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ihni · 1 year

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First Lines of 10 Fics Game

Rules: share the first lines of 10 of your most recent fanfics and then tag 10 people. If you have written less than 10 fics, don’t be shy and share anyways :)

I was tagged by @writerwhowritesao3, @strangerqueerthings, @harringroveera and @dragonflylady77 (thank you guys! Sorry I'm so slow)

(And I'm going with "the first lines", plural, like @writerwhowritesao3 did, because it's more fun. For me.)

1. Taking Notes (Harringrove bodyswap, WIP - but finished, just gotta read through the chapters before posting)

When it happened, it happened out of the blue. One second, Steve was carrying a plate of lukewarm leftovers from the kitchen and into the living room – where he had planned to spend the rest of his Friday night lounging in front of the TV – and the next, he was lying on his back on a lumpy bed and staring up at the cracks in the ceiling. There might have been a brief flash of white, but if there was, it was gone instantaneously.

He blinked.

Cracks in the ceiling. Actually, cracks in an unfamiliar ceiling.

2. Tumblr ficlets (Harringrove so far, short one-shots)

The hospital room is surprisingly cozy, for a hospital room. The walls aren’t white, but a light green. There’s a small plant in a pot on the windowsill, and a pile of newspapers on the table by the wall. One of them is open on the crossword page. It’s only half done, a pencil lying on the page, forgotten, as if whoever tried to solve it gave up halfway through.

There’s a chequered blanket on the bed, and an unmoving man lying under it. He’s been there for a long time. The nurses haven’t mentioned the blanket, or the newspapers, or the plant. They know not to fight a dying man’s family on the little things that might bring them comfort.

And the man in the bed is dying.

Neil Hargrove is dying.

3. Patience (Billy-centric, Flo POV, oneshot)

Flo ran out of patience twenty years ago.

For eighteen of those years, she’s been working for Hawkins’ Police Department. People have come and gone during her time here, but she has remained, through thick and thin.

Besides Flo, Jim is the one who has been here the longest, with his five years. Calvin came in a year later, and Phil only started two years ago when his family moved to Hawkins from Montana.

This means that Flo has been here longer than the three of them combined, which gives her seniority. Sure, on paper they all outrank her, but in reality, she is the one who keeps things running around here and they wouldn’t dare cross her. They all know that Flo has no patience for bullshit.

4. Here we are (Mungrove, last part of a loose series)

Eddie never thought he’d end up here; in California of all places. While many of his classmates had often talked about going to live at the sunny coast, he’d never dreamed of going. Had never felt the need to see the ocean or frolic in the sun. Back when he used to plan his campaigns for game night, he always had his head in the clouds, but when it came to real life, he hadn’t ever dreamt that big. Sure, he’d entertained the thought of someday making it; becoming one of the great musicians of his time and get to travel the world … and yes, maybe California had been a part of that, vaguely. But he’d never actually thought he’d make it out of Indiana.

5. Where do we go from here (Mungrove, same series as above)

After coming back from Darktown, Billy can’t sleep. It’s a problem.

It’s not surprising, that he can’t sleep. He’s being kept in a lab he doesn’t know the whereabouts of, having samples taken with or without his consent, and having to submit to various testing on the daily. All of those are perfectly good reasons for a person not to be able to sleep. But Billy has slept a wall away from monsters, both the literal and the figurative kind. He’s slept next to certain death. The lab is not the reason why he can’t sleep.

No, the reason why he can’t sleep – and the reason why it’s a problem – is Eddie.

6. A piece of meaning on your skin (Harringrove, oneshot)

“This is stupid,” Steve said, because it was. It was monumentally stupid. “We shouldn’t be here. None of us really won the bet anyway so we shouldn’t have to do this!”

“Correction,” Billy said, not looking up from the folder he was leafing through. “Both of us were right, which means that both of us won the bet, which means that we’re both going to get our prize.” He held up a picture of a stylized snake that was wrapped around a sword. “What do you think of this one?”

Steve groaned. “I hate it. Billy, please. My mom will kill me.”

7. Love in the ER (Harringrove first meeting, oneshot)

It was a busy night in the Hawkins’ Memorial emergency room, which meant that the waiting room was almost full. Almost half of the people there had been guests at the Wellingtons’ wedding where they had been served bad shrimp (two of them had thought to bring their own puke buckets, and the rest took turns running to and from the only bathroom). Then there was an old couple, a drunk man with a nail through his hand (and the wife who kept berating him under her breath) a mother with a sleeping toddler and a sweaty eight-year-old, and four teenagers.

Robin, who was – unfortunately – one of these teenagers, could think of about eighty-four things she would rather be doing than accompanying her friend to the ER after having a reaction to his new allergy medicine.

“’obin?”

She rolled her eyes and tried to tell herself it wasn’t his fault. “Yes, dingus?”

“I wow yo.”

“I know."

8. Mr. Peterson next door (Harringrove, one-shot)

Billy was already waiting by the mailbox when the postman came. It was the third day in a row he was standing there, and today the mailman just raised his eyebrows as he handed Billy a small stack of envelopes. Billy didn’t do more than grunt in thanks before he started rifling through the letters. There were bills addressed to his dad, one letter that looked like an offer to start a magazine subscription for Susan – and nothing for Billy. As usual.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath and went inside to prepare for work. He was alone in the house – Neil and Susan had left for work already and since it was summer, Max was already out, hanging with her friends. Billy worked the late shift at the pool this week, which was why he had time to wait by the mailbox. And after that, by the phone.

At five to eleven, the phone rang, just like he knew it would.

9. Over the edge (Harringrove, oneshot, one of my own personal faves, I had so much fun with this! :D)

“This is going to be so awesome!”

Billy rolled his eyes from behind his aviators and glanced over into the backseat, where Lucas, Max and Dustin were seated, and where Dustin was visibly about to vibrate through his seatbelt in excitement.

“Chill, kid,” Billy said and put his boot up on the dash. “We’re literally going to spend a weekend in some cabins in the middle of nowhere. I don’t get what the fuck is going to be so awesome about that.”

“Feet off the dash,” Steve said, without taking his eyes off the dirt road they were on. Billy left his foot where it was for a couple of seconds, until Steve slapped at his knee and the car swerved a little. Billy reluctantly put his foot down.

The kids tittered excitedly in the back seat.

“What?” Billy growled.

“You don’t have to be such a grump!” Max said, rolling her eyes. “We’re here to have fun! Everyone else is looking forward to this!”

“Well, everyone else fucking chose to be here."

10. Sharing clothes (Harringrove, oneshot)

Neil Hargrove up and left his wife and his wife’s daughter four months after his son died in the mall fire. Three months before that, though, he emptied out his son’s room and got rid of his belongings.

Steve only found out about it because Max was upset and told the Party about it. She said that she had pilfered some things away but that Neil was hell-bent on clearing out Billy’s room and wouldn’t listen to her pleas. So they all rallied, and about an hour after Neil had put all of Billy’s things in boxes and donated them to Goodwill, they were there, sweet-talking the staff into letting them go through the new arrivals. Max got some of it back simply by looking tearful and explaining the situation to the lady behind the counter, and the rest of them chipped in (Steve, most of all) to pay for and salvage the rest.

They brought the boxes to Steve’s house – Max couldn’t very well bring back Billy’s things to the house on Cherry Lane, and Steve had the space to store them.

He put them along the wall in the guest bedroom that no one ever slept in, and tried to forget about them.

~~~

Now, when that's over and done with, I'm tagging ... (and listen, I don't care if you've done this before; if you have, then pick the NEXT ten on your list, or do a random quote from your fics instead of the first couple of lines, I don't care!): @lazybakerart @mikajupiterjonesingtimcurryfeet @platypanthewriter @callieb @billyharringson (I know for SURE you've done this before, but eh, you have lots of fics to choose from!), @bentnotbroken1fanfiction @peaceheather @missroserose @mourntheantagonist and @keziahrainalso - and also if you got this far and I didn't tag you, consider yourself tagged! I've officially tagged you. I wanna see what you've done. Show me.

#tagging games #ihni writes

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silver-ink-iron-words · 2 years

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Request for Clowning Around. In return, I present the following tale:

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away.

There was a villain, who was locked in the worst prison of all: their own mind.

They were suffering within, and they so they released that on those around them. They wrought havoc wherever and however they wanted. The kingdom had no peace, no rest.

One day a hero arrived. And they made a deal with the villain to save the kingdom.

The villain agreed.

And so the hero and villain vanished. Together. For as long as both adhered to their deal, the kingdom was safe.

That deal did more than save the kingdom.

It saved the villain.

First, the villain was freed from their prison of solitude. They weren't alone anymore, not trapped all alone in their prison of a mind.

Next, since the villain wasn't alone, they learnt to become nicer and kinder. To the hero, their nemesis, of all people.

And finally, when they realized the error of their ways, they were able to free themselves completely.

They were finally free!

After all these years... They were no longer alone to battle their mind. If no one else was with them, they knew they had the hero. Their hero. Who saved them from their curse.

And thus, the hero charming saved the villain in distress.

I'll be sad to see this series end, but better to have it end then be one of those that keep getting renewed for seasons while they lose the spark that made them awesome in the first place.

I'll miss you, Hero and Villain. But goodbye 💞

P.S. Dw if this turns out to be the second-last installment lol, do what you think fits the story.

P.P.S. I really love the hero charming/villain in distress line so now I'm gonna make it into a prompt! 🤩

Hey @feline17ff, this was lovely. And yes, you guessed correctly, I intended for this to be the final part. As always, though, there can be an epilogue if anyone wants

Anyways, hope you enjoy :)

---------------------

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Clowning Around, Part 10

“If anyone can talk [Villain] down, it’s you.”

That’s what their teammate had said, when they showed up wide-eyed and breathless on the hero’s doorstep.

“There must be some kind of mistake,” the hero said now. “Even at their worst, [Villain] had never hurt people.”

Riding in the car was a special kind of tortuous. The last thing their buzzing nerves could handle was sitting still in an enclosed space.

“You best believe it,” their teammate said, foot tapping. Perhaps they had their own anxiety to contend with. “God, I knew it was only a matter of time before that lunatic snapped.”

The hero’s hands curled on their knees. What their teammate said couldn’t be true. The villain had been making so much progress. They’d been going out more, making new friends. They seemed happier than the hero had ever seen them.

Had all of that been a lie?

The car pulled up to the stop, and the hero scrambled forth like rain out of a spout.

They hurried towards the quaint residential home.

“It’s in a house?” The hero risked a glance back at their teammate.

“I told you [Villain] was targeting families.” Their teammate’s focus was intent on the house. “What did you expect?”

They burst through the front door, and the hero tumbled into the dim entryway.

“[Villain]!” they called. They rushed into the unlit living room, stumbling in the darkness. “[Villain], please, whatever’s going on, we can talk about it. You don’t have to – ”

A light clicked on.

“Surprise!” everyone cheered. Someone shot confetti into the air.

“What?”

The hero stared at the smiling faces of their friends and family. The cake and chips on the far table. The balloons pooled around them, bouncing on the floor in graceful slow-motion hops.

“[Teammate]!” they cried, whirling on the other hero. “You asshole. I almost had a heart attack!”

“I’m still not fully convinced that [Villain] won’t snap on us someday,” their teammate said with a teasing grin. They stepped forward and placed a party hat on the hero’s head. “Happy birthday, [Hero].”

“My birthday was over a month ago.”

“Yes, it was,” the villain said. The hero turned to see them approaching with their arms crossed. “Speaking of, care to explain why you never mentioned that it passed while we were dimension hopping?”

The hero’s gaze took in every detail of the villain. They looked clean, and unhurt. And beneath their ticked off stance, a celebratory light twinkled in their eyes.

The hero let out a relieved breath. “It didn’t seem all that important when we were battling aliens.”

The villain crooked a grin. “Well, please tell me next time there’s something going on in your life. How else am I supposed to throw you the biggest rager this city has ever seen?”

The hero gave a small laugh. “Alright. I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Hey, can we actually get this party started?” one of the guests asked. “[Villain] made us hide the whole time we waited just in case you guys came early.”

“Alright alright,” the teammate said, striding forward with a roll of their eyes. “If you impatient fucks need music, I’ll get you music.”

A popular dance song started playing, and the lights turned down again. The hero started to move towards the center of the room when the villain caught their shoulder.

“Come outside first,” they said.

The hero followed the villain out the back door, and then halted in their tracks.

“Ballooney,” they breathed.

The villain walked ahead, and started stroking her nose. “You seemed fond of this horse. So, I figured, what better present than to bring her here for you?”

“How is that possible?” The hero came up and started petting her flank. “Is she real?” They paused. “Are all your dimensional constructs real?”

The villain shrugged.

“I really feel sometimes like you should understand this stuff better than you do.”

The villain laughed lightly, their smile gentle where it had once been cruel. The hero stroked Balloney’s fine, multicolored hair beneath their fingertips, peered into her deep brown eyes.

“I’m really glad I met you, [Villain].”

The villain’s gaze shot up, their eyebrows raised. And then they smiled.

“Come on,” they said, taking the hero’s hand. “I have a world I want to show you.”

Epilogue

#hero #villain #villains and heroes #heroes and villains #villain x hero #hero x villain #snippet #writing snippet #writeblr #writing #not a prompt

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jumblejen · 2 years

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We Were Always Going to End Up Together - Ch 10

Suptober 22, Day 10: Enchanted

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/107429703

(Or read from the beginning: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/106051008)

Their second date left Dean feeling just as twitterpated as the first, and then the third and the fourth were wonderful, as well as the coffee squeezed in on a Sunday before the maze opened. And then the maze was shutting down for the season and Dean went to Sam’s to help hand out candy (and push Sam’s raisins to the side). He always loved seeing how adorable the kids were and what creative things they came up with. His apartment complex didn’t have a lot of kids and wasn’t really the kind of place you’d want your kids going door to door at. Someday he’d have a better place, something not quite so suburban as Sam’s place, but not so far out in the country that he didn’t have neighbors.

Someday. For now his apartment was sufficient for what he needed and he had years ago decided that being able to put away a little each month was worth the rundown building he lived in. It was only a matter of time before the nice woman who owned it finally sold out to one of the groups dying to build some steel and glass monstrosity that began to price out all the folks that lived in this area. Dean hoped that day never came, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that this would be prime real estate and the neighborhood ripe for gentrification if any of the larger buildings sold. At least Sam approved of the money he saved.

For the first hour of Halloween, it wasn’t even dark yet and the candy requests were a little sparse. Just after sundown it went from a steady stream to a nonstop deluge of children of all ages. Dean gave up on closing the big door, instead dragging a kitchen chair into the foyer so he could just watch out the glass storm door, and even then he only sat down a couple of times in almost 2 hours. Sam and Eileen would join him for awhile and then drift off and do other things. Dean was pretty sure that they’d keep the light off altogether if he didn’t come over to help out. Well, once he had his own place, it would be interesting to see if any of the local kids decided to egg the house if they didn’t keep giving out the good candy.

The hordes of children thinned out again when Sam rejoined Dean in the foyer.

“Trick or treating is officially over.”

“I’m going to stay a little longer just in case there’s stragglers.”

“I meant to ask you, how are things going with the guy you’re dating?”

“Cas? Things are great with him. We’ve been seeing each other quite a bit.”

“Is he still working the corn maze?”

“Last day was yesterday for the maze. He said he was going to spend today breaking all the decorations down, but then that’s it.”

“That’s good. That’s good.”

“Yeah, mean’s it’ll be easier to see him, since his weekends won’t be completely booked.”

“So, uh, when do we get to meet him?”

Dean looked at his brother. “I dunno. It’s only been a month. Less than a month.”

“Well, we would love to have him over for dinner sometime if you change your mind.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They didn’t say much more and after another ten minutes, Dean was ready to call it quits. After all, it was a Monday night and everyone had work in the morning. Dean drove home carefully, thinking about what Sam said, about meeting Cas. There was something uncomfortable that clenched in Dean’s chest at the idea of Sam meeting Cas. Probably because Sam thought it was his brotherly duty to interrogate anyone he dated and give Dean a full report on any of his detected deficiencies. Not that any of that nonsense had stopped all the trouble he’d had with any of his exes. Sam wasn’t super good at reading people, and especially not at reading men Dean dated.

His ringing phone interrupted those thoughts and Dean was delighted to hear Cas on the other end. “Hey Cas.”

“Hello Dean. Are you still at your brother’s?”

“On my way home now.”

“Mind if I stop by?”

“I guess not. Everything okay?”

“…Yes. I just… Nevermind.”

“No, Cas, not nevermind. What’s up?”

“Just a hard day. It’s nothing.”

“Hey man, it’s gotta be something for you to call at 8:30 at night and say you need to come over. You got a ride?”

“Yes. I’m actually at the coffee shop down the street from your place.”

“They’re still open?”

“Yes. I mean, no. They’re letting me stay while they clean up.”

“I’ll be there to pick you up in five minutes.”

“Dean, you don’t have to …”

“No arguing, five minutes.”

“Okay.”

Dean hung up the phone, looking around the area with a new focus. He didn’t like the uncertainty in Cas’ voice. This was no booty call, not that he minded being a booty call. This was something else and Dean was going to do his damnedest to help.

Four minutes later, Dean pulled up to the curb in front of the coffee shop, reaching over to pop the lock on the passenger seat door. Cas slid in with a wave through the lit window of the store at two waiting employees.

Dean patted Cas’ shoulder. “You okay man?”

Cas’ eyes were wider than usual, fear tinging the edges with a hunted look Dean hated. “I don’t know,” was all he said.

Dean drove the block and a half to his apartment building, sliding into his reserved slot at the end of the row. They left the car and walked up to his place without saying anything, Dean’s worry growing a bit with each step.

Once inside, Dean hung up their coats and poured a glass of water for each of them and carried them into the living room. He sat on the couch and patted the seat next to him. Obediently Cas sat, clearly not sure of how to start.

When Cas was seated, Dean scooched over to his side and threw an arm around Cas, tugging his solid weight into him. “Hey, man. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You did good, okay. You can always call me.”

“Gabe left town.”

“That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s why I didn’t call him.”

“Okay. You called me, I got that. And it was the right thing to do. So now you’re here and I’m here.”

“I had a panic attack.”

Dean hugged Cas a little tighter to his side. “What can I do?”

“This is helping.”

Cas sat forward a little, forearms on his knees, head cradled in his hands. Dean began rubbing his back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He hummed a little too, ‘Hey Jude’ like his mom used to sing to him before she died. That song still made Dean feel better, so he figured it couldn’t hurt.

“I’m sorry Dean.”

“Still not seeing anything you need to be sorry for.”

“Things have been so good with us…”

“Yeah?”

“And I didn’t want to screw anything up, but now here I am barging in on you…”

“Cas…”

“I didn’t want you to ever see me like this.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of fun with you Cas, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want the rougher parts too. Hell, my life isn’t always so rosy either. I’m enjoying getting to know you. Even the messy bits.”

“What if I told you that what I really needed was to curl up on your couch with you and watch a Disney movie?”

“Well, then that is what we’ll do. Lucky for you I snagged Sam’s login for his account, so we have access to whatever one you wanna watch.”

“Really?”

“Sure, man. I mean, I’d prefer not to watch Bambi ever again, but if that’s your comfort flick, I’ll manage.”

“Is Bambi anyone’s comfort movie?”

“I dunno. I saw it when I was a kid and bawled my eyes out. And that was before my mom died. On second thought, yeah, no, not watching Bambi even if it is what you want.”

“I didn’t know your mother died.”

“Yeah, she uh, died in a house fire when I was little. It was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. So how about we change into some sweats and you can pick out which movie you want to watch.”

Cas nodded and Dean led Cas gently to his bedroom where they changed into clothes more suitable for relaxing. It didn’t take long until they were both laying on the couch while Cas manned the remote, clearly searching for something specific.

“Enchanted?” asked Dean. “Haven’t heard of that one.”

“It’s both live-action and animated.”

“It looks like a princess movie.”

“It is.”

“Cool.”

“And there’s a dragon.”

“Awesome.”

“But it’s a musical.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I thought you might object?”

“Why?”

“Because of the car, and the flannel and the everything.”

“Well, it’s not a core part of my personality or anything. But yeah, I like musicals.”

“Even if it’s a Disney princess musical?”

“Hey, I want you to feel better. And there are very few things that I’m not willing to try, movie-wise. Besides, it’s your turn to pick anyway.”

Cas pressed play and relaxed back into Dean’s chest. Dean wrapped his arm even tighter around Cas. He may not understand exactly what’s going on with Cas, but he knew how to help. This was easy, even if the movie wasn’t one he would have picked in a million years. He just wanted this man to be alright.

#destiel #suptober22 #fanfic #enchanted #panic attack #comfort

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zhuhongs · 1 year

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I’ve been wondering for some time since I first started following your blog, what made you choose to study abroad in Taiwan rather than Japan? (Feel free to ignore this ask if this is a weird question)

hey, no worries. I'm super cool with talking abt it. So I decided to go to Taiwan for a lot of reasons, some practical, some personal. For the practical side, it was just easier to go to Taiwan at the time I applied, Japan seemed to have this an iron gate on new arrivals into the country and I had applied so many times, I really just felt like Japan would be one of the last countries to open up to foreign exchange students. In comparison Taiwan was more open to allowing students into Taiwan so it was just way easier to get a visa. Second was cost of living, Taiwan is way more affordable than Japan. Third was my own academic path, like I was almost done with my degree, and going to Japan independently as a student was rlly hard. And the language schools were like, not an option. If I went to Japan I'd have to go on a normal bachelors exchange but I had already finished my units so I'd be taking classes I didn't need. (basically prolong my degree when I was eligible to graduate). And the universities I was able to go to all required students take 7 classes plus Japanese and that just seemed far too much to me. I wanted more free time to enjoy living there, not do assignments for classes I don't need. In contrast, I was going to a language school in Taiwan where I'd only be taking classes I wanted and none of my grades would matter bc it wasn't for my degree. When I decided on going on my own to Taiwan I applied for graduation and now I'm just doing this for the skill of speaking Chinese.So the pressure is wayyy less. Also it just makes more sense.

Now onto personal reasons, I just feel like Chinese is way easier and more practical than Japanese. Sure I've studied Japanese longer but honestly since i studied it by myself w/o a teacher I learned i pretty bad and I'd really need to start from scratch if I wanted to speak it well. SO I decided to go to Taiwan for that. Also, like, part of it was the company. I feel like a lot of exchange students who go to Japan (not all, def not all, I've had so many mutuals who've gone and are great) are just... creeps. Like, ofc every country will have the creeps, but I feel like Japan has a higher proportion of fetishists and just creeps that go bc yk, anime. ANd like, the people who choose to go to taiwan are just better grounded. Like all the alumni I've met that chose to go to taiwan were like, just really cool well rounded people, and I'd rather be surrounded by them and not... well. yk. Also, Japanese society is just, very judgy. Like I just feel like I like Japan but not as a place to live. Like all the Japanese students I've met were nice but just, the way they spoke about things felt so, narrow. Like they didn't feel very accepting of a lot of things. I talked to some Japanese expats and my brothers coworker whos from Japan and moved back and they all said like, its really hard to rlly connect with people. Like a lot of ppl are so nice but it always feels like youre bothering them. Idk just, I didn't want to live there. In contrast all the Taiwanese people I've met seemed more down to earth. I understand all of this is anecdotal and not necessarily true but like, I told my japanese roommates abt this. I had this same conversation with them when i came and they were like.. oh no 100%, like we studied abroad bc we feel judged by japanese ppl. So like, not to say it's 100 percent true, its not!! But it is a factor. ALso I was just, more into Taiwan. It just felt like a better fit. Also I had friends here, like my cousin, my friends mom, like I had ppl to rely on if I needed and it really came in handy my first few weeks and in japan I really had no one. So for all of that, I came to taiwan. and I don't regret it one bit. Ido think someday in like 2 or 3 years I want to go to live in Japan though. Like do this same thing, go to a language school just for me. Live for a few months and come back and resume life. It's just that rn, Taiwan was the better option.

#asks #anon #🐌.txt

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peppermint-joys · 2 years

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Being Bruno’s Child Would Include… Pt. II

I swear I have a problem all of my headcanons turnout way longer than planned. Takes place before the movie. The reader’s age ranges from 5-7. Stay tuned for part three, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, I guess.

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Tag list: @jayleneblack @zzzzzzzzzzoom (I guess if you want to be tagged ask in the comments?)

In terms of quality, the community decided your gift was better than your Papa’s, barely. They classified it in the same category as Dolore’s in terms of annoyance. The slightest contact and you were able to see into their past. You could see what made them tick. Your gift unlocked every embarrassing moment, every family secret, every heartbreaking moment of their history. Your gift was invasive.

Your gift was a lot for a child to handle. After realising your gift was triggered by anyone who came into contact with you, you refused to let anyone touch you. You didn’t need to know their secrets.

It broke your family’s heart to see you shy away from their touch.

It broke Bruno’s heart to listen to you cry, alone in your room. He wanted so much to run to you, scoop you up, hug you tight and tell you it would be alright. But in the walls he stayed.

At least Abuela began to give you the time of day; as in keeping an eye on you as to only keep you from creating trouble with your “gift”. She figured with hard strict rules, your wild gift, unlike Bruno’s, could be tamed.

When you went into town, you had to stay within ten feet of a family member and couldn’t touch anyone (not that you would). You realised quickly it was better to stay back home. At home, you were expected to do chores with Mirabel, Félix and Augustín. At least they kept you company.

Your gift is wild, and in your opinion, incomplete. It’s hard to tell, but you could swear your door glowed dimmer than the others.

Antonio is born while you’re five.

You hear him crying one afternoon while most of the family is out. Julieta was downstairs, but she was cooking. She needed to clean off before handling the infant. You snuck into the nursery, hoping to soothe him with some gentle words. When that doesn’t work, your protective big cousin instincts kick in. You climb into his crib and snuggle with him to soothe him.

Antonio, being so new to the world, doesn’t have much of a past to explore. Still, what you do see is beautiful. You witness him experiencing the sun for the first time. You can feel the warmth, the joy, the wonder.

When Julieta arrives, she finds you two snuggled together asleep. It’s the first time you’ve had physical contact with someone in months.

Slowly, you figure out a way to live with your gift. As you get older, you learn that if you focus, simple contact isn’t enough entering a trance. Still, sudden contact and spooks will lead to you seeing and hearing a past event.

You decide to quiet yourself. While you might see someone’s past, you don’t have to share what you see. You become the quietest Madrigal, generally keeping to yourself.

In spite of everything, you’re still the darling of Encanto. The people don’t blame you for your misfortune, if anyone they blame your father. When someone let’s slip, “it’s not your fault you got a bad gift. I’m telling you it’s all Bruno, chico was cursed.” They were swiftly silenced with, “We don’t talk about Bruno!” However, it was enough to ignite your curiosity.

His room is still boarded up from when you tried to explore when you were four. You attempted to bribe Casita to let you in. “I have fresh spackle.” No dice. That left only your human family to answer your many, many questions.

So at the tender age of seven, with your handy dandy notebook, you once again began asking around about your Papa, jotting down any clues or facts. Your three-year-old shadow Antonio, followed you as you went.

Your primos were more helpful than the adults of the family. From them you learned he had visions of the future, he told Dolores her true love would be taken by another, told Isa she someday would have the life of your dream and was friends with rats.

Camilo also told you some things, but what he said and acted out only made you and Antonio burst into tears, so he immediately retracted his statements and admitted he knew nothing.

No one could tell you why he left.

After asking your tío Félix, who explained the downside of your papa’s gift leaving the room you bumped into Pepa which triggered your gift, sending you into her past.

You immediately recognised her. She glowed, dressed all in white. Taking in your surroundings, you felt nothing but joy. The sky was clear, the sun was at its brightest. You could only assume your tía was near to her happiest. She should be happy. It’s her wedding day.

It seemed you were at the point of the day when they were setting up the reception. So Félix and Pepa weren’t quite married yet. You could feel yourself getting a bit nervous. You gently swayed in time with the beat created by the band practicing off on the side, trying to ease your nerves. Suddenly, you felt this wave of dread wash over you.

You watched as a man in green casually approached your tía. Your eyes narrowed. You couldn’t explain it, but you feel Pepa’s discomfort. Similar to how you’d felt Antonio's joy when you first fell into his past.

The man chuckled nervously, “Looks like rain.” That’s Bruno, your papa. Uncontrollably, you felt yourself bristle. His back was to you, so you couldn’t see his face. You attempted to you run toward him and your tía but once again the world around you begins to speed up. Rain fell, slow to start, splattering the sidewalks haphazardly. Then it fell as if from buckets, cascading like a waterfall from the heavens. Before developing into a full-blown hurricane.

In an instant, you were back with your tía and tío. You thank them before swiftly and totally not suspiciously excusing yourself to your room.

You hide all your findings in a chest in your room, concerned that if Abuela discovered what you were up to, she’d take all your information and burn it or something of that manner.

Relaxing in your bed, you reflect on all you’ve learned. Which admittedly isn’t much. But you did see him, almost, in tía Pepa’s past. Ding! You sit up straight, a bright toothy grin decorating your face.

You could search people’s past for him. Anyone who’s met him he’ll appear somewhere in their history. From their pasts you could learn all about him, perhaps even meet him.

And hopefully, learn why he left you.

#encanto #encanto headcanons #bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal x child reader #bruno madrigal #the madrigals #madrigals x child reader #madrigals x reader #self insert #disney #fluff #angst #encanto x reader

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skiyoosmi · 3 years

Text

post-break up heartaches

⤷ verse 2. in the dreams that we once shared

⤷ miya osamu, bokuto koutarou

⤷ verse 1 | verse 3

⤷ play. sorrow by sleeping at last, wrong direction by hailee steinfield

commissions: open

⇢ OSAMU stays still in his seat, melancholic eyes contrasting your bright ones while you twirl around in the middle of the ballroom. he admits, your dream wedding gown fit your figure perfectly as it flowed so gracefully the more you moved. but no beauty can compare to the happiness on your face as you danced with his previous volleyball teammate; the latter having a small smile on his face, not even having a single care about the funny looks you've been getting from your distant relatives. despite the minimal expression he adorns, to someone who has known him for a long time, it's clear as day just how ecstatic suna rintaro was to declare you as his wife, just as you were to call him your husband.

that could've been us, his mind screams all throughout the time he's been in the wedding ceremony, that could've been him dancing with you. he remembers little by little— how those smiles and laughters used to be solely for him whenever you try out his new recipes, from tasty to funny, how he used to be the one suddenly dragged to dance with you, how you used to dream of being married to him. him and only him.

but time was a cruel thing. he should've known better than to keep you waiting for more than so many years with nothing but empty and broken promises. i'll be done soon, yn, you know how much this means to me, this is my dream we're talking about here. stop being selfish please— he recalls himself telling you. he fails to see the disappointment and hurt that cross your eyes, fails to protect the already fragile relationship as you say your goodbye's to him a few more arguments and weeks later— i'm sorry for holding you back, samu. make sure to reach your dreams, okay?

i'm sorry. no matter how many times he says it, your fate was already done with him. you only needed him and he couldn't even give you that.

"hey there, stranger. wanna dance for a bit?"

he looks up, blinded by your brightness that almost seemed as if it mocked his sappy mood but he nods nevertheless, taking your hands as you pull him to the dance floor. in his peripheral view, he sees suna give him a wholehearted smile.

"you should stop frowning. it doesn't suit your face you know? what did you do to my lively samu?" you huff after a few minutes of nothing but silence and awkwardness while you swayed side to side with him, pouting when he shrugs, "you're such a gloomy ass! are you still in love with me or something?"

you swear it was supposed to be a joke, something to lighten the air between you two. but how were you supposed to laugh when he replied to you in the way you least expected?

"yeah, actually, i still am."

silence engulfed the two of you as you tried to overcome your shock. and for all the years he has been with you, it was painfully obvious that the answer he hopes for will not come. not now, not ever.

"samu... it's been—"

"i know. almost 8 years, is it? i know but i can't help it, yn. how could i when you're literally all i see everywhere i look?"

you fail to give him back a reply and (un)fortunately, he feels a tap on his shoulder and immediately, he knew it was time. he lets go of your waist and turns around, heart ready to get drowned by the bitter wine he's planning to drink all throughout the night, accompanied by the tears he won't be able to let out until he comes back to his hotel room.

"congratulations on your wedding, yn."

he ignores the hollowness inside him brought about by the unfinished conversation and goes back to his seat and repeats it like a mantra: not all fairytales get their happy ending.

and much to his dismay, his was one of those that don't.

⇢ BOKUTO was a star, luminous and blinding yet always longing to be part of the galaxy that held the awe of many other people. he was a child with dreams that wander all over the world and with confidence, he wants hear it, see that same world cheer for him.

he was an enormous star but his dreams were even bigger— and as he reaches out his hand to take more of what the universe can give him, he unknowingly lets go of yours.

"you look like you've dropped a huge shit on your underwear with the way you're staring down the court," konoha comments as he takes the seat he reserved beside you, hands deep in his pocket while he does so.

you glare at him, scoffing at his vulgar choice of words, "and you look like that shit, asshole. we haven't seen each other for so long and that's how you greet me?"

he laughs out loud, opening his arms and shoving you in them, "here! is this what you wanted instead? so adorable, yn! i knew you loved me at some point!"

you let out a series of groans, struggling to get out of his hold, "no! you're so annoying, get off me!"

he cackles, releasing you as the buzz rings out throughout the whole court, signaling the beginning of the match between msby and schweiden adlers. you shift in your seat, watching the players get introduced one by one, gasping when your ex-boyfriend literally does two cartwheels in his turn. is he... serious?

"where does he think he is... some kind of circus?" konoha snickers, shaking his head in amusement. oddly, you find yourself laughing with your companion. after all, this was typical bokuto, so full of energy and surprises.

"he looks... okay. very much okay," you bitterly state, placing your chin right on your palm as your arms and elbows rested on your lap. envy envelops your whole being as you watch him lively wave to the crowds, a large grin staying on his face. you huff silently, eyes trying to look at the other players but gravity seems to be playing its tricks on you as you find yourself reverting back to his figure. you wonder if time will let you become that happy someday.

"you're not...?" the lad beside you trails off, sighing when you shake your head 'no.'

"of course not yet, aki. it's not that i still love him or anything but he's just... he was everything, you know? he's become part of all my routines and now that he's gone, it... it just feels empty. like the dreams that used to help me sleep at night suddenly went away," he nods, not pushing you to say anything further. you both knew better than to have a shameful breakdown in public.

"god, i keep forgetting that the air conditioning in here is the worst," you grumble under your breath, rubbing your hands together to keep them from freezing out... because bokuto was no longer there to keep them warm, no longer there to offer you his own hands because you both forgot your gloves at home, no longer there to blow on them as if it was effective (it distracted you both at least), no longe—

"here, give me your hand," konoha reaches out to you, palms awaiting for yours to be in contact with his. you blink, surprised by his sudden offer, along with the pink hues that dusted both sides of his cheeks.

"we can't have them becoming numb, can we? i... i want to hold these hands for a very long time, you know?" he stutters as he begins rubbing both of your hands together, successfully getting rid of the cold and providing a new warmth you never expected will come sooner. oh... it's time, huh?

"uhm... yeah... thank you," you felt your face get hot. it seems like something... rather, someone has come to distract from the coldness you've been recently feeling.

"give me your days," he coughs out, still blushing. if anything, he's flushing even more now, "i'll fill the emptiness in them... and... and i can be your dream so you can sleep tight... and you'll be mine."

you gape at him, thousands of scenes flying through your mind but all of them led to one specific scenario.

"i... i have a lot of dreams, yn! i want to become a star player, someone who everyone will look up to and cheer for! and i... i think i want to focu—"

"i get it, bo. i'll get out of your way then. thank you... for everything."

"i-i'll be your dream?"

konoha chokes on his own saliva, "y-yeah! don't make me repeat it though, do you even know how cheesy that sounds? i can't believe i just said that, god... the things you make me do, you...!"

"okay."

it was his turn to blink, "e-eh?"

"i guess this is day one then?"

"eh?! wait... we... we're dating now, right?!"

"shut up now, aki."

as his golden eyes observe the two figures sitting by the stands, bokuto wishes he could've seen sooner that you were the one he had always been dreaming of, yearning for; wishes it could be him that was holding your hands again and he swears to whoever god there is, he won't let go of them anymore.

but then again, it seems like you were finally ready to wander with someone that wasn't him— who was he to stop you from doing so?

he was just a star;

you were the whole universe,

his universe.

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #bokuto x reader #osamu headcanons #bokuto headcanons #haikyuu writings #haikyuu angst #miya osamu #bokuto kotaro #haikyuu fics #hq x reader #haikyuu hcs #post break-up heartaches

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mittensmorgul · 4 years

Note

it’s a bummer to see you can’t enjoy the ending. I hope someday you can come around it it. It wasn’t perfect but it didn’t nuke its integrity. i think the heart of the show really shines through and it’s a shame that it’s not being appreciated bc there’s so much shipping drama 😣

Hi there!

I... first of, I really need people to understand this... the travesty of the finale for me has almost nothing to do with “shipping drama.”

Yes, I see the wild conspiracy theories flying around, and I’m honestly concerned for some of those folks and hope they can find a way to make peace with this in whatever way they can, because we aren’t likely to ever get a better answer than that this is legitimately the ending that Dabb thought was best, despite years of us seeing the best of his writing choices and guiding Sam, Dean, and Cas to grow past the roles that Chuck would’ve forced them to fulfill, and that at the end it fell flat because he couldn’t actually come up with a better ending than “this was always their destiny, free will is a lie, and these characters had nothing outside of the revenge quest they’d been raised for since birth and manipulated into over and over for the entertainment of a vengeful god.”

I can see how “surface level” viewers would feel that this one basic narrative point was satisfying, that Sam and Dean had grown beyond their own hopeless cycle of self-sacrifice that had driven the narrative for so many years. The fact that they both acknowledged that they should allow their stories to end in that way was satisfying... but only in the shallowest and most detached read of the narrative. Like, is this really the ONLY thing these two characters learned in the last 15 years? If so, that is BEYOND depressing af.

And even THAT message lost all narrative weight when the two of them were once again reunited in death, as if nothing else had ever mattered in their lives. As if neither of them had ever outgrown the codependency that had driven so many of those previous self-sacrifices and refusals to let go of each other even in death.

So yeah, in the absolute most basic sense, I suppose I can see how casual viewers or people who aren’t actually invested in these characters could find that at least narratively coming back to a starting point.

But narratives don’t actually work that way, and that’s not the point of watching fifteen years of story develop in between.

This story wasn’t JUST about Sam and Dean needing to accept that death might be okay actually.

This story was also about free will, fighting for humanity as a whole but also their OWN humanity and self-identities. In Dean’s case, the absolutely transformative growth from feeling like nothing but a hammer, a killer, a tool to be used. And then less than an episode and a half later, after finally accepting that truth into his heart and using it to defeat the original creator and reclaim the story of his own life for himself... he gets pied in the face after flippantly talking about his destiny and having no choice, and then three scenes later he literally dies impaled on a great big nail... like a hammer...

So I would kindly ask folks who feel satisfied by that shallowest possible takeaway of this episode, and maybe invite folks to look just under that surface. Try to understand why loads of us will NEVER feel satisfied with this ending, and why it truly does feel like the most hopeless version of the story. Like even in defeating Chuck, they could never be allowed to own their own stories and what happened to them after that point was just a twisted version of the “destiny” that drove Chuck’s entire plotline for them anyway.

Please understand where we’re seeing this as horrifically painful irony rather than some beautiful circular narrative about letting go.

For a lot of us, the shipping stuff would’ve been the cherry on top of the sundae. We would’ve been happy with a scoop of plain vanilla, though. We would’ve been happy for anything that honored the journey to freedom, and the choice at any sort of a different life of their own making than literally falling back on a nail fighting off one of John’s unresolved hunts and a vampire who had literally never been named in canon before, yet who Dean instantly recognized somehow...

but sure, for those of us who felt that “the heart of the show” was all the stuff that the finale actually erased-- that “family don’t end in blood,” and that this was actually not a show about just two brothers but the love of their found family and coming to terms with the choices they actually HAD made for themselves versus the narrative that Chuck kept centering them in DESPITE what they would choose for themselves, the finale basically told us no, everything you ever found of value in this story actually meant nothing. It told us that Chuck’s story for them was their only truth in the end, and their only freedom was to be found in death.

Please, I am begging people, stop trying to gaslight us that this was some beautiful ending. Maybe think for a second that “your read” of the narrative that allows you to find peace with the ending is not what we saw and loved about this story for the 326 episodes leading up to this finale.

And please try to understand that we were not wrong to see the entire narrative through this lens. Because we were literally validated IN CANON, and told that we understood the depth of the story and the characters just fine, actually. There’s literally ONE episode of the entire series that burns it all down in a bewildering pile of wtf. And that’s #327. That throws that entire read out the window to well actually us all back into Chuck’s literal ending... This was literally the ending Chuck wanted to force them to enact for him, and it’s what ended up happening even after they defeated him-- the ultimate Big Bad of the entire series should’ve been defeated, but instead he pulled off one final victory over the entire story.

Becky: No. You can't-- Chuck: I did. Becky: Y- This is just an ending. Chuck: Yeah. I don't know how I'm gonna get there, but I know where I'm goin'. Becky: B-But it's so... dark. Chuck: But great, right? I can see it now -- "Supernatural: The End". And the cover is just a gravestone that says "Winchester". The fans are gonna love it. Well? Becky: It's awful! Horrible. It's hopeless. You can't do this to the fans. What you did to Dean? What you did to Sam? Chuck: There, see? It's making you feel something. That's good, right?

and

Dean: Well, what now? You're not gonna dust us. Chuck: Oh, yeah? Why not? Dean: Because you're holding out. For your big finish. Yeah, we know about your galaxy-brained idea, how you think this story is gonna go. Sam got a little look into your draft folder. Chuck: Sam's visions -- they weren't drafts. They were memories. My memories. Other Sams and other Deans in other worlds. But guess what. Just like you, they didn't think they'd do it, either. But they did. And you will, too. Dean: No. Not this Sam. And not this Dean. So you go back to Earth 2 and play with your other toys. Because we will never give you the ending that you want. Chuck: We'll see.

And even in DEFEAT Chuck thought he understood these characters, thought that having rendered him powerless they would finally take their revenge and kill him, but they didn’t, because he never actually understood these characters at all. And the story he tried to force them into from day one was never about THEM, it was about HIM.

And then Dean gets like two whole days of freedom and choice and is apparently incapable of making any of the choices that don’t throw him immediately back into Chuck’s favorite story. Like none of that resolution in the previous episode meant anything at all. He even SAYS it in the finale:

Dean: Yeah, no. I think about 'em, too. You know what? That pain's not gonna go away. Right? But if we don't keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing.

And then two scenes later the show gives us the Nelson Muntz HA HA and Dean is no longer living, and Sam is left to carry on as a shell of himself and wander off into Blurry Wife Land to devote any even remotely content moment of the rest of his years to raising a Replacement Dean to fill the void, and is never able to pick up the pen to write anything better of his own life than Chuck would’ve dealt him in the first place.

So I’m glad that top-layer takeaway is sustaining and enough for you. It wasn’t, and will never be enough for the rest of us.

What was actually real in all of this? We were.

Until we weren’t.

And that’s honestly a shit message to be pushing on people in the wake of it all. So please stop.

I should actually thank you for the kind intent with which your message is phrased, but that doesn’t make it feel less hilariously awful. Though I chose this one to reply to as the least insulting of all the messages currently in my inbox on this subject. So thanks for that, at least.

#spn 15.20 #aka that one episode of supernatural that doesn't really exist #because you either get to have the first 326 or the finale #they're literally narratively incompatible in all but the shallowest possible takeaway here #i chose the other 326 because those are where the actual heart of the show lies #it was set on fire and buried in 327 #Anonymous

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rosaliepostsstuff · 3 years

Text

A bit emotional || G.W.

pairing: George Weasley x reader; brother-in-law!Fred x reader

summary: Emotions have been getting the best of Y/N lately and while George is away on a work trip, Fred helps her discover something.

word count: 2437

warnings: mentions of urine, mentions of food, pregnancy, brief mention of sex, talk of biological parenting

tags: @izzyyy-1 ; @amourtentiaa ; @hufflepuff5972 ; @pandaxnienke ; @wheezyweasleys ; @harrysweasleys ; @ickle-ronniekins ; @starlightweasley ; @pxroxide-prinxcesss

Feedback means the world to me!!

It was early afternoon on a Saturday, you found yourself in the bathroom of your flat above the shop. You had been ready to take action – your hair up, comfy clothes on, sleeves rolled up. Cleaning the bathroom was your duty – part of the agreement the three of you made when you moved in with George and Fred a couple of years before – when you and George had gotten married. The three of you shared the house chores according to what each of you disliked the least and it worked. Well, usually.

The whole bathroom was an absolute mess. You had cleaned it thoroughly the week before, as usual. There were splash stains all over the mirror. You swore you could smell urine in the air the whole time, which later confirmed not to be a figment of your imagination – the floor around the toilet was covered with tiny dots of dried stains, accumulating every time those two went to pee, due to their heights. You looked at the hamper, the lid wasn’t closed properly, a pair of boxers hanging on its edge.

“Fred!! George!!” you shouted out. They knew you well, and they knew better than to test your patience when you used that tone and volume. Without a word, you heard one chair move in your living room, then someone got up from the couch a second later. They stepped through the small hallway carefully and peaked their heads through the bathroom doorway.

“Whose are those?” you asked flatly, pointing at the boxers, then turned to them and placed one hand on your hip.

“Mine,” Fred answered after a glance.

“Is it that hard to put them in properly?” you questioned as soon as he finished.

Fred bit his tongue, suppressing a comeback. He walked over to the hamper and fixed it.

“And who used the toiled last?” you continued, pointing at the open toilet lid with a nod and folded your arms on your chest.

George avoided your gaze, walking over to the toiled to close the lid.

The bathroom situation didn’t stay long on your mind, though, nor did it affect the atmosphere in your shared flat. In the two weeks that followed, however, similar, smaller situations happened. For example, when it was Fred’s turn to cook, he added too much salt for your liking, but the way he likes his food – again.

“You know well that you can add some more salt on your plate, but I can’t make it less salty, can I?!” you complained.

A week later, George had to leave for a work trip. It was his turn, while Fred stayed at home to keep an eye on the shop.

You dreaded the day he was supposed to leave and you tried not to let it show. You cursed yourself as you wiped fresh tears with your sleeve, looking at George who was checking if he took everything before saying goodbye. You were angry with yourself at getting so upset – this wasn’t the first time you’d been apart, and it was only 4 days. You were married, but not tied up together, you were still separate people. Sure, you always missed each other, but you never got this dramatic.

“Heey, baby, what’s up..?” George asked after looking up from his bag, noticing your tears. He closed the distance between the two of you in a few long steps and wiped your tears with his thumbs as you wrapped your arms around his middle automatically.

“It’s- it’s nothing…” you still tried to stop more tears from coming and pressed your face to his chest as he embraced you tightly. “I’ll just miss you, you know…” you tried to sound casual.

“I’ll miss you too, darling,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His tone was sincere but slightly puzzled, he wasn’t expecting that big of a reaction. “It’s just 4 days and then I’ll be back,” he told you softly.

You cherished his embrace for a little bit longer before you said your goodbyes and let him apparate.

The first day and a half passed somewhat peacefully. You tried to focus on your own work and then find something to occupy yourself with once you were back at home. At least you weren’t completely alone – one could never feel alone with Fred around.

I was mid-afternoon, you had both just come back from work. You were stood in the kitchen, looking into the fridge without much interest. Fred was fixing some kind of sandwich for himself. You closed the fridge door then looked over at the mysterious mixture he poured over the sandwich and scrunched your nose up in disgust.

“Are you gonna eat that?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Smells disgusting, I’m getting nauseous…” you said, turning your back to him to put the kettle on.

“I dunno, smells good to me,” he stated simply, licking some of it off his finger and after a few seconds added “maybe you’re just pregnant.”

And then it hit you. How could you not think of it? How is it that when you’re trying not to get pregnant, the smallest things can seem like pregnancy symptoms to you, but now, you had missed all of them?

George and you had stopped using birth control about a month ago. You weren’t necessarily trying for a baby – you wanted one, sure, and figured the time was right. But both of you believed it would just happen sooner or later while you continue with your usual sex routine. You didn’t want to get too hung up on this and end up like some other couples you’ve heard of. For it to happen during your next cycle, however?

Fred turned to you, confused, after not hearing you get back at him for that joke. You turned around to look at him with a calm expression.

“You know, I might be,” you said seriously, trying not to freak out.

Fred’s eyebrows shot up immediately, his eyes open wide and he started nodding slowly, processing the information.

You walked out of the bathroom to see Fred leaning against the wall, biting his lip. He looked at you right away expectantly. You walked next to him and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

“5 minutes,” you told him, and he followed after you, sitting down.

“Did you… do you want to..?” he trailed off and you looked up at him. “What do you want it to say?”

“Oh,” you looked back down at your hands. “Both is fine, I guess. I mean, we were kind of trying. Pretty stupid of me to not add 2 and 2 together earlier…” you bit your bottom lip.

Fred nodded and put his arm around your shoulder, then glanced at the watch on his hand and took a deep breath.

“Positive,” you said to Fred, who didn’t know the meaning of the two lines. “All three,” you added, placing the last stick back down.

Your eyes started watering and with a smile, you looked up at Fred, who was judging your reaction. You threw yourself at him, hugging him tightly. “I’m pregnant!”

“I’m gonna be an uncle!!” he exclaimed with a chuckle, lifting you up in a hug.

“Hang out with me tonight?” you asked after he placed you down. You had a feeling nothing would occupy you tonight, nothing else would keep your mind off of the fact that you were pregnant and were not able to tell your husband yet.

“You know you’re my favourite brother-in-law, right?” you smiled at him charmingly and chuckled, the remnants of your happy tears still making your eyes shine.

“I’ll believe you when you say that again, in front of Bill.”

“So, what now?” Fred questioned, well into the evening, as the two of you were lounging in the living room. “Will you move out?”

“You’ve been waiting for that, weren’t you?” you laughed.

“As long as you keep sending me your baked goodies,” he quipped back.

“I mean, I guess. We’ll probably stay here a bit longer, we still have like eight months to go?” you said, placing a hand on your lower abdomen. “We’ll start looking for a house, the flat isn’t big enough to raise a baby,” you started counting. “You’d want us out of here after a few nights of the baby crying anyway and we were bound to move out someday.” You let your head fall back onto the rest, absentmindedly running your hand over your belly. “… find our own, family home,” you added.

“Mhm…” he hummed, sipping his tea.

“I’ll miss you, Fred,” you blurted out and felt tears coming up to your eyes.

No matter how many times Fred peeved you, he was a great friend, an amazing flatmate you’d never be bored with, and the best brother in law. And it was true, you’d miss sharing your daily life with him, bumping into him in the kitchen at 3 am on your way to grab some water.

Fred chuckled, shaking his head. His nature told him to tease you, but he knew you were being genuine. And he’d miss you too. He couldn’t have hoped for a better wife for his brother.

You were restless from the moment you woke up, on the day George was supposed to come back. Your day at work seemed incredibly long and when you got back home, every sound seemed like George apparating inside.

You sat down on the couch, trying to read a book, but ended up reading the same page over and over again. You still didn’t know what you had read and your knee kept bouncing up and down.

Finally, ‘POP!’, you heard that sound and shut your book without marking the page and threw it onto the coffee table.

“Y/N, I’m home, darling,” George called out, placing his bags down in the hall. You met him at the entrance to the living room and jumped into his arms with excitement.

You breathed in his familiar smell and tightened your arms around his shoulders, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

“Good to have you back,” you mumbled into the fabric of his sweater and pulled back a bit to look at him.

“Good to be back,” he replied with a chuckle, looking at you adoringly before placing a sweet kiss onto your lips.

“Let’s sit down,” you told him after pulling away, dragging him to the couch by the hand before he could continue to pepper your face with kisses.

The moment you sat down, George was suspicious of you. You weren’t acting that weird but something was off.

You, on the other hand, suddenly felt nervous. For 48 hours you couldn’t wait to tell him, but now you didn’t know how.

“What’s up, love?” he asked you, shifting closer and squeezing your hand in his and placing his other on your thigh comfortingly.

“I have something to tell you,” you looked up at him, his eyes expectant. And you felt so lucky.

You looked into the eyes of the man you loved. The man who loved you. It felt like looking into his eyes when you were standing at the wedding arch, about to become united for eternity to come. You were reminded of all the love you shared, all the moments from your past that led you to where you were and it felt so right.

Just as you started to feel the lump in your throat again and your eyes getting wet, you were pulled out of your thoughts by the confusion and slight concern growing on George’s face.

“I’m pregnant,” you said before he could ask what was going on.

His grasp on your hand and thigh loosened momentarily as initial shock washed over him, you could almost see the information being processed in his eyes. And when it did, a huge smile broke on his face, but you didn’t get to see it for long before he pulled you into a tight hug.

“We’re having a baby,” he mumbled into your shoulder after a moment, then pulled away just enough to be able to bring your lips together. The kiss was passionate and full of emotion, there wasn’t much tenderness to it. You stopped when both of you were grinning too much to call it a kiss.

George pulled you down to lie on the couch with him, with a content sigh. You giggled, snuggling closer to him.

“You’re pregnant,” he said again, familiarizing himself with it. “I’m gonna be a dad,” he added, looking at you.

“You are,” you confirmed with a dopey smile.

“We’re gonna have a baby, that is so…” he looked up at the ceiling, starting his contemplations.

“You and I are going to have a child, that is crazy to think about. D’you know what I mean? Obviously, I’ve always wanted children with you and I knew how- parenting- worked, but- before it was a reality I didn’t think about it this way. I’m going to be the father of your baby. You’re going to have my baby. This baby is going to be equally mine as it’s going to be yours- and-“ he paused to take a deep breath, “-when you think about how it happened…”

You both chuckled at his existential thoughts and what they ultimately came down to. Though, you couldn’t help but agree with his rambles.

“So how..?” George started a question, bringing one of his hands to your lower abdomen.

“Oh, you know how I was acting weird lately. Fred then made some stupid comment and it just clicked in my head, I did a few muggle pregnancy test to make sure.”

You were quiet for a bit, enjoying each other’s embrace as George continued stroking your belly delicately.

“Y/N… do you-… do you think I’ll do alright?” he asked quietly. “As a dad..? I mean, I’m hardly responsible for myself…”

You looked up at him then brought your hand to stroke his cheek reassuringly and make him look at you, hoping to convey your message in the look of your eyes.

“You’re going to be a wonderful dad, the best one. And you are responsible, you test the boundaries often but with things that really matter – you’re one of the most responsible people I know, love. I would trust you with my life, with everything. And I couldn’t imagine a better dad for my children.” You kissed his cheek and he brought your body even closer to him, tearing up a bit himself.

“Can’t wait,” you added in a whisper into the skin of his neck.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #tw pregnancy #tw food

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fortisfiliae · 4 years

Text

Promised Part 15 - Tom Riddle x reader

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

A/n: This chapter is written from Tom’s pov. Reader will be addressed in third person.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2k

Part 15 - A Dagger for a Devotee

Now that all of the ingredients for the antidote were gathered and added, the potion was as good as finished. It just had to simmer on for a while. If the instructions were correct, it would be finished on June 29th, which was the last day of school. Graduation day. One day before the wedding.

The wedding. Tom thought about it a lot. It would happen. That, he knew. The plan was to give Elsie the antidote on their wedding day so that she would be completely healed and they could still keep a low profile towards Marvolo and Morfin. Their wish would be fulfilled then, and even if the Gaunts were going to ask for more, they wouldn’t know that Elsie wasn’t under their might anymore. Tom was sure they were going to try to pressure him by threatening to hurt Elsie someday, even when he was married. That was just in their nature. They would never be satisfied.

He wondered how long it would take them to figure out that she had been healed. Weeks, months, years? And how they would react then. Were they going to take out their anger on him? The more he thought about it, the less he cared. He had even fantasised about it if he was honest. That Marvolo would lose his temper and would attack him. Tom had waited so long for an excuse to pay his Grandfather back, his fingers were itching just thinking about it. Oh, the things he would like to do to him were unspeakable and the grin on his face only widened the longer he envisioned them. He would welcome the opportunity with open arms.

Some nights, when he lay awake and couldn’t just fall asleep yet, Tom wondered if his life would have been different, if he would have turned out to be another person, had he not been brought up by the Gaunts. He didn’t wish for it, like his fiancée had mentioned so often, no, but he still couldn’t help but wonder. Was there a possibility for a different Tom Riddle to exist? One that would live with parents, one that wasn’t as cold and narrow-minded, one that could crack a real good joke to his friends? A funny, warm, kind version of him? His stomach squirmed at the thought. Disgusting.

He could have turned out like Benjamin Hilt. Merlin’s sake, what a nightmare that would be. To act like him, so loud and bothersome. Head in the clouds, mouth always open and never thinking about any consequences. Hilt had it so easy. But nevertheless, Ben’s attitude was intriguing. Annoying yes, but intriguing. Tom wouldn’t have thought Hilt would be able to keep his muggleborn mouth shut and keep the pact a secret, but he hadn’t told anyone about it yet, as far as Tom was aware. And he didn’t seem to keep his word out of fear, but rather out of belief. Ben wasn’t the type to have deep thoughts, by the looks of it at least, but he had his priorities set. And for that Tom respected him. Everything Ben did seemed to come so easily from within, not wasting one too many thoughts. It was something so deeply ingrained that it must have come naturally.

He was so different compared to Tom’s friends. Or whatever word one would use for people like Avery, Lestrange and the others. They were nothing more than followers, blind and mindless. They wouldn’t just offer their help to be a good person. They always wanted something in return, even if it was just Tom’s recognition. And he knew, if someone else were to take his place, they would drop him in an instant. Their loyalty was superficial and egoistic. Just as his own. He would drop them too if someone more useful were to show up and solicit themselves.

That was how it always had been. How he had thought friendships were meant to be. A mutual agreement, quite similar to business. Be polite, make use of a person as much as you can, make sure they’re intimidated enough to keep their knowledge to themselves and wish them well on their way out. Simple, beneficial and most importantly efficient.

But what his fiancée, Ben and Camille had was so different. He had waited for Camille and Ben to ask for something in return. Weeks had gone by, where he had anticipated for them to come up and ask for a favour. A note from the head boy to get out of detention, or something else. But they hadn’t. They had helped to steal the Banshee tears and were still tending to the potion in the Come and Go Room every day. For nothing? He couldn’t fathom it at first, and only when he thought about it again, it came to his mind that this could be what real friendship was like.

He didn’t like how much it churned him, how much consideration it had taken to come to this conclusion, when apparently for other people, that was the most natural thing in the world.

Tom obtained a much greater deal of wit than Ben, without a doubt, but yet, Hilt possessed so much more emotional intelligence than Tom could ever dream of. And he was jealous of him. That Ben could just walk through life, listen to his gut and trust that whatever it would tell him would be with good intent. Tom could have made real friends too then. He could have developed that trust to his gut too, if he hadn’t been fed those vicious thoughts by the Gaunts his whole life. He could have even gotten to know a muggle for all he knew, if he hadn’t been told, day after day, how worthless and irrelevant they were. That’s what they had always said. But the Gaunts had lied so often, maybe they had lied about that too. He had believed them for so long that he couldn’t even tell which opinion was his own and which one had been planted in his head by someone else.

And then came three people who acted against all his values, showing him a glimpse of what life could be like. Everything he knew, his view of the world, as well as his belief, had collapsed in a matter of months. He had learned so many new things, he wasn’t even sure if he knew himself anymore.

Had he changed? He must have, somehow at least. It was ironic, how the Gaunts’ plan to marry him off to a pureblood witch, who they thought would bring their family safety and respect, turned out to result in the complete opposite. Nothing, not even Marvolo’s paranoia and obsession for being a step ahead had come of use. They all had turned against them in the end, and for what? The faint idea of power and reputation? What worth did those things even have when everyone who bowed down to you only did so out of fear? They would take the first chance they got to stab you in the back with the very dagger you had given them. If you can’t trust your devotees, why bother?

Trust was something he thought of a lot, too. Did someone truly trust him? His fiancée for instance. She had put her faith in his hands several times in the past, yes. But would she trust him with her life? Had he done enough to earn her deepest trust yet? Or would she let him fall too when the opportunity arrived? When the deal was sealed, her sister was free and the Gaunts were powerless. Would she leave him, or would she stay? It kept him up at night when he thought about being alone again. Not because he depended on someone to be there, he was fine on his own. But he couldn’t change the fact that he wanted her to stay. And only her. No one else would do.

No one else had ever awoken that part of him before. That part that wasn’t as selfish, as calculating and cautious. And he knew no one else could. There was something about her, that slight brush of a hand when she touched him, or that unintentional notion of a smile she wore so often that broke out a whirlwind of emotion inside of him again and again. And he still didn’t even know what it was that he felt. It was nerve-racking, this mixture of nervousness, excitement and joy. If he had been able to, he would have buried those feelings long ago, deep down somewhere where they could have never disturbed him again. But he hadn’t. And he was glad about that. No matter how irritating it was, he craved it now.

He craved to see her as often as possible, the sound of her voice, the touch of her fingers on him. Her mind, her body and everything in between had him longing, thirsting for even more proximity. He ached for that bond so much, it had become a hassle and he needed to suppress it to prevent himself from shying her away.

But it was hard to feign composure when all he wanted was right there before him and she was so willing to accept his bid. It took all his might not to do what he most wanted and lock her up in a golden cage, where she would remain for him alone. His secret, his very own jewel. But most importantly his.

He couldn’t do that to her, he knew, she wouldn’t allow it. And he wouldn’t dare. He would never dare to add imbalance to the fragile structure they had built over the last year. She had come back to him eventually, day by day. He just needed to remind himself of that. Wait and improve his patience. Trust that she desired him as much as he did her. And by all accounts, she must have. Why else would she treat him the way she did? The idealist in him feasted on the way she acted towards him. How fearless and comfortable she was. How her mood could swing from gentle to feisty in a second, never dreading his reaction. Her honesty, which was the easiest, as well as the hardest thing to give someone, was what he most cherished her for.

Never before had he experienced something so close to perfection. The purity of emotion, so vibrant and raw it nearly hurt. But its absence was even worse, like a bottomless hole that sucked him in and ate him up from the inside. He had become addicted to the feeling and he would do anything to keep it.

He would marry her, yes, and willingly so. He would do anything she asked from him. But if she was to leave him then, if she would take that dagger and push it into his heart, he knew it would destroy him.

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sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw · 3 years

Text

Immortal - 8 (kinktober)

Todoroki - Vampire

Female reader

Warnings: 18+(minors dni), noncon, restraining

Word count: 2, 987

Masterlist

Previous | Part 8 | Next

You stared into the fabric that draped over the bed. It was one of those fancy beds with the four ‘pillars’. You wondered how it got here and if anyone had ever bought it or lived in this mansion at one point. You guess it didn’t matter anyway.

“Are you ready?” You said to Amajiki, who was laying next to you.

He nodded. "Yeah.

You both did your best to clean yourselves up. Instead of putting your pants back on, you took one of the bed sheets and tied it around your waist. So the remainants of the sex you had could continue to leak out of you until it was mostly gone.

As you stood to your feet, you stumbled and placed your hand on a pole to support you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just, sore from everything.”

“You can rest if you want.”

“No. We should keep going. I want to be able to get out of here as soon as possible.” You paused as you reached for the doorknob. “Sorry if that sounded rude. I know you’ve been stuck here a lot longer than me.”

He stared down at the ground. His eyes glistened. “Somedays I wonder how my parents are. If they miss me or if they miss me too much or if they’re okay. I hope

Tears began to run down his cheeks. “I wish I never came here.” He wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. “I-I know it’s selfish, we came to try to find and save everyone. hic But I wish I never walked into this house.” His sobs mixed with his words, adding a whine to his voice.

"Me too," you said in a quiet voice.

"Are my parents okay? Are they still looking for me?"

You thought for a moment. "Yes. They’re okay." You hadn’t heard anything in the news saying otherwise. "And they're still looking for you." You heard that all of the parents were still looking for their kids. "Don't worry. It's only been a year since you went missing there."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "At least it hasn't been too long there. I just hope they don't worry about me too much."

You turned away from the door and wrapped your arms around him. You pulled him into a hug, one you wish you could have gotten when it was all first happening to you. It wasn’t until he returned it when you realized how much you needed it too. Your heart felt it was dropping a weight it’d been carrying for a long time. You felt yourself exhaling the stress you felt from the past however-long-it’s-been. For a second you both just stood there. Each person’s head resting on the other person.

“You good? You asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded and pulled away.

“Well, let’s start looking.”

You searched several rooms, but had no luck. Thankfully you hadn’t found anymore dangerous people yet. Though by then you had hoped you would be able to navigate better. Some rooms did look familiar, but you chalked that up to them mostly looking the same. Even if you thought they looked similar, the connecting rooms weren’t the same.

Thankfully that sharp pen was still in your pants pocket. Once you felt most of the cum had leaked out of you, you put the bottom half of your clothes on and discarded the bedsheet. You carried the pen as you walked. It made you feel more confident. To have a sort of weapon at the ready in case anything happened.

Before going through a doorway, you’d drag the sharp edge of the pen against the wood of the door frame until it made a mark. You continued to do this every time.

“What are you doing?” Amajiki eventually asked.

“Marking these. So we know which room we’ve been to,” you said while finishing up another mark, nodding when you thought it looked good.

"O-okay, but are you sure that'll help?"

"Of course. Why?"

“Well, the rooms keep changing. I’m not exactly sure when, so it might help for a few more hours.”

“What do you mean they change?” You pivoted on your feet to raise an eyebrow at him.

“They switch. Like, like switching tiles. Like, one day the kitchen is next to a bedroom and then they aren’t next to each other, it’s the study. Like, tomorrow this room will be on another side of the mansion.”

The...what? You tried to think of a response or question, but found yourself unable. You didn’t move a muscle. Maybe you should have guessed with everything else. But It was like you couldn’t even trust space or simple laws of the world. How were you even supposed to find or remember where an exit was if everything changed�� but, then how did Midoriya know? Did he have some sort of trick? But why didn’t he mention it to you? He must have not needed to.

That would explain why you never felt a true progress in your understanding of the mansion.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah." You opened the door and continued.

You had only begun to scratch on the next door, out of habit, when it suddenly opened. The door knocked your hand, forcing it away and causing a long scratch on the wood.

You instinctively jumped back and immediately wondered if it was a mistake and if you should have hidden behind the door. You looked at the person in the doorway, afraid it was Dabi, hoping it was Deku. You locked eyes with a pair of crimson ones.

His eyes widened at the sight of you. He jumped back and threw an explosion. There was a bang. You pulled your arms close to you and closed your eyes from the sudden burst of light. When you opened them again, his shock wore off and he raced back into the room and hastily shut the door behind him.

“Who are you?” He pointed a finger at you.

You took note of his sharp fingernail. His blond hair was spiky, though the hair on the side of his face looked somewhat soft, on his arms it looked longer than it should be. He was a lot older by now, but you certainly recognized him as Bakugou.

“Don’t hurt her,” Amajiki squeaked.

Bakugou squinted as he looked at the trembling man. “So you finally showed up again,” he said. "I haven't seen you for a while."

You gripped your pen. Ready to strike if he came after you.

He turned his attention to you. "Why are you here? I've never seen you before."

"Isn't it obvious? I made the stupid mistake of walking in here that everyone else made." Maybe you shouldn't have been speaking so boldly, but you wanted to feel strong.

"Well, duh," he growled, "I was asking why you came in here."

"Some villains chased me-"

There was the sound of a door opening in the next room. You jumped into the air and held your pen up, ready to stab. There was a strange cracking sound behind the wall.

"Oh shi-!" Bakugou jumped out of the way.

The door burst open. The force of it hit your foot.

"Ow!"

You hopped on your uninjured foot, leaned down to hold the other, and looked up. Jagged ice protruded from the doorway. Cold air wafted off of it, making you shiver. A moment later. The ice rapidly melted away, enough for someone to walk through. And walk through someone did.

Frost stuck to the right side of his cheek. Small flames swirled around his left hand before disappearing. Todoroki’s eyes latched onto you, a moment of recognition, and he smirked. Before you could think about it too hard, he shifted his gaze and glared at Bakugou.

He shot another wave of ice at Bakugou, who jumped and blew up part of the ice. Shattered ice rained everywhere. You covered your head with your arms. Bakugou ran at Todoroki with his hands sparking.

Todoroki shot a gust of fire. Bakugou dodged, going backwards and hitting you. More specifically, your arm. The force made you drop the pen. Which he stepped and nearly tripped on. The pen then rolled away. Bakugou looked back and glared at you. Another blast of ice past you. You could barely understand who you felt before he grabbed your arm and pulled you away from another ice attack. You fell onto your bottom. Bakugou leaped back into the fight.

Amajiki appeared beside you. "We have to go," he whispered.

"Yeah." You nodded. "Wait, the pen!" You tried to search the ground and see where it went.

"There's no time." Amajiki picked you up and dragged you away.

But he stopped when he realized that it was frozen shut. You both whipped around and realized that all the doors had been frozen. Panicking, Amajiki ducked fire and hid under a table before vanishing. You tried to do the same, but you would soon find a detrimental difference between you and him. You couldn’t turn invisible.

Someone grabbed you once again. You screamed “No!” in protest. You could hardly even hear yourself with everything else, and apparently he didn’t either. You were pulled against someone’s chest with their hand on your throat. A situation that reminded you too much of Dabi. You thrashed and screamed and cried. A snarl was present in your voice, not unlike that of an animal being tortured. A primal reaction making you behave in a way you never had before.

You managed to slip out of the person’s grip. Your head turned to see who it was. Todoroki. At that moment, Bakugou raced at Todoroki. You crouched and closed your eyes. A sudden rush of cold. When you looked up, you saw ice covering the floor. Bakugou’s legs were stuck in ice. And your feet were stuck to the floor. Before you could even fully panic and try to get out. A hand was placed by your feet. Steam rose and water pooled under your feet. An arm wrapped around your waist. By the time you realized this and tried to push away, he had apparently unfrozen the door and opened it. He let you go in it. You took several steps back from him as he refroze the door.

He turned back to you and saw how you looked at the ice. “So Bakugou can’t follow us.”

“What do you want?” you demanded. Maybe he hadn’t given you a true reason to be suspicious. But you had learned better after being stuck in the mansion for so long.

“What do you mean?”

You were about to throw another remark at him, when you noticed his teeth. You nearly took another step back and your face grew white.

“Can you… repeat that?”

“ ‘What do you mean?’ “

Along a straight line of perfectly normal teeth, were two, long sharp ones on either side. You immediately covered your neck.

“No, I’m not going to do that. Sorry for scaring you earlier.”

“You’re a vampire?” you said.

“Yes.”

“You… that means you used up all of your wishes.”

“Yes. After finally giving up on the prospect of leaving this place, I decided to use up all of my wishes.”

“B-but, there’s a way out.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but there isn’t. There’s no true way of leaving, and anyone who says otherwise is lying.”

No. That couldn’t be right. Right? There had to be some way out. Midoriya wouldn’t lie about that, or would he? You hadn’t known him for very long. Or was Todoroki lying. You literally just met him. Whatever the case, someone had to be right and someone had to be wrong.

Something about him being so close made you feel uncomfortable. Like a strange feeling of deja vu but no idea where it came from.

“I’ve been waiting a while to meet you in real life.”

“What?” you said.

He didn’t say anything. Just taking a step closer to you. You took a step back.

“Do you remember me?”

“Well, yeah, you’re the son of a famous hero. It was hard to not hear about you.”

“Not that. Do you remember something more recent?”

You thought hard. Did you see him here before? You felt a memory bubbling up, but was just out of your reach.

“You really don’t remember that dream?”

That was when it finally rose to the surface. That dream. The dream from when Dabi still had you. You couldn’t remember much, just that Todoroki showed up and tied you up.

“One of my wishes was to be able to enter people’s dreams. Everything is boring anymore, but at least dreams tend to be more fun.”

You took several more steps before breaking into a run. Your heart pounded heavily in your chest. Your legs couldn’t seem to move fast enough. Maybe he was just messing with you, but in this place, you were willing and ready to take someone tying you up as a red flag. And, either fortunately or unfortunately, you were right. Before you could get far, you felt him slam into you. You both hit the wall. He took advantage of this and froze your wrists to the wall.

You tried to kick him. That just gave him the chance to grab your thighs and hold them on either side of him. You panicked even more.

"What's wrong? I don't bite. Much."

That didn't make you feel any better. You thought as quickly as you could, but there was nothing you could do with both your arms and legs bound. Maybe you could talk your way out but how?

Your thoughts were interrupted by cold fingers. With one leg free, you tried to kick him again, but it was no use when he was so close to you. He lifted up your shirt and ran his fingers over the curves of your skin. Enjoying the softness of it. While you were wishing you could tear your eyes away from the scene, but found you couldn’t. All you could think about were how his invading fingers trailed up your body like he owned it. Eventually, you could close your eyes. But you still felt his hand fall lower and start to rub your thigh again and was getting dangerously close to the button of your pants. He leaned into your neck and his teeth grazed against it. Tears fell down your cheek. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, but you couldn’t help it.

His mouth moved up to your ear. "We could move this somewhere more comfortable if you want."

He looked at your face. His eyes widened somewhat when seeing it. He wiped a tear away.

"Aww. Why are you crying?"

You stared him down, with blurry, tear-filled eyes. He only looked like a blur of color through them.

"Fuck you!"

"I'd prefer if you did that yourself." Be smirked.

You shrieked in bloody murder.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He began to undo the buckle on his pants. “Guess we’ll have to do this here.”

He reached around to the back of him to freeze your ankles together behind him. No longer needing both of his hands to hold you, he focused on getting his pants off. Though he did push one knee between your legs to support your weight. You did everything to ignore the pressure he was putting down there.

His cock popped free. You closed your eyes. You didn’t want to see it. He worked on yours next. He started pulling it down your leg, but quickly ran into a problem.

He realized your pants didn't move ad far down your open legs as he wanted. You would have laughed if the circumstances were different. You saw his face twist with anger. He lifted his left hand. It burned and grew warmer as fire formed.

"Wait!" You said.

He paused.

"I'll let you take them off. You don't need to burn them."

He eyed you suspiciously, but melted the ice shackles on your feet. You let then drop without a fight and he continued pulling your pants and underwear down. If he had burned them, you wouldn't have been able to get new ones. Plus, it was clear that they weren't going to stall him any longer if you had let him.

As soon as they slid off, you began kicking him again. You had nothing to lose, and since they were already off, you didn't have to worry about him changing his hind and burning them.

He did catch your legs. And shackle them again. With a fury in his eyes, he plunged into you. His cock in your hole and his teeth in your neck. You flinched and your muscle tensed up from the sudden pain coursing through your body.

He gasped as he thrusted in and out of you. He stretched out your walls. It sucked the breath out of you for something that should be normal by then.

He removed his teeth and began sucking the holes he left. And you hated to admit that after a while the pain turned into pleasure. Though not quite so much where he was shoving himself in.

His hands gripped into your hips and shoulder too tight. To the point you wondered if he was trying to make holes there too. His movements became more hectic, rushing to reach a high and then. White painted your insides. Streams of warmth pouring into you. He leaned forward, resting his weight on you.

"I never thought I would get to do that," he gasped out.

"I'm not turning into a vampire, am I?"

"No. I, apparently, can't do that." He slowly pumped into you as he said it. And he was slowly picking up his pace again.

An idea, one that you should have had earlier, came to mind.

"Actually, I feel like going somewhere more comfortable now."

#kinktober #kinktober 2021 #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #smut #tw:noncon #vampire #sorry it was so late #i got really behind and felt no motivation to write #also had no idea it ended up being this long

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whenwordsmakesense · 3 years

Text

<- The Cursed Boy AU part 2 ->

Tagging @suis0u because this has been inspired by her post. (Go check it out! Also, read the first part of this series of ficlets).

It took them almost the entire day to empty only the unused guestrooms.

"I am never agreeing again to anything you say," Laura complained as she fell back on the victorian-era couch, groaning like a dying whale and being generally annoying. Derek pushed her away. "I'm tired!"

"So am I," he settled in the empty space that he'd created, and pushed Laura further away until he was satisfied with the amount of space he claimed on the admittedly gorgeous couch. Laura was a lump at his side, but at least she was tired enough to not retaliate back.

Uncle Peter smirked at them from his own claimed spot on the opposite couch. "It was your idea to come here," he told them, and Laura lazily raised her fingers towards Derek. Derek pushed her grimy hands away from his face. Uncle Peter rolled his eyes. "Derek's idea," he amended, and continued, "Think of this as exercise. You need to work those muscles somehow, and I doubt you can do that while staying at home and doing whatever it is you do at home."

"I blog," Derek grumbled. Laura snorted beside him.

"Right, if that's what you want to call it."

"I know about your destiel—"

Laura leaped at him, and Derek and her tumbled off of the couch and onto the cold marble floors of the living room.

"Shut up shut up shut up!" Laura hissed at his face, and Derek tried his level best to force her away from him. He didn't succeed, unfortunately.

"Children. I promised Talia I would send you back home in one piece," Uncle Peter sounded amused, and Derek knew he would be of no help.

"She started it!"

"Oh, like you actually blog about stuff! All you do is create art—"

Uncle Peter perked up at that, as he most often did around Derek when he learnt of something interesting. Even his mother did that. It was weird at first, but after he knew why, it was sad.

"That is blogging! I blog about art," Derek insisted, and shoved Laura away. She didn't move that far, and was back on him in an instant.

"You blog about fanfiction," Laura bit out, and Derek clawed her hip, the only place he could reach. She yelped.

"It's not my fault your writing is so bad that nobody follows you or interacts with you,"

"Take that back! Derek, take. That. Back."

It felt like Derek's sixteenth birthday all over again. Laura had been jealous of him because their parents gave him a Camaro while she'd only gotten a shitty Toyota, but to be fair Derek hadn't flunked his grades and sneaked out thrice while being grounded.

Mercifully, uncle Peter intervened.

"All right. Enough." He pulled them apart with ease, armed with the experience of several years on how to conduct with the two of them. "Laura. You take your mother's old room in the East Corridor, and you take the room in the West."

Laura smirked at him. Derek glared at his uncle.

"Those are the guest rooms! We just emptied them out,"

"Not all of them. Now, go."

He grumbled at being relegated to the 'bad' rooms, but really, he was just curious as to why one of the guest rooms was purposefully left for him. Something in Derek roared in anticipation, like this was the first step towards something big and important, the same way he felt the pull towards that locked door.

He hadn't been able to think about anything else for most of the day, mind drifting back towards the door again and again; he couldn't help it. There was just... something, that pulled at him, made him want to run and howl, a pull so strong that for one brief moment he had actually mused that the moon itself was lost in there, alone in a place that used to be so full of life, once. But Laura hadn't seemed bothered, and as much as Derek hates to even think that Laura can be right, he knows that she's right to call him a drama king.

He found the room easily enough, and he dreamt to be like his uncle someday, smart and conniving, and not a simpleton fool that he is. He doesn't know how uncle Peter hid the biggest room out of all the guest rooms—possibly even the actual bedrooms—from two werewolves, but he did, and now Derek's jaw is on the floor because this bedroom is gorgeous.

This room hasn't been painted a soft cream color like the others, it still has the stone walls, but unlike the rest of the non-renovated house these walls are plain, like they've been maintained delicately over the years that no one has lived here in, and Derek loves it in a way he can't explain. He's always loved beautiful things, but more than that he's loved the potential of beauty; here, right here in this room, he can feel that potential in waves.

The bed is big enough for two people, and Derek imagines sleeping here with the love of his life wrapped in his arms, imagines the moonlight falling through the window right above the window to fall on them, the way it would capture them, and enrapture Derek; he imagines late night discussions of things as mundane as how each other's day went, and as intimate as what they hope from the future. Derek imagines a lifetime of beauty and love and gentleness in this room, something so out of the left field that he isn't sure why he is out of breath: is it because of the voice in his mind that says he won't find someone so special, or because he is too deep in his fantasy that he is seeing a vivid image of a man waiting on the bed for him, a sudden thing that roots itself in his heart?

Derek shook his head, tried to focus again on the beauty of the room. It's simple in design, something pure, but it meant a lot to him, like there's a history here that he can't read but can understand anyways, like seeing art and feeling the emotions behind it even if he didn't know the story behind it.

He is tired, though, exhausted even, and he doesn't believe he can stand any longer. So, he stripped off his clothes, put them on the top of the drawer that stood in a corner—amber eyes, a soft smile, dotted skin that Derek wants to run his lips through—he shook his head, too tired to even dwell on the sudden but familiar image in his head, and promptly slid onto the bed in only his boxers.

He couldn't wait to explore the Castle tomorrow, but for now he slept.

#the cursed boy au #sterek #derek hale #laura hale #peter hale

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Bottom of the Glass

Genre: Bodyguard!AU, Angst

Pairing: Jinyoung x Reader

Summary: It’d been almost ten years since you left the life of glitz and cameras behind, never looking back. But someone refused to let go. When danger comes knocking, your father insists on hiring the best to keep you safe. Reluctant, you agree. Park Jinyoung is constantly by your side, but as the stalker gets closer, will he be able to keep you safe without getting too close himself?

Part: 1 I 2

This was the kind of life you always should have lived.

Teenage you wouldn’t be able to understand. That girl was too lost in the flashing lights and the glamor of magazine covers to understand the sacrifices that came with that lifestyle. Those things felt trivial: regular school, normal sleeping hours, being in charge of your own image and your daily activities. What was a classroom compared to flying to Paris for Fashion Week and being photographed on the red carpet?

As a child, you were used to being told what to do and how to behave, so it seemed like routine when your handler changed over from your parents to your manager. You understood that doing what you were told kept you on schedule and in work. They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty. An understatement if you’d ever heard one.

The paperwork and awaiting decisions could feel overwhelming at times, but at least you were the one making the decisions. You had a say and you weren’t treated as a money machine. Yes, as someone with employees, you had people depending on you for their paychecks, but the relationship was different. You weren’t being exploited. Rather, you were looked to for guidance. You might not have been the head honcho of the hotel business, but someday you would be. That was a legacy you truly held on to.

“A package arrived for you, Miss.”

You didn’t even bother to look up as you waved uninterested to your assistant. “Just set it down on the table.” Right now, these budget papers needed your attention. “I’ll open it later.” You hadn’t been expecting anything, but that wasn’t unusual. Partners or sponsors occasionally sent new products to test out or as a gift to keep the mutually beneficial relationship going strong.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jun put the small cardboard box on the coffee table set up on the other side of your office before bowing and leaving.

For another hour, you poured over the suggestions from the different departments of what they believed they needed to fully function for the upcoming fiscal year. All the numbers were beginning to blur together as a headache was starting to pound against your skull. You needed a break.

Yes, this was a much better career for you. Although those looking from the outside might see it as a step down, they didn’t fully understand. It was easy to look at the smiling face on a promotional campaign and stop. They didn’t dig deeper. The need to appear perfect but never reaching that level, the lack of decisions placed in your hands, the lack of privacy. What extremes had you gone to avoid paparazzi or overly adoring fans? How many dates had you gone on that were ruined either because the guy didn’t want all the attention or because that was exactly what they wanted?

Standing up, you stretched your legs by pacing around your office. Thankfully it was spacious enough to give you a good amount of room, letting you make large laps to get the blood flowing again. It was an office fit for a director with its tall windows on the top floor. Your father’s office was a few doors down the hall and even larger than yours. Maybe you should pace in there instead, to get more steps in. With the sun going down on the horizon, the chances of your father still being around were slim. Unlike you, he tried to keep to normal working hours. It made your mother feel more at ease about his health. A troubling concern that bothered you, too. When you were child, your father was Superman, invincible. As an adult, you were no longer shielded from the truths of an ailing body.

Before you could decide to check if his office was indeed empty, the package caught your eye. The return address was a P.O. Box, absent of a name of whom it belonged to. Strange. It was also addressed directly to you, no formal title preceding it, as was often the case with promotional packages. You didn’t get too many delivers in this manner that weren’t of the router or legal envelopes variety. Grabbing a pair of scissors from your desk, you cut the tape and pulled back the cardboard flaps.

And then you screamed.

The box fell from your hands as Jun came running back into the room.

“Ma’am, what happened?” he asked frantically. With a trembling hand, you pointed to the package that was now spilling out all over your carpet.

Old magazine clippings covered in red smears - smears that were obviously made of blood.

“Don’t touch anything,” Jun swallowed thickly as he backed you away. “I’ll call the police and have security review who dropped it off.”

You nodded, unable to voice anything, too paralyzed by fear. Because this was no ordinary threat. This had nothing to do with who you were today. You knew those clippings, those old articles that you hadn’t thought about in years. That part of your life had long been behind you. The only remnant of it was the rare “Where are they now?” tabloid entry that no one read. So why had someone done this? Why now?

No.

No, no, no, no, and no.

There was no way you were going to agree to this. Your life was exactly the way you wanted it to be and you didn’t need some over muscled buffoon messing it all up. In your opinion, you should let the detectives do their work while you let this creep know that you weren’t scared of him. The initial shock of the first package had worn off and now you were just pissed.

“I don’t think that this is necessary. At all.” You were determined to with this argument as you sat across from your father in his living room. His face was scrunched with worry and dark circles pulled at the skin underneath his eyes. When he called you over to your childhood home, you thought he was simply going to give you an update on the police investigation into your stalker.

Hah.

Instead he had a bomb to drop on you – no pun intended. His idea of keeping you safe with this stalker on the loose. If it had just been the one package, you would have had a stronger argument. But the phone calls started two days later. No words were spoken, just heavy breathing. You couldn’t even get a creative psychopath.

“I will not lose my only child,” your father insisted.

“I can take care of myself,” you said. “Increase security in the main lobby and start screening all packages that come in. We don’t need to go to extremes.”

Your father was much better at presenting counter arguments. “What if the stalker manages to get through the front lobby? Or if the mail comes to your home next time? Or if he approaches you at a restaurant or the park? Distanced security will only go so far. I need someone who will be there in a split second if something were to happen.”

“Father, please, do not stick some stuck up, full-of-himself babysitter on me at all times.”

“A babysitter is meant for children, and from what I see, you’re a grown woman in trouble.”

In the doorway leading from the main hallway to the living room stood three very different, yet very imposing men in tailored black suits. The one who spoke stepped forward. His black hair was parted on the side, curling slightly over his forehead. Two little dots sat below his left eyebrow. He possessed a fierce sharp face that had the ability to look… bored, almost. The others that flanked either side were complete opposites: one short with light brown hair and a stocky build, the other tall with platinum hair and a lankier frame. Not exactly the run-of-the-mill bodyguards. Were these the ones that would be stuck with you all day and night?

“Ah, Jaebeom,” your father greeted as he stood from his spot on the couch opposite of where you stood. Walking around, he shook this Jaebeom’s hand enthusiastically. “Thank you for coming. Your agency came highly recommended.”

Jaebeom placed his hand against his chest, bowing gratefully. “We’ve worked hard to gain our reputation.”

“And will one of you three be guarding my daughter?”

“Only in the areas where extra protection is needed,” Jaebeom said. “Given the gravity of the situation, I’m putting my best man on this.”

Crossing your arms, you felt like the child who got caught with their Halloween candy under the bed and now the parents were talking about what punishment to deal out. “And who would that be?”

“Park Jinyoung,” the silver haired one smirked.

“He’s finishing up another assignment at the moment, so he couldn’t be with us today,” Jaebeom said.

You raised an eyebrow. “What kind of assignment?”

“A short term one.”

A bit cryptic, but you were smart enough to know when a battle wasn’t worth fighting. Whatever this Park Jinyoung was doing before he would stick to you like flypaper, it was none of your business. A small little prayer that his assignment would take longer than expected and wouldn’t show up at all was cited in your head. Pointless. Surely, Jaebeom would just insert another guard until “his best man” was available again. Your father would insist.

“I thank you for your attentiveness on this.” For the first time in weeks, the tension in your father’s shoulders released. Guilt twisted at your stomach. Though you were sure that, with a little bit of time, this stalker would get bored and move on, your father’s worry was unsurmountable.

You didn’t want to deal with this. Turning away from the others, your arms moved from a defensive position to one where you were holding yourself together. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not now that you were the boss, now that you were behind the scenes, away from the red-carpet premieres and flashing bulbs that burned your retinas. You had a grip on all aspects of your life. Your apartment was decorated the way you wanted, not your mother. You made final decisions for the company. That package was snatching the control of your life from your hands.

“Hey.”

You turned your head to glance over your shoulder. The stockier bodyguard had approached you, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. A sympathetic expression softened the sharper features of his face. He could be intimidating, with his broad shoulders yet lithe build shown off by the tailored suit.

“Jinyoung really is the best among us,” he said. “He’ll make sure you’re safe and I wouldn’t be surprised if he caught this guy in the meantime.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” you sighed as you turned around fully, “but it's not the stalker that I’m worried about. I like my privacy, my life the way it is now. With a guard following me around all day, word about this will get out. And then the paparazzi will be back on me like clumps of sticky rice.” They wouldn’t be able to resist a story like this.

“I know it sucks, but it won’t be forever.”

You nodded, but more in acknowledgment that he had spoken rather than in agreement. It was easy enough to say that something would end; everything does. But what you wanted was to be able to physically be close to the end. You wanted to see it, reach out and graze it with the tips of your fingers. But there was no light in this tunnel. If you ever met this stalker, you would make sure that at least one of you ended up in the hospital.

“Jackson,” Jaebeom called out, catching both of your attentions. The leader motioned out the door with his head. “Let’s go.” He turned back to your father. “We’ll make another round at the office, get to know your security there, and create a rotation that will cover the area sufficiently.”

“I thank you again for all your work. I look forward to meeting this Park Jinyoung.”

“He should arrive by tomorrow evening. If something holds him up, we’ll contact you.”

Your father shook his hand before the three bodyguards left. When it was just the two of you again, you leaned up against the wall and let out a rather unseemly raspberry between your lips.

“Please, don’t be like that,” your father begged. “I’m only trying to do what I think is best to protect you.”

“I know, I know,” you said, exasperated. “I just… I feel like I’m sixteen again.”

Your father chuckled. “If I remember correctly, you enjoyed your bodyguards back then.”

“Because I was stupid and it made me feel important.” Very important, indeed. Not just anyone had big burly men surrounding them as they walked through airport to get to the blacked-out van waiting for you in the car park. They were the ones who kept the photographers and overzealous fans at bay. When you were young, you looked at those pictures where you were wearing sunglasses to block out the flashing and thought you were one of the coolest people in the world. Now the very thought of that situation made you feel pity – whether it was old pictures of yourself or newer one of the latest generation of young stars. There was nothing to envy. Not when all you wanted was to be able to walk through the airport and make it to your flight without worrying around being crowded or pulled at or hear the constant screaming. And you weren’t even a heartthrob popstar. You’d dated a few, though.

“Well, things are different now,” you father said in an attempt to be comforting. “and I spoke to others who had used Lim Jaebeom’s services and they said it was like his men were hardly even there.”

It took a lot of self-control to bite down and keep your tongue from spouting off. Because it didn’t matter how invisible the guards felt to the others – they were probably used to treating employees like they didn’t exist. You were not going to be able to do that. You were going to be too hyperaware of the extra presence in your life. Like a shadow creeping behind you down a dark alley. Always there in the corner of your eye, lurking and waiting.

“I should probably be getting home,” you said.

Your father nodded in agreement. “I’ll have Seonjo see you there.”

“Father, I-” One quick, stern look cut off any argument. “Yes, sir.” So much for being a grown woman.

Seonjo was one of your father’s own security. He was loyal to the family, your father most of all. He once sent a disgruntled employee to the hospital for trying to harm your father. He never directly admitted to having a license to kill, but you wouldn’t be surprised. As a child, he’d intimidated you. One time, he caught you trying to sneak out through the back kitchen door past midnight so you could go hang out with your friends. You thought that being thrown over someone’s shoulder was a stunt you would only have to perform in front of a camera. Needless to say, you didn’t try that again.

Out front, Seonjo was already leaning up against your car, waiting for you to unlock the doors. You didn’t fight him on who got to drive. You simply pulled your keys out and tossed them to the bodyguard before jumping into the passenger’s seat.

“How do you plan on get home?” you asked once you were down the road a ways.

“Rideshares are very common, you know,” Seonjo snorted. He’d become more playful as you’d gotten older. Your only guess as to why was perhaps he wasn’t very comfortable around children. Those little creatures were even more unpredictable than adults and from you had observed, Seonjo liked things… quiet. And orderly. Kids tended to be neither.

“But wouldn’t that break protocol?”

“They won’t enter the property,” Seonjo countered. “I’ll have them drop me off a little down the road and walk the rest of the way.”

“Always the man with a plan,” you laughed.

“That’s the job,” he replied with a smile.

Safe and sound in your own apartment, Seonjo bid you a goodnight and headed down the elevator to meet his rideshare driver down on the sidewalk. You were a bit surprised that he wasn’t staying the night to watch over you, but you were thankful. One last night of freedom in your own home before the lion came a’ prowling. It didn’t feel fair at all. But it just goes to show that the past never stays asleep for long.

“So, wait, let me get this straight: you… are… complaining at the fact that a man has to protect you and keep you safe from your crazy, maniacal stalker?”

You rolled your eyes at your best friend, knowing that you should have been prepared for this.

Dan had been by your side since the two of you costarred in a short-lived comedy series about high school students. Not that either of you were that sad about its less-than-a-season lifespan. Right after that, you snagged the lead in the show was the defining role of your acting life and Dan was able to move on to create his own fashion line. You couldn’t say what your other costars were up to now, but Dan was always – and would always be – a constant in your life.

“Its not that serious,” you said again as you leaned forward on your desk. Dan had come to your office to have dinner with you since he was sure that it wasn’t safe for you to eat out in the open in a crowded restaurant. You know, where witnesses were present.

“See, you keep saying that, but I’m not sure if you’re aware of the actual definition of serious.” Dan folded his hands and pulled up on his knee as he crossed his legs. “The phone callss might be passable, but the package of pig’s blood with old magazine articles about you isn’t as easily overlooked.”

“I get it. I really do. But I like how my life is right now. I don’t want to think about that pompous brat of an actress I was.”

“Okay, first of all,” Dan held up a finger, “you weren’t that bad because I never would have been your friend if you were.” Now a second finger. “Second of all, you can’t control other people, honey. I don’t know why they’re suddenly fixated on you after nearly eight years, but they are. And you have to deal with it.” A cheeky look came across his face as he lifted his glass of wine to his lips. “Besides, you never know. Maybe this Park guy will be handsome and the two of you will fall in love while he protects you from the axe wielding maniac.”

You gave him your best deadpan look. “You’ve watched The Bodyguard too many times.”

“Whitney Houston is an icon. She created one of the greatest ballads of all time with that movie.”

“Actually, the song was originally written by Dolly Parton.”

Dan jumped at the third voice, nearly spilling his wine. Thankfully, the liquid didn’t leave the glass, and he was wearing black pants anyway.

Standing in your open doorway was a man in a sharp black suit with a simple cut. It was the causal kind, like your father never wore. Hair almost as dark as the suit was parted on the side and slicked back away from his forehead. The smallest of smirks rested in the corner of his mouth, giving a little bit of light to his otherwise serious expression.

Surprised that he finally showed up after waiting all day, you stood to your feet and walked over to your new bodyguard. You held out your hand for him to take. It was a strong grip, but not so much so that it was intimidating. He kept eye contact with you, but in a way that was creepy or uncomfortable. “Hi. I’m (y/n).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (y/n). My name is Park Jinyoung. Jaebeom already informed you that I was assigned to watch over you until this stalker is caught.”

“Yes, he did.”

Dan hopped up from his seat and came to stand beside you. With his own hand stretched out, he took the liberty of introducing himself. “Hi, I’m Daniel Larken. The fashion designer? You might have heard of me.”

Jinyoung shook his hand, obviously amused by the forwardness. “The one with the reflective suits?”

“It’s actually a shimmer sewn in with the thread,” Dan corrected.

“Ah,” Jinyoung nodded. “Good work.”

“Thank you.”

Jinyoung’s eyes flickered back and forth between you and Dan, smirking. He was enjoying this. Well, at least one of you would be. And now that Dan was fully onboard, there was no one left to stand by you. It was official. You were stuck with this Park Jinyoung. As long as he agreed to stay out of your way and not completely upend your life, then this shouldn’t be too bad of an arrangement.

With a brewing smile of his own, Dan turned to you. “I want one.”

You crossed your arms sternly. “No.”

#got7 #got7 bodyguard au #got7 bodyguard!au #jinyoung x reader #park jinyoung #got7 series #got7 fanfic #got7 fanfiction #lim jaebeom #jackson wang #kim yugyeom #bambam #choi youngjae #mark tuan #Bottom of the Glass

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basicallywhiterice · 3 years

Text

across the world (lucas wong, dong sicheng/winwin)

pairing: lucas x reader, sicheng/winwin x reader

genre: angst, fluff, flangst. friends to lovers, college!au, dancer!sicheng, relationships and heartbreak

summary: You always thought a piece of your heart would belong to Sicheng, your first love, who ended things when he moved overseas. In the end, though, there’s nothing across the world except for a boy you used to know.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: cussing

a/n: see y’all next month for the last part, feel free to yell at me so i finish writing it sooner (p.s. peep the hamilton reference)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

this can be read as a standalone, but is part 2 in the on top of the world series. crossposted on ao3 here!

CHARLOTTE, NC

Charlotte Douglas International Airport, 1:42 p.m.

“Is this goodbye?” Sicheng murmurs, hugging you tighter. You strain to hear him amidst the hustle and bustle of the airport.

“I guess it is.” He’s leaving for Korea, pursuing his ambitious dance dreams. You’re staying in the states and starting college soon. There’s no time for an international relationship in either of your lives.

It’s cruel, you think, that the heartbreak from your first love will have been so worth it, that you’d have to live through the “right person, wrong time” so soon.

You nod, once. “Ah. Well. Bye.”

“We’re really over? We’re—officially breaking up?”

The words cut like a knife, but you try to stay strong for Sicheng’s sake. “Yeah,” is all you can manage without breaking down. “I guess we are.”

“Okay.”

So this is how it ends, you think. “Go and conquer the dance world.”

“I will. I—I really love you. I’m gonna miss you.”

“I love you too, Sicheng. You should go.”

“Ok.” He hoists up his backpack and raises his suitcase handle. “I—goodbye.”

“Bye.”

He starts toward the security line after some initial hesitation, flanked by his parents on either side. Trailing behind right before stopping, he turns back one last time, waving a final farewell.

After he’s gone, Lucas pats you on the back, Giselle hugs you tighter, and Ningning lets you cry into her shoulder. It helps, and it just barely holds you together as your world falls apart.

Home, 11:49 a.m.

You feel hollow.

Exactly six weeks before you leave for college, Sicheng does a routine call in the sliver of free time he has, sandwiched between his classes for the day. You’re still struggling through your acceptance of the change that was bound to happen, spending your days with your friends while you still have time. Though you’ve thrown yourself into living without him, seeing his face feels like a punch in the gut.

Even though he’s across the world, you let yourself forget for a moment, but you can’t pretend any longer when he hangs up.

Today was supposed to be your three month anniversary.

You turn down Yangyang’s invitation to skateboard and cry into your pillow.

Today was supposed to be your three month anniversary, but all you’re left with is a broken heart that Sicheng still holds.

ATLANTA, GA, FRESHMAN YEAR

Turman Hall, 11 a.m.

“Hey. How’d you like your first week?”

You spit out your toothpaste, holding up a finger and motioning for him to wait as you rinse.

“It was okay,” you say. “I haven’t really made new friends yet. I’ve, uh, hung out with a few people though, and Lucas and Giselle are in some of my classes.” Some water droplets spray out from a splash of water, and you wince a little at how low the dorm’s sinks are.

“Have you talked to the people on your floor?”

“Yeah, they’re cool. I’m pretty happy here, I think I just need more time to get to know people better,” you shrug. “Anyways. How are you?”

“It’s going pretty well. Someone from New York joined earlier this week, so she’s kind of in the same boat as me, except she’s Korean.” He’s about to continue when he yawns, words growing incomprehensible.

“You should sleep soon. When are you getting up tomorrow?”

“Late enough. I probably should, though.”

“Then why’d you call? Go to sleep, Sicheng.”

“I wanted to see you, is that really a crime?” He yawns again. “Well then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You know you’ll only get hurt in the long run, but that doesn’t stop you from texting him to set up another time to call once you know he’s asleep.

Turman Hall, 12:15 p.m.

Sicheng cancels a Facetime he scheduled earlier in the week, too tired to call after a grueling practice. It’s the first time he’s done so, and you knew he was going to get too busy for you eventually, but it still breaks your heart.

You’re staring at your laptop when a tidal wave of loneliness pulls you under. You miss Sicheng, but you also miss the rest of your high school friends, your parents, and the simplicity of life before college.

Just as you’re about to text him, Lucas calls you.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Yooo,” he greets. “Are you still coming to the student center?”

“Yeah, I was about to head out. Why’d you call?”

“You weren’t responding.”

You pause, a wave of tears suddenly welling up. “Thank you, Lucas,” you say, voice steady enough to avoid suspicion. “I’ll be there in 10.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

The loneliness doesn’t fade, but it doesn’t weigh as heavily anymore.

Turman Hall, 7:14 p.m.

You’re pulling on your shoes, about to head out to meet with Winter at a nearby restaurant, when Sicheng calls you. After a bit of hesitation, you reason it won’t take long and pick up.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Sicheng says, hair sweaty and face shining. “I’m on break right now. How are you?”

“I’m doing alright. Why’d you call?” you ask. He almost never calls during his breaks. “Isn’t it busy there?”

“I felt lonely,” he says, and you’re not sure why it hurts to hear that was the only reason. “Is anything interesting happening?”

“Uh.” It’s been a while since he last called, and you forget what you’ve told him already. “Well, Karina’s been encouraging me to rush next semester. I’m not sure if I want to do it, though.”

“That sounds really fun. You could meet some new people there.”

“Yeah, but it seems really time consuming, and I’ve made friends already. I just—”

“If you want to try it, I don’t see why not.”

“Yes, I just don’t know if I can handle it on top of my classes.”

“You need to decide what you want,” he says, and you blink, startled by his sudden outburst. Your first instinct is to apologize, but you have nothing to be sorry for, and you wonder if something major or stressful happened recently.

“I have been,” you mumble, trying not to sound defensive. “I declared my major last week, the joint bachelor’s and master’s thing here. I talked to my advisor about it and I’m trying to graduate in four years. I have a plan.”

“Oh.” He pauses, head tilting. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to tell you over call.”

“Ah. You should’ve said something.”

You just shrug, wanting to move on. “I’m excited. How are you, though? Why are you feeling lonely?” You know it’s pointless to ask when he only has a few minutes of free time, but you still want to give him an option to answer.

“I’m alright, getting busier now but—”

The door opens behind him, a dancer clad in black clothing walking on screen. They speak a string of Korean to which Sicheng nods, standing up and stretching his legs.

“Sorry, break’s up,” he says, face coming back into the frame as he bends down to pick up his phone. “Text you later?”

You’ve gotten used to it by now. “Okay. Good luck. Bye.”

His face is replaced first with your text history, and next with a black screen. You stare at it, wondering if he even loved you in the first place.

You don’t decide on an answer during the 15 minute walk to dinner, but when you meet Winter there, you find that there are better ways to fill your time.

Turman Hall, 11:15 p.m.

Your hands shake as you press the FaceTime button under Sicheng’s contact. As your phone rings, you set it down to wipe your palms on your pants.

After tonight, you’ve decided to cut Sicheng out of your life. The timing is less than ideal, but with exams just completed and an abundance of time to reflect, it’s the best you can do. All you want is one final call with him, and you’ll rip off the bandaid.

Sicheng answers quickly. He’s sitting at his desk, a pillow propped up between him and his chair. “Hey,” he says, waving. An easy smile hangs from his face, and he looks the most relaxed he’s been in months.

“Hey,” you breathe. “How are you?”

He eats lunch as you talk, almost making you regret your decision to distance yourself. Your resolve never crumbles like you thought it would, though, and you think your conviction signals the point of no return.

Tonight, you hang up first. It feels like you can breathe again when you press the ‘end call’ button, but your heart crushes under the weight of your lungs.

Turman Hall, 11:57 p.m.

“I’m moving on,” you say, resting your elbows on the windowsill and looking up toward the looming night sky. The moon hangs high above, its gentle glow drawing out everything you’ve been bottling up.

“I can’t wait for him to come back when he’s happy without me,” you tell the moon. “I need to live my life without him. Otherwise, it’s not fair to me, or him, or anyone who cares about me.”

A tear traces its way down your face, plopping down onto the ledge. “I used to love him. I don’t know if it’ll ever go away, but I know that someday, I’ll be able to look back at it as something in the past.”

The stars wink back at you, silently, and you wonder if the moon ever gets tired of orbiting the Earth.

CHARLOTTE, NC

Home, 7:09 p.m.

Sicheng texts you every day during the first week of winter break. Each time, you ignore him for hours before responding, and it feels horrible, but there’s no other way around it.

Today’s texts come when you’re sitting in your room with Giselle and Kun, waiting for the sugar cookie dough to chill in the fridge. He asks how you are, if you want to call in the pocket of free time he has right now and tell him more about your future plans. You stare at the messages on your lockscreen, waiting for your phone to turn off before limply tossing it on your bed.

“What’s going on?” Giselle asks eventually, pulling you out of your reverie.

“What?”

“Y/n,” she says, scooting closer. You look up from the miniature Christmas tree nestled in your lap, having fiddled with its flimsy branches to distract yourself from replying. “What’s wrong? Talk to us, we’re here for you.”

You glance over at Kun. “I can tell the rest of them not to come because Giselle and I got food poisoning or something, if you need to vent to us.” He pulls his phone out, ready to text Yangyang, Lucas, and Ningning at a moment’s notice.

You wonder how long they’ve known, even when you kept quiet and tried to shoulder your pain alone. Your phone’s ringing saves you from answering immediately, lighting up with an incoming Facetime from Sicheng, and it hurts not to pick up, but it would hurt even more if you did.

“He said he has 20 minutes to call,” you relay to Kun and Giselle dully, your cover blown. They share a sideways glance, but neither of them say anything. “Should I? I don’t even know if I want to talk to him, but y’all probably haven’t called him in a while.”

“Don’t think of us, think of what you want,” Giselle urges.

You nod, reaching for the phone again. It’s still ringing when you silence it, throwing it back on the bed.

“Yeah. That’s what I want.” And then you fall over onto Giselle’s lap, desperately wishing for the pain to end, and she holds you as you sob for the first time in a week. “He’s—it’s—different now, and—s’okay, b-but it’s…” you choke out before you start hiccuping.

The room is quiet as you cry, only the sounds of sniffling and gentle consoling present, as you shed a semester’s worth of tears. You start talking once you’re coherent enough, putting your heart on full display, and it’s cathartic. It’s cathartic to ugly cry, to retell your love story to two friends who love you deeply, to release of all the hurt and longing you’ve been holding onto just to remember how you and Sicheng were.

And when you’re done, letting go gives more room for hope to come in.

ATLANTA, GA

Waffle House, 1:01 a.m.

“What do you mean, of course you were gonna get a bid, you idiot,” you exclaim around a bite of waffles. “I can’t believe you’re a frat boy now.”

“I was worried! I thought that one dude hated me, remember?” Lucas grins. “And don’t worry, I’m not an official frat boy yet.”

“Don’t fucking get hazed when you pledge.”

He raises his hands, still holding a syrup-covered pancake piece speared onto his fork. “I won’t. Don’t fall into the whole ‘frat boys are dumb’ thing on me, now, I know how to look after myself.”

“I’m not, I’m just worried,” you sigh. “Just—stay safe, y’know?”

“Aw, you do care after all.”

“Shut up before I make you pay for your pancakes.”

He doesn’t shut up. “Anyways, enough about me. You don’t have to, uh, say anything, but are you—are you doing okay?”

You can’t tell if he’s talking about Sicheng or life in general, but you offer an honest answer to both. You’ll find out which one he’s referring to soon enough. “I’m doing better.”

“I can tell.”

You stare at him for a second too long, the harsh fluorescent lights glaring down, and you think that maybe Sicheng came into your life at exactly the right time.

Three truths arise at the exact same time: You don’t love Sicheng anymore. You’re happier without him. And you see the light at the end of the tunnel, the day quickly approaching when you are perfectly satisfied with what was, and have no grieving for what could have been.

Clairmont Road, 6:08 p.m.

When it arrives, it’s any other spring day. You’re sitting at a bus stop, scrolling through social media, helping Winter finalize the Airbnb booking for your upcoming spring break trip, and discussing your summer internship applications with Ten at the same time, when Giselle scrolls back up your feed.

“Isn’t that… Sicheng? He went viral?”

“Hm?” You glance down at a dance trend, the dancer vibing onscreen alongside a popular filter. Then your eyes land on the several hundred thousand likes beneath the video. “That’s him?” you finally realize. You haven’t kept up with his dance account in a few months, and it seems like you’ve missed out on a lot.

“Oh my god, he made it, didn’t he?”

“Holy shit. All because of a TikTok dance? That’s insane.”

You call Lucas over, and the three of you rewatch the video.

As you watch, you wait for your expression to fall again, for your heart to drop and your stomach to twist when you think about him, but nothing happens. And as you feel nothing but happiness for his success, the last scratch on your heart heals itself, and you smile.

Then the epiphany hits you: you and Sicheng may never talk, meet, or be okay with each other again, but it doesn’t matter. It hasn’t mattered for a while, not when your heart is bursting with love for your own life and stays silent for a boy who was once in it.

He’s in his own world—leaving you happier now that you’re done learning what you needed to from him, wiser and more content—and you’re in your own, taking over the world with only those you choose to share it with.

It’s solitary on top of the world, but it will never be lonely, not when you fight for everything you want and hold the people you love close to your heart.

You let go of Sicheng a long time ago.

ATLANTA, GA, SOPHOMORE YEAR

The Quad, 7:30 p.m.

The day Lucas asks you out is the day the flowers outside your window start to bloom.

“I really like you,” he says, his beaming expression matching yours, “and I was wondering if you’d like to go out? On a date with me?”

He’s awkward, but carries himself with confidence. His fidgeting hands give away the nervousness he tries to hide, but his grin catches your attention. There’s a lot of things you like about him, but you think his smile might be one of your favorites.

“I would love to.”

Main Street, 8:15 p.m.

By the time your three month anniversary with Lucas rolls around, you’ve started bringing down your heart’s defenses already. There’s no reason to keep them up: he doesn’t make you cry when you worry about the future, is never gone for long enough to make your heart ache. He’s safe, and you want to stop keeping him at arm’s distance.

And you’ll be okay. You’ve lived through one heartbreak already and emerged stronger than ever. And if your vulnerability with Lucas means it will heighten your next heartbreak, then it’ll be worth it a million times over.

You hand parts of your heart for him to hold, dropping your defenses day by day. This is the point of no return, and you choose to walk past it with Lucas by your side.

ATLANTA, GA, JUNIOR YEAR

The Quad, 10:22 p.m.

“I’m in love with you,” Lucas confesses. Grinning from ear to ear, he swings your clasped hands together, practically restraining himself from skipping down the park path. Your hand slips an inch before he catches it, oblivious to the sweat coating your palms inside your gloves.

The right words never come, and slowly, the smile melts off his face. “Baby?”

Your throat constricts as you swallow hard around your dry tongue.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it before you were comfortable, I…”

“Lucas.” Pausing, you bring a shaky fist up to your mouth, covering the lower half of your face as you stall for time. “I… don’t know.”

Your hand slips out of his. “Oh.”

“Lucas, I love you very much. But there’s a difference. I… don’t know if I’m in love with you.” He stares at you, expression tight, and your stomach turns. “This doesn’t mean no. I really don’t know, but I do know that you make me happy. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I thought I had been clear in how I felt.”

You wince, slightly. “I’m—”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” He swallows. “Can we please go back to the dorms? I’m not mad, and I don’t want you to feel bad, but I really need to be alone right now.”

“Can we work this out first?” you ask, panic settling into your voice.

“I don’t know if we can do that right now.” “Have—have you been open with me? About how you feel these past few months?”

“Can we at least try? I—” Your voice breaks, and you clench your jaw to ground yourself before continuing. “Of course I’ve been open. I made the choice to communicate everything I felt, I overcame my fear of heartbreak. Just because I’m not sure if I’m in love with you yet doesn’t mean I haven’t tried and cared.”

“I don’t—can we please go back? I need some time alone.”

“You can’t just walk away like that,” you say, voice shaking. “You—you’re not trying to solve this together.”

“I don’t know,” he says, and it hurts to hear when it’s all he says, but not as much as it hurt you to say.

“Lucas,” you say, and it feels horrible pleading for him to listen. “Please work this out with me. Show me that you’re choosing me, too.”

He stares at you, motionless. Your worry compounds when he stays there, heart ripping apart at the seams as you resign yourself to the fact that this is the beginning of the end. Jaw clenching, you let your tears trickle down your face, the frigid wind sending pricks of coldness down your face.

Then he steps closer, blurry silhouette growing bigger. You furiously wipe away your tears, wool gloves scratching at your cheeks, to get a good look at his expression, when he hesitantly reaches up for your hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says, slowly lowering your joined hands. “I know you’re hurt. I need you to trust me when I need some time to process this, and I know you want to work on this together, but I need to be alone first. Would you be okay with going back to your dorm, but staying in different rooms for a while so that I can still be close to you?”

It’s not okay—not if he’s giving up on solving it together. “You get the bathroom.”

“Deal.”

You don’t get the chance to tell him that night, for you fall asleep before he talks to you again.

His absence speaks for itself, and you think this might be the point of no return.

Woodruff Hall, 12:12 a.m.

Lucas gives up over winter break, and you want to blame him, but you’re too busy blaming yourself for breaking up with him to be angry.

“Why?” he demands, gaze cold. You look away.

“You knew this was coming,”

“You were the one who talked about choosing each other and working on our relationship.”

And you were the one who gave up first, you think, but you’re too tired to be bitter. “Lucas, I don’t think you can change my mind at this point.”

“Are you—is it because I’m in love with you?”

“Lucas, please, just go.”

“Did you ever love me?” You hate that you can’t comfort him the first time he cries in front of you.

“We can talk about this later, but please, I need to be alone right now.”

You start sobbing the moment he walks out the door.

The Quad, 11:32 p.m.

Were you in love with him?

Woodruff Hall, 1:57 a.m.

You were not in love with him.

Woodruff Hall, 11:29 a.m.

When Sicheng Facetimes you for the second time this year, you’re not expecting it. You certainly aren’t expecting the news he drops.

“You’re dating someone?” you ask as he blushes.

For a horrible moment, all you can think is what if what if what if before you blink, and then your guilt over your past evaporates.

“That’s awesome. What are they like?”

“She’s really cool. She joined the studio a year after I did and we started talking recently. It’s going really well.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Me too,” he grins. “How are you, though? Anything interesting happen?”

“Nah, I’m just pretty stressed,” you half-fib. “Just—life, you know?”

“I see. How are you and Lucas?”

A cross between a laugh and a sob rips out of your throat unexpectedly. “We—we broke up earlier this month.”

Sicheng goes still. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“He—it’s—I’ll be okay. I trust myself enough to end up okay,” you babble. “It’s chill. It’ll be chill eventually.”

“Things will get better,” he agrees, “but you shouldn’t ignore how you feel right now. Are you alright? Wanna talk about it?”

You tell him an abridged version, one that’s probably still too personal for him, and he consoles you the best he can.

You still feel the finality when he hangs up, though, the sense of obligation he felt to inform you of his girlfriend obvious from the start. It’s an unspoken agreement that neither one of you will contact the other so as not to intrude on his new relationship, and you imagine it’ll be the last time he calls you this year.

And you’re okay with that—have been okay with it for years by now. Sicheng’s gone, not the one that got away, and you feel a deep peace settle in your bones.

One day, you’ll feel the same about Lucas, too, and that victory carries you through the week.

ATLANTA, GA, SENIOR YEAR

Oxford Road, 4:28 p.m.

“Hi, Lucas.”

He looks up from his laptop, pulling his textbook from the cafe table to make more room for you. “Hey, it’s good to see you again.”

The awkwardness you’ve been preparing for in your meeting never comes. “You too,” you say, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him. “How have you been?”

“I’m doing really well. How ‘bout you?”

“Me too. I’m glad you’re doing good. How’d that internship go, by the way?”

“Oh my god, it went great,” he recounts. “Ten told you how he was interning under a different department, right? And that he worked on the floor above mine?”

“He did. Did y’all see each other often? He didn’t really mention a lot other than how he got wasted with you.”

“Yeah. He’s less of a lightweight now, did you know? Anyways, I shared an apartment with a few guys, and one of them was from his hometown, and he was doing analytics as well and he mentioned that he had interned with you last summer. Do you remember a Hendery?”

“I remember him! Does he still have a bunch of questionable ties?”

“So many. We got him a Shrek tie that Ten ended up picking, and he wore it on the last day, it was great.”

You and Lucas are okay again.

You only realize that you never ordered a drink by the time you head out.

Executive Park, 10:42 p.m.

Sicheng calls for the first time in a year right when Winter leaves your college apartment for the last time. It’s not the last time you’ll see her before you move out, but it brings about a sense of finality.

“Hello?” you ask after a moment of silence.

“You’re still going to school in LA next year, right?”

“Hello?” Winter glances over, one hand on your doorknob, and you shake her head. Covering your phone, you mouth “I’m fine.” She doesn’t look convinced, but closes the door behind her anyways.

“Please,” he says, and his sense of urgency grabs your attention. “I’ll explain, but I need to know.”

“Yeah, I am. Why? What’s happening?”

“So. I might be moving there to teach at a dance studio.”

“You’re moving back?” you press. “Why? When? Which studio?”

“Millennium, sometime in the fall,” he says, loud chatter on his end briefly drowning out his words. “Shit—I don’t have a lot of time right now, but I got confirmation that I’ll be teaching there just now, and I—I remembered you were gonna be there, and, you know? Can we talk about this sometime later? I’m at the studio right now, I just—”

“Sicheng, that’s fine,” you say when you hear the talking in the background pick up again, worried that he’s missing out on a class or practice. “I’m proud of you for making it there. We’ll talk later?”

“Thank you, yeah, we should.”

You nod, not knowing what to do. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he says, and you hang up as soon as the syllable has left his mouth.

Sicheng’s moving back. He’s moving back, a stranger behind his familiar smile, and it’s difficult to think about meeting him when you’d assumed you’d never see him again.

Against the backdrop of surprise, your curiosity stands out the most. You wonder what kind of person he grew into—wonder if he ever found something besides dance to chase, what his most recent catchphrase is, how his girlfriend is doing, if he still listens to the SoundCloud rapper after he went into pop, how often he calls his parents—and you miss the ease of being able to ask him, no sour memories to impede even the simplest of conversations.

This is the price you have to pay, you suppose, for knowing you were meant to outgrow each other.

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sparklesparklekoushi · 4 years

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Choose Your Glucose Guardian! (Ushijima Wakatoshi Ver.)

This is part one of a seven part series based on some of the Haikyuu! Captains.

This was originally posted on my Ao3 here: link

Minor spoiler-ish? Mentions a timeskip! team.

That’s all, enjoy!!

You don’t even know how you got here. You were in bed, in a really really oversized shirt with nothing under it. But no, nothing had happened prior to that. You were snuggled up to none other than Japan's volleyball ace, Ushijima Wakatoshi. A movie was playing in the background, probably The Princess Diaries for the nth time during the week. It was a normal occurrence, at night you would find yourself in one of his jerseys or snuggly shirts that were at least 2 times bigger than you, snuggled up to him watching the same damn movie or some other teen flick until who knows what hour.

He would fall asleep faster than you would, but you wouldn't have it any other way this way, you could stare at him lovingly without having to hide it. This way you could admire his peaceful features in contrast to how cold and stoic he looks when he is awake. He doesn't snore, but sometimes you'd catch him sleep talking about volleyball if you're lucky enough. When that would happen you would giggle and smile at what you would hear. But then again, you shouldn't be feeling this way at all…

After all, these were against unspoken rules…

The unspoken rules of being a sugar baby

Yes, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Ace of the Schwieden Adlers, was your sugar daddy.

Yet why did you feel this way?

Maybe it was the way he held you close, like you were something to protect. Or it was in the way he actually smiled when he was with you. Was it the fact that he wasn’t much older than you either? He was only 27 and you were 21, not much of an age difference there and that made you bond, you could say, even closer.

Another thing is that Ushijima would never do anything you wouldn’t consent to. He knew his boundaries and knew how to respect your space. In fact, he was more of a friend at this point than someone who was supposed to be spoiling you nonstop. He just appreciated your company while you loved his company. You didn’t need fancy gifts or anything lavish, you honestly just wanted him. You, if you were to consider him as a friend, really wanted to take things to the next level.

But then, who were you to be anything but a plaything to get bored of? You were just a university student, an art student at that. You were just an expressive mess who was in love with someone who truly isn’t yours. You weren’t poor, in fact, you had a stable internship at an art gallery and your boss says you would make it big someday. You sell cute art and it's fun and fulfilling, so why were you in this situation.

It was another day at an art fair, but this art fair was somewhat different. You weren’t at some anime convention or anything like that, you were selling your original art at a local art fair. You were all dressed up as this took place at a fancy gallery. It was fun, but then this was sort of a test of how much you would sell. You were honestly scared, since this could be a stepping stone to becoming a recognized artist.

Some people had bought your art pieces and it made you happy, you didn’t really know how to price things at first, but your art teacher at your uni had helped you throughout the whole process, in fact, they were the reason you were here now. You were seated at your table, taking a break from talking to all these people when you were approached by a red haired man who seemed to be in the same age group as you.

Woah, that's cool, wish I was this big at that age… you thought to yourself.

He smiled at you when you met each other's eyes, “Excuse me, but would you happen to know the artist of these paintings?”

He was pointing in the direction of your most prized painting, the most expensive one at that. It was your definition of love at that time, a whimsical, beautiful thing.

You nodded, “Yes, that would be me.”

He smiles a little shocked, “Woah that's cool, how old are you? Aren’t you too young to be here?”

You knew he was joking as you both laughed, “For the record, I’m 20. So no, I don’t think I'm that young to be here.”

He nods in respect, “I’m Tendou, Tendou Satori. I’m actually asking about the painting for a friend.”

“(l/n) (y/n). If I may ask, who is willing to buy my painting?”

“I am.” A deep voice says sending shivers down your spine.

You looked behind you to see a tall man who seemed to be the same age as Tendou. And as much as you hate to admit it, he was really good looking.

You learned when talking to him that he was Ushijima Wakatoshi, and the Ace of Japan’s men's volleyball team. Soon enough he asked you to make him another painting… but that didn’t go that well at first.

Some things had happened and your family disowned you completely as you shifted to a full time art major. You argued with them constantly recently as they never supported you… And I guess going to local art fairs proved that you would not listen to them… so a few days later you were disowned. You didn’t know what to do, but you did have enough money for now, to last through the semester.

Eventually however, you had to call Ushijima to tell him about how you would not be able to produce his painting anytime soon. He had been talking to you for a while now, about mundane things like your lives. He thought you were a breath of fresh air and that was when he suggested it.

You were hesitant at first, but he reassured you that he would never do anything that you didn’t like. So you agreed to his somewhat proposal.

So just like that, it's been a year since that has happened. In all honesty, you could walk away from all of this now as you can stand on your own feet and all that. But Ushijima wouldn't let you go. He would always say that he wanted you to stay with him until you finished college at least or he would make other excuses.

You just wish he would do that out of the fact that he wanted to love you for you, and not because you were some fragile girl.

That night, you couldn’t take it any longer. Your thoughts piling up and eating at you were causing you to think of crazy things, so in the middle of the night, you left his house. You wandered out in his old shirt and some leggings as it was a cold night. You brought your phone but put it on airplane mode so you could listen to music. It was going to be a rough night for sure…

Ushijima stirred awake to find you missing from his arms. He was extremely worried. He tried calling you and giving you some time, but as 30 minutes passed and you didn’t answer, he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to find you. He heard you crying a few nights ago, and he wondered why. He thought that he might not be giving you enough art supplies or something, but he wanted you to tell him. So he hinted these things at you through the way Tendou had taught him.

He was honestly sick of this no feelings and strings attached relationship. He truly wanted to love you, but he was scared that you didn’t see him as anything more than a person to talk to, or dare he say it, a friend. He called up Tendou to help him and his friend sighed over the phone saying; “You better make her your girlfriend after this or I’m going to make her my sugar baby.”

That was enough of a push for him to find you and do what's right.

It was getting late, and both males had no hint of where you had gone. They had checked almost everywhere. That’s until Ushijima had realized that there would be a place you would 100% be in, the art gallery where you first met. It would be open until this time as it was open 24/7… plus, you interned there. He sent a text to Tendou to meet him there as he ran over to the place. And there you were, headphones in, about to enter the building. He came up to you and enveloped you into a hug, a hug that made you feel loved.

“Be mine.” He says as your eyes widen.

You’ve never felt so happy in your entire life, and with that, you shared a kiss under the moonlight.

#ushijima x you #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#shiratorizawa imagine #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x reader #sugar daddy au #haikyuu captains

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mydekuacademia · 4 years

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Isn’t It Lovely?

Moving into the dorms seemed like a dream come true for (y/n). They could finally live free from their bleak home life, or so they thought. A Todoroki x reader fic loosely inspired by Lovely by Billie Eilish

Warnings: inappropriate touching, abuse, sucky parents, overall angst, cussing. Please, please don’t read if any of this could be triggering to you!!!!

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Howdy! Yet another unrequested fic I’m writing instead of emptying out my inbox (don’t worry, i’ll get to those too!!)

Going to UA was the greatest accomplishment of your life. You had spent years honing your skills in your quirk usage and general hand-to-hand combat - you were good. You’d made it into class 1A without issue, comfortably situated among the top in the class, but not so showy as to appear overconfident. It wasn’t long before you caught the eye of the son of the #2 hero - Todoroki Shouto.

It wasn’t until your fellow classmate, Midoriya Izuku, broke through Todoroki’s walls that the stoic boy began opening up to you. Within a few weeks of your friendship, he told you about his home life - the story behind his scar, the loss of his oldest brother, the intense training sessions. As you held his shaking form close, you realized just how important he was to you. You wanted him to be able to tell you anything, and you wanted to tell him everything too.

But you couldn’t. Not when he already had so much on his plate.

Soon after Todoroki, Midoriya, and Iida battled Hero Killer Stain, you decided you had to tell Todoroki how you felt. Your high school career was obviously going to be much more dangerous than anticipated, so who knew how much longer you’d have to say something? Much to your surprise, after a moment of tense silence, he muttered that he returned your feelings, a light blush coloring his cheeks. Thus started the best relationship of your life.

The events of the year didn’t make your relationship easy. It seemed like one of you was always injured or training, but you did your best to make time for each other. Just when you began to get tired of being pulled fifty different ways, the dorms were implemented.

Your parents were none too happy about you moving out at such a young age, but Aizawa managed to convince them it was for your own safety. You didn’t know how to tell your teacher that your adamant agreement was for reasons other than villain attacks.

You were overjoyed to find out that your dorm was on the same floor as Shouto’s; finally, you could have more time together! You dreamed of study dates in the common room, movie marathons in your dorms, quiet mornings before your classmates woke up and calm evenings after they went to sleep. You could calm him down when he woke up from nightmares, and maybe you could finally tell him everything you hadn’t gathered the courage to before. Maybe you could actually work up the nerve to let yourself be weak in front of him.

Unfortunately, life had other plans for you.

The day you were set to move in, your mother got called in to work unexpectedly, meaning she would be unable to help you bring your belongings to the dorms. That meant your father would have to help you instead. When you found out, your breath caught in your throat - this was exactly what you were trying to avoid. You never wanted him to know which building was yours, let alone which room. There was nothing you could do now though.

You walked into the common room of the 1A Heights Alliance, arms loaded with boxes and head lowered. You almost made it to the staircase when a soothing voice spoke from behind you.

“(Y/n)? What’s wrong?” Shouto asked. You instantly dropped your boxes and hugged him around the waist, burying your face in his collarbone.

“It’s nothing, Shouto. The move is just stressful, you know?”

He hummed in response, wrapping you up in his arms and kissing the top of your head. “Is there anything I can do to help? I can carry some of those boxes.”

You shook your head and pulled away just enough to kiss his cheek. “They’re not heavy. Thank you though.” The moment was broken by a honeyed voice coming from behind you.

“Who’s this, (y/n)? A friend of yours?”

Your face instantly hardened, and you pulled away from Shouto and stiffly lifted your boxes from the floor. “Do you have my stuff?” you asked with a steely tone.

“Of course! Lead the way.”

You were about to open the door to the stairs when Shouto spoke up again, quieter this time. “Who is this, (y/n)?”

You barely glanced up to meet his eyes. “My father.”

He stood a few inches taller than you, with an athletic build and domineering presence. You had his nose and mouth, but not much else to give away your relation.

“I’ll see you later, Shou.” With that, you entered the stairwell and began the trek up to the fifth floor, your father trailing behind you.

“Was that young man Endeavor’s son?” your father asked innocently.

“Yes.”

“Todoroki Shouto, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And what is your relationship with him?”

You exited the stairwell and walked to your door. Your father grew irritated.

“(Y/n), I asked you a question.”

You continued ignoring him and opened the door to your new room, which was disconcertingly bare. You hadn’t gotten two steps in when you heard the door slam shut behind you and felt yourself being spun around. Your boxes hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Are you dating him?” your father growled.

Now, this didn’t phase you terribly. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a rare occurrence at home. This was what you never wanted Shouto to know about. Your father was just as bad as his.

“I paid for years of the best training there is, I got you into the prestigious UA, and this is how you repay me? By whoring yourself out to the first pretty boy you see?” His volume was rising with each word.

“Father, please, we’re in public,” you mumbled.

A vein bulged in his temple. “You don’t get to tell me what to do! I’m your father!” With that, he brought a hand up and slapped you with every ounce of his strength. Your head snapped to the side, and you fell to the floor, landing on a small box and badly bruising your side and hip.

With a small whimper, you begged your father to stop. “Please, someone could hear. Please, stop.”

He dropped to his knees next to you and tugged your shirt up just enough to reveal the waistband of your pants, eyes crazed. “Maybe if I tighten your belt, that boy won’t be trying to take your pants off.”

Your eyes widened dramatically, hardly seeing anymore due to your panic and pain. “Dad, stop! Please! What the hell are you doing?”

Before he could make any more to follow up on his statement, your door burst open, revealing one very angry Torodoki Shouto. Frost climbed up his right hand, and sparks danced on the fingers of his left hand. “Get your fucking hands off them, right now.”

“Ah, if it isn’t the pretty boy himself. Come to use my pathetic child?” your father replied, undeterred by the furious glint in Shouto’s eyes.

Ignoring your father’s words, Shouto swung his right arm in front of him, sending a wave of ice at your father and freezing him to the wall, leaving his head uncovered. He then dropped to his knees next to you and helped you into a sitting position, arm behind your back and other hand on your shoulder.

“Aizawa is on his way. I told him your father was acting suspicious,” Shouto said quietly. “He’s not going anywhere for the time being. Let’s go, okay?”

You silently nodded and allowed him to help you to your feet. Aizawa made it to your room just as you limped out.

“(Y/n)? Are you limping?” Aizawa asked lowly. You nodded and stared at your feet. “Where is he?” he asked in a growl.

“I froze him to the wall. I walked in on him hurting (y/n),” Shouto explained tightly. “I’m taking them to my room. You can find us there when you’re done.” Aizawa must have nodded, because Shouto placed an arm around your shoulders and led you to his room. When you got situated on his futon, he grabbed your hand and lifted your chin so you were eye to eye.

“How long has this been going on?”

You shrugged. “A while, I guess. Few years.”

Shouto’s eyes widened for a moment, before narrowing a bit. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped get you out.” His pained tone made your heart ache.

“You had enough to deal with as it was. You didn’t need this too,” you whispered.

“I would have done it for you, though. Anything for you.”

You leaned into his side and buried your face in his neck. “I was going to tell you after we got settled into our dorms. I thought this would be my way out, that maybe I could move on. But he- he never goes away. I hoped to actually make it out someday, but I guess I just got my hopes up. I guess I’ll never actually be free, huh?” You chuckled bitterly.

“You can be free with me,” Shouto whispered. “I’ll keep you safe, always. He’ll never get near you again as long as I’m around.” He lifted your chin and placed a light kiss on your lips. “Stay here with me for a while, okay? I’m sure Aizawa won’t mind. And if he does, screw him.” He wrapped his arms securely around you and pulled you into a tight hug. “Welcome home, (y/n).”

#todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha x reader #my hero academia #mha #mha x reader #tw abuse

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