#although there is a petty fucked up sort of pride to it
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and what if taylor writes a whole chapter on the sniper situation? detailing buck's rescue attempt down to every stuttered word buck told her, laying out the aftermath by the broken moments of buck she was privy to, the crane situation, the nightmares, the shock outside of the hospital. and what if realisation dawns during eddie's hate read?
#sami rambles#eddie realises buck's in love with him right back but that's immediately overshadowed by the realisation#that taylor fucking kelly is going to be the reason he and buck get together#although there is a petty fucked up sort of pride to it#911 spoilers#911 show#911 fox#911 abc#buddie#buck x eddie#anti taylor kelly#evan buckley#eddie diaz
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thinking about a king who is travelling from his capital city to a grand event in another kingdom and like... magic for the past while has been quite tightly controlled and only available through certain approved academic routes
but there's an accident and his caravan is hit
like the whole caravan just scattered across the side of a cliffside, his court wizard dead, but crucially, his physician dead too
and he's pretty severely injured, he's in a lot of pain, and he's not used to NOT having a healer to hand
and so like, the remainder of the caravan coming together and changing their route, going to a nearby village and like... being in the middle of fucking NOWHERE, it's a tiny dot of a village on the map
but one of the guards basically saying, do you have a healer?
and the bartender who says, "er, well, sir, we've got a healer, yeah. he's a midwife, sir - a witch." and this guy going
well we have a severe injury, we need you to call for him
doesn't say it's for the king
and so this witch comes in and he's this severe, pale looking man who has the same mountain accent all these village people have. he's not academically educated. he's not rich enough to afford it - he's obviously learned a fringe, cultural magic
and the witch is brought into the hall where the king is reclining, guards and attendants also in various states of injury
and the king's guard who says, "you will heal them."
and the witch who blinks, sort of placidly. "you're the king," he says.
"your king," the king's guard reminds him.
"no," the witch disagrees. "not mine. and i won't heal him, either."
and the king is taken aback, but is in pain, is groggy, and also, is genuinely too curious to be immediately angry? like, what the fuck is this about?
"you will," says the guard, stepping forward.
"he isn't dying very fast," says the witch. "carry him to the next town. there's a healer five days travel from here. he should survive."
"you'll heal him if you value your life."
"i do value it. i don't value yours."
the witch is cold, his expression cool and utterly unmoved by the guard's threatening manner, by the way he's towering over him.
the king says, "young man, he's threatening you with execution."
"mm, i heard him. there's a wheeze in your voice - i expect your lungs are impacted by your broken ribs. you shouldn't dally here - you should get to a healer."
"aren't you a healer?"
"not for you."
"why's that?"
the witch laughs, and moves to leave
he stops, expression flat, as two crossed blades stop his departure, two guards keeping him in place.
"heal him," one of them says.
"no," says the witch. "you do it, if you see fit to."
"none of us has the skill."
"and whose fault is that?"
"didn't you make an oath?" asks the king softly - he's always prided himself on his diplomacy. the witch turns back toward him, his head tilting to one side. "to heal where and what you could?"
the witch's eyes narrow.
"you want me to heal you?" he asks.
the king gestures, although moving hurts, to his retinue. "i think we've made that clear."
"very well," says the witch. "renounce your crown, and i will."
the king stares at him. "beg pardon?"
"give up your throne, declare an end to your rule. i'll heal you, then."
"you really don't value your life, do you?" he asks in a hiss, losing patience. "you would really choose this obstinate refusal of authority over your own life?"
"why not?"
"you'd rather die than put aside this petty resistance."
"you'd rather die than put aside your petty little jewels and your nonsense title," says the witch. "it doesn't seem you value your life any more than I do mine."
the king, speechless, stares at him aghast.
"which is it, then?" he asks. "your life or your crown?"
"get out," growls the king.
the witch, suddenly smiling, gives a deep bow. "good luck," he says insincerely before he departs. "you'll need it."
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Elio: 🍑🍋💗
Rosie: 🌹🍊😊
Hooh boy let's fucking go...
Elio:
🍑 Where is your OC’s favourite place to relax or calm down? Recount a story of their time spent in this place! What makes it so special to them?
Bold of you to assume he has ever relaxed in his entire life. Just kidding. He likes any quiet place, preferrably somewhere warm. I think he has good memories of his boyfriend's caravan because it was the first place he ever really got away from his family for a while.
🍋 Does your OC act petty and jealous easily? What sort of things make them feel like this and do they experience guilt for getting so worked up? How do they deal with these emotions when they get them? If your OC doesn’t feel like this often, why not?
He's a bitch. He's not jealous, but he's a petty asshole. I think he's just overcompensating for his own insecurities. He is a bit of a hypocrite. He feels bad about it but he's not going to admit that ever, he says a lot of mean things mostly to people he feels are incompetent or don't respect him.
💗 What would your OC say is their best feature? Why? What do their friends / family / lover(s) / people they know think is their best feature and why?
Oh man... He'd probably just pride himself on the ability to punch real good. His path as a monk was one of the first things he actively pursued himself because he wanted to.
His mentor Lucia likes his determination
His boyfriend Ikaros likes his occasionally clueless nature and the sincerity he displays with him (als let's not deny that I made Elio hot. He's handsome.)
His sister Ophelia likes his piano playing and the fact that he alwas stuck up for her.
His friend Faydra likes his sardonic personality (straight from her player's mouth)
His friend (?) Ember did not comment. To be fair their relationship is complicated lmao
Now for Rosie:
🌹 How easy is it for them to connect with others and make friends? On the flip side how easy is it for them to make an enemy of someone? Are they the kind of person who hangs around the food table at a party and never talks to anyone or are they the type who can talk to anyone?
Rosie is a social butterfly. She makes friends easily just by being honest and open. I don't think she thinks she makes enemies easily. You'd have to do something truly horrible and be unrepentant for her to hate you.
🍊 What is your OC’s favourite meal? Snack? Dessert? Drink? Any reasons behind this besides liking how it tastes?
Rosie loves honey. They had bees where she grew up and she enjoyed the process of making it. She also likes a good sheep's milk cheese. Moreso now because it reminds her of home and the people she misses/lost.
😊 What can make your OC smile even when they’re feeling down? What cheers them up and makes everything feel better for them? Is your OC genrally a happy person and do they enjoy making others smile? What about your OC makes others happy?
Rosie definitely USED to be a happy person. She's still holding onto her optimism although stuff is grim. I think the thingh she is still holding onto is the knowledge that she helped people and can still help even more.
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Poorly describing my versions of the Gotham rogues:
Joker: “yolo” in its most dangerous form, def is writing a slow burn enemies to loves fic about him and Batman. Gay and homophobic 💯 The other rogues don’t invite him to pride celebrations anymore cause he’ll keep calling people slurs “as a joke”. Him and Edward have longterm beef, like schoolgirl levels of petty drama.
Harley Quinn: would describe herself as a “girlboss” unironically while committing heinous crimes. tweeted “clowns aren’t funny” after breaking up with Joker (ended up causing a huge scandal). The OG “I can fix him” girl. Is sort of the rogues free underground therapist (god knows they need it) cause they can’t get professional help without being sent to Arkham.
Poison Ivy: Breaking News: Cottagecore lesbian commits mass murder cause her plant wilted. She’s what republicans think environmentalists are. Would get in a fist fight with that vegan teacher cause “plants have feelings too”. Has beef with most of the male rogues, supports ‘kill all men’ without realizing it’s a joke (she prefers ‘kill all humans’ but figured she had to downgrade because the Gotham city sirens are humans technically).
Cat Woman: “OH NO! It appears I’ve gotten stuck backwards in the bank vault step-Bat 😏😏😏😏😏😏, looks like I’m not stealing any more diamonds today 😰😩”. Mad respect for Selina, she just wants diamonds and bat dick, no tragic backstory or complex motivations needed. I personally like to headcanon her as wearing a straight up cat costume (ears and a tail like a true furry) cause it’s way funnier to imagine a sophisticated rich woman dressing up as a cat to steal shit than whatever bullshit DCs up to these days. Trans catgirl supremacy 💎👍
Scarecrow: That one guy who gets angry at people because “Halloween costumes are meant to be scary 🤬😡😑😒”. Doesn’t even attempt to express emotions, is the human embodiement of this emoji: 😐. His presence is more jarring than threatening, his intimidation levels are somehow underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time. The other rogues have collectively decided that he’s asexual under no assumption other than that they don’t want to imagine Jonathan having sex. Overtime Jonathan has become basically fearless (he smokes his own fear gas like vape just to feel something). Jonathan and Harley became good friends when they both worked in Arkham, their dynamic is surprisingly wholesome.
The Riddler: Didn’t get hugged enough as a child and is now making it everyone’s problem. Would hold a bank hostage to show Batman his third grade spelling bee medal. Is the only autistic rogue that gets accommodations in Arkham because he won’t stop bugging the guards. FTM trans ofc (his names Edward Nygma for Christ's sake). He ran away from home at seventeen and faked his own death (his deadname is legally dead lmao). Uses the terms “alpha, beta, and omega male” unironically.
Two Face: “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t wanna blow up the orphanage either, but Y’know the coin said-” The other rogues talk to Harvey as if he’s constantly at his breaking point, which is half true. Harv is a stone cold mf, he’s the rock that’s holding Two Face together tbh. Edward calls Harvey and Harv Jekyll and Hyde cause he’s that original. All the rogues have at least a sneaking suspicion that Bruce Wayne is batman and use Harvey as their little primary source (being ex besties and everything), until they find out Selina and Bruce are a thing of course. No matter how much evidence he’s faced with Harvey will never accept Bruce Wayne is batmam, he’s not ready to consider that one of the only positive people in his life has been duking it out with him this whole time.
Penguin: He’s the rest of the rogues chill gay gangster uncle I don’t make the rules. The iceberg lounge is like the Batman villain equivalent of The Central Perk from friends (aka: its their default place to hangout). Oswald always makes a fuss about them not making reservations ahead of them but at this point it’s just performative. Everyone’s 99% sure Oswald and Edward fucked at some point (Edward always makes a show of flustering Oswald when he needs a loan). Ossie always takes care of the others belongings when they’re in Arkham (he has a special place in his heart for Jonathan‘s crows).
The Mad Hatter: I love Jervis lmao he just really likes Alice in Wonderland and that’s a valid ass villain motivation 👍. One of the smartest rogues but doesn’t get enough credit because of how childish he is. He dresses in kids clothes, not just because he wants to but because he’s small af and can’t fit in shit. In public while the rogues are undercover Jervis usually wears a beanie or a baseball cap (he’d get spotted instantly if he wore his usual, but on bad days Jervis can’t bear to be without a hat). Jonathan and Jervis play chess a lot together in Arkham, and frequently engage in intellectual discussion, Edward tends to be a piss baby when Jon encourages him to do the same, he’s not ready to accept the reality that Jervis can match his intelligence.
Killer Croc: Waylon has a surprising amount in common with Jonathan, they share southern solidarity. He doesn’t travel out of the sewer often so the rogues will occasionally come to visit Waylon there (Edward always makes sure to complain loudly about the smell). Will show immense affection and loyalty to anyone who treats him as human (poor guy just needs a friend ☹️).
Mr Freeze: Literally just dead inside, someone give this poor bastard a hug. Victor stands as the most awkward rogue, he‘s sorta like the odd one out. The other rogues don’t interact with him that often because he’s sort of a party pooper. He’s the straight friend on thin ice, haha get it. Mr Freeze is my sisters favorite Batman villain because she thought the ice puns were funny in Batman in Robin, little does she know I’m embarrassing myself on tumblr in her glory.
Music Meister: So many of the Gotham rogues have horrible childhood trauma and Music Meister is just like “people bullied me for being a theater kid 😩😭💔😔”. In all honesty he’s iconic, in my au universe thingy I have him join the dork squad latter on and he sticks out like a sore thumb for a bit. I feel like him and Jervis would really hit it off though (mind control buddies, ha), although Jervis would always get him to sing Alice in Wonderland songs. In Arkham they have him wear a dog collar thingy and zap him when he sings, he gets bullied for that lol.
anyways I’m sure I could make more of these, but it’s 2:20 am and my mind went blank. If y’all liked this I could always put more au headcanons out (I have A LOT)
#gotham rogues#batman rogues#batman villains#rogues gallery#dc rogues#batman rogues gallery#two face#harvey dent#scarecrow batman#jonathan crane#the riddler#edward nygma#headcannons#mr freeze#victor fries#music meister#killer croc#waylon jones#mad hatter#oswald cobblepot#jervis tetch#selina kyle#cat woman#harley quinn#pamala isley#harleen quinzel#poison ivy#joker
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random kisses with BNHA characters 💋
characters: bakugo, dabi, todoroki & kirishima
tw// swearing
katsuki bakugo
FJDBETIUSCA ok so i firmly believe that the first time you snuck up behind bakugo to surprise him with a lil’ kiss on the cheek, he was blushing so profusely and to hide it, he began wiping his face while muttering profanities
JUST SO THE PETTY BITCH COULD PRETEND LIKE HE DIDN’T ABSOLUTELY ADORE IT
‘ew! what was that for?!’ he snarled, aggressively rubbing his cheek to appear as though he was wiping off the kiss but in reality he was trying to hide his furiously red blush
‘awh, did you not like it?’ you pouted, cocking your head to the side at his negative reaction, ‘mina said it’d be cute.’
now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place
neither of which were kirishima
he could say he didn’t enjoy it but not only would he be lying, it might upset you and that’s the last thing he wanted to do tbh
especially bc you were both a bit apprehensive about physical touch up until now so it definitely took you some balls to make the first move
however, he’d have to swallow a lot of pride to admit that he liked it
so he eventually settled with muttering, ‘it’s whatever.’
perfectly executed, bakugo thought
you rolled your eyes at his answer, knowing full well that if bakugo didn’t like something, he’d make it a point to tell you - as he has done in the past
but the last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable so you didn’t pull anything like that again for a while
you didn’t really mind tbh but bakugo definitely did
i mean, you gave him a teaser of your touch and now he was addicted, so it was cruel of you to just withdraw so quickly
he thought that you were taking a break bc you didn’t want to come off too strong but one night, you were just sitting beside each other on his bed and you didn’t even care to give him just a little kiss not even a peck
livid. he was livid.
did he have to make the second move? is that how this works? he didn’t really know
‘uh, are you gonna kiss me or what?’ he hissed, shooting you a forced glare
your eyes widened, ‘uh, sorry, what?--’
‘i’m not saying it again.’
you smiled, shuffling over to bakugo before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, ‘okay, fine. anything my lil’ princess wants.’
‘OH FUCK OFF!’ he barked, playfully pushing you away slightly
‘okay, okay- i’m sorry!’ you giggled, leaning back in to briefly silence him with your lips, ‘that was a bit mean of me- if anything, i think asking for what you want is very manly.’
you stared at his displeased and gruff expression before realising that you should probably elaborate to fill the awkward silence
‘and what’s wrong with being a princess?- if you were one, i think you’d be cinderella-’
‘and you’d be the rat who makes me clothes.’ he let out a low chuckle at that comparison
‘i’m never going near you ever again.’ you grumbled, trying to scoot away from him but being prevented from doing so by his tight grip on your shoulder after he hastily slung his arm behind you
‘good!’ he scoffed while simultaneously pulling you closer
dabi
literally didn’t even faze him at first
you’d just sneak up behind him to pepper kisses on the nape of his neck and he’d simply turn around then offer you a bite of the burrito he was having
or you’d rush up to him while he was on his phone to press a quick kiss on his cheek and he’d just show you the meme he was looking at on his phone
no blush, no chuckle, no smile in sight
HOWEVER something that does get him every time is when you kiss along his lil’ face staples or when you’d make the ‘mwah’ sound effect as you kissed him
he thinks it’s so cute 🥰
and after a while of you doing that, he’ll probably start doing it too lol
but only on the top of your head or on the back of your knuckle
he doesn’t hold your hand too often bc of his quirk and also he generally doesn’t find it practical but sometimes when you are just sitting next to each other — watching a movie or sumn — he reaches out for your hand and just showers it with kisses
on the tips of your finger, knuckles, nails, wrist, palm- literally everywhere
oh and bites on you when he’s hungry and you’re making food-
that’s like his version of surprise kisses lmao
you’ll be daydreaming while stirring the pot of macaroni then he’ll sneak up behind you — silent asf — and bite on your shoulder or take your hand to bite your knuckle
although they aren’t full on bites, like a nom not a chomp, if that makes sense, it feels really weird bc his teeth are sharp as hell
it scares the shit out of you every time btw
one time, you tried nibbling on his hand in a similar way that he does to you but you were almost sick 🤢
like his hands literally reek of ash and smoke
you tried to play it off like it wasn’t an issue bc you didn’t want to hurt his feeling or whatever but like..he knew- and he felt bad that you felt obliged to kiss his crusty hands
but it also amused him to watch you try choke back a gag as your lips pulled away from his hand so yeah 🤠
shoto todoroki
every kiss he gives you is a surprise kiss bc you never see the bitch coming-
anyway, it’s impossible to surprise him with a kiss or hug or anything like that bc he just knows when you are nearby
he’s on hyperalert 24/7
the only time you’d possibly be able to surprise him is when he’s extremely tired or..asleep
but you can try though and he’ll commend your efforts :))
if he’s sitting in the common area and you try to shock him from behind with a sudden kiss on his shoulder, he’ll just look at you like 🙂 ‘good morning, (l/n).’
the first time you ever actually make him jump with on of your kisses is probably like..3 years into your marriage WIUGFLREUIBL
anyway, he highkey loves it though
it ALWAYS makes him smile bc you try so hard at something so trivial
flashback to that one time you hid in the pantry for a good 10 minutes just so you could jump out and scare him with your affection
but he opened the door and after you jumped out at him, he was still like, 🙂 ‘oh, hi, (l/n). what were you doing in the pantry?’
he might try do something similar to you but with minimal effort
for instance, if you’re waiting for him to arrive at the park, mall etc for a date and he notices that you haven’t seen him yet, he’ll just creep up behind you before hesitantly tapping your shoulder, accompanied by the most monotone ‘boo.’ you’ve ever heard
honestly, he kinda wanted to snatch your hand up in his but he tapped your shoulder instead bc he didn’t want to scare you into thinking that some random guy just took your hand
anyway mans doesn’t discriminate w/ his kisses just show him affection and he literally doesn’t care if it’s ‘random’ or not, all kisses are equal in his eyes
eijiro kirishima
plz he is the ceo of random kisses
definitely the sort of guy to creep up behind you and cover your eyes, ‘guess who!’
you sighed, instinctively covering his rough hand with your own, ‘i have no idea, eijiro. who is it?’
then he peppers your face in kisses,no matter who is around
the bakusquad will literally call him a sap till the day he dies and every single time kirishima will reply with ‘heh, okay.’
anyway, back to the scheduled programme
if you just rush up to him at lunch, give him a kiss on the forehead then bolt off, he’ll be a bit flustered but overall very hyped
not even confused tbh like he won’t even ask about it lol
ALSO if you’re in a support course and he comes back from a trip and you greet him by tackling him to the ground with affection, he will melt
like he could’ve literally came back from fighting villains, horribly injuring himself or almost dying but powering through, then you show him some love and he’s like ‘my time has come’ then he passes away 😇
but other than your initial burst of love energy when you first see him, you’re generally as gentle as possible with him when he comes back from a mission
which is the perfect opportunity to give random kisses bc he’s spent the last few weeks being on high-alert so now he’s just ..relaxed :)
oh and plz visit the dorm after school to surprise him, he will literally fall so hard- 😍
#dabi x you#katsuki bakugo x reader#todoroki x you#kirishima imagine#dabi fluff#dabi x reader#katsuki bakugo imagine#bnha bakugo katsuki#bakugou imagine#bakugou headcanons#todoroki headcanons#todoroki x y/n#todoroki shōto#bnha todoroki#todoroki x reader#kirishima x y/n#kirishima eijirou#bnha eijiro kirishima#kirishima fluff#kirishima x reader#todoroki fluff#bakugo fluff#👾fluff
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omg not to be a little bitch but.... id genuinwly love to hear you talk more about that werewolf au if you feel like doing it 🙏 please dont hold back.
i can also just imagine how much of a petty bitch arthur would be knowing that his brother came to him for help and hes depending on his knowledge, and even if he acts annoyed about it and like hes being a nuisance hes still very pleased knowing the bastard has to eat his pride and ask for arthurs help lmao
im sorry im just. brainrot 😩😩
i would love to talk more about it!! Thank you for indulging me xxxxx
--
So, I have thought long and hard about the specifics of Scotland being turned and the general gist of it is this: although in this AU he does have a measure of magical sensibility, his talents are rooted in nature. Drawn from damp, dark earth; peat and smoke. He paints a lonesome figure, near estranged from his past keeping to himself for the most part.
The wolf gets him when he is, of all things, gathering mushrooms. It goes straight for the throat, and leaves him for dead; but rather than die, Al digs his fingers deep into the rotting leaves of the forest floor and lives.
Then he wakes, covered in mud and blood and stinking of wet dog, and the first thing he thinks is oh, fuck.
Arthur was the first to live the house where they all grew up together— the four of them, later five; then only Daffy (Wales) left behind to guard the old mansion where they were all raised. And the first thing Arthur did was this: build a sturdy door and a high fence to between his home and the world. Metaphorically; or at least the fence is, the door is very much there. He runs an apothecary/rare artefact/all-around curio shop and lives in flat stacked right above it. Keeps a small garden out back and a well secured cellar (that will come in handy in a second), and has put away his ambitions and wanderlust to sit still for a moment and catch his breath. He will come and go, to source his stock and scratch the itch to dip his toes in faraway seas, but he rather does enjoy being a grouchy, lonesome shopkeep. The one person he sees most, beside the cast that cycle in and out of the shop— bell ringing over the door, /how do you do, mistletoe and myrtle tincture? Why yes of course, right over there, next to the eye of newt/— is Francis. Francis who is an absurdly powerful necromancer who runs the flower shop and herbarium across the street. Won’t find fresher wares then his! And his cooking is to die for, would you believe?
So what happens next is this: Arthur is pulling up weeds in the back, cursing Francis under his breath because surely it was him who blew the sunflower seeds into his vegetable patch, when Alasdair— estranged, longed for, vexing Alasdair— stumbles past the magic wards that line his property like they’re barely a bother. Alasdair gets out a rough “Lad,” then a wheeze, and face-plants right atop the rhubarb.
Arthur watches it happen with a look like a twit, the knees of his trousers soaked through with spring damp-earth, and in true familiar fashion thinks oh, fuck.
What follows is indeed very much a tug of war between them as they both struggle to find their footing and come to terms with the situation— and each other. Arthur does struggle at first, torn between past resentment and the growing realisation that he wants to be what Alasdair needs. And the same hold true for Scotland, who quickly realises that the Arthur is not-quite who he expected him to be— still infuriating, still himself only…
Forces of nature, the both of them. And a storm brewing between them with every passing day. Francis watches them circle each other with a kind of amused exasperation and wonders who will bite (ha!) first.
Now for the heat and turning… transformation, of all kinds, comes at a price. And it hurts. In this as much as with anything else. They’re both expecting the crack of bone, the ferocity of it, but they’re not quite ready for the drawn-out length of it. The spasms that seize up Alasdair’s body and bring him to his knees for hours before the night is even truly dark. Arthur doesn’t have the time to source anything better for the first time, so they make due with heavy iron chains and wards carved deep into the floor of the cellar.
The first full moon is a horror. It is also breathtaking. The restraints are barely enough against the awesome strength of wolf. Arthur watches him strain against them; watches him pant into the improvised muzzle that Alasdair insisted on when Arthur refused to leave him, and feels a quiet sort of awe. Torn between fear and an emotion he can’t quite articulate. Keeping his distance, both feet firmly on the ground where he sits on the second to last step in case he needs to bolt upstairs, all he can think about as the sun comes up and steals a sigh from Alasdair lungs is how it would feel to press a hand against the wolf’s chest. How hard Alasdair’s heart might thunder against him. How heated his skin. How rough the coarse fur of his scruff. He has little time to think of anything more before he has to move again, reaching for Alasdair to hold him up.
Coming down from the transformation is not unlike an Olympic marathon. Arthur is too busy trying to keep Alasdair’s pulse steady and pouring electrolytes down his throat to spare any more thoughts for the pounding in his own chest.
(One thing Alasdair soon realises after he is bitten is this: that his senses are ever heightened. More so after a shift. Arthur is helping him stumble his way up the stirs when he breathes him in and thinks oh. Just oh, and something in his chest clicks; turns upside down. Arthur is his brother; isn't, never was and always will be. He smells like sweat and fear. Smells of ink and herbs. Smells of worry. Smells of lust. Smells like Alasdair now that they are pressed close together. He’s become Alasdair’s home, precariously. Safe haven, safeguard; his throat is bare and now…)
When the next full moon comes, Alasdair gets loose.
#cliffhanger ;D#scoteng#@neon spirals#prideful sods the both of them. don't be fooled by the prose and the early concessions they are forced to make in the scramble#to prepare for the first full moon#they are both delightfully snippy and petty and angry but also tired and aching to stop#hws england#hws scotland#hhhhh rut smut facilitated by magic mushrooms to get the lad nice and loose because Ali is big on the best of days and now well...#i feel like i should also disclose that he's an ugly werewolf; think wulver#so ugly he's cute
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💫✨💕send this to ten bloggers you think are wonderful. keep the game going 💕✨
You infected my brain with hatter stuff
You will be hearing from my attorneys
And by attorneys, I mean random thoughts that pop in my head
Good day!
That’s it, you’re getting
🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸
Hatter Has Definitely Kissed Every Executive At Least Once And This Is How It Went: Niragi Edition
🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸
Rating: PG-13
Tags: violence, language, death threats, dubious consent (tagging that just to be safe), creative problem solving
Summary: Violence isn’t always the answer, but it’s usually some part of the equation (at least, it is in the Borderlands…)
“Ah, Mori, so nice of you to—“
“Shut the fuck up!”
There is an old adage—timing is everything in life—and that sentiment is truer today than ever before.
At least, it is for Aguni.
He has managed to show up in the meeting room just in time to witness Niragi holding a very loaded rifle right below Takeru’s jaw. The energy in the room hums tense and hot; one strike of a match and the whole place might explode.
“Put the gun down,” Aguni growls, mood shifting from ‘mildly annoyed’ to ‘enraged concern,’ “or I’ll snap your goddamn spine—“
“Now, now, there’s no need for all of that,” Takeru placates, “Our friend Niragi is just expressing himself.”
“I’m gonna express your brains all over the fucking wall if you don’t stop fucking talking,”
“Such a vivid description,” Takeru muses, cocking his head to one side and eyeing Niragi curiously, “is there something about the sight of blood that you find exciting? Not necessarily in a sexual way; although it’s perfectly fine if that’s the case—“
“Stop playing with him,” Aguni interrupts with an exasperated roll of his eyes. He turns his attention to Niragi and points an accusatory finger directly at his chest.
“And you,” Aguni seethes, “you’ve got until the count of three to put the gun down and step away before I snap your neck—“
“You will do no such thing,” Takeru gently chides, giving a soft smile, “I have everything under control.”
“Yeah,” Niragi taunts, sneering at Aguni, “this is none of your fucking business.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Aguni grumbles, clenching his fists at his sides and clenching his jaw. He’s just about to storm his way over and wrestle the gun from Niragi’s devious grip when Takeru holds up his hand in a bid to stop his approach.
“Do you remember our last trip to Sendai,” Takeru asks, furrowing his brow as he tries to remember the details, “it’s been…oh, a good five years since then. Maybe six, I can’t quite recall at the moment.”
“The fuck you talking about?”
“We stayed at that lovey little inn, just outside the city center,” Takeru reminisces, paying no mind to his confused assailant’s question, “we were lucky enough to catch the autumn leaves just before they began to fall. Magical experience, I so hope to go back some day…”
“Pretty sure the yakuza won’t let you back in,” Aguni adds, “barely got away as is.”
“But I did get away,” Takeru reminds him, sounding very pleased with himself, “And, if you can recall, I used a rather effective method of escape.”
“Whatever you did for those clowns won’t fucking work on me,” Niragi insists, pressing the barrel of the gun even harder against Takeru’s skin.
“I’m not so sure,” Takeru hums, “you seem like the type of man who’d be receptive to a…softer approach.”
To illustrate his point, Takeru puckers his lips and releases them with a an audible ‘pop’—an imitation of a kiss, complete with a cheeky wink thrown in at the end.
Niragi looks horrified.
“Did he,” Niragi asks, voice scratched thin as if on the verge of a screech, “fucking…make out with the goddamn yakuza?”
“Yes,” Aguni confirms solemnly, “yes, he did.”
“And it worked! Splendidly, too, I might add,” Takeru exclaims excitedly, “Almost as magical as the changing trees.”
“Takeru,” Aguni grits, “that’s not gonna work here…”
“You’re goddamn right it’s not,” Niragi spits, eyes narrowing into two knife-sharp slits, “ugly-ass motherfucker like you couldn’t even make me blink twice.”
“You’re a man who knows what he likes. I appreciate that,” Takeru says coolly, letting his gaze slip over the gun-wielding maniac in front of him, “just like I appreciate the occasional wager. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in that sort of thing, would you?”
“Takeru,” Aguni hisses, “he’s got you at gunpoint—“
“Shut the fuck up,” Niragi jabs in Aguni’s direction, before turning his attention to Takeru once more, “Gimme your terms. I wanna hear what kind of stupid-ass ideas you got.”
Takeru smirks.
“Nothing too complicated. You let me kiss you,” he explains, “and, if I don’t have you falling to your knees by the time I’m done, you can shoot me as many times as you like. I’ll even have Mori here give you his pocket knife so you can do some slicing, if you like. Could get some really unique blood spatters on the rug that way, like a Jackson Pollock.”
Takeru’s smirk tightens as Niragi imagines the scenario—no doubt in gory, brilliant technicolor, with all the drama and carnage a young man of his macabre inclinations could possibly dream of.
“Of course,” Takeru adds, “if I do manage to succeed, you let me go. No penalties, no petty revenge; we walk out of here as friendly as ever, and none shall be the wiser.”
Niragi snorts.
“Un-fucking-likely. But you know what? I’m feeling fucking generous.”
Niragi lowers the gun a smidge—just enough to allow Takeru some head movement—and shoots him a chilling smile.
“Give it your best shot, old man,” he says, “unless you’re too much of a fucking pussy…”
“I assure you, darling, that I most certainly am not,” Takeru replies.
He brings a hand up to Niragi’s face and very gently pushes a loose strand of hair behind his ear—a gesture which earns him a confused frown and furrowed, pierced brow.
“For fuck’s sake,” Aguni mumbles from the sidelines, watching as Takeru’s hand snakes around the nape of Niragi’s neck and cradles it like he would with any other lover, “are you seriously gonna—“
And, yes; apparently Takeru is ‘seriously gonna’ because he does. His opposite hand has wrapped around Niragi’s waist and pulls him sharply towards himself. The hand at Niragi’s nape performs a similar, albeit more tender, motion, guiding Niragi to kiss him fully and passionately on the mouth.
Niragi closes his eyes—whether instinctually or from the reluctant pleasure of being kissed by a man he had until this point considered his enemy, he can’t be sure. All he does is feel, letting Takeru slip his clever tongue between his lips and trying not to groan at the flush of heat flaring in his face.
A swift jab to his right kidney has him yelping out in pain, while a firm stomp to his foot has his knees buckling and his throat screeching in pain.
Niragi crashes to the floor in a messy, loose-limbed heap. His gun falls to the side and is quickly kicked just out of reach by a casual, flip-flopped foot.
Niragi looks up to see a smug-looking Takeru staring down at him.
“And that’s how we do it in Kabukicho, bitch.”
“Not fucking fair,” Niragi wheezes in protest, arm twisting so he can clutch at his aching back, “you…cheating bastard.”
Takeru picks up the discarded gun and hands it to Aguni, who snatches it from his grip with an angry grimace.
“I may be a bastard, but not a cheating one,” Takeru gloats as he watches Aguni unload the bullets from the gun’s chamber, “I kissed you, you fell to your knees, end of story. I won fair and square.”
Aguni hands the bullets to Takeru, who pockets them with a certain measure of glee.
“If it makes you feel better, I had a lovely time,” Takeru says, “I don’t often come across tongue piercings, so that was quite a treat.”
“I’ll…fucking…kill you!”
“Not today, you won’t,” Aguni says, kicking the unloaded gun back to the floor-dwelling man, “Meanwhile, I suggest you try to get some sleep while you’re down there; you just doubled your patrol duty for the next three nights, so you’ll need all the rest you can get.”
Niragi immediately dissolves into angry, breathless protests, even going so far as to pound his fist on the floor in rage. Aguni remains unswayed, and motions for Takeru to follow him out of the room.
“Brilliant addition, old friend,” Takeru commends Aguni, patting him on the shoulder thrice as they begin to make their way out of the room, “shall we do lunch?”
“Fine,” Aguni agrees, “but you and I are going to have a serious talk about risk management…”
And the two men exit the room, chatting as if they hadn’t just been part of a life-and-death experience, leaving Niragi to gather himself and his pride from the floor.
#alice in borderland#hatter#danma takeru#alice in borderland netflix#imawa no kuni no alice#imawa no kuni no arisu#writings and such#hatter/niragi#niragi suguru#Aguni: takeru your life is literally on the line can you NOT for like five minutes#takeru: I’m a lover not a fighter (except I am a fighter too lol)#niragi: fucking hate this guy but he kiss kinda good tho#JUST ANOTHER DAY IN THE BORDERLANDS EVERYBODY I bet the next exec meeting was fun
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Snapetober Day 5: Apple orchard.
hello, this one was a bit hard t imagine, but it was oh so fun to write. i love interactions between severus and the other professors. please, feel free to read it over in ao3 if you'd like, and also if yoou'd be kind enough, go give me some kudos over there. thanks, hope you enjoy~.
Day 5 - Apple orchard.
--
Hogwarts was a college of the highest prestige, and as such it had a reputation to uphold. One could doubt its safety, the responsibility professors had in handing out certain punishments to students, and even the expertise of said professors themselves (people pointed to Remus Lupin, although honestly, Lockhart was the blackest sheep ever), but there was something that could never be reproached: The quality of the food.
From mashed potatoes to the most elaborate cake to all kinds of drinks, every meal at Hogwarts was a pleasure. Elves cooked everything to perfection, and if it weren't for a certain professor, everyone thoroughly enjoyed the cooking. Much of it was due to the quality of the products, all being the best of the best, natural and fresh. The elves gathered the very first harvest at the end of the summer holidays, leading to the Great Banquet, the best dinner of the year in the opinion of the vast majority.
And speaking of it, it was primordial to get things done. This year they would have Beauxbatons and Durmstrang as guests, and Hogwarts couldn’t disappoint.
Somewhere in the castle, Dumbledore had an idea.
"I seem unable to understand why we had to come".
Severus hated many things: teenagers, the smell of wet dog, physical contact, Potter, Potter's godfather, Potter's father, and lately Lucius for nagging him about going to see the Quidditch World Cup. But if there was one thing Severus hated more than all those things put together, it was the sun. Especially the summer sun. He had nothing against the nice hot, light-filled days of that time of year, as long as he could be tucked underground, in the sweet, cold shade, surrounded by water and silence and not a drop of sunlight.
Unfortunately for him, the poor man was walking along with all the other Heads of House, and Dumbledore of course, under the tireless and exhausting gaze of the major star. They were on their way to an apple orchard, the one that supplied Hogwarts and where the elves would appear in a few hours. It had occurred to Dumbledore that it would be a fun outing for the five of them, and Severus couldn't have disagreed more, but everyone else was largely ignoring him, determined to have some fun.
In any case, Severus felt his face hot, certain that his pale skin was quite flushed, which bothered him even more. He looked at his companions, for a second envying how fresh they all looked: Pomona was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, while Filius was wearing some sort of scout outfit that gave him an almost, almost , funny look; Minerva, on the other side, was wearing a dress that reached below the knee, white with small flowers of different colors that made her look much younger; even Dumbledore had changed his usual outfits that (in the young professor's eyes) looked like pajamas to a pair of shorts from which his slender legs peeked out, the long beard braided to keep it out of the way. The only one who had steadfastly refused to change was Severus, who wore his capes and capes of clothing black as the abyss, and thanks to which he was slowly dying of heat. Not even the cooling spell he had cast on himself could do much more than keep him from perspiring.
But he didn't care. He had a reputation to uphold, for fuck's sake.
“Because it's fun!”, Dumbledore exclaimed. Severus walked between him and Minerva, as usual, while Pomona and Filius walked a bit ahead, marveling like little children at every damn plant in the field. “Also, I know you love our summer vacation expeditions and activities”.
Severus didn't reply, but he shot him a cold, unamused look, as for the last time they'd been out on ‘summer vacation expeditions and activities’ he was almost eaten by a dragon.
"Come on Severus, chill", Minerva chimed in, pulling a hat from her enchanted purse. It was huge and colorful, clearly not one that she would ever wear herself. The woman looked at him with almost sadistic amusement. “Look what I got you! It should help you cool down a bit”.
"No thanks", said the young man, looking listlessly at the hat. He noticed that it also had a cleat that was attached into a bun at the back.
He didn't even want to imagine the teasing if word got out. If they had already been unbearable about Longbottom's grandmother’s outfit...
"Tsk, you're going to get a heatstroke at this rate, and neither of us are going to carry you", the professor reproached him, handing the hat to Dumbledore for examination. Severus raised an eyebrow.
"I don't think I have that much luck”.
With another annoyed snort, the group decided to ignore the miserable man again, opting instead to go ahead with the other two teachers. Severus noticed that Dumbledore had put on the hat he was wearing himself and barely had the strength to not snort.
A short time later they reached the top of the hill, where the orchard was. The orchard was somewhat visited, so the landowner had hired some workers to properly care for the people coming and going. At the moment, two young witches were waiting for them standing there, with shorts and shirts tied mid-torso, and thin, light-toned capes tangled around their shoulders and falling to the ground.
Severus was tempted to petrify one of them and change clothes.
The girls welcomed them, very animated, and provided a basket to each one, as well as a tablecloth so that they could sit and watch the sunset if they wanted to. Dumbledore thanked them kindly, and Severus finally put on Minerva's hat when he heard one of the witches comment that smoke was coming out of his head. Minerva laughed at him.
"Shut up".
What had started out as a simple and boring day picking apples ended up being a visceral competition to see who put more fruits in their respective basket after Dumbledore bet 5 galleons that he would be the one with the most. Severus had been in the middle of all the mess, watching as Filius sneakily enchanted apples to fly from Minerva's basket into his own while Dumbledore helped him by distracting the Transfiguration teacher; how Pomona ‘accidentally’ tripped over the headmaster's basket, and in the process of helping him pick them up she took a load of them with her; how Minerva would transform twigs into fake apples to add to her collection.
He hadn't participated in their affairs, of course, because he thought it was the stupidest thing in the world, but he didn't hesitate to gossip to others, starting an argument that ended in apples flying through the air and more than one trampled basket.
Now it was dusk, the ravaging sun being only a bright half disk out on the horizon, slowly fading away. The five teachers had already cleaned up their mess by then, and were sitting on the red and white checkered tablecloth, relaxing after their pitched battle. The only basket that was left intact and capable of carrying apples was Severus', so this had been placed in the center of the group so that anyone could reach out and grab one of the fruits. No one was surprised that Severus was the only one who didn't want to eat one, despite Minerva's scolding look.
But still, the man had already overcome his annoyance, although he wasn’t going to show it out of pure pride. He told himself it was because the damn heat was finally subsiding, which meant he was already able to take off the stupid hat; it had nothing to do with how hilarious he thought the professors' quarrel was, having so much fun with it that he often didn't even realize he was smiling, and that by the end of the day he didn't even remember that he was hot.
"What are we going to do? There are so many! I think if I eat one more I might as well explode”, Pomona complained, who by then had already eaten at least 5 apples. No one could blame her, as they were very sweet, firm without being too harsh, and so juicy that one ran the risk of getting both chin and chest dirty.
How Dumbledore didn’t get his beard dirty, nobody knew.
"The elves will take them to the castle when they come to collect the others. For now, we can leave them with those young ladies”, Dumbledore replied, biting his apple as he gazed at the horizon. Severus noticed how he shot him a sideways glance and braced himself for the worst. “By the way, Severus, I think you... caught the eye of one of them. The redhead, Lauren. Maybe you should go talk to her”.
Severus grimaced, trying to ignore the howl whistles the other teachers were making, as well as Minerva's elbow, which had dug into hir ribs as the woman taunted him.
He already had enough with being one person's crush.
"I think it’d be a better idea if you paid me the galleons you owe me", he replied, sitting upright. The other adults exchanged glances before making heated comments.
"And why would we give you something?".
"I wasn't serious about the bet...".
"You weren't even participating!".
"The way I see it", Severus said, raising his voice above the others, sure that he looked much more serious than the rest as he was the only one with enough dignity to still wear wizard clothes and not Muggle rags, "Dumbledore said whoever had the most apples in the basket was the winner, and the only basket I see is mine”.
"That's because you refused to participate!" Minerva growled, arms folded. Her eyes sparkled.
"I refused to cheat. I had fewer apples than you, but since they have to be in the basket and not in the memory… For instance, victory is mine”.
"That doesn't make any sense, Severus!", Pomona cried. The man waved his hand in a dismissive manner.
“If all players on a Quidditch team break their brooms over petty arguments during a match, would the opposing team be denied victory when only they are left in the air?”, he argued.
There was a heavy silence whilst the others, again, exchanged glances. And then, between reluctance and curses, his four companions searched their pockets and gave him the agreed galleons. Even Dumbledore looked dumbfounded. Severus didn't comment on it, but everyone noticed that his expression was much more smug than before when he reached out to finally eat an apple.
Minerva wasn’t about to be left with such a bitter loss.
"I bet Lauren would like to see that face on you”.
“Oh bloody hell Minerva, do shut up”.
#snapedom#snapetober#snapetober 2021#snape community#snape fandom#snape fanfiction#snape fic#severus snape#albus dumbledore#minerva mcgonagall#pomona sprout#filius flitwick
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Todays follower milestone gift fic is for @sparklemagpie with the prompt word importune. Can you tell I had fun writing this one?
Pairing: ShikamaruTemariTayuya
Word count: 1966
Rated: T+
Summary: For the two women in his life Shikamaru will do whatever it takes. As long as they're happy he's happy. When they're not...well, when they're not you get situations like this one.
Follow the link or read it under the cut!
KO-FI and commission info in the header!
Just The Right Cherry On Top
Shikamaru would have told anyone who asked that it didn’t start off as begging. No one was really asking, though, and the shreds of pride still buried in the back of his mind somewhere told him that was a problem. If no one was asking questions that usually meant they thought they already had the answers. But they didn’t. They really didn’t. When it came to his two girls Shikamaru was smugly aware that he was usually the only one with answers.
Well, answers to questions like ‘are you sure they’re not trying to kill each other’ or usually ‘how can you stand to live between that’. The questions about what might be going on in either woman’s mind were ones he didn’t even try to guess at. He knew when to back away from a problem he would never figure out.
Right now he didn’t so much have a problem as he did have a disaster. He knew very well that relationships took work, that his work would be doubled when he agreed to marry both of the most important women in his life, and since he had not a day went by when he didn’t consider that work so very worth it. For the most part their days were happy. Blissful, even. Shikamaru was as flawed as any other human being but among his flaws pride wasn’t usually the one that tripped him up. Disaster only really happened when pride snuck up on the other two parts of his soul.
Tayuya, as usual, was the first to start throwing insults. And of course Temari, when faced with a hot temper, flared her own with the kind of heat usually accomplished only with the most deadly katon. Standing on the other side of the kitchen with a frying pan in one hand and his face in the other, Shikamaru briefly wondered if there were any missions available that would take him far away until these two crazy goddesses sorted their own shit out.
There weren’t. He checked. Discreetly, of course.
After the first couple days of cold silence it became obvious that this was one of those fights they needed him to bring them back from, when pride and stubbornness and sheer petty spite held both of their lips shut, eyes refusing to meet, tempers refusing to back down. These were the kind of fights that reminded Shikamaru why the three of them really worked as a full unit, one single whole, any weakness in one covered by another. Knowing that never made it any less annoying trying to be the cover to their weakness. They might need him but in those moments they sure didn’t want to need him.
“What’ll it take this time?” Shikamaru could hear the exhaustion in his own voice but that’s just what happened when he hadn’t gotten more than three consecutive hours of sleep for the past week.
“Nothing,” Temari snapped. “Maybe this is just it!”
Drawing a hand down his face spoke louder than words how little he believed that. If he looked really close he could see the lines of aching tiredness in Temari’s expression that told him she didn’t believe it either.
“Right,” he murmured. “I’ll just go talk to her then.
And so he did, though it would be hard to express just how unsurprised he was to get a very similar reaction from Tayuya.
“Fuck that bitch and her high horse!”
“You could if one of you would say sorry,” Shikamaru couldn’t help pointing out.
“Oh no fucking way! Not with a ten foot god damned pole!”
“What if I said please?”
So that was how it started. Or got to the middle, really. Much to the contrary of what other people seemed to think, Shikamaru was not so whipped as to just fall on his knees and beg any time he encountered the slightest of resistance in their relationship. He had some self respect. In the face of these two boneheads, however, self respect was a concept he was more than willing to throw out the window in favor of a full night’s rest, something he would not be getting until their home saw peace again.
One instance of saying please did nothing. Twice did little more than that. Somewhere around the fifteen ‘please’ he switched tactics and added a cherry on top. Tayuya rather harshly reminded him that she hated cherries and described in very colorful detail where he could stick his polite words. Clearly another tactic was needed.
As a smart man Shikamaru very carefully ignored all of Naruto’s well meaning suggestions like sending his wives flowers pretending they were from each other. Maybe that would have worked on someone like Hinata who was determined to look at the world and see the best in everyone but Shikamaru had married two people determined to look at the world through a cold lens of cynicism. Gods but he loved it. Loved the both of them. He just didn’t love the fights. Naruto meant well but the one and only time any of them had seen Hinata truly mad had been the middle of a battle against the reanimated body of a dead man handing Naruto his own ass. It was great for the two of them to finally find happiness. When he thought of their calm and sweet relationship Shikamaru sometimes just couldn’t help but wonder how they didn’t get bored with no one around to throw a plate or two.
Since being nice about it didn’t do much his next step was to try being firm. This time he went to Tayuya first because if he could crack her then honestly he was pretty sure he could crack the whole world. His efforts in this round were about as successful as the first.
“Go ahead and try to tell me what to do one more time, Nara.” Right up in his face Tayuya was all fire, in her hair and in her eyes and in every move of the arm currently jamming in to his chest. “I’ve had just about enough of being ordered around for one lifetime, you hear me?” Oh he did. He did hear her. He also heard the undertone of heat and it wasn’t until an hour after he left their home in the daze of post orgasmic bliss that he realized he’d been had. Maybe Choji was right and he did think with his dick a little too much.
Going to see Temari hadn’t exactly had better results - although he’d known better from the start than to consider either one of them ‘better’ than the other in certain departments. After making it very clear how much she both enjoyed and scorned his attempts to law down some kind of law Temari rode him against the nearest walls and sent him off afterwards with a few choice words about how she really didn’t mind wearing only his marks on her skin from now on. Since he hadn’t been the one to bring that up Shikamaru saw through it right away. They missed each other, a blind man could see that. Getting them to admit it was the hard part.
So that was a bust on trying to put his foot down but if he were honest Shikamaru hadn’t expected any different. The next thing he tried was bribery. After the harsh years both of his wives had experienced it was entirely understandable that they should enjoy being waited on hand and foot. Usually the offer was an irresistible one to them; hence why he didn’t make it very often, a special treat for special occasions when he needed to remind them just how precious they really were. When not just one but both of them turned him down this time Shikamaru had to take a nice long walk through the woods and feed the deer for a while, wondering if maybe the magic offer had lost its touch at last. Or if maybe he was the one that had lost his touch. It took a good long while and three different deer taking curious nibbles of his ponytail before he shook himself and stood up with a little more steel in his spine.
Clearly this problem was running out of control and that meant bringing in the biggest weapon he had at his disposal. One didn’t spend a lifetime best friends with the Yamanaka heir without picking up some tricks.
“Please?”
“No.”
“Please please?”
“I said no, fuck off Shika.”
“Uhhh, please and please and please?”
Tayuya actually stopped walking to round on him with furrowed brows. “You get hit upside the head or something? This is- you’re acting like a damn child!”
“Maybe.” Shikamaru clasped his hands together and lifted his eyes to the clouds above them. “How many times I gotta say please? Cause I will. Give me a number, I’ll do it.”
“For real?”
“Please, please, please, please, plea-”
Ignoring the baffled looks of anyone passing them by was a lot easier than ignoring the sharp voice that spoke from the doorway, rough at the edges under the heavy weight of defeat and sadness.
“He might not look like it, but he’s really just a child in a man’s body.” Temari studiously did not look at her wife when Tayuya whipped around to stare at her, missing the ripple of yearning that went through all those well honed muscles. “You probably shouldn’t test it. He really will just keep going.”
“Sounds annoying as hell,” Tayuya ventured.
Neither of them seemed to notice when Shikamaru fell silent, still, waiting with baited breath.
“It’d probably be less painful if we just give in. He already did that to me for two hours this morning and I don’t know if I can listen to it for much longer without violence that I’m pretty sure I would regret.” The proud set of Temari’s jaw was that of a queen making concessions. The dark warmth of her eyes when they finally canted sideways was that of a wife who missed the touch of her beloved.
“Good fucking god, two hours? Yeah, hell no. I ain’t listening to that. Let’s just get this over with or something then.”
“For the best.”
Despite that agreement it still took about five solid minutes of staring wordlessly in to each others’ eyes before either of them made any more toward the other. In the end they moved at the same time, reaching out with the same hand, laughing in a fondly awkward way as their fingers entwined. The moment would have been utterly beautiful if Shikamaru hadn’t breathed in very deeply just to let it all back out in one great rush.
“Finally,” he muttered. Both of his wives frowned at him.
“Wait.” Temari narrowed her eyes as though only now realizing what she’d done. “How did you do that?” She didn’t seem to appreciate the sheer exasperation filling him up in place of all the soft pleading he’d been wearing for days now.
“You don’t just hang around with Ino for this long without learning how to annoy someone in to giving up.”
Before either of his wives could say anything Shikamaru was spinning on one heel and marching out the door, grumbling under his breath while he rummaged around his flack vest for a pack of smokes. Troublesome women and their troublesome tempers. At times he really did wonder why he put up with it. Two sets of footsteps rushing after him was a good reminder, though he thought he would be well within his rights to make them do a little begging after all the trouble he’d gone through just to bridge the gap between their overinflated prides. Worth it, absolutely worth it, but damn if they weren’t trouble sometimes.
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I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 20 - In Which Jack is the Life of the Party and Charles is a Wallflower
Councilor Featherstone comes through with planning permission, his personal interest allowing Max's petition to jump to the front of a very, very long and very, very slowly moving list. Glacial is a good description of that list. Full of icy aristocracy impeding any sort of forward progress. Because they all make money when the price of real estate goes up and up and up via the dearth of available properties.
Should someone sell off a property – or, God forbid, build a new one, particularly one meant for the lower class rabble to actually live in – well, they'd lose out on potential astronomic profits. And losing out on potential profit is as good as being robbed.
Not to mention the cut they make if someone has enough name and capital to approach them about buying a potential property, hoping to bolster their own enormous bank accounts with a “risk free” investment. But there's no such thing as a free lunch, particularly to the sharks that swim in the ocean of Britain's current property market. Everyone gets a cut of the pie.
Finders fees, they're called. As if anyone is finding anything in the morass of red tape and stark type on expensive paper. Not if someone doesn't want it to be found.
Jack has actually been granted a sizable finders fee by Max. All part of the massive, technically-legal tax dodge that allows the wealthy elite to remain the wealthy elite. Max makes an obscene amount of money selling her property off to a developer – while retaining a seat on the board of trustees, of course, and majority interest in the company they've formed to oversee the spa. And then she pays Jack a handsome consulting fee for all of his assistance with the planning permission. Which is a business expense – and therefore, a tax write off. And then Jack uses the money to wine and dine the councilor. Which is also a business expense and so another tax write off. On and on and on. Each just a small step in the endless dance of Legitimate Business.
Incidentally, Max is also paying Jack rather handsomely to consult on the design and interior decorating for the spa.
There are, of course, actual interior designers and professional decorators and florists and lighting and sound specialists in Max's company's employ. But it just wouldn't be nepotism if she hadn't found a job for Jack to make a lot of money at whilst doing absolutely nothing of value. And it just wouldn't be a London planning project without nepotism.
Plus, it gives Jack's not quite fake career as a fashion designer a little boost. Soon every rich socialite in London – and elsewhere, hopefully – will be relaxing in a Jack Rackham original spa robe, lounging on Jack Rackham original cushions on a Jack Rackham original divan reminiscent of a swan's elegantly unfolding wing, but in palest peach to complement the spring pink scrubs worn by spa staff – another Jack Rackham original – and soothing seafoam walls.
And if all that weren't enough to keep him and Christine (mostly Christine, if he's being honest) busy, Jack's also got fashion week to contend with. Oh, his projects are all finished, and he hasn't even worked himself into that much of a tizzy over the whole ordeal. Not with as well prepared as he feels – and as buoyed as he is by the positive attention his press releases and Instagram posts have received. No, he's as prepared as he can be and there's little point in wearing himself ragged worrying over the what ifs and wheretofors.
No, what's wearing on Jack in the small hours of the night is something else entirely.
More than Jack's actual fashion show – where half the designers are showing essentially nude models with various decorous scraps of latex and/or lace as opposed to actual outfits, not that Jack's petty or anything – more than the actual fashion show, Jack is required to make an impression on all the “benefactors” of the event. The rich, vapid men and women who decide whose fashions are to die for – and who's dead in the water.
Jack's not a real fashion designer. Just someone posing as one for the cover it gives a (hopefully) international crime empire. But that only makes this gladhanding and wheeling and dealing all the more imperative.
It's not much of a cover if everyone questions how, exactly, Jack's made it into the international fashion world. Hell, even here at home he's required to make the sort of connections that get him into the posh parties and stately homes of the rich and famous so he can case the joint and report his findings back to Max.
All of which necessitates Jack throwing his own party. A night of debauchery so blatant, so tasteless it wraps right around to tastefulness again. A night where he can show the fashion world, business moguls, and investors that he has the money and connections that make him worth their money and connections. And he's been granted the dubious honor of hosting the night of the newcomers fashion show. His debut on the international stage. Followed swiftly by his debut as an international man of quasi-leisure.
Max is, of course, the one actually throwing the party. The one determining the guest list from the half-dozen file cabinets worth of dirt and gossip and just creepily intimate details about London's upper crust.
Max is the one to hire the DJ – the same poor sap she'd blackmailed into playing Jack's first fashion show slash after party. And she's got Eme lording over the caterers with an iron fist.
And Max is the one to insist that Jack put up her ridiculous painting in pride of place, over the main sitting room fireplace where it can be reflected a hundredfold in the mirrors she'd brought in to line the room – and in the disco ball the DJ brought for the occasion. A thousand tiny paintings cover the floor, the walls, the goddamn ceiling. And sure, it's a nice enough painting – although it makes something spark hot and hungry in Jack's breast when he looks at it too long.
Or maybe that's just because a shirtless, glistening, complaining Charles – who just spent the majority of the morning hauling furniture and sound equipment around and hanging mirrors - is the one who's been roped into hanging it. Standing there, arms straining as Max directs him to position it just so.
Jack lets his gaze trail down Charles's biceps, chest, abs and away. He's got too much to do to be caught lollygagging like this. And Anne's amused and too-knowing look from over her clipboard is rather ruining the mood.
--
Anne watches Jack flounce away through the crowd, the heaving throng of party guests parting around him like water.
Jack's fashion show had gone over well. All the rich fucks without an original fucking thought between the all of them had been impressed with the flash fucking jewels and dripping gold. Entranced by the swirl of velvet skirts and silken shirts baring just slightly too much cleavage Which Anne knows cuz she's the one telling all the makeup artists to put fucking glitter on all their tits, like Max told her to.
And all them rich fucker's'd been entranced by Jack, too. Drawn like moths to the dancing flame of his showmanship. Lured by the siren song of wealth and elegance he'd spun on the catwalk.
And here at the party too.
Though it ain't elegance they're after here. Decadence, just like the fucking fashion show. But this ain't some rich old fuck's sitting room. This is a bacchanal. They're the cult of Dionysus tonight and they've got loyal followers high on poppers and coke and half a dozen other designer party drugs, courtesy of some of Jack's now-infamous street contacts, dolled up nearly as much as the party guests. And the drugs are all set out in little gold-rimmed dishes on antique walnut sideboards. K itchy as all fuck. Like candy someone's Nan might set out. All free for the taking.
Well, the first taste is, anyway. You gotta pay for the next dozen.
And they're willing to pay, the rich fuckers. Money's no object to them. And they've sold their souls long ago. What's a little more blood squeezed outta stone? Why give a fuck about tomorrow when you can constantly live in the happy glimmering now? Consequences can't touch them – these golden fucking chosen people.
And Jack walks among them like a prince. Like a god, and all this worship is simply his due.
Even from her secluded, shadowed corner Anne can see how he draws them in. Snares them with pretty words and pretty clothes and the promise that if they just flock to him, follow him, they too can be as effortlessly beautiful and catty and elegant and perfect.
And then, when they're thoroughly caught in his silken web, he directs them towards Max.
She's standing on the second floor balcony overlooking the party, queen of all she surveys. And even though Jack's throwing this party, she's the real mastermind behind everything. Every sweating, glittering, drug soaked body heaving against each other on the dance floor is there because that's exactly where she wants them. And when she turns her gaze to one or another in particular, it's far, far too late for them to run. Cuz even if they wanted to. Even if they weren't snared so tight they couldn't get out of the trap not even if they chewed their own fucking leg off. Even if they escaped, Anne'd chase them down for her. Hunt them down for her, across oceans and continents until they'd been found and bound and delivered back to her feet. Where they fucking belong, the fucking scum.
--
Charles tucks himself further into the corner he's found on the second floor. It's not quiet – nowhere in the house is quiet, not even the fucking bathroom. And his spot overlooks the dancefloor, bass thrumming up though the floor to rumble against the bottoms of his boots. But at least it's private.
Jack's holding court in the middle of the crowd, shining and happy and basking in being noticed, being revered.
He's always been like that. Flash and brash and attention grabbing. So you don't see the knife Anne's slipping between your ribs from the shadow Jack casts.
But even then. Even when it had been half misdirect and half distraction. Jack'd wanted this. Burned for it so bright and hungry you almost couldn't stand looking at him. But at the same time, you can't stand looking away.
Charles isn't like that.
Not that he lurks in the shadows, like Anne – or Max, even. He's a blunt instrument, and not ashamed of that fact. His strength lies in direct confrontation.
Oh, he can be crafty. Strategic. He can turn everyone's expectations of him against them. Jack's not the only one with a head on his shoulders, oh no. And Charles ran a crew just fine without his wiles.
But Charles doesn't want to live in the spotlight either. Hasn't chased renown, it had just kind of happened to him, whether he wanted it or not. More trouble than it was worth, half the time.
And now, something else – a new kind of notoriety – is happening to him. And it's all Jack's fault.
See, people aren't only fawning over Jack. No, there's those who saw the promotional material with Charles's face on it and decided he was some sort minor celebrity. Some kinda object for them to project all their filthiest desires onto.
He'd been poked and prodded and fondled. Offered modeling contracts. Offered sex. Offered money for sex. Like he'd welcome it – feel honored by it. Like he's some kinda doll, dressed up pretty just for them.
Not real.
Not a person.
Just a fucking pretty picture in a glossy program, there for them to get off to and then throw away.
He's been down that road before, though not with Johns as posh as these. The swells so used to getting what they want the moment they want it there's no real way to say no. Especially not when they – Anne and Max and Mary and Jack and him – have got so much riding on this.
Charles isn't going to be the one to ruin this. This bright shining con. This dream world Jack and Max have spun out of gossamer. So fragile – so easily ruined.
Charles isn't going to be the one to let the crew down.
So he'd flirted. Glib and meaningless and pretty. Dumb and flighty and careless. Caressed everyone who'd fondled him. Stood close and whispered low in their ears. Made them feel special, feel noticed. And then when they'd tired of him, cuz they always fucking do, so bored of life nothing can hold their interest for long, especially when he's not trying to keep it, Charles'd escaped to the second floor balcony overlooking the party and he'd put his back to the wall and watched Jack's glittering, fragile, beautiful dream unfold below him.
--
“Hiding up here all by yourself, Charles?”
Charles grunts in response, but not in a way that makes Jack feel like he's unwelcome. So Jack leans against the banister next to Charles and waits to see if he'll say anything more illuminating.
After a few minutes of silence – or silence from Charles, at least, the music's loud enough to be heard from a block away, never mind just upstairs – it becomes apparent that he won't be any more forthcoming. And if he's to speak, someone will need to coax it out of him.
Fortunately, Jack is nothing if not persistent.
“Got sick of the party, I'd imagine. It's a bit over the top, even for me.”
Charles snorts at that, so they're making progress.
“I know you'd be happier with something a little less glam pop.” Because that's never really been Chaz's scene. He's more of the rocker type, really. Not that Jack's complaining about his penchant for black leather on top of black silk. “But you have to admit, it's a good turnout. Especially for our first real industry bash. And Featherstone certainly seems to be having fun.”
Jack looks down at where the councilor and Idelle are grinding together on the dance floor (eughh) with the mirrored reflection of Max's painting shimmering on Featherstone's sweaty skin and reflecting in Idelle's eyes. Drawing him in almost as much as Idelle having exchanged her ornate velvet gown for a sexy little cocktail number - although she's wearing hardly any less jewelry than she had at the fashion show – and that too reflects a hundred thousand tiny sparkling versions of the painting. Of the taste and class and wealth the painting promises.
She's bathed in it.
She's a goddess. She's regal. Elegant. Glamorous. The kind of woman the kind of man the councilor is could have for more than a fun night in the sack. The kind of woman he could have for forever, if he'd wanted.
If he was lucky enough to catch and keep her attention.
Men and women in the crowd, only some of them planted by Max, ooh and ah over Idelle's elegance and poise. Remark, just loudly enough to be heard by the councilor about how much they wish she would deign to look at them like she looks at him. Ask to cut in, only to be cut down by Idelle, who has danced only with the councilor, attended only to the councilor, all evening.
Made him feel special. Feel desired. Feel like perhaps he could have this every night of his life, if he'd only put a ring on it. Something suitably flash, of course. Idelle deserves only the best.
But he's not thinking about any of that right now, not with the way he's got his gaze fixed firmly on her bosom, which is being shown off to great effect by an enormous diamond pendant that only she and Max know is actually cubic zirconium. Marriage is probably the furthest thought from his mind right now. But in the morning – in the morning, he'll remember this night. This wild bacchanal. The way the painting had whispered promises of finally belonging to the elegant, tasteful, obscenely rich world that Idelle navigates so effortlessly. How maybe she could guide him through troubled waters when he finds himself out of his depth. Idelle and only Idelle.
“Wish there weren't so many fucking people,” Charles grits out, shaking Jack out of his dreams of what ifs and might could bes. Back to the man standing beside him, one of the reason's they've had so much success in this venture. “All pawing at you. Like you owe them something.”
“Oh, darling. I've never minded a little manhandling, you know that.” Jack keeps deliberately glib, because Charles looks like he's liable to rip someone's throat out if Jack even hints at discomfort.
And it's true that he'd been somewhat leery of the attention at one point, after so long hiding in shadows out of necessity, even as he'd yearned to step into the spotlight.
It turns out that actually being in the spotlight isn't quite what Jack had imagined. That sometimes people shine it on you for reasons other than simple recognition.
That night at the strip club comes to mind.
That had felt like being used. Like being back in his childhood, father a subject of ridicule too drunk to understand that the whole village was laughing at him.
But Jack had understood. He'd understood the power of perception. The power other's had over you when they were the ones controlling the narrative. The ones making you an outsider.
But today, Jack's the one controlling how people see him. The one directing – and misdirecting – perceptions.
Because there's power there. Because people only see what they want to see. And you can get a hell of a lot done when people are too stupid to believe you capable of anything.
This being in the spotlight, being loved and adored by a fickle crowd, keeping the eyes of the world on him so that they stay off Max and Anne and Mary as they pick their marks. This is just another kind of power. Just another shield to hide behind while the dirty work gets done.
Jack elbows Charles in a way he hopes is reassuring. “And anyway, Anne's been keeping an eye out for trouble. You know she's been itching to stab someone for weeks now. I'm safe as houses.”
Charles grunts and turns away, back to the shadows he'd been hiding in when Jack came up here to talk to Max briefly, introducing a new mark – one who's in international real estate and interested in investing in Max's little property endeavors. And the glint of Charles's eyes in the gloom, the occasional sparkle of the silver charms in his hair and the earrings in his ears, the rings on his hands and necklaces draped against his bared chest, it had felt like a predator looking at him. Some big jungle cat watching him from the tall grass.
But Jack hadn't felt frightened. Because he's stupid and hopelessly in love. And he knows Charles, better than he knows himself, sometimes.
So he'd gone over to where Charles was standing. And he had stepped out of the shadow and into the glaring light of the party to stand at the balcony railing with Jack. To listen to Jack prattle on about inconsequential things with only fond mock annoyance, the way he'd always done. Even when Jack had been considerably more annoying – and Charles considerably more inclined to gut people who annoyed him.
But if he's hiding again, returning to the shadows, clearly that wasn't the right tack.
Jack comes at it from another angle. “Would it make you feel better if you came and danced with me? Just to remind everyone my big tough boyfriend is looking out for me?”
Because Charles trusts Anne. They all do – and with their very lives. But sometimes Charles is a protective, possessive sonofabitch. And if he's in a mood, Jack wants to make sure they deal with it in a way that doesn't end in homicide.
Charles turns back, eyes gleaming. “Stake a claim, you mean. In front of everyone.”
Prove Jack's his. And fuck. Maybe that is a step too far for their pretend relationship.
He's about to apologize. Walk everything back, make a joke, disassemble.
But then Charles says, “Yeah, all right. You're too much trouble for only one person to keep an eye on.”
--
Charles has Jack in his arms. And Jack'd said it was about Charles staking a claim. Making sure all the rich fucks kept their greedy hands off Jack. Make sure he was being looked after.
But it goes the other way, too.
Charles is out here in the middle of the dancefloor, covered in shiny that Jack'd bought – or stolen – just for him. Jack's arms around him, just like he's got his arms around Jack. Like they're one person, bound together, with no beginning or end.
There for everyone to see. To see that he and Jack are one.
That Jack has a claim on Charles. That all their pawing and fawning and come-ons don't mean shit. Just like all the heaving, sweaty bodies surrounding them don't mean shit. Not when him and Jack are like this. Together.
Everything – everyone – inconsequential compared to the feeling of Jack pressing against Charles's front, grinding against his dick, Charles's hands on his ass. Jack's his, if just for this moment. And he ain't gonna waste it.
Charles cups the back of Jack's head, fingers tangling in that stupid mullet he still insists on wearing. “Mine,” he growls into the breath of space between the two of them.
And Jack must be a great lip-reader. Or he's on the same wavelength as Charles, feels the same way as Charles does about all this. Because he grips Charles at the nape of his neck. Pulls his hair until his head tilts back and Jack's teeth are at his jugular.
And Charles feels the threat and the promise pressed so tenderly against his skin when Jack says “Yours.”
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39 for kageyama if you can ....... please :')
𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿. kageyama tobio
𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁. #39 “don’t cry.”
𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲. hurt / comfort !!! tobio is no good with tears and i love him
Kageyama knows it’s bad when Suga-senpai confronts him about it.
“So,” he ambushes him during lunch time, around the vending machine (Of course he waits around the vending machine, Kageyama’s favoured spot to get his daily dose of milk). “What happened?”
Kageyama frowns. “About what?”
“You know what I mean.” However, Sugawara smiles, in that nurturing way of his that always makes Kageyama feel a little lighter. And a little troubled as well, because he can’t believe how utterly transparent he could be at times.
Kageyama chooses to direct his glowering towards the vending machine, gaze flickering between a carton of milk or yogurt, a predicament he struggled with each day— but which was considerably easier to deal with, next to the one he currently had at hand, that’s it. He growls when he notices the guilt is dawning upon him, again.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sugawa asks, gently as ever, and Kageyama wants to say no, because a part of him does not wants to talk about it. But the other part, the vulnerable, insecure one, seems to be taking over him more often than not these days, and so he decides there’s no harm in speaking to a familiar face.
Far too violently, Kageyama presses both buttons simultaneously and lets the vending machine do the decision for him. “We had a fight,” he says, quietly.
“So I heard,” Sugawara recognizes, but Kageyama isn’t really phased about it. Suga is, like, everyone’s go-to when it came for a comforting presence. He’s reliable, a good listener, and just as great at offering advice. He’s the type of person with lots of strengths that Kageyama himself lacks, and Kageyama can’t help but envy him, just a tiny bit. “It was that bad?” he probes, and Kageyama purses his lips in a flat line.
To put it truthfully, it wasn’t supposed to be that bad. To put it very frankly, it was incredibly and thoroughly moronic of both of you to have gotten so worked up over such a silly argument. Because that’s what it was; a silly argument, a minor discussion that the two of you blowed out of proportion and allowed to scalate the way it did. Stupid, sensitive teenagers.
“Have you tried talking to them?” Sugarawa asks.
“Yes,” Kageyama replies, but he doesn’t seem precisely happy. “but they don’t wanna talk to me.”
“The cold shoulder, huh?” Sugawara sighs, very much like a father would do. “Well, they can be quite petty, too.”
Kageyama nods in silence, lacking for better words. It frustrates him to no end, to be on such terms with you, to have you completely overlooking his existence. It frustrates him. And he doesn’t even gets to apologize or raise the flag of truce because you won’t even look his way. The mere thought is enough to have him slamming his head into the wall and scream at the top of his lungs.
“What are you planning to do, then?”
Kageyama stops himself from doing so, though. “What can I do? They’re gonna ignore me anyways.”
“But you don’t want to let things go on like this, do you?”
Kageyama’s frowns deepens (if that’s even possible), but before his brain’s broken wires can sort out a way out of this fucking mess, his focus is taken away by a tiny little drop in his right cheek— followed by another one, and other one—
“Well, no one told me that it would be raining today,” Sugawara says as he looks up, gray clouds gathering above them. “C’mon, let’s get going before we get soaked.”
Kageyama agrees, although half-heartedly. For whatever reason, the light drizzle failing upon them seems to be reminding him of something, but he can’t exactly put his finger as to what it is. He always brings his umbrella, he couldn’t possibly have forgotten it—
Oh.
“Oh, fuck it.”
Powerless, you stand at the entrance of the school as you take in how the harmless rain at the beginning of the day had evolved into a massive downpour. Most of the students proceed to head off under the shelter of their respective umbrellas; shelter you can’t afford because, mind you, you rarely cared enough to bring an umbrella of your own.
Tobio always shared his with me, after all…
No. Don’t think about Tobio. Don’t think about Tobio and his pouty face and how he always puts up a fight before letting you get away with whatever you want, the space under his umbrella included. Don’t you think about it. You’re supposed to be mad at him, and rightfully so. He was mean (and so were you) and said mean things (and so did you) and you weren’t going to let it slide just like that. You had a pride to keep. Yes. You had one.
(But what about him?) No, this isn’t about him. This isn’t about him. (He’s probably hurt, too) And that’s on him. He started it all (let’s be real, you kinda were at fault as well) and he’s gotta live with it. (But he tried? To apologize? Several times?) NO. You don’t wanna hear it. You’re mad, reasonably mad, and it’s perfectly warranted. You could be mad for the rest of your life, if you wanted to (but you didn’t). End of the discussion.
The rain comes down steadily. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop any time soon. Fuck it. You’re not letting the rain keep you stuck with your inner conflict any longer. You bend forward to make sure your shoes are strongly tied and place your backpack over your head, making the perfect shield. You’re Unstoppable now. No rain is getting into your way.
Ready, steady...
“What are you doing, dumbass?”
Go— Ok, no go.
You’re torn between offering him a snarky reply, scowling at him or simply icing him out, but once you lock eyes with Tobio all you want to do is (redacted). Oh, would you look at that, you brain has already repressed that memory!
“None of your concern,” you end up saying, immediately averting his gaze. Tobio can’t even feel glad about you finally breaking your vow of silence towards him.
“Is that so,” he replies, and you hate how defeated he sounds. How can you be mad at him if he doesn’t make it easy for you?
“Are you heading home?” he tries once again, and you’re definitely not endeared by it.
“Well, I was going to before someone stopped me.”
“It’s raining,” he points out.
“It certainly is,” you agree.
An uncomfortable silence follows. It’s one you aren’t used to at all, especially around Tobio. It felt so wrong.
You’re oh-so interested into the tip of your shoes that it startles you a little when a familiar umbrella suddenly appears in your field of vision. You didn’t even feel Kageyama coming closer, but there he was; standing a few steps away from you, handing his very own blue-ish umbrella. It takes you a second to take in the whole situation.
“Here,” he says, not budging an inch from his position. There are so many things you could question, but you can’t even find your voice to do so. Kageyama scoffs. “Don’t give me that look. You never bring one yourself, do you?”
And then it hits you. Violently, like a sudden epiphany, even when it’s something you’ve known for a long time now.
He cares.
Seeing you aren’t trying to accept the offer, Tobio nudges the umbrella in your direction, vehemently. Nothing. He knits his brows together. He knows you’re stubborn, but so is he, and he isn’t taking a no for answer— Wait.
“... Are you crying?”
It’s crazy how all it takes for you to crack are three words, because suddenly you’re choking on your own tears, so it’s kinda pointless to try to keep appearances now. And Kageyama dies a little, because oh my god you’re crying.
“Hey… Hey!” he flails, voice admittedly cracking. “Why are you crying? It’s— It’s something I did?”
But since you’re in no condition to speak up, his questions remain unanswered. He has never been at such a loss for words as he stares at you, sobbing and whimpering and scrubbing at your face just to let more tears stream down your cheeks, pretty much like a kid would do, which only makes it all the more heart-wrenching. All the more unbearable to witness.
Kageyama unconsciously searches in his pockets for a handkerchief or a tissue or anything that would make you stop crying, really, only to realize he doesn’t even has one of those to offer up. But there’s something in the way you cry your heart out that shakes him to the very core, that disarms him and calls for desperate measures. So, he does something he usually wouldn’t.
You flinch noticeably when a hand hesitantly brushes against your cheek. The touch is awkward, yet undeniably gentle, and you momentarily stop your crying to blink up at him through the tears. It’s blurry, but you can still make out his deep blue eyes. The way he freezes as soon as he’s caught, like he’s just broken some sort of unspoken rule by initiating physical contact and is waiting for divine retribution or something. His lips pursing in that signature pout of his. You take in every part of him, gratefully.
“You hate me?” You don’t even realize how uncalled for your question sounds until it’s out, but what is done is done, and Kageyama seems so genuinely bewildered— It’s almost laughable.
“How could I possibly hate you?”
And that’s all you need to put aside every bit of your stubborn pride.
“I don’t wanna fight anymore,” you state, finally.
Kageyama needs an actual second to register your words. “Ok,”
“I hate fighting.”
“Me too,” he admits, far too quickly to be insincere, far too unfiltered for your liking.
“I don’t wanna be mad at you,” You’re probably just running your mouth at this point, but you just can’t bring yourself to stop. “and I don’t want you to be mad at me, either.”
“I’m not mad at you.” he says, and it’s as comforting as it is nerve-wrecking. “And you don’t have to be mad, if you don’t want to.”
Sniffle. A tiny, selfish tear attempts to slip away, but Tobio wipes it before she gets too far. “So don’t cry…”
But crying does not obeys anyone’s command, so you keep sniffing and snivelling for a while until you’re finally done with it, and Tobio stays. He’d stay forever, if you’d let him.
Eventually, the rain ceases.
#anon#answered#not at how each of the prompts are lengthier each time.... i have no excuses#N E WAYS hope u enjoy this anon !!! i enjoyed writing this one jkhs#i struggle a bit with fighting / crying bc emotions are Messy but it was fun !#and with this ive cleared the prompt rqs thanks for sending in units <3#haikyuu!!#haikyuu#hq!!#haikyuu!! x reader#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader#haikyuu!! x you#haikyuu x you#hq x you#haikyuu!! scenarios#haikyuu scenarios#hq scenarios#kageyama tobio#kageyama tobio x reader#kageyama tobio x you#kageyama x reader#kageyama x you#kageyama tobio scenarios#filed under: prompts#filed under: june writes#filed under: kageyama tobio#blueberry boy#filed under: karasuno
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Percy Earned his leadership
Okay, the thing is I get almost personally offended when the fandom tries to write off Percy’s leadership because that boy earned the right to be CHB’s leader.
First off, the way that RR wrote the first five books was in a way where when you combine them together, you can track one cohesive story the same way you’d do with a single story.
TLT is Act 1. It establishes the setting, the characters, and the story. While there aren’t a lot of leadership moments for Percy, because it’s the first act Percy has a lot of moments where you can see his various skills that will lead him to becoming a good leader coming through. This includes his ability to think on his feet (how he dealt with the love ride), manipulate (Crusty), and make the necessary calls needed for the good of the world (sacrificing Sally to return to the surface and stop the war).
There isn’t a lot that happens in this book that happens that changes Percy’s internally and turns him into more of a leader. Aside from the decision to leave his mom behind, every moment of ‘leadership’ that he has are small, baby step versions of leadership. This book is mainly just getting Percy accustomed to being in the situations where a leader is needed while not necessarily pushing him into a leadership position (while Percy was technically the leader of the quest he relied heavily on Grover, Annabeth, and Chiron since he was so new to the world).
SoM is Act 2. Since we know who Percy is and we don’t need to be coaxed into loving him like the first book, this book is the one where Percy probably receives the most help. This is also the ‘training montage’ portion of the story and likely the reason that the Sea of Monsters was chosen as the setting.
There are a few moments in the book where Percy takes the necessary steps to become a leader but most notably are.
Making the decision to send Clarisse on ahead.
Stepping up and confronting Luke on behalf of all four of them.
The beginning of the book where the campers poorly treat him and Tyson is also important for two reasons. The first being that Percy sticking by Tyson despite the poor treatment shows what a good person he is, even though we know he’s resentful of the situation and Tyson. The second is that part of the reason Percy is so resentful is because the last time he was at camp he was Hot Shit. Everyone thought he was the bees knees because he had completed a quest and prevented a war. By having Percy be ostracized for his association with a “monster” Rick not only prevented Percy from developing an ego but it also teaches him something all leaders need to know - which is that public opinion is extremely fickle.
This is also the book where we first hear that Percy is an ‘unreliable weapon’. Kronos specifically does not want Percy to be the prophecy child because he knows that Percy is difficult to predict, manipulate, and control. The gods themselves would be way less scared about how powerful Percy is if he was easier to control. By Percy being difficult to manipulate, that means he’s not going to wind up pulling all the people he’s leading in the wrong direction because someone else is pulling his strings.
TTC is Act 3 and the mid-story low-point. This is the book where Percy fucks up the most.
He lets his jealousy of Thalia cloud his judgement, which directly leads to Annabeth getting captured.
He again lets his jealousy and pride cloud his judgement which causes the campers to lose to the Hunters.
A tiny moment but he’s so upset over Annabeth possibly becoming a hunter that he nearly kills an Ares camper with a javelin.
He’s so pissed at Mr. D he almost lets his anger prevent them from getting help, which would have led to all of them dying.
All of Percy’s fuck ups teach him that he needs to not let his emotions cloud his judgement and clearly see in BotL and TLO that Percy has learned his lesson. Even when his parents are in danger or he has his own personal drama with Annabeth and Rachel, he’s able to focus on the task at hand.
(The one time that Percy lets his emotions take control is when he takes off in the Labyrinth alone because he thinks Nico is nearby and he’s extremely worried about Nico because he cares a lot about him despite what Rick and his ghost writers say).
They also serve as a humbling experience to keep his ego in check, because at the beginning of the book we’re told that Percy had become accustomed to campers looking to him and up to him after having completed two dangerous quests. His issue with Thalia is that he feels she gets all the attention because Zeus is her father (whether that’s a justified feeling or not). This shows us that not only does Percy have some sort of expectation of leadership but also that as someone who spent his whole life either in the corner or in bad light, he has enjoyed being in the spotlight even if only a little bit, and now he’s missing it.
This is also the book where Percy accepts the prophecy and basically puts himself in a leadership position for the sake of protecting Nico. However, for me, this isn’t the most meaningful leadership moment.
Percy’s big leadership moment in this book for me is when he takes the sky from Artemis and this is the big moment for many reasons.
For one, it shows that he has learned from his past mistakes of wanting to be the one to turn to. He acknowledges he’s not going to defeat Atlas and takes himself out of the fight so Artemis can fight instead. This is a great juxtaposition to the beginning of the story when he wanted to be on the front lines during capture the flag and have Thalia instead guard the flag (even though Thalia was right about the river).
For two, it shows his ability to make sacrifices because he knows very well that he can die.
And for three, it is his idea, his decision, and he has to convince Artemis it’s also a good idea.
BotL is Act IV, the rising action. The stakes are higher, the situation is more dangerous than ever, and our protagonist is digging himself out from under his mistakes of the previous act.
This is the book that while Percy has learned most of what he needs to in order to become a leader and has even chosen a leadership role, he’s not the one in charge. Annabeth is.
This book is literally Percy being Annabeth’s second-in-command because before you can lead, you need to learn how to follow. This is important to happen here because in the previous three books Percy either didn’t want to be a leader and/or he was fucking it up and had a lot to learn.
This is the book that shows us two things: 1) Percy's ability to sacrifice his personal wants and desires for the greater good and 2) why he is the best option to lead.
He does #1 first at Mt. St. Helens when he sends Annabeth away, because in the situation she’s the one that needs to get back for the greater good. Then the second time was when he sacrificed a peaceful eternity with Calypso for the greater good (not Annabeth, which the fandom, Rick, and his ghost writers seem to have forgotten).
Everyone is going to hate me for what I’m about to say next but bear with me. The BotL is showing us why Annabeth, the daughter of war and battle strategy, is not going to be the leader of their army in the series climax. To be clear, Annabeth is not a bad leader, in fact she is a good one, my point for the next bit here is why she’s not the best option. Throughout the book we see Annabeth repeatedly making the same mistakes that Percy made in the previous book; she lets her emotions get the better of her and cloud her judgement.
The Sphynx moment is her letting her pride overtake her better judgement and she puts everyone at risk by refusing to answer the questions over an insult to her intelligence.
Absolutely everything with Rachel is an issue. From the first moment Annabeth sees Rachel and Percy together she is jealous and she treats Rachel terribly. First off, this is poor behaviour in general (and it should have been addressed in series and apologized for) but as a leader it’s poor for a few reasons.
Firstly, that as a leader she needs to know how to put her emotions aside in order to work with everyone, regardless of her personal feelings towards them. By not being able to be at least polite to Rachel, she risked Rachel saying fuck this, I’m out (probably the only reason Rachel didn’t is because she’s chill and she knew it was a world ending problem they were dealing with).
Secondly, it shows a certain amount of immaturity. The thing with jealousy is that although it’s not a reasonable emotion, how you handle it shows how mature you are. The fact that when Annabeth becomes petty and vindictive when she’s jealous shows a lot of emotional immaturity.
Thirdly, she doesn’t fucking learn anything as we see her behaving the same way towards Rachel in TLO, made worse by the fact that she’s also attacking Percy. This isn’t entirely her fault because these actions don’t have any consequences that make her want to change her behaviour. Leaders need to be able to learn and adapt and check their own behaviour.
(honestly, the fact that Annabeth ended the series without at least trying to get over her pride and abandonment issues makes me feel like her character arc is incomplete).
TLO is Act V and the grand finale. It’s the book where Percy is 100% the Boss. It is the culmination of everything that he’s learned and shows off all the things he has that makes him a good leader.
Leaders need to know when to make sacrifices, evident by when he leaves Beckendorf and when he takes a million-to-one chance by dipping in the Styx in order to gain a chance at winning this war.
He’s cunning and manipulative, shown when he bribes the river gods into playing for his team.
He’s incredibly good at battle strategy, shown when he manages to make a plan that allows 70ish campers/hunters to defend the entire island of Manhattan from hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers from Kronos’s army.
He’s well spoken, shown when he’s able to get the campers pumped before the first battle.
He cares about the people that he’s leading. In the previous book he didn’t know Castor’s name before he died and he felt bad about that, so in this book every time he mentions a demigod it’s by name.
He’s clever, shown when he’s able to figure out literally on the fly how to kill the pig and that the hero that dies in the prophecy is Luke. He also figures out that Typhon won’t be defeated without Poseidon and knows what to say in order to get Poseidon to abandon the ocean battle and help the rest of the gods.
(Lowkey-highkey Percy is the reason that Typhon was defeated at all, because without him Poseidon would have never joined the fight and the gods would have failed, which would have meant that regardless of Kronos dying they would have been fucked)
He’s able to focus on the task at hand despite his emotional problems. This includes the times that his parents are put in the line of fire, both when they’re asleep and awake and when the Annabeth/Rachel drama is making him all kinds of angry and upset. In all those situations he’s able to carry on and largely ignore them in order to focus on the war.
To me, his deference to Chiron before the war officially begins is Percy a) being so used to following Chiron in everything and respecting the centaur as a leader and b) not entirely confident in himself and needing that confirmation that he’s in charge. While it’s never stated in the books that Percy enjoys being a leader, we never really see Percy lamenting that he wishes someone else was in charge even when he was neck deep in danger and death and stress.
No one ever questions the fact that Percy’s in charge. There isn’t ever a power struggle. Even with Thalia and Annabeth - both of whom have their own merits to make them leaders and the ambition/pride to make them chafe under the leadership of someone else. Everyone easily accepts and looks to Percy to be their leader.
I’m sorry if this comes off as rant-y and I’m likely going to piss a bunch of people off with my opinion on Annabeth’s faults, but Percy literally went through so much shit and learned and changed in order to be a good leader that it honestly makes me angry when people write him off for the sake of uplifting someone else.
#percy jackson is a leader#percy jackson#pjo#if you've noticed i have entirely ignored everything that happens in hoo
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AOT ~ Revenge
Word Count;; 1.7k
Genre;; Suggestive
Pairing;; Reiner x Bertholdt
Notes;; Published: 2017-07-10
My Masterlist
AOT Week Masterpost
It had started as an accident but soon escalated into a war. The small event was blown out of proportion and the once happy household was thrown into chaos. Terror lurked around every corner. Neither knew when the other would strike. They were on edge, every creak and moan sending shivers up their spines. It was only a matter of time before the next assault was launched. Both were out for revenge.
Neither Reiner nor Bertholdt remembered who was at fault for the first blow. Reiner played the victim, however, and accused Bertholdt of targeting him whenever he was vulnerable. His moment of vulnerability being when he was naked in the shower. The water would fluctuate between ice cold to scalding hot every few seconds thanks to the laundry machine running at the same time. Reiner claimed that the brunet was well aware of his actions and their consequences, hence why he believed his own reaction was justified.
Bertholdt hadn't suspected it. He didn't realise just how upset Reiner was over the water temperature problem. It had been an accident, after all. He had already forgotten about it the next day when he stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes blurry and moist from lack of sleep. He was too tired to notice the thicker granules within the sugar jar as he poured some into his morning coffee. Stirring in what he assumed was an abundance of sugar, he took a large gulp. Bertholdt thought of himself as a kind, forgiving man, but that was only after he had his caffeine fix. Without it, he was more than willing to swoop down to Reiner’s level.
Reiner, still in bed and waiting for confirmation that his plan had worked, smirked when he heard Bertholdt scream. He had switched the sugar with salt, knowing full well that the brunet was like a zombie in the morning and wouldn't notice the small change. One of the perks of living with someone for so long was learning their routine. Bertholdt needed the hot beverage or he couldn't function - that was a fact of life. He was also running late to work on this beautiful Monday morning and had no time to find where the real sugar was hidden. With a sense of pride, Reiner rolled over and went back to sleep. Little did he know, Bertholdt wasn't backing down from this challenge. His retaliation already awaited the blond.
Reiner strutted into the kitchen after his shower. He was grateful that Bertholdt had left early today so he didn't have to worry about any problems with the water. He wasn't grateful, though, for the mess left on the counter after his little prank. There was coffee spilled all over, some even leaking onto the ground with a soft patter. Reiner rolled his eyes and ignored it. Grabbing a pan, some eggs, and vegetables, he set to work on his breakfast. Twenty minutes passed in silence. He slid his omelette onto a red dinner plate. Pulling the tomato sauce out of the fridge, he squeezed the bottle and gasped. The lid popped off and landed in his food as the majority of the container emptied out onto his plate. Sauce splattered onto the counter, mixing in with the coffee, as well as onto his shirt. Although he changed his attire soon after, grumbling the entire time, he noticed a red stain on his fresh white shirt once he arrived at work. He chuckled, the sound low and menacing enough to scare his coworkers, as he plotted his next move. Two can play this game, after all.
Suspicions were high when Reiner came home. He didn't say a word to his boyfriend who was sitting on the couch with a slice of pizza. He didn't even spare a glance in his direction or visit the kitchen to fetch his dinner. The blond went straight to their shared bedroom and hopped into bed. Bertholdt hoped he wasn’t too bitter about the childish prank from earlier and just needed some rest after a long day. He knew Reiner well enough to know that wasn't the case. Soon he would find himself ensnared beyond escape within their petty battle. There was no sensible end in sight. They were at war now.
The next attack came at the end of the week. Bertholdt forgot his phone at home and Reiner didn't hesitate to play the dutiful and doting boyfriend, travelling into the heart of the city to give it to the brunet. Timing his arrival to coincide with the start of a meeting, he returned the device he had hid a few hours prior. Bertholdt said his thanks, giving Reiner a swift kiss before darting inside the conference room. Reiner wore a grin the entire distance to the subway. The other male had let his guard down and now Reiner was ready to strike.
“I- I don't know what this is, I'm so sorry,” Bertholdt murmured, his cheeks flaming as he fumbled to silence his phone.
The entire room was staring at him now. Some had amused grins, some suffered from secondhand embarrassment, but most shot daggers at the anxious brunet as he struggled to unlock the device. “Never Gonna Give You Up” echoed throughout the entire room. Bertholdt didn't even know his phone could play this loud as he always kept it on silent. Taking a moment to calm his nerves, he found the volume keys and at last silence filled the room. His entire body burned with embarrassment as he looked up at the people sitting around him. One of the couple’s mutual friends, Annie, rolled her eyes. He cursed his boyfriend and his sneaky trick under his breath.
Once the meeting was over, Bertholdt bolted out of the room. Running to his desk, he clocked out for lunch and headed for the elevators. He needed to have a serious word with Reiner. Searching his contact list, he almost cried out in frustration. Had he not been in a very crowded lift, he might have punched the wall. Every single one of his contacts had been renamed to Rick Astley and their photo changed to match. His text message and call history had been erased to boot. Dependent on technology, he had no clue what anyone's numbers were. He had no idea how to contact Reiner but he sure as hell had an idea on how to repay this lovely gesture.
A few days passed without incident. Even so, every day was torture as anticipation gnawed at Reiner. Whenever he opened a cupboard or entered a room, he double checked it for traps. He couldn't relax in the shower. Not even in his bedroom did he feel safe. His nights were restless. So when Bertholdt told him he had the day off, Reiner knew a prank was fast approaching. Unsure of what his partner could have conjured up, he went to work and tried to put aside his burning curiosity and mild trepidation.
Annie offered no consolation, either. He had called to check up on how Bertholdt was doing in the office as of late (and to weasel information out of her). She told him to grow up and that she wanted nothing to do with their game, but she also accepted his earlier invitation to dinner and that she'd see him later tonight. They ended up meeting in the subway before walking the rest of the distance to his apartment. Even though he spent the entire trip calming his nerves, he wasn't prepared for the final assault. Opening the door with Annie by his side, Reiner took a step inside the apartment and caterwauled as the fine particles poured down from the ceiling. Annie, who was known for her neutrality that bordered on indifference, followed suite with her own infuriated bellow.
“What the actual fuck is this?” She screeched, trembling in anger as she gazed down at the glitter covering her entire body.
“A-Annie!” Bertholdt gasped, jumping out of his seat, “I didn't know you were coming!”
“Enough is enough already, you idiots!”
“I’m sorry, Annie,” Reiner sighed while he rubbed his temples.
“I can't believe you dragged me into this mess,” she snapped, smacking Reiner across the arm. “If you don't have this shit sorted by the next time I visit, I'll kick both of your arses.”
Turning on her heels, she stormed out of the apartment complex, leaving a trail of glitter in her wake. The two males stared after her, unwilling to face each other. Their prank war had gotten out of hand and they both knew it. It had gone on for too long; it was time to end it and make up. Neither wanted to be the one to admit fault, though, and they weren't sure how to move past the events of the last few weeks. After several awkward minutes, Bertholdt cast aside his pride and spoke up.
“Reiner…”
Bertholdt glanced at the colourful mess known as his boyfriend and the love of his life. To his surprise, Reiner grinned at him. Throwing his irritation and pettiness away, the blond crossed over to the couch. He wanted his boyfriend back. Reiner pulled the taller man down into an embrace. Bertholdt squeaked when he noticed glitter transferring onto his clothes and skin. Reiner laughed and pinched the brunet’s cheeks, causing Bertholdt to blush.
“I've missed you, Bert. Your touch, your scent, your body, your smile. I'm tired of being near you without having you. I want you by my side, not just in body, but in heart and soul as well. I want all of you again. I want our early morning talks and our late night cuddling back. I need your warmth. I love you and I miss you and I can't stand not being here with you like this,” Reiner murmured before pulling Bertholdt into a kiss.
“I've missed you too, Reiner,” his words transformed into a moan as the blond captured his bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a light tug. Bertholdt ran his hands down Reiner’s back, fingers resting on his ass before giving it a light squeeze. The action spurring him forward, Reiner pushed Bertholdt onto the couch before removing his own shirt. He unbuckled his belt and tossed it aside, his pants loosening enough to hang off his hips. Reiner then unbuttoned his pants and allowed them to fall to the floor. His boxers clung to his body, his own arousal growing when he noticed the tent in his boyfriend’s trousers.
“I know I've been a big dick lately, but can you find it within yourself to forgive me?”
Bertholdt chuckled, beckoning Reiner forward with his finger, “As if I can say no when I have this amazing view.”
#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#snk#reiner x bertholdt#bertholdt fubar#reiner braun#snk oneshot#anime#anime oneshot#aot#animetrashlord-007
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walk me home | q.b.
Summary: Being the lovechild of Tony Stark and May Parker has its perks. For one, you have Spider-Man as your favorite little cousin who you’re chaperoning for on his field trip. For another, you have Tony Stark as a dad. Or... had. You’re losing a lot of things in the wake of the battle, and with Quentin Beck back in your life, you’re facing a lot of shit, too.
WARNINGS: FFH spoilers kinda, swearing, a bit angsty, Quentin and reader are both MESSES with a lot of feelings (that are real) but its a happy ending :)
Pairing: Quentin x fem!Stark-Parker!Reader
Word Count: 6.0k
A/N: This is for the writing challenge hosted by @waiting4inspiration! My prompt was “I’ll walk you home.” GIF not mine!!
“Quentin Beck, huh,” you snort, unimpressed. Your arms crossed over your chest, you watch as the man goes on, playing his little game. Multiverse bullshit. But the Elementals, that’s the thing you’re afraid of, and even if Quentin Beck can make up lies like they’re wishes to his fairy godmother, you need to know if this threat is containable or not. It’s really the only reason why you haven’t kicked his ass yet. “You expect me to care about Quentin Beck?”
“Know him?” Hill taps away on whatever she’s working on, and you lean against the pillar. You arch an eyebrow when he sends you a meaningful look before looking away, disinterested.
“Exponentially, apparently.” Letting out a disgusted sigh, you stand up straight and squint at the orange holograms. “Look, I really wanted to actually chaperone my cousin’s field trip like we’re still an actual family, and if you could tell Fury to fuck off—”
“No.” Hill sends you a dead-eyed glance before resuming her work, the orange glow of the screen casting her face in a warm light. “Once these Elementals are done with, you never have to deal with him again.”
“Keep my family out of it.”
“Parker is the only Avenger we have on call.” Hill’s words cause whatever retort, whatever witty comeback you had building up in your throat die. It crumbles to ash in your mouth and for a moment, she stops typing to let out a sharp breath. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right. It’s not like I’m standing right here or the fact that Pete never wanted to be an Avenger, right?”
“Well, your dad—”
“My dad made him one in a time of crisis. Excuse me if I think he’s still just a kid.” Your hand fits against your forehead as you close your eyes, trying to figure out how field trips always turn to shit in your family. First Washington, then the one from MOMA, now this— “Look, pull him out. Convince Fury to pull him out. I’m right here.”
“Stark made a protocol for you,” a new voice interrupts and you turn to see Nick Fury standing there with Quentin and Peter. You roll your eyes with a lofty sigh and pull your shoulders back, unimpressed.
“Newsflash, I’m twenty-nine. Dad made that protocol for me when I was, like, eight, so I’m very much a possible alternative for a sixteen year old.” Meeting Peter’s eyes, you press your lips together. “And Dad only did that to keep me safe. He wanted me to stay with Mom. Which is what I’m trying to do for you, Peter. You know, keep you alive because everyone’s fucking dying around here.”
“Ms. Stark... may I call you Y/N?” Your eyes drift over to Quentin Beck, who has that easy-going, comfortable vibe going on with him, before you blink. Is he really trying to talk to you? God.
“That is my name, isn’t it?” The squirming feeling in your stomach doesn’t cease as you can almost spot something in his gaze. Something that lights up at how much bite is in your bark. Fuck that. “Look—”
“Did I say I wanted to hear from you, Mr. Beck?” you ask coolly and you shake your head. “This is great. Elementals are coming to destroy us all, but what I don’t need is for you to drag my sixteen-year old cousin into an Avengers-level situation.”
“I’ll respect Parker’s choice, so long as I hear it from him.” Fury turns to your cousin and a tick of impatience flares inside your heart. Somehow, you really doubt that.
“I just want to enjoy my summer. Mr. Beck seems like he has it all handled,” Peter says with a shrug, gesturing to the outrageously garbed Quentin Beck. You breathe out a small sigh of relief and you stand up straight, nodding curtly to Fury.
“Goodnight.” Brushing past, you head for the entrance of the hideout as Peter walks after you. He looks more concerned than anything else, and you’re quite sure that if you were a cartoon, smoke would be fuming out of your ears. Peter looks at you like that, anyway.
“Y/N, are you okay?” he asks quietly and you pause at the lip of the tunnel. Turning around, you note that no one’s followed either of you and paste on a smile, opening your arm for Peter. He slinks towards you and your arm lands comfortably around his shoulders as you nod.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You were being a bit more…” He searches for the right word and you eye him with a narrowed gaze.
“Bitchy?”
“I was going to say overprotective or tense. One of those,” he corrects and you smile down at him, fingers running through soft curls. “But yeah.” Chuckling, you look up at the dark inky sky, the warmth of the summer wind caressing your cheeks.
“Happens sometimes, kiddo. Gotta protect who I’ve still got.”
A steady fall of footsteps catches your attention and you turn to the tunnel where Dmitri comes out of, a stoic expression as ever upon his face. You return your gaze to Peter, and send him a smile.
“You gotta head back to the hotel, alright?” you order, but it sounds more like a request, and he nods. A genuine smile comes upon your face. He’s such a good kid, and hell if you’re going to let Nick fucking Fury lay his hands on him.
“What about you?”
You squeeze Peter’s shoulder. “Be there in a minute.”
Dmitri climbs onto the boat with Peter who sends you an uneasy look. You don’t blame him. The guy is pretty intimidating if you let him, and although Peter’s no chicken, you cannot deny the fact that Dmitri looks like he can snap any man in half with a flick of his fingers. You hide your chuckle behind your smile, the engine purring to life in the water as you step closer to the water. Waving to your cousin, you watch as he becomes a spot in the distance and wait until he disappears completely before turning around.
You wrap your arms around yourself, the wind playfully tugging at the free-hanging strands around your face. Climbing up the steps, you walk through the streets aimlessly, a sort of boundless energy putting an unshakeable urge to do something in your legs. You cross bridges and pass fountains, climb steps and buildings before you settle on top of a flat-roofed ice cream place that’s next to some taller residential building. Maybe you can find some fucking peace and quiet.
“Nice kid.”
Nope.
The sound of his voice can still send shivers down your spine, and you fucking hate it. You whip around to see him standing there and you swallow. It’s not fair for him to be here.
“Why’d you lie?” you ask softly, the first question out of your mouth. The wind carries your words through moonlight, and you turn around again to see him there. He’s still wearing that ridiculous suit and you wonder how on Earth he’s managed to get up here in that thing. The cape looks rich to the touch, and all you want to do is run a hand over the smooth metal of his chestplate. “You’re not from some Multiverse.”
“People need a sob story to believe in,” he whispers and you take a step back for every step he takes towards you until you’re pressed flush against the stone.
“Well, I’m sure Fury wouldn’t have a problem with you just trying to save our world, period.” Your heart quivers in your chest and you inhale sharply as his hand reaches for your wrist.
“You know the Multiverse is real, Y/N. What’s one tiny lie?” The scent of him is intoxicating, and it floods your senses like nothing else as you swallow. He smells like river water and sweat and smoke, blue eyes darkened by the shadow the moonlight casts behind him.
Pressing your lips together, you shake your head. “Let’s say I keep your tiny secret. Are, at least, the Elementals real?”
You need to know. Quentin draws back for a moment, as if surprised, and you jut out your chin defiantly. You step away from the wall, walking around him until he turns around to face the moon. When the light glares into his face, the shadows no longer cut his face in a mysterious way and that hypnotic aura melts away. In fact, it makes him look all the more ridiculous in his getup and you can’t help the smirk working its way onto your face.
“Is that what you ask? Really? After seven years?”
You scoff and throw your arms up in the air. “You want to talk about this now?” You cannot believe him. “You want to talk about this right now?”
“No!”
“Then, answer the question!”
“They’re as real as I said they were,” he spits. You play with the necklace hanging around your neck, the pendent containing all the nano parts you need to form a full suit as you run his words over your head.
“Real as in…?”
“Y/N.”
“Quentin, you broke up with me over a text, okay? I get to be as skeptical as I want. Just be glad I didn’t rat you out to Fury.” You don’t dare look at him as you stand on the edge of the building, feet wide apart and your arms crossed over your chest. You hug yourself against the soft wind, eyes angled up at the moon as pebbles shift underfoot. Quentin comes to stand beside you but you refuse to look at him. You think it’s the Stark pride coming in, but you know Parkers have their fair share of being petty. Or you could be the black sheep. Dad always said…
Dad.
“Look, I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Shut the fuck up, you hated my dad.” You sigh, feeling something inside you unwind. You don’t know what it is, but this vacation is turning out to be a hell of a lot more stress than you bargained for. “But, if you mean it, thanks.”
“I do. I only care because you cared about him,” he murmurs. His gaze burns into your cheek and you close your eyes for a moment, your heart skipping beats as you try to fix the dam that’s been broken ever since your dad left. “I really am sorry for your loss.”
“Yep, well, it’s what happens when your dad’s fucking Tony Stark.” You force a painful smile that digs too deeply into your face like you do whenever you think about how your dad is… was Tony Stark. It was always such a strange concept to you. Yeah, you were Tony Stark’s love child but you grew up in Queens, with your mom who eventually married Ben, and they decided not to have kids because Tony Stark and May Parker’s kid was enough for three families over.
And you had a normal life.
Your normal was Tony Stark picking you up from school sometimes and talking to DUM-E as you tried to help make your dad’s newest suit. Your normal was dinner in a small apartment in Queens with your mom, and dad, and Ben, and eventually Peter too.
Your normal was hanging out with Earth’s mightiest heroes, working at Stark Industries, and kissing Quentin Beck in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty, until it wasn’t.
Until Siberia.
Your whole life shattered.
“Y/N—”
“Why are you here?” you ask flatly. Your eyes drift off, taking in the view of the city and his gaze rips away from your cheek. “If these things are real, how do you know about them?”
“One showed up in Ixtenco.”
“That’s where Fury found you.”
“It’s where I found out how to kill these things.”
“Okay, how?” You turn to him at last, training your gaze on him. He meets your eyes steadily as you continue, “Wouldn’t it be better if we all knew how to kill these things?”
“Magic.” You arch an incredulous eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “Would you believe magic tomb?”
“No. Try the truth.”
“I’m serious.”
“Shut up.”
“I really am!” he laughs into his words then, and you feel the smile flickering onto your face before you can stop it. Your knuckles hit his forearm in a gentle slap before you know it and you angle your head to look at him. The moment your eyes meet however, the smiles fade, and you’re left reminded of the one text. The two words. Exhaling, you back away from the edge of the building and turn back around to where you know the hotel is. “Y/N… maybe we should talk about it.”
“I really don’t think it’s necessary.”
“C’mon.” He trails after you, the subtle brush of his cape indicating as much as you leap to a nearby building. Some of these places are close enough to leap from roof to roof. You wonder how far you can make it to the hotel before you have to use your thrusters. “Y/N!”
“Don’t wanna hear it!”
“Come back!”
His voice echoes in the night as you land on some pizza place that was a much higher drop than you’d anticipated. Pain lances up your bones and you walk it off, shaking your leg every few steps. Quentin still follows you, remarkably floating and you eye him warily as he catches up to you.
“Look, sweetheart, I can chase you all day,” he says, arms presented in a shrug-like you choose gesture and you roll your eyes, “but I don’t want to.”
“You used to have fun chasing me way back when,” you retort and he blinks at you as if he cannot believe you said that. You smile smugly, triumphant that you’ve got the jump on him as he lands softly on his feet before you. Your gaze flickers up and down his visage, and you can’t help the fact that although the getup is completely, irreversibly ridiculous…
Quentin Beck makes it work.
“Let’s say magic tomb sounds possible,” you say and he smirks. You can’t help the small smile that fits onto your face perfectly — like it was always supposed to be there. You wipe it off before it becomes too comfortable. Focus. We have a situation at hand. “So, how does it work?”
“I think the Elementals are chained to the type of magic in the tomb.”
“So, you woke them up.”
“Honey, I’m not an idiot.” He lands softly on his feet. “There was a magic barrier. I’m guessing the Aztecs used to… reinforce it? But it hasn’t been visited in a while, since the Aztecs were killed off in the 1500s.” His palms up, he gestures as he speaks and his eyes drift off, as if recalling the memory to mind. It’s almost endearing. “It was like a vault, and it leaked. I was down in Ixtenco, taking samples from La Malinche when I found a cave near the volcano.”
“Right.” You nod slowly, unsure what to believe. “Hill said Elementals are visible in all kinds of mythologies. Are they all going to be like that water elemental? I’m not going to see a giant fire lizard patrolling the area, right?”
Quentin chuckles. “No. If we destroy the Elementals, they won’t come back as a lizard or otherwise.”
“How do you know? They could just sink back into the Earth, hibernate a couple of years…” You trail off meaningfully and your eyes meet his. “You’re not gonna be here the next time these things might come back, Beck.”
“Are you terrified of the thought, Ms. Stark?” he asks and your lips press together as you try to hide your smile.
“Starks aren’t afraid of anything.” Searching his gaze, you frown when you find dark shadows lurking in his eyes. The man shouldn’t be so easy to read, but he is to you. Somehow. Like he’s letting you in. Like he cares what you think. He shouldn’t.
“Well, I can only learn from you. I am terrified of the thought that I might not make it,” he confesses. “It has to be me, though, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t have to do it alone. Fury’s here, and Hill, and I guess you have me, too.” You hold up a finger as he takes a step towards you and he pauses. The smile freezes on his face as you add, “But you don’t have Peter.”
“Fury already let him go.”
“And I know he doesn’t sink his claws into someone only to let them walk.” You shake your head. There’s something so terribly wrong about this situation that you can’t put your finger on it. You need to call Sam and Bucky back at the compound as soon as you get back to the hotel. Digging out your phone from your pocket, you frown at the 5% displayed. So you need to charge your phone, too.
Walking past Quentin, you fiddle with your phone to send a quick text to Peter to let him know you’re going to a bit later than you’d thought and slip the device back into your pocket.
“I see how you care for the kid. I’ll try to convince him to let him go.”
“It’s Nick Fury. He doesn’t change his mind easily.” You sigh, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear before turning around. “Quentin, did you know I’d be here?” You need to know. This can’t be a coincidence that he’s working with a super-spy and recruiting your cousin when there’s a whole bunch of superheroes still alive back at home.
His gaze, the shade of blue jays and sapphires and oceans, rakes over you, like he’s drinking you in, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing he needs to stay alive. A warmth ignites in your stomach. So there’s my answer.
“No.” Liar. “But can I say how glad I am that you are?” His words sneak their way into your soul, like he’s a siren playing to your deepest desires and you nearly wilt as he towers over you. His presence casts you to the edge of an abyss, one he left you to rot in seven years ago, and you can’t help but stay. No matter how hard you try to build up walls, he comes in like a wrecking ball.
“Quentin…” This is not how Starks behave. You are a Stark and you’re not one to think your dad fires people for no reason. He may have never let you see the file but you know there must’ve been a good reason and never pushed it. You thought you’d get the story out of Quentin himself. You got the text instead. Your expression hardens, your voice like stone. “Don’t think you can somehow convince me that I’m not angry. I’m really, really fucking angry. God, I deserved more than two words and you can’t just strut back in here, pretending like everything’s okay.”
He pulls away instantly, as if you’ve stung him, as if you’re the one broke up with him and a lick of annoyance seeps into your words. His eyes widen but yours narrow as you double-tap on the necklace. This was stupid, coming here. Entertaining the thought that I could ever still stand you.
“Y/N, you don’t get what I was feeling!”
Nanotech spreads across your collarbones, cold against your bare skin as your legs are encased with the suit.
“I was apparently not given the privilege to know,” you snap, taking one step off the building. Your thrusters ignite automatically as you continue drifting through the air. “Look, I’m gonna head off. It was nice seeing you, but I really need to sleep this day off.”
“I’ll walk you home,” he blurts out all of a sudden and you freeze, his words banging around in your skull. Did you hear him right? You spin around to see Quentin standing on the edge of the building, looking like he wants to follow and you can’t help the warmth in your stomach from growing. Fire licks at your insides as you lower yourself onto the street, watching as Quentin floats down after you. “I meant that I can walk you home, if—”
“If I wanted to?” you finish dryly, the suit retracting into the necklace again as you turn to glance up and down the street. There’s no one out in the middle of the street at night, and you brush hair away from your face when a fly flits around your face. “No, thanks.”
“Y/N. Please?”
“Why? Because you want to get back together again?” You hope your words chew off every bit of his conscience, pull him apart. The rage you’ve repressed for seven years comes spewing out of your mouth as you storm up to him, shoving your face into his space. “Screw you, Quentin. You might’ve been going through a hard time, but so was I. Do you know where I was when I got the text?”
His eyes widen, his hands float around your arms like he wants to pull you back or touch you or something but he’s too scared to try. Internally you smirk, externally, your lips are pulled back in a snarl.
“Siberia, with my dad and no one was taking us home.” You can still taste the blood in your mouth as Steve dug his shield into your father’s chest. The winds that bit at your tears as you helped your dad sit up, helped him home.
Your eyes sting but you swallow your tears, whipping around to walk out into the main street. You know, sooner or later, your internal compass will bring you to the right place. As you walk, your heels clicking against the stone, you hear the shift of his boots, the weight of his armor and stop. Your eyes closed, you clench your jaw hard enough you’re sure your teeth will crack.
“Stop following me.”
“Honey—”
“Fuck off, Beck.”
“I’m sorry!”
“Try harder!” Your scream pierces the night air and you almost reel at how it echoes in your chest. You kick a loose pebble with the toe of your boot and it scatters. The sound weaves into your ears as you turn around. “Do you even remember what you said?” The two words that would’ve broken you if it weren’t for the fact that your dad was just betrayed by Captain fucking America. You had more important shit than a breakup to deal with at the time. The two words that linger in your head once in a while. The two words that are the reason you swore off relationships.
“I’m sorry.”
“Wrong.” When he doesn’t answer, perhaps stunned silent by the effigy of fury you are, you cannot help but tap your foot impatiently against cobblestone. You want to hear him say it. You want him to dig up his memories, rip him apart, thrash him with his guilt. You want him to hurt, you want him to care enough to say them.
God, you want him to love you, still and you hate yourself for it.
“Honey…”
“You got one of two words correct! Good job!”
“Stop. Please. You know I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, somehow I struggle to believe that.” You can’t even look at him anymore. You turn around, breaking out into the main street that’s washed with lamplight. Your heart feels like it’s turning to ash in your chest as you suck in a breath. You stuff your hands in your pockets, feeling the phone your dad gave you the day you became head of Stark Industries.
“Happy birthday, Matilda. Figured the best gift would be a new phone, coupled with a promotion.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“It has a channel for emergencies, only. I don’t want you to use it whenever Pete— uh, I mean—”
“Dad, it’s okay. Thanks.”
“What would convince you?”
“If you had the guts to give me the ring.”
There’s an eerie silence that fills up the street. You can hear the flies buzzing around the lampposts, a moth flickering along the yellow light, the gentle rush of the water running beneath the Floating City as you let out a bitter laugh.
“I knew about the ring.”
“Who told you?” His voice, hoarse and deep, trembles and you turn around to see red-rimmed eyes. Tears. You’d laugh again if it didn’t feel like your heart was going to burst.
“You suck.” Your voice twists as a flat smile works its way onto your face. “You’re awful, you know that?” Your fingers run over your eyes, trying to plug the tears as you paste on that fake smile of yours. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met aliens and killer robots, and people who have bombed the U.N., so it’s actually quite an achievement.”
“Y/N, honey, god, no.” He’s a stumbling mess and you bite your lip, wondering if this is some sort of act, some sort of cruel joke. The universe has served you the man who has left you and presented him on a silver platter. “Honey, please, I was a wreck. I’m sorry. I want to marry you.” You ignore his ‘want’. You can’t tell if it’s on purpose or if he’s slipped because you don’t know which makes you angrier. Your jaw aches as you paste on a twisted smile. “I’ve messed this up, haven’t I?”
“You think?” Your lip curls in disgust or maybe you’re trying to hide your tears. “You’re so clueless. God, how could you be so clueless? Dad never fucking wanted to fire you, you know? He knew about us.” The words burst from your mouth, violent and dangerous and full of fire that does not touch Quentin’s shattered face. His eyes shine in the lamplight and you think he might care enough. “God, he fucking knew about us.”
“How? I - I kept it a secret,” he begins but you laugh, run fingers blindly over your face as you feel your heart try to stitch itself together from a broken heart. If something’s gotta heal properly, sometimes you’ve gotta break it again. “I thought he fired me because he found out! He said he fired me because I was unstable, and irrational, and because you said something—”
Your eyebrows struggle to meet your hairline as you try to grasp words that might fit in a sentence and fail spectacularly. “You think I would’ve fired you? Who do you think I am?” Crossing your arms again, your fingers dig into your biceps as you rock back onto a foot, hip jutting out. You glare daggers into him and hope he bleeds. “One, I was twenty-two and Dad didn’t even consider me for head of Stark Industries until Pepper suggested it to him after the Blip or whatever the fuck they’re calling it. Two, why would I fire my fucking boyfriend? God, I loved you, more than anyone I’ve ever loved in my entire fucking life. You were supposed to be the one! That’s how my dad knew, okay? Because I told him I wanted to marry you.”
Something bleeds into your tone that warps it into a high-pitched mess and the tears come freely now. When did you ever sink this low to yell at someone in the middle of the street? It may be night, but the silence haunts you more than a full crowded street ever will.
“You think my dad would care if I loved you? Wanted to marry you? You think he didn’t want me to be happy?” you ask achingly.
“I think your dad would care if he thought I was bad for you.”
Warm Venetian wind fills the space between you two, a space that’s too big and too small and just right. Your eyes do not move from Quentin’s as you try to catch your breath. Your lungs struggle against your tears as you wipe them away furiously. How many nights have you spent gazing into that soft blue, touching and scratching that scruff along his strong jaw. His hands could pry you open like a book, and some deep part of you wants to know if he still can. It’s silly, and you squeeze yourself harder to try and wake yourself up. You can’t do this right now. Not on Peter’s field trip.
But still, words slip out and your curiosity gets the better of you.
“Are you?” Whispered words float like butterflies across the chasm between the two of you, and Quentin’s mask slips off for just a moment. You can see him — the real him, not this Mysterio, but Quentin Beck — and your heart nearly weeps. You’ve missed him so much. Maybe too much.
Maybe if you didn’t have to focus on the Sokovia Accords, you could’ve grieved being tossed out like week-old milk, but now you’re here and Quentin’s here, and you’re grieving now. There were certainly days you wished you could’ve asked him why, asked him for an explanation, but you were always busy.
But now you aren’t and seven years of annoyingly tragic heartbreak is catching up to you.
Quentin’s next words come out hoarse, troubled. “I don’t know.”
Your lips part and your lungs fail desperately. You don’t know how, but your legs have a mind of their own as you reach for his shoulders, neck, his jaw. Some part of him, you don’t know. God, all you want to do is touch him. You can feel his warmth, you’ve felt him ever since you’ve seen him, like your body tunes into his, and now all you want to do is run your hands through his hair, pull him apart, destroy him the way he’s destroyed you so many times before.
Your stomach twists into a wildfire, as he steps closer. Your hands tremble against his cool skin as he presses his palm over your knuckles, encouraging you to touch him. As if you are scared, as if you are afraid.
You had lied earlier. Starks can be afraid, but they aren’t afraid of men or monsters. Starks are afraid of mutually assured destruction.
God, maybe you do have a reason to be scared.
“I don’t trust men who broke my heart,” you whisper achingly, the words burning across your lips. His smile is the only thing you see as his hands trail down your arms, tracing your figure through your zipped up windbreaker and a quivering sigh passes through you.
“Then, trust the man who can fix it.”
The burn of his beard, the shadow that passes over your eyes as he leans down — it’s all so familiar that before you even recognize he’s leaning to kiss you, you’re reaching up to kiss him. Your eyes close. Your hands along his neck slide to loop around his neck and you pull him closer. His arm wraps around your waist, tugging you flush against him as his other tangles in your hair, and then there is nothing. The abyss is there again, wide and gaping and you stand at the edge with him holding your hand.
Together, you jump.
The night is so blissfully quiet that you cannot help but think that this is what romance movies are made of. This moment. Moonlight kisses the apple of your cheeks as you kiss him back, kiss him hard and kiss him fast. There is no time for soft or accommodating or gentlemanly. A Venetian tryst is alive with passion and fire, and you will be damned if you don’t get your money’s worth.
Smoke and river and wind all tangled between the two of you, you cannot help but sigh as he presses a bruising kiss against your mouth before trailing down to your jaw. He peppers your neck with tiny, nipping kisses before returning to your lips.
His mouth, plush and fulfilling and so fucking familiar, knows every trick to make you melt and your hands card through his hair, fingers pulling and snagging as your eyes close and the only reason the two of you part is that even you cannot breathe through another’s lungs.
You barely whisper his name, don’t even know if it passes your lips as he smiles, kissing your tentative grin in a gentle, soothing kiss. Although your makeout session was full of lips and tongue, and that alone can make you smile, your grin cannot help but grow at how soft the gesture is.
He cups your face, thumb brushing over your lips as your fingers, locked behind his neck, push him insistently down towards you.
“What if I said I want to try again?” he asks, lips brushing yours with every word. You press your forehead against his, eyes closed as you let his words sink into your skin. His voice calms the adrenaline in your heart. You swallow, trying to regain your breath as his hand on your waist squeezes meaningfully. His lips catch the tear stains along your cheeks, kiss them away. “What if I still loved you?”
“Beck—”
“You’re the only Stark I don’t mind,” he whispers and you sniff, standing flat-foot again. Your hands sit on the juncture of his neck and shoulders, and your fingers play with the threads of his cape as you pretend to ponder.
“Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind Morgan. She’s the cutest little sister ever,” you whisper weakly. Growling playfully, Quentin pecks your lips and nuzzles against your neck. Your arms shooting around to hug him tight, he lifts you up. Your legs clamp around his waist and you let out a squeak as his warmth engulfs you, drowns you.
Silver light washes over his skin, sculpts him handsomely. His eyes catch the moon as he spins you around, cape brushing against your calves and you lean down to kiss him quickly, just to remind yourself that he is still real, not some marble statue, not some mesmerizing god. With one arm around his neck, the other stroking his bearded cheek, you can’t help but wonder what your dad would think. Your smile crumbles away and you close your eyes. The smile falls off Quentin’s face and he lowers you back on the ground. The coolness between your thighs causes a shiver to dart up your spine.
“I’m sorry for everything. I just…” He fumbles with his words and you nod. You don’t forgive him, not yet, but you know. That’s all. “I thought you didn’t want to see me again.”
“You know, I fucking hate you, right?” you ask even though you don’t. All you want to do is try again, too. Seven years isn’t enough to heal your heart of Quentin Beck and you’re not sure anything ever will be.
Besides, maybe this is enough to convince Fury to let Peter enjoy his field trip if Quentin chooses you for the mission. The thought alone comforts your frantic heart. You take a step back, hair falling over your face and you rake it back with a hand before sticking out your other for Quentin to take.
“You can remind me of that every day, honey,” he says as his fingers weave together with yours. His soft, gentle smile douses your anger, leaving nothing but the Quentin-shaped hole left inside you. You squeeze his fingers, and it’s almost as if it begins to fill again.
“I might just take you up on that.” You tuck your chin in, eyes on the stone and finger rubbing over that golden ring he wears. He grins, pulling his fingers free. He pulls off the golden band and takes your left hand, slipping it carefully on your thumb. It doesn’t fit like it should, but it’s the intention that matters.
“I don’t think I’ll stop loving you, Stark.” He kisses hand, lips whispering against supple skin and you smile. It doesn’t feel as sad as it once did to smile at a man. “I’ll get you the real thing once it’s all over.”
“Walk me back to the hotel?” you ask and he nods.
“And you can tell me all the ways you hate me the whole way,” he promises and the two of you set off into the Venetian night.
#fic: walk me home#quentin beck#quentin beck x reader#quentin beck x y/n#quentin beck x you#quentin beck x yn#quentin beck x reader angst#mysterio#mysterio x reader#mysterio x yn#mysterio x y/n#mysterio x you#mysterio x reader angst#quentin beck fanfiction#quentin beck fic#my writing
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I feel what you feel (and my heart got equally broken)
Summary: Alec snorted, too exhausted for fear. Of course. He really played himself. Asmodeus wouldn’t leave now, not when he had his claws in such a rich source of pain as Alec, not until he drained that source entirely dry. “You don’t care about Magnus’ wellbeing. You just want more pain, more fuel.”
Asmodeus’ crooked smile was all the confirmation Alec needed. “Poor child of Raziel. So naïve. This is only the beginning.” He closed the distance between them, crouching by Alec and leaning in close. “You know,” he said, “I received something very interesting along with Magnus’ powers. I think it’s only fair that I share it with you.”
Or,
A bigger and more dangerous deal is made.
Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s03e18 The Beast Within, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, A different deal, Asmodeus is the worst, self-sacrificing idiots
It was my first time attending the Malec Secret Santa, and I’m very satisfied with the result! This story is a gift to @mirrorofliterature, and was beta-ed by @silver-latin-and-salt. I hope you all enjoy!
The original post is here.
You can also read here: ao3
“Mama!”
Alec blinked as the child ran past him, into the arms of a young woman with a warm, beautiful, and eerily familiar smile.
Alec watched, trying to place the woman’s resemblance, as she took the boy onto her lap and embraced him. She began to sing, the unfamiliar language spinning a lullaby.
Whatever the words meant, they only made the kid smile wider, beaming happiness.
Another blink, and the woman now lay bleeding on the bed, a dagger blossoming from her stomach. The boy gave a desperate scream, answered only by the furious shouts of a portly man who burst into the bedroom seconds later.
Realization settled over Alec as the boy turned on the man and hit him with an all-consuming ball of fire.
Magnus.
~*~
“I’ll restore both. His magic and his immortality.” Asmodeus smiled, his golden eyes flickering dangerously, and Alec had the unsettling feeling of being eyed as prey. ”However, there is a price for each. Despite how intertwined the two usually are, it is possible to have magic and not be immortal. Or, to be condemned to an eternity as a useless mundane. So, what do you choose, Nephilim?”
Alec willed his blank mask of an expression not to waver. A selfish part of him couldn’t help but wonder if Magnus would be okay with his magic alone, sacrificing only his immortality. Just for a moment, he dared to imagine it – a life with Magnus at his side, one where they could grow old together. No more fights about that damn box. No more fear of the pain Alec knew he’d leave behind when Magnus outlived him.
But even in the face of that temptation, Alec knew better. Fifty, sixty, seventy years were more than enough for a mortal like Alec, but for an immortal to be reduced to that… It wasn’t only the lack of magic tormenting Magnus, driving him to frenetic desperation and last night’s breakdown. Magnus didn’t want to grow old. He wanted to stay.
And who was Alec to deny him that?
“Both,” Alec said with a fearless fire in his eyes, although his insides couldn’t be colder. “What’s your price?”
“End your relationship.”
Alec blinked, taking several seconds to process that. “What?”
“You are the source of all his suffering. You make him vulnerable, weak. You are a disgrace to Magnus. With you, he can never reach his full potential.” Asmodeus punctuated each ’you’, a hammer slamming into Alec’s defenses. “You are not enough for my son. You never will be.”
Alec felt his lips tremble. He knew that, but… “You’re wrong. We love each other.” His voice was quieter now. “I wouldn’t just abandon him.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re going to be the death of him.”
“Magnus will never agree to it.”
“Don’t give him a choice. In fact, Magnus can never know about our little arrangement, or else our deal is off. Break his heart to save his life.”
That sparked something, and Alec frowned. “I’m the one making a deal, here. I should be the only one paying the price. Magnus has already suffered enough.”
“You’re right; but as I said, it’ll be double the price if you want me to return his magic and his immortality. The end of your relationship is but half of what I require – your part in our bargain will cover the rest.”
“And what is it you want from me?”
“Your pain. Your heart so irreparably broken, that your soul will also shatter.” Asmodeus’ voice was cold, though not enough to hide the entirety of his amusement. ”Tell me, Nephilim… do you know what fuels Edom? What fuels any of the hellish realms? How my kind feast on your petty mortal feelings? Anger, envy, lust, jealousy – those are delicious appetizers, to be sure. But sadness? Sorrow? Misery? Ah, the main dish.” He breathed deeply, a self-satisfied smile on his face and cat-eyes taking on a cruel shine. “You, Lightwood, will make a sumptuous banquet.”
And Alec felt only numbness. He always knew that this would be a dangerous game to play – the moment he had decided to talk to Asmodeus, all the possible scenarios had begun to unravel in his mind. He was prepared for the worst.
After all, what could be worse than letting Magnus go?
“Deal.”
~*~
Alec watched as Magnus laughed, chasing after the mundane girl and sweeping her up off her feet, spinning her round until she practically squealed with delight. Magnus was recognizable now, his face sculpted into his familiar adult features, but he still looked so… young, so carefree. He and the young woman turned to face each other, and then they were kissing, and Alec had to close his eyes, unable to face what he’d lost.
When he opened them again, he was standing in a cemetery. Magnus was a few feet away, hand placed gently on a headstone, head bowed.
As he turned to leave, Alec caught sight of his face, and almost shuddered to see the heartbreak etched there.
~*~
What have I done?
Alec punched the alley wall for the fifth time, his skin breaking and blood dripping from his knuckles. He could hear ugly sobs, and it took him a good few seconds to realize that they were coming from him. Good, he thought. Drive the pain out. Out. Out.
He still felt his heart clenching and it was suffocating him.
He broke Magnus’ heart.
He broke his own heart.
He needed to get out.
Another sob. Stop. Stop. Please, someone make it stop.
“Magnus, I’m sorry.”
He cried hard, falling to his knees. Magnus’ pained expression seemed imprinted under his eyelids. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was his lover’s despair, all he could hear were his pleas. Fuck, he made Magnus beg. He wanted so much to go back and take Magnus in his arms, tell him that it was a mistake and that he didn’t care if Magnus still had that ‘spark’ or not. He loved Magnus for who he was, not what he had. Magic or not, immortal or not, he loved Magnus Bane for his heart.
A heart that Alec had destroyed.
“I fulfilled my part of our deal,” a voice echoed behind him. “Magnus has his magic and immortality back.”
“Fine. Go. What more do you want? I’ve already paid you,” Alec growled, feeling too weak to get up, but turning enough to glare at the Prince of Edom.
“You did,” Asmodeus nodded slowly, tilting his head a little as hard cat-eyes returned Alec’s glare, familiar but foreign. Asmodeus was incapable of the warmth and love in Magnus’ eyes, would always be a world away from that sort of kindness and beauty. “You broke Magnus’ heart. You hurt my boy. I cannot let that go unpunished.”
Alec snorted, too exhausted for fear. Of course. He really played himself. Asmodeus wouldn’t leave now, not when he had his claws in such a rich source of pain as Alec, not until he drained that source entirely dry. “You don’t care about Magnus’ wellbeing. You just want more pain, more fuel.”
Asmodeus’ crooked smile was all the confirmation Alec needed. “Poor child of Raziel. So naïve. This is only the beginning.” He closed the distance between them, crouching by Alec and leaning in close. “You know,” he said, “I received something very interesting along with Magnus’ powers. I think it’s only fair that I share it with you.”
And then he was grabbing at Alec’s face, his neck, holding him still as dark red magic swirled around him, filling his vision.
Darkness engulfed Alec’s mind. Asmodeus was already gone.
~*~
Magnus was attempting to play the charango, the same one that Alec had often seen lying around the loft, and failing miserably. A man beside him – Imasu, Magnus had called him – just laughed, stilling Magnus’ hands with a flirtatious smile. Magnus met his gaze, his eyes so full of love and devotion it almost hurt.
–
“Live with you?” Imasu shook his head, all the fondness gone. “Never. It was fun for a while, but you are too clingy. Too much for me. I'm tired now. Goodbye, Magnus.”
Imasu walked out, never looking back.
Never seeing the broken look on Magnus’ face.
~*~
Something felt… wrong.
Magnus wasn’t buying Asmodeus’ ‘paternal love’ as the sole reason that he was somehow able to enter this realm and offer Magnus his magic back. And as desperate as he’d been, as grateful as he was to feel his magic again, he would never trade his freedom. Going back to Edom with his father was a fate worse than death, and one that Magnus wasn’t nearly foolish enough to accept.
So as soon as he had his magic back, Magnus had fled. He was done making deals with the devil.
Now that he had his powers back, he could go anywhere. He didn’t have a home, a job or a lover anchoring him to New York. Perhaps it was about time to go away for good. He could try Rome, Venice or Bangkok. It didn’t matter. He just… needed to leave.
After wandering around the city for a while, lost in thought, he stopped by Pandemonium – empty at this time of the day – and decided to take one last look around the establishment. When he took it on, it had quickly become his pride and joy, but now it had been some time since he was last inside. He’d hired one of his most reliable Warlock friends to manage it, because he hadn’t had the time whilst he was dealing with the Shadowhunters’ mess.
He wanted to regret that, but… he couldn’t.
Just as he turned to leave, he received a fire message from Jace.
Do you know where Alec is? His phone is dead, and he’s not answering fire messages.
I can feel that something’s wrong.
Magnus scoffed. Why should he know where Alec was, now? The Shadowhunter had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with Magnus anymore.
He opened a portal, ready to leave, to go somewhere – anywhere – far away; but something prickled at the edge of his mind, and he paused, frowning.
Just days ago, Alec was desperate to not let him go, saying he couldn’t live without him.
Then, he broke up with him.
And then, mere hours later, Asmodeus suddenly appeared and gave his magic back, claiming it was out of love. A pathetic excuse.
…Though not the only pathetic excuse Magnus had heard recently.
I have this meeting I can’t miss. Clave business.
Oh.
Oh.
“Damn it. If you did what I think you did, I’ll kill you, Alexander.”
~*~
Etta was beautiful, and Magnus was clearly head over heels for her. They danced together every night, talked about stars and dreams, about magic and music. She was another Mundane, but she had the Sight and accepted Magnus’ heritage. She loved and desired him.
He looked at her like his heart had finally found a home.
–
The arguments started because it became clear that even with all his magic, Magnus could never give Etta what she most wanted.
A baby.
She didn’t want to adopt, and didn’t want to spend a childless, finite lifetime with someone who was frozen in time. Desperate, he offered her immortality by his side. They’d find a way.
She refused.
Eventually, she left.
Again, Magnus was too much.
(And all Alec wanted was to hold him, to comfort him, to tell him it wasn’t true.)
~*~
Magnus portalled directly into the Ops Center, where Jace was pacing anxiously. He didn’t notice Magnus until he was practically right in front of him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
“There you are. Izzy is forging a new Glorious to free Clary from Jonathan, and I need to go to her. Angels above know what that lunatic will make her do. But Alec isn’t here, and if I go to another unsanctioned mission, he will put me into ichor duty for one year.” Jace snorted, spinning his stele between his fingers.
Magnus rolled his eyes and let out a deep exhale, trying to find his last dregs of non-existent patience. “Much as it would seem that what the Head of this Institute does is no longer my concern, I do need to discuss something with him. Have you already tried tracking him?”
“Yeah, but it’s not working – that’s why I sent you that fire message.” Jace lifted one brow. “What’s going on? Did you two fight again?”
“It’s none of your business,” Magnus said curtly. “But I need to know something. Did Alexander have a meeting with some Clave envoy yesterday?”
“No, not as far as I know. He left soon after you did, then came back later so we could track down the Drevak demons. I don’t know where he went, but when he got back, he… he seemed off.”
“What do you mean?”
Jace eyed Magnus a little suspiciously. “Look, if you are angry at him and it’s not int—“
“Just tell me, Herondale.” Magnus snapped, impatient. For some reason, the uneasiness inside him only grew. He felt like he was running out of time, though what the deadline was he didn’t know.
Jace took a deep breath, fidgeting a little. “He… he said something strange. He asked me, if I had a chance to free Clary from Jonathan, but as a consequence couldn’t never see her again, would I take the chance? I said no, and I wanted to ask him more about it, but he seemed really tense and didn’t say anything else.”
Magnus closed his eyes. God, this was a nightmare.
“Asmodeus.” Magnus opened his eyes to see Isabelle walking towards them, a mixture of distress and frustration written across her features. “I see your magic is back.” She pointed with her chin at the red sparkles mindlessly floating around Magnus’ fingers. He hadn’t even noticed. “I promised him to not tell anyone, but I guess you figured it out?” Magnus nodded. “Good. It’s not my place to tell you the details, but since Alec has now disappeared…” She sighed, worry and fatigue making her look older than her years. “I’m worried.”
“He made a deal with Asmodeus, didn’t he?” Magnus asked, already knowing the answer, but dreading it anyway.
“He what?” Jace almost shouted, but Izzy only sighed again.
“He did. Asmodeus promised to give your magic back if Alec broke up with you. He mentioned that there was a little more to it, but he wouldn’t tell me that part.”
“Wait, he broke up with Magnus? After trying to propose at that failed dinner?”
“What?” Magnus’ jaw dropped and Izzy elbowed Jace, shushing him.
Alec was going to propose?
Magnus’ magic flared, but he rapidly took control of it. He was so angry. Angry with himself. Angry with Asmodeus. Angry with the world. But mostly, angry with Alexander for being a self-sacrificing idiot.
Magnus took a deep breath – going around in these circles, getting angry and revealing things, wasn’t going to help. He forced a false mask of calm over his demeanour, but didn’t try to hide his dangerous smile. “Alright. You two focus on Clary. It seems I have some business to attend to.” He waved a hand dismissively, turning halfway on his heels and opening a portal.
“What about Alec?”
“Oh, rest assured, I’m going to find that parabaidiot of yours.” Magnus’ cheerful tone did little to hide the ominous undertone. “But first, I have something to take care of.”
He had a Greater Demon to banish.
~*~
The war was at its peak. In a place of such desolation, it was wildly unlikely that a romance would blossom, and yet here they were.
Magnus was talking to a man Alec recognized immediately from the photograph in Magnus’ box. George. A brave soldier. Magnus was clearly smitten.
But of course, as always, Magnus wasn’t the first option for anyone. George chose the war. He hugged Magnus goodbye and left.
Abandoned again.
People had a tendency to walk away from him.
Alec hated the resemblance.
~*~
“Goodbye, father.”
Magnus closed the portal, a bittersweet echo in the air. He did it. He was finally free from his father’s claws.
He didn’t feel happy, though. Not because he had some kind of childish hope that his father could really love him, but because there was still a lingering feeling of darkness that kept sweetly whispering how monstrous he was. His mother killed herself because of him. He killed his stepfather. He sent his father to Limbo forever.
He didn’t deserve a family.
But… he had a new one, right? Catarina, Madzie and Raphael. Clary, Simon and the Lightwoods.
Alexander.
Magnus grabbed the omamori charm still hidden in his pocket. He hadn’t had the heart to throw it away, even when Alec had crushed his heart.
He was just about to go fetch something of Alexander’s to track him when another fire message arrived.
Alicante fell. Demons destroying everything. People are dying.
Magnus frowned. Okay, that was a problem, but… was it his problem? After everything the Clave had done, did they really expect his help?
Then his cellphone pinged. It was a message from Isabelle.
We found Alec. He’s in Alicante.
“…Fuck.”
Magnus opened another portal, because apparently, Alicante had just become his problem.
He sighed. He always knew that these damn Nephilim would be the death of him.
~*~
If Alec weren’t so exhausted, he would have screamed with frustration and pain. How many love stories had he seen? How many people had he witnessed breaking Magnus’ heart? He’d long since lost track, because it was already dozens – mundanes, warlocks, werewolves, vampires, seelie, djinn…
Somehow, he’d forgotten that the worst was yet to come, until she appeared.
Camille.
In the beginning, she was sweet. Caring. Offered everything that Magnus yearned for.
The poison is never bitter in small doses.
“Who will love you?”
“Poor little Warlock. So naïve.”
“You are insufferable, Magnus. Too much. Honestly, you’re lucky to have me – who else would take you?”
Alec wanted to throw up, watching how Camille manipulated Magnus, forcing his compliance when that wasn’t enough. She broke him in a way nobody deserved.
She put the last brick on Magnus’ well-crafted walls, and Alec watched his heart get locked away.
~*~
Another explosion of flames and ichor, and another demon dead. Alec hadn’t stopped since breaking free of the memories, getting back to the Institute just in time to hear about the fall of Alicante – and worse, that his siblings were there.
With barely a thought, he geared up, reaching for his bow and quiver.
Correction: Magnus’ bow and quiver. Perhaps the last thing from Magnus he would ever get.
He felt hollow, numb, soulless. How could he feel otherwise, when he had caused such pain to the most beautiful soul in existence?
He’d failed Magnus, just as he eventually failed everyone. Asmodeus was right. Magnus was better off without him.
But there was only one thing he could do now, and that was fight. One by one – or five by five – he shot demons down, his arrows flying fast and true even as a voice at the back of his mind whispered that it was useless. With the rift still open, more would just keep coming. Still, if he could buy time for his people to escape, he would do his damned best, even if it killed him.
He was a soldier above all else. Emotions would only distract him from that duty.
“Alexander?”
No.
That voice.
He slowly turned around, losing what little color he still had on his pale face.
“No. You can’t be here. You… You…” His voice broke, and he shook his head in denial.
“I can’t be anywhere else.” Magnus stepped closer, his voice and posture soft.
“No. You don’t understand. I… I’m terrible for you. I hurt you. I…” Alec’s voice broke again, even more painfully. “I don’t deserve you.”
“I get to decide that, and I say you are deserving. More than anyone, Alexander.” Magnus took another step, but Alec retreated, like a scared animal.
Unwanted tears blurred Alec’s vision for a moment, and as soon as he blinked them away, instinct took over – an Edomi demon was launching itself in Magnus’ direction, and Alec could see that Magnus was in completely the wrong position to defend himself.
Alec made his decision in a split-second, throwing himself over Magnus as a shield.
~*~
He didn’t want to see more. It was too much to bear.
And if he’d thought that Camille would be the most difficult to watch… oh, how wrong he was. Asmodeus had left the worst as a sort of ‘grand finale’.
Alec himself.
He watched himself turning Magnus away. Rejecting him with angry words. Lying, letting the Clave manipulate him once more.
He hurt Magnus so many times. He wasn’t better than any of his past lovers. Maybe he was the worst.
Because if Magnus thought he was too much, then Alec knew that he himself was not enough, could never be enough for Magnus.
He watched himself break up with Magnus, heard his own words again, heard Magnus’ pleas again. He saw the despair in his lover’s eyes, wracking his whole body.
He did that.
Alec finally screamed.
~*~
“No! No, no, no—” Magnus begged, and how Alec hated that familiar kind of agony tinting his voice, but he couldn’t do anything. The world faded for a while and he felt himself falling.
But the impact never came.
Instead, he was being held by the only pair of arms that really mattered. He tried to speak, but only blood came out of his mouth, choking him. The demon had torn a deep hole in his abdomen, the bleeding too severe for Magnus’ magic to heal – not on his own, not in this state.
“Stay with me, Alec. Come on. Stay with me.”
Those words again. Oh God, no.
“Sor…ry…” Alec whispered, tears and blood mixing together, liquid hopelessness trailing down his cool skin.
~*~
Alec opened his eyes to reality.
It wasn’t dark anymore, so he could only guess that he was gone for hours.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe properly – but he also couldn’t stop crying. It was too much, witnessing in less than a day what Magnus had suffered over centuries.
How had he endured all that? How, despite everything, had he remained kind and generous, good and benevolent?
How… How could so many people have hurt him?
How could Alec have hurt him?
He howled, and Asmodeus was there to collect each drop of anguish, of pain, of heartbreak – he absorbed it all, smiling with cruel satisfaction, before disappearing again to Magnus’ loft. His son would be back from the Institute anytime now, and Asmodeus would be ready to take him to their rightful home.
~*~
“I know about the deal. And why you did what you did. It’s okay, I don’t—“ Magnus was still trying to infuse his healing magic into Alec’s wound, to no avail, when he saw that Alec’s eyes had closed. “Alec? Alexander!” Magnus tapped Alec’s cheek, desperately looking for a sign of consciousness.
Alec blinked slowly, dazed. He didn’t understand. Why was Magnus trying to save him?
“Don’t you… hate… me?”
“What-? Of course not. Alexander, I love you. I’d never, ever, hate you. Even though I’m angry that you made a deal with my father, I’d never hate you.”
“I…” Alec licked his chapped and dry lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood. “I only… wanted to… help you. ‘ake you hap-py. Your… magic-”
“I know, I know. Please, don’t talk anymore. We will have plenty of time after this to talk it out, I promise. Just… just rest, okay? Don’t go away. Stay here.”
“I love… you.” And this was his ultimate truth – even when he still felt his heart shattered, bleeding with the rest of his body. He needed to tell Magnus that, even if it were for the last time, even if he never opened his eyes again. “Lo…ve… ‘u…” He breathed, welcoming the darkness once more.
“I love you too, Alexander,” Magnus cradled Alec’s body as close as possible, doing his best to not break down. Alec was alive. He could feel his heartbeat. He couldn’t panic, or else he would lose Alec for good.
“Alec!”
Jace, Isabelle and Clary came running up to them.
They bore more bad news. Jonathan had destroyed the Morgenstern sword.
Alicante was doomed.
Glancing at Alexander, Magnus felt his heart clench even more, if that were possible. His Shadowhunter seemed as if he had given up the will to fight for his life. He forced more healing spell into the wound, turning over a plan in his mind.
“My father told me about a way to increase my power.”
“Enough to close the rift?” asked Clary.
“Potentially, yes. The strength I would need to pull it off can only come from one place.”
“Edom?” Izzy prompted. Magnus only nodded.
“You know, if you weren’t a 400-and-something-year-old Warlock, I’d kick your ass. Actually, I could still do that, except that my brother wouldn’t forgive me.”
Magnus turned to Izzy with wide eyes, dumbfounded. She looked like a woman at the end of her patience.
“You and Alec are ridiculous. Always making these stupid decisions for the sake of others, for the sake of the world, but never choosing yourselves. If you go to Edom, you know that you won’t be able to come back. Then my stupid brother will most likely raise another hell just to get you back. We have no demon blood, so we wouldn’t survive in Edom – which just means that Alec would do something even more stupid to get there, like… I don’t know, trying to turn into a Vampire? Something idiotic like that.”
Magnus’ jaw fell slightly, and for the first time in years, he was truly speechless.
“Magnus… Alec won’t make it without you. He is giving up.” Jace was palming his parabatai rune, clearly in pain. “Please. He’ll only stay if you stay.”
“You…” Magnus huffed, reluctantly amused. “You are all impossible.” Really, these Nephilim would be the death of him. “Okay. There is something else I could try.”
Something that could’ve helped before, if it wasn’t for Lorenzo’s threat.
Magnus pulled away from healing Alec, flicking his wrist and summoning a piece of paper and a pen. He wrote his message, creating another twenty copies with a wave of his hand, and sending them off. All of them flared immediately, flying off in different directions.
It was time to call in all his favors - this time, way out of Lorenzo’s jurisdiction.
~*~
It has been five months since the last time he was at Pandemonium during its ‘closed’ hours. That day, he had decided to leave New York – maybe for good. Now, he wanted nothing more to stay.
Thanks to the combined forces of eighteen warlocks, they’d had enough power to close the rift above Alicante. And the delight of having Shadowhunters owe a huge debt to the Warlock community? Well, it was a delicious bonus.
Catarina had focused on saving Alec’s life, while Magnus had led the spell needed to close the rift. Izzy, Clary, Jace, and other Shadowhunters ran interference, keeping the demons away from the Warlocks while they worked.
Some days later, the danger Jonathan imposed also met its end.
They could finally breathe and rest.
They took turns to get days off. First Izzy with Simon, then Jace and Clary – and finally, Magnus took Alec as far away as he could.
They had a very long (and very overdue) talk about everything – Magnus’ magic, his terrible coping mechanisms, Alec’s deal with Asmodeus, their relationship, communication.
There were a lot of tears. Hugs. Kisses. Reassurances.
Sex.
And if they stayed a bit longer away from New York, well – nobody dared to say anything.
Now, Magnus was at Pandemonium once more, reminiscing about everything that happened since that very first night, when Alec, Jace, Isabelle and Clary had stormed into his life.
Distracted as he was, he barely registered an arrow flying over his shoulder.
Immediately, he called upon his magic, ready to fight – but when he turned around, what he saw made his heart beat faster in an entirely different way, his magic flickering out again.
Alec was there, bow in hand, standing at the stairs leading to the upper floor.
Exactly like that night. Exactly like when he had killed that Circle member, and saved Magnus’ life.
Giving Magnus a crooked smile, Alec climbed down the stairs and put aside his bow.
“You know, it always made me happy that you were my ‘first’ everything. My first kiss, my first relationship, my first ‘I love you’, my first – er – sexual partner.” At that, an adorable pink colored Alec’s cheeks and neck. “I wasn’t yours, but that never worried me. Once, Jace told me that it only ‘counted’ when we have this kind of experience with the one we truly love. He says that it’s only when he had his first kiss with Clary that he felt whole.”
“Oh? I never took him for the romantic type.”
Alec shrugged, trying to not grin. He finally got closer to Magnus and kissed him sweetly, just a slow and lingering slide of lips.
“I asked you to come here today because this,” he gestured to the club, “is our first place. Where our lives got intertwined. So… there isn’t a better place to ask you for another first.”
He took a small velvet box from his jacket pocket and opened it, revealing the Lightwood ring. Licking his lips, he braced himself and looked at Magnus.
Really looked.
And it was intense enough for Magnus to drop his glamour, as the realization of what was about to happen crashed down on his mind. Big, warm, golden cat-eyes looked back at Alec, full of adoration.
“Magnus, will you give me the honor of being my first, my only love, for the time we get to share? Magnus Bane, will you marry me?”
And in all Magnus’ centuries, saying a simple, three-letter word had never seemed so peaceful, so easy.
“Yes.”
#shadowhunters#malec#magnus bane#alec lightwood#my writing#malec secret santa 2019#mirrorofliterature#malecsanta19#ColorfulWarlock
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💘 + ashley & harry
send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—
where they first met and how
We never quite established how they met because we kicked them off as friends but I think it’s safe to say that they met by a combination of two things. First and foremost, by being in the same industry and having mutual friends. It would’ve been all too easy for the two of them to come into contact that way, and slide into each other’s DMs. The second is the fact she has had a very obvious crush on him since the beginning of time.
how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved?
Their flirting stage was surprisingly long and painful. It was just a big back and forth of one of them admitting feelings, the other shutting them down, and then the two of them going out of their way to make the other jealous. She was also keen on not ‘having a boyfriend’ for the first bit, much to his dismay. I would go as far as to say that it lasted a few months.
who fell for who first ( if applicable?
While it may seem like it was Ashley at first, her crush on him was purely on a surface level. As far as who actually decided that they were in love first, it was Harry. In fact, as far as actually falling for him she had a very hard time telling him that.
where their first date was and what it was like?
Their first date was the two of them going to tiny places where no one would catch. on to who they were. It was super cute and it was just the two of them acting like they were sixteen for a few hours.
who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? )
Harry asked her out first. Although he didn’t even technically ask her, and he had to convince her instead. Even then, wasn’t it just sort of a mutual agreement?
who proposes first
It will definitely be Harry because he is the romantic of the two. However, it is definitely far off for them. I think that they’re both very aware of the fact they have things to work on - separately and together. They are perhaps the farthest from marriage.
if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away
They didn’t necessarily keep it a secret, but they also didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I feel like being public is a very recent thing for them, especially because one of their favorite things is just time alone together. So, yes, it was a secret - even if that wasn’t really their intention.
where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? )
It will probably happen in one of their homes because that is where they are the. most comfortable. Although they are both quite extra, I think that their engagement would be very simple because that is the best way to summarize their relationship. They’d just pretend it wasn’t that big of a deal, you know?
if they adopt any pets together
They each have their own separate pets, but the way they act they share both. of them. I think that it’s safe to say. that as they progress, and especially once they live together ( if they ever get there ) they will definitely indulge in adopting more animals because they’re both such enthusiastic pet owners.
who’s more dominant?
This question is. so funny because it is both of them. They are both constantly battling which one of them is going to be the dominant one that day. Although overall, I think Harry usually wins, but that isn’t from lack of trying on her part.
where their first kiss was and what it was like?
Their first official kiss happened when both of them were drunk together. We both know how that turned out. It was very lust-driven and ended up with the two of them getting on in a bathroom stall. Kudos to these two for keeping it spicy. I do think that before that he probably tried to kiss her on the nights she picked him up, but she was usually not too thrilled with him so it wasn’t successful.
if they have any matching couples stuff ( mugs? sweaters? pillowcases? )
I think that the funniest part of the two of them is that they have so many matching things but that it isn’t on purpose. They like all of the same things, and it ends up being an accident. Although as the two of them have gotten sweeter with one another, I think that it will open up the door to matching jewelry, matching decor, etc. I don’t see them taking a step into matching clothing, but I think that a lot of clothes sharing happens.
how into pda they are?
For two people that are as affectionate as they are, PDA is very new for them. They just started holding hands, what, a week ago? But it is safe to say that although the two of them are new to it, they are also very enthusiastic about it. They’re big fans of showing each other off, and we both know how they feel about getting spicy in public places.
who holds the umbrella when it rains
The only reason it is Harry is the fact that he is taller. I think that if it wasn’t for height it would depend on who is wearing the most extravagant outfit, and what her hair is doing that day. This goes back to the two of them being extra! It just depends!
where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable )
They do not go frequently on dates. Unless you count her bed as their usual date spot. I think they just cherish the time they have together, and they like to spend it on their own terms.
who’s more protective
This is a loaded question because it depends on the situation. In terms of protective when it comes to other people, that goes to Harry. However, that isn’t to say that Ashley isn’t completely batshit when it comes to these things. But we can’t neglect the fact that she is protective over him because of his ( cough - their shared ) addiction.
how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ )
They had shared a bed before they actually slept together. She’d bring him home, and then she’d spend the night with him to make sure that he was alright. It was sickening. As far as when they had sex, that was before they even dated and it’s safe to say they were the worst.
if they argue about anything
HAHAHA. They argue constantly. They get heated frequently and are always at each other’s throats. I would like to see them go a week without her trying to start a fight with him but I truly do not think it is possible.
who leaves more marks ( lipstick, hickeys, scratchmarks etc. )
They both get very enthusiastic when it comes to leaving marks, but Harry definitely wins this one. I think it’s because he gets creative with where he leaves them, but it’s also safe to say that he doesn’t really care if she has to cover them up - I think he almost takes pride in it.
who steals whose clothes and how often
They steal each other’s clothes. They both dress so fluidly that it leaves room for them to trade things back and forth. He’s over at her place more often, but I think she steals his things most often. You know she constantly has ‘Treat People With Kindness’ plastered all over her.
how they cuddle ( spooning? facing each other? )
They are definitely a spooning couple, if nothing else because he wants to be able to be close to her ass. It is just the fact of the matter. They are also definitely the type of couple where their cuddling is pretty much always naked.
what their favourite nonsexual activity ?
Definitely listening to music together. They both appreciate music too much to not appreciate just putting on a record and simply vibing together. I also think a big one for them is to cook together - whenever they can find things that they’re both willing to eat. Spoiler alert: that is rare.
how long they stay mad at each other
It really depends on the argument. They both get very heated, and they also both tend to get petty. Some of their less serious arguments can get solved quickly, but they’ve also been known to hold on to an issue for weeks at a time.
what their usual coffee / tea orders are
Hers usually ends up being a latte with some form of alternative milk, I’m calling oat milk as her favorite. I can see him either going for an herbal tea or a plain black coffee because his personality just screams that.
if they ever have any children together
They have both established that they want children together, and I do believe that they will get there eventually but it certainly won’t be for a long time. It’s something that even she is passionate about, she really wants to be a mom, and I think she knows deep down that she wants that to be with Harry.
if they have any special pet names for each other
They don’t have anything specific, aside from little things to tease one another. They definitely just throw around ‘babe’ a lot, although a lot of the pet names he has for her are saved for the bedroom.
if they ever split up and / or get back together?
I can see the two of them having a pretty nasty break up, but. I am also sure that they would get back together in the end. I would go as far as to say that they will probably break up repeatedly down the line given how often she suggests it, but they’d always find their way back to each other because they are kind of addicted.
what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? )
They are both clean people, and they have that going for them. Their shared space would be so fucking cute decor-wise, especially given how quirky the both of them are. The biggest reason I want them to live together is that their house would be so fucking cool. Can you imagine what their closet alone would look like? They’d have so much fun decorating together.
what their first christmas / hanukkah / etc as a couple was like
I do believe that this is their first Christmas together and they haven't established what it is going to look like yet. I think that it will end up with him actually meeting her family, or they. will end up spending it together. They are fairly bad at being away from each other, and they’re both festive people - they’re going to want to celebrate no matter how they do it.
what their names are in each other’s phones
They change constantly. Ashley specifically changes his whenever she is annoyed with him. I do think that as they’ve grown, his is just a collection of emojis. For his phone, I can totally see hers just being ‘Babe’ and her thinking that it isn’t adequate enough.
if they have any ‘couple traditions’ ( buying a new mug for their collection every year? baking every friday evening? )
They don’t have any specific traditions because their lives are so hectic. They always bend their plans to each other’s schedules ( except that one time ) and therefore their plans together are constantly evolving. They are pretty willing to spend any time together, and they don’t necessarily focus on traditions.
who falls asleep first and who wakes up first?
It depends on which one of them has a project going on. If they aren’t busy they pretty much equal and go to bed / wake up at the same time. I don’t see either of them being more of a morning person than the other.
who’s the big spoon / little spoon?
He isconsistently big spoon. Although she convinces him that she should be on occasion. Again, their relationship is a constant battle for dominance.
who hogs the bathroom?
This also depends on who has projects going on. But on a normal day, it is definitely Ashley. But I think that he’s understanding of it given the fact that they exist in the same industry. I can see him just sitting there and watching her try to do her makeup. He’d totally just make jokes and try to touch her the entire time.
who kills the spiders / takes them outside?
I think that it mostly falls on Ashley, but I don’t think that either of them are particularly anti spider - they both. just take them outside.
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