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littlemixnet · 3 years

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To me, a good ally is someone who is consistent in their efforts – there’s a difference between popping on a pride playlist or sprinkling yourself in rainbow glitter once a year and actually defending LGBT+ people against discrimination. It means showing my LGBT+ fans that I support them wholeheartedly and am making a conscious effort to educate myself, raise awareness and show up whenever they need me to. It would be wrong of me to benefit from the community as a musician without actually standing up and doing what I can to support. As someone in the public eye, it’s important to make sure your efforts are not performative or opportunistic. I’m always working on my allyship and am very much aware that I’ve still got a lot of unlearning and learning to do. There are too many what I call ‘dormant allies’, believing in equality but not really doing more than liking or reposting your LGBT+ mate’s content now and again. Imagine if that friend then saw you at the next march, or signing your name on the next petition fighting for their rights? Being an ally is also about making a conscious effort to use the right language and pronouns, and I recently read a book by Glennon Doyle who spoke of her annoyance and disappointment of those who come out and are met with ‘We love you…no matter what’. I’d never thought of that expression like that before and it really struck a chord with me. ‘No matter what’ suggests you are flawed. Being LGBT+ is not a flaw. Altering your language and being conscious of creating a more comfortable environment for your LGBT+ family and friends is a good start. Nobody is expecting you to suddenly know it all, I don’t think there’s such a thing as a perfect ally. I’m still very much learning. Even recently, after our Confetti music video I was confronted with the fact that although we made sure our video was incredibly inclusive, we hadn’t brought in any actual drag kings. Some were frustrated, and they had every right to be. You can have the right intentions and still fall short. As an open ally I should have thought about that, and I hadn’t, and for that I apologise. Since then I’ve been doing more research on drag king culture, because it’s definitely something I didn’t know enough about, whether that was because it isn’t as mainstream yet mixed with my own ignorance. But the point is we mess up, we apologise, we learn from it and we move forward with that knowledge. Don’t let the fear of f**king up scare you off. And make sure you are speaking alongside the community, not for the community. Growing up in a small Northern working-class town, some views were, and probably still are, quite ‘old fashioned’ and small-minded. I witnessed homophobia at an early age. It was a common thought particularly among men that it was wrong to be anything but heterosexual. I knew very early on I didn’t agree with this, but wasn’t educated or aware enough on how to combat it. I did a lot of performing arts growing up and within that space I had many LGBT+ (mainly gay) friends. I’ve been a beard many a time let me tell you! But it was infuriating to see friends not feel like they could truly be themselves. When I moved to London I felt incredibly lonely and like I didn’t fit in. It was my gay friends (mainly my friend and hairstylist, Aaron Carlo) who took me under their wing and into their world. Walking into those gay bars or events like Sink The Pink, it was probably the first time I felt like I was in a space where everyone in that room was celebrated exactly as they are. It was like walking into a magical wonderland. I got it. I clicked with everyone. My whole life I struggled with identity – being mixed race for me meant not feeling white enough, or black enough, or Arab enough. I was a ‘tomboy’ and very nerdy. I suppose on a personal level that maybe played a part in why I felt such a connection or understanding of why those spaces for the LGBT+ community are so important. One of the most obvious examples of first realising Little Mix was having an effect in the community was that I couldn’t enter a gay bar without hearing a Little Mix song and watching numerous people break out into full choreo from our videos! I spent the first few years of our career seeing this unfold and knowing the LGBT+ fan base were there, but it wasn’t until I got my own Instagram or started properly going through Twitter DMs that I realised a lot of our LGBT+ fans were reaching out to us on a daily basis saying how much our music meant to them. I received a message from a boy in the Middle East who hadn’t come out because in his country homosexuality is illegal. His partner tragically took their own life and he said our music not only helped him get through it, but gave him the courage to start a new life somewhere else where he could be out and proud. There are countless other stories like theirs, which kind of kickstarted me into being a better ally. Another standout moment would be when we performed in Dubai in 2019. We were told numerous times to ‘abide by the rules’, which meant not promoting anything LGBT+ or too female-empowering (cut to us serving a four-part harmony to Salute). In my mind, we either didn’t go or we’d go and make a point. When Secret Love Song came on, we performed it with the LGBT+ flag taking up the whole screen behind us. The crowd went wild, I could see fans crying and singing along in the audience and when we returned it was everywhere in the press. I saw so many positive tweets and messages from the community. It made laying in our hotel rooms s**tting ourselves that we’d get arrested that night more than worth it. It was through our fans and through my friends I realised I need to be doing more in my allyship. One of the first steps in this was meeting with the team at Stonewall to help with my ally education and discussing how I could be using my platform to help them and in turn the community. Right now, and during lockdown, I’d say my ally journey has been a lot of reading on LGBT+ history, donating to the right charities and raising awareness on current issues such as the conversion therapy ban and the fight for equality of trans lives. Stonewall is facing media attacks for its trans-inclusive strategies and there is an alarming amount of seemingly increasing transphobia in the UK today and we need to be doing more to stand with the trans community. Still, there is definitely a pressure I feel as someone in the public eye to constantly be saying and doing the right things, especially with cancel culture becoming more popular. I s**t myself before most interviews now, on edge that the interviewer might be waiting for me to ‘slip up’ or I might say something that can be misconstrued. Sometimes what can be well understood talking to a journalist or a friend doesn’t always translate as well written down, which has definitely happened to me before. There’ve been moments where I’ve (though well intentioned) said the wrong thing and had an army of Twitter warriors come at me. Don’t get me wrong, there are obviously more serious levels of f**king up that are worthy of a cancelling. But it was quite daunting to me to think that all of my previous allyship could be forgotten for not getting something right once. When that’s happened to me before I’ve scared myself into thinking I should STFU and not say anything, but I have to remember that I am human, I’m going to f**k up now and again and as long as I’m continuing to educate myself to do better next time then that’s OK. I’m never going to stop being an ally so I need to accept that there’ll be trickier moments along the way. I think that might be how some people may feel, like they’re scared to speak up as an ally in case they say the wrong thing and face backlash. Just apologise to the people who need to be apologised to, and show that you’re doing what you can to do better and continue the good fight. Don’t burden the community with your guilt. When it comes to the music industry, I’m definitely seeing a lot more LGBT+ artists come through and thrive, which is amazing. Labels, managements, distributors and so forth need to make sure they’re not just benefiting from LGBT+ artists but show they’re doing more to actually stand with them and create environments where those artists and their fans feel safe. A lot of feedback I see from the community when coming to our shows is that they’re in a space where they feel completely free and accepted, which I love. I get offered so many opportunities to do with LGBT+ based shows or deals and while it’s obviously flattering, I turn most of them down and suggest they give the gig to someone more worthy of that role. But really, I shouldn’t have to say that in the first place. The fee for any job I do take that feels right for me but has come in as part of the community goes to LGBT+ charities. That’s not me blowing smoke up my own arse, I just think the more of us and big companies that do that, the better. We need more artists, more visibility, more LGBT+ mainstream shows, more shows on LGBT+ history and more artists standing up as allies. We have huge platforms and such an influence on our fans – show them you’re standing by them. I’ve seen insanely talented LGBT+ artist friends in the industry who are only recently getting the credit they deserve. It’s amazing but it’s telling that it takes so long. It’s almost expected that it will be a tougher ride. We also need more understanding and action on the intersectionality between being LGBT+ and BAME. Racism exists in and out of the community and it would be great to see more and more companies in the industry doing more to combat that. The more we see these shows like Drag Race on our screens, the more we can celebrate difference. Ever since I was a little girl, my family would go to Benidorm and we’d watch these glamorous, hilarious Queens onstage; I was hooked. I grew up listening to and loving the big divas – Diana Ross (my fave), Cher, Shirley Bassey, and all the queens would emulate them. I was amazed at their big wigs, glittery overdrawn make-up and fabulous outfits. They were like big dolls. Most importantly, they were unapologetically whoever the f**k they wanted to be. As a shy girl who didn’t really understand why the world was telling me all the things I should be, I almost envied the queens but more than anything I adored them. Drag truly is an art form, and how incredible that every queen is different; there are so many different styles of drag and to me they symbolise courage and freedom of expression. Everything you envisioned your imaginary best friend to be, but it’s always been you. There’s a reason why the younger generation are loving shows like Drag Race. These kids can watch this show and not only be thoroughly entertained, but be inspired by these incredible people who are unapologetically themselves, sharing their touching stories and who create their own support systems and drag families around them. Now and again I think of when I’d see those Queens in Benidorm, and at the end they’d always sing I Am What I Am as they removed their wigs and smudged their make up off, and all the dads would be up on their feet cheering for them, some emotional, like they were proud. But that love would stop when they’d go back home, back to their conditioned life where toxic heteronormative behaviour is the status quo. Maybe if those same men saw drag culture on their screens they’d be more open to it becoming a part of their everyday life. I’ll never forget marching with Stonewall at Manchester Pride. I joined them as part of their young campaigners programme, and beforehand we sat and talked about allyship and all the young people there asked me questions while sharing some of their stories. We then began the march and I can’t explain the feeling and emotion watching these young people with so much passion, chanting and being cheered by the people they passed. All of these kids had their own personal struggles and stories but in this environment, they felt safe and completely proud to just be them. I knew the history of Pride and why we were marching, but it was something else seeing what Pride really means first hand. My advice for those who want to use their voice but aren’t sure how is, just do it hun. It’s really not a difficult task to stand up for communities that need you. Change can happen quicker with allyship.

Jade Thirlwall on the power, and pressures, of being an LGBT ally: ‘I’m gonna f**k up now and again’

#jade thirlwall #lgbt

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mythiccheroacademia · 4 years

Note

Hey!! Could we please get more sugar daddy fics with a black reader ofc 😋 idk if you've done shoto already but that'd be nice or hawks and deku💕

A/N: “wrist on glitter, waist on thinner, imma show you how to bag a eight-figure nigga” 👅💋 I enjoyed this way too much

All characters are 18+

Warnings: it got a lil spicy so imma put the line

Todoroki Shouto:

this mf has money to burn

we all know todoroki came out the womb w cash from his hair to his ass

he’s on some “yes, jeff bezos knows me” type shit so if you’re tryna end up with someone that’s gonna possibly buy you a house, he’s your guy

he slid into your dms after you posted a pic with your skin moisturized and glistening under golden hour and your body had him wanting to run laps

he had been plottin on you for a min but never got the motivation to do something about it until then

he’s a no strings attached type of sugar daddy

todoroki is a big name even outside of hero work and he’s well aware of all the people that have tried to use him. so instead of letting that happen, he’s decided to do things on his own terms

when yall first started talking, he questioned you like this was managerial position at apple 💀

best believe he ran an in-depth background check and made you sign an NDA 💀💀💀

he was a tough one

but you passed w flying colors and y’all settled on an arrangement

you have a weekly allowance that hits your bank account every saturday with some bonuses that he’ll give you depending on how the week goes

todoroki isnt needy nor is he one to be all up in your business

it’s actually weird in an endearing kind of way?

he only wants to have conversations with you

i mean, dont get me wrong, he’s up for anything you are

todoroki would be a liar if he said he never ended some nights with a picture of you and a hand down his pants

but that’s not what he’s mainly looking for

you figure out very quickly that shouto just wants someone to talk to

he’ll randomly hit up your phone and have a 30 min convo about something like the weather or hero politics, and then he’ll dip

next thing you know, you got $1000 in your cashapp

you kind of panicked bc like...wtf?

your dumb ass messaged him: “did you mean to send $1000?”

sis, dont put a question mark where God put a period

him: “Yes.”

and that was the end of that

you dont question anymore

he’s not doting in any kind of way, and sometimes you lowkey think he forgets about you, but you still get your allowance

doesn’t send a lot of gifts unless you explicitly state you want something

he doesnt text back a lot, but he tried to respond when he can

but i do see him liking it when you send him mundane things you do throughout your day, like pics of cookies you baked, or a cool plant you saw at home depot

and he enjoys the times you and him end up just trashing his father for nearly an hour. expect to find flowers, with some expensive ass coats or something at your door the next morning

he really fucks w your laid back vibe

sometimes he forgets you guys arent really supposed to be friends

Takami Kiego (Hawks):

this is not hawks’ first time being a sugar daddy

he’s hot, rich, and one of the most eligible bachelor’s in japan with a life that prevents him from having anything too serious

so, long story short, he’s a veteran at this

he used to be the type to reach out to instagram baddies but he had a couple bad run-ins and decided to stick with the official sites because it was a lot more secure on both ends

the funny thing was, you set up your account a long time ago as a joke. though at one point, you did take it seriously, but you came in contact with a lot of super creepy men that sexualized you for your skin and ethnicity.

you were tired of the “chocolate king/queen” and “amazonian god/dess” comments,so you took a break. you didnt have much activity since

so imagine youre surprise when the #2 hero hit your line talking about some

“Hey~ I’ll get straight to the point. I think you’re beautiful and I’d like to talk with you about an arrangement”

you thought this was a fake account, but after he chatting for a little and sending some pictures, you knew he was the real deal

hawks is your standard tit-for-tat transaction sugar daddy

he’s the type to hit you up at night with a “how ya doing, dove? got any pics for me?”

he’s good about his respect ad won’t do anything out of line

it’s the bare minimum, be he doesnt fetishize you so that’s always nice

however, he does make you call him daddy, sir, etc. whether it’s through text, call, or when y’all get together for...reasons

ngl his dicc game is fire

he might ghost you for a week or so but he’ll always come back with a nice check to make up for it

just be careful about catching feelings bc he’s so fucking smooth. he makes you feel like you’ve got his heart, but dont fall for that shit

if you think you can “change him” or fuflfil whatever wattpad romance fantasy lives in your head, he is not your guy. you better get on w your life before you get your heart broken

he’s here to suck, fuck, send pics, do a little phone call here n there, send some money, and go

if you’re not with all that, you might as well dip

but if you’re cool with that, rest assured, you’re gonna be living your best mf life with this man in your wallet

and good news, you might not be his only, but you are his favorite

there’s just something about you that’s got him giving you a few extra thousand than he normally does

he doesnt take his sugar babies on proper dates bc he’s gotta stay away from media outlets, but he will invite you to his office for a “lunch break”

if you ever surprise him with a cute but sexy hawks cosplay, you won’t have to work for two whole weeks bc you cant walk

overall, he’s a good sugar daddy. defintely good for your pockets and any other non-romantic desires you want fulfilled

Mirodirya Izuku:

the way you two met and came to this arrangement was more or less an accident

the life of the number one pro-hero was lonely and stressful

he’s tried to dip his toes in the water here and there, but it never worked out because not many people could deal with the fact that he’d always put hero work first

he was teetering on the edge of signing up for one of those sugar daddy/baby websites until he met you at some cafe he passed by

it’s cliche really. you were his server and, honestly? he was hooked on day one

he watched you intently as you pranced around in your cute uniform. he couldnt stop admiring your brown skin and eyes and how cute your hair was. you spoke with such enthusiasm and cheerfulness that he couldnt help but swoon. and it didn’t hurt that you were very easy on the eyes

he listened to you as you went on a spiel about how college was a fortune and how you stayed up last night for a project bc you had to pick up extra shifts

that’s when he made his decision

by the time the hero is out of the door, you collected the reciept and almost fainted when you realized he left you a $500 tip and his personal number

“i enjoyed talking to you today and i hope we can continue that...here’s something small to help with your bills. and i hope this isnt too forward but you’re very beautiful. stay safe. deku.”

and what did you do that night?

you called his ass right back

you were nervous as hell bc you still couldnt believe this was real, but after talking on the phone with him for two hours, an arrangement was set

midoriya is the most gentlemen like sugar daddy out there

you wake up to good morning texts and a few hundred in your bank account almost every two days

he goes crazy over your insta posts. and if you wear something green? expect a bonus

takes you out shopping unprovoked

izuku: “are you busy? i saw you were having a rough week and was wondering if you wanted to go to that new outlet mall downtown”

you: 🏃🏾‍♀️💨

you most certainly had homework due that night but what tf you look like missing out on that offer?

it’s after so many “dates” that deku realizes that he prefers hanging around you more than he should but he doesnt wanna ruin anything so he keeps that underwraps

he’s the idiot that goes into this thinking he won’t fall in love

deku defintely has some dirty thoughts about you but he doesnt try to bring it up unless you do first

if you’re comfortable with anything nsfw, you gone see a whole different side to izuku

he’s a giver, giver, giver, but when he recieves, he just about loses it

send him “innocent” pics of yourself matched with a string of filthy texts and he’ll combust

when you send him pics of yourself in deku-themed lingre, he deadass sends you a whole black card with your name on it as a thank you

you guys get very comfortable with each other very quickly

soon enough, DA’s start turning into y/n stayng over for a week

you both realize this relatiosnhip runs a lot deeper than an arrangement when he accidentally let it slip that he told his mom about you

he’s profusely apologizing but you shut him up with a kiss and tell him that you’ve kinda caught feelings yourself

your next conversation works out well for the both of you

#bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #deku x reader #izuku x black!reader #hawks x black!reader #hawks x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x black!reader #takami keigo #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #bnha x poc!reader #bnha x black reader #mha x poc!reader #mha x reader #mha x black reader #bnha x reader

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haztory · 3 years

Text

𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝. (1)

--iwaizumi hajime x f!reader; fake/pretend dating, mutual pining, third year characters, confident/no-nonsense reader, puppet master oikawa, ocassional cursing, other than that no warnings!

--summary: Iwaizumi Hajime was more than content to not be at the receiving end of the hordes of fangirl's attention.

But when they all suddenly devote their time and love to him, he can't help but quickly want an out. It's Oikawa's suggestion- a good one at that. Get a girlfriend to scare them off.

And what better than use you, Iwaizumi's best friend with a long standing crush on him, to play the role.

a/n: this is my first haikyuu fic! i did not expect it to be about iwa considering im a huge daichi simp, but that’s what listening to bubble pop electric by gwen stefani and browsing through pinterest does to the brain, ig. please let me know if any characters are too ooc, as im still trying to get them down.

other than that, enjoy! messages are always appreciated.

(w.c. 4836)

masterlist | next chapter

Iwaizumi Hajime was hand sculpted by the gods, the entire female student body deduces with fanatic agreement one blessed afternoon. His shoulders are broad, skin rippling like waves breaking on rocks under the movement of his muscles. His stomach is firm and taut with the lining of his abs and his pectorals are considerably large enough to have every single girl in attendance foam at the mouth. And as he raises one— bulging — arm to wave sheepishly to the widened eyes of the crowd, his thick and veiny hand on full display, a collective moan is heard throughout the building. It has the poor boy ducking his head downward even further.

The fundraiser arranged to cover the expenses of the volleyball team’s traveling to away games exceeded its initial goal (that of which the all-female led student council was greatly responsible for) resulting in the entire team parading themselves around the cafeteria as a reward for the students’ commitment to the task.

Shirtless.

And while attention from the female population has usually always been paid to the star setter, Oikawa Tooru and all of his addicting charm, his absence in this mouthwatering and delectable ceremony has allowed for the ace and vice-captain of the Seijoh Volleyball Team to shine. Oh, and shine, he has.

Within a mere five minutes, the fiercely devoted and militant fanclub belonging to Oikawa has suddenly converted— briefly, they insist— to the groupies of Seijoh’s Vice Captain: powerful ace, leader of offense, total hottie.

The attention increases tenfold from that point on. Suddenly, Oikawa is no longer the only one receiving love confessions numerous times on a daily basis (much to his chagrin), but instead is sharing the spotlight with his best friend, who is more than uncomfortable with the unexpected shift in notice. He was never ecstatic at being labeled as ‘Oikawa’s number two’, adamant that he was his own entity despite the intricate intertwinement with his best friend, he was, in fact, totally fine with never being hounded by girls at every minute of the day. Sure, the attention would be nice, occasionally.

But this? This is outrageous.

This is the tenth girl today to have stopped by his locker, a pink flush encompassing her face as she sticks her hands out to present something to Iwaizumi. It’s tupper ware, decorated in a pink bow with his name written in cursive on the top accompanied by some cute glitter stickers. That would make this the fourth container he’s received this morning, and as much as the whole act fills him with a deep dread and hesitation, he doesn’t have the heart to reject her gift. Especially when her hands are shaking so hard and she’s stuttering every other word out.

So he puts on the standard smile, the one that he’s seen Oikawa pump out a hundred times a day but fails to meet in equal warmth and charm, and thanks her graciously and sincerely— even though he’s not that big a fan of milk bread and this is the third one he’s going to have to shove into his locker.

He bows to her with an awkward smile, “Ah, thank you, uh…”

“H-Hina!” she shouts, her hands slapping upward towards her mouth after the outburst. The pink flushes deeper on her skin, and Iwaizumi has to wonder what exactly is going through the air for a girl to have this kind of reaction to him. He hasn’t changed, hasn’t developed a new attitude that should have girls swooning at his feet. He’s the same as always, stubbornly so. He is Iwaizumi Hajime, hardass, avid monster movie watcher and the usual second thought. He supposes he should feel somewhat elated at the long-awaited recognition, but he can’t shake off the feeling that this is all incredibly unwarranted.

It's a surface value attraction. They're not really swooning for him, just the idea of him. That stings a bit more than he’d like to admit.

“Hina,” he affirms with a gentle nod, bowing his head in gratitude, “Thank you for the treat. I will, uh, treasure every bite.”

He doesn’t mean it to be anything charming (because he’s not) nor even remotely romantic (because it’s not), it’s just what he comes up with at the top of his head, but Hina starts to shake and a watery smile spreads across her face when she hears it and he knows he’s made this whole thing much worse. Before he can even awkwardly ask if she’s alright, she bows hurriedly again before running off with a shriek.

It's then that he’s sure Oikawa is one sadistic motherfucker because there is no way anyone mentally sane could take that reaction as a compliment. There’s an intense guilt that settles in his stomach for the rest of the day for causing a girl to tremble like that.

Curse the student council for that stupid fundraiser award. He would much rather walk to every away game than have to go through another day of this.

He opens his locker again, placing the container in there amongst all the other ones and the numerous handmade cards declaring affection. He closes it with a sigh. He can only hope that this phase of adoration is reaching its end.

Quickly.

It does not end quickly.

It's month three of endless confessions and Iwaizumi is about to lose his mind. Word spreads about his favorite kinds of teas and sweets (which he is sure Oikawa is directly responsible for) and his locker starts to resemble a mall kiosk more than any part of school property. The outside is decorated with stickers and taped with more love cards and he’s pretty sure someone found out his combination (again) because there are balloons floating out of it.

It's a circus. One that Mattsukawa and Hanamaki repeatedly laugh about every time they see it.

He would like to indulge in the acts or at least make some kind of peace with the situation, he really would. He’s always fantasized in passing about the pride and specialty one must feel at being the center of female attention, having seen it and thwarted it first hand from Oikawa’s fans, but the longer this drags on the more fraudulent he starts to feel.

How can he enjoy his favorite foods when the girls giving it to him are blinded by a false idea of him? They’re not genuine, and if he accepted them, he would only feel like a bad guy, taking advantage of poor girls who haven’t got the slightest clue about him. Because Iwaizumi doesn’t have the million dollar smile like Oikawa does, nor does he have the oozing charm and commercial personality.

He’s hard, and stubborn, and less inclined to entertain bullshit— the complete opposite of shitty-kawa. So whatever perception these girls think they have of Iwa, they’re wrong. and he can’t accept gifts from these girls who think they love him, when in reality, he’s the furthest thing from what they assume he is.

“Why are you so adamant to believe that what they feel isn’t real? What's so ridiculous about liking you? Hmm?” Oikawa sings with a laugh one afternoon, the whole team crammed into the club room as they change out of their practice gear. the other guys snicker at Iwaizumi’s dismay, the usual frown painted on his face is permanently etched deeper into his skin and he knows they’re all getting a sick enjoyment from his torture.

The constant reliability to the chaos Oikawa brings is now subjected to his own taste of havoc. And he’s absolutely miserable.

In all of his stubborn self-sufficiency, he’s refused to even indulge the guys with a verbal complaint, simply grumbling at the gifts before moving on with his day. Intent on dealing with this problem on his own and prohibiting himself from being a burden to anyone else.

But he’s off his a-game in practice and the crease between his eyebrows is now a persistent feature on his face these days.

“Because it's not real,” he grunts, throwing his sweaty shirt into his sports bag, “They don’t like me.”

Hanamaki snorts from across the benches, a wide smile on his face as he unlaces his shoes and sings, “They only like him for his bodyyy.”

“Can you blame them? Who would ever like Iwa for his personality?” Matsukawa joins him in snickering, earning a killer glare from the victim in question. Not helping. They only laugh harder.

“So what?” Oikawa questions amusedly, ignoring the sarcasm dripping from the other two third years, leaning his body against the lockers as he watches his best friend ripple with frustration. A constant sight these days.

“So what?” Iwaizumi turns to look at him, incredulity furrowing his features as his friends look at him like he’s grown a third head for being reasonably uncomfortable with this, “It's weird. They’re giving all of these nice gifts to a guy they barely know and they all look at me like a piece of meat.”

“God, girls objectifying you? The horror.” Mattsun torts again, earning a water bottle thrown at his face.

“So what?” Oikawa laughs again, the kind of laugh that reverberates around the room and rings a little too loudly in his ears. He’s heard this laugh thousands of times over the years, coming out to play when Oikawa is far too keen on putting Hajime as the butt of a joke. The mockery is clear in his voice, bleeding in the two simple words yet weighing like a hundred. He can usually take it, dish it back with equal fervor to his best friend, but this time around, he can’t.

This whole mess of a situation sits heavily on his shoulders and for the first time, any attempt to just barrel through a problem like he so often does seems pointless to Hajime. Because no matter how much he ignores, no matter how often he declines, the girls will continue to only see Seijoh's ace. Not Iwaizumi Hajime.

He sighs. He doesn’t know what he was expecting in venting to his friends. Validation if they were any nicer, but deep down he knew it would take a different trajectory.

Maybe they’re right; Maybe he is blowing this out of proportion. Maybe he should just accept the gifts, enjoy them while he can because the girls are choosing to do it. They’re not being held against their will, nor is anyone really being hurt by these peculiar circumstances. It's, theoretically, a win-win.

It doesn’t stop the pit in his stomach from sinking even lower when he sees girls stop their chattering in the hallways as he passes. It doesn’t stop the overwhelming feeling of disappointment he feels when he notices they stare at his biceps before his face before dashing away.

Matsukawa shuts his own locker with a grumble, “Must be nice.”

“You wanna take my place, Issei?” iwaizumi turns to look over his shoulder, meeting the mischievous twinkle of the middle blocker.

“Yeah man, I do. Girls at my feet everyday bringing me food? That’s every guy’s dream.”

“Yeah, if every guy was a piece of shit like you.” The words tumble without second thought and Hanamaki finds himself clutching his stomach with laughter at the retort. He doesn’t mean to direct his anger at his friend, but it seeps into his words anyways. He’s lucky they’re good enough sports to take it in stride. Even if the twinkle in Matsukawa’s eyes dims and he grumbles a “shut up” while he slaps the back of Hanamaki’s head.

He knows a solution— or sympathy— won’t be offered in his venting, adamant that this is something he needs to solve on his own, but he can’t help himself. He just has to get it out. “I can't even go to class normally anymore. There’s always a girl waiting for me.”

His back is turned towards his friends as he folds his gym clothes into the open cubby, but even despite the absence of his facial expression, the other three sitting near him can hear the exhaustion in his voice. Much as they might tease him, they’ve sat front and center to the slow decline of Hajime’s sanity and comfort as he was thrust suddenly into the spotlight that he was ill-prepared for. He’s laughably out of his element, but his plight is severe enough for all three of them to occasionally step in.

Hanamaki and Mattsun have had their fair share of instances in which they’ve had to redirect of a horde of girls hounding at them for Iwaizumi’s location, telling them that they had no idea where Iwaizumi could have gone when in fact, he was hiding in the clubroom. And while they would’ve been more than happy to send them his way just to watch him fluster and stutter, the two friends knew the momentary laugh wouldn’t have been worth the further depletion of Hajime’s confidence and happiness. Iwaizumi wants this attention to be for something genuine, for something that he was directly responsible for and can be proud of. Not something as surface value as an attractive body.

Truth be told, all three of Seijoh's third years want to help him as much as Iwaizumi wants this to be over. But just like him, they have no idea what to do.

Hajime sighs again, “Don’t even get me started about when I’m with (Y/N). You think stalking is bad? Try having to deal with evil glares too.”

Scratch that. They have one idea.

The mention of the ace’s other best friend, the one that they’re all too familiar with, has all of Seijoh's members perking their heads upward in interest. A lightbulb going off simultaneously as they all share a glance with one another. Hanamaki looks up to Oikawa who looks to Mattsun who looks to Hanamaki. Their eyes darting between one another, telepathically asking the same question.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Hanamaki and Mattsun finalize their answer with a hard stare at Oikawa and smirks on their faces. They both give a long nod to their captain and like the well-oiled machine the Seijoh Volleyball Team is known to be, a plan is formulated and put into action before anyone can blink.

“Oh?” Oikawa prods, taking the initiative. His grin is suddenly more wicked than before, “How so?”

Iwaizumi notices the subtle change in tone in the conversation, can hear the smile in Oikawa’s words, but he doesn’t think much of it. Simply attributing it to the mention of the beloved figure they’re all acquainted with. He can’t blame them, finding his own mood has tipped upward at the mere thought of you. And while he has apologized to the moon and back for inadvertently getting you involved in this nightmare of a situation, there’s a resounding comfort he feels at knowing that there's at least one person on his side. One person that is willing to trudge through the mud with him, regardless of how often they complain.

Because whatever happens to him happens to you, you insist. So if he has to deal with a hundred fangirls, then so do you.

He plows on, airing out his struggles and frustrations with his newfound attention. “They’re always staring at us, making the whole thing uncomfortable when we’re just hanging out. (Y/N) even told me she once got cornered in the girls’ bathroom during lunch.”

Oikawa gasps, always enthralled with any juicy gossip, especially on the rare occasion that it involves you— his beloved, headstrong, annoying other best friend. “What did they say?”

“Some weird shit about staying away from me, like I was their property.”

“And what did (y/n) say?”

Iwaizumi laughs, a genuine one that has been missing since this whole ordeal began. He turns to look at his friends, the smile reaching his eyes and pushing upwards on his cheeks. If they weren’t sure of their plan before, the happiness on his face was enough of a push to solidify it. The happiness that only someone specific can bring out. “It's (Y/N). What do you think she said?”

Oikawa, all too familiar with your personality and deviance from the norm since age ten, huffs out a laugh, “Hmm, let me guess, something about doing whatever she wants with whoever she wants.”

“No, actually, she—”

You’re washing your hands in the sink of the bathroom when you hear a cough from behind you. Looking upwards into the mirror, you are suddenly confronted with the reflection of six girls circling around you.

A groan tumbles out of your mouth. You knew something like this was bound to happen, jealousy always emerging victorious whenever girls were thirsting after a young man. You just didn’t think it would be happening so soon, only two months into the fanatic obsession with your best friend. It’s your fault really, you should’ve prepared for a moment like this to come. But as they all shoot daggers into your reflection you can’t help but recognize how woefully dreadful this is.

You'd kill Hajime for inadvertently getting you into this if he wasn’t already feeling so guilty about it.

Each one stares at you with an intense fury, and while you’ve never considered yourself to be much of a fighter, you’re mentally preparing yourself to throw a couple of punches in this cramped bathroom. You won’t win, six against one is hardly a story of triumph, but you’ll be damned if you get intimidated by this raging group of hormones.

The faucet stops, with almost impeccable comedic timing, and a silence emanates throughout the area. It's awkward, painfully so and their silent stares are not helping.

“Uh… Can I help you?”

The one in the middle (the leader, you assume) stands with a hip jutted out and her arms crossed. You’ve seen her in passing before. Her eyes narrow at your question, “So, are you two dating?”

You have to force yourself to not roll your eyes. Of course this is where this was going. Because God forbid anyone have friends of the opposite gender. Indicator number one that the interest of these girls was superficial, considering if they even really had been interested in more than the prospect of having access to Iwaizumi’s body, they would’ve realized that you’ve been in his life for a lot longer than he’s had any redeeming qualities— including those rocking arms of his.

You won't entertain this, something you’ve been adamant about even if Hajime has insisted you don’t , especially not when it's causing Iwa all this grief that you’ve had to comfort him through time and time again.

“Who’s asking?” You all but bark back, patience wearing thin.

The one to the right of the leader— Pigtails, you’ve taken to calling her— scoffs and stomps her foot, “We are, obviously!”

Patience is below the ground now.

The left one, the one with pink hair, speaks this time, “Iwaizumi won’t even talk to us for more than a minute but he lets you hang around! So, if you’re not dating you have to tell us!”

“Why?”

“So that you can help us get closer to him!”

“Yeah, no.” you respond curtly, feeling rather nauseous at the lengths in which these girls are going just to get his attention. Cornering his friend and doing a piss-poor job at intimidating them into coercing them for information about him. No wonder Hajime's been feeling so depressed.

Taking the piss out of him used to be fun, something you and Pikawa could share profound pleasure in, but now that it's at your front door and reeking of death, you’re quickly realizing just how much you owe that spiky haired idiot.

You grab your bag that lay at your feet, turning to face the six girls with a mirthless smile despite the hatred burning in their eyes.

“Good luck with… whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

You’re almost out the door when the leader, who has puffed out her chest and taken a step forward blurts out, “If you’re not going to help us, then you better stay out of our way.”

There are few people in this world that you’ve dreamt about punching. Oikawa has made the list a couple times, but that’s only when he’s being particularly obnoxious. Iwaizumi has too, usually when his hard headedness has conflicted with yours, but even then the situation is usually better within the next hour.

But this girl, oh this girl, she has made the top of your list in record time. And you highly doubt she’s coming off of it anytime soon. And now that you’ve gotten a good look at her, you’re starting to remember exactly where you’ve seen her before.

You raise an eyebrow at her intimidation, “Or what?”

(You have to pat your back for that one because you really sound like the scary third year you’ve always dreamt of being.)

She doesn’t falter in her misplaced confidence, a smile pulling at her lips, “If he’s not yours, then he’ll be one of ours soon enough. And I can promise you, every boyfriend I've ever had always dropped his girl best friends when I asked.”

“Uh huh,” you glance at your watch that shows there are only fifteen minutes left in lunch. Might as well start on your meal now.

You pull the backpack slung over your shoulder in front of you, unzipping the large pocket and pulling out a familiar container. The girls gasp when they see it.

It's pink and has a little cat design on the front of it. Very cute and very distinct. You pop open the top, grabbing the milk bread that lies inside with your left hand and holding the lid and the box with your right. The lid is tilted forward, granting all the girls clear viewing of the cursive ink that lies on it.

The name is clear and the handwriting incredibly recognizable. The leader’s mouth gapes open.

You take a bite out of the treat, a dramatic moan escaping your mouth. You point at the girl, “Mm. You made this right?”

She doesn’t answer. None of them do. They only stare with wide eyes.

“I remember seeing you give this to Iwa this morning. It’s really good. He's not a big fan of milk bread, so he’s been giving them to me but I’ve enjoyed every single one of them! Although I am getting tired of eating the same thing over and over. So, if you’re taking suggestions, try Agedashi Dōfu. It's Iwa’s favorite.”

You lick your lips to make the point clearer. A gentle reminder of your place and their lack of one in his life. They seem to get it.

“Right then. Bye ladies! This was fun! I’m sure Hajime will be thrilled to hear all about it.”

Iwaizumi finishes recounting the story with a childlike wonder, meeting the furrowed brows and agape mouths of his friends with a joyous smile. There’s an unmistakable twinkle of affection in his eyes, one that he must not even realize is there. But it's noticeable, and his friends recognize it.

It's the same look he always gets whenever he talks about you.

It was mean of you to humiliate those girls like that, he knows, but his smile when recounting the tale is more than indicative of his true feelings behind the action. He briefly lectured you about it after you told him, insisting that it was important to be nice to these poor girls who didn’t know any better, that you begrudgingly agreed to, but he thinks about it often. Thinks about it at practice, in the middle of class, and every time he sees you.

He didn’t know how he felt about it, but from the way it warmed his cheeks and filled his chest with a weird lightness, he knew he was ultimately appreciative of the action. Honored that you would stick up for him unapologetically and protect him from unassuming teenage girls.

It shouldn’t be much of a surprise. Were the roles reversed he would do the same for you in a heartbeat. But still, he thinks about it. A lot.

“I haven’t seen those girls since, but I have been getting a lot more Agedashi Dōfu, so I guess that’s a plus.” He shrugs his shoulders in nonchalance returning back to the contents of his locker but the remnants of a smile plays on his lips.

“Well, how ‘bout that?” Oikawa coos. He steps closer to Iwa, placing his hands on the ace’s shoulders and giving them a good natured shake.

“I think I have the perfect solution to your problem, Iwa-chan.”

“You want me chu do wha?” you ask, mouth full of milk bread as the boy in front of you conveniently avoids your eye contact.

It's the seventh container he’s handed you this week, and while your little incident has quickly diminished the amount he usually receives, there are still the occasional stray containers with the sweet that he instinctively hands to you.

This time it came in a purple container. No outlandish designs or stickers like the other ones, but there is a written poem on the top comparing his eyes to the dirt of the Miyagi mountains. You suppose that’s romantic, but your leniency only goes so far. Particularly when this poem has no clear rhyming pattern.

You’ve long since passed the point of guilt for eating all of the treats that were clearly not meant for you. Hajime was much too conflicted with the gifts to even consider smelling them, so it serves as a solution to the problem to just give it to you. He doesn’t have to worry about maliciously taking advantage of these girls and you get food.

Win-win.

And while you’re not that into milk bread (having eaten it almost everyday for the past couple of weeks), your consumption of it seems to give him some peace of mind. Out of sight, out of mind kind of thing. And really, that’s all you’ve ever wanted for him.

But this is going too far.

Swallowing the last piece of milk bread, you look up at the idiot from your place on the bench. He stands in front of you, hands shoved deep into his pockets and shuffling from foot to foot.

“You’re joking, right?”

This is a joke. It has to be. There’s no way the world would be this cruel to you.

His eyes remain averted, his thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose as if it would wake him up from this endless nightmare, “Look, it’ll only be until I can get these girls to back off of me a little.”

“No.”

“Wha— (Y/N).” He breathes out, a twinge of desperation and pleading seeping into his voice as he finally looks into your eyes. He doesn’t know what he expects to see, but the pure and unadulterated seriousness is not one of them. He’s almost convinced to drop the subject altogether. Almost.

“Whose idea was this?” You practically growl out, closing the container and cleaning your surrounding area of any stray crumbs. You thrust your hand outward, shoving the container his way. He takes it from you without question.

“Does it matter?”

“Whose?”

“...Oikawa.”

Of course it was. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“(Y/N),” he says your name more forcefully. It’s the same tone he uses with Oikawa when he’s being whiny. It's enough of a bite to have you stop rearranging your items for a brief moment, meeting his determined gaze with one of your own. He stares intently, eyes unwavering in their silent plea to make you understand.

That’s the worst part about it. He’s serious, and he’s confident that this is the only way to solve the problem that’s been plaguing him for the past three months.

If there's one thing you know about Iwaizumi Hajime, it’s that he’ll solve any problem on his plate and won’t stop until it's fixed. He’s responsible to a fault, refusing to burden others unless absolutely necessary. The fact that he’s viewing this to be the only solution and actually trying to persuade you is indicative enough of how desperate he is.

Even more so indicative of how truly fucked you are, considering you’ve already made a decision before he even explains further.

Damn him and that hard head of his.

Damn Oikawa for knowing what he does and still dragging you into this mess. No doubt he was thoroughly enjoying this.

“Will you please be my girlfriend?”

Damn that student council and their stupid fundraiser for getting Iwaizumi Hajime, the boy you’ve been best friends with since you were ten and had a crush on since you were thirteen, to ask you to be his fake girlfriend in order to thwart off hordes of fangirls.

Damn you for already having an answer before you can even think twice.

Iwaizumi Hajime was hand sculpted by the gods, and they were all laughing at your expense now.

end notes: whoop there it is. let me know what you all think! should i keep going? should i say fuck a degree and major in iwazumi hajime? idk man im about to.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq x you #my writing #haikyuu!!

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bestiesenpai · 3 years

Text

firsts with itadori yuji

I hope you don’t mind I’m kind of running with this idea and adding more than you asked lol I just...i don’t know it butters my biscuit. Also gender neutral reader~

First meeting:

It’s at his old school

You’re in his class, but you never talk to each other! Itadori is shy with you, believe it or not! He wants to say something but whenever he thinks about going up to you, whether you’re alone or with a group, his stomach twists in knots

Luckily though, you’re also in a club that ends right when he goes to the hospital to see his grandpa, so he’ll walk a little slower to see you coming out of your club room talking and laughing with your friends and he’ll imagine what it must be like to be in a club with you

Will not ask you to join his club tho, shy shy shy he is

It’s only when it’s raining and, yes you guessed it correctly folks, you don’t have an umbrella!

Itadori Yuji has a few options here lads, what do we think he’ll pick?

Option one: be a cool guy and slide right up to you with his umbrella already open in his hands and tell you that he’ll walk you home

Option two: ask politely if you’d like to walk under his umbrella together to your house and maybe stop at a convenience store along the way for a candy?

Option three: be a cool guy(again) and just put the umbrella in your hands and tell you to use it and he walks out into the rain with only his hood on, enticing you to run out to him and say that you two can share an umbrella!

What option do you think he’s chosen?

Now was Yujis chance. You were alone, standing just inside the school entryway rocking back and forth on your heels, a little pout on your lips at seeing the downpour. It had only just started raining, it was clear weather all week, so this rain is more than just a little unexpected.

Gripping his umbrella tightly in his hands, Yuji walks up to you, intent on asking if you want to share his. He’d be more than happy to walk you home, his grandpa would be happy to hear that he walked his crush home instead of ‘wasting his time’ coming to the hospital.

“H-hey!” Yuji’s voice goes higher than he intended when he drops his umbrella and kicks it forward as he walks, launching it at your feet and making you jump a little and turn around. His face erupts in a fiery blush when you pick it up and look at him quizzically.

“Here you go.” You say, holding it out for him to take. Yuji shakes his head almost violently, much to your confusion. “Uhm, Itadori, what are you trying to say?”

You know his name. Oh fuck, you know his name and here he is making a fool of himself.

“I-I- no, take my umbrella.” His brain is in critical overdrive. He truly might pass out. “Take my umbrella! I have my hood, and I’m not going very far! Just to the hospital, to see my grandpa! They’ll probably have an umbrella there I can borrow if it’s still raining!” He really, honestly, truly didn’t mean to say all that, but the words came out like vomit.

“Oh, that’s nice, thank you so much!” Your smile warms his heart but does nothing to calm him down. “But I’m-”

“(Y/N)!” One of your friends shouts from down the hall, and they quickly round the corner with their own umbrella in their hands.

“Hey!”

“I got my umbrella from the classroom, let's go home now!” Your friend quickly notices Yuji. “Hi Itadori, what’s up?”

“He offered me his umbrella. Thanks again, Itadori!” Grabbing his hand, you put the umbrella back in his possession.

“Uh- yeah! You- welcome! Welcome!” Yuji stutters out, waving dumbly back at you as you wave at him and leave the school with a cute little smile on your cheeks.

Yuji was never going to wash his hand again.

First hangout:

This one happens as a going away party for himself after he’s accepted into his new school

He wants to say goodbye to his clubmates, and somehow word got out and a few classmates are coming as well - even you!

Everyone got him a little cake and you’ve all signed a going away card, and Yuji hones in on your message, a cute swirly one written in a glitter gel pen with a heart by his name

Afterschool in the classroom, you all decide to play games and stuff, and that’s when he gets to be close to you

“(Y/N), Itadori, you’re up next!” Somehow a tournament style game has started of who can hold their breath the longest. Standing face to face at the front of the room, you give him a big thumbs up.

“You’re probably going to win, Itadori, I’m bad at this kind of thing.” You laugh.

“Let’s see.” Is all he can say as a reply. You’d talked a bit more after your first meeting, but he could never get more than a few words out at a time.

“Go!” Sucking in deep breaths, you stare at each other with puffed out cheeks. You’re already struggling, fighting back laughter and clapping a hand over your mouth. Yuji thinks he might lose just from seeing how cute you are in front of him.

“Ahhh!” You lose, just like you said you would. Dizzy from lack of air, you stumble forward into him, laughing and gripping the front of his jacket. “Told you!” His hand lands on your shoulder and Yuji is sure he could pass away happy right now.

“Yeah, you are pretty bad.” Yuji laughs, finally breaking his nervous shell around you the more you laugh and pat him on the arm.

After this game, you form a team and play with a ball, help each other with cards, and you even paint his nails in a pretty polish you’d brought from home. At the end, Yuji is still too nervous to ask for your number, so this is the last time you see each other.

First confession:

It’s been two years since then, he’s a third year now and Yuji still thinks about you. He still checks in with his old school friends from time to time and asks about you, and he follows you on Instagram and sees the things you post and how much you’ve changed over the years

He’s not content living this way, only seeing and hearing about you like this, but it’s been two years since you last saw each other and you weren’t exactly close before you left, so he couldn’t just slide into your DM’s

And in the past two years he’s changed. A lot. Not only has he been swamped with his new life, he also has a whole nother soul inside of him that quickly learned of his long lost crush and teased him about it nonstop

But on a free day in the city with Nobara, he’s quite literally buzzing - you’re in the same area. He saw you post last night about going to a certain cafe and all he had to do was ask Nobara if she wanted to go to the city and she said yes immediately.

And now he’s standing in front of said cafe, and he can see you inside. Surprisingly you’re alone, and his fingers itch to go in and ‘casually’ bump into you

Nobara knows of his crush on you as well, and as soon as she spots you she’s pushing Yuji through the door, and of course they cause a fucking scene

“Get in the fucking cafe!” Nobara is shouting not so quietly. There’s people walking past them, looking confused, and Yuji could literally die right now, especially when he makes eye contact with you.

He gives up then, letting himself get pushed into the cafe. He expects Nobara to follow after him but she’s running down the street cackling evilly. Yuji has no other option than to go in and order a drink, albeit shamefully.

“H-hi. Is this seat taken?” He asks you. You’d been watching him ever since you saw him with a big smile barely concealed by your hand.

“Of course not, Itadori.” You giggle.

God, he’s missed you.

Sitting down across from you, Yuji takes a quick sip of his drink to soothe his suddenly parched throat. Sukuna knows better than to pop out in public, but that still doesn’t stop Yuji from putting a hand over one of the marks below his eyes, just in case.

“How have you been (Y/N)?” He tries to say casually, but his voice warbles and Sukuna chuckles quietly for only him to hear.

“I’ve been good! It’s been so long, Itadori, I’ve missed you!” You pout, a wicked sight for his heart, and you reach across the table to pat Yuji on the arm. “I’ve been wanting to message you on Instagram for forever now but I’ve been too nervous you wouldn’t really remember me!”

“You have?” Yuji gasped dramatically, and he could hear not only you but Sukuna laughing at him.

“Yeah! I’m actually really surprised to see you here, I thought you went to a school out in another prefecture.”

“N-no! I’m still in Tokyo!”

“Really, we should totally hang out sometime!”

“Yes!” This couldn’t be going any better for Yuji. There’s a pause in conversation where you both take a sip of your drinks.

“So, was that your girlfriend pushing you into the cafe?”

“What?!” Yuji nearly shouts, almost spitting out his drink. “G-girlfriend?!” His cheeks blush lightly, and he shakes his head. “No. No way, she is not my girlfriend. She’s my classmate.”

“That’s good to hear, actually.” Now is your turn to be embarrassed, and a bashful smile spreads on your cheeks. “Because I’ve always kind of liked you.”

What.

“What?!” This time Yuji does shout, Sukuna is definitely laughing at him and teasing him, and you’re nodding in confirmation. “Oh my god.” Running a hand through his hair, Yuji doesn’t even have to think about his next words. “I like you too! A lot!”

“Really?” Your brow raises.

“Yes! Ever since first year. I’ve had a-” was he really about to say this? “A massive crush on you.” He realizes what he’s said is a little heavier than what you said. A massive crush is much different than kind of liking someone, but he can’t help it. And Sukuna is quick to point out the difference in his head as well.

“Then we really have to hang out!” Yuji laughs, relieved you feel the same way.

“It’s a date.” He says and delights in the way you share a cheeky smile.

“Definitely a date.”

First date:

Yuji never thought he’d ever have the opportunity to go on a date with you, at least not in this lifetime

You exchange numbers at the cafe and as soon as Yuji gets back to the dorms he’s texting you, asking if you got home okay and to let him know when you’re free

That first text is a gateway drug because now he can’t stop texting you all the time, even when he’s in class or should be training

He’s staying up far too late to message you but no one can stop him

When your schedules finally align again, you both settle on going to a ramen shop close by his old school

6pm. That’s the time you agreed to meet up. So why was Yuji already down the block from the restaurant at 5:15?

“God you’re so desperate!” Sukuna laughed as Yuji sat in an empty park waiting for time to go by.

“I know, I know.” He groaned back, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes together. “I was so nervous about being late I didn’t even think!”

“Ya know, when I had my own body, I used to go on dates all the time! Women flocked to me, I was a god!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Slapping a hand over the mouth that had appeared, Yuji rolled his eyes. “I’m not like you, we know this.”

“I was hoping I’d be rubbing off on you, kid, but it seems not.” Sukuna sighed in disappointment. When 6pm finally came, Yuji all but ran to the restaurant. He was still ten minutes early, and when you came strolling up the nervous jitters he had increased.

“Hi!” You looked so cute, Yuji could pass out.

“H-hey.” He waved stupidly, and then stumbled to open the door for you. Quickly grabbing a table, he was paying more attention to you than the menu.

“What’re you gonna get? I can’t decide!” You whined, slapping your menu against the table.

“Oh uhm, maybe this one?” Pointing at the first thing he saw that looked mildly interesting, he watched you nod your head and hum. “Or maybe this.” Looking at the menu properly, Yuji pointed at something he’d actually get.

“Ooooh, I wanna get that too! If you get it, will you let me try some?” Your face lit up and you bit your lip, eyes darting between things on the menu.

“Of course!” Yuji nodded without any hesitation.

“Yay! I just can’t decide, everything looks so good!”

“It does!” As he laughed and kept looking at things on the menu with you, Yuji finally let himself relax a little bit. You made great conversation, asking about his new and how he’d been, how he got those scars under his eyes and what his new school was like.

Yuji had never had so much fun talking with someone before, and when the date came to a close, he could nearly cry. He wanted to be with you all the time, see you more often and build more memories together. The thought of going back to his old school even came back.

“I’ll walk you to the station.” He said instead, pushing away all the thoughts in his head.

“Thanks.” You were side by side walking down the block, and Yuji was beginning to find it more and more coincidental that your hand kept bumping into his. He could feel you looking at him from the corner of your eye, and he knew he had to make the leap.

Slipping his hand into yours, he wound your fingers together and squeezed. Both of your palms were kind of sweaty and neither of you looked at each other, but you squeezed his hand back and held it tightly until you got to the station and your train arrived.

First kiss:

After the first date, Yuji is hooked

Any chance the two of you have to be together, he takes even if it means shirking his responsibilities a little bit(Fushiguro is upset but who can stop love?)

You go get ice cream together, go to the arcade, the movies, the park, you even meet Nobara and Fushiguro on a chance day

You do all these things together, but Yuji still hasn’t kissed you!

He wants to, so so bad, but he just can’t, he’d die of embarrazzment if he fucked up and like hit you in the head or something

But sometimes, as nike said, you just gotta do it

It’s raining again, just like when you first spoke to each other. A torrential downpour, but this time you didn’t have a friend coming with their umbrella to the front of the school to share with you. Yuji was coming to your school after your club to pick you up for an impromptu date.

“Hey!” You shouted, braving the rain and meeting him halfway when you spotted him coming up. Hugging him tightly, you shivered from the wind whipping through the air.

“Hi.” Slipping your bag from around your shoulders, Yuji slung it over his shoulder. His arm settled on your waist, holding you close and making sure you were completely covered. Walking so close together like this made him happy, and he almost pressed a kiss to your head.

“Yuji.” You said as you were walking, stopping by a low river lined with trees.

“Hm?” He still couldn’t get over the fact that you were now saying his first name. The both of you stopped walking and you stepped back a little from him, wringing your hands nervously.

“We’ve been going out for a while now and…” Biting your lip nervously, you couldn’t meet his eyes and looked out at the trees being pelted with water. “And I was wondering if you uh- if you wanted to be my boyfriend?”

Oh shit. Yuji was so shocked, he nearly dropped the umbrella.

“B-boyfriend?” He squeaked, his cheeks spreading in a bashful smile. “I’d love to.”

“Really?” Letting out a relieved sigh, you clasped a hand over your heart. “That’s good! I was so nervous.” The way you were looking at him, Yuji knew this was the perfect time to kiss you.

“C-can I kiss you?” His question made your eyes widen, and silently you nodded your head.

Sliding his foot forward on the wet pavement, Yuji faltered a few inches from your mouth, suddenly nervous. He had never kissed anyone before, and what if he was horrible at it and you hated it?

He didn’t have any time to keep thinking about it though, because you closed the gap and kissed him. Dropping his umbrella in shock, Yuji’s eyes widened and he kissed you back, grabbing your shoulder to steady himself.

It was a sweet and innocent first kiss, soft and gentle for the inexperience shared between you. It didn’t even last that long, but it was the most memorable moment of Yuji's life.

“How was that?” He asked when he pulled away. The two of you were getting absolutely soaked with the rain and it dripped down his face into his eyes and mouth.

“Great.” You giggled shyly, putting a hand on your face to hide yourself. Yuji laughed as well and gave your cheek a kiss before picking up the fallen umbrella.

“You wanna go to that ramen shop?” Yuji whispered close to your ear, adjusting your bag on his shoulder.

“Sure.” Turning to him, your eyes dropped to his lips and you gave him a quick peck, breaking out into a fit of giggles again. Beginning to walk down the street, if anyone saw the two of you, they would immediately know what young love looked liked, as it was perfectly plastered on both of your faces.

#jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuji #yuji itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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bitch-out · 4 years

Text

OKAY i know you didn’t ask for a full length fic but... i couldnt help myself. here it is:

Four times Alex saw signs that the world was changing to become more accepting of people like him, and the one time he actually realized it.

1. TV SHOW

After finishing practice for the night, the band walked into Julie’s house. Luke immediately walked into the kitchen, wanting to see what meal her dad was whipping up. His obsession with watching lifers eat was starting to get a little concerning. Reggie followed after him, wanting to hang out with Julie’s dad. That was also a little concerning.

Julie plopped down on the couch next to her little brother, Carlos, who was watching a TV show that she didn’t recognize. Alex hopped over the couch and took a seat next to her, looking at the screen intently.

“What is he watching?” Alex asked, reclining into the couch.

Julie shrugged in response. “I’m not sure…”

Carlos looked over to her with a questioning expression. “Huh?” Oh crap. She needed to stop talking to the boys while other people were around. It made her look absolutely bonkers.

“…what you’re watching! I’m not sure what you’re watching.” She said quickly, trying to avoid any awkwardness. “What is it?”

He seemed to buy it, letting her weirdness go. “Oh, I’m watching this new show. I forget what it’s called. It’s about this girl who accidentally gets musical superpowers after getting stuck by lightning.”

“Cool,” she answered, settling into the couch. She and Alex watched for a few minutes before looking at each other in confusion. They had absolutely no idea what was going on in the show. They looked at the screen as the main character sighed dramatically, slamming her door while running out of her house. “I’m lost. What’s happening? Why is she so mad?” Julie asked.

Carlos rolled his eyes. “She’s in a fight with her dads right now because they won’t let her go to this big party. Now shhh! It’s getting juicy!”

Luke’s eyes went wide as the scene switched to the main characters dads, who were sharing a tender moment while discussing their child. Two dads? On television? Without it being played off as a joke? He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen.

Julie looked at him inquisitively, noticing his surprised expression. She raised an eyebrow.

“I see.” A soft smile settled on his face. “Cool.” He bit his lip and leaned back.

“Cool.” She agreed. She almost said something, but then decided it would be better for her to wait for him to tell her.

2. PUBLIC DISPLAY OF AFFECTION

“People watching in 2020 is way better than people watching in the 90’s.” Reggie stated as they walked through downtown LA. They were killing time while Julie was at school. They passed a man in a superhero costume who was taking pictures with tourists.

“I know right?” Luke agreed. “I love looking over people’s shoulder and watching what they’re doing on those… high tech cellphone things.”

“Smartphones,” Alex offered.

“Smartphones, right.”

Reggie ran over to a middle aged guy in a suit sitting on a bench who was looking intently at his phone. “Look at this guy! He’s looking at an article called ‘How to tell if you have foot fungus’.” He wrinkled his nose. “Gross. You might wanna get that checked out, buddy,” patting his shoulder, his hand passing right through.

Luke looked around for someone else to observe. “Okay see the one over there in the blue striped shirt eating a chili dog?” He pointed over to his left to a man walking away from a hot dog stand.

The man went to take a bite out of his chili dog but dripped it all down the front of his shirt. “Oooooh…. Missed his mouth on that one,” Luke said, cringing.

“That’s nasty,” Alex chimed in.

A guy who looked to be around their age speed walked past them, looking down. He brushed his shaggy blonde hair out of his face as he grinned down at his phone. He was obviously walking with a purpose.

“This guy is hustling! Cmon!” Reggie grinned, jogging after him. Luke and Alex ran over to catch up, all three of them following in pursuit. They all looked over his shoulder to read his text messages. He was texting someone he had named “babe <3” in his contacts.

Can’t wait to see u, his text read, im right around the corner

Reggie whistled. “His girlfriend’s probably a complete hottie if he’s that excited to see her-”

As they turned the corner, the blonde stranger they were following put his phone away as he caught sight of someone. He broke into a run and bear hugged the person, wrapping his arms around them and lifting them off the ground. As he pulled away, it was revealed that the person he was hugging was a brunette guy around the same age as them.

The brunette murmured something, his lips quirking into a smirk. The blonde teen let out a laugh, then pulled him into a kiss.

Alex nearly gasped in surprise, looking around to notice that… not a singular person was looking over. Everyone was just going about their day as normal. No glares, no sneers, not even a scoff.

It felt like the breath was sucked out of his lungs. Was this… normal? The couple broke apart and joined hands, continuing down the street. Alex couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. No one had even batted an eyelash at the public display of affection.

To him, it hadn’t been that long ago since 1995. When even looking at someone for too long would get you called a slur. When his own father would call him a-

“Alex? You good?” He was broken out of his thoughts by Luke looking over at him concernedly.

Alex opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by someone else.

“There you guys are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

They turned around in tandem to see Julie standing there, her eyes sparkling. And they continued with their day, moment forgotten.

3. MUSIC

Alex found himself once again alone with Julie, hanging out with her in her room. He was the only member of the band she would let hang out with her in here, which filled him with an odd sort of pride.

They were currently listening to one of her Spotify playlists. Julie was doing homework on her bed and Alex was tapping his drumsticks on his knee, following the beat of the song they were listening to. He was getting into the groove of the song “This song has a good beat!” he exclaimed. “What is this?”

She grinned at him. “It’s called ‘Girls like Girls’ by Hayley Kiyoko!” She stood up on her bed, dropping her homework and singing into an imaginary microphone as the chorus hit. She belted at the top of her lungs, “Girls like girls like boys do, nothing new~” She laughed as she flopped back onto her bed.

He gaped at her, surprised that she was treating it with such nonchalance. In the 90’s, this would have been music you listened to at 2 am when your parents were asleep. “Is this a… popular song?” he asked.

“Yeah, I mean it’s from like 2015 so it’s basically ancient but it’s still pretty popular.” She turned back to her homework and picked up her pen. “I think the music video has like over 100 million hits on YouTube or something like that.”

His jaw dropped even further “100 million?”

The timer on her phone went off. The words BAND PRACTICE blared across the screen with the chime of her ringtone. “I’ll show it to you later! But we have to go to rehearsal right now.”

He shook his head and followed her out of the room.

4. COVINGTON

As both his friends were pulled away by girls saucily dancing in feathered blue outfits, Alex stood awkwardly like a fish out of water. Covington slid up to him with a sly smirk on his face. “Come now. You can’t be the only one not dancing.”

“No, I… I know.” Alex sputtered. “I’m just…” Not into dancing with girls? No, he couldn’t just say that. He didn’t want to cause a scene. He pointed over his shoulder. “I’m looking for Willie,” he finished lamely.

Covington seemed to read him like an open book. He smiled and gestured with open palms. “Dante! Fuego!” Two handsome men slid up to either side of him. “Meet Alex.” The linked arms with him.

Alex looked at them, surprised. How did he know? Is this like a theater thing? Or… “You’re welcome,” Covington smirked, ducking down. Is this normal here…?

His thoughts were cut off as he was lifted up over Covington’s head and pulled into a fast-paced dance.

5. PRIDE

“Slow down Willie!” Alex shouted, running after his brunette friend as he skated through lifers and tore down the street.

Willie laughed and hopped off his board, picking it up off the ground. He waited for Alex to catch up with him “Relax, we’re almost here…”

Alex was too busy catching his breath to realize they were in the middle of a giant crowd. Lifers walked through them every few seconds like it was nothing “Wh-What is this?” Alex asked, looking around. Everyone was wearing colorful clothing and most were wearing some kind of glitter.

The skater laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the street. “We’re skating the floats, dude.” He pointed at the bright floats that were parading down the street.

Was this some kind of festival or something? Alex wondered. “Why is everything so… colorful?”

Willie looked at him like he was missing something obvious. “It’s June. Pride month.” Alex didn’t know what that was. He looked around, trying to figure it out. “You’ve never seen a pride parade before?” Willie questioned. Then, he realized. “Right. Right, you’re a 90’s ghost. I keep forgetting about that.” He slapped his forehead.

Then, he realized what this was. Alex turned to his right and saw two women kissing. A couple of guys his age were holding hands right next to him. Signs as far as the eye could see read ‘here and queer’ and ‘all you need is love’ and ‘love is love’ and countless other sayings. His breath stuttered in his chest “This is…”

“I know. Pretty cool, right?” Willie asked, sounding pretty nonchalant. He was scouting out the floats, focused on his task.

“And this is all for…” Alex hesitated, “For gay people?”

“All LGBTQ+ people, technically, but yeah dude.” Willie clarified. He grinned, his eyes set on a float just down the road. He found the perfect route.

“So it really is different now, huh?” Alex asked, his voice cracking slightly. Willie looked back in alarm, not realizing how much this was impacting the drummer beside him. A tear rolled down his cheek, but his smile could not be bigger. Alex continued, “Like I had hoped it was, and there’s been some signs, but this is…” He covered his mouth to hide a sob.

Willie walked over to his side, dropping his skateboard and taking his hand gently. “Yeah, Alex. It’s different. Better. Not perfect, but... a lot better.” He squeezed his hand.

“It’s amazing.” Alex said, wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve and grinning. He let out a laugh as a drag queen passed by and waved at the crowd, blowing kisses.

The skater couldn’t take his eyes off of Alex. He was absolutely glowing, basking in the atmosphere of the parade. “You know what? Let’s forget the skating.” Willie decided, taking his skateboard from the side of the street and tucking it in an alley.

“Huh?” Alex was confused. Willie wanted to... not go skating?

“It’s time to get your pride on, Alex.”

Together, they spent the rest of the day exploring every area of pride, ducking through crowds and sneaking onto floats. There was even one point where they ran through a huge glitter cannon, getting absolutely covered in glitter.

After it was all done, Willie teleported back to Julie’s house with him to drop him off.

“That was the most fun I’ve ever had.” Alex admitted, his smile seemed to be permanently glued to his face.

“Me too. I’ve been to tons of pride parades, but none of them were as fun as this one.” Willie admitted.

“Really? What was different about this one? Was it the glitter cannon? It was probably the glitter cannon-”

“It was you, Alex.” The skater said quietly, brushing a couple stray pieces of glitter off of the taller boy’s cheek.

“Oh,” Alex breathed, looking down at Willie. His heart was racing a mile a minute. He hadn’t realized they were standing so close together.

Willie hesitated for a moment. Was this the moment? He didn’t want to rush Alex. He was probably overwhelmed enough after experiencing his first pride. He smiled up at the blonde and patted him on the shoulder. “Goodnight, Alex.” He stepped away and turned to leave.

He was just about to teleport when he heard “Wait!”

Willie turned around Alex kissed him.

He stiffened at first, surprised. Before he could respond, Alex pulled away and looked at him in panic.

“I’m so sorry, I thought-”

Willie grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him down, kissing him heatedly. Alex responded with enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“ABOUT TIME!” someone hollered from behind him.

They broke away to see Luke and Reggie beaming. They both ran over and hugged them both in a group hug. “We thought you two would never figure it out.” Luke said, causing Reggie to laugh.

“Happy pride, Alex”. Willie murmured, squished up against his side. And Alex couldn’t have been happier.

#julie and the phantoms #alex x willie #willie x alex #willex #fic #this was entirely too long im so sorry #anyways... send me prompts!

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yn-ymn-yln · 3 years

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Burning Regret

Word count: 695

Summary: You’ve always loved Elijah but his heart will always belong to Hayley, except when it doesn’t.

*Okay so I haven’t written in about a year or so, so this might be terrible and its kinda self indulgent BUT it is what it is (PLEASE DON’T BE MEAN IM FRAGILE)*

You and the oldest living Mikaelson brother had always danced around one another. Never close enough to touch but never out of sight, constantly lingering just long enough to feel the presence of the other. He loved Hayley. He gave her his word that he would love her forever, and he fully intended to keep it. That’s why you were the woman he loved at night. When the cold seeped into his bones and she wasn’t there to warm them, he loved you. Hand in hand he would whisper about the things you would have together in another life. In another life your finger would have the glittering gold band on it. In another life he would hold you while the world watched. In another life you wouldn’t have to be strong enough to resist him. In another life you would finally get the only thing you’ve ever wanted. Elijah Mikaelson’s heart.

You had stayed away for days. Telling them all that you needed a break, from what? They didn’t need to know. No matter the distance though your mind always wandered back to him. His espresso eyes burned into your brain. The scorched path his hands traveled along your body. The flaming trail his lips seared onto your neck. Loving him was wildfire. You never truly had control until it burned out or killed you before you had the chance to run.

Days had bled into months. Your plans to return to New Orleans dwindled as your desperation for the man that haunted you grew. Mystic falls had been kind to you though, Damon Salvatore had been kind to you. His intentions were made clear the minute he saw you. He loved Elena Gilbert. You didn’t need details, you just wanted to mend a blazing heart much like your own. So, he had taken up residency in your bed. Loving you in the only way you found acceptable after Elijah. There was no promise of more. No talk of another life and the things you would share. No feelings of regret or guilt. You were just two adults comforting each other in the only way you knew how. When morning came, he stayed. Slowly but surely, Damon Salvatore filled the smoldering gaps that Elijah had left.

Returning to New Orleans had been easier than you thought it would be. Your room in the compound had been largely untouched and your place in the sibling’s hearts hadn’t changed. Though you couldn’t find the strength to move back to the compound. You had moved what little you had into a cheap apartment on the outside of the city. Distance has been good, Distance keeps you strong, Distance is all you have left. That was the mantra that ran threw your head when Elijah messaged you, asking you to meet him. You had almost thrown your phone at the wall. You had almost called Damon for reassurance that you could do this. You had almost turned your back on the man that held your blistering heart in the palm of his hand, but you had never been strong enough to deny him.

The world around you was blissfully unaware of the tension that was radiating from the man before you. His gaze was intense and his posture steady, radiating the control that the oldest Mikaelson brother was known for.

“What do you want Elijah?” Your tone held no malice, just exhaustion. He sighed before glancing at his shoes.

“I missed you.” Though simple, those words had reignited the burn out warmth you had held for the oldest Mikaelson brother. It seeped into your bones lighting everything ablaze, and so you had fallen.

Fallen into Elijah’s sweltering gaze, fallen into his scalding embrace, fallen for his damn convincing act of love. Most belittling, you let him fall back into your bed, forever to be the woman he loved at night where no one would witness. When you had finally caught yourself, all that was left of you was ash. The wildfire of a man had disappeared just as quickly as he had returned leaving devastation in his wake and leaving you with nothing but burning regret.

#Elijah Mikaelson x reader #Elijah Mikaelson #Reader insert #the originals #angst

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delldarling · 3 years

Text

jealousy blinds | merrick

chasing truth | chapter eight male faerie x gender/body neutral reader 5320 words sfw | mild depictions of magical violence/fighting, casual intimacy (touching of hands, face), secrets chapter index? or chapter seven?

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

You’re not exactly sure that you want more of Gar’s details on what constitutes Faerie ointment. It’s mildly embarrassing, and not something you want to talk about so soon after, well, everything. And yet… If given the choice between letting him tease you both, or watching them march away from the car, intent on getting the attention of an assassin? You would rather Gar continue teasing.

“What is going on with my life,” you mutter, loathe to take your eyes off of their backs. You still need to get into the front though, and you won’t do yourself any favors trying to glue your gaze to them while clambering about the car. You climb over the center console, settling down in the front seat as quick as you can, trying to pretend you aren’t holding your breath because of the nerves. You’re half afraid that you won’t be able to see them when you look back. They were going to glamour themselves, weren’t they? And despite what they said, despite what Gar said, maybe it was all just a joke to lighten the mood.

It isn’t a joke though.

Gar was telling the truth, because not a moment later Merrick’s wings unfurl from his skin. They cast a glittering array of patterns over the near-by people and pavement, but no one looks at him. No one seems to notice anything out of the ordinary at all. You’re a little confused about Gar though, as he doesn’t seem to be willing to expose his wings, but they had said something about being from different Courts. Maybe Gar doesn’t have them.

You lean over the console, half into the passenger seat, so you can get a better view of them in the middle of the square. You’re not sure how long this is going to take, but both Gar and Merrick had made it seem like it would only be moments before Roran felt the use of glamour. You don’t see him anywhere, but you’re not sure how exactly he’s going to appear. Will he stride through the people, intent on immediate violence? Will he stand on a bench and shout at Merrick and Gar to grab their attention?

As far as you can see though, it’s just humans. They’re sitting on benches or walking quickly through the area. People going in and out of trendy shops and small cafes. You pause after the second run through of the square, realizing that you’ve been thinking like… You’ve been thinking like a human. You lean on the dashboard, looking up. The trees here are all too spindly to really carry any weight, and some of the shops are too tall for you to see the roof of, but you still don’t see him circling through the skies anywhere.

You look back to Merrick and Gar, but the both of them are just standing in the middle of the square, arms crossed over their chests as they talk to one another.

“What if he doesn’t show?” You wonder out loud, looking at the backseat, and your bag. It’s all too tempting to turn on your phone. To check your messages, or just to waste time, but you know better. All you can do is wait. Calling your friends won’t solve any of your problems, and it’ll create new ones for Merrick and Gar. If you say something about what they are, even accidentally?

There’s a soft noise on the roof of the car and your pulse skyrockets.

You huddle down in your seat, lifting your head to look at the roof, half expecting some kind of blade to come slicing down through the metal. Nothing happens but a slight shift and creaking noise. You’re absolutely sure of it, though, that Roran must be up there, because it makes sense. If Gar and Merrick pulled glamour over themselves as soon as they got out, this is where the trail starts.

The car rocks, gently, and another soft noise comes down closer to the passenger side, the ceiling just barely bending where he’s standing. Shit, you can’t help thinking, hands clutching nervously at the steering wheel. What if Roran realizes that you’re here? What if he stabs that sword of his down through the top of the car or reaches around and breaks the window?

Your gaze darts to Merrick and Gar, and thank your lucky stars, both of them are turned your way now. Neither of them are looking at you though, eyes focused just a little higher than normal. Roran is most definitely on the roof.

It wouldn’t help, but half-baked thoughts of slamming your hand on the roof or turning the car on spring to mind. You have no idea if it would scare him, or if it’d only draw his attention to you... Neither of which are really good options.

A soft pop as his weight leaves the car makes you jump, but Roran is touching down on the ground next to the passenger side. His wings arch, cutting off your view of Merrick and Gar as he throws his hands out to either side.

“You can still come home,” Roran says, voice carrying across the square. None of the people in the square hear him, continuing obliviously on with their lives. He’s... pleading. “I wouldn’t say anything,” he continues, taking slow, measured steps towards Merrick and Gar. Roran’s wings shudder as they catch the afternoon light, and then lay flat against his back. “Aodhfin, you know I wouldn’t. Help me finish what we set out to do!”

You can’t hear what Merrick says in response, he’s too far away, but Roran’s hands slowly fall to his sides, fingers trembling.

“The Aodhfin I know wouldn’t be fooled by this being of dirt,” Roran says, and you think he might be talking about Gar. “No. Tell me it isn’t humanity!” Roran demands, gesturing at the people walking by, completely unaware of the faeries in their midst. “Tell me you haven’t been drawn in by their lies, Aodhfin. They are frail, Quick creatures,” he spits, pointing at a child. “Whatever you feel for them is fleeting, could only ever be the ripple of a single pebble in your life. Humans age and die. If you wanted, if you wanted a pet,” Roran says, fumbling, but Merrick must interrupt him, because his back stiffens, his wings flaring out in surprise.

“You can’t be-” He starts, and then his words choke off, the way Merrick’s do when he’s trying to rephrase something. When.. when the words he’s attempting to speak would be a lie.

There’s a gleam of fast-moving color, of brightness—and then they’re gone.

Heart in your throat, you throw yourself closer to the passenger window, pressing your face up against it to catch sight of them. A glimmer of speed in the corner of your eye has you turning right, but before you can finish moving your head, the flash is gone. It feels like a game of ping-pong, with the ball moving much too fast for you to focus. You know where they are only because there’s evidence left behind—a tree branch snaps off as it clips one of them, and the cloth awning on one of the shop windows gets torn down—seeing the workers puzzle over that one might be amusing, on any other day.

You catch sight of Merrick more often than Gar, though it’s likely because he keeps pausing, trying to get Roran in close. Gar is nothing more than a vague brown and green blur, and Roran is simply too fast for you to spot.

One of the trees in the square is suddenly shaken, and a large root snakes up from the ground. Gar, you tell yourself, trying not to fog the window with your fast breath. The root snaps out like a whip, and then Roran is on the ground, his face full of anger as he swipes his short sword in Gar’s direction.

Merrick lands, spreading his arms to either side, no weapon in hand and approaches just close enough that Roran can’t reach him with arm or sword. You’re enraptured by the sight, by their wings and the look of desperation on Roran’s face. So much so that you shout when Gar suddenly pulls open the driver side door, scaring you into breathlessness.

“Get in the passenger seat,” he says, voice rough, and when you focus on him you can see the dark shadow of a bruise forming on his throat. “Elbow,” he says, when he realizes where you’re staring. “Move, we need to start driving now. Merrick will catch up, but he’s not going to be able to distract Roran from my absence for long.”

You scramble over, muttering an expletive as you do, legs getting caught awkwardly on the steering wheel. You hastily buckle up, eyes darting back to the two winged faeries still talking in the square. You can’t see Merrick’s face but his hair is a mess, and his wings are buzzing with agitation. A flash of light draws your eye back to Roran.

The sword in Roran’s hand begins to lift, and you must make some sort of noise because suddenly Roran’s wrist is snagged with another root and the sword clatters against the pavement. You whip your head back to Gar, blinking in surprise when you take in his gritted teeth and his green hand, curled into a fist and trembling with tension.

Gar releases the hold he has as soon as Merrick kicks the sword away, and then he closes the car door, coughing roughly against his forearm.

“Plant powers?” You ask after a moment of silence. Gar ignores you for a moment, struggling as he turns the key in the ignition, split knuckles brushing against the dashboard. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, but you can’t just sit here and let your own worry drown you. You have to keep talking to hold onto some semblance of normality. “Or, wait, tree powers?”

Gar snorts. “We’re not the X-Men,” he tells you as the car finally comes to life. He pulls back out onto the street, wincing as he looks through the windshield. “Though that’s a fun thought. But yes, I have a talent when it comes to plant life.”

“Not a gardener though?” You fish, unashamed when he gives you a narrow eyed look.

“No. I’m not, nor have I ever been a gardener. And we’re not talking about this without Merrick, you know.” He purses his lips when you don’t respond right away. “And you know that we can’t-”

“Lie, yes. Even if Merrick hadn’t ended up telling me, I did puzzle that out eventually.” You slump back into your seat, eyes glued to the rearview mirror even though you can’t see Merrick or Roran any longer. “He’s always phrased things so oddly. Granted, I don’t know that I ever would have figured out why if we hadn’t-” You stop talking, biting at your bottom lip. Gar knows how both you and Merrick feel about one another, there isn’t actually any reason to feel nervous about it, but… It’s a little awkward, trying to find a way to phrase it. Merrick might never have told you, but you’d clued in after he’d passed out in your bed.

Yeah, that isn’t exactly what you want to talk about with Gar.

Gar turns, driving with one hand as he rubs at his throat with the other. “Working in the Courts, it’s very likely that Merrick was on par with the best. The human realm is a bit like Alice in Wonderland to us though. Learning to live here, learning to fit in with the rules of humanity?” Gar offers you a small smile. “It’s been difficult for Merrick.” He laughs then, just as his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. “And he doesn’t like TV. That makes things harder.”

He takes it out and simply passes it over to you, unwilling to take his eyes from the road.

“It’s... It’s not Merrick,” you murmur, turning it over so Gar can see the name on the screen. His eyes widen, and his lips part in surprise, but he makes no move to take the phone.

“Ah. Best to just, just let it go to voicemail for me,” he tells you, refusing to look your way again. “Anyway. We can’t lie,” he tells you, not even attempting to be subtle with the change of subject. “I was never the Queen’s gardener, and neither you nor Merrick need push me to admit it.”

The phone stops buzzing. Conversation ceases when you place his phone in the tray next to the cigarette light, and the silence would be overwhelming without the soft, barely-there crackle of music over the radio. You’re nearly out of town before you can bring yourself to speak.

“He hasn’t called,” you prompt as Gar finally pulls into a busy parking lot. “Should-”

“We’ll wait. It shouldn’t be much longer,” he reassures you. He said it, so he believes it, right? But the longer you both sit there in awkward silence, the more tense Gar is getting. He opens his mouth, eyebrows drawn together, but before he can speak up you wave a nervous hand at his phone.

“If you don’t call soon, I’m going to.”

Gar nods, slowly, hesitantly, but he agrees and picks the damn thing up, putting it on speaker so you can hear. Merrick answers on the second ring.

“I’m sure you’re happy to know I’m alive and I’ve escaped Roran’s reach, but I’m leaving a few false trails before I head to you,” he says, before Gar can ask him anything. Tension vanishes from the car, and you can’t help the awkward sounding laugh that escapes you, buoyed by fierce relief. “Send me a direction, an address, and for the love of Air, have a shirt ready for me.”

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

You’re slumped in your seat when Gar slams his hands against the dashboard, making you jump. He quickly leans forward, turning his head to look up through the windshield. He squints, brown eyes narrowed against the afternoon sunshine, brow furrowing as he focuses, and then mutters: “Finally!” He jabs a green finger against the glass, tracing Merrick’s route through the sky, but by the time you untangle yourself from the seatbelt, Merrick is lighting down in the parking lot. He’s four cars down, half hidden by the bed of a large black truck with mud splattered over the wheels. His cheeks and chest are flushed pink, wings slowing and finally growing still to lay flat against his back, sweeping the area with a fierce glare. You fumble for the door handle, relief leaving you mildly dizzy, but Gar stops you with a hand on your shoulder. He turns to snag Merrick’s bag from the back seat, keeping hold of your shirt so you don’t try to get out. “He’s still glamoured,” Gar mutters, digging through Merrick’s careful packing to pull out a long sleeved gray shirt. The resulting mess he leaves behind is definitely on purpose, but he ignores the indignant look you shoot his way. “I’m going to toss him a shirt. Stay in the car.”

The stress of the last twenty-four hours weighs down your shoulders as Gar slips out. He crosses the parking lot with the shirt held loosely, tossing it to Merrick with a sly little grin on his lips. It looks like Merrick snaps at him, but Gar doesn’t act like he’s heard, just turns on his heel and comes straight back to the car while Merrick smoothes his wings back into his skin. Merrick doesn’t follow after until his wings are nothing more than tattoos again, and his shirt is back on. He passes through the shadow cast by the truck, a barely-there gleam around him making you blink, and then both of them are sliding smoothly back into their seats, doors closing behind them.

“You do this on purpose,” Merrick grouses, and bursts into a round of quiet complaints when he sees the state of his bag.

Gar laughs, and you let the stress go as best you’re able, eyelids growing heavy as they make idle chit-chat, thankful he isn't hurt. If you close your eyes, if you just listen to the rhythm of their voices, you could almost pretend that everything is normal. You’re full up on revelations for the moment, and neither of them seem to be in any rush to talk about Roran.

“If we’re going to be in the car for any length of time, I’m going to catch a nap,” you murmur, refusing to acknowledge Gar's growing smile. You smack away Gar’s hand when he reaches out to tug at your earlobe.

“Tuckered out already?” Gar teases, prodding your cheek while you’re busy laying the seat back. He steadfastly ignores Merrick’s scowl.

“As if you aren’t?” Merrick interjects, cautiously leaning against the headrest as you adjust. It’s rather difficult to find a comfortable spot, knowing that you’re trying to relax inside of a stolen vehicle. Even without that knowledge still clamoring for attention in the back of your brain, the seat is worn, and there’s a loose spring digging into your ribs as you turn. At least the seat reclines.

Your eyes don’t fall closed until Merrick strokes his hand over your forehead, fingers gently tracing over your brow. “Is this, uh,” he pauses, drawing in a slow breath and you can’t help but smile. His breath hitches when you reach up, squeezing gently at his hovering hand. “Is this okay?” He finally asks, headrest creaking as he leans a little more of his weight on your seat. You let go of his hand so he can resume stroking.

“It’s good. I don’t know if I’ll actually sleep, but the touching is nice,” you murmur, and relax a little further as Gar pulls back onto the road. Somewhere between leaving the parking lot and Gar pointing out a freeway sign, you fall into a doze, lulled by Merrick timing the stroking of his fingers with your exhales.

Some of their conversation flies right over your head. They talk about where they’re going, and where all of you will stay for the night—you have a momentary flare of worry about work and the rest of your friends—but you can’t do anything about that right now. You lean into Merrick’s hand, his fingers gentle in your hair, around the shell of your ear, and try to sleep more deeply.

It doesn’t work nearly as well as either of you would like.

“We can’t keep running forever,” Gar mutters sometime later, voice pitched low. They must think you’re asleep, because Merrick’s hand slows and then stills before he carefully takes his touch away. “Not with,” and he makes a small click of a noise with his tongue, clothes shifting against his seat. Your brain is still muddled with sleep, but you get the sense they mean you. “We can’t actually disrupt-”

“Human,” Merrick says with a sigh. “I know. Sooner or later, Roran is going to catch on to our plans or just plain catch up with us. Something bad is going to happen if we can’t..” Merrick trails off, and the air grows heavy, pressing in on all sides before Merrick and Gar both speak at once.

“Kill him?”

“Convince him to-”

Silence reigns, and your heart skips.

“You think we should kill him?” Merrick asks in barely more than a whisper. He’s tense, angry, you can feel the tension as his knees press against the back of your seat. You have to force yourself not to let your eyes fly open in response. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise you, what with him having told you what exactly he was bound to do for the Court of Air, but for Gar to suggest it?

“You’ve told me how dangerous he is. How driven. Do you really think he’s going to give you the chance to convince him to ignore orders from your King? Especially when you don’t even know all the details of what you’re defending me from?” Gar sighs and the steering wheel creaks. “I… I need to tell you about it, but I’d like to wait for-”

Merrick scoffs. “Would you really? Or are you just looking for more excuses to put it off?” He leans forward, knees digging sharply into your seat. The warmth at your side means he’s leaning on the center console, resting a hand or his elbow there so he can look at Gar’s face as he speaks. “And yes, I would like to convince him of your innocence. Whatever you did, Gar, I’ve put my trust in you. I want to stay here, and if we convince him-”

“He’ll what, Merrick? Leave you here willingly so you can spend the rest of your human lovers life here? Will he go back to the King and lie for you?”

“I never said he’d lie! I would never ask him to do that,” Merrick says, tone harsh, voice growing a little louder. Fairly soon you’re not going to be able to pretend that you’re asleep. “He was my friend before anything else, Gar-”

“Was,” Gar points out. “You’ve told me that he’s ruthless, and that no matter how often you refused, he couldn’t seem to change his mindset. He only found out you lived, found out about this,” and Gar must make some kind of motion towards you, towards himself, because you can sense it, even though you can’t see or hear it. “After he decided, or was ordered to come here and take care of me! It’s new, Merrick. He’s not going to let it go, even if you bat your pretty eyelashes and give him everything he wants!”

“Why can’t we try and give him a chance?” Merrick whispers, and his voice has gone so low that you have to strain to hear it clearly. “Gar, you trusted me. You gave me a chance.”

“Even then, even when you came for me with your blade in hand, you couldn’t stop yourself from making moon eyes at the smiling human. You gave up on a fight—one I’m not sure I would have won—just to ask for their name!” Gar laughs, like he still can’t quite believe it. “You displayed want and empathy before we even spoke, and you let all of our friends go that first night, rather than risk them in the crossfire of our fight. They were innocent of any actions I made and you allowed me to get them out of the area. Roran’s orders and his anger-”

Merrick curses, but Gar pushes onward.

“He thinks we’ve both been ensnared by one silly human. You heard him back in the square. Roran isn’t angry because you want to keep a human and a Land Court faerie around, he’s angry because you told him you have feelings for the human. That you think of me as a friend.”

“I know,” Merrick whispers, and he sounds like his heart is caught in his throat, threatening to choke him. He has to clear it twice before he can speak again. “That’s why I want—why I need to convince him.”

“That’s why he can’t be convinced, Merrick. Emotions are dangerous for the Fae,” Gar mutters, and you risk opening your eyes to glance up at them, achingly slow. Gar’s eyes have gone golden-brown in the passing headlights. “We may as well be the pixies they talk about in that story about the Youth Spirit. We only seem to have room for one emotion at a time, and Roran? Has settled on the most dangerous.”

“Anger?” Merrick asks, and his pale curls catch your eye before he sits back with a sigh. He removes his knees from the back of your seat.

“Jealousy,” Gar corrects. “If he was clinging to a sense of duty, I would say you should try and convince him. Anger? Maybe. But jealousy, Merrick? Jealousy kills. Jealousy blinds. I don’t know if he can see beyond it.”

Despite the ache in your head and the need for more sleep, you can’t sit here in silence any longer. You make a show of moving about, shoulder rolling to try and loosen some of the tension, and then Merrick is there. His hand strokes first over your cheek and then your shoulder, his seatbelt clicking as he leans too far forward.

“Is our dearest Horatio hungry?” Gar asks, and the rhythmic noise of the blinker picks up.

“Gar,” you grumble in warning, opening your eyes. He’s grinning in the driver’s seat, but Merrick is frowning, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of you.

“Did I miss something?” He finally asks, when he decides the quiet has gone on long enough.

“He quoted a play at me,” you say, fighting a yawn. “And while yes, I’m hungry, I don’t-”

“If you were one of us,” Gar interrupts, his grin turning a little painful, it’s so bright, his eyes darting to you. “Then Horatio would officially be one of your names. I just want you to know that.”

“Good thing I’m not then and I don’t have to respond to it, Garrick.”

Merrick laughs, and for a moment he looks genuinely happy, eyes soft as he looks down at you. He tries to lean close for a kiss, and then jerks when the seatbelt keeps him in place. “By Air,” he snarls, and promptly tugs so hard at the seatbelt that it snaps. There’s a zip of noise that accompanies the belt as it’s sucked back behind the seat.

The whole car is silent for all of two seconds, before all three of you are laughing hysterically. It lasts probably longer than it should, a safe way to let out pent up emotions of all kinds. If all three of you keep silently refusing to look each other in the face afterwards, steadfastly ignoring wet eyes... You’re all guilty of it.

By the time you calm down and pull into a fast food place to grab something to eat, the tension from Gar and Merrick’s argument seems to have dissipated. They’re talking with one another like nothing ever happened, ribbing each other with elbows as they dare each other to eat unsavory looking things off of the fast food menu.

You haven’t forgotten about it though, and soon, soon: Gar is going to have to tell you and Merrick both exactly what brought him to the human realm, and why the Courts are so desperate to strike him down. It probably won’t happen until you get off of the streets to sleep though, and you can’t deny that you're a little eager for it. Both for being able to stay outside of the car, and for getting the chance to find out what brought him here.

Still, you all have to pile back into the car and head back to the freeway after you eat. Gar quietly harped on you and Merrick for taking too long to eat, but you know he’s right. You’ve lingered in one place for likely too long already, though you don’t see how Roran would have trailed you to this hole in the wall place. It looks like any number of fast food places, with a red and white sign and outdated wall art.

“You can’t honestly think Roran is going to track us there,” you say from the backseat, having willingly given it up to Merrick. “It’s dark out, and we’ve been driving for hours already. And neither of you have been using glamour, right?”

Merrick sighs, twisting in his seat to look you in the face. “Only sparingly,” he says, and you can’t help the way your heart rate skyrockets.

“But I thought-”

“We had to keep him following us out of town. You were right about him potentially doubling back if he couldn’t find any trace of us. We’ve done it twice since you started napping, and both times one of us left the car, so the residue wouldn’t linger here.” Merrick’s mouth twists. He feels guilty.

“I’m not angry,” you rush to say, glancing at Gar when his phone lights up and he snatches it up from underneath the radio. “It makes sense, I just... I didn’t know. Is something happening?” You finally ask, when Merrick doesn’t even acknowledge Gar’s speedy one-handed typing.

“Place to stay,” he says, distracted.

“You know people outside the city too?” You ask, surprised. You’d thought—well. Neither you nor Merrick know how long Gar has been on the run and it’s.. Weird to think about. What if he’d been here since you were a kid? You wrinkle your nose.

“Hardly,” he scoffs, tossing the phone back down. “But I know how to use the internet, and Roran most definitely doesn’t.”

Merrick looks disgusted, but he typically does whenever anyone talks about technology. You’ve always assumed it had something to do with back-to-nature parents or some kind of social media mishap.

“He’ll pick it up faster than me,” Merrick admits, reaching back around the seat to take your hand in his.

Gar shrugs, as if that’s of little consequence. “I’m fairly well versed and I still can’t hack into things. The aversion to man made materials still makes me feel a bit ill. I doubt that Roran is going to pick up cyber tracking.”

That thought is an amusing one. Roran had been lovely, despite his frightening aura, but he hadn’t seemed to care one iota for anything human-based around him, and knowing that includes technology is a little reassuring. The thought of him surrounded by computers, with great wings tucked in tight against his back and his sword catching on desks makes you smile.

“Yeah, he didn’t quite strike me as a hacker of any kind,” you agree, hoping your smile softens the comment for Merrick’s sake. He doesn’t look angry or upset, but his jaw is tight and his eyes are far away. When neither of them pick conversation back up, you lean your head on the back of Merrick’s seat, staring down at his fingers twined with yours.

“Are we staying somewhere cruddy?” You ask, assuming Gar set the three of you up in some kind of motel.

“Like the place Merrick was crashing at when he first came here?” Gar sticks out his tongue. “Ugh. No. I like creature comforts more than that, and I’m sure the both of you would prefer something nicer.”

“Merrick stayed—no, never mind. Where did you set us up then?”

“How about we talk about you?” Merrick quietly interrupts, and for a moment you think it might be because he’s embarrassed. When he turns to look Gar in the face though, there’s no hint of flushed cheeks or an irritated glare, as if he hadn’t heard Gar’s teasing in the first place. His jaw is set and his eyes are hard. “We’ve put this off plenty long enough, Gar. We need to know.”

It’s silent for an awkward amount of time. Long enough that you’re starting to fidget, but both Merrick and Gar seem nearly frozen in their seats. Merrick must win the stand off though, because Gar’s shoulders start to hunch around his ears. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to start,” he mutters unhappily, hands tensing around the worn steering wheel.

“How about you tell us what you did in your Court?” You offer, letting go of Merrick’s hand purely so you can sling your arms around him and the headrest. He leans into your touch, but doesn’t take his eyes away from Gar.

Gar sighs, lips pressed into a thin line as he considers your words, mulling over his own. Haltingly, he starts to speak.

“I was born in the Court of Land,” he says, shoulders slowly slumping as he gives in. “And all I ever wanted to do was join the Guard.”

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

...turn the page?

#fairy boyfriend #fae boyfriend #exophilia #faerie boyfriend #d.darling writes #male fairy x reader

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theheartsmistakes · 3 years

Text

Any Other Name

.Chapter 1.

The London Institute hadn’t changed in the five years since Cordelia had last seen it. Its pointed rooftops disappeared into the alloy colored clouds that perpetually covered the sky of London making Cordelia sometimes wonder if underneath the constant precipitation the sky was purple or grey rather than blue. The arched glossy windows reflected the view of the city with the billowing smoke from the factories, the lines from the bridges, and the diamond-like flecks that glittered off of the Thames.

It rivaled the Institute in Tehran in size alone, but otherwise, the cold, steel gray of the stones had nothing on the warmth and light of the sand-colored building that she had been living in for the past five years. Already she missed the way the sun warmed the inside of the building and filled the rooms with its light that sent fractals of color off of the beads that adorned the bright colored drapes in her bedroom. She missed the smells of spices, burning applewood, and whatever flower bloomed wildly in that season as she walked the crowded merchant-lined streets.

She’d only been in London all of ten minutes and already she wanted to climb back through the portal and take her grandmother up on her offer to let her live there with her in her small one-bedroom flat.

“We are a family,” said her father proudly when he informed them at the dinner table only a week before that they (he) were offered the position to be head of the London Institute after the removal of William and Tessa Herondale. “This is a family decision. No one is staying behind. We are moving as a family.”

It didn’t feel like a family decision when he removed her bedroom door after she’d locked herself in for twenty-four hours in protest.

One year, she told herself. One measly little year in the dreary, desolate wasteland that was London, and then she would be eighteen and free to make her own decisions including where she wanted to live.

Her older brother Alastair, the bastard, had turned eighteen only a month ago and had opted to remain in Tehran to help oversee the Institute until the Clave found a family to take over. Cordelia bristled at the idea of someone else living in her room which she’d just managed to decorate according to her taste. What if they turned it into a boring old office or Angel forbid a crafts room.

Never, in her seventeen years, did she hate her parents. Not for any reason for they were quite good parents. They let her go out with her friends any night of the week she wanted, they supported her in whatever protest or interest she happened to be on even if it pertained to mundane issues, and she rather liked spending time with them when she wasn’t training or out in the city with her small, but loyal group of friends.

Her friends.

They’d only said goodbye a few hours ago, but she’d at least hoped for one fire message of encouragement to help her through these trying times.

She’d scold them for it later.

When she’d come to London as a child during her parent's annual Clave meetings, the only enjoyable part of being here visiting with the ever eccentric Lucie Herondale. They’d become fast friends when they first met at ten years old and remained in touch either through fire messages, the occasional visits, or annual Clave meetings. Until about six months, when all correspondence stopped. Cordelia sent her dozens of messages, but none of them were answered. When she attempted to call from a city payphone on the landline she knew Lucie kept, the automated message said the phone number had been disconnected.

Cordelia wondered if it was something that she had done or said that upset Lucie. That was until a week ago when her parents sat down with her and her brother and told them of the Clave’s decision to exile the Herondale’s for their demon blood.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!” Cordelia yelled when her parents informed both her and Alastair. “They’re exiled? What does that even mean?”

“It means they’re no longer considered Shadowhunters,” said Alastair from where he sat across from her at the dining room table. He was rather unperturbed by the situation which didn’t surprise Cordelia in the least. He never liked the Herondale’s; least of all James Herondale, Lucie’s older brother.

“I know what it means, Alastair, I’m being dramatic,” snapped Cordelia. “What did they do to deserve this? Will has always been an esteemed member of the Clave and Tessa as well. They can’t do this to them!”

Elias, Cordelia’s traitorous father looked to her mother Sona for assistance but her mother looked just as angry as Cordelia felt.

“It’s all to do with their blood,” said Elias carefully.

“Their blood?” Cordelia said as if he’d just announced he was infected with some virulent disease.

“Bigotry, darling,” said Sona and glanced at him over the edge of the purple scarf that concealed her hair. “I think the word you are looking for is ‘bigotry’.”

“No,” said Elias. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Why not,” said Sona, flippantly. “It’s not as if the Clave is here to hear you. We’ve always been honest with the children, it won’t do to stop now.”

“Sona, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was an argument that they have had before and did not side with one another. “We agreed to be a unified front.”

“I agreed to no such thing,” said Sona and turned her gaze to Cordelia. “The Clave upon hearing that Tessa’s father is the greater demon Belial, has decided that despite her angelic heritage, her blood is tainted and we cannot allow tainted blood into the community in fear that her demon-side will eventually take over and she— or her children— will be responsible for something horrendous which is the nature of their kind.”

Cordelia gapped like a landlocked fish. “That’s the most idiotic thing I have ever heard!”

Sona nodded.

“Tessa is one of the kindest, sweetest, most good-natured people that I have ever met!” Her voice inched up an octave that had Alastair grimacing. She didn’t care. This was criminal. This went against everything she’d ever believed. Tessa was someone as close to an aunt as Cordelia would ever have. “Doesn’t the angelic blood dominate the demon side anyway!”

Sona nodded. “The Clave claims they do not have enough evidence of this and therefore cannot risk it.”

“You keep saying the Clave,” said Cordelia vehemently. “Who exactly are you referring to?”

“It’s all of them, darling,” said Elias.

Sona rolled her eyes. “Inquisitor Bridgetstock, the toad, is who I am referring to and the hoard of Clave members that he has fear-mongered into following after him. This is what we deserve for establishing a democracy.”

“You’d prefer totalitarianism?” said Elias.

Sona just shrugged again. “If it meant avoiding this lunacy, then yes, I suppose I do.”

Cordelia felt like screaming to release some of the frustration building in her chest. “What about Will?”

“His mother was a mundane,” said Elias.

“Oh.” Cordelia felt her cheeks fill with heat. “So the Clave has something against Mundanes, as well. So was Sophie Lightwood, are they going to exile her too?”

“The Clave is trying to keep the Shadowhunter bloodline pure,” said Elias, carefully, but there was a note of distaste in the last word. “Sophie ascended so therefore she is for all intents and purposes a Shadowhunter. Also, Will wouldn’t abandon Tessa or his children even if it meant keeping his marks. He was very adamant about that part.”

Cordelia slumped back against her chair and crossed her arms in a way she hadn’t done since she was a child. “So what, we’re just meant to pretend like they never existed? Is that what you’re saying?”

Both of her parents averted their eyes. Sona looked down at her hands resting in her lap and Elias stared at the plate of food he hadn’t touched in front of him. “Yes,” he finally said. “The punishment for fraternizing with ‘the exiled’ or any Downworlder unless it is for official Clave business is deemed punishable.”

Cordelia scoffed, but it was Alastair who asked, “Punishable, how?”

“It depends on the severity,” said Elias and meant to leave it at that.

“Meaning,” inquired Cordelia.

“Meaning,” said Elias in a tone that implied he was finished with this conversation. “They are not our friends, colleagues, or otherwise. They are our enemies and we are to treat them as such. They are working on making this into a new law and if broken, it could mean the stripping of your marks.”

Even Alastair’s eyebrows rose at that. “It seems the Inquisitor is finally getting what he wanted after all, a cease and desist on any camaraderie with Downworlders. He always did see them as a vile group.”

Elias nodded but reached over to put his hand on Cordelia’s arm. “I know Lucie was a dear friend.”

Cordelia’s eyes swam with tears at the mention of Lucie’s name. She couldn’t imagine what Lucie was going through now. Was she afraid, angry, lonely, feeling everything all at once? At least she had her family, but was it enough? Would it be enough for Cordelia?

“I cannot stress how important it is that you obey these laws until we can come up with a way to have them disbanded,” said Elias. “I know your heart, Layla, I see its fire at any signs of adversity and I don’t want to be the one to temper it, but I need you to be careful and believe me when I saw, I will do everything within my capabilities to fix this.” He looked at each person sitting at the table with him. “I may not agree with the Clave’s decision, but for our own protection, we must comply. Do you understand?”

“You want us to be silent,” said Cordelia.

Elias’s hand slipped from his daughter’s arm.

“Sometimes words are not enough,” said Sona on the other end of the table. “Sometimes we can speak louder with our action. We have raised you to be free-thinkers, to defend the innocent, and protect the ones that need protecting. We trust that you will use your best judgement on how to do just that.”

Cordelia uncross her arms and dropped her hands into her lap. She wanted more than anything to go to her room and try to send another fire message to Lucie; to rage about how ridiculous this all was, and let her friend know that she wasn’t alone. That not for one moment would she, Cordelia Carstairs, who once painted herself red and marched through the streets of Tehran as a message to their mundane government that she did not agree with the patriarchal rules placed on women, would go along with these laws.

She thought of the Blackthorn family motto: Lex malla, lex nulla.

A bad law is no law and how she wished she could claim it is her own.

But she couldn’t message Lucie. She didn’t even have a way to reach her and maybe Lucie didn’t want to speak to her anyway if she hadn’t even attempted to contact her in some other way.

“I hate this,” she said quietly.

“I know, Layla,” said her mother. “I know.”

“What of the Fairchilds?” asked Alastair, stirring his mashed potatoes around with his fork. “How did the Clave get Charlotte to agree to this? They’re practically family. Isn’t the blond one parabatai with the eldest of the Herondales?”

Elias sighed and nodded. “He is— was. He is being stripped of his mark this week.”

Cordelia gasped and felt as if she might vomit. “Matthew would never!”

“He didn’t have a choice,” said Elias. “It was either have his parabatai mark removed or be exiled.”

“He’d choose to be exiled.” Cordelia didn’t know Matthew Fairchild all that well, but she knew he wouldn’t abandon his dearest and oldest friend. The friend he chose to tie his own life.

“He’s not yet eighteen,” said Elias. “He cannot make that choice.”

“Charlotte is allowing this?”

“Charlotte has been removed from her place as Consul for not agreeing to any of this and is being replaced by Marcus Pounceby.”

“Marcus Pounceby!” said Alastair and Cordelia together.

Their father just nodded though his expression had grown increasingly tired. “Yes, it appears that if one just bends every which way for the Clave one can achieve a lot.”

Cordelia had to physically restrain herself from flipping the table. “This is bullshit!”

“Cordelia!” Her mother hissed. “I know you’re upset, but I won’t hear that sort of language at the table.”

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t, and saying ‘this is crap’ just didn’t justify how she felt. “I can’t believe this is happening. I thought we were supposed to be better than mundanes. This feels like its been torn directly out of one of their history books. Next they’ll have use hunting Downworlders and demons.” She couldn’t sit there any longer. She couldn’t handle any more information that made her want to portal directly to Alicante and demand they strip her of her marks. What was stopping them from exiling her family next? What if they stopped liking her hair color or decided she wasn’t fit to be a Shadowhunter because she was a woman? “May I be excused?”

“You haven’t eaten anything,” said her mother.

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Your mother worked—“ Elias started but Sona shook her head and said, “Yes, just clear your plate and you can go.”

——————

In the week that followed that conversation things progressively got worse. It helped that she was in Tehran with her friends, battling demons that terrorized the night and training during the day, until that fateful night when her father declared that they were moving to the London Institute.

The inside seemed as dark and cold as the outside. She didn’t remember it being this way when she visited as a girl. It used to be so full of light, but perhaps it was the people that occupied it that made it that way. Now, it seemed as lonely and depressed by their absence as Cordelia felt.

She dragged her suitcase up the flight of stairs to the second story and shuffled down the hall at a glacial pace as if every step was a concession to agreeing to live here. The hallway had holes in it where pictures were once hung by Tessa of her family and their lives there. Cordelia could remember a few: one of Tessa and Will on their wedding day, another of Tessa heavily pregnant while hanging a Christmas ornament on the tree, one of Will holding a baby, and one of all four of them together underneath the Eiffel Tower. Lucie was only six in the picture and resting her tired head on her father’s shoulder. James stood in front of his mum with a half-smile on his face and a baguette in each of his hands.

The barren walls seemed to groan and sigh as she walked past.

The door she knew to be hers was already opened, a dull strip of light came out into the hallway. Cordelia stood in front of the dark red wood of the door and nudged it open with the toe of her boot. It squeaked on its hinges as it slowly revealed the bedroom inside.

Memories of laughter crashed into her like a blast of icy, winter wind. Two little girls sitting on the massive bed, the covers were thrown over their heads with a witch light glowing between them, as they brought their collection of dolls to life in elaborate stories.

It still smelled like her— like Lucie. A mixture of Damascus roses, ink, and freshly printed papers.

Cordelia sighed and dropped her bag at her feet.

The bed was the only thing that remained of what used to be Lucie’s old bedroom. Stripped of the colorful coverlet and sheets that Lucie had chosen, it was just an old mattress with a plush, lavender velvet headboard. The only sign of there ever having been any more furniture were the marks in the wooden floorboard where Lucie’s writing desk sat and piles of dust in the corners.

“It’s not much now,” said her mother whom she hadn’t heard come up behind her. “But you can make it your own.”

Cordelia scoffed. “I don’t want to make it my own.” It was Lucie’s. It would always be Lucie’s.

She felt her mother’s hand on her waist. “I know this is difficult for you, Layla, but we must make the best of it. It’s what Lucie would have wanted.”

Cordelia turned. “Please don’t talk about her as if she’s dead. I did what you asked, I moved here, please don’t expect me to be happy about it. It’s not enough that I have to stay in this house, but I have to live in her room and make it my own. I won’t. My stuff may be stored in here, but it’s not mine. My room is in Tehran.” She turned back around and glared at the large space before her as if it’d done her some great wrong.

Sona patted her daughter on the waist before releasing her. “I didn’t come up here to upset you more, but I feel I should warn you. The Inquisitor and the Consul are coming by in an hour to meet us. They want to discuss a few things with your father over dinner. I was told to tell you to please be on your absolute best behavior.”

“So you’re asking me to sit there and look pretty?”

Sona’s eyebrows quirked. “We need to support your father. He is the only one in the Clave that has any semblance of reason. They trust him, we need to help strengthen that trust if he is to help make sense of some of this nonsense. Do you understand?”

Cordelia hugged herself. “I hate them.”

“Hate them all you like,” said Sona. “You don’t even have to speak to them if you don’t want to, but you do need to be present. The Consul’s son will be there.”

“Augustus?” said Cordelia with distaste. “Can’t you tell them I’m ill or tired from our travels. Jet lag is still a thing even if you portal.”

Sona tapped her wrist where a watch should be. “Dinner is at seven. Dress respectably.”

Cordelia looked down at the black bike shorts she had under the oversized gray sweatshirt she’d thrown on that morning while she finished all her last-minute packing. By respectable, she knew her mother meant nice, pretty, clean. Look how they want you to look so we can attempt to impress Inquisitor Bridgestock and Consul Pounceby because even though we don’t agree with their decisions, we still have to abide by their laws.

It made her want to punch a hole in the wall or throw something out the window.

She pulled the strap for the scabbard holding Cortana, her beloved sword, over her neck and rested her blade against the wall beside the closet door, and walked across the room to sit on the edge of the mattress.

Never once in her life was she ever not proud to be a Shadowhunter. It was as much a part of her as the color of skin, her name, or the distinct tone of her voice. The angelic blood sang in her veins and powered her limbs to protect those who could not protect themselves against the darkness and evil that threatened it. Never once did she consider that darkness and evil could ever touch or harm her community; that it would never be found there. Now, she came to realize, it was not so far away.

How could she fight her government? She couldn’t, not without consequences, but how could she stay silent either about what she knew to be wrong and unjust.

Her whole existence felt like the inside of a snow globe after it was turned upside down and shaken. Now, she just had to wait for the dust to settle, and perhaps things would not look so different then.

———————

The Consul was the first to arrive.

Cordelia stood in the bathroom mirror smoothing out the dress she’d thrown in the bag she packed while they waited for the rest of their things to arrive from Tehran. The white of the soft fabric warmed her skin and brought out the flecks of copper in her red hair that she left down and curled at the ends. Her mother would scoff at the length of the hem, falling to the middle of her thighs. It wasn’t exactly what Cordelia would have chosen to wear to this dinner either, but she’d left her Fuck the Patriarchy t-shirt and ripped jeans in the box with all of her clothes in Tehran. It may be written in Persian, but the look on her parents’ face would have been worth it, and who knows, perhaps it could have been a conversation starter.

She was pulling on a pair of dark leather sandals when she heard the sound of voices fill the foray. Her mother’s warm, but fake laughter sent a pinch across Cordelia’s spine. She knew it wasn’t sincere, but she still would rather hear the sound of her mother kicking them out of her house rather than welcoming them in.

I am not being complicit, she told herself as she turned towards the bedroom door. I am infiltrating the enemy. I will find their weakness. I will attempt to understand them so I can use the knowledge later to destroy them… And I will spit in their water glasses and lick their bread rolls.

With a practiced smile, she marched towards the door when she felt the give and heard the groan from a floorboard beneath her foot. She looked down and carefully lifted her right foot and watched as the board rose back up.

Interesting. None of the other boards did that.

Carefully, she got down onto her knees and dug her nails into the crack around the board. The perimeters showed markings of being dug out before. She pried it up enough to get her fingers underneath and it popped up with ease. She slid it away and beneath was a white sheet of paper with a garden stone sitting on top of it and Cordelia’s name written on the front.

Cordelia looked up to make sure no one was coming. The voices could still be heard from the foray and dinner didn’t technically start for five more minutes.

She reached down into the hole and slid the paper out from underneath the rock.

Sitting back on her hip, she unfolded it and read:

50 Ernest St, Bethnal Green, London

The Old Clock Tower

February 3, at 10 P.M.

Cielu Rhonelade

Cielu Rhonelade. Cordelia smiled as she mentally rearranged the letters to read Lucie Herondale. It was her nom de plume for a time when they were kids and Lucie wanted to be like the author George Eliot and claim her work under a different name.

But it was Lucie, of that Cordelia was sure, and she wanted to meet with Cordelia tonight.

A/N:

This story can also be found on AO3 if you would prefer to read it there.

Likes, comments, and reblog are always appreciated!

Next update: Friday, 5/14

#the shadowhunter chronicles #chain of gold #chain of iron #chain of thorns #the last hours #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #james x cordelia #jordelia fanfiction #cassandra clare #modern au #alternative au #thomas lightwood #lucie herondale #christopher lightwood #alastair carstairs #will x tessa #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn

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siren-virus · 3 years

Note

You know what? Just because you’d be able to talk my ears off with LuckyBoy!AU, I’m gonna keep asking you about it with long asks so I can get long answers (I love reading long answers since they give out so much info and speculation, while leaving room for discussion as well). So let's have a chat through asks so neither of us have anxiety(?) while talking to each other in messages.

Who would be some of the regulars when Ben is working at the cooffe shop? (I also love this au XD) Would Cooper, Rook, Gwen, Max and/or anyone else go at the same time as a group and have a casual conversation with the barista? Would Ben accidently gain confidential information about the Plumbers this way? I wonder if he would be famous between the aliens and humans near Undertown as one of the few humans that's actually chill with every alien regardless of appearances thanks to knowing Gwen with the Omnitrix from before?

I feel like Ben purposefully avoiding Cooper as his vigilante persona would start as a measure to avoid his identity being exposed (I belive it was Cooper who exposed him in UAF, right?), but later would develop into a troll play, waiting for him to finally find him and play a prank there.

Would Ben play pranks on Will Harangue for giving him bad publicity to the humans? I mean, it's not like he can just appear in front of a camera and tell his side of the story, he would be captured instantly, or interrupted at the very least; and he having his own social media wouldn't work too well since he isn't a tech genius and the Plumbers could track him down.

Also, what has Gwen done that they think they need Ben to protect them from her? Like yeah, in OV there's a lot of property damage, but they don't believe they need protection from him (at least I don't think so), so she must've done something big in order for that to happen.

And now an ask that isn't directly related to Ben XD Who would be some of the people leading an investigation against the vigilante, trying to discover his identity as well as species? Like I imagine Rook would be more of an addon to said investigation, being on the lookout but not actively investigating everything that Ben has been involved with, and Gwen has a lot on her plate, so let's not let her join said investigation.

Oh oh oh, I just thought about it, if Ben could be considered an Anodite in this AU, what happened when Verdona appeared in that one episode of AF? Did she manage to find Ben in the first place and almost but not quite take him away? Does the rest of the family know he's an Anodite and what are their thoughts about it? If they don't then how would Ben explain some of the magic things that he does and someone witness?

Ohohoh, buttering me up are ya? Well you're in for a brain dump.

Ok, first I gotta say: The alien cafe is separate to the plumbers (the plumbers have their on cafeteria, but like to indulge in other food sometimes, and non-instant coffee.)

So I was thinking, one of Ben's regular coworkers is Alan Albright. Reason for this is because Alan is not allowed to go on missions often. He's too young. I mean I know they definitely have child soldiers in OS- buuuut Max's influence has put a stop to that. He's seen how it affected Gwen. So, Alan is put on easy patrols in low crime area, in the city.

Alan, however wants in on the action, so Max had suggested the cafe. Ben and Alan have a very brotherly bond, and Ben (outside of his vigilante life) has been swaying Alan's opinion on both, the plumbers and his alter ego.

Manny, Alan, Helen and Cooper- When not busying himself with the tech lounge- (sorry, Pierce is still dead in this), will often come by the cafe, they sit in a booth and discuss things. Most occasions Ben is invited to sit with them.

When Gwen pops by their interactions are brief, Ben would try to tease her about anything and everything under the sun. "See Kevin lately?" "Oh, got beat by the walking glow stick again, huh?" "Geez, another jail break? 3rd time this week!"

Normally he gets a fiery reaction and a nasty retort.

Of course Ben would take every opportunity he can to get info. At first it wasn't intentional, he'd just eaves drop on a few conversations that interested him. As time goes by though, he's found that a lot of people, plumber, criminal and just outer space travelers, are more than happy to unload some gossip. Ben is very much delighted by that.

He's not exactly famous, he's well known for being a friendly person, yes. But not all throughout Undertown.

ain't cooper the blond dude with some kinda telekenetic power that ended up turning into an almost Kevin duplicate? (i'll fix that) NGL I forgot he grew up in UAF.

Pretty sure the one that exposed Ben was the nerd who was voiced by the VA of Robin (TeenTitans/Go). Now that you bring it up though, that guy... Jimmy, is someone to be avoided, cause he's a snoopy guy. Who also hangs out at the cafe a lot to get details. Always ends up harassing Ben cause he knows Ben has all the juicy gossip.

And yeah Ben would totally take advantage of it to mess with the poor kid.

Definitely. Ben would mess with Will Harangue as much as possible. Especially when he goes live. Ben won't confront him personally, or do anything that could possibly reveal his indentity. He's got a lot of unique mannerisms that his family could quickly pick up on, there's also his voice, although muffled by the mask, if it's recorded enough- it's another identifier.

So that leaves Ben with his sticker trail. They're very bright, almost blinding, so Ben's stickers are an annoying inconvenience. He could also use a weak spell that causes it's victims to yawn/sneeze. Maybe he'll hang in the background briefly and wave. Just some of things he does to get under Harangue's skin basically.

Gwen:

So, you picked up on what I've hinted at. Good.

Before I go into Gwen, I'll say this: The plumbers are stationed on Earth to protect humanity. That means the aliens who have immigrated are less of a priority. That doesn't mean that they're completely unsafe, the plumbers still patrol Undertown and look after the people- just less so.

Aliens that leave Undertown especially- Normally they're ushered back by a few Plumbers standing guard- those that pose a threat or seem to pose a threat are dealt with by the plumbers. Which isn't too bad, just a slap on the back, a fine, maybe jail time.

Unless you run into Gwen. Who is much more intimidating, much more brutish, she won't exactly hold back. So- she hasn't got the best rep with Undertown. She's still a hero. Known throughout the universe. Just not a kind one.

On several occassions, Ben(vigilante) has had to step in to get her to back down from dealing with criminals.

The plumbers don't have a lot to go on with the investigating. Ben doesn't leave any DNA trails, cause anodites have no DNA. No hair strands, no finger prints, no blood. Even his stickers. They got nothing, nada.

That doesn't mean it's completely hopeless. A clean hit to Ben has on more than one occasion shocked him out of his anodite form, reverting him back to human (which is why he has the glasses and face mask, as a just incase scenario.) Sometimes even spooking/shocking him can make him human again. If his focus is messed with he's human, kinda deal.

So the plumbers are aware of this. They do their best to be as violent and destructive when they see Ben. They're attempts usually fail unless they have someone competent enough with them, Ie; Gwen, Rook.

Villains are also aware of this. So risky buiz am I right?

In regards to Verdona; honestly, I feel like having her know about Ben's existence as an anodite would kinda nerf this whole thing completely. Verdona, I bet, would be a massive gossip. Although her contact with Max is limited, he'd hear about it eventually. Game over. There's also Sunny, who would take advantage of this information and spread it across the universe.

So instead maybe Verdona pays a visit later rather than now.

She'd also be less inclined to take Ben back home, I like how Verdona is indifferent to Ben but loves Gwen, I wanna keep that aspect.

To explain any magic happenings that his family or friends have spotted, he just says he's practicing to be an illusionist. Or he broke a glow stick, or his has glitter in his pocket. (He always has something retaining to magenta hidden up his sleeve.)

Hopefully that got all your questions answered for now!

#ben 10 #lucky boy! au #answer

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neoyi · 3 years

Text

Define Dancing

*shrugs* Oneshot prospecter fanfic I wrote. Largely safe for general public. Read under the “Keep Reading” tab.

The kind of rage Specter Knight held for Propeller Knight was different from the kind of rage he had for King Knight. That is, he was not filled with the sort of malice - such as a hair-trigger need to strangle that fleet-footed menace - as he did for that gold-riddled goon.

No, the kind of rage he felt for Propeller Knight was irritation and bafflement. He couldn’t help it, Specter had carried it from as far back during his days when he was still alive. Back then, he was Donovan, the “Greatest Adventurer Alive” (his words, his claims.) He'd read newspaper articles detailing the epic, glorious- and depending on the publisher, derogatory- stories of the heroic, charismatic, and devilish sky pirate who saved the local town from corrupt nobles. Or vanquished a gang of horrible trolls from doing wanton damage to the local ecosystem. Or how he stopped a terrible marriage between a kindhearted princess (who almost always fell for Propeller Knight in these stories, of course) and a despotic duke.

Donovan would grip every article until the paper crinkled, his gaze intensely bitter. He had a low opinion of flashy, glittering types and Propeller, what with his expensive jacket and matching golden helmet and rapier, reeked of elitism. And to think he called himself a thief!

A thief values quiet solitude and subtle movements; this...this so-called pirate was disgustingly flashy. No substance, no love for the craft that was grifting. He barged into casinos and museums with a grand announcement before pulling off his heist, beaming a metaphorical spotlight on his presence at all times. He was foolish and shallow, possessing a pompousness that validated Donovan’s theory that he was simply a bored noble who decided to play pirate.

"You don't have to read anything with him in it, you know," Luan advised, and quite frequently, too. “Kind of unwise to focus so intently on someone you seemingly dislike.”

“Seemingly?” Donovan scoffed, “He’s competition, I have to keep track of his progress.”

“We’re a blip and it’s what we want, Donovan,” Luan reminded him.

Still, Donovan kept reading because it was inevitable that Propeller would strike again and he had to know. (Surely, Luan didn't know about the secret scrapbooks he kept of all the Propeller Knight news articles he’d read.) It was simply easier to deny than admit to his jealousy that someone could be better than him, more likable than him.

But yes, Specter Knight did hate Propeller Knight because he was flamboyant and flashy and hideously, hideously smug. While he took little pleasure recruiting him into the Order, he relinquished the raw opportunity to fight him into submission. Nothing brought such a visceral rush of cathartic reckoning then when his fist first contacted Propeller's face (actually his helmet, but close enough.)

As the Enchantress’ second-in-command, Specter Knight’s duty was to maintain order amongst the No Quarter members, ensuring Things Went To Plan, as it were. That meant he’d have to spend an inordinate amount of time with Propeller Knight, a prospect that only King Knight’s presence could worsen. He was prepared for the pomp and circumstances, it was everything else about that man that caught him off-guard.

*~~~~~~~~~*

"I see you fly, but I never see you dance," Propeller observed. The captain was a notorious chatterbox and inane, unrelated conversations came out of the blue quite often. He was an endless source of useless anecdotes, switching subjects at the drop of a hat as often as he is prone to prattling on and on about specific topics relevant to his interest. (Had he not been a pirate, Specter would consider it worrisome that he knew so much about the delicacy of poisons.) His first mate informed Specter once that he could not be tied down either verbally and physically for if Propeller Knight should ever stop, it would mean he has perished.

Despite knowing better, Specter responded, “I don’t understand.”

"You do not twirl or spin or...or kick your legs up in ze air!" Propeller dramatically raised his arms. He had a habit of gesturing his upper limbs with particular emphasis on his hands as if pantomiming. "Even your ragged cape, with its holes and common cloth, flows beautifully when you fly, but it'd look divine in dance!"

"I'm sure it would," was all Specter said. He restrained himself, for anything beyond the laconic would be indulging this man.

To Propeller Knight's credit, Specter eventually downgraded from a fierce desire to perform violence unto the man and instead sought to avoid him outside of mandatory Order missions. It worked well for the most part. Propeller was remarkably respectful of his space, and only ever dropped by in passing for friendly exchanges and casual conversation. It was at this point Specter started to peel the layers off of Propeller’s persona. To his horror, he found something far worse than arrogance. ("I never get helmet hair, you see, for I've perfected my hair. Sleek and handsome, non?").

No, Specter’s motivation for quick retreat occurred because Propeller Knight was kind. And he hated it.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~*

It was contradictory! He'd seen that abominable sky captain throw a tantrum over slightly off-tasting wine, foot rapidly stomping in petulance. He would constantly gripe about the living conditions of the Tower. ("How dare I be subjected to a room with a window that has no glass! The humidity from ze rain ruins my hair!") And on days when he was of a particularly nasty mood, Propeller's insults could cut the very gaze out of a Liquid Samurai’s stoicism, as Specter has been witness to and victim of countless times.

"Why are you talking to me, Monsieur Reaper? As you can see, I am very busy and very cross, so take your hideous sense of fashion and go brood in a corner, as one does."

“All I said was ‘excuse me.’ I was just passing b-”

"Do you have an important message to deliver or have you come to haunt me or something?”

"...I have nothing to deliver."

"Very well then, be a good little Cabana Boy and return from whence you came until you actually have something from the Enchantress worth my attention.” Propeller could have ended there, but he didn’t, of course. "Go and, I don't know, play Joustus or something. Yes, yes, we've all played it, but some of us aren't as partial to it like the others. So go play your baby card games."

Specter had no idea why he felt compelled to defend himself that day. Perhaps he was reminded of his indentured services to the Enchantress. Maybe a glimpse of Dark Reize shouting commands a couple of hours ago stressed him out. Or perhaps it came from the morning reports he received detailing the ruination of the Tower’s entire southern west wing because of Plague Knight’s latest experiment (“Hey! If you didn’t want this to happen, then maybe you should have gotten insurance for Evil Towers or something!” Plague defended.) He didn’t know, and right this moment, he.

Did.

Not.

Care.

"I'm the Enchantress' second-in-command. I outrank you. I suggest you show me a measure of respect, you arrogant, superficial, piece of shi-”

"Are you still here? I said ‘shoo’. Shoo!"

Specter Knight left the room with Propeller Knight on his bottom, having punched that braggart on the face. Nothing he couldn’t shake off (again, the helmet helped), but Specter’s fist had been shaking. He would not take that kind of bullshit today and most certainly not from that haughty, pretentious asshole.

And yet the very next day, Propeller waltzed in, one arm raised in a waving motion and the other carrying a bouquet of roses that were an uncanny bright red. It was unearthly and almost a match-for-match color of Specter’s cape.

"Bonjour, Specter! Bonjour! What a glorious morning!" Propeller sounded so joyous, as if their interaction yesterday was but a speck.

He stood inches from Specter and practically threw the bouquet at his face. "Look at these! Our gardener has succeeded: Everlasting Roses. They will last ten times longer than the average flower. Look at ze red coloring! Zey are so magnificent that zey are almost magic! Oh, I am thoroughly blessed today!”

With such casualness and no forewarning, Propeller took one out and delicately pinned it on Specter's scarf.

"For you, because everyone deserves something beautiful," Propeller spoke with- and this was important- a hushed, gentle, reassuring tone, "May we all have a good rest of the day."

And just like that, Propeller skipped away, leaving a stunned Specter.

This wasn't the first time Propeller had pulled this kind of stunt. He could be cruel and cutting with his words and gestures (never let it be denied that even a clown like Propeller had his share of bodies he left in his wake for he was, above all, a pirate) and then mere hours later, hospitable and concerned.

It would be sometime before Specter realized this was Propeller's way of apologizing for his behavior the other day.

Whenever a denizen of the Tower asked where he gotten the rose and especially why he had it, Specter harshly spouted, "None of your business! Resume your duties!" Not that it was a mystery, every mook, minion, and employee saw the sunny pilot giving out flowers to those he felt needed them all throughout the day. But it was notable that their boss, Specter Knight, wore it all day, let alone at all.

**~~~~~~~**

It was hard to tell how sincere Propeller's feelings were. He was so prone to dramatics that his concern might have rung false, but again there was that feeling of contradiction.

“I am a Ringmaster and the public, my crowd,” Propeller was prone to saying. And for sure, as Captain Propeller Knight- most dashing and charismatic, played his part with grandeur and pizzazz. But eventually observation revealed cracks and, like Specter himself, Propeller hid his vulnerabilities and true feelings behind his helmet.

"So, where's your locket?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your locket. I’ve seen you stare at it so longingly until recently.”

Propeller’s emphasis on "longingly" caused Specter’s insides to squirm. He did sit on a very visible part of the Tower, tirelessly gripping the locket as he kept a contemplative gaze upon it, the red of his cloak strikingly visible against the Tower’s cool colored walls.

"It's not with me."

"Oh, dear, why not?"

"Because."

"Did you lose it? Oh no! Do you need help finding it?!"

"N-No-”

Specter did not get another word in, Propeller grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him along on whatever nonsense was about to happen now.

“I shall send the Search & Rescue Division of my crew. They will help us find your most precious thing!”

Thus, Specter endured a comical day of over twenty members of Propeller Knight’s crew scouring every nook of the Tower (that they could possibly reach anyway, the place was a labyrinth of chaos and uncertainty) for a teeny, needle-in-a-haystack, heart-shaped trinket.

He said nothing. Specter wasn’t sure why he was silent, preferring to let this man swoop in like the heroic rogue he branded himself as. This was indulging him. Yet amusement formed inside of Specter Knight’s head as he saw the gyroscopic jester frantically asking questions on the locket’s whereabouts, sometimes roughly grabbing minions by the collar and shaking them as he demanded an answer, as if he were a king who would not be denied.

When blue skies turned orange, Specter’s amusement turned to...to...well, damn, he wasn’t too sure how to describe this. Elation? Excitement? Warmth? Somehow this fruitless endeavor was endearing and uplifting and he was sure he felt his heart rapidly beating against his chest, even if that was impossible for a creature like him.

Propeller constantly held his hand in reassurance, repeatedly telling him everything would be alright, while at the same time trying to calm himself down whenever his writhing anxiety seeped through the cracks. By nightfall, Propeller was far more crestfallen than Specter Knight was expected to be. He mumbled under tears like a child who broke a lamp, “I’m so sorry. I’m… we tried. My crew...they have never failed. I’m so sorry.”

Specter was incredulous. Propeller acted as though he carried the world’s weight on his shoulders. It dawned on him that Propeller wasn’t holding his hands to reassure him, but to comfort himself just as much. Something had happened to this man, something similar and his reactions... he was empathetic.

Specter burst into laughter.

“Wha- What’s so funny?!” Propeller screeched. “Have you lost it? Why are you laughing?!”

“You’re so… You’re… God, congrats. You did it, you captivated me and sold me on your show,” Specter clapped his hands. “Truly you are a fine entertainer!”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“My locket is safe. I placed it away a while back,” Specter spoke, almost triumphantly. After all, he essentially had “won” this day, unintentionally tricking Propeller into an impossible chase.

Propeller reacted with an audible noise that at best could be described as a high-pitched, squirrel-like squeak of unfathomable wrath.

“I hope there’s another afterlife for the undead because I am going to send you there right ziz instance!”

Specter couldn’t stop laughing as Propeller pinned him to the ground, cursing in his native language. He shook the cackling reaper until he tired himself out. He released Specter and took several deep breaths, then got off and sat next to the lying reaper, growling all the way.

“I didn't peg you for ze type to have an abhorrent sense of humor!” Propeller crossed his arms, “It ...It feels me with rage!”

“You know your accent gets really heavy when you’re at peak emotion.” Specter sighed. “It’s cute.”

In an euphoric rush of unchecked happiness, Specter felt free to admit what he carried for so long: his growing admiration for this loony pirate. His compliment instantly placated Propeller, who sighed and lied next to Specter. They lazily gazed at the stars, their hands centimeters from each other. Specter was too terrified to go any further and Propeller too much of a gentleman to do the same. Their fingers lightly grazed each other and that was it for the night.

Damn it all, it was getting harder to stay mad at this man.

*~~~~~~~~~~*

If he was going to compromise and willingly talk to Propeller without an order from the Enchantress attached to it, Specter would pick the hour that befitted him and it would not be during a goddamn sunrise or sunset- Propeller's proud, naked symbolism. No, it would be when the moon was full and the stars barely a twinkle for the eye to see. His time.

Propeller was often in bed by ten (his usual wake up time being at the crack of dawn or just as frequently before it), sometimes midnight if he had a lot on his plate or felt in a particularly gregarious mood (drinking, partying, lovemaking, etc.)

Tonight, at nearly half an hour before midnight, Specter Knight found Propeller Knight on the edge of his magnificent and comically large airship, sitting in blissful contemplation. It was rare to see him still for so long. His helmet temporarily off, Specter could see the subtle curve of his smile, at once peaceful and perhaps somber. His eyes were half closed and his perfect (yes, it really was) hair blowing in the wind. Specter’s cheeks turned beet red.

"I'm awake tonight," Propeller started the moment Specter approached him, not even facing him, but already having sensed his presence, "because the Floatsomes migrate this time of year."

Specter stood still and said nothing, knowing Propeller had more to say (and often he did; Specter was reasonably sure- eighty-five percent sure- that he came from nobility; only they would make the kind of long winded speeches the way he did.)

"It's especially breathtaking during this hour; the light of the moon casts a divine glow that causes the Floatsomes' transparent bodies to shimmer in response." Propeller lifted his arms in awe. "And the most magnificent of rainbows cover every inch of their bodies. It's sensational."

So the two waited, Specter standing besides a still sitting Propeller. Aside from idle conversation (Joustus, the books they’d read, silly antics from other Order of No Quarter members, etc.), they mostly kept to themselves. They were thousands of feet above the air, with the mountains below, and only the Tower threatening to reach the Flying Machine’s altitude. The cold did not bother Specter for he was dead. Propeller was dressed warmly, but he was content to endure such a harsh climate- possibly preferring it. Specter did recall Propeller confessing that he loved to smell the wintry, snowy air because it was pleasant to him.

Specter was the first to spot the first wave of Floatsomes. From a distance, their pellucid bodies kept them almost camouflaged from wandering eyes, but the luminescent sparkling the moment they touched the moon’s light was unmistakable. Soon, the Flying Machine was surrounded by waves upon waves of crystalline jellyfish consuming the skies. Were Specter Knight to have breath, this would have been the moment where he’d lost it.

He stood beside Propeller and stared, unblinking, never wavering. Without a thought, their hands reached and the two held firm. Propeller slowly rose up and turned his head until they were facing each other. He held his helmet with his other hand and gingerly placed it over his head. They said nothing as they both inched closer to the edge of the ship.

With inspired synchronicity, they both jumped off to begin dancing together.

#prospecter #specter knight #propeller knight #neoyi talks #fanfic

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ikemenfics · 3 years

Text

Chocolate Kisses

Kennyo: You’re going to hell, you know that right?

Me: ...hashtag worthit

2521 written pieces of evidence that I shouldn’t be writing. later...

For: uh....Kennyo. @daeva-agas Help me.

Up in the mountains, shrouded by trees, a lone figure sat atop a rock, meditating. His features were deep set with the pains of a man who had seen painful years. A deep scar bisected his face, a lone witness to the tragedies that had befallen him.

Though his eyes were closed and there was no sound, he felt something shift. Like those instincts animals have before an earthquake. He had prepared for this moment. Reports of strange happenings in both Azuchi and Kasugayama had put him on high alert, though he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Opening his eyes, Kennyo watched as a blade pierced his reality, slicing a clean line through the air, as if ripping through an invisible screen.

A figure stepped out. He was clearly not Japanese. His features reminded Kennyo of the traders seen around Nobunaga’s ilk, but his clothing marked him as being not one of the Portuguese. Kennyo had seen few of the foreigners who had recently taken to Japan, but he knew none wore such blinding fabrics. There was an air of elegance from the man, from his flashy clothing to his poised stance. Clearly, this was a man of rich living and rigorous training.

“Greetings,” the man said, bowing with a flourish, sheathing his rapier in a fluid motion that bespoke a lifetime of practice, “My name is Edgar and I have been commanded to give you this.” With a sweep of his arm, Edgar produced an item, tossing it to Kennyo. Instinct bade Kennyo catch the bag, though he did not give it any further attention.

“Why? The Devil King now sending foreigners to do his dirty deeds?” Midnight eyes met with emerald in challenge. He didn’t get up, but Kennyo eyed the newcomer, assessing what fight this Edgar might bring.

“Devil King?” Edgar grinned, an expression that left a cold spot in Kennyo’s soul. The man’s eyes sparkled with amusement, to be sure and his face looked the part of a jovial man. But something…deep in those glittering depths, that smile took an edge that recognized that title not of a separate man…but the kind of recognition that only comes with ownership. This one clearly thought he be the devil of this world. “My good man, I am not here to commit a ‘dirty deed’,” even the way that was worded made Kennyo well aware that this man was well versed in deeds. “I merely come to bring you joy to spread on this day. For today must be quite special, indeed.”

“And if I do not desire this…joy of yours?”

“That is not my jurisdiction. I simply was sent to deliver. And now, I bid you good day.”

The figure in white stepped back into the void he’d created and unsheathed his sword, using the thin tip, resealing the world from the bottom up.

Kennyo finally looked down at the thing the strange figure had tossed to him. The pouch itself was clear, shiny oddly shaped pieces of silver something inside. There were odd markings on the bag itself and it crinkled as Kennyo moved it about in his examination.

“Joy…” he muttered, dropping the item, “Such a thing does not suit a demon such as myself.” After a moment’s hesitation, he plucked the thing from the ground, opting to carry it versus littering the pristine environment that was kind enough to hide him and his men during these war-torn times. Another moment, he inhaled, moving to finish his morning’s meditation. After all, he had new things to think about now.

Meanwhile, a group of figures sat at a table, sharing in a game of cards. Edgar entered, leaning down towards one of the figures. “Apologies…”

The figure nodded and stood, grabbing his scarlet cloak as he did. “Don’t tell the doctor,” the man said, placing a cap upon his head before leaving.

“Are you sure you got this, old friend?”

“That is none of your concern.”

His eyes were still closed, but yet again, there was that feeling. Like almost nausea, but from outside his body, however that was supposed to work. Kennyo opened his eyes again, but rather than a slicing into the world, there was a flash and Kennyo found himself staring into ruby orbs that, to Kennyo’s amazement, shifted into a deep blue. (Another demon…). If Edgar was flashy, this one was just simply gaudy. Same blinding white uniform, but now a flash of scarlet that Kennyo could still see even when he blinked.

“I was not aware I needed more joy…” Kennyo muttered.

“You were told to spread joy,” the man said, his voice cold as ice and as distant as the moon, “to refuse the King of Hearts will lead to ruin.”

“I am already ruined. I am simply a transient demon here to enact retribution before I fade away.”

Azure flashed to crimson again, “So be it.” The world became so bright, Kennyo had to block his eyes, fearing they would burn away…

Back at the card game, the caped figure returned, dressing down to resume in the game.

“You look tired..” a concerned voice

“That one is stubborn.”

That moment, two more heads perked, listening to unheard orders. They stood, one plucking a black hat from the table.

“It seems more reinforcements are needed.” One said, nodding to the other.

“An unknown difficulty has arisen. Let’s not be late.”

In Kasugayama, Shingen sat, the cold air tightening his chest. It was a relief from his never-ending battle with his inner temperature, but the chill air was not kind to his lungs. Still, it was nice to finally not feel uncomfortable inside his clothing, though any excuse to be natural with a partner was never unwelcome.

There was a strange glimmer in his view, then the appearance of a pale man. Shingen examined him. Pale was an appropriate descriptor, as this person made Kenshin’s icy appearance seem vibrant. Even the man’s hair was pale as moonlight. Shingnen stayed put, sudden understanding dawning on him.

“If you take our weapons again, be advised there’s apparently backups now,” he stated.

The man chuckled, his pink eyes dancing with amusement, “Then I’m quite glad I won’t be needing to take them.”

Shingen laughed as well, “I must ask what brings you by, then. Not that I mind company.”

“Oh?” The man smiled, giving the warlord a look, “Though, sadly, there isn’t enough time for genial company. I bear news that you might be interested in hearing…”

Across a distance in Azuchi, you were walking the halls when the world warped. (OH NO! NOT AGAIN!) You backpedaled, having little to no intention of repeating the incident featuring six hot guys and one almost faint you again.

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t be so quick to run,” a voice said, a hand grabbing the back of your kimono. Another hand reached, tearing a swift opening in reality, “I’m just an innocent, harmless person with a message for you, dear lady!” He stepped into the world, flicking aqua hair over his shoulder, before clapping. “But oh my, your robe! It is quite decorative. I think I would like one when I return to cradle. Though,” he looked almost aghast, “should you be wearing it out here? In this weather?”

“It’s ah…a kimono. Traditional clothing for this place.” The man nodded, taking it all in, “A robe to wear outside. Brilliant. And the color. Oh but I shall have to postpone girl time for later. I have news of one Kennyo that I think you should hear..”

He entered his camp, his men approaching with worried expressions. He waved his hand to them, “I am fine. My meditations took longer than I thought they would. Have you all had your midday meal?” They nodded and Kennyo returned the gesture, “Good. We need our strength if we’re to keep with our plans. Any news from our spies?” Kennyo shifted, hearing a strange crunching. He glanced down, seeing a spot of a clearish item catching the light. He pulled out the pouch, eyeing the shining things inside. Something tugged at his memory, but he couldn’t identify the noisy bag, nor its contents. Call it instinct, though, but he was sure they were somehow important. “Where did these come from…” he muttered to no one.

“Did you say something, Kennyo-sama?”

“Ah, no. I will attend the lake for some fresh water. Apologies that I did not help with the meal.” Kennyo took the package, eyeing it on and off as he went. The small things inside glinted and caught the light, but also held folds and imperfections that Kennyo couldn’t quite come to terms with. If this was metal, it was rather damaged metal. What use could these possibly have? And yet, that nagging feeling just simply wouldn’t leave.

He could smell gunpowder and knew he was no longer alone. [That strange ninja is here, again. He better not be scaring off the wildlife again.] The pop of a firecracker let Kennyo know where the location of the nuisance was. He approached, Sasuke darting up a tree before Kennyo came too close.

Kennyo stared up at the man, “How many times must I tell you not to practice your tricks here?”

“Apologies.”

“Why do you keep coming back?”

“It’s out of the way of everyone.”

“Obviously not everyone.”

“Ah, but you aren’t in your camp.”

The bag in Kennyo’s hand crinkled, drawing Sasuke’s attention.

“Oh dear…”

“You know what these are, then?”

Sasuke hesitated, remembering his own adventure with the confections, “They’re called kisses.”

“Absurd.”

“It’s true. They’re a candy from my village.”

Kennyo looked nonplussed, “You eat poor metal.”

“You remove the foil.”

What a strange man, a strange item, and just a strange day. Kennyo shook his head. Turning, he left the ninja and gathered his water, muttering about the lunacy of wanting to name food after kisses.

Later, Kennyo and his men descended from their hideout, moving into the plains. The plan was simple, disguised as soldiers from The Devil and the Dragon’s armies, the townspeople will be more against the warlords and side with Kennyo, bolstering his numbers. He himself remained as the monk that would provide the balm for the injured souls of the people.

His men separated, leaving Kennyo to walk alone. It wasn’t long, though before Kennyo realized something was very very wrong. For one, the town seemed entirely peaceful. Too peaceful. There should have been a sign of struggle by now.

He clicked his tongue, intending to check on his men, but found riders coming towards him. The standard let him know that Oda Nobunaga was racing towards him. Alone and beyond outnumbered, Kennyo grimaced and fled. The men didn’t seem to follow, allowing Kennyo to slip into the trees, tracing his way to the town, change, and hide in one of the tea houses.

“The dainty man was right. I’m impressed.”

“I have no desire to converse with you.” Kennyo passed Shingen, intending to hide himself away in a corner.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend.” Shingen followed Kennyo, leaving the man unable to move again, lest he draw attention.

“What do you want?”

Shingen tapped the table as if pointing to some unseen object, “In exchange for an exquisite item known as a ‘cupcake’ I am here to help you with those.”

“And ‘those’ would be?”

“With the kisses. That’s what these are.”

Shingen shifted slightly, pointing to the pouch that didn’t quite fit right in Kennyo’s robes.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you would know of such strange things.”

“Well…” Shingen smirked, “it would be remiss of me to not offer myself to my friend as the first to receive such a gift.”

Kennyo eyed Shingen, “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“No love for your friend and brother. I’m hurt.”

A low growl rumbled from the monk.

“I could see if one of the Oda army would be willing-”

Kennyo had grabbed the bag, shoving it almost violently to Shingen, “Fine.”

Shingen’s lips remained upturned as he opened the bag of chocolates. “I remember when Sasuke brought these. Delightful little things,” he said as he plucked one out, unwrapping it, and placing it in his mouth, giving a lewd sound as it melted on his tongue.

He glanced to Kennyo, who looked somewhat ill, “Promiscuous lech.”

Shingen and stood, leaning to kiss Kennyo atop his head, “Don’t forget to spread the kisses. Last time someone defied the kiss gods, Kenshin lost his weapon. Quite tragic.”

Kennyo stared as Shingen left. Spread? To who? He huffed, grabbing the chocolates, giving one to the old man that had served him. “Give a kiss to your wife. With blessings of the Buddha.” It sounded weird to say, but Kennyo didn’t seem to know what else to make of it all.

As he moved through the town, he gave a piece to each he’d seen, directing them to kiss their spouses or lovers in exchange for the blessing. If Buddha was going to make him spread kisses, he might as well spread them to any and all. [This is penance, isn’t it? The demon having to give the people blessings before he’s sent to hell]

“Kennyo-san…” He knew the voice. He turned, finding you. You held out your hand, expectantly. Kennyo plunked a chocolate into your hand, “Blessings of the Buddha.”

You shook your head, “That’s not how you give a kiss.” You stood on your toes, bringing your height to his face, planting a small kiss on his cheek, “I was told by someone that’s a correct kiss. Thank you, Kennyo-san.” You took your treat, unwrapped it, and ate your gift. You bowed, pointing towards a path, “By the way, I was told that was your safest bet to not get caught.”

Kennyo sighed, shaking his head, “Your his woman and giving me help out of town. Will wonders never cease.” You smiled, bowing again, and moved past the man, leaving Kennyo to his escape.

He slipped into the forest, up the mountain, and to his camp, finding his men relatively unharmed, though rattled. Someone had ratted your plan to the Oda AND Uesugi armies. Luckily, the men had seen the forces and doubled back to wait orders from their leader. Kennyo praised his men, assuring them there would be a next time. For now, though, he was tired and was sure they were too, so rest was needed more.

He went to his little shack, settling himself on the floor contemplating the day’s events. Small nails tapping let Kennyo know a guest arrived. He picked the tiny creature and placed it in his lap. He took out his final piece of Hershey’s, unwrapping it as he’d seen you and Shingen do, giving it to the small weasel. “Here, Hozuki. Blessings of the Buddha.” Recalling what you and Shingen had done, Kennyo leaned down, giving Hozuki a kiss, the critter giving a squeak in response, taking the chocolate with gusto. “Glad you like it. Hope this completes this joy. I don’t think I can tolerate more.”

Writer�� Yes?

Are you SURE it’s just soda?

Cherry coke, why?

Is it original recipe coke?

Ha..ha..no

Kennyo has a new stamp Uh...yeah

Are there other new stamps

Uh…

Writer?

OH HEY LOOK, IT’S EDGAR

“The writer does sure love their strange humor”

#Kennyo Honganji #Kennyo #Ikesen Kennyo #Ikemen Sengoku #Ikemen fics #I never said I was sane #I have the patience of a skittle #two of three votes say now #so now it is #Apparently weasels like chocolate #dark chocolate to be exact but beggars can't be choosers #crack

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transsergio · 3 years

Text

Emotions That I Simply Do Not Have (Read on AO3)

Chapter 3 - His And Hers, For Better Or Worse Chapter 2 - I'm Not Gonna Repeat Myself Chapter 1 - More Like A Relapse

Penemily + Hotchreid / Mature / 2011 words in this chapter

Emily and Penelope put their plan into motion; Spencer arrives. (This is the final chapter of this fic! thank you to everyone who kept up with it this week!)

Hotch’s advances stop. Or, become marginally less obvious.

In his third text this week, Hotch asks, “Do you need anything from break room?” It is only Tuesday. Emily knows that if she lifts her head, she will see his beady black eyes through the glass. He’ll be staring at her, hoping to see her fingers working over her tiny keys, telling him that yes, she’d appreciate a bottle of water or any other menial task that will bring him out to the bullpen. She’d rather text Penelope to peek through the security cameras, to see exactly how far their one-night stand has gotten her. Yes, sleeping with the boss comes with great advantages, like your office becoming a cage.

Emily does her paperwork in silence. She’s hellbent on leaving at four forty-five, no matter what Hotch might throw at her to keep her in his line of sight. At four thirty, Emily turns off her cell’s ringer. She is escaping to her salvation, a night of face masks and a season rerun of the Bachelor with her girlfriend. As she closes down her computer and organizes her files, she glances about. Derek is long gone, citing a date with his television, couch, and dog. Reid finished his work hours ago, but plays chess against himself until Emily’s ready to head out together. And JJ is on a phone call, likely with Will, likely about to tell their son she’ll be home a little late again. Emily doesn’t see Rossi, but at his age, you never know how many bathroom breaks he’ll need.

As Emily rises with her back to Hotch’s door, Reid follows. They head to the elevators. She’s excited to dish about her later plans, as Spencer is her only known ally outside of Penelope. In return, Spencer tells her about his last date.

“You’re saying he forced you to make eye contact?” Emily asks as the elevator encapsulates them.

“Yeah. It was the most uncomfortable dinner I’ve had yet. Every time I was looking elsewhere while I spoke, he’d say, ‘Eyes on me.’ I don’t think we’ll be going out again,” Spencer adds with a chuckle.

Emily raises her eyebrows. “No kidding. Maybe we could get him on some kind of watchlist for bad first impressions.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I did block his number before the night was over.”

Emily laughs and bumps Spencer with her elbow. “I don’t blame you.”

The elevator dings and releases them on the parking level. Emily makes for her car and Spencer for the subway, despite Emily’s repeat offer to drop Spencer off herself. A part of her is glad, though. She wants to get home fast and not leave a second empty.

By home, of course, she means Penelope’s apartment in all its purple and glitter. They’re settled in her living room by five-thirty, television hooked up and face masks elegantly adorned, a blanket solidifying them as one happy mass. They plow through three episodes before they remember the masks could’ve come off halfway through the first, and that they haven’t ordered dinner.

“Pizza sound good?” Emily emerges from their cocoon, stretches, and finds Penelope’s stash of takeout menus in the kitchen.

Penelope joins her at the counter. “Hm. Maybe Thai? Wait, what’s with the face?”

“Nothing.” Emily tries to mask her shudder. “Just… Hotch, he mentioned something about Thai in one of his messages.”

“What, did it give him diarrhea?” Penelope teases. She looks for Emily’s little smile and the crease between her eyebrows, the sign that Penelope was funny even if Emily won’t admit it. It doesn’t come. Penelope recalibrates. “No worries. We'll get something else then.”

“I’m sick of it, Pen,” Emily says. She slaps the menus down. “If he’s making my job harder and me less effective, why should I stay in the department? Our communication is horrible, I’m agitated in the field, and I can’t get him to stop. I’m running out of options.”

“Okay, slow down.” Penelope rubs Emily’s back in light, soothing circles. “You’re hungry and fed up, and you have every right to be, but let’s have some food before making big decisions like leaving the job that lets me call you every hour. I’ll pick. You get comfy. Go, shoo.” And she scoots Emily into the living room with a pat on the ass.

“Fine,” Emily raises her hands in surrender, “fine, I’m going.”

When dinner arrives (gyros from the Mediterranean place a couple blocks over), Emily devours hers. It’s gone before Penelope can pry the foil from her own meal, and Emily’s head is where her plate used to be.

“Oh, Angel,” Penelope sympathizes. “It’s going to be fine.”

Emily nods against the table. “Yeah, I think so. But I don’t want him fired. He’s a good leader, and he needs this job. His wife died, and before that they were in witness protection. That’s got to do something to a person, right? He risked everything and he lost it all.”

Penelope chews thoughtfully. “Maybe we don’t need to get Hotch fired, but we can play it like survival of the fittest – as long as you’re faster than somebody else, he won’t catch you.”

“What?”

“I was watching this thing on the Discovery channel about jungle cats hunting and how they go for the weakest of the pack. It was really sad because you don’t want the lions to starve and at the same time you don’t want the antelope to die, but that’s not the point. If we latch him onto someone else, he’ll forget all about you.” Penelope wipes her hands clean. “Like magic, you’re free!”

For a moment, Emily has hope. Of course they can hook him up with someone else. It’s what every classic sitcom Emily raised herself on has implemented. There’s only one problem. “We don’t know any single straight women.”

A wicked smile flashes across Penelope’s face. “Who said anything about a woman?”

“Are you sure you want to do this? A workplace relationship is exactly what I’m running from,” Emily says.

Spencer’s voice crackles over the line. “It’s honestly fine. According to the exit polls of the 2008 elections, about four percent of Americans were gay, lesbian, or bisexual. Roughly one-hundred and thirty-one point three million people voted. If every vote counted also answered that exit poll, that would be approximately five million, two-hundred and fifty-two thousand people identifying as such.”

“Yeah?”

“Hotch could be one of them, is all I’m saying.”

“Right. But I want to be sure you’re comfortable.”

“Emily, I promise. I wouldn’t be going if I couldn’t handle it. Besides, if he’s as straight as he looks, we’ll have awkward small talk and I’ll go home. It won’t kill me.”

“If you say so. Oh, I’ve got to go, Spence. Good luck,” Emily says. She snaps her phone shut and turns.

Penelope stands in her kitchen with two glasses of wine. She wears neon pink lingerie, a 1960’s inspired sheer robe with fur trim, layered over a matching slip.

“You’ve got to go?” Penelope sips her glass and leaves a pink lipstick print around the rim. “You’re going to leave me here all alone?”

Emily bites her lip. “Not a chance.”

An hour later, Emily and Penelope are curled around one another in Penelope’s lavender sheets. They’re sweaty, warm, and flushed.

“And you thought I couldn’t take your mind off it,” Penelope smirks. Her bragging is part bravado; she’s honestly glad Emily didn’t rip her robe to pieces.

“Eh,” Emily pants. “All part of my plan. I know how you love to be right.” And wow, did it ever feel so good to be wrong.

Penelope giggles and toys with Emily’s hair. She loves this part especially. When it’s just them, sleepy and well cared for, and Emily seems so defenseless. Her eyes are softer, her muscles lighter, and she lets Penelope put her loose strands into tiny braids. But this time, one of their ringers pops the bubble.

Emily hoists herself up and snatches her cell phone from the nightstand.

She turns to Penelope and mouths, “It’s Spence.”

Penelope hisses back, “Put him on speaker, dummy!”

So she does. The voices on the other end are muffled by fabric. It’s as if the phone is being rolled through a load of laundry. Penelope fumbles for the mute button and silences their side.

“It’s a butt-dial,” she says, her heart beating as rapidly as it was just minutes ago. “Oh my god, we really are secret agents.”

Emily tries not to encourage her. It’s thrilling, obviously, but her stomach twists. They’re invading Spencer’s privacy. “We should hang up.”

“Yeah, we really should,” Penelope agrees. Emily reaches for the red button that will disconnect them when they finally hear clearly.

“Um, is Jack home?” Spencer wonders.

“No, he’s with Jessica. If this is about a case, I don’t need to chance him hearing the details.”

“Actually,” Spencer coughs, “this is more of a… personal matter.”

“Oh? What’s up?” Hotch sounds genuine enough. He probably thinks of Spencer like a son. Emily wants to pull Spencer out and abort the plan. This is too far.

“I noticed you and Prentiss haven’t been cooperating well lately.” Spencer says, so naturally. “Emily’s my friend, and I was wondering if there’s anything I can do to help?”

A beat passes. “No, nothing that I’m aware of.” Hotch answers. “I respect you and your intentions, Spencer, but I don’t know—”

Spencer is curt. “I think you do.”

“I do, what?”

“You know. I think you might be the problem actually, sir.”

When Hotch doesn’t respond, Spencer continues. “I think you and Emily have a sexual history together. I think you’ve been trying to repeat that history, and she doesn’t want to. I think you’re looking for a way to forget Haley while you grieve her, and that you believe Emily is the solution. In reality, you’re looking for someone to dominate and let you feel in control while your life spirals out from under you, and for someone who will reject you so these wishes go unfulfilled and you aren’t at fault – the other party is. I think it stems from the guilt you feel regarding Haley’s death, both in that you blame yourself for making her a target, and that you couldn’t stop Foyet from killing her.”

Emily and Penelope exchange glances. Spencer has said everything the team considered privately, and tied it back to Prentiss in one neat, factual statement. All that was left was the aspect the team couldn’t predict; how Hotch would react.

“Do you want a drink, Reid?”

What?

“Uh, sure? What- what kind?”

“I have scotch, lemonade, and Juicy Juice.”

“Lemonade sounds good.”

“Good.”

Dishes clatter as Hotch pours for them. Emily and Penelope wait, hanging up completely disregarded.

A cushion wheezes nearby. Hotch’s voice is now much closer. They can feel his vibrato through the tinny speakers. He asks, “Are you confident in your profile?”

Spencer takes a gulp of his drink. “Fairly so, sir, yes.”

“And if I asked you to prove it?”

“Sir?”

“You’re positing that I want to dominate someone and simultaneously, am hoping to be rejected. If you’re right, I’ll make my move and be discouraged when you give me the go-ahead. Maybe I’ll even have a breakdown. Sobbing, psychosis, the works. Do you want to find out?”

“Okay,” Penelope throws up her hands. “This feels icky again. No. Uh-uh. I don’t wanna know.”

Emily shushes her sharply. They’ve just missed a piece of the conversation. “Hold on, hold on.”

“And you’re sure about this?” Hotch questions.

“I’m sick of everyone asking me that.” The other line rustles into white noise. Briefly, it clears. They hear two gasps and what has to be the fumble of bodies.

Hotch rasps, “Come upstairs.”

“And that’s enough!” Penelope slaps the cell phone shut. “I need some air.”

“No kidding.” Emily shakes her head. “Maybe I missed my shot.”

“You take that back.”

Emily leans into her girlfriend, grinning all the while. “Make me.”

#penemily #hotchreid #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm fic #cm fanfic #mine

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ajoy3fanfics · 3 years

Text

Soup for the soul

The car that killed me must have been going 20 over the limit, if not more. It didn’t help that the weather was not ideal- a fine shimmer of rain, overcast skies. A less than perfect condition for a walk, certainly so for someone without an umbrella. I had given it to my neighbor, a young girl of 10, out on an errand for her ma. The air felt charged, like the skies would open at any moment and pour down on me. I know I looked both ways before I ran across the street- would never have stepped foot on the black tar without doing so. That was the last thing I remembered, as the back of my head hit the pavement. Thick, warm blood oozed out, outlining my frame as it dribbled down. I struggled to keep my eyes open. The clouds really did look like they were opening-

I sat up abruptly, rubbing the back of my head. It hurt- at least, it should hurt. I had to squint against the brightness of my new surroundings. White- blinding, pearlescent tones everywhere. Good glittered from any tangible object- tables, chairs- all spread out. The room seemed to go on forever.

I knew the car hit me. Knew that I should be in dire need of medical assistance, but as I carded my fingers through my black curls, they came back dry.

“This must be heaven.” I say it low, a whisper. That must be his table. A seat at his table! I knew then that I had made it. My hard work, dedication to the good book, kind deeds, selfless acts- all of it saved my soul. I always pictured pearly gates, angels in feathered wings waiting to judge me as I dropped in. I quickly turned, hoping to see any sign of Gabriel.

No one. Not a being. Not a soul. Was this purgatory? Forced to wait in limbo?

Finally, I heard footsteps . It may have been minutes, could have been days- but the relief I felt when I saw the robbed figure walk towards me was the same. “Wait!” I called. “I’m ready to be judged!”

The angel turned my way, a bundle of vegetables in his arms. The orange of the carrots was a stark contrast to the environment, yellow potatoes were round, cleaned of all dirt.

“You’re ready?” He asked incredulously, “but you have nothing prepared.”

I lunged towards him, eager to plead my case. “Look in the book angel, you’ll see how good my soul is-“

“-soup.” He corrected.

“Soul.” I repeated slowly, feeling very unsure of this angel. “My soul is good!” At that, the angel let out a tired sigh.

“Don’t tell me humans are still reading that outdated version.” It was more to himself than to me. “That book has a typo.”

“Excuse me?” I could feel my panic rising, and suddenly I wondered if I was actually in heaven. I thought I was supposed to feel an overwhelming sense of calm, not confusion.

“We’re looking for good soup, not good souls.” He explained.

“Soup.” I managed to repeat, astounded. “Soup?! What on earth would you need soup for?!”

“Exactly!” He exclaimed, “you have it on earth, but not here. We’re looking to create a fully sustainable paradise. The basics are good soil knowledge, solitary care of animals- all things that seemed to be commonplace until recently. You lot seem to be growing in numbers with less usable skills. Tell me, do you know how to till land?” He let loose the vegetables in favor of grabbing my hands to inspect them. The carrots and potatoes floated, waiting to be collected.

I shook my head no. “Of course not. You know how to cook? At the very least, if food were provided, you could chip in and assist in the kitchens?”

I shook my head no again, completely bewildered. “I always ordered out.”

“And what did you do, before you came here?” Talk about holier than thou.

“I worked in advertising.” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“What good would that do us here? ‘Heavens pretty great’ I think we got the message covered by now.”

“So I’m going to hell because I can’t cook?” I felt my anger rising. “I lived a good life!”

“Fantastic.” The angel said, “A good life should fill everyone's bellies. I’ll just let the farmers know that they can put down their plows, you’re good life will keep us fed.”

“But- But I followed the rules-”

“Of a typo.” He nodded his head, as if he understood my point.

“How was I to know that?!” I was yelling now, desperate.

“We have sent several signs to remediate the error. We are no longer taking beings based on the mistake. Enough time has passed-”

“What signs? Where have the signs been that I needed good soup to get into heaven?”

“Chicken soup for the soul? Soulfood? Ever hear of Hell's Kitchen?”

My jaw was slack, I tried in vain to close it several times. “You’re telling me I should have figured out that God wanted me to make soup, based on Hell’s Kitchen?”

The angel smiled. “Gordon is doing the Lord's work.”

“This isn’t right.” I looked around at the tables, the angel with an armful of raw food. “I thought heaven was supposed to be a place of peace, you know, ease? Why? Why the focus on food? I thought this was our reward for a lifetime of work?”

“This is a reward. Unlimited food to be harvested, never a famine. You can work but never feel tired. No ailments, never hunger.. Your needs being met, a full belly and a lifetime with those you are about are not reward enough?”

“No, I-”

“Leave it to humans to attach their own ideals to heaven, make it about them and their wants. Sorry to break it to you, but paradise requires give and take. It's a collective. We all have to pitch in to keep it going. We're a community here.” The way he said it made it sound like the decision was already made, book or no book.

“I can do other things, I can- I can clean! Or- or…- I can learn! Teach me angel!” I begged. “I can’t go to hell because I ordered take out.”

“Just go back.” He waved. “Too much time has passed for you to return to your body. Just reincarnate.” He waved over to the left, and suddenly a sign appeared, an arrow pointing down.

“You expect me to jump off the side of- whatever this is- and just… start again?”

“Exactly.” He shrugged. “Maybe pick up some gardening skills while you’re down there too.”

I walked to the edge- there was suddenly an edge- and looked down.

“How do I know this won’t really kill me?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

The angel turned, leaving me at the precipice alone. As he walked, he called over his shoulder, “It's a leap of faith.”

The weather wasn’t ideal on the day that I died. The clouds had looked like they would open up at any moment and release the rain. I wondered if I would still go through the storm on the way down.

I found this prompt on @writing-prompt-s, and thought it would be fun to write! I hope this doesn't offend anyone- that is not my intention. I don’t typically share the short stories I write outside of my fandoms, but since I used their prompt, I wanted to share :)

#short story #the people you meet in heaven #typos #writing prompt #writing-prompt-s #soulfood #chicken soup for the soul #something to pass the time #hope this doesn't offend anyone!

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seijohsfairy · 3 years

Text

𝙰𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙻 𝙵𝙾𝙾𝙻𝚂

you know that making daddy mad comes with consequences. but there’s too much to gain, not to play the instigator just a little

.wordc. 5k+ tw daddy, sub/dom themes, it’s ddlg but no age play, subspace, degradation, spanking, choking, hairpulling, very brief drug use, dubcon, age gap (you know me <33)

There’s not enough oxygen in this room. Between the heat and the swirling smoke that sits on your chest, clamping to the sides of your lungs so desperately, it’s a wonder you’ve yet to loose consciousness. It’s a kindness your mind is too stubborn to indulge in, refusing to fade despite the pressing feeling to do so.

You stare at your senpai as he blows clouds into the room, before you slump further into the couch and feel the ache settle into your neck. You shouldn’t have come, but you did anyway, given only the slightest push in the right direction. The slight lack of pressure in your head, that floaty feeling, has your thoughts running in many different directions and none of them are much better than the others.

Ito senpai’s hand rests on your calf, dragging small circles over the skin. Normally platonic touches soothe you, but the mood in the room has long been spoiled, and all you really want is to pull your legs off his lap and walk out. You’re not bothered enough to cause a scene like that though, or at the very least, not brave enough. He passes you the dart, but you just pass it on. You’re done for the day.

Three heavy knocks to the door make many of the people look up, some of them hiding the weed under their jackets. Not that it’ll matter, you want to laugh, following the dispersing clouds to the ceiling with your eyes. One of them stands to open the door after a few seconds of hissed panic, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. They all act so high and mighty, but when it comes down to it— you sigh, slowly letting your head drop sideways.

There’s a familiar figure at the door. Tall, tan skin and an exceedingly unhappy expression. You take a deep breath, letting fresh air fill your lungs. His eyes scan the room as he crosses his exposed arms over his chest, jaw clenched. Instantly the most handsome person in the room. Rough, hard lines in complete contrast with the soft, bubbly feeling of the air, but unbelievably perfect despite it.

So much so that it leaves you lagging behind for a few seconds when Ito senpai motions your legs off of him. At the harder push you move them, and he runs a hand through his brown hair. “Iwaizumi sir, how did you know to find us?”

Despite the confident smile, you can see the way his eyes flick to the blocked entrance, and the others fidget in their seats. You don’t blame them. His eyes find yours with a slight glare, your body suddenly seeming nailed in place. Pinned down by the narrowed, olive eyes like all of this is taking way too much of his time. He sighs. “All of you brats, move. And you,” he only spares you a half-hearted nod, “I need to talk to you still, so stay behind.” When no one dares to react, his jaw tenses. “Now. Get the fuck out.”

“Are we in trouble?” “Don’t know-” “Just move.” People scramble around the room for their jackets and shoes, and you follow their lead. It’s weird. Normally you’re not this desperate for his attention. Not this openly wayward, at least. So when Ito suggested you tag along, you had already nodded before you could think it over. He’s been so busy, what were you supposed to do? In the midst of all these strangers, you put all your faith on him showing up.

You can’t help but let your lips curl up the tiniest but at the corners, chest swelling with relief.

As they scamper out of the room and some of them rush down the hallway, Iwaizumi stares them down in silence, but leaves them to go. Ito senpai doesn’t look back for you as he walks away with his hands in his pockets. Not that you care much, but he could’ve at least given the impression that he cares. Soon you’re one of the last ones left in the room, and it takes all your strength to meet his bright, green eyes when they flick back.

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing it a little?” His voice is low and gravelly, it sends pinpricks down your veins. But your hands fist into the bottom of your top. As you shift back onto your heels, waiting for the last person to leave already, he uncrosses his arms from his muscular torso and his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. When he leaves, Iwaizumi shuts the door behind himself, and walks closer. “I had to leave a team meeting early because you can’t keep your hands to yourself. Getting me angry won’t work in your favor, little girl.”

“I missed you, daddy,” you softly admit, moving your eyes from the tips of his shoes to look into his face, “I just wanted to see you so bad, I couldn’t help it.” His eyebrows finally move from their hard, furrowed place to go up just a little. He doesn’t say anything as he takes you in top to bottom more thoroughly, and you swear you can feel the trail his eyes make down your exposed skin. Your grip on your clothing falters when he trails a hand down your arm, wrapping around your wrist and pulling it towards him.

“And that video?” The hand tightens a little, as if reminding you of his ownership, but he’s not as mad as you expect him to be. There’s jealousy there though, breaking through his usually controlled shell just enough for you to pick up on it. And it’s enough to make your heart race, because you know how he gets when he’s jealous.

While he stares, unwavering, you lift your free arm around his shoulders and pull yourself closer to him so you’re toe to toe. “It was in the bathroom. I was stuffing my pussy with my fingers but it wasn’t enough.” He blanks for a second, clearly weighing things off in his head, and you nuzzle into his chest to place a few kisses on his shirt, wishing you could be skin to skin already. But you can’t, not if you want him to give into you. So instead you press kisses up from his covered pecs to his neck, lingering there.

You knew what image your messages would give him. His baby out alone, with different people, desperately begging for someone’s attention. He knows how you get when you smoke, and more importantly, he knows that Ito senpai fucks just about any girl willing to give him attention. It was more than a bit mean, but you also know Hajime is mature and confident enough not to let it bother him. Well, not too much. “Nothing happened?” he asks, voice still eerily calm.

“Nothing,” you confirm, “I just wanted to see you so I made you come over here. I’m sorry.” The wait makes every fiber in you stand upright, pulled too tight. After a few more seconds of tense silence, you carefully glance back up at him through your lashes, and see him give the smallest of nods.

“Fine,” he finally gives in, letting go of your arm to drop his arms around your body and lift you into his strong, warm chest, your thighs wrapping tight around his waist. “Brat.” Though he says it with a low growl, you can feel his lips at your neck and placing tens of kisses there just like you had been, humming at your familiar smell. “You’re so lucky I love my needy, little baby this much. Get your stuff and let’s go somewhere you can’t cause me trouble.”

He tries to put you back down, but you cling on, clenching your legs tighter. “Carry me.” A soft huff is blown along the soft stretch of skin, and you pull back to give him your best doe eyes. “Want daddy to carry me. Please?” Though he rolls his eyes, the slight twitch of his lips is enough to make you cling onto his shoulders tighter, and eventually Hajime gives in to that too. Not that you illusion yourself thinking you’ll get off without any punishment either.

He bends to grab your sweater from the couch and throw it over your shoulder, pretending like he can’t smell the heavy, recognisable scent of the smoke that clings to your clothes. You lay your lips at the sensitive skin below his ear and kiss all over it, going from soft pecks to more needy and messy prints of your lips, tongue peeking out to soothe the skin. He clicks the door shut behind you and locks it before walking down the hall, doing his best to ignore the way you shift our hips against the hard friction of his belt, rocking yourself against him just a little.

You always get so fucking needy and wet when you smoke, and knowing Hajime would show up to make you behave only left you more restless. You moan softly at the feeling of pressure between your legs, and Hajime snaps, grabbing onto the hair at the base of your skull and forcing you away from his neck to glare.

“Stop wiggling, fuckin’ brat,” the man grunts, spanking your ass hard enough to have your voice come out, the sting spreading through your skin like little needles. And though he grumbles making his way down the stairs towards the hall, you can tell by the way his hands shift to grip tighter on your ass that he has no intention of actually putting you down.

He leans into you when you kiss his plush lips, pulling back with a whine when he rocks his clothed center between your thighs just once, soiled panties sticking to your pussy. “Daddy!” you breathe, and another spank shuts you up. Even with his easy grip on your body he’s strong enough to have your legs giving out and skin burning under his palm, it’s so unfair. There’s an amused glint in his olive eyes that only glitters more when his smile widens.

The door is shut. Not hard or particularly loud, but it��s enough to have your heartbeat rising, pattering wildly against your ribcage as you trail cautiously behind the tall, quiet figure. It’s not even your intention, there’s just something so overwhelming about Iwaizumi Hajime’s presence when he’s in his own space. When you first met him it set your hairs on end, as if voluntarily walking straight into a lion’s open mouth. He’d been so much more confident, more experienced, just plain older than you too.

Now you don’t care about any of that anymore, because if Hajime is good at anything, it’s taking care of people. He thrives off of it, and the thought alone makes your heart skip another beat, as you take off your shoes and leave them by the door. He’s still quiet, has been the entire ride back to his apartment, and you know it’s purely because he’s debating a punishment fit for your little mishap. You can only hope that he’s missed you enough to want to fuck you stupid still, because you might break if you have to be satisfied with a toy today.

When he stops at the table, you stop a few steps away from him, and the pressure creeps up on you enough to have you looking at the floor instead. He clears his voice. “Look at me, baby.” The soft order makes your stomach drop, but you listen almost instantly. It’s impossible to ignore him when he gets like this. Your bottom lip is pulled into your mouth, and you watch as he leans in a little, as if rubbing in how much he has to look down at you. It’s enough to have your belly tensing again.

This is so unfair, you just want him to fuck you already. You’ve been waiting way too long for any of this. Still, you obey when he brushes his hand past your face and grips your jaw to pull your lips towards his, languid kisses opening your mouth and tongue slipping in. He hums softly into it, letting you press your hands up to his chest and close the distance a little. You moan when the other hand falls to the small of your waist, but just that little touch to the sliver of exposed skin is enough to make you even more needy. “Did you have fun without daddy?” he whispers against your lips, and you shake your head.

This, as honest an answer as he can get, makes him chuckle. “No?” Again you shake your head, and this time you can’t fight the pout that comes to your face when you place your hands around his neck to pull him down to you a little. The warm cloud in your head is slowly fading a little, but it’s still enough to have you loud and whiny, and Hajime groans when you try to rub your tits up against him like a little slut. He trails his hand to your throat just to keep you in place away from him, as the other plays with the straps of your top, dragging lines over your hardening nipples and under the waistband of your skirt.

Your bottom lip juts out further as you look at him, watching his eyes inspect every part of you so apathetically. His throat bobs up and down, and you press your hands out to grab for his shirt again, making his eyebrows furrow. “Whores don’t get to touch,” he whispers, squeezing tighter and making your heated body even more useless. It feels like he’s just barely leaving your feet on the floor. Your blood pounds between your ears at the push of his fingers at the sides of your neck, making you feel even more lightheaded almost instantly.

“‘M not a whore,” you bring out, and he raises an eyebrow. “I’m not.” Your voice sounds softer instinctively, because it’s always hard to stand up to him like this. Olive eyes studying you, like he’s seeing through you, like you’re just a little thing getting in his way. It’s rough and too honest, and it’s so sexy your legs almost give out. “Daddy,” you try to bite through the tears welling up, but your voice betrays you.

The small grin tugging at the corners of his lips makes your breathing even tighter, and this time you grab at his forearm for support. Hajime coos at you when you whimper, softening a tad. “My little princess always needs my attention so bad, yeah? Can’t even get off without me?” It’s pathetic. If anyone were to see how easily you’re reduced to a whimpering, cockhungry mess for him, they’d think it too. “Poor thing.” But sneaking a quick glance shows you how hard his pants are pulled over his swollen cock, and that’s almost more frustrating.

You whine louder as he evades your lips to press a kiss to your cheek, before finally putting you down and letting all the blood rush back down. Your legs almost buckle again, and you steady yourself by placing a hand on his stomach. But really, you have no choice but to be this greedy when faced with his thick thighs packed in those pants, the strong lines of his body through the flimsy black shirt that leaves little to the imagination. When you look back up at him, he gives in enough to press a sloppy kiss to your lips, starting to unbuckle his belt.

You suck on his tongue and cling to him until he pulls back again, breaking the thin string of spit connecting your mouth to his, and clearing his voice. His pupils are large and blown out when he looks at you again, now nodding his head to the bedroom door. “Go in and take all of this useless shit off,” and then after a second, tugging at the edge of your pretty skirt, “except this. Leave that on. It looks good on you.” He dips down to steal one more kiss, as you rub your legs together and lick your lips to taste the way he felt there again. He starts wrapping the belt around his palm, before looking back up and lifting a brow. “Now.”

Your heart skips a beat. Punishments are the worst, but you’re still practically tripping over yourself to get your clothes off as you make it to the bedroom, letting your hands hang uselessly by your thighs. Iwa comes in right when you’re dropping your bra onto the heap of clothing, letting his eyes glide over your shape very slowly, sending even more pinpricks through your skin.

When he stops next to you, he drops his hand between your legs to rub a finger over your cunt, smiling a little. You can feel his fingertips dip into the slick as he pulls you close, subconsciously rubbing himself against your thigh. It makes you clench, and the fingers pull back a little to circle your clit. “You’re dripping, baby.”

You’re unsure what to say. It’s not like he didn’t know this, but somehow it’s embarrassing to hear aloud, and your eyes are already on the ground before you can respond. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he rubs two fingers up and down your slit to coat them entirely in your wetness. “My pretty princess.” He pulls them away too quick, warmth leaving the stickiness between your legs and going down the insides of your thighs too cold. Smearing them on the inside of your thigh, he moves to sit on the bed, and pats his knee.

And this time you full on stomp your foot, just once, but it’s enough to have his expression hardening. “You deserve a little bit of punishment, little brat. Now come here so we can get this over with.” He grabs your arm and pulls you to lay over his lap, kneading the soft skin of your ass a few times as you let your head droop. The lack of pressure between your legs is starting to feel so distracting. You can’t even think right with the pulsing of blood to your cunny, the touching just out of reach.

“Daddy, be nice, please,” you simply say, and he hums. You can’t help but feel so neglected. Definitely when you can feel his hard cock pressing against your tummy, the heat of it making your mouth water.

The belt makes a loud noise as he whips it through the air once, before flipping up your skirt. The cold air to your exposed bottom half paired with the anticipation is enough to have the tears welling up, and when the first hit comes down you choke on your air, biting down on your lip so hard you can taste copper. There’s a few seconds of silence where he rubs the sore skin, before pressing a kiss there and rubbing your head. You shift onto his lap so you can press your face into his side, in need of more comfort from the pain.

Iwa softly hums when you sniffle against his shirt, and dig your fingers into his thigh. Then the touch leaves, and another hit is delivered, and this time you can’t hold back the sob. The glowing of the spot where the belt hit is just enough to keep you in place, not wanting to drag this out any longer than you have to. You hick when he rubs the spot again, trailing the line of the belt with his finger, before leaning back a little to look at you. “Don’t cry, princess. You’re such a good girl.” The praise, strangely enough, does help.

You look up at him through your tears for a second to watch the way he rubs your cheek and brushes his thumb over your shaking lip. “Just a little sting, pretty baby. Doing so well for daddy.” You let him wipe your tears, then shift you back over his knee better. Ass up, face towards the floor. You pull up your nose, and your eyes shut. You just want this over. As much as you know you deserve it. “Can you handle a few more?” he asks, and you nod instantly, though your hand wraps around his ankle for support.

“Manners,” he reminds, and you hick.

Your head is getting cloudier by the second. You’re not sure if it’s the last of the smoke, all the blood rushing to your head or the rush of hormones that’s crowding your head, but you could cling to him and let him do whatever. You could cum from it too. “Please, daddy,” you whisper, another rush of pleasure going to your head when he softly squeezes your neck in acknowledgement.

Your cheeks are wet with tears and your ass tingling with flares of pain when he gets to five, but your neglected pussy is already clenching by the time he lands the last hit. As he presses more kisses to the swelling skin, you moan, moving on his lap. Hajime rubs the skin until it’s warm, smiling when you shift and wiggle back into your previous position, shoving the useless shirt up enough to allow your face access to his bare skin, then holding you in place. He moves the skirt higher up your waist, then lets his fingers dip between your legs.

“Good girl,” he breathes, ignoring your whimper to say it again, and rubbing your tiny slit. The lewd squelching would be embarrassing if you weren’t aching for anything to fill your needy cunt to the brim. As they barely meet any resistance slipping into your heat, two long, thicker fingers pushing into you and curling into your walls, they stretch you open with lazy motions. “Daddy’s going to stretch you out for this fat cock, okay baby?”

You nod into his stomach, taking a deep breath of his scent to calm your restlessness at least a little. “Please,” you manage, but you’re unsure if he even hears over the loud clicks of your pussy. Your little hands are fisted into his shirt and pants, clinging on to the offensive barriers and tugging at them every once in a while. When he moves his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy a few times, you start pressing kisses to his skin, practically suffocating yourself under his shirt.

It doesn’t matter, the heat only adds to this amazing, numbing feeling you have. Daddy will stop you if he has to, that’s all the though process that your brain is capable of. He curls them into you each time he pushes them in, rhythm speeding up and reaching so much further than your useless fingers can. He lets you struggle on his lap from the pleasure, trying desperately not to clench so hard it pushes his fingers back out. But it feels so good, and Hajime’s not giving you anywhere to escape to, just using his strength to force his fingers as deep as they can go.

“Thank you, thank you, daddy,” you cry, kissing at the little stretch of skin, hiccupping when you come up for air. Your slick is going down your thighs, his hand, making a wet spot on his pants, but he doesn’t care about any of it. And you can’t care either when the stretch feels so good, making you mewl with every pump. Even the little brushes to your clit bring you closer to your high, definitely when he places his thumb on the sensitive nub and starts rubbing it harshly, making you cry harder. “Hm-agh, feels good, daddy. Love you, love you.”

“Love you too, princess,” he quickly says, and though you can’t see it you can hear the smile in his voice. You’re basically humping his knee and half falling off it by the time Hajime decides you’re ready, leaning down and spitting into your cunt for extra lube. Not that you need it. Finally he grows too impatient too and gives your pussy a few pats, letting go of your waist. “You can get on the bed now, baby. I wanna see you spread out for me.”

He helps you slide off his knees, but you have to take a moment to remain on the floor as all the blood goes back down. Black dots marring your eyes, it’s distracting and a little uncomfortable. Instinctively you clench your eyes shut as you remain on the floor, sniffling and lines tears slipping down your face. “Daddy, -hck- hurts,” you say, feeling his warm, large hand on your jaw. He cups your chin and gently urges your face towards him, before he leans his lips against yours.

“Do you want daddy to stop and take care of you now?” You shake your head, blinking through the blurry vision to watch him, and he hums. “Do you want to keep going?” You can only mouth a pathetic ‘yes, please,’ before he’s picking you up from the floor and helping you into the bed, letting you hick and sniffle to yourself. Hajime is good at knowing your limits, has been the one to shift them plenty of times too. So you easily let him help you ass up and face down in the pillows, feeling him shift on the bed behind you.

“‘M cold,” you pout, and he gives your upper thigh an encouraging squeeze. The ruffling of clothing being taken off completely goes over your head, all you know is that daddy isn’t currently touching you, and that it’s making you cold. It’s making the cold air touch your dripping pussy. You whine louder when he doesn’t say anything, and almost start making a scene before you hear him come back to you with an amused chuckle, placing a warm palm between your shoulder blades to keep you all the way down. “Don’t leave,” you only squeak, and Hajime laughs again.

“I didn’t know my baby was this fussy, I’m sorry.” There’s no shred of regret in his voice, he only gets onto his knees behind you, his hard cock drooling precum against your thigh as you try to sneak a glance behind you. His unfairly thick thighs and hard stomach and pecs on display, muscular shoulders and veins in his forearms and those hands that rub down your sides to soothe you.

He smirks when meeting your eyes, grabbing himself and lining up to your pussy. “My little brat always needs cock inside to feel truly happy, yeah? Pathetic, little whore. Lucky I love filling your slutty cunt.” He pushes the flushed, leaking head of his cock between your legs to your clit a few times, making you both hiss and moan at the feeling, before grabbing your hips tight and letting you push back on him. “What do you say, baby?”

“Please, daddy?” Your voice is practically gone. But he hums and he pushes in, and the head alone makes your mouth drop open. “Mhm, ah- ahh, daddy.” You look away again, closing your eyes tight, wet lashes on your cheeks. Your nails are digging into your own palms, your throat lets out little noises with each inch that enters you. The stretch is still so wide, like you’ll never be used to the size difference between you and him. It stings but feels so, so good, leaving you a trembling mess on your knees, the heat between your legs too much to handle.

“I love your cock, Hajime. You f-feel, ugh-ha, so- m-ah, so good!” He grunts in response, breathing heavy too. You know you’re squeezing too hard to allow him in easily, but you can’t help it. It’s all too much. Sweat rolls in beads down your skin, and every touch sends pleasure spreading from your core to your limbs. “Daddy, daddy, ‘m c-close. Please let me cum, please!”

“Already?” he bites through, and you don’t even have the energy to do any more than bob your head into the pillow a few times. “Yeah? Cum for me, baby. Cum on daddy’s fat cock, so I can fuck you properly.” He grunts when you moan, and pulls you back on him more. When he grabs your hair and bottoms out with one hard, deep thrust, your body just gives in. The pleasure crashes down like a wave, making your pathetic body squeeze and clench around his fat cock like crazy, wrapping so tight around it it makes your toes curl and eyes roll back.

“Oh, daddy, thank you, thank you, y-uhg-thankyouthankyoudaddy thankyoudaddydaddy, ugh, ahhh!” Words keep coming as you hold him still, and the brunet swears under his breath at the way you’re already shaking for him, but he doesn’t leave you a second of rest. You’re barely through one orgasm before he pulls out and slams back in, using the leverage on your hips to pull you back into him. Your mouth open and drool wetting the pillow, you moan and hick as he pounds into your accepting walls, fucking you through your orgasm straight into the next one that builds embarrassingly quick.

His rhythm is wild and hard, hips smacking into your ass hard with each pump and the wet, lewd sounds of skin meeting skin. His heavy balls slapping against your clit enough to make your brain short circuit, reaching behind you to grab onto his arm, your other hand balling up the blanket. He tries to keep you in place but you’re pushing back against him, rocking yourself back on his fat cock and whining like a whore all the while, and squeezing him so tight. “Slow down a little, baby,” he hisses, but you’re not listening.

Your legs wrap around his knees and pull him as close as he can go, as you arch your back more. And so he doubles down and fucks into you to chase his own high too, hitting so far inside you it feels like you can’t breathe. Like every cell is on overload. You think he calls your name, but you’re too lost to comprehend much of it, only noticing the wetness and the heat and the pleasure buzzing through your system. “Wanna cum?” he grunts, and you don’t even get the change to answer properly before he’s reaching under and rubbing your puffy clit hard and fast.

When you cum this time you don’t have the energy to make noise. Your entire body spun too tight, every string snapping at once. Black overtakes your head, and you feel an explosion of pleasure travelling to every limb. You can only clench around him like a vice, feeling his hot ropes of cum shoot into you as he groans and tries to fuck you through it. “Fuck, princess, that’s it. Good girl, -uhg- shit. Good girl,” he groans, leaning up against you and rocking his cock into you until you collapse with a sob.

He helps you onto your back, before dipping down to kiss your swollen, open lips, your cheeks, then the frown laced between your eyebrows. There’s so much white noise in your head you can barely hear anything other than your own heartbeat. But he rubs his palm over your tummy a few times, and then smiles into a kiss you only half-heartedly meet. “Daddy’s going to give you another one, okay, princess? I’ll take an extra thank you afterward.”

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