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#obey me famous au
todaydreambelieversfic · a month ago
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Author Spotlight: Teddyshoney Day 1
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Author: @teddyshoney
How did you get into Glee and Glee fandom?
I did not watch the show when it was on TV. Had I been allowed to, I most certainly would have, but I wasn't. Two years after the show ended, my MIL was talking about how much she enjoyed it, and when I discovered it was on Netflix, I binged the entire show twice, back to back.
In general, what drew you into writing (and/or creating)?
I've always loved to write. I've been writing since I was eight or nine, mostly OC. However, when I was a teen, I discovered fanfic (in other fandoms), and I've been hooked ever since.
What was it about Glee that made you decide to write fanfic for it?
Klaine. They were the reason I continued to watch the show after season 3, and when the show ended, I felt like I needed more. I wanted more scenes we didn't get. I wanted to know what happened in their happily ever after. So, I started reading fic until I was comfortable enough to write it.
Have you been a part of other fandoms before? Have you written fanfiction pre-glee?
I have been (and am) part of other fandoms, but Glee is the only thing I've ever written fanfic for. I read a lot in other fandoms before I discovered the show, and there are a few fandoms I've considered writing for and may still write for in the future, but for now, I have plenty of ideas for writing Klaine fics to keep me busy for probably forever.
Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?
I'd like to try a kidfic and a famous!Klaine fic, but I haven't gotten around to it. There are ideas for both stories sitting in my "To Be Written" folder, just waiting for the perfect opportunity.
Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?
I don't like to rule anything out, because I never know when I might be inspired to write something in a trope I wouldn't expect, but I doubt I'll ever write an mpreg fic.
How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?
Far too many to count... Lol! I have a huge list in my "To Be Written" folder. The next major story I'll be working on is for the In Every Lifetime series I'm working on with JayhawkWrites. It's a D/s story in which Blaine is older and the sub and Kurt is the younger dom.
***
Check out Teddyshoney’s Fic
In Every Lifetime Series - A series of connected AUs inspired by this line from Blaine's proposal: "It's always felt like I was remembering you from something. As if, in every lifetime you and I have ever lived, we've chosen to come back and find each other and fall in love all over again. Over and over for all of eternity."
Blaine Has Fibromyalgia Series 
Respect and Obey -  Blaine has always had a little trouble with his anxiety, and the pandemic is causing an attack. His Dom tries to help, but sometimes it's hard to shut off the voices in your head.
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whattodowithace · a month ago
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Bonnie and Clyde (Jun)
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Title: Bonnie and Clyde
Pairing: Reader x Jun (ACE)
Genre: Spice/historic criminals AU
Word Count: 1602
Writer: Kpopmadness (Ju)
Summary: Bonnie and Clyde have been dead for a year. But when two of their biggest fans follow in their footsteps and fall madly in love with each other, things get interesting.
A/N: Mentions of blood and people being shot. Minorly suggestive content.
Cold metal burns my hot skin as i hold the object with shaky fingers. I wasn't used to this, this way of handling things. But here i was, holding a pistol in my hands, the barrel pointed at a man on the floor with his face bruised and bloody from being beaten.
"Just shoot him, sweetheart." A singsong voice i had grown to love more than life itself whispers in my ear. His warm breath fanning across my exposed neck.
"He's no good to us now. He opened the safe for us and now we don't need him." The voice from behind me continues to whisper. His hand rubbing soft circles  into my lower back. Making a chill go up my spine.
"Sweetheart," The voice whispers, this time his lips are on the back of my neck, making goosebumps rise as my hands with the loaded gun continue to shake.
"You can do this." He whispers, pressing his lips against my skin gently. "You wanted to come with me so bad just a month ago. To make our names go down in history as the next Bonnie and Clyde. So can you prove that to me now?"
I gulp nervously, trying to steady my shaking body. Bonnie and Clyde were our roll models, of sorts. They had died a year ago. I hadn't met Jun yet, but their way of life somehow always seemed to draw me. I was pulled toward that lifestyle even though it was so, so wrong.
A month ago i had met Jun robbing a bank in my small home town. I had helped him escape, and like a fly drawn to a burning light i flew right to him. Falling head over heels for his dark eyes and sweet demeanor. He wanted to keep the legend of Bonnie and Clyde alive even though they were dead. He had followed their life closely, as had i.
But this, what he was asking me to do now wasn't something i had taken into consideration when i begged him to let me go with him. To travel with him, to become famous to the authorities and leave them chasing their tails,  to become rich off the fortunes of others.
"Prove to me you want this." Jun whispers to me again. "This, this is what separates us from normal thieves. The ability to grant life, and take it."
I take a deep breath and cock the gun, making Jun smirk behind me as he watched me aim. Jun was right. What good was it to be in this lifestyle if you weren't going to go all the way? Besides, this is what i wanted. I wanted this lifestyle, and i wanted Park Junhee.
"Shoot him." Jun whispers once more in my ear before i pull the trigger. The gunshot echoing through the small bank we had just robbed. My first kill taken, and my loyalty to Jun proven.
````
2  Months Later
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear gently, looking at my reflection in the vintage mirror as i finished getting dressed in the hotel room we had been staying in. We never stayed anywhere for long. We had only stayed here because our plan to rob another bank hadn't worked out according to plan. We had to wait an extra day and hold up in this hotel room until the right time.
I had just finished putting on a pair of white lace gloves when the bedsheets behind me shift and move. A yawn coming from the person in the bed.
"Rise and shine." I say to Jun, who looks over at me, his eyes red from sleep and his hair messy.
He yawns and looks out the window beside him, sunlight streaming through. It was August and even though it was 7 in the morning the sun was already hot. Dust particles could be seen gently floating around the room when the sunlight caught them. Giving the world a hazy appearance.
"You should come back to bed and let me kiss you." Jun says, his voice gravely. A playful smirk tugging at his soft lips.
I stare at him through the mirror, my own lips quirking up in a smirk. "Now you know if i did that we would never leave this room. And that bank just a few blocks down wouldn't get its money stolen like we've been planning."
Jun chuckles, running a hand through his hair before standing up, letting the white sheets fall away revealing his bare chest in the golden light of the morning. A dark pair of undergarments covering his lower half.'He stumbles to my chair by the small vanity, placing his hand on my shoulders as he bends down to whisper in my ear.
"I love it when you talk like that." He whispers into my neck, kissing a line of drawn out kisses against my jaw. His lips dragging with each kiss. My head straining back to give him more access.
"I did learn from you." I whisper, my breath coming in sharp intakes as his hand trails down my arm but his lips trail up my neck to my ear.
"And you've learned well, sweetheart." He whispers as he bites my ear, making my whine. "But you're especially sexy when you talk about stealing like that."
I rise from my chair, now being eye level with Jun. I wrap my arms around his bare shoulders, his skin smooth to the touch. His hands rub gentle circles into my hips while he stared into my eyes.
"You’re far sexier though. Especially with how you look right now." I say as i run my hands up to his hair, making him tense and my smirk widen to his reaction.
Jun's eyes darken, his eyes holding a flame behind them that i had lit. He quickly pulls me closer to him only to toss me gently on the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me.
"Jun," I murmur as he settles his weight on me. "We need to leave soon."
Jun kisses my mouth deeply, stealing my breath. His arms on either side of my head, caging me in.
"It can wait an hour." He whispers darkly as he starts kissing me passionately until my lips are raw.
``````
"Our demands are simple." Jun shouts into the large bank, his gun drawn along with my own. Several people are scattered on the ground with their hands above their heads. Their bodies trembling and eyes dilated.
"Nobody move, stay quiet, and no one gets hurt." Jun says. His bottom lip going between his teeth as he bit back a smile. I knew this is something he loved. The sense of control and power that came with taking from others like this. This, this is what he, what we both, lived for in a twisted way.
"Open the safe." I order the nearest teller. A overweight man white thinning white hair and thin glasses framing his face. His face turned whiter than a sheet with the gun trained on his temple.
I flick my gun toward the safe, beckoning him to move. He obeys and with shaky fingers unlocks the doors. The heavy safe door creaking open revealing mountainous stacks of cash inside.
I gleam at Jun, who winks at me and strolls over to my side. Two large black bags slung over his shoulder to carry the cash in.
The teller opens his mouth and shakily says, "If...if you could let us go... the authorities will..."
Jun lets out a annoyed sigh beside me and cocks his pistol before shooting the man. The people around him letting out sharp gasps and cries as they shrink away from his bleeding body.
I give Jun a sideways glance. He loads another bullet into the gun before shoving it in the back of his pants.
"I did say to be quiet." He murmurs as he steps inside the safe. I smirk at his back as i follow him inside.
We had just finished loading the last bag full when i hear the familiar sound of cop sirens in the distance.
"It's time to go." I tell him, taking his arm.
Jun nods, making a final sweep of the room before taking my hand in his. Leading us out to our get away car.
"Thank you all for your business." Jun calls over his shoulder as we exit the building.
I slide in the front seat beside Jun quickly. The cash quickly getting thrown in the backseat. Jun throws the car in drive as we speed away from the town. The sound of cop sirens following us in the distance. We turn down several gravel roads, the road twisting and curving as we sped away.
We continue like this for an hour before Jun takes his foot off the gas. Positive we weren't being pursued.  Jun glances to the backseat at the stash of cash before looking over at me. A wide smile on his face.
"I love you, sweetheart." He says as he takes my hand in his and places a gentle kiss on it. Making me smile.
"You're always so helpful." He adds, giving me another glance.
I smile at him, our twisted love one of my favorite things. "And you're always so handsome during a robbery."
Jun chuckles kissing my hand again. His smile makes me smile and lace my fingers through his own. We weren't a normal couple, we knew it. But i didn't i didn't want our love any other way. Because i was his Bonnie, and he was my Clyde.
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sol-rising · 2 months ago
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— dramione fanfic recommendations bc i don’t have a life;
[CHERRY] No one asked for this but I don’t have a life and I read a lot so.... why not? Majority of these are either on AO3 or FFN. 
— ONESHOTS; 
Best Shot by AccioMjolnir [Mature, 24k words]
Summary: It's eighth year and Hermione is trying to navigate her post-war friendship with Draco Malfoy and a relationship with Ron Weasley when she gets an unexpected visit from someone who knows her better than anyone: herself. Thrown back from the future, an older Hermione drops a bombshell on her: she has only three days to set things right, or Draco dies.
Amateur Cartography by worksofstone [Teen & Up Audiences, 21k words]
Summary: That one-night stand with Draco Malfoy was a mistake. Hermione doesn't make mistakes, or at least she isn't supposed to. She's working hard at her Ministry career, however frustrating and pointless her job may be, and she's also got to live up to everyone's expectations as Hogwarts's most famous Muggle-born and a top-tier War Hero. So, why is she still sleeping with Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater and infamous pureblood? And why isn't she certain that she wants to stop?
A Muggle-born Magic by Musyc [Mature, 50k words]
Summary: Regency-era AU. Physician's daughter Hermione Granger finds herself in need of a way to pay off her father's debts after his death. Draco Malfoy, retired from the politics of the Isolationists, a group of pure-bloods bent on separating 'true' magic from lesser folk, finds himself in need of a tutor for his son, Scorpius, who appears to be incapable of magic and must learn to survive in a world without it. Draco also needs a wife and mother for Scorpius, to satisfy a promise to his unwell father. After she saves his son from an attack by Isolationists, Draco hires the Muggle-born Miss Granger for the former, and after a riot in Vauxhall Gardens and a scandalous discovery made by his mother, weds that selfsame Muggle-born for the latter. While making the best of her marriage of (in)convenience, Hermione discovers that Scorpius' history of wild imaginings and dreams is more than just imagination. As she attempts to teach him about magical abilities no one expected he would ever have, she and Draco work together to raise Scorpius and learn to trust each other.
Ice by senlinyu [Teen & Up Audiences, 5.1k words]
Summary: Hermione works in Gringotts’ Records Department when Draco Malfoy comes on staff as a curse-breaker. His icy presence drags up memories she’s desperate to move on from and forget. She tries to ignore him, but every time she sees him, she feels chilled to the bone. DHr Advent 2018.
Fallin' (Adrenaline) by LeilahMoon [Teen & Up Audiences, 4.5k words]
Summary: When Professor McGonagall encourages all Hogwarts students to participate in a mentor scheme designed to promote inter-House unity, Hermione Granger is thrilled; she can’t wait to embrace the opportunity for further education. Unfortunately, she's not able to choose who she is allocated to and, when her mentor turns out to be Draco Malfoy, she’s certain she won’t learn anything at all.  
The Two Sided Triangle by Canttouchthis [Teen & Up Audiences, 5.2k words] 
Summary: In which Daily Prophet reporter Hermione Granger inadvertently becomes a superhero and her partner, the intrepid Draco Malfoy finds himself smitten. In other words, a Dramione inspired by Superman and Lois Lane.
Now Is A Gift by senlinyu [Teen & Up Audiences, 5k words]
Summary: Hermione is determined to give meaningful Christmas gifts to everyone in her Ministry department.
Everyone.
Even that anti-social arse Malfoy.
DHr Advent 2019.
riddle me this by megamegaturtle [General Audiences, 8k words]
Summary: Their fingers touch when Draco hands her the paper and Hermione's heart almost jumps out of her chest.
The note reads: How do you spell ‘cute boy’ with only two letters? -Riddle Me This
Hermione finds herself grinning. “Cutie. Q-T. That’s the answer to the riddle. You’re a cutie, Malfoy.”
[the one where someone leaves Draco Malfoy riddles to solve from the local coffee shop's community board and he enlists Hermione Granger for help.]
(Written for 2020 DFW Trope Fest: Double Trouble)
Library Rendezvous by WickedlyAwesomeMe [Fiction T, 2.9k words]
Summary: Hermes Granger just wanted to finish his homework in peace but of course, she always had to ruin his plans. Male!Hermione Granger/Female!Draco Malfoy. Genderbender
Relentless (Hogwarts Era Series) by realjane (Series of Connected Oneshots)
Height by senlinyu [Explicit, 8.7k words]
Summary: “Tall? That’s what you think I should notice about Malfoy? His height?”
Ginny quirked an eyebrow and licked the tip of her quill suggestively. ”Well, isn’t that your thing? Lockhart. Krum. McLaggen. Ron. The only thing they have in common is being tall enough to give me a neck ache.
”Hermione felt her ears grow hot, and she gripped her book tighter. “I don’t have a thing for tall men. Their height is—completely coincidental.”
Dramione Height Differences Minifest 2020.
Diamond Heart by artemisgirl [Fiction T, 8k words]
Summary: When Hermione approaches Draco Malfoy proposing a fake relationship between the two of them as part of a scheme, he's eager enough to participate - the potential benefits outweigh any costs on his time. But as it all progresses, Draco finds himself wondering what it would be like if what was 'fake' was real.
The Spring’s Chosen by artemisgirl [Fiction T, 5.5k words]
Summary: A golden unicorn appearing on the Malfoy grounds sends the Manor into a flurry of activity, to the confusion of one Draco Malfoy. It's just a unicorn that happens to be gold - isn't it? DMHG  
Courting Customs Most Sacred by HeyJude19 [Twoshot, Mature, 15k words]
Summary: Published in 1862 by Lady Apollonia Nott, Courting Customs Most Sacred is the comprehensive text for any pureblood family seeking to arrange suitable matches for their children. It’s also patently ridiculous and not at all appropriate for the modern era of dating. It is certainly not how one should woo Hermione Granger, at any rate.
— ON-GOING/WIPs;
Come Let Us Adore Him by thiscitychickk [Not Rated]
Summary: Hermione Granger scoured the subreddits, perused the checklists, and read virtually everything possible on how to be an all star Congressional intern and staffer. She had her job responsibilities well in hand, but instructions on how to handle the attention of an upstart Congressman Draco Malfoy were nowhere to be found. US politics AU: Congressional staffer Hermione, Congressman Draco
and with you, i fall by passionesque [Mature]
Summary: With Narcissa Malfoy striking a deal for her family — protection for information, the last thing anyone wants is Draco Malfoy seeking refuge within the heart of the Order. 
It would’ve been easy, Hermione thinks. So easy for her to hex him back to Voldemort’s clutches for all that he’s said and done, but being the bleeding soft-hearted Gryffindor she is, she doesn't.
* * * * *
“You should hate me,” he murmurs, flicking his gaze to her from beneath his lashes. 
She should, Hermione knows this. She really ought to hate him, but the memory of the haunted look in his eyes and the hoarse screams of his nightmares echoes through her mind and eases the storm in her heart.
She doesn’t. She can’t.
“You’re right,” Hermione says soberly. “I should. But I don’t.”
Post HBP. Canon-Divergent. HG/DM.
Love In A Time Of the Zombie Apocalypse by andgladly [Mature]
Summary: After Voldemort, there was this. The clock is ticking to create a cure to the unimaginable horror that currently grips the world. Hermione finds herself unwillingly allied with the most hated man in Wizarding Britain.
The Alkahest by Shadukiam [Mature]
Summary: The Marriage Law, once enacted, has the power to destroy Hermione's perfectly normal life. Luckily, she and Ron are already planning to obey the horrific law together as a team... Until a Malfoy-shaped wrench gets thrown into the works. Dramione.
In the Arms of Her Dragon by Wolf Blossom [Mature]
Summary: A random act of kindness (the life-or-death kind) draws together Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger in a way that nobody saw coming. The duo, in fact, did not want anybody learn the secret of their relationship, but their hope was in vain. All of Hogwarts, nay, England suddenly knew about their union. "Nobody said this would be easy, bookworm." Malfoy drawled. "Shut. Up. Malfoy."
Time Twisters by themirrorminder.372259 [Fiction T]
Summary: Narcissa ignores the sharp smile her little brother wears after Bella's funeral, in the same way that Lily ignores the ravenous gaze her little sister aims towards Knockturn Alley. However, Albus Dumbledore cannot ignore the ominous friendship between Draco Black and Hermione Evans, not when he hears blood dripping from their joined hands. {TimeTravel} {DRAMIONE} {Marauder's Era}
Beautiful Incongruence by charlie_weasleys_gf [Teen & Up Audiences]
Summary: “You are not an easy person to talk to, Granger.”
“Well, you haven’t made the prospect of talking to you sound very exciting."
Hermione Granger was ready for her third year at Hogwarts-that was, until it was interrupted by time turners and apologising assholes.
In which Draco Malfoy apologises (a lot).
How to Move On by longdistance [Mature] 
Summary: It's been nearly a decade since the war. A long time since she locked herself away. A long time since he faced his mistakes. She's what he wants. He's what she needs. It's time for both of them to figure out how to move on.
Through the eyes of blind love by Mixilip1 [Mature]
Summary: Torn between the heart and love of two souls thou shall find theeself. Post-war.
Following the war, Hermione finds herself not-so-happily dating Ron, but it seems she can't keep herself away from a certain blonde Slytherin who's determined to finally make her his witch. After hearing a prophecy about her future, she thinks her life might change for good, but what she doesn't know is that the prophecy also included a veela in it.
"Granger, don't be nervous. Just look at me and let go." He said, grabbing her chin, and her brown eyes met his.This is a story about love triangles and veelas. Veela AU
flesh and blood by forbiddenquill [Teen & Up Audiences]
Summary: Scorpius breaks his father’s Time-Turner and ends up getting transported into the year 1998, when the Second Wizarding World War has already ended and where Draco Malfoy is still trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered world.
With Scorpius’ arrival comes shocking revelations, burning questions, and a son’s image of a father Draco is sure he’ll never be able to live up to.
More importantly, it’s Scorpius’s bright brown eyes, so unlike his own, that bug Draco the most.
[alternatively, a multi-chapter fic where eight-year-old Scorpius follows Draco around the castle and tries to discover the secret identity of his mother]
The Other Side by sweetsolitude [Teen & Up Audiences]
Summary: A slow-burn Dramione version of 6th year, The Half-Blood Prince, told from the perspectives of Draco, Hermione, and Theo. No smut, no character bashing. Attempted to stay TTC and the general plot progression of HBP. Primary ship is Draco/Hermione. This fic is already completed at around 150k, will post chapters regularly.
The Hidden Duchess by Moxified [Fiction K]
Summary:  She had always been given everything she wanted ever since she was a child, spoiled to the very bone. Her life consisted of a strict regimen built for a princess that was followed to a tee - even after she came to Hogwarts. Leading two lives is stressful for anyone, especially a young lady with an equally young man curious enough to discover what secrets she was hiding.
An Unexpected Malfoy by RiverWriter [Mature]
Summary: Once upon a time Hermione Granger literally ran into Draco Malfoy in a bookshop. His mother sees a connection between her son and the muggleborn that she can't ignore and determines to get to know the girl. An imagining of how things could have gone if Hermione had been taken under the wing of the Malfoy family.
In Another Life by marana1 [Fiction M]
Summary: She walked over to the huge, full-length mirror. Staring back was her eleven-year-old self but with long, beautiful, silky platinum blonde hair and pale skin. Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, the reality of the situation sinking in. The fairy hadn't just made them switch places for a day... she sent them back in time and switched their lives. DM X HG. EWE. Slow burn.
Hermione's pianist by softblakegriffin, va_lentina [Mature]
Summary: Draco Malfoy was destined to play music since birth. A small prodigy in a family of long-standing musicians, he’s well on his way to become the best pianist of his generation. A month in Rome with his friends is the perfect way to leave the pressure and social obligations behind and relax, immersed in the eternal beauty and soul-stirring art.
Hermione Granger’s road to music wasn’t straightforward. She didn’t attend the Conservatory, everything she knows is the result of sacrifices, and she’s still searching for the perfect opportunity to make music her job. It’s her dream and she thinks Rome, with its breathtaking views and magical atmosphere, is the place where she wants to try and fulfill it.
He’s in Rome to enjoy a short reprieve from London, before going back home.
She escaped London and is in Rome to stay.
Will music and the treacherous city disrupt their plans?
Crimes of Passion by All3Unforgivables [Mature]
Summary: Draco Malfoy lost his family, his dignity, and his humanity during the Dark Lord's rise to power. The only thing he couldn't stand to lose was something that was never his to take. With no one left to mourn him, his disappearance goes unexplored. But angels like Hermione Granger do not go missing without notice. D/H OOC, AU. Very mature themes.
Nightcrawlers by malf0y101 [Explicit]
Summary: Returning to Hogwarts for her eighth year, Hermione Granger is depressed, resentful, and suicidal. That is, until Draco Malfoy presents an enticing offer to keep her alive. Soon after, the two embark on a torture spree of students, professors, and acquaintances while simultaneously engaging in a clandestine and dirty relationship. How long can they keep their game up?
What crawls in the night stays in the night.
Poet. by OneEqualTemper [Mature]
Summary: “Uh...Malfoy? Did you knock your pretty head into a wall this morning?” Ginny questions and slides into her spot next to Hermione.
Hermione gives her a quick glare, her eyes begging her to just leave it alone. Ginny ignores Hermione’s look and waits for Malfoy to answer. Malfoy does his best to ignore the red-headed Witch.
“Hello? Anyone in there?” Ginny questions and waves her hand in front of him.
Hermione grabs the Witch’s hand and pulls it down to the table, “He can sit here if he wants.”
Ginny scoffs but keeps her hand down on the table, “What’s wrong with his own table?”
“Ginny, stop,” Hermione hisses at her friend. “We’re friends. He can come and sit here anytime he wants.”
— COMPLETED;
Hindsight by floorcoaster [Teen & Up Audiences, 12 Chapters, 170k]
Summary: It's a New Year and Hermione decides it's time to make some changes.
Between the Devil and Draco Malfoy by QueenOfSmokeAndMirrors [Mature, 13 Chapters, 34k]
Summary: Seventeen is a dangerous age. Hermione Granger, arrogant and precocious and bored of her mundane life, thinks she can handle a deal with the devil. But Draco Malfoy - the devil's own son - plans on dragging her down to Hell with him. Dramione AU with demons.
Good Luck Kisses by Musyc [Teen & Up Audiences, 8 Chapters, 8.4k]
Summary: A good luck kiss for a Quidditch captain - it's ridiculous. It can't actually work.
But it does.
Every time.
Traditions by raven_maiden [Explicit, 14 Chapters, 69k]
Summary: She straddled him slowly, still biting her lip, her hands on his shoulders. He held her hips tightly as he stared up at her.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, and she flushed prettily, like she always did from his compliments. “You never need to hide from me.”
**
Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fell in love during the war. One year later, they're heading home for the holidays so he can finally meet her parents. There's just one teeny little problem: her parents think they're both Muggles.
Fortuitous by MrsRen [Mature, 13 Chapters, 93k]
Summary: Recently divorced Draco doesn't believe in the ideology of having one true love. He certainly doesn't expect to meet his match in a Halloween themed coffee shop, but fate has a peculiar way of giving you just what you need.
Manacled by senlinyu [Explicit, 77 Chapters, 370k]
Summary: Harry Potter is dead. In the aftermath of the war, in order to strengthen the might of the magical world, Voldemort enacts a repopulation effort. Hermione Granger has an Order secret, lost but hidden in her mind, so she is sent as an enslaved surrogate to the High Reeve until her mind can be cracked.
Wait and Hope by mightbewriting [Mature, 12 Chapters, 95k]
Summary: “Harry,” Hermione began, voice very controlled, but she could feel the blade of panic slicing at her vocal cords. “Why was Draco Malfoy just screaming bloody murder about his,” and the word almost strangled her as she said it, “wife?”
Harry's green eyes blew wide. Healer Lucas pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly displeased with the recent series of events.
“He was referring to you, my dear,” she said. “That was the other question you got wrong. Your name is Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy.”
Hermione had to be sedated again.
Beginning and End by mightbewriting [Explicit, 48 Chapters, 242k]
Summary: Years. Broken into months into weeks into days—into hours, minutes, seconds—into moments. Simple at one end, complex at the other. In Draco’s experience, moments, even when simple, had a habit of becoming irretrievable. Moments grew, stretched, multiplied into ages and eras that defined whole stretches of measurable time. Draco regretted several moments in his life, some within his control, some without: all of them irretrievable in nature. At a certain point, wedged between ‘what-ifs’ of his own devising, he’d stopped trying to keep track of those regrettable moments: now and then, pushing and pulling, coming and going, beginning and end. Moments were only moments for just as long. After that, he had no control.
A Draco POV prequel to Wait and Hope.
Through the Years by WickedlyAwesomeMe [Fiction T, 11 Chapters, 93k]
Summary: Hermes Granger fervently believed that Malfoy's sole purpose in life was to make his life a living hell. Genderswap Dramione! Male!Hermione Granger/Female!Draco Malfoy. Companion piece to "Library Rendezvous".
Apple Pies and Other Amends by ToEatAPeach [Mature, 29 Chapters, 77k]
Summary: It’s not until she’s brought a basil and strawberry sponge cake to Neville Longbottom and his new girlfriend, Hannah Abbott, a dozen rhubarb hand-pies to Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood, and another basket of ganache-covered muffins to Dean and Seamus, that Hermione admits to herself what she’s actually doing: she’s making a thing of this. It’s a veritable PTSD tour. With pastries. And hand-skimmed clotted cream. And she has no idea why she’s doing it, but it’s becoming very apparent that she is.
Sometimes you're sad. Sometimes you need dessert. And sometimes, it's a little of both.
Arrogance and Ignorance by AnneM.Oliver [Fiction T, 38 Chapters, 140k]
Summary: A romance set in the era of Jane Austen novels, this is the story of a woman and a man. The man thinks he is better than all others, & the woman knows she is smarter. Their differences aside, they have one thing in common, both are smitten with the other.
The Babysitter by WickedlyAwesomeMe [Teen & Up Audiences, 29 Chapters, 145k]
Summary: It was a dark and stormy Sunday night when Hermione Granger unexpectedly visited his house and entrusted him with her daughter, Rose. Disaster ensues.
Slow burn Dramione with a sprinkle of cute, cute Rose!
The Best of Me by MrsRen [Mature, 21 Chapters, 82k]
Summary: Officially, Hermione Granger was killed in action during the Battle of Hogwarts. Unofficially, Draco Malfoy has never stopped searching for her. Years after the war during a mission in France, his salvation comes in the form of a little blond boy and a familiar half-Kneazle.
Chronos Historia by In_Dreams [Mature, 27 Chapters, 98k]
Summary: Hermione and Draco stumble upon a mysterious portal and find themselves hurtled back through time a thousand years. Forced to team up to find a way home, they quickly realize that much of the history they believed to be fact, wasn't true after all. A founders era, time travel Dramione.
Presque Toujours Pur by ShayaLonnie [Fiction M, 38 Chapters, 174k]
Summary: Bellatrix's torture of Hermione uncovers a long-kept secret. The young witch learns her true origins in a story that shows the beginning and end of the Wizarding wars as Hermione learns about her biological father and the blood magic he dabbled in that will control her future.
omnia vincit amor by SyrenGrey [Explicit, 40 Chapters, 187k]
Summary: Dark days are here at Hogwarts, and the darkest cloud of all is hanging over Draco Malfoy's head. Already burdened with the impossible task of murdering the Headmaster, life becomes more complex when an elusive prophecy entangles him with a bushy-haired enemy, and a steamy forbidden romance unfolds. Sixth Year. Rated E for sexual content and violence.
Rose by longdistance [Mature, 5 Chapters, 20k]
Summary: A short tale of what happens after Hermione and Draco wake up with each other after a drunken night together. Alcohol often has consequences which they soon learn.
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streets-in-paradise · 2 months ago
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Faith or Facts
Troy (2004) Reader Insert Oneshot. 
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Word Count: 2.490
Pairing: Hector x Greek Seer!Reader ( Female Reader) 
Warnings: Heavy flirting. Let’s pretend this is an AU where Hector isn’t married at the time of the war. I love Andromache, but here we are gonna thirst for her husband. 
Summary: Following the advices of the high priest, King Priam orders the  kidnapping of a seer suspected of being a powerful weapon of the greeks. After all the attempts of the priests for benefiting from her sight fail, Hector is chosen in the task of getting a consistent prophecy from her. 
He tries to lead an usual interrogation with the interest of figuring out real information about the enemy, but her distractive peculiarity complicates things for him. 
Disclaimers :  Gif is not mine, credits to @lady-arryn​ for it. 
Note: For this i haven’t imagine the reader character as a traditional seer from the greek mythology, not an oracle of Delphi style of seer. I don’t know if this makes a lot of sense, but I had fun writing it and I’m thinking on writing a continuation soon.
For the anon who some time ago asked me for more Hector x Female Reader content, this is my first one but I plan to write more. Sorry for the delay and, if you see this, I hope you'll enjoy it.   
Tags: @yerevasunclair @hrisity12 @mother-dearest-loves-me​ 
Hector's guesses appeared to be correct once again. They were forced to take a pointless risk because of the impractical advice of the high priest and his influence on his father. Kidnapping a seer wasn't going to  make a big difference against the real problems produced by having to fight an army of fifty thousand greeks, but  Archeptolemus was convinced that this woman was a secret weapon of the enemy and getting her on their side was a key to victory. He convinced Priam of this and his order of bringing her to the city was obeyed, but the plan wasn't giving the results they expected. 
One by one, the priests did their attempts of getting her to prophetizise for them, but none got anything. Her reactions feeded the mystic imaginary regarding her, inspiring fear in some of them. She looked calm and careless, laughing in their faces as if she knew that they were going to come after her. The priests started theorizing about her and their guesses were a matter of discussion between them. 
A priest of Poseidon concluded that she was a human form of Eris, who shapeshifted to witness the chaos of the war closely. A priest of Zeus claimed that she was a sorceress using the strengths of obscure forgotten gods to give the greeks unnatural advantages and he judged her responsible for the remarkably abnormal fighting skills of Achilles. Each of their increasingly stranger assumptions made her laugh harder. The growing fears of the already scared priests induced the ones that remained unaffected to be more assertive, but nothing worked. 
When the last of them gave up, Paris tried to offer his help. The youngest prince judged himself a better fit for the task of making her talk because of his famous talent convincing women. His intervention was disencouraged, the priests considered him too weak of spirit and a possible easy victim for her still unknown skills. They all agreed on the imperious need of selecting the trojan of strongest spirit, who was no one else but Hector.
King Priam communicated his order to his son immediately after Archeptolemus requested it. Hector was at the edge of entering in a harsh dispute with his father. Instead of resolving something useful, he expected him to lose his time trying to obtain prophecies from an unwilling hostage. What the city needed were realistic strategies, not more vague signs of fate.  No more courses of action settled by omens, but pragmatically wise choices. 
He intended to take it as a regular interrogatory. After all, it was possible that the woman had more valuable information than her prophecies. Concrete facts about the inside of the greek camp: the political situation, some degree of knowledge about their supplies and logistics, possibly, details about their plans. If she was prophesying for them, the higher commanders must have consulted her about their courses of action. He wasn't interested in what she had to offer as a seer,but in how much practical information about the greeks he could gather through her. 
She could keep her prophecies, the oldest prince of Troy decided to follow his father's orders using his own criteria to judge the usefulness of information. 
Because he saw his interest in participating as a positive thing, he allowed Paris to express his recommendations. He suggested him to start making her feel more like a guest than a hostage and to pick a non hostile environment for the interrogation. He insisted affirming that the fastest way to get it done was to tempt her by offering the comforts that the city was still able to provide but were unavailable at the camp, a place he imagined as an uncomfortable place to live for a woman. The surprisingly clever idea of his brother impressed him, precisely because it came from him, and he followed his advice. Paris added a point to it that wasn't received so enthusiastically. In a complicit whisper, he told him to pull out all his charm.
Hector decided to do his own version of his brother's plan, acceding to present her with unusual comforts but avoiding the seduction factor. When she was brought to him, she was clean and she looked ravishing, properly dressed wearing garments that were given to her by the sake of the special treatment. While the prince gave his orders to the soldiers who brought her, specifying to be left alone with her, she stared at him the whole time. Her glance wandered around him from head to toes. 
She spoke first, showing to be impressed by him but unamused by the situation. 
" It wasn't hospitality. They were beautifying me for the prince!! " She mocked him. " Am I yours now? Did you pick me exclusively or do you go first because you are the son of the king ? " 
" My intention is not stripping you from your dignity. " Hector replied, in a very serious tone. " Forcing captives must be common among the Greeks. I punish it, I don’t tolerate such vile behaviour. " 
" What do you want from me then ?" 
" I only need your cooperation answering for me a set of very specific questions." 
She acted as if his request disappointed her . 
" Such a shame. I thought you were going to bend me over the nearest surface and do wicked things to me." She teased him. “ It wouldn’t be forced, I’m more than willing.” 
Hector ignored her very unfitting commentary, doing his part to keep the conversation serious and proper. He started wondering what kind of people did the greeks dealt with because her behaviour was the opposite of what trojans would expect from a seer. 
" Sit. " He demanded in an imperative tone.
" Of course, prince. " she accepted. " The chair or your lap?" She was smirking with delight.
" What kind of priestess are you?" He asked, exasperated. " On the chair! " 
She obeyed without breaking eye contact. 
" I'm not a priestess." She clarified." That's why your priests are terrified. "
" I'm not afraid of you." He replicated. " Let's start with something simple. Who brought you to my shores??" 
" The Prince of Crete dragged me in. " 
" Cretan? Your people have a long history of hate with the mycenaeans." He tried to orient the conversation seriously from that point. " Why would they seek guidance from a cretan seer?" 
" Because I'm that good. " She praised herself. " Achilles avoids me like the plague. He has a particularly important secret that he doesn't want me to find out."  Her mention of the myrmidon hero was a subtle attempt to validate her point through the fear he inspired. 
" Do you expect me to believe that he is afraid of you?" He mocked her.
" He is cautious, not afraid. " She corrected him. " I was excited to meet him, but he disappointed me. I think I like you more. " 
He tried to speed up the process by being exact in his demands.
" I'm not looking for prophecies. I want facts. " He stated. " You weren't brought here just to watch the fight, they must have consulted you and trusted you with their plans. That's what I want." 
" Slow down, handsome." She replicated. " If I speak and they find me, I'm dead. Are you sure that you don't prefer a prophecy? " 
" Why the sudden generosity?" 
" I don't want to leave you with empty hands." She admitted. " I can't say no when you look at me with those beautiful brown eyes of yours. It's the most intense stare i have seen in a while. How is that the spartan queen chose your brother when you were standing right there? Poor girl, so gorgeous yet tasteless."
" Women are Paris's weakness, not mine." He emphasized. " You are losing your time if you are trying to appeal to that. It's not going to work with me."
" I know who you are." She assured him. " Hector of Troy, tamer of horses. The most righteous hero of our times, an example of moral virtue and self sacrifice. " Her voice had a flinch of mockery as she revisited his famous qualities. " You have dedicated your life to the bastards of this city and they still treat you as a servant. Aren't you tired of constricting yourself into what everybody wants of you without any retributions? How does it feel to know that most of the men camping at the beach outside of your gates are afraid of you while inside you are bossed around by priests?" 
Hector felt the callout very deep, but he wasn't going to allow himself entering in her game. 
" I honor the gods and respect the authority of my king." 
" How does that pay for you?" She insisted. " Your brother gets away with whatever he wants, your father insults your intelligence and experience making you follow the orders of ridiculous old men who never wielded a sword in their lives. The city stands because of you, they all owe you their lives, but they don't trust you with the important choices. " 
" You serve the very same people that destroyed and occupied your homeland. " He pointed out, tired of hearing her impressively correct assumptions. 
" Nobody is here for loving Agamemnon or his reign. " She clarified. " It's not like I have a choice, none of us has. " Her explanation sounded honest. " I don't have anything against you or your city, that's why I'm staring at you guilt free. If i truly considered you my enemy, I would ignore how handsome you are." 
Her flirty insistence was distracting, but he felt one step closer to his objective. 
" Crete used to be richer than Troy. This city started growing with the trade in times when you were rulers of the sea. " He commented, going back to the initial point. " You used to be like us, sailors building a relatively peaceful civilization and expanding it through trade routes. Then, mycenaeans came along, took by force all your riches, destroyed your culture and turned your kings into servants of their central power. " He kept explaining. " If my city falls, the last resistance against them will collapse with us... Do you want to let them get away with it? " 
" Thank you for the history lesson, but that happened centuries ago. " She replicated.” I will not risk getting killed for a glorious past I never witnessed. I like you, but I'm not that stupid. "
" Haven't you considered that maybe, you have no other choice?" The prince remarked." Agamemnon will never believe that you haven’t talked, he will kill you for treason based only on the suspect. Your options are dying in vain in the camp or helping me to save my city from suffering the same fate of your island." 
He was right, she was a dead woman from the moment she was captured. The King of Mycenae would never trust her word after being released by the trojans. Her only chance to stay alive was to help them win the war. 
" If i talk, would you protect me?" She showed a glimpse of acceptance of his idea. 
" You have my word." Hector promised. 
" I like your city, reminds me a bit of what I heard that my land once was. " She joked, indirectly admitting to feel better after hearing his reassurance. " Knossos didn't have walls before them. It's said that we didn't need fortifications back then. You must have built yours by the time they started invading. Great work, your arms are the only trojan work of art that looks stronger than those walls."  
 In that moment, her flirting was hiding a short moment of vulnerability.
Hector sensed it. She pretended to be careless, but the stories about the past of her people were mobilizing for her emotions in some way and he respected that. 
" You will have every right  given to a protegee of the royals. I will make it official and you will be under my personal protection. " He affirmed. '' Still, I have to remind you that, if you try to betray me, you will suffer the consequences. " 
" I will be good, I promise. " Her reply had an unmistakable shade of desire. " I will be so good for you, I can scare off those priests that don't let you command your own army as you want. Keep me by your side and the power will be yours."
" I don't want power, I want to save my countrymen. " He clarified.
" But to do that, you need the power that comes with influence... Your father will trust you if we present him your commands as prophecies." 
" Are you encouraging me to lie to my own father?"
" I could mix my omens with advice based on your practical needs. " She proposed. “ I wouldn’t be deceiving the king because I will not present him with fake prophecies. I would use my sight as a support to give your ideas their deserved legitimacy.” 
He felt very tempted. From a political standpoint, it was a brilliant idea to compensate the overwhelming influence of the priests, but he didn't wish to betray his family's trust. He was in the middle of an internal conflict and her offering was appealing to that.  
She kept glancing intensely at him while waiting for a reply. Since he wasn't speaking, she tried to trigger it. 
" What can I do for you, my prince?" She asked, smirking. 
Hector was a man of strong moral convictions, but he wasn't made of stone. He wanted to do his work, but the unnecessary tension that her attitude created was an obstacle for the serious development of the interrogation. She seemed equally interested in breaking his resistance as he was in breaking hers, but following completely different motives. Since she knew the rumours about his righteousness, she was probably trying to test his limits. Apparently, she was getting some sort of pleasure in trying to make the strongest man in Troy give in to her provocation. 
The prince stayed firm, determined to show her his strong capacity for self control. 
" Agamemnon's plans. Tell me everything you know about his next moves. " He demanded. 
" This is your lucky day!!" She cheerfully commented. " You picked the right seer. He used to consult me often because he hates Calchas. I know enough of him to keep you interested."
The trojan waited expectantly for the start of her description, but she wasn't going to make it easy. 
" It feels good to have you like this, so attentive to me  ... I have you all for myself. " 
" Focus on your answer." He reminded her in a cold tone. 
" Patience, love." She kept the same teasing tone. " I will talk, but in my own terms. " 
Suddenly, she got up from her seat. He observed her moves, surveilling her unpredictable reactions. She paced slowly in his direction, eliminating the short distance between them. Without warnings, the answers started flowing in the most improper way possible. 
She whispered her first reply close to his ear, taking advantage of his distraction to sit on his lap. Hector endured it stoically and did his best to look emotionless. As long as she kept talking, he didn’t mind how.
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the-pale-goddess · 3 months ago
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Contaminated - Ethan Ramsey x MC (Tiffany Addams)
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A/N: I’m not a fan of the headcanon form, so I did a little thing...It’s a shout-out to my drunk lord AU Ethan just for the purpose of this ask - only his messy ass could do that, canon Ethan would never.
The outcome also inspired me to create the whole OHSY AU in my head, but let’s not talk about that, my current WIP is listening...🤡
Warnings: major angst, language, adult themes
Song inspiration: Love by Daughter
_____
It happened by a quirk of fate, rather than by design. The irresistible urge to stalk Ethan's one-day-old Pictagram profile created only for research purposes didn't have any logical explanation.
Yet there she was—stalking. Looking at the impressive number of his two followers.
@tiffanyaddams
@gia.macedo
Who was gia.macedo, and why would she appear there like a vulture waiting for Ramsey to magically show up in social media?
The young doctor took a deep breath and clicked on the stranger's profile. Her intuition spun impossible scenarios, but she ignored their absurdity.
Giovanna Macedo, a curious adventurer—as was stated in her bio, had a total of 658 pictures. A bunch of mesmerizing nature shots with occasional mirror selfies and impressive architecture.
Tiffany scrolled down, peering at the breathtaking views captured by Miss Macedo, until a familiar face appeared on the incriminating evidence.
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It was just a picture, but her heart sank instantly and the phone almost slipped out of her shaking hand. She blinked once, twice, as if trying to wake up from an intense nap.
Ethan looked drunk. He must've been drunk, undoubtedly.
How the hell did she get him to pose for a selfie? He must've been absolutely wrecked. He wouldn't give even a faintest hint of a smirk without at least three glasses of his precious scotch, would he?
That was it. Case closed.
But who the fuck was Giovanna Macedo?
The picture dated back to the time of his Amazon escape. She was probably just a colleague working along his side. An unexpected friend, maybe. Or a fan? Whoever she was, she had marked her presence with a bold statement.
Tiffany put the phone away, trying to distance herself from the folly of her silly investigation. Her thoughts refused to obey, inflaming her vexation. Could Gia be Ethan's type? Did she make him laugh? Did he confide in her? Were they still talking?
Tiffany's head started reeling at the vision of Ethan's hands touching another woman the way he touched her, something that had never crossed her mind before, and it made her sick. She couldn't possibly obtain sufficient proof to believe that there had ever been anything going on between Ethan and Gia. Even worse—she had no right to be bitter about him moving on with another woman; he was never really hers to begin with.
Still, this pathologically jealous and wholly irrational ache had her stomach churn. Dismay conquered reason, pushing her further into the abyss of sorrow.
Maybe his Rookie wasn't that special after all. Maybe the bond between them was just a delusion of her twisted mind. Maybe the Ethan Ramsey she knew existed only in her distorted reality.
Or maybe, just maybe, she was overthinking, imagining things induced by her paranoia. But the sinking feeling overpowered her completely, and her intuition never lied.
***
The thick layer of concealer under Tiffany's eyes covered the remains of her sleepless night. She sat alone in the diagnostics office, determined to redirect her focus on the biopsy results lying in front of her.
But her mind chose to take her on the well-known emotional roller coaster instead.
Out the corner of her eye she noticed Ethan's silhouette crossing the room. He walked around the desk, collecting files and journals, before he flopped on the chair beside her.
A quick glance at the man whose name was tattooed on her heart stirred the mess of her thoughts afresh. She'd almost forgotten all the hurt he caused when he disappeared without a farewell. She was doing better now. They were getting close again. She didn't want to ruin this fragile sense of regained stability.
„What's troubling you?” Ethan's silvery voice called her back to the table.
„Hm?” She snapped to attention, mumbling softly.
„You have that...Look.” Tiffany raised her brows manifesting her confusion, unintendedly urging him to continue. „What is it?”
The resident bit her lip a little too hard, critically evaluating her intentions. Dense fog of desperation clouding her usually sound judgement took her hands off the steering wheel; she'd lost control. She had to tease out the truth.
„Have you made any friends in The Amazon?”
The question caught him by surprise. His forehead creased, piercing blue eyes fell on her, puzzled. „I don't understand. Why am I detained for questioning?”
„You must've made some friends.” Both the idea and the execution were plain horrible, but it was too late to back down. Curiosity killed the cat, and it was about to kill her too.
„We stuck together in a group, but the job was extremely demanding and prevented us from socializing.” He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. „Where is this going, Rookie?”
Ethan's response nagged at her, pushing her off the edge. „I've seen a picture of you with some girl. Seems like you found the time for socializing anyway.”
Their eyes locked, exchanging a storm of unspoken thoughts. Sheer panic glimmering in his blues vexed her even more, proving her concerns could actually be valid.
„What?” He murmured.
„Gia Macedo.”
His sapphires searched her unreadable expression for a longer moment, before a flicker of horror crossed his already tense features. Tiffany's blood ran cold at the sight.
„Oh. How did...”
„She posted the selfie on her Pictagram.” The younger doctor interjected.
„That's a violation. I would never agree on that.” Ethan winced, swallowing loud. His voice lost its strength, the famous composure crumbling minute after minute. „It must've happened on the last night. I was rather drunk, I don't remember taking any pictures.”
„Do you remember fucking her?” She blurted out foolishly, feeling her cheeks suffuse with devil-red in embarrassment mixed with rising fury. She crossed the line.
Surprisingly enough, Ethan freezed, providing the only confirmation she needed. His reaction, or the devastating lack thereof, brought her on the brink of tears. A shot in the head would hurt less.
Just when she abandoned all hope for dispelling her doubts, Ethan's miserable whisper put a bullet in her chest.
„Barely.”
Boiling rage spread through her body, tormenting her with uncontrollable shiver. Summoning the last scrap of control, she toned her voice down to false calmness. „So you've gone to fight an epidemic, leaving me like some used-up doll unworthy of a goodbye, but still managed to sleep around.”
„Tiffany...That's not true.” Ethan heaved a deep sigh, burying his face in his hands. „It was a meaningless, one time thing.”
„I don't want to know the details, Ethan.” She hissed in response.
„I was drunk and she was persistent.” He ignored her, his trembling voice a salt to her gaping wound. „She...She reminded me of you.”
The words felt like a slap in the face. Sour tears welled up in her eyes while her expression turned emotionless. If she'd had anything sharp within the reach of her arms, she would have stabbed him. She would have taken his heart out and stabbed it, so he would know the pain ripping her in half.
Her watery gaze drifted to the glass wall, ignoring his pleading looks. „I hope she tasted good.”
„She didn't.”
Tiffany stopped listening. She was miles away, young and brazen, frying in the blazing Californian sun, mocking her friend's advice. I'm not stupid. I'm never letting a man fuck me up. What happened to that girl? Why did she let her leave?
Deafening silence disturbed only by Ethan's struggling breath prevailed until he spoke again.
„I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry.” He sounded sorry. But did it matter now? Tiffany felt his hand cautiously rest on her shoulder. Ethan's consolatory touch was like a red rag to a bull, turning her vacant demeanor back to hostile.
The brunette jumped to her feet, rejecting the apology with a terrifying wan sneer and trained voice lacking any emotion. „Don't be. I'm just your resident. You don't owe me shit.”
„Tiffany...”
„I'll go get these blood samples from Gwyneth.” She rushed to the exit, encountering the obstacle merely a step away.
Ethan was faster, stronger. His body shielded her from leaving the office; the gentle grip on her wrist burned her skin like wildfire.
„Tiffany.” He pleaded earnestly.
Tears bubbled up in her eyes, threatening to burst any second. She shook her head woefully, trying to twist out of his arms. She couldn't allow him to see a single tear falling down her cheek.
„Let me go, Doctor Ramsey.”
„Tiffany, please.” The begging whisper echoing in her ears paired up with her soundless cry.
She closed her eyes, focusing all her strength on pushing him away. „Let. Me. Go.”
Ethan's grip loosened up at the clamor of people moving down the hallway. Not missing this heaven-sent opportunity, she fled from the crime scene, leaving her shattered heart behind.
She was finally free to cry.
____
A/N: SO THAT WAS FUN, HUH????????
I should probably do Ethan’s POV now.........
Taglist: posted separately
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chimknj · 4 months ago
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A Simple Game: Pt. 2
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Pairing: Yoongi x Taehyung
AU: daechwita!au, royalty!au/ Genre: Smut, fluff/ Rating: Mature
Word Count: 4k
Disclaimers:  These works are completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of BTS in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you.
Warnings: executions, mentions of blood, depictions of violence, manipulation, nsfw content
An idea came to him suddenly, “I like you, Taehyung.”
“I’m honored, Your Majesty.”
“But I can’t just send them all home and insult their families. I made a promise to choose from five suitors, and I cannot take that back now.” Coming close enough, Yoongi detected a hint of jasmine from him and inhaled. Of course, it’d be jasmines. Namjoon knew he liked the scent from the bushel outside his bedroom windows. “If you wish to be my royal consort, be my companion and share my bed,” he whispered lowly to him, “Get rid of them for me.”
Previous Chapter < Masterlist > Next Chapter 
AO3 Link! 
******
This left him with four suitors: Jimin, Jungkook, Hoseok and Taehyung. Yoongi went about his usual duties while occasionally taking tea with them. They’re all so eager to please him. He noticed they’d agree to or say anything to stand out from the others. Their constant flattery irritated him. Yoongi realized he did not want a partner who agreed to anything he said. He wanted a challenge. All day he spent his time with people who tiptoed around him. In the privacy of his personal garden, he dwelled on his future partner more. What kind of person did he truly want? Someone obedient or rebellious? Someone complacent or a challenger? His father chose his mother because his advisors suggested her. Yoongi once again recalled all the concubines his father kept in his harem. All women of surpassing beauty, they obeyed his father's every command with bowed heads. They knew they’d end up in prison or worse if they angered him. Did Yoongi want his companion to feel the same about him?
“Your Majesty?” Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence. “You summoned me?”
Yoongi turned to see him at the entrance to his square garden pavilion. “Yes,” he nodded, “Yes, I did. Please, sit with me.” 
He admired Taehyung for a brief moment. He wore blue and pink this afternoon, the colors bringing out his golden skin and brown eyes. If he did not want Taehyung for anything else, he’d certainly want him for his beauty. “How have you been enjoying your stay?” Yoongi asked as a servant poured tea for them both. “Is everything to your satisfaction here?”
“Yes, it’s lovely,” he answered. “I’ve truly enjoyed the palace and the city. My brothers and I visited the Green Room Tea House yesterday. Namjoon told me it’s one of your favorites?”
He nodded, “It still is. It’s the only place that serves white tea and I find the proprietor pleasant.” 
“He was,” he smiled. “Perhaps one day you may accompany me? I’ve heard only the most talented singers perform there.” 
“They do.” Yoongi never recalled his parents attending places together. The thought of sharing his favorite place with Taehyung sounded almost nice. “I assume you’ve heard one of our suitors have left us.”
“Yes, I heard about Seokjin. It’s a shame,” he sipped from his tea cup, “I thought he had more class than that.”
“Did you?” Yoongi raised an eyebrow, “Or did you hear about Seokjin’s promiscuity from whores in the city brothels?’ 
Taehyung gazed at him over his cup, then smirked, “I heard rumors. My brother Yeowool might have asked around. I wasn’t sure the letter would work until I saw him singing at dinner that night. He did more seducing than singing.” 
“And the writing? It was an excellent forgery.” 
“That was my doing,” he smiled proudly. “I simply traced and studied your handwriting from the proclamation letter.”
“How clever,” he replied. “I’ll admit I did something similar once.”
“Oh?”
“Do you remember General Choi? The famous Baekju warrior who slew thousands of Daegu soldiers and impaled their bodies all around the battlefield?”
“I have.”
“Well, he met his end because of a letter I’d forged from one of his lieutenants.” Yoongi bit into one of the cakes, “One of my spies intercepted a letter about our numbers and location so he can plan accordingly. I couldn’t have him knowing the truth, so instead I wrote we were much farther away and had less numbers than him.”
“Which led him into a false sense of security,” Taehyung continued. “Your army overpowered him in the field that day; it turned the tide in the war certainly.”
“Exactly. With one of their greatest warriors hanging from a tree, the rebel king saw his defeat was imminent.”
“Some battles need to be won with paper instead of swords.”
Their eyes met across the small table. Yoongi’s heart pounded slightly harder at those deep eyes. “Absolutely.” He drank tea, then said, “Would you mind telling me your next target?”
“Now, Your Majesty, where would the fun be in that? I have to keep some secrets to myself.” 
Yoongi couldn’t help but chuckle. The pair continued sharing stories of mischief and trickery. He found Taehyung’s mind alone attractive. Finding someone who matched his wit felt like a breath of fresh air. Their minds and thoughts seemed to sync, always agreeing and building together. Yoongi wasn’t sure how to feel about it; he rarely came across people who intrigued him this way. It can always be another charade of Taehyung’s. If so, Yoongi played into it willingly. 
****
Namjoon suggested he test the group in various places. If they are as educated as they claim, they should pass without a problem. However, Yoongi knew he cannot make it simple, especially if Taehyung is involved. He decided he’d let them sit in for trials. He asked Namjoon to find four criminals from the jails and bring them to the throne room; he asked the suitors to meet him there in the early morning when the trials will take place. Yoongi normally conducted these proceedings himself since he trusted nobody’s judgement but his own. However, as a royal consort, they might have to oversee things like this from time to time. It’s important that he sees what choices they’d make. 
He found them standing in the throne room when he arrived. His eyes immediately found Taehyung standing aside with Yeowool and Namjoon. Yoongi expected him to do well with the education he’d been given. Taking a seat on his black wood and gold throne, he explained the situation. They will each be given a trial to hear: they will listen to the crime intently and make a decision. They can then either pardon the criminal, punish them, call for a judicial duel, or execute them. If their judgement matches his own, then they have passed. 
“Bring them in,” he called to the guards. 
The door opened and four chained men walked into the room. Escorted by guards, each man knelt to the ground in front of their chosen judge. Yoongi watched a short, bald man kneel in front of Taehyung, who merely looked over him. He can already see the solution formulating in his mind from behind. The trials then began. He listened to a thief plead with Master Jungkook, a general’s son, for his life; Jungkook decided he should be punished by severing his hand. Young Master Jimin held back tears listening to a man explain that he’d only wanted bread and didn’t mean to crush the skull of a baker; Yoongi’s jaw dropped when Jimin decided to pardon him with no punishment added. Hoseok immediately decided a pirate who'd raided several of their ships should be put to death in the morning.
“Yoon Sungho,” Taehyung said, reading from the docket Namjoon gave him, “You are charged with the crime of high treason and attempt to murder. Three days ago you were caught in His Majesty’s private gardens, armed with a knife and a letter written by an unknown rebel leader. How do you plead?”
“I’m innocent! I was only doing what I was paid to do.”
“Paid? What do you mean?”
“This man in a bamboo hat comes up to me in the bar,” he said, “And tells me he has a job for me. He tells me he’ll pay me five hundred gold for documents The King has hidden in his personal apartments. I told him I’d do it for a thousand, since getting into the palace is not easy and there are guards to worry about. He agreed, and we set up a night.” 
“What documents exactly?”
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me. They only told me they’d be closed with the crown’s seal on them.”
“And you simply took their word for it? You didn’t think that perhaps they’d be setting you up for failure or it’s all a trick by the city watch?”
“Oh no, I got half of my payment up front,” he scoffed. “You don’t make money in this line of work if you’re not thinking ahead. They told me they’d have a dispatcher waiting for me outside the palace by the back gates. I told your city watchmen that much.”
Taehyung checked the docket again, and nodded, “Yes, it seems you were very cooperative with the men who arrested you. You even gave us the location of your hand-off point, even though they found nobody there.”
“Your guards must’ve made too much noise or they realized I’d been caught. I promise you they were there.”
When Taehyung paused in thought. Yoongi could not see his face, but he saw his hand come up to his chin. “And, you have no affiliation with this rebel group?”
“No, I’m not political,” he said firmly. “I do what I'm paid to do.”
“And you honestly thought you’d be able to sneak into The King’s solar and steal a few papers?”
“It wasn’t anything I had not done before. It came naturally to me when trying to get inside this place.”
Yoongi scowled at the man. He recalled being woken in the middle of the night by his guards running past his bedroom. Immediately demanding an answer, his head guard informed him they’d found an intruder. Yoongi wasn’t surprised. It isn’t uncommon for rebel groups to seek outside help, but he never thought they’d stoop so low. He watched Taehyung circle around the man carefully before standing back in front of him. 
“Remove his shirt,” he ordered the guard. 
“Wait, wha-”
The two men beside Sungho untied and nearly tore his shirt off. Yoongi watched intently as Taehyung examined every inch of the man’s naked torso and arms. He pushed the man’s neck this way and that; he searched inside his mouth and felt around his ears and scalp. When satisfied, he stepped away from him. “You say you’re not political. You have no ties or sympathies for the rebellion.”
“For the last time, yes,” he spat. 
Taehyung nodded. He turned towards Yoongi and stepped up to the throne. “May I?” he asked, giving a slight bow. When Yoongi gave him permission, he came close and leaned into his ear. “I pardon him,” he said, “But may I suggest we send him to General Jeon? He might have some use for him elsewhere.”
“And how do we know he isn’t lying and saving his own skin?”
“You know as well as anyone that resistance members have a tattoo somewhere on their bodies,” he said, “Usually back of their neck, arms, torso or...elsewhere. I checked him thoroughly and there’s nothing to indicate he’s part of their cause. If he does turn out to be a liar, we’ll execute him and you can...punish me, if you like.” 
Yoongi heard the suggestion in the man’s tone, and shuddered. “Yes,” he finally said, “Send him to the general and see what they can do with him.” 
He announced his decision and the guards took the man away. Being dismissed, Taehyung walked back down to the rest of the group. Jungkook and Hoseok both chose an answer they thought Yoongi might like; Jimin let his sensitive heart get in the way. Taehyung extended himself past what the king might approve and chose a different solution entirely. He told the group they’d done well for the day and sent them from the throne room. 
“Isn’t my brother brilliant, Your Majesty?” Namjoon came to his side when the others left. “He’s learned everything from our grandfather, whom you know was Master of Law for many, many years.”
“He does have a clever mind."
Yoongi watched Taehyung walk away and stop at the door. He flashed the king a satisfied smile, then went out the door. He certainly knew how to leave an impression. Anyone else would have sentenced the man to death without thinking twice; he confessed he’d do the same. However, the younger did not limit himself to the choices given to him. He saw they could use Sungho, and took the opportunity. He can definitely use someone who thinks quickly and solves problems on their own. Yoongi listened to a few more cases, ultimately sentencing four men to death and another to a whipping and hard labor. He wondered how Taehyung might take seeing such things happen. Not many people can stomach seeing a man’s head be removed or watch his skin be ripped off his back. It is not an easy thing. He considered making it one of the tests for his suitors.  
When court ended for the day, he visited the training yard to see the new recruits. Most of them young boys looking for decent work, he supposed they’d do once they’re trained up. Standing along the parapet around the yard, he watched the men practice sword training. He noticed, however, it wasn’t the usual master-at-arms overseeing the sparring. It was Jungkook. Hands behind his back, he kept his short dark hair tied back in a knot. He’d acted charming and sweet during their first meeting. Here amongst men in leather armor, he looked authoritative and intimidating. Jungkook stood by two skinny boys who’d resorted to simply swinging their wooden swords at one another. He showed them how to stand properly with the sword, then swinging and blocking. It reminded him of his younger brother, Seonu. Stern and quiet, he carried the same manner when teaching new recruits. Their father gave Seonu charge of teaching soldiers since fighting and weapons were his specialty. 
“Have you spoken to Seonu lately?” Yoongi asked Namjoon as he watched Jungkook demonstrate maneuvers with another soldier. 
“No, we haven’t received any letters from him in a month. Why?”
“No reason. He is the commander of our armies after all. I just wondered if he’d written to us recently.”
He felt Namjoon reading him again. “Shall I write to him then? Perhaps he can join us for the festival.”
“No,” he shook his head, “He doesn’t like festivals very much. He never did.” He paused, a thought stirring in his mind, “He’d like Jungkook though.” 
“Pardon?”
“Jungkook. I think Seonu might like him.” 
“Why are you telling me this?” he heard the suspicion in Namjoon’s voice. 
“No reason. I’m only making conversation. Can a King not make idle conversation with his chief advisor?” 
Yoongi imagined his brother standing alongside Jungkook. They both kept their hair short and tied back from their faces; they chose protection over style in their armor. Jungkook’s long thin sword looked identical to Seonu’s. The pair can work out training regimens and coordinate the army during wars. General Jeon always goes on about how educated Jungkook is in military arms and battle. “I just believe they’d have a lot of things in common,” he said next. 
Namjoon smirked, “Going to try out matchmaking, Yoongi? I will let you know now it is not an easy process.”
“I never said anything about matching anyone.” Jungkook observed as the two boys mimicked the moves he demonstrated, fixing and teaching them their mistakes. He has such patience. Seonu told him patience is key when teaching someone brand new. “It only crossed my mind because Seonu is still unmarried and if he were in my place, he’d probably pick Jungkook.” 
“Hm, alright. I suppose it is nice to think of what our siblings might do from time to time.”
“Yes. It is.” Seonu never expressed interest in either men or women when his mother brought them forward. He’d married the sword, she’d say. Yoongi considered writing to his brother even if he knows the younger will say ‘no’. He’s sure once his brother meets Jungkook, it’ll be less work on Taehyung’s part. 
“Like, I know my brother isn’t very interested in martial arts,” Namjoon said, “But he’d take our troops’ training very seriously.” 
“I’m sure he would.” The two stood there watching for a while, then Yoongi said, “Namjoon, make a reservation for me at the Green Room. Tell the suitors I wish for them to join me.”
Namjoon smiled, dimples poking in his cheeks, “As you wish, Your Majesty.” 
He wished he could invite only Taehyung, but rumors of favoritism will sprout if he did. He knew inviting Seonu to the capital might throw a wrench in whatever plans Taehyung had for Jungkook. But, it’d be interesting to see him adapt to new changes. Still, the young man seems eager to prove himself; he patiently waited for his next move. 
*****
The Green Room Tea House is one of the largest in the city. Bordered screens gave privacy to the patrons inside, but a patio area allowed some to take fresh air on cool nights. Inside, Yoongi saw musicians already on stage, playing a gentle melody for the customers at the tables. Women in beautiful outfits walked around serving tea and food to everyone, checking on their guests for more. The moment the king walked into the lantern-lit room, everyone stopped and stood from their seats. He walked in with his head high as people bowed for him when he passed. The proprietor, a large man with a thin ponytail and beard, beamed brightly at him. 
“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing to Yoongi, “It is such an honor to receive your patronage again. We have reserved the best room in the house for you and your guests. Will His Majesty like special entertainment tonight? As you know, we have a plethora of fabulous performers.”
“I do,” he answered. “Surprise me.”
“Of course, only the best for you, sire.” 
He led Yoongi and the others into one of the private rooms. A low table surrounded a space in the center for entertainment and the servers to move about the room. He already saw two women standing in the corners, bowing to him when he arrived. However, he noticed three other people already sitting there. Namjoon sat beside Jimin, the both of them talking quietly as they sipped from their tea cups. The third person did not surprise him at all: Taehyung. He chose aqua and gold for his overcoat, seeing painted squares bordering his sleeves. Yoongi tried not noticing his beauty; he wished he’d grow a tolerance to it. He bowed alongside Namjoon and Jimin as Yoongi entered. 
“It appears I’m the one who’s late,” he told Taehyung as he took the center seat at the front facing table. “I’m assuming your brother advised you to come with him?”
“I was already in the city,” he answered, “So I decided I’d come on my own. If my coming ahead bothers you, then I’ll make sure to arrive exactly when you wish.”
“I don’t mind it,” Yoongi reassured “It’s refreshing. Your order?”
“White tea. I remember you said you enjoyed it, and I thought I would try it myself. It is delightful. Even though I did order liquor for the others if they wish to partake in that instead. I know some of your officials prefer that sort of thing.”
“So do some of my suitors,” he gave Taehyung a knowing look.
“Your Majesty,” Taehyung shook his head, “Not everything I do is to ruin my competition.”
“Oh?” one of the servers poured tea for him, which he blew on and drank silently. 
“I do enjoy other things besides what I already do,” he said. “Don’t you ever get tired of scheming, Your Majesty? Surely, you like to relax every now and then and enjoy yourself.”
“When you’re a king, relaxation doesn’t come easily.” He ordered a spread of dumplings for the table. More officials began walking in, bowing to Yoongi before taking their seats. “It’s why I have my private garden. Nobody is allowed there unless I permit them to be; it’s quiet and enclosed.”
“It is a beautiful garden. I noticed there are plenty of flowers and trees around the palace overall. Did you put those there?” 
“No, no, one of my ancestors did. The palace used to be all stone and wood before Min Haeyoung became queen so many years ago. Naturally, my grandfather and my father didn’t care for them much. It was my mother who maintained the palace gardens and expanded them. She’s the one who made our private garden. She wanted a quiet place where it can be only us.”
“The family, you mean?”
“My father didn’t have the time nor the desire to be around us for too long. As king, other things took higher priority over us,” he said. “It was always my mother, my siblings and me. She’d read or sew or teach us, and we’d relax there with her.  
“I did wonder about them. I notice none of them live in the palace.”
“Chorong, Naeun, and Suho married into royal families in the country. Sooyeon is being fostered by our aunt in Busan, but she’s still unmarried. Seonu is the Lord Commander of my army, but he doesn’t like living in the city so he lives in a retreat in the countryside. As Crown Princes and Princesses, they are expected to do well, but of course, my parents paid more attention to me. I am the eldest and heir to the throne.”
“And did that cause any rivalry between you?”
“Not in the traditional sense, I suppose. We did our best to impress our parents, but it was in good fun for us.” He then smiled fondly, “Seonu and Suho used to spar in the training yard when Father visited. They’d jape and taunt one another the whole time; Suho is better with his words but Seonu is an arms master. They wanted to prove to him they are skilled fighters, but they’d never hurt one another.” He snorted, “Chorong and Naeun constantly tried to upstage one another. No matter what it was; one is the trendsetter and the other the trend follower.” Yoongi laughed, “You should have seen them at Suho’s wedding. It started with them wearing jewels sewn into their clothes. Then they each started putting actual gold and silver pieces. Then finally, on the night of the wedding, Chorong came in a dress made of real gold. The thing was so heavy, she fell down the stairs.” 
“Oh dear,” Taehyung laughed with him. “Namjoon and Banryu used to be like that, but it was more with their minds than swords. My father used to give them puzzle boxes; whoever figured them out first received a prize of some kind. They constantly try outdoing each other even now as adults. Ugh, you should hear their riddle game; it’s childish.”  
Yoongi thought of his siblings as people filled up the table. Three sisters and two brothers, all younger than him, were equally loved by their mother. Chorong with her sleek hair and dark eyes. Naeun, a pale beauty who enchanted anyone she met. Suho, a playboy turned devoted husband, and Sooyeon, a dedicated sister of the faith. He knew they’d show up to the festival on their own considering they all enjoy it. Seonu’s personal invite was important. 
“I invited my brother Seonu to come to the harvest festival.”
“Seonu? You mean, your brother Commander Min Seonu?”
“The same. He isn’t very interested in festivals, so he always takes some convincing. I did mention his appearance will give our troops a little morale boost.” He ate one of the pork dumplings, chewing through and enjoying the savory taste. “I thought of introducing him to Jungkook. Jungkook told me he’ll be commanding his father’s troops once he’s experienced enough. Maybe Seonu can give him some tips?”
Taehyung gulped and stayed silent for a moment. Yoongi saw the wheels in his head beginning to turn, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Jungkook is one of your suitors, and everyone says Seonu isn’t very interested in romance or marriage.”
“I never said anything about marriage. I am only looking out for my commander and military men. If I think they can do great things together, I should be trying to bring the two together.”
“But Jungkook’s father-”
“-Would agree with me.”
The younger looked over his face for a moment. “You don’t think I can handle this challenge, do you? That’s why you’ve done this.”
“Careful how you talk to me, Taehyung,” he said sternly. “I am still your king.” He waited until Taehyung took a breath, then continued, “I do think you can handle it. I’m only giving you information.” 
“Of something you set up yourself. I’m supposed to do this on my own; it’s why you gave me the challenge in the first place.”
“And you are doing well,” he comforted, patting Taehyung’s hand. “I’m merely throwing you a bone. You don’t have to take it.” He put his lips to his cup and said, “I have great confidence in you, Taehyung. You’ve greatly impressed me so far, but you’re not done yet.” He sipped the drink, letting the warm liquid spread through his chest. “You can continue with whatever plans you have for Jungkook, or you can change them to fit a different strategy.” Yoongi saw the man’s discontent with his decision, and said, “You have your brothers helping you. Why can’t I?”
“You’re the one who set this challenge, Your Majesty, it’s different with you.” He hesitated, hiding his frown as best he could. “I didn’t want you to have to intervene and fix things up for me.”
“I’m not.” He scooted closer to Taehyung, pushing a strand of hair from his face, “I merely gave you an option. Fixing it for you will be me going directly to General Jeon and suggesting he try matching his son with Seonu or my sister Sooyeon instead.” He locked eyes with him, leaning close to whisper, “I want you to succeed, Taehyung, and if it means giving you a helping hand, then I will. It doesn’t mean I don’t believe in you. I very much do.” Yoongi looked over his features once more. He caught the discontent still in him. “I am still interested in what you have planned next. You’ve been doing so well.”
“I only want to impress you, Your Majesty, and show you that I’m worthy of you.”
“You’ve done more than impress me, pet.” 
Glancing down at his lips, he thought of kissing him. He imagined their softness fitting perfectly over his own; the taste of wine and dumplings on them. For that brief moment, he did not care if people saw them. He did not care if they whispered ‘nepotism’ or ‘favoritism’ under their breaths. Taehyung sparked a flame in him while the others did not. Yet, he controlled himself and pulled away from him. 
“Especially by what I did today in the hall?” Taehyung asked, turning back to the performance. 
“Especially that.” 
He caught Taehyung’s smile hidden while chewing another dumpling. It gave Yoongi satisfaction seeing it.
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bastardtetsu · 5 months ago
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critical thinking | ch②
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pairing: kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader
genre: college au, enemies to lovers, tsundere!reader, slow burn
wc: 1.7k
warning: swearing, being a theatre major
※ mlist | ① ● ③ ④
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after several weeks of douchebag exposure therapy, you’re practically numb to kuroo’s bullshit - for the most part. you still get a bit flustered when you get things wrong, but his teasing barely phases you since you’ve abandoned the concept of speaking to him with respect.
“STILL struggling with balancing equations, y/n??” he chides as you work on your homework, “jeez, maybe i need to start giving you extra assignments.”
“on god kuroo, if you try to make me do any more chemistry than is absolutely necessary i will make sure you never know a day of peace in your life.”
“but y/n,” he teases, “you know if you don’t practice you’ll never get any better.”
“i’m not trying to ‘get better,’ i’m trying to pass the class.”
“ahh, no ambition. you hate to see it.”
“wanna shut the fuck up and let me do my homework?” you snap.
“see, there’s that passion!”
he really is insufferable. you roll your eyes and groan, turning your attention away from the mocking rooster & back to your homework while he gets up to stretch his legs.
what he said wasn’t wrong, you are struggling with the whole balancing equations thing. your brain feels like it’s working on overdrive as you scribble away - numbers are definitely not your strong suit.
you can hear him start to snicker behind you as you work. you pause your writing and turn around to see him peeking over your shoulder with a sadistic smile on his face.
“is something funny?” you ask, unimpressed. his smile softens a bit as you stare him down.
“you’re doing it wrong,” he says, and leans down to correct your work. his face is much closer to yours now, you can almost feel the warmth of his breath as his arm reaches around your right side to write in your notebook while his left hand rests on the back of your chair, practically enveloping you.
resisting the urge to turn and stare at the annoying, criminally sculpted face that’s now inches away from yours, you fix your eyes on his hand as he writes and try to ignore how warm you suddenly feel.
his hands are big, you think, noticing how much smaller your pencil looks when he holds it. you can smell his cologne again, too. sandalwood or whatever.
“there, see?” he says, turning his head to look at you.
your faces are still so close.
what is it about his eyes that makes his stare feel so intense every time?
you quickly avert your gaze back to the page of notes, focusing extra hard on the numbers so you can ignore the beat your heart skipped just now. somehow, the equation in front of you looks even more indecipherable than it did before. and why does your face feel so hot?
“i… still don’t get it,” you admit tentatively. he just lets out a soft chuckle, letting his gaze drop for a second before locking eyes with you, lips curled into a smirk.
“you really are bad at this.”
another electric shock of embarrassment mixed with rage jolts through you.
“yeah, and what?” you challenge, “that makes me dumber than you? ok, well if you’re so smart why don’t you try telling me about willy loman’s superobjective in death of a salesman? or identifying the difference between verse and prose in classical text?? i bet you don’t even know who anton chekhov is, but sure, i’m the idiot because i don’t know how to balance a damn equation. how about learn your shit, and then you can teach me mine.”
kuroo just stands there for a moment, taken aback by your outburst. then the bitch starts laughing.
“what’s funny?!!” you interrogate, your voice getting louder. his laugh sounds like a goddamn hyena.
“y/n oh my god,” he chokes out between cackles, “you’re such a nerd!”
“ME??!!?!” you just about scream, furious, “you’re calling me a nerd?? have you met yourself??!”
“well at least i’m not in danger of failing a class,” he giggles.
“that has nothing to do with this,” you snap.
“so who’s anton chek-whatever?” he prods, still amused.
“see, you’re laughing but you’re the one sounding stupid this time,” you grumble. you can tell he’s just searching for something else to tease you about, but you can’t resist the opportunity to turn the tables & be the one schooling him for once. “chekhov. he’s a famous playwright. from russia. one of the early pioneers of modernism in the late 19th/early 20th century - not that you’d even know what that means.”
“you’re right, i don’t,” he relents, “but you seem like you do. nerd.” his eyes have an extra glint in them as they narrow with another taunting smirk.
“leave me alone, you’re the one who asked,” you groan, finally fed up with his antics. “look, i need to finish this homework before i get out of here. otherwise it’s never getting done.”
“i’ll check your answers when you’re finished,” he offers.
“only if you’re not a dick about it.”
“you only think I’m being a dick when you get the answer wrong.”
“SHUT UP.”
as midterms approach, the stress is starting to get to you as your workload gets heavier and heavier. maybe that’s why you seem extra snarky towards your annoying, hot, annoyingly hot chemistry tutor today.
“y/n, did you review chemical bonds like i told you to last week?” he chides after you get another homework question wrong. sometimes he really does sound like a teacher, or someone’s dad. but thankfully, he is neither of those things, which means you can comfortably trash him.
“sorry i have things to worry about besides memorizing how electrons work,” you snark, “what about you? this isn’t even your major, do you not have other shit to do besides come here & make fun of me?”
“hey, i do this because i love it!” he protests dramatically. you can see the smirk in his eyes.
“sure” you sneer back, “look, i don’t know about you, but some of us actually have to work for our degrees. we don’t have time to waste bullying people who don’t know science for fun.”
“who says I can’t do both?”
now you’re starting to get annoyed.
“dude for real. do you know how busy i am?? like, ALL the time??? why else do you think i’m here? i wouldn’t be in this shitty class if i had room for anything else. i can’t even go to my professor’s office hours!”
“ah, well, that explains a lot.”
“shut up,” you jab, “the only reason i keep coming back to your dumb ass tutoring hours is because my schedule is so goddamn packed i can’t meet up with anyone else.”
“sure, whatever you say y/n,” he croons, tone dripping in sarcasm.
“what’s that supposed to mean?”
“oh you know,” he teases, eyes full of mischief. you really don’t though?
“you’re full of shit,” you mutter dismissively. he’s trying to egg you on to say something stupid so he can ridicule you for it, but you can see right through him.
“i’m not the one dodging the subject,” he grins, his eyes unmoving from you as you turn back to your paper. even facing away from him, you can feel his laser beam of a stare on you as if he were breathing right down your neck. ha, i wish. wait— “you know, you’re not gonna get very far on that worksheet if you didn’t do any review.”
“would you be quiet?” you snap at him, fed up with his condescension, “or better yet, maybe do your job and help me figure it out?”
“well,” he purrs with a sickly sweet smirk, “only since you asked so nicely.”
you make sure to roll your eyes extra hard at him to make up for the way your heartbeat quickened at his flirtatious tone.
thankfully, he actually obeys your request this time and tones down the teasing as he explains chemical bonds, doing his best to help you through each homework problem step-by-step. usually he can tell when you’re actually getting irritated and makes up for it like this. you’re silently grateful for this form of kindness from him, even if it’s only because you’re a nightmare to work with otherwise.
as you wrap up your session with him - late once again, but he never minds staying past the end of his tutoring hours since he has the rest of the day off anyway - you hurriedly pack your things, grumbling a complaint about how now you don’t have time to get something to eat before you meet with your scene partner to rehearse your acting midterm. while it’s pretty normal for you to miss meals because of your schedule, it’s frustrating nonetheless, especially after your brain has just been fried by molecular bonds.
“oi, y/n,” kuroo says as you turn to leave. you pause, bracing yourself for whatever stupid comment he’s about to make.
“take care of yourself,” he says, a tinge of concern just barely distinguishable in his tone, before adding, “and remember to review covalent and ionic bonds!” you sigh. he sounds like a dad again.
“see, those are contradictory statements,” you gripe, “chemical bonds could not be further from self care.” he chuckles softly at that.
“at least make sure you eat, ok? maybe you’d get better at chemistry if you had more nutrients.”
“BYE, kuroo,” you call out, already headed for the door.
as you hurry towards your next destination, you can’t get your mind off of how weird it was to see kuroo acting… worried about you? normally his reaction to your struggling is just to tease you about it, but this was new for him. you’re not sure how to feel about it, and it’s hard to tell when the adrenaline of being in a rush is making your heartbeat do all sorts of things that might be confused with something else.
either way, there’s no way you’re reviewing a goddamn thing before next week.
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a/n: yeah ok my theatre major jumped out in this one.. i can’t believe i’m posting a fic where i talk about superobjectives & chekhov unironically dsfdddfs hope that doesn’t ruin the experience for u, i really tried to do some research so y/n and kuroo could have an actual discussion about chemistry but turns out i’m dumb in real life so u get this instead
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katsukisu · 5 months ago
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Summer Wars || Bakugou Katsuki
Pairings: Bakugou x g/n!reader
Summary: All is fair in love and war. Right?
A/N I cannot tell u how long this has taken me to write ever since I even made the draft omg and I have no idea how military ranks work but hope u enjoy! and did I just want to imagine Bakugou in a tight ass military uniform? hell yeah
Genre: fluff, slight crack, slight angst, military AU
Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings: mentions of war, mentions of death, cursing, Baku in a tight ass military uniform
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It was late, it was dark, and worst of all, it was humid. The lit gas lamp on your desk was the only source of light to be found for miles, save for the few rebellious soldiers who stayed up past curfew doing who knows what. Staring down at the large map wasn’t going to suddenly insert a strategy plan in your brain but it was all you could do. You were pulling out the old playbook while the other side was writing a whole new one. And it was all because of that damn general of theirs. 
“Y/n? Why are you still up?” The slow creaking of the door alerted you of your four visitors along with the gentle voice. Uraraka had walked over to where you stood, placing a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. “Yes, you should be asleep too, General Y/n.” The way Iida still managed to address you in such a formal but casual way, made the corner of your lips turn up. Todoroki welcomed himself to one of the seats in your office while Midoriya stood rooted in the doorway. 
“Said the people who are still awake.” Guilty. Iida and Uraraka flashed a pair of sheepish smiles in response, silently acknowledging the very true statement while Todoroki grumbled something about being asleep if it hadn’t been for your friends who had woken him up. You wish you could obey their commands of getting sleep but you made a pact to not leave your office until a solid plan was made. 
Being the general of an army on the losing side wasn’t the best. You were desperate, tired, and overworked. Your men were hungry, and your numbers were decreasing. All you wanted to do was go to bed. But who knew when the next battle was going to begin? For all you knew, the other side could be coming to ambush you, effectively taking out your army and claiming victory. You were sure that the general would be able to pull something like that off. 
General..... ambush..... You smiled. Looking around at the people in the room now, you were sure that this could work. You called all four of your comrades to gather around the desk quietly. No one could know about this, even if it got you in trouble with your superior. 
“Oi, Shitty Hair. Are you gonna stand there and nod off or are you going to give me the fucking report?” Bakugou leaned back against his desk with his poor excuse of a Lieutenant General standing in front of him. The blond’s uniform was tight, showing off his arms and the effort put into them as it creased slightly with every movement. Bakugou shifted, scolding himself for the umpteenth time that day for putting off laundry until he had to pull out an old uniform. 
Kirishima stuttered out the report with haste as he simultaneously watched Bakugou pace back and forth in the small office. “That’s pretty much it for today’s report. But uh, permission to speak freely, sir?” Bakugou grunted, pulling at the collar of the uniform as a button was unhooked from its slot. “Well, I just thought that, well.....”
Bakugou watched as Kirishima trailed off before the irritation set in. “What is it, Shitty Hair?” Bakugou swore if someone pulled another prank, he was quitting. After strategizing with his superiors, getting the paperwork done, making time for himself to improve, Bakugou was too tired to deal with anything else. “Um, there was a group who wanted to join the army and Kaminari kinda, already, accepted them in.” 
Bakugou wished he was dealing with a prank instead. New recruits were fine with him but that meant more paperwork to file out. With a sigh, Bakugou pinched his nose and dismissed Kirishima off with a wave. It always had to be Kaminari. Working through the day, Bakugou slowly collected the papers for the new recruits until it was time for him to show them their bunker. 
Iida Tenya. Uraraka Ochaco. Todoroki Shouto. Midoriya Izuku. L/n Y/n. 
Bakugou frowned at the names. Todoroki sounded annoying already and just looking at the name Midoriya made Bakugou furious for no reason. At least they perfectly took up the rest of the space in the last bunker. With luck, the new recruits would be able to tighten the screws in the heads of the idiots he was forced to call friends, courtesy of Kirishima.
“Attention!” The firm shout activated a trigger inside of you as your back straightened and you made your way to the front of the bunk beds. Everybody now stood at attention as Bakugou shot an impressive look at the new recruits. “Good. At least you know what the fuck that means. At ease, soldiers.”
You let out a sigh of relief, unknown to you until Bakugou walked up to you. “Identify yourself, soldier.” The proximity was deafening between you two and you became even more aware of how tight his uniform was. Did it have to be that tight?
You felt like a mere soldier again, you were a soldier again, unofficially stripped of your title as general. “L/n. Y/n L/n, Sir.” Bakugou nodded and the tension in your shoulders was gone like it was never there after he walked off to Todoroki. Of course you had expected the general to be strict and firm but not firm as in a firm chest. You shook your head, your thoughts getting too off track, even for you.
You were here to eliminate him and win the war. You had given yourself a week to complete the mission as you and the others had been called on a ‘special mission’ by the higher ups. Technically speaking, this was a special mission, just not from your superiors. You pulled your lower lip in between your teeth nervously. If you really thought about it, this could be your last week alive before getting caught red handed unless you were actually successful in killing the general.
You looked over to where Midoriya was practically trembling in his boots as the blond towered over him intimidatingly. As he walked, you caught a flash of his name displayed over his right pectoral. Bakugou Katsuki. Your eyes widened at the name. Turning to the other people who occupied the bunker, you watched as they all welcomed Bakugou warmly into their social circle.
They were all friends. You gulped. It was going to be okay, you were sure of it. In fact, you could probably take advantage of this and use them for more information about the blond. You walked over to Todoroki, who you noticed, stood with a slightly annoyed expression. “Shouto, what’s wrong?” Your voice was a single pin drop compared to the whole concert that was the Bakusquad.
“I don’t think he likes me very much.” You peered over at Bakugou to see that he was the only one not smiling in the small group. You supposed that’s how he just was by the way none of them seemed bothered by his manner. “What makes you say that?” You turned back to the two-toned boy in time to catch his frown. “Well I don’t know, maybe it was the way he straight up told me that he didn’t like me.” 
You purse your lips, tempted to laugh at Todoroki’s bluntness until the other soldiers had called out that curfew was in five minutes. It seemed like it had been weeks since you had properly slept in a bed as you laid back against the cushioned surface. You knew staying up late was going to backfire in the morning but slowly, you timed and discretely looked around to see how long it took for the other soldiers to fall asleep. Twenty minutes. One of these days, twenty minutes after curfew, you would set out to kill the general and win the war. 
“Uh, Y/n. We’re running out of time. There’s only three days left before we have to go back.” Midoriya tilted his head to meet your downcast eyes as you both leaned against the wall. Your instructor had called for a five minute break after running a five mile jog so only you and Midoriya stood together as the other three were in a different training squad. “I’m doing it tonight.” 
You finally looked up into concern-filled green eyes. “But are you sure you’re gonna be okay? I know none of us are exactly saints who’ve never even thought of touching an M14 enhanced battle rifle, but killing someone yourself could take a big toll on your mental health.” You were sure that you had killed at least a dozen people along your journey of climbing the military ranks but it was the pressure of actually knowing them that made you break.
“And what if they catch you, and you get arrested, and we get arrested, and then you go crazy, and then we get the death penalty—” You slapped your palm over the green’s mouth, knowing that his rambling would only succeed in making you more nervous for tonight. “I got it, Izuku.” Your attention was then turned to the shouting of one of the captain’s before you were assigned an obstacle course. 
Meeting up with the other three, a silent agreement took place that a secret race would be held among you as you went through the obstacle course. “You’ll be in pairs so hurry up.” The captain barked loud enough for you to sympathize with those at the front of the pack. Turning to Midoriya, you find that he already paired himself with Todoroki, and Uraraka with Iida. You looked around, trying to spot a single soul who was willing to cooperate with you until a large shadow covered your vision. 
“Looks like I’m stuck with you for today, L/n.” You turned to Bakugou who sported his famous and regular scowl, arms crossed over his broad chest. You clenched your teeth, keeping in mind that you had to play nice only until tonight. Even if the general was a little good looking, he was still the enemy and you couldn’t let yourself forget that. “Happy to work with you, General.” 
“Alright everyone, grab a tie.” What? You looked around as people bent down to hook their ankles together before you felt a strain on your own. Looking down, there was a tight knot bounding you to Bakugou by the leg, making it difficult to walk with how big his strides were. “Oi, hurry up, dumbass. Or I’ll leave you behind.” You were tempted to yell at him about the fact that he had no choice but to bring you along, now that you were tied together. 
The captain held a flag in the air before bringing it down, signaling the beginning of the obstacle course. Keeping a constant eye on your bound ankle, you were more worried about ending up getting dragged along or tripping rather than keeping up with Bakugou. But as he silently guided you through the course, you slowly stopped looking down at your tied foot as you ran alongside him, the other pairs slowly fading away as you finished first. 
Heaving puffs came out of you heavily but only temporary as you regained your breath, watching the other soldiers finish after you. “I guess you’re not that shitty, L/n. But you should stop dragging your feet.” You purse your lips at his words, the same words you had gotten from your superior long ago when you stood at the rank of soldier. “Yes, General.” 
You looked over to where your friends stood as Uraraka waved you over. Caught in the moment, you had forgotten that neither of you had made a single move to unknot the tie. Falling forwards, you braced yourself for the impact until there was no impact. As Bakugou, too, fell with you, he subconsciously twisted the both of you so you had landed on top of him. 
“Watch where you’re going next time, clumsy dumbass.” Bakugou grumbled beneath you, yet his eyes continued to search for any possible injuries. “Sorry! I’ll undo the tie.” You rolled over so you sat side-by-side in order to comfortably pick at the knot. 
Bakugou sat silent, watching you work. Even if some, or most, of your friends had pissed him off to no end, it didn’t matter to him as long as you were tolerable. He supposed that the sound of your laugh wasn’t as annoying as others, and the way your eyes hardened when you were working or training was more admirable than others. But it was only because you were tolerable to him, it’s not like he was attracted to you. 
He watched as you undid the tie and returned it before waving goodbye, turning to go with your friends just as his own found him. “Aww, does the general have a crush?” It was no wonder why Kaminari was in the army, he either had a major death wish or was a masochist. “Tch, what the fuck are you talking about, Dunce Face?” Bakugou knew exactly what he was talking about. 
He wasn’t stupid. He had obviously come to the conclusion that you were just attractive to him, but the bigger problem was the fact that this was the military. People died every day fighting and if Bakugou surrendered now, those honorable deaths wouldn’t be worth shit. Bakugou got up and walked away, but not before looking at you once more. 
The crickets were loud at night. Even louder than usual this time as you slid out of your bed, placing one socked foot in front of the other. You looked at the others, Iida and Todoroki with your bags and Uraraka and Midoriya with the weapons. This would be your last night here. 
The creak of the door was quiet under the singing of the crickets and the grass flattened as you all padded across the base. Even with the information of what time Bakugou slept at, you’d rather have been safe than sorry and risk him being awake. 
With one last look, you nodded to your fellow soldiers and watched as they all disappeared into the dark of the night, leaving you with the task of an assassin. You pulled the black hood up, fully taking in your surroundings as you took advantage of the lurking shadows. Your mind was focused on too many things, the knives strapped to your thigh, the single gun in your holster, and how itchy the outfit was. Seriously, who made this? 
You walked along the rows of buildings before finally stopping at the one labeled for the higher ranked. You looked at the small directory inside, taking note that Bakugou’s quarters were on the top floor. Lucky for you, the fire escape did just fine as you steadily climbed. The wind started to howl louder when you reached the open window of Bakugou’s room. Sliding off your hood, you pushed the window open further for your body to fit through, landing on the floor with a thud you could barely hear. 
Pulling out the gun, you walked over to where Bakugou laid on his back sleeping without a care in the world. You readied and aimed the gun, straight to his forehead when his eyes snapped open, hand grabbing you by the wrist and twisting so that you laid below him. Before you could say anything, you felt the cold metal of the knife he now held against your throat. 
Talking wasn’t going to help you much, and the fact that he was shirtless wasn’t going to either. “Well, what are you waiting for? Do it.” Your words took him off guard, but his grip on the knife never let up. “Do what?” His voice was quiet, a great contrast to how he was normally portrayed. “Kill me.” 
You were ready for this moment, even if your life had turned out short. But you didn’t want the stress of making war strategies, having to train yourself to become stronger just so you could defend yourself, having to feel the pain of losing both your men and your superiors. You didn’t want it anymore. 
“No.” You blinked. He was literally straddling you, holding a knife to your throat and he was really just going to say ‘no’? “Why?” He always seemed to confuse you. He was hostile to you and yet at the same time, hospitable. You could, and would, never understand what was truly going through his mind. “Because you’re beautiful.” 
You gulped, feeling the knife against your throat press harder. “It’s barely been one week. We don’t even know each other.” You were right, you both knew that you were right, and yet you never made a single action to move away. You couldn’t when his eyes felt like a trap within themselves, the red hues almost glowing as you stared. 
“Well, you’re not pulling the fucking trigger. Isn’t it because you want to get to know me?” You realized that your hands had been free to do anything the whole time, you could have shot him easily, but you didn’t. “But what are we going to do? I’m an enemy.” Maybe you were curious to find out what would happen, even if you had to go through more pain, but there was just no way that it could work. Forbidden love never works. 
Bakugou took the knife away from your throat, slowly leaning down on top of you as he supported himself against the backboard of the bed. With his other hand, he caressed the apple of your cheek, still holding intense eye contact. “Run away with me.” You could barely hear the words but at the same time, they rang and echoed through your head. 
“Wha— but what about the war? Our friends—” A sound cuts your voice off as you fell silent, the hallway echoing and slowly, more footsteps could be heard. You and Bakugou stayed frozen in position, waiting for the people to pass but just to your luck, voices could be heard right outside Bakugou’s door. 
You only caught snippets, something about telling Bakugou and what they were going to do. Bakugou glanced over to the door before shifting his eyes back on you. “We don’t have time. Come on, we gotta go.” Slow but steady, Bakugou helped you up from the bed, the floorboards creaking ever so slightly. The hushed voices had paused and Bakugou took the chance to slip on a shirt before packing a quick bag. 
Running onto the fire escape, Bakugou pushed you down against the wall just in time for the door to open. “Is he in there?” Bakugou gritted his teeth, recognizing the voice as Kaminari. You looked over to Bakugou, silently asking about his friends. But he only shook his head. Checking to make sure they were gone, Bakugou spoke in a rushed manner. 
“I’m not gonna fucking put them in danger. They’re safer here anyways.” You purse your lips but nodded anyways. He was right this time. It was better to not involve anybody else, besides, this was between the two of you. You make your way down the ladder and tap Bakugou on the shoulder, using morse code to tell him that you had your own bag hiding somewhere at the edge of the base. 
In half an hour, you would be declared dead to your comrades. Even though you had promised everybody that you would come back, you supposed that there were always last-minute changes in the plan. You grab your bag and run. You didn’t know where you were going, but you knew that you were going to be okay. As long as he was there. 
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Extra: 
“This you?” You look up at your son to see him holding a picture you hadn’t seen in years. It was your first official picture with Bakugou, the day right after you had arrived at base. It contained a large group of newly formed friends, half of them unknowingly from enemy territory. Nevertheless, there were jokes shared, sounds of laughter, and memories made. 
“Yeah, that’s me and that’s your dad.” You pointed out the figures as your son gaped at the photo. “Wait, you were in the military?!” You laugh at the childlike wonder that was your son and nodded. “Well obviously, haven’t you ever seen us in action?” You turn at the voice of your husband as your son lets out a curt ‘no’. Exploding at the boy, you chuckle at Bakugou as he playfully chases your son around the house. “Get back here, you little shit!” 
“Katsuki! Stop fucking cussing.” 
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johaeryslavellan · 7 months ago
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Once Upon A Dream
Fandom: The Song of Achilles Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus
Prompt: Reincarnation!AU
This is my entry for Day 1 of @patrochillesweek 2020, where reincarnated Achilles and Patroclus meet in Victorian London! I hope you enjoy :)
Read here or on AO3!
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The rain pattered softly against the roof of the carriage as the horses pulled it through the grand gates of Lord Angove’s estate. It was just an hour’s drive from London, away from the bustle of the city, yet to me it seemed like the entire city had somehow found itself there. The long carriageway was filled with coaches, horse hooves clopping on the now muddy ground, lords and ladies in their finest outfits crowding before the manor’s entrance. In the dusk that was falling, the lit up windows looked like stars, gates into another realm, perhaps. It appeared almost dreamy, in the way the golden light of lamps and crystal chandeliers flickered and trembled, in sharp contrast to the darkening sky, to the shiny black wood of the coaches, the elaborately dressed figures that wove amongst each other like schools of fish, languidly drifting in warm, tropical waters.
“Let’s go,” my father said gruffly as soon as the carriage had stopped, snapping me out of my reverie.
The raindrops dampened the top of my head, the shoulders of my fine coat. It was amongst the finest I owned; my father had insisted I wear it, though it made me feel even more out of place than I already did. I followed him up the glossy marble steps, through the manor entrance, into the grand ballroom the footmen led us to. Chatter rose from every corner. Luxurious and decadent it was, without a doubt, with high, domed ceilings and elaborately carved columns, with exotic plants and odd artifacts that graced the walls. Lord Angove’s trading ships went far and wide, and they often brought back animals that no one had ever seen before, spices that burnt your tongue if you tried them, wines that were said to steal one’s wits after a couple swigs. The entire room seemed to be an extravagant display of wealth. Father disliked Lord Angove, of course, as he did most people. Including myself.
“Stand straight,” he hissed at me. “Don’t slouch.”
I sighed. “Yes, Father.” I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin. It was a hot evening despite the rain, and the scent of wet earth that drifted through the open windows mingled with the smell of freshly poured wines, of fine perfumes, of food being cooked in the kitchens below. I slipped a finger below my collar and carefully loosened it, taking in a breath. I hadn’t wanted to come, but Father had insisted upon it; so, I had acquiesced. And now I was paying for it, with a head that was already heavy and sore, and an undershirt that was slowly, yet steadily, growing damper.
I sipped on the sweet, red wine in my glass, wishing it was cool instead of uncomfortably lukewarm, when a wave of laughter drew my attention to the far end of the room, where a cluster of people gathered. Someone amongst them had just said a joke, I presumed, a rather hilarious one, judging by their reaction. That someone was standing in their midst, sipping on his wine, eyes glittering with mischief and satisfaction while the others howled. They were all young lords, their clothes were fine and well made, much finer than mine. Frills and ruffles, silks and velvets, thread of gold and silver embroideries on their sleeves, their doublets, their expensive vests. Perfectly groomed hair, beards and moustaches on comely faces, yet they all looked coarse and dull compared to the man they were all so affectionately peering at. His garb was simple compared to theirs, his hair gathered in a simple tail at the nape of his neck, strands of spun gold that glittered in the light as he moved. The colour of his skin was rich and slightly tan, like he’d been under the sun all day. He had this air about him, polite yet just a touch indifferent, like the doings of those around him did not interest him as much as they all assumed they did. Graceful, yet casually unaware of it; eyes as keen and sharp as a hunting cat’s. He smiled when someone whispered something in his ear. Peony coloured lips widened over teeth white as peeled almonds, and it seemed to me that the room grew a little brighter; he laughed, and his chin that lifted slightly exposed the soft, fawn-smooth skin of his throat.
I caught myself staring, and quickly looked away, but curiosity nagged at me. Who was this man?
“The Prince,” my father said, having noticed me watching.
I gaped at him. “The Prince? I thought he was studying in Rome.” So, that explained his tanned complexion, the golden, sun-kissed hair. Or did it?
“He’s recently returned,” Father continued. “The King’s health is failing, and he has been called for. He’s the most sought after bachelor right now. Dozens of families are clamouring for his hand. Soon, he’ll be the most powerful man in England.” He shot me a sharp and harshly appraising look. “This is what a son should be like.”
His words drove through me, like a lance. I pressed my lips firmly together, looked away from him. I hadn’t asked to be the way I was. I hadn’t asked to be small and weak and unremarkable in every way. I hadn’t even asked to be there, in that stifling, suffocating room, yet there I was. And no one was thanking me for it, or looking at me with glittering eyes, like they all seemed to look at him.  
The man in the distance said something again, and the others laughed and cheered, raising their glasses to him. Anger rose in me, slow and dull; and something else, something dark and sinister, like jealousy, that coated my tongue and made it taste bitter like bad almonds. Prince, I sneered, inside my head.
As if he had heard my thought, his gaze snapped to mine. Green and vibrant, twin emeralds that sharpened and focused on me. I stood, frozen, a deer before bright lights. Everything around me faded in the background, the people, the music, the jests and the songs. It was like time had stopped, and there was nothing else in the world, other than the two of us, gazing at each other from a great distance.
I jerked my eyes away, feeling heat travelling up my cheeks. It was not polite to stare. I shouldn’t have done it, yet something tugged at me, something that I couldn’t quite decipher. I turned back to him, but his attention had been diverted elsewhere once more. He seemed to have entirely forgotten I was there. He probably had.
Later, after the food had been served in the expansive hall and everyone had eaten and drank their fill, I had no desire to remain in the stuffy room. While my father talked with Lord Bramante about the King and the current state of affairs, I quietly slipped away, leaving the talk, music and commotion behind me. A few servants eyed me warily and bowed hastily when they passed me by in the otherwise empty corridors of the manor, and I nodded in acknowledgement, hoping that I hadn’t strayed too far, into areas of the house I was not supposed to be. At that moment, though, it didn’t feel like I wasn’t really supposed to be anywhere. The day had dragged on, and I was weary, and I wanted nothing more than to return to my own house, in my own room, and lock myself away from that world that did not agree with me.
I had heard that Lord Angove was a lover of the arts, and that was no lie. I passed room after room whose walls were almost entirely covered by frescos and large paintings, depicting idyllic scenes or scenes of battle from famous legends and stories. I followed them curiously, standing before this one or the other, noticing their details, the soft or dynamic brushstrokes, the colours, the emotions. There was one in particular I wanted to see, one that was said the Lord had acquired at great expense, painted by an artist who was supposed to be a master of his craft and had been dead for at least a hundred years. It would be hidden in some of the inner rooms, I guessed, so I followed the trail, looking for it. When I finally found it, I realised I was not the only one that sought to admire a piece such as that.
The Prince was standing before it. He was alone this time, without his loud entourage. He somehow seemed even more kingly without it. He looked serene, entirely absorbed; his silence and stately grace his only companions. I stood at the door, unsure whether I should intrude upon his quiet meditation or withdraw before he had noticed my presence. Before I’d managed to make up my mind, he turned to look at me with those keen, feline eyes of his.
“Come,” he told me, and his voice carried that effortless command that seemed to come so naturally to him. I obeyed, though somewhat grudgingly. I disliked being told what to do, yet he was the Prince. The heels of my shoes clicked on the polished marble floor as I approached, coming to stand beside him. His gaze had drifted from me to the painting before him once more.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked. His voice was bright and clear like freshly melted snow, with a soft cadence to it that reminded me of the sighing of mountain winds, the trill of songbirds hidden in thick foliage, maple leaves stirring with the breeze. A stream flowing over polished rocks. Rose quartz crystals glittering in the morning light. Painted constellations on a domed cave roof.
Orion, I thought to myself, conjuring the shape of the stars in my mind. The Pleiades.  
I started at my own knowledge. I didn’t remember ever studying the names of constellations. I did not even know that place that sprung up in my memories, yet it felt like I did. Like I had been there, once. Perhaps in a dream.
I took a breath to clear my head and looked up at the large, magnificent painting, brushing the odd images away. The scene depicted was a large and messy one; a proud warrior was standing on his chariot, his golden armour glinting in the sun, his spear poised to be thrown, while scores of horses and chariots ran behind him. Awe gripped me the more I stared at it. “It is,” I replied, softly, as if scared to disturbed the man in the painting from his sacred mission.
“Are you familiar with the story of Achilles?”
“Of course,” I said. “Who isn’t?” My tutor had made me memorise the entire first book of the Iliad when I was little, had made me recite it to him word for word. I was never drawn to ancient myths and legends of battle, their ferocity felt odd and foreign to me, yet the legend of Achilles always held a place of wonder in my heart. A fearless warrior, the son of a goddess, a god himself- a human. A friend. A sworn and loyal companion. His devotion always at odds with his might, his arrogance, his hubris. How could I not know about his story? How could I not be drawn to it?
The Prince nodded, his hands folded at the base of his spine, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “Do you believe that he and Patroclus were lovers?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to ask.
I choked in the act of swallowing, and my lungs spasmed in a fierce coughing fit. I wheezed and gasped through it, glancing wildly around me. If anyone had been there to hear-  I did not even want to think about what they would have thought. Lovers? I shivered. Such statements, such words were unthinkable, unutterable, unnatural.  
I did not want to admit that the very same thought had troubled me for nights on end.
He was watching me calmly, his gaze steady, while I gaped at him, my eyes wide as saucers.
“No,” I croaked, “of course not. They were friends, companions, not- not that. ” I blinked, and something like hope rose in me, swelling in my throat. “Weren’t they?”
He turned back to the painting. He stayed silent for a moment before he said, “Would you lay waste to an entire city for a friend?”
“If… if it was a good friend.”
“Would you keep his dead body in your room for days?”
“I-”
“Would you ask to be buried with him, for his ashes to be mingled with yours after you died?” His eyes focused on me, steady and relentless. “Those of your friend?”
I would, if it were you.
The thought came to my mind suddenly, unbidden. It was one of my own thoughts, yet it did not feel like mine. It was as if there was someone else whispering at me, or some hidden, forgotten part of me, struggling to break through. It shocked me to my very core, as much as it gripped and pulled at me. At that moment, as we gazed at each other, I knew it that, should he die, the world would lose something irreplaceable. Something beautiful and bright and true, and wasn’t that a crime to make all other crimes pale in comparison?
I tried to look away, tear my gaze from his but I was caught, pinned, unable to do anything else other than return his stare. His eyes were seas of forest green, and I was wading through them, breathless and eager to get somewhere, to find something. What, I did not know.
My mouth was dry when I tried to speak. "I… am not sure," I managed finally, after what felt like ages. "Perhaps."
He watched me in silence for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, softer than it had been. "It always makes me wonder," he said. "The depth of his devotion. The magnitude of his grief. His… love. Simply put. I do not understand it, yet it pulls at me. It begs to be understood. To be made sense of." The Prince's attention was on me entirely now, as if there was nothing and no one else in the world for him right then. He tilted his head to the side, studying me. "Have we met before? I swear you look familiar."
There was no haughtiness to his expression, no mock or ridicule. There was interest, and earnest curiosity, as if my answer would shift something significant inside him.
"I don't believe so,” I replied, the words catching in my throat. “I'm sure I would remember." He was indeed familiar, I realised. I studied the contours of his face, sculptor perfect, the smooth skin that stretched over his brow. I followed the line of his jaw with my eyes, the tendons of his delicate throat. There was a grace in those features, soft like a woman's, but angular and precise at the same time. He looked like no one else I’d ever seen, yet I knew I’d seen him somewhere before. I knew, with a certainty that startled me, that I knew him.
The sound of his laugh, rich and clear like a babbling brook. His hair under the bright midsummer sun. The amber light of a fire catching in the emerald depths of his eyes. His hand in mine. Moments of happiness and grief, of quiet contemplation, and moments when my heart beat so hard I thought it would burst. A thousand little moments, like fireflies in the night, crowding forward.
“Maybe in a dream,” I whispered, before I’d even realised I’d spoken.
He considered my words carefully, holding my gaze, as if I’d said something of great wisdom.
“Yes,” he said, nodding slowly. “In a dream.”
The rain, soft like distant whispers, pattered gently against the window panes.
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tacmc · 7 months ago
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City of Starlight {Deleted Scene}
Rowaelin, after their scene cut off in the art room in Chapter 24. 
N S F W. Rated M for mature.
An A Court of Thorns and Roses & Throne of Glass Crossover, Modern AU fanfiction.
Based on a prompt sent in for the 5k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Competitive arts school tog x acotar crossover”
Summary:  Velaris School of the Arts is the most prestigious school of talent on the continent. Whoever wants to be someone wants to get in. As her senior year of high school is coming to an end, all Aelin Galathynius wants is to go to the city of starlight and play music. Feyre Archeron, however, longs to paint for the rich and famous. Painters, singers, dancers, actors, and filmmakers come together in friendship, love, and lust, and find that they have a lot more in common than they thought.
A/N: Obvs written with @snelbz​
Warnings: language, smut.
Links:
Fanfic Masterlist
Ask me ANYTHING!
City of Starlight {ACOTAR/TOG crossover}
> Characters Detail Sheet <
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Rowan wasn’t sure how much weight the table in the art room could hold, and he wasn’t exactly the smallest of men, but he didn’t really care. As long as he heard no creaking, he’d continue to hover over Aelin on the tabletop, his body pressed up against hers as he kissed down her neck, slowly.
It was her weakness, the neck, and Rowan knew it. She loved when his lips pressed against the tender spots, loved when his tongue trailed along the spot just beneath her jaw. The neck, and her breasts, which Rowan’s hand had nearly reached, beneath her sweater. 
He listened, intently, to the quiet sounds coming from her lips as his mouth explored her skin, above her collar. She gasped, her breathing ragged. 
Rowan thrived on those gasps, that uneveness. It ignited something deep within him, something primal, something rare. 
“Ro,” she breathed, and Rowan hummed against her skin. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt, and her slender hands wandered underneath. He could feel the callouses on her fingertips from her guitar. “This is a public classroom.”  
“Mhmm.”
She laughed, quietly as he palmed her breast. “We can’t fuck in a classroom, Ro.”
“Why not?” he asked, his voice uneven as he rolled them over, bringing Aelin on top of his body. 
“Someone could walk in,” she giggled, her hands wandering up his chest. Rowan was already lifting the hem of her sweater. “No, nuhuh.” 
“Just a peek?” he asked, frowning. 
Aelin huffed a laugh, even though she didn’t move from the spot where she was straddling his waist. “No. Some poor, artistic soul could walk by and catch a glimpse of my tits.”
“It may be the best thing to happen this week to some of these poor, artistic souls,” Rowan protested. 
Aelin laughed, rolling her eyes as she slipped her sweater off, revealing a cropped, black cami. Her nipples were hard, thanks to the coolness of the classroom greeting her, and not much was left to the imagination through the thin fabric of her tank. 
“No bra,” Rowan muttered, his thumbs brushing over her peaked nipples. 
Aelin’s eyes narrowed as she lowered herself on top of him, her mouth crushing into his. She savored every moment, every brush of his tongue against hers, every low groan that came from deep within his throat. He tasted like coffee and mint, an odd combination that had Aelin wanting to taste more and more. 
She never got tired of kissing him.
Never got tired of the words I love you coming from his mouth. 
His hands slowly inched down her leggings until he was gripping her bare ass. 
“Your hands are fucking cold,” she hissed, biting on his bottom lip.
He groaned. “I’ll warm you up real fast.” 
She rolled them back over, and shifted herself beneath Rowan’s weight. “Work fast, Whitethorn.” 
Aelin slipped one leg out of her leggings so that her legs could wrap snugly around his waist. 
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Rowan murmured, gripping the back of her head to pull her lips closer, if it were even possible.
With the leggings out of the way, there was only one thing between him and the heavenly place between her legs, and that was a scrap of already soaked lace. Softly running his finger over her lace covered sex, she gasped softly and nipped at his bottom lip. “Play later.”
He chuckled darkly, moved the fabric to the side.
With one long, slow motion, Rowan slipped a finger between her folds and ran it from from the bottom of her entrance to her clit at the apex of her sex, before easing it inside of her. He added a second and stroked inside of her. It had her groaning against his lips, her legs falling open wider, and she was grappling with the button of his jeans. She breathed again, far more desperately than a moment before, “Play. Later.”
Oh, he’d do just that.
But for now, she was right, their time was short, and he knew someone could come down this hall at any point. 
She finally managed to get his jeans unbuttoned and the zipper done. She nudged them down, just a little, and reached inside of his briefs to pull him out. Aelin only stroked him once and brushed her thumb over the head before she lined his cock up with her sex, settled herself against him, and gripped his back as he pushed himself inside of her. 
From just outside, a heavy door opened and closed. Rowan stilled, after having pushed himself all the way into her. Aelin’s eyes had fluttered shut, perfectly full, perfectly satisfied.
Whoever was outside shuffled down the hall, and Aelin waited for their footsteps to fade away before whispering, “Hurry up!”
“Usually you’re telling me the opposite,” Rowan muttered, but obeyed, nonetheless. 
His lips found her neck once again as he set a rough pace, and the sound of skin on skin was filling the room. The feel of her slick heat gripping him right, wrapped around his length had Rowan groaning quietly against her skin. His hand found her thigh, and it slid down until he was gripping her ass, pulling her as tightly against him as he could, pounding into her with reckless abandon.
One of Aelin’s hands left his back and she smacked it over her mouth, muffling the moan that threatened to break through at the new position he’d found. The spot he was now brushing over, again and again, with every thrust. Her eyes fluttered shut, rolling in the back of her head and her back began to arch off the table.
Rowan cursed, his voice deep, quiet, as he bit down on her shoulder to reign in his own moans and groans. He’d never had to think whether he was a quiet lover or not, had never paid too much attention.
The second his teeth met her skin, though, Aelin whimpered.
“Faster,” she begged, muffled by her hand. 
He did so, thrusting his hips as quickly as possible, and with every snap of his hips Aelin would moan, hand or not, unable to control her little noises of satisfaction.
He could vaguely hear his name coming from behind her hand, and when the satisfaction was overwhelming, her arms were thrown around his neck, her nails digging into his skin.
He captured her lips with his own, her noises muffled around his mouth, his tongue.
“Fuck, Ace,” he murmured, although it was incomprehensible.
As Rowan approached his climax, his hips moved slower, his lips becoming still on her own as his body tensed.
He came, filling her with long, slow thrusts, and he was unable to stop the low groan from falling from his lips. She threaded her fingers into his hair, pulling his lips back to hers, kissing him as he rode out his climax.
The room fell silent, nothing but the sound of their still heavy breathing and slow kisses and the thrumming heater in the corner of the room.
After a moment, he pulled back, reaching up and brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. “If that’s the reaction I get, I need to draw you more often.”
Her eyes were bright, still drunk on her orgasm as she laughed softly. “I wouldn’t object to that. We could recreate the scene from the Titanic.”
Rowan’s eyebrows raised. “You want me to draw you...naked?”
The glint in Aelin’s eyes was answer enough.
Rowan’s response was a sound so primal, so wild, so inhuman that it had Aelin grinning, begging for more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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kelyon · 9 months ago
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Golden Cuffs Epilogue: The Future
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Cover art by @paradigmparadoxical​
Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU
They talk about what’s coming next
Read on AO3
Snow piled up outside the uncurtained windows of the dining room, but Belle was warm on the couch by the fire. There was a pair of stuffed armchairs by the hearth now, instead of only one, and the long couch was positioned in between them. It was the warmest part of the room, where Belle liked to wait for Rumpelstiltskin to come home to her.
There was a new chair at the dining room table as well, just as grand as the carved oak that had always been there. Three times a day, Belle took her meals sitting at Rumple’s right hand. He presented her food to her on a tray, just as he had when she had been his thing. But now Belle always ate with a knife and a fork and a spoon--unless one of them thought it would be amusing for her to do something else.
Overall, the dining room was more crowded than it had been when Belle had first come to the castle. Not only had the number of chairs doubled, but new footstools and tables had appeared beside them. Rumpelstiltskin had even set up a spinning wheel in the corner, so he wouldn’t have to hide away in his tower when he needed to think. The armchairs were set up on either side of the fireplace, with the long couch between them. All three pieces bordered the lush carpet where she had first laid out for Rumpelstilskin to watch her pleasure herself. 
Nowadays they attempted to act with more decorum outside of their bedroom. They didn’t always succeed. Though their relationship had progressed and matured over the months of their marriage, Belle and Rumple often found themselves defaulting to the first activity they had ever done together. Their appetites for each other had not waned. Belle was still amazed by how much she could have of her husband, and then how quickly she could begin to crave him again. 
She treasured all the time they had together, to make up for the all times he had to leave her alone. He left the castle frequently, and often at odd hours. Sometimes he would be gone for only a moment, but more than once he had disappeared in the morning and then woken her when he joined her in their bed. Though Rumpelstiltskin rarely slept, he said he liked to be with her at night. He had told her he liked the stillness of their bedroom, that listening to her breathing was a calming force in the midst of all the tumult around them.  
She knew his plans were progressing. He told her of the pieces he had set into place--some of them years and years ago--and how they had only just begun to move into the alignment that was necessary for his master plan to come to fruition. Belle understood the business that took him away from her, but she couldn’t help leaving her mark on him while he was hers. 
During the evenings he spent at home, they had picked up the habit of sitting together in their stuffed chairs. They would converse or read aloud to each other, when no other amusement presented itself. Of course, the real game was in seeing how long they could stay in separate chairs, before he knelt at her feet or she sat in his lap or they simultaneously realized how much more comfortable it would be if they were both on the couch, where they could stretch out or curl up or put themselves in any number of positions.
The couch was Belle’s favorite addition to the castle’s furniture. She had a special fondness for anything that was big enough to share with her husband. It was all cloth and soft stuffing, with a design of blooming roses embroidered along the cushions. To her mind, it was much cozier than the leather armchairs, and it was a better reading spot than their bed. Especially on winter days like this, she was happy to spend hours wrapped up in blankets with a cup of tea and a good book.
Since Belle had come back to the castle, the population of books in the dining room had exploded. Though Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t enter the library, he was able to summon any volume that was needed. And because Belle had no desire to ever set foot in the library again, the books never made it back to their shelves. They stayed in the rooms where they had last been read, piled on tabletops or stacked on the floor. The castle was now delightfully cluttered with books. It was the home that Belle had always dreamed of.
On this snowy day, she was re-reading Jefferson’s wedding present to her, a book he had picked up in one of his other worlds. It claimed to be a history of two kingdoms called Florin and Guilder, and the marriage negotiations of one kingdom’s crown prince. There were pages and pages of very dry texts about the queens and princesses of these countries packing up excessively-detailed wardrobes and traveling to visit each other to arrange a suitable match. The first chapters were so dull, even to Belle, that she was half-tempted to put the book down and never pick it up again.
But Belle was never one to judge solely on first impressions. 
  The more she read it, the more entranced she grew by the creeping subplots. The book, it seemed, wasn’t really about the snobbish prince and the cold-blooded count and the war the prince was trying to start by sabotaging his weddings. The real heart of the story seemed to be about a farm girl of rare beauty and the farm boy who loved her but could never say it. And even when the farm girl was made into a princess and sent off to marry the prince and the farm boy was lost at sea and then became a famous pirate, it seemed inevitable that they would be together. No obstacle could stop their love, even death could only delay it a little. 
It was nothing like her own love story, but she still deeply felt the truth of it. 
The doors to the dining room flew open with crash and Rumpelstiltskin strode in. “Terrible news!” he announced grandly.
Belle looked up from her page. “Are you being dramatic? Or is something truly terrible?”
He spun on his heel, his long cloak flaring out behind his shoulders. Belle liked that cloak; it was the fur-trimmed one that he’d gotten in a deal from Prince Charming. It gave her Rumple such panache, such style. He tended to wear it when he was feeling playful. The cloak billowed out from behind him as he strode over to her place by the fire. He gripped the back of the couch like a clawing menace. 
“Oh, this news is terrible indeed, my sweet! Fearsome and horrifying--news that will send all good people in paroxysms of dread!”
Smiling, Belle pointed her stockinged toes to indicate the section of the couch that was empty. She set her book down on a small table, next to her empty tea cup. “News that frightens good people usually delights evil ones,” she said.
Rumpelstiltskin grinned and jumped over the back of the couch. By the time he landed next to her, his cloak had disappeared. Safe in their home, he wore his comfortable clothes--a red woolen shirt and loose-cut gray leather trousers.
He took her hands and leaned over to kiss her lightly on the lips. “You’re right, my dearest Belle. All the forces of darkness are rejoicing on this terrible, happy day.”
“Do you want any of the blanket, Rumple? It’s chilly, even by the fire.”
Her husband sprang to his feet, still too animated to stay in one place. “I’ll get you more tea!” He scooped up her cup and took it over to the magic cupboard.
“Make some for yourself,” Belle ordered casually. “Then come and sit and tell me what’s going on.”
Though her back was to Rumple, she could hear him humming. His footfalls were light, almost dancing. That was how he moved when he was purposeful, happy. In the seven months since their wedding, Belle had come to recognize it as the sound of him willingly obeying her.
It had taken a little time, but she had gotten used to having power over him. Rumpelstiltskin could be like quicksilver, going in a thousand different directions at once. But when she gave an order, all of him collected together. He became focused, almost fixated on doing her will, on pleasing her. It was a heady thing. More and more, Belle understood how amazed he had always been at her obedience, when she had worn his golden cuffs. 
She had learned to be careful with her phrasing, when to make something an order, or a request, or a simple observation. One night, after they had made love in their big bed, she had told him to stay as she had fallen asleep, and he had been unable to move until she woke up. He had laughed it off in the morning, saying that care was always the first price of magic. Mortified, Belle had resolved that she would consider her words from then on. Rumple was not going to pay the price for her slips. 
“Here you are, sweetheart.” He came back to her with a cup and saucer in each hand.
The tea set was new too. It was a creamier ivory color than the white porcelain had been, and the shape of the cups was taller and sleeker. Rumple had offered to recreate the set that she had used to serve him with, but Belle had demurred. Now, the only remaining piece of that first tea set was the chipped cup. It held a place of honor on top of the magical cupboard and still functioned as a silent request for a game. Hardly a week passed without one of them offering it to the other. 
Rumple had made her tea the way she liked it--black, with one spoonful of sugar. She took a sip before she set it on the table and adjusted the blanket that covered her lap.
“Delicious, my love,” she pronounced as he sat down. She put her feet in his lap and covered his legs with her blanket.
“Really?” he asked, his eyes wide, his smile hopeful.
Seven months of marriage and he still looked at her like she was too good to be true. Seeing him like this always touched Belle’s heart.
She put her hand on his knee. “Yes, my Rumple. You did very well.”
“Thank you,” he whispered. Then he shook his head. “But you wanted to know about my news.”
“I do, yes.” Now that she was settled, Belle picked up her tea. “What’s happened that’s so terrible?”
“You remember that girl who called for me about the cure for a broken heart?”
Belle hadn’t known about that meeting when it had happened, but Rumple had told her about it. During those terrible weeks when she was locked in the library, he had made a deal with a love-lorn princess. 
“Snow White, of course. You gave her the same memory potion you threatened me with.” She poked playfully at his chest with her toes. It was all so long ago. She had forgiven him, and now she could tease him.
“It was not a threat.” Knowing her intentions, he took her bait with feigned aggravation. “It was a sincere gift! I truly thought you would have been better without me.”
“And you were truly wrong, my love. I knew that potion was a bad idea from the beginning. Losing the memories of a person you love will make you a different person--a worse person. And that’s why the princess and her dwarf friend came here and begged you to undo it.”
Smiling, Rumpelstiltskin took Belle’s hand and kissed it. “And that’s the last time I don’t listen to you, my Belle.”
“Good. Now, did something terrible happen to Snow White?”
“Oh, many terrible things. I’m sure her step-mother made sure of it.”
Belle knew perfectly well that Snow White’s step-mother was Regina. She could have told Rumple that he didn’t need to avoid saying her name. But there was also something sweet about the way he spared Belle from having to think about that woman. Though she had forgiven him for everything, there were still some things they couldn’t tease each other about. 
“You told me that she was under a sleeping curse for a while, but her Prince Charming was able to break it.”
“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin said softly. He held his teacup between his hands. “True Love’s Kiss can break any unwanted curse.”
Belle had often wondered about True Love’s Kiss. She kissed her husband a hundred times a day, surely at least one of those kisses would be born of true love. But she had never seen a magical reaction resulting from their love. When she had come into Rumple’s service, she had never thought that being the Dark One was itself a curse, though he had since told her more of the secret nature of his power. Perhaps that was why the curse on him had never broken from her love, because she couldn’t think of his darkness as unwanted. She knew it as a part of him, something both of them delighted in.
Besides, when she had the Dark One on his knees or bound to her bed or happily doing domestic chores, she couldn’t be so sure that a curse hadn’t been broken. He was honest with her now, and he loved her--that was all she had ever wanted to change about the man who was now her husband.
“So she woke up.” Belle continued the conversation. “What happened next?”
“Happily ever after, of course. The royal couple united their power and led a righteous crusade to purge evil from their lands. And they won! They got married this morning, certain that no darkness could ever befall them.”
“And yet we still have terrible news.”
“Yes,” Rumple sighed. “Yes, because even more than being good, Snow White and Prince Charming are nice. And nice people are not always smart. They should have known better than to leave their most powerful enemy alive.”
Belle tilted her head. “But you’re not their enemy, Rumple. You’ve been helping them every step of the way.”
He kissed her hand. “Don’t say it so loudly, my sweet. Someone might get the wrong idea about me. Besides I’ve never let them come close enough to even think of trying to kill me--not yet, anyway. No, Snow White’s real enemy is her oldest enemy, the one who has hated her since she was a child.”
“Regina.” Belle swallowed the name like a bitter draught. “What kind of person has that much hate for a child?”
“The kind of person who cannot admit who she really blames for all her misery.” Rumpelstiltskin sighed again. He let go of Belle’s hands and his claws balled into fists. “The kind of person who was taught again and again that power is the ability to cause pain.”
She felt the fury rising up in him, the guilt and self-hatred that could drown her husband if it was given free reign. He blamed himself for Regina, Belle knew. He blamed himself for what the queen had done to her, as well as every evil thing she had ever done or ever would do. After all, he had told Belle, he had been the one to teach Regina magic. He had been the one to encourage her bloodlust and set her on a trail of destruction that would eventually consume their entire world. Regina was a monster and he had made her that way--what did that make him?
“My love,” Belle reached out and took her husband by the wrist. “Take a breath,” she ordered. “Nice and deep for me.”
He obeyed her. His pulse raced under her fingers.
It did no good for Rumple to ruminate on the evils of the past. She hated seeing him in this kind of anguish. It was better to stop these storms before they could become full-blown tempests. And her husband always did what she said was good for him.
“Another.” She kept her tone even. He took another deep breath. She didn’t have to order him for the rest of them, didn’t have to order him to keep breathing until the worst of his demons had passed.   
It was odd to think of Rumpelstiltskin being at the mercy of his own emotions. She was still used to thinking of him as being in control--and yes, that was the face that he presented to the world. But in private, with her, in the safety of their home, he was able to show her all the pain that he had carried inside him for centuries. Belle knew well what it was to feel weak against forces that overwhelmed her. Belle knew what it was to succumb to attacks of fear or sorrow. And she knew what a great help it could be to be told exactly what to do, moment by moment, breath by breath.
“Are you ready to keep talking, Rumple?”
He took another shaking breath, then nodded. “Yes, Belle.”  
“What did Regina do?”
“The wedding was this morning,” he began. “Snow White and her Prince Charming said their vows and pledged their love until death did them part.”
“A fine and noble thing to do, don’t you think?” She squeezed his hand, trying to remind him of their wedding, their vows.
The smile he gave her was weak and hollow. If pleasant memories couldn’t help him, then he was truly shaken.
“As soon as they kissed,” he went on, “the Evil Queen burst through the doors. After a bit of posturing, she declared her intention to take away everything from everyone in this world.”
Belle’s breath caught in her throat. “Do you mean this is it? She’s finally going to cast your curse?” This was what Rumple had been working toward for so long. Regina was going to send them to the Land Without Magic. Rumple was going to see his son!
He rocked his head, nodding. “She’s going to try. She’s going to fail, at first, and she’s going to become desperate enough to ask me for help. And she made her announcement in front of the people who would most want to keep her from succeeding.” He rubbed his thumb over Belle’s wedding ring. “Very soon, a good many people are going to want to know how to force me to give them answers.”
Belle’s excitement that Rumple’s plan was finally coming to fruition quickly succumbed to the dread of everything she knew this plan would entail. They had formed this part of things together, hammering out details of moves and counter-moves that would get them both to where they needed to be as safely and smoothly as possible.
But the realization still made Belle’s heart sink like a lead weight. She pulled Rumple’s hand up to her chest. She suddenly needed to feel the warmth of him, the solid realness of the man she loved, who would love her no matter what separated them. 
“How long, do you think, before the curse is cast?”
Rumple scooted closer to Belle on the couch. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders so that they lay on each other, both of them bearing the other’s weight, shouldering a shared burden.
“The queen doesn’t know it yet, but this curse cannot be cast before the one destined to break it has been born.”
“The savior,” Belle whispered. Absently, she stroked her Rumple’s hair.
“Yes,” he assured her. “Snow White and the Prince’s child, the product of true love, a person with light magic infused into every part of their being. They will be the one to fight the queen’s darkness--and destroy it.”
“But only after twenty-eight years.”
Rumple nodded and kissed her on the temple. “Twenty-eight years and nine months from now. That’s when the final battle will begin.”
“So you think the curse will be cast exactly nine months from now?”
“The royal couple only married this morning.” There was a trace of impishness in Rumpelstiltskin's voice. “If their child comes sooner than nine months, I will be quite scandalized!”
Belle snorted at his joke and her heart lightened. Seven months of marriage and it still amazed her how much better she felt when he was around her. There were still problems in the world and trials that they faced, but now they faced them together. When she was near Rumpelstiltskin, every sorrow she’d ever known could be dealt with, or talked about, or pleasantly ignored for a few hours. 
  But this.... This curse was the greatest calamity that had ever befallen them. Regina’s curse was the worst thing that had ever happened to anyone. It would be, quite literally, the end of the world.
“How long?” she whispered. Without her being aware of it their positions had shifted and now she was clinging to her husband. “How long do we have before the plan is set in motion?”
He held her close. Sometimes Rumple could take as much comfort from holding her as from being held himself. 
“A few months,” he said grimly. “Perhaps we’ll be able to celebrate a year of marriage together, but I can’t promise it. The cinder-girl will be pregnant soon. When I come after her baby, that will give our heroes an excuse to finally put an end to my evil. I’ll let them capture me, let good and evil both think they’ve won--when in reality it’s us who are getting everything we want.”
“Except each other.” Lying on his chest, Belle stared into the fire as tears welled up in her eyes.  “We’ll be separated for months. You’ll be locked in a cage, Rumple!”
“A cell, my sweet, not a cage.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “That’s not such a miserable fate, is it? To sleep in a dungeon for a few turns of the moon?”
He was trying to assure her, and she tried to let him. “If you fall in love with any of your captors, I will be very put out.”
She felt the chuckle in his chest, and he kissed her on the temple. “Never, sweetheart.” He took her hands and held them in his own. The firelight glinted against their wedding rings. “And once the curse is cast, even living in a strange new world, our rings will still connect us to each other.”
Belle sat up to look her husband in the eye. “Do you think we’ll be together then?”
With their rings still touching, Rumpelstiltskin cradled Belle’s face in his other hand. His eyes were full of sorrow as he looked at her. “Together, yes,” he said, “and absolutely miserable.”    
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padawanlost · 9 months ago
I'm sorry but your yoda and sentence quote from ice and fire....eye-opening even I knew before that yoda sucks. but, like the fact that yoda's last order as jedi leader and leaders of war is give the hard to another even when obiwan warned that he cant and himself go for (emotionally) easy one...gods yoda sucks. also this made me think about his influence on anakin and obiwan(I'm romantic I know and like happy aus but I always thought that with less problems they would be not just good - which1/
2/ they were during war, with many problems, but good. take away at least have of problems, like this green frog's influence and have them meet under different circumstances and/or later than canon. or make them both go to therapist but I digress). also it also makes me think about obiwan and quigon and yoda's role in their relationship, which in both canon is huge and just how much yoda let down both anakin and obiwan, in different ways. anyway fantastic edit makes me think stuffTM thank you!!
The problem with Yoda is that is advice is superficial. So much of what he says and tries to pass as wisdom is not applicable to anyone’s daily life and, more often than not causes, only make things worse.
Yoda told the Council to not accept Anakin. If they had obeyed him, Palpatine would’ve become an even bigger influence in Anakin’s life which would make the Jedi and the Republic situation later much, much worse.
Yoda told Obi-wan not to be Anakin’s friend. If Obi-wan had obeyed him, the famous friendship we all love wouldn’t have existed and neither would so much of Anakin and Obi-wan’s success in the clone wars. They only started working together when they embraced each other as friends and equals, someone Yoda was totally against. 
Yoda told Anakin the solution to his fears was simply to accept mortality. Completely unrealistic advice, no matter how emotionally healthy we are accepting the sudden loss of a loved one is never as easy as something telling us to ‘forget about it’. In Anakin’s case, Yoda knew he was dealing with someone known from being deeply attached to people and emotionally unstable. Being the older, more mature and experienced teacher, Yoda had a duty to help Anakin beyond probably quick platitudes. 
Yoda ordered Obi-wan to kill Anakin because he believed he could handle Palpatine alone. Not only Palpatine kicked his ass, this plan made the Jedi Order weaker, consolidated Palpatine’s dominance over the galaxy and let to the birth of Darth Vader by pushing Anakin further into the dark side and Palpatine’s control. 
Yoda manipulated Luke into trying to kill his own father, causing him great emotional pain. If Luke had listen to Yoda, he would’ve fallen to the dark side or he wouldn’t have been able to rescue his father from the dark. 
It wasn’t Yoda’s wisdom that save the galaxy, it was Luke’s compassion. That’s why Luke Skywalker, not Yoda, is the greatest jedi ever. because, unlike his predecessor, Luke actually acted with real compassion and wisdom.
“Mace nodded silently. One did not argue with Master Yoda; in the Jedi Temple, this was learned in infancy. No Jedi ever forgot it.”  Shatterpoint by Matthew Stover
That’s why the biggest problem with the Jedi Order is Yoda. The Jedi weren’t evil but they spent almost 900 years being taught to worship a man as flawed as they were. I’m not saying Yoda is evil either but everyone inability to admit he wasn’t perfect put the Order in very vulnerable position. A position the sith spent years exploring, to the point it ended in tragedy.
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toeuropeandback · 9 months ago
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2 days in Paris
I had some pretty high expectations for Paris, but was not going to be disappointed. Paris has so much to offer; there's so much to see, experience and eat.
My first night was spent trying some authentic French cuisine, followed by a cabaret show. I must say I am quite a picky eater, so it didn’t surprise me that I wasn’t a massive fan of the food in France (although the desserts were a different story). I really did not know what to expect with the cabaret show, but now think that you should definitely do it just to be able to say you’ve done it. It was full of music and songs, lots of dancing, acting and even some magic.
My second day in Paris was dedicated purely to exploring what the city has to offer. The day started off by going and seeing the Eiffel Tower which needs no introduction. It is the most popular monument in Paris, and quite arguably, it is one of the most famous in the world. I found it quite interesting that at the time of the build, the monument actually created controversies, and a number of times, it was suggested that it be demolished. Crazy to think now how much it is has done for the city. I must say though, although very beautiful, I definitely believe that there are some other sites that are underrated and deserve more attention.
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Next on the list was the Arc de Triomphe, which is also one of the most famous monuments in Paris . It is located in the center of the Place Charles de Gaulle, and was created in 1806. For a small fee, you can actually sit under the Arc de Triomphe via underground access, but unfortunately did not have enough time for this.
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This was then followed by a trip to the Champs-Élysées, which runs from the Arc de Triomphe, and is full of different monuments and a never-ending amount of shops. It is actually almost 2 kilometres in length, and as I learned, can become quite impossible to see the whole avenue (on both sides too) whilst constantly stopping to take in what was around us and also browsing all the shops. Let's just say be prepared to spend big here and ensure you have enough time too.
I also managed to get to the Louvre, but also did not have enough time to actually go in. After a full day of exploring, my friends and I found a spot along the Seine river where we were able to enjoy some authentic French macarons, and just take in everything that Paris had to offer.
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While in Paris, I used the metro a fair bit. It seemed quite intimidating in the beginning especially as there are so many different lines, but I got the hang of it after a bit and managed to get on the right trains everytime. I would definitely recommend deciding prior how you are going to get around the city to ensure you can plan as much and be super organised. Especially with the metro, it is good to know which lines you will need to take to get to certain places.
I only got to spend 2 days in Paris, but would recommend spending more time there if you can. I definitely plan to go back in the future, and spend more time exploring what this beautiful city has to offer.
Tips:
Make sure you have a good pair of walking shoes as Paris is best explored on foot.
Pick pocketers and scams: Even though this happens everywhere, I noticed it a lot more in Paris. You just need to be really cautious of your surroundings and keep an eye on your belongings. Also, if something seems to good to be true, it probably is.
If you're planning on driving in Paris, be prepared to deal with some horrible driving and lack of obeying road rules. I personally didn’t drive while I was there, but even just watching other cars on the road make me extremely anxious!
Language (might come in handy while in Paris):
Bonjour - Hello Au revoir - Good bye S'il vous plait - Please Merci - Thank-you De rien - You're welcome Excusez-moi - Excuse me Oui/Non - Yes/no
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giorno-plays-piano · 9 months ago
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Your place Part 2
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Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (High School AU)
Warnings: yandere, obsession, bullying, degradation, dubcon.
Words: 1776.
Summary: You suffer in the arms of America’s golden boy, the one who has been bullying you for years.
Part 1
P.S. Some more smut, finally! All characters had reached 18 years of age. Hope you’ll enjoy!
______________
"Are you going to come on Saturday?"
Steve moved his hand down your naked belly, watching you laying close to him on your bed and breathing softly. You glanced back at him, his handsome features illuminated by the dim light coming from the lamp on your nightstand.
"Where to?" You asked as he covered the back of your hand with his palm twice bigger than yours.
"The field house. We have a game."
He traced your knuckles with his fingertips and you thought how odd Steve was. Who could have thought the school's biggest bully was such a cuddle-bug after sex? It wasn't bad, though. You actually liked this side of him.
"Sure."
You weren't interested much in basketball or any other sports, but it was easier to come rather then fight Steve again. He was stubborn like a mule. Besides, a part of you felt like you belong there - many of your classmates were coming to see almost every game.
Why did Steve care whether you were there or not? Surely, he had already been showing you off in front of everyone as much as he could as if you were his trophy - now you sat close to him in class and then in cafeteria during lunch time; he was dragging you with him after classes along with his stupid friends. The whole school knew the nature of your relationship, and the first weeks it was making you bitter and hateful. Steve Rogers head fucking forced himself on you, yet instead of sympathy all you got was an enormous amount of jealousy. You were still receiving hate mailes dropped into your locker. The girls kept whispering curses behind your back as you walked down the corridors with Steve and his pack of wolves. He was able to make everyone silent, though. Now even his friends had no right to bully you like before. He reserved it purely for himself.
"Did you buy yourself a dress?"
"What dress?" You blinked in confusion. "Do I need a dress on Saturday?"
Steve smiled at you and leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your lips.
"No, kitten, I'm talking about the prom."
You rolled your eyes at his words. Of course, Steve Rogers needed to show off everywhere he possibly could - he definitely hoped to become prom king. You, on the contrary, didn't care much. In fact, you didn't want to come there at all. You hardly had any friends at school, and coming to watch Steve flashing his smile and basking in the rays of glory would only make you more irritated with him.
"No, I didn't."
"Then we could go together. I know one nice place."
"Where? 5th Avenue again?"
You smirked, watching the guy frown. Last time you went shopping together was a nightmare for you. You ended up with several bags of expensive lingerie Steve paid for, and you were disgusted at yourself for giving in to him. True, his family was twice wealtier than yours, but it didn't mean you wanted anything from him. Except for leaving you alone, that is.
"And what of it?" Rogers asked you sharply, rising above you. "If I want to buy you a dress, I will."
You sighed, turning your head to Steve and pulling your body closer against his. You learned to enjoy this intimacy with time as he taught you what making love to each other meant. You were pleasantly surprised at his efforts to make you feel good.
"Steve, please. I don't want to think of it now. It's... ruining the mood."
He purred as you caressed his blonde hair and snuggled closer to you, dropping little kisses to your face and touching your cheek affectionately. Steve loved being tender. You believed he had a real physical need to touch you one way or another, often without any sexual subtext at all. It was almost as bad as his need to bully you verbally, especially when he was aroused. You were still learning how to cope with that.
If only he didn't make those photos of you and him in the locker room that time. It was the only reason you obeyed him three months ago when he declared he wanted to keep you close. You didn't know if Steve had stored those pictures somewhere, but you weren't worried about them anymore. His obvious obsession with you would keep him from showing photos of you naked with his cock buried inside your wet cunt to the hilt. You could walk away now, yet everything wasn't as easy as before. Steve made sure to gain trust of your parents, pretending to be the perfect caring boyfriend to you and just a very good guy to everyone else. He also made you meet his parents who turned out to be surprisingly nice, nothing like their son. Steve's mother Sarah took an immediate liking to you and often sent you a huge piece of her famous raspberry pie. It was a highlight of your day when Steve handed it to you during lunch. If you broke up with him now, you were sure he'd make up some story where you were the one to blame, and it would make your life even more miserable.
"Why are we doing this, Steve?" You asked him quietly as he played with a lock of your shiny hair. When be looked back at you, you realized he knew what you were talking about.
"What do you mean?" He grunted in return.
"You know this can't last forever." You said, your voice tired. "There are only a few months left before the graduation."
You were still stroking his hair as he bit down on his plump lower lip, his eyes not leaving your face as he stared down at you from above. There was something unsettling in his gaze, something dark, even scary, but you refused to be afraid of his temper tantrums.
"We're applying to different colleges, and they're not close to each other. How do you think we can keep... this going?"
Steve struggled for words, and you saw he was getting frustrated. It was odd - he liked to use aggression as his shield, rarely showing his vulnerable side to anyone and barking off whatever accusation you threw at him. Yet here you were, looking at the guy who couldn't utter a word to answer a simple question.
Was it despair you saw on his pretty face?
"You can choose the same place, too."
"Are you joking? My family would have so sell our house to pay for my studies then." You let out a sigh.
"You can apply for a grant. With your grades it's not impossible."
"Steve, let's be realistic. You wanna go to Columbia University. Do you have any idea how many people are applying for a grant to study there?" You said and, seeing him getting more agitated, wrapped your hands around his muscular shoulders, reaching out to kiss him again.
He deepened the kiss immediately, swirling his tongue around yours and then licking the insides of your mouth when you mewled softly beneath him. The soft vibration against his lips made Steve shivered from pleasure. He spent a bit more time rolling the tip of his tongue all the way around yours and finally released you, dropping a kiss to your chin.
"If you can't make it, I'm going to apply to the same place as you." He whispered, and you felt his cock gradually getting harder. "I'm sure they'll be happy to take me."
"Steve, you're mad." You shaked your head. "What are your parents going to say? They want the best for y-"
"I don't care what they want, it's up to me to decide." The guy growled and bit your lower lip gently, lowering himself on top of you again. "You're my girl, and my girl is going with me. I still have those photos in case you forgot."
"Ah!"
You squeezed your eyes shut as his fingers touched your overstimulated clit, rubbing it skillfully as you squirmed. Your mouth fell agape as you were left gasping for air, trapped under Steve's athletic figure. Moaning at his touch, you looked at him, feverish, getting aroused again, your hands caressing his back as he smiled at you. He loved when you were a blushing mess beneath him, crying out his name as you were orgasming. No one else got to see you like this.
"I know you were a good girl today, but I want some more. You can handle it, can't you?" The guy cooed in your ear. "Come on, kitten. Show me how you mewl with my cock inside you. You're gonna mewl for me, right? Do it. Now."
You did as he said when his fingers were slowely fucking your sloppy cunt, your core aching for his dick almost painfully. Mewling softly, you kissed him again, and Steve slammed into you, muffling your high-pitched cry with his mouth  as he started rocking his hips. It felt so good, so fucking good. A wail of pleasure ripped from your throat, and Steve grinned at you.
"You're such a good little kitten, Y/N. I think next time we won't go to a restaurant, I'm just gonna give you a cat bowl full of my cum. You're gonna lick it clean, yeah? You're gonna do that for me, dear?"
"Yes, yesss, Steve." You whined as you felt your pussy kissing the base of his cock with a lewd sound. Panting and moving with Steve, you already felt one more orgasm building up, your mouth open and drooling. "I'm a good kitten, I'm a good kitten... pleaseplease Steeeeve..."
He groaned at your words, speeding up gradually and watching your eyes roll to the back of your head: he was rubbing against your g-spot to make your pussy milk his balls dry. Of, he fucking loved seeing that stupid expression on your face when you came, completely helpless, dependent on him to give you pleasure no one else could.
Steve was the one and only who could make you like this. Who the hell cared what his friends or parents said if he could hear you moaning his name beneath him whenever he liked? You were becoming more and more accepting, clinging to him when others were to mock you in public, spreading your legs for him when he cornered you in your or his own room. You grew to enjoy obeying him like a good girl you were, and Steve was going to keep you, finally, after all those long years of waiting.
He would make sure you never left his sight again.
___________
Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki  ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@lovelydarkdaydream
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hana-mira · 9 months ago
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Not sure if I'm gonna keep my whole watermark thing tbh but I don't want anyone stealing anything ✌🏼🙃
Also might start an obey me smau but I need ideas for that so if anyone has any lmk 😂😂
The LI (Love interest) will most likely be Mammon, Satan, Beel, or Levi. ✨🤷🏽‍♀️
Mammon with like a model or TikTok famous demon bros au, that maybe Mc who will also be TikTok famous, and loves dueting the boys TikTok's and then mammon notices them and asks to make TikTok's together maybe. 👉🏼👈🏼
Satan maybe something to do with a library maybe him helping Mc reach for a book and eventually keep seeing eachother around the devildom and become friends, then ofc more than friends. 💕
Beel definitely something to do with food, maybe a yt mukbang channel that Mc has that Beel is a huge fan of. 🤤
Possibly Levi. I feel like that would be a good yt gamer au. 🎮🥺
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angstymdzsthoughts · 10 months ago
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I wrote this few months ago & forgotten about this. This AU from an anon.
My mother is always frail. He smiles and laugh but the smile never reached his eyes.
My mother was always bedridden in some bad days.But in good days, he held my hands as we walked slowly through the farm crops with Uncle Ning. The best days is when he planted me like radishes and told me that I will grew up faster. Sometimes, I wish I could grow up faster so I could carry him to anywhere he wishes to be.
My mother rarely eats, no matter the coaxing of Aunty Qing. Everytime we eat together, he eats the smallest portion and sometimes he will give me his portion too. I can never reject him, as my mother is always pushing himself to make me happy.
My mother is always beautiful. Eventhough there are deep criss crossing scars on his back that the story behind it is still a mystery to me-alone. Eventhough as years passed and he gets thinner and sicker. Eventhough his eyes has a longing look everytime he looked at me. Regardless, my mother is the most beautiful.
As years passed , I grew up with no knowledge of my father. I once asked mother when I was still naive. “Mother, is A-Yuan’s father alive? Can we meet him?”. Mother, who was recovering from a fever in our bed went stiff. He cradled me in his thin arms, and hug me. My wet robes is the indicator that the subject is a taboo for him. The next day, I asked Aunty Qing, and she reluctantly told me that my father is alive but lost the privilege as a father 5 years ago, the year I was born. That night, I had the idea of the story behind the scars & his health. Grandma always tell me that I am smart for my age. So I never asked about that man & swore to protect my mother from all harm-including him.
But the 6 years 2 months that we spent together were too short. We always knew that his health is poor, but we were never ready for the day he left us. It was an irony they said , your mother in his youth always bring havoc but in his death, it was a peaceful one.
When i was 12, they gave me his dizi Chengqing & Suibian so that his legacies are never forgotten. I practiced cultivation under the tutelage of Grandpa Four, as he used to cultivate albeit his weak core. It was a peaceful life between our families of doctors & farmers.
When I was 13, I started to do night hunting with Uncle Ning watching in hiding.Simple night hunting in Yiling and surrounding areas that are not too dangerous to strengthen my core and skills. I always brought Suibian and ties my hair with mother’s red ribbon. Aunty Qing said I was a splitting image of mother in his youth. And that fact alone makes me happy and content.
One night when I was 16, I went hunting further to Dafan mountain, where I met a group of cultivators from the prominent Lan Sect and Jiang Sect. I tend to avoid famous sectors as rouge cultivators doesn’t have good connection with established sects. But when a group of cultivators around my age were attacked ,I gave them a helping hand & informed one of them - a Lan to give a signal to their supervisors. We struggled on our feet, backing each other until the adults arrived.
“JinLing !!! You brat !” Ah this must be the famous Shendou Sangshou and the teen in gold must be the Jin heir. “How many times do I have to tell you to not left your peers and wander alone! I ought to tell your mother that- who are you?” his eyes bore on me or rather, my sword. “I am a rouge cultivator ,sir. I have no obligation to give you my name. Now will you excuse me..” I bowed to leave. “Stop” another voice reached out to me. I faced another man ,who wore pristine white robes and forehead ribbon. The Lan Sect’s famous Hanguang Jun , or rather - the man I never want to see.
“That sword. Where did you get Suibian ?”
“It was given to me”
“Why was it given to you? Where is the owner?”
“It does not concern you, sir.”
“What is your name?”
“I have no obligation to tell you. I am a rouge cultivator from Yiling.” and my answer freezes both men.
“Yiling? Are you one of the Wen remnants?”
My body went stiff from the question. “....no” and my hesitation gave me away.
“You’re bad at lying young man. Tell me, what is your name ? Who is your leader? Where are the rest of you? And answer this truthfully, where is the owner of that sword?!” Sect leader Jiang snarled with an electrifying aura surrounds him. His nephew and the rest of the group nervously watching our conversation.
“I told you I am a rouge cultivator, and as I know, both of you are neither my Sects leader whom I should obey. I am not going to answer any of the question!”
“Yes you are obliged to answer my question. That owner of the sword is a missing person. And unless you tell us, I’ll drag you to Lotus Pier myself and interrogate you under the offence that you stole Suibian.”
This damn old man is so persistent. I sighed.
“My name is Wei Shizhui, courtesy Wei Yuan from Yiling.” Those men took a sharp inhale. “I am travelling alone as I am the only cultivator in my village, sir. The rest of the Wen remnants are the elderly. Our leader is Wen Qing and the owner of this sword, Suibian “ my hand gently brushed the hilt to ground myself from lashing out “has passed away many years ago. He gradually succumbed to his injuries after 6 years. I am his son.”
The silence after that were deafening. And finally, the Second Jade spoke.
“Wei Ying passed? And you are his son ? Mine-“ and before he could conclude anything, I interrupted. “My ONLY parent for me is my mother, I have no father and I no intention to let anyone dictate my life. I had no intention to know who my other parent is, as he is the one who’s too weak to defend my mother. My only family is in Burial Mount, all with the surname Wen. Please watch your words, HanguangJun. My mother’s blood is thicker in my vein, so like him, my patience is as thin as a paper right now.”
Sect Leader Jiang were pale and Hanguang Jun looked devastated. Both too shocked to react anything.
I bowed , “This disciple will have to go. I hope we will never see each other in future, dear father and uncle.“ both men flinched at my sarcasm. And with a swish of my robe, I took off with Suibian. Mother’s red ribbon glinting in the night.
-b
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sacredempressnatlyia · 10 months ago
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Talk to God
Introductory Note: Is this another Juan x Natlyia story? Why yes, it is. It's been a little while, and I know that I write a heck of a lot about us, but I do have much muse for this AU. It brings me great happiness and I want to write more for us. So, I've come up with at least three ideas for the stories that I want to write. As always, I don't condone their actions in this AU, this is merely indulgent fantasy and written as a bit of fun, though it also is very personal for me.
The first is a short (probably not that short, lol) piece based on their first meeting. It does contain some villainous behaviour — and a bit of self-deprecation and loathing on Juan's part. Poor boy needs some love, and I'm happy to deliver. 💕💕
I hope everyone enjoys!
Tagging List:
@aricka-and-her-fictional-others
@annaselfships
@braveassassins
@bumskulls
@charliedoyleloves
@shallowhound
- x -
Seated atop a throne, Natlyia glanced down at the royal guard prostrated before her. He had came before her, requesting her time on what he claimed was an important matter. She hadn't made much effort to pay him any attention. Important news or not — the world focused on her whims. She didn't need to worry, regardless of the news that her guard had, she remained entirely in control.
After what seemed like an hour or so, for the guard, but was only about ten minutes, Natlyia spoke. “Speak,” she said, not even looking in his direction.
The guard took a sharp intake of breath. He was trembling and panicked — even being in Natlyia's presence was overwhelming, let alone speaking to her.
“Thank you eternally, Your Sacredness,” he said, glancing up at her from the face-down position on the ground. “You are beyond power and I am privileged to serve you in any way that you command.” A sharp pause. “Some of the Imperial Guards in the outskirts of the Khovalon perimeter have found a young man wandering through. They do not know who he is, he is not a citizen of your great and powerful empire. He claims to have stowed away on one of your boats. I am come to request your holy opinion on what to do with this man. Thank you eternally, Your Sacredness.”
Now this, this caught Natlyia's attention. A newcomer to her empire? She'd not come across this type of thing. Sure, people sometimes came to Khovalon — but when they did, they were guests that were scheduled to come and present themselves before her. But this man, he was a stowaway. Why had he come here? What did he want? Was he a threat?
She addressed the guard once more. “Did this man say anything when your guards apprehended him?” she asked, trying to keep the unsure edge out of her voice.
The man nodded. “Yes, Your Sacredness. I... He says that his name is Juan Borgia,that he's the son of the Pope of Rome. We didn't get much time to speak with him before I made the decision to come before you and request your opinion on what should be done.”
Natlyia leaned forward on the throne, her interest piqued even more now. “Borgia?” she asked. She knew of the Borgia family — how could she not? They were a famous, well-known Spanish-Italian family, those who had risen from next to nothing to being one of the being one of the most powerful families in the world. The Pope had power to crown and uncrown monarchs, to grant royal annulments, to excommunicate sinners; all such powerful abilities to have.
Yet, Natlyia had no need to defer before the Vatican. She was Holy, All-Powerful. Khovalon did not bow to the whims of the Church. Instead, their people existed to serve her.
Juan Borgia may have been a nobleman within his homeland, may have been granted the privilege of being the Pope's son, but as of this moment, he had stepped into her land and she needed to deal with this, to figure out if he were a threat or a potential ally.
She sighed. She needed to meet this man. “Bring this Juan Borgia before me,” she ordered. “I will see the measure of him. I expect that you are holding him within the Province Fortress?” At the guard's nod, she continued. “Then you will go there and bring him, under formal escort, here. The Holy Priestess Shayleen will come with you to teach him the proper etiquette for coming into my Most Holy Presence. I expect you to bring him back within the week.”
The guard merely inclined his head back down to the ground, in worshipful obedience. He remained like that for a few seconds before Natlyia had motioned for him to leave, which he did so, keeping his head bowed as he left her presence.
As the guard left, Natylia leaned back in her throne and pinched the bridge of her nose. Hopefully, her future meeting with Juan Borgia would run smoothly.
- x -
Juan wasn't sure what they planned to do with him. He'd been kept in what could best be described as a guarded fortress — though it was a lot better, cleaner and not as frightening as the prisons they had in Rome. If this could be construed as a prison — he'd been given a room that resembled a slightly smaller version of his apartments in Rome. But still, all that did not stop him from being fearful as to what these people had planned for him.
As Juan was thinking about these things, the door opened. He looked up to see a young woman enter. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and hazel eyes. She wore a long, white dress with golden trim on the sleeves, collar and the hem. On her right hand was a small bracelet and she had a small black headband keeping her hair back from her face.
The woman paused in the doorframe from a few moments before speaking. “Juan Borgia?” she asked, in a thick accent that Juan had never heard before. When he nodded once, she stepped into the room and continued speaking. “I am Shayleen, the Holy Priestess of Her Sacredness, the Empress Natlyia Alemani of Khovalon. You have been summoned to the Most Holy, Sacred Palace to come before her and state your reasons for being within her empire.”
Her words echoed in the air. Juan blinked, then blinked again. Empress? The ruler of this land was calling for him to go before her? What should she say? What would she do to him? He glanced up at the blonde woman, and sighed.
“Shayleen, is it?”
Shayleen pursed her lips. “That is ‘your worshipful eminence’ to you,” she said, with a slight edge to her voice. Juan furrowed a brow. ‘Your Eminence’ was the term of address used by the cardinals back home — was this woman a cardinal of sorts? Placing the word ‘worshipful’ to clarify it, well, he wasn't sure what to make of it. All the same, she was glaring down at him and figured that perhaps he should acquiesce to her demands.
“Alright. I'm sorry, your worshipful eminence.” Shayleen nodded in satisfaction and Juan, feeling it safe to continue speaking, did so. ”You say that your Empress wishes to see me?”
“She is far more than some mere Empress,” Shayleen replied, with an air of reverence that Juan had never quite heard before, not even from the most religious fanatics. “But yes. She has commanded your presence within her Holy Palace. I will be preparing you for the meeting and briefing you on the rules for interaction, of which there are many.”
“And if I refuse?” Juan asked, testing the waters.
Shayleen continued to glare down at him. “You are, as of now, an unwanted guest here. I do not think it is in your best interest to refuse a Holy Command.” She closed her eye and exhaled. “We are expected to be back within The Holy Presence within a week. During that time, you will be fully educated on how to behave, and I expect you to follow these rules to a T. Understood?”
Juan nodded. What else could he do? It didn't seem like he had much choice but to obey. Hopefully, this meeting with the Khovalon Empress would run smoothly.
Time Skip
The week passed faster than expected, and soon Juan, Shayleen and several armed guards found themselves arriving via carriage to the Most Holy and Sacred Palace of Khovalon — located within the capitol city of K'rivnak. Shayleen gave a signal to a man standing by a drawbridge, and he pressed a button, and the drawbridge came down, allowing the carriage to roll through.
When the carriage eventually trundled to a stop, Shayleen stepped down and motioned for Juan to climb out too. He did so, and was instantly standing in front of a statue.
Calling it a statue seemed to be an understatement — it was utterly gargantuan. Nine-hundred, one thousand (?) feet in height. He could barely even see it properly. He took a step, several steps back, and craned his head to look up at the statue. A woman, the Empress Natlyia, carved in solid gold.
Juan felt his palms begin to sweat. He turned to Shayleen, who was looking at the statue with utter devotion. She pointed past the statue with her left hand. “The Holy Palace lies ahead of you.” She walked past the statue and Juan followed her.
The palace, it was unbelievable. He'd thought that the Vatican was big — and yes, it was, but this was definitely something else. It seemed to spread in every direction, left right, up, down. It stretched out like a country in and of itself. Juan gulped and turned to the guard behind him. The guard motioned for him to keep walking, which he did.
The group walked up to the palace doors. They opened with a deafening roar, and they walked into the palace. It was even bigger on the inside, if that were at all possible. Portraits, statues and frescoes littered the walls. The corridors were full of servants and guards bustling around. Juan partly wanted to stop and look around but he knew that he couldn't do that. He continued to follow Shayleen through the maze of never-ending corridors.
“We will be within The Holy Presence soon,” she said. “You remember the rules for interaction?”
Juan nodded once. The Rules for Interaction had been drilled into his head from the moment that Shayleen had arrived into the fortress. “Those who come before Her Sacredness must be bowing down,” Shayleen had said, “and you must not speak or move unless given permission. Since you are a newcomer to Khovalon, she has granted you permission to stand for approximately thirty to forty seconds so that she may examine you. You will be given the signal to know what to do by another Holy Priest or Holy Priestess.”
The group continued their walk for what seemed about twenty to thirty minutes. Finally, they reached another, large set of doors. The guard stepped forward and pulled on a lever. The doors opened and Juan made to step into the room, but Shayleen threw her arm out in front of him. “You have no permission to go further,” she snapped.
Juan bristled at her tone. Before he could say or do anything more, a voice called out, male this time. “You may enter The Holy Presence.”
The group walked into the room. It was large and full of portraits and smaller statues. There was a path that they walked down. On every inch of the floor, were countless, prostrate people. Juan glanced down at them, blinking for a moment. This whole thing was strange, unbelievably so, but he felt weirdly exited by it, too.
Finally, they reached a throne, and Juan found himself utterly intrigued by the woman sitting upon it.
- x -
Natlyia watched the group enter the throne room. She sat upon a golden throne, dressed regally. As they neared her throne, the guards and Shayleen bowed down onto the floor. Used to this behaviour, Natlyia didn't even take the slightest bit of notice to it. Instead, she had eyes only for the man standing before her.
He was handsome. The much she knew. Brown hair, brown-green eyes, dressed in clothing befitting a nobleman. She pursed her lip, then gestured to Cosma, another one of her Holy Priestesses.
“Newcomer,” Cosma began, “you are in the Holy and Sacred Presence of Her Sacredness, Empress Natlyia Alemani of Khovalon. Sacred Goddess of All, Holy Ruler of Gods, Deity of Creation and the Universes and Divine Being of Existence Itself.” She paused. “You may now introduce yourself,” she added.
Juan blinked rapidly. That... That was an impressive amount of titles. And he figured that they weren't simply words — they actually meant something. He knew he couldn't complete with that, but all the same, he figured that he should introduce himself.
“I am Juan Borgia,” he began, “Second born and favourite—” he emphasized this point “— son of Pope Alexander Sixtus of Rome. Duke of Gandia, Commander and Gonfalionere of the Papal Armies.”
He remained silent after that, and the two looked at each other. Juan was captivated by Natlyia. She was beautiful, an ethereal being that seemed to own power effortlessly. Auburn hair, blue eyes that shone like the sun setting on the ocean. He had never seen a woman so beautiful before in his life, nor, did he ever think that he would meet someone like her again. He felt enamored with her, and they had only just met.
Thirty seconds passed, and Cosma gestured for him to kneel. He made a move to do so, but before he could, Natlyia cut across him, surprising both Juan and herself.
“No,” she said, “you may stand, Juan Borgia. I would look upon your face.”
Juan straightened up. Natlyia nodded, then asked, “Why have you come to my empire?”
“I am unable to remain in Rome,” Juan replied. He didn't want to go too deep into it. The fact that his family had banished him for his actions that time ago still bothered him greatly. He felt shamed merely by thinking of it. “I come here seeking asylum, for as long you may be able to offer me.”
Natylia considered this for a moment. For some reason, she found herself intrigued by this man. There was something about him, the way that he stood before her, confident, yet looking enthralled by her all at the same time. She wanted to get to know him better.
“We will procure a space for you within the Imperial Apartments,” she said. “You may remain here as my noble guest.” She smiled, extending her hand to him.
Juan climbed the steps closer to her throne and bent down, taking Natlyia's hand in his. “Thank you, Your Sacredness,” he said, and kissed her hand.
Natlyia's face flushed. She tilted Juan's head up and looked him in the eye. “You may call me Natlyia,” she whispered.
Juan smiled. “Thank you, Natlyia.”
The two looked each other in the eyes, sparks flew, and nothing in the world would ever be the same.
- x -
Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed. Comments, likes and reblogs are more than welcome. The next Juan x Natlyia story should be written very soon. Thank you all so much again!
Love,
- Natylia.
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starboybokuto · 10 months ago
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pairing: kyoutani kentarō x female reader
genre: smut, fluff; forbidden relationship!AU, badboy!kyoutani
word count: 4.2k
warnings: swearing, toxic/problematic family relationships/issues, praising, unprotected sex (pls dont do that kids), choking, breeding kink, spitting, cockwarming
(A/N: I am- I don't even know how or why but I suddenly started crushing on Kyoutani and the thought of him as a rough badboy boyfie just wouldn't leave me alone so here you are, also bc there's not enough Kentarō content on this app and I had to do the job. Please feel free to leave feedback of any kind and thank you for everything xx zade)
( big thank you to emi aka @b0kuto for the prettiest header mwah )
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
"And that's all I have to say about this, young lady", your dad's deep voice echoes through the space of your living with such heaviness, you feel your heart breaking yet again for the nth time within the past hour.
"My daughter is not going to waste her time and innocence on a piece of shit like him", he adds, his eyes never once leaving yours as if he was trying to make sure every single one of his words hurt you as much as possible and the amount of hatred and anger in the usually so calm and collected warmth of his eyes has a thick veil of tears blocking your sight.
"Don't talk about him like that!", you spit back, digging your nails into the pillow on your lap as you try to hold yourself back from throwing all the dark thoughts inside your head at him in hopes of relieving the anger in your heart.
"He's not a piece of shit, he's my boyf-", "He's not your boyfriend, Y/N. You're my daughter, you have an image to maintain. Do you really think I was going to let you be with a guy like – him?", and yet again, his words cut you off like sharp knives, the knot in your throat making it impossible for you to breathe properly as tears of anger and disappointment roll down your cheeks.
Of course you knew that your parents, owners of one of the most famous businesses in the whole country, were going to accept your new love just like that. Even though, throughout your whole life, they, especially your father, never really cared enough about you to give you the attention you craved, they made it very clear that your future partner was going to be someone of their kind. Yet somehow, somehwere in the deepest bits of your chest, you found a tiny shimmer of hope that maybe, only maybe, they would look over those stupid formalities and their disgusting urge to please the public and accept the very first choice you had made on your own.
But of course, your mind had played games on you. Because here you are, crying like a little child in front of your parents who happen to be home for the first time in months, yet didn't even hesitate to put you back into your place and remind you, whose daughter you are as soon as the words "I have a boyfriend" left your lips only a couple of minutes ago.
"He loves me! And – you don't even know him, how can you talk about him like this?", you whisper, the wrath in your blood making it impossible for you to raise the volume of your voice and with a deep inhale you watch your father let out a row of scoffs.
"Did you hear that, honey?", he says and rolls his eyes, shifting his gaze to your mother who hasn't said a thing about the whole situation and brutally proceeds to take away the last bit of hope you had left in her.
"He doesn't fucking love you, Y/N", your father spits, disgust wavering in his voice as his eyes roam your tear stained face, "he wants to get into your pants."
At those words, you basically have no choice but to look at him in pure shock. His choice of vocabulary as well as the tone of his voice has chills of disgust run down your arms. Because no matter what, there has always been something inside of you that was hoping for your father to change and become the parent you knew you deserved, the parent you needed and with those words, he took those hopes by the head and killed them just like that.
"And now stop crying, go to your fucking room and break up with that bastard. I don't want to hear the name Kyoutani leave your lips ever again. Just the fact that you'd even think about being with a piece of scum, blows my mind. I won't let you leave us being associated with that family of thugs and dealers just because you ran out of ways of asking for our attention like a little child."
You watch your father walk away from you and even though there's so much you want to say to him, you can't pull yourself out of the trance he has put you in.
"Don't make an even bigger scene, dear", your mother finally seems to have found her voice as she takes the wine glas from the coffee table and gets on her feet, the expression in her eyes monotonous and empty when her gaze meets yours, "you'll get over him sooner than you think. And you don't want your father to be angry with you, do you?", are the last words to leave her lips before she also exits the living room as if they didn't just take away every tiny bit of hope you had left.
A couple of hours pass by in which you try to find the courage to answer Kyoutani's calls and messages, yet no matter how hard you try, every single time the contact picture of him smiling from ear to ear with the softest blush covering his cheeks and his messy hair falling into his face appears on your display, a peng of guilt and pain rushes through you and unable to process the heavy amount of emotions weighing on your chest, you simply watch it disappear again.
Of course you aren't going to break up with him just because your father asked you to, but the fear of him hurting Kentarō in any way because you refused to obey his orders has your heart clenching in despair and even though you've been dealing with this for some time already, you still haven't decided yet if you are going to talk to your short tempered boyfriend about this or not.
And that's how you end up staring at your phone with tears streaming down your cheeks and your arms firmly wrapped around one of your many pillows as you feel your heart softening at the row of worried messages from your boyfriend appearing on your screen.
my love: babe, please pick up the phone [01:27am]
my love: i'm worried [01:27am]
my love: i swear to God if you're fucking bastard of a father did something, i'm going to beat the shit out of him [01:28am]
my love: baby, please [01:28am]
my love: i can see that you're online and currently reading my messages, baby [01:28am]
my love: FUCK i am so fucking worried i am so fucking close to just break down that fucking door and get you out of there [01:28am]
my love: you know what? fuck this, i've been waiting outside your house for two hours now, i'm coming in [01:29am]
my love: open your window for me, baby [01:29am]
Your eyes read over Kyoutani's last message several times; a shiver of excitement running down your spine and even though you know that the possibility of your parents waking up at the sounds, you calmly climb out of your bed and make your way to your big window after making sure your door is locked.
And just then, you watch Kentarō pull himself up, his strong muscle straining against the fabric of his leather jacket with his every move and you smile at his  furrowed brows, lips firmly holding the burning cigarette as he finally comes to a stop right in front of your face.
You're quick to pull him into your room, the adrenaline in your blood rushing through your body way too fast as the thought of being caught fills your mind.
"Baby", Kyoutani whispers and takes one last drag from his cigarette before he throws the little butt out of your window and casually blows the smoke out of his nose, "my pretty angel", his voice is deep and raspy, his rough fingertips grazing the slightly damped skin of your cheeks as he takes your face into his palms and pulls you closer to his body; knowing just how much you need – no – crave to be held like this, despite not knowing what exactly you had talked about with your father.
And as your eyes roam his sharp features, the warm tenderness lingering in their shadows makes you sigh softly because it's in those kind of moments that you remember, why you've lost your heart to Kyoutani Kentaro, of all people. To others, he is this cold hearted, short tempered and distant individual they see in their lectures but would never even think of approaching because of the dark energy he's oozing. But to you, he is absolutely perfect. To you, Kyoutani Kentaro is everything you've ever dreamt of. Tender, caring, attentive; incredibly passionate and oh, so loving, basically everything he manages to hide so well behind a cold mask yet reveals to you whenever he gets the chance to do so.
You have no idea, how the two of you actually ended up with each other, it just – happened.
A project for your shared class brought you together and as the weeks passed by, and he slowly, but surely started trusting you which resulted in him opening up and basically letting go of his cold facade, you found yourself falling in love with the unreachable mad dog.
"Lost in your thoughts, pretty girl?", Kentaro suddenly says, pulling you out of your sweet memories softly.
"I'm just–", you take a deep breath, calmly pushing your arms underneath the heavy fabric of his jacket before you lean further into his touch and slowly close your eyes at the feling of security it comes with, "thank you for loving me like this, Kentarō", you whisper, the emotions suddenly overwhelming you and before you can even think about it, you start crying.
"Angel", Kyoutani sighs, bending down to nudge his nose against yours as he pulls you even closer into his arms; the familie scent of laundry detergent and smoke slowly taking over your senses in the best way possible, "I am so in love with you."
You softly start sobbing, the mental exhaustion taking over you as the feeling of security clouds your mind and even though Kyoutani has been telling you those same exact words repeatedly for the past few months, you still can't seem to comprehend the genuineness in them just yet.
"Forget his words", your boyfriend suddenly says, a shaky breath falling past his lips and fanning your face, "I want you to forget whatever the fuck he said, okay? I know he probably told you to break up with me, called me a piece of shit and said that you have a fucking image to maintain just as he usually does", Kyoutani skillfully manages to guide you to the edge of your bed, never once shifting his attention from your eyes as he wipes your tears away and caresses your cheeks oh so lovingly; the harsh profanities turning into soft whispers in the process.
"I'm going to fuck you now", as your head processes his words, several jolts of arousal rush through your body right into your core, leaving you gasping for air as you dig your fingers into his shirt, "I'm going to put a baby in your belly to show that son of a whore that the sweet, innocent little Y/N he loves to brag about to his friends and colleagues, doesn't exist", Kyoutani whispers against your lips, sucking the soft flesh of your bottom lip into his mouth every now and then as he speaks.
"Kenta...", you whimper, pressing your thighs together because of the heavy pressure in your core, despair and arousal mixing in your blood from his words and their lewdness.
"Tell me what you want, baby", he suddenly pulls away, letting go of your face to push you onto your bed, taking off his jacket while he attentively watches every single one of your movements, "I'm all yours, you know I am going to give it to you just how you like it", he adds and starts unbuckling his belt, the fabric of his ripped jeans hugging his strong thighs in the most delicious way possible and at the sight of his hard cock starining against the fabric your, head starts spining.
"Be good for me and take off those shorts, angel", Kentarō demands softly, his naturally dominant persona making it oh so easy for you to fall into submission; almost instantly letting your fingers wander underneath the waistband of your shorts and panties before you push them down your legs, revealing your drenched and desperately clenching core to his hungry eyes.
"Fuck", he gulps harshly, lifting his head to look into your eyes again and as if he was silently asking you for permission, you simply nod at him and spread your legs a little further apart, not feeling the tiniest bit of shame even as you watch a thick drop of Kyoutani's spit falling right onto your cunt.
Your core starts clenching at the feeling of his saliva mixing with the juices of your arousal when he starts rubbing it into your hot flesh and when he slowly starts applying just thre right amount of pressure on your throbbing clit, you let out a rather loud moan of his name. However, Kyoutani is quick to pull his hand away from your core just to harshly slap his palm against your sensitive core, making you press your thighs together as the beautiful pain rushes through your body.
"Look at you, such a needy little angel", he smirks, his eyes never leaving yours as he plunges two of his pretty fingers into your drenched hole, knocking the breath out of your lungs just like that and while you tightening the grip on the soft sheets beneath your body, you quickly slap your other hand over your mouth, the sudden penetration eliciting a row of high pitched whines from you.
"What would that fucker do if he knew that you're letting me use that sweet cunt of yours as my personal fuck hole, hm? He'd be mad mad, right? And I bet your mother would actually lose her composure for once because the last thing she expects is for her angel faced, goody two shoes of a duaghter to get her pussy fucked like a God damn whore", Kyoutani's words are lewd, they are dirty and so, so humiliating yet every single one of them has you clenching around his digits in despair because the truth behind them is what has your head spinning in the best way possible.
You stare at Kyoutani with hooded eyes, taking in the way he seems to lose himself in the feeling of your tight pussy around his fingers and with a soft whimper you reach for the hem of his shirt and pull him down to you, the sight of his flushed cheeks and lust filled gazes roaming your body suddenly overcoming you with emotions and suddenly the urge to burst into tears overwhelms you.
"Angel", Kentarō suddenly says, his fingers slipping out of your drenched hole as he comes to lay in between your open legs, his hard cock pressing against your core just right, "you know I love it when you cry because of my cock, but don‘t you dare waste a tear because of that bastard", he whispers against your lips, kissing you oh so softly as he slowly ruts his hips against yours, eliciting soft little pants with every single drag over your sensitive clit and you have no idea if it‘s the tension from his previous stimulation, the softness of his voice or the certainty in his voice but something about the way he was kissing you so dearly had your head spinning and a single tear escaping your eyes just like that.
"Kenta", you whimper into his mouth, your hands finding the heavy metal of his belt, your body craving the feeling of being filled to the brim with nothing but his cock and the safety the intimacy being physically and mentally connected like that comes with, "I need you to fuck me, please", your voice is a mere whisper, the tears slowly starting to stream down your temples as you try to unbuckle his belt.
"I‘m here, my angel", Kyoutani groans softly, the arousal becoming too much for a slight second when you push your hand underneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and wrap your fingers around his thick cock, "gonna fuck you so good, I promise."
His hot breath fans your damped cheeks, the heavy smell of smoke making your head spin and leaving you craving for more. And as he slowly pulls away to get rid of his clothes, you roll yourself onto your stomach, maneuvering your body so you can face your mirror across from your bed, knowing just how much Kyoutani loves it when you watch yourself being fucked like a doll.
"You‘re such a good girl for me", he coos, your eyes shamelessly roaming his naked figure in his reflection on the mirror, absolutely losing yourself in the sight of his hard cock and those stone hard abs before you finally get yourself to let your gaze linger on the dark lines adorning his tanned skin.
You attentively watch your boyfriend wrap his fingers around his throbbing dick, gathering the precum leaking from his red tip in his palm before he starts smearing it all over his length, eyes focusing your clenched hole like his life depends on it and if there was one thing, Kyoutani never failed to make you feel then it was the intense feeling of being wanted.
Every time he devours you with his eyes only, you can‘t help but get even wetter than before because after all those years of being neglected and denial of attention and love, this is exactly what your body and mind need.
"Are you ready, my love?", he whispers, one of his hands tightly gripping your hip as he pushes you into the position he wants you in, while the other one softly caresses your back, occasionally moving around to take the flesh of your breast into his palm and without any ounce of hesitation, you lift your head and meet his gaze through the mirror before you nod and wipe away another tear before it gets the chance to roll down your cheek.
Kyoutani lines himself up with your soaked entrance and grabs a fistful of your hair before he slams his thick cock into you with one quick thrust of his hip; burying himself balls deep inside of your tight walls and eliciting loud moans from the both of you. The mixture of pain anf pleasure the stretch comes with had your head spinning, your core clenching around his cock like crazy as you try to adjust to his size because even after all those month, it still feels like the first time every single time he enters you.
"You‘re so fucking tight", Kyoutani grunts, yanking your head back to make you meet his gaze through the mirror and accidentally letting out a loud groan at the sight of your blown out pupils and parted lips, "my baby has the tightest fucking pussy on this earth and I am the only one who gets to fuck it, I am truly a lucky one", he grins and slowly starts pulling himself out of you, dragging himswmf along the walls of your sex ever so slowly to make sure you feel every single vein adorning his pretty cock before he almost brutally thrusts back into you.
Kyoutani is quick to set a steady rhythm, never once shifting his gaze from your fucked ou expression as he fucks you hard and fast, making sure drive you crazy with every single movement. And just as usual, your whole body falls into some kind of pleasure-filled haze as your head starts spinning yet again and if it wasn‘t for your boyfriend slapping his hand over your mouth, several moans would have slipped past your lips already.
"Who owns your cunt, angel face", Kyoutani grunts, pushing his hand into your hair before he pulls your body up to have your back pressed against his chest, his fingers harshly digging into the soft flesh of your tits to keep you in the new position, "tell me who the fuck this pussy belongs to", he whispers, his voice strained and so beautifully raspy, it casually sends shivers of pleasure down your spine and making you let out another high pitched moan of his name.
"It‘s yours, Kenta", you gulp harshly, pushing his hand a little further up your chest and whimpering when he gets your silent request as he slowly wraps his ring clad fingers around your delivate throat, "this cunt is all yours to fuck, all yours", your mind starts fogging with nothing but the thought of your boyfriend and his cock and when he finally processes your words, Kyoutani starts picking up the pace of his thrusts.
"And I gotta make sure it stays mine, right? So what do I have to do for that, baby?", he moans softly, tightening the grip on your throat and leaving a row of open mouthed kisses on your neck.
Of course you know just exactly what he‘s talking about and even though you know it‘s actually so, so risky and comes with so many possible consequences, you can‘t help but clench around him at the thought of being marked in such an intimate way.
"Y-You have to fuck a baby into my belly", you whimper, the taste of your high slowly starting to coat the tip of your tongue and leaving you completely lightheaded, "p-please, Kenta, I need your cum inside of my pussy", you shamelessly beg, your eyes rolling into the back of yur head when Kyoutani starts hitting your sweet spot repeatedly and basically rushing you towards your high. "I want everyone to know that I‘m yours, Kenta", you add, every single one of your muscles beginning to tense up at the feeling of your much-needed climax creeping up your spine oh so deliciously slow, "give me all of your cum."
And those are the words that push your usually so calm and collected boyfriend over the edge, his lids fluttering shut as the first waves of his orgasm start breaking down on him. And yet, his fingers are quick to find your throbbing clit to rub harsh circles into the sensitive bud, making sure your walls start clenching around him at the same time he cums inside of you with three thick spurts.
The feeling of his creamy cum painting your sensitive walls in several shades of white is what finally makes the coil in the pit of your stomach snap. The following jolts of pure pleasure overwhelming your senses and leaving you completely breathless. You‘re a moaning mess, the slight lavk of oxygen just prolonging your high and you know that the possibility of your parents actually hearing you is extremely high, yet you‘ve never found yourself giving less of a fuck right then and there.
"Baby", Kyoutani whispers, leaving a row of soft kisses on the back of your neck while his hands caress the skin of your waist, "I‘m going to pull out now", he tells you calmly, voice husky and a little less deep than before as he comes down from his high.
"Don‘t", you quickly say and dig your fingers into his wrists, "don‘t pull out, please. I – need to be this close to you for a little longer, if that‘s okay with you", you glance at him with glossy eyes and trembling bottom lip.
Kyoutani lays you down and makes sure to stay inside of you at the same time, skillfully ignoring the tiny jolts of pain rushing heough his body from the overstimulation, yet not being able to keep in a slight hiss when you try to turn around to face him but when his eyes meet yours, he remembers why every single bit of pain is absolutely worth it.
A couple of minutes pass by without any of you saying a word, just taking in each others presence and staring at one another with love filled gazes and kiss swollen lips.
"Run away with me", Kyoutani suddenly whispers, pulling away from another sweet kiss to look into your eyes and make sure you see the seriousness behind his words. "I promise I am going to take care of you and protect you with everything I have just – please, let me save you from this shithole and give you a home."
"You are my home, Kentarō", you reply, placing a soft peck on the tip of his nose as your mind starts filling with images of a future with the love of your life and far, far away from your parents and their toxicity, "you‘re my everything. I‘d go to the other end of the world with you if you asked me to."
"I love you so fucking much", Kyoutani‘s vocie is sloghtly strained and at the way it suddenly turned a little raspier than just a minute prior, you look up at him again, only to meet his tear filled eyes.
"I love you, too", you sigh and pull him into another passionate kiss, smiling at the feeling of his tears dampening your cheeks, "lets run away then."
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bush-viper-cutie · 11 months ago
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“The Burrow Life” || YEAR 2 – Ch.2 (HP au)
                              Chapter List
<-- Last Chapter                           Next Chapter -->
Day posted: 5/5/2020
Word count: 4,450
Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)
Rating: E for everyone
Warnings: none
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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.
This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D
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MASTERLIST UPDATE: Part 2 of What Now? has just been added in case anyone missed it :)
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~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~
Heather sat up quickly and ran to the window. “Ron! But-but how!” She gasped suddenly as she realized it was not only Ron at their second story window… but Ron leaning out of a blue CAR at their second story bedroom window in the dead of night.
“Hello!” Fred and George were waving from the front seats.
“Why haven’t you guys been answering my letter to come over? And why do these bars look like they’re melting, and why does it smell like burnt tulips?”
“It’s a long story but we haven’t been getting ANY of your letters or we would’ve left the second we could,” Harry pushed the bars. “We can’t magic ourselves out to go to Hogwarts and – “
Ron cut him off, “Tell us on the way, and don’t worry, we’re taking you with us tonight. We don’t need magic to get you out, not when Fred and George are here.”
Fred and George waved again. Heather raised her eyebrows at their “non-magic” approach doubtfully as they had Ron and Harry attach a rope to the bars and positioned their flying car away from the window. They lurched forward and started revving the car. The rope was holding, keeping a tight line between the bars and the car. Finally, with a sudden tug forward and up, the bars gave way.
Heather and Harry ran to the now bar-less window and looked up to see one of the twins pulling the car back around to the window and parked it mid-air. Luckily the whole process hadn’t made too much noise.
“Our trunks are locked downstairs in the cupboard and the room is locked from the outside,” Heather tried explaining to them the new dilemma. They nodded and grinned at her like they had a funny joke to tell.
“Not a problem.”
“Leave it to us.”
They climbed out of the car window and tumbled through the bedroom window onto the floor. They stood and dusted off their shoulders, walking over to the room and crouched down. One of them took out a little metal pin and started twisting it into the lock.
Heather stood behind them, hand to her mouth, impressed. If she ever needed a partner in crime, they would surely be the first people she’d call. They instructed her and Harry to pack their things and get their bags over to Ron while they got the trunks.
Harry packed his clothes in his pillowcase while Heather shoved hers into her bag. Ron took the bag and pillowcase and carefully slid Harry’s broom and their animals inside the car. Fred and George were back with the trunks, panting and leaning against the wall trying to catch their breaths.
The Weasley twins climbed back into the front seat and pulled the car back out and positioned it so the trunk of the car faced them. Heather and Harry heaved the trunks onto the windowsill and pushed them out of the window one by one, letting them fall into the open trunk. They closed it and waited for the car to move forward.
Instead, it accidentally moved back, hitting the side of the house hard with a loud knock before pulling forward quickly.
“WHAT WAS THAT!”
Heather and Harry froze when they heard Vernon’s furious rumbling voice from a few rooms down. Harry pushed Heather to the window as the car appeared again and the back window was rolled down and positioned for them to get in through.
“Hurry,” Ron hissed grabbing Heather’s hands and pulling her forward as the door to their room flung open and smashed a hole in the wall where the knob was.
She fell onto the car floor and quickly sat up to help Harry. She saw Harry attempt to jump through the windows into the car in one motion but was caught by Vernon half-way in. Their uncle held onto his legs and pulled while Ron and her managed to grab his hands.
“You’re not getting away!” Vernon pulled harder as Harry kicked. “Petunia! HE’S ESCAPING!”
Harry groaned as Fred and George joined in the tug of war. The four of them pulled as hard as they could until Harry toppled inside, sending Vernon falling backwards. Fred and George quickly moved back to the front seat while Harry, Ron, and Heather buckled up.
“Go go go,” Ron yelled.
“Be back next summer!” Harry and Heather yelled back at Vernon and Petunia, who was helping Vernon stand.
They waved goodbye as everyone laughed, speeding away from the house and leaving the three Dursleys leaning out of the window with their mouths hung open. Heather handed George Hedwig’s cage and asked him to unlock it. Hedwig immediately jumped out the window and soared behind them as they flew to the Weasley’s house.
“So… dad told us you guys got an official warning from the Ministry because you used magic in front of Muggles,” Ron said, trying to find out the ‘long story’ Harry had mentioned earlier.
“How did your father find out,” Heather wondered if the whole wizarding world kept constant tabs on famous Harry.
“He works for the Ministry,” Fred called back.
“But we didn’t do any magic! Some house elf did,” Harry started explaining.
Everyone stayed quiet as Harry told the events of the last few days to them. Fred and George asked lots of questions, but they could hardly answer any. Dobby hadn’t said much and what he did say was very confusing. When it got to the part where Heather purposefully screwed up a potion to melt the bars, George stuck his fist out for Heather to bump.
“Well…? What’s everyone think of it,” Harry said impatiently.
Fred adjusted the mirror and looked back at him, “That was the weirdest story that’s ever been told to me.”
“Weirder than Lee’s giant grape story,” George agreed.
“Well house elves are bound to their families, aren’t they? And have to obey them and everything. What family would want to warn you but not give you all the information?” Ron shook his head at them, “I wouldn’t listen to him.”
“Agreed,” said Fred. “It could also be a prank from someone.”
“Haven’t gotten on anyone’s bad side have you,” George turned around and winked at Harry.
“Draco Malfoy,” Ron and Harry screamed as the realization hit them.
“Malfoy? Like Luscious Malfoy’s son,” Fred glanced at George.
“I don’t know… He’s never said his father’s name.”
“’Malfoy’ isn’t a common name,” George explained.
“How do you two know about Lucius Malfoy?”
“Because, Ron, while you and Ginny are fighting – “
“We’re acting like mature adults and listening in on Dad talk about work.”
“And from what we hear, Malfoy is a real pain.”
Harry scoffed, “Like father like son then.”
Fred looked at George again and back at Harry. “Well… not exactly. He’s a pain because he has a bunch of dark magic stuff Dad’s always trying to confiscate.”
“Yeah,” George turned to them, “Back from his You-Know-Who supporting days…”
Everyone was quiet.
Heather shook her head, “But Dobby didn’t know I existed, and Draco does.”
“Well,” George thought for a moment, “At least we know that Lucius Malfoy is certainly rich enough to own a house elf.”
“What a week then,” Ron concluded. “We thought Errol wasn’t making it to your house at first, so then we used – “
“Errol,” Heather grinned, “Is that your family’s owl’s name?”
“Yeah, and then we wanted to use Hermes – Percy’s owl – but he refused to let me use it.”
They continued driving for a few more minutes, looking at a compass on the dashboard occasionally, until they started descending as slow as the sun started raising into the sky. By the time they landed bumpily on a driveway the dark sky had turned into a warm shade of orange-ish pink.
Everyone exited the car at once. As the Weasley twins and Harry took out the trunks and bags, Heather looked up at what was the Weasley home. The first floor looked to be a single-room cottage, slightly bigger than Hagrid’s small Hut. The rest of the floors looked like single rooms stacked on top of each other imperfectly with a roof that looked to have belonged to the first-floor cottage. There were also as many Chimneys sticking out of the roof as there were floors making her wonder if each room had its own fireplace.
Heather noticed Ron standing beside her, observing her. He pointed to the sign that read ‘The Burrow’ stuck by the entrance. “Mum thought it fit nicely… It’s not much but – “
“It’s the greatest house I’ve ever seen Ron,” Heather smiled.
“Which one is your room,” Harry looked at all the floors, trying to see which one seemed the most like Ron.
“That one,” Ron pointed at the very top one.
“Here’s the plan,” Fred started.
Everyone turned to him when he didn’t continue. He was looking at the front door when it opened, and Mrs. Weasley came storming out of the house. She swung her arms wide with every stride, looking between all her sons. Her red brows were furrowed so intensely that her eyes were cast in shadows. As she came to stand in front of them, she pulled out a stern finger and pointed it down the line at each boy, skipping over Harry and Heather.
“Did you think your own mother wouldn’t notice three empty beds? How worried I’ve been! Car gone! No Notes! If you think your father won’t hear about this – Charlie, Bill, nor Percy would have EVER – “
“Percy the perfect Prefect,” Fred muttered under his breath.
“YES OF COURSE NOT PERCY. He knows the dangers of FLYING A CAR. You could have crashed or-or been seen – your father could lose his job should anyone find out!”
After several loud and unfortunate minutes for Fred, George, and Ron, Mrs. Weasley turned to Heather and Harry and smiled. All the anger had gone from her voice speaking sweetly to them as she invited them inside for breakfast.
They followed her inside into a small kitchen. The only things unmagical about the kitchen was the wooden table, the counter, and the fridge; everything else was the most magical thing Heather had ever seen. There were dishes scrubbing themselves, plates and utensils jumping into cupboards and drawers, and an odd clock with no numbers only chores listed on it. Even the cooking books that Heather normally found boring had fascinating titles.
Mrs. Weasley’s anger towards her sons lasted all breakfast, but she never directed any of it towards Heather or Harry, filling their plate with fresh eggs and sausages. Everyone finished quick but before they could leave to go rest after being out all night, Mrs. Weasley assigned chores as pre-punishment punishment.
“You two dears can go to bed. Ron, show Harry your room first and – GINNY! PLEASE COME DOWN. GINNY? – ah Ginny, please show Heather to your room, and get out the extra bed for her.”
Ginny, who had grown several inches since the last time Heather had seen her, kept glancing up at Harry but nodded.
“Oh, I’ll help with the de-gnoming. I’ve never even seen gnomes – “
“Oh, Harry dear, it’s very boring, but if you insist.” Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand towards the living room and a thick book came hovering into her hand. “Lockhart has very good instructions on how to de-gnome – “
“Mum, we can just show him…” Ron groaned. “Give it to Heather, she and Hermione can’t ever stop learning even boring things.”
Heather stuck her tongue out at him but took the book from Mrs. Weasley anyways. “While you guys go de-gnome, I’ll be comfortable in bed READING about it.” She turned and followed Ginny up the long flight of stairs to her room on the third floor.
“I’ll get you an extra pillow.”
Heather walked in and pulled out the extra mattress from under Ginny’s bed.
“Here,” Ginny handed the pillow to her and gave her another one from her own bed.
“Thanks. Are your brothers always this reckless?”
Ginny laughed, “Yeah, well just Fred and George but I think they think it’s easier to get Ron involved than it is Percy now.”
“What’s it like having so many brothers?”
Ginny shrugged and hopped over the extra mattress to get to hers. “It’s mostly fun, except for when they don’t let me join.”
Heather couldn’t relate. Harry and her always did everything together. They were best friends… she couldn’t imagine how awful it would feel if Harry ever told her she couldn’t hang out with him. She sat down on the mattress and placed her pillows down and opened the book on her lap.
“’Gilderoy Lockhart’… Funny name.” The picture on the inside cover was of a man with shiny white teeth and wavy combed-back hair winking and waving. Heather could tell he thought highly of himself by the way his trimmed eyebrows looked on his smug face.
“Oh! Mum loves him, she reads all his new books the day they come out. Dad thinks he’s annoying though.”
Heather laughed, “Does she? Is he a very famous wizard?”
“Yes, I think so by how long his lines are for autographs.”
“As famous as Harry?”
Ginny blushed at the mention of Harry’s name. “No, not as famous.”
Heather pretended not to notice and laid down, holding the book open above her face. Ginny got in bed too and dozed off while Heather read. Every chapter had several long-worded paragraphs dedicated to personal opinions or reminders of other things Lockhart had done. By the third chapter she was quite annoyed, being told for the seventh time just how much people loved Lockhart by Lockhart himself.
As she set the book down, she heard a door slam. Ginny sat up and inched over to the window at the foot of her bed.
“Dad’s home!”
Heather followed Ginny out the room and down the many stairs and into the kitchen. Mr. Weasley was already complaining about his day to Harry, Ron, and the twins when they came down. Ginny said a quick hello to her father and ran back upstairs.
Mr. Weasley looked extremely tired, like he too had been up all night. He had continued complaining about the night raids he’d done when Mrs. Weasley appeared suddenly, greeting her husband with the same expression she’d greeted her sons with this morning.
“You work to confiscate magically enchanted muggle items from wizards AND YOU OWN A FLYING CAR?”
“C-car?” Mr. Weasley looked to his sons, confused, but none of them met his eyes.
“Yes, dear. The very same car Fred drove his brothers in to go pick up Harry and Heather from their MUGGLE house in the middle of a MUGGLE town,” she crossed her arms.
“That’s incredible!” He glanced at his wife and quickly frowned, “-ly irresponsible! You could have gotten hurt or at the very least seen by countless muggles.”
Mrs. Weasley nodded and turned to Fred, and George each. Ron tugged on Heather and Harry’s shirts and jerked his head to the stairs. They followed him up to the fifth floor and entered his room. The ceiling sloped down to the left of the room and the walls were all an intense orange with large moving posters plastered everywhere of what Heather assumed to be his favorite Quidditch team he constantly talks about.
“So, these are the Chudley Cannons, then,” Harry looked around and sat on Ron’s bed.
“None other,” Ron tapped a poster.
Heather scanned the room. There were stacks of textbooks in the corner, forgotten since the beginning of summer. There was also a tank of tiny tadpoles placed on the windowsill next to Scabbers. Ron stood by the door watching Heather and Harry look around at all his things.
“If I had my own room, I’d like it to be just like yours,” Heather leaned down to look at the floating tadpoles.
“A room like mine?” Ron scoffed, “Its puny compared to yours.”
“Well we’d trade it in a heartbeat for yours. We haven’t been in many houses… actually just two I think, and your house is definitely – “
“The best,” Heather and Harry said together.
Ron grinned, picking up a deck of playing cards and handing them to Harry. They shuffled the second they were in his hand and dealt themselves out. The three of them played games the rest of the day until bedtime, when Heather went back to Ginny’s room to sleep.
The next morning Heather woke up first and rushed down to the kitchen the second she heard someone awake. It was Mrs. Weasley preparing breakfast for Percy who was standing at the counter waiting for his food to take back upstairs.
“Hello,” Heather announced herself, not sure exactly how freely she could roam about the house.
“Oh! You’re up early. So, unlike my sons – “
“That’s not true, I wake at six every morning – “
“Yes, yes, except Percy here. Does Harry wake up this early too?”
Heather smiled at the instant warm welcome, “It depends how well he slept. If he’s slept well, he won’t be awake ‘till someone shakes him.”
Mrs. Weasley laughed and offered to make her some breakfast as well. Heather nodded and sat at the table. Mrs. Weasley nudged Percy out of the kitchen and quietly forced him to sit next to Heather at the table to wait for the sausages and muffin.
Percy crossed his arms and sat patiently. “So, are you excited for second year?”
“Yes. I’m excited to get the new lists for school! Very excited actually,” Heather drummed her fingers on the table.
“Like studying, then? You know I heard you were among the top three students in potions for your year.”
Heather sat up suddenly, “Who’d you hear that from?”
Percy chuckled, “Being Prefect has its privileges. Many actually, along with very serious responsibilities – ” he started listing them on his fingers, although they mainly consisted of making sure the halls were kept clean. “And so obviously I would need to go into the staffroom – “
“So was it Professor Snape?! Did he say it himself?”
“Who else? Professor McGonagall was asking about your friend Granger. Apparently, she’s got the highest grades of your year – “
“Yes, but I have a higher score in potions than her.”
Percy shook his head, “Not for long I’m sure. If she’s anything like me she won’t be second best for long.” Mrs. Weasley handed him his plate and he left.
“Third,” Heather mumbled.
Percy was right. Hermione had probably taken it upon herself to look for the second-year textbooks and study them before the materials lists were even written up. Afterall, she had the freedom to go to Diagon Alley whenever because she didn’t live with big angry apes like she did.
“Here you are, dear,” Mrs. Weasley set the plate down for her.
Heather looked around for a fork and realized it was already floating over to her. She took it and began eating, feeling nearly stuffed by the end. She wasn’t used to such a big breakfast but gladly welcomed it whenever.
“Mrs. Weasley, could I wake Ron and Harry up?”
“Oh, please do. Ron would sleep all morning if he could.”
Heather put her dish in the sink and ran up the stairs to Ron’s door. She was about to knock when a sudden clatter surprised her. Ron had mentioned there was a ghoul in the attic who liked to make noise randomly throughout the day. She knocked and opened the door slowly, poking her head in.
Harry was drooling on his pillow with one arm over his head, while Ron lay face up and snoring under his pillow with a leg hanging off the side of his bed. Heather bit her lips trying to suppress her laughter.
She quietly pushed the door open and jumped, landing hard on the ground with deliberate thump while yelling “BOO”. Harry and Ron screamed, sitting up immediately and looking up at Heather who was laughing and pointing at Harry.
“Very funny,” Harry buried his face back into his pillow.
Ron laughed, “You screamed, Harry.”
“Funny, I heard two people screaming,” Harry’s voice was muffled.
“We heard three!”
Heather screamed and turned around, looking at the Weasley twins grinning madly at her. They had messy hair and matching vertical red-striped button-up pajamas. They laughed and pushed through into the room.
“Sorry, but we’re the prank kings around here. Isn’t that right Ron?” One of them shook Ron’s hair annoyingly.
“Get off!”
“What are the plans for today, boys and girl?”
Heather and Harry shrugged at them and looked to Ron.
Ron shrugged as well, “I’ve just been catching up on my comics so far – “
“Boring,” the twins looked to each other.
“We have enough people to play a small game of Quidditch. Just need Percy – “
“If he’ll allow himself to have fun for once since school ended.”
The twins stepped out onto the landing and descended the stairs. The three of them were excited to play and while Ron and Harry had breakfast, Heather showered and got dressed. They met the twins and Ginny – Percy was too ‘busy’ – and split up into teams. It was Ginny and the Weasley twins vs Ron and the Potter twins up until it got darker when they decided to switch it up and trade one Weasley twin for one Potter twin ‘till dinner time. Even while they traded around Harry’s broom, both teams ended up tied consistently.
The food was ready and Mr. Weasley was home which meant they were forced to stop playing and sit down to eat. Mr. Weasley invited Harry to sit by him and asked him question after question about everything and anything muggle. Heather sat between Fred and George and listened to them tell some very funny stories of pranks or jokes they’d managed to pull off.
After a several hours of listening to Fred and George speak, she started to notice several differences between them. Up until now she had barely been able to distinguish one from the other considering they looked almost identical and they were constantly switching up their names on people.
After dinner Fred and George went back to their rooms – Heather wondered what on earth went on in there because she constantly heard explosions and pops and no one seemed to notice or care except Harry who shared her same concerned look – and Harry and her went back up to Ron’s room with him to hang until bed.
They talked about school and Quidditch for several hours while playing simple games until Mrs. Weasley came in and urged them to sleep. They stayed talking for longer until Mrs. Weasley came in again and bribed them with pancakes for the next morning. Ron and Harry quickly kicked Heather out then – forcibly – and everyone went to sleep.
For a week the days were filled with completing small tasks, delicious meals, and non-stop games of Quidditch. During the early morning and late night it was just the three of them – Ron, Harry, and Heather – and in the evenings Fred and George joined. Although Ginny played Quidditch with them, she never stayed for anything else and only ever talked to Fred and George. Heather had the sneaking suspicion it had everything to do with Harry… or more precisely ‘Harry Potter the boy who lived’.
Heather, Ron, and Harry were eating breakfast one morning when an owl pecked at the kitchen window. Mrs. Weasley opened it and took seven letters from it. She looked them over and took out three, handing one to each of them.
“These are your school letters. Open ‘em up and let’s see what we’ve got to guy this year.”
Ron read the list of books that were required of them out loud. Most were similar to the ones they had last year except for the next skill level, and the rest were seven books all by Gilderoy Lockhart for the dark arts class.
Percy came bounding down the stairs and was about to sit on a chair when Heather stopped him. No one had noticed when a second owl had flown through the window and flopped onto the chair seat with a letter in its beak looking exhausted and worn.
Ron opened the letter after seeing it was from Hermione. She was planning on buying her books on Wednesday and hoped to see them there. To Ron and Heather’s horror – for different reasons – she had mentioned she was too busy with schoolwork to stay at his house.
“Well then, no one plan anything for Wednesday because that’s when we’ll go get your school supplies. Tell Fred and George too, Ron.”
After everyone was dressed, they went out and practiced Quidditch before Fred, George, and Ginny came out. Fred and George were looking irritated, shaking their heads and kicking rocks on their way to where Ron was. Ginny stayed behind them, well hidden.
“Did you read the list of books?”
“All new editions.”
“How’re Mum and Dad to afford it?” Fred hopped on his broom and kicked off, picking fresh apples to play with.
They had been using apples since they didn’t own any actual Quidditch balls – or at least none that were enchanted in the last century. Ron shook his head and shrugged, looking down at the ground.
“Five sets of all seven of his books – “
“Not to mention Ginny’s new wand and robes,” George interrupted Fred.
“Let’s play,” Ron kicked off and waited for everyone else to join.
Heather and Harry joined him quickly, understanding why his mood had changed. If Heather could, she’d share her and Harry’s money with them, but she knew they wouldn’t take it and might get offended by the offer. It wasn’t fair how the world worked sometimes. She thought about how Malfoy’s family could easily afford a house elf and how the Weasleys deserved that money way more. They wouldn’t constantly brag about it all the time or take it for granted.
For the first time that week Ginny, George, and Fred’s team lost to Harry, Ron, and Heather’s. What surprised everyone, was that even while Fred had the Numbus Two-Thousand, Heather had scored several clutch points. It was then that George decided to show her several cool tricks on the broom that he and Fred learned while being Gryffindor’s beaters.
For several more days they tied consistently again. Heather tried her best to do what she had done to win with no luck. They were going to Diagon Alley tomorrow and Heather thought she might want to check out some books in the Quidditch section… just for fun though.
~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~
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pengychan · a year ago
Text
[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 17
Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.
Art by Dara.
[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]
A/N: Some people are unable to see anyone's else's point until they're repeatedly beaten over the head with it, and Ernesto is one of them. 
***
“There. Help me out - we need to cut the plank down the line. Let it slide towards the saw and--”
“Not to be repetitive, but that would come really close to my fingers.”
“Your fingers will be fine if you cut the plank down the line.”
“Entirely too close to my fingers. I need them to play.”
“Most people find having fingers useful.”
“And I think I got splinters in my palm.”
“Por Dios, is this what living in the city does to men?” Estéban grumbles, causing Ernesto to roll his eyes. 
“It’s just that I’d appreciate gloves,” he mutters, but he does help his father guide the plank towards the rotating saw without further comments. It cuts through the wood almost as easily as a hot knife through butter, throwing sawdust up in the air. There is nothing about this that Ernesto finds in the slightest pleasant, but apparently woodwork is how his old man was able to get himself out of alcoholism. 
Interesting, given how the more he works, the more he wants a drink himself.
“What are we making again?”
“Pews.”
“... For the church?”
“Where else would you put a pew?”
Up your ass if you keep this up, Ernesto thinks, but decides against uttering that. 
Compared to how Estéban de la Cruz used to be - how his temper flared over nothing, how one wrong word could set him off - this is basically sugar and honey. “What is it, some kind of charity job you picked up?”
“Something like that. Someone will need to do the upholstery, unless they really want to fuck up their knees by kneeling right on the wood, but I do most of the work,” his father mutters, scratching his cheek - Ernesto is still growing used to seeing gray in it - and turning to glance back towards the end of the room. There are a couple of pews there that Ernesto hadn’t noticed. All done, even with carvings at the side - since when does his old man have the taste for that kind of thing? Has the world turned on its head? 
“I didn’t know you’d also started going to church,” Ernesto mutters, gaining himself a shrug. 
“I don’t. Just get them their damn pews. I’ll probably do the altar next, the old one is coming apart. Keeps me busy,” Estéban says, reaching for the leveller. “The shitty thing about trying to quit drinking is that you can’t look at a bottle of water without seeing alcohol. And then everyone is bringing it up - asking how you’re doing - you think about it all the time.”
Tell me about it, Ernesto thinks, his mood souring. He’s been doing his best not to think of Héctor at all, or of whatever mess he’s going to find once he returns-- "Don't show your face here ever again!" -- to Mexico City, but it turned out to be more difficult than expected. One short walk out with his mother, to get some milk to replace the one in the broken bottle and also some clothes for himself, and he was recognized and stopped several times by people he hasn’t seen in years - old friends and simple acquaintances, plus others he didn’t even remember.
And while being recognized and stopped in the streets was something he dreamed of for a long time, the fact everyone kept asking about Héctor and Imelda as well sort of soured it. That, and the fact he still has no idea what the falling out with Héctor may do to the career they-- he --had worked so hard to build. 
“Ernesto!”
“It’s really you, it’s been so long!”
“We heard there’s an album coming out!”
“Great job!”
“I already pre-ordered it!”
“We knew you’d make it!”
“Hey, can you give me an autograph? I already have Héctor’s. So I can sell them on once you two get properly famous!”
“By the way, how’s Héctor?”
“Heard he and Imelda have a baby on the way!”
“Gerardo and Milagros left to stay with them a few days - and took the twin terrors with them, thank God, imagine what they might have done unsupervised!”
“I hope they never get them to babysit, that would be an awful idea--”
“... Ernesto?” Estéban calls out, causing Ernesto to recoil, snapped out of his thoughts. He glances over at his father to see he looks-- concerned? Is that concern? It’s not something he recalls seeing on his face before, so it’s hard to tell. “Is something the matter?”
Well, this could be the beginning of a honest, heart-to-heart talk between father and son, if not for the fact Ernesto would rather stick his cock in the maw of a hungry coyote. 
“No. Nothing’s wrong,” he mutters, keeping his tone light. “All right, so, I think I got the hang of--”
“And yet here you are. Without a suitcase, a change of clothes, any clue how long you’re going to stay. We’re glad you’re here, but it doesn’t take much to work out something is not right.”
Ah, Ernesto thinks. Well, look at that - when sober, he’s actually a lot more observant than his wife. Who’d have thought. 
Maybe I should offer him a drink or two or twenty.
“It’s-- nothing…”
“Stay away from me, Imelda, and our baby. Stay away from my family.”
“... Nothing I can’t handle,” he finishes. He sounds unconvincing to his own ears, but his father doesn’t press on; he just looks back at the pew he’s working on, clearing his throat. Luckily, it seems that Ernesto is not the only one who doesn’t do heartfelt talks and would, in fact, rather stick his cock in the maw of a hungry coyote. That at least has not changed. Thank God.
“All right. Just keep in mind, whatever-- well. You can stay as long as you want.”
“Ah,” Ernesto says, and clearly his throat as well. “I mean-- thanks.”
A nod. “Well. Since you got the hang of it, maybe you can help me with the carvings before your mother calls us in for dinner.”
“Sure,” Ernesto mutters. As it turns out, he’s not too bad at it. Not too bad at all.
***
The first thing Héctor thinks once the crib is all assembled and ready - despite Dante’s efforts to eat some parts and the twins suggesting they should install a motor beneath it to make it rock on its own, thankfully vetoed by their father before Héctor could capitulate - is that he’ll have to struggle to keep Ernesto’s dogs from trying to climb on it. The second thing that hits him is that there probably will be no need, because those dogs are never coming into their home again. 
And they’re never coming into their home again because their owner isn’t, either. 
Ah, it stings. This is not how things were meant to go; Ernesto should have been his baby’s godfather, her honorary uncle. It seemed natural that he would - he was his best friend, after all.
He was always my best friend. Trying to change that into something different was a mistake. Now we’re left with nothing. If only we never let things get this far…
But maybe it would have made no difference, would it? Maybe Ernesto would have ended up resenting Imelda and even the baby, demanding more attention for himself. Maybe he’s never wanted a friend as much as he needed a songwriter, a public, someone who’d put him and his needs first and cheer him on at the right times.
And that was what Héctor did, every time, without fail. Until he couldn’t, not anymore, and Ernesto showed just how little he really thinks of him. How little he values him.
I don’t want you, he said.
Why would someone like her settle for you, he said.
“... Héctor?” Felipe’s voice reaches him from a mile away, immediately followed by Óscar’s.
“You good?”
“Why are you glaring at the crib?”
“Don’t like it?”
“We can improve it.”
“Make it the best crib.”
“That motor to have it rock itself would be a really good addition, look, we have the blueprints...”
“... And a document to sign that says we’re not liable to be sued for damages...”
“Boys, I think your mother is calling you,” their father intervenes, his voice even. “Go see what she needs.”
“Did she?”
“I didn’t hear--”
“But you heard me, didn’t you?” Gerardo asks, his voice still perfectly calm. Unlike his daughter and his wife, he rarely if ever raises his voice; back when Héctor and Imelda got together, Héctor found him the least intimidating member of the family to deal with - aside maybe from Imelda’s abuela, who was mostly interested in seeing how much food her potential grandson-in-law could fit in his stomach. He knows that Gerardo wasn’t overly enthusiastic about Imelda’s choice of husband, but neither did he choose to be hostile, and was generally much more laid back than his wife. 
Héctor is rather grateful for that. Judging from how quickly his sons obey him when he so much raises an eyebrow, Héctor suspects there is more to him than he knows, and that he probably wouldn’t want to be on his bad side. 
“Or would you rather your mother finds out about the bathtub incident--”
“No, no!”
“Not at all!”
“No señor!”
“We heard you.”
“Loud and clear!”
“And we heard her.”
“Calling our names.”
“We’re going to see what she needs, sí?”
“Ah, that’s what I thought you had said,” Gerardo mutters as they leave the room. Héctor can’t hold back a chuckle.
“Gracias. I think they could have talked me into it.”
“De nada. I don’t fancy getting a phone call telling me my granddaughter got thrown head first into the wall when their self-rocking crib malfunctions.”
“... Didn’t you mean, if it malfunct--”
“I know my sons and I know what I’m about."
“Heh. Fair,” Héctor chuckles again, and gives the crib a push, watching it rock. To think that in a short time there will be a baby sleeping in it, his baby, is… staggering. And a little overwhelming. He clears his throat, willing himself not to cry tears of joy in front of his father-in-law. “What was the bathtub incident, anyway?” he asks to change the subject.
That gets Imelda’s father to turn to him and-- grin. A childish sort of grin, at odds with his graying hair and usually solemn expression. “Ah, my secret weapon. I have no idea.”
Héctor blinks. “What?”
“There was a bathtub incident, I am sure, but it was so long ago I forgot. I think they forgot, too. But you mention the possibility of telling their mother, and they turn into obedient little soldiers. Works every time.”
All right, Héctor thinks, so maybe he doesn’t so much have a secret scary side as much as a secret sense of humor. Good to know. “Heh. I’ll keep it in mind, if I’m in trouble.”
When I’ll be in trouble, not if. I don’t even know if I still have a career without Ernesto, how am I going to do my part to support my family? I’ll fuck this up, I’ll never be a good father, oh God I’m going to let this kid down so badly I’m going to do something wrong and it will be awful and if only my parents were here at least they could tell me--
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Gerardo says, suddenly sounding entirely serious again, not a joking note to his voice. Héctor recoils and has exactly two seconds to worry whether this man can read his mind before he speaks again. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Héctor. Or on your face. Either way, if you were trying to pretend you’re not worried, it really didn’t work.”
Ah. Héctor drops his shoulders, reaching to rub the back of his neck and looking just about everywhere across the room except at his father-in-law. “Well, you know-- first child and all--”
“I know. Staggering, isn’t it? Just like when Imelda was born. But it was all right. I probably did plenty wrong, everyone does, but she turned out all right, no?” 
Héctor smiles. “She turned out wonderful.”
“Well then, if I did it, anyone can,” Gerardo says with a shrug. “I got a pep speech from my parents back then. Figured you could use one, since…” He hesitates a moment, as though embarrassed, then, “I’m sure Ricardo and Emilia would have said the same, more or less,” he adds, and suddenly Héctor’s throat feels really tight.
I wish they were here. I wish they could meet their granddaughter. 
 “I… gracias,” Héctor mutters, and turns quickly to the crib, pretending to be checking it over - in case a screw is loose or something was assembled wrong or whatever. It’s very obvious, and Gerardo surely picks it up, but he doesn’t mention it. 
“You’re welcome,” is all he says, and leaves the room to give Héctor some privacy in case he needs to have a sniffle. 
He does.
***
“Ah, for fuck’s sake.”
“Ernesto, I’d really appreciate you not using that language.”
After years away from home, in Mexico City, Ernesto’s instinctive response to anyone asking him to mind his language is generally something along the lines of ‘chingate’. Luckily, this time his brain manages to catch up with his tongue just on time for him to realize who he’d be telling to go fuck herself and hold back. Adela de la Cruz was never one to resort to physical violence, but is currently holding a wooden spoon in her hand and she does have her limits. Ernesto is not too keen to find out if that spoon on the knuckles really hurts as much as he remembers. 
“Right, right,” he mutters, sitting at the kitchen table and frowning down at his phone. Dead, of course: the charger is probably still at Sofía’s place, and none of the chargers his parents have - four or five, three of which long-forgotten and tangled together - actually fit his phone. Not surprising, considering that their phones seem to be about as old as he is, but annoying nonetheless. 
“Put that phone down and wash your hands,” his mother tells him, drying her hands on a table cloth. It is… almost creepy, how quickly she’s slipped back into the habit after so long without him around. Ernesto almost remarks on that, but decides against it; she looks so happy, and he finds it isn’t half bad, being around someone who wants him there. 
"Stay away from my family."
The words echoing in the back of his mind sting, and Ernesto quickly chases the memory away, putting down the phone. “I’ll need to buy a charger,” he mutters, glancing outside. It is dark, and any shop where he could possibly find one must have long since closed. It doesn’t bother him excessively, however: part of him dreads what he might find once he turns his phone on again. 
Maybe more insults. Maybe Armando, telling me that Héctor beat me to it, that he said it was him or me and they chose him and I no longer have a contract, or a songwriter, or a best friend. 
Maybe he’s being too pessimistic - maybe what he will find is a message from Héctor apologizing, saying that he went too far, suggesting a drink to talk things over. Or maybe - much more realistically - there will be no message at all, from Héctor or Armando, only dragging on the uncertainty of what is to become of his life from now on. 
Wouldn’t it be best to get it over with?
“Mijo? Is something the matter?”
Ernesto blinks, and looks up from the dark screen of his phone. His mother looks concerned, and he tries not to wonder what expression she saw on his face. He makes an effort to smile.
“No. All is well,” Ernesto says, and puts the phone down. “So, what’s for dinn-- mamá?”
His mother doesn’t answer immediately. She steps closer to pull him in an embrace, stroking his hair back - something she probably wouldn’t be able to do if he were standing. “I’ve missed you so much, mijo,” she chokes out, leaning her cheek on his head. “I’m so happy to have you here. I hurt you so much.”
Ah, right. She does do heartfelt talks. Might be because she doesn’t have a cock she would otherwise rather put in the maw of a hungry coyote. “Yes, well-- uh-- it’s all right.”
“If there is anything I can do to help - if you need any help…” she sniffles. “It’s the least I could do. To try and fix what I’ve done.”
“I didn’t know when to shut up and I fucked up and I can’t fix it.”
“I don’t have to give her a moment’s thought. Let alone another chance. If she’d kept her mouth shut--”
“I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up.”
“Stay away from my family.”
He swallows, and leans into the touch. She has the same scent as always, the one he smelled in her embraces since he was a little boy, soap and spices and something he could never quite pinpoint but that just smells like home. Unlike his father, who lost the stink of stale alcohol and sweat, she has not changed. “It was years ago, mamá.”
“It’s not just that I-- told your papá--” her voice breaks up a little, her fingers brushing back his hair. “I am so proud of how far he has come, but I should have stood up to him years before that, when he began to drink so much. But he was in so much pain after the accident and the operation, I thought it would get better-- you were so little, so confused because your papá no longer carried around on his shoulders…”
Ernesto had no idea his father used to carry him like that; he cannot remember it. There is something in the back of his mind, so far away in time - the feeling of being on top of the world. Was that it? He is not sure. He was so small.
“... And I kept thinking, it wasn’t too bad. Your papá, my husband - we needed him, I needed him, God knows I love him. What if I made things worse? And I put off trying to confront him, but I should have because it was hurting you and it was not fair. I should have been braver. If only I got your papá to clean up his act sooner, even if I was afraid of losing him…”
"We need to make some changes, even if we don’t like it,” Imelda’s voice echoes in Ernesto’s ears. He swallows.
“But you never want to lose someone you care about,” he rasps. “It hurts.”
“It would have, so badly.” Another sniffles. “But protecting you was the most important thing, and I didn’t. I waited and you were hurt. I should have been ready to do whatever it took for your sake.”
“For the baby.”
Something in Ernesto’s chest hurts. He has to swallow again before he breathes out, chest shuddering a little. “He wasn’t easy to confront,” he manages, and it is true. Addiction makes you selfish, a need so great all you can think of is satisfying it, whatever the means, regardless of the consequences on… anybody else. He saw it clearly in his father; he never thought he would see it in himself. What he yearns for is not alcohol, but it is yearning all the same.
“She was right to bring the arrangement to an end. It could have never worked because you’d put your own wants before a baby’s needs, you always did. What you want you get, and if you don’t get it then you push me around until you do!”
Maybe she is right. Maybe they are both right. But ah it hurt, it really did, watching them get ready to start their own family, and each time Héctor showed up with a stupid grin and talked about the baby it was a twist of the knife, even if he didn’t realize it.
“We would like you to be her godfather,” he said. He must have thought it a role of great esteem. He must have really thought it would make him happy.
Ernesto’s eyes sting, and he pulls back before he can start crying in front of his mother, because he’s a grown man, he’s got his dignity to defend, and all in all he’d rather stick his cock in the maw of a coyote that’s probably starving at this point. “It’s all right, mamá. I’m here, and I'm... all right,” he says. 
She smiles, patting his cheek. “You are,” she says, then wipes her eyes. “... Go wash your hands. Dinner is almost ready.”
Ernesto nods and stands, slipping the phone in his pocket. He’ll get a charger soon, he decides. Tomorrow. Well, maybe in a couple of days. He’s not quite stalling, he knows this mess will need to be resolved in some way, but not now.
He can deal with the yelling and insults later.
***
“Turn on the phone, idiota!”
“... leave a message after the guitar strum, and I’ll get back to you…”
“Uuuugh!” Imelda groans, leaning against the wall as the strumming starts. The hand that is not holding the phone goes up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her back aches, her head aches, her feet are swollen, she has to empty her bladder for the third time in less than a hour, and this is the last thing she needs. “I swear that if you play a whole song, I’ll--”
It is a whole song. By the end of it, Imelda’s groan has turned into a snarl. “I hate you,” she snaps as soon as the notes fade to let her leave a message, and she ends the call.
Precisely three seconds later, she’s already in the process of regretting it.
“Por Dios, no way I can delete that, is there?” she sighs, sitting down by the window and glancing over at Pepita, who is… spending a lot more time inside than usual these days, maybe because she can tell she’s pregnant or simply due to the lack of yapping chihuahuas. She glances over at Imelda, green eyes half lidded, and bumps her head against her hand, purring.
She smiles a little, scratching her behind the ears, and glances out of the window, the hand holding the phone resting on the bump of her stomach. Héctor took Dante out for a walk in the courtyard, and apparently the dog managed to tear the leash out of his hand. Not that he’s gone far, though: he’s currently running in circles around a tree, chasing… the other end of his lead, while Héctor is pretty obviously cracking up. 
Imelda smiles, and opens the window a little to listen to his laugh. He’s smiled plenty lately - he’s so excited to be a father, despite his worries, and does nothing to hide it - but she hasn’t heard him laugh so whole-heartedly in a while. Ever since… well, ever since they had to end their arrangement with Ernesto. He laughs less, now, and so does she; there is no point in trying to deny that, or the dull ache somewhere in her chest. 
Another sigh, and she looks down at the phone again. She knows it had to be done; she regrets it hurt all of them this much, leading to Ernesto feeling like he was discarded. They should have handled it better - perhaps they never should have never had the arrangement in the first place. She’s always known it couldn’t last forever, they all did, but none of them expected it to become a lot more than a challenge, a lot more than the not-so-occasional sex. 
They can never have that again: it wouldn’t be safe, it wouldn’t be wise. Yet she can’t bear to leave things as they are, either. Whatever Ernesto said to Héctor - he refuses to speak of it - hurt her husband deeply. A nice mess, that: all three of them hurting, and Ernesto dropping off the face of Earth, speaking to neither of them. 
I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t think he’d be this hurt. Or I wanted to believe he wouldn’t be.
Another sigh, and Imelda calls Ernesto’s number again. She soldiers through the message and pointless song, and draws in a deep breath as the notes fade, preparing to speak and trying to keep her voice even.
“Ernesto. All right, first thing first, disregard the previous message. Or don’t listen at all if you haven’t yet. I--” have been trying to get a hold of you all day, what happened, where are you, you better not have done something stupid or God help me and you both “... Believe I owe you an apology.” We owe you an apology, probably, but I won’t drag Héctor in this just yet. “I should have handled this better. Not the message, I mean, everything. I--” thought it would be like ripping off a band-air, quicker and less painful if you just do it quickly, but por Dios maybe I was wrong “... Am sorry we hurt you. Please, get in touch. At least to let us know if you’re all right. We’re worried. I know I am,” Imelda adds, her voice quiet, and ends the call. 
She leans back in her armchair and Pepita jumps on her lap, purring, nuzzling against the baby bump. Imelda strokes her head, gazing down as Héctor manages to get a hold of Dante’s leash. He glances up, sees her at the window, and smiles, lifting it in a goofy show of triumph. Then Dante gives a sudden pull, running back inside, and Héctor almost flies after him with a yelp.
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Ay, how she loves him.
Imelda smiles, a hand still petting Pepita’s head, the other clutching the phone as she waits for a response. 
None comes that day, or the next.
***
The second Ernesto turns on his phone, it seems to burst with notifications - texts, emails, missed calls, voice messages. At a glance nothing seems to come from Armando, which is a relief: at least it means his contract was not ripped to shreds. Nothing from Héctor, either, which is… both a relief and a stab of pain he tries to ignore as he moves on to the voicemail. 
“... Think you’re going to be back and take your tiny terrors back anytime soon? They ate the contents of my bin, threw it up and ate it again more times than I can count. Nothing keeps them from getting into it. They’re fine, but if  have to clean up after them one more time--”
Ernesto hits the button for the next message - someone he probably slept with long ago and whose face he doesn’t remember telling him she heard about his upcoming album and complimenting him. He listens to the praise, makes a face when she suggests meeting. 
Next message. 
“Would you like to have twice the data at half the price? Visit our website--”
Next.
“I hate you.”
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Imelda’s snarl catches him entirely by surprise, and he freezes, something in his chest seizing up. A bleep follows, silence - that’s it, that’s the message. She just-- called him to let him know she hates him.
Ernesto blinks, wondering if he really heard that; incredulity makes way for a stab of pain, another. Anger would surely follow, but the next message starts playing, causing breath to catch in his throat. Imelda’s voice, again, but softer, and… apologetic.
“Ernesto. All right, first thing first, disregard the previous message. Or don’t listen at all if you haven’t yet. I-- believe I owe you an apology.”
Ernesto opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He stays still and silent, mouth hanging open, as he listen the rest of the message. And then he listens again, to make sure he heard right. 
“I am sorry we hurt you. Please, get in touch.”
Listen again.
“We’re worried.”
“You’re not,” Ernesto says, but his voice is weak because ah, he wants to believe they are, at least a little. His phone stays silent, no other messages to play; this was the last one. Ernesto finds himself staring at the phone, dumbfounded, until the screen goes back and he’s staring at his own reflection, wide-eyed and, for once, absolutely speechless.
***
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