#just nod and smile at periwinkle being an indigo

[almightaylor]

Fashion icon taylor zakhar perez 🌈☁️

#taylor zakhar perez #he’s now completed the rainbow with clouds #no bc every color looks good on him #it’s so refreshing to see that he always goes for uniqueness #just nod and smile at periwinkle being an indigo #taynickamt #useralmightaylor

[amberrskiies]

If requests are still open, may I request Leviathan x childhood friend angel reader. Also the reader being Luke's older sister.

Levi and His Angel

A/N - I actually like the concept of this and it gave me multiple ideas on the plot itself! I might as well make this Fluff-Angst! Also I purposely wrote this in the third person point of view cause it seemed like it would fit well instead of the second person point of view!

Leviathan x female reader | Scenario

"Levi!!"

The young angel boy with indigo colored hair heard a familiar voice call out his name as he looked behind him only to get tackled to the ground into a hug by a shorter female angel about the same age as him.

"Ow!" Levi groaned in pain as she quickly got up from him.

"Sorry! Are you hurt?" She asked in concern as he shook his head.

"It's fine. Just didn't see that coming." He said as you helped him up as he looked embarrassed.

"That's good! Oh! I made this just for you!" She said excitedly as she brought out the object she was holding behind her.

The object was a flower crown made out of a variety of flowers which consisted of periwinkles, primroses, sunflowers and a few other which Levi couldn't figure out.

"What do you think of it?" She asked, putting it on the male's head.

"I-It's nice..." He said, blushing in embarrassment as the female angel started to clap and jump in happiness.

"I knew you'd like it! Come up with me!" She excitedly said, taking his hand as he walked alongside, smiling at her gesture.

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"H-Hey! Slow down!" Levi said running after the shorter female angel.

Even if they grew to be teenagers in their angel years, some still prefer to keep their childlike selves alive and still prefer to play along and tease the other.

"Catch me if you can!" She said, running off ahead of the male.

Luckily enough, Levi was able to catch up to her and lifted her of the ground, making her squeal and laugh, making Levi laugh along with her.

"Caught ya!" He said, smiling at the shorter angel as he let her go.

"I still can't believe that you're taller than me and faster too." She said whining a little and pouting at the thought as he snorted a little at her words.

"Well you have to get used to it now." He said, ruffling her hair as she puffed up her cheeks, making him smile even more.

"Yeah yeah... Now come on! I wanna show you something!" She said, grabbing a hold of his hands as he she led him to the place.

"Woah slow down!" He told her as he straightened himself before walking with her.

The female angel led the tall male angel to a clearing where it would be classified as a nice view and the sky seemed more brighter and the area was just beautiful in nature.

She let go of his hands as she sat down in a spot and looked at the male and patted the side next to her to sit as he slowly came up to her and sat down as he looked up at the sky.

"This is really nice..." He said as the girl smiled.

"I know! That's why I wanted to show this place to you!" She said as he nodded.

They watched the clouds move past the sky in silence as none of them said a word. Though it was quickly broken once the shorter angel spoke.

"Hey Levi? Can you promise something?" She asked as he looked at her curiously.

"What is it?" He asked her.

"That we'll be together no matter what?" She said, bringing out her pinkie as he looked at her shocked but gave her a small smile.

"I promise." He said, intertwining her pinkie with his.

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"You have to stay here! I can't risk your safety!" The male told the shorter female who was being stubborn.

"What about you? I can't risk losing you! Let me help you fight!" She said trying to persuade the male but he wasn't listening to her at all.

"I can't lose you either! This is mine and my sibling's fight for Lilith! I don't want you to get involved." He told her, feeling frustrated and on the verge of crying.

"What will I do if you get hurt or worse, you die! What about our promise!? Are you going to break that as well?" She yelled at him, tears already falling from her eyes.

"H-Hey please don't cry. I promise I'll be fine. I will never break our promise." He reassured her, holding her by the shoulders as she looked down at him.

"How can you be sure of that...?" She whispered, looking down.

Levi knew she was right. He wasn't sure how the outcome of this war would be but he wanted to stay positive and hope for the best.

He didn't know what to do but his instinct made him her her cheek and pulled her in for a kiss, making the female blush and freeze up in surprise but slowly relaxed as she kissed back but their moment was soon interrupted due to a shout.

"LEVI! We have to go!" Levi pulled away much to his disappointment as he looked behind to see Asmo, looking distraught and exhausted as he nodded.

"I have to go! Please stay safe." He said, hugging her once more before pulling away from her and running towards the chaos.

"Levi!" The female called out but was stopped by a familiar hand.

"We have to go. We can't stop them now." The soft voice said as she looked up to see Simeon.

"But-" She couldn't say anything as she was dragged away.

While she was being dragged away, levi looked behind him with a sad expression, as a single tear escaped his eye, knowing he might not make it out alive.

"I'm sorry..."

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"Levi! Wake up we have to go!" The indigo haired male who no longer an angel but a demon woke up with a start as he groaned and turned around to see a familiar mess of blonde hair and green eyes.

"What do you want Satan...?" He asked, sitting up on the ground as he rubbed his eyes.

"We have to go. The exchange students are coming soon and we have to be present. That means you too." The Avatar of Wrath told him as he sighed.

"Fine... I'll be ready in a few. Just leave me alone for a while." He told him as the blonde nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Levi sat around for a while as he clutched his forehead. He looked around his room a bit before looking down at the ground. The dream he had still lingered around his mind.

"What was that dream... Why am I being reminded of these events now?" He asked himself, getting up from his bathtub bed and going to get his RAD uniform to change.

He still remembers all those events clear as day. He remembers the promise she made with the angel who caught his heart all the time. He blushed at the memory of when he kissed her. yet the kiss was not much of a happy one in reality and more of a goodbye kiss.

This made him sad, thinking he broke their promise of being together and not leaving each other. But nonetheless he was happy that she was alive and well. That is what he finds more important but he cherished their friendship more.

He shook those thoughts off and quickly wore his uniform. After he finished, he quickly ran out of his room after getting his D.D.D. and went outside the house where Asmo and Satan were waiting for him.

"Good you're here. Let's get going before Lucifer gets mad." Asmo said, sighing in relief as Satan rolled his eyes.

"Honestly don't mind him getting him mad on purpose but whatever." He said, turning on his heel and walking away from them.

"He's not going to let go of making Lucifer mad anytime soon." Asmo sighed as he looked over at the third eldest but his face happy face soon turned into one of worry when he noticed how he was looking and behaving.

"Are you okay? You look pretty bothered and distracted." He asked as the third oldest tensed up before nodding.

"I'm fine. Let's just go so I can go back home soon." He told him as the strawberry blonde male nodded.

"Alright." he told him as they walked in a comfortable silence.

Levi walked behind Satan and Asmo as they both chatted up a storm as he only listened. He was mostly distracted by everything but kept his eye on the area so he doesn't stray away from them by accident.

After a few, they arrived at their destination and were making their to the court-like room where the exchange students were going to arrive in. he saw Asmo and Satan walk in as he stood in his spot a little away from the entrance as he took a deep breath and made his way in the room.

"Don't touch my sister you demons!" his thoughts were broken when heard a child like voice as he looked up only for his eyes to widen at a familiar figure.

That's when she saw her. The short female who was her childhood friend when he was an angel alongside her. The same angel who she loved so much.

He noticed that her looks and everything else remained the same except her hair was slightly longer than before. He noticed the angel that shouted was Luke. He wasn't aware that Luke was her old friend's brother. The same angel who he promised to stick by her side no matter what.

He wanted to call out her name and hold her in his arms and tell her about his feelings towards her. But he knew that demons and angels can never be together and the thought broke his heart.

He quickly turned around on his heels and walked out of the room, hoping none of his brothers noticed him walk away. She failed to notice the indigo haired male who was her friend walk away from the room.

This time, the tears didn't stop falling as he walked away from her and everything else.

A/N - honestly this made me cry! This scenario legit has the potential to have a part 2 or possibly become a series. Whatever floats your boat readers! :'P

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me x reader #obey me leviathan #obey me leviathan x mc #obey me leviathan x reader #leviathan #leviathan x reader #leviathan x mc #obey me x female reader #female reader #obey me levi #obey me levi x reader #obey me levi x mc #fluff #angst #obey me scenarios

[tiannasfanfic]

Purple

Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader

Adrian Chase Appreciation Week @peacemakernet June 28 - Colors

Crossposted to AO3

Summary: Adrian Chase always wants to know peoples favorite colors. Now he is obsessed with finding out yours.

A/N: I originally chose the second option, “domestic fluff,” but that has actually gotten away from me and turned into a much longer fic. Oops. 😅

CW: Kissing, swearing.

Word Count: 588

“Periwinkle?”

“No.”

“Cadet Blue?”

“No.”

One day, out of the blue, Adrian Chase had asked if black was your favorite color. A logical assumption that most people made since you wore a lot of black, but it actually wasn’t.

“What is it then?” he had asked when you said no.

Instead of just telling him, you decided to make a playful game of it. Adrian had been flirting nonstop since you started at Fennel Fields.

“Try to guess it,” you said with a smile.

“Is there a prize for guessing correctly?”

You nodded.

“What is it?”

“If you guess right, I’ll go on a date with you. If you don’t, you owe me a case of beer.”

Adrian’s eyes bugged out of his head and immediately started guessing. But rather than Roy G Biv it and just state the parent color, he wanted to find the EXACT shade of your favorite color.

“Indigo?”

“No.”

“Wild Blue Yonder?”

“There is no fucking way that’s a real color,” you said, then Adrian showed you, his phone. “I stand corrected. No.”

Ever since then, any moment he could talk to you, he spent it reading off the official colors of Crayola Crayons. All forty-eight of them. He was going down the list, starting with R, and reading them off to you one by one.

That was three days ago. It had been super busy at the restaurant considering Evergreen was currently in the middle of a heat wave. It was record temperature day after day and absolutely no one wanted to heat up their houses more by cooking. You barely had the chance to breathe between the hosting station and helping wait tables, which Adrian was also helping with. Every now and then, he’d pass by you and spout off a few colors he had memorized off the list. Each one had been a bust.”

“Manatee?”

“The fuck?” Adrian showed you his phone again. “Oh. That looks exactly nothing like a Manatee. No.”

Finally, at long last, he was close.

While your shift was over for the night, you stayed behind to hang out with Adrian on his lunch so he could finish the list. Oddly, he seemed anxious about it now, like your favorite color wouldn’t be on list. He had nothing to worry about, it was, you saw it just a moment ago when he showed you what the color Manatee was. But, even if the color wasn’t on the list, you had decided to ask him on a backyard date instead. You had a large kiddie pool and a grill, plus he would bring the beer. It was too hot for anything else since your small house didn’t have an AC.

Hell, that sounded good in general, so you might suggest that as your date when he finally guessed it.

“Blue Bell?”

“Nope.”

“Blue Velvet?”

“Nope.”

“Purple Heart?”

Instead of answering, you leaned over and pressed your lips against Adrian’s cheek. He had been entirely focused on his phone, brow furrowed in serious concentration, so you startled him. Adrian jumped, nearly dropping his phone as he turned to look at you with wide eyes. You hadn’t pulled away yet, so you placed another soft kiss right onto his lips.

Adrian’s jaw dropped, his face turning red as you pulled away to settle back in your spot of the booth.

It took a bit for the shock to wear off so he could speak again.

“…was that a yes or a no to Purple Heart being your favorite?”

#peacemakernet #acweek22 #adrian chase #dceu fanfiction #vigilante #adrian chase hc #adrian chase fluff #adrian chase fanfiction #adrian chase imagine #adrian chase x reader #adrian chase x y/n #adrian chase x you #vigilante hc #vigilante fanfiction #vigilante imagine #vigilante x reader #vigilante x you #vigilante x y/n

[annie-manga]

The Butterfly: Chaos AU fanfic(part 2)

9 years later...

“Hey Nick!” 

He had just left the locker room of the gym & entered the lobby of the recreational center, where Terri was waiting for him. 

“What’s up?”, he said to her, “you said something earlier about someone being here?” 

“Yeah, I was just talking to this guy who moved here yesterday, I think he’s the new neighbor your mom was talking about!” 

“Oh shit really?! I mean, I saw all the moving trucks yesterday, but I didn’t get to see them properly yet.” 

“Well, now you can! He’s outside, I said I’d introduce you to him. Go easy on him, though. He seems pretty nervous.” 

“Okay cool, got it.” 

Nick & Terri exited the building and stood a few feet from one of the benches where a young boy was quietly sitting. 

“Hey!” Terri hollered, getting the boy’s attention at once. “I brought him over, come say hi.” 

The boy carefully stood up, then slowly walked towards Nick; he was wearing a long sleeved periwinkle shirt, and had a large striped cyan and indigo scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders. His eyes were facing the ground as his hands anxiously fidgeted at his sides, and he was so quiet, Nick almost didn’t hear his voice when he spoke to him.

“H-hi.” 

“Hi there,” Nick said as he held out his hand for him to shake, “I’m Nick. It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to the neighborhood-” 

The boy gently grasped Nick’s hand and slowly looked up at him, and Nick’s words soon trailed off as he took a good look at the person in front of him. 

Deep brown freckles against his sepia skin, red-brown eyes brimming with warmth, like an autumn sunset; his bright red hair was styled into long twist braids that stopped at the small of his back. 

Nick stared at him in awe, before he regained his ability to speak.  

“Adam?” 

Adam’s eyes go wide and he lets go of Nick’s hand with a surprised gasp. “You…you remember me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Hmm, wait a sec.” Terri chimes in. “Is this the same kid you told me about a while ago, when you were in the park and you helped him save a butterfly?” 

“Yeah, it is.” 

“Well, it’s nice to finally put a face with a name, cause you didn’t have any pictures of him. Well, other than the ones you drew years ago, but-” 

“Oh-kay!” Nick interrupts, as he tries to hide his embarrassment. “Thanks Terri, but I'm sure Adam's not interested in hearing all that now, but maybe you can tell him later. If you don't mind.” 

“Okay okay, I can take a hint.” she says with a knowing smirk. “See you around, tough guy. I’ll catch you later, Adam!” 

“T-thanks.” Adam says with a shy wave, which Terri returns before heading back inside the building. “She seems very nice.” 

“Hm, oh Terri? Yeah, she’s pretty cool. Wait, how’d you get here? Did you take the bus or did you walk the whole way?”  

“I mostly walked, cause it’s not very far & I want to get used to the neighborhood surroundings. But I don’t know if I want to walk back alone.” 

“Well, I just finished up my session today, so how about I walk back with you?” 

“You’d…I’d like that. Thank you Nick.” 

And the two of them walked back to their homes, side by side, but taking as long as possible so they can catch up on everything the other has been up to since their previous encounter; Adam’s maternal relatives helping him and his brother out for a while & even homeschooling him, Michael’s awakening from the coma & his slow but steady recovery, how Nick’s excelled at boxing & Adam’s skilled at archery. It seemed like forever they’ve been talking, until they reach the front of their houses. 

As Adam prepares to head back inside, Nick tells him that he’d like to help him unpack for a bit, he just needs to change into some more comfy clothes. Adam smiles warmly at him and nods, and the two boys go inside their homes. 

'The car’s here', Nick thought, ‘so mom’s probably home already’. 

He opens the front door and shouts “hey I’m home” before being immediately greeted by a small child barreling towards him. 

“Nicky!” 

“Jasmine, hey princess!” 

He hugs his little sister close to him, then looks up and sees Michael coming towards him, using his crutches to help him get into the room. 

“Hey big bro. Mom was just about to head by the rec center to get you, cause you weren’t answering her calls.” 

‘Shit I knew I forgot something’ Nick thought to himself. 

“Right, my bad.” he said as he placed Jasmine down and watched her wander down the hall. “I was walking back home with someone, and I kinda got swept up in our conversation to pay attention to that, I guess.”  

“I gotcha. Was it Terri?” 

“No, she stayed behind to keep practicing. It was Adam, he’s one of the new neighbors.” 

“Is he that kid with the scarf or that white guy that looks like he's an emo kid dressed in business casual?”Michael said as he sat down on the couch, placing the crutches against one of its arms. 

“The kid. Anyway, I kinda said that I’d help him unpack, so I’ll be over there for a little while.” 

“Aight, that’s cool. Just go tell Mom before you head out & when you think you might be back.” 

“I will.” 

“And set your phone to vibrate or a ringtone or something.  Cause I figured you didn’t answer cause it’s still on silent mode.” 

  “Okay look man, it isn't-” Nick said as he pulled out his phone to check the settings, then squinted in annoyance as he realized his brother was right yet again. 

“...” 

“Don’t start.” 

Michael shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”  

Nick smirked as he rolled his eyes at him, then went to the other room to tell his mother where he’s heading. 

After a shower and a quick change of clothes, he goes next door and rings the doorbell, where he is immediately greeted by Nathan. 

“Nick hey! Gosh it’s been years, you’ve gotten so tall!” 

“Oh uh, thanks.” Nick said as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, “Is it alright if I-” 

“Oh yeah, come in! Adam already told me, he was really happy that you’d be coming by to help out. I’m gonna be downstairs, but holler if you need anything, kay?” 

“Sure thing, thanks.” 

He went inside and headed up the stairs to the second floor; he checked a couple rooms before hearing Adam call out to him from down the hall and went over to where he was. 

There was a mattress with a sleeping bag and blankets in the corner by the window, and a bunch of boxes were sporadically spread around the floor; the closet was open and most of the clothes were hanging in there, a worn, medium sized bookshelf was across from the makeshift bed. Adam sat in front of it, crossed legged with a box of books near him, adding each of them to the shelf. He greeted Nick as he came in the doorway, and walked over to him to help navigate him through his unfinished bedroom. 

“Sorry about all this, I got too caught up in what I was doing that I forgot to move some of these boxes out of the way.” 

“Hey it’s all good”, Nick said with a slight chuckle as Adam gently kicked a box away from the mattress. “Is there anything specific you need me to do, cause I know this is all of your stuff, so…” 

“O-oh. Um, some of these I haven’t opened yet, so I guess just open some of these and tell me what’s in there, and then I’ll tell you what to do for each of them. I’m just gonna be finishing up this thing over here, but I’ll try to help you “ 

“All right, works for me.” Nick goes about the room to bring a box or two in his arms, and sits on the edge of the bed and proceeds to open them up to see its contents. 

"Okay so in this one, we got a photo album, some books and cards, and a container of legos."

"All right, hand me the photo album and the books," said Adam "you can put the legos in the corner of the closet and keep the cards in there. I'll look at them later."

Nick does what he asks, and then goes back to open up another box.

This went on for a bit and soon Nathan came up to check on them to ask what type of pizza they wanted. 

The boys give him their preferences and as Nathan heads back downstairs to complete the order, Nick opens up the second to last box. 

He was about to tell Adam what he wants to do with what's in there, but a glimpse of something inside the box distracts him from saying that out loud; he pushes some of the stuff in the box aside and pulls out  the item so he can get a better look at it.

"Oh hey, what was in that one-" Adam says as he turns to see Nick, and is instantly rendered speechless when he realizes what he's holding.

A framed piece of art, with the slightest veneer of dust on the glass; Nick's eyes widened as he took in the familiarity of it. The bright orange splotches of paint and the frantic lines of crayon and pencil. 

A moment of silence passed between them, and before Adam could say anything, Nick spoke first.

"You…you still kept this?"

"Ah, y-yeah. Um, I had brought it home with me, but rolled it up and I was worried about ruining it and stuff," Adam said frantically, "so Nathan tried keeping it in a folder of some kind, and that worked for a bit, but I was still worried about accidentally tearing it or spilling something on it. So one of my cousins- from my mom's side, not my dad's- offered to have it framed, and I said yes so that's what they did. But I didn't hang it up anywhere, cause we were moving around a lot afterwards. But um, yeah."

Adam exhaled from the exhaustion of rambling without pause, then anxiously fidgeted with his hands and glanced hesitantly at Nick, to try to gauge his reaction. 

Still looking at the painting, Nick slowly broke into a wide smile, then looked at Adam, completely overjoyed.

"I didn't expect….I, I love this. This is…so great! Thanks so much, Adam."

Adam smiled back at him, a mixture of gladness and relief washing over him as he stimmed with the fabric of his scarf.

"Y-you should really thank my cousin, they know a lot about framing."

"Heh, well you ought to introduce me sometime so I can thank them properly.  Oh hey, were you planning on hanging this up in one of the rooms in the house?"

"Yeah…this one actually. "

"Oh. Well, I can try to help you with that later, if you want." Nick sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze shifted from Adam to the floor, then back at him. "Or maybe I can call my uncle and ask him to do it, cause I don't want to end up breaking it. Or making the hole in the wall too big…."

"Either one works for me. Thanks Nick."

"No problem."

Their moment was interrupted by a sudden honk of a car outside, and the two boys go to the window to see the source of it. Outside, they see Nathan walking to the pizza delivery guy, preparing to pay him for his services.

"Wow, they got here faster than I expected they would!" Adam exclaimed. "Let's take a break to go eat and we can come back to this later."

"Sounds like a plan." Nick says as he puts the painting safely back in the box then gets up from the bed and walks towards Adam. 

As he goes to open the door, Nick gently places his hand on the back of Adam’s shoulder, taking him by surprise as he slowly lets go of the doorknob, but doesn’t turn around. 

"uh…Nick…?"

"Hey um, sorry if this is weird but I wanted to ask you if…um...can I hug you?"

Adam felt his face go warm and knew he was blushing heavily; he was kinda relieved that he was facing away from Nick right now. 

Nervously, he whispers, "...y….yes, you-um w-we can hug. Y-you can...go ahead."

He turns to Nick, still avoiding eye contact with him, and the taller boy wraps his arms around him and presses his cheek on top of his head. Adam stiffens up, but then relaxes in Nick’s arms as he hugs him back, leaning his head against his chest and releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. 

"..You know..."

"Hmm?", Adam murmurs.

"I really missed you."

"I missed you, too. It's…it's nice to be here now, I'm glad we got to meet again."

"Me too."

The two of them stayed like that for a while, until Nathan called out to them from the dining room. Then they slowly released themselves from their embrace and headed down the stairs to join him for dinner.

Part 1

#chaos(2020) #fanfiction #anniemanga #annie-manga #strangeauthor

[inkykeiji]

anonymous said: i would like to suggest, keigo having you on speed dial to call you up and use you whenever he's too pent up because his public girlfriend wont sleep with him. you feel guilty for being the other woman but you were such a big fan of his. you want to end this but keigo isn’t about to let his little bird get away

warnings: 18+, dubcon, rough sex, manipulation, minimal prep, cheating, mentions of caning, noncon photography, dacryphilia, slight degradation peppered with slight praise

words: 3.3k

Gentle vibrations coursing through your mattress and quivering softly against your skin rouse you from your half-conscious state, bleary eyes blinking slowly as you gain your bearings again. It’s late, the wall of full-length crystal windows allowing the moon’s beams to stream into your condo, weakened by the magnificent glow of the city below it, encased in halos of turquoise and jade and violet.

And then, the vibrations start again, and your heart drops.

You know who it is before you even glance at the screen of your phone. Only one person ever calls you this late.

You had been expecting it, to be honest. Crime has hit an all-time high, and it seems like every time you turn on the news, or scroll through your social media feed, there’s a fresh story about a new villain he’s just defeated, headlines in big bold letters, peppered with photos of windswept golden hair and an award-winning smile, or grainy footage of him zipping around, so fast he’s just a blur of gold and crimson, as he neutralizes the enemy, serif words chalk full of praise for the Number Two Hero. As always.  

It makes you sick, makes your stomach churn with a toxic mixture of guilt and revulsion.

Yet, in spite of this, your hand moves on its own, disobeying your brain as it screams at it to let it go to voicemail, just this once, thumb pressing that little green button before bringing the heavy electronic to your ear, quiet and groggy as you answer.

“I’m in the lobby,” his smooth voice, always laced with just a hint of cheekiness, flows through the speaker like melted chocolate, dark and decadent. “Let me in?”

You know he could get in on his own if he really wanted to—he chose this building for a reason, after all. He chose you for a reason, after all.

He could’ve had anyone—could still have anyone—he wanted, with a plethora of beautiful, adoring, devoted young women hanging on his every word, but he picked you. He picked you, because no matter how dedicated and supportive all of those other girls are, none of them have ever loved him the way you did—the way you do.

The feeling lingers, much to your disgust. It lingers when he gives you that gentle, private smile—the one the cameras have never seen, the one that he saves just for you, in the middle of the night after he’s filled you with cum and sucked his name into your neck; lingers when he murmurs sweet nothings into your hair, arms curling around you in the early morning sun; lingers when he fucks you stupid, until you’re a sobbing, drooling mess, until all you can think about is his cock.

The soles of your bare feet echo as they pad against the marble floor, powerless to stop the heavy sigh that slips from between your lips as you fiddle with the little keypad close to the front door, those soft beepbeepbeeps forcing chills to skitter across your skin.

Once, this condo had been everything you had ever wanted. Once, you had considered yourself lucky to be the mistress of such a well-known, distinguished, so-called good man. Once, you had dreamt of him, every single night, of lazy smiles and easygoing drawls, of wicked golden eyes and matching tousled hair.

Once.

Now, it feels like nothing but a cold, empty cage. Fitting, you snort to yourself, shaking your head a little.

Now, all of those extravagant items he had bought for you—the expensive coffee machine, the stupidly massive 4K TV, all of the shimmering dresses and lavish coats, the silk sheets outfitting your gigantic bed, the delicate Agent Provocateur lingerie—have bile rising in the back of your throat, coating your tongue in bitterness, dread sinking thick and heavy in your stomach, turning your blood to concrete in your veins.

Now, that golden gaze makes your skin crawl, those large, impossibly soft hands—protected by those ridiculous gloves, of course—make you want to scrub your body with scalding water until it’s raw, until you’ve ridded yourself of his stare, of his touch, of his scent—sickly sweet and sticky like toffee, blazing and spicy like cinnamon.

And yet, the feeling still lingers, taking root deep at the very core of your body, feeding off your soul like a fucking parasite.

Teeth clack against yours the moment your front door swings open, your body slammed up against the wall a second later as he skillfully kicks the door shut, producing an echo of tremors through the surrounding walls much too loud for three in the morning.

Hands, silky and smooth, are gliding up your bare thighs, playing with the hem of your lacy babydoll slip, lithe fingers tangling in it and pulling as he sucks on your tongue.

“Missed you,” he mumbles between kisses, catching your bottom lip and tugging on it just to hear you whine, a delicious chuckle vibrating against your mouth a moment later, inspiring a shameful, scalding heat to begin spreading in the pit of your belly. “So much,”

“Did you?” and you hate how breathless you already are, hate the way your head tilts and neck arches as his lips travel down the sensitive skin, nipping gently with his front teeth.

“You know I did,” he singsongs, but you can hear the irritation sown into his tone. Hands grip your shoulders, pinning you against the wall, a soft noise of surprise escaping your lips. “Mm,” he hums appreciatively, pulling back a little as lidded eyes scan your form, dark like thick caramel when they meet yours again. “You know this one’s my favourite,”

It is, composed entirely of scarlet lace that dips just below your sternum, the delicate material clinging to your body like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination.

His hands roam, taking the hem of the dainty fabric with him as he pushes it over your hips, up your abdomen and to your breasts, before letting the garment slide down your body again.

The softest, sweetest mewl of his name escapes your lips as the tip of his tongue flicks over a lace covered nipple, circling it once before taking it between his teeth and tugging slightly.

Another laugh, deep and dark, vibrates against your chest, while a hand slips between your thighs, a soft groan rumbling in his chest.

“Such a good, good girl for me, aren’t you?” Two fingers rub achingly slow circles into your clit, Keigo’s tongue darting out of his mouth to lick at a pert nipple again, drenching the lace in saliva. “Following the rules, just like I asked,”

A whimper catches in your throat and you nod, spikes of sharp fear shooting through your stomach as faded memories float languidly through your mind. You can barely remember it, brain so delirious from the pain that you hardly retained any of the experience, but the sound of the cane slicing through the air, mingled with the sound of your own wails echoing throughout the bachelor condo, the intense sting of its impact against your bare skin, the ache in your fingers from gripping the bedsheets that lingered for days later…Those you remember.

He had turned your backside into a brilliant piece of art, you remember him telling you, the morning after when gentle fingers were rubbing cream into your wounds, the obnoxious click! of his phone camera sounding a few moments later seared into your memory. Such a beautiful masterpiece, full of periwinkle and indigo, and it was all for him—because of him.

You couldn’t sit properly for a week and a half after the incident, and that you’ll never forget, either.

All because you had broken one teeny tiny rule, a rule you didn’t even know was a rule, a rule you thought he had been joking about—no panties when sleeping.

Two fingers pushing into your little hole snaps your mind back to the present, a whine falling from your lips as your hips push towards his palm, instantly craving more of him. Curved lips, formed in the shape of a sinful smirk, drag along your jaw as he murmurs to you. You like that, baby? Huh? Did you miss me as much as I missed you?

It’s only been a few days since you saw him last, but you find yourself nodding anyway, breathy little yeses exhaled through parted lips as his fingers pump in and out of you, knuckles curling with each pull out, catching on the spot that has you moaning out his name, that has you pathetically trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, that has you begging for more.

He’s always impatient anyway, barely takes any time to stretch you out—just enough so it isn’t uncomfortable for him, really, scissoring his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit until it’s throbbing, until he deems you wet enough to take him.

The drywall quivers as Keigo deftly spins you, shoving you against it, a low whine sounding in the back of your throat.

“I’m gonna fuck you in this,” he says decidedly, as if he’s just chosen what his lunch will be for tomorrow, big hands roaming over your ass, kneading and squeezing.

“Keigo, please, not here—”

“Shh,” he hushes you, and his voice is so gentle, so tender, gathering the delicate lace in his fists and pushing it up, up, up, until it bunches around your waist. “Be good for me, yeah?” sharp teeth sink into the back of your neck hard enough to break the skin, an alpha marking his territory, your responding cry muffled by the wall. “I’ve had such a long day,” he mumbles against you, licking over the bite. “Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you all day, y’know,” his hips grind against your ass, hard cock nearly slipping between your cheeks and accentuating his point, the thin fabric of his grey sweatpants being the only barrier between you. “And that bitch couldn’t satisfy me right even if her life depended on it,”

His tone darkens at the end, and you hate the way it still manages to send a flock of butterflies fluttering through your stomach, hole clenching greedily around nothing.

“So be a good girl—” a slap echoes throughout the empty apartment as his palm collides with your skin. “—and lift your hips for me,”

And then he’s tugging, hands wrapped around your hips as blunt nails dig into your flesh and hoist up, forcing you onto your tiptoes. You obey, of course, because you always obey, aiding him by pushing your ass towards him, chest and cheek pressed up against the wall.

A shiver courses through your body as he leans away for a moment, taking his body heat with him, the shutter of his phone camera click!ing a few times in quick succession.  

“Fuck,” he breathes, heat returning as he taps the head of his cock against your soaking cunt, reveling in the soft, wet little slaps. “You’re so beautiful,”

And he sounds so honest, so sincere, unexpected tears springing into your eyes and blurring your vision. Because his words shouldn’t, they absolutely shouldn’t inspire a deep warmth to bloom in your chest, but they do. It’s selfish, and pathetic, and derisive, sour shame taking root at your core a moment later, black and inky and rushing through your veins, eating up the warmth in an instant.

But Keigo shatters it all a second later with one quick, sharp thrust, burying himself deep within you, cockhead nudging against your cervix.

A yelp hitches in your throat at the sudden action, tears spilling over your lashline as your little hole burns, struggling to accommodate his girth. “Too thick, Kei, too thick,”

He doesn’t care, he tells you with a breathless chuckle, hips setting a punishing pace right from the start, refusing you even a moment to adjust. He knows you love it, he says to you, words growled into your ear with a sadistic smile, punctuated by the harsh slap of skin against skin that accompanies each of his thrusts.

Your nails scrape against the drywall, trying in vain to grip something, anything, to keep you upright as he pounds into you. A harsh gust of wind swirls around you, cool against your heated skin, and then his wings are caging you in, slamming against the drywall with such force that bits of it crack and crumble. Your hands fly out to grip them, little fingers curling around the edges as you try to keep yourself steady for him.

The sweetest moan escapes his lips, hoarse and whiny in the back of his throat as you clamp down on them, fingers slotting through the sharp feathers, hissing through your teeth as they leave superficial cuts along your sensitive skin.

It’s beginning to build, that familiar heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips, broken whimpers and airy little Kei!’s slipping from your parted lips as your legs begin to tremble.

A deep growl rumbles in his chest as he tells you to keep standing, damn it, the order spit through clenched teeth as his fingers grip your hips, spots of blue and purple blooming under them.

You’re trying, you want to tell him, words leaving your throat in the form of pitiful little sobs as your fingers clutch his wings, joints aching and stiff from being curled in the same position for so long.

The heat is rising, higher and higher and higher until your choking on it, scalding your tongue and blistering your throat.

“M’gonna—” you gasp out, the words garbled with spit as teary eyes roll back in your skull.

“Yeah—Y-Yeah,” he encourages breathlessly, hips gaining more speed with each piston into you, cock repeatedly dragging against that spot, the one that alights your entire body, that shoots tingling sparks up your spine and through your veins. “C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum—” a low grunt cuts him off, hips stuttering. “—Cum on my cock,”

It’s pathetic, really, how quickly your body obeys, knees nearly buckling as uncontrollable mewls of his name escape your lips, catching in your chest with his ruthless thrusts as you gush around him, cute little cunt clenching almost painfully on his thick cock.

“Good—Good girl. Now beg for it,” and he’s nearly whining, voice cracking as his movements begin to falter.

Pleads spill from your lips before you even know what you’re saying, voice absolutely wrecked as you beg for him to please, gimme your cum, please k-keigo, want it, I want it, I want it, fill me up, please, please, please!

Honestly, how can he deny you when you’re asking so nicely, so prettily for him, hips messily pounding into you three more times before he stills, the weight of his body crushing you against the wall as his cock pulses, filling you with ropes upon ropes of thick, hot cum.  

And he’s relentless that night, insatiable that night—fucking you over the arm of the couch, deep and hard and fast, cockhead slamming against your bruised cervix as a hand fists in your hair and yanks you up, snarling out the dirtiest words as his lips graze your ear, then praising you for being such a good little cockslut for him; fucking you in your giant jacuzzi bathtub, nimble fingers digging into your hips as he forces you to ride him, reinstating the fresh bruises from not long before; fucking you into your plush mattress, sharp hipbones signing his name into the soft flesh of your inner thighs in blotches of navy and violet as endless tears leak from your eyes, streaming into your hairline, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

The sun is just beginning to rise, peaking over the horizon and painting the city in a soft golden light. The buzzing of a phone on your nightstand rouses you from your half-asleep state for the second time, lifting your head to blink blearily at Keigo, who rolls his eyes without even glancing at the caller. It’s her—you know it is, calling to ask him where the hell he is, if he’s alright, if he’s coming home soon, if he’s safe—and acrid guilt settles on your tongue.

He lets it go to voicemail without a second thought.

“I hate her,”

“Break up with her, then,”

“And what, date you?” he snorts, and although you know he doesn’t mean for it to, it still stings. Rolling over, he turns to face you, his head propped up by his palm. “You know I wish I could,” he says softly, his free hand reaching out to cup your cheek, fingers grazing your cheekbone. “You know I would if I could, but…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to—you’ve heard it a thousand times before.

Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

But she’s the daughter of a world-renowned, established hero—you’re a quirkless nobody. But she’s good for his image, good for his brand—you’re not.

Sometimes, though, after he’s fucked you into a boneless mess, when he’s laying in your bed with a cigarette perched so artfully between his fingers, he opens up, allows you a tiny peak inside that gorgeous head of his.

Tonight it’s something you’ve heard before, but you don’t mind listening anyway, drawing nonsensical patterns on his bare chest, little fingers following the dips and curves of strong muscle, gliding under smooth skin that almost shines gold in the pale morning light, little blonde hairs catching in the beams as he breathes slowly.

It fucking sucks, he’s telling you, honey eyes trained on your finger’s movements, following its ministrations in a trance. He never wanted this—never asked for this, he admits to you, as he has so many times before, at four in the morning when the city is at its quietest, just before it begins to wake with the dawn of the sun. He hates it, all of the obligations and responsibilities that have been thrust upon him since he was a child.

“Sometimes I feel like my spine’s gonna fucking crack under all of it,” he laughs a little, though it’s wobbly and frail, looking away from you as he stubs out his cigarette.

“It’s just exhausting,” he flops onto his back with a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling. And you can hear it, his voice heavy with fatigue, with the duties that have been forced upon him, the ideals he’s been forced to uphold, laced with a hint of melancholy.

It makes your heart ache, despite the derision you now feel towards him. You don’t know his struggle—never could, never will—but he looks so…sad, eyes desolate as they gaze up at nothing, lips pressed together in a thin line. And that spark of love, the one you repeatedly keep trying to snuff out, blazes with the need to comfort him.

Reaching over, gentle fingers card through his sweaty golden locks, soft and shining in the dim light. His chest rises and falls with the effort of another sigh, eyes closing briefly at your touch, nuzzling ever so slightly into you.

“But at least I’ve got you, right?” he rolls onto his side, hands finding your hips as he drags you towards him, pulling you into his embrace and crushing your body against his chest. “You’ll never leave me, will you, my little bird,”

And although it isn’t phrased as a question—because he already knows the answer—you respond anyway, swallowing thickly against the acid rising past the lump lodged in your throat. “No, Keigo, never,”

#takami keigo x reader #takami keigo smut #hawks x reader #hawks smut #takami keigo #this is how we're gonna do ask oneshots now #because they're TOO LONG jfc #my own fault i know #WHEWWWW WAY LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN LOL #HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEIGO I GUESS #tw manipulation #tw cheating #tw degradation

[seita]

— little miss perfect | tamaki amajiki (m.)

pairing: tamaki amajiki/f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut

wordcount: 𝟼,𝟷𝟻𝟷

tags: forbidden love!au, high society!au, rich!au, arranged marriage!au

note: i posted this a little bit ago but tumblr took it out of the tags so i had to delete it ): i hope it doesn't do it again...

— the life you lived was one of rules; who you hung out with, what you ate, how you sat at the dinner table. nothing was under your control. but when you find yourself falling in love with a man you shouldn't, you find yourself desperate to break the rules.

masterlist | rules

© all content belongs to hshinso 2020. do not modify or repost.  

You sighed, letting your eyes wander around the ballroom packed with pretentious people wearing expensive gowns and suits. The chatter was too loud to hear even your own thoughts and you scowled, feeling a headache coming on. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the familiar looming figure of Enji Todoroki making his way in your direction. Before he could reach you, however, you slipped between the numerous people to make your way to the bar that was set up on the opposite end of the room. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you let out a sigh of relief when you realized the man wasn’t following you. 

The bastard had been trying since you turned 18 to arrange a marriage between you and his youngest son Shoto Todoroki ― even though the two of you were vehemently against it. But the man didn’t know how to take no for an answer and proceeded to harass you every chance he got, which was typically at functions such as the one you were currently attending. 

You had long since lost sight of your parents, not that you cared. Typically they would keep you by their side to show you off and introduce you to potential suitors in hopes of making connections through marriage. 

The very idea made you scoff. 

As you took the drink offered from the bartender, you gave him a soft thanks before turning around. Spinning on your heel, you let out a sharp gasp when you bumped face-first into a firm chest. The jolt caused your drink to slosh over the rim and onto your hand. 

You cursed, stepping back as you looked up at the wide-eyed man before you. He wore a rapidly reddening blush that burnt all the way up to his cute elf ears. 

“I-I’m so sorry!” he cried, reaching into his pocket to fish out a handkerchief, taking your glass from your hand to quickly wipe the mess on your skin away, “I didn’t realize I was standing so close, I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s okay…” you whispered, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth at the sight of him.

He was tall with indigo hair that stuck up messily on the back of his head. Typically such a thing would be frowned upon ― people in high society desire to look their best, after all. Despite that, he wore a perfectly tailored tux and an expensive gold watch on his wrist. As he gazed down at his task of cleaning your hand, you noticed how long his eyelashes were as they brushed against his cheeks with every blink. 

“There...I think I got it all,” he breathed, tucking the handkerchief away into his pocket without a care that it was wet with wine. At least it was white wine and not red, you mused, “You should probably wash your hands or it’ll dry your skin out or something.”

You raised a brow, not sure if such a thing could really happen. Still, you smiled and thanked him, breezing past him to find a bathroom. You still smelled like alcohol now so you needed to wash it off anyway. 

When you returned to the ballroom, there was no sign of the attractive indigo hair colored man anywhere. Part of you was disappointed but you brushed it off as something silly. No point in pining after a man you spoke 10 words with after all. 

You brushed off that chance meeting, not even paying it a second thought. In fact, you were certain you were either never going to meet him again or that you wouldn’t remember him even if you did. 

It was wishful thinking on your end, however, because at yet another pointless high-society function, you caught sight of the messy haired man once more.

“Hey,” you greeted, making him turn away from the conversation he was having with a pretty periwinkle haired girl and tall, blonde man. 

“Oh, it’s you,” he smiled, gaze softening from the guarded look he held when you’d greeted him. 

From that look alone, you knew he was from a prominent family similar to yours. The type of family where you had to hold your tongue and be on guard for any shit that might come your way. It was an unpleasant, stressful existence. 

“It’s me,” you smiled, nursing your glass with two hands, unsure of where to go from there, “I um...wondered what your name might be?”

He looked surprised for a second before smiling an ever-so-gentle smile, “Call me Tamaki.”

“I’m ______,” you introduced, reaching forward to shake his hand. 

His grip was firm and practiced but his hand was a bit calloused from what you didn’t know. It still felt nice. His hand was bigger than yours, strong with long longers. 

“These are my friends Nejire Hado and Mirio Togata,” he introduced, motioning to them. 

You smiled in greeting, recognizing only the Hado name. Her family owned one of the biggest shipping companies in Japan. You wondered what Mirio and Tamaki did. 

“Can I ask what your last name is?” Nejire asked. 

Just as you were about to open your mouth to answer, you heard your name being called. You felt your blood freeze in your veins. You cringed, your distaste clearly written on your face to the three people standing in front of you.

“Mr. Todoroki,” you beamed fakely as you turned around, “How nice to see you!”

“My Shoto is looking for you,” he grumbled, arms crossed over his chest as he glared down at you.

“I doubt that,” you breathed.

“What was that?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“I said that’s great, I’ll go find him!” you bowed briefly before brushing past him to disappear into the crowd. Looking over your shoulder, you rolled your eyes when you were finally out of sight. 

What a pain in the ass that man was. 

-

You hummed as you swung your shopping bags by your side, enjoying the setting sun beaming on your skin. It was a rare day you got to have completely for yourself with no escorts or stupid functions to be seen. In celebration, you went out shopping with your parent’s credit card ― not that they’d ever even notice. 

“Excuse me!” a soft voice called from behind. 

On reflex, you paused and turned around, eyes wide as you caught the familiar form of Tamaki jogging towards you. He seemed surprised as he stopped in front of you, realizing who you were. 

“You…” you mumbled, “You’re not stalking me or something right?”

Immediately his eyes burst red, shaking his head wildly, “N-No of course not! Why would you think that? It’s just coincidence I swear―”

“I’m kidding!” you laughed, patting his shoulder to calm him down, “What’s up?”

“You dropped this back there,” he sighed, scratching the back of his head almost nervously as he held up your folded handkerchief.

“Oh! Thank you!” you beamed, taking it from his hands.

There was a beat of silence, both of you standing there awkwardly unsure of what to say or what to do. 

“Hey, you wanna get dinner or something?” you asked suddenly, obviously startling him.

“Wh-What?”

You shrugged, “You don’t have to. I figure since we’re both here, it’s almost dinner time...why not?”

He was quiet for a second, thinking it over before smiling with a soft nod, “Sure. Lead the way.”

“Oh, a gentleman,” you teased, enjoying the way his ears turned red in response. 

He was a cute thing, wasn’t he? Shy and soft spoken yet still holding a strong disposition due to no doubt being raised in high society. 

By the time the two of you were seated in the fancy restaurant, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon. The sky was cast a deep orange that was rapidly vanishing by the minute. The bright chandelier in the center of the room cast a relaxing light over the both of you. You moved automatically to fold the napkin over your lap with your hands folded over it. Tamaki moved the same way, flashing you a sheepish smile once the two of you were left in silence. 

What you planned to be a nice, pleasant dinner ended up in a way you hadn’t expected. 

In his bed. 

His hand felt like heaven wrapped around your throat, giving just the smallest bit of pressure that made your head rush. He stared down at you with heated eyes, lip tucked between his teeth as he listened to the way you whimpered beneath him. You squeezed around his cock so tight he swore every time you came you almost took him with you. 

Sweet Tamaki turned out to be one of the best lays of your life. 

Little did you know, it was that little tumble in the sheets that would send your entire way of life ablaze. 

You had no idea how it happened; what went from a casual one-night stand grew into weekly outings together to have lunch or dinner, sometimes breakfast if you could manage it eventually morphing into what you could only describe as love. 

Whenever you laid your eyes on the messy-haired man, your heart raced and you felt a smile that you had no hope of fighting grow across your face. He seemed to be in the same boat, always having a deep need to touch you ― holding your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your forehead, or simply holding you in his lap. 

The night you brought him to one of the famous, high-society functions as your date was the biggest mistake of your life. 

“Are you nervous?” he asked teasingly, squeezing your hand in his larger one. 

You beamed up at him, shaking your head, “No, of course not!” In fact, it was the opposite ― you were more than a little excited to finally reveal your relationship. Truthfully, you hadn’t thought about the possibility of it being something that could end badly. Your parents hadn’t known you were seeing anyone, it’s not like you were close enough to them to actually reveal much personal information about yourself. 

Usually whenever you did, it turned into a lecture that ended with you crying into your pillow feeling like shit with their harsh words echoing in your mind.

However, that night, you found yourself torn from Tamaki’s grasp. Your parents held the most hateful scowls you’d ever seen them wear as they regarded Tamaki’s parents who glared in the exact same manner.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” your mother hissed, yanking on your arm to pull you away from your boyfriend.

“Wh-What?!” you cried, struggling to get out of her iron grip, “Let go!”

“Don’t make a scene,” she hissed, tugging you harsher.

“We’ll talk when we get home,” you father hummed, voice colder than usual. 

You glanced over your shoulder to see Tamaki being dragged in the opposite direction with a similar look of despair on his face as he watched you vanish from sight ― the both of you locked in a state of confusion.

Once home, the air around both of your parents was terrifying. Instinctively, you sat on the couch in the lounge with your head down as the two of them paced back and forth, collecting their thoughts.

“How dare you make a fool of us like that, _____?!” your mother cried, making you flinch.

“I-I’m sorry but I don’t understand,” you muttered, keeping your voice meek to keep from angering them further.

Your father scoffed, “Do you even know who that boy was?!”

“Tamaki Amajiki…” you replied quickly.

“Are you dating him or something?” your mother grilled, hands on his hips as she halted her pacing in front of you.

You nodded, not seeing a point in lying, “W-We’ve been together for about 6 months now…”

Your father scoffed, “You are never to see that boy again, do you understand me?”

“But why?” you asked, finally looking up.

Your parents looked bewildered, “You know we have nothing to do with that damn Amajiki family, ______. You are never to speak to their kind again.”

With that, they both stormed out of the room, leaving you more confused than before. You didn’t know that you were supposed to have nothing to do with them. It wasn’t like your parents told you anything, your older brother was the one in line to take over the family business so you rarely ever even got word of the goings on behind the scenes. 

Your heart was aching as you went to bed that night, not sure what it was you were meant to do. You had texted Tamaki, seen he read your text but he never responded. It only made you hurt that much more and before you knew it, tears were dampening your pillow. 

You had just about cried yourself to sleep when the sound of your balcony doors clicking open startled you upright.

“It’s just me,” Tamaki whispered, closing the doors as quietly as possible, drawing the curtains so no one could see in.

“Tamaki!” you whimpered, bolting out of bed to wrap your arms around his middle. He immediately wrapped his own around you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “They said I can’t see you anymore!”

His eyes softened, cupping your tear-stained cheeks to press a kiss against your forehead, “I know. Mine said the same to me.”

“I don’t understand why!” you whimpered, fresh tears falling down your cheeks.

He shook his head, “Our familiar apparently had...some old rivalry that turned sour.”

You scoffed, “That’s stupid. It doesn’t affect us, why should we suffer for it?”

He sighed, leading you towards the bed, “I agree. All we can do is fight it, right?”

“You mean…?” you looked hopefully at him with wide eyes and he smiled.

“I wouldn’t let something like this take you from me, _____,” he promised, moving to lay beside you, pulling the blankets over your forms, “I’ll be gone before the sun rises but for now...sleep, okay?”

You nodded, burying yourself in his chest, taking in the sweet scent you grew to adore. With his heart hammering rhythmically in your ear, you fell into a peaceful sleep you were sure you weren’t going to get that night. 

Tamaki’s effect on you was just that; a sense of security. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to live without it now.

Things were a bit different with you and Tamaki once you discovered you weren’t supposed to be together. It was more difficult to get away in secret, your parents for once paying actual attention to what you did. Tamaki’s were doing the same. 

You found yourself sneaking out of your window in the dead of night more than you ever thought you would. It was worth it, to see the sly grin on Tamaki’s face when you texted him to warn him you were outside. 

The two of you made it work, though. Six months blossomed into ten; the two of you edging on a whole year together.

One night, however, as he crawled onto your balcony, you could tell something was off. 

“What’s the matter?” you asked as he sat stiffly on your bed, your hand held tightly in his trembling ones. 

“______,” he sighed, head hanging low. 

Your heart ached in your chest through your anxiety. You waited for him to talk, watching the way he opened his mouth several times only to close it when he changed his mind.

“This is…” he sighed, shaking his head, “This can’t work anymore.”

Those words shattered your heart in your chest and you pulled your hand from his grasp. He didn’t fight to get it back, avoiding looking at what he knew were your tear-filled eyes. 

“Wh-What happened?” you whispered, voice trembling.

He shook his head again, “All this sneaking around...what’s it going to get us?” he stood up, his back to you, “Whether we’re together for a year or 5 years...are we going to sneak around forever? We can’t do that.”

“You’re...you’re breaking up with me?” you asked pitifully.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding, “Eventually I need to be with someone I can be with. Our parents won’t let us do that...so there isn’t a point anymore. I’m sorry, _____…”

He moved to make his way to your balcony doors again when you bolted out of bed, wrapping your arms around his middle to keep him in place. He halted, letting you sob into his back, his heart breaking at the sound. 

“Please don’t do this, Tama!” you cried, fisting his shirt, “I don’t want to lose you. You’re the only good thing I have ever gotten in my life. You know what this life is like! Everything about it is controlled and revolving around a stupid image but...with you I don’t have to worry about anything. I’ve never felt more free with anyone than I feel with you...Tamaki...please…”

Your brokenhearted confession spurred him into turning around, cupping your cheeks to pull you into a loving kiss. It made your head swim, your eyes fluttering shut as you deepened the kiss, losing yourself in the feeling of his arms around you.

He held you so desperately, like you would slip away from him any second. Part of you knew that that was exactly what would happen. Once the sun rose, that would be it ― he wouldn’t get to hold you in his arms ever again. 

You pushed that thought out of your head, instead choosing to slide his shirt up until he had to break away from the kiss to tug it off. 

He picked you up by the waist, spinning to deposit you on the bed. He crawled on top of you, burying his face in your neck to press soft kisses there. You angled your head back to give him all the room he needed.

He wanted so badly to mark you up, to leave you with something of his, but he couldn’t. Squeezing your eyes tight, you fought back tears as you clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders. 

He reached down, pushing the hem of your silk nightgown over your hips. Sucking in a breath, he felt his cock harden rapidly at the sight of your pretty panties. 

“You’re so pretty,” he breathed, meeting your lips for another kiss. 

You cupped the back of his head, pulling him even closer, arching your hips up to grind against him. He let out of stuttering breath, gripping your hip to urge you to grind rougher. 

“Please, Tama,” you begged, breathing ragged at the teasing pleasure you were receiving. 

“What do you need?” he breathed, a tone you knew only you got to hear. 

To everyone else, he was a timid and shy young man who had trouble maintaining eye contact for too long. But with you, being closed doors, while you shared sweet kisses and heated touches, you got a side of Tamaki no one else would get to experience. 

“I need you, please,” you begged, reaching forward to pull at his belt. 

It was obvious he had come straight to your place after being somewhere — perhaps dinner with his parents. 

He nodded, leaning back to clumsily strip himself of his pants. He stumbled a bit, making him mutter out embarrassed apologies with bright red cheeks. Soon enough, he was on you again. 

With experienced fingers, he helped strip you from your own clothes. Your nightgown came off to reveal your bare breasts, a sight Tamaki couldn't help but whimper at. 

Leaning down, he enveloped one of your perked nipples in his mouth. You tugged at his head, letting out soft sighs as he switched to the other one. Wet with his saliva, the cooler air caused them to harden even more.

Feeling impatient, you began to push your panties down your hips. Tamaki, sensing your urgency, helped pull them free of your ankles, tossing them to be lost somewhere in the darkened room. 

He cupped your cheek, bringing you in for yet another kiss. His lips were so soft, his kiss pouring every ounce of love he felt for you. His free hand found its way between your legs, parting your folds to graze over your clit. 

You gasped into his mouth, arching your hips at his teasing touch. He smiled against your lips, circling the bud until your thighs trembled before easily sliding two digits into your clenching hole. He paused, letting you adjust to the minute stretch before angling his fingertips up to hit your sweet spot. He had long since memorized your body ― every erogenous zone, every sweet spot, it was all committed to memory. 

Your body was a temple just for him and he treated it with so much care. 

You were sure you would never have anyone like Tamaki Amajiki again. The thought made your heart ache and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep from crying. 

He pulled his fingers free, holding them up to his face to see the way they glistened with your slick. Popping them in his mouth, he whimpered at your taste, wishing he could get on his knees and eat you out for this last time. 

But the way you reached between his legs to bring the tip of his cock to your entrance let him know how desperate you were for him. Not wanting to keep you waiting, he easily slipped in with your assistance. 

He sunk in to the base, let out a sharp groan as your walls squeezed him. Neither of you were willing to wait long ― he set a quick pace that brought you both great pleasure. Sweat coated your bodies and caused you to stick together. Neither of you really care, however.

You reached down to grab his hand, bringing it up to your breast. He smiled, thumbing your nipple before descending down to envelop its twin between his lips. 

His tongue swirled around the bud, relishing in the way it made your walls squeeze him. 

“F-Feels so good!” you whined, clawing at his back, no doubt leaving behind red scratches. 

“Yeah?” he breathed, making sure to angle his hips just right to hit that spot he had memorized. 

Your reaction was instantaneous, a sharp cry so loud he had to reach up to cover your mouth with his hand. 

“Can’t be too loud,” he warned, his cock throbbing at the teary, pleasure-filled gaze you fixed him with. 

He could feel your moans vibrating beneath his hand as he continued his sweet pace. Your walls squeezed him tight and he groaned, dipping down to press his face to your neck. 

“Gonna cum,” your words were muffled but he managed to catch them. 

He nodded, sitting back on his heels. His grip on your mouth moved to your throat, the long digits wrapping around your neck just the way you liked. In an instant, his pace doubled and his other hand found purchase on your pelvic bone, thumb extending out to rub at your swollen clit. 

The hard bud throbbed beneath his touch as he circled it in time to his thrusts. His hand tightened against your throat, feeling your moans vibrate against his palm as you reached your high. 

Your back arched and your eyes rolled back before fluttering closed. The pinch in your brow and the way your mouth hung silently open sent him over the edge, your own euphoria being enough to make him cum. 

You squeezed his cock tight, milking everything he had to fill you up. 

Everything came to a slow halt, Tamaki slowed his grinding before allowing his softened length to slip free. His cum dripped from your still spasming entrance, making a mess of your bedsheets. Neither of you cared, however, as he laid beside you. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his chest, eyes fluttering with sleep.

“...I love you too,” he replied, kissing the top of your head.

As you drifted to sleep, you missed the flood of tears that dripped down his still flushed cheeks. 

The next morning, the birds chirping from your open balcony door woke you up. Immediately, images of last night came to mind. You sat up, holding your sheets to your chest as you looked around. 

Your nightgown and panties Tamaki had stripped you of were folded atop your dresser and there was no sign of your boyfriend. 

Or rather...ex-boyfriend.

The thought made your heart clench and you couldn’t stop the stinging in your eyes.

It was really over.

-

Your parents miracuously, and unfortunately, noticed the rapid change in your demeanor. They grilled you on the cause, although they already knew it was related to your feelings for Tamaki. Over the course of the month since he disappeared from your bed without another word, you’d grown more withdrawn and lonely. The everyday, boring rule-filled life you lived losing the tiny glimmer of happiness Tamaki once provided.

“Is this about Tamaki’s engagement?” your mother asked one evening, making everything around you come to a screeching halt. Your eyes fell to her at the other end of the table. She wasn’t looking at you, shaking her head as she cut the steak on her plate, “It’s silly to be upset over something like that. I would have expected you to be over him by now.”

“I love him…” you confessed tearfully. 

Your father scoffed, “don’t be ridiculous. Love is pointless, you know that.”

“But I…” you were cut off by your mother’s sharp glare.

“You think your father and I love each other?” you fell silent at those words, “You’d be wise to let go of that stupid fantasy of marrying for love right now.”

“We’ll take care of that soon, don’t you worry,” your father threatened with a glare that let you know the conversation was over.

The man certainly lived up to his threat because the following week, you found yourself sitting at a table with Enji and Rei Todoroki. Shoto Todoroki sat stiffly to your right, fisting his dress pants with a cold look on his face.

“I’m glad you’ve finally seen reason,” Enji spoke in that ugly, superior tone that made your face morph to one of disgust. Glancing at Shoto, you saw his eyes narrowed at his father.

At least he seemed to hate him as well.

“Well, our daughter seems to need it,” your mother spoke in a sickly sweet tone, “She’s got this foolish idea of love in her silly head. So we decided your offer for marrying young Shoto couldn’t have happened at a better time!”

Enji nodded with his arms crossed over his puffed out chest, “Excellent. You won’t regret your decision. I’ll have the proper paperwork filed as soon as this weekend and we can begin the proper preperations.”

You heard Shoto sigh beside you as he stood up, placing a hand on your shoulder. You looked up to find a sorrowful look in his eyes that almost made you cry, “I’m sorry…”

With that soft sentiment whispered soft enough that no one could hear him, he held his hand out to you. You sighed and took it, allowing him to help you to your feet.

“_____ and I will take a walk,” Shoto announced, “I’d like to get to know her a bit more.”

“Excellent idea, dear,” Rei praised, though you couldn’t help but think the smile on her face was more than fake. 

Shoto squeezed your hand, leading you out of the room. Once the two of you were safely away from the prying eyes of staff, hidden away in the garden, he released your hold.

“You fell in love with someone you weren’t supposed to, huh?” he mused, making you look up at him in shock. He chuckled softly, “Don’t worry, whatever you tell me is safe with me.”

“Yeah…” you whispered, frowning at the cobblestone ground, “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be with him until we were already together. My parents keep telling me it’s stupid to be in love…”

“I understand,” he sighed, starting a slow pace walking around with his hands clasped behind his back. When you looked up at him, he was gazing at the moon, the light making the glassiness of his eyes even more visible than you would have thought, “I did the same thing.”

“Really?” you couldn’t help but ask.

He nodded, chin wobbling slightly before he spoke, “Her name was Momo. We were together for almost 3 years before she was married off to some guy before I even knew it was happening. She told me that it was never going to work between us anyway so we shouldn’t have even bothered,” he sighed, “I was pretty heartbroken.”

“It seems you still are,” you mused softly. 

He chuckled, looking over at you finally with a sad smile, “That’s the life we live, isn’t it? Sad and lonely...nothing is truly ours, not even our love.”

Those words resonated in your heart, making you bite your lip to fight back tears. He stopped, taking your hand in his similar to how Tamaki had that last night you were together.

“Regardless of whether we are married or not,” he breathed, “I will never expect you to love me but...I will make sure you at least enjoy my company. I won’t let us become like our parents. We can at least have that bit of happiness to ourselves, right?”

“Shoto…” you breathed, the tears you had been fighting back finally coming forth. 

He cupped the back of your head, bringing you in for a sweet hug, “Who knows...maybe if we’re lucky we’ll be able to love each other in the end…”

Those words faded into the night, neither of you sure if such a thing would ever be possible. Both of your hearts already belonged to other people. It was a painful existence but you could have wound up arranged to be wed to a worse man. 

Shoto wasn’t bad, you knew that. He managed to make you feel happy when you were together ― which became more frequent the closer your wedding date grew. Of course, he didn’t make you anywhere near as happy as Tamaki did. 

You desperately missed the closeness you felt with him. How it felt to be wrapped up in the strong arms of a man who loved you. Almost every night, you found yourself sleeping on a wet pillow. 

The night before your wedding, you found yourself sitting in your bedroom with a dual haired man standing in the middle of it. It felt so strange; he was going to be your husband in just 12 hours but you still had another man on your mind.

You remembered how it felt to have Tamaki sneaking into your room late at night too.

“What’re you doing here?” you asked softly.

“You’ve been crying,” he pointed out, making you wince.

“I’m sorry…” you apologized, unsure what for.

“Why are you saying sorry?” he chuckled softly, walking closer to you.

“I’m crying because I’m marrying you tomorrow, that can’t feel very good,” you sighed.

He shook his head, hands tucked in his pockets, “I get it. That’s why I came here.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, wiping a stray tear away.

“_____,” he sighed, “Is it really worth it? What do you get out of doing what they say? You’re an adult...there’s nothing they can do to stop you from leaving. You have a good education and I’m sure Tamaki does as well,” his words had you pausing, “You might not wind up with as much money as you have now but at least you’ll have the freedom to be a person. I lost my chance by letting my parents control my life and take Momo away from me. But you still have a chance.”

“Are you saying…?”

He smiled, placing his hand on top of your head, “Be with Tamaki. Even if it’s just for a few months or a few years, you’ll know what it’s like to live your own life. I can’t even imagine what they could feel like. Aren’t you tired of living like this? With all these rules...they tell us who we can be friends with, what to eat, how to sit at the damn dinner table...we’re barely even people. We’re just a means of obtaining power. Our parents marry us to the most powerful families they can in hopes of getting an heir worth a damn. It’s bullshit.”

“Shoto…” you whispered, a new sense of life flowing through you, “What if he’s not willing to leave it all?”

He shrugged, “Then at least you can say you tried and...in the morning if it didn’t work then you can marry me and we’ll adopt a damn dog or something.”

“I’m allergic to dogs,” you countered.

“A fucking cat then,” the uncharacteristic curse had you giggling into your hand. 

“Thank you, Shoto,” he took a step back as you stood up, “I’ll see you around.”

“We’ll see,” he replied, watching as you wrapped a measly bathrobe around yourself, not a care in the world about getting properly dressed.

You were out of breath by the time you made it to Tamaki’s. Your car was parked down the street to avoid attracting any attention. Tamaki’s bedroom light was on and you eagerly climbed the lattice that decorated the side of the house. 

Peeking into his room, you could see that he was sitting at his desk, writing something. He tensed when he heard his balcony door open, spinning in his chair to gape at you.

“_____?” he gasped, jumping to his feet to shut the door and close the curtain. He gripped your arms, hissing when he felt your temperature, “It’s freezing out what the hell are you doing wearing that?”

You beamed at his care for you, throwing your arms around his shoulders. Immediately, his hands found purchase on your hips to hold you against him.

“Run away with me, Tama,” you breathed.

He froze, pulling away from you with wide eyes, “Wh-What?”

“Run away with me,” you repeated, fisting his shirt, “What’s really keeping us here? We can make it on our own, we have good educations and can get good jobs. We can be together and be happy without outside voices whispering in our ears. We can be normal people, Tamaki.”

He was quiet, loosening his grip on you to take a few steps back. He ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. The happiness and confidence you had built up quickly crashed and you found yourself feeling foolish. 

Why would he want to leave everything behind for you? He was in the same position as you; due to be married soon. Hanging your head, you let out a sigh.

“It’s alright,” you whispered, shrugging your shoulders, “I get it’s something really big to ask. You don’t have to take me up on it. I just thought...I would see.”

He still didn’t say anything and you turned on your heel to make way for the balcony, “I’m um...getting married tomorrow so...I just thought you should know that I love you so much, Tama. Being with you was the best thing I ever had...even when I’m married with Shoto, I’ll never stop thinking of you, okay? I wish you the best in your own marriage.”

You got out to the balcony, swinging one leg over the rail to climb down when two strong arms pulled you back. You gasped when you fell to the ground, your weight pressed against Tamaki as he buried his face in your neck. It didn’t take you long to realize he was crying. His tears wet your shoulder as he squeezed you tight.

“Don’t go,” he cried, “The idea of you being with another man...it’s too much.”

“Tama…” you whispered, holding onto him in return.

“Let’s do it,” he sniffled, pulling back to gaze into your eyes. He leaned forwards and pressed his lips to yours, “I’ll pack a bag. Have you got a bag?”

“No,” you replied sheepishly, “I wasn’t sure if you would say yes so I didn’t want to assume.”

He chuckled, untangling himself from you before moving back into his room, tossing all sorts of clothes and valuables into his suitcase. You laughed as he talked about selling stuff for money. 

Before long, he was packed and ready to go. 

Once you were sitting inside your car, the heat blasting as you warmed your cold skin, he reached over and took your hand in his. You looked at him, finding that familiar look of love in his eyes that never failed to make your heart soar.

As he squeezed your hand, you just knew that everything was going to be just fine.

#bnha x reader #bnha smut #tamaki amajiki x reader #amajiki smut #bnha imagines #mha x reader #mha smut

[fandom-doppelgangers]

Ice Cream Chills

Your eyes lifted from the sundae which your fingertips were pressed around. “Honestly, dude, I think it’s time you stopped acting like such a- a wimp!” Kawakami hissed irritably through his fanged teeth. Frustrated heat radiated off his body, his radiant orange eyes glowering in the nicely-lit ice cream parlor. It was Wednesday- the middle of the evening - with the setting sun highlighting the sky bright red and pinks. You frowned, glancing between the group of boys sitting at your booth. Kawakami’s statement earned a few uncomfortable glances, but no one looked as awkward as the boy being addressed. Tamaki Amajiki. You easily sympathized with his awkwardness, and sometimes your empathy led you to pitying him. But never felt as bad as you did now, cushioned in the corner of the plastic dinning booth, crammed between your male classmates. Your (E/C) orbs trailed around the parlor. It wasn’t much. Sleek white tile floors, white luminescent lights dotting the ceilings; against the left wall were several red cushioned diner booths, with old-fashioned metallic tables and stiff, straight backs. Of course there was a counter where you could not only order your desired ice cream, but also eye the delicious dessert as it slowly melted away, creamy liquid dripping down the sides of the containers, oozing into the stained serving space. The entire place smelled heavily of dairy products, chocolate, and underripe cherries. You surveyed the room for two people. Maybe Togata Mirio… or Nejire Hado. A muscular blonde boy, with pretty blue eyes and a warm smile, and a tall girl with bell-blue eyes and long luscious periwinkle hair. The trio, Amajiki, Mirio, and Hado, make up the big three. The three of them were more advanced than the rest of you hero-course third years. They excel above you all. Were you another of their admirers? No. But inwardly, you had to admit, the trio could be pretty cool. Amajiki looked up from his own bowl of ice cream, avoiding Kawakami’s judgmental glare. He seemed at loss for words; not knowing how to reply and obviously feeling the pressure of Kawakami’s words on his shoulders. “I- try not to be but it just… I can’t-“

“You can’t what? Help it? Honestly Suneater, I’m kinda growing tired of hearing that same excuse over and over again. You’re supposed to be better than us, right?” You let your eyes wander again, scanning anxiously for the other two members of the Big Three. Your nerves were twisting your gut, and your stomach felt empty with anxiety. You didn’t like where this was going. Once again, Amajiki seemed to have trouble coming up with a response. He kept his mouth shut, lowering his gaze. “Cool down, Kawakami… you can quit badgering him,“ one of the older boys, Hirano piped in. He looked half-serious with his playful pink eyes and ginger hair. Much to your dismay, Kawakami ignored this interruption.

“If you’re supposed to be better, than start… acting like it! Honestly, you’re acting like a freaking four year old! Get a grip! It’s embarrassing...”

As the only girl sitting at the booth, you began to feel even more uncomfortable. You tucked a stray strand of your (H/C) hair behind your ear, sucking in a breath. All the guys sitting with you had their gazes locked on Amajiki’s rigid figure. Amajiki’s indigo eyes, a perfect reflection of the night sky, stared down hard at his lap. From what you gathered… Mirio and Hado weren’t in the parlor with you guys. You could only assume they had gone to the café next door, sitting over steaming caffeinated drinks, holding the warm cups in between their cold and rosy hands. The group lapsed in uncomfortable silence for a while. No one moved, with the exception of the occasional shake or jerk from Amajiki. You chewed the inside of your lip, your blood boiling and anger swelling.

Popping your cherry in your mouth, you pushed out of your seat, and in a not-so-lady-like fashion jumped out of your seat by climbing over your booth. No way you were sliding your arse over your classmates legs. You stood off the the side from the table, stiff as a board. There was absolutely no reason for Kawakami to start on like that, right? You furrowed your brows in an angry, frustrated downward angle. Stuffing your hands in your hoodie pockets, turning your shadowed face to your male classmates, you scowled. “Not everyone is the same, Kawakami. I’d say he has a better grip on a lot of things than you do,” you said lowly, like a deep rumble of thunder emerged from your throat. You strode past the diner, tapping Amajiki’s shoulder gently. You weren’t going to wait for him, because thinking logically it might just damage his fragile nerves even more. You walked out of the parlor, through the wired-bell door with ease and into the chilly streets of Japan. The suburbs were lit with soft yellows and blinding white lights. You cuddled further into your soft hoodie, pulling at the collar to shield your chin from the wind. You narrowed your eyes, squeezing your hand into a fist. You dug your nails onto the palm of your hand, squeezing harder and harder until it stung too much. At the sound of a “ding”, you whirled around to face the door of the ice cream shop. Amajiki was stooped over, his usual slouched posture. His hands were in his pockets, and he seemed to be back to his normal, pessimistic self. You inwardly frowned at his behavior, but nonetheless bore a soft smile as he sluggishly approached you. “Thank you,” he mumbled, “Normally I don’t deal with that sort of thing… and when I do, Mirio always steps in.” You nodded slowly, ”I just hate that I had to ‘step in’ at all,” you replied. ”Speaking of Mirio, where is he?“

Amajiki lifted his gaze, making direct eye contact with you. It was for the first time, in that fleeting moment, that you got to appreciate the way the light shone across his dark indigo eyes. Never before had you seen such eyes… like dark pools of stars.

”He and Hado went off with the rest of the class. I have no idea where they are,” Amajiki replied. He averted his gaze to the ground, and you could visibly see the flushed expression spreading onto his teenage features. You shrugged, tentatively letting your smile broaden. “I guess we could find them together than? I might as well, uh,” your eyes scanned your foreign surroundings, “look around?” Amajiki didn’t oppose, he merely slouched ahead. You couldn’t recall a time you felt more eager to find your classmates. It was cold, and you struggled to keep up with Amajiki- surprisingly. He kept up a shockingly quick pace, which you were somewhat grateful for… you needed the exercise after that sundae. The two of you didn’t talk much. You just walked. He seemed to feel very awkward about walking alongside a female other than Nejire, so I guess you felt a bit flattered. “Manifest?” It was just a random thing you blurted out.

”Y-Yeah… it’s not the most convenient quirk.” You looked startled, instantly correcting yourself, “No, no! I think your quirk is really… cool. It’s convenient for hero work,” you stared down at your hands. “You have such great control of it, too. I just wish I could get a grip on myself and master my quirk the way you do.“

He peered over at you inquiringly. “You have a good grasp on your quirk just fine… you handle situations much better than I do. Just the thought of- speaking to someone so harshly, like you did…-“

You stopped hearing his footsteps echoing behind you, and you waited for him to finish his hanging sentence.

When you turned, he was stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, grabbing at his stomach. “-It makes me nauseous.” You blinked. “Well, er, thank you?“ You smiled gently at him, striding over and patting his back awkwardly. He didn’t seem to like it, so you stopped.

”Maybe you just need someone to teach you. Like toughness lessons or something?” “Mirio and Hado have already tried. Nothing really works. The anxiety just gets to me-“

You folded your arms against the sweeping breeze. It was colder than you had anticipated. Amaniki just sat there, hunched in the middle of the sidewalk. The streets were so empty tonight, anyway, that no one seemed to care. You chewed your cheek, sneaking your way behind your classmate. He didn’t notice you, so you stopped down, bending over him with a gentle smile.

”How long are you gonna sit there?” You inquired. The dark-haired boy didn’t reply, instead lowering his gaze even more. “Mph,” he groaned. You grinned teasingly, poking at his back. “Come on, big guy! We gotta get back to the dorms whether you like it or not,“ you stated firmly, although there was a softer hint in your tone. Amajiki glanced up at you. His dark purple eyes glowed innocently in the dim light of the moon. He didn’t say a word, just gazed mutely into your eyes. “I’ll carry you if I absolutely have to, but don’t make me,” you warned, stuffing your rosy hands into your pockets. Tamaki smiled slowly at you, tentatively. But it was natural. He stood up.

#Amajiki being awkward #Amajiki x reader #MHA #BNHA #bnha amajiki #fluff #Imagine? #Angst? #Angst #mha tamaki #tamaki amakiji #amajiki tamaki #yn

[achliegh]

Positive

Hello, I asked how everyone would feel if I did a prequel to O&O. I got a lot of yes’ and screaming so I decided it was best to do it. I have been thinking about this ever since chapter 17 of Olive and Otto. So here it is! If you have any questions about characters just send me an ask and I will gladly answer! (Also I just get so happy when people want to talk to me)

Leo and his family belong to @lumosinlove <3

Thank you to: @walking-crisis, @clearsuitcasecookienerd, @blingywitch, @waltzintherain, and @moonofthenight, @onlydreamofmysoul (If I missed anyone who answered my asks please let me know! I know some haven’t answered yet but I am hoping they will)

TW/CW: High school bullies, Coming out to homophobic family, Slurs, Homophonic languages and attitudes, mentions of sex, and pregnancy, teen pregnancy, probably food and drink. Oh! And cigarettes and underage drinking.

Chapter 1

The Night Of

Halloween 2015

“We are never doing that again!” Indigo was laying in her bed next to Leo breathing hard. They just had sex… for the first time ever!. It was horrible and sticky and she never imagined doing that with Leo. They both thought it was a good idea especially because it was Halloween, they were at a house party that one of their cheer friends had put on.

“Agreed” Leo sighed next to her and put his hands on his face. Both here silent for a couple of minutes until they suddenly turned to face one another at the same time and blurted out.

“I’M GAY!” Both slapped a hand over their mouths and just stared at the other like they had a fish strapped to their head….

“What?!” they both said at the same time again. Indigo slapped his shoulder hard causing him to wince, she sat up and hugged her knees resting her forehead on them. Oh god, both of them were just playing the part of the perfect partner when neither really wanted each other like that.

Leo had gotten up to toss the condom they had used, because neither of them wanted to have kids especially that young, he slashed some water against his face and rubbed it down the back of his neck. Resting his hands on his shoulders he looked into the mirror, he saw an idiot, his shaggy blonde curls that he didn’t know how to control, the bags under his eyes from constantly being at practice. Cheer or Hockey, Gymnastic or Band it didn’t matter. With all his school work he had no idea how he hasn’t slept less than he has. Maybe he should stop taking naps during study hall.

He was lanky but trying to build up his muscles, the cigarettes weren’t helping, yeah they suppressed his appetite like his cheer coach told Indigo, but it wasn’t what he needed to be able to bulk up. He sighs and grabs his boxers from the floor and slips them on as he sits next to Indigo. Yes, he was gay, he had known he was different since he was thirteen. He dated Indigo to prove that he could love a woman and he does love her, but not in that way. He wraps an arm around her and holds her close. Rubbing her side as he hears some sniffles.

“Was that the first time you ever said it out loud?” He feels her nod and kisses the top of her head. He first said it to his mirror about a year ago, he was going to tell Indigo but never got around to it because he really thought he loved her romantically, but tonight proved it wasn’t that. “ It’s gonna be okay, I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear on my life.”

“Leo, you don’t understand! M-My parents, they will kill me! They would kill me if they found out we just had sex, and that straight! Oh god, I’m gonna get murdered or sent to conversion camp like they almost did Peri because he dyed his hair pink last week.” She cries harder when she remembers her baby brother being screamed at because his good friend dyed a pink streak in his hair. They called him a Faggot and a Tranny and just horrible horrible names that didn’t even fit him. Peri was straight and cis, so they just threw these horrible insults at him for no reason. He was the oldest out of her six brothers, a year younger than her. Being the oldest of the family and the only girl there is so much pressure to be perfect. She is trying so hard but she can’t help but find her captain good-looking and sweet and she makes her heart flutter in a way Leo never could.

The family tree of the Khalid’s is one that everyone in town shoves their noses into. Indigo’s mother, Valentina, is from Argentina and immigrated to the USA at the same time as her father, Francisco, who is from Mexico. Since they were the immigrants on the block everyone already thought low of them or so their parents thought. So, if the kids did anything not by the parents standards, they were in huge trouble. The family was also highly religious, very Catholics Christians. But they pushed it to an insane level, a debilitating level. Indigo remembers getting a ruler across her hands because she said “OMG” when she was in third grade.

Indigo has six younger brothers, everyone is named after an odd color. Her parents thought they were being creative. There is Indigo the oldest. Peri (short for Periwinkle) the second child is only a year younger than her. Viridian is the third child of the clan and the most rebellious three years younger than Indigo. Vermillion and Crimson, the twins of the family, four years younger than her and the most mischievous little shits. Aurelian is the second youngest and the sweetest little child you will ever meet, he is six years younger than Indigo and her favorite sibling. Gent (short for Magenta) is the baby of the family, 7 years younger than Indigo and the biggest little brat you will ever meet.

Leo doesn’t have siblings or crazy strict parents, he just doesn’t understand that and sometimes Indigo gets angry with him for not understanding. He is always so positive and it really gets on her nerves sometimes.

She leans into him and cries into his bare shoulder, they were both still sweaty from their earlier activities, she didn’t care though. She finally admitted out loud that she was gay, not only to herself but to her best friend.

“Are- *hiccup* Are we gonna break up?” She looks up at him and he sends her the most soft and understanding smile she has ever seen. He always knows what to say, how to hold her, how to treat her, how to calm her down. Whoever he got with would be so lucky.

“Do you want to? I mean, there is such a thing as a beard.”

“Leo, you can’t grow a beard.”

He laughs, “No!” He flicks her forehead making her laugh a little. “I mean a queer beard, its when people act like they are dating so people don’t ask questions about their sexuality. We could do that.”

“Like a double beard.” She smiles at him a little, still sniffling. Wiping her eyes, spreading her makeup all around her face she groans. “Can we take a shower?” He nods and stands up quickly making her fall off the bed. He laughs and runs to the bathroom before she can throw something at him. She hears the water running and smiles a little.

She has the best, best friend. She slowly stands, flinching a little at the slight tightness in her hips, annoyed she walks into the, now steamy, bathroom and slaps Leo’s ass really hard.

He yelps and looks back at her, glaring he rubs his butt, knowing he probably deserved it. They step under the hot stream of water together and sigh. He grabs some shampoo and washes his hair, then hers. Scratching her scalp in a way that he knows she loves.

“Do you think people will figure us out?”

“If you ever want to come out just let me know and I will be there for you 100%”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“But I know what you meant.”

They finished up the shower and were both yawning by the time they finished brushing their teeth. Leo in his boxers and Indigo in her sweatshirt and sweatpants, they curled up in bed together. Her head on his chest as they drifted off. They knew this night had an impact on them, but they never would have guessed how much of an impact.

#leo knut #sweater weather #coast to coast

[queen-ofsunflowers]

Falling and Rising: Chapter 19 Preview

Super Moves

Ruby blinked. Okay? What the heck…? She shook her head. Never mind, she would deal with it later. Ruby quickly pocketed her phone and hopped up the font straps of the 3-A dorm building. Her knuckles hovered over the door, ready to knock when she heard voices coming from behind it.

“We’re going to be late—” Ruby heard a very nervous-sounding boy say.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” came Yang’s voice from the other side of the door, and Ruby could picture her giving a dismissive wave. “I just want to make sure that I have everything I need—”

“We’re going to miss the train, and I don’t want to explain why we’re late—”

“If we’re late, then I’ll explain why. It’s gonna be my fault anyway, so.”

“I still hate it.”

“I found it!” cried out a hyperactive voice, following some rushing footsteps.

“Neijre Hadou, I could kiss you!” exclaimed Yang with relief. “Thank you!”

“Can we please go!?” said the nervous voice once again, sounding a bit more agitated this time.

“Yeah.” Yang let out a grunt, and Ruby could hear something heavy being shifted. “Hey, did you remember to eat your clams? We’re on patrol tonight. Chicken? A crustacean? Anything octopi-related?”

“Yes, I—” He cut himself off there. His silence was enough.

Yang chuckled. “We’ll stop by the store on our way.”

“...Can we swing by that place near the station once we get there?”

“The one with the cute cartoon in the front? Sure, buddy.” Ruby heard a heavy sigh before the dorms’ door suddenly swung open. A tall boy with pointed ears and messy indigo hair nearly ran smack into her. He yelped upon seeing her, having been too lost in his own thoughts to realize that she was even there until he was about to walk into her.

“Yang!” the boy shouted. Tamaki Amajiki stumbled back out of surprise, and fell right into the blonde behind him. It felt like luck that Yang — who had a few bags slung over her shoulder — had caught him.

“Tamaki, what the h—!” Yang exclaimed as she righted her friend, cutting herself off once she saw what had surprised him so much.

Unsure what else to do, Ruby only said: “Hi.”

“Hey, Ruby!” A grin formed on her sister’s face, and Yang reached out to ruffle Ruby’s hair.. “Finally decided to visit, huh?” Ruby nodded. A girl shorter than Yang, but somewhat taller than Ruby, popped out from behind Yang. Her long, periwinkle-colored hair twisted around itself down to her legs. Her blue eyes sparkled when she spotted Ruby, and she widely grinned.

Nejire Hadou gave her a small wave. “Hey, Little flower!”

“Horrible timing…” Tamaki muttered under his breath, and Ruby chose to brush it off as their almost-crash.

“Is Weiss here?” she asked. “I wanna talk to her about something.”

“Aw, too cool for big sis?” said Yang teasingly, passing some of the bags off to Tamaki so she could hook her arm around Ruby’s shoulders and ruffle up her hair.

Ruby swatted her sister’s hands away. “Stop!”

“Yang. We’re going to miss the train,” said Tamaki with a hurry, and coming to Ruby’s aid. “Come on, leave her alone.” Yang huffed.

“Fine…!” She slid off of Ruby. “See you when I get back, Rubes.”

“Yang—” Get back? She couldn’t leave! Ruby still needed her help!

“I’m still bringin’ stuff back for you!” Yang said, ruffling her sister’s hair one more time before rushing past. Oh… right. Work studies. That was a thing that Yang did. With everything that happened this summer, Ruby almost forgot that her sister still had somewhere to be on the weekend.

“Not what I was going to ask, but thank you!” Ruby sighed as her sister dashed out of sight. It was nice of her to do that, but really… How was Ruby going to find Weiss’s room now? She couldn’t see Blake anywhere, so asking her was out of the question. Was Weiss even here, or was she— 

Ruby jumped when Nejire clapped her hands on her shoulders.

“I know where Weiss is,” she said with a soft smile. “Come on, I’ll show you! Fair warning though, she likes to keep her room really cold.”

“Thanks, Nejire!”

The full chapter will be up on Ao3 on August 7!

#mirio remains the only member of the big three to not be introduced this fic #my hero academia #my hero academia au #rwby au #rwby #rwby in bnha au #falling and rising fic #preview #ruby rose #yang xiao long #nejire hadou #tamaki amajiki

[absoluteindulgence]

Drunk Passion (Server Collab Prompt)

A/N: Hey y'all, I just barely made it lol. I'm moderately happy with this fic, I hope you guys enjoy it.

Pairing: Mirio Togata X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol Mention

Word Count: 1.8K

5 hours earlier, you stood in your room, giving yourself once overs in your full body mirror, complimenting yourself for choosing the right dress. Only to receive a call from your date who had to cancel due to "unforeseen circumstances." It was an understatement to be frustrated, and doubtlessly, you took it as a sign of them calling you ugly and blowing you off on purpose.

Your roommate, Mina, watched as you paced the living room rethinking your plans for the night. She reminded you of her third annual valentine's day party. This gathering initially started after the horrific event of her date happening on the love day, and trying to propose to her in broad daylight. From there on, she promised herself that she'd never be that naive again and dedicate the day to enjoy with friends.

Usually, you were away from home during this time of the year and briefly knew of the function. She always tried to invite you, but to no avail, you weren't around. Mina, the charismatic matchmaker, created a space for the people who hated, loved, or felt indifferent to the holiday, labeling it as the "Who Needs Love?" Party. You thought it would be a complete disaster, but it turns out, her parties equate to finding your "soulmate." Without plans to roam the city with a date, you were now a secondary host to the love fest.

The apartment you shared with Mina had a decent size and came with a balcony. There was a time where neither of you could afford to live on campus, and so you had to find a roommate to manage to stay enrolled, or else the work you wanted to do would be spoiled by a mere living situation. Moving into this luxury apartment was less than luxury, hence why it was so cheap. With Mina being a fashion designer and your skills being a moderate decorator, you created a space where you two loved the teamwork and effort put into it.

Looking way too good for no particular reason, you became a hit on every guy's list. A lot of the faces you saw weren't recognizable as you haven't met Mina's friend group from high school, but she made sure to introduce you to them. During the introductions, she seemed the fondest of the guy with the spiky red hair, favoring a porcupine. A twinkle in her eyes as she said his name with a discreet smirk directed your way. You were a great hostess making sure to check on the hordes of mixed emotions.

Passing through the warm atmosphere, you were grabbed by your forearm. Turning around, your eyes met with a tall, blonde-haired hottie. His eyes were piercingly blue as the grin was brightly targeted at you.

"Hey, I'm sorry to grab you, but I had been trying to get your attention for a while." His smile was faintly smug, but his tone was smooth like honey. He gently loosened his hold on your arm as he saw your immediate reaction of disgust, wondering who would dare lay hands on you. A chuckle came from his lips as he apologized instantly, "I didn't mean to upset you, I just wanted to know where I could get some air?"

He held onto a cup,  on the other hand, probably full of booze awaiting your answer. As you were about to tell him, he thought you had already started speaking and moved in closer. He leaned ear first into your right shoulder, the heat from his breath, warming the back of your neck and shoulder. "I'm sorry, beautiful, I couldn't hear you."

The shocks running through your body, halted you from speaking. The blondie was so close you could see his jawline intensify and gather a hint of citrus and lime from the cologne he wore, even catching signs of his broad chest thanks to his button-down shirt being open below his collarbone. You quickly answered him, maybe too loud for comfort as he winced and smiled back after you pointed in the direction of your balcony. Bejeweled with gratitude, he nods, fading back into the crowd.

You try to peek over to see where he goes briefly talking to the red porcupine, with an indigo-haired guy and a periwinkle-haired girl close to his sides. The three seemed to be good friends laughing at your witty roommate's jokes as her crush, Kirishima, casually wrapped his arm around her shoulder. It looks as if only you caught how pink her face was as she snuggled closer to him. The buff blondie waves off from the couple and makes their way to the balcony.

Before he can leave your area of vision, you lock eyes. His azure sights peer into yours with a knowing, warm smile. A winking motion is made as he grins wide, heading out with his friends. The indigo guy was very antsy about leaving the crowded room, wanting more air than conversation. 

You turn to leave the living room and head into the kitchen, bringing out more snacks and to acquire a drink for yourself. Placing pocky, shrimp chips, and gummy candy all throughout the coffee table between your long black couches. Being cautious of how you bend, not trying to give anyone a free show. Heading back into the kitchen, you pour some light liquor into a shot glass, wanting to feel a small buzz.

Just one for now while I make my rounds.

As you finish the shot and place it back on the marble counter, the blondie glides in with the same cup, but it's now empty. You stare up at the buff blondie, catching your breath as you get to take him in; hair down bang almost tickling his eyelashes as the rest of his mane rests at his brawny shoulders. Seeing him up close made your heart flutter as you didn't understand how attractive one man could be. His eyes wandered to your attire, and you blushed under his gaze. The kitchen area felt small now that he's sharing the same air as you.

As you were about to ask him for a drink, the periwinkle haired girl came in. She went into a ramble about the drinking game that was about to start until she saw your face, "You are so pretty, what's your name?"

You told her your name, and her eyes twinkled, "Ah, so your Mina's roommate, that's so cool! I'm surprised we haven't met before."

"I'm usually away during this time of the year, but I had no plans, and so I'm here, hosting tonight."

"That's great, I came to look for Mirio and found you too so please, play with us!"

You could see the intensity in this girl that had introduced her friend before herself. Her personality seemed overbearing but good-natured, she noticed your small smile and took that as non-verbal agreement. Taking your hand, along with her athletic friend. You took a quick glance at the blondie as he apologized, "Sorry about this, Nejire-chan likes making new friends. And yeah, I'm Mirio."

Reaching the central area wasn't an easy task since there seemed to be more people that came during the time you were taking a shot. Examining the room, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was a heap of smiles, blushed faces, and laughter roaring through. Reaching the couches, Nejire sat next to you as Mirio was on the other side of her. Across from you, was Mina, with a big grin talking to Kirishima and a couple of her other friends from high school.

An angry-looking guy with spikey ash-blond hair stood up from his spot on the couch, "Okay, so if you're sitting, we're gonna play a game of Mafia!"

Another guy chimed in, his hair yellow with black stripes on one side, "Mafia isn't a drinking game!"

"It is now if you don't figure out who the hitmen are!"

The banter continued, and Nejire took her time to remind you who everyone was. She didn't just tell you who was playing; she made it her mission to remind you of each soul in the room. The process is too reminiscent of speed-dating as she told their jobs and personalities like stats. Made for a one-sided conversation until she got to Mirio, the blonde hunk.

"And this is Mirio-" 

"I know you told me, maybe he wants to introduce himself to me?" You stare at him with pleading eyes to keep Nejire quiet for more than a millisecond.

He catches your signal and automatically laughs, he reaches out to give you a handshake with a pleasant grin as he greets you. "Don't worry, Hado-chan, I can say my own stats." Her mouth gets a little puffy as he briefly apologizes to her.

Bakugou brought us back to attention, "Alright, so let's go over how to play, and we'll start."

______

Four grand rounds, and you could officially say you were drunk. You hadn't drunk this much since new years and worried this would result in alcohol poisoning. With the shuffling to and from couches, to make the game more interesting, Mirio had finally been seated near you. At times when it was time to discuss who was plucking off the civilians, you shared small details with each other, getting scolded by Bakugou at times.

Mirio looked at your giggly, flustered form and smiled warmly. He was happy to see you enjoy yourself and him being the reason. The game resulted in good friends with exquisite poker faces. Sero asked for another round since he hadn't gotten the chance to play God, and Bakugou refused. 

"Hey, do you want to get some fresh air?" Mirio leaned over into your ear, "You look like you're ready to sleep for a thousand years."

You giggled with a nod. You raised your hand for Mirio to guide you and informed Tamaki that he was taking you to the balcony. You didn't notice, but the room was clearing out little by little. Assuming that the lovebirds were happy with their choice of the night, you smiled, realizing that maybe the same is happening to you.

Leaving the living room into the balcony was a change in atmosphere, you felt the chill air of midwinter hit your skin like a cool kiss, which was comforting from the sauna of an apartment. Mirio nicely placed you onto one of the outdoor chairs you owned as he positioned himself next to you with the other.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm happy," You smile, "I didn't realize how much fun her parties were."

"Me neither, this is actually my first time coming. I'm usually at work, so Nejire would try to drag Tamaki and end up coming by herself."

You share a laugh and stare at him. You look down at his hands and then back at his eyes, overfull of sparkles as they gaze into yours. He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, and the night continues on as you share innocent rambles of your plans to see each other more in a drunken passion.

#mirio x reader #togata mirio x reader #mirio imagines #bnha imagines #mha x reader

[ichigo-daifuku]

Iridescence

SLBP Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Mitsuba Kaede/Reader

A story of love told through the colors of the rainbow.

Spoiler Warning: Kaede's Identity

For @m-cchii. Belated happy birthday! 🎁

Word Count: 1.8k

The rouge on Kaede's lips is red.

With a small looking glass in one hand, she swipes the rouge on the inner portion of her lips until they turn rich with its color, the edges remaining a subtle shade of pink. Kaede smiles, satisfied, and to you, her lips are reminiscent of lovely rose petals. She puts the looking glass down, the tip of her finger tinted with the excess product, and notices your gaze.

“What is it?” Kaede asks, a curious look directed to you as she waits for your answer.

You shake your head. “Nothing. You look beautiful, Kaede.”

She smiles fondly and beckons you over. “Come here.”

Curious, you oblige and kneel beside her, glancing over the collection of cosmetics she had placed on the low table. Kaede swipes her finger on the rouge in a circular motion and leans closer to your face, her fingers hovering on your lips for a second before dabbing them with the product. Her touch is the most gentle, her application deft and meticulous, and her gaze full of concentration. Once she is done, she leans back and admires her handiwork.

“You are the most beautiful,” Kaede tells you nonchalantly. She proceeds to wipe her hand with a cloth and sets the rest of her cosmetics aside, humming the tune of a song the two of you learned during your childhood.

Your cheeks turn ablaze, as red as the rouge Kaede applied on your lips, and you pick up the looking glass in an attempt to see what Kaede is seeing.

The maple leaf in Sogo's hand is orange.

In the forest, the surroundings are full of warm colors, yet the leaf Sogo holds is the most vibrant of them all. His thumb and index finger twirl it by its thin stem, a wistful expression on his face as he looks afar, quiet and deep in thought.

The two of you are on your way back to the inn after a mission, and after a few hours passed, Sogo suggested that you both rest for a while. He didn’t say it, but Sogo, being someone who cares so much for your well-being, noticed the toll you have taken from the recent sleepless nights due to the high demand for medicine. Exhaustion has started to take over your body, and he is worried about you and wants to do everything he can to ease your troubles.

You appreciate every kind gesture he gives you, and you step closer to his side. Together, both of you gaze over the town from the hill, the crisp autumn air nipping at your skin.

Sogo turns to you and holds up the leaf. “Momiji.”

Smiling, you wrap both of your hands around his fist and reply, “Kaede.”

The kimono Kaede chose for you is yellow. 

A month ago, you were having lunch in the capital when you mentioned in passing that you wanted to purchase a kimono after, but due to an unexpected appearance by a shinobi after you, your excursion was cut short. Over time, the remark you made had slipped from your mind, but Kaede had not forgotten.

Yesterday, she had left to meet with one of her acquaintances—a merchant, she told you—and today, she came back with a package containing a kimono with a matching obi and tie. Kaede chose a nice, mellow shade, and its fabric felt delicate under your fingertips. Admittedly, she is more knowledgeable compared to you when it comes to fashion and trends, and you feel honored that you are wearing something she had chosen for you specifically.

“There. That should do it,” Kaede says, adjusting the knot of the obi tie and stepping backward to have a good look. “Can you give me a little twirl, please?”

Upon her request, you spin around slowly. When you are facing her again, you wait for her comment while folding your fingers together in nervousness.

She claps her hands, happiness lighting up her features. “Yes, I knew it would look perfect on you.”

“Thank you, Kaede,” you reply shyly.

Kaede takes your hand in hers, ready to go out on another adventure around town. “Always.”

The ground Sogo and you lay on is green. 

Your back is cushioned by a bed of three-leaf clovers deep in the meadow that both of you found earlier by happenstance. Sunlight dapples across the field late in the afternoon, leaving a strange but pleasant feeling against your skin. A gust of wind blows, and you close your eyes and feel the harmony within the surroundings. With only you and Sogo around, it is calm and almost unreal; when you are out in the open, you are away from all the troubles brought by the circumstances of being born in the shadows. 

Sogo speaks out of the blue, “It feels like the old days, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” you reply solemnly.

Sogo turns to you, the three-leaf clovers rusting in his movements. “Do you think things will go back to the way they used to be one day?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you face him before saying, “I don’t know for sure, but I am happy with you right now, Sogo. I really am.”

Sogo says nothing and reaches out to take you in a firm embrace, leaving the fabric of your kimono damp with his tears.

The ribbon Kaede tied her message with is blue.

Fuutaro holds a small piece of parchment, the ribbon encircling it a deep hue of blue, much like the color of Kaede’s kunoichi outfit. You take it and pull the end of the string, carefully wrapping it around your forefinger before unfurling the paper and giving it your full attention.

The moonbeam serves as your light as Kaede’s familiar penmanship greets you, every stroke of the ink neat and beautiful, informing you of the address of the inn the two of you will meet at tonight. Kaede always writes to you, and her messages never fail to bring you comfort. You roll the paper once you reach the end of the text and tie its ribbon back, keeping it safe inside your pocket.

“Thanks, Fuu,” you tell Kaede’s loyal familiar and give her a treat for a job well done.

Fuutaro settles on your shoulder and the two of you dash across the trees on the way to Kaede.

The glow of the sunset beyond Sogo is indigo.

The dark color paints the sky and turns it into a gradient periwinkle over the horizon. Sogo’s hand clasps yours as you stroll along the village. Under the fading light of the sunset, his rose-colored hair is softly tinged purple, and you find yourself glancing at him from time to time as the two of you navigate through the crowd.

“We’re here,” he says once you reach the inn.

You look over the place you will be staying in for the night and follow Sogo as he tugs you inside. After discussing the room you will be staying at with the innkeeper, you settle inside and sit down to rest for a while.

Sogo asks, “What do you want to eat?”

“Anything, really.”

He chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “Hey, come on. That makes it even more difficult for me to pick.”

”Okay, okay.” You laugh. “It’s pretty cold, so miso soup would be nice. And onigiri and tea, please.”

“Alright. I’ll be back.”

You nod and say thanks, setting out the few implements you brought to make a batch of medicine as you patiently wait for Sogo’s return.

The hairpin Kaede settles between the strands of your hair is violet.

Like the old days, she braids your hair in an intricate twist, one you can’t replicate no matter how hard you tried. Her deft and gentle fingers stick the hairpin in its rightful place in the middle of the knot, combing the crown of your head as a final touch.

You reach for the hairpin and turn to her. “It looks very pretty, Kaede, but I’m sure it will look more wonderful on you.”

She shakes her head and takes your hand to place the hairpin’s box on your palm. “Don’t say that. I think it looks really great on you. I want you to have it.”

You smile. The light of the lamp makes the crystal embedded on the hairpin sparkle faintly, and you look forward to seeing what it will look like during the morning—sure that it will shine brighter and even more beautifully.

“Besides,” Kaede begins, “I have one, too. See?”

She takes out another box and shows you an identical hairpin inside.

Something about Kaede’s gesture made your heart race. In your happiness, you embrace Kaede and express your endless thanks. She wraps her arms around you just as warmly and presses a kiss on the top of your head.

The morning comes after a rainy night. Dew covers the leaves, and the fresh air cools your cheeks the moment you step outside. It is a new day, a new beginning, a new page in your life with your best friend, Kaede, who is the same person as your most beloved, Sogo. No matter the name they went with, it doesn’t matter. To you, they are the one you cherish the most, and after all the struggles the two of you went through to reach this point, you feel very lucky that no more secrets divided you, and that ultimately, they feel the same way.

The door slides open from behind you, and you turn to see them rubbing their eyes with the back of their hand, looking half-asleep.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” you ask.

They turn to you and smile, their voice deep and raspy from sleep as they reply, “No, I wanted to see what you were looking at.”

“Come here, then.”

They step out of the room and stand closer to your side. The sky remains a monochrome color, but a rainbow so vivid looms over the horizon. You had been watching it for a few minutes, wondering whether it has a beginning or an end, before your beloved came along to marvel at the sight with you. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is,” they reply. “It truly is.’”

It is a majestic sight to behold first thing in the morning, and it is the first time you are able to witness such. You feel blessed to share this experience with the one most precious to you. They wrap an arm around your shoulders, protecting you from the chill, and you lean against them and put your arm around their waist in return. Surrounded by the colors of their love, you are happy, you are content, and to the rainbow, you fervently wish, that they will always be happy in the same way.

Special thanks to @photoproses​ for editing this work! 🖤

Masterlist

#samurai love ballad party #slbp #slbp kaede #slbp sogo #mitsuba kaede #mitsuba sogo #slbp fanfiction #slbp fanfic #slbp fic #ichigo bakufu #belated happy birthday m!!! <3

[askharmonia]

Harmonia, Octavo & The Silver Mage Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Other Friends.

Octavo and Harmonia encounter Krys, a Gemonyk known as the Silver Mage - a powerful sorceress who has studied nearly every kind of magic. But not soon after their encounter, they meet another mage who isn’t as friendly. Who is he and why does he have a vendetta against Harmonia, Octavo and Hyrule?

‘What did she say about me? What did she say? What did you do without me? What did you do? Did you play games without me? What did you play? Did you think all this time that I wouldn't find out about you? Oh that's right I heard the story over and over again! Gee, it's swell to finally meet her,  Other Friends.’

Octavo and Harmonia stood outside the cave in Hyrule Forest with Krys. “Krys is a Gemonyk.” Harmonia explained, stars in her eyes, “They’re a race of powerful mages and spell casters. And Krys is the strongest and most known of them – the Silver Mage. She knows nearly every type of magic there is.”

“Ah, I don’t know about strongest.” Krys laughed, sheepishly scratching the back of her neck, “I mean, there’s still many types of magic I haven’t mastered. Like Symphonyxian magic! It’s hard to master that type of magic if you’re not of Symphonyxian origin. And don’t get me started on its dark counterpart.” Krys squinted at Harmonia for a moment, “Actually…I know you! You’re Soloria’s kid! Harmonia the Dark, right? I heard about you from my last trip to Symphonyxia!” Harmonia nodded. Krys turned to Octavo, “And that must make you Octavo.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Octavo smiled. “So what brings you to Hyrule?” Harmonia asked. “I travel all over.” Krys began, “But Hyrule’s always been my home-away-from-home. And when I heard there was a festival going on, I just had to come visit!” Krys seemed to cut herself off as she seemed to realise something, “Wait a sec…gyah! I forgot! I told Zelda I’d check in with her when I got here! I got distracted by those cuccos! I’ll see you two at the festival, right?”

“Sure!” Harmonia smiled. “Cool!” Krys clicked her fingers and a portal opened behind her, “See you guys later!” Krys hopped into the portal.

 “Well she’s spritely!” Octavo chuckled. “She’s the coolest.” Harmonia added, “I’ve only heard stories of her, but I never thought I’d meet her in person!”

“I wonder what other types of magic she knows.” Octavo wondered before shaking his head, “We better head back to the festival…if Gleeokenspiel hasn’t wrecked everything.”

“Have a little faith in them, Tavo!”

“I did, and I ended up being stuck on a giant four-headed glockenspiel dragon that was hell-bent on catching a mouse.”

Harmonia chuckled and was about to respond but was cut off by the gentle summer breeze suddenly turning into a gust of wind, “Urgh! Where did this wind come from? Is Wizzroboe here?”

“No.” Octavo replied, shielding his face from the wind, “I don’t know what this is!” Before they could react to anything else, a sinister laugh echoed around them, “Well, well, well. Look who we have here. The music sorcerer who nearly destroyed Hyrule in an attempt to ‘save’ it, and the little princess who helped put an end to it.”

“Who’s there?!” Harmonia called out. The wind began to die down as a small tornado appeared in front of Octavo and Harmonia. “To be honest, I’m almost glad you saved Hyrule!” The tornado disappeared to reveal a figure in front of them. He had pale lavender skin, red eyes – one of which was covered by long lavender hair – with a strange mark under the left eye. He wore periwinkle, red and gold robes and an indigo cloak and hat. He had a smirking expression as he glanced between the two Symphonyxians, “Because now I can destroy it myself.”

“Who are you supposed to be?” Octavo growled, whipping out his magic baton, as Harmonia had two magic sigils at the ready. “She didn’t mention me? Tch, figures. Guess she really DID forget.” The figure muttered, “Well, you might as well know the name of your demise. I am Vaati, the Wind Mage. And I’ve heard about you two and the events of three months ago. If I am to succeed with my plan, I must destroy Hyrule. Therefore I can’t risk you two getting in the way. It’s bad enough I’ll have to deal with that little brat and the princess again. Oh well…” Vaati summoned a ball of energy in his hand, “Believe me, this is nothing personal. Actually, no. This IS personal. After all, you were one of the nobodies of this nowhere kingdom who took away my best friend!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Octavo interrupted, “There has to be a mistake! We didn’t take-”

“Shut it!!!” Vaati shouted, “It doesn’t matter. For now at least. I just need to make sure my plan goes smoothly. Now...to stone with you!!!” Vaati lobbed the ball of energy towards Octavo and Harmonia, but Harmonia threw down a gold sigil that summoned a wall of golden light that blocked the spell before disappearing. “Is that all you have?” Octavo smirked. “No but thank you for asking!” Vaati grinned as he summoned a series of fireballs and launched them at the two magic users. “Fireballs? Child’s play!” Octavo launched a series of fireballs from his baton to counter Vaati’s. “My turn!” Harmonia smiled, summoning a new sigil, “Blinding Crescendo!” A beam of light shot from the sigil at lightning speed, growing bigger as it travelled before hitting Vaati dead on, the light blinding him for a second. “Sounds like you hit a flat note!” Octavo announced as green energy shot from the baton, forming a large green mallet above Vaati, who barely managed to dodge out of the way in time. “Heh. Not bad.” Vaati smirked. “Why thank you. When it comes to magic, I’m awfully ‘sharp’!” Octavo grinned as the green energy turned purple and the mallet shifted into a number of purple swords. Vaati tried to dodge past the incoming blades, but one of them managed to graze his arm. Vaati grabbed his arm in pain. Harmonia took this as an opportunity and summoned a number of sigils in front of her, “Molto vivace!” A flurry of lightning-fast beams of light struck Vaati one after the other. “Urgh! Alright, that does it!” Vaati growled as a swirling vortex of wind surrounded Octavo and Harmonia as Vaati hovered above them on a gust of wind, “I have work to do, and I’m not letting you interfere! Now die!!!” Vaati lobbed a giant fireball at the duo.

 “Batter up!”

 In the blink of an eye, Vaati saw his fireball come shooting back towards him, barely missing the Wind Mage. Vaati glared down only to see three figures now instead of two. There was Krys holding a purple baseball bat made of magic. “What? Baseball not your thing? How about ‘Bats up’ then?” Krys grinned as she tossed the baseball bat into the air, which turned into a flock of bats that began to swarm around Vaati, who tried to swat them away. “Hey! Why did the Silver Mage throw butter out the window? To see a butter-fly!” Krys summoned a large brick of butter with butterfly wings that flew right into Vaati’s face. “Ok, that’s funny!” Harmonia laughed. Vaati growled, “So you haven’t matured I see.”

“And you lost your sense of humour!” Krys fired back, “I don’t blame you. My jokes tend to stink!” And with that, Krys blew out of her mouth and a pungent green cloud drifted towards Vaati. “Agh! That stinks!!” Vaati exclaimed. “Sorry!” Krys giggled, “Here! I have a spell that’ll blow you away!” Krys summoned a giant propeller that blew away the cloud and nearly Vaati, but he managed to fight against the wind. “Don’t like it? No problem! I already have three huge fans!” Krys grins as she summons two more propellers that managed to send Vaati flying backwards. “We need to go before he comes back!” Krys clicked her fingers and a portal opened again, “Come on!” Krys grabbed Harmonia and Octavo by the arms and pulled them into the portal.

Next thing they knew, they were in the middle of Hyrule Castle. Zelda rushed over to the three, Link by her side, “Is everyone alright?”

“Shaken a little.” Harmonia began, “But we’re okay. Krys saved us.”

“It was as I thought.” Krys began, an expression that was a mix of concern and seriousness on her face, “Vaati’s here.”

“I was afraid you would say that.” Zelda sighed.  “Wait. You know him, Krys?” Octavo asked, a look of surprise on his face. “More than that.” Krys replied.

 “I’m the reason he’s here.”

#cadence of hyrule #legend of zelda #crypt of the necrodancer #Harmonia Octavo & The Silver Mage #Harmonia #octavo #harmonia the dark #fan character #krystalite ginmaho #Krys #vaati #zelda #link #the silver mage

[ebonyfont]

magenta | yeosang

⇢ genre: fluff ; college au

⇢ member: Kang Yeosang

⇢ word count: 2.3k

⇢ summary: After being asked to be used as a muse for an upcoming project, you didn’t expect a discovery from the art piece Yeosang’s about ready to forfeit.

⇢ warnings: some language

⇢ author’s note: for my sunshine @wooyeops.

Across from you, Yeosang perches on the edge of an ivory stool, indigo paint smudged below one of his eyes and a thin paint brush gripped between his teeth. You’re holding back from letting a whine disrupt his moments of concentration, as your back is pleading for help from not having any sense of support for the last hour. 

You too have been sat atop a stool, only having the top half of Yeosang’s face as company while he continues to create on the canvas in front of him. Proper posture would be helpful to alleviate this pressure, but even that got tiring after a while.

“Aren’t you hungry?” You attempt to make some sort of suggestion. “It’s already past lunch.”

The breath that leaves him is audible when it escapes his nostrils. He pulls the paintbrush out of his mouth and sticks the pencil that he was using behind the shell of his ear. “Fine, but it’s actually going somewhere now.” 

Yeosang’s back straightens while he pushes back his dark fringe. By now you’re able to get a full view of his head. “You really wanna interrupt that?” 

You’ve already slid off the stool. “Just a snack, we have all afternoon.” Your hand grabs at the short sleeve of his white t-shirt before he practically yelps. 

Both his arms fasten themselves around you, huddling over your figure as if he’s the shell of a tortoise. “What’d I say about peeking?! I didn’t just spend two hours for you to be spoiled!”

“This isn’t even for me!” You squirm, but part of you is trying to calm the sudden rise of your heartbeat. It doesn’t help that his scent lingers of aftershave from this morning. Chemicals of acrylics don’t even bother to distract you from the fact that it’s a smell that always had you ready to melt for your friend (emphasis on friend).

“Still, you can’t deny an opportunity for wow factors if the moment’s available,” he explains. Yeosang begins to waddle while you’re still in front of him, hugging your face to his chest. The metal of his dog tag necklace grazes of your ear that often has you tempted to pull him in by it for a kiss, but you don’t ever dare to make the move first.

Yeosang is absolutely ate up in the art of painting. Being his medium of focus, it isn’t odd to have you dragged into the studio at campus to join him when exploring his creativity. After all, you too are working for the Bachelor’s in Art, but you preferred the chalky blend of pastels on a black background. 

It began when the two of you utilized the art studio only a week into classes. Ideas and concepts were shared over countless cans of energy drinks, and the two of you didn’t pass out until four in the morning while covered in the supplies splayed across the old flooring. 

You fell for the boy and his passion, but you know by now that his only love is for the sceneries brought to life with the nimbleness of his hands and the only date nights he’d schedule was with a paintbrush dipped in liquid hues.

Today, Yeosang had asked for you to be a subject for his recent assignment. The two of you had been confined in the tiny art room of the small university as usual, but he was vague when describing the purpose of you acting as a muse for his painting. 

Once the two of you are out into the corridor, he brushes the palms of his hands on the fabric of his jeans while you tumble out of his embrace. 

“That acted as a hug of gratitude, by the way,” Yeosang half-smiles down at you. The smirk falls while he points a fingertip at you that looks like it had just been used for finger-painting. “But that was enough to last the week.”

“Your abundance of empathy is showing. Careful there, or people will think you’re an open book,” you tease. Your footsteps begin to resonate off the stark walls of the art building, the tall ceilings making them echo far more dramatically and making it seem the two of you were apart from being alone. The snack machines are located at the end just next to the flight of stairs, their glow illuminating where the end of the hall where no one ever bothered flicking on the lights. 

Yeosang purchases the both of you a grape lemonade each, considering there’s already a giant tub of cheese puffs in the corner of the studio that’s always been his favorite to snack on. You didn’t mind, the cheese balls always paired well with the drink. 

“Wait a minute,” he says while the two of you begin to take your time back to the art room. “I share my stories through art, isn’t that an open book?”

The lip of the bottle lowers itself from where you’re taking a sip, looking over and up and Yeosang to see him focusing on the ground as if it’s another one of his paintings. “I was kidding.” The chuckle that escapes your lips has him looking back at you while pausing in his trace.

Both of you are already at the door feeding into the studio, and Yeosang still seems expressionless and dwelling on his question. “. . . Right. Apologies, I guess.”

You don’t say anything back. His response isn’t a retort, it sounded more melancholy as if he’s struggling to release a grudge. 

“Wait, almost forgot,” the door to swings shut and almost in your face as Yeosang makes his way around you before bringing his hands up to slide over your eyes. “Alright, let’s go.”

“You and this freakin’ painting,” you mumble, but a smile eats away at your cheeks and makes it undeniable to hear it in your voice. You let Yeosang guide you back to your appointed to seat before dropping his make-shift mask. 

“Listen, I’m sharing my snacks. You share your time,” he pops open the tub of cheese puffs and hands them rightfully over to you. His hand dips inside and grabs a handful of the balls before lazily walking back over to get on his stool. 

Thirty minutes later and you’re craning your neck, trying to see over the canvas that Yeosang is practically hiding behind. You haven’t heard the clanging of a paint brush against the edge of a jar as telltale signs of his work for nearly twenty minutes.

It isn’t the first time it’s happened. Since those twenty minutes, he barely said a peep and the playlist that was playing over the Bluetooth speaker had went ended. You know that Yeosang can get grumpy if you tried talking to him when concentrating, but it’s not a risk worth taking to make sure he’s okay.

Finally, you step off your stool, head tilted up to see if you can catch what he’s doing.

Yeosang sits hunched on his stool, one hand on his knee that’s exposed by a hole in his jeans and the other one wrapped around his chin and mouth, staring straight ahead at his painting.

He’s still.

You can tell his neck’s tense, making you leave your stance on the stool to take a few steps forward before asking, “Mind if I take a peek, bubs?”

Yeosang breaks his state to flicker his dark eyes up at you. He just nods, his hand not leaving from where it’s placed. It seems that he’s almost too careless for you take a look at the project in progress, but maybe it’s just him silently asking for input on what to do.

You wander to face the canvas, Yeosang sitting back a bit and once again sighing through his nose.

Coming to life on the parchment, there’s a sketching of flowers that you don’t identify. Their shapes are warped and appear to have been erased one too many times. At the top, right corner of the soon-to-be painting, there’s already a humming bird in the corner. It’s feathers are laced with tones of periwinkle and the same paint of indigo that had marked Yeosang’s cheek, it’s wings spreading out into a striking shade of purple. 

The art’s background is decorated with with that of a bush, in front of a lake that doesn’t hold too much detail. It isn’t just the small bird, but the sky captures your heart in an array of baby pink and coral, cyan lacing and marrying the pastel rainbow together.

Overall, it’s typical of Yeosang’s art style that you’ve picked up on, but why he chose to paint the landscape and bird first puzzles you. 

“This isn’t a self portrait! Why am I even here?” Is your first response, but the words flow from your laughter. It isn’t the kind that’s a mockery, but merely amused. 

The painting is beauty and screaming with nature.

“What’s wrong?” You ask after not hearing an excuse out of Yeosang, looking down at him to see that he’s playing with the threaded bracelets hugging his wrists. “It’s exceptional like the others. It might even be one of your best.”

“These dumbass flowers,” he murmurs, hand reaching for the paintbrush that’s dipped into a baby food size jar of a color that screams magenta. “I can’t find one that’s. . . I don’t know. There’s not a color that I can find to match.” 

Yeosang stands up from his stool to pace over to the window streaming afternoon sunlight into the studio. While he’s up, you take a seat onto the chair. 

While the boy tends to take a lot of pride and concentration on any piece he works on, he usually doesn’t let it get him too pissed.

After studying the painting, you look over to see Yeosang continually rake hand after hand through his hair, fluffing it up in the process and massaging the back of his neck. 

“Yeosang?”

He stops, head turning to the left. 

Your teeth find home on your lower lip, still tasting of the lemonade. “. . . Well, what’s that emotion you can’t interpret? Is it something that makes you happy? Somber? Angry?”

Yeosang folds his hands behind his neck and lets his head fall back. You catch an undeniable smile gracing his features. “Now, Y/N, why would I put something angry on a piece like that?”

At this point, you feel like the dumbass, not the innocent flowers.

“I mean, it could have a dark twist - “

“I’m kidding,” he cuts you off, now standing behind you. 

There’s silence once again, not one that’s comforting, but one that’s longing. It’s one that’s begging for relief, and you debate on whether you should catalyze it.

“I mean, why do you think I asked you to be my muse?” He questions. You continue to watch the painting, and he continues to speak from the words that both his heart and soul were weeping. “Because let’s face it, you are. I didn’t have a lick of intention on being friends, Y/N. But then we just decided to keep it up, you surprised me. I thought you just wanted someone to distract you from self-doubt of your work, just like you did with me. I never really expected to. . . fall. It’s like I discovered art all over again.”

The last sentence comes out like a scarlet leaf in the wind. You wonder if your heart’s even beating anymore, or if its rhythm’s so fast you can’t track each thump it racks against your chest. 

Surely you’re only dreaming, you have to be.

“It’s perfectly fine for an assignment, but that’s not really what it’s for.”

At this point, your breathing grew shallow, life’s essence is being stolen by Yeosang himself and quite possibly you could fall off the stool right in this moment.

There’s a gentle touch on your waist, and his voice raises above its usual tone that’s reminiscent of a late night drive under the still glow of street lamps.

“Y/N?” 

You bring your entire figure around in a 180. Yeosang steps back, his hand drawing away like the snap of a rubber band. Before he can get away too far, you reach out to grab the dog tag hanging outside of his t-shirt splotched with various colors of paint, pulling him in to place your lips firmly on his.

It took a moment for Yeosang to relax and let his emotions dance with yours. Your other hand rests at the nape of his neck to pull him as close as possible, his coming up to cradle under your skull.

Your kisses molded into one, and while the essence of passion and longing kept the two of you stuck together like plaster, your butt bumps into the table of paint behind you and making Yeosang pull away with a small gasp.

“Yeosang, what the hell,” you emphasize, pulling him in by the belt loops of his jeans. He lets out a laugh, rubbing his forehead against yours and looking down at you like the truest form of art you are. 

“Listen, isn’t this romantic, though?” He muses. “Think about it.”

You lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his lips, then pulling him in and resting your head on his chest. He sways you a bit side to side before you lift back up. “But one question. . .”

“Shit, I knew there’d be a catch,” Yeosang cowers away, but your hands find themselves cradled in his while he takes a couple steps back.

“Why the little bird?” 

Yeosang peers over your shoulder since you’re standing in front of the canvas. “Oh, that? You always look. . . Tiny? You know, when you’re working with pastels? You always crouch when you do it on the floor and you like working with the color blue.” 

“You have some wild interpretations, Yeosang.” 

“Still romantic though, right?”

You press your forehead to his again, the sunshine igniting and bringing the warmth of Yeosang to life. 

“It’s perfect.”

#ateez #yeosang #kang yeosang #ateez fluff #ateez one shot #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday smartalexy!

We are sorry to be posting this late, but we wish @smartalexy a happy birthday on the 7th of September. To help celebrate, the lovely @booksrockmyface has written a special Everlark fic just for you! We hope you enjoy it :)

Title: The Whole World Could Change in a Minute

Gift for: smartalexy        

Rating: M (alcohol use, mild language, and talk of a sexual nature)

Trigger warning: There’s some vodka drinking involved.

Author’s note: I hope this friends to lovers fic finds you well on your birthday! Happy happy day! Title comes from the Sugarland song Want To.

_____

Peeta let out a frustrated groan as he followed Katniss into the next store. She didn’t like shopping much either, but Prim had made some very specific requests about the dress code for her wedding party. Being the supportive best friend he was, Peeta had agreed to accompany Katniss on her search for possible dresses. This was the fifth store.

“Is this periwinkle?” Katniss asked as she picked up a dress from the nearest rack.

“That’s more of an indigo.” Peeta picked up a dress that was a shade lighter. “This is periwinkle.”

She took the dress from him and checked the price tag. “It’s also fifty bucks over my budget.” She tried to hang it back up.

He stopped her. “Try it on and send a picture to Prim. If it’s the right one, I’ll chip in the last fifty.”

She chewed her lip a moment and then nodded. She picked up the indigo one anyway and another in the right shade and the right price point. It was a little long, but Prim could fix that.

Katniss stepped out of the dressing room wearing the too-long dress.

Peeta looked her over and then gave a thumbs down. “Makes your boobs look weird.”

She looked in the mirror and made a face. “You’re right.” She went into the dressing room.

He let out a relieved breath. She had looked pretty good in the dress, but it wasn’t right. It was hard for Peeta to be objective sometimes, though. He’d started to develop feelings for his friend and it was really difficult to keep them to himself. Katniss proved several times that having him as her best friend was her favorite thing.

Not to mention her on again/off again with Gale had been going on since middle school. There was no competing. Even Madge couldn’t keep Gale’s attention long.

Katniss stepped out in the other periwinkle dress. It had a sweetheart neckline—a term Peeta had learned when all this business started—and cap sleeves. The natural waistline flared out and the skirt ended just below the knee. Katniss had great legs. She had great boobs. She had great everything.

“You gotta get that one!” Peeta took out his phone and snapped a picture to send to Prim. “You look hot.”

“I can’t look hotter than the bride.” She commented, taking his phone to look at the picture. “I guess I look okay.”

A message came in from Prim. Tell Katniss to buy that dress! It’s perfect!

“Go get changed.” Peeta sent Prim a reply, one that he would have to delete before Katniss snagged his phone again. She’s so pretty, I can’t stand it!

Prim: You should talk to her or something. You know, like I’ve been telling you to do for a million years.

Peeta sighed and watched Katniss step out of the dressing room, the chosen dress in hand. He sent Prim, I do know. I’m just a giant chicken. He deleted the last few texts and then followed Katniss to the register. “I’ll pay for the dress.” He offered.

“I can get it.” She grumbled. “I’ll just move some things around.” She took her debit card out and handed it over. “I have the money, I was just planning on using it for some repairs around my house.”

Peeta watched as she finished the transaction and then picked up the dress. “Well, I do know a thing or two about home repair. I could help.”

Katniss led him out the door. “I’d like that.” Her phone went off and she paused to read. She scowled. “Gale’s blowing me off for Madge. Again.” She started walking again, a much quicker pace this time.

“Are they together for real this time?” He fell into step beside her.

“I guess.” She groaned. “It would have been nice to know that. I set up the house for sexy time. I set up myself for sexy time.”

Peeta cleared his throat. “Well, if you want company, I could hang out. No sexy time required.”

With a heavy sigh, Katniss said, “I guess spending time with you is just as good. I mean, I know all Gale’s moves by now and it’s starting to get boring.”

He gave himself a mental high five. “Okay, I’ll get the beer if you get the movie and we can go halfsies on pizza?”

“Sounds good.” She opened the passenger door to his car. “I’ll order pizza while you drive.”

A half hour later, they were back at Katniss’s place with two large pepperoni pizzas, a bottle of vodka, a couple two liters of soda, and a sappy romantic comedy from the 90s. They finished one pizza and almost half the vodka between them by the time the movie was over. They were in the giggly stages of drunk and it was Peeta’s favorite version of Katniss. She didn’t let go often, though she did it more around him.

Katniss poured another drink, a little more vodka this time around, and took a large gulp. “Want to play two truths and a lie?” She asked, her words slurring just a little.

Peeta giggled. “You and I know each other’s truths already.”

She leaned in and said conspiratorially, “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

There was a tightening in his pants. He let out a calming breath. “Then you go first.”

Sitting back, she counted off with her fingers, “I’m thinking about going back to school, I actually kind of like Prim’s damn cat, and I am so stressed about my sister’s wedding.”

“Too easy!” Peeta exclaimed. “You hate Buttercup with a passion.”

Katniss let out a little snicker. “That fucking cat.” She took another sip of her drink, made a face, and poured a bit more soda on top. “Your turn.”

He sighed. “I don’t know, Katniss. You know everything.”

“Try me.” She encouraged.

He thought a moment and then said, “I sometimes wish I’d gone to school for business instead of art, I am looking forward to being an uncle, and… um…” He took a long drink from his glass. “I’m hopelessly in love with my best friend.”

Katniss stared at him a moment. “The third one’s the lie.” She said hopefully. “I mean, I never heard you wish for anything other than your art degree, but you have talked about being frustrated that you didn’t know the business-y parts of the bakery…” She swallowed. “But it’s the lie, isn’t it?”

Peeta sighed and finished off his drink. “Maybe I’m too drunk.” He sat the glass down. “I should just go crash in the guest room.” He stood, but she grabbed his hand.

“Gale was always just a placeholder.” She cursed under her breath. “That’s how I meant to say that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He pulled his hand from hers.

She stood and grabbed his face. “I’ve had a massive crush on you since grade school, Peeta.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I didn’t want to hurt our friendship, so I kept it to myself.”

“But Gale…”

She shrugged. “Available. And he thought he was in love with me, so I just went along with it. That was before Madge came along. And you were always with someone else when Gale and I were on one of our breaks. The timing was never right.”

“Katniss…”

She smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Want to go make out in my bed?”

“If you’re sure.” Peeta said with a shaky voice.

Katniss grinned and dragged him out of the room, turning off the lights as she went. She stepped away and shoved her jeans off her hips before climbing into bed.

His heart was now beating out of his chest as he mirrored her movements. He knew how strong her arms were. They’d shared many embraces over the years, most recently after his father’s death. But her lips were something he had only imagined. They were soft and warm. Her mouth tasted like pizza and soda.

She giggled just before she pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. Her mouth returned to his, but her hands roamed.

Taking it as encouragement, Peeta slipped his hands up Katniss’s back and down again. He caressed her thighs and trailed his hands up just under the hem of her shirt. He was sure his world was about to explode, that he was dreaming, this was something that would end any moment.

But it didn’t end. In fact, she sat back and pulled off her shirt a moment later and slid her hands up under his. “Do you remember that night we played strip poker with Finnick and Annie and everyone?”

He laughed and nodded. “Finnick planned it all so he’d get naked quicker.”

“You put on more clothes.” She leaned over him, bracing her hands on either side of his head. “But we’d all gotten a pretty good look from those wrestling singlets.”

“I don’t like to be naked in front of people.” Peeta spread a hand up over her flat stomach and slipped it around her back, pulling her closer. “I mean, I make exceptions, but not for large crowds.”

Katniss grinned. “Am I an exception?”

“You most definitely are.” He pulled her down and kissed her deeply, rolling her underneath him.

In between kisses, Peeta confessed that he’d tried and failed several times to tell Katniss his true feelings. She admitted the same.

Somewhere in the early hours of the morning, they finally decided that kisses were only making them tired. They fell into a tangle of limbs and were asleep in just a few breaths. Peeta had never slept better in his life.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by booksrockmyface

[pixichi]

Stealth and Witchcraft Cp.12

SIMMONS FAMILY MANOR ONE WEEK AGO: The enraged footfalls of metal-clad guards overwhelmed Gwenevere, sending her quaking body into a frozen state of panic. The resounding echo within that claustrophobic hallway boomed within her skull, as gooseflesh began to erupt across her chilled flesh. The girl released a small whimper, at the very notion of these men finding her. A wrinkled, yet warm hand graced her cheek, coaxing the fretful girl back to the peril at hand. Gwenevere's eyes eased open, the visage of her most cherished handmaiden settling her chaotic nerves. "Child. I understand how very frightened you must be," the old woman crooned. Then, her weathered features grew firm. "But you must control yourself far better than this. Once you're out there, no one will be able to safeguard you as I have. You, will be responsible for your own survival." Gwenevere's eyes widened, before flooding with cold, bitter tears. She reached out for, and clutched Olaura's hands tightly. "Oh Nana," the girl creature whispered, "Are you sure I'm ready?" The kindly beldam smiled, sympathy lacing her lips and soft periwinkle eyes. Gwenevere's tears continued to flow, trickling down her cheeks and dripping onto both their hands. Olaura frowned, surprised by just how reluctant this child was to obtain true freedom. "Darling girl, I have taught you what little magic I know. How you choose to use these powers, will inevitably decide your fate." Gwenevere shook her head, causing the deep blue curtains shrouding them to flutter. "B-but Nan, I don't even know where to go once I'm out there!" she protested. Olaura clasped one of her young mistresses' frail shoulders, and squeezed. The adamant gesture prompted Gwenevere to settle again, and with all the hesitation of a timid child, she faced her guardian. There was now a faint hint of reluctance and trepidation within the old woman's expression, though it was apparent that Olaura was struggling to conceal it. As much as she did indeed desire to keep Gwenevere with her, realistically, the maid knew this was impossible. Simmons would eventually kill the girl if she stayed, and whatever weak spells the old crone still possessed would only delay this wicked desire for so long. No, the fact of the matter was clear: Gwenevere, did not belong in captivity. She needed, to be free. Her bloodline demanded it. Wild beasts, did not make good pets. But, they could be invaluable friends. "Listen to me, my dear," the elder began, her voice cracking as she handed Gwenevere a small indigo knapsack. "You may not understand right now, but you will. Goodbye, is just another hello, my dear. We will meet again one day, and on that glorious day, you will demonstrate all the strength and heart which I have always known you to possess." The withered maid pulled the trembling young girl into a warm, gentle embrace. A single greasy tear slid down her bedraggled, sagging cheek. Gwenevere hugged her tighter, her eyes squeezed shut as though to hide her innermost personal doubt. "But what if I can't do it, Nan?" she squeaked, "What if all I am--all I've ever been--is some tool to be used by one who possesses far greater power?" Olaura's fading eyes shimmered, stricken with pain by the innocent girl creature's wonderings. Simmons, had been far from the first wicked soul to believe such filth. To try and mold this wondrous being of infinite potential and spirit, into little more than a puppet with a singular purpose. Prying the girl tenderly away from her chest, the tired old woman stared Gwenevere dead in the eyes. "You, are nobody's tool, child," Olaura declared solemnly. "Only you, can decide your place in this world. There exists a myriad of possibilities for you beyond these manor gates, but if you choose to remain here with me--with Lord Simmons--then the only fate awaiting you, is death." Gwenevere's eyes grew wide, and she sniffled a bit. Her guardian was right, and she knew it. Even though the very notion of fleeing terrified her, deep down, staying here with Simmons terrified her even more. She knew the time was drawing near. She could not risk another sacrifice attempt. This time, there would be no interruption from a pair of misfortunate thieves. This time, the horrible ritual would be successful. Simmons and the Baron would get what they so coveted, and Gwenevere's short, miserable life would be snuffed out. Giving her handmaiden an accepting--albeit hesitant--dip of her head, Gwenevere wiped away her tears. "I...understand..." she whispered, her voice scratchy and timid, like the soft warble of a fretful dove. Olaura nodded, a look of pride replacing the fretful tears upon her weathered face. "I am pleased to hear that, my dear," she complimented, leaning forward. "Now, listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you: Go down into the lowest reaches of the City, where only those who have truly lost all hope reside. There, you must seek out a man named Basso. He'll be able to help you obtain the vengeance that you seek..." The old woman reached into the knapsack she'd handed to Gwenevere, and opened it. Inside, were packs of kept leaves and herbs, a pouch of unknown contents, and a rolled up parchment. Olaura grabbed the last item, and unfurled it for Gwenevere. "This map, should help you get there. But you will need to do some legwork in order to find Basso himself. He is a fence you see. A criminal. Ergo, he will not have his whereabouts posted somewhere for all the City to see," she explained. "Then how will I find him?" Gwenevere cocked her head, taking the map from Olaura's extended hand. "Ask around when you get there. I'm sure someone down in the slums knows exactly where you can find the man." Gwenevere listened intently, absorbing each word into her memory like a thirsty plant. Then, she began to frown. "How do you know all of this, Nan? How do you know that this Basso will help me?" she inquired. Olaura's eyes gleamed with a mysterious hint of power. "Because, you have something he desperately wants. Something men have been both curious and cautious about since the dawn of time." "And that is?" "Magic," Olaura winked. Without hesitation, the elderly servant pulled Gwenevere back into a long hug. She squeezed tighter than before, restoring the seepage from the emotional child's brilliant green eyes. Pulling back, Olaura's smile began to falter ever so slightly. "Now go," she ushered, her voice cracking as she reached the last word. The last syllables she would be speaking to the young maiden for a very long while. Wordlessly, Gwenevere did as she was bade. Opening the large window behind them, she looked downward into the dark foyer  below. Long, thick vines shot forth from all corners of her body, temporarily giving the demure girl the appearance of something frightful. Using these newly-sprouted appendages, Gwenevere exited through the open window, and proceeded to shimmy down the side of the manor. Once on the ground, she rushed over to the towering sandstone walls surrounding Simmons' stately home. She repeated the process, climbing up rather than down this time. Once she reached the top, Gwenevere hesitated before descending back down the other side. She looked up at Olaura, tears still twinkling in her celadon eyes like starlight. She watched as her trusted guardian gave her a slow, reassuring nod, before disappearing down the opposite side. The City, and all the freedom and possibilities within, were waiting for her. *** THE CLOCKTOWER PRESENT DAY: Gwenevere was jostled from deep slumber by a pair of nimble hands giving her shoulders a rough shake. Still locked within a dreary stupor, the girl's eyes eased open to identify the source of the commotion. Immediately, she wished she hadn't. Her entire world appeared hazy, and even though Gwenevere knew she'd gotten a full night of rest, she still felt incredibly tired. Her body hurt, her head was throbbing, and there was a constant, vile churning of fluids within her gut. "Good. You're awake," a familiar voice grumbled, "took ya long enough..." Gwenevere rubbed her sore eye sockets, and squinted up at Garrett. The thief had his back to her, still draped in that long ebony cloak of his. Looking around her, the young woman realized that they weren't upstairs in the clock room, but rather further below in the old Hammerite dormitories. She recognized the piercing red tapestries forthwith. For some bizarre reason, they always filled the girl creature with unspeakable tenacity, and animosity. This sudden surge of emotions and recollection, brought forth an overpowering need to vomit. Scrambling for the chamber pot concealed beneath the bed, she held the rancid thing just below her chin, and emptied the fermenting contents of her stomach. Wiping her mouth upon her sleeve, she heard Garrett muttering to himself. Although she couldn't quite be certain, it almost sounded like, 'yep. Such a lady indeed...' When the thief did eventually turn around, he was holding something in each of his hands. Steaming mugs of what Gwenevere could only presume to be either coffee or tea. "Here. Drink this. There's a reason why the bluecoats are always so damn jumpy on night patrol..." Garrett smirked, handing her one of the beverage containers. Gwenevere took it graciously, her icy fingers soothed by the new source of warmth. As she began to sip, Garrett sat down on the cot across from hers. He began to drink his own brew, surveying the strange, hungover lass with pondering eyes. Basso was quite possibly one of the dumbest taffers Garrett had ever had the misfortune of knowing. But by some ludicrous jest--likely conjured up by a god or goddess with far too much time on their hands--the old boxman always grew incredibly cognizant--even downright insightful--when he was pickled. For as long as he'd known the man, Basso had always been an intellectual drunk. And for once, Garrett was adamant to make that work for him. If Gwenevere was going to be staying with him long term, the reluctant thief decided that he should at the very least figure out why she'd come into his world in the first place. In that respect--and that respect alone--Basso did in fact have a good point. "Uhhh...why do I smell like pee?" Gwenevere mumbled in a soft, tired voice. The girl sounded as though she hadn't slept in several days. "I'm sure Basso's hovel smells a lot worse..." Garrett answered. Gwenevere faced him with a worried expression. "W-what do you mean?" "Forget about it," the thief groused. It didn't concern him, and truth be told, Basso's home had never exactly smelled like a basket of roses. Garrett doubted his fence would even notice. Gwenevere paused for a bit, looking around the room they were in with dazed confusion in her eyes. "Garrett? Why are we in the Hammerite sleeping place again?" she at last inquired. "The dormitories?" he corrected, his cynicism at its pique after a sleepless night. "Look. I know you said that you like sleeping on the stairs for whatever reason, but I need my space. And so do you." Gwenevere's face contorted in disapproval. "But Garrett!" the girl started to protest, before her own outcry prompted the pounding in her skull to intensify. She flopped backwards onto the bed with a low moan of great discomfort. The sides of Garrett's mouth twitched upwards a little, as he watched his young apprentice clutch at her forehead and eyes. "Don't try to fight me on this, Gwenevere," the thief spoke, before taking another drink of his coffee. Then, with a reluctant smile, he added, "after all, you're pretty hungover." "No, I'm not," Gwenevere grumbled. "I'm laying on my back over here, not upside down!" "Uh-huh," Garrett mused, shaking his head at her ridiculous response. Sometimes, the thief genuinely couldn't tell if the girl was just that naïve, or if she really was making some terrible attempt at a joke. This, was one such time. He looked around him, the scent of dry rot and wood oil permeating his nostrils within the forgotten bowels of that place. Old and forgotten though it was, the clocktower was nevertheless looking much nicer. Gwenevere's cleaning had returned the upper levels of the clock room to at least some semblance of tidiness. Something the creaky old husk hadn't been privy to ever since the Hammerite's forced departure. But even still, certain factors caused the thief to wonder. Queries and thoughts kept secret behind his stalwart glare. His hideaway seemed...somehow brighter in the recent weeks. Warmer even. The two figures sat in silence for a time, as a grand stare-down commenced between the jaded cynic, and the passionate idealist. But surprisingly, it was the former who would inevitably break this stalemate. "You uh...were mumbling something in your sleep last night, Gwenevere," Garrett cleared his throat. The girl sat back upright and blinked. She reached for her coffee cup again, and wisps of steam began tickling her sensitive nose. She sneezed, sending her messy bangs tumbling forward into her face. Garrett compressed his lips together, concealing a nearly inaudible scoff. Flushed, Gwenevere looked back up at him, brushing the strands of unkempt crimson from one of her wide, green eyes. "Sorry...it's so musty down here," she smirked. The thief, was unamused. When she realized that he wasn't about to participate in her attempted conversation, Gwenevere's face reddened even more. "Ummm...so, what exactly was I saying?" "Something about doing your best, or making someone proud. I don't know, something like that," the thief answered her, taking another sip from his cup. "Oh..." Gwenevere looked down at her teacup in deep shame, watching as the dark liquid reflected the tragedy and deep unrest looming within her eyes. "What's your deal anyway?" Garrett inquired, in a crude, almost mocking tone. "Why are you so obsessed with what other's think of you? Is it a superficial noble's thing, or?" "No," Gwenevere released an annoyed sigh, leering up at him. "I'm not some attention-seeking brat, Garrett. I just want to help people. That's all." "That's all, huh?" the thief chuckled, before abruptly rolling his eyes. "Riiight...So tell me, what sort of game are you playing here, Gwenevere? What makes you want to devote your life to crime anyway? You looking to get revenge on your old man?" Gwenevere hastened to finish the last of her coffee. It tasted horribly bitter, given that her host hadn't added any cream or sugar. But it was doing an excellent job or banishing her first hangover. "Not entirely, no," she replied. "And if I am in any case, it's not because of what he's done to me..." "It's a yes or a no question. Do you want revenge on Simmons or not?" Garrett demanded, growing irritated with her cryptic nonsense. He'd gotten enough of that from the Keepers to last him a lifetime. Hence, it never ceased to personally irk him whenever anyone spoke in riddles, or offered vague responses. Gwenevere set her cup back down upon the large wooden chest beside her new bed, and stood. She began to pace around the dormitory, running her thin fingers through the dust and cobwebs. "Simmons has very little to do with any of this. I had to get away from him to live my life. That's all. I want to become a thief in order to help the poor. If I steal money or food, or anything of substance really, I can make their lives just a little bit better," the young woman faced him, passion and virtue glistening within her unassuming little face. "That, is my goal. I want to be the vigilante and protector of this city!" Garrett nearly dropped his coffee cup when she relinquished that information. Gwenevere, wasn't some mere noble's brat thirsty for the taste of danger and defiance. No, it was far, far worse than that. The starry-eyed youth before him, was dead serious. But she'd built all of her plans on the foundation of a dreamer's mentality, without any thought or foresight for what this would realistically entail. Memories of Erin's death, her fall upon that horrible night one year ago, came flooding back to him, as Garrett glowered back at the innocent redhead. "Are you serious?! That's what this is all about?!" "Yes," Gwenevere responded, as casually as though the thief had just asked if she'd like some more coffee. Garrett stared at her, his face darkening and dumbstruck by her sheer naivety. "But you have no idea what you're even doing!!" he finally exclaimed, slamming his half-full coffee cup onto the chest beside hers. Gwenevere startled at his sudden outrage, her emerald eyes awash with bitter upset. "Then maybe instead of pointing out all my mistakes, why don't you just teach me so I can improve!" she countered. Garrett swallowed his frothing rage, and began to massage his aching temples. "Gwenevere. Do you even know what being a vigilante entails?! You'd have to be leagues ahead of where you are now, and that would require years of training on my part. And if you think I'm gonna house your sorry hide for that long, you are out of your mind." The girl's lips grew taut, and for a moment, Garrett was sure she was about to cry again. But somehow, Gwenevere gulped down her tears, and collected herself before answering him. "But I thought you were the best," she countered. "Surly, it wouldn't take nearly that long for you to train me..." Garrett frowned. Oh, she was good. Using his own pride against him like that. He stood, staring down at the curious girl, still baffled by what to make of her. At times, Gwenevere seemed downright stupid. But then, there were moments such as this one, where she would spout something quite clever and poignant. Such instances, never ceased to surprise him. "I may be the best, but you're the absolute worst. I can't train what isn't there to begin with, Gwenevere," he spoke coldly. "If you possessed some semblance of talent, then maybe. But I'm a thief, not a priest. I can't work miracles." "But you told me just the other day that you wanted me to be able to pickpocket someone by the end of the month. You said that was a reachable goal for me. If you can teach me something like that so fast, then I can't be all that hopeless, now can I?!" Gwenevere argued, once again demonstrating the quick wit she was more than capable of. "So what's the real reason you won't train me to do so much more? Why won't you help me reach my goals, Garrett?" "Because you don't belong here," he muttered. "That's what you keep saying, but I think--" "--Listen to me. For all of your idiocy and clumsiness...you're actually a pretty nice girl. I don't know your situation with Lord Simmons, but I do know one thing: This city will eat away at your soul real quick if you continue to stay here." His honest words, prompted the girl to shiver. Gwenevere watched as a look of great disturbance registered upon Garrett's face. The rusty-haired runaway narrowed her eyes, as the pieces of this macabre and depressing puzzle gradually began falling into place. The moonlighter quickly turned away when he realized she was now staring directly at him. The realization of what he'd just divulged to her--albeit unwittingly--was harrowing indeed. "Is that what happened to you? Is that...why you're so mean?" Gwenevere asked, half assertive, and half compassionate. Garrett still refused to look at her. He resisted the urge to shout, or otherwise flay her with his cruel tongue and biting words. Instead, he grimaced, and stared upward at the cobweb-coated ceiling above them. Knave. Charlatan. Murderer. All accusations he'd been saddled with over the years, and all more or less true. Others, saw more in him. They saw a hero, a chosen one who could deliver this foul world from the brink of disaster. These portrayals too, held grains of truth--however small. But in truth, the Master Thief, acted of his own accord. He did as he pleased, and damn the consequences. Killing Karras, the Trickster. Saving the City, nay, the world, from their madness. It had all been done, for personal reasons. Garrett, was a survivor. And if the rest of the city survived along with him, that was acceptable. But it didn't make him a hero. Nor did it make him a malevolent demon of the night to be feared. He, was what he chose to be. Nothing more. "No. I've been like this for as long as I can remember," Garrett finally spoke. "I'm nothing like you. And you're nothing like me." "Be that as it may, I DO want to change an unjust world, Garrett! I can't stand all the pain and injustice that pollutes this place!" Gwenevere proclaimed, her face twisted in emotional anguish. She'd seen more suffering and death than any girl of eighteen should ever be privy to, and it was silently killing her from the inside. Garrett sneered at her. "It's the City. Get used to it or leave," he snapped coldly, masking his growing interest and to a lesser extent, concern for her. Like a beautiful flower struggling to grow within this place, the thief knew this girl too would be trampled if she remained much longer. Gwenevere's eyes widened in response to his bitter statement. "What?! But I can't go! I'm your student now! I made a commitment." "You didn't commit yourself kid. You begged. Basso bought your doe-eyed charms and paid me to train you, even though you clearly have no promise or motivation to become a thief," Garrett barked. "And just so you know, you're probably gonna get yourself killed." He turned away, leaving her stunned into silence. For a time. As the thief began  to exit the dormitories, Gwenevere's soft voice reached his ears. "We're all gonna die one day." Her unexpected words caused Garrett to halt outright. He turned slowly, and glared down at the girl through his venin green prosthetic. "What did you just say?" he hissed. Gwenevere, didn't even flinch this time. Whatever remained unsaid, it far outweighed her uncertainty. "Death finds us all eventually," she croaked. "But it's what we choose to do before we die that matters. If I go out trying to help people, trying to steal bread for a mother and her children who can't eat...then that will be enough for me. I'll know I lived a good life." Garrett stared transfixed upon her, hardly believing how noble this girl truly was. When he'd first encountered this precarious, genial young lady, she'd been jumping at her own shadow. The thief thought he had her pegged as just another pampered snob. But for some inexplicable reason, he'd gotten everything wrong about her. He stared down at Gwenevere, wordlessly watching as that ineffable thirst for purpose and justice shimmered like diamonds within her eyes. Garrett did not feel his lips move, as a grumbling modicum of decision eked its way off his tongue. "Gwenevere. You don't have to die," he stated, in a low, hesitant voice. "What?" Gwenevere blinked, her face contorted into a half-stunned stupor at his proclamation. "Look. It seems as though you've got your mind set on this. Not that I approve, but..." "But?" Gwenevere stepped closer, her body trembling in anticipation. A part of Garrett wondered still, how he'd allowed a simple sack of gold to effectivly control him to this extent. But something was beginning to tease and irritate the far reaches of his subconscious. Was this even about his arrangement with Basso anymore, or the gold? Was there perhaps another reason why the stubborn criminal continued to endure the exasperating chatter of this skinny little imp child? Such wonderings, troubled him greatly. But Garrett did his best to ignore them. For now, he had a new apprentice to teach. "If you listen to me, if you learn to do this right, I can keep you alive." 

#Thief_deadly_shadows #Thief_fanfiction #Thief_ii_the_metal_age #Thief_gold #Thief_the_dark_project #Thief_Garrett #fantasy_story #drama_story #romance_story #steampunk_story

[a-hurricane-came]

And If It Ever Happened (No One Has To Know) ~ Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Because despite being stuck on a bus for a three hour long car ride to a youth conference with a bunch of other awesome hyperactive candy addicted teens, I’m bored and still lacking a life. Also, for SJ’s Submission Sunday. Because by the heck not?

Or: Thomas learns about colors, his jacket is explained, and (Y/N) makes plans.

Warnings: Brain aneurism, child coping mechanisms, arguing, car accidents, bad French and Irish (Google Translate, people, bc I know nothing) character death, mentions of suicide, depression, hospitalization, a couple people get punched, mentions of homosexual relationships (in case that makes you uncomfortable - sorry never gonna change it those two are too precious in my mind) also it’s my first imagine so it probably sucks (be warned!) but it will sort of get better (ish) towards the middle of the story (beginning is on the bad side of OK and I’m not sure about the ending.), probably insanely OOCish and Mary Sue/Gary Lue ish characters that tend to go with shit writing like mine, plus this is the first time I’ve written an imagine, and my writing was already sucky enough as it was, so take that how you will.

So have fun with that

Modern AU, feminine pronouns

Masterlist

At four years old, Thomas Jefferson knew enough to know how to understand others, and what he understood was that all the boys on the block thought that pink or purple or any color reminiscent of them were for girls. (Except for red, because red is cool, like fire and blood and a knight’s horsehair plumes; and blue, because blue is cool, too, like ice and deep sea diving and the big, big sky that all those jets flew through that they were going to fly someday.)

He knew all the colors in the rainbow: red and orange and yellow and green and blue and purple, and black because that’s always what was between the other colors, and white because that was what was on either end of it in the shape of big, fluffy clouds.

Not pink.

Pink didn’t count, he thought.

At age six, his mother takes him to the local hardware store to look at paint samples, and he looks up at the giant wall with a gaping jaw as he takes in the impossible number of colors-within-colors. (Even pink.)

He sees some sort of grey splotch near the top of a yellow card, though, and doesn’t like it. He decides it doesn’t belong there.

“Mama, why is there another color on this one?”

She looks at him, brow risen in slight confusion, before she realized what his little finger is pointing to and chuckles.

She bends down real, real low, so they’re at the same eye level.

She’s tall, he thinks, not for the first time. I bet she could fight giants.

“Thomas,” she tells him, a small smile on her face and an amused twinkle in her eye. “This isn’t supposed to be another color. This is the name of the color. Like green is called green, and orange is called orange, but these ones are…,” she paused for a moment, mulling over the words as she tried to find a way to explain it to his young mind. “Different,” she finally settled. “They’re longer, and weirder.”

“Oh.”

“Like this one,” she took down a shade of light, light orange and yellow, that reminds him of when those very colors clash on the - the nex - neckt - nectarine. “They call it Brooklyn Skyrise.”

He frowned. That didn’t sound like a color.

If he looked at it, it was actually really nice.

“What’s Brooklyn?”

“It’s a city in New York, Thommy.”

He stared at it a little while longer before nodding his head firmly. “I’m going to live in New York,” he decided confidently.

His mother’s eyebrows rose.

“I’m sure you will, Thomas.”

(And if he didn’t have any idea where New York was, then he didn’t say anything.)

She then pulled down another one, a murky auburn, leaning more toward red, and he is reminded of leaves right before fall.

“Here’s another one. This one’s called Dragon’s Blood.”

His grin lit up his face. “Cool!”

He is seven when he finally meets her.

She is bold and she is brilliant and despite the fact that she is a girl, she seems to possibly be one of the only people in that class that he might actually like.

Besides James, of course.

He decides to save himself the humiliation and stick with becoming friends with James.

It’s okay, though.

He’s not the only one who’s noticed you.

It’s when you hit another boy that he finally gets the courage to talk to you, opposed to all the other boys who look upon you with both awe and fear, and scattered every time you came near.

"Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” was the only answer he got back.

“What’s your name?”

“(Y/N). What about you?”

“I’m Thomas.”

“Cool.”

It was quiet for a little while.

“I saw that you punched that boy,” he informed her.

“Everyone saw it, dummy,” she shot back. “It was during recess.”

His face grew hot and he practically recoiled, not knowing at first what to say to that.

“Well-well I just - I just thought I should tell you that I thought it was really cool,” he finally decided on.

She cocked her head.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“All the other guys were too big of wimps to talk to me after I hit Charlie.”

“Charlie had it coming, everyone knows that!”

She shrugged, and turned her head, her hair whipping out behind her.

He frowned when he saw what was in said hair.

“Why do you have that?” He asked, as if offended by the object in question. A frown tugged on his features.

She scowled at him.

“Why? What’s wrong with wearing a bow?”

“It’s not the bow that’s the problem, it’s the color,” he explained, a flurry of light annoyance briefly sweeping across his features.

If looks could kill, Thomas would’ve been six feet under by the time he finished his sentence.

“What about it?” She asked.

“It’s - well, it’s pink,” he stressed, trying to get her to understand the apparent horrors of such a color.

“No, it’s not,” she hissed back.

“Well, then what is it?” He shot in response, arms crossed smugly, and obviously not expecting her to hold an answer.

“It’s fuchsia,” she sniffed. “Obviously.”

Right. Because he was supposed to know the difference.

“I couldn’t find my other ones. I think my sister took them. She’s such a meanie.”

“Other ones? You have other ones? Please tell me they’re not all pink!”

“Fuchsia,” she insisted. “And no, they’re not. I’ve got pink, and flamingo, and fuchsia, and purple, and turquoise, and teal, and orange, and auburn, and brown, and black, and white, and yellow, and grey, and indigo-”

She ignored his skeptical, “Isn’t that just another word for purple?” And continued to list how many colors she had in her extensive bow collection.

“And periwinkle-” “What’s that?” “And crimson, and cherry-” “I thought those were the same things…,” “And I’ve got tangerine, too,” here she sounded very smug, as if immensely proud of herself for knowing such a word. “But my favorite is the magenta.”

His face scrunched up.

“Magenta?”

“Yeah.”

“What does that one look like?”

Her face lit up, and before Thomas could realize he made a mistake and walk away, she had already curled her fingers into his shirt sleeve, making sure he couldn’t leave as she went on and on about her favorite bow and all her other bows and things he didn’t need to know about.

Somewhere in there, he vaguely heard the words, “It was from my Papa,” but they were soon swallowed by the load of complete gibberish that followed, as he gaped at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

She was always wearing a different bow, he realized a few days after his talk with her - it was something he had never realized until then.

But she still wore the one that was that horrifyingly electric shade of - magenta, he was pretty sure she called it - every other day.

(And if he was slowly starting to get used to it, then he didn’t say anything.)

Three weeks after their small talk, and they shared a few hellos, but not quite enough to constitute as friends.

So you could imagine his surprise when after class was let out that day, and everyone started to walk outside to walk home, or for their parents to pick them up, or to ride their bikes or go into their bus lines, that she made a beeline with him, an ecstatic grin on her face.

“(Y/N)?” He asked, confused, when he realized that she had stopped right in front of him, and had not, in fact, been going towards someone behind or around him.

“I got a new bow!” She whispered conspiratorially to him. She did, in fact, have a new bow - and it was white with rainbow polka dots.

(And if maybe pink counted now, then he didn’t say anything.)

It was probably then that he realized that he did, in fact, contrary to his original belief, have a new friend - and this one, unlike some of the others, would not be quite as easy to shake.

In a month, she tells him that she’s getting a new little brother.

He tells her that little brothers aren’t so great - his is super annoying.

In two months, he tells her that his family is going to the beach that weekend, and that they’re going to swim.

“You’re going to go swimming?” She asks, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” he replies flippantly. “I’ll be teaching Linny, because he doesn’t know how, yet,” his chest puffs out with pride as he mentions this, “but everyone else does.”

“Right,” she answers, nodding vehemently, like she believes him. (And if she goes home that night and begs her parents to sign her up for swimming lessons, or even insists that she needs them now now now because everyone else knows how to and she doesn’t, then they didn’t tell anyone.)

It is by the fifth month, when they go to the park to play together and she insists on her Papa making cookies (“They’re the best thing anyone’s ever eaten! You’ve gotta try ‘em, Thommy!”) and he actually enjoys himself that he realizes that even if it only actually took a few minutes of their correspondence for him to become friends with her, it only took a few days for her to become friends with him.

She does that, he realizes - that sneaking up on people.

She doesn’t tell you that she’s going to get you to be friends with her, she asks you what your favorite color is or why you’re talking to her, and the next thing know, bam. You’re friends with her.

No, she never told anyone - it just happened.

Like a shadow - never there until the sun shifted.

He was okay with that, he realized, by the time six months had passed.

And so it went.

When they were eight, he taught her cursive, and she taught him drawing.

Then he taught her how to play the piano, and she retaliated with what she knew of the recorder.

Some of the others teased them about it - always about how one or the other of them had cooties, or they were weird for being friends because things just didn’t happen like that, but they stopped after a while then they realized it was useless - when they were continuously shrugged off.

They were nine when her Papa had a brain aneurism and died.

They didn’t know what it was, at the time, of course, just that he was gone because of it.

What happened after that was all kind of a blur.

He saw the obituary in the paper his father was reading, but he didn’t understand what it was at the time.

When they got to school, the Guidance Counselor dropped by all the different classes and gently explained to them why (Y/N) wasn’t in school that day, why she wouldn’t be for the next few days, and to act like nothing had happened.

“I’m sorry about your Papa,” he told her when she came back to school, completely disregarding all the instructions that had been given to him.

She looked at him.

Blinked.

Nodded.

Turned away.

(And if he thought that her magenta bow was a little too crumpled or tied a little too tight that day, then he didn’t say anything.)

She is quieter, after that.

First she never stops wearing the bow he gave her, and the Crocs he had been so fond of, even if they were seven sizes too big for her, and the big Hawaiian shirts he would always wear on bowling night.

None of the other kids teased her.

Nobody ever told them - they had told them that her father had died, yes, but not what was happening to her - but they seemed to realize what was going on anyways, and quietly left her alone to work it out for herself. (And Thomas, of course. Thomas was there for her.)

Then comes the time when she stops.

She doesn’t wear his colorful, comfy clogs or go to school swaddled in his familiar floral shirt, and she wore any bow but her magenta one.

It just completely halted, all at once, with no warning.

She came to school everyday with her head held high and a blazing fire in her eyes, full of determination, and everyone seemed a little startled - if not scared - at the abrupt transformation.

When she started going out of her way to loudly engage her other classmates in conversation, they seemed to take the message that she was, once again, okay to approach.

(And if everyday at lunch, her eyes stared a little forlornly at the container she’d bring with her that was now full of crackers instead of those famous cookies, then no one said anything.)

Her return to everyday life was fast and furious and adventurous and emblazoning.

She rose her hand everyday in class, strived to be the best, strived to be better, the strongest, the smartest, the fastest.

Thomas was right there with her the whole time. They took on the challenge together.

(And if he was a little sad with the change, then he didn’t say anything.)

It took three months for her to finish planning, and when she finally showed Thomas, he was the first one, and he added his ideas, and she thanked him, and they cried, and then they stopped their self pity and discussed their plans more.

When they came home from that summer break, everyone seemed to notice the change, and it went without saying what it was.

Thomas and (Y/N) had big, big plans, and they weren’t about to let anyone get in their way.

They’re ambitious, and they’re smart, and they’re able to start without immediately alerting their parents or teachers.

They pull up a chart online, and within half an hour have memorized the alphabet in Morse Code.

Within two, they were fluent.

They used a brand new app that had come out, and began to learn new languages - these ones were a lot harder than Morse Code, but their drive and their intelligence didn’t change, and with their youth and easily molded minds, they picked it up quicker than most.

They took classes where they could, and that’s when others started to notice - when they began to ask for references and advice for certain things, or cash for no apparent reason.

They began to switch languages when they spoke in school as they learned, to keep in practice.

They learned something themselves and then they taught the other.

They started off slow, hesitant even with their determination, but soon enough began to pick up the pace, especially as their quickly acquired skills helped them with others.

They were ten years old.

He taught her French as she taught him Spanish.

They were eleven years old.

The others didn’t tease them at all anymore - they were starting to branch out on their own friendships as well, and none of them really cared about cooties anymore.

She taught him Norwegian and he taught her German.

He taught her Mandarin and she taught him Russian.

And so it went.

Twelve years old.

Greek. Gaelic. Icelandic. Polish.

His little brother Mowlie and his little sister Marty become best friends with her little brother Merlin, and he is practically adopted into their family just as she was, and they into her family just as he was, and they bond over annoying older siblings and favorite toys and embarrassing names that start with the same letter.

They begin to earn the name ‘The Triple M.’ For obvious reasons, as the trio soon became inseparable.

(Y/N) and Thomas aren’t sure how good of an idea it was to introduce him, but it was unavoidable - the little monsters would’ve found a way to meet each other anyways, somehow, someday soon.

Thirteen years old, and while they continue with languages in a much more rapid pace, they start with other things, too.

Arabic. Scandinavian. Czech. Italian. Japanese. Korean. Swahili. Latin. Karate. Ju-Jitsu.

(She begins to wear her magenta bow again, every once in a while. He doesn’t say anything.)

They are fourteen, and in school, they begin to learn Spanish.

Their teacher is surprised by how easily they ace the class, but can’t move them up, as that would be a high school level, which is outside of his jurisdiction, but he at least sent forwards the notice.

He asks the class as a whole, one day, a couple months in, if they know any other languages.

John Adams knows enough to say good morning, bless you and ask for directions in German.

Roger Sherman can introduce himself in Japanese.

Betsy Ross can hold a basic conversation in French and say a few greetings in Italian.

Winston Churchill can say hello in Dutch.

That is it.

The only two left are Thomas and (Y/N), and the rest of the class is completely and utterly, outright stunned when they tell them in that same fluent Spanish they’ve been using all semester that they know seventeen other languages (or, eighteen, if you count Morse Code) then Spanish and English, and when the teacher asks them to demonstrate a little bit like they did with all the other kids, they take up the rest of the class period smoothly holding a discussion over what their reactions would be when they learned what they had planned next, as they switched between tongues.

Fifteen.

Dutch. Portuguese. Irish. Danish. Swedish. Turkish. Esperanto. Ukrainian. Welsh. Hebrew. Vietnamese. Hungarian. Archery. Fencing.

The other students are in awe of them despite the fact that they have absolutely no idea what they’re doing.

(And if Thomas’ stomach explodes into butterflies every time he sees her now, then he doesn’t say anything.)

Sixteen.

Braille. Sign language. Many other tongues from the far, far corners of the world, along with hand to hand combat, and fighting with real knives and swords. They know how to defend themselves now. Good - nothing should ever be able to happen to them now.

(And if (Y/N) begins to wonder just how far their plans will carry them, and if it will ever lead to more for them than friends, then she doesn’t tell anyone.)

Seventeen.

They are the top of their class.

Charles Lee seems to have forgotten that she punched him in the face in the first grade, and as a result, begins constantly trying to woo (Y/N).

With all her anxious plans and buzzing energy, he goes on ignored.

After all, their plans are about to be carried out, and they still, throughout all these years, haven’t even fully explained this far fetched (though not so much anymore), life changing already plan of theirs, and they both have about a dozen AP classes and exams still, with their jobs and drama club, when added with student council, band, jazz band, choir, show choir, the yearbook committee, Forensics and both the spelling and geography bees, mock trial, lacrosse, soccer, the GSA Club, track and cross country, in addition to everyone badgering them about college applications despite them still being their junior year, and them not being able to tell them why they keep turning everything down, because that would be to reveal the full plan and they both agreed that they wouldn’t do that until the week they carried it out.

Not to mention, of course, the fact that James, who was now a close friend of both of theirs, was constantly getting sick, so they needed to take care of him, on top of helping out their parents by doing chores and giving their younger siblings a lift to and fro different places, and, obviously, their…far more intense and personalized extracurriculars.

Honestly, it was a miracle they were still standing, and absolutely nobody had any clue how they did it.

But they were still seventeen.

That meant that their time was running out.

She furiously teaches him how to whittle, he doesn’t stop until she knows how to build a fire.

They take on how to track different people and animals together, as well as go through the art of deception and knowing when others are lying.

They practice different accents until they’re perfected, work on acrobatics and languages those around them can’t even pronounce the name of.

They take on extra shifts and work days, eagerly scraping up any money they could to add to the fund they’d been gathering for their plans throughout the years. (Because until they were proven wrong, they were going to act on the belief that they could support their own plans.)

Even once they finished this, they could still go to college, they decided.

After all, not that they were trying to be arrogant or anything, but what college wouldn’t want them?

He exchanges hacking for thievery with her, and they both learn to think on their feet faster than they ever have before.

Deduction. Observation. Analyzation. Hard work. Effort. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Lost sleep.

It was all going to be worth it, they knew, because it was all working towards their plan.

They are seventeen, and no one else is anywhere closer to their plans then they want them to be.

For a while, James is in the dark, though he is still the closest to knowing the whole truth.

He, for his part, takes their silence graciously, despite knowing that something huge was being kept from them.

When he wasn’t sick, he’d try to make sure they at least got full meals and a decent amount of sleep.

When they drifted off during study sessions or at their desks or in the library, he’d let them be, copy down any sleep delirious, slurred writing from a language he didn’t recognize on a separate piece of paper for them in case it was an idea or work they needed, and then erased it from their homework, knowing from experience after the complaining the teachers had given to all their classes in the first month they had (Y/N) and Thomas that they didn’t appreciate it all that much.

(And if he covered them with a blanket or put their cocoa, coffee and tea back in the microwave to stay warm, too, then no one said anything.)

That summer they learn first aid.

They know, looking back on some of the things they learned that year, that the lines are starting to blur between what is strictly necessary and originally part of the plan, and what they’ve simply added just because it might be a fun or useful skill to learn or have. Maybe the lines started to blur a while ago. They aren’t sure.

They think that they might be alright with that.

(And if Thomas also thinks he’s in love with her and that stupid cute little magenta bow she wears, he doesn’t say anything. And if James realized it before him, then he didn’t say anything, either.)

Eighteen.

They were eighteen.

They were finally going to graduate.

They could’ve skipped a few years and graduated earlier, too, of course, but they preferred not having to associate themselves around faces they hadn’t grown up with, and now they were no closer to regretting their decisions.

One of their teachers asks them to go around class, on the first day, and share what they’re going to do after school - take a leap year, go straight to work, if they knew what college they were going to, something else, maybe.

The two simply shared a crooked grin, that while their fellow students had been expecting, their teacher had not.

(And if it still managed to make them all uneasy, then no one said anything.)

“Yeah,” (Y/N) had said, a strange, excited lilt in her voice.

“We’ve got plans,” Thomas finished for her.

The teacher raises their eyebrows at the ‘we’ in there - because that was definitely a ‘we’ that had been heard there - and presses them for more answers.

They share a serious look, and it unnerves them all when an entire conversation seems to pass between them in mere seconds simply through eye contact - even James, who has seen them do it many times.

A nod.

They’re going to carry it out soon anyhow.

What was the harm in letting them know now?

Everyone seems to lean in, sensing that after years and years of wondering, they were finally about to have their mystery solved.

They do not realize that they’re not going to be getting the whole story just yet.

“We’re going to travel,” Thomas says confidently.

“Travel? Wherever to?”

“Oh, here and there,” answers (Y/N) vaguely with a wave of her hand.

They do not tell them the full extent of it - that they’ve been planning this since they were nine, that they were literally going all over the world, for most probably years at a time, and they’d find ways to cover for the trip, and they’d help anyone they came across and maybe once they came back they’d sign up for college or the military together - maybe whichever one they didn’t pick as soon as they were done with the first.

(And if they don’t tell them that it’s to make her Papa proud and fill in his bucket list that was never completed along with each of their own, either, then neither of them say anything.)

They were not happy living unfulfilled lives.

(And if she is suddenly hyper aware of that electric buzz that passed through them every time they touched, then she didn’t say anything. And if she realized she was in love with him, too, she didn’t say anything.)

They cram in the last of their lessons - both in school and in private. (Engineering, this time. Engineering and building, architecture, working on more memorization techniques, survival skills, dances, different instruments, the line blurs further and they try to tie it all back down to study of different cultures - but as much as they could. They never knew what they might need out there.)

They graduate, her, Valedictorian, him, class president, both with high honors and already several college credits and hours of community work logged, both oblivious to the awe and high respect their peers held them in, and both finally about to see that goal come true.

(And if she still has that magenta bow in her hair that day, then no one says anything.)

They finally tell James, and their parents - the truth, the plan, the whole entire complete plan and truth, without any fanfare or missing steps. (Sort of. They do not tell them about Papa’s bucket list, or the fighting or the lying or the survival skills, and reassure them that they won’t need any of these.)

Their parents were shocked - in a way, but proud - because this was an amazing thing for them to be doing, and while they were surprised by it and maybe a little hurt that they weren’t told earlier, especially with how long it had taken to plan, but they always had known that their children were exceptionally ambitious and intelligent, and once they had it all laid out in front of them, they knew that this was exactly like them, and this was exactly what they needed to do.

That one last week it is, then - packed with goodbyes and see you soons and keep in touches, stuffed with graduation parties, and crammed with frantic packing.

And so it happens.

They travel.

They go to France and to Greece and to Iceland and then back to France. They go to Japan and Sealand and Australia and Brazil and France again. Canada, Greenland, Turkey, Chad, Egypt, France. New Zealand, Scotland, Ireland, France. Germany, Denmark, France. India, China, Saudi Arabia, Chile, France. Spain, Tailand, the Philippines, Russia, Poland, Norway, the Netherlands, and then France once more.

They climb literal mountains and go deep sea diving in almost all of the oceans and skydive once on each continent except Antarctica. They help build schools and houses and stay with foreign families that become extensions of their own. They help raise money for charity and find rations for those who need it, they teach different things to those they come across, and pick up more on the way. They dance in the street when there are musicians playing, or sometimes play along with them, and they see monuments and rainforests and artifacts and museums and waterfalls and canyons and deserts and mountains and oceans, but it’s always France they came back to.

Because somehow, it stayed like that. Always France.

(And if it was because of the countless times both thought of confessing their feelings there, rather than the architecture as they said, then neither said anything.)

More, more, more countries, so many they’re loosing count, and then France.

Again and again and again.

They aren’t expecting what comes next.

Because it’s France that they go to last.

It’s in France where he finally gets up the nerve to tell her.

And it’s in France where their luck finally catches up to them and all shit hits the fan.

They are in the plaza - of some random city they always seem to get caught up in, but could never remember the name of because what did it matter? - and as he begins to cross it over to her, with two piping hot coffees in his hand, all he can do is stop and stand, transfixed and gaping in horror as time slows down.

The cab driver speeding towards her fought for control even as he sped off the road and out of human capability of stopping it at that moment, even as it ran straight for her and he tried to swerve around.

It didn’t work.

Her earbuds in her ears, her face lit up in a glorious smile, the sun hitting her face and her light, and her hand raised in a happy wave towards him, completely oblivious to her impending doom or he cabbie desperately honking at her, which she still couldn’t hear - and damn it, (Y/N), why do you always have to insist on listening to your music so loud? Why now of all days?

Her face doesn’t even get a chance to morph into an expression of confusion as mortification takes over his face, or as the coffee slaps to the ground, splattering up to speckle his jeans and seeming to burn his sandaled feet.

And as he rushed forward, he supposed that, perhaps it was a blessing, that she never got the chance to do so, because that meant that the last way he saw her was when she was at her most beautiful - happy, excited, and just comfortable in her own skin. Not terrified for her own life.

He sprints as fast as he can and pulls her limp body into his arms, not caring for the blood smearing onto his open skin and summer clothes.

“(Y/N)? Look at me, (Y/N), honey, you’ve gotta keep your eyes open.”

He looks up from her to yell at the gathering crowd.

“Quelqu'un appelle une ambulance!” He shouts, desperate for them to do it, to do something because she was dying, God dammit!

“How’re you feeling, baby girl?” He whispered to her, and then instantly regrets it.

He didn’t want to hear about the pain he could so blatantly see.

And he holds her tighter, and she whimpers, and her fingers curl into the sleeve of his shirt, and before he can stop her, she’s talking again, and he can’t help but remember their meeting all those years ago.

And she’s talking and talking and it’s getting softer and softer and he’s not really listening, but he’s still hanging on to every word as he shakes her back awake continuously, nods his head and encourages her to keep going.

And somewhere in there, he thinks he vaguely heard her say the words, “I wonder if this is how Papa felt,” and his heart clenches.

“Let’s hope you won’t get a chance to ask him too soon, huh?”

She gives a weak chuckle, chokes a little, spits away the blood settled on her lips.

“I never told you, but-” His eyes widen and his heart pounds.

Did she love him too?

Is that what she was going to say?

No! She couldn’t do this - not now, not right before he lost her!

And yet…he needed an answer.

No, he decided. No, I don’t, because she’ll make it through.

“(Y-Y/N), don’t-”

She keeps talking, but she voice gets softer, so he has to stop and lean forwards to hear.

“I always made you take us here because the cafe smells like Papa’s cookies.”

His stomach drops with grief, and he can’t even register that she didn’t tell him that she loved him in her dying moments, because those words were enough to break his spine.

He never got to see that fear or confusion, and maybe he should’ve been grateful for that.

He wasn’t grateful.

He wanted (Y/N) back.

And as he cradled her to his chest, and that blinding rage welled up inside of him, he wanted to cuss out that cabbie and then grab him and punch him in the neck nine or ten times, but then she would have been disappointed.

So he sends back a letter.

And he stays.

And it hurts - or it hurts him right in his fucking soul, shattering it into thousands of pieces, seeing her reflected in the world around him, but at least this way he thinks that maybe - just maybe - he might be able to find a sort of peace with the truth here, in the place she loved most.

(And if every day he goes to the cafe and tries some of their cookies, and if everyday he takes a single bit before pushing forwards his plate and leaving, with the comment, “I’m sorry, but it just…isn’t right,” because those were not her Papa’s cookies, even if they smelt like it, then he didn’t say anything, and neither did they.)

He runs across a store one day - nothing particularly extraordinary about it. In fact, he would have passed it had he not seen the ridiculous garment that was in the window.

Instead, he stopped.

Stared.

Tilted his head.

It would suit him, he supposed, and the color-

He inhaled sharply before changing course and heading inside.

He came back out ten minutes later with a magenta leather jacket.

(So maybe magenta’s a color now. When did that happen? He’s not sure. It’s not like he has anyone to ask, much less tell.)

He never went a day onward without it.

It was like he kept a piece of her with him wherever he went.

(And maybe he was healing, but he didn’t say anything, because he hadn’t needed to be healed in the first place, right?)

Eventually, he works up the courage to move back home.

Plasters a smile on his face, spoils the Triple M’s.

He goes to college, eventually - like they talked about.

They are astounded by his credentials, like they had predicted, and he was almost instantly let in.

(James was there. That was good, right? That he was seeking out his other friends? They said that that was supposed to be progress, didn’t they?)

Of course, all good things come to an end.

In this case, for Thomas, it came in three different shapes and sizes.

Their names?

Why, Hercules Mulligan, John Laurens, and, of course, their ringleader, Alexander Hamilton.

He couldn’t fathom why Lafayette ever hung out around them.

Of course, this was coming from someone who constantly got into debates, arguments and other squabbles with the trio (okay, so really just Hamilton) all around campus, insulting and being insulted for everything from their hair to their shoes to how they walked to how they talked to how they presented their last debate.

Despite it being an obvious choice, however, never once had Hamilton ever insulted his jacket.

He had a hunch that maybe Lafayette had told them not to.

After all, they had met Lafayette in France.

He knew what had happened.

He had drawn his own conclusions when he saw the coat, like everyone else had, as Thomas had never explained to any of them, but he could bet that like James’, Lafayette’s was probably pretty damn close. (Except James’ was probably one hundred percent accurate.)

Whatever the case, it went without saying.

Don’t mention my fucking coat and I won’t hurt you.

That was the general message.

An unspoken rule.

But Hamilton’s always been about breaking the rules, and eventually, this one would end up just like the rest of them.

So when he decided to leave their most recent crowd gathering argument (just about all of them were) and turned around to make his way back to the dorm, you can imagine what he felt when he heard the words, “Do you think he wears such a horrid colored jacket to compensate for something else?” Passed from someone’s mouth everyone’s ears.

He didn’t know who said it.

Forty percent on Hamilton, twenty five on Laurens, twenty on Mulligan, and the fifteen left on any random watcher - that was his bet.

Either way, it only took all of twelve seconds for him to freeze, comprehend, turn around and deck Hamilton one straight in the face.

His hand was throbbing as he walked away, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care.

Mulligan and Laurens helped Hamilton up, all of them seething. (though Mulligan looked a bit amused)

Lafayette just looked at his friends with a dark look, warning them not to go any further.

“That,” he told them seriously, “was crossing a line.”

Everyone around them was dead silent.

“It’s only a fucking piece of clothes! What’s the deal?”

Lafayette’s eyes flashed in another warning.

“It’s a topic best left alone. Let the poor man go, he doesn’t need this right now,” they were shocked to hear him, for once, taking a side between the two - and even more so when it wasn’t theirs. “It’s the least you could do after all the memories you probably just brought to surface.”

And they watch in stunned silence as Lafayette walks away, too.

The next day, they try to approach Thomas.

“Look, Jefferson, Lafayette explained about yesterday-”

“He what?” Thomas asked as his head snapped around, absolutely livid.

“He explained. Well, sort of. Anyways, I just wanted to apologize - didn’t know we were making you think of bad things an-”

“Ná labhairt ar cad nach dtuigeann tú!”

Those around them who heard his shout at Hamilton’s words were stunned at the language none of them understood.

Here they didn’t know him, after all, which meant that here, everyone only knew that he could speak English and French - which was only because he was often caught conversing in it fluently in French class and with Lafayette.

He stormed away before anyone got the chance to ask on his outburst.

(And if James shook his head and followed after him, then no one said anything.)

And life once again went back to the way it was.

(And if he was unhappy with that, then he didn’t say anything.)

And Thomas was sucked back into the smothering routine of college.

(And if he found comfort in this, he didn’t let it show.)

And James worried.

(And if maybe he kept just a bit closer of an eye on Thomas after what happened to Marty, then he didn’t say anything.)

And the Triple M noticed.

(And if Marty tried to commit suicide that month, then no one said anything.)

And his Dad cried.

(And if that’s the first time he’s ever seen him break down like that, such a strong facade having been kept in place for years now crumbling in seconds, then he didn’t mention it.)

And her Mama was terrified.

(And if it was because she was afraid of loosing the only family members she had left, just like she had lost her husband and her daughter, then she didn’t say anything.)

And his mother was sad.

(And if it was because Mowlie and Marty and Merlin were growing up and away, and so was he, and she was just that much closer to having them slip away just like what had happened to her Mama, then she didn’t say anything. And if it was because she saw his dad cry, too, then she didn’t say anything. And if it was because Marty was in the hospital, she didn’t say anything. And he wasn’t so sure she could fight giants anymore.)

And his life was in shambles.

(And if that was how he felt, then he kept his damn mouth shut.)

And he hated it all.

But he is healing.

(Is he healing? He thinks he is healing - but then again, that’s what he thought before he came back from France, too. But it was also before Marty tried to kill herself, and before his Dad showed such vulnerability for he first time in his living memory, and before he realized that his attitude was getting to the Triple M, too, or that her Mama was scared, and his was showing such sorrow, and that was before his fights with Hamilton became more constant, because he was asking for it bringing back those memories, and that was before he had to drag himself out of his pit of self pity and depression for the third time in the four years that’ve passed, he reminds himself.)

And he is moving on.

(Probably. He still wears he jacket. Does that mean he’s moving on? Maybe he just likes the color these days.)

And it’s all going to get better.

(He’s not so sure, though.)

Another year, again and again and again, he falls into the pattern.

Shatter.

Stitch.

Heal.

Shatter again.

Repeat.

Shatter.

(Like he shatters when Marty tries again, and a third and a forth time.)

Stitch.

(Like he stitches over the wound when they get her a therapist to help work her through it.)

Heal.

(Like he heals when he thinks he sees her smiling more often, like he heals when he thinks she’s getting better.)

Shatter.

(Like he shatters again when he realizes that no, she is not better, but she is trying. Like he shatters when he realizes that she might never get better and he might never know, because she’s figured out that as long as she says the right thing and act the right way, everyone thinks that she’s okay. Because that means that they fixed her, right?)

Repeat.

Shatter.

(Like he shatters when he finds Merlin, his little brother in all but blood, sobbing his eyes out in front of his college dorm and He came all the way out here? How the fuck did he even get in the building? and when he finds out that it is because he was just rejected by his long term crush, who had laughed in his face for thinking he would go out with him. Like he shatters when he realizes that Merlin is only telling him about his gender preference now, and while it didn’t matter or change him as a person, it still hurt because he hadn’t trusted him with this until now and God, am I really that horrible of a brother?)

Stitch.

(Like he stitches it back together again when he buries the hurt because this is Merlin, and somebody just fucked up Merlin and that meant that he’d have to find them and fuck up them ten times worse, and because Merlin had his reasons and he could respect that.)

Heal.

(Like it starts to heal when Merlin goes back to his own home with his Mama again, because he’s pretty much over it by now, and like it starts to heal when Thomas tries pointing him in Mowlie’s direction because God, wouldn’t it be great if they were finally actual brothers? Maybe they would have been, someday, before France, but you can’t change the past, and he’s anything but blind, and Mowlie and Merlin are perfect for each other.)

Shatter.

Stitch.

Heal.

Repeat.

It’s a pattern that never ends.

(Not when Jordan Kykes from down the street gets evicted and he can’t do anything to help her save the house, not when Betsy Ross from middle school gets paralyzed from the waist down, not when Hamilton cheats on Eliza, not when he finds out that James Reynolds has been abusing and blackmailing his girlfriend Maria, not when Jay Howes gets assaulted and doesn’t speak for three days, not when his Auntie Lola gets fired from her job, not when James’ long spouts of illnesses grow more frequent and more violent, never never never, it never ends.)

But he comes to figure that maybe that’s just life.

And maybe he’s okay with that.

(And if he’s not, then it doesn’t matter, because it’s life and it’s already happened and it’s still happening and it’s going to keep on happening, and if he doesn’t like it, then no, it really, really doesn’t matter, because even if it happened, then he had no one to tell.)

And that’s just life.

#thomas jefferson x reader #Hamilton imagine #modern au #first oneshot #thomas jefferson #cookies #bc the cookies are an important part of this #college au #(uh...ish?)