; you felt utterly flattered and confused at the same time. You thought about putting your hand on his arm to reassure him what he had said actually made you happy, but paused halfway, not quite daring to touch him again.

Still unsure of what to do, you got up and picked up one of the books he had used to illustrate the facts on his flashcards.

“I’d better get going, I guess,” you stammered without looking at the wretched boy sitting at the table next to you, “thank you so much for helping me, I think I’ll manage the rest on my own. Can I borrow that book though?”

He didn’t raise his face from his hands, but nodded anyways. You felt bad for leaving him like that, but your head was spinning and you desperately needed to sort out your thoughts.

But seeing Charlie’s slumped frame sitting at the table, all the bubbly excitement from before completely drained from him, tugged at your heartstrings so hard it almost hurt. So instead of turning around and leaving, you drew a deep breath, gathered your courage and stepped behind him, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

You could feel his shoulders tense and his breath hitch as your hair tickled his jaw and were glad he couldn’t see the deep blush on your cheeks as you straightened up, picked up your bag and his book and hurried out of the library with a racing heart, too afraid to turn around once more.

Charlie and you hadn’t spoken again after what had happened in the library. It had taken him quite some time to be able to think properly again after you had left; he had just sat at his table, hand on his cheek where you had kissed him, staring into nothingness, the peachy smell of your hair still hanging in the air.

Even though the thought of how soft your lips had felt on your cheek had been the most prominent thing in his mind, he had passed his test with flying colours; some things just couldn’t be erased from his mind, no matter what was happening around him.

He had just returned to his dorm after a particularly tiring Quidditch practise when he saw it lying on his bed, propped up against his head bord; the book you had borrowed from him to finish studying on your own.

For a brief moment, he wondered how you had managed to get it up here, when he noticed something white sticking out of the pages. Curious, he picked up the book and flicked it open.

Even without looking, he knew what chapter it was you had marked with whatever you had put in there; he had read this book more times than he could remember. It was the chapter on the Antipodean Opaleye; he grimaced at the memory of when he had last thought about this particular dragon.

A white flashcard was stuck between the pages, its laminated surface flashing as Charlie turned it around to read it.

A big smile stole onto his face as he saw the photograph of you laughing and waving at him that you had stuck on the front side. His eyes swept over the lines written in your feminine hand and his smile grew even wider as he read the ‘special characteristics’ section:

It has to be remarked, that this particular specimen was able to pass her test with full marks.

He was glad to hear his blurted out compliment hadn’t affected your marks in the end. He sighed wistfully, when he noticed the very small, scribbled note at the very end of the card; it wasn’t as neatly written as the rest, almost as if your hands had shaken while writing it down.

Greatest weakness: While not many weaknesses are recorded of this specimen, it is said that it can be easily tamed by ginger-haired dragon trainers in the making. Whether these rumours are true, remains to be determined.

Charlie’s mouth dropped open as he read the last section over and over again, not daring to believe what he thought they said. But after the tenth time, he finally allowed the butterflies that had been fluttering in his stomach to spread into the rest of his body, his smile growing into the widest grin as he tucked the flashcard carefully into the book again.

This time, he was sure; this one was his favourite.

Tagging: @weasleysandwheezes

#harry potter #hphm #hogwarts mystery #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #L writes #by request

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supergraphicultramoderngirl · 3 years

Text

i ain’t gonna face no defeat

in which alex was a figure skater.

word count: 2,916

some willex, juke if you squint

tw: occasional swearing, period-typical homophobic parents (q word is used as a slur exactly once)

———

“Cut off my circulation even more, why don’t you?” Alex grumbles, grabbing his arm away from his sister.

She rolls her eyes and nudges him as he adjusts the arm band. “Hey, feel lucky you’re even doing this. I don’t think Mom and Dad actually realize what you’re skating to.”

Alex hesitates and sucks on his teeth. “You think they’ll be mad?”

“Oh, they’ll be livid,” she deadpans, then smiles softly. “But they can’t stop you.” She gives him a pat on the shoulder as he leans over to pull on his boot covers. “I’m gonna head to the bleachers. Break a leg!”

Alex calls after her, not looking up, “That’s only for theater and you know it, Mel!”

A few minutes later, he’s called to the boards, and he can’t shake off his damn jitters. He knows he’ll be fine once the music starts, but right now his skate guard won’t come off and he really has to pee all of a sudden and oh my god why is he wearing a tank top when it’s so fucking cold—

Alex steps onto the ice, and the announcer calls his name while he glides into a stretch before taking his beginning pose. He ignores the way his arm, raised in a fist, is shaking while the beginning harmonies start to play, and he skates.

•••

Alex began figure skating when he was six. It was an odd situation, really; he didn’t care about doing it one way or another, and he would’ve been fine with not doing it since his parents would always say it was a girl’s sport. His little sister, Melanie, however, wanted to skate so badly, but with her being the four-year-old she was, she was terrified of doing it alone. Begrudgingly, his parents signed him up for lessons alongside her.

Much to their dismay, he was good. Like, really fucking good. He landed his first single jump after only two years, and his first axel after six. He managed to get height in a way that his coach’s other skaters didn’t; maybe it was the inner pent up anxiety making him bounce like a jumping bean, who knows.

Alex wasn’t just good at jumps, either; he got his Y-spin after four years. He was that kid on the ice who accidentally cut people off with an impeccable spiral. When he practiced his programs, the other kids would move towards the boards to give him room and sneak a glance.

As much as Alex liked the attention from his peers (god, that support system was something else), he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that his parents never sat in on his sessions. They would only ever come to the shows and competitions his sister was a part of; he had to find his own ride to the others (thank god for Bobby's parents, honestly). It had made him angry at first that they didn’t want to be involved, but as he grew older, and learned more about himself, he realized he could use it to his advantage. He could skate to anything he wanted.

Alex was 13 when he chose to skate to Somebody to Love. To anyone else, it was very unassuming, just another kid skating to a popular song at the time, maybe even a tribute, since Freddie himself had passed two months before. It was everything to Alex, though. He pulled out all of the stops; his costume was the whole armband and wifebeater getup, and his coach let him assist in choreographing it.

He didn't know it was his last program.

•••

"Hey, Alex?"

He looks up from his math homework and hums in recognition.

Mel bites her lip and leans against the doorframe before mumbling, "I wanna quit."

Quit? Shit, nonononono— "—nonononono, Mel, you can't quit! If you quit, they're gonna make me quit!"

She closes the door softly behind her and walks slowly up to him. "Alex, the only reason I've been skating for the past year was so you could keep doing it. I'm really sick of skating at this point, and I wanna switch to something else. I'll keep going if you really, really want me to, but—" She sits next to him on his bed, lowering her voice to a whisper, "You saw how they reacted to the recital, 'Lex. You think they might make you quit anyway?"

Alex sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. She's right, he knows she's right. It just fucking sucks.

He tilts his head back. "You can quit," he whispers.

Mel places her hand on his and squeezes, whispering back, "I'm sorry." Alex looks back down at her. "I really with there was something we could do, but there isn't," she continues, recollecting her hand. "At least your last program was a good one."

He gives her a sad chuckle. "Yeah, I guess so. And, I'll have more time to focus on the band. Luke'll be happy about that."

Mel rolls her eyes, takes a breath, and leaves Alex to his own devices with a pitying look.

If she hears him practicing the beat to Somebody to Love in the basement the night she officially quits, she doesn't say anything.

•••

"Julie, what are you doing up there?"

Julie throws a shoe over the wall of the loft and into the evergrowing pile on the floor. "Cleaning out all of your old junk. Which one of you had a magician phase?" she asks, holding up a cheap, ratty top hat and matching plastic wand. "It was Reggie, wasn't it?"

Alex chuckles to himself, poofing up next to Julie. "Why do you think he knew who Caleb was when we met him?"

Julie lets out a loud laugh, continuing her digging. "Are the other guys here?"

"Nah, they're looking for a gig. I just got back from the park," Alex answers.

“Just the park?” Julie asks sarcastically, and before Alex can retort, she adds on, standing up straight, “Hey, whose skates are these?”

She’s holding his old figure skates in her right hand.

The black fabric is a little faded, with the familiar scuffs still on the toe. His dark blue skate guards are all dusty, but the blades still somehow look intact, given there wasn’t much opportunity for water damage in a loft.

Alex scratches the back of his neck, ignoring the rising blush in his cheeks and bracing himself for the inevitable teasing. “Those, uh, those are mine, actually.”

Julie looks up from the boots at him in awe. “Whoa, you skated? That’s so cool!”

Alex drops his hand, mouth open in hesitation. “Really? It’s not... weird to you?”

He can recall a tight grip on his arm, firmer than the band that had been ripped off. "Alex, what made you think it was okay to pull off this kind of stunt? You don't want people thinking you're some kind of queer, do you? Why we've let you continue this is beyond me, it isn’t any good for you.”

“Why would it be weird?” Julie asks, quirking her head to the side in such a Julie way that Alex would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so worried.

He shrugs, shuffling his feet from side to side, and mumbles with a wince, “I don’t know, because I’m a guy and figure skating is like, a girly sport, I guess?”

Julie shakes her head, eyebrows furrowed with a soft smile on her face. “First off, it’s not inherently girly, and second, if it’s something that you enjoyed, then that’s what matters, right?”

“I guess so,” Alex replies, looking down at his sneakers. Is that all that matters, though? He pauses for a moment in debate, then adds on at Julie’s encouraging expression, “My parents made me quit when I was fourteen.” He takes a breath. “They were never that involved in it, though, they actually only let me because my sister did it. I, uh, after I skated to a Queen song in a full Freddie Mercury getup, they weren’t too happy, and made me quit.”

At some point in his spiel, Julie had put her hand on his shoulder, and now she was squeezing it before pulling him into a hug. “Your parents are stupid,” she mumbled into his chest.

Alex chuckles, something emotionless, a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah. They were.”

Julie pulls away with a gasp, a bright smile on her face. “We should all go skating this weekend! The public rink just opened up a couple weeks ago, and I can bring Flynn so it doesn’t look like I’m talking to myself—” she falters, cutting herself off, “I mean, if you’re cool with it. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Alex thinks back to his many (many) practice sessions, and remembers the feeling of finally getting that move right, of flying in the air for that one glorious millisecond, of seeing some of his closest friends every other day. He misses it, of course he misses it. It was his biggest outlet before he focused all of his attention on drumming. But, he can’t help but feel that stupid fucking guilt clawing at his throat, can’t help but imagine oh, so clearly the look of betrayal on his mother’s face the night he came out.

Then again, he had lived the rest of his life out of spite of his parents. Why not keep it going?

“That sounds really fun,” he replies, pulling her back in. “Thank you.”

•••

A world sans Caleb was a new one to Willie. However, it was also a very welcome one, because it was in this world that he was able to just relax with Alex in the studio, enjoying every second they spend together without worrying about the time running out.

Which is why he was (reasonably) surprised when the time ran out.

They throw Alex an impressively offended look as he removed his arm from behind their shoulder. “What?”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Willie scoffed.

Alex chuckles to himself, pressing his lips into a line. "As much as I would love to stay here and cuddle with you—" At that, Willie's face goes bright red, and Alex counts it as a win in his head, "—the band and I are going ice skating when Flynn gets here, which should be in about five minutes."

"Oh," Willie's face brightens as they reply, "sounds fun!"

Alex winces. "Yeah, making sure Luke doesn't accidentally become tangible and run over a seven-year-old while playing human bowling on the ice with Reggie is super fun." Willie laughs something golden in response, and Alex only hesitates for a moment before adding on, "Uh- actually, would you want to come with us?"

Willie grows soft, still getting used to finally being included, but quickly schools his expression before replying, "Yeah, I'd love to! Though, fair warning, I'm kind of only good at the one kind of skating?"

Alex quickly scrunches his nose. "That's fine, I'll help you," he offers, slowly untangling himself from Willie.

Willie isn't sure how much help he's really gonna be, but they figure even an amateur would be better than whatever the fuck kind of Bambi creature he is on the ice, so they nod and pull Alex up by his hand off the couch.

•••

They arrived to the rink a few minutes ago, and while Julie and Flynn are buying their rental skates and Luke, Reggie, and Willie attempt to steal some without being noticed, Alex laces up his own skates by himself on an open bench.

It isn't until after he yanks the last bow that he realizes— putting on those skates should not have been that easy.

Yeah, their clothes are usually easy to put on, and they can summon their instruments any time they want, but touching anything else usually takes an immense amount of focus. Hell, the dahlia pin Julie had bought Luke for his guitar strap took five tries to actually hook on rather than just drop to the ground.

And yet, his skates just— went on? Laced up with no problem? His foot didn't go through the sole even once? He wiggles his toes around inside the boot, and only feels the familiar push of fabric against them.

He decides not to question it, to not think about the implications of his skates possibly being attached to his soul, and tries to avoid yet another afterlife crisis as they walk toward the boards. Or, at least, he walks, while Luke just bolts onto the ice with no hesitation, and Reggie quickly follows. Alex falls back behind Julie and Flynn, who step onto the ice and begin gliding around, and Willie somehow finds their way next to him, grabbing onto his hand. They make it to the door, and Willie lets go with a small nudge to the shoulder. "Alright, hotdog, show me what you've got," he jokes.

Alex lets out a small laugh and steps out onto the ice, a weird feeling of deja-vu settling into his nonexistent bones. Once he gathers his bearings, he glides along before maneuvering closer to the middle of the ice and pulling himself into a scratch spin. It takes him a minute to really center the spin, but with the phantom tingling of blood rushing to the tips of his fingers before he pulls in completely, suddenly it's 1990 and he's doing his Lacrimosa program and he wants to try to land every jump he's ever learned, even though he knows that trying his axel right now is a horrible idea, and—

He's exited the spin now, looking back at the door to see Willie about a foot away from it, gripping the wall with a concerning amount of intensity, an odd combination of fear, shock, and something else (awe, maybe?) coming to rest on their face. He skates back over, and Willie's expression doesn't seem to change. "You—" they swallow, "—you can skate."

Alex slides his feet back and forth, his arms behind his back. "Yeah, I figure skated for eight years, actually. Did, did I not mention that?" he asks, smirking a little, knowing damn well he very much never mentioned that.

Willie closes his eyes, sucks on his teeth, and takes a breath, getting over their minor bluescreen moment. "Help me?"

"In order for me to help you, you need to let go of the boards," Alex responds. Willie looks at the boards, then back at him, eyebrows furrowed. "It'll hurt a lot more falling into two flat surfaces rather than one," Alex reasons, and Willie hesitates before finally letting go.

"There we go," Alex says softly, taking both of Willie's hands in his. He begins to slowly pull them along, not caring about passing through lifers, while Willie's feet slip and slide beneath him. Alex tries his hardest not to laugh, and Willie quips, "I thought I was supposed to be the athletic one."

Alex scoffs, "Who told you that? Are you the one lugging around an entire drumset every weekend?" At Willie's laugh, Alex tacks on, "I didn't think so."

They make a full lap around the rink before Alex lets go, having to prevent Luke and Reggie from pulling on some little girl’s milk boxes to make her go faster, because no, that’s not how physics works, and yes, people will notice, Luke.

After, Willie moves to get off at the boards, and Alex pulls a disappointed pout. Willie just motions toward the ice, saying, "I know you didn't just come here to pull me around the whole time, I wanna see your turns and stuff."

Alex hesitates, "But I don't want to leave you here by yourself—"

He’s cut off by a familiar harmony playing in the background, and Luke and Reggie poof by his side in an instant. Alex barely has any time to register it before Reggie is putting a hand on his shoulder and Luke is asking if he’s okay.

And Alex doesn’t know how to answer that right away, if he’s being honest. At first, he thinks he might not be, because all he remembers is scolding, leaving, hiding, but he reminds himself it’s 2020 and he’s a ghost; that his parents are as involved in what was left of his life now as they were when he came out— not at all. The feeling of freedom starts to envelope him; the same freedom as when he danced with Dirty Candy at Eat ‘n’ Beats, the same freedom as when he played the drums at the Orpheum, and the same freedom he had before his last recital. He takes a deep breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” Alex replies, trying to hide his newfound itching to just get back out there.

Reggie drops his hand from his shoulder with a smile; meanwhile, Luke catches notice of Julie and Flynn starting a mini snow fight, to which he immediately races over and shouts, “I want in!” Reggie just shrugs and poofs over. Whether to stop him or join, the world may never know.

Alex rolls his eyes at his friends’ antics and looks back over at Willie, anxious energy seemingly radiating off of him— except, not as it usually does; now it was more excitement than anything else.

“Go show off, Alex,” Willie says, shooting him away with a smile.

Alex unsuccessfully tries to suppress the overwhelming giddy feeling that rises in his chest, and he skates. Again.

Finally.

#i ain’t gonna face no defeat fic #jatp #julie and the phantoms #alex mercer #willex #willie jatp #jatp fic #willex fic #mari writes #my fic #my fics

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romioneficfest · 3 years

Text

Little Unicorn Day Center

Title: Little Unicorns Daycare Center

Prompt: day 2 - meet cute

Rating: G

Author:

Brief Summary

Any Content warnings:

Hermione had cared for many children in the three years since she had opened the Little Unicorns Daycare Center, and she had always been careful to be impartial and fair to every little boy and girl that walked through her doors.

But she couldn’t deny that Lily was one of her favorites.

The vivacious red-headed girl had been in her care for around six months, and it had been obvious from the start that she was different from the other kids. She was well ahead of the group on her reading comprehension, and she had a highly developed sense of humor for her age. She also loved to tell detailed, fantastical stories about magical creatures, and people flying around on broomsticks, and Hermione was amazed at the depth of her imagination.

Hermione had only ever met Lily’s mother, Ginny, who shared her daughter’s long red hair and quick wit. Ginny was always in and out of the cottage in a hurry when she came to drop Lily off or pick her up, but she was always friendly enough. She knew that Ginny was in publishing, and her husband in law enforcement, jobs that surely kept them both very busy, so Hermione didn’t think anything of the quick visits.

It never struck her as odd, either, that she had never met Lily’s father; it was common for her to deal with one parent more than the other. She finally met him on a cold, snowy day, when the front door opened and Lily burst in, shedding her hat and gloves before she had even made it past Hermione’s desk, and a tall, gorgeous red-headed man trailing behind her.

He smiled apologetically as he bent to pick up Lily’s things to hand to her. “Sorry about that. Is she always like this?”

Hermione’s fingers brushed against his as she took the gloves, and she was surely imagining the spark that ignited her skin at the contact. “Oh, it’s um…” Hermione unconsciously raised her hand to flatten her bushy hair before scolding herself. This man was married, and it surely did not matter how her hair looked. “It’s finger paint day. I’m sure she’s just excited.”

“Oh, that explains it, then. Can’t say I blame her.”

He gave her another brilliant smile, and she melted as she looked up into his vibrant blue eyes. Lily had bright eyes, too, but hers were an almost unnatural shade of green. Ginny’s, if Hermione remembered correctly, were brown, and for a fleeting moment, she hoped that maybe the man was a family friend or something. But then she saw the shiny gold detective's badge pinned to his trousers, and the hair color, of course, was unmistakable. Even so, Hermione couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Will you be picking Lily up this afternoon?”

“Nah, Gin just had an early meeting this morning. She’ll get her later, like normal.”

Hermione hoped that her disappointment wasn’t glaringly obvious. Her instant attraction to this man was undeniable, but it was also incredibly inappropriate. He was a parent of one of her charges, for goodness sake! Hermione put on the most neutral smile she could muster and then motioned to a pile of papers that she was certain were nothing more than coloring sheets. “Okay, I hope you have a lovely day. If you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to work.”

“Oh, yeah, me too.” He leaned to the side to look through the open doorway into the playroom beyond the lobby. “Bye, Lil! Be good!” Hermione heard no response from the adjacent room, but he turned without one and gave a slight wave of goodbye to Hermione before heading back out into the cold.

It was several weeks before she saw him again. Lily again raced through the door while her father ambled in behind her and smiled at Hermione. “Must be finger-paint day again,” he said teasingly as he approached the desk. “I realize I didn’t properly introduce myself before. I’m Ron.” He held out his hand for Hermione to shake and she took it, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm.

“Hermione.” Their hands remained linked for just an instant longer than was probably proper, and Hermione forced herself to break their gaze. “Lily’s a wonderful child,” she said, determined to focus on the little girl.

“Yeah, she’s a hoot. She—“ Ron cut himself off with a frown and fished a buzzing pager from his coat pocket. “Sorry, duty calls.” She caught another glimpse of his badge and nodded in understanding. “Nice to see you again.”

“You, too.” Hermione lifted her hand in farewell, and she was so distracted by the view of him from behind, that it completely slipped her mind that Ron was not the name of the other parent on Lily’s paperwork.

She saw Ron several more times over the following months, and he was always so charming with her. Hermione was horribly embarrassed by her attraction to another woman’s husband—though she had noticed that he didn’t wear a ring—and even worse, the fact that the feeling seemed to be mutual. She wanted to believe that it was just his personality, that he was the outgoing type, and not that he was a man who would shamelessly flirt with other women. He didn’t seem to be the sort who would do such a thing. Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit to herself how unseemly her behavior was. Either way, Lily would be moving on to kindergarten soon, and she could forget all about Ron.

Usually if she saw Ron, it was at Lily’s morning drop-off, so Hermione was surprised when he appeared one afternoon at pick-up time. He was quieter than usual, not his typical cheery self. “Lily!” Hermione called to the other room. “Time to go!”

“Coming!” the little girl hollered back as Ron approached her desk.

“Hi,” he said, his tone soft. She didn’t know him all that well, even now, but he actually sounded nervous. “So, I um...wanted to ask you something?”

Hermione’s heart started pounding, and she rubbed her palms against her jeans anxiously. “Sure,” she replied, and she hoped he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice.

He hesitated, and then blurted out, “Are you free for dinner tonight?” He must have registered the look of shock on her face at his overt invitation, and he began to ramble. “I’ve got to take Lily home, but after that, or—or maybe this weekend we could—“

Hermione gave a vehement shake of her head and lowered her voice to hiss at him, “That is wildly inappropriate!” As much as she couldn’t deny that there was a chemistry between them, acting on it was a whole different matter.

“I—“ He seemed taken aback by the severity of her response. “I can take the rejection, but...inappropriate?”

She looked at him incredulously. “Yes. I don’t make it a habit to fraternize with—“

“Uncle Ron!” Lily’s exclamation and pounding footsteps cut her off and stopped her cold. The little girl threw her arms around one of Ron’s long legs, and he reached down to pat her head.

“Hey, kiddo. Have a good day today?”

Lily nodded. “Where’s mummy?”

“Waiting at home, and your dad is picking up your brothers.”

She then glanced at Hermione before gazing up at Ron with a knowing look beyond her years. “Did you come just to say hi to Miss Hermione?” Lily half-covered her mouth to whisper loudly to Hermione, “My mummy says he fancies you.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. Here she had been berating herself all these months for nothing. She wracked her brain, but she couldn’t recall Lily ever mentioning her father or Ron by name, and she had never addressed him directly until now. She had just been assuming that Ron was off-limits, and couldn’t remember ever being so pleased to be wrong.

Ron’s face was red with embarrassment, but he was still smiling shyly at her, and the look was incredibly endearing. “Did you really think I was her dad? Haven’t you ever met Harry?” Hermione shook her head.

“No, I haven’t, actually. I saw your badge and, well, your hair—I just assumed.”

“So...any chance that changes your mind about dinner?” he asked hopefully.

Hermione crouched down to the ground and motioned Lily over. “Maybe you could tell your Uncle Ron,” she said in a stage whisper, “that I fancy him, too?”

Lily nodded eagerly before scampering back over to Ron. “Uncle Ron! Miss Hermione said she fancies you.”

Hermione straightened and beamed at Ron. “Seven okay?”

“Tonight?” Hermione nodded; she didn’t want to wait any longer to get to know him better. “Brilliant. Seven it is.” He took Lily’s hand and led her toward the door, glancing back over his shoulder at Hermione with a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

#hpfic #Romione FicFest 2021 #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #Rated G #Ace Safe #No content warning #citrus free #Queue up for the Dragon

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