#Im sure this has been done already but it bears repeating I love them your honor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wri0thesley · 3 years

Note

omg wait no hold on I just requested overhaul but then I remembered your overhaul thirst post about him pulling a "curing hysteria~" as an excuse and thought I'd request something along that vibe (no oun intended). I think that'd fall under orgasm control, overstim? (hope this is okay!)

hysteria antidote - overhaul x fem!reader (4k)

seeing nothing but the same four walls every day of your life is playing havoc with your brain. overhaul thinks perhaps you're suffering from hysteria. he has the perfect cure for that.

cw: not sfw/minors dni. dark content!!! dubious/non-consent. captive reader. talk of death, blood, etc. medical kink, gloves, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm control. misogyny. mentions of pregnancy/breeding. afab reader, fem pronouns.

[a/n: idk the internet said the 28th of may was his birthday so consider this both a birthday fic and a fic to celebrate 6k followers, sorry that i am gross and horrible but tbh im having a great time <3]

You really don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to be going out of your mind.

Since the Boss was taken ill, and Kai – Overhaul, you remind yourself, though he’s always just a little less sharp with you when you trip over the new name than he is with anyone else – took over leadership of the Shie Hassaikai, you’ve been pretty much stuck indoors.

Considering that you’re pretty sure he only has fond feelings towards maybe three people in the entire world, including you, you guess you ought to feel special about it – but all it actually does is make you feel like a trapped bird, caged and restless. It doesn’t help that all of the other members of the organisation have started being weird around you; people who you’ve known most of your adult life, people who you’ve worked beside and killed beside and done other horrible things beside (for the good of the organisation, of course)--

But now, they look at you like you might break at any moment. They treat you like an invalid. Their brows crease when they see you out and about, quietly murmuring; “Shouldn’t you still be in your room?”, avoiding touching you at all costs. There’s a kind of fear in their eyes, that they’re going to be told off for even speaking to you, that they’re afraid of being caught close to you.

And you know exactly who’s to blame for that.

You’d tried to speak to him about it, once; you’d thought that perhaps he might be amenable to your desire to do something to help the Shie Hassaikai. He’s always wanted to restore them to their former glory, after all! But after you’d let out your little impassioned tirade, his eyebrows had creased over the bird-mask.

“You don’t sound well,” he’d said to you. “Go back to your room. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

You had missed, at the time, that he hadn’t said ‘we’ll talk about it later’. He’d just said ‘I’ll’. When he had come, that is how it had been; the reassurance that he was keeping you safe. That he didn’t want you to be tainted. That he was keeping you well.

Your quirklessness has never been an issue before, but it certainly hasn’t been a boon. Still, for Kai--

“It’s disgusting,” he’d said, agitated by the discussion. You’d stared at his hands, thinking about the destructive power he himself wielded. “Quirks are a curse, and you not having one is just proof you’re not infected.” He’d looked up, golden eyes piercing directly into yours. “I’m going to keep you perfect.”

Overhaul is not a doctor, for all of his talk about illness and disease and plague. You think he could have used his quirk for something meaningful, once; but you also know that his burning curiousity, his disgust of anyone who deems tainted, his utter lack of morality . . . those are all things that would not have been welcomed in the medical profession. So instead, he deals in needles and pills and altering drugs in the underground labyrinth of the compound.

Sterile rooms, with examination tables and scalpels and impersonal, silver-grey equipment. Pill boxes that rattle when he passes them to you and tells you to take three of those a day, one of those, that one has to be taken to with food--

The idea that you won’t take them doesn’t enter his head, and though he has never . . . overhauled someone in front of you, you have walked past other members of the organisation mopping and disinfecting blood and gristle from sterile flooring.

It is better to go along with him, so you take the supplements and the pills and submit to the way he grabs your chin in gloved hands on the doctor’s chair, tipping your face up to shine a light into your eyes and watch your pupils dilate. But inside, you are screaming.

You’re not made to be locked in one room, occasionally allowed out to pace the hallways of the upstairs – never the underground ones, not any more – with restless footsteps and your muscles fizzing with desire to taste fresh air. You’re not made to stare at the same walls and breathe the purified air and think about how empty the compound is, now that Overhaul is in charge of everything--

(Too many knick-knacks attract dust. Pollen allergies act up, if there are too many plants, and he hates hearing people sneeze. Furniture should be easily movable and barren, to assist in the twice-daily cleanings of every room that people walk through.)

But it’s getting too much for you. Suffocating. You feel like you’re choking on air all of the time; you take the pills, because the thought of what he could do to you is terrifying, but sometimes you wonder if perhaps it would be better if you didn’t.

You’d woken up that morning to the sound of rain hitting the high windows in your bedroom, and you had longed to go outside in your thin nightwear and spread your arms and taste the air, smell the rain, feel it hit your body in fat droplets. Your entire being had ached. You’d tried to distract yourself, with what little there was in the barren prison cell that you called a bedroom – but when the door opened at four thirty exactly, and Kai had stood there with his face as impassive as ever, you had not been able to stop yourself.

Hand fastening around his upper arm (you shouldn’t touch him, you know you shouldn’t, but the same four walls are getting to you), you’d begged him;

“I want to go outside.”

If anyone else had touched him like that, they would already be splattered against the walls and floor. But all you get is a furrow of his eyebrows, careful fingers (gloved, of course; the latex against your skin always makes you shudder) pinching at your hand to get you to let go of him.

“No,” he says. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t care,” you’re petulant, you know, frustration bubbling up in every cell of your body. “If I stay in here for one more day, I will tear myself into pieces.”

“You’re being over-dramatic.”

“Kai—”

“Don’t call me that.” His rebuttal is sharp. “You know I’m doing this for your own good.”

Your face twists into something ugly. Overhaul hates it when you do that; hates the way your brow wrinkles, your mouth moves, your normally lovely face (one of very few he can bear to look at unmasked and not feel as though he is going to get sick from merely breathing the same air of you) marred.

“You’re not,” you hiss at him. “You’re doing this because you’re fucked up! Because you’ve got some weird fucking ideas about what’s clean and what’s unclean, because you’re on a power trip, because you don’t care about other people--” Your voice is pitching and modulating, all of the things that you usually try and keep balled up inside of you spilling out that the floodgates of how unhappy you are is open.

You’re breathing heavy as Overhaul, clearly irked by what you’re saying, tugs at the wrist of one of his surgical gloves. If he’s going to kill you, good – at least it will be better than this, you think, your breath coming in short sharp pants after the outburst.

He lets go. His hands fall to his sides. His golden gaze on you is very level.

“You’re hysterical,” he tells you. An exasperated laugh falls from your mouth.

“Yeah?” You ask him. “Of course I am. Do you know the last time I breathed fresh air?”

“Seven months, two weeks, three days.” He says it without blinking. Your shoulders tense. Has it really been that long? “You haven’t been ill once in that time. The world out there is filthy.”

“It’s normal to get sick,” you try and tell him, but Overhaul is moving forward; past the doorway, and into your room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound of a lock ominous. You don’t think you’ve ever been alone with Kai in your bedroom.

In the medical examination rooms, sure. In his office. In common areas, back when he was just the boss’ troubled protege and not the boss himself--

His eyebrows twitch in disgust as he notices the dust on your bookshelves. You’d stopped letting any of the cleaners in here a month ago; you’d refused to clean in the mean time, taking whatever small victory against your captor that you could.

“You’ll give yourself respiratory issues,” he says.

“Good,” your voice is cold, but you realise you’ve backed away from him. For all of your attempts to stand up to him, you’re terrified. Everyone knows what he can do. “Better dead than here--”

Gloved fingers around your wrist, so tight you can practically feel them bruising.

“You don’t mean that,” he says. His voice has gotten softer, cajoling. You’re trembling in his grip. “I told you. You’re hysterical.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you say, but your words feel like you’re spitting them out around a mouthful of gravel. “I—I’m calm--”

Your knees knock against your bed, but Overhaul is still clinging to you; still too close. Your heart is beating so fast that you can hear it pounding in your ears.

“You’re not. You’re hysterical.” He repeats it, calmly. The hand not on your wrist reaches up and cups your face, a gloved thumb stroking across your cheek as if you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. The scent of the latex is overwhelming. “But that’s alright. It’s not your fault.” He clicks his tongue behind the mask. “It’s mine. All of this checking for the physical sickness, and I didn’t think about checking your head.”

You fall onto the bed as his knees knock against yours, your back hitting the wall. It’s just a plain, single bed; rumpled sheets, because you’d fought against any attempt for someone to come in and collect your laundry, too. Overhaul looks silly in your room, you think dimly; like a huge black crow in the nest of a small, frightened wren.

“If you fight,” he tells you, “I’ll disassemble you. I’d rather not. I don’t want to taint you by using my quirk. But . . .” He’s sinking to his knees in front of you, those same methodical hands pushing up the skirt of your dress. “If I did, I’d get a blank mind to work with. I won’t hesitate. But I’d still rather simply fix you without having to break you into pieces first.”

You know him too well to think that he’s bluffing.

After all of the vitriol you’ve spat at him, he’s unwilling to kill you. Would it be worse, to be mindless and brainless under Kai’s quirk? You’ve heard some of his failed experiments before; babbling, drooling, broken things. He’s killed them sometimes just to put them out of their misery.

What if he did that, and your mind remained perfectly capable – just utterly unable to communicate with your body? A prisoner in your own skin. Worse than even now. You swallow back the lump of fear.

“H-how are you going to do that?” You ask him.

You start at how cold the gloved fingers are on your bare thighs, as Overhaul pushes them apart. Cold fear prickles down your spine. You’re too scared to fight back, but everything he’s doing is making you want to run.

“Did you know,” Overhaul says, those same hands sliding higher, to tug at the waistband of your underwear. “In the past, there were rumours that doctors would cure hysteria by genital massage and stimulation?”

His words are very clinical, but there’s a thickness to his voice behind the mask that fills you with revulsion.

“It might be nonsense, of course,” he says. Your underwear is being tugged down, pulled around your thighs, your knees, your ankle. “They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth--”

“Kai—” Your voice is a soft whine, fear-filled. This time, he doesn’t snap at you for calling him by the name he’s left behind. He simply says;

“Spread your legs.”

You don’t want to. But you want to risk what he’s threatening you with even less, so you tearfully open them as wide as you can go. He shifts forward, and the tip of the beaked mask digs into your inner thigh as he studies you like you’re nothing more than a diagram, not a living, breathing person--

“Next time I’ll have lubricant ready,” he says, under his breath, and your heart seizes up at the implication that whatever he’s going to do to you, there’ll be a next time.

You start at the sensation of gloved fingers gently parting the lips of your sex, Overhaul’s golden eyes drinking in the sight of you spread open and bare. You’re shaking, but for some reason the way he’s looking at you – the utter concentration in his eyes – makes a curl of heat flare deep inside of you.

“Don’t,” you breathe, trying not to squirm. “Please--”

“I don’t want to have to,” he says. His tone remains calm, unbothered. “I’m doing it for your own good, you know that. Just helping you along.” One finger slides through the slit; the sensation of the gloves against your most intimate, heated parts makes the muscles in your thighs clench. It’s . . . not exactly unpleasant, but neither it is pleasant. “Do you think I’m getting any pleasure out of this?”

He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. You know this; everyone knows this. If this particular thought was so unpleasant to him, you don’t doubt he’d have found somebody else to do it (the thought of one of the other members of the Shie Hassaikai doing this to you fills you with even more revulsion than the idea of Overhaul himself). But you can’t say that out loud. Not after what he’s threatened. So you press your lips together and shake your head, gasp dying in your throat as one of Overhaul’s latex-covered fingers prods gently around your opening.

“You’re getting wet,” he tells you, as if you can’t feel the shameful slick beginning to leak from you. “That will make this easier. Good.”

You hate that the praise makes another jolt of arousal go through you. You don’t want to like the feeling of his gloves, rubbing at your heated cunt; the sensation of a fingertip circling around your entrance, brushing the bud of your clit and making you want to clamp your thighs around his hand.

He sinks the tip of one finger inside of you and you jerk, your hips out of your control as you try and sink away from the intrusion. Overhaul clicks his tongue again in annoyance at you. The hand holding the lips of your cunt open moves, to land on your hip and pin you between the bed and the wall so you can’t squirm again.

“I’ll sedate you next time, if I have to,” he says. “I’m not getting anything out of this. I’d prefer not to have to do it at all--”

He’s lying. You know he is. But you can’t call him out for it, so you press your trembling lips together and try to stop tears spilling out from your lash line as the finger inside of you sinks further and further inside, past his first knuckle, right down to the base.

He crooks it inside of you and your hands curl into the bedsheets, nails digging into your palms through cotton. His touch is curious, exploratory; has he ever actually done this to anybody before? He slides over a rough patch inside of you with the latex-tipped finger and a moan escapes your mouth against your will, your head falling back against the wall. Narrowed golden eyes look up at you as he repeats the motion; taking in the gloss of your lips, the widening of your eyes, the way your shoulders are shaking up and down.

You can feel yourself pumping more slick out; helping the glide of his finger inside of you, as he begins to carefully thrust it in and out of you. His touch is made all the more impersonal by the mask obscuring everything but his eyes and eyebrows; you can’t even hear him breathing.

Your cunt is fluttering around him, pleasure swarming you in breathless waves as he withdraws his finger entirely. He lifts the glove to his eyeline, looking only vaguely interested in how the white latex glimmers with your arousal.

“I’m going to use two now,” he tells you – and that is all the warning you get before two fingers beside one another are opening you up, scissoring your tight channel apart with an ache that you feel up to your hips. You bite back the whimper, but you’re unable to stop the choked breaths that are falling from you as he fucks you with them in steady, constant thrusts.

A covered thumb brushes your clit; swollen, now. Sensitive. Standing to attention. Your hips attempt to jerk in his hold once more, a strangled noise that’s neither pleasured nor pain falling from your throat. You’ve touched yourself, of course you have – even recently, just to try and assuage some of the boredom that fills your exactly-the-same days – but Overhaul’s fingers and thumbs and touch on you are so entirely different from that.

He continues his assault over your clit, those same eyes watching you with that same detached, clinical disposition that he’s had most of the time. There’s a cast to them that suggests there’s something more, but whatever emotion – if, indeed, he’s still capable of that – he’s feeling about having you at his mercy in this way has been pushed to the back of his mind as his thumb rolls and pinches at the bud.

Your body goes all-over heat, Overhaul’s fingers still pumping in and out of you, the slick noises of your shaming wetness echoing around the prison of the four walls you’ve spent seven months in. You’re teetering on the edge of something, hot and needy and wanting – and as Overhaul’s thumb sweeps over your poor aching clit again, you tilt your hips forward for as much stimulation as you can--

And he pulls his fingers out of you.

The heat fades into nothingness as you let out a noise of disappointment. Overhaul’s head tilts to one side, considering.

“What do you want?” He asks you. “Say it.”

No. You don’t ‘want’. He’s wrong. You keep your mouth pressed tight now that the damning noise has fallen out of it; you have managed to not let the tears trembling in your eyes spill forth. Your gaze meets his, defiant and tired and afraid all at once.

“Alright,” he sighs. “If you’re going to carry on being difficult.”

He does it again; his fingers plunging into you, scissoring you apart, rubbing against your folds with a practised agility now that he’s done it for the first time. He has always been a fast learner; always been observant. His thumb is back on your clit with ceaseless assault, and all over again you feel heat begin to build up; tension that crawls into every crevice of your being and worms its way deep inside you despite how badly you don’t want this.

The hand holding your hip loosens somewhat, allowing you to messily thrust your hips into Overhaul’s stimulation. You’re torn; you shouldn’t want to hump against the gloved fingers stimulating you, you should be wriggling and squirming away. But it feels so good; even with the skin-tight covering of rubbery latex, Overhaul’s fingers seem to find every one of your weak points and exploit them.

There it is again, building up on you; a ball of tension in your stomach being gradually wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. Your hips flex against his hand, your fingers clenching and unclenching on the bedsheet--

He denies you the peak of your orgasm for the second time.

And a third.

And a fourth.

“Kai--!” You’re too far gone to even think, after the pleasure has been pulled from you so cruelly, over and over again. The tears spill over your cheeks., rolling down in fat, shaming droplets. Overhaul’s eyes narrow.

“No,” he says, vehement – more emotion in his voice than you’ve heard all day. “You know what to call me.”

You know what he wants you to call him. You know that he wants to leave his old name behind, start again, be someone who can drag the Shie Hassaikai out of the shadows and into light and power once again – and he thinks that the name will help. You gurgle out a sobbing, strangled noise;

“O-Overhaul, please--”

Three fingers are plunged as deep inside of you as they can go, crooked to rub against your sweet spot; as Overhaul murmurs, detached but soft;

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

They thrust into you, his thumb rubbing your clit with firm, certain strokes – and this time, as the orgasm rushes up on you all at once, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you with his fingers through it, his thumb not ceasing the circling. Pleasure washes over you, finally, in great waves and crests. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, soaking him in your wetness (his eyebrows furrow again, at how close your fluid comes to spilling over his bared wrist; but you are too relieved to think about anything other than finally getting what you need).

Your hips flex, gasps falling from your mouth with every thrust of them – and you expect Overhaul to pull his fingers out of you. To stop touching you. Perhaps to strip off his gloves and put on a new pair – you know he always carries spares – and sneer at you as he walks out of the room.

But Overhaul’s fingers do not move from inside of you. The fierce rhythm of his fucking and petting and rubbing does not stop, even as the final aftershocks of your orgasm clench loosely about him and his constant stimulation becomes more of an annoyance than anything else on heated, sensitive skin.

You squirm, trying to push your thighs together to get him to stop touching you – but the hand not fucking you forces your thighs to stay parted with the curl of fingers into supple flesh, leaving you helpless to do anything but let him carry on touching you. Carry on fucking you.

A short, sharp shock of an orgasm rips through you as he swirls his thumb over your clit just so, and you realise that you’re drooling down yourself as well as panting; helpless and sloppy, utterly unable to do anything except lie there and take it until Overhaul decides he’s had enough of touching you.

You come, what? Twice more? Thrice? Until the pulsing of your channel is painful, your skin feeling red raw, your whimpers into the ceiling dry and broken. Only then does he pull his fingers out of you with a lewd pop.

A gush of your fluid that his fingers were stoppering soaks your bedsheets, and you watch, dazed, as Overhaul stands up. He looks down at you for just one moment, that stretches unbearably long in the heat-and-sex soaked atmosphere of the room.

He strips his gloves off of his hands, eyebrows twitching in disgust as he leaves the crumpled latex on your bedside table. He’s sliding on another pair as he speaks;

“Feel better?”

No. No, you don’t. You feel worse. You feel disgusted and violated and aching, your body over-stimulated and exhausted, sweat and drool and bodily fluids clinging to your skin. But if you tell Overhaul that--

“Yes,” you say, voice very soft and small and weak. You cannot see his mouth, but you see the way his eyes flash happily, the overall sensation of him smiling.

Why does Overhaul’s smile make you so scared, when Kai’s smile used to just make you feel warm?

“We’ll need to do it a few more times,” he tells you, as your blood runs to ice in your veins. “Such maladies aren’t cured in a day, after all. But . . .” He turns, rearranging himself carefully, his mask readjusted. You can’t see him as he speaks the next words. “I’d like to try some of the other suggested remedies, too.”

You think of his earlier words.

‘They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth.’

You’re never going to escape, are you? You’re going to be trapped in this compound until the day you die, and Overhaul is going to think that he’s keeping you safe--

“Take a shower,” he says to you, as he opens the door. It is not a suggestion. “And stop not letting the maids come in here to clean. I’m not having you get sick.”

You think he might be the sick one.

#overhaul x reader #yandere overhaul #overhaul smut #overhaul x you #chisaki kai x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader #dark content for ts #5555 event fic #not sfw text #writing #afab reader #fem pronouns #misogyny for ts #bnha posting #medical kink for ts #non consent for ts #dub con for ts #non con for ts

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sunarinluvr · 3 years

Text

|| haikyuu boys finding you asleep on the couch after an argument ||

includes: kuroo tetsurou, miya osamu, & oikawa tooru

a/n- hello! sorry for posting so late, but this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and i was actually in the mood to finish it so i hope yall enjoy! oh and im not really sure about how i feel about it,,, might take it down later we shall see.

warnings: none ( lmk if there’s anything! )

KUROO -

last night you saw a post kuroo’s “work wife” had made on instagram with her kissing him on the cheek, and it didn’t make you feel the best, so you decided to bring it up to him the next morning. and you did, just as he was getting ready for work you talked to him about it.

you were standing in front of him filled with anger arguing about how it made you uncomfortable, “can you please listen?! i dont feel comfortable with your “work wife” kissing you?” you yelled. “Y/N it was on the cheek its not a big deal!” and to be honest you just wanted to cry.

finally, he walked past you and opened the door. “i don’t have time for this y/n, stop being so insecure! at least she wouldn’t argue over something so small!” and with that, he slammed the door and you stood there stunned. kuroo knew that he shouldn’t have said that, instant regret and guilt filled his gut.

but he already said it, he can’t do anything about it now. with a frustrated sigh, he went to work. hoping to fix everything when he gets home. you stood there speechless, as you realized you still had work so slowly you made your way to the bathroom.

after getting ready and grabbing a quick snack you were out the door with a heavy chest. once you get home, tired and feeling worse than before. you trudged to the couch and plopped down letting out a shaky sigh remembering the argument and the words he said repeating in your head.

you broke down crying, and before you knew it, the exhaustion from today took over and you were sound asleep on the couch. kuroo got home an hour later, he felt guilty and was already practicing how he’d apologize to you as he walked in.“y/n? kitten?” no answer.

he called out again, and was met with silence, he made his way over to the living room where he found you sleeping on the couch. gently walking towards you he knelt down, and saw your tear-stained face which made his heart sink. “i fucked up” he said to himself.

giving you a gentle kiss on your forehead he softly apologized and carried you to the bedroom. you ended up waking up when you felt his body weight dent the bed. “tetsu?” you said softly squinting at him. relief rushes through his body at the sound of his nickname. looking at you with guilt in his eyes

“im so sorry kitten, i shouldn’t have said that. i didn’t mean to hurt you” he said gently. at that tears started flowing again and he was quick to hug you and wipe your tears with his other hand. “it’s ok, i shouldn’t have been so insecure anyways”

he shook his head with a frown “no it’s not your fault ok? i didn’t mean anything i said. i love you so so much and i’m so lucky that you’re mine” you look up at him and gave him a small smile “okay” before cuddling closer to him. giving you a soft kiss on the lips he hugged you tighter as you both fell asleep.

OSAMU -

osamu was just having a horrible day, his head was pounding and the customers he had to deal with today were just plain rude. then he had to do most of the work since one of his employees called in sick, and for some reason, everything just annoyed him.

you on the other hand did not know about his day at all and thought it would be nice of you to make a surprise visit. walking in with a huge smile on your face stopping midway when you realize he wasn’t at the counter. “where’s samu?” you asked sweetly to the employee

“he’s in the back, i think he has a headache,” she says giving you a small smile. you can tell something was off by the way she spoke but decided to just brush it off and make your way to the back. “hi samu! surprise!” you exclaimed cheerfully as you make your way towards him

he just kind of looks at you, which you thought was weird, but you decided to hug him anyways. when he doesn’t hug you back and groan, you pull away and look at him “baby i heard you had a headache. i didn’t bring any medicine, but we could eat first and i-”

you couldn’t even finish your sentence since osamu just stood up. he was infuriated and had no clue why, usually loved listening to you but today he was just annoyed. “look y/n a don’t mean ta be rude, but a don't have the energy for this right now. please just go home.” he said coldly staring right at you.

“excuse me? i came here to surprise you and this is what i get??” you said in shock, voice a little louder this time. rolling his eyes “Oh wow am so surprised! now will ya please go home? a don’t wanna argue right now!” he yelled. with tears forming in your eyes you quickly wiped them and left. osamu knew he shouldn’t have said all that, but he was too mad to run after you in front of all the customers.

you rushed home and sluggishly made your way to your room to change into something comfier, making your way to the couch, curling up into a ball allowing your tears to fall, and somehow falling asleep, after getting tired of crying. he gets home a few hours later, guilt building up in his stomach as he mentally slaps himself for the things he said.

walking into the living room he opened the lights and you were the first thing he noticed. seeing you curled up into a ball on the couch made his heart drop to his stomach. you on the other hand woke up because of the sudden change of lighting.

gradually adjusting your sight you see him and switch your gaze onto the floor when you saw him look at you too. seeing your puffy eyes he walks towards you slowly and sits beside you giving you enough space. “am sorry, a shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on ya.”

you look at him with watery eyes and his heart sinks “yea i was just trying to be nice, sorry i didn’t warn you before coming” he opened his arms and you instinctively scooted closer to him, he sighs “no a love it when you surprise me a was jus having a bad day a love ya so much ok?” finally hugging him “okay i love you too” giving you a quick kiss he offered to make you food and of course you said yes.

OIKAWA -

you love oikawa, and you’re very supportive and understanding especially when it comes to his career. but he has an awful habit of overworking himself and as much as you love him you can't bear the fact that you couldn’t even see him anymore.

he goes home late at night -as in you’re already sound asleep late- and when you do stay up to see him, he’s too tired to even keep a conversation. then the next morning he’s gone before you could even wake up. you’ve spoken to him about this many times, but alas nothing changed.

you woke up to an empty bed as usual, but today was different though, you’ve planned a dinner for about 2 weeks now. you were very excited because it’s been so long since you both spent some quality time together and he promised to come home early.

getting up you send him a little text reminding him of your dinner tonight, with a smile you head on over to the bathroom to get ready for work. once work was over you made a quick visit to the grocery store to buy the ingredients you’ll need to make tonight’s dinner.

quietly humming to yourself while going through each aisle, and double-checking your list to make sure you’re not missing anything while checking your phone here and there. oikawa still hasn’t replied “he must be busy,” you say to yourself as you send him another text about the dinner just in case. after about 30 minutes you get home rushing since it was already late, and immediately getting started on dinner.

once you're done you sat down and waited, and waited, and waited. it's been 4 hours. dinners cold and still no sign of your boyfriend. you decided to call him pissed off that he couldn’t even show up to one dinner, “hello? y/n i can't talk right now i still need to practice”

he said as soon as he picked up. “tooru? did you get my texts? what about dinner, we’ve made plans for this 2 weeks prior! i even-” you were cut off “look just eat without me ok? we can eat again somet-” now it was your turn to cut him off.

“oikawa tooru, you leave the house while i’m asleep and come back when i'm asleep. i just wanted to spend time with you..whatever good luck at practice,” you replied as you hang up. his heart sank when he heard the crack in your voice rushing to his car on his way home to you because he knows he fucked up.

buying your favorite flowers for you on the way home cursing himself and the world for making it traffic at that exact moment. when he got home the first thing he saw was the food and you fast asleep on the couch. he felt a pang of guilt about being late.

“y/n chan?” he said while gently waking you up. you stare at him with red puffy eyes and he hugged you giving you the flowers “im sorry baby, i should’ve prioritized you and our dinner. i promise ill do better” you saw how genuine he was being so you accepted the flowers and hugged him tighter as he offered to reheat the food you made.

reblogs are highly appreciated!

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awkwardkindatries · 3 years

Text

Kinktober Day 3: Uniform

Have I ever said how much I genuinely love Celebrimbor? best boy.

Celebrimbor/reader

NSFW

Words:2347

Elves in Eregion didn't really have uniforms outside of military forces, they did however, have a standard of dress for their meetings in court. This dress code typically consists of a high collar shirt, a button down tunic, full length trousers followed by high polished black boots. One's hair must always be done and braided back and most jewelry is kept to the minimum at a circlet and possibly a ring. All fabrics are embellished in elaborate embroidery and buttons polished to a lovely shine, not a hair or stitch to be out of place.

These court sessions aren't exactly frequent so within your time there you hadn't had the pleasure of catching him in his authoritative garb until today. You caught sight of him walking back to his quarters, his shoulders weren't square they were dropped in exhaustion, his eyes were tired and his brow furrowed in stress. You couldn't help but to follow him a few paces as he walked past you before grabbing ahold of his cuff, softly calling his name.

He whips around to stare at you allowing you to take full advantage of your close proximity. He's tall and broad as he towers above you, his clothing makes him look sharp and important, as if he could command a room of people and they listen without hesitation.

In contrast, his disposition was soft, worn down by politics and stress bearing down on him with the weight of Arda. Though you couldn't relieve him fully of this weight you could at least make the load seem lighter.

You offer him company on the rest of the walk back to his chambers, the halls oddly empty as the hour was not yet late. You suppose this was for the better as the added traffic would only have exasperated his condition. Chatter was relatively light between the two of you, and though you two had grown close you didn't want to wear him down further with topics of importance.

When you had made it to his door, he hesitated frna moment before allowing you to follow him into his room. It wasn't something new to you however, it was deemed inappropriate by the court for an unmarried individual such as yourself to follow a member of said court into privacy, let alone while he was still in his professional attire. He opens the door and before you enter you glance to both sides once more and follow him on, lightly shifting the door behind you. You turn in search of him and find that he has fallen backward in a large splayed-out lump on top of his bed, legs draped over the side and head inches from the wall.

His arms rest bent over his head, hands atop his eyes as he lets out a deep sigh, letting the stress of the day leave his body as well as he could on his own. You couldn't help the light snort that left you as you took him in, yes he was tired, stressed, more than likely overworked but he was an up and coming leader and you understand that there's an adjustment period to these things that your partner might still be adjusting to.

While he mulls about with his head in his hands and thoughts elsewhere you take the moment to look around his room. It's neat, like normal but there are still things out of place that feel like disarray in the normally spotless, “not a hair out of order” Feanorians room. Books are pulled from their spots and left about on the table in the center of the room, discarded after reading. A half-empty cup of tea remains beside it. The towel he had used earlier in the day has not made its way back to the bathing chamber and sits in a little pool on the floor at his footboard. And lastly, the circlet he had been wearing earlier now rested on the floor, more than likely having been aimed for the table and not bothering to pick it up after hearing it drop to the carpet below. Odd, it was his fathers. He only ever wore it for formal occasions and typically treated it with more care.

You make your way in front of him before bending down to pluck it from the carpet, setting it in its intended place. Once finished, you turn to him.

His arms and hands slide from his face before his eyes reopen and he stares you down.

“Thank you, though you could have left it. I'd have gotten it eventually.”

You give a kind smile in return

“I couldn't possibly leave something so important to you.”

The smile he gives in return is tired and barrel there but it exists and you cherish every moment. Reaching out your hand you offer help, and say “if we hurry then we might still be able to catch supper, I heard they're serving stew tonight.”

It is his favorite after all.

He grabs your hand and attempts to stand before his knees give a weak wobble and he plummets back to the mattress. His body was obviously much closer to shutting down than the two of you had originally suspected.

He drags you down with him as he reconnects with the bed, you landing on top of his broad chest, subconsciously to the expensive fabric beneath your fingers, eyes shutting in anticipation of impact.

When it comes, the impact isn't too bad. The Ellon beneath you is as firm and solid as a wall below, opening your eyes you look up into his and you're surprised. His face is flushed a soft pink as he stares down at you, mouth suddenly filled with cotton neither really capable of speech. You're just about to get up and awkwardly excuse yourself to the hallway in order to take your embarrassment elsewhere when you feel it.

You're resting on something that grows hard against your stomach and as a result, are probably much redder than you were a few seconds prior. Since your eye contact stopped the next few moments would almost be comical as he realized the very moment you figured this situation out. You in turn realize you'd been found out and look away is embarrassment, not entirely sure what your next move should be.

He sits up, slightly shaking as anxiety begins to rack his body.

“I-im so sorry!” he quick to apologize

As you still rest in his lap, fingers tightly holding his velvet tunic you begin to consider a few things. How tired he has been lately, his body probably reacting in many ways due to this. How hard he has been working to do better for the people, his constant commute back and forth from the dwarvish colonies to improve relations, how on top of all of his duties he still manages to do the bare minimum to take care of himself and still sacrificing what little personal time he had for you.

You wonder when he gets time for care, he spends so much of his time caring for others, he does he receive any back.

Perhaps you could do this for him.

Taking the chance, you brace yourself against him and push back, grinding against him. His hands shoot to your hips holding you fast, looking all the more like a deer in sight.

“What are you doing?” he asks

You clear your throat and attempt the best steady voice that you're capable of at the moment.

“ Could I- if it's okay, uh. Help with that?” you ask, gesturing slightly down with your head.

You broke him, you're convinced of it, he hasn't blinked or moved in possibly a whole minute and at this point you're certain that you've just embarrassed yourself enough for the rest of your lifetime, you've ruined all of the time you put into forming this bond with Celebrimbor. You make to get off but his grip on your hips holds firm and he speaks, it's low and soft, barely there at all.

“I couldn't possibly ask..”

Immediately you perk up and backtrack your last thought process.

“You aren't!” you insist “I'm offering, I’d really like to help”.

Another moment passes and he nods in approval turning his head away, possibly embarrassed himself “Alright, if you so wish it..”

After receiving his permission you suddenly feel much more authoritative as you have this powerful looking Ellon below you, wanting your touch.your hands glide up from the fabric of his tunic to his neck stopping at his jaws, forcing his face in your direction his eyes meet yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question is simple but his reaction is almost like it was more intimate a request than touching anything below the belt. The answer isn’t as firm as the last one but he consents. Leaning in you apply soft pressure taking your time to make this count, to make him feel loved, appreciated. This cycle repeats until you slide your tongue along the seam of his mouth, asking for further permission. He shakes a tad but relents and squeezes your hips harder as you suck his tongue into your mouth and give a firm suck, the grunt that leaves him is intoxicating. Pulling away he already looks slightly out of breath and frankly you’re impressed with yourself.

You gently pull his fingers away from your body and move to kneel on the floor in front of him.

His hands now clench onto the fabric of his bedsheets as you take your time dragging up and down the sides of his thighs hoping to bring him more comfort. With a little more confidence your fingers trail over the fabric above his crotch, receiving a sharp inhale in return. Moving to the laces, unlacing them is quick then you make for the hem of his trousers. Looking up, he then understands and lifts up his waist allowing you to pull them further down to his thighs.

He's full and standing at attention, you glance up to him and you don't think you've ever seen his face any redder as he bites his lip in anticipation.

Taking him in hand you give a light kiss to the underside, his head falling back as a gasp leaves him. Continuing to watch his face, you grasped him tighter and began to stroke him up and down, a shudder leaving him at the motion.

In no time you've collected a fair amount of saliva and put it to use, giving a firm lick to the length of him. His breath chokes up for a second as he experiences this for the first Time. You repeat this a few times before taking a breath and wrapping your lips around his head. You hear the sheets stretch on either side of you as you work. Sucking in your cheeks as tightly as you could you swirl your tongue around the head, every so often flicking against the slit across the top.

Now that his noises have worked up to breathy sighs you take this as a sign to kick it up a notch. Bracing your hands on either thigh you push yourself up a little to give yourself a better angle. Tightening your hold on the bottom of his cock you took as much of him in your mouth as you could, barely making it to the top of your hand. Continuing your work and pace with determination you had barely noticed his hips following your pace chasing after the heat of your mouth.

His head is still tossed back as he breathes deeply occasionally gifting you with a groan and now you've given yourself a new goal. You want to make a mess of this man.

Removing your hand from his base you take a much deeper breath and begin to bob your hands as shallowly swallowing with every other bob. His hands shoot to your hair as a moan forces its way out of his throat. You have to try your hardest not to gag as tears prick your eyes and your jaw begins to ache at the size of your task. But you can do better, grinding the head of his cock against the back of your throat you begin to hum, alternating between bobbing and grinding your head in his lap occasionally scraping the tip of your nose against his pelvis.

You can feel his hands trembling in your hair as he doubles over above you, groans and moans trickling freely from his throat as he tries to contain himself from thrusting into your mouth and causing you harm. His feet can't seem to keep still as they slide against the floorboards below and his toes curl tightly under the polished black of his formal boots. The heat in his gut begins to bubble, ready to boil over as he gives a weak effort to warn you of his untimely end

“D-darling I *groan* I don't have much l-longer..”

Doubling down your efforts, you're determined to make his world crumble around him in rapture. Mere moments pass and relief washes over you and your jaw as his body locks, keeping your lips pressed firmly against his pelvis as he throbs out his finish down the length of your throat, a deep moan choking it's way from his depths .

Letting out a shuddered breath he lets go of your body before dropping back to his sheet, trying his damndest to regain his breath. His body feels like jelly and his head empty of all of his previous troubles as he basks in his euphoric high.

Pulling yourself from him you lick your lips in satisfaction as your loved one pants across from you. You make to grab his trousers hoping to help remake his decent before his hands gently cradle and hold onto yours. Sitting up a soft blush has resurfaced to his skin and he looks deeply into your eyes, you can't help but to feel warm as your arousal shoots back up.

“So then is it my turn?”

#lord of the rings #lotr #silmarillion #silm #celebrimbor #celebrimbor/reader #Celebrimbor x reader #spicy

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todoscript · 3 years

Text

lilies & lilacs pt. i

SUMMARY: A dilemma with his grand charity gala brings Todoroki Shouto, CEO of Todoroki Enterprises, at your humble flower shop’s doorstep.

pairing: ceo!todoroki shouto x florist!reader

genre: eventual smut. fluff. slow burn. no quirks au.

word count: 5.6k+

warnings: none in this part, but expect sexual content in the future.

author’s note: this has been rotting in my wips for a couple of months now, but i finally decided to post it with the decision of progressing the story into parts. thank you to the lovely rosie aka @shoutogepi for initially betareading this and keeping the hype up for the fic in our chats together (love you <333)! feedback is welcomed and before you ask, im opening a taglist for the next 2 parts so just ask if you wish to be included

The uneasy padding of her boss’ dress shoes across the floor of his office made the secretary restless. She knew the bad news she delivered would cause some displeasure to stir within him, but never would she expect his tough bearings to falter, his troubles conveyed in hasty steps and frayed skin skewing those handsome features.

During the past two years she’s worked for him, she always thought his expression was nearly unreadable. When it came to his high position, her boss was forward and direct at conducting business—calm, stoic, and a perfect representation of efficiency and strong work ethic in his field. So while she witnessed the man’s uncharacteristic distress before her eyes, she wasn’t sure how this could end well for her.

Sweat began beading her forehead at the tension creeping between each tap of his feet against the hardwood below, coming to an unnerving halt behind his desk. When her eyes found his, all she could gather in those gray and turquoise clouds was annoyance toward their current predicament.

“What do you mean we don’t have a florist booked yet?” he repeated the dilemma she relayed to him merely moments ago. Hearing the agitation in his voice caused a nervous gulp to drop in her throat. She clutched her clipboard firmly in her arms to keep herself anchored in the wake of her boss’ growing frustration. However, she was still unsure how to continue as the words remained sealed in her mouth.

“Well?” Noticing his secretary’s lack of response, he pushed forward, hands leaning against the edge of his mahogany desk. The woman urged herself to endure the obstacles by first breathing through her nose before swallowing the lump in her throat, responding quickly.

“Um, Mr. Todoroki, sir, it seems all the florists on our list have all been booked for other events for the rest of the month,” she said, but mentally scolded herself when she heard herself sputter in such an unprofessional manner. Despite that, she prayed the explanation was enough to sate even a fraction of her boss’ inner turmoil.

Shouto approached her answer with silence before that foreseeable sigh left his lips, spilling with exasperation. He turned, his back facing the secretary, gaze lined to the windows gracing him with sunlight behind his desk. Stuck in contemplation, he pinched the bridge of his nose, mouth pursed in a firm line.

Where am I going to find a florist in time for this damn charity gala? He internally griped, closing his eyes as if that would help him uncover the solution to this untimely mess.

His esteemed company, Todoroki Enterprises, had arranged a plan to hold a widely anticipated charity gala by the end of this month. The event was conducted to raise funds for all manners of different charities that would vary in the level of grandeur on display. And given that the organizing for the event would be under his very name, Shouto had the critical responsibility of ensuring nothing but peak quality to those that would attend.

His staff had long procured the venue and were managing the layout of the gala. They sought out some suitable entertainment, booked catering, and scheduled for the charity auctions and raffles to take place throughout the night. What was still needed were the decorations, and right now that was where they hit their deadend with no florist currently reserved.

And here’s the real kicker: the gala was two weeks away.

Two. Weeks.

How he allowed for such errors to occur was beyond him at this point. All that really mattered was that he found a way to correct those mistakes and fast.

As much as Shouto figured he could skip past the flowers and substitute them with some other kind of flashy decorations, he already had a clear idea of how he wanted the gala to look. The floral arrangements would compliment the theme of the event exceedingly well. Turning back on the plan would be an insult to everyone’s prepared attire for the evening, with the dress code already sent out to all the distinguished guests invited to this grandiose ball. No doubt in his mind, he needed that florist, and needed them stat.

Sure on his resolution, he finally shifted to face his secretary. The anxious expression plastered on her face greeted him, and at that, Shouto bit his lip. His guilt surfaced for allowing his emotions to affect his workspace. He knew better than to take out his frivolous thoughts on his staff, who very well had no control over the situation. So he eased the atmosphere, attempting to lift the tension surrounding his office in the dreary gray of his temper.

“Nishiyama, I’m sorry for my behavior just now,” he apologized. The secretary, in turn, was taken aback, eyes widened. Her anxiety slowly whittled away as she scampered to return his kind gesture.

“Oh no, sir, it’s fine! I’m sure you were just feeling stressed hearing the news. I surely would be if I were in your shoes.”

“No, it’s not. I was acting childish despite how much you and everyone have done so far for the event,” Shouto said, “I should be thankful for your time, considering you also have a family to take care of at home.”

While the woman stared at him, abashed by his sincerity, Shouto swiveled his chair around to take a seat. A much-needed seat to be entirely honest. His secretary was not kidding about how the bad news seemed to harrow some stress in his body. But, being accustomed to having this weight pushed on his shoulders from the very moment he was announced the head of the company many years ago, he more than anticipated the stress to come with the job.

Shouto spared his secretary one last glance before his eyes darted down between the important papers sprawled on his desk. “If that’s all the news we needed to address today then you’re dismissed, Nishiyama. Carry on with the rest of the organizing as planned,” he ordered. Nishiyama lowered her clipboard to her hip.

“R-Right. Thank you, sir.” She parted his presence with a curt bow. Shouto picked up on her heels clicking toward his office door until they suddenly stopped altogether, looking back at the man midway. “What about the florist, sir?” she asked, concerned at the unresolved predicament lingering in the air. Her question wasn’t met with an immediate reply, but Shouto eventually gave her an answer he deemed adequate of a response. His words were coated with as much reassurance as he could muster in this situation.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it myself.”

The task was easier said than done.

Usually, when it came to booking a florist for special occasions like this, you’d want to contact them months ahead of the scheduled date to ensure maximum efficiency and work out any problems that should arise. But there were only two weeks left until the awaited charity gala.

Shouto was certainly pushing his luck at this point and to a dangerous degree. If he didn’t find someone to arrange the flowers for the ball soon, the venue might be absent of all life and mood, essentially flopping from missing such a key element. Shouto could not allow for that to happen.

Given his word, he took it in his hands to rectify this mistake. For the entirety of the day, he sifted through the aforementioned list of florists his secretary had provided him—extended thanks to his team’s desperate search for more options.

All he had to do was narrow down the lineup. Unfortunately, those efforts may as well have been all for naught.

“Hello, is this Himawari’s Garden? I’d like to speak with the head florist there about arranging the flowers for a gala my company has been planning—”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but we’re currently busy preparing for a big wedding coming up next week. If you’d like, I can try and book our services for you toward the next month or so when we’ll be available?”

Shouto’s brows tightened during the exchange—a gesture he’d been repeating as of late while he dwindled the line of florists. If he kept it up, those wrinkles might be embedded into his skin permanently. He was at least grateful he managed to thwart the heavy breath of air that threatened to leave his lips and reveal his frustration to the woman on the phone.

“No, that’s fine. Thank you for your time.” With that, he hung up.

Shouto leaned back in his seat in exasperation, his weight pressed into the cushions as his eyes situated themselves toward the ceiling. The consistent taps of his fingers on his mahogany desk were all he heard amidst his deep contemplation. His eyes lidded shut in an attempt to seek a moment of refuge from the stress, but his conscience began eating at him.

Of course, what was he thinking? The beginnings of spring to late autumns were the mark of wedding season—the time where florists and other businesses specializing in decorative arrangements thrived and busied themselves with eager clients. Not only that, but it was also the month of June. The sixth month of the year was undoubtedly the most popular month among couples to hold their weddings, and he had witnessed this fact firsthand through his myriad of fruitless phone calls.

Shouto had thoroughly wrung through his rope and teetered on the edge of complete defeat. He sealed down his most recent loss at the hand of another busy floral business by striking a line across Himawari’s Garden on his list. At that, the total tallied to thirty whole flower shops. Thirty unsuccessful attempts.

That sigh he contained during the phone call found its way out of his throat in dramatic waves of displeasure

“You alright, sir?”

His administrative assistant, Midoriya Izuku, heard his huffs when he entered the threshold of Shouto’s office. He noted his boss’ hunched posture and the rare crease crinkled between his nose bridge, pressed against his hands that were clenched together above his desk.

“I’m guessing the new list of florists was also a no-go?”

Shouto didn’t offer any words, instead sliding said list—now fully crossed out—toward his assistant as his reply. Craning his head for a better look, Midoriya feigned a smile, not wanting to let the man’s defeat consume the mood entirely.

“Well... I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised… Wedding season is upon us after all.”

Oh yes, Midoriya. Shouto knew that very well. So much so that he sunk further into his desk at the reminder, head practically drooped with a gloomy rain cloud hovering atop him. The green-haired assistant fervently shook his head back-and-forth upon realizing his remark had thrown salt into his wound. “Oh, I-I mean... Don’t worry, sir! I’m sure we’ll still be able to sort out this problem in time before the gala!” he sputtered to help alleviate the despair that crept in, but it came to no avail according to his boss’ silent sulky demeanor. That was when Midoriya remembered the two cups of hot coffee held in each of his hands.

“Ah, right, I made you some coffee! I figured you could use one considering you’ve been cooped up in your office all day.” Setting one in front of him, Shouto perked up at the nutty aroma that slowly slipped into his senses. He eyed the fresh cup of coffee tentatively, the steam flitting above it in wisps.

Lifting the cup, the rich smell wafted further into his nostrils, imbuing him with that familiar peace he usually reveled in. On any ordinary day, he’d be accompanied by his classic roasted blend perched on his desk, with no problems threatening to disturb his peaceful routine. Not anything like today. Not anything like this dilemma of a desperate time crunch for a florist.

Perhaps that was what he needed. A filter of caffeine to wash away the ordeal like it was a bad morning plaguing him with baggy under-eyes and fatigue from a previous day of hard work. Though he’s sure not even caffeine could erase the headaches he developed throughout his day so far. If anything, indulgence would just make those headaches worse.

Nonetheless, he welcomed the smooth blend of flavors that ebbed down his throat through modest sips, rejuvenation quickly oozing in his veins. Headaches or not, the stimulation from the caffeine was essential if he wanted to combat the rest of the day with some drive.

“Thanks, Midoriya. I needed that,” Shouto acknowledged. He nodded at his assistant, who rubbed the back of his head modestly, saying how it was no problem at all, but the way his boss suddenly got up from his seat interrupted his words.

Shouto already felt the strong coffee going to work as his steps picked up in long strides around his desk that had the assistant’s brows knitting together, confused. “Where are you going, sir?” Midoriya asked, his voice sounding more distant to Shouto, who continued his way past him and toward the door.

“A quick drive,” was the blatant answer he gave. He downed the last of the cup before tossing it in the trash bin near the exit of his office. “Something to clear my head a bit. I’ll be back soon, but until then, keep reaching out to any businesses that could potentially be available to help us.”

“Yes, of course, sir! You can count on me!” Midoriya was prompt in replying. As expected, being Shouto’s right-hand man at the company.

With that, Shouto took to the parking lot below his building, twirling his keys over his index finger before hopping into his Mercedes and driving off.

The withering sunlight cast its glare over his car during his ride through the city. By now, the skies splayed vibrant red as the sun gandered above the horizon. He drove down the narrow and busy streets that kept the place bustling at these hours. It was likely the time when people finished up their workday and were eager to arrive home for much-needed rest.

During a particularly long wait at a red traffic light, he pondered over his predicament again. His thumb rapped against the steering wheel while he bit his bottom lip, that ugly feeling of regret seeping into his thoughts.

Maybe he placed too much faith in these flowers after all. Sure, he mentioned the vital role they played in aligning with the theme and complimenting the guests’ attires. But was it worth all the trouble he put his team through, searching through a throng of businesses already busy with their own events to organize? In a way, this could’ve been sorted out had he recognized the current times and planned accordingly to avoid the mess. But now they were trapped in this bind, crunching for anyone that could help them within only fourteen short days.

Just as he weighed the idea of calling Midoriya over the bluetooth in his car to drop the floral arrangements altogether, something caught his eye at the last second.

Shouto peered through his window, squinting at the corner, where he spotted a cart of flowers in front of a shop of some sort. His grip tightened around the leather of his steering wheel as he leaned in for a better look. Some kind of spark in him roused his anticipation the more he shifted forward in his seat, like the hope that was slowly fading inside was igniting once again.

Another inch further and he attained a better look of the shop. Its sign came into view just below the small boundary of his window—letters brushed in calligraphy on a long board of canvas with lilies painted on the edges that seamed together into a bouquet.

N… Neigh… Neighborhood Lily.

He deciphered the words, but didn’t give them much thought. All that enveloped his mind afterward was the fact the name wasn’t any of the list of thirty shops he phoned today. So the very moment the light overhead flickered to green, Shouto’s hold on the wheel tightened. His foot gradually stepped on the pedal with much more purpose.

He decided to take a brief detour from this casual little drive of his.

It was about six o’clock when you waved off your latest customer, who was leaving the shop with a basket of vibrant tulips swinging on their arm. The smile on their face was an adamant indication they were more than happy with their time here, something you always delighted in, being very passionate about your job as a florist.

“Thank you, and please come again!” The bell overhead gave a gracious chime at the customer’s departure.

With them gone, you drew your attention back to the flowers laid out on the small wooden table in the corner of the shop. Before the customer came in, you were at work arranging and crafting the blossoms you purchased from the flower market that morning into bouquets.

You’d be closing in about an hour and thirty minutes or so, but for now, you basked in the silence and the calming aroma of the flowers that surrounded you while you continued your work. A modest hum naturally sang past your lips and soothed its way into the shop that was devoid of all souls except yourself.

“Hm, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” You made some small talk with the rose in your hand. It was a habit of yours to spill a few words out within your own little world, imagining the flowers were keeping you company whenever you were alone.

“And there, now you all look even prettier.” An adoring smile embellished your lips as you finished off another bouquet by tying it with a silk ribbon. Looking over the bundle one more time, you thoroughly admired the shades of pinks and reds that complimented each other in the ensemble.

Then two more bouquets down, and you already made a good amount of progress. You figured that if you kept up the pace, you’d likely finish the rest of the batch and have them ready for display tomorrow. But just as you clasped three more flowers in your hand, the bell atop the door chimed, alerting you to a new patron.

You nicked off a thorn from one of the stems before turning around and giving your attention to the visitor. When your eyes found their way to the shop’s entrance, you were surprised to meet a man of slicked white and red hair. The few strands that found their way out of the gel must have been tussled from a long day of work considering the fatigue plain on his handsome face.

Despite the few wrinkles here and there, his attire was still surprisingly pristine. He wore a simple yet compelling suit, the fit seeming tailored to the contours of his body that rendered you a tad speechless at how good he looked just standing there. The sight almost made you feel underdressed.

You hadn’t realized you were staring for longer than you deemed appropriate. You couldn’t help it, being that the stranger was a stark contrast to the regular customers you were used to. The fanciest you’ve encountered since you opened your shop were the young boys that rushed in with nicely fitted tops and jeans, frantically inquiring about what kinds of flowers were right to give to a girl for a date they had later that day. Not anything like attractive businessmen in immaculate suits and shining silver wristwatches that surely cost more than all the flowers you tended here.

Noticing you were gawking, you blinked thrice to knock yourself out of your trance and properly greet the man.

“H-Hello, welcome to Neighborhood Lily,” you said, mustering the politest tone you could give to make up for the awkward moment of wordless eye contact. You must have kept your eyes on him for what felt like a good five minutes at least. The man, in turn, acknowledged you with a small grin, much to your relief.

“How may I help you this evening?”

“I’m…” he hesitated, seeming wary of how he wanted to go about his next choice of words, “just looking for now,” he decided.

Not paying much mind to his hesitation, you nodded. “Oh, well, if you have any questions or need any help on anything, please let me know. I’ll just be around the corner!”

Allowing him to go about his business, you returned to your table of flowers and oversaw the blossoms again. However, it was difficult for you to busy yourself with the task at hand. The mere thought of the other presence in the shop was enough to hammer you out of your concentration.

He was already a compelling figure on his own, what with his good-looks accompanied by his classy ensemble that felt more than out of place here. But what you were especially curious about was what business he had at a humble flower shop like yours during this hour.

That curiosity led your eyes straying to the side, where you peeped the man walking through the small aisle of flowers. He examined the bouquets and vases on display, even showing interest in the more decorative pieces hung in pots from the ceiling.

You tried to determine what his motives were. He was showing some considerable intrigue at your arrangements, though perhaps it was pure admiration for your work, and you were letting your self-consciousness get to you.

Well, spying would just get you nowhere, you thought. One way or another, he’d answer your curiosity by either coming to you directly or leave the shop altogether. You had to admit you hoped more for the former.

Until then, you tore your gaze away and resumed gathering flowers in your hands. You assessed their compatibility with one another while you fiddled around with their placement in the bouquet. The white lilies and the blue lilacs went very well, along with another set of light violet lilacs you couldn’t help but string into the bundle. As a result, the beautiful balance of cool tones made for an exceptional well-made bouquet. You finished the piece with a matching white satin ribbon and then let the arranged flowers thrive inside a glass vase.

“Those are very pretty.”

Startled at the voice, you whipped your head around, hands braced behind you against the edge of the wooden table. Your untimely lack of words were a result from realizing the owner of the voice was closer than you anticipated.

The businessman went from lingering around the aisle of flowers in the middle of the shop, to appearing in your proximity.

“E-Excuse me?” you asked, wondering if you heard correctly to which he pointed at the bouquets laid finished on the table. “In fact, all the flowers here are exceptionally beautiful.” He gestured to the entirety of the shop. His eyes quickly roamed across all the decorative flourishes before they came back to you.

“You do excellent work here in your shop.”

Words coming from a man like him made you bashful. You subconsciously played with the hem of your apron, eyes drifting to anywhere but his face at the compliment. However, the sliver of heat fluttering to your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Oh, um, thank you. It’s nothing really, I’ve been arranging flowers for quite some time while at the last floristry I worked for so I have a fair amount of experience.”

After another second of fiddling with the fabric, your hands ended up falling to your sides. You sauntered toward one of the flower vases that were already set on display, dawdling around the conversation. His eyes followed you, watching you nurture the blossoms. “I opened this flower shop of mine just recently actually. Been getting a decent amount of business here and there, but I’m just glad that the people who’ve visited so far like my work,” you told him, twirling a strand of your hair. The pads of your other hand brushed against the soft, abundant petals of a yellow chrysanthemum.

The man observed your actions, analyzing your face. He distinguished the devotion hidden in your eyes as you looked upon the flower with a luster. Despite your humble character, it was more than clear to him you were very passionate about what you did, relishing in the ambiance and admiring the modest appearance of this little shop of yours, covered in the wonderful aroma of flowers.

You didn’t detect that deep breath of air he earnestly drew in as he stepped closer. So close that his proximity broke your stupor to meet his rigid expression.

“How would you feel about an… opportunity to let more of your work be known?”

“An opportunity?” you echoed. “Wait… do you maybe have a wed—”

“No,” he interjected, so abruptly that you couldn’t help but quirk a brow. Catching himself, he took a moment to clear his throat, mindful of his behavior. “I mean, it’s not a wedding. Rather, a charity gala that my company has been planning for some time.”

“A gala?” Your mouth worked faster than your mind, accidentally blurting out your thoughts. The astonishment was evident in your tone; it made the man question your reaction by leaning in.

“Yes, a gala,” he said again like you didn’t just hear his words from a foot away, without even realizing the lengths behind his baffling offer. “Is there something wrong about that?”

“N-No. It just wasn’t the kind of opportunity I expected it to be is all… A gala…” Your voice hushed around the utter of “gala”.

What the man presented so blatantly was unexpected to your ears. Galas meant a pompous party full of people decked in lavish attires, drinking quality champagne from tulip glasses. Sizing up the man again, you could only imagine this gala would only include the most important and wealthiest people in attendance.

You had to ask something, “Um, about this gala... How many people will be there?”

“Maybe about... five hundred or so? I’ll have to check in with my assistant to confirm the full count again.” He shrugged nonchalantly and yet on your end, hearing the number almost reduced your head to a dizzy mess.

Five hundred guests? It was a number you couldn’t fathom. You hadn’t even been booked for an occasion as ordinary as a baby shower, but this man wanted you to arrange flowers for his big charity gala?

As oddly enticing of a job it was to you, there had to be anyone else more experienced and capable for this.

“Sir, I’m not su—”

“The pay, of course, will be more than generous, and I’ll even provide you funding for any necessary materials for this project,” he chimed in before you could voice your protest. It was then that you began to distinguish something laced in his voice and exhibited on his face.

Desperation.

This man seemed desperate for some reason.

“May I ask when the event will take place?” Your arms crossed against your chest. A gulp formed in his throat at the question, unsure if he wanted to unveil the news or risk scaring you off. Either way, if you were working for him, you’d learn eventually. A sigh came out.

“Two weeks,” he answered.

Oh yeah, that explained it. It also answered any questions you had over the tension rigid in his shoulders. At this point, you were bound to join him in his stress because, goddamn, organizing a whole assembly of flowers for a grand ball within fourteen days? The idea was beyond daunting.

While you reflected on the intimidating pieces of information, he was gauging your reaction. Would you say yes? No? Laugh at the idea that he thought he could find a florist to work for him at such late notice? There were a slew of uncertainties twisting in his head—an act unbecoming of him, but you were his last hope. Whatever you responded with next would either be the nail in his coffin or the wings that made him soar.

You would be treading on uncharted waters at a chance like this, having never sailed anywhere beyond your little island of floristry where people came and went with your humble little arrangements. But you also thought of this as a daring opportunity to find new land. See what the world had in store for you outside of selling the general bouquets and vases you had on display. Plus, when would a chance like this ever come up again?

Though it meant encountering difficulties along the way, taking on such a big challenge right off the bat, you figured you’d be able to keep your boat afloat. You were also sure the journey toward bigger regions would be worth the struggle in the end.

“So do you have your answer?” he pressed forward when your silence became unbearable to his nerves. He thanked the fact that his voice managed to sound steady enough not to give himself away. Your arms remained crossed in front of you, your hand coming beneath your chin the only sign that you were taking his offer to heart. It kept the flickering flames of hope blazing inside him.

“I just want to ask you something,” you replied. He nodded, allowing you to continue.

“I know you’re under pressure with this gala coming up in only two weeks,” you began. Your arms unraveled, and your fingers ran to your apron again. You formed the next bit of words with uncertainty, “but are you sure I’m the right person for this job? I mean, I don’t have much to offer you in terms of skill other than what I have here.” You nudged at the range of your shop, plain as can be though with a generous amount of flourishes on display. Yet nothing you thought special enough to be graced by him and his grand proposal that evening.

“I just don’t want you to regret your decision.”

There was a pause of silence after that. The man seemed to give your words some thought—a quick reflection on the situation. You couldn’t decipher much in his face, but you happened to take some time to admire how pretty his eyes were. The individual blue and gray shades were mesmerizing to you, resembling glaciers glittering beneath the moon high in the north. Another detail you jotted in his long list of attractive features. Before you could marvel at them any further, he whisked your thoughts back to earth with his response.

“It’s true that I’m coming to you because I’m in need,” he admitted, hands slowly closing into fists like he was reluctant to confess this, “but from what I can see, I genuinely think you’re more than capable for this job. So yes, I’m very sure I won’t regret this decision.”

It was clear to you that he was sure on his stance. But to reinforce his statement, he bent his head low into a bow, weight added to his next words.

“Please be the florist for our gala.”

The gesture briefly overwhelmed you, not something you were expecting, but you managed to acknowledge it by returning the bow.

“I’ll be in your care then.”

With all things said, you were soon tidying up the exchange and trading business cards. Yours was a standard card with your number, name, and business attached with a picture of a lily printed across the paper. His, a premium slip of stainless steel engraved with his information and then some, the fancy card reflecting off the lights hanging from the ceiling. You read the name etched in ebony black over the gray material.

Todoroki Shouto — CEO

“You’ll likely receive a call from either one of my assistants or me within the next day or so about when to meet up to plan for the arrangements.” Shouto’s voice brought your head up from the card, where you watched him glide toward the door.

“R-Right, I’ll leave my cell on,” you stuttered. The fact that this whole exchange had just transpired was still kicking in for you.

Shouto nodded, extending a wave out that you mirrored while he opened the door to the shop, the bell chiming above him.

“I’ll see you then.”

After that, the resonating tinkles of the bell were the last you heard.

You stared at the entrance aimlessly, mouth gradually gaping open at the mere prospect that you were really about to arrange your flowers for a grand charity gala in two weeks!

A mixture of elation and jitters erupted in your body all at once, uncontained as you whipped your head around and strode across your shop in giddy steps. Your eyes lit up at the steel card gripped between your fingers, clenched so tightly like you were worried the card would turn to dust when you woke up from this dream. But at the wide smile that bloomed on your lips, you knew that this was reality. This man, Todoroki Shouto, was giving you the opportunity to have your true potential shown at this big gala.

Meanwhile, on his way back to his Mercedes, Shouto was clicking open his phone. The screen beamed at him in the low light of the evening turning to night while he punched a number from his contacts list. It took only the cusp of the second ring for the person on the other line to pick up his call.

“Midoriya, call off the search,” Shouto commanded into his phone. He rested his back on the door of his car, leaning against it with his phone still attached to his ear. His gaze found its way back to the flower shop he had just departed, eyeing the light emitting from the windows to the sign hanging above them. Grinning, he took in the sight of the flowers dancing in the wind around the shop’s vicinity before finding your silhouette standing in the benevolent light inside.

“We have our florist.”

#bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha imagine #todoroki shouto x reader #mha x reader #bnha fic #todoroki fic #todoroki imagine

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harryspet · 4 years

Note

Could you right a scene for sweet sister💎 where the oc grew up a bit and has a bf and realizes how wrong the things he did to her was? Like her confronting him and stuff like that. Btw love all your fics❤

sweet sister [2] peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x innocent reader, angst, stepcest, aged-up peter, dubcon, rough sex, male/female masturbation, manipulation, little editing

A/N: I actually really enjoyed writing this! I hope everyone enjoys the part two!

In which you finally confront Peter for taking advantage of you.

part one

word count: 1.6k

As your boyfriend parked in front of your family’s brownstone, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of anxiousness. You’d moved out two years into college and, although you visited a lot, this time was different.

You loved Peter. You were in love with him and, through your blind innocence, he had convinced you that he felt the same.

When he said you two couldn’t be together, you didn’t understand. You’d spent the entire summer going on little dates and Peter taught you so much about sex and pleasure. When the summer was over and you wanted more, he up and left you.

It took you a long time to heal from it. At least, you thought you had healed.

“Do you want to wait in the car?” Ethan asked.

You felt your eyes welling with tears but you quickly pretended like you were fine. You turned to your boyfriend, smiling, “No, of course not. Let’s go.”

You never told him the extent of what happened between you and Peter. Until you met your boyfriend, you hadn’t realized how corrupted you had been. Peter had violated your trust and innocence. He did things to you that a brother should never even think to do.

Your visit home began smoothly. Happy was interrogating Ethan like usual, you were helping May out in the kitchen, and Peter called to say that he wasn’t going to make it.

It was getting late, you were about to doze off as you rested your head on your boyfriend’s chest. Happy had chosen some old movie and the four of you piled into the living room to enjoy some more family time.

Your boyfriend traced his fingers over the skin of your arm, making little shapes, and, although you were sure he didn’t notice, it always comforted you. You were about to close your eyes when suddenly the front door opened. May stood, going to greet Peter at the door, and your heart began to pound in your chest.

“Peter, you made it!” As the two stepped into the living room, you sat up, taking in his appearance. He didn’t look much different, just a bit more tired in his eyes. By his duffle bags and casual clothing, you could tell he had just gotten off a flight.

Both May and Happy were talking but their voice was muffled as you and Peter stared into each other.

As Peter’s eyes found the hands wrapped around your waist, something deep within him snapped. Peter’s jaw clenched as he heard his Aunt May say, “Y/N? No hugs?”

You faked a smile, Peter knew better than to believe it. You grabbed your boyfriend’s hand, urging him to stand up with him, “Sorry, I’m just so tired,” As you approached Peter, you made sure to only give him a side hug, “Peter, this is my boyfriend.”

Your boyfriend was a little nervous to be meeting The Spider-man but he tried not to fanboy as he shook Peter’s hand, “It’s so nice to meet you, man.”

For the first time, you actually saw that Peter was bothered by something. He was usually so confident, especially around his family.

“Yeah, same,” Peter spoke through clenched teeth, trying to fake a smile of his own, “You guys are watching a movie? Which one?”

“Yeah, Happy actually-”

You interrupted May, “I think we’re actually going to turn in. You missed a lot of the movie anyway, they already killed the evil aliens.”

Peter looked you over, gripping the strap of his bag tightly, and you could feel the anger radiating off of him, “Okay, well, I’ll make Ethan’s bed on the couch.”

“Wait, he’s going to stay with me in my room,” You said and both May and Happy paused awkwardly.

“Y/N, you remember the rules. No boys in your room until you’re married,” Happy spoke, acting as fatherly as he could.

If only they knew what kind of things had happened in your room. Your shoulders slumped and you looked at Ethan who was more than willing to not anger Happy, “Fine, I just want to sleep.”

Your old room was just like you had left it. You walked around it, now dressed in the matching pink set that was your pajamas, examining all the items of your past. You saw the pile of stuffed animals in the corner, the dollhouse you were way too old to play with, and your shelf of romance novels.

As your eyes examined your canopy-covered bed, you saw yourself. You were shirtless, only wearing a pair of white panties, and you were sat on your knees. One of your favorite stuffed animals, Boris the Bear, was sitting between your legs. Its empty eyes stared up at you, innocent and not at all deserving of what Peter wanted you to do it.

He was touching himself as he watched you, “Just-” A groan, “Just rub yourself against his nose.”

You did as he said, feeling that new sense of pleasure as you moved your hips back and forth. By how hard he was, how fast he was pumping his hand, you knew he liked it. You always liked when Peter was happy. Why wouldn’t you want your brother to be happy?

“Good girl. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, Peter-”

You looked up, startled, as Peter appeared in front of you, “Are you daydreaming? You didn’t even hear me come in.”

His chest was bare, and you didn’t think it was possible for him to become more muscular. Years of being Spider-man can do that to someone, you assumed, “Get out-”

“Thinking of me?” You shook your head as Peter moved closer, cornering you.

“Of course not,” You lied. You had imagined this moment a million times, finally airing out your grievances and telling him how bad he hurt you. Now, you felt you were paralyzed as you took in his scent and felt the heat radiating off of him, “Peter. Get. Out.”

Peter scoffed, “You’re mad at me? Is it because of that boring piece of white bread sleeping on the couch downstairs?”

Anger rose in your chest, “Don’t talk about him that way. You have no right,” Seeing you all flustered only made him want you more. You were backed up against the wall, his hands on either side of your head as he stared into your eyes.

“I have no right?” Peter’s brow furrowed, “You’re my baby sister, of course I do.”

“You’re a predator, Peter,” You stated firmly which made his eyes darken, “You don’t care about me. You want one thing and now you’ve got it.”

“Your innocence? That’s true, I do have that,” Peter spoke more confidently than you expected, “But that’s not all I want.”

You pushed at his chest, trying to get him away from you but he swiftly grabbed your wrist and pinned them above your head. You struggled against his superhuman strength as he leaned in to kiss your neck, “Peter, no more! You lost your freaking mind a long time ago and all of this ends today. We’re done.”

You were stronger than you used to be. You had to be.

He shushed you, “You’ll like it,” He dipped his hands between the fabric of your pajama bottoms and panties, feeling the slickness between your neck, “Is this from earlier when you were daydreaming about me?”

You shook your head, “We’re done, Peter. I-I have a boyfriend-”

“Then why are you getting wet for me?” Peter rubbed his fingers in circles as he continued to kiss your neck. He leaned into your ear, your heart pounding in your chest, “I’m gonna fuck you against this wall, Y/N, and I'm going to make you happy as any good brother would do too.”

This was wrong, you repeated it over and over in your mind. Everything he had done was devious and predatory. He took advantage of you yet, when your lips met, you felt your lips melt against his.

Why was it such a heavenly feeling to have his lips on yours when it should feel like sin?

It was so passionate but clumsy as he pulled down your pajama bottoms and panties. It was like he might explode if he wasn’t inside of you in the next ten seconds. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he slid down his own boxers, letting his cock spring free. He grabbed one of your legs, lifting it as he positioned himself at your entrance.

His tongue licked at your own as he slammed himself inside of you. It was so rough that one of your framed pictures fell off the wall. It was never like this that summer you spent together, Peter was always gentle with you but now he was a complete animal.

He moved in and out of you quickly and, you thought it might hurt, but it was just as euphoric as the kiss. He swallowed your moans with his mouth as he pounded into you. Your nails scratched at his broad back, his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust.

You both came hard, shaking as you gripped each other for support. Peter pressed against you, leaning into the wall, as he caught his breath.

As soon as it over, reality hit you like a brick. What had you done? You’d manage to hurt Ethan and yourself so quickly. You pushed Peter away, brushing past him as you struggled to pull up your panties. A strangled cry left your lips as the emotions hit you all at once.

Peter reached out to grab your hand, pulling you back, “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” You fell to your knees and Peter joined you quickly. He hugged you and you leaned your head against his shoulder, sobbing, “You did good. You’re always such a good girl for me, Y/N.”

“I hate you,” The words choked you as they struggled to leave your mouth.

You hated that deep down you craved his approval. Craved his pleasure.

“But you’re mine, Y/N. I should’ve made that lesson number one,” He ran his soothing fingers through your hair, brushing away the shame, “Don’t worry, we’ll start our lessons again.”

Like, reblog and let me know what you think! (also, im sorry, but PLEASE don’t ask for a part three)

my requests are open

#dark peter #peter parker au #peter parker x reader #dark peter x reader #dark!peter #stepbrother #mcu smut #marvel smut #dark fic #marvel #au #dark marvel #mcu #one shot #peter one shot #peter parker oneshot #tom holland x reader #tom holland #ariana grande

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mikwrites-archive · 4 years

Text

syn·on·y·mous

➳ requested by @dorkyama: omg .... porhaps can i request an enemies to lovers with wonwoo imfsbhjfksbh

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

warnings: none i believe !!

wc: 1.3k

➳ notes: the way my svt fics b hella long im sorry i keep getting carried away HAHAH - titles r also super yuck - i’m not entirely used to writing for enemies to lovers so i hope u like this remy !!! ♡♡♡ tysm for being my first requester mwah !!!

You hated Jeon Wonwoo.

To your seven year old self, it was a perfectly adequate way of describing your emotions towards your rival classmate; yet as you uttered the words one day to your mother, in a rage after getting home from school, she scolded you, saying to “not use that word against anyone”.

So you went to your room, swallowing your arguments, opened your heavy thesaurus to the letter H, and ran your fingertip down the pages until you found what you were looking for.

Loathe. Detest. Despise.

You loathed, detested, and despised Jeon Wonwoo.

Both your parents had assured you that once you graduated from high school, you’d never have to see one another again, and it was enough to placate Wonwoo and yourself grudgingly in your teen years.

Until you found yourself sitting in his dorm, chewing on stale gummy bears as if gnashing them between your teeth would relieve your annoyance at the chances of being paired up with Jeon Wonwoo for the most important project of the semester.

Your internal griping is interrupted with a small tug at your scalp, and you jolt, glaring at Wonwoo, who releases your hair.

“What are you, five?”

“Pay attention.” He ignores your snarl. “We only have half an hour left to work on this before I have to go out.”

“That’s why we split it up.” You remind him resentfully. “So we could do parts on our own.”

“And looking at what you’ve done compared to me, maybe we didn’t split it up well enough.”

You glance at his screen, somehow filled with information already, compared to your sparse notes, and you run your tongue over your teeth tightly.

“I’ll get it done. It’s my grade too y’know, asshole.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, and you’re glad.

“Out of all the people, it had to be him. I would’ve been fine paired with anyone else, but no, I had to-”

“Okay, we get it.” Jeonghan drawls amusedly. “You hate Wonwoo. We know.”

You’re pacing the floor, and it’s not the first time throughout the period of time having Wonwoo as your partner.

“I can’t believe I still have to deal with him.” You exhale, finally collapsing next to Jun, who doesn’t even spare you a look from his phone as he remarks absently.

“Just get married already.”

Jeonghan cackles as you bolt up again, and Jun has a wry grin on his face as you protest angrily.

“You set her off again!” Jeonghan accuses with wide eyes through his giggles, pointing at Jun who shrugs.

“Not my fault you can’t see the truth. After all, they say there’s a thin line between love and hate.” Jun states matter of factly, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Why do we hate each other so much?”

You ask out of wanting to hear his reasons, wearing thin of the clipped conversation revolving only around your paired project.

“What, are we in some cheesy rom-com?” Wonwoo snorts, pushing up his glasses as he doesn’t bother to take his eyes off his laptop screen.

“Just a conversation starter, since the only thing we really have in common is that we hate each other’s guts.” You smile sarcastically and Wonwoo’s lips twitch.

“I don’t hate you. I just can’t tolerate you.”

“Is that supposed to be any nicer?” You squint.

“Dunno.”

“You’re still the same.” You sigh, and part of you secretly doesn’t mind that Jeon Wonwoo hasn’t changed as much as your life has itself. He sends you a sideways glance at your words.

“So are you.”

The project is finished with surprising amiability.

While you wouldn’t deem one another as friends, there was no more underhanded comments, gummy bear gnashing, or hair tugging, and the silence was comfortable, broken only by a greeting, the spare question, and a goodbye.

Yet there was still the presentation.

“I’m gonna throw up.” You mutter, head in your hands as you swallow, attempting to calm the nausea in the depths of your stomach.

“Can’t you hold it in until this is over?”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” You snap, and Wonwoo sighs.

“Can you present the project with me or not?”

“I can.”

“You sure? Don’t need to hold my hand to help you through it?” He holds it out tauntingly, and while you want to throw it back in his face, you grip it grudgingly, and Wonwoo goes silent, tips of his ears turning pink.

From shock or embarrassment, you’re not sure, but the thoughts of hurling your lunch in front of the entire class is pushed aside, as you smile triumphantly to yourself, ignoring the pound of your heart.

“What’d you get?”

You’re breathless, clutching your grade to your chest, and Wonwoo gazes at you curiously.

“You first.” You nod to his own paper.

“Same time.” Wonwoo insists, and you relent, counting down from three, both of you displaying your results at the end.

Identical pen marks etched your sheets, and both of you breathe quiet sighs of relief, lips curving up in light smiles.

“You wanna get boba to celebrate? It’s on me.” He tucks his paper carefully into his pocket, and you blink.

“You want to celebrate... with me?” You repeat slowly, and he shrugs.

“It’s just boba.” Wonwoo huffs. “Do you want to or not?”

He takes your pause as mulling his offer over with amusement, but you’re attempting to puzzle out any other motive, embarrassingly pushing them aside with the dismissal of nonsense, taking his words for their meanings.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Where are you going? Again?” Jeonghan inquires curiously, chewing a mouthful of cereal.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.” You respond, miffed. “Wonwoo wanted to try out this new place this opened nearby, but had no one to go with so he asked me.”

“You’ve been going out with Wonwoo a lot.” Jeonghan notes with a smirk.

“It’s nothing.” You dismiss breezily.

“Sounds like a date to me.” Jun calls out, and you glare at him.

“It’s not a date. We aren’t even friends.”

“He asked you to go eat with him, alone.” Jeonghan points out, gesturing with his spoon.

“Yeah, and? We just eat, it’s not like we really talk a lot.”

“Sounds boring.” Jun sighs.

You open your mouth to rebut the statement before catching yourself, and Jeonghan and Jun exchange knowing glances as you slip on your shoes while shrugging on a light jacket.

“Bye. Don’t wait up.”

“Bring something home for us!”

“No!”

“Spit it out.”

“Huh?” You almost do spit out your boba, swallowing the tapioca whole in your avoidance to choke, sliding down uncomfortably as you gaze at Wonwoo, wide eyed.

“You look like you want to say something. Just say it.”

“Oh, because you know me so well?” You scoff, part defensive, and part sarcastic, and Wonwoo grins drily.

“I think I do.”

You ignore the flutter inside your chest, unbidden butterflies, swirling your straw pensively, contemplating your words in bitterness.

“I don’t think you do. I mean, I get it, we aren’t friends, maybe we still hate one another, maybe not, but you keep asking me to go out with you, and it probably doesn’t even mean anything, but I don’t-”

“Are you done?”

Your mouth opens, indignation flooding over your features as Wonwoo raises his eyebrows.

“No? You just-”

“Good.”

His fingertips are cold, a contrast to your burning cheeks as he cups them gently, bringing his lips to yours, and you’re frozen for a beat before curling your hands into his shirt gently, returning his embrace.

“I don’t hate you.” Wonwoo breathes when you pull apart. “And I hope we aren’t friends after this.”

Your laughs are drowned out as you kiss him again, and you think of love and hate, their emotional synonymity, and of the dog eared thesaurus that you might have to open once more, this time, tracing your fingertip down the letter L.

➳ tags: @writeiolite

let me know if you’d like to be added/taken off!

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo imagines #svt imagines #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo

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kwrittink · 4 years

Text

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Pairing: Best Friend!Reader x Non Idol!Im JaeBeom

Genre: FTL, Smut (pwp with little plot tbh)

Warnings: language, mentions of cheating, explicit intercourse, fem!oral, unprotected intercourse

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You couldn't handle this anymore. Every aspect of it, of your relationship, you were hating it. But the worse part was, you didn't have any reason to, all of it was bordering perfect. The guy was sweet, treated you well, wasn't prone to cheating, loved you to bits. It just sucked to fall out of love, more to someone like that, so undeserving.

Well, you couldn't exactly say you fell out of love, since the feeling wasn't really present for your partner, unfortunately. You liked the dumbass that asked you out two years ago, but couldn't stand him anymore. And once you start hating the way someone breathes, that's a sign that you probably should leave them.

Before fantasies of making him stop breathing altogether became a reality.

Why were you dating him, again?

Oh, yeah. "Drunk again, huh?" The voice of your best friend JaeBeom dragged you out of your rage-filled mind, glare once trying to drill holes on the skull of your idiot lightweight of a boyfriend turning to the man that effectively held every piece of your sanity at that point. "What was it now? Him trying to match your pace?"

"He's barely conscious, mixed a ton of drinks because he was feeling petty and now I've got to make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit." You rolled your eyes, crossed arms over your chest not budging even when JaeBeom sat next to you, arm pulling the opposite shoulder towards him, in a consoling gesture.

He snickered. "What he had to be petty about now?"

"Well for starters..." You were going to start rambling what you've already told your other friend. Well, you sent her a long audio message, for when she woke up while on the way to JaeBeom's place, the only person you knew would definitely be awake at that hour. Besides, I know where all the knives are in my own house, so it was the most sensible choice, you thought to yourself, even if that was a lie. You just wanted to go to your best friend's house, abusing his hospitality and knowing that he'd receive you even with a passed out boyfriend at tow.

"Yes?" As he nudged your shoulder you realized you had halted mid-sentence. You'd consumed your fair share of alcohol as well, though anger had sobered you up pretty quickly. By his side, that was ebbing away slowly. That was one of the reasons you couldn't even start listing reasons for the scene your boyfriend made today. It was all about him.

Licking your lips, you looked away from the man that had been the reason for the failure of that relationship, and every other to come, you'd bet. Because you were since god knows when madly in love for someone that has always considered you part of his family, a little sister, as once was put. "He was jealous." That was all you were willing to offer.

"Of me, again?" He countered, and you tensed up, not understanding how could he be so spot on. You'd never mentioned any of your boyfriend's - fair - jealous episodes to him, nor your partner has let it show in front of your best friend, that you knew of. So how could he come up with something like that?

"That's- Yeah I mean, there were other reasons and-" You mumbled in your astonishment, turning to look at the growing smirk on your friend's face, trying to ignore how that simple expression affected your whole body, even more when he was still holding you close.

"Sure... A guy's pride can get really hurt when the girl he loves tells him he'd never been able to satisfy her in two years," he quipped, and by that point you were livid. That was something you send to your friend, word for word. Or at least, you thought so.

"How would y-"

"Y/N," the whisper shushed you immediately, your mouth gaped as you stared at his smug face while he pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, fingerprint unlocking the screen showing, to your surprise, a five-minute audio message on the display. Turns out you haven't sent the utterly frustrated audio to your friend, that was already tired of listening how much you've been head over heels over a man that you could never be with. You were pretty sure that furious and inebriated you had mentioned something like that in the message, along with other confessions you should have never uttered. "You should start paying attention to who you send some stuff." JaeBeom snickered, making all the blood run off your face. What have you done?

Getting up from the couch, you put some distance between both to think clearly. You wouldn't believe a single thing if he weren't showing you the receipt, cursing inwardly as you tried to avoid panicking. "Uhm, you know that... You weren't supposed to hear that," head between your hands you looked down to the floor, feeling even soberer than before. Any speck of alcohol had been burned with how embarrassed you were. "You know, I was drunk- I-I am drunk actually."

"You sound perfectly sober to me, Y/N." JaeBeom's voice was still in the same calm tone and you had to swallow before looking back up at him. "And remember I've known you my whole life - maybe not as well as I thought but - enough to know when you're serious. This is you as serious as the heart attack you're almost having." The playful teasing went completely over your head as you tried to find a way to deny the whole thing you've said. You didn't want to ruin your friendship with him like that, not over such a silly mistake.

But apparently JaeBeom didn't want to give you space to think. "And I hope he agonizes in his unconscious state, wondering if JaeBeom is fucking me the way he'd never be able to. That was harsh, never thought you could be so mean, babe." He kept going, quoting what you've slurred at the back of the car, the taxi driver even snickering quietly at your little speech. You squeezed your eyes shut, noticing how JaeBeom got up as well, stepping once to tower over you only when his body heat hit you and you could smell him again, the familiar perfume you loved on him and bought a bottle every year for his birthday. "That was good Y/N, but you wanna know what's my favorite part?"

Swallowing thickly, you looked up at his face, noticing even in the dim lights of his living room that his eyes weren't exactly trained on yours, rather lower. You were scared to think about the attention of his gaze. "What?" You answered breathlessly. His smile widened again, barely moving as he pressed play on the audio again, your voice echoing in the room.

'If only I had the chance to hop on JaeBeom I would use my time properly, by bouncing on that cock.' You tensed hearing that the last of your morals caring for the man laid on the neighbor couch you were previously sitting on, not wanting him to hear that and prove himself right.

"I'm sorry I... Sorry-" JaeBeom used his free hand to lift your chin, as you mentioned glancing away from his face, a little frown between his brows.

"Why, don't be sorry. I've been wanting to hear that since god knows when. And it was even better than I could have imagined it." You bit your lower lip at his declaration, unsure of what exactly he meant. You loved JaeBeom and if he was just lusting for you that moment you'd probably give in, but the whole thing would still break the friendship.

The fact that he was so close and barely touching you was also aggravating, which made you anxious, yearning. "JaeBeom, I-"

"I know. But I love you, and I know this is complicated for you right now. I just need you to know the feeling is the same. I won't try anything tho-" It felt like ages before you could move again and when you did, the first impulse was to throw your arms around his neck and crash your mouth on his with desperation, almost making JaeBeom fall back.

True to your word, you barely gave time for JaeBeom to prepare before you literally hopped on him, wrapping your legs around his waist and dragging a surprised sound from your friend. Hearing him say that, so sure and clear made something inside of you snap, whatever chain still weighing you down breaking in a million pieces. Morals be damned, you wouldn't let this opportunity escape.

Securing his stance, JaeBeom let his eyes fall shut and, the hands that once started unsure gripping your waist slid down to take a hold of your ass, lips violently capturing yours.

"You don't waste time, huh?" He panted, as soon as the need for air got urgent. Your fingers grasped the back of his head, lightly scratching his scalp and making JaeBeom shudder as you smiled, eyes still closed.

"Can't wait anymore." Was what you could muster, hearing him groan and press an open-mouthed kiss to the base of your throat, making you moan softly. As he parted to look at you, eyes dark with the lust ignited by your sounds, you realized that, despite the time he was willing to offer you, to get your bearings and do this the proper way, JaeBeom couldn't wait as well. How long have both of you suppressed those feelings? How long you've fooled yourself that you'd be able to get over that man when your heart was in his hands?

In a swift motion, JaeBeom twisted around still holding you securely, getting back to the couch and placing your back against the cushions, his body topping yours in a tight press. You bit your lip as he made quick work of your dress and resumed attacking your neck, trying to suppress the sounds breaching your throat, a quick glance to the side at the still knocked out cold body nearby. Guilt pinched at your chest.

"JaeBeom-"

"You said you wanted him to agonize in his unconsciousness, right? Wondering if I'm fucking you the way he'd never be able to?" The lips once occupied sucking a bruise on the skin beneath your ear interrupted you to mutter those words in a sultry tone that had you shivering. Your mouth gaped at the once more repeated sentence and you wondered how many times had he listened to it to quote that so perfectly. "Want me to fulfill that wish?"

You nearly moaned loudly at the proposal, inner walls of your already damp core clenching as arousal filled you up further. At that moment you knew that as JaeBeom was your sanity, it was also your perdition. You nodded, knowing he'd understand that and felt him smirking against your skin, hands once chastely on your waist sliding back down to grip your now bare bottom, teeth sinking on the sensitive flesh of your neck before starting a new pace, lips traveling down to your chest.

"You're going to be good for me then, huh?" You thought he'd just get to work and wouldn't keep making the mush inside your head that once was a brain work, but there was JaeBeom expecting an answer with hovering a perky nipple, hot breath fanning over it. "Y/N?"

"Pl- Yeah Beom, I'll be good," wherever that came from, the meal turned into speech you had just uttered would make you think later that you were that desperate to be railed by the man that was eating up every sound you were making and gradually losing the grip of his self-control.

"Great. Then let us hear you, babe."

With maybe more strength he intended to, JaeBeom took hold of one breast and grunted before wrapping his lips around the bud, making you yelp loudly at the mix of pain and pleasure it caused. Swirling his tongue once he let your nipple go with a pop, only to rush and take the other one in his mouth, fingertips teasing the slick appendage and sending shockwaves straight to your core, while you tried to catch your breath. If he was being this intense already with only foreplay, you couldn't wait to feel JaeBeom once he got to be inside of you.

And if your expectations of him were high, he wasn't disappointing you, rather exceeding what you had in mind. Lips occupied by teasing your breasts didn't stop JaeBeom's free hand to nonchalantly slip inside your panties, fingers going straight to your slick folds and clit, thumb pressing against the sensitive nub and dragging a wanton moan from your throat, at last having someone other than you touching the poor neglected nerve ending.

As if it wasn't enough, two of his fingers prodded at your entrance, using the overflowing juices to slid them inside with ease and effectively knocked the air out of your lungs as you relished the pain and pleasure of being opened up so suddenly. "So tight and wet," he muttered, letting go of your boob and trailing downwards, peppering your torso with kisses as you writhed underneath him, moaning unrestrained. The presence of your future ex-boyfriend beside you completely ignored.

Too slow he reached the hem of your panties, retreating his fingers only to pop them into his mouth, groaning like he was entranced by your taste. Your face felt hot, either by never having experienced that sight or pure arousal, legs trying to close, and get friction again. Tuting, JaeBeom gripped the back of your knees and shoved them up and apart, exposing you completely to his hungry gaze.

"I can't wait to pound you just how you deserve, babe. But first," he started with a deep and breathy voice, eyeing you up and down like you were a full course meal he intended to enjoy thoroughly, so different from the soft stare your boyfriend gave you before his five-minute performance. JaeBeom looked at you like he was about to devour you. "I have to get you ready to take me, 'kay?" It didn't feel like a question at all so you just heaved, moving to grasp your thighs and keep yourself in place.

The wonders of a good oral were unknown to you, something that you'd only hear about. It wasn't that this other dude wouldn't go down on you, he just couldn't take any hints. He'd never made you cum, though at least you got enough spit on your pussy so his dick wouldn't get in so painfully. Your boyfriend had a great dick, just couldn't use it properly. In JaeBeom's case, you barely needed him to eat you out, already so wet he'd just slip in eas-

"JaeB- fuck!" Your thought process was cut completely as JaeBeom's mouth landed on your engorged clit, not even making an attempt of going slow, suckling at it hard while his tongue flicked at the nub. Your nails dug in your skin, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he did that for a solid thirty seconds and was enough to almost get you to cum. Almost being the keyword, since after the shock he pulled back, smirking pleased at your loud response to his ministrations, looking completely like a beast with his hair in front of his eyes.

"In a bit, babe. I want you to cum on my tongue first." Those were words you thought you'd only hear in your wildest fantasies, but there he was uttering them clearly and with purpose. You whimpered, wanting to reach out and push him back to your boiling core, knowing it wouldn't take long at all to get you to your climax if he kept going with that mouth of his. This time he went slowly, flattening his tongue to slide it across your whole sex, shudders rippling on your body at the feeling of the wet, warm muscle against your folds. The tip of his tongue swirled around your clit with care, flicking the throbbing nerve as he panted against it, hot breath making you twitch. You whined, urging him a little but JaeBeom, with his eyes closed, was too lost on savoring you and all you had to offer him to bother.

A kiss was placed on your mound before he moved again, once more wrapping the plush pillows around swollen flesh and you moaned at the increasing suction and tongue work, but almost screamed at the feeling of his fingers, once forgotten, returned to fill you partially, a come hither motion teasing your whole self into imploding. You weren't exactly sure what would happen but you were sure you'd come soon, and not just once. JaeBeom hummed against you, enjoying the moans that had turned into heavy breaths coming from your wide-open mouth, head thrown back.

Might have been a couple of minutes or mere seconds, but the knot in the pit of your belly snapped, electricity running through your body in waves as you spasmed deliciously around JaeBeom's fingers as he stuck them as deep as he could, working the abused and swollen bundle of nerves to the last of your orgasm. His name echoed in your ears, but maybe that was just you screaming it in the throes of bliss.

"That's it, breathe now babe," he soothed you exactly at the second you stopped clenching, breath heavy with the force of your climax. Fingers retreating, you only heard as he sucked your sweet essence from the digits, the smacking of his lips bringing heat to your whole body. "Breath a bit, tell me when you're ready."

Weakly, you looked at him, watching as he stripped, pulling the loose tee he was using over his head and exposed torso there for admiration. You'd seen the man without a shirt once, but the one in front of you, gleaming under the light with the little sweat on his chest, hair disheveled and stuck to his forehead somehow was closer to a beast than a human. A shiver ran through your whole body as you swallowed dryly, forcing your tongue to aid in the formation of words.

"P-Please Beom, I need you inside of me..." You mumbled, mouth dry and sticky. You watched as he smiled, biting his lower lip, admiring you being already so wrecked while he was just getting started. Hands dropped to his jeans, fingers doing quick work of the button and zipper. Your eyes dropped to observe eagerly, while your lower lip was worried between the teeth.

"I'd like to see your pretty mouth stuffed with my cock but," JaeBeom started, getting up to push the denim and underwear past his knees, one hand taking hold of the length that bobbed after being released. "Now I want you to do like you said, hm?" In the future, the smug expression of his face would probably infuriate you, because he'd know you'd be ready to jump him anytime. But at that moment the smirk only set more fire to your yearning core.

"Like I said?" You asked, taking the offered hand to stand on wobbly legs and giving way for him to sit. JaeBeom nodded, looking amused.

"Come bounce on my cock like you said you would, Y/N." The husky tone literally made your knees shake and you almost choked at the call out. But you said you would, and the opportunity was really presented.

Not wasting another second you straddled his waist, one hand holding his cheek to press your lips on his again, the other reaching between your bodies to grasp his hot girth and tease it on your still slick folds. JaeBeom throbbed, hands now firmly placed on your waist giving a small squeeze to your sides, urging you to put him inside.

"Fuck yeah," was what he grunted against your lips when only the tip was inside your warmth, tongue poking out to lick at your mouth as you panted, lowering yourself on his cock. As you predicted, it felt even better than his fingers, reached deliciously deeper, and made you lightheaded enough to tilt your head and rest it at his shoulder.

"Beom, you're so big inside," you teased, lips against his ear as you gave your hips an experimental swirl. Humming pleased he slid his palms to your ass, pressing down in encouragement to grind with him inside. You abided to the silent request, feeling his head drop by his side at your walls squeezing around him.

You continued the movement till your legs felt stronger, and tried bouncing a little at first, gasping at how his tip was hitting this perfect spot deep inside of you.

"Damn, you're so tight around me babe," He whispered, a lilt to his voice at the end that you perked up a bit to look at his face. Pushing yourself up again you dropped, causing a strained moan to escape, the corners of your lips tugging up at the realization that obviously, JaeBeom could be louder with a little push. It was only fair, he'd made you scream minutes prior, you'd make him feel as good as he was making you feel.

Having an objective in mind made you forget how your muscles were starting to ache, holding to JaeBeom's shoulders as leverage while you began to truly ride him, moaning at how he throbbed inside of you and egging JaeBeom to get vocal as well.

"Fuck babe," you hiccuped, kissing up his jaw just to get closer to his ear again. "F-Feels so good ins-side of me, you're gonna make me c-cum again..." you mumbled while bouncing hard on his lap, a stronger knot forming inside of you. The teasing had some effect, a louder strained grunt echoing on the ambient, his jaw jutted, hips jerking up to meet yours and palms never leaving their spot at your butt, pushing it down as aid. "JaeBeom-"

"Babe, shit! That's it, hmm fuck yourself on my cock like you want to," he went off, humming and hissing at how good you were squeezing him, nearing your orgasm like you vocalized, spasms getting tighter "Come around me like you're meant- I'm right behind you love."

You almost didn't have the strength to get yourself to cum, wasn't by JaeBeom's desperation to get there as well that made him pound up, making the job to only slide back down much easier. At that point, the room was filled with heavy breaths and strings of curses, the scent of impending highs stuck in the air.

"I'm going to cum babe, so close with you m-milking me like th-"

"Please cum inside of me, please!" Your voice was as desperate as you felt, so loud you'd ask yourself how the man sleeping on the couch didn't wake up. "Claim me as yours JaeBeom."

Didn't take him two pumps to start spilling inside of you, arms snaking around your waist to hold you down and take everything he had to give you, the pressure of his tip directly on your cervix, rocketing you immediately to your orgasm. You barely registered, as JaeBeom pressed his head on the crook of your neck, humming and stuttering curses as you went through wave after wave.

You didn't even noticed how JaeBeom had to grasp you firmly to avoid you tipping back, so lost in the bliss.

The only thing that pulled you back were his lips, peppering kisses all over your face until you got back to the real world. He snickered when you looked at him, sighing heavily and weary.

"Hi love, are you okay?" He asked, kissing your cheek tenderly. You hummed and nodded, a smile growing on your lips as you let yourself stay like that a little before you really had to get up and clean yourself.

You looked to the side, snickering upon meeting the drooling face of your still boyfriend, wondering if he'd mind at all you calling one of his friends to pick him up with a little note written that you were over.

Maybe it would be better than him seeing your wrecked state, bruises caused by JaeBeom marking your whole body. You had to have a little mercy left.

#im jaebum x reader #jaebum smut #got7 jaebeom #got7 oneshot

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nat-20s · 4 years

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i woke up at 4:30 in the morning with this messy meta about the comparative horror styles of welcome to nightvale vs the magnus archives and how i like them both very much this is not a one is better than the other post because they’re DIFFERENT but also why, personally, nightvale has freaked me out more than TMA (the magnus archives- im gonna use the abbreviation from now on and in scientific papers u gotta ESTABLISH the acronym and it’s actually kind of annoying bc they’ll establish it ONCE in the abstract and then never say what XJFEFJDOSM or whatever stands for again so if ur like wait WHAT was that again u gotta scroll all the way back up and it’s a whole thing but I digress) and it has to do with WORLDBUILDING and FRAMING DEVICES and USE OF SECOND PERSON and only a little bit how if a character unironically says “innit” i automatically can’t take them seriously. Anyway it’s stuck in my head so you know I had to make it your problem. Also I’m putting this under a read more bc fjsdjlks holy shit this is gonna get LONG and RAMBLY and D E E P L Y nerdy

WORLDBUILDING, FRAMING DEVICES, AND (THE USE OF) YOU IN MANGUS AND NIGHTVALE

Part A: whose universe is it anyway? Welcome to horror where the lore is made up and the logic doesnt matter

so I am not the first or last to compare (/maybe wanna crossover a little) the worlds of

wtnv (welcome to nightvale) and TMA and like for good reason bc in many ways they feel very similar but in TMA it’s like What the FUCK is going on with all of these horrors and nightmarish scenarios I am FREAKED out where as WTNV treats it’s horrors as typically mundane which

A: plays into why when WTNV is like “remember how we’re a horror :)” it’s like OH SHIT bc if Jon Archivist is scared you’re like well yeah it’s scary out there but if CECIL PALMER, general attitude of a peppy cheerleader when facing terrors beyond imagination, is scared, you KNOW shit is FUCKED

B: isn’t entirely accurate, because I don’t actually feel like they are set in the same world. here’s where things get sticky when it comes to realities and whatnot but I do wanna stress that yes I know WTNV and TMA are both works of fictions BUT I would personally say that

TMA is set in a parallel universe: a reality that’s similar to our own but also distinctly separate from anything that we, the audience, can witness but never participate in

WTNV is set in a hidden universe: it is set in our (the listeners) own reality, and is done in such a way that it feels like if you looked hard enough for it or if you just had a bout of bad luck or if you happen to drive down a certain road in a long stretch of US desert (side note: if there’s any real life place nightvale would be set in it’s definitely new mexico have you ever been in new mexico it’s called land of ENCHANTMENT for a reason if I drove into new mexico and drove back out a few days later and like THIRTY YEARS had passed I’d be like yeah that tracks) that you could end up in the reality of nightvale. Who’s to say there’s not a faceless old woman secretly living in your house? Are you sure there’s nothing odd in your mirror? Who can ever be sure time is working correctly?

Which brings me to

Part B: You(yes, you!)’ve Been Framed!

Listen. I fucking love a good framing device. Every time a podcast is like “here’s why the events of the story are recorded in the world of the story” I go bonkers in yonkers that shit SLAPS. TMA and WTNV both do this, but (at least up to ep 176 of TMA, this whole fuckin essay could still be blown out the water) TMA’s framing device doesn’t account for an audience, where as WTNV’s the audience is a core component

the framing device of TMA is that these spooky stories are being recorded by an archivist in order to have an audio version of written statements. Cool! It tells the audience why these recordings exist, and why they’re episodic. Later in the story, the tapes begin to spontaneously show up because of Spooky Reasons that have yet to be Fully Revealed, but it still isn’t for an audience. When Jon Archivist records these tapes, they’re basically being recorded for a Void. Yes, the tapes are originally for a potential researcher to listen to, but that ain’t you chief. You are not part of the narrative (so far at least! Again, maybe the audience will be brought into the story when it’s revealed What’s Up with the spontaneous tapes, but so far nah), there’s no in universe explanation for why you personally are listening to these stories. You aren’t present in the story, in the framing device, so you are not a part of that world.

The framing device of WTNV is that you are tuning into the community radio of a small desert town, Nightvale, that you are a part of. After all, if you are tuning into something local, you’re strongly implied to be local. Thus, we have a framing device that explains both why it’s recorded AND why you’re listening. The audience is absolutely involved in the narrative rather than a simple spectator. Cecil Palmer is not recording into a Void, he’s talking to listeners of which you are a part of. (side note: this makes nightvale liveshows SUPER fun if u get an opportunity to go to one I HIGHLY recommend it bc while there’s not ‘audience participation’ in the classic sense of like magic or comedy acts the narrative IS constructed in a way that you feel less like a witness of a story and more of a participant like the one I went to most of us pulled our legs onto out chair bc oh SHIT maybe there IS an escaped librarian under your chair making a grab for your feet SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF IS FUN AS HELL YALL)

These framing devices are enforced and enhanced upon by who the “you” in a narrative is.

In TMA, when there’s a “you” being referred to, when there’s a listener, it’s usually an in universe character. When there’s lines like “i’m sorry, that’s not what you came here to listen to” it’s not referring to you personally, it’s talking to Jon Archivist or Gertrude Archivist or Insert Archival Assistant. When TMA does use a more general “you”, it’s still in universe rather than the external listening to audience. You can include yourself as part of that general you, but it’s not inherently built into the narrative. If you want to distance yourself, you can also do that. You are not automatically in this world, even if much of it feels repeatable and/or similar

WTNV sometimes uses you to refer to an in universe character, because conversations do happen, but in the episodes where it’s like LMAO THIS IS A HORROR, the “you” and general second person is actively both discussing a known character and the listener personally. One of the most recent episodes, ep 171 “Go to the Mirror?” is a BRILLIANT example of this, where Cecil is simultaneously discussing himself and his experiences AND you as well. There’s something he can only see in the mirror, something with such sharp claws, on his shoulders, but it’s also something you personally can only see in the mirror, something on your shoulder. You are not exempt from the story, you can’t be exempt from the story, because you’ve always been a part of it. (Also side note go to the mirror is SO fuckign good it made my heart fuckin POUND the amount of times that despite knowing it was fiction I looked over my shoulder so many times. I know a shit ton of people listened to WTNV in like 2012/13 and dropped off and felt guilty and never caught up again but like. Catch up on nightvale it’s good for body and soul and also Cecilos just keep winning)

WAY too long; didn’t read: to me personally while I LOVE both TMA and WTNV, WTNV is scarier to be because TMA feels like a story that you’re bearing witness to (also thank god british people aren’t real and were made up for the Peppa Pig Cinematic Universe), WTNV feels not just like a story that you could be in but actively already are and that makes things SPOOKY

Also this isn’t related to the essay but shout out to whoever first decided that horror narrators should have nice even voices we really all be soothed by some grisly ass stories the amount of people that fall asleep to WTNV/TMA is WILD

#wtnv #tma #this essay is for me and me alone #and it's basically like go to the mirror? that wild sun of a gun sure is SCARY

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neon-junkie · 4 years

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I’m not a Monster

Summary: After being rejected yet again, Micah wonders off to the outskirts of camp. His mind wanders, and he questions if he really is as bad as people make him out to be.

Word Count: 1588

Rating: SFW

Tags: Thoughts, Feelings, Redemption.

Notes: you know that camp interaction where Micah asks Mary-Beth to dance, and she rejects him? that line Micah says, 'im not a monster', just hits me right in the feels every time. So this is just some rambling of Micahs thoughts after that event happens.

"I ain't a monster, Miss," Micah tells her, but it's obvious from her body expression and the frown on her face that she isn't interested. Whatever. Micah moves on. This isn't the first time he's dealt with rejection, but something feels different today. He feels off. For the first time in a long time, Micah feels hurt, but it's not Mary-Beth's fault. She hasn't done anything wrong, she's just been honest with him and Micah can't fault her for that. He isn't like those men that won't take no for an answer; Micah knows when he's not wanted, and he's not going to force approval from anybody. That just isn't his style. Micah wanders to the outskirts of camp, a common place for him to linger. He's far enough to be isolated, but not so far that he doesn't feel left out. It doesn't matter anyway, the camp doesn't want him there and he knows that. Micah knows what people say about him, how they feel about him. Yes, Micah's done far too many bad things to never be considered for a redemption arc, but every time he attempts to change, people shut him down before he can even move a muscle.

He is a monster, isn't he? Micah Bell, the man who first made the newspapers at aged 17, alongside his father and brother. He kept that scrap of newspaper for so many years, only recently discarding it back at his little camp near Strawberry after an embarrassing breakdown. Micah hates guilty emotions, he hates anything that makes him feel like lesser than himself, and he'll do whatever he can to bury those emotions deep enough so that they'll never see the light of day again. He'd spent the night clearing out out Baylock's saddlebags and his coat pockets when he found the piece of paper again. Normally when he reads it, a smile comes to his face, but it didn't this time. Micah had recently tried reaching out to his brother, to try and rekindle those flames but Amos put that spark out fast. His letter back to Micah was harsh, but Micah understood why. He's not surprised that Amos rejected him, Micah would reject himself too if given the chance. Wouldn't he? Micah sighs as he leans against the tree, looking out over the dip of water that surrounded Clemens Point. Would he reject himself? If another Micah was stood before him, would he really bring harm to himself? Is he really that bad? Micah knows the answer simply because he's debating about it. He doesn't quite hate himself, a little less than that. He has pride over the chaos he creates and the bounty over his head, but when it comes down to self-acceptance, Micah just can't accept himself. He truly is his own father's creation, Micah Bell the third. His father and his grandfather were just as ungodly and feral as he is, but Micah's yet to become the worst. He's had his fair share of murders and robberies, but he's still young, and his kill count is still far less than his ancestors. Maybe there is still time for a redemption arc. Maybe Micah will take Amos's letter as a wake-up call to finally change himself. Sure, he's going to miss the adrenaline rush that he gets when he kills another man, and his index fingers will continue to twitch as he misses that high he gets when he pulls the trigger, but maybe a life within civilization isn't that bad. Amos can do it, so why can't he? Would Micah really be happy though? A well-dressed, clean, and friendly Micah, holding down a normal job within the walls of Saint Denis so he can feed his children and wife. Micah pulls a face at the thought of it; that just isn't him. He's always wanted a family, just like most men do, and he's tried over and over but the rejection continues to come, just like tonight. For God's sake, he can't even get a woman to dance with him, let alone take his surname and bear his children. He's hopeless. "Pull yourself together," Micah tells himself as his bottom lip begins to shake. He refuses to let those lesser emotions get the better of him, especially not over a damn woman. He refuses to cry for anybody, even himself. There's nothing worse than allowing another person to have control over your emotions, and if Micah Bell isn't in control of himself at all times, then he isn't Micah Bell. He's said it before and he'll say it again, but if any man allows a woman to tell them what to do and how to feel, then they're no man at all. His father taught him that from day one, and although Amos has rejected that out-dated way of thinking, Micah won't. Micah can't, simply because he's never been given the chance. Maybe one day Micah will come across a woman that leaves him so breathless and turns him into mush, that without realizing it, all his father's teachings go out the window and he simply becomes putty in her hands. Micah won't admit it, not even to himself, but he longs for that. He longs for a woman to break down his walls and build bridges instead, he longs for a woman that will give him the time of day, a woman that looks at him with warm and lustful eyes rather than a scowl on her face. But Micah will never get that. He knows this. He's only on this earth because his father knocked up a prostitute. He knows that men like himself and his father will never find somebody to truely love them, no woman is attracted to chaos. Women like tender things, like flowers and walks in the park. Don't they? Micah isn't too sure because he's never had a conversation with a woman for long enough to even realize what that other sex is really like. The closest he's ever got to anything even remotely loving was a gentle kiss that some prostitute placed on his cheek after he finished his round with her. Ugh. Fuck. Micah waves his hand, dismissing those thoughts. He's disappointed in himself for allowing his mind to trail off on those forbidden subjects: women and feelings. "Just give up," Micah tells himself. Women don't want him, they'll never want him. The camp doesn't want him, regardless of how many times he's tried to be kind to them. The only person who actually tolerates him is Dutch, he's the only one out of the lot that'll actually speak to him in the first place. He's tried to get along with Dutch's closest members, Arthur and Hosea, but oh god, they shot him down before Micah could even open his mouth. Is he really that bad? What is it about him that puts people off? Sure, he doesn't take much care of his appearance other than shaping his facial hair and having a wash every once in a while, but there was clearly something about his aura that screamed 'stay away' to everybody, without Micah intending it to. He only hangs around this lot because it's safer for wolves to roam in packs. It also means Micah has gunmen to spare, he doesn't have to do chores because the women and the other rejects do that for him, and there's guaranteed income because Dutch is as money hungry as he is. Micah's been itching to start his own gang for a while now, and he plans to do so when the time is right. Cleet and Joe are down for it, they just need to plan it properly and find a few lost souls to drag into his posse with the false promise of redemption and security. Dutch does it well, and Micah's already began picking up on how he does it so he can repeat that pattern himself one day. The fact that Micah is already planning to start his own gang clearly shows that he's past the point of saving. He's a bad man, but Micah's never considered himself a monster, regardless of what other people say. Folk are harsh and judge without knowing the facts first, and Micah is sure that if they knew his back story, then they'd know that he's not a monster. He's just a man who was never taught right from wrong. No, he was taught right from wrong, but his father taught everything back to front. Micah sighs once more. Why is he thinking about all this? Why has he allowed these thoughts to cross his mind, all because some woman rejected him? Fuck sake. So be it. Every single person he ever come across think Micahs a monster without even getting to know him. Folk are harsh, and the world is even harsher. It's kill or be killed, and you can either win or lose within this game called life. There's not a single soul out there that'll give Micah the time of day, so why does he bother with dreaming about his own redemption arc so often? Micah gives up. He's not a good man, he'll never be a good man. He'll be exactly what his father taught him to be, and even worse. Everybody makes Micah out to be eviler than he is, so what's the point in trying to make people see that he's really not that bad? If it's a monster they want, then it's a monster they'll get.

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star-and-the-motherverse · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3 - Earth and the Lost Soul

The Butterfly Who Lost Her Wings

Word Count: 3981 | AO3 Mirror | Previous | Next

Summary: Marco returns to Earth and sets out to right a wrong.

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ☾ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A rift in space opened up in the Diaz family’s living room. Marco emerged from it a second later, dimensional scissors in hand. He was exactly where he had intended to land, in the middle of his living room. But only when the portal had disappeared did he realize that he hadn’t fully thought that decision through.

His mother, Angie, immediately noticed his arrival from her standing place in the kitchen. “Marco, you’re home!”

A cold wave of dread washed over him as he caught sight of his mother’s unknowing smile. She threw her arms around him in a hug, but he was completely lost in his thoughts, dismayed by his realization. I’m going to have to be the one to break the news to everyone in Echo Creek…

“Welcome home.”

“Hi, mom.” Marco tried to politely excuse himself to his room, but Angie wasn’t about to let him go so easily.

“Did you get everything figured out with Star?” she asked, letting up on her grasp. “I know she didn’t leave on the best terms.”

He turned around slowly, opting to stare at the wall behind her instead of making eye contact. “Actually… can we talk about it later? I’m really tired.”

Unfortunately, Angie was smarter than that. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m tired,” he repeated. “I’m really, really tired.”

“Marco?” She could only repeat her son’s name as he turned his back and ascended the stairs without responding further. “Marco!”

He shut his bedroom door behind him, trying to listen through the door. When he was certain that his mother hadn’t followed him in an effort to demand answers, he slid down the wall to a seated position on the floor and sighed heavily, his exhaustion finally starting to catch up with him.

His phone in is pocket was being bombarded by incoming messages, now that he’d returned to a place with cell service. He remained there on the floor for several moments before he was able to convince himself to look through his notifications. There were a lot of unread messages from his friends, mostly Jackie. As he was attempting to read through them, he was bombarded by several new texts from Janna.

Janna: yo diaz

are u home yet?

u better answer me

Because of course Janna somehow knew that he was back on Earth. He supposed it really wasn’t all that surprising, once he thought about it. I’m not sure if I’m in the right headspace to put up with this right now…

Marco: Yeah I am, how did you know that?

Janna: not important

ur gf has been harassing me bc u werent responding

next time maybe give some notice before u disappear?

Guilt flooded over him. She had every right to be upset with him, as far as he was concerned. Everyone did. He was the one who left without notice, and aside from a parting message to Jackie—apparently she had still tried to contact him anyways—no one else in his immediate friend group had known where he was.

Marco: I’m really sorry

I didn’t mean to be gone as long as I was

Janna: save your sorries for your gf dude

u cant just disappear for a week w/o warning and pretend nothings changed. shes got every right to be mad if she is

i kinda do too, lucky for u im not the grudge holding type

did star come back with u or is she like staying on mewni or whatever

Marco collapsed backwards onto his bed, defeated. His phone fell out of his hand, currently of little concern to him, now that he was so lost in his thoughts. There’s just no escaping this, is there? Everything had always been about Star, and everything still was about Star. Just as suddenly as she had crashed into his life, she was gone, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, about how the last thing she’d thought to do before disappearing in that explosion was to apologize.

A piece of his world had went with her, and he couldn’t help but feel that he was somehow responsible. There had to have been warning signs, right? Should he have done something differently, or done something sooner? “I hate this,” he murmured aloud, burying his face in his hands. “I hate this…”

Star probably hates this, too, he admitted inwardly. She always did everything in her power to be a positive force in people’s lives. The last thing she’d want is for everyone who cared about her to be moping around. I really hope she knew what she was getting herself into…

He finally spared another glance at his phone.

Janna: ???

Marco: Sorry

I don’t know if I want to talk about it right now, if that’s ok

Janna: yeah sure

if things are awkward between u two now thats ur business, not mine

jackie isnt mad at you fr that btw

Marco: For what?

Janna: uh

at the party?

Oh, right, Marco grimaced. Just before she left for Mewni—and subsequently vanished—Star had confessed her feelings for him in front of everyone at their end-of-the-school-year celebration. Even now, he still couldn’t help but hold some resentment towards her for how hasty that decision of hers had been, especially when she knew he was dating Jackie.

It was almost like she knew that was the last time she’d ever see him, and that her true feelings had been a weight on her chest that she could no longer bear to keep bottled up.

And yet, at the same time, his resentment felt unfair. He had no way of knowing when these feelings of hers had actually emerged, but Star never stopped trying to help him get Jackie’s attention. Even once they were finally dating, Star still went out of her way to include both of them in her lives however she could. As much heartache as it likely caused her, she must have valued their friendship over everything else, if she was able to force herself to put up with it for such a long time.

Conflicted feelings about Star aside, he still had overwhelmingly negative memories associated with that party. He preferred to forget about it where possible.

Marco: Gee, thanks for that, Janna

I’d almost forced that party out of my recent memory, but now it’s back.

Janna: sorry lol

Marco: Why would Jackie be mad at me about that? Star having feelings for me doesn’t change anything

Just wondering why you think that

Janna: i dont, im just repeating what she told me

and she told me she wasnt mad at u, sooo

i dont think shes mad at all tbh? that was a week ago anyways

go talk to her urself dude, im no therapist

Marco: Alright

Thanks, Janna

Janna: no prob

Though he did feel a bit guilty for withholding the truth of the situation from Janna, he swore to himself that he’d be honest about what really happened as soon as he felt able to. Janna was a mixed bag, and even though they were friends—at least, I think we’re friends?—he had no idea how she was going to take the information. He wanted to give himself time to come to terms with it all before trying to explain it to his and Star’s friends.

He had some things he needed to take care of, first. There was someone that he needed to apologize to, more than anything. Hopefully she was home.

His door creaked open, and he slowly made his way back down the staircase. His mother looked up from the book she was reading on the couch, her eyes lighting up with concern. “Marco?”

“I’m gonna go see Jackie,” he said quietly.

“Okay…that’s okay.” Angie stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of him cautiously. “Just… if you need to talk, I’m here for you, sweetie.” She extended her arms in an offering for a hug.

“I know.” He accepted her gesture and rested his head on her shoulder. “I just need to talk to her first.”

He headed out to the garage. It didn’t take long for him to wheel his bike out of the garage and suit up. He never really felt like taking his bike out was all that notable. Nothing would compare to when he tried to teach Star a couple months back, but she—

No, stop it, he told himself, shaking his head as if it would help unscramble his thoughts in any way. Stop thinking about her.

He was sure that the last thing Jackie needed was for him to suddenly show up on her doorstep in tears, especially when he had already done such a terrible job of communicating with her during his impromptu trip to Mewni. His only message to her about the entire situation had been incredibly brief.

Marco: I’m going to Mewni to make sure Star is okay. It sounds like something bad is about to go down there. I’ll be back soon, I promise. Love you

If he could go back in time a week, he would have done a better job of explaining himself. But it’s too late to worry about it now. I just need to focus on the present.

Once he’d shut the garage behind him, he headed off in the direction of Jackie’s house. His gaze rarely lifted from the street, and he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with any neighbors that he passed, out of fear of encountering someone who’d ask questions or demand answers.

It almost felt like some of the color in his life had been leeched away. The only thing that didn’t look any more faded to him was the moon, which was painted a vibrant and shadowy red, slowly climbing its way out of the magenta-colored morning sky—wait, what?

Marco rubbed his eyes fervently in an effort to snap himself out of it, but it didn’t work. No, his fears were completely correct, and he found himself staring up at the Blood Moon, hovering behind the clouds. It wouldn’t be visible for much longer before it sank behind the trees, but the fact of the matter was that it was here. It was still here, lingering in the background like a silent menace. A shudder ran up his spine as he watched it, unable to look away.

The front wheel of his bike suddenly collided forcefully with the curb, threatening to launch him over the handlebars. Miraculously, he managed to plant a foot on the ground to prevent himself from landing in a heap. He let out a trembling exhale as he stared up at it with an intense gaze.

Okay. Why it’s here isn’t important. You’re here to see Jackie, he repeated in his mind, over and over in the hopes that it would stick. She’s worried about you. You haven’t spoken to her in a week. You need to apologize.

With one last fleeting glance at the moon, he backed his bike away from the curb and continued down the road towards Jackie’s house.

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ♦ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

“King River has returned.”

Moon’s gaze snapped up from the book on dimensional travel she had been scouring through. Even if she had publicly said that returning Star wasn’t first on her list of priorities, that didn’t mean that she was about to drop all of her efforts. As she viewed it, her status as as queen was an entirely different person from herself. Queen Butterfly was the one who would look after the kingdom, and Moon was going to find a way to contact her daughter. But hearing the news of her husband’s return reminded her that this situation was far too great in scale to look at it in such a black and white way.

“Is he alright?” she demanded, standing up.

The guard nodded. “He appears to be, yes.”

Moon let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. “Thank goodness…”

She left her notes behind and quickly followed after the guard. It was a slightly unusual scene that she walked into, as there were several large eagles perched around the foyer. But her husband was there, too, and that was all that mattered to her in that moment.

“Moon-pie!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. Their common formalities were forgotten as both of them rushed towards each other and met with a tight hug in the center of the room. “I’m so glad that you’ve returned safely.”

“And I you,” Moon murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I didn’t know how much more of this I could take...”

He pulled back from the hug to hold her hands instead. “You know, you really had me worried, leaving so suddenly!”

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, because I do! But if you and Star had to leave so quickly, it must have been serious...”

She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t cry, but her composure was betraying her. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, her voice choking up on the last syllable.

River frowned in concern. “Did something happen?”

“I-I tried— but I didn’t— Star, s-she— I couldn’t...” River brought a hand up to cup her cheek, and she met his gaze with sad, watery eyes.

“Moon-pie?”

She lurched forwards and buried her face in his shoulder, holding him close as tears began to flow freely.

The few knights that were left in the room lowered their heads and excused themselves from the room, granting them both some privacy.

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ☾ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

After a very brief internal pep talk, Marco was finally able to convince himself to knock on Jackie’s door. As anxious as he was to see her, he tried to focus on the floor as he waited, in the hopes of not overthinking anything.

When the door finally opened and he was face to face with her for the first time in an incredibly long week, he felt a grin take shape on his face. “Hey, Jackie—“

“Marco!” She darted forwards and caught him in a tight hug. “God, I was so worried about you, doofus!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m the worst.”

“No you’re not,“ she argued, holding him tighter. “I saw your message… but I sort of hoped you brought your phone anyways, just in case.”

“I can’t exactly get cell service on Mewni. Earth phones don’t work there,” he reminded her, chuckling halfheartedly. She laughed too, and it managed to brighten his smile a little. There was something comforting and familiar about hearing her laugh.

“I know! I know, it’s just… you left without much of a warning at all. First Star, and then you… you guys really scared all of us.”

“I’m really sorry. I should’ve talked to you first. I didn’t mean to make you worry so much.”

“It’s okay, Marco. I know you didn’t mean to.”

A beat of silence passed as he tried to think of what to say and she patiently waited. Where do I even start?

“Do you think we can go sit down and talk about everything? It’s… a long story.”

“Yeah, of course!” She nodded and beckoned him through the door. “Come on in.”

He followed her upstairs—after a brief hello to her parents—and took a seat in her desk chair. She sat down criss-crossed on the foot of her bed and looked at him expectantly.

Jackie was the first one that dared to break the temporary pause. Her voice was cautious. “I take it that something bad happened?”

Marco was surprised by her forwardness. “W-what?”

“I can tell you have bad news, Marco. Well, either that, or something exhausting happened. I can see it in your face.”

“Oh, uh... yeah, your first guess was pretty on point.”

Jackie frowned sympathetically. “I may not know much about this Mewni stuff, but hey, I’m probably easier to vent at than a brick wall, right?” She leaned forwards and put her hands in her lap. “So lay it on me.”

“...How much do you want to hear?”

“Tell me as little or as much as you want to. If it’ll help you feel better, I want to hear it.”

But there’s so much that’s happened! “Gosh, where do I start?”

“The beginning, maybe?”

Marco nodded, and, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, he began his story.

“Well... there’s always been a bunch of monsters from Mewni that kept coming after Star. Their leader was named Ludo. He wanted her wand, but him and his lackeys are pretty incompetent, so they never managed to take it. Not until this guy named Toffee came along.”

“Toffee? That’s a weird name…”

“Yeah, I don’t really understand Mewni’s naming conventions, either,” he laughed. “Maybe it’s a normal name there. I mean, to be fair, most of Star’s family is named after celestial bodies, so it’s probably not that weird.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”

“Anyways, Toffee kind of showed up out of nowhere, and we could tell that this was a lot more serious than what we were used to with Ludo.”

“You didn’t ask anyone for help?”

“Star’s not exactly the type to ask her parents for help, so no, we just kind of dealt with it ourselves.”

Jackie pursed her lip. “That sounds like a really bad idea.”

“In hindsight, yeah, definitely. We had no idea who this guy was.” Queen Butterfly made it sound like he’s pretty infamous, he remembered, silently wishing he had asked for more information on Toffee when he had the chance. “He’s the only one who ever managed to take the wand. He kidnapped me, and then he tricked Star into—“

“Excuse me?!” She interrupted, somewhat outraged. “You got— you can’t just gloss over that!”

“But this isn’t about me!” Marco protested. “I’m perfectly fine now, so it’s no big deal.”

“If you’re that calm about literally getting kidnapped, I’m not sure how comfortable I am with you going to Mewni all the time...”

“It’s not a regular thing, I promise!”

“Okay, okay,” she sighed in defeat. “Fine. What happened there? Besides the whole hostage-taking thing.”

“He used me as blackmail to make Star destroy the wand.”

“I thought you said he wanted to take it?”

“That’s what we thought, initially,” Marco admitted. “He had Star use this really weird spell that set it off like a bomb. The whole castle blew up, Toffee included. We thought it killed him, but… well, it obviously didn’t. He came back.”

Jackie furrowed her brow, thinking for several moments. “Not to insult your storytelling or anything, but I’m really lost.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh... kind of skipping over a lot. Sorry.”

“It’s okay... I know there’s a lot to go over, probably.” She glances around her room once before an idea came to her. “Wait! What was up with the night of the school dance? In the graveyard, when that weird little bird dude showed up.”

“That’s Ludo,” Marco explained briefly. “Long story short... when Star tried to destroy the wand, it actually split it in two. Star kept the first half, and Ludo had the other one. That night in particular was when he stole the spellbook from Star.”

“What does that Toffee guy have to do with this?”

Marco tried to recall as much as he could about the days prior to Star’s disappearance, but the fact of the matter was that he hardly knew anything about Toffee’s involvement with the whole situation. There was obviously a lot more to it, far beyond his own knowledge.

“That spell Star used must have put him inside of the wand. For some reason, she used it again, and she got caught in the blast that time...” He took a pause, having a hard time thinking about those that few moments before she disappeared. “Toffee got out. Wherever the spell put him, it put her in his place. I think that might have been his plan all along.”

He was leaving out a lot of the details—he could tell from the slideshow of emotions on Jackie’s face that she knew his explanation wasn’t quite lining up—but frankly, he could hardly make sense of it, either. Even if he had visited Mewni several times now, everything about it and its magic was otherworldly. He couldn’t imagine how crazy it sounded to someone who had never even been there.

It wasn’t that unlike the Neverzone, in that way, though Mewni was certainly a lot less intense. A few things had stuck with him once he left—mostly learned skills, like how to drive a dragoncycle or wield a katana—but all the rest of his memories of that place had faded in a matter of weeks. He supposed it was time shenanigans of some sort, but it was still weird to him that he had acquired these skills when he didn’t remember practicing them at all.

Jackie had remained silent, mulling over his words. In the temporary break in conversation, Marco went on, saying, “Apparently this guy has been involved with Star’s family in the past, but I don’t really know how.”

Finally, she spoke up, offering an idea of her own. “Can’t someone use the same spell, or something? Anything at all?”

Marco shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that simple. The wand seems to be broken for good now, and I think that’s the only way to get to where she is.” He stared at the floor as he was reminded of just how dire this situation was. “She’s trapped in a dimension that no one can get to, and… I can’t tell if that’s worse.”

Jackie immediately dipped her head in understanding, and her sadness was apparent on her face. “Gosh, this really sucks.”

“That’s a heck of an understatement.”

“You were there when this happened? I can’t imagine how hard that was.”

He nodded once, averting his gaze from her when he felt his eyes begin to tear up again. “It should be so easy, but it’s not… everything that could have possibly gone wrong did go wrong.”

Despite his efforts to hide it, Jackie was quick to notice his defensiveness. “Hey... come here.”

He hesitated for several second before finding the energy to move. When he got up, she stood as well and met him halfway in a hug.

“I-if I had known that was the last conversation I was going to get to have with her,” Marco mumbled, his voice never rising above a whisper, “I, I wouldn’t have just let her leave without—“

Wordlessly, Jackie pulled him in tighter, resting her head against his shoulder. “I know,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.” Marco could tell from her tone of voice that she was upset, even if she wasn’t really showing it in the same way he was.

In that moment, he felt awful for subjecting her to all of it. She and Star knew each other, of course—it was hard for anyone not to be charmed by Star’s infectious personality—but he wasn’t sure if him dumping all of the information on her without warning was a fair way to relay it. I hope she doesn’t feel guilty about what happened.

Nobody should have felt responsible. Not Jackie, not Janna, not Marco. It felt awful to admit it, but Star had been a victim of bad circumstance, and that was all. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t supposed to be a mind reader.

A shudder went up his spine. But why do I feel so guilty?

“I’m so glad you’re here, Jackie,” he said, attempting to redirect his thoughts.

“And I’m glad you’re back,” she replied. “I’m so happy that you’re safe.”

At least he didn’t have to wake up for school tomorrow. That was something he didn’t think he could manage.

#star vs the forces of evil #svtfoe #marco diaz #janna ordonia #moon butterfly #river butterfly #motherverse #tbwlhw #immersive

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damienthepious · 4 years

Text

needed some catharsis. mind them tags.

Wait For Yours To Interlock

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Injury, Bedside Vigils, Injured!Damien, (im deep in my feelings. my friends said this was catharsis so it's fine. it's fine)

Summary: Rilla once said that she knew, someday, she would probably need to bury Damien with a talon through his heart. On rare occasion, that lurking future brushes too close for comfort.

Notes: I said i wouldn't get something out this week because. Reasons. And i wouldn't have for sure if it weren't for tumblr user @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile and tumblr user @pinkpuffballdude . Thank you thank you thank you, i love you both so much! Title from the song Don't Give Up On Me by Andy Grammer.

It takes a long time for Arum to convince Amaryllis to go to bed.

Of course it does.

It's impossible for her not to feel like this is her responsibility, but there is nothing more she can do at the moment. There is nothing more either of them can do, at the moment, and she has been awake for days. It takes a long time, and a lot of convincing, and an argument that would have been a screaming match if it weren't for-

(He will not wake, even if they scream. It would be far too painful to prove this fact, to shout above him and-)

But Arum manages, eventually. So now, Amaryllis is asleep, and Arum…

Arum leans against the wall, and stares at the cot in her exam room.

He stares, and for quite a long time, nothing changes.

"Foolish little honeysuckle," he hisses.

There is no answer, of course.

"Always so careless with yourself. Thoughtless. What did you think would happen? What did you think would happen, Damien, if you continued to throw yourself at-"

He straightens from the wall, and begins to pace, stalking back and forth. He cannot continue to stare at the bed, but his eyes keep drawing back to the stillness of the form there. His mind demands the reminder: he is still breathing.

He is still breathing.

"How dare you," Arum mutters, and he did not intend to say those words, but- "How dare you. How dare you do this to Amaryllis. Can you not see how she worries for you? Can you not see how much effort she expends? Patching up every injury, every cut, every broken bone? Every foolish little-" he clenches his teeth hard, hisses through them, tries again. "Has she not done enough already? Has she not wasted enough bandages on you, because you cannot keep your foolish self safe? How dare you do this to her-"

Arum feels that he should be shouting. His voice is, instead, coming in a hoarse, whispered sort of scream. It feels like it scrapes up his windpipe as it goes, but-

He cannot seem to control the words. Perhaps this is how Damien feels, under more ordinary circumstances.

Arum continues to pace. Damien continues to lie perfectly still.

He still breathes. He still breathes. Arum can still hear his heart, can still hear it beating, even if it sounds- not quite right. There is something off about the rhythm, something off about the pace, perhaps. It does not sound as it usually does when Damien sleeps.

But Damien still breathes.

("All we can do is- wait," Rilla says, her voice cracking down the middle. "All we can do is wait, now.")

"How dare you make her worry like this," he growls, and then he pauses for a long, long time, holding his breath without meaning to.

Damien. Still, and quiet. It is unnatural.

"How dare you do this," he repeats, his voice growing weaker with the repetition, and he pretends not to notice the tightness in his throat, the way he chokes as he continues, "I do not see you speaking your heart now, honeysuckle-"

He has to stop, digging the claws of his toes into the wood of the floor, his posture hunching as he hisses a breath through his teeth. His limbs tremble with the tension of how tightly he is holding himself still, his teeth clenched so hard that his jaw hurts.

After a long pause, during which Damien neither moves nor speaks nor stirs, Arum gives a strange breath of laughter.

"How… how does she do this, Damien?" he keens, helpless, and then he takes a hesitant step closer to the bed. "How does she endure, watching you careen from one danger to the next?" Another slow step, and Damien still does not wake. "How does she- I… I cannot bear it. I cannot bear this. How am I meant t-to-"

He chokes another strange laugh, takes another small step. "I did not need to fear such hurt as this when… when it was only myself and my Keep. Death would only be death, then, honeysuckle. My own would be survived by my Keep, and if I failed my Keep enough that it fell, I would fall with it. Now- now-" He searches for the words, creeps closer, flicks his tongue and scents the sterile blank smell of this room, obscuring the more familiar scent of Damien's skin, the more unwelcome scent of the blood.

"Now… there is so much more at stake. I cannot bear the thought of yourself and Amaryllis being torn from me, but- what can I do against it? Your knighthood, her work, the war- my own very nature. I cannot… I cannot protect you, I cannot do anything but endure the terror of your loss and- and I do not know how. I do not know how to bear it. It would be- it would be easier if I cared not at all for you, little human. If I could see you so waylaid and feel- nothing."

Another step. Arum looms over the bed, and he feels so large and so out of place, even here in Amaryllis' hut where he knows himself welcome. He looks down at Sir Damien, and he feels so much that he fears it will crack his ribs open to escape the too-small vessel of his body.

"I was not meant to care for any but myself and my Keep," he says, his voice very small. "It would be so much easier if I could return to that feeling. If I could go home to my Keep, if I could bury my affection in the greenhouse and forget this pain, forget this terror. It would be so much easier, Damien," he keens. "But-"

Damien breathes.

"I cannot forget. I cannot excise you from my heart. And- and I wouldn't dare, even if I could."

Damien breathes, perfectly still.

"Honeysuckle… honeysuckle… wake up. Please." He swallows roughly, and Damien's slack face mocks the waver in his voice. "I know you cannot hear me. This is- mere foolishness, I know. I know… I am not helping. I am not… blessed with Amaryllis' talents. There is nothing I can do for you, not now, and my words- my own words pale beside yours. I would cut my tongue out to hear you speak them now, honeysuckle. To hear you speak at all, I would- please. Please."

His legs shake. His hands twitch with the deep desire to touch his poet. Before his limbs can betray him entirely, Arum relents, and sinks to kneel by the bedside.

"Foolishness," he says again, gazing up into Damien's beautiful, terribly still face. He reaches out, but he does not touch Damien's skin. He wishes so badly to brush the curls from Damien's brow, but his position feels so precarious. Damien looks so fragile. Arum does not feel his own touch would be safe.

"Honeysuckle, wake up. Honeysuckle, come back. Please… please, don't-" he sucks in a breath. "Don't do this to her. She has expended so much effort, so much worry and care in patching your sorry hide together. Wake up. Just wake up."

Damien does not answer. Arum knew he wouldn't. His insides still feel curdled with the hurt of it.

"Don't do this to her," he repeats, his voice lower. "Don't do this to- don't do this to us, honeysuckle, please don't-"

("And if he wakes up-"

"If?"

"W-when, I meant when, Arum, don't-")

Arum shakes his head, pulls his hands back to press to his own chest, holding in the throbbing of his heart, his pain.

"The Universe prefers- the Universe desires a good story. An interesting story, at the least," he mutters, clenching his claws against his own scales. "I- I know- this world is better with you alive. All is brighter, more vibrant for your presence. Surely the Universe knows…"

He inhales, forcing himself steady, and he makes himself sway closer. Makes himself lift his hand out again.

"I… I don't know what I would do if we lost you," he whispers, and then he clenches his teeth. "I- I refuse to- to contemplate it. That is not how your story ends, honeysuckle. Not here. Not yet. We don't lose you like this. I refuse."

Damien does not wake. Arum did not expect him to. He scowls, fierce, and settles his palm down over the back of Damien's hand at last.

"I love you, Damien. I love you, and I will stay as long as I need to. I will be here when you wake. That is how this story goes."

Damien wakes bleary and confused, but the morning light calls to him as it always does, pouring honey-soft through the warm curtains, birdsong and the distant, early bells from the Gate of Tranquility pouring in with it.

All of it pouring in, through the open windows of Rilla's examination room. Why… why would he be…

Damien remembers.

The pain comes a moment after the memory: a vicious sharpness in his ribs, the muddy thudding ache in his head resolving to something he can understand, the wobbly, shaky sense of disconnection from his limbs.

… Disconnection from most of his limbs. There is a pressure on his left hand, vaguely warm, familiar, pleasant. He can feel that sensation perfectly well.

It takes a rather frustrating level of effort to tip his head to the side enough to see the source of the pressure. He blinks, bleary, against that warm morning light, and when his vision resolves he sees Arum.

The monster is half-draped on the bed, his snout buried in the sheets, two arms clinging loosely to the cot, one hanging down out of sight over the edge, and the fourth hand curled, careful and delicate, around the back of Damien's hand.

Damien can piece together the vague shape of what occurred in his unconsciousness well enough. The lizard looks exhausted even in sleep, and he looks anything but comfortable, half-supported by the cot, twisted vaguely sideways with his shoulder against the bedside table. He must not have meant to fall asleep. Damien feels his mouth curl despite the fogginess in his head, because the idea of it, this attempted vigil succumbing to the drain of sleep-

Damien loves this monster with a brightness that still shocks him. He wants to turn his hand, to press his palm to Arum's, but- well. Just at the moment, he can barely manage to twitch his thumb. He blinks a bit more of the light from his eyes, looking more closely at his lily instead.

There's a blanket draped over Arum's shoulders, as well. A familiar blanket, one that usually finds its home on Rilla's bed, and Damien can imagine as well how the cloth must have ended up settled there. He exhales, something that would be a laugh if he had just an ounce more breath to give, and he hears a scuffing noise across the room.

"Damien," Rilla says, her voice thick and exhausted and raw. "You're awake-"

Damien manages to tilt his head enough to see her as she stands, as she darts to the side of the cot opposite from Arum to touch his face, to check his pupils, and he cannot help but smile at her touch.

"Hello, my flower," he whispers, and his own voice is cracked and dry, and as she moves his head so gently and checks him over, he contemplates her words again in his somewhat muddied mind. "Was… was there concern, then, that I would not?"

Rilla does not answer, does not meet his eye, but her jaw tightens, her brow dips, and Damien's heart pulses with sympathy, with guilt.

"I'm-"

"Don't you apologize, Damien," she says in a firm murmur, angling his head so she can inspect the wound he can feel near his temple. "You're a knight," she says simply, and then she shrugs. "We both know it comes with the territory."

Damien closes his eyes and purses his lips, and he thinks briefly of the ream of now-crumpled paper from the one letter he cannot seem to write. "Hm," he manages. "I suppose that is… I suppose."

"Just- relax and let me do my job."

Damien does as she says, pretending for a moment that he is blessed with Rilla's touch for a less worrying reason as she inspects his injuries more fully.

"I expect that the blanket upon our lily was your doing, my love," he says eventually, quietly, and Rilla snorts a low laugh.

"Yeah, well. He wanted me to sleep, but he was still gonna worry himself sick all night in here with you. I just- waited until he stopped talking. I knew he was exhausted too."

"You- you slept in here as well?"

"Slept is a strong word," she hedges, shrugging.

"Rilla," Damien says, but his voice is too weak to carry the gentle chiding he wants it to.

"You sure as hell wouldn't sleep if you didn't know if I was gonna-" she cuts herself off, pressing her lips together tight, and then she gives a wobbly sort of smile. "I couldn't, okay? I just- couldn't."

"Oh," Damien whispers. "Oh, love-"

"You sound like you spent a week in a desert," Rilla mutters, rubbing one eye absently. "Hush." She reaches a hand out again, this time only to brush his hair away from his forehead. "I'm gonna go get you some water, okay? Don't- just don't. Don't move, don't talk, don't do anything stupid, yeah?"

Damien ducks his head, entirely unable to bury his gentle smile. "I wouldn't dream of it, my love."

"Hush," she says again, firmly, and then she puts her hand very carefully on his shoulder, leans down, and presses a light kiss to his hair. "I'll be right back."

Damien sighs, still smiling, and his eyelids are too heavy to hold open as he hears Rilla tiptoe from the room.

When that noise fades, he is left only with what woke him in the first place. Sunlight, soft through his eyelids, and birdsong and distant bells, and-

Much closer by, the slow sleeping breath of Lord Arum.

Damien opens his eyes again, tipping his head to see his monster again, and Damien's muscles twitch with yearning to pull Arum up, to gather him closer, to embrace him on this too-small bed. He huffs out a breath, his lip curling wryly at his own current limitations, and then he focuses on his hand instead. Surely that cannot be too difficult to manage.

It takes far more effort than it should. Damien has fought battles more difficult than the simple turning of his hand (more difficult- but very few that mattered to him more). The weakness of his body can be overcome. He has done so countless times before.

He is patient, though his arm aches with even this simple motion. He is patient, and like a key in a very old lock, his hand turns, and he exhales a sigh when he can at last press his palm up into Arum's. He curls his fingers, slow, and he squeezes with what strength remains.

Violet eyes slit open in the golden morning light, and Arum blinks, staring at their joined hands for a breathless moment.

Then the breath shakes out of him, and he looks up.

"Honeysuckle," Arum whispers, and there is more relief in his voice than the word can hold. "I knew- I knew you wouldn't-"

He reaches out, and draws his claws down Damien's cheek as gentle as falling petals.

Damien feels the smile on his face like an entire garden in bloom, and Arum's violet eyes are so bright, so wide, as safe as home.

"Good morning, my love," he whispers, and when Arum's breath hitches, Damien squeezes his hand again. "Thank you for watching over me."

#the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #angstttttt #(with a happy ending)

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theskyexists · 4 years

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ive bought harrow the ninth and am now attempting to reread act 1 so that i may understand it better

ianthe clearly proposes that Harrow not get herself killed trying to bring Gideon back - reading it over again. instead to take the future and somehow?? be really powerful together and forget about their cavaliers. but harrow says no

im once again struck with how offhand this book introduces the concept that the empire goes out to deliberately kill planets over a couple of generations

now im not sure....there also seems to be an implication that there’s no aliens - because they say only humanity has a soul - but client planets were said to rebel - i guess the human colonisers rebel against central solar system command sometimes? but then what enemy does the Cohort fight? possibly it’s just bigotry that they think aliens dont have a soul

but like - they find LIVING PLANETS and then - kill them slowly. to the extent that they need to move the entire population. WHAT? why do they do that??? just so they can do some bone tricks???!

what the fuk

so how did the planets get murdered again? and which solar system planets could really have been said to have had enough life to have a soul?? cos like, only one of them is really known for that

why did God give Harrow the choice to go back home TWICE if he was never going to let her?

once again, why mess with the Hand candidates if God was always gonna come for Cytherea? just to mess with him more?

yeah - harrow keeps hearing and saying ortus ninegad but the rest of the world remembers gideon.

Harrow truly is totally mentally shattered AND time is totally fucked up

but sometimes in the fake-ish timeline Harrow remembers but doesn’t remember Gideon - like how she notes that there were two womb-bearing members of the Ninth who were the right age...but only elaborates on herself

for some reason - Harrowhark remembers Ianthe’s arm ripped from her by Cytherea - but now it’s whole. for some reason

that letter is still so what the fuck

‘like you did the last time’ - hm harrowhark sewed Ianthe’s lips shut? how did she come by the power?

is ianthe - calling Harrowhark God?

throughout the first act, they keep referring to time, having too much time, or not mastering time, or not having enough time, ‘this time’ etc.

the eggs you gave me all died - that’s DIRECTED at Harrow, is my theory

ok but the planet revenants come after Lyctors and also God (- God became God when? at the Resurrection) before the Lyctors happened - God was still at Canaan House - despite the Revenants already coming right...

is Teacher criticising god and lyctors for leaving Canaan House lol?

ok so yeah Canaan House WAS part of a ‘last sacrifice’

ok so - Harrowhark is a little resurrection miracle. This implies that God killed a lot to resurrect the Houses.

wow God is being a very dad to Harrow

Blood of Eden - BOE - they turned their back on the solar system. now they hate necromancy. in other words - when the solar system died, God resurrected it - but before that point some humans had fled - lived. and they can see what absolute fuckin horror necromancy is ACTUALLY

so what im getting is...maybe...god resurrected humanity by killing the planets...?

i just realised that Ianthe has taken Gideon’s place as the smartass in the room - the counterweight to Harrow’s portentousness

what the fuck do augustine’s comments to Mercy mean???? why is she unloveable? why would he say that God doesn’t need her? and why is it obscene that Augstine calls God John? What is the dangerous game she’s playing? What was the foul implication??

‘Then that is your downfall’ OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Harrow BURN!!!

what i don’t get is - the Cohort is an army - when they land they die because they’re being killed by an enemy at the front - NOT in pure sacrifice for thanergy. so why does only the death of humans and planets produce thanergy. why is the death of the enemy not good enough? they don’t have fuckin souls?? they MUST be complex life. and doesn’t a planet produce a constant stream of thanergy? but i guess it’s not dying enough - generally its life maintains itself in ecosystems.....unless a fuckin lyctor ‘makes the juice flow’ i guess!

sometime in the next book there IS gonna be a ‘are we the baddies’ meme. muir loves memes and she stuck skulls on absolutely EVERYTHIGN. Like WHY THE FUCK would you colonise planets if you gotta kill them for it? LOL????

huh? augustine just said that they can’t use necromancy when in the river - but mercy mocked harrow for having hypothermia ? implying her fundamental failure was not being able to necro while in the river? Harrow’s inability was what was wrong partly right?? oh no ok it’s how Harrow tried to compensate for her body going lights out while in the river. alright. that was written confusingly

how and why is this a completely different story???

The Sleeper.......is Harrowhark? the suit is too close to what she was wearing killing the asteroid. and the sleeper is lying on ‘something’. oh they just straight up say it lololol

ortus got into trouble 19 years ago...hhmmmmm wasn’t Gideon 19??? huh? which is why Mercy started at Harrow’s peculiar YELLOW eyes that Harrow can’t see herself i think

‘i do things face to face’ ortus says after stabbing harrow. HUH? why go for a stab if decapitating would have done the job? just to give her a small chance to fight back? (face to face?)

why not tell God that ‘his’ attack dog is trying to kill you?

why does Ortus the First want me dead? ‘who?’ ---uh. has she forgotten him completely (time shit) or is she saying the wrong name? mercy wouldnt reply like that then right?

she told him and he’s like - oh well guess you gotta just get through repeated almost-successful attacks on your life. ???? THANKS GOD!!!

‘you, with your unfortunate memory for poetry’ HA! i love how we are reminded that she knew all the fuckin damn books nearly by heart which is insane!

Teacher suggests his dying at least three times a day?? hahaha what?.........................is this purely a meme reference. is that meme the mental image im supposed to have of Teacher??????????? is this trying to say that this meme was preserved in the amalgamation of human life that is Teacher?? oh my god....

no.....palamedus and camilla....did old Harrow really kill them.....

seems like all the murders were consensual maybe?

it’s probably too straightforward that Harrow created and alternate timeline and made for a Harrow Lyctor without Gideon dying and kicked her to the original? maybe she took Ianthe and Coronabeth with her bc she needed Ianthe’s help

is this Cytherea or Dulcinea? Pro seems real this time. why does Dulcie call Pal and Cam strands and cords?

did muir put in a fuckin secondary school S - muir’s just like - im gonna put in all the memes as a nod to ancient human culture

still no idea what the messages are that Harrow is getting

This Harrow is so goddamn sick. I mean she was sick before, but at least she had Gideon. Really do feel that that helped her. now she didn’t have that -- AND she’s getting slapped with trauma another five times

if ortus can undo the thanergy of her own bone then why not simply crumble HARROW into dust? cos there’s a core of thanergy fusion in her that he can’t undo?

FLKJDFKLJSDLFSD fucking IANTHE ‘Wow! Not how I imagined this happening, at all.’ FUCKIN HELL

Harrow with her fucking fucked up dramatic inner monologues about weakness and Ianthe comes in with this shit. she really is doing Gideon proud here.

Did love Harrow’s musings about how only a truly idiotically obedient Cavalier would be the only one to keep to a vow of silence. HAH! nice one muir

‘have you taken the time to rest lately?’ asks God, YOUR FUCKING SAINT IS TRYING TO KILL HER IN THE FUCKING BATH YOU IDIOT AHAHAHAHA

JEZUS FUCKING CHRIST - try and be normal Harrow! try and make some soup and read a book! Harrow: *does and then hyperventilates hidden under her bed after 86 hours of zero sleep*

she was trying to remember what cutlery did. why is this so goddamn funny hahahaa. this book has ONLY been Harrow being in extreme states of misery ALL THE TIME both mentally and physically to the point of death

GOD IS HAPPY THAT SHE MADE SOUP AND DOESNT EVEN FUCKIN NOTICE SHE’S NOT SLEPT FOR A WEEK SOMEHOW THIS IS THE MOST HILARIOUS SHIT

thats what you fucking GET you piece of shit god! you push a prodigy teen to the brink and she fuckin explodes your lyctor and feeds you her fuckin marrow. maybe you shouldn’t have ignored her goddamn fucking understandable distress

SHE FUCKIN HITS HIM WITH THE FUCKIN TRUTH what an IDIOT of a God. he truly doesn’t understand mortality anymore huh

I LOVE HOW MERCYMORN CONTINUES TO MAKE HARROW YOUNGER IN HER HEAD AHAHAHAHAHAHA she’s only nine years old!!!hahahaha

naturally God focuses on how - wait- actually harrow is truly an INSANE necromancer - INSANE

still no idea what the fuck is going on in the not-past

aww. ianthe’s scent soothes harrow now. begrudgingly of course.

i thought this was gonna be lovely angsty harrow/gideon but naturally that did not happen

harrow is comfortable! first time in the whole book! one moment of comfort!!!

‘love my twin, also murder’ tridentarius pffjlfjdljf

‘how i crave your honeyed words’ hah

wow this scene sure is weirdly sexual with these similes lol ‘as though she had shyly undressed for you’ ok there Harrow you about to chop her arm off calm it probably sex repulsed thirsty teen

i do love how....there is this theme again that’s everybody underestimating the main character - who is actually a prodigy. Gideon had that with the sword and Harrow also has it with being a Lyctor now

it’s so telling that these Saints would rather be shits to these babies than help Ianthe grow a new fuckin arm

i dont see why Ianthe can’t work off this bone construct which is her own stuff and put some flesh on it since SHES A FLESH NECRO?

Ianthe that’s super gay

wow muir really never delivers on full gay does she??? i dont mind but i think it’s so striking hahaa

how are Harrow and Ianthe still hung up on the Saint of Duty? i mean, if they dont have him against the RB they’re dead anyway

why is the First going through rain and ice?

Harrow haunted? naawwww

i cant help but like mercymorn though - she cares. it’s soured ages ago but she cares.

awww Harrow needs Ianthe to sleep

Ianthe constantly poking Harrow for her prudishness is so goddamn funny.

‘It’s the type of energy i wish to take into my future’ AHAHAHAHAHAAH IANTHE MY GOD

‘i always forget you were an honest to go nun ... and six years old to boot if you listen to mercymorn’ HAHAHAHAHAHA

‘you look good enough that im proud of my handiwork but not so good that i’ll be consumed with lust and ravish you over the nut bowl’ fpdfjsdfkjsd this is what harrow means with crude japery and yet....

mercymorn has started to call harrow three years old. i will NEVER tire of this gag

all of the blood of eden stuff happened in the past 25 years??? god was on the erebos, but he also remembers ortus kicking the commander out of an airlock? that was in the last 25 years??

Ianthe‘s carressing the nape of Harrow’s neck. hmmhm

its honestly super weird if you think about it for more than 10 seconds that theyre talking about their cavaliers whom they murdered (im still not sure if all consensually) ten thousand years ago (!) and how hot they were that just seems.....fucked up

Harrow is like WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! basically all the time but especially now. yep well that was to be expected i guess lololol

Harrow being painfully frozenly fascinated by (god having) sex and deeply repulsed is very Harrow

oh nooooo well that was a perfect kiss between them really

the funny thing about Harrow is that though she is so completely fucked up - just like Gideon - she is fundamentally a helper.

why wouldn’t Harrow have thought of blood wards! she knew he could only bleed thanergy! it;s the first thing i thought - just use not bone wards then!

ortus thinks anastasia is in Harrow - which makes me think - why does he think that’s possible?

mercymorn now calls Harrow a two-year-old. i am waiting for embryonic genius

so did they use the river to get to the planets theyre killing?

Harrow feels the peace and pleasure of a stroll through nature that she has come to kill

oh my god - Harrow somehow saved Cam and Pal is still attached to the mortal plane!!

Harrow helps Cam risking herself entirely just like that. yknow as she does

i wonder if Pal has realised that Harrow is not who he remembers

i think he realised once he realised haz mat suit was Harrow also...

ianthe xo’d harrow.....lol

im sad that original harrow is definitely dead.... :( loved her. guess gideon’s not coming back either. not sure how the second adept survived. she didn’t survive in the original timeline either. but she was ‘killed’ in the other - just like coronabeth..so that means soemthing

this whole ‘flashback’ stuff to Canaan House is Harrow being in the River the whole time. the cold temperatures, the blood, the creatures theyre fishing from the sea that apparently abominations

after all, we’ve just learned about river bubbles and a haz!harrow that can change their parameters.

all the people ‘dead’ she’d not spoken to much or at all beforehand. like they’re NOT real, in the River. the only one not like that is Dyas...

the fact that the narrative keeps calling Dulcie, Dulcie means she’s really Dulcie.

there’s giant organs falling from the ceiling. this is definitely the river

they talk about time AGAIN

the Body is the devil who let herself be used to complete the work of Teacher and the Lyctors in his mythology....hmm. and when they realised the price (AFTER? the work was done?) they wanted her dead but he buried her....SHE allowed them to become Lyctors?? I still don’t understand why the heck that was necessary

the king is dead, long live the king. hmmmm

Harrow comes onto a hallucination of the devil who was her first crush with the voice of her parental figures and the eyes of a love interest she can no longer remember - which is actually not precisely a hallucination probably - and gets summarily rejected lol OUCH (the Body didn’t mean it that way ofc)

Harrow is so repressed on every single front but definitely sexually

I love Mercy

so there is death beyond death. does everybody go into the river and become a mad horrid ghost? like - is that everybody’s fate? how awful

ok so God DID resurrect the planets also. ? but like. then why are there resurrection beasts?

what does resurrection mean? and who killed the planets in the first place?

BECOMING NONE HOUSE, LEFT GRIEF

oh.....my god.

ARE YOU AND IANTHE BEING SAFE!!?!?!?! HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA

HIS BODYGUARD IS THE DEVIL??

so the destruction of Earth somehow made God? as though it was something that simply followed from it

A.L. was destroyed in the first assault? Of an RB

so the RB’s were happily running off in the other direction until they decided to fuck around and kill their mates to become immortal and powerful - then the RB’s turned around and came towards them - which meant leaving the planets God had resurrected forever.

what the fuck god??? hahahahaa

God always seems so likeable goddamn.

Harrow is such a dramatic bitch. Affection??? JUST KILL ME!!! KILL ME!! LET ME SMASH THE GLASS SO I CAN KNEEL IN IT AND BLEED ALL OVER THE FLOOR!!!!

Harrow goes into her fun kid's game of not dying to traps.

But she instantly calls him father. OH MY GOD

HE DOESNT BELIEVE HER!!!

'then that will be your downfall' - is what Harrow said to Augustine AND IT WILL BECOME TRUE FOR THEM ALL

to be dismissed like that where it hurts most - to have God Dad dismiss her only slip of comfort her only pillar of truth in this crazy old world

'nobody had watched you leave'

SOMEBODY HAD - I love all the deliberate references to Gideon

Temporal lobe!!!! Again the temporal lobe!!!

So why was it again that Harrow refused to be locked in with the Emperor?

So isn't God gonna check out Harrow's temporal lobe? He's just gonna let that mystery go to its death?

WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKK

Muir what the fuck??!!!!!!!!

Oh it was.....a hallucination?

Always love how this dips into genuine horror sometimes

What's weird is that Lyctors seem made for the task of going into the river and killing Resurrection Beasts - instead of the other way around.

So say - that the sword somehow holds Gideon's soul (we've just learned that that's possible from Pal and also Ortus trying to get Pent to summon his grandma by his sword) - does it not make sense that Harrow 'for some reason' stabbing Cytherea's corpse with it transferred it to her? Or maybe it's SOMEHOW Anastasia if Ortus was macking on her. But Ortus thought HARROW had/was Anastasia.

IANTHE WANTS TO MARRY HARROW - HAHAHAHAAHAHAHA

Every fucking chapter doesn't make things any clearer. This is worse than Gideon the ninth

Hello???? Am I reading a canon alternate universe roleswap au??? What the FUCK is going on. This is like - if they hadn't gassed the 200 and her parents instead adopted Gideon for her clear necromantic gifts which nobody noticed somehow the other time round

I do love how Aiglamene was the sole source of slight comfort in Gideon's life. And Crux was Harrow's - apparently in any sequence of events.

Harrow is tumbling through timelines. But how can you do that just by messing with the lobe?

WHAT!! WHAT!!!

Is this...is this what I think it is??? Is thi

The fanfic roots are STRONG in this one. In fact I believe I've READ this fanfiction

Harrow's temporal fever dream (in the river?) HAD HER (Decidedly Not) VYING FOR 'HER DIVINE HIGHNESS' hand, which is either the Body or Gideon or both lololol. Seeing as the previous had Gideon as the main unnamed titled character - I bet it's Gideon ahahaaga

A fucking. COFFEESHOP AU. OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDD

We've had roleswap, 'ball' au, and coffee shop au populated by the ghosts of the dead LOLOL,

I knew it!! I knew that they were ghosts and that they were in the river!!

Ok so but when did Harrow shoddily create the bubble? When she adjusted her memories at the start? When is this. Ah Harrow has the same thought hahaa

So the stage is a - she was building her memories while sleeping?

Why is that she cannot access her lyctorhood like this...

I just realised that Harrow's mind made the party food taste like SALT based on Ianthe's cooking!!!! Hahahaha

THE NARRATOR IS GIDEON. But it doesn't sound like Gideon though

There's more to the work than simply preserving Gideon's soul though. There are next steps that Harrow prepared for that Harrow doesn't know about yet

Who was the sleeper and why was it in Harrows riverscape of memories that she ACCIDENTALLY??? made

Ok she sounds like Gideon NOW

Gideon no it's not because she didn't want you! It's because she wanted you to live!!!!!

And she succeeded....your soul is INTACT in her body!!!! You're protecting her with full consciousness!! How the fuck. And why didn't that happen before when she went to the bubble?

Are the ghosts of the contestants happy that they got pulled out of the River briefly? Or were they so briefly in there they couldn't remember?

She returned them to the RIVER???? is that really such a kind fate????

Something has gone wrong in the River - yeah because why r all these ghosts going insane and stoppering it up like slib

Do love how Muir has found a way to give these characters more screentime

I actually said 'oof' when Harrow screamed at Ortus - oof that really is embarrassing. GodDAMN Ortus you stepping up with the emotional support!

I've EVEN read the damn fanfic in which they switched bodies. My god.

A. L. apparently is thought to wander about still. I think she's the body....I do believe she's the body. That's why the Lyctors are scared of her

She thought - what. Mercy is talking about blood of Eden's commander. What is going onnnnn still!!!! Mercy is the traitor I guess. But how is blood of Eden connected to the ninth house and the body?

Why is Mercy awake on the mithraeum and not in the River anyways?

Gideon.... And the commander were in cahoots? So did A. L. and Anastasia an the body and the commander all have the same eyes?????

What the fuck is going on indeed.

Cytherea seems to have had a plan B for getting revenge on the Emperor. Or something had a plan B with her corpse as the main weapon.

If guns are so effective against people why aren't they still used.

The messages are from the commander. I.e. Gideon's mother. I.e. Anastasia? We never explicitly did learn how she met her end no? Gideon was convinced that Anastasia had taken the baby. It just seems incongruous how the Emperor spent like 80 years on the Erebos and the Lyctors were faffing about - meanwhile there was this drama going on in the last half century?

I love Abigail Pent. Love that I got to see more of her.

I'd honestly forgot that Judith was alive by the end of all of that shit

The sleeper is -the sleeper is Gideon's mother. Also. She's haunted by her mother. SOMEHOW. what the fuck? They couldn't drag her spirit back from the river they said!

'you wizards never learn' there's a whole modern regular sci fi world and culture out there! Or maybe it's just a. L.

Is it? Or is it Anastasia? Or is it the commander? Or are they the same thing?

The sleeper wants Harrow's body. Somehow invaded it - probably from the river? - which means its Anastasia or the commander. Which means that whatevers possessing Cytherea is someone else.

In retrospect - Harrow's coldness to Ianthe talking about - to what her - seemed nonsense at the time - in the very first part - doesn't quite fit.

Oh my fucking GOD Gideon is fighting Ianthe for messing around with her fucking girlfriend - who is HARROW, who actually, Ianthe wants to marry.

They just went from ramping up to a serious fight to Gideon dropping Corona's name and suddenly they're like - ah we got more important priorities actually.

Augustine's first thought at thinking a.l./the body (?) is in Harrow is John - and the Second is Joy!(mercy?)

'How I was gonna have to take showers with all your clothes on.' fuckin Gideon hahahaha

Wonder if Ianthe truly believes what she's saying - that Harrow was trying to rid hersel of Gideon. It's preposterous. It's just hurtful talk.

GIDEON REALLY THOUGHT THAT LOOK TO MEAN THAT HARROW DIDNT LOVE HER??? THIS IS A CONSTANT BARRAGE OF ALL THE ANGSTY DRAMATIC SHIT IVE BEEN YEARNING FOR

Oh my fucking god Gideon calling Ianthe out for being in love with Harrow in the most iconic way ufsojdjdodnd 'she wants the D - the D stands for dead'

Crazy brain-mutilated Harrow sure made it seem that way I can tell ya that!!

Hahahahahaha Ianthe remembering Harrows prudish Ortus/Cytherea shit. Amazing

Aw Gideon really went and fell right into the cavalier/bone mistress shit huh. And trying to shield Harrow - well as noted before - very necessary because harrow has been having a godawful miserable time - mostly because of herself.

Gideon appreciating Ianthe's pun xD

Love how neither of them position themselves as the love of Harrows life but instead as inexorably attached to her by the sheer role they play in her life - they don't dare aspire to what they think they can't get.

Muir realises this is gonna end up as a Gideon/Harrow(/theBody)/Ianthe ship right?

Oh WOW THIS IS AMAZING. nonius the legendary nonius!!! Come to protect Harrow!!!

For some reason the Sleeper can manipulate the rules of this River bubble and doesn't seem surprised about it

If all her cavaliers were this excited for death, she was definitely the problem.lololol. somehow Harrow, you inspired undying loyalty in even a person that you treated abominably

Yeah Harrow you slowpoke. If the Sleeper can adjust the rules - so can you

If the sleeper was not Harrow's invention - but planted itself - then they're very lucky it got to the ghosts that weren't actually there - first.

So it was the commander....a portrait in a shuttle of blood of eden - can only be the commander. And redhaired? There are too many red haired people in this book!!

It's nice how all these ghosts got to have lasting impact from beyond the grave

NONIUS KNEW ORTUS/GIDEON?

Ok so ....there's the bed of the River with stoma. But there might also be the other side.

Did Harrow really not account for steps beyond her plan to mutilate her brain?

Is this book really gonna go: fuck you Gideon will die anyway ?????

But.wait. the sleeper had a two-hander. Where did that go???

I don't get it. If they go into the river - won't they also go insane?

SO NYAH!!!!!???

Ok but - what? The Commander ALSO -somehow - took over Cytherea's body?

'did the ten billion give you that too' I KNEW CANAAN HOUSE HELD EVEN GRUESOMER EXPERIMENTS AND SACRIFICES THAN LYCTORHOOD. God is made of ten billion souls. I think they killed humanity on earth to spare it 'slow inexorable apocalypse' and used the power to make the Empire from the resurrected. There was an extremely vague implication by Teacher to the amount of souls violated in Canaan house in the first book.

So God knows the commander went for the ninth house? Firstly, how. I don't understand how Anastasia fits in here!!! It would explain though how the commander

So the commander found the ninth house - and she died right? They tried to call her spirit but couldn't. But she became a revenant?

Ah. God THREW the bomb.

A fuckin wake me up inside joke jskdjskdnd

So Mercy and Augustine ( not Gideon ?) had all turned against God? And they were working with the commander to -... Make a baby????? And then evacuate the houses???? (For when God dies - there being a risk that Dominicus would go out I guess)

Make a baby/body to lever the one who lies in the tomb into....?

Love how the book foreshadowed Mercy and Augustine manipulating and lying to God - and turns out they did that on much bigger scale

They....meant to kill the baby to break the blood ward?

'The woman who I was pretty sure was my mother, wearing the body of the woman I'd had a crush on, who in turn had been wearing the identity of a woman she'd murdered -' KSNFKDJDKFJJFC

So why did they want this consistently characterised as kindly and humane god dead?

GIDEON THOUGHT IT WAS HIS!!!! But he called Wake Anastasia then????

They really are the same???

Oh my god I know what they're gonna say. Gideon is the daughter of God. WHICH HARROWS FUCKIN ROYALTY AU FEVER RIVER DREAM FUCKING FORESHADOWED HAAHAHAHAHHAA

Isn't it fucking ironic that God told Harrow that - HE WANTED HER TO BE HIS??? WHILE GIDEON HIS ACTUAL DAUGHTER WAS SPINNING INSIDE HER CHEST LIKE A LITTLE NUCLEAR FUSION REACTOR

They've been trying to kill him for more than 500 years???? Did mercymorn actually genuinely learn the extremely fine knowledge of the body for THIS purpose? How many thousands of years ago did they decide to kill god?

A fucking DAD JOKE

GIDEON REMEMBERING HOW SHE USED TO TELL HARROW HOW HER OTHER PARENT MIGHT BE THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THE WORLD SO STOP PICKING ON HER

I am fucking DELIGHTED I AM SO GODDAMN OVERJOYED

It segues into a reminder of how shit their childhoods were and how their suffering had them lash out at each other endlessly and how it made Harrow suicidal and shit though - which is great

ALECTO'S EYES. THE A. FOR A. L.

A. L. The cavalier of God....but she walked. She had a body.

Ohhhhh. That's why they betrayed him. That age-old hurt. Ten thousand years old but still the bane of their existence, the seed of their madnesses. The loss of their cavaliers. Oh how did they manage to keep that from him?

I honestly thought - is Mercy saying she knows he killed humanity? But that's not what she couldn't have forgiven?

But why did he hide it? Why did he hide the perfect way? ('it would be easier' why???)

Ah. Yes. The expansion, why would the Emperor do that?

Uhhhhh. Couldn't Mercy have done that all along??????????????????????? Couldn't Mercy have killed God all along? That was both a trick and utterly sincere.

Augustine and Mercy were trying to do the right thing..... Mercy.... :'( Augustine was right. God is much less sentimental than he seems.

'im not even mad that you failed to either fix or put down Harrow' hm guess the constant kill quest HAD come from God after all. What a goddamn bitch of a man

What was the original plan? Unleash a. L. ? And then what? How would that help with the whole Dominicus going out problem?

Had God ever really thought to make up for all the bullshit he put his Lyctors through. He seems so affable and human but he's caused so much suffering. He's as good at manipulation at them - better!

The resurrection beast can't kill him, but he let his Lyctors die to them one by one anyway. So why??

Why are they punching each other in the River? They can use theorems right? God could blast Augustine to pieces same he did mercy?

Yes! It's true! Pyrrha and Gideon both exist in the same body - foreshadowed by his cavaliers build. There was something so fishy about it.

I love how Gideon has exactly the same response as me: what the fuck. Pyrrha??? Gideon??? What the fuck??? Why did they BOTH have an affair with their enemy??? So ok. Pyrrha stayed underground from Everybody for the thousand years. SOMEHOW their compartmentalisation let her pop up in his body regularly and not just when Gideon remembered her - because the hadn't fucked up his brain. But then how did THEY do that.

This absolutely galactic balsiness

The stoma thinks John is a resurrection beast. Might it be.....because he's..... A revenant. A 10 billion souled kinda- revenant ? A bit like.....Harrow is? Which is why he felt kin to her? Which is why he compared her creation to Resurrection?????I've really gotta reread those messages from commander wake.

A fucking jail for mother meme. Jail for one thousand years. Gideon how do you know this one????

I KNEW Ianthe would do that. Knew it. She doesn't want the system to die. Coronabeth is still out there. Well guess what - she's on the opposite side babe. Ok I realised that Gideon's mum apparently stuck to Gideon and then the sword? But also did Harrow manage to break the blood ward because of of her proximity to Gideon? Did Harrow uhhhh get put into a pocket in the river? But the emperor wasn't murdered!!! Fuckin chapters kept lying. They're on a hold planet. Finally - we meet the people. Alecto and Camilla and Corona? And Judith.? Did Alecto somehow do a time twisty around to come save Gideon at that moment in the river? Once again nothing much more is clear.

#my stuff #harrow the ninth #gtn #ninth

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littlebitoffanfic · 4 years

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The Bear Or The Deer

Fandom: Frankenstein Character: Adam/Frankenstein’s monster Relationship: Adam/reader Request: you do a lot of horror and I was just wondering on the off chance: would you do Frankenstein’s monster x reader? AN: Frankenstein is my favourite book! Since, in the book the creature calls himself Adam, I decided to stick with that as his name. also, this’ll probably be a multi-chapter thing as I cant wait to explore more plot with him

Sitting in your home on a stormy night, in the pitch black, waiting by a window was never something you thought you would ever have to do. But after the last few months, you needed to know. You had to. Something was happening and you didn’t know or understand it. People had reported a monster in the woods that surrounded your home, yet you had had little cause to be frightened. In fact, the only thing that truly scared you about it was not knowing what it was. You had never felt exposed or unsafe in your home. It was about a mile out from the nearest town, and just off a trail that only had one or two horse and carts pass by ever week. You were mostly self sufficient, growing your own vegetables and fruit in your large garden and a few animals such as cow and a few chickens along with your trusted horse. You traded in town with your craft work, using your love for paints, crafting and even mending things. Often, the butcher, who has a young family, will ask you for new clothes and such in exchange for meat. You would sell your art to passing traders and do the occasional jobs for everyone else in the town in exchange for whatever you needed. But it was still hard work. Your home and its surroundings needed a lot of tending to. Only, you had noticed something strange over the last little while. Your log pile, which you kept outside next to the small bard, was kept topped up. Then apples started being left on your back porch every morning, along with oranges and any other fuits. As time grew on, you grew uneasy. You tried leaving out food and some blankets and such, in hope that whoever it is was just looking to trade. But they never took anything. And then the rumours started in town. A beast, like a bear, stalking the forest. A few had seen it moving about, but none dared approach it. It had to be human-like, judging but its knowledge of cutting wood and such, but where did it live? Was it close to you? Tonight, you planned on seeing it for yourself. You had left out a large basket of food for it. Cheeses, hams, a bottle of milk and some eggs, in hopes that it would take it. You sat to the side of one of your kitchen windows, which was close to the back door where the thing sometimes left fruit. You hoped it would see the basket when placing the logs on the pile and come to investigate. You had nearly drifted off when a crash of thunder woke you, making you jump as you sat straight up. Looking out the window, you noticed how the moon was nearly fully covered by clouds, the only light now came from the soft glow of your living room, where you always kept the fire going to heat the house and the small light of the full moon that peaked through the clouds. Another few lightening strikes and crashes of thunder kept you alert. Until you saw the creature. It emerged from the forest like a it might have been a tree itself, judging but the stature. In the rain, it was bend over, walking on two legs with a long cloak drawn over its body. It was human, and judging by the stature, probably male. It, he, carried logs against his chest, only pulling back his cloak to place them onto the pile carefully. He was soaked to the bone, you could see that, and yet he was more concerned with make sure the balance of the pile was right. His face was hidden by the hood, but you saw he had noticed the basket, which was still dry thanks to the porches roof and the wind that blew the rain in the opposite direction. He walked to the porch, placing his foot on the bottom of the three steps, his whole body seeming to tilt to the side in curiosity. He looked up towards the top floor of the house, where he probably thought you were fast asleep. You saw him place his hand up to his chest and he gave a small bow to your house, before retreating without the basket. You were stunned, shocked and so confused. What was he? Why did he do these things for you? Why would he be out in such weather? Where was his family? It was curiosity that lead you to spring up from your seat and run to the back door as a crash of thunder masked you opening the door. “Wait!” You called out, scooping the basket up by the handle. The figure froze, his entire body seeming to turn to rock at the sound of your voice. You took a few more steps out, not daring to descend the steps into the rain just yet. You wanted to keep the food dry. “Please, will you take this?” You asked, hoping your question would draw some kind of response out of him. Which it did. He turned, but in a strange kind of way. His lower half turned a quarter of the way towards you while the top half twisted fully, keeping his head low and covered by the hood. It was very unnerving to watch, and reminded you that something just wasn’t quite right about him. “For helping me. I want you to have it.” You manage to speak, keeping the fear from affecting your voice. A crash of lightening followed by a roll of thunder as if showing some kind of inner battle the man was obviously having with himself. You were just a woman, alone in your home. He had no reason to fear you. You had no weapons, nor was there anyone close by who would be able to help you. If anything, you should be scared of him. But something was different about him. “Please.” You repeated, keeping your voice soft. This seemed to be enough to persuade him back to you, approaching you in such a manner that reminded you of a stray dog approaching a human who had offered it food. It wanted the food, yes, but it was scared of the hand that gave it. As he reached the bottom of the small set of stairs, you couldn’t help but feel dwarfed by him. Even with you at the top stair, he was taller. The light from the house didn’t give you enough light to see his face. Holding out the basket, you smiled. He hesitated, but raised his right hand to take the basket. As he did so, the sleeve fell back, revealing a wrist with a deep scar running around the wrist and down beneath his sleeve. The flesh itself was a little… off in colour. But the scar looked painful. You couldn’t help the gasp that fell from your lips as you looked up at him. At the wrong time. A bolt of lightening lit up the sky and, for the first time, you saw his face. A gaunt face looked back at you. Thin lips with barely any colour behind them were opened slightly in surprise. His cheeks bones were prominent, and his skin the same as his hand, looking slightly off and discoloured. His nose was missing, and chunk and several scars ran across this face, almost like a doll that had been ripped apart and sow back together again. But his eyes. They were a yellowish colour, with the left one having another scar running from the bottom of his eye right down his cheek to his jaw. They were wide, surprised, like a deep that had been scared by the sudden attack of a bear. How quickly your metaphor for him had changed, from a bear to a deer. He seemed terrified of you. Yet he could easily turn on you and you were very aware of that fact. But as quickly as the lightening had struck, it was gone, replaced with a thundering bang. The man ducked his head, retreating into himself as he turned on his heels and fled. Caring little for the rain or your own safety, you ran after him, calling out for him to wait. It would seem that his great height left him at a disadvantage to you, as you were able to catch up wit him before he reached the edge of the woods. “Wait, please!” You cry out, reaching out and grabbing his cloak and digging your heels into the ground. The man let out a grunt, twisting towards you as if expecting you to attack him, causing his hood to fall back and reveal black hair. He winced and it hit you. He didn’t want you to see him not because he didn’t want you to know who he was, but because of the way he looked. “Im sorry. The thunder and lightening just frightened me, that’s all.” You lied through your teeth. You were already soaked to the bone from the rain, which pelted down with little chance of stopping soon. The wind whipped your hair out of place, almost blowing you off of balance. Yet he stood strong a tree. As if to prove that you weren’t scared of him, you reached out and took his right hand, raising it with is palm upwards. He jumped at the touch, his skin freezing and his hand now tense. Raising it, you hooked the basket in his hand. Once he had the weight, you used both your hands to close his fingers over the handle. “As a thank you for everything you’ve done.” You smile up at him, his eyes so bright without the hood. He was handsome, at least to you. So unique and unknown. You would be lying if you said he didn’t intrigued ou unlike any man you had ever met. “do you have a name?” You asked, suddenly doubting if he even understood you. Perhaps he was mute, or didn’t understand your language. He nodded, his tongue darting out as if to wet his bottom lip despite the fact his face was soaked. “Adam.” A deep voice replied. “Im [y/n].” You told him, as if the two of you were meeting for the first time at some ball or in a local shop. He repeated it back to you, like it was the most beautiful word he had ever heard and just had to make sure he could say it right. A gust of wind ripped through the garden and hit you like a ton of bricks. You fell forward, loosing your footing as you let out a yelp. But a strong arm caught you and, before you could even realise what had happened, you were swept up like a bride. He had dropped the basket to catch you and now proceeded to carry you back through your garden. You felt your heart hammering in your chest as you stared up at him while his gaze remained solely on the path. You could see how tense his jaw was, like he was grinding his teeth together. As he climbed the bottom two steps and was about to put you back on your porch, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He froze. His mouth slightly open and his eyes wide, as if he were unable to believe it. You took the opportunity to swing out of his grasp, now standing on your own feet. “You’d better get home and dry off. The storm looks like it will only worsen tonight. You’ll catch your death.” You look up at the sky. You were pulled from your thought by a soft chuckle, one which made your cheeks burn and your heart stop. It was low, almost too low to hear. You looked to him and saw amusement in his eyes. He doesn’t hold your eyes for more than a second before dropping them, bowing to you. “Thank you for your concern, but I shall be fine.” He speaks with such an elegance that doesn’t quite fit his features. “well, Adam, perhaps you should come back tomorrow, just to let me know you are safe?” You ask, biting your lower lip. his head snaps up, his eyes wide with disbelieve and… hope. a single nod confirms his return as he retreats away from you for the final time that night. He pulls his hood back up and turns away, walking back to the basket, which had landed on the path, but nothing had spilled out. You hoped the blanket that covered it would be enough to protect the content from the rain. he scooped it out, glancing back at you. You smiled and waved, backing into your doorway and closing it. It was all suddenly so quiet without the wind and rain in your ear. You locked the door, unable to stop from smiling as you went to the window, seeing him take one last look at where you had been before disappearing into the woods. You couldn’t help but bursting feeling in your chest that wanted to dance until he returned, nor how his face was burned into your mind in a good way. There was still so many question in your mind. Who was he? Where did he come from? Why did he have those scars? And you couldn’t quite work out if he was the bear or the deer.

#frankenstein #frankenstiensmonster #frankensteins creation #frankensteins creature #adam frankenstein #adam Frankenstein x reader #Frankenstein monster x reader

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emeraldwaves · 4 years

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Title: What We Lack Part 21 Pairing: Kacchako, Deku/Melissa, Todomomo Rating: T Word Count: 4,381 Read on Ao3 Summary:

Quirkless.

They’re the last people anyone expects to have a child without a quirk.

Neither of them can fully wrap their heads around it, but Ochako knows Katsuki is struggling far more than her.

Thank you to @amaisenshi for reading this over and letting me freak out always. I KNOW IT’S BEEN MONTHS BUT IM BACK XD

Covering her face, Momo peaked between her fingertips, barely able to watch her two sons. Arata wasn't holding back at all, not that she expected either of them to, but Arata looked especially enraged.

He swung at his brother and Yuuta fell backwards, landing on his back out of the ring.

"Yuuta!" Momo gasped. Standing up, she gripped the railing in front of her, her knuckles turning white as she squeezed the bar.

"He'll be okay," Shouto said, standing with her. He gently planed his hand on her shoulder.

"I-I have to go to him!" she stammered, looking between the field and Shouto.

Shouto gripped at her shoulders. "No, Momo. I doubt Yuuta will feel comfortable if his parents show up back there. We can visit him after. They have staff to take care of him."

"It's okay, Momo-chan," Ochako said next to her. The woman took her hand and squeezed it gently. "They'll all be okay."

With a sigh, she buried her face in her hands. "This is too stressful," she whimpered.

"And Todoroki Arata will be moving on to the next round!" Mirio's voice echoed in the stadium as cheers erupted.

"Good job, Arata," Shouto called out, clapping.

Right. Her other son had won, that was important too. The entire match had been tense, but she didn’t want to ignore her other son’s success. "Congratulations!" she cheered, though her voice was shaky. How could she cheer for Arata when Yuuta was lying on the ground motionless. But, then again, how could she not?

She flopped back down onto the bleacher, next to Ochako. "You should be so happy you only have one out there."

Ochako giggled softly, stroking over Momo's back. "Momo-chan, it's okay! It's the sports festival. I was really injured during my fight with Katsuki and I ended up being fine."

"Better than fine," Bakugou growled, bumping into her shoulder.

"Yes, better than fine. I'm sure Yuuta is okay."

Momo pulled out her phone, running her finger down the side. "I'll send him a text just to check on him. I know he probably won't answer but, I just... I want him to know..."

"Good thing Twin #1 probably isn't going to be out of the running anytime soon," Bakugou scoffed, gesturing to the screen where Arata walked off of the field.

"Did you just say... Twin #1?" Shouto asked, glaring at Bakugou.

"Katsuki!" Ochako hissed, covering his mouth with her palm. "I'm sorry, Shouto." She rolled her eyes.

"How the hell am I supposed to remember their names?!" He growled, yanking his face away from Ochako's hand.

"It's not hard," Shouto stated bluntly.

"I'm curious how you decided who was one and two," Deku muttered tapping his chin. Melissa frowned, incredulous that her husband decided to join in on the debacle.

"I dunno, that one was more aggressive, I figure he came out first," Bakugou said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Dad!" Sayuri gasped. She groaned and pressed her palm against her forehead, shaking her head back and forth. Apparently that was even too far for even her.

Momo, however, couldn't help but laugh. She was so stressed, the lighthearted conversation actually made her feel better. She pressed her fingers to her lips, trying not to burst out loudly.

"Momo?" Shouto asked, concerned laced in his tone.

"I-I'm sorry. I just didn't expect the conversation to go in this direction," she giggled, snorting. "And for the record, Yuuta is older. Just by a couple minutes."

"Hah!?" Katsuki huffed, folding his arms across his chest. "Whatever, I think you're confused."

"Why would we be confused about our own children?" Shouto scoffed, confused why Bakugou would think they wouldn't know about the birth of their own twins.

"This is the dumbest conversation I've ever witnessed," Sayuri grumbled, glancing to Kazu.

Momo was honestly grateful. "I am proud of Arata." She sighed, looking out as they set up the stadium for the next face off. Arata wouldn't be back out for a few matches, giving him, and Momo, time to recover.

"I know it's possible our sons could face off, but for your sake, I hope Arata doesn't lose," Ochako giggled.

"He won't."

A new voice boomed behind them, a deep voice Momo hadn't heard this close and personal for quite some time. She clenched her fists against her knees. Just as she had begun to calm down...

"E-Endeavor-san!" Deku gasped, bowing his head as the man walked down the bleachers to where they sat.

Shouto stood up immediately. "What are you doing here?" he growled.

"I'm here to watch my grandsons. Though it seems Yuuta is already out of the running. I'm not surprised, given his attitude," Enji stated.

"We did not invite you," Shouto replied, his eyes narrowing at his father.

"I don't need your permission to be here, Shouto," Enji retorted.

"Shouto," Momo whispered, covering his fist with her hand. Why was he here? Why did he feel the need to constantly torture Shouto and their family? Hadn't he done that enough?

"Arata seems to be doing a fantastic job. Training him has paid off," Enji continued, ignoring the anger on his son's face. "Don't you think you should be grateful, Shouto?"

He sucked in a long breath of air. "Every time I think you've changed, you prove otherwise."

"Do I have to remind you that your son came to me-"

"Todoroki Enji!" Momo boomed, standing up. Her voice commanded a presence so strong everyone turned to look at her, their section of the stadium quiet. "I know you don't respect me. You've made that very clear over the years," she continued, not caring if everyone watched or heard what she had to say to this man. "Still, Shouto has spoken to you many times about staying away from our family. I understand that my son came to you, but you will stay away from him."

Enji's eyes narrowed, leaning toward her. "You son came to me," he repeated.

"I don't care what Arata did. He might not understand it right now, but I refuse to let you indulge in training him. Besides," she huffed, "you've said yourself his quirk is more similar to mine than yours. If he wishes to better himself, I will be the one to train him. Not you. If you ever come near either of my sons again, I will not tolerate it."

"Oh you won't?" Enji huffed, staring down at the woman.

"I won't. You spent years forcing Shouto to be what you wanted him to be and neither of us will allow you to do that to our children."

"Momo," Shouto whispered, gently touching her arm. "You don't-"

"No, I do," she hissed. "I refuse to let your father control you, our relationship or our family. He ruined your family, he does not get to ruin ours."

Everyone stared. People who didn't know them stared. People who did know them stared even harder.

Enji was silent, his eyes not unlocking with Momo's, the woman not backing down.

Pulling in a long breath, Enji sighed. "I won't stop Arata if he comes to me again."

With a final glare, Momo let out a huff before speaking. "You won't have to. He won't be coming near you anytime soon. I will make certain of that."

"Hmm," Enji hummed, still glaring after a brief bout of silence.

The two stared at each other intently for another few seconds, but the moment seemed to go on for eternity. Eventually Enji turned and walked away. Whether he chose to watch from elsewhere, no one knew, but the former flame hero had vacated the area for the time being.

"There," Momo said, smoothing out her skirt. She took a seat back on the bleacher. "I need to cheer for Arata."

Everyone stayed standing, staring at her.

"What?" she asked, glancing between her friends.

"That... was incredible, my love," Shouto said, falling to his seat with an exhale, as though he was finally letting out a breath he’d held in for years.

"I couldn't stand it any longer," she whispered, gently stroking her fingers over Shouto's cheek. "I couldn't bear to see him hurt you or our family any longer."

"I doubt that will keep him away forever..." Shouto muttered. "But it's a start..."

The second Yuuta lost, Shouhei knew he was going to have to fight Arata. There were plenty of matches left, but something about the whole situation didn’t sit right with him.

Arata had been, for lack of a better phrase, a total ass lately and it had been bothering Yuuta which meant it bothered Shouhei. There was no way he was going to let his boyfriend suffer quietly like that, not when Arata wasn't explaining why he was acting the way he was.

Shouhei pursed his lips, watching the replay of his boyfriend falling to the ground. It wasn't very pleasant to watch and he kept his hands shoved into his pockets. Honestly, he was itching to fight again and he had one match left before he qualified for the finals.

The stadium cheered loudly when Arata won his second match, giving him a guaranteed spot in the finals. Shouhei saw him walking down the steps obviously heading to wait for the final match.

He glared as he walked by, the red in his hair glistening against the ceiling. Shouhei clicked his tongue. "I don't know what your damn problem is lately, Arata, but we're going to settle it out there."

Arata stopped, his turquoise eyes flicking in Shouhei's direction. "Are we Shouhei? You have to win this match first."

"I will," he sneered. "If it means I get to kick your ass, I will win."

"We'll see about that," he muttered, continuing on his way.

Shouhei rolled his eyes and made his way to the stadium. Ultimately, he would deal with Arata later, even if they didn't necessarily face off here.

His second match was easier than his first, defeating his classmate with a water quirk fairly quickly. He had become a master of dodging while he was making himself float and thankfully, he didn't get as nauseous as his mother did.

"It's been decided! Our final face off will be between Bakugou Shouhei and Todoroki Arata!" Mirio's voice boomed throughout the stadium. "It's reminiscent of their fathers facing off in the final battle of their freshman year, isn't it Tamaki!?"

"Mm." Tamaki's hum was barely heard, but Mirio didn't push for anything more from his partner.

Shouhei saw the board light up, pushing his and Arata's pictures to the top. Admittedly, he was happy to be facing off with Arata. He knew, as weak as it was, if it was Yuuta, he would've struggled. In general he was happy he had avoided that potential fight altogether.

Pursing his lips, he made his way out of the stadium, everyone cheering as he left. He only had a little time before the final match and he would use it to recover.

The first thing he did was check his phone, realizing his mother had texted him many times. She congratulated him, then she asked if Yuuta was okay, then another congratulations and finally she wished him luck.

[Text: Mom]: Thanks, I'm gonna kick Arata's ass!

[Text from: Mom] We're rooting for you! ;)

He sighed, leaning his head against his locker. He had expected this. He had challenged Arata with his words and yet... he could only imagine how upset Yuuta would be to see his brother and his boyfriend fighting.

Shutting his locker, he made his way out of the room and twisted his lips. He wasn't supposed to go to the infirmary if he didn't need help, but... he wanted to see Yuuta just one time before stepping out against Arata.

Making his way down the hall, he peeked into the room. Yuuta was laying down, staring out the window.

"Hey," Shouhei called softly.

Immediately, Yuuta turned around, a smile pulling across his lips when he realized who was visiting him. "Shou!" he said, and quickly covered his mouth. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I know, I know, but I just needed to see you before the last match. I'm... going up against your brother," he said, stepping closer to his bed.

"Yeah, I saw," he said with a sigh.

"Are you doing okay?" Shouhei asked, looking Yuuta up and down.

"Yeah," he said. "Just a few bruises, nothing major." Shouhei could tell Yuuta wasn't hurt, but he still looked frustrated. His fists curled around the blanket, his knuckles white. "I know this is... a lot to ask of you, Shou, but please defeat my brother. I think maybe he needs to lose or... I don't know..." Yuuta stammered. His chest heaved as he desperately tried to explain himself.

"Hey, hey, Yuu..." Shouhei said, reaching forward to take his hand. "Whatever is going on with Arata... we're gonna figure it out. And... I'm gonna kick his ass." He smirked, leaning in towards Yuuta. "I just... need one thing."

"Yeah?" Yuuta asked, blinking. "What's that?"

"A good luck kiss," he whispered.

Yuuta gasped and glanced around the room, as if they'd already been caught. "H-Here?!"

"It'll be quick, I promise," he smiled and leaned in, brushing their lips together. He cupped his cheek, taking in his boyfriends perfect lips, kissing him softly. He could've stayed there forever, kissing him, enjoying his lips. "There," he said, pulling back. He loved how red and flustered Yuuta's face was.

"S-Shou..."

"That was all I needed. There's no way I can lose now," he smirked.

Yuuta swallowed, finally catching his breath after the soft moment. "Shou, just... be careful. And don't kill Arata okay?"

Shouhei snorted. "Look, I'm not going to go easy on him, but just because Arata's been a dumbass lately doesn't mean I'm going to murder him. I promise okay?"

Nodding, Yuuta leaned back in the bed. "I know you two won't actually kill each other, it's just going to be difficult to watch."

"You don't have to," Shouhei said, trying to hide his reluctance. Something about the idea of Yuuta watching him thrilled him, he wanted to make him proud.

"No... I wanna support you both. I-I mean no matter who wins... I get to be happy!" he said, forcing a smile.

"Yeah," Shouhei nodded, squeezing his hand before moving away from the bed. "Don't worry, it's not like the school would let us take things too far." Or so he wanted to think.

Yuuta nodded again. "I know Shou. Besides I trust you, and I even trust Arata, despite how stupid he's been."

"Don't worry. I'll knock him down a few pegs," he said, giving Yuuta a thumbs up.

He waved, a smile quirked on the corner of his mouth.

Shouhei backed away from the room and intercom buzzed. "Just five minutes until the final match."

He swallowed, rubbing his hands together as he began to pace in the hallway. He wondered how his dad felt right now, when he was about to face off against Todoroki. Shouhei could only imagine how loud and angry his father must have been. Still, in the end, just like always, his father came out on top.

Shouhei had no idea if he could match that level of energy. His parents were always telling him to be who he was, to fight in a way that worked for him, and while he knew he could do that, he sometimes wished he had his father's confidence. Though, even Sayuri, who often had their father's temper, didn't seem to share his self-assurance.

He made his way to the entrance, knowing in just a few minutes they were going to call his name. Arata was on the other side of the stadium, and Shouhei wondered how confident Arata was. He'd seemed cocky during his fight with Yuuta and his other opponent but it wouldn't do him well to underestimate Shouhei, though presumably he knew that.

It seemed Arata had gotten stronger, but Shouhei was more than ready to take him on. In just a few short months, U.A. had already helped him better his quirk.

"Introducing the final two of this year's U.A. sports festival...Todoroki Arata and... Bakugou Shouhei!" The stadium erupted with applause.

Pursing his lips, Shouhei took a step forward. He didn't want to rush in to this, especially after all the matches they had earlier. He prayed Arata's strength would be down, but knowing the unruly twin, he was probably ready to take on this match full force. He'd probably been waiting to fight Shouhei from the beginning.

Shouhei didn't care about Arata's problems, he was going to win this for the sake of Yuuta and Sayuri. He had promised her.

Arata was walking up to the arena, the crowd going wild. It was so odd, looking at Arata's face which looked so similar to Yuuta's, and yet... Shouhei could see all the differences. Arata's eyes were sharper, angrier in this case. In general, his features seemed harsher than Yuuta's soft ones. Or maybe Shouhei was just projecting, given Arata's attitude as of late.

"Both Todoroki Arata and Bakugou Shouhei are legacies here at U.A and they're both the top of their respective classes!" Mirio announced. "We're certainly in for something exciting here!"

Scoffing, Arata planted his feet, pulling a molten spear from his chest.

Shouhei smirked. "Wasting no time I see." He pressed his hands together and touched his body, pushing off of the ground. With his other opponents, he'd rushed in, getting the upper hand by floating them and taking control of their body. He knew that wouldn't work on Arata, not after all the times he had pulled that trick on him as a kid.

Plus, the idea of teasing him a little sounded fun. Arata needed to stop being so damn serious.

He glanced down at him, floating far enough above to be out of reach. "I'm not here to fool around Shouhei," he hissed.

"Oh I know that, you've made that very clear over the past few weeks. Who shoved one of those lava sticks up your ass?" He snorted, gesturing to the burning pole he held in front of him.

"You and Yuuta will never understand. You're too far up each other's asses to notice or care about anything other than each other," Arata snapped, his eyes narrowing as he stared up at Shouhei.

Shouhei took a moment, looking down at Arata. Was that what this was all about? Was he jealous Shouhei had sort of taken his brother from him? It couldn't only be that though...

"Are you going to keep avoiding me? Is this your brilliant plan to win?"

Arata's voice snapped Shouhei from his thoughts, and he shook his head. "I dunno. I thought it could enjoy the view from up here. This is what you get for being an asshole, Arata."

With a grunt, Arata slammed his spear into the ground, cracks streaming through the field. He pushed himself into the air and yanked another object from his chest. It was a whip, fire coating the long line and Shouhei's eyes widened.

"Shit," he muttered to himself and Arata flicked it forward, wrapping around Shouhei's leg to yank him down to the ground. His back slammed against the floor of the arena and the entire audience let out a long groan. His leg burned but it wasn't like Shouhei wasn't used to the heat. Not with Bakugou Katsuki as his father.

"I told you not to underestimate me, Shou," Arata snapped, and yanked the whip back, pulling Shouhei with him.

"Don't worry," he grunted, brushing his fingers over loose pieces of debris on the ground. He flicked his fingers up and shot the pieces of rock straight towards Arata's chest, knocking him back. He let go of the whip long enough for Shouhei to push off the ground floating up once again. "I would never do that to you."

The crowd cheered when Shouhei got back up, happy their match wasn't almost done. He stretched up, watching Arata pant as he pulled the spear from the ground, now holding both weapons in his hands.

Admittedly, Shouhei hadn't thought much of Arata's improvement, mostly because he hadn't seen it up until now. They didn't train with his class, and though Yuuta had been upset Arata had been training with their grandfather, Shouhei had no idea Arata had improved so much so quickly. He had never been able to manifest more than one weapon and he did it smoothly.

It was time to get serious. Launching himself down, he landed against the ground. "I really don't get what your damn problem is, Arata. You've obviously improved a lot. I don't know why you feel the need to be better than me and your brother."

"Shut up," Arata growled, launching the spear towards Shouhei. He dodged, barely missing the fast projectile. "I am better than you and my brother."

"When did you get so competitive?" Shouhei sighed, his eyes flicking backwards to where the spear lay on the ground. He had to touch it with his bare hands to get it to float and though that would cause a serious burn, it would be worth it to throw Arata off guard.

"I've always been this competitive," he snapped.

"Not really, you always wanted to win, but never to the extent that you hurt your brother," Shouhei hissed.

Arata's eyes widened for a moment and then he frowned. "Well maybe Yuuta needs a little tough love."

"Not from you he doesn't," Shouhei snapped. "He misses you, Arata." If he could get his hands on Arata, he could float him and then pin him to the ground.

"There's... there's no need to miss me. He can talk to me whenever he wants."

Shouhei moved closer, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. If Arata thought he was disarmed... maybe he would lower his own guard. The burning whip dripped fire onto the solid ground, but Arata hadn't made a move to use it.

"You and I both know that's not really true," Shouhei said.

"Well who cares? You can just talk to each other!" He snapped, flicking the whip towards Shouhei.

He ducked, yanking his hands from his pockets as he brushed against debris again.

"That won't work twice-" Arata began to say, but Shouhei flicked his fingers upwards, sending it into the air. This time, Arata looked up and Shouhei dashed forward, slamming his hands against Arata's side.

"I didn't want it to work twice," he grinned.

He flicked his fingers up again, shooting Arata into the air. He clung to the whip and tried to flick it downward, but his limbs flailed in the air. Shouhei jumped up and grabbed Arata, slamming him down to the ground.

"Dammit!" Arata cursed, his body hitting the ground at rapid speed. Shouhei had released the gravity, making Arata feel heavy on the ground and he desperately tried to push himself up.

Instead, he let small fireballs appear in his hands and flung them at Shouhei, one after the other, draining the heat from his body. Shouhei dodged, ducking and zipping around the fire, but Arata was relentless. Even as they shrank in size, he kept throwing them, attempting desperately to hit him. However, his body was weightless and it was easy to dodge, no matter what Arata did. Despite his efforts, Shouhei could tell he was getting tired, from using too much heat and the injuries Shouhei had inflicted by slamming him down.

With a grin, Shouhei flipped behind himself, and quickly pressed his hands to the hot spear. He pulled away with a hiss, shaking his hands out. Flicking his fingers forward he shot the spear towards Arata, placing it right in front of his face, holding him in place. "The hell-"

He touched his fingers over the debris and hovered them above Arata's face, pinning them down against his jacket.

"Looks like you're stuck," Shouhei grinned. "Guess you shouldn't have underestimated me."

"You're such a smug, arrogant, prick," Arata spat. "You always have been. I don't know what my brother sees in you."

"Try looking in a damn mirror," Shouhei snarled. He flicked his fingers to the side, the spear falling forward and Shouhei lunged for Arata, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. "You've been nothing but trouble ever since we started here. I promised Yuuta I wouldn't fuck you up too bad, but I've wanted nothing more than to punch your face in every time he gets upset that you're being a little shit."

"Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta, that’s all you care about! That’s all anyone cares about!" Arata clenched his teeth, wincing in pain. He was shivering, obviously trying to get back body heat. "I want to be the number one hero, that's my legacy as a Todoroki. That's Yuuta's legacy too, but he doesn't seem to give a shit about that. He only cares about following you. That's why he's here, he's making me look bad-"

Swinging his hand, Shouhei's fist connected with Arata's jaw. He loosened his grip and Arata fell to the ground, his lip bleeding as he coughed, his arms trembling against the ground.

"Okay, OKAY!" Mirio's voice boomed. "It's safe to say this match is getting a little personal! Bakugou Shouhei is the winner!"

He thrust his hand into the air and the crowd erupted with a cheer. He won, just like he promised. His parents were going to be so excited. Sayuri was going to be excited too; they were going to celebrate the hell out of this. Still, he couldn't help but glance at Arata who shook against the ground.

Shouhei sighed and unzipped his jacket, walking forward to drape it over Arata's arms. "Yuuta doesn't care about legacy... or being number one. He cares about his brother, and I care about one of my best friends. Just try and remember that's important too, otherwise you're gonna be lonely as hell at the top," Shouhei muttered.

He didn't look back as he walked off the field. Though he won, something about the victory didn't taste as good as he wanted it to.

#kacchako #todomomo #yaoyorozu momo #todoroki shouto #bnha #ocs

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

Text

Trouble in Paradise

Summary: Anti just wants Dark to be less annoying, it’s not that he cares. He would never pretend to care about Dark’s well-being. So he goes to continue his mission of trying to officially get Dark and Wil together.

Slight continuation of my Eye of the Beholder fic I did a while back. Non-superhero story. I just like doing things with Anti and Dark’s begrudging, totally “non-existing” friendship.

This now has a part 3: Antagonist Acquaintances

“Get over here,” one of the still-conscious thugs snarled at Anti, both of them in a back parking lot, hidden from the main road or from other building that to the trees. Whether it was adrenaline, or the realization that he was going to die anyways and wanted to get one last hit on the glitch demon that had killed the rest of his friends.

Anti just smiled at the guy dropped his empty gun and pulled out a knife.

“Oh,” Anti glitched out the very air around them, the fear from the guy was palpable. Anti lived for this. “Yah’ve got guts, I’ll give ye that,” that Anti chuckled. “Maybe I’ll only send yah half dead to that loan shark.”

“Not my fault you messed with his computer,” the thug threatened.

“Maybe he shouldn’ta been tryin’ ta hack my files,” Anti growled as he took a couple steps forward, happy at the fear in his eyes.

“Hey, Anti, quick question,” Wilford suddenly appeared next to him.

Anti startled at the mad reporter’s sudden appearance, it let the thug get Anti in the side with the knife. He cursed and stabbed the guy in response. “Bit busy, arsehole!”

“Oh, pardon me,” Wilford took out his gun and shot the guy Anti was fighting. The man screamed, and fell to the ground, not getting back up. Anti glared at Wil. “Kill stealing, shitbag.”

“Ah, he’ll get back up,” Wilford dismissed, pocketing his gun. “This is important. I need you to come with me.”

“How about yah tell me about yer bullshit scheme, an’ I tell yah if I wan’ in,” Anti countered.

Wilford groaned. “Fineeeeeeee!”

Anti gestured for him to continue.

“Alright, so, I was thinking that I’ve kinda been slacking off a bit with my relationship with Dark,” Wilford explained. “Mine and Dames’s anniversary is coming up.”

“Dames?” Anti repeated.

“And I was hoping you could help me with some ideas,” Wilford admitted.

All Anti could give for a response was just to stare at Wilford. “What do I look like? Fookin’ Casanova?”

“Anti, please,” Wilford’s eyes were almost like a puppy dog, grabbing onto his shoulders and pulling him dangerously close. Close enough for Anti to consider stabbing him. “You and Dark are similar creatures. Please help me.”

“No, we’re not. ‘Sides, what am I supposed to do?” Anti scoffed. “Get the guy a bear trap or somethin’.”

Wilford rolled his eyes, “Anti, please, Dark has standard, he’s a creature of refinement.”

“Then get ‘im a golden bear trap,” Anti groaned. “You’re asking me on ways to make up to your boyfriend about the amount of side-ass you’ve been getting. I’ve never cared what Dark wants.”

“Please, I’ll owe you a favor,” Wilford begged.

“Fine!” Anti punctuated it with cursing.

“Thank you,” Wilford kissed him on the cheek.

“Get off ‘a me,” Anti cussed and pushed the reporter off of him. “If you’re so in love with him, why don’t you tell him.”

“I thought I was,” Wilford huffed. “Apparently it wasn’t good enough.”

The glitch demon dragged his hand down his face, “Yer gonna be the death ‘a me. Look, I’m busy now, meet me here to tomorrow, and I can get yah a bear trap and we’ll think of something.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Wilford grinned, finally the glitch demon left, and Anti took out his knife again. If he couldn’t get back at that loan shark by beating up his goons, Anti would just take his aggression on the guy himself.

As it turned out, getting Wilford and Dark actually on “boyfriend” terms was almost impossible. Dark was always in his office, arms deep in work. He almost never left his desk, or the mountain of paperwork in front of him.

So Wil and Anti started off just spitballing ideas. They’d start talking in a random place and eventually it would just turn to them causing trouble on the other side of town.

Anti was pretty sure somewhere along the way they stepped on Dark’s toes because they ran into him somewhere in the middle of picking a fight with a bunch of guys in suits and Dark dragged Wil back to the Manor, literally by his ear.

After a couple of times, each time they got involved with different types of people, Dark started just letting them go and wreak havoc. He would only intervene if they stepped on his parts of the city. They didn’t get much done for Wilford’s planning, but Anti had to admit it was fun to watch Silver and Jackie trying to combat them. The other Egos mostly staying out of their way.

Wilford and Anti were coming back late one night, Wilford finally sticking to an idea for the first time since they’d started what Anti could only call: Stab and Chill. Because they were too distracted to do anything else.

The mad reporter had an excited giddy smile, “Today’s the day.”

“Took ye long enough, you jittery prick,” Anti scoffed. “Go talk ta ‘em and leave me the hell alone.”

The reporter hugged Anti, making the glitch kicked and bit him on the arm, which Wilford just laughed at. They walked over to Dark’s office and then Wilford came to a dead halt in front of the door.

“What’s up?” Anti asked, but was then shushed by Wil.

Now that it was actually quiet, Anti could hear Dark and Bim arguing in the entity’s office.

“What did I do?” Bim demanded.

“I’m not here to treat you like a child, Trimmer!” Dark shouted, his ringing almost deafening, Wilford froze at how angry the entity sounded. “Get your act together and for once in your life, act like a damn adult!”

The door to Dark’s office flew open as Bim walked out, “Well at least I’m not taking out my problems onto someone else!”

“Just get out!” Dark shouted and his aura looked dangerously close to taking Bim’s head off. But Bim was already leaving and missed decapitation by inches.

Glaring back at Dark he left and immediately spotted Wil and Anti. Bim looked furious, almost on the verge of tears.

“Your boyfriend’s an ass,” Bim spat at Wilford. “He keeps doing this to me and I’ll hit him. He’s singled me out.”

Without even letting Wilford answer him or think about defending either Bim or Dark, he stomped away.

Watching him go, Wilford frowned, his top lip and mustache twitching, “This is more serious than I thought. Anti, keep him distracted, I have an idea.”

“Ye can’t be serious,” Anti groaned.

“I’ll be five minutes tops,” Wilford promised.

Indignant, the two a hushed argument between the two, right outside Darks office. Anti, at that point didn’t even know why they were even pretending when Dark could probably hear every word they were saying. Bim had left the door wide open when he left.

In the end Wilford rolled his eyes and disappeared. Anti angrily glitched, cursing at the spot where the mad reporter had been standing. After some thought, Anti threw stepped into Dark’s office.

“Hey, Dark-osaurus Rex,” Anti grinned. Dark just glared at him, the ringing that always accompanied the entity pitched up sharply.“What’s eating at ye?”

Dark scratched his hand down his face. “Just because Wilford had taken an interest in you, does not mean you can come to my office or my home uninvited.”

“Kay, first off, rude; second, I’m not uninvited, Wilf let me in,” Anti corrected.

Dark broke his pen with his bare hand and glared at Anti. “I did not invite you, Wilford knows he can’t just bring people like you over.”

“Like me?” Anti scoffed.

“Yes, Wilford knows he shouldn’t bring his paramours home with him,” Dark threw his broken pen in the waste bin underneath his desk in disgust. His aura stripped the ink from his skin and suit.

It took Anti a second to remember what that word meant. “Hey, I told yah, I’m not boning the candy cane. I’m not touching anything that’s been that close ta yer old sack ‘a meat. Don’t know how many times I have to tell ye.”

“I don’t know why you insist on lying to me about it,” Dark was already turning back to the mountain of papers on his desk. “You and Wilford have been spending an inordinate amount of time together, and he had been incessantly annoying every time he mentions you.”

Anti resisted the urge to scream with every fiber of his being. He was going to stab Wil when he got back, especially if the idiot was going to keep shooting himself in the foot like this. “We’re not always together,” the glitch demon defended. “Yer blowin’ that way outta proportion.”

Dark stopped and pulled a legal notebook out from a stack of papers, somehow keeping the whole stack of papers upright and mostly aligned. “I like to keep an ear to the ground when it comes to Wilford’s expenses. So I can find him when he goes missing, or freeze his accounts when he gets out of control.”

“Yer the possessive type, then,” Anti scoffed.

Dark gave him a withering look, then turned back to his notepad. “In the past 36 hours you and Wil have managed to spend five hundred dollars in food, flowers, and knives.”

“Only five?” Anti huffed.

Dark threw his notepad down angrily, “Anti, I am busy, whether Wilford spends a week or fifteen years wasting my time talking about you, it makes no difference to me.”

“Seems like it kinda does,” Anti goaded.

“If I knew you would be this insufferable about it, I would have discorporated you outside that bar,” Dark spat.

The glitch demon studied Dark, “Whoa, hold up, are you jealous?”

Dark shoved up from his chair, “Don’t presume, you insufferable child.”

“Oh this is rich, ye are,” Anti smiled. “That’s why yer so pissed.”

As Anti was having a bit of a laugh at Dark’s expense, Dark’s aura grabbed Anti by the throat.

“I’m done with this conversation,” Dark decided. “I’m going to look forward to the reprieve. Last time you were out for a full month. Let’s make it two.”

“What?” Anti managed to choke out. “Fraid’a little friendly competition?”

Dark’s aura began to tighten on Anti’s throat. “You are neither friendly, nor competition.”

“Hey, Darkling,” Wilford walked in, in a yellow suit with a pink shirt, holding something behind his back. “Oh, are you having fun?”

“Not now, Wil,” Dark spat, Anti reflexively kicked and fought against Dark’s literal stranglehold. Anti was sure if he was inhabiting a host or mortal, his throat would have been crushed into dust by now.

“Before you finish, I have something for you,” Wil teased. Dark groaned and looked at the reporter, only to have Wilford pull a large bouquet of tall black tulips, a purple tinge to each flower, tied up with a gray ribbon that had red and blue thread woven into the edges of it. “For you.”

Dark blinked, owlishly, as he stared at the flowers, releasing Anti just enough for the glitch demon to free himself. “What do you mean for me? It’s not my birthday.”

“I wanted to get something nice for you,” Wilford told Dark, and then kissed him on the cheek. “I like doing nice things for you.”

The entity froze, his shell fracturing a bit, one of his copies flinching away from Wil. But Dark took the flowers. “I brought dinner, I’ll go set the table?”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea,” Dark told him.

Wilford winked and then disappeared.

“See?” Anti gave Dark a rather cheeky, snide look. “I’m not chasing your toy.”

Dark rolled his eyes and showed Anti away with his aura, summoning a vase for his new flowers. “Don’t ruin my mood, glitch.”

“Seriously though, I’m not actually interested in him,” Anti told Dark. “He’s a dumb piece of shit, an’ the havoc we wreck together is amazin’. But I’d only fook ‘im ta spite ah, an’ even then, I’d still get bored immediately.”

Dark didn’t seem to be hearing him, tracing the individual flowers.

“Sides, Wilford makes ye a little less pathetic and annoyin’,” Anti reminded. “I’m all fer that.”

“Your commentary on my personal affairs if unnecessary,” Dark dismissed.

“Wow, that’d stick if ye ever had any in the first place,” Anti shot back. “Still, if that fookwad starts getting grabby with anyone else, tell me so I can kick his teeth in.”

“I told you, I don’t—” Dark began, turning away for the flowers for the first time in their new conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, just go have fun with yer boyfriend,” Anti dismissed. “An’ spare me the details, if I wanted ta be sick, I’d download a virus.”

Before Dark could keep arguing with him, Wilford came back up and the two had a nice evening. Dinner, and Wilford dragged Dark off to see a movie, despite Dark’s attempts to get back to work. The two of them enjoying their evening.

#Jacksepticeye #Markiplier #Antisepticeye #Wilford Warfstache #Darkiplier #Anti accidentally makes himself Dark's wingman #Accidental Wingman Anti #discussions of infedility #Anti stabs a bunch of dudes behind a warehouse #Pre-Darkstache #Dark doesn't know how to make friends #Anti pretends not to care #Anti cares a lot

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