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nonbinaryeggrolls · 2 years

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Nephophilia pt. 3

Aizawa x POC! Reader

MINORS DNI. AGELESS AND MINOR BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

Synopsis: You're a 20 year old sophomore university student from NYU. All your life you've wanted to be a hero , but a law in the US has banned the use of mind control quirks in the hero field and labeled them as too dangerous and "violate the concept of free will". To pursue your dreams as a hero you move to Japan and enroll in an international mentor ship program to get your overseas hero license. On your first day you meet your mentor, Shota Aizawa: he's aloof, rude, and irrational, but what starts of as a clash between two polar opposite personalities turns into a romantic relationship that you didn't expect.

Quirk: Servant Hero name (Maestro) Y/N has a second voice with a hallucinogenic rhythm, when ever you speak to someone while using your quirk they instantly fall under your control for 15 minutes or until you say "stop". The only problem is you can only give them one word commands (Example: retreat, sit, freeze, jump, cry etc.) On ONE occasion you can give a person a multiple word command. If you tell them "obey" they will follow anything you say for the full 15 minutes or until you say "stop". But you avoid saying "obey" whenever you can because it can become too dangerous if the directions are not specific enough.

Warnings: Smut, bullying, strong language, attempts at sexual coercion and other forms of manipulation, racism, descriptions of violence and blood

A/N: Sorry this took so long to put out! I hope this is okay I was having trouble coming up with a storyline for this chapter. Anyways enjoy, Y/N is gonna show the full extent of her quirk in the next chapter !

Present Mic: "God where could she be?!" he circled each and every corner of the city for hours looking for you with Aizawa. The leather on his steering wheel squeaked from how hard he was clenching it

Aizawa: “Why did I say that? Why the fuck would I say something so stupid?!” He cursed to himself while his mind tortured him with the image of your heartbroken expression, the last thing he could remember before everything went blank. He leaned against the passenger window in guilt. He did it again, he lashed out and embarrassed you for no reason and even worse you had to use your quirk just to get away from him. What kind of hero was he? A pretty shitty one...

Aizawa: "This is all my fault..."

Present Mic: "Yeah no shit sherlock tell me something I don't know…” waiting at the stoplight allowed enough time for long exhale escaped his mouth as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Mic was a gentleman through and through, chivalrous to even the most underserving of men and women, so Aizawa knew he was in for far more than a few harsh words from his blonde friend

Present Mic: “What the HELL is wrong with you Shota? Are you stupid or just temporarily insane? Talking to a young girl like that, you know all she wants is to be like you and me she doesn’t need another add on to the countless people saying she can’t do it. You better have a damn good apology up your sleeve or I’ll request a mentor transfer from Nezu MYSELF!”

Aizawa wanted to retaliate, he was stunned at Hizashis willingness to go against him so quickly, but who was he kidding? He deserved it. Contrary to popular belief Aizawa wasn’t like this with everyone, of course he was gloomy and aloof but he was also protective and kind as seen with his students. It wasn’t like him to hold anyone to the standards of someone else as a teacher he knew better than that. But something about you, your excitement from the first time you came to UA, your unwavering desire to be better, even the way you get along with Hizashi almost instantly, it was like he was viewing an old flame through a different lens.

Aizawa: “I know, I know you’re right. God, you’re right…I’ve been nothing but a menace from the beginning. I don’t even know how to explain why, but…it’s like I keep expecting her to be like someone else and the second she isn’t the way I need her to be I just get furious. She’s so much like him sometimes I forget she isn’t actually him.”

Present Mic: “Like who?…Oboro?” He asked, red light now changing green leading them farther down the streets of downtown Osaka

Aizawa nodded in shame. It was selfish

Present Mic: “You…you can’t do that Shota. I understand you miss him, I miss him too but you don’t see me going around trying to make other people into him. If you can’t see Y/N as just Y/N then just let her g— SHIT THERE SHE IS!!” There you were, out of the corner of his eye he spotted your signature H/C hair slumped against the window of a scummy 24 hour diner. Hizashi turned into the parking lot like a mad man and the two men jumped out

You were a babbling mess, laughing and causing a ruckus with two drunk older men they’d never seen before who grabbed at you like they had other intentions than just having drinks. Your original orange and vanilla scent was now blanketed by a thick layer of booze and syrup when the two approached you. Hizashi screamed at the employees for serving an underage girl so much alcohol but all he was met with was "fuck off" and "eat shit".

Present Mic: “Y/N get up we’re leaving right now” he said with a far more abrasive tone than usual. Aizawa threw your purse and sweater over his shoulder as Hizashi attempted to grab your arm and lead you out of the diner

Y/N: “EW GET OFF ME YOU CREEP! *hiccup* I’m having fun with *hiccup* my friends. Why don’t you and your emo boyfriend *hiccup* FUCK OFF!” You shouted followed by more rowdy laughter from you and the other men

Present Mic: “We’re your friends Y/N, these are just perverts trying to get in your pants. Get up, NOW.” Hizashi made another attempt to take you by the hand but it proved once again to be futile. This time he was met with a hard shove making him stumble backwards, knocking into Aizawa who was still too stunned to even look at your intoxicated state.

Y/N: “I SAID GET OFF ME!”, You kicked at his kneecaps making him buckle over and cackled maniacally, “There’s a bathroom over there *hiccup* why don’t you go get another handjob in it from Best Jeanist!”

Hizashis cheeked reddened in embarrassment, of course he wouldn’t hold it against you for letting out one of his most private moments, after all you were an emotional drunk mess. But betrayal was to great of an emotion to keep under control, and it send him into a hate filled rage.

Present Mic: “FINE STAY HERE THEN! ID RATHER GET HANDJOBS IN A BATHROOM THAN BE A GLORIFIED WALKING POCKET PUSSY!” Hizashi didnt mean any of what he was saying, and in a few hours he would come to regret those words but he was too emotional to recognize the weight of what he was saying. He snatched your belongings off of Aizawas shoulder and threw them back to you before leaving the diner in a huff

Y/N: “What are YOU still doing here?! GO! leave like him ‘HERO’! Go play hero for your other students and leave me behind LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO!” you’re soft interior now began to poke through with tears pricking at the inner corners of your eyes. Even you're most intoxicated state couldn't hide the fact that under it all you were just angry and hurting.

Aizawa: “Y/N please I—

“She’s made up her mind mate, now get lost…”

This couldn't be what you really want. You wanted warmth and kindness in your moment of vulnerability. You wanted hands as gentle as yours to reassure you and give you the same generosity you so willingly give out to others. So if Aizawa knew that why was he walking away from you?

“Tch, look she’s so pretty when she cries…” the man slurred, putting a tight grip on your thigh making his rings imprint in your skin. His fingers inching dangerously close to your sex, a place that even in the most drunkest state you knew to protect, but it was hopeless. You squirmed and shifted to avoid their roaming hands but your head was so fuzzy you could barely function.

Y/N: “I…I think I wanna go home *sniffle* I don’t wanna be here anymore.“ You stated in barely a whisper but it was silenced with another drink being forced to your lips.

Y/N: “No i don’t want it! Where’s N-Natsuo!? Natty!!” now screaming you shoved the side of his face away leaving a scratch mark on the corner of his lip, doing nothing but make him more aggressive

“Don’t be a fucking tease you fucking bit—

SLAM

Suddenly the man’s head smashed face first into the table making blood from his nose splatter across the lipstick stained shot glasses. Above you was a sight you’d never seen before, Aizawa peered over his unconscious body. With a fist full of the man’s greasy hair he dragged him out of the booth and then picking you up after, unfortunately your body was too wobbly to stand on its own so you just slid down on the floor behind him.

“I-I WASNT GONNA TOUCH HER I SWEAR MAN, W-WE WERE JUST MESSING AROUND!” The other man pleaded for mercy in front of Aizawas hauntingly blood red eyes but it didn’t stop the bottom of Aizawas shoe from kicking in 2 of his incisors.

It took Aizawa everything inside him to beat both of them to a pulp. Seeing them put their hands on you made him reach a different kind of fury that he didn’t quite understand yet— and deep down didn’t really want to— because understanding it meant accepting a truth he wasn’t ready for yet. How he felt about you. But for now that didn’t matter, he picked you up bridal style and carried you back to Hizashis car who was still too emotional to say anything or even look at you.

The car ride back to Musutafu was long and quiet. Aizawa could feel you’re shaky breathing as you slept on his lap in the back seat, he silenced all 32 missed calls and 21 unread messages from Emi out of fear it would wake you up. He swore he felt his heart flutter as you muttered cute nothings in your sleep, but brushed it off claiming it was just the left over adrenaline. After all he knew better as an engaged man than to think like that of anyone else, right?

The headache you felt as you awakened was astronomical and the sun beaming in through the window didn’t help one bit. You took a quick look at your phone to read any new messages and alerts, mostly from Natsuo who sent a few pictures of the food places he stopped at in Tokyo. Even in your messy state you knew you were still mad at him for leaving you last minute like he did, so you made it a point to ignore all his attempts to talk to. You took a quick look at the top of the screen

‘Saturday. Thank fucking god’

You thought to yourself, happy that you didn’t have to make any type of effort today to be productive. Nothing sounded better than curling up in your puffy bed sheets and sleeping the day away. But to your surprise when you dragged your arms along the fabric it wasn’t puffy instead it was light and silky. The bed was decorated in a black silk duvet covers with dark grey silk sheets underneath. As you looked around you took note of the bare walls apart from the single college degree framed above the door, the furniture was dark and minimal— it was a man’s room…

Panic was already starting to set in as you wondered what had happened last night. Did you cheat on Natsuo? Had you been roofied? No you couldn’t have been your clothes were still intact??? It made your stomach turn thinking about the possibilities, but thinking was a waste of time if you were in danger it was in your best interest to act as soon as possible.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs sent you into fight mode. You’re head hurt too badly to use your quirk effectively so you had no choice but to look for a defense weapon, but there was nothing not even a sharpened pencil on the empty desk in the corner. With them only a few seconds away from the door you bet your safety all on your own strength and shot your best round house kick to the side of their face only for it to be blocked immediately.

Aizawa: “Take it easy…” he muttered. He bent over to pick up the to pick up the items he dropped while blocking your attack: a spare toothbrush, a clean t shirt , a green loofah, and a hair brush— presumably all for you.

Y/N: “Aizawa? Oh my god I-Im so sorry I didn’t realize it was you…”

Aizawa: “No need to apologize, I’d be the same if I woke up in another persons bedroom”, he handed you the toiletries, “the bathroom is down the hall to the left, you’re free to use whatever is in there.”

You nodded, not knowing what else to say you hurried to his bathroom to wash up and rinse the smell of liquor from your skin. You brushed your teeth and wiped the smudged mascara from your eyes before stepping in the large walk in shower. The hot steam from the shower and fresh air from the small bathroom window above you helped you sober up and relieve a bit of the headache. It gave you a brief moment to finally think clearly, suddenly you remembered EVERYTHING. You let out a small gasp at the thought of it all: the argument you and Aizawa had, the foul words you said to Hizashi, the two men, it was all still fuzzy but the pieces were slowly connecting and you sank against the wall in utter humiliation.

After your little self pity session you mustered the strength to leave to bathroom, throwing on the large oversized tee Aizawa had lended you and your pair of jeans from yesterday. You giggled after seeing it was a Gang Orca merch tee shirt, probably belonged to a cousin or nephew of his.

In the kitchen Aizawa was getting together a sad excuse of a breakfast for you; the bacon was burnt and the eggs over salted but he was putting his last efforts into making these blueberries pancakes he saw on Hizashis Pinterest board

Aizawa: “Damn it, was it supposed to be baking powder or baking sod—

Y/N: “morning”, you muttered softly, he turned around and felt the gravity around him stop working as he looked at you in his tee shirt hanging gently off your shoulder. His efforts to fight his feelings by giving you the least attractive shirt he were failing miserably. He turned around after bidding a small ‘morning’ to you, and returned back to his cooking. Breakfast was dead silent as you waited for your taxi.

Y/N: “Aizawa…did…did we fuck last night?”

His muscles tensed and his cheeks turned a pale red at the sudden question

Aizawa: “What?! No why would you ask that? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Y/N: “Oh yeah, I forgot you hate me you’d never stoop so low to have sex with someone like me right?” You got up pushing the empty plate away from you

Aizawa: “No that’s not what I meant. I’ve never hated you Y/N!” he said maneuvering around the kitchen counter to catch you from walking out the door, “I’m sorry for everything, but if you just let me explain why I acted the way I did—

Y/N: “I’m putting in a request for a different mentor on Monday, I’ll be switching to Midnight or maybe Cementoss, so don’t even worry I won’t be your parasite anymore.” Your words left him with nothing to say, it’s not like he could convince you he thought otherwise when none of his actions showed that he respected or cared for you, “you won’t have to worry about me wasting anymore time and money, bye Aizawa…”

You opened the front door only to be met with a shorter woman with cyan hair and a nasty scowl plastered across her face that grew the more she looked at you

Y/N: “Your boyfriends a cunt.” You spat before finally leaving the complex, the sound of arguing coming from the apartment following immediately after…

“Y/N!! Y/N!! Y/N!! Y/N!!” Class 1A chanted as you took on another student in the combat training battles before heading to USJ.

It turns out transferring to another mentor is easier said than done especially when dealing with international students, so you had about a week before you could officially switch to Midnight. Making the most of it seemed like the best option. Before the transfer week ended you were able to patched things up with Hizashi in a two hour long crying session between the both of you, however, nothing changed between you and Aizawa. He made multiple attempts to apologize but it was no use, you avoided him everywhere: in class, in the hallways, in the break room and even in one on one training, you never said a word and only nodded when he gave you advice. Occasionally you’d catch him glance at you from his desk but your eyes never latched for more than a second before he returned back to his work. The both of your were strangers.

Y/N: “ There’s no shame in tapping out Bakugo! Our combat styles are wildly different, admit kid it you’re not winning this one!” he laughed as you locked him in with a double under hook

Bakugo: “RRRR SHUT UP YOU REJECT—“ you cut him off finishing with a power twist and slamming him into the mats, his face blushing beet red when you helped him to his feet

Mina: “Y/N THAT WAS SO FUCKIN AWESOME! YOU EVEN TOOK DOWN TODOROKI!”

Todoroki: “Yeah, maybe be a little less aggressive next time…”

Kirishima: “Alright alright move aside I’m fighting next!”

Y/N: “Maybe next time Kiri you guys should go get your hero suits on and get ready for your USJ training today! I’ll see you guys at lunch time!” You waved goodbye to the children

The next hour was peaceful you spent it with Hizashi tweaking some parts of your newhero suit. Your old on was admittedly, well, a hunk of shit. You put it together yourself in your college dorm since you couldn’t get help from your schools support department, obviously you were never meant to be a hero so in their eyes what was the point? So you took some skinny jeans and a sleeveless top and attached holsters to the side with fabric glue and gorilla glue to hold your weapons, but it was NOTHING in comparison to what Hatsume prepared. In as little as 2 hours she crafted a red and purple one piece suit with a voice mask to carry the sound of your quirk farther, it had a utility belt to hold one of your stun guns on each side and a small med kit in the front, and two back straps to hold your ninjatōs. It was the finest piece of hero material you’ve ever been given, but it needed some last touches…

Hizashi: “Who would ruin such a beautiful piece of metal like that?! Who even is Jaylen?” He asked as he watched you carve into the side of your sword

Y/N: “He’s my…he was my big brother. I always put his name on my material to honor him” You muttered in response

Hizashi: “Oh I-I’m so sorry…I couldn’t imagine how it feels to lose a sibling. Losing him must have been like losing a part of yourself.” He sunk into his seat embarrassed by his poor manners

Y/N: “For someone who’s never experienced it you explained the feeling pretty well” you chuckled lightly while finishing up the last letter, “there must be some skeletons in your closet too huh?”

Hizashi: “Something like that…”

Y/N: “WHAT?! HIZASHI WERE ON FIRST NAME BASIS NOW YOU CANT CLIFFHANGER ME LIKE THAT!” You flailed like a child having an episode

Hizashi: “PAYBACKS A BITCH Y/N!!” You both cackled before hearing an urgent knock on his classroom door. If you had known what the emergency was you wouldn’t have taken so long to answer it.

Y/N: “Iida? Oh my god are you okay?! Your sweating like a dog!!”

Iida: “MISS Y/N…THE USJ…VILLAINS ARE ATTACKING THE USJ!!” He yelled in between violent huffs

You felt your body go numb and hot at the same time.

This isn’t real? This isn’t happening right now is it? You thought to yourself

But it was. All the teachers racing to the USJ center, Hizashi motioning you to get your hero suit on, Nezu staying behind and comforting the other students while Recovery girl called the police. It was all real, and you were right in the middle of it running right along side them to fight an enemy you knew nothing about.

Please be okay, don’t you dare fucking die you mangy haired idiot. I still need to give you your shirt back, I still need to show you how wrong you were about me!

I still need the chance to make you proud even if I hate it!

Just stay alive!

Your thoughts moved too fast for you too keep up with, then silenced at the sight. Everything was destroyed, students hurt and screaming, a monster…towering over Aizawas crushed body.

Y/N: “What the hell is that Hizashi?”

Hizashi: “…It’s a Nomu.”

All characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi. Story belongs to @nonbinaryeggrolls do not steal

#aizawa x poc!reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa angst #shoto aizawa #aizawa smut #hawks fluff #mha headcanons #mha smut #my hero academia hawks #mha #bakugo katuski #midoriya izuku #aizawa x reader #poc reader #mha oc #hawks x y/n #uraraka #izuku #kirishima

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pen-observing · 3 years

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request: how lucifer, mammon, satan, belphegor and diavolo react and find out about you having 'I now own your soul' under the terms and conditions of a webpage.

Lucifer:

While Lucifer is certainly busy all the time, and tries to balance it by having you in his study as he works, he can’t hide how tired he has actually been for the past 4 weeks.

All you know is that Diavolo has made the meetings more frequent and they are taking a toll on him

And since he means that much to you, regardless of if you wish to acknowledge it or not, you have to ask what is going on once he stands up and walks over to reach for another bottle from his shelf Lucifer does not drink that often and he certainly doesn’t try to avoid work by drinking.

Just what could be making him act this way?

“Lucifer, you have to tell me what is going on.”

He stands on his side of the desk just pouring another glass down.

Curse him for being elegant and showing his forearms while doing so!

And then he dares to look at you with full focus and furrowed eyebrows and he is about to say something and he looks like-

‘no. You are human.’

Fuck.

“Come on! You know I won’t tell anyone!”

He does trust you at least after so long.

"Very well. I will tell you since it has something to do with a human. If, by any chance, you spread the information, the price you pay will be a heavy one."

He can’t intimidate you that much but you know when he is serious.

"You see, recently, Diavolo has had more issues than ever with someone we like to call ‘code soul stealer"

“Uhn,, and that is?”

He takes a sip of his drink and holds the glass while looking at you.

“Apparently, a pesky human added ‘I now own your soul’ in their terms and conditions on a web page and some application. With this, they have stolen many souls and Diavolo has grown even more concerned these past few weeks since the page is just gaining popularity.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck. Thats you that he is calling a pesky human! You only did it as a joke because you saw a meme! It wasn’t supposed to make an enemy out of you to the prince of hell!

How are you supposed to tell Lucifer that? How will he react?

Maybe if you do tell him it will actually create more good than harm?

Or, you could hide it for the rest of your life and- no! The honest way with Lucifer is the best way. He trusts you enough so you have to trust him too!

“Lucifer...I am the pesky human you are referring to...”

He drops the glass.

“I swear I had no idea souls were actually real and now I own a lot of them! O-On the good side I went viral 4 weeks ago so...oh, that is why you’ve been so busy....sorry.”

Lucifer says nothing.

He just falls into the chair in the most dramatic way you’ve ever seen.

He covers his face with both hands and groans into them loudly.

If you were not ‘code soul stealer’ you would laugh at him right now. But he has to figure out a way to protect you now.

Mammon:

You see, dating Mammon means that you two will bicker plenty.

However, it is usually silly stuff that you bicker about like; are gold or silver lines better on this cup of tea or not?

He just loves you too much to get into a serious argument with you.

However, Levi dragged you both to play a spy/heist game that just came out and Mammon cannot accept to lose such a challenge.

He is not proud that people call him thief, but he is proud and believes he has the skills to back up his many enrichment-plans

So the fact that you won against him for 3 times in a row is UNNACCEPTABLE under this dark, dark sky.

Mammon denies it all. ‘i went easy on you’; ‘I did it cuz you are happy when you win’ and ‘please, don’t you know who I am? I am THE Mammon!”

And while he is cute while bickering, sometimes it becomes unbearable.

So, you do what any normal human would: you challenge him by listing your biggest ‘heist’ ever.

“You don’t know who you are talking to! I have created a heist unlike any other! I have stolen a million souls so far! The DevilTV refers to me as – unstoppable soul collector!”

Levi left long ago so Mammon is standing there completely stunned with the stupidest look on his face so far. He kind of looks like a blowfish.

Still, he runs and puts a hand over your mouth and whispers:

“Don’t yell! We don’t want others to know that we run that business!”

Excuse him? Who is this –we- he speaks of?

“You will add your boyfriend to those plans, won’t you?”

Mammon will not let shock stand in the way of money or souls. You can explain to him how you managed that later but for now – just add him as your accomplice.

Satan:

You love your boyfriend.

You really, really do.

You love seeing him so excited and focused on finding clues to the newest Devildom mystery that you chose to let him have his fun by not telling him YOU were the one he was searching for.

And while you love him that much, you are about to ruin the whole game.

Why does he think it is appropriate to own 48 pairs of the same Sherlock Holmes outfit with THE UGLIEST MATCHING HATS YOU HAVE EVER LAID YOUR EYES ON.

First, he wore them in his ‘detective office’ only. Also known as the Lamentation house storage room for cleaning products. And that was fine, it was.

But then he started to wear them inside the house and in the garden. The saddest day was when a cat knocked the ugly hat off and ran away with it. Oh praise that cat! Praise the little paws!

However, he has gone too far.

He knows no bounds and shows no signs of stopping.

He started wearing the outfits OUTSIDE! In the middle of cobblestone paths of the main street while you were trying to have a nice date!

"Who knows where the soul snatching culprit could be hiding? I must wear this outfit everywhere to catch their clues. Trust me.”

That is it.

If one more iguana-looking-ass demon points their finger at you two and snickers as you walk past – he will have a rude wake up call.

How is it possible that he is trying to catch the culprit that is you but doesn’t pay any attention to you?

So, when you arrive home and he walks into the mop closet to add another unrelated photo to his crazy whiteboard as a clue – you tell him to sit down for a moment.

“Satan, honey, I have something to tell you about your soul snatching culprit.”

That definitely got his attention.

Finally! He is actually looking at you!

You lean down and gently kiss his head.

“I am the culprit you’re looking for. How does it feel to completely miss something right under your nose?”

He freezes up and throws a pen towards the whiteboard. It just bounces off and hits him in the back.

“You....you mean to tell me that,,, the biggest Devil Mystery TV phenomenon is ACTUALLY YOU?”

You are met with complete disbelief. Satan demands a detailed explanation on how you did it. He even tells you to use his whiteboard to retrace your steps!

...good luck...

Belphegor:

Will Belphegor ever actually publicly say that he has changed because of you? No.

Will he ever actually admit that to other brothers besides Beel when they’re talking in the late hours of the night in their room? Oh, absolutely not.

Will he tell you? Yes.

Yes but.. He will leave something out.

Sometimes Belphie looks at how you smile and remembers things that make him famous in this realm.

Yes, he is one of the most powerful demons and yes, he has a reputation of rebellion and the biggest steak of unattendance in RAD but

He is also a fairly famous scholar.

His papers and research are cited on the regular.

But when you smile and say a witty joke – he remembers that most of them focus around him proving just how dumb or naïve humans actually are.

But, you’re human and he hopes that you never see those.

Except that you do.

Because he is so famous it is no surprise that while looking for research papers to reference for your next assignment you saw his name while browsing through

And while you love him - you will not allow him to just diss the whole mankind.

So, you grab one of them from the library. Walk home, go to the attic while he is napping and open it up, putting it right on his face.

It takes a couple of seconds but he feels something is wrong and his hand reaches for it.

When he pulls it away, he is met with his thesis that was further developed from the seduction speech class assignment.

It sets it up as: ‘Seduction speech as a matter of blatant deception that humans always fall for but could never recreate.’

You are not even that mad at it to be honest.

But proving him wrong is always fun. And little does he know about your biggest secret ever.

“I will cut right to the chase and say – fix your bangs I want to see the way your eyes look when I tell you this!”

“I wonder who messed up my bangs with the academic paper in the first place?” is what he replies but his hand is already on his forehead.

“Whatever. Prepare to be amazed! I am the one the elders of the devildom are always ranting about on TV! Yes, I am the ‘pesky little human’ who is stealing away ‘edible’ souls! How is that for your thesis now? Is that not true deception?!”

He likes your smile still. You’re standing in front of the bed looking at him with sparkling eyes and clenched fists while striking a pose. It is silly really but he smiles.

Because you are.

And while he will ask you a bit more about that claim, he is just happy to know that maybe his next academic paper (which everyone eagerly awaits) will be tad more positive to your kind.

Diavolo:

You got an urgent call from Barbatos.

On the doorstep he told you that Diavolo needs you in his study.

What could you do that Barbatos can’t and will help Diavolo? Does such a thing even exist?

You walk inside of his office and are pretty sure Barbatos did not want to go inside because of the fact that a rat could be hiding under the mountain of papers that are all around the room.

Usually, Diavolo immediately stands up, lights up the room with his smile and stretches out his hands for a hug.

Now? He hears the doors open and looks at you with a weak smile while his head is resting on his elbows from behind the desk.

He has never looked worse.

“Barbatos said you called for me?”

You are unsure where to begin with this so you state a fact while thinking of questions to ask.

“He has? I have done no such thing?”

Great. Now both of you are confused.

“Can you tell me what is going on?”

Diavolo sighs and his smile is still nowhere to be seen.

“The elders have been so annoying lately. I understand that the biggest threat to the Devildom and everyone’s life here still has not been identified but there is nothing I can do except search!”

Just what threat is that? What could be making Diavolo so miserable?

“They keep comparing me to my father without actually offering any ways of fixing this!”

“I will try to offer some way if you tell me what the threat is!”

There you are, making a grand exclamation and promise while trying to avoid papers on the floor. Diavolo sighs again.

“A human is ruining our business! They somehow set up a page that allowed them to own souls by consent in some application under the terms and conditions. I mean, this has never happened before! Humans were never expected to think of that or have access to such means! And the name they used was fake. How am I supposed to find them and then burn them in the darkest pits of hell as the elders want me to?”

You stop trying to avoid the papers.

Did...did he just say darkest pits of hell? Did he just say the elders want YOU burned?!

How are you supposed to fix this? It was a fucking joke! You did not imagine this could ever happen!

“Diavolo you promised you would protect me no matter what, right?”

His eyes are serious when you say that. “Yes. I will. Is something amiss?”

“Diavolo.... I am the enemy your elders want to burn.. PLEASE DON’T LET THEM! MY SKIN JUST ADJUSTED TO THIS TEMPERATURE!”

Diavolo looks at you and laughs like never before. It is cute, it is childlike. His laugh finally lights up the room.

He thinks you are joking.

He thinks you are joking and abruptly stops once he realizes that you did not join in on the laugh.

You were just trying to crack a joke and make him feel better, right? There is no way that is true, right? But judging from your reaction he knows it is.

So, he grows serious once more.

He runs to embrace you.

“Please tell me you are willing to make a compromise because the elders do not care about how your skin adjusts to the temperature.”

552 notes · View notes

cherienymphe · 3 years

Text

Lies Untold (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, jealous!Sherlock

!!! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !!!

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics }

summary: Sherlock Holmes is the love of your life, and convinced that you will never get your happily ever after with him, you make a decision that does more harm than good

Your morning started like every other. You were briefly woken up by the feel of your husband’s lips on your face, his smooth voice greeting you before moving onto your daughter in her crib. You drifted back to sleep just as he shut the door, making his way downstairs to open up the inn for the day. When you woke up for the final time, it felt like hours later, but in reality, it could have only been minutes.

You breastfed your daughter almost immediately after you woke up, the two of you somehow always waking up together. You went downstairs for breakfast as soon as she was fast asleep again, greeting your husband with a kiss as you met in the kitchen. The day went by slow, the last guest leaving the inn sometime in the early evening. It was late in the night, almost time for you to retire when the bell above the door rang.

A guest had arrived.

Your husband was on the third floor where you all resided, tending to your daughter no doubt while you manned the first floor. You were fooling with something behind the counter, head bent down as their heavy steps reached your ears.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” you told them.

They did not reply, but you knew they heard you. You rose, straightening your dress as you lifted your eyes to greet the only guest for the night. As soon as your eyes met a familiar blue, you froze, feeling as if you had been struck by lightning.

He looked the same as ever. Perhaps even more handsome now, and you cursed yourself for thinking such a thought when your husband was just upstairs. He looked just as stunned to see you, reaching up to adjust his dark suit as he cleared his throat. His hair was a bit longer since the last time you saw him, an errant curl hanging onto his forehead, and you suddenly realized that you had been holding your breath.

“Mr. Holmes,” you breathed, chest burning a bit from the lack of oxygen. “Just you?”

He made a noise that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a scoff, lips quirking upwards.

“Mr. Holmes?”

You swallowed, uncomfortably shifting on your feet. He stepped up to the counter, that teasing smile on his pink lips, one you did not return.

“A little formal for old friends, is it not?”

Your shoulders sagged as you released a small sigh.

“No, you…you are right. It’s just been a while since I’ve last seen you,” you told him. “I was caught off guard.”

It was the truth. Honestly, you had hoped to never see Sherlock again. Not if you could help it.

“So, you run an inn now…”

You briefly glanced at him as you searched for a key, nodding.

“I do.”

“I had not realized. The name…it was unfamiliar to me,” he said.

Your hand tightened around the key, and you avoided his eye, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“It’s my husband’s name,” you murmured.

You swore that you could hear his breath hitch, and it seemed to get unbelievably quiet. Against your better judgement, you looked to him, finding his blue eyes just a tad darker. His face always looked pinched, like he was constantly overthinking, but this was more than that. He looked positively floored. Were you the first person to have thrown the great Sherlock Holmes for a loop? Had circumstances been different, you would have felt proud.

Before either of you could say anything else, your husband’s footsteps on the stairs reached your ears. You turned to him with a strained smile just as he neared, and he placed a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Mr. Holmes,” your husband greeted jovially. “What a pleasure! Will it be just you then?”

“Indeed,” the dark-haired man hummed, and although you were no longer looking at him, you could feel his eyes on you.

“The last guest checked out hours ago, so the whole inn will be nice and quiet for whatever work you need to do. That is, provided our daughter sleeps through the night,” he jested.

Your eyes widened, having had no intentions of mentioning that to your guest…ever. You did not dare look at him and overwhelmed with the emotions that seeing him brought on, you clutched your stomach, feigning sick as you stepped back.

“I’ve grown a bit weary. I think I will call it a night,” you told your husband.

His face twisted with concern, and you felt a tad guilty, but your uneasiness from Sherlock’s hard stare was more pressing. Your husband, the sweetheart that he was, placed a hand on your back as he ushered you towards the stairs.

“Of course, dear. You only had the baby months ago, you should not be up on your feet so much, anyway,” he quietly told you, sending you off with a kiss on the cheek.

You slowly took the stairs, hearing him continue his conversation with the man you had hoped to never see again. Your legs shook with every step, and the more you blinked, the faster the tears collected in your eyes. Despite the fact that your husband had yet to cease his rambling, you could still feel Sherlock’s gaze on your back as hot as it always was. As it always had been.

Relief did not find you even all the way up on the third floor. You pressed your back to the door as soon as you made it to your bedroom, and you swallowed hard, fighting to hold in a scream. You had forced yourself to make peace with the everything, with your own decisions. You never thought that you would be able to, but you did, and right when you seemed to be okay, the man who had caused it all slithered back into your life, his presence mocking you.

A soft gurgle from the crib reached your ears, and you pushed yourself away from the door, reminding yourself that it was not just you anymore. Her face was twisted in discomfort, features only smoothing out when you took her into your arms. The mattress creaked under your weight as you sat down, making yourself comfortable with your back to the headboard. Your knees were bent, your daughter resting against your legs as you both stared at one another. Her tiny hand wrapped around your finger, and your heart clenched as you stared into her eyes, a familiar shade of blue staring back at you.

You avoided leaving your room as much as you could. Your husband was the one who mostly dealt with the inn anyway, but you had enjoyed greeting and interacting with the guests. Until recently. Oddly enough, Sherlock was your only guest for the next two days, and you wondered if you were cursed. There were no other guests to tend to, no other guests to distract you, and you could not feign ill forever. You regularly interacted with the guests, and your husband would start to find your behavior odd.

You had genuinely thought you’d never see the famous detective again. You had fought to marry someone as far away from your hometown as you possibly could, determined to distance yourself as much as you could from the place you had both grown up in. Not only to avoid ever seeing him again, but also because it was far too painful. How funny it was to think that if you had stayed, you probably would have achieved what you set out to do.

It was the third day since he had checked into the inn, and unable to sleep in the early hours of the morning, you opted for getting an early start on breakfast. Your husband and daughter were still fast asleep, and perhaps you could be done before your only guest arose. You had no idea what case he was in town for. You had made it a habit to avoid the papers, and perhaps that was why you had been blindsided by his sudden appearance.

You had only been in the kitchen for a matter of minutes when the subject of your thoughts joined you.

You paused in what you were doing, not expecting him while he, on the other hand, seemed to have been waiting up for you. He was dressed as nicely as always, and that pensive look that he always seemed to sport was replaced by a troubled one. You watched as his hand flexed, and you were reminded how they had felt on you once. Forcing those thoughts from your mind, you gathered yourself.

“Mr. Holmes,” you greeted. “Breakfast will be a while.”

You both knew that he had not come down for food, but you turned away from him anyway to continue your work. It was quiet for a while as he stood there, watching you work. He was making you nervous, like always, and it was only when you realized that you were making no progress did he finally speak.

“You are married now.”

You paused, swallowing with a heavy chest. It was not a question. Not even really a statement, but more like an accusation. With a heavy sigh, you turned your head, barely looking over your shoulder at him as you rested your hands on the table.

“Did you think I was going to wait for you forever?”

You were met with silence, and you shook your head.

“You knew how I felt about you,” you said, kneading the dough. “How I felt since we were mere children. A woman does not have the luxury of keeping her options open. Decisions had to be made.”

You heard him step closer, and you visibly winced, shoulders tensing up.

“Do you love him?”

You frowned, spinning around to face him, chest clenching as your insides twisted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“One you have yet to answer,” he murmured, taking another step towards you.

You scoffed.

“My husband is kind and selfless and he is positively crazy about me. I would be silly not to love him,” you replied.

The blue-eyed man before you threw you a crooked smile, but it lacked humor.

“You still did not answer the question.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked away.

“What does it matter to you?”

“He says the two of you have been married for a year. The last time I saw you was a little over a year ago... How quickly you-.”

“You do not get to do that, Sherlock Holmes,” you snapped, fighting to keep your voice low.

You cursed yourself for the way your voice cracked, and you frantically blinked away tears. You stumbled back when he took another step towards you, bumping into the table in the process.

“I did nothing but wait around for you for years while you ran off solving case after case and made a name for yourself. I never faulted you for that…just myself for being so incredibly stupid…”

Your eyes met his again, surprised to see anger in them because you could not remember a time the man had ever been angry. It was alright with you though. You were angry too.

“I never once hid my feelings for you…and it got to a point where I could no longer wait for you to do something about it. Something legitimate anyway,” you quietly added.

Having grown up with the man, it was hard not to fall for his intellect, his looks. He was always polite to you, and you always looked at him like he hung the moon. You were not the only one though. You knew that you were one of the many. Your feelings for him had never been a secret, and his lack of reciprocity led you to believe that your love for the man would always be unrequited just like all the other girls. Until it wasn’t.

You could never pinpoint when it had happened, but he had kissed you one day, and it seemed that he could never bring himself to stop kissing you. Until of course, he had to leave again, leaving you behind to wait for his return…whenever that would be. For years this spanned. Spending days, weeks at the most, with him, wrapped up in each other both figuratively and literally until his profession pulled him away from you again and again. It broke your heart every time, but you told yourself that it would not be for naught. You told yourself that he just needed time.

You constantly told yourself that until the day you were out of time.

“Does he know?”

Some of the hardness in his eyes had seeped away, giving way to a fire that you knew all too well. With the table at the back of your legs, you realized that you had nowhere to go as he neared you. The man was always so big, and while you had appreciated that once, it only worried you now. He continued when you refused to respond.

“Does he know that you were mine before he even laid eyes on you?”

Your frown deepened, hating the way he talked about you, but you could not deny the way his words spoke to a part of you that you had tried so hard to bury.

“Does he know that you will always bear the mark of my touch? That your body will always remember the first who played it so well?”

“Stop,” you choked out. “You…you cannot do this.”

It was painful to hear him talk about how he had been your first. How you had given yourself to him wholeheartedly, sure that you would never regret it.

“Why not? Why can I not remind you that you are mine? That you will always be mine?”

He sounded pained, a first for him, and you realized that deep down past the possession and anger…Sherlock was hurt. Maybe all he really needed was time, but life had happened, and you had been forced to make decisions that you did not necessarily care for. Straightening yourself, you stared into his eyes, finding the reflection of you in them.

“…because I am not yours. Not anymore.”

You brushed past him before he could respond, determined to wipe your face and gather yourself before your husband woke up.

Another day passed, and then another, and Sherlock was still here. You had a sneaking suspicion that he was hanging around for more than just another case to solve. Your husband, none the wiser, was more than happy to entertain the renowned detective for as long as he needed. You, on the other hand, felt like you had died and gone straight to hell.

Sherlock’s presence brought up memories you would rather forget. His very face forced you to remember the decisions you had made to avoid a life of ruin, forced you to remember the lie you were currently living. You found yourself crying yourself to sleep now as much as you did in the beginning, and for that, you hated him. You just wanted him to leave and pray that you would never see him again.

The universe or God or whatever higher power controlled the puppet strings to your life had other plans.

It was late in the night when your daughter woke up out of her sleep. Your husband groaned next to you, but you whispered to him that you would deal with it. She did not seem to be hungry, so you took to walking throughout the inn to calm her. She liked that. You strolled up and down the stairs, through the entrance hall, the kitchen, any crevice of the building until she fell into a quiet hush, staring up at you as you hummed.

You were in the sitting room, swaying from side to side, hoping to rock her back to sleep. You loved her dearly, more than you loved yourself, but you loved your sleep almost as much. You cracked a small smile, watching as she ran her eyes over you before something behind you caught her attention. You felt him before you heard him, and you spun around to face the last person you wished to see.

His white shirt was rumpled, and you figured that he had inadvertently fallen asleep at some point. Your wide eyes were on him as he stood before you in all of his glory, and you absentmindedly tightened your hold on your daughter. Neither one of you said a word. You had nothing to say, but there did seem to be something weighing on his mind, although for some reason, he would not voice it. You found yourself eyeing the curls of his hair, his fair complexion and handsome bone structure. The top of his shirt was undone, a sliver of skin winking at you, and you sharply inhaled.

You were still very much in love with Sherlock Holmes.

Would you ever truly be free of him?

As your daughter squirmed in your arms, you were reminded that no, you would not. The man could leave tomorrow, and you could truly get your wish of never seeing him again, and you would still never be free. Her movements grabbed his attention, and as his eyes fell to the baby in your arms, you hated the way he looked at her.

As if he was studying her like one of his cases that needed to be solved.

However, with horror, you realized that he was studying her. You tried to shield her, backing away in the process, but he followed you. His dark brows furrowed, eyes narrowing as he ran them over your daughter. When you passed through the moonlight, the glow catching her eyes, his face hardened, jaw ticking so violently you worried that he would break a tooth.

His eyes snapped to yours, and you could not even find it in yourself to look away. You were frozen. His lips parted, and you feared what he would say, but the sound of your husband’s steps descending the stairs saved you. In only a moment, Sherlock was on the other side of the room, and your husband was there, apologizing to the man if your daughter woke him up.

“Nonsense. I was already awake,” Sherlock told him, and you had a feeling that it was not a lie.

Still, your husband, the kind man that he was, continued to apologize, and you took the opportunity to escape. You could feel Sherlock’s gaze the entire time, fiery and oppressive, and it should not have come as a shock to wake up to him in your bedroom.

Yet somehow, it was.

You should have known something was off when you woke up feeling more well rested than you had in months. The familiar cry of your daughter, a noise that regularly roused you from sleep, was oddly absent. This was what made you realize why you had slept for so long. Upon realizing this, your body immediately filled with worry, and you sat up like the house was on fire.

However, you were not prepared for the hulking frame that was Sherlock Holmes to greet you. He stood by your daughter’s crib, and your heart dropped to your stomach as you slowly slid to the edge of the bed. You shakily reached for him, his name on your lips, and he turned around. You sharply inhaled at the sight of your daughter in his arms, the small thing looking so much smaller while being held in his bands of muscle.

“Give her to me…please,” you whispered.

You did not know why you wanted him away from her. He knew the truth, and as if reading your thoughts, he said:

“Why? Is it not within my rights to hold her? She is mine…is she not?”

His voice was venomous, eyes icy as he looked to you, and you flinched. You settled back down on the bed, shrinking in on yourself as he glared at you. You did not know what to say. What could you say? In the light of day, it was obvious more than ever who her true father was. Why on earth were you feeling guilty? You had no reason to.

“Does he know?” he suddenly asked you, voice low and softer now.

“Of course not,” you tearfully replied.

You hated lying to your husband, but choices had to be made to protect her, to give her a good life. Sherlock heaved a shaky sigh, and you twisted your hands into your nightdress.

“Where is he?”

“He’s gone to town…said he needed to get some things for the inn,” he answered.

You were somehow simultaneously relieved and terrified.

“Sherlock-.”

“So, this is why you married him,” he bitterly said. “This is why you rushed to take his name and forget me so easily.”

“You have no right,” you sneered, standing and rushing towards him.

He moved back, keeping her away from you, and you were tempted to stomp your foot like a child.

“You kept her from me,” he accused, blue eyes boring into your own, and your skin prickled under his cold stare.

“I would not expect you to understand,” you told him.

His handsome face twisted into something ugly, and he stepped towards you.

“Why did you not tell me?”

You sneered at him.

“When was I supposed to do that? I would see you what…3, maybe 4 times a year if I was lucky?”

“You could have written to me!”

She squirmed in his arms, making a noise of protest, and you reached out, shushing her, but again, he held her out of your reach. You clenched your hands into fists, chest aching as he forced you to talk about what you had done.

“…and how was I to find you? How was I to know you would receive my letter in time? You were gallivanting all over the country, Sherlock. I would have been showing by the time I waited for you to turn up.”

He at least had the decency to look a tad sheepish, and he glanced down at the baby in his arms.

“Of course, you do not get it. You are not a woman. I did not have time or options. Decisions had to be made for both me and my daughter’s sake, and unfortunately, they had to be made without you.”

He did not respond, and you watched the way he looked at her. When you had first found out, this was everything you had wanted. You had dreamed of him looking at her just like that, but then reality had set in and crushed those dreams. Reluctantly, he handed her back to you, and you pressed your lips to her forehead. You felt his large hand on the top of your head, and when you looked up, his eyes were on you.

“Leave with me,” he whispered.

Pain etched across your features, and you shook your head.

“I cannot.”

“Yes, you can. She is mine, not his, and you love me…not him.”

You did not acknowledge the fact that he saw right through you no matter how much you pretended otherwise. Again, you shook your head and backed away from him.

“I cannot do that to him. He is a good man, and he does not deserve that,” you told him.

Sherlock stepped towards you until his body heat was all you could feel, and you looked down, avoiding his eye.

“So, am I to leave? Never to see you again and just allow him to raise my daughter as his own? Forget about you?”

“Yes.”

You regretted it almost as soon as you said it, but what else could you do? Running away with him was not an option. People would talk. Ruin would follow your name, and anything between you and the man before you would not be legitimate. You had to think of your daughter first. Before he could say anything else, the sound of the front door opening reached your ears, and your wide eyes found his.

You did not say anything, but you silently begged him to do what you wanted. Sherlock looked as if he wanted to do the complete opposite of what you wanted, face troubled and brows furrowed, but eventually, he relented. Reluctantly, he stepped back and exited your room, slipping downstairs and into his own.

Sherlock stayed at your inn for a little over a week, only 2 other guests passing through in that time. When your husband was gone, you allowed him to hold your daughter, and you had no idea how much you would be affected by the sight of the burly man holding the doll sized child in his arms. You knew that it got harder and harder for him to hand her back to you, and you worried what would happen when it came time for him to leave.

She was currently with him now while you cleaned one of the rooms that a guest had stayed in. Your husband had gone to get ingredients for the kitchen, and you were relieved to be alone with your thoughts. Not once had you ever regretted your decisions, but now you were having second thoughts. You would love for your daughter to grow up with her real father in her life, but it just would not be possible. There were so many things that you wanted that were no longer possible. It was bittersweet, sure, but you were glad that Sherlock got to know her for a short time versus having never known her at all.

You had just stripped the bed, turning to get more sheets when you were startled by the man himself in the doorway. You pressed your hand to your chest, fighting to slow your heart as you curiously looked at him. Your brows furrowed as you looked for your daughter.

“She’s asleep,” he said, answering your silent question.

“Oh,” you responded, relieved. “Is something wrong?”

He pursed his lips, stepping into the room, and you blinked at him.

“I cannot do it,” he suddenly said, shaking his head.

Dread settled in your gut, but you pressed him for the answers that you already knew.

“What do you mean…?”

He neared you, and you leaned back a bit at his close proximity.

“You cannot ask this of me-.”

“Sherlock-.”

“I will not do it. I will not just walk away!”

“You have to-!”

“That is my daughter. That is our daughter. You expect me to just go on and pretend that she does not exist?”

You looked away from him, overwhelmed with panic as he wrapped his hands around your arms.

“You both will leave with me,” he whispered. “I will right my wrongs-.”

“I cannot-.”

“I do not care about him. He is nothing to me,” he sneered. “He is the man who has laid claim to something that does not belong to him.”

“I am not yours anymore!”

You both stared each other down, and you frowned when he pushed you back until you felt the wall behind you. His eyes were wild with so many emotions. Anger, pain, desperation, jealousy, and the one that was a constant when he was with you, hunger.

“You will always be mine,” he murmured, leaning in.

You turned your head away, and his lips met your cheek.

“You surrendered your body to me, and it has been mine ever since. I was the first to touch you…and I shall be the last.”

His lips found yours against your will, and with his hands on your arms, you could not push him away. You had forgotten what his lips felt like, what he tasted like, but none of that mattered because you were a married woman now. Sherlock was your past and that was where he needed to remain. You opened your mouth to tell him that, to protest, but he merely took the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the taste of your tongue.

He released you only to press his hands onto your hips, and you pushed against his chest. His moan told you that it had no effect, and your panic grew when he stepped back, pulling you with him. His hands were everywhere as you fought against him, and although your mind protested what was happening, your body, having been accustomed to his euphoric touch for so long, melted under the familiar ministrations.

He had you on your back in no time, tearing your dress off of you with ease. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, the man before you equal to that of a man starved, and his eyes and mouth and hands had one goal in mind and that was to get inside of you in any way possible.

“We cannot do this,” you gasped the minute he pulled away, but it was as if he did not hear you. “Sherlock!”

Your efforts to get him off of you only increased when you realized that he was almost as naked as you were. His lips tasted your neck and chest, and you sharply yelped when his teeth nipped at you.

“I have half a mind to mark your skin as you have marked my soul,” he whispered. “…to show that husband of yours what it truly means to claim you.”

You pressed your nails into his chest when he slid inside of you, hips meeting yours in a way that you had not felt for over a year. A satisfied moan left him, and you could not stop the way you clenched around his length, your body missing the feel of him. Still, you pushed against him, shaking your head with tear-filled eyes as he began to move. The next time you opened your mouth to protest, a choked moan came out instead, and you sunk your teeth into your lip.

“Feel the way you cling to me…the way your body loosens up to what it knows so well.”

He was right. He knew how to play your body like an instrument, knowing exactly what to do to make you sing, but that did not make it right. Your hands pushing against his shoulders and chest were of no use, and so you resorted to begging.

“Please…stop,” you pleaded in between breaths, but he merely shook his head.

“No,” he plainly said, hands greedily pressing into some of the baby weight that remained. “I have gone without you for far too long, and that is a mistake I will never make again.”

Your body was on fire from his thrusts, and you were hardly coherent enough o be having this conversation.

“You cannot just…you cannot just steal us away-.”

“I cannot steal what is rightfully mine,” he purred, wrapping his lips around a hardened bud.

Your lashes fluttered, and you dug your nails into his skin, pushing against him, but again, he was immoveable. Your vision was blurry from your tears now, and you squeezed your eyes shut when he completely fell over you, arms pressed into the bed beside your head, caging you in until all you could see and smell was him.

You reminded of your first time. It had been nighttime then, and he had ordered you to relax and take what pleasure he bestowed upon you. He had taken his time to figure out what your body liked and what your body loved, but he had been completely in control. Now seemed no different. Sherlock was once again completely in control of your body, forcing you to accept whatever pleasure he pushed onto you.

Someone could have entered the inn, looking for a place to stay, and you would not have known. Your husband could have long returned, and you would be none the wiser. He kissed you, a gentle action that was a far cry from his powerful thrusts, and you could taste your tears on his lips.

“I would have come running,” he suddenly whispered into your mouth. “The second I found out, I would have come for you.”

His eyes flitted between your terrified ones, and he continued.

“I would have made an honest woman out of you. I would have been by your side every step of the way.”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear what could have been.

“I would have loved to see you round and swollen with my daughter, but this is our second chance.”

You came around him before he soon followed, coating your insides with a groan, lips furiously covering your own. You were so conflicted. Your body felt more satisfied than it had been in a year, heart swelling at the thought of getting the future you really wanted, but you were so angry with him, angry with what he had just done to you.

You hit at him the minute he pulled out of you, sitting up and taking you with him. It was as if your hits did not phase him at all, and he merely shushed you, wrapping his arms around you as he pulled you into his chest.

“I will do the talking,” he started, pressing his lips into your hair, ignoring the way you cried and shook in his hold. “I will explain to him that I am taking back what is mine, and I will walk out of here with you and our daughter at my side, right where you belong.”

tags: @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @trinittyy @hyoyeoniie @kellyn1604 @sherrybaby14 @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @sapphirescrolls @threeminutesoflife @searchforanotherway

#dark!sherlock holmes #dark sherlock holmes #Dark Fic #sherlock x reader #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes #henry cavill

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kiridarling · 3 years

Text

[a/n: is this a week late? yes. happy belated-valentine's day angels <3]

—ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀɴ 𝟷𝟾+ ʙʟᴏɢ. ᴍɪɴᴏʀs ᴅɴɪ

𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮; 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥

→ Definitely went to work that day

→ Not a huge romantic but wake up to find a hot breakfast with a note left on the counter.

Happy Valentines Day, dumbass. Love you.

— k.b

→ When he returns from work, Katsuki buys you roses and shoves them into your chest with an eye roll. You thank him and he responds with a grunt before insisting you put on something nice because he’s taking you out on a dinner date whether you like it or not.

→ Katsuki takes you to the fanciest restaurant—so fancy you feel a little bad that he has to pay, even despite his Pro Hero status. But you’re his, and spoiling you might as well be his love language.

→ Halfway through dinner, Katsuki starts getting a little frisky. Sliding the rough leather of his oxfords up the inside of your thigh, winking and biting his lip. You tell him to stop but you only half-mean it, and the knowing grin on his face lets you know he knows.

"Careful, baby. You don't want the waitress to know how much of a dirty slut you are, do you?”

→ He’s condescending as fuck but you’re totally here for it, and the second he pays for the meal you two are speeding down the highway to a love hotel (per Katsuki’s plan, apparently). You barely make it to the bedroom before you’re all over each other, and if it weren’t for that family of four in the elevator, you definitely wouldn’t have.

→ He tells you to get on the bed and strip, and who are you to deny him of such a luxury? He pulls a plastic black bag out of a different bag—it’s clearly full. With what, you may ask?

→ Sex toys!

→ Katsuki’s endgame is simple—make you cum until you can’t anymore. Not that he’s told you explicitly, but he’s got a Hitachi pressed to your sex and two fingers slamming into you just the way you like it. With your wrists comfortably tied above your head, it doesn’t take him long to bring you to your climax, cheeks burning and thighs shaking.

→ Peering at you under the sweaty mess of ash-blond hair, the fire in Katsuki's eyes only adds fuel to the burning of your gut as the vibrator continues whirr. The realization settles in with a shiver. Oh. Oh fuck, he's not stopping.

“Again.”

→ So, you cum again. And again, and again, and by the time you’re on the fifth it gets a bit hard to feel your toes and you’re so sensitive your thighs burn. All you want is his cock, but for some reason, it’s fucking impossible for him to give it to you.

→ Upon voicing your concerns, Katsuki’s devilish smile only grows wider.

“You want this cock that bad, slut? Yeah? Fine then, fuckin’ choke on it.”

→ It’s basically cannon that one of Katsuki’s favorite things to do is watch you struggle to take all of him, but in this position, all you can do is lay back with bound hands as he fucks your face. It’s sloppy and your eyes and throat burn, but it's totally worth it to hear Katsuki fall apart in your mouth.

“S-So good—fuck—such a good whore, taking all of me, aren’t you?”

→ Katsuki pulls out before he cums in your throat in favor of flipping your limp body into downward dog and stuffing you full of cock in one swift move, the bastard.

→ Katsuki’s never been one to take things slow in bed—to him, it’s all hard and fast and now. You’re scrambling for purchase in the sheets as he pounds into that sweet spot he knows you love, and you feel your fully spent sex twitching back to life anyway. Fuck, fuck. Are you going to cum again?

→ Katsuki seems to catch onto this as well, sweaty chest dropping against your back and the cool of his dog tag tickling your neck as his hand rubs between your legs, muttering dirty nothings in your ear.

“You gonna cum for me, baby? Yeah? Gonna make a fuckin’ mess all over yourself like the slut you are? Fuckin’ do it. Fuckin—fuck—”

→ You two cum at the same time, toes curling and ribcage shuddering, and then—

→ Darkness.

→ You wake up in a few hours, properly clean in fresh sheets. Turns out baby boy fucked you so hard you passed out, but it's okay because he’s found reruns of your favorite show on and is fully prepared with water and snacks.

→ (And he’ll never tell you, but he fully panicked and called Eijirou. Obviously, he knew you were alive, but…what if you passed out because of a problem? A concussion? Internal bleeding, maybe?)

→ (Eijirou ensures him that though this should NOT happen every time, it can happen from exhaustion. To say Katsuki relaxes after that is an understatement.)

(Stay safe angels <3)

And speaking of Eijirou...

𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚; 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐤𝐞

→ Definitely did not go to work that day.

→ Today, Eijirou plans to treat you like the princess you are. Cooks you breakfast in bed (after almost burning down the kitchen trying to make bacon but shhh we don’t talk about that) books you a full day spa and has Mina take you shopping for a new outfit for your "fancy date" that night.

→ The location? A surprise.

→ It’s dark by the time you and Mina pull up, but the moment you hop out the car she speeds away. Um. She could’ve at least said bye.

"[Y/N?]"

→ Looks like Eijirou brought you to a lake. You wonder who helped him bundle the fairy lights in the trees and set up the picnic because knowing your man and his coordination, it would’ve taken a forever for him to set this up.

→ But all those thoughts shatter the second you see that he’s on his knees, clutching a velvet box with a gorgeous diamond ring sat in the center. Not too flashy, but not too dull.

“U-Uh.”

→ Eijirou swallows then blinks, the only sign that he’s the least bit nervous for this.

“See…I swear I had planned something to say, but you look…holy shit, um—stunning, you look stunning.”

→ His compliment goes over your head though. Of course it does, he’s holding an engagement ring. He chuckles, averting his eyes to the ground.

“Listen, um, you can say no...B-But uh, I love you a lot—obviously—and I’ve been thinking about this a lot, kind of, because you’re like…the love of my life, ya know? I mean, I know everyone says that and everything but like, I really mean it? But if I’m going too fast o-or you just don’t wanna get married or something, I totally get it because obviously this is outta the blue and everything b-but um…yeah.”

→ You let him stutter through the whole thing because, well. It’s cute.

→ ...And then you tackle Eijirou to the ground with renewed passion and slam your lips onto his. His “babe! The ring!” is muffled but you snort anyway, blindly groping for it through the grass. The moment you find it, you shove it into his palm and stick your hand in his face, and with a (very sexy) chuckle, the redhead slides it onto your ring finger.

“I’ll take that as a yes then?”

→ No shit, Sherlock.

→ Either way, the picnic in the dark is abandoned in favor of yanking Eijirou's pants off and giving him the best head of his life. Because goddammit, you love this man so much and he needs to feel it.

→ Afterward, he insists on returning the favor. A wild Gentle Dom Kiri appears and as he eats you out, he mutters a deadly combination of the sweetest and dirtiest things you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and wet. And it’s all for me, isn’t it, baby?"

“You’re gonna cum, angel? Do it. Cum all over Daddy’s face.”

→ Once you semi-recover from your orgasm, he flips you on your hands and knees and slowly pushes inside of you (though not without putting on a condom because safety first, angels). You tell him to speed up, but he denies your request. This time around, Eijirou's going to take the time to love you.

→ As he slowly fucks you under the stars, he dips his chin into your neck as his bigger hands encompass your own. As he starts to play with the ring on your finger, you watch something wet hit the picnic blanket, followed by a sniffle.

“Gosh, fuck—I love you so much. A-And I’m really happy you said yes. I…”

→ You cum first and Eijirou isn’t far behind, shuddering against your spine. Your fiancé unceremoniously rolls onto the picnic blanket next to you, his temple kissing the crest of your skull as the two of you use the comfortable silence to cool down, half-naked under the milky way.

→ In your comfortable silence, you lift your left hand to the stars, fingers splayed to reveal the twinkling diamond solidifying the bond between the two of you. Eijirou hums, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐤𝐢 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢; 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲

→ Both of you are painfully single and most importantly, strangers. Strangers who think alike and had the glorious forethought to drown your sorrows at a nightclub with a lot of alcohol.

→ Denki, as he does, accidentally knocks over his liquor-filled cup, completely drenching your bottoms. He apologizes and insists on helping you clean up though getting awfully close to your crotch, but both of you are too tipsy to notice.

→ After the liquor spill, you swap embarrassing love stories and lament over the “hardships of being single.” (Denki’s words.)

→ A few hours pass. You’re tired and ready to go home and Denki requests to walk you home to make sure you get back safely. Not that you live far, maybe ten minutes, but by the time you reach your door, you feel like you've known the electric blond your whole life. After saying goodbye and almost closing the door, Denki blurts out a half-drunken confession...or something like that:

“I—uh, y-you are—uhm, no…this is—“

→ You give him a look, a half-smile at best, and it seems to churn the gears in his brain again.

“This was uhm, really fun and uh, I think you’re really cool.”

→ So naturally, when you invite him inside, he squeals.

→ After a few more drinks and a few more spillages (Denki’s never been a deft drunk), you two finally get over your inner thoughts and start kissing on the couch. It’s hot and messy, and the alcohol in your veins makes it oh, so hot.

→ Denki doesn’t expect you to offer head but when you do he nearly cries, scrambling to pull his pants off while you make space for yourself between his thighs. Due to the fact that there’s alcohol pumping in Denki’s veins and he hasn't been touched by someone else in at least a year, he’s extra-sensitive. And vocal.

"F-Fuck gorgeous, you're so good at this...o-oh shit, do that again—yeah, yeah just like that."

→ His hips quiver, and he bucks into your mouth on accident. It earns him a glare and a light slap on the thigh, and you make a mental note to unpack the broken moan that interrupts his apology later.

→ It doesn't take Denki a long time to cum—five minutes max. He plans to give you a warning but his orgasm runs up on the electric blond so quickly he doesn't even get a warning. When Denki orgasms in your mouth with a choked moan, it's only natural that you pull away in alarm, ribbons of semi-translucent cum flying just about everywhere.

→ To say you're pissed is an understatement (because your poor, poor carpet), but Denki feels terrible and is already reaching for the roll of paper towels you left on the coffee table from your cleaning spree this morning, apologies flying out of his mouth like an auctioneer.

→ Obviously, he's going to make it up to you. Not only for making an absolute mess in your living room (seriously, Denki doesn't know if he's ever come that much in his life) but for the bomb head, and he wants to make you feel just as good as you made him feel.

→ Both of you stumble to your room, the mood miraculously rekindled, and you're not sure what to make of Denki's desperation as he claws at your bottoms, pupils blown to the size of dinner plates. And though it's cheesy, you can't help but shiver when he finally gets eyes on your sex, wetting his bottom lip and the grip around your thigh tightening as he catcalls the apex between your thighs before diving in.

"Hello pretty~"

→ Like any pervert with a vivid imagination, Denki's got a mental warehouse of sex tips and tricks and burns to watch you squirm from his touch. He wants you red-faced and breathless and isn’t shy about it, actively paying attention to your reactions when he curls his fingers or uses his tongue just right.

"Oh, you taste so good sweet thing. So pretty and wet...did I do all this, gorgeous?”

→ Also, electro-stimulation? Yes please.

→ Denki's tentative about it at first because he’s not sure how you’ll react, but once you give him that pretty little moan you've been holding back all evening, you two are going nowhere but hell.

→ His dick hurts from being hard for so long and the second you cum, he’s practically begging to fuck you.

“Please? Please gorgeous? Shit, you felt so good in my mouth I just wanna—I need to—please?”

→ Like you needed any convincing in the first place.

→ You ride him per his request—and will definitely make you repeat things back to him, just because he likes how embarrassed and blushy you get. If you refuse? He’ll be an absolute tease about it. (But only for a bit, because we all know his patience isn’t that great.)

"Yeah? You like this cock? Tell me. Tell me how good my cock makes you feel, gorgeous."

→ There's no way Denki lasts very long (again)—definitely with you in his lap. When he cums, it’s cute and breathless, and his nose scrunches into his eyes. But if he came twice, you should too right?

→ The next morning, Denki's gone. But in his place, there’s a note with his number and an explanation:

had to go to work! lol i have the fattest hangover kill me now ty. either way, you should text me. i wasn't kidding when i said i thought you were cool lol.

(xxx)-xxx-xxxx

— kaminari

[a/n: gah XD my brain melted from writing that um-

also don’t worry about the family of four at the love hotel...they were...um...forced to stay there due to an emergency...lol :) see you soon, angels <3]

#— 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 #— 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #— 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈 #bnha headcanons #bakugou headcanons #denki headcanons #kirishima headcanon #bnha fanfiction #bakugou smut #denki smut #kirishima smut #bakugou x reader #denki x reader #kirishima x reader #bnha smut

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bangtanreadingcorner · 3 years

Text

the fact is • jeon jeongguk

plot – you're a waitress that gets stuck serving jeon jeongguk, who can't make his mind up on what to eat.

words – 6.4K

"Indecisive snot, aren't you?"

The words are out before you could stop them. Your natural instinct is to take it back and apologize, but this idiot has pushed you over the edge. He has changed his order six times and that was after adding sides and removing this or that. The customer - the arrogant brat of a chaebol, you thought to yourself - looking at his menu snapped his gaze to you, eyes widening in surprise, disbelief and was that intrigue? Nope. Probably just a trick of the light.

"Excuse me?" He says, eyebrows still raised to high heaven.

You weigh your options silently for a few moments. You could try and kiss his ass and loose your job. Or you could finish what you started and loose your job. Because there was no question, you were loosing your job. Speaking to a customer like that, in a restaurant as high end as this? The ultimate no-no.

The choice was a no brainer.

You give him a flat look, "Are you deaf?"

A surprised scoff leaves him and for a moment he stares at you, and then a smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. "Do you not know who I am?"

"Of course I know who you are, Jeon Jeongguk, I don't live under a rock." You roll your eyes at him.

"Huh." He frowns at you.

You frown back, "What?"

"I've never met someone so . . . outspoken before. Normally people are all compliments and well wishes." Jeongguk doesn't say how delightfully refreshing it is. Like a spring breeze, spreading through his veins and breathing colour into his monotonous life. This is the most excitement he's had since he went parachuting eight months ago. That is a sad thought, but unfortunately a true one.

"Yeah, well," You shrug, tapping your pen against your notebook. "Kissing ass and lying are two things that didn't make it onto my list of qualities."

"Speaking your mind, obviously did." He notes, still smirking.

"Excellent observational skills there, Sherlock." You deadpan.

Jeongguk laughs and you don't like the way it makes warmth simmer in your belly. He looks up at you with dark eyes and you privately think for all that the media gets wrong, they have one thing right. Jeon Jeongguk is ridiculously attractive. "What's your name?"

"Are you blind or illiterate?" You raise a brow down at him. He looks caught off guard for a moment.

"Um...neither?" It comes out unsure, hesitant.

"Then what exactly is stopping you from reading my name badge?" You ask, tapping the badge on your chest with your pen. You were already losing your job, so you might as well make the best of it.

He looks embarrassed for a second, eyes dropping to the table, cheeks dusting the faintest shade of pink.

You raise a brow, "So, are you going to order or are you going to complain to my manager and get me fired?"

"Fired for what?" He asks.

You want to snap at him, but the genuine confusion in his eyes made you hold your tongue. For once. In a 'duh' tone, you tell him. "Speaking my mind."

"Ah. Right." Realisation lights up in his eyes. "I could have you fired for speaking to me like that." He says, like the thought never occurred to him.

"I'll go get my manager then." You say and turn on your heel, not at all surprised.

Jeongguk's mind goes into an epic panic as you turn your back on him and he blurts a quick, "Wait."

"What?" You ask, turning back to him with an uninterested look.

"I said that I could. Not that I would." He tells you and it makes your speechless for about five seconds.

Then you squint at him with a slight glare, "What do you want?"

"Excuse me?"

"You obviously want something in exchange for keeping quiet. What is it?" You speak matter-of-factly. After a moment you add, "Just know, if it's something sexual or in that direction, I'd rather loose my job."

Jeongguk gapes at you, looking stunned. "I don't know whether to be insulted by the insinuation that I need to blackmail someone into sleeping with me or that you'd rather loose your job than sleeping with me."

"So sorry for offending your delicate sensibilities." You drawled sarcastically. "You still haven't told me what you want."

"Well, I like coming here often and when I do and you're my server, I'd like you to always speak your mind around me." He said, with the smallest of shrugs, looking down at the silverware on the table instead of at you.

Confusion sweeps through you, his request catching you off guard. "Really? That's it?"

"Yes." He nods stiffly.

"I don't understand." You admit.

"You don't have to. You asked me what I want, this is it." He looks at you again, eyes still dark and piercing and you can't understand what he's thinking.

"Fine, okay, yeah, I can do that." You nods eventually, noticing how his shoulders untense just a bit. You look at him, curious and full of questions, but cautious enough to not actually ask. "Are you gonna order now?"

"Why don't you surprise me? I can't decide what I want to eat." He says, handing you the menu.

"I'm shocked." You deadpan with a faux smile, before looking at him seriously. "Are you allergic to anything?"

"No." He shakes his head, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on the table.

Your mind races for a few moments before settling on a dish. You nod at Jeongguk. "Okay, I'll be back with your food in a while then."

***

Three weeks later, you haven't served Jeongguk again. It's not that he hasn't been in, oh no, he has. You've seen him, caught him staring and then looking away quickly. He just hasn't sat at one of your tables again. Each week, the tables get rotated and there is four rotations, so you'll only be on Jeongguk's usual table next week.

You walked into the kitchen, just coming off your lunch break when Lee stops you and says, "Table 12 for you."

You look at Jae, who was on table 12 this week and got a hostile glare. You ignore her and look at Lee with confusion, "But I'm not on table 12 today."

"You were requested and customers here get what they want." Lee shrugs, giving you a 'it is what it is' look.

"By who?" You ask, having some idea of the answer. There is only one customer you know that would request you. You are always polite to the other customers but with an air of detachment, that keeps them from prying and you from getting into trouble. Until three weeks ago, that is.

"Jeon Jeongguk." Lee says, confirming your suspicions.

"Motherfucker." You swear.

Jae looks down her nose from you, "Don't he used to it. It won't last. He'll get bored of you soon enough."

"I hope so." You huff, as Jae walks away with a less than pleased expression.

"What?" Lee asks, her shock obvious.

"You heard me."

Lee tilts her head at you in disbelief and curiousity, "So, you're not trying to get into his pants?"

"Uh, no." You frown at her. Sure, he's hot but you know your place. You also need money than you need to get laid. "Why?"

"Most girls try when they work here, but everytime they try something, Mr. Jeon complains and they get fired." Lee explains.

Something suddenly made sense to you, "Is that what Jae's trying to do?"

"No one will say it to her face, but yeah, it is." Lee nods, shrugging a little. "She's jealous that he requested you, when you've worked here just over a month, served him once, and she's worked here for almost two years and he hasn't blinked in her direction."

"Huh," You frown, lost in your thoughts. "I wonder why he didn't get me fired then."

"Why? What did you say to him?" Lee eyes you curiously.

"Called him an indecisive snot." You smirk gleefully, happy that you got away with talking to him like you want and not getting fired because of it.

"Right." Lee says in a tone that made it clear she doesn't believe you.

"I did." You insist.

Lee waves you off, and you exit the kitchen, walking into the dining room, heading over to Jeongguk's regular table.

You look at him as he comes into your line of direct sight. His one leg was shaking, eyes shifting around the room, fingers tapping the table restlessly. When he spots you walking over to him, he stills completely. A smile - a cute one, you admit to yourself and no one else - spreads on his lips as he breathes your name, "Y/N."

You give him a look, "Did you miss me or something?"

"What? No." Jeongguk scoffs quickly. "I was bored. And you cure my boredom."

You raise your eyebrows at him, head going forward a little, "I cure your boredom?" You repeat, slowly. Maybe he's kidding.

But Jeongguk just nods at you as if it makes all the sense in the world, "Yeah. It's like live entertainment while I eat."

You scowl at him, "I'm not a circus clown."

"That's not what I meant!" He exclaims, voice a little too loud, causing heads to swivel in your direction. He takes a breath and speaks again, softer this time. "I just meant that it's nice. Or it was nice, the one time I actually got to talk to you."

"So, you did miss me." You tease good naturedly. Jeongguk doesn't answer, just stares resolutely down at the table. You sigh, feeling fond instead of annoyed. You hide a smile as you ask, "What will it be today?"

Jeongguk looks at you again, hesitantly at first, then fully when he sees your expectant gaze, "Surprise me."

Now you were surprised, "Again?"

"I liked what you ordered last time." He does that small shrug again. Actually, it's less of a shrug, and more a slight lift of the shoulders. You notice that he has broad shoulders, and the suit he's wearing only makes them look better. You push those thoughts away, focusing on the conversation.

"And if you don't like it this time?" You challenge.

"I did say surprise me, and surprises can be positive or negative." Jeongguk decides not to tell her that this is his favorite restaurant and he knows the menu by heart. He knows and likes every dish, so there was no way he wouldn't like something she serves him. And he's curious as to what she'll decide this time.

You snort, laughing lightly, "You know, you're not as bad as I thought you were."

Jeongguk looks mildly offended, "I'll have you know, I'm a catch."

"I'm sure." You nod, hiding a grin.

"I am." He insists and you had to admit, he is attractive.

"Yes, right up until the moment you open your mouth." You say honestly, writing down one of the dishes on the menu.

"Rude." He pouts a little and you suppress the urge to giggle, of all things.

"Maybe," You concede. "But it's the truth." You picked up his menu, turning on your heel to go to the kitchen.

"So, how do I . . . improve?" Jeongguk asks when you come back with his food, continuing with the conversation where you left off.

"Do I look like a life coach to you?" You set down the food. "Enjoy."

"Thanks." Jeongguk grins at her. "And, no, but if I went to one they'd tell me what they think I want to hear, not what I need to hear."

You stare at him for a few seconds and he looks back unflinchingly. "Well," You press your lips together. "I guess you should start with why you want to change."

That makes Jeongguk falter. He can't very well say, 'so I can impress you, since my money doesn't seem too' and he thinks for a bit. "I have come to realise that maybe I treat people unfairly based on how much money they have. I would like to change that."

Your eyebrows goes up, "That's surprisingly deep, coming from you."

"I'm not swallow." He defends himself.

You nod complacently, "Right, well, the answer is easy but actually doing it, will all depend on you."

"What do I do?"

"Just, think before you say something. Ask yourself, can my words hurt this person?"

"And if they deserve it?" Jeongguk wonders.

"The right answer would be to still be considerate, because two wrongs don't make a right, but I hate being a hypocrite, so go for it, if they deserve it. I mean, it's not like I held back when you annoyed me." You gave a shrug. "I should go. We're not allowed to loiter at the tables."

Jeongguk wants to ask her to sit with him and keep him company some more, but he knows he would be setting himself up for rejection. Instead, he just looks at her with a half smile. "Just when I think I have you all figured out, you do or say something that proves me wrong."

"My mom always used to say, you can spend a lifetime with someone and still learn something new about them every day. People evolve everyday and you'll never be who you are right now, tomorrow again."

"She sounds like a wise woman." Jeongguk remarks.

You smile, nostalgia making your heart warm, "Yeah, she was."

"I'm sorry." Jeongguk says, catching onto the past tense. A lump forms in your throat out of nowhere.

"Thank you." You swallowed thickly, clearing your throat. You gave him a shaky smile, hoping he wouldn't notice. "See, you're doing better already."

Jeongguk did notice but decided not to call her out on it. He just smiled up at her softly, watching after her figure when she walks away.

***

"You know, if I didn't know that you come here everyday, I'd say you that you are stalking me." You teased Jeongguk when you go to take his order for the fifth time in a row. You've had a day off, inbetween, but when you showed up for your next shift, Jeongguk was there and everytime he's requested you. By now, whoever was on rotation for his table, just lets you know whenever he shows up.

"And how do you know that?" Jeongguk raises a curious eyebrow at you.

"I complained to Lee about you and she told me." You explain to him, mentally running over the menu in your head. Jeongguk told you on the third day to just order for him everytime. So, when you walk to his table under the guise of taking his order, the two of you just talk.

"Lee?" He inquires.

"She's my friend and another server here."

"Ah." Jeongguk nods in realisation. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"You can ask, but that doesn't guarantee I'll answer." You say, giving him a cheeky smile.

She has a beautiful smile, Jeongguk thinks to himself. He shakes himself out of his thoughts and looks her in the eyes, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

You frown down at him, finding the question odd. He's never asked anything too personal. Just normal things, what you're studying, what you do when you're not working. Sometimes you'll tell him a story of something dumb you did as a kid, but he'll never outright ask. "No."

A thought suddenly occurs to Jeongguk and he doesn't really want to ask because that'll destroy every hope he has but he needs to know. He quirks a brow at her, "Girlfriend?"

You snort at the question, "No, I'm straight. My cousin swings both ways though. Nearly gave his mom a stroke when he came out at our annual Christmas family dinner two years ago."

"Oh." Jeongguk wants to sag in relief, wants to let out a thankful cheer, but settles for just a small smile and letting out a breath of relief.

"Why are you asking?"

He does that little shrug that isn't really a shrug thing. "I was just wondering. You never really talk about one, or even someone you're interested in."

"Okay, if there was someone, why would I tell you?" You are teasing, but he doesn't know as you look at him blankly.

"I was just curious." Jeongguk huffs defensively.

"Yeah, yeah, settle down." You snicker. After a moment you say, "I guess I don't talk about it because there hasn't been anyone to talk about."

"Really?" Jeongguk beams up at you hopefully, eyes glittering.

"Really." You roll your eyes, but there was a slight warmth in your cheeks that wasn't there before.

***

Seven months and many short conversations later – in which you learnt many things about Jeongguk and vica versa – you walk up to his table with a smile, genuinely excited to see your sort of friend. The smile fades from your face when you lay eyes on him – his whole body was tense, you could tell even from a distance, he was glaring out the window, clenched fists laying on the table. Something wasn't right. You quicken your pace, concern swirling in your belly. You stop at his table, feeling your heartbeat quicken. "What's wrong?"

"None of your fucking business." He snaps at you, words so venomous it makes you take a step back in shock, but mostly hurt.

Jeongguk regrets the words the moment they're out because he didn't mean them. He doesn't want to fight or argue. He came to see her to feel better. Now he snapped at her. He waits, for whatever tongue lashing she is about to give him. He'd deserve it and he'll take it. But she says nothing. Somehow her silence was much worse than any insult she can hurl at him. Her face closes off, he watches it happen as her fingers tighten around the pen and notepad she uses to take orders, and panic sparks beneath his skin, overriding all the anger he feels.

No. His mind rebels against the thought immediately.

"What can I get for you today, Sir?" Her voice is perfectly polite as she asks the question, like it was the first time he met her. Until he made her snap after changing his order for a sixth time.

No, no, no, no, no! Not this. Anything but this. His heartbeat quickens.

Jeongguk was quickly turning frantic, "Y/N, please, I-"

"We have a lovely special today." She goes on as if he didn't speak, eyes void of the usual fire when she'd argue with him or the gentle warmth when she sometimes smiled at him and called him an idiot. It was the only times he ever liked being called an idiot.

He listens to her droning on about he specials, explaining them. Jeongguk's heart drops all the way down to his feet. It feels like someone pulled a rug from beneath his feet, and he is thrown off balance from the how utterly wrong it feels, how much it bothers him, hurts him, that she is talking to him like he is just another random customer. Like she hasn't told him how she got stuck in a tree, climbing after the neighbors cat. Playing with their cat because her parents never allowed pets.

A cold feeling of dread washes over him because Jeongguk has no idea to fix whatever he just fucked up.

***

You very almost cry when Jeongguk snaps at you, feeling irrationally hurt by his words. You shove it all down as you pull up your walls and shut him out to protect yourself. You serve him as quickly as possible, walking away without a friendly word.

"Trouble in paradise?" Jae smirks at you when you come back from serving Jeongguk.

You glare at her, not in the mood for dealing with her jealousy today. "No, just looking at your face is enough to put anyone in a bad mood."

Jae's eyes widened, fury spreading on her face. "You bitch!" She yells, raising a hand to slap you.

You smirk, catching her wrist easily. "Careful, just now you break a nail."

You let her go, walking away. You wait until you're in the bathroom, safely away from prying eyes in a locked stall, before letting you face crumple, only letting one tear escape before getting yourself under control.

You finish your shift, completely exhausted by the end of it – emotionally and physically. The last thing you have the energy for, is Jeongguk, so of course he's waiting for you at the personnel entrance and exit when you step outside. Intent on ignoring him, you pretend that you don't see him and you start walking in the direction of the train station.

Jeongguk follows you, apparently not easily deterred. "Will you just talk to me please?"

"What would you like me to say, Sir?" You ask in your most professional voice, looking ahead and not glancing at him.

"I'd like you to talk to me and stop treating me like I'm a customer." He says, sounding frustrated and desperate.

"You are a customer, Sir." You answer, still not looking at him.

"For fuck sakes, will you stop with the 'sir' already and talk to me like you used to?" Jeongguk all but explodes, stepping infront of you, and looking down at you for a change. It's startling, for a moment. You always look down at him when he sits at the table and it never occured to you that he's taller than you. He sets his hands on your shoulders (they're big and warm and you feel surprisingly safe, even when he squeezes slightly), frantic and desperate eyes looking into yours. "You don't even have to talk, you can yell or scream or shout for all I care, just please stop."

"You want me to talk? Fine." You glare up at him, shrugging out of his hold and taking a step back. He's way to close for comfort. "Look, I get I'm not exactly from the same side of town as you are, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of empathy. I'd bet that I have more empathy than most people you know. So, when someone I see as a kind of friend, snaps at me when I ask them what's wrong out of concern, when they could have said they don't want to talk about it, it hurts." You rant, a little out of breath. "Do you understand that? You hurt me."

"I'm sorry. Fuck, I am so sorry, you have no idea. I shouldn't have snapped at you and I regretted it the moment I did it. I was angry, and I know it isn't an excuse but it's the truth."

"Sorry isn't going to fix it," You say, voice edging on being too sharp. Your heart twists when his face falls. You soften a bit. "But it is a step in the right direction."

Jeongguk perks up, "What's another?"

"For starters, next time you don't want to talk about me, tell me instead of snapping at me." You give him a pointed glare, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jeongguk gives you an apologetic look, "Again, I'm sorry. I honestly didn't mean to snap at you. I came to talk to you, hoping I'd calm down a bit. I had an ugly fight some dumbass that tried to sell low quality material to us and I took it out of you."

You are reminded of the fact that he is the heir to his father's multi-billion won international conglomerate and for some reason, it makes you sad. You smile at him, ignoring the sadness. "Well, you're forgiven but I'm not forgotting."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He grins cheekily. He paused for a moment, then smirks at you. "So, we're friends now?"

You groan, "I should have known that would come back to bit me I'm the ass."

***

A large bouquet of pink tulips is delivered to you the next morning. Inside is a card that reads:

Thank you for never giving up on me. -JJK

Lee whistles loudly when she sees them and your cheek burn. "Someone must really like you."

"It's from a friend." You say, ignoring the fluttering in your belly.

"My point still stands. Those are out of season, you know." She remarks.

You nod, "I know. They're my favourite."

You finish your shift with a smile on your face. Until your boss calls you into his office.

"Yes, Sir?" You ask, still smiling and the bouquet of flowers in your one hand, backpack up on your shoulders and ready to go home.

"Y/N. I'll get right to the point. There's been a complaint that you've been too friendly with one of our customers." He says bluntly.

You almost drop your flowers in shock, "What?"

"I'm sorry to do this, Y/N, but it is a direct violation of the contract you signed when you started here. Professionalism is our top priority. I have no choice but to fire you." He says, and he does look sorry as he holds out an envelope to you. "This is the week's wages. Again, I'm sorry. You are a good worker."

"You're firing me because of something someone accused me off?" You ask, indignant and a little angry. "You're not even going to ask me if I did it? And if I did it, why I didn't stop?"

"The accusation came from a very trustworthy customer that was concerned that our reputation might be damaged." Your manager says. "If it gets to the owner and he finds out I did nothing, I could loose my job."

You scoff, taking the envelope. If you didn't need the money, you'd have thrown it back in his face. "So, it's okay for me to loose mine?"

"I'm sorry."

"So am I." You say before turning around and leaving.

***

The first day she's not there, Jeongguk brushes it off, thinking she has the day off and forgot to tell him. The second day, he starts to worry, just a little. The third day, he almost thinks himself into a mental breakdown. The fourth day, he demands to see the manager.

"Mr. Jeon." The manager greets with a smile that was clearly fake. Jeongguk thought back to Y/N, who never smiled much but when she did, it was honest and pure and breathtaking. He misses it and would do whatever it takes to get it back.

"Where is Y/N?" He demands, voice and gaze equally cold and intimidating. It's a side of him that she broke through within minutes, digging up the real Jeongguk and pulling him to the surface. The past months, he's been able to breathe again, live instead of just existing, waiting for the next person that wants his money. But that cold and calculating side of him is still there.

The manager pales and Jeongguk's worry increases. Did something happen to her? The manager shifts on his feet but still doesn't answer. "If you don't answer me within the next five seconds, I will call the owner and ask him to answer me."

"S-she was fired." The man stutters out.

Jeongguk feels his stomach drop. She never outright said it but he knows she depends heavily on the income from this job. It worries him, because he has this urge to take care of her. He wants to give her as much money as she needs, for her to live comfortably, but he knows she wouldn't take it. He glares at the manager, "Why?"

"Someone filed a complaint against her. She was getting to friendly with y-you." The manager says, looking a little terrified.

Jeongguk clenches his jaw, "And instead of asking me if I have a problem with it, you fired her?"

"Her contract says-"

Jeongguk stands up, towering over the man in height and size. "I don't give a shit what her contract says. How many times have I filed a complaint when the servers made me inappropriate offers and crude suggestions? I never once complained about her."

Jeongguk doesn't give the manager anymore time to do anything other than letting out a squeak before turning around and leaving the restaurant.

***

Five days after you were fired, you started too feel it. The absence of Jeongguk's presence. At first, you didn't notice it. To wrapped up in finding another job, worried about money and going to classes to think about it. But today is Sunday and the diner you found a temporary job at two days ago, is closed on Sundays. It's crappy pay and not alot of hours either but it was something and it'll help until you could get something else.

You lay on your bed, listening to your mom vacuuming the living room. University housing was expensive and you'd rather live at home and save the money than having even more debt. You laze the day away, knowing that none of the projects you have, is due that Monday. Your thoughts drift back to Jeongguk, like it always does. You honestly didn't think you'd end up missing him this much.

You like him, so fucking much. You figured it out a long time ago. You also know that you come from two different worlds. You are fine with that, you accepted it and you were content to be his friend.

Now he's completely gone from your life. Ripped out of it without warning.

You go to your classes the next day. In your last one, you doodle absentmindedly on the corner of your notebook, only half listening to the Professor. When the class is over, you look at what you drew and then groan out loud. Jeongguk's initials. Of fucking course. You scoff to yourself, leaving the class and then the building. You want to go home and sulk in privacy.

Outside, the sun was shining and you stood still for a moment, soaking in the warmth.

"Y/N!" A voice yelled your name and your head whips in the direction because you know that voice. You look, eyes searching desperately because you are so sure it was his voice. You're not hallucinating and- and there he is, running over to you.

"Jeongguk? What are you doing here?" You ask when he stops infront of you, completely bewildered.

He looks panicked and frantic. Like that day he snapped at you. He grips your shoulders, the hold almost painful. "You weren't there. I went to the restaurant and you weren't there and the manager told me you were fired and-"

"Jeongguk, stop. Breathe." You say, reaching up to hold onto his wrists, lightly rubbing your thumbs over the inside of his wrists. You wait until his grip loosens, until he was holding instead of gripping. "How did you find me?"

"You told me where you go to school one day." He answers off handedly, eyes scanning over your face, almost as if memorising the little details. Guilt flashes on his face, "I'm sorry you were fired."

You laugh at his words, removing his hands from your shoulders because it was getting a little too intimate, your heartbeat speeding up. "You know, half the time I see you, you end up apologizing to me."

"Hey, it's weird for me too." Jeongguk pouts and you have this urge to rise on your tiptoes and kiss it. "I'm not used to apologizing."

"Don't worry about it, I'm not angry." You wave him off.

"Can we talk?" He pleads and you agree immediately because you missed him so much.

"Yeah, there's a park nearby."

"Scared to be seen with me?" He teases with a smirk, and for a moment it's like nothing has changed.

You snort, "Don't you know? The walls has ears and Twitter accounts."

Jeongguk laughs, loud and unrestrained, throwing his head back. You couldn't help but smile. "This way."

You guide him to the park. It wasn't very big, and not a lot of people came here either, so it was perfect to talk. You each sit down on a swing.

"What are you gonna do now?" Jeongguk asks.

You shrug, "No clue, but I'll figure something out."

A guilty look spreads on his face again, "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have-"

You cut him off, "Shouldn't have what? Let a server talk back to you? Yeah, probably not but we both enjoyed it, so it's on you as much it is on you. More on me though, because it was my responsibility as an employee to treat you with respect."

"You did," Jeongguk says immediately, sincerely. "Even when you were at your most brutally honest moments."

You give him a slight smile. "Well, fun as it was, it seems our path has come to an end."

"Why?" Jeongguk frowns heavily at you.

"Huh?"

Jeongguk looks you in the eye, gaze piercing. "Why does it have to end?"

You snorted, thinking he was messing with you but his eyes were completely serious. You answer in a matter-of-fact tone, "Because you're you and I'm me. Besides, most of the time we argued."

"Y/N." He says your name like it is his greatest wish. He stands up from his swing, making his way infront of you and pulled you to your feet. He looks at you, eyes impossibly fond, "That wasn't arguing. It was banter. If you think that's arguing, you probably think my parents goes to war every now and again." He smiles, a little nervous. "And foe the record, I would rather argue with you for the rest of my life than ever kiss another girl again."

Your mouth drops open in shock, and you really don't know what the fuck to make of that. "I-"

He cuts you off, "And I don't want this to be over."

Silence falls between you two. You stare at him, he stares back. Until, finally, you blurt, "I don't know what to say."

Jeongguk is a little bit disappointed, but not surprised in the slightest. At least it isn't an outright rejection. "You don't have to say anything. Just answer one question."

"Okay?"

"Would you want to date me?" You choke on thin air from shock. That means that he feels the same way as you do, right? Happiness makes your blood sing. Then it sinks in and reality comes back to you. Your happiness evaporates and you swallow thickly. You open your mouth to tell him 'no', but once again Jeongguk cuts you off before you could say something. "Forget about our social status, forget about what people would say and think about me and you. Together. Really think about it. I have, and I think we could work, if you gave it a chance."

"And if it doesn't work?" You ask softly, vulnerable in a way you've never been before. Distantly you wonder how he knew what you were thinking.

"Then at least we can say we tried." He shrugs.

You look down at the ground, wanting to think without looking at him, into those mesmerizing eyes of his. He could ask you to commit murder, and chances are that you'll do it if he looks at you long enough. When did you become so completely gone for him? You think about it, but there was never a moment where you realised, this is the person I like. Maybe . . . maybe it's because you've always liked him. Right from the start, even when he was infuriating. The thought is startling, but you aren't scared by it. It's more like another piece of the puzzle between you and Jeongguk has fallen into place. But there is the problem of your different social statuses. Yeah, Jeongguk said forget about it, but for how long? If you try and this does work out, then eventually you'll have to face the reality of everything that comes with being together. Somehow that scares you more than if it doesn't work.

You look back up at him, and you know – despite all your worries and doubts – it was never really a choice because you choose Jeongguk the moment you chose to accept his offer of being honest all those months ago. "Okay."

Jeongguk looks like he's ready to argue, "I-" You watch as your answer sinks in. The stunned expression almost makes you laugh, "What?"

"Did you want me to say no?" You give him an amused look, smile curling the corners of your lips upwards.

His eyes widens and he shakes his head frantically, "No, no, no, I just wasn't expecting you to say yes to quickly."

"That makes two of us." You admit. Jeongguk is right though, better to try and either fail or succeed, or never try and forever wonder what if. You smile up at him, heart soaring happily. "You make a good case. You should have become a lawyer."

Jeongguk's eyes light up, "Just wait until you hear the case I have to make on why we should kiss."

"Tell you what, if you kiss me within the next three seconds, you don't have to make a case at all." You bargained with a grin.

Jeongguk didn't need to be told twice. He leaned close and kissed you, slow and deep, one hand slipping into your hair and the other curling around your waist, pulling you close to him. He breaks the kiss, licking his lips and your eyes are drawn to the action. You lick your own lips, liking the taste of him. His voice is deep and rough, his cheeks flushed, when he asks, "Want to go get something to drink?"

"Yeah," You nod with a goofy smile, your own cheeks also flushed, feeling like you might float away at any second. "I could go for a smoothie."

"I love smoothies." Jeongguk grins back at you, taking your hand, lacing your fingers. His other hand was still wrapped around your waist and hold you close.

An old question flashes across your mind as you run your hands up his chest, liking the strong, study feel of it, until you can lock your arms around his neck. "You know, I've been meaning to ask."

"Mmm?" Jeongguk hummed in acknowledgement, showing that he was listening.

"Why didn't you get me fired that first day?" You ask, aware that you are suppose to be getting smoothies but it could wait for a bit.

Jeongguk had been expecting this question for a while, and had come up with an answer a long time ago. He looks down at her with all he feels for her, a content smile on his lips.

"Because you were the first honest person I have met in years. Because you put me in my place without thinking twice. Because when you glared down at me after I changed my order for the sixth time, there was a fire in your eyes that woke something inside of me that I couldn't control. Not then and not now." He leaned down, rubbing his nose against hers, the gesture shy and intimate. "Because the fact is, you had me at 'indecisive snot'."

the end.

A/N: Tumblr and it's 250 box limit will be the death of me, I swear. I get it, I do. But come on! This very almost didn't fit, I had to edit and mush several chapters into one. Eventually it fit, but NEVER AGAIN! It was exhausting and time consuming. I'll rather split it again, like I did with two of my other fics. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. This took me a while with all the editing. Purple hearts for all of you!! -Kayla.

#bangtan #bangtan fanfic #bts fic #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook imagine

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erule · 3 years

Text

The frat party | t.h.

Title: The frat party

Pairing: Frat boy!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1823

Warnings: frat boy Tom, angst, nakedness (nothing sexual though, no smut in this chapter), mention of sex, implied smut, cliffhanger at the end, jealous Tom, language, OC Oliver, violence (one punch), blood, plot twists.

Summary: Tom and the reader met at a frat party, but a year later they broke up because of some reason. Now, rumor has it that the reader is dating one of Tom’s friends and he gets jealous.

A/N: Hello hello, I’m back! Have you seen Tom’s recent pics in Monaco?? He looked amazing! Anyway, I don’t know why, but I just had to write a fic with frat boy!Tom, so enjoy!

If you wanna be tagged in my Tom Holland fics, just let me know in my ask box! You can also find me on AO3 and Wattpad. Feedback is always appreciated by a writer!

Main Masterlist

Tom Holland Masterlist

Peter Parker Masterlist

Chapter 1

Break up with my ex girlfriend

Frat parties. Am I right? Worst part of college life. A lot of people drink to forget about their grades and how their lives went wrong, while someone’s just hoping to have some fun with them (if you know what I mean). For the first year, I hated them with passion, but it was before I met him. At a frat party. Oh, the irony! And then, frat parties were the only chance I had to actually talk to him. It didn’t take us long enough to start dating. I think that adults tell you fairy tales to make you grow up with a hope, the hope to find your real happy ending, your true love. Well, I wasn’t used to believe in them, but the year I spent with Tom… that was close to the definition of happy ending. The problem with happy endings? They don’t tell you what happens after them. And that’s because they’re a nightmare.

“Tell me that now or you’re not gonna find me in this bed tomorrow”, he says and there’s a part of me that wants to die right here and right now. I shake my head. I don’t want to do that. Not because I don’t feel anything for him, but I’m scared that this will complicate things between us and it’s the last thing I want. “Are you serious, Y/N? You really think that saying something like that during sex doesn’t count? Calling someone on the phone means something, even if you’re drunk as Hell. So tell me what you really feel about me right now or I swear, I’m out of this room. I’m out of this kind of weird relationship that’s going on between us for years,” Tom says and the veins on his arms draw a beautiful map on his body, in which the moles are cities and his eyes are volcanoes. They’re burning, unlike my skin, that is freezing because I’m not wearing anything at the moment. Except for my shame, perhaps. My insecurities, that never leave me. Even in front of Tom.

“You don’t mean that,” I try to say, my mouth dry. But he’s insanely angry. In another situation, it would be hot.

“I do, Y/N,” he replies. I swallow. His expression softens, like he’s in pain. He comes closer to me, brushing my cheeks with his hands. My eyes are full of tears. His words feel like a prayer on my skin. “Please, tell me”.

And even if I don’t wanna do that, my hands are tied. Even if that’s a lie. I remain in silence. One second after that, he’s gone. Tom always keeps his promises, after all.

2 months before

Harrison sat down with a strange look on his face. It only meant one thing for Tom: trouble. He sighed, throwing away the third cigarette of the day. Jacob raised an eyebrow, trying to get rid of the stench of smoke with one hand.

“I thought you wanted to quit smoking,” Jacob said.

“Relax, I only smoke before finals now,” Tom said. “What’s up, mate? Come on, talk”.

Harrison raised a corner of his lips in a smirk.

“Rumor has it, that Oliver’s got a girlfriend,” he said.

“No way!” Jacob exclaimed.

“Oh, fuck me,” Tom said, laying on the grass with his hands behind his neck, glancing at a couple of girls who were passing by.

“I haven’t said the best part yet, though,” Harrison continued. Jacob urged him to speak further. “He’s gonna throw a party for his birthday and he’ll introduce her to his friends. But since we’re his friends, I was wondering why I haven’t told us anything about this gal in weeks. So I played Sherlock Holmes for a couple of hours and I found out that… we actually know this girl,” he said.

“I bet she’s someone of the campus,” Tom joked, as if it was obvious.

“I bet she’s someone’s ex girlfriend,” Jacob replied.

Harrison remained quiet, but he was smiling.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Tom said, astonished, while sitting on the grass again.

“I won!” Jacob yelled.

“Who’s she? I hooked up with…”

“Ex girlfriend, Tom. It’s not some random girl you hooked up with. She’s someone you remember very well,” Harrison said.

“So we’re talking about me, uh? Well, let’s see… is it Janine? We lasted two weeks, I wouldn’t be mad about her,” he shrugged. Harrison swallowed.

“It’s someone you would be mad about,” Jacob guessed. “And there’s just one person that you would be mad about”.

Tom’s eyes widened at the realization.

“He’s fucking dead”.

Two days after that conversation, here they were: the three of them were laying with their backs on the wall like they were sustaining it from falling down. Tom had threatened Oliver with a Dare to explain, mate?, but his answer was just an I’m sorry Tom, but she’s just your ex. I don’t have to ask for your permission. Or does this mean that you’re still not over her? So, since Tom values too much his pride, he said that he was over her and that Oliver was right, he didn’t have to ask for his permission. Oliver apologized for not telling him that before and then walked away, leaving Tom to smoke the whole pack of cigarettes. Tom was watching Oliver talking with Elizabeth, one of your friends, when he saw you and Zendaya arrive at the party. In his opinion, you were stunning. You immediately caught his gaze. You just never failed to amaze him, even after a year. His heart ached at the view, but it ached even more when you greeted Oliver. You gave him a kiss on his cheek, clenching your hand in a fist. It seemed like you were uncomfortable. So, he came up with a plan to save you.

“Wait for me here,” he said to his friends, then he walked fast to reach you. “Hey mate, happy birthday!” Tom said to Oliver, who hugged him.

“Thanks, Tom. I think that you already know Y/N, Lizzie and Z,” he said and you smiled along with your friends, even if you looked more surprised than happy.

“Of course, I do,” Tom said, looking directly at you. You looked down. “Could I please talk to Y/N? We haven’t been in touch for quite some time and I’d like to catch up with her,” he asked.

“Sure!” Oliver said, while Zendaya seemed looking at you with a concerned expression. You winked at her.

Tom made you move away from Oliver by brushing your back, walking to the next exit. He lowered his voice in order to talk with you only, speaking to your hear: “You look ravishing, darling”.

He noticed that you closed your eyes for a very long second, but you didn’t say a word about that.

“Are you here to show that you still own me or something?”

“I don’t own you, darling. You’re absolutely free to do anything you like,” he said, lighting a cigarette outside the building.

“Z said you wanted to quit smoking,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows.

“I only smoke before finals”.

“Finals were yesterday,” you replied.

“Are we here to talk about me or you? I noticed that you were uncomfortable with Oliver, but I thought that you were his girlfriend. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

You smirked.

“Oh, now I get it. You’re jealous”.

“Nah, If I’d be jealous, you would know, trust me,” Tom said, with a playful tone.

“What would you do?” You asked, curiousity eating you alive. You wanted to know so bad if he still had feelings for you.

“Don’t play with fire, darling. You’re gonna burn your pretty hands, otherwise,” he replied, running a finger over his lip. Shivers ran through your spine, but you hoped that Tom didn’t notice it.

“Don’t try to seduce me, Holland. You’re not gonna win this time,” you said, chuckling. “And for the record, we’re not dating. He’s just insistent,” you explained.

Tom looked inside and saw Oliver staring at the two of you. An idea came up into his mind and he couldn’t quite get rid of it. It was smart, but also terrifying. It was very dangerous, yet he had to try.

“We could be in a fake relationship. It could fool everyone,” he proposed.

You turned to look at him, astonished.

“Even after what happened?”

Tom’s eyes were locked with yours, but his facial muscles didn’t move at all. If he still was hurt by the reason that made you two break up, he didn’t show it to you.

“He’s coming here,” he said instead, glancing at Oliver.

“Tom, this is insane,” you kept going. “You said you couldn’t forgive me after…”

It happened all too fast. All the lights went out at the same time. Tom's lips were on yours in an instant. Everything was on fire, every inch of your body. Every cell your flash was made of exploded like a dying supernova. A moment later, someone snatched him from your hands, leaving you in the cold.

Oliver hit him. Tom laughed, nervously, but then he grabbed the collar of Oliver’s shirt and slammed him against the wall, angrily. You pounced on Tom, trying to pull him away from Oliver. At first, Tom looked at you confused, thinking that you just wanted to keep Oliver safe from him, but your eyes told him another story: you prevented him to be kicked out from the campus.

“I told you, you’d know,” he said, while wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth, pretending to be the tough guy he wasn’t.

“Guys, I think we should leave,” Jacob said, while Harrison was taking Tom away from Oliver by his arm.

“I thought we were friends, Tom,” Oliver said, an inch of hurting in his voice tone.

“That was before you came after the only thing I care about,” he said harshly. And then, he left with Harrison and Jacob.

That night, while Tom was cleaning himself of blood in the bathroom, Jacob was staring at him worried, while standing with one arm against the door jamb.

“You never told me what happened, you know, with Y/N last year. Haz doesn’t want to tell me, he thinks it’s up to you. You said that you were over her, but I don’t think you are, since what you did tonight,” he said. Tom kept wiping away the blood from his shirt, ignoring Jacob’s words. “Why have you broken up with her, Tom? It seems pretty obvious that you’re still in love with her”.

Tom gulped, while looking at himself in the mirror. He had tried to bury all of his memories deep down, but it seemed that now the demons wanted to come back and play with him once again. Maybe it had finally come the time to confront them.

When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse: “Because she cheated on me”.

Read chapter 2 here!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland smut #frat boy tom holland fanfiction #frat boy tom holland #fratboy!tom holland #frat boy tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland ff #tom holland imagine #tom holland headcanon #tom holland hc #erule's masterlist #peter parker x reader #tom holland

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thechangeling · 3 years

Text

But you like her better: Part 1

This fic features Kit's potential new girlfriend hinted at in a letter from Tessa to Magnus in CC's newsletter. A bunch of people in the fandom built her from the ground up @littlx-songbxrd @foxglove-airmid @the-wckd-powers @adoravel-fenomeno and @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood to name a few, and gave her a personality, name and backround. Their name is Marí.

Kit uses he/they pronouns in this fic and Marí uses she/they.

Cw: Disassociation (or at least how I experience it idk it might not be the same for everyone), negative self talk, self injurious stims, and bad coping mechanisms.

Title is from Heather by Conan Gray.

Marìa. Marí as she preferred to be called, was a bubbly kind soul with a wide inviting smile and a melodic voice.

Even Ty could admit that they were quite beautiful, despite not seeing women (or in Marí's case anyone who was particularly alienated with womanhood,) in a romantic or sexual light. It took him awhile to realize he was gay, but when he did it just seemed so obvious. He had gone through a minor phase of experimentation at the scholomance when he was younger but it hadn't lasted long.

Still Marí was stunning. And perhaps what made her even more stunning was her kindness and generosity. Ty had met her on the beach in LA while she and her parents were visiting the LA institute for a downworlder/shadowhunter summit being held by Helen, Aline, Mark and Cristina, similar to the one Julian held in 2012.

Ty noticed that Tessa and Jem were present, but Kit was not. He was not exactly sure how that should make him feel. So Ty elected to push the pain in his chest further down. To shove all if his unresolved feelings and worries and questions about Kit Herondale back into the metaphorical box and move on.

So he had gone outside to walk on the beach to distract himself when he found Marí sitting on the sand and crying.

Apparently according to them, they had come across a few dead moon jellyfish, or Aurelia aurita as was more scientifically accurate, that had washed up on the beach.

Ty remembered being moved by how she had such compassion for another living creature who wasn't even a person. It was rare. Ty had helped her bury them. She seemed wary and a little hostile around him at first, noticing his runes. She was clutching her body tightly. Ty noticed her anxiety and told her how he was also a lover of aquatic life and he found marine biology fascinating. This had prompted her to instantly change demeanor and become very excited and start jumping up and down and waving her hands before she told him that she was studying marine biology at university in Devon.

The mention of Devon should gave promoted Ty to wonder if Marí knew Kit but he was still putting up mental blocks to protect himself from the Kit situation so it hadn't crossed Ty's mind.

They had sat on the beach and talked for hours. Marí told him their name and that they used she/they pronouns. They also told Ty that they were from Devon, but their family was from Loiza, a city on the Northeastern coast of Puerto Rico. And also that they were all werewolves who pretty much hated shadowhunters but he seemed ok because he liked jellyfish. They mentioned that marine biology was one of their special interests and that they were autistic and had ADHD.

It would have been the perfect opportunity to tell Marí about him also being autistic but Ty being guarded and asocial, decided not to and told her as little as possible. He supposed he had some trust issues after everything. He mentioned his name, that he was attending the scholomance, and a few basic facts about his family. He also talked about his friend Alyssa Reyes.

Alyssa or Ali as he called her, was a werewolf with Maia's pack in New York. She was assigned as a liaison to the scholomance to act as a bridge between the werewolves and future centurions. And BOY had she complained about it. Alyssa was basically the president of the fuck shadowhunters club and she was autistic and had ADHD. She and Marí would have gotten along quite well.

Marí overall did most of the talking but she didn't seem to mind. On the contrary.

Ty had no idea that by that point they were already dating Kit.

When Kit returned with apologetic smiles and a new found charisma and confidence, he also brought her. And she was so happy to see Ty again that he felt so guilty for feeling torn up inside.

Ty couldn't hate Marí. Not even if he tried. They hadn't done anything wrong and neither had Kit. So Ty would just have to settle for hating himself for being angry over nothing.

Kit and Ty weren't really talking. Sure they had exchanged some words together when basically forced to, but Kit was being standoffish and Ty was still feeling a little annoyed. But mostly hurt. Ty had heard that Kit was using he/they pronouns and now identified as genderfluid. He had so many questions for Kit but Ty knew he couldn't ask. At least not right now.

Currently Ty was watching Kit and Marí talking. Kit was in the middle of telling her what looked to be a funny story based on the way she was laughing. Kit pushed a lock of dark curly hair back behind her ear and smiled.

Ty felt queasy. He bit his lip and averted his gaze trying to shake off the horrible feeling. Everytime he saw them together his chest felt like it was being squeezed by a juicer. Like he was being crushed and torn up on the inside and it was his fault. Just like it was his fault that Kit left. Or maybe that wasn't true. Maybe it was just inevitable but that didn't make it any easier.

Ty didn't have the right to be jealous or upset. He had no claim over Kit. He was being ridiculous he told himself as he attempted to shove all of these dark feelings into the box.

But this time it wasn't working.

"Alright you look like you're about to snap crackle and pop," Ty heard a voice say beside him. "What gives Sherlock?"

Ty looked up to see Alyssa Reyes standing next to him. When they had all congregated together in the LA institute and Kit had brought Marí and his friend Janessa back with them. Ty had decided to bring his lucky charm and close friend with him.

When Alyssa first came to the scholomance things were quite rough. But they had connected, first on the basis of being autistic and then through other things. Ali also had a love of mysteries and the two of them together were quite the team. The two of them had become incredibly close. Anush called her Irene because she was the only one who could outsmart Ty.

Speaking of Anush..

He was currently still back at the scholomance. They had both decided it was best for him to stay behind so they could spend some time apart. They had recently broken up after Ty finally realized he wasn't in a good place emotionally to date anyone. Ty had been forced to put Livvy's spirit to rest permanently when it started to have an affect on the mortal world negativity. It had been Livvy herself who had begged Ty to save the world at her expense.

That had been about a month ago and Ty was still relatively numb. He had a feeling it would begin to hurt eventually. Just not yet.

"Hey did you hear me?" Alyssa raised her voice. "What's wrong?" Ty refocused on his friend.

She was wearing her costume for the Halloween party they were all attending tonight. Kit, Ty, Dru, Alyssa, Marí, Jaime, Janessa and Thaís. It was Dru herself who had suggested they need a break from essentially preparing themselves for what was probably going to be another war. So they were headed to a vampire hosted party at a club in downtown LA. Alyssa had been sure to grab earplugs for Ty and herself which he was grateful for.

Alyssa was dressed as Aeryn Sun from Farscape, one of the many autistic coded characters from scifi that she was obsessed with. She was wearing a long black leather trench coat with black leather pants and a black tank top. Her dark brown hair was pulled back onto a long braid traveling down to her lower back. She even had leather boots and a fake blaster gun holstered at her thigh to complete the look.

And Ty of course, was dressed as Sherlock.

Ty shook his head at her. "Nothing Ali I'm fine."

Alyssa glowered at him. "Bullshit you're fine. I thought we agreed never to lie to each other?"

Ty sighed, gazing back at Kit and Marí, still smiling at each other. Alyssa followed his gaze.

"Oh you're jealous aren't you!" She declared matter of factly. Ty instantly shushed her.

"Oh relax they can't hear us, she muttered. We're too far away." She twirled her long braid and stimmed with the ends of it. "You know if you plan on taking your anger out on that lovely girl, a member of our COMMUNITY no less, who has done absolutely nothing wrong, then I'm like legally required to throw hands," she said with a smile.

Ty didn't smile back. "I wouldn't," he murmered, looking down. He had been flicking his fingers lazily at his sides, but now Ty found that wasn't good enough. He dug his fingernails into his right palm.

Alyssa looked concerned. "Hey I was just kidding," she said softly. She took his hand that had been creating little half-moon red divots on his skin and carefully threaded his fingers through her own.

Ali squeezed Ty's hand. "You know I'm on your side no matter what." He squeezed back.

Ty looked at the couple again. Emotions swirled all around his heart like little ribbons grazing against the sides. It wasn't just jealousy neccessary and Ty was a little shocked to find that he wasn't angry anymore. He was just...what?

Sad?

Sad didn't even begin to feel like it covered it. He felt so lost. And alone. And.... He felt himself starting to drift away, separating from himself. Ty could hear the fuzzy far away echo of someone trying to speak to him, but he couldn't make out the words. They were getting further and further away.

Everything was blurry and out of focus.

"Ty!" He heard a voice shout. With a jolt he was snapped back into his body. He turned to face Alyssa who was staring at him, looking obviously alarmed.

But the worst part was that everyone else was staring at him too. Including Kit. They looked shocked, but also something else that Ty couldn't quite pinpoint. There was an air of desperation to their voice when they asked,

"Are you ok?"

Was Ty ok?

It was such a funny question coming from Kit who hadn't spoken more than two words to him this whole time.

Kit who had left.

Ty didn't know what else to do except laugh. He burst laughing hysterically, almost falling from his position of where he was leaning against the wall. He desperately tried to gasp for air as he cackled.

Everyone was staring at him looking horrified. Dru pulled out her phone as if she was contemplating calling someone, then decided against it. Tears were starting to roll down Ty's cheeks as he kept laughing.

Alyssa grabbed his arm. "Alright, come with me," she ordered, dragging him to the side. Ty managed to stop laughing as she guided him firmly into the training room.

Ty's eyes were still blurry with tears, so he wiped them away. Alyssa was smiling at him softly, looking sympathetic. "It's gonna be ok Ty,: she cooed, taking his hand again. Alyssa began to rub slow soothing circles onto his palm.

"Ok, you wanna tell me what's going on now?" She asked gently. Ty sniffed and used his other hand to wipe away the rest of his tears.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted. "I don't know how to describe or explain it.

Alyssa nodded. "Well, try. You can use quotes or song lyrics if you want." Ty smiled. He was grateful that Ali understood.

Ty chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. "It feels like a tear in my heart. Like a part of me is missing and I just can't feel it," he quoted. Alyssa stared at him, pondering. She continued to stroke his hand.

"Do you think what you're missing is Kit?" She asked. "Do you miss him?"

Ty glared at Alyssa and snatched his hand back. "No," he said firmly. "I don't."

Ali rolled her eyes. "Jesus you're almost as bad at love as I am! It's like trying to open a rusted toolbox with a fork getting you to open up!" She snapped.

Ty bared his teeth under closed lips and glowered at her. "Well maybe I never asked for your help!"

"Well maybe you should calm down and recognize that I'm your friend and I'm worried about you!" She shouted back.

Guilt instantly washed over him, pricking his skin. Ty squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry Ali," he whispered.

He wished he could cry. Now more than ever Ty wished he could make himself cry. Over Livvy, over Kit. Over the coming battle. Over everything.

"Do you love them?" He heard her ask. There was no need to ask who she meant.

Ty opened his eyes. This was the thing he never acknowledged. Never said outloud. Never even let himself think it. Because it was terrifying. The acknowledgement of the truth.

The truth was that Ty would probably give his life just to see that adorable smile one more time. That he could tell you how many freckles Kit had because he had spent so many hours staring at Kit and counting them.

The truth was that when Kit held him, he felt closer to anyone then he ever had in his entire life. Ty had sat outside of Kit's door for hours, days even when they had first arrived because he had felt something, even then. Something pulling at him from the other side of that door like a magnet. He told himself it was just curiosity. A scientific curiosity.

It was the only thing that could logically explain Ty's obsession. It wasn't serious. It wasn't-

"I love him," Ty admitted shakily, breaking the silence. Even Alyssa looked a little suprised.

"I'm in love with Kit."

Before Ali could respond, Ty sensed movement by the training room door which they had forgotten to close. Ty instantly whipped around to see who it was, wondering frantically if they had overheard what Ty had said.

Standing in the door frame wearing her Mortica Addams costume for the party, complete with a jet black long wig was Marí.

And the look on their face suggested to Ty that they had heard every word.

I will try and get part 2 up as soon as I can! It will be from Marí's perspective.

The song Ty quotes is Can you hold me by NF.

Tag list: @playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @clarys-heosphoros @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @arangiajoan @queenlilith43 @adoravel-fenomeno

#tsc #tda #the dark artifices #kit x ty #ty blackthorn #twp #kit herondale #marí the werewolf #we need to give her a last name #marí tag

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staysaneathome · 3 years

Text

This Was Not A Dare, Reigen

Jon glares at each of the— the suspects traitors in front of him, tape recorder clutched tight in one hand.

Martin, wringing his hands uselessly, eyes wide and beseeching. Tim, fists clenched hard enough for his knuckles to go white and returning his gaze with a death stare of his own. Sasha, arms folded to form a barrier between Jon and herself, expression a perfect mask of concern. Reigen, radiating disappointment in every one of his gestures and quips. Elias, eyes weary, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Some intervention this is turning out to be.

Jon wants to scream. Wants to reach out and shake someone, anyone, until they admit he’s making sense and it’s the rest of the world that’s gone mad.

Every single one of them (except Martin) could’ve killed Gertrude. He knows he has no proof that they did, but he has no proof that they didn’t either, can’t they see that? If they don’t want him to suspect them, it should be easy for them to actually give him proof of their innocence (like Martin did), instead of just repeating platitudes of “you know this isn’t acceptable adult behavior, Jon” and “you’re better than this, Jon”.

Who cares about knowing better or acceptable behavior when it’s your very life on the line? He’s half tempted to throttle the con artist, see how dignified or adult he is when he’s the one with a murderer on his tail!

…Not that Jon is a murderer. It’s just the principle of the thing, is all.

“Jon,” Elias says, tone soothing in all the ways he doesn’t want it to be. “This is absurd. This goes far beyond an unhealthy work environment. I’ll admit it’s partly my fault for letting it get this bad, I should have intervened earlier.”

Reigen cuts in with a hand gesture that is as effusive as it is dismissive. “That doesn’t make his behavior okay, Bouchard-san. It may be bad here, but Jon chose to follow me, Tim and Sasha, and yell at Martin, rather than going to the police or paying a detective, like Herlock Sholmes or something.”

Jon sputters. “Wh- It’s Sherlock Holmes, not—and he’s fictional!”

Reigen blinks sleepily, one eyebrow raised. “Oh? That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Jon all but shouts, rapidly reconsidering his stance on braining the sardonic little git with his tape recorder. “Don’t you even—an-and you’re deflecting again! Just like with your ridiculous ‘haunted gun’ nonsense!”

“I’m not!” Reigen says, clearly deflecting. “I’ve seen this kind of thing loads of times as the number one psychic. When a weapon kills lots of people over 100 years, the bad energy gets bigger and bigger until the gun grows an evil spirit and is hungry—”

“I refuse to believe Gertrude Robinson was murdered by a sentient blunderbuss!!”

“Be that as it may,” Elias interrupts, shooting them both a stern frown. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about, Jon. Given how badly it’s affected your work ethic, I will be taking direct action to ensure it does not continue.”

Jon can feel his shoulders hunch almost against his will, dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of whatever punishment is about to be unjustly inflicted on him.

Only Martin looks half as worried as he feels, glancing between him and Elias nervously. By contrast, Tim looks downright triumphant, smirk nasty and vindictive. Sasha’s somewhere between those two, not openly celebrating his soon-to-be-downfall, but not acting like she’d lift a finger on his behalf either, though he’s unsure why that feels like it should surprise him. She’s always been as neutral as Switzerland.

Reigen, oddly enough, has more in common with Martin than with Tim. He’s staring at Elias like he’s waiting for a bit of news he knows he won’t like.

Jon thinks he’d appreciate that more if he wasn’t about to be unfairly lambasted simply for trying to stop a murderer and bring justice for an old woman who probably died frightened and alone. Much like Jon probably will once he’s been hobbled by whatever Elias is about to say next.

“Such as by restricting access to the archives from members of the public who are ultimately doing you more harm than good.”

…Wait.

What?

“What?!” Tim, Martin, and Sasha echo.

Reigen glances between them all, blinking in confusion.

Jon shares the sentiment entirely. His punishment is…for someone else to be removed from the archives? Someone he doesn’t employ or even like that much, no less?

He must have misheard, surely.

Though maybe not, given how Tim looks aghast, glancing between Elias and Reigen. “Okay, no, Reigen’s clearly not the problem here—”

“I’m very sorry, Tim, but Jon has made several remarks about the disruptive nature of Mr. Arataka’s presence in the archives.” Elias sighs. “From the arguments like the one we just witnessed to the nonsensical purchases of oddities inspired by his presence, such as Duolingo subscriptions,” Meaningful glare at Jon who resists the urge to clutch his phone guiltily, “That are now billed on the Archives’ expenses, it unfortunately seems as though he is dragging down productivity for all of you as an active stressor.”

“But we’re much better equipped to take statements from people who don’t speak English because of that!” Martin protests, stepping forward. “Isn’t it an advantage to have a more, more international perspective for our work?”

“One positive in a sea of negatives does not an advantage make.” Elias says, sounding infuriatingly like he’s misquoting something. “And really Martin, how realistic is it that this would help in more than a few isolated cases? I expected better from you.”

Martin’s face crumples, and his shoulders hunch, making himself smaller.

Jon finds his own mouth opening to—what? Say something? What would he even say?

Luckily, Sasha intervenes before he can dig his own grave further. “That’s as may be, but he’s a wonder for morale. He and Jon are funny, not anything serious, and I don’t think we’d have come to you about Jon‘s behavior unless he encouraged us to—”

“Which only fits into the delusion where Jon feels an outsider is rallying his subordinates against him, which is not good for his paranoid outlook.” Elias replies calmly. “And it’s never a healthy work environment when one employee feels the others are making them the butt of a joke.”

“I’d say that’s not as bad as when the boss feels he has the right to violate everyone’s privacy whenever he wants to just ’cause he’s feeling sad!” Tim growls.

Elias begins to answer, before Reigen finally speaks up.

“Sorry,” The con artist says carefully. “But you are…«I know this one…» banning me from the Archives? Yes?”

“That is the long and short of it, yes.” Elias says, grudgingly

“Why?” Reigen challenges, eyes hard and searching. “What have I, personally, done that’s wrong here? What behavior do I need to correct?”

There’s a moment of silence. The whirring of the tape recorder sounds uncomfortably loud.

“Mr. Arataka, are you currently under the employ of the Magnus Institute?” Elias asks, brow furrowed.

“Ah, no, no, but—”

“Are you looking to become employed by the Institute at this point in time, as a prospective member of the Archival Staff?” He fires off rapidly.

“Su-Sorry, but if you could just go a little slower—”

“Then I am afraid that unless you’re looking to fill out an employment contract or a Statement form, we cannot help you, Mr. Arataka.” Elias spreads his hands wide. “We are an academic institution, a place of research and learning. The Institute cannot allow for social dalliances on company time, especially not when those visits are negatively contributing to the work environment and the wellbeing of our staff.”

Tim throws up his hands, “I-I cannot believe this!”

Reigen’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment.

“Arataka is my…what do you call it? First name?” He says, at last. “Using it in this context is…inappropriate. Please call me Reigen, if you would, Bouchard-san.”

“Of course. My mistake, Mr. Reigen.” Elias does have the decency to look somewhat abashed. “Though, regrettably, I am going to have to ask you to leave the premises within the next twenty minutes, or I will be forced to call security.”

Reigen nods, jerkily, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Jon almost wants to call out to the fraud as he turns to go, grab him by the shoulder, pick another argument, something. He knows he should be happy, be glad that this thorn in his side will finally stop bothering him, but instead he just feels—befuddled. Off-kilter.

What happened to the man who once spent three hours arguing for the “spiritual effectiveness” of entirely performative and useless rituals, saying that ensuring his clients left his office fooled and contented was better than actually uncovering genuine supernatural forces and learning all there was to know about them? Why is he going so-so easily now, when he’s made Jon fight tooth and nail in every debate he’s had with the so-called psychic?

At the door, the con man pauses.

“Bouchard-san. You said I could come back if I had a statement to give?”

Elias shifts in his seat, looking bemused. “W-well, yes. That is a service we do provide. Of course, the statement would have to be genuine, and verifiable as such before we let you back into the Archives.”

“We don’t even do that for most of the rubbish we do take,” Tim mutters under his breath, and though Jon is glad he’s not the one being shot a quelling look, he does have to agree.

The con man turns back.

He’s got that smirk on his face that immediately puts Jon’s hackles up on instinct, prepared to argue against whatever inane point he’s come up with now to defend his phony psychic title.

“Gotcha.” Reigen says, far too cheerfully. «Ja ne.»

Then he strolls out of the office, as cool as a cucumber.

Jon could even swear he hears him whistling as he makes his way down the stairs.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“I’d do him.” Sasha pipes up, unhelpfully.

“Sasha!” Martin hisses, scandalized. “D-don’t you have a, a—”

“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that.” She remarks, far too blasé for someone in a newly committed relationship. “Tom’s heard about him too, and he agreed he’s just our type.”

“And I’m not?” Tim jokes, but there’s a hard edge to it that Jon’s found himself increasingly familiar with in the past few weeks.

Sasha shrugs with a mischievous little smile, as if that mattered very little to her.

Elias coughs. “Right. Well. Whatever your relations to Mr. Reigen are, please try to limit them to outside the workplace in future.”

The rest of the intervention is surprisingly subdued. Elias gives Jon access to the footage from the cameras in the rest of the Institute, and Tim bodychecks him on the way out of the office, muttering about how nice it must be to never face any consequences for his actions. Sasha follows, the way she won’t meet his eyes a condemnation in its own right.

Even Martin doesn’t say anything to him, just bites his lip and hurries past back down to the Archives. It doesn’t sting. It doesn’t.

Even as he settles in to watch and rewatch the CCTV records of Gertrude’s last week alive, Jon can’t shake the ridiculous feeling of foreboding that’s dogged him since Reigen left.

Most of him wants to say it comes from the fact that despite the fact that Reigen has not appeared in any of the camera records for the Magnus Institute before he started his term as Head Archivist in 2016, isn’t banning him from the Archives just letting the con man run around London with impunity, with no way for Jon to ascertain his movements or motives? That instead of solving a problem, Elias has just given a potential murderer free reign to escape?

But a small part of Jon, one that never could deny the sensation of being watched, that is frozen in second-hand terror whenever he reads a Statement, knows, Knows that it this stems more from the idea that the fraud will actually accomplish what Elias has unwittingly challenged him to do.

The illogical but pervasive surety that he will do so.

Jon’s not sure if he’s more afraid that Reigen Arataka will vanish entirely, another unfortunate victim become an unsolved mystery.

Or that he’ll come back, and bring whatever he’s managed to unearth on his insane quest with him.

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thran-duils · 3 years

Text

Total Eclipse (P.4)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Four) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 3,068 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always

Part Three || Part Five || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Your wedding was fast approaching, a handful of days. Your engagement was rather short, the announcement Arthur, being older than Sherlock at 45, and widowed once already without children, he was eager to get you into his estate. He was able to pay enough to get everything set up on a faster track than other people and despite being less than excited about the prospect, you had to admit you were impressed.

The following day after the heartbreaking meeting with Sherlock, you had sent a note to his place. And did not receive a response.

Your notes sent to Baker Street remained unanswered in the following weeks.

Desperate, you addressed it to John this time.

That got a response.

He showed up at your place for the tea you extended an invitation for. To your servants that prepared the tea and lunch, you told them you were looking for his opinion on which doctor he believed would be best to oversee your care during pregnancy. You told them he was a great surgeon, so you respected him and valued his insider’s opinion on the matter. They accepted it without question; it was a perfectly reasonable reason to invite John here and it was not like you lied about him at all, so there was nothing to uncover.

“Well, the estate is magnificent,” John told you after you had exchanged pleasantries and you excused the maids from the drawing room. The door was left cracked for modesty’s sake.

You nodded, “It is. Expansive. I hardly can keep myself from getting lost. I daresay it’ll take years perhaps for me to explore all the corners. I have become fond of the willow tree in the back though. That is a point of relaxation for me.”

“That sounds lovely,” John commented, giving you a warm smile.

“Yes… would you like a ham and cheese sandwich?”

“Please.”

You served him up two and he smiled, thanking you as he took the plate. Giving yourself one as well as vegetables, you took a bite and said after you had swallowed, “I actually had a question for you. I… well, I’m looking for an opinion. On a doctor.” You noticed the look on his face and you gave a little laugh, “Not a surgeon. I know exactly where I would go for that. I’d trust you with my life. But a delivery doctor – or a midwife – that you would recommend would be greatly appreciated.”

John looked stunned for a moment, but he recovered quickly, swallowing his bite. “You… you need this?”

“Well… not immediately. We are trying though. Arthur is… quite desperate for children,” you admitted, keeping your eyes off of him, slightly embarrassed to be hinting at the fact you were sleeping with someone besides Sherlock. Even if the man being discussed was your husband. “I am just trying to get ahead because I do believe it will happen sooner rather than later. It does not hurt to be prepared.”

“No, it certainly does not,” John agreed. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, I do have some people I could recommend, certainly. I could give you their information and you could contact them?”

“That would be most helpful.”

John took another bite of his sandwich and looked in thought as he chewed. You followed suit, taking another bite.

“I thought perhaps you had called on me… for another reason.”

“Oh, I did,” you answered, smiling sheepishly. John took another bite, waiting for you to go on. He was giving you the floor to plead your case. You exhaled heavily and said in a quieter voice, “I appreciate you answering. He would not respond to me. I do not know how to get through to him.”

You shot a look at the door and John nodded, standing up. He walked towards the window near you, so he would be in plain sight from the crack in the door, removing any suspicion of what was transpiring. You could speak in hushed tones and still not be accused of engaging in unsavory acts.

“He’s… locked himself in his room.” John’s face fell at your upset sigh and he added, “If it makes you feel any better, he’s barely speaking to me either.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better. Worse actually.”

“I found him a case though. I am going to tell him about it when we get back. I hope that will draw him out and get him back on his feet.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him like I did, you know.”

“I know. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place.” He gave you a sympathetic look. “I am sure he knows that. He is just… absolutely dreadful at showing his emotions and even worse at processing them.”

Fighting back the tears that were starting to form, you took another bite of your sandwich, trying to focus on that to get yourself back under control. John was watching you closely, you saw that when you snuck a glance up at him.

“I didn’t want this. “I don’t want to lose… our relationship,” you said in a voice barely above a whisper, unable to stop the tears brimming. “He has to know that.”

“He will. He does.”

“Take him on the case, please, like you’re planning. That’ll clear his mind, give him something to occupy his time and lift his spirit.”

“I will.” John leaned in and told you sincerely, “And I will speak to him as well. I’ll get through to him.”

<><><>

Pouring a generous amount of spiked lemonade for yourself and the two servants you had brought with you, you sat on a bench in Hyde Park. Your servant girls were delighted to go out with you at these times. It was forbidden – illegal actually – to drink in public and the scandal if it were women.

It tasted well and you took a large drink. Your eyes ran around the park as the servants made small talk among themselves.

Your breath caught in your chest. He was gazing at you across the fountain. Hair windswept, his eyes bright. He looked better than the last time you saw him.

Shooting a glance at your escorts that were sitting beside you, Sherlock’s eyes glanced briefly to them before meeting your eyes again. His hands were in his pockets, looking calm. It had been a couple of weeks since you had spoken with John and two months since you had seen Sherlock.

“I am going to take a stroll,” you told your servants, putting your drink down. They stood with you, and you told them, “I… I would like to take a short walk alone. It’s becoming more common, is it not? Unescorted women? Plus, this is a park. How much trouble can I get into here?” The girls looked uncertain but sat back down. “Have some more of the lemonade.” You gave them a wink and they were all too pleased with that.

You stood, your umbrella over your shoulder still, protecting you from the sun. The gravel crunched underneath your feet as you made your way away from the fountain towards one of the flower gardens. Not quite in bloom yet but there were few people over here. You heard footsteps on the path behind you, and a smile came over your face. You tried to stifle it though; you did not want to seem too eager.

Coming to a stop before a statue, you pretended to be admiring it. The air shifted beside you and you turned your head, finding Sherlock, staring at it as well, a good three or four feet away.

“You look well,” he commented, breaking the silence.

“So do you.”

You hid another smile as best as you could, elated that he had come back to you.

<><><>

Present

Fingers intertwined with Arthur’s, the other on his shoulder, you let him lead you around the ballroom. He was a stiff dancer no matter how hard you tried to get him to loosen up. There was not love in his embrace, merely going through the motions. He was doing his diligence to keep up appearances. All his devotion had left with his first wife and what he had left for you was tradition. You had performed your role for him perfectly by providing him a son and you knew he had affection for you, but it was purely on a superficial level. You were not alone in this though; you had noticed it more with married couples the longer you paid attention to them. Many were in loveless marriages, hogtied by dowries and fortunes that landed them in their marriages in the first place. Business contracts is what the relationships were, not marriages or at least not what marriages should be, you believed.

The song ended and he bowed to you in unison with the other men around the dance floor to their partners. He held out his arm and you looped arms with him to allow him to walk you off the dance floor.

“I am in need of another refreshment. What about you, my dear?” Arthur asked, peering at you through his mask.

He had had matching masks crafted for the pair of you, mirrored after the fall season. It matched the shimmering, gold gown you were wearing. He wore the same fabric on his waist coat.

“That sounds lovely. That wine was delicious.”

“Yes, yes it was,” Arthur agreed.

Holding your wine, you took small sips, listening to Arthur make small talk with a group of men. The other women in the circle were doing the same as you, trying to bury their nose in their wine to make the conversation tolerable.

When you found your glass empty, you placed it on a tray passing by.

“Have the hors d’oeuvres come out yet?” you asked the waiter.

“Yes, ma’am, they’ve been put out on the east side of the room.”

The other woman, Alina, beside you looked excited by the news and the two of you locked eyes. Immediately, turning towards your spouses, you asked to be excused.

“Anything to get away from that boring conversation,” Alina muttered as the two of you made your way through the crowd. She was married to one of Arthur’s closest companions, so you had spent substantial time together.

You snorted and leaned in, “I don’t think the wine is working this time.”

“We just haven’t drunk enough. Thank god you have a wet nurse employed for situations such as this when you will be otherwise indisposed to do it yourself,” Alina told you, smiling.

Alina moved away from you at the table, her eye caught by something down the table that piqued her appetite. You stayed collecting your favorite and surrounding dishes.

“Old habits die hard,” Sherlock sounded from beside you, holding his own plate. He was wearing an elaborate black and gold mask.

“Did you even have to have that made or did you already have it on hand?” you jested.

“Had it for years. Never had a purpose for it until now.”

“Well, you can think me for getting you to dust it off and finally get some use out of it.”

“Is this your party?” he asked sarcastically. You resisted the urge to smack his hand. “Oh, here. These are delicious.”

He added his favorite appetizer to your plate.

“Don’t get too bold now,” you said under your breath.

“No, you’re right. That’s your area of expertise,” he responded just as quietly as the pair of you moved further down the table, opposite way from where Alina was.

“Where’s Watson?”

“Enjoying the gambling tables as per usual.”

“There are gambling tables? Here?” You were shocked. It was polite society.

“There are always gambling tables, darling,” Sherlock responded. You quickly stomped on his foot, and he grunted. “Right, ma’am. The gambling tables are just hidden in a back room.”

The two of you pulled away from the table and Sherlock took one of the appetizers in one bite. Your eyes went back to the table and saw Alina was engaged in a conversation with another wife who had also escaped to the food. Good, that gave you a few minutes. You took a quick couple of bites of different hors d’oeuvres before turning to him, leaning in.

“I am going to introduce you to Arthur.”

Sherlock choked on his bite, and you frowned. He gave a cough to clear his throat, hitting at his chest lightly.

“Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” he rasped. He swallowed and took a deep breath. When he was satisfied he could breath properly again, he leaned back in. “Have you gone mad? Do I need to send you to an asylum?”

“Don’t you see? If you are introduced, then I could invite both you and John to dinner.”

“I… I don’t see. You want me to come to your house and see you doting on him? Is this a sick game? Have I done something to offend you?”

Sighing impatiently, you pulled him even further away from the table, towards the wall. “No, it’s not a game. It’s a plan for us to see each other more often.” Even with the mask, you could see Sherlock’s eyes and he looked unmoved by the notion. “If you come to dinner, then you are a friend of the family. And if we see each other in public – or other’s see us in public, for that matter – it will not be suspicious. It won’t draw attention. We won’t have to always sneak around in the shadows. Now, do you see?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, staring back at you. After a few moments, he said, “Yes. Yes, I see.”

“You’ll have some people know your face but would that be so bad?”

His lip twitched before he answered, “No… it would not be if the end result is what you are describing.”

“So, escort me back to Arthur.”

He looked like he would rather swallow nails than hand you back over to Arthur, but he did it all the same. You told him to act natural – Sherlock quipping that he was a natural at acting natural – and you made small talk as you walked back towards the group of men and wives. Sherlock was being respectful with his distance between the two of you, like a gentlemen should with a woman. Arthur noticed the two of you coming back and his brow pinched.

“Oh, love, I brought you some of your favorites,” you told him, holding up the plate.

Arthur looked briefly down at the plate and he nodded, giving you a quick smile, taking the plate from him. But his eyes were back on Sherlock.

“And I ran into an acquaintance on my wander around the table. A friend through Dr. Watson, actually.” Arthur relaxed at that; he knew who John was and had respect for him. “Mr. Holmes.”

One of the other men in the group said, “Not the Sherlock Holmes we hear so much about in the newspapers?”

“One and the same,” Sherlock said before you could answer, giving the man a tight-lipped smile.

That broke the ice and the men’s conversation turned over to him. The plan was working out perfectly.

<><><>

“Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson have arrived,” your head servant announced to you and Arthur sitting in the drawing room with a handful of other couples that had been invited to the dinner.

Your heart was hammering, knowing that this would be the first time Sherlock had ever stepped foot in your home. You stood to greet your guests, your hands clasped in front of you. Your servant stepped out of the way and the pair entered. Sherlock’s eyes were running over the large drawing room, and you knew he was taking in every detail that he could. You wondered what was going through his head, but you had an idea.

They approached you and Arthur welcomed them, giving them both light handshakes. You stood beside him, nodding at them politely. Sherlock’s eyes only lingered on you for a moment before he busied himself with commenting on the painting above the mantel. Arthur was all too ready to gloat about how he had come to acquire it and Sherlock was doing his best impersonation that he cared at all. You could see through the façade, but you knew it would be lost on Arthur.

“I told him to behave,” John whispered to you.

“Let’s see how long that lasts,” you whispered back.

Another couple arrived and within fifteen minutes, your servant came back to announce dinner was ready. You and Arthur left the room first, going to seat yourselves at the table, and then the procession of the guests came after you.

For the ten-course meal, you had specifically ordered woodcock for the first main course, knowing that was Sherlock’s favorite. You felt him looking at you when it was announced and presented. You purposely ignored him. And ignored him again when the dessert came out and he found trifle in front of him.

After dinner, the ladies and you retired from the dining room, the men standing at attention to bid you farewell. Sherlock’s eyes were locked on you, and you noticed John elbow him discreetly in the side. You hide your smirk, leading the ladies from the room so the men could indulge in cigars and political talk.

You hated that you could not speak to him more with customs being the sexes were separated after dinner. And only upon his departure were you allowed to speak briefly with him again. He looked like he had controlled himself on the drink – although it was always hard to tell with him since he was able to hide his indulges with it so well.

At his absence, you felt a loss. It seemed the night had gone by so quickly and with so little interaction. But at least you had seen him and he had seen you.

When you entered your bed chamber later in the evening, you found a folded note on your vanity. Sneaking a glance over your shoulder to make sure Arthur had not entered the rooms yet, you picked it up.

Scribbled inside was an address and a date. Sherlock’s handwriting.

You smiled to yourself before you noticed your perfume was missing. Sighing to yourself, you said under your breath, “If he would have just asked…”

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes rdj #rdj sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes movie #my shit

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seeingteacupsindragons · 3 years

Note

Just wanted to say that I love your analyses! Can yo talk a bit about the theme of miscommunication in YuuMori?

Hello! Thank you very much! I’m glad to hear it! Thank you for sending an ask so I can talk more.

YuuMori is built on an entire towering series of miscommunications from everyone with everyone. And I love that. It’s so real, so human.

We humans want to connect with each other so badly we’ve invented hundreds and thousands of ways to speak to each other, over and over and over again we do it, every group of humans on the planet has grown a language to share with each other, we have entire sections of our brain devoted to nothing but sharing ourselves and our world and our perceptions with other people. We love each other and want to be known.

But even in all those thousands of ways we have, not one of them has ever in history communicated exactly what we mean to another human. We can never fully be understood by another.

I’m sorry. This is off topic. I get very emotional on the subject. It is the writer in me, perhaps, or the soul fascinated by language and human psychology and loves people. But it is a topic I adore.

Anyway.

Not one pair of characters in YuuMori has ever, ever been able to fully communicate themselves and their intentions and their plans and the deep messiness of their souls with each other, either. Sometimes they try. Sometimes they intentionally obscure it. Sometimes they get pretty close, but not quite there. They are all of them unreliable narrators (my favorite writing convention of all time. I believe all narrators should be unreliable. Because that is one of the things that makes us human). Oftentimes, they are unreliable even when narrating to themselves.

And I love all of that, because it is so deeply at the core of what humanity is. And I love that YuuMori reflects in the structure of the plot from even quite early on.

But I’m not writing a semiotics doctoral dissertation here, and this ask was a bit vague, so I have to find some way to narrow the scope down to a blog post. Let’s pick everyone’s favorite, the axis the series turns on. William and Sherlock. Mostly because it was the first thing I started writing about and don’t want to rewrite the following five paragraphs.

Sherlock and William, for all that they both found with each other the one person they think is truly capable of understanding them, keep missing each other. And they both latched onto that connection with desperation and longing, because, well.

That’s what humans are.

But neither of them could even properly communicate their deep adoration for each other until chapter 53.

Sherlock’s biggest mystery in the series was trying to figure out what Liam wanted from him. It was a puzzle, and Liam meant it to be a mystery. And Sherlock figured out, eventually, what Liam was trying to ask of him. But even after that, he still didn’t understand why. Not until he finally managed to read a letter from Liam, because Liam tried so hard to express himself in person, to Sherlock’s face, and couldn’t bear it. And Liam couldn’t properly understand that Sherlock didn’t hate him until Sherlock was jumping off a bridge to hopefully save him from the waters of the Thames.

They both see in each other a kindred soul. They recognize something in each other that is capable of understanding them in a way no one else could. But relying too much on the potential means that neither has communicated what they want to.

And a thing that’s interesting about that what finally managed to get the message through to the other wasn’t words. They had said the words by that point already, and both were stunned by them, but they didn’t understand the reciprocity of their feelings until they both acted on it. Yes, Liam left a ridiculously sappy letter to Sherlock, in words, but what he really did was quieter and left unsaid directly: he gave Sherlock his past. He gave him his plans, his birth, everything he had to give to Sherlock, and Sherlock finally understood.

And Sherlock had to give just as much back for William to understand him. Sherlock gave William his entire life and his future and his death.

Anyway.

I hope that satisfied the request some.

#Yuukoku no Moriarty #Moriarty the Patriot #Sherliam #?#Kinda?#This isn't super shippy

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simplyclockwork · 3 years

Note

Hi! I love, love, love your stories! They're really helping me through some hard times. I wonder if you could write a fic where it's near the beginning of the series, and Sherlock is being very sad and distant from John because he hates that John is always dating these women because he loves him. And maybe John confronts him and it all comes out (no pun intended) and it's sweet and happy johnlock after angst. I'm over 18 so smut is fine (as long as it's bottom Sherlock which I prefer). Thanks!

----

Hi, Anon! Thanks for your patience on this fill - I was busy all last month with National Novel Writing Month, and am slowly getting back into prompt fills. I hope you’re well, and that the fill is what you hoped for!

You can read the fill below the line break, or on Ao3 here.

Please feel free to send me prompts again in the future 🥰

----

The atmosphere in the lab was thick enough to cut with a bread knife and growing thicker with every silent minute that passed. Sherlock sat scowling down at his notes, stubbornly ignoring John’s fretful pacing.

It was a little over a month since they’d become flatmates, and things were not working out the way Sherlock hoped. When they’d met, he’d taken to John at once. But he’d resolved to keep his distance, and when John made a pass at him, Sherlock had been far too out of touch with the dating game to catch on until after he’d brushed aside any chance at pursuing a relationship.

At the time, he’d been too embarrassed to take back his statements. After the case, he’d thought. He would address the miscommunication once things settled down.

But then there was another case, and then another, and then it was too late because John was dating. Not only was he dating, but he brought his dates home. Paraded them past Sherlock in what he imagined wasn’t possibly meant to be retribution for Sherlock’s rejection, but which certainly felt like it.

Penance. It felt like penance.

Halfway to Bart’s, the frustration and burrowing sadness had poured out of Sherlock like water from a burst dam, and he’d spewed a flood of venom like nothing John ever saw from him before.

It left both of them smouldering like smoking craters, with John stunned and confused, and Sherlock horrified by how he’d deduced John within an inch of his life. How he’d shouted at John in the back of a cab about the disappointing sex John seemed to be having, how he’d gained a quarter-stone — which he desperately needed after losing weight following his injury — and how he would never amount to anything greater than a part-time locum doctor.

It was cruel, he’d been cruel, and Sherlock knew it.

But, staring at the notes and figures in front of him, he couldn’t find the words to take it all back. So he feigned distraction in the form of research and let John stomp and pace and mutter under his breath until Molly appeared and kicked them both out so a group of students could use the lab.

“I don’t know what your problem is,” John began the second they were alone in the hallway outside the lab, “but you’re a right bastard today.”

Instead of responding, Sherlock quickened his pace. His legs were longer than John’s, and he was a master at escape, and he did his best to leave behind the angry storm cloud that had replaced his flatmate.

He severely underestimated John’s tenacity.

With a sound not unlike an approaching thunderstorm, John stomped after him. “Oh, don’t you dare!” Sherlock moved to side-step him when John caught up, but they’d reached the lift, and there was nowhere to go.

Rookie mistake. He should have gone for the stairs.

Frustrated, Sherlock stabbed at the down button, praying the lift was close. To his relief, it rose from the first floor at once, and he sighed, knowing he only had to weather the storm of John Watson for a little longer. Then he could jump into a cab and disappear.

“Sherlock.” John’s quiet growl was difficult to ignore. But the lift dinged before he could speak, and the doors slid open, providing the perfect avenue for escape.

“Come along, John,” Sherlock said in a bored voice, sweeping into the lift without so much as looking John’s way.

The storm cloud followed on his heels. John crowded in close, his anger erasing his usual respect for personal space.

“You git,” he huffed, jerking his chin upward to meet Sherlock’s eye. “I don’t know what your bloody problem is today, but you’d better explain what that was right now.”

“John,” Sherlock said in a placating tone. His eyes were on the floor numbers, silently urging the lift downward. He just needed to buy time, talk some nonsense and leave no room for John to butt in.

He opened his mouth to do so when the lift shook, made a sharp grating noise, and ground to a halt. The lights flickered and died before the emergency lighting came on, slowly glowing to life with a low hum.

Oh, god, no, Sherlock thought, panic rising. No, no, no, don’t do this. His mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth. “What happened?”

Next to him, John frowned up at the emergency lights. “Power outage?”

Blowing a frustrated sigh out through his teeth to release some of his building anxiety, Sherlock nodded. “Seems like it.” He prodded at the darkened buttons without much hope, unsurprised when they failed to respond. “We’re stuck here.”

“Good,” John snapped, and Sherlock shot him a scowl.

“How is this good, John?” he demanded, only to back away when John advanced on him again.

“Because there’s nowhere for you to go, which means you’ll have to bloody well talk to me like an adult.”

Sherlock’s expression soured enough to curdle milk. “Oh, is there something we need to discuss?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

It was the wrong move. John’s thunderous face darkened further. The ever-present tremour in his left hand stilled, and Sherlock’s eyes dropped down to his motionless fingers with dawning horror.

Oh, he was in for it now.

“Where the hell do you get off,” John began in a low, dangerous voice, “ripping into me the way you did in the cab?”

His eyes fixed on the unlit control panel, Sherlock pressed his lips together and didn’t answer. Maybe if he ignored John long enough, he’d lose interest and give up.

Again, he was wrong.

“Don’t give me that,” John huffed. He stepped closer, getting right up in Sherlock’s face as much as he could with the height difference between them. “Don’t give me the silent treatment, Sherlock. What you did, those things you said, they were uncalled for.”

Sherlock held his silence, now staring over John’s head, and John’s mouth twisted downward.

“I put up with a lot, you know.” A change in John’s tone, an unexpected softening, made Sherlock glance at him in spite of himself. Seeing that he had Sherlock’s attention, John’s lips twitched to the side in a humourless smile. “Severed heads in the fridge, toes in the crisper — yeah, sometimes I make a fuss, but not as much as someone else would. I make my little fuss, and then I let it go because I know it’s part of who you are. It’s part and parcel of living with you, and while I don’t love finding body parts in the fridge, I live with it.” Eyes narrowing, John paused to make sure Sherlock was listening. “You hear me? I live with it.”

Staring down at him, Sherlock blinked. He kept his lips pressed together and waited.

John seemed to gather his thoughts before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was even softer, almost low enough to make Sherlock lean forward to hear. He resisted, instead straining to catch the words.

“What I don’t plan to live with is… is… whatever that was.” John waved his hand toward the lift doors as if indicating outside. He poked a finger into Sherlock’s chest. “I don’t know what bug crawled up your arse and died this morning, Sherlock, but I know it wasn’t my fault. So don’t take it out on me.”

The words, it wasn’t my fault, struck Sherlock like a physical blow. He stiffened and reared back, pressing into the railing running the length of the lift wall. Eyes wide and unblinking, he stared down at John, drawing up to his full height to better loom over him.

“Not your fault?” he repeated in a low voice. “Not your fault?”

But John refused to be intimidated, and he held his ground, jabbing his finger harder into Sherlock’s chest. “Yeah, that’s what I said, or weren’t you listening?” His voice dropped into a sneer, a passable imitation of Sherlock’s harshest tone.

To hear himself mimicked threw Sherlock for a loop, and he gaped. By the time he came back online, John was off and running, ranting away as he tapped his fingertip against Sherlock’s sternum.

“...and if the body parts aren’t bad enough, there’s the noise and the mess, and that mad thing you do with your violin where you make it sound like a bloody cat is dying in our flat, and—”

“Oh, and you’re the best flatmate ever to exist, I take it?” Sherlock interrupted. His cold voice cut through John’s words like an icy wind through thin fabric.

John went silent and still. Eyes narrowed, he said, “Didn’t say I was perfect, but if you’ve got a problem, you can damn well speak up. I’m not a sodding mindreader, am I?”

Annoyed to be shut down so thoroughly, Sherlock clenched his jaw and looked away. “This conversation is over.” He folded his arms over his chest to block John’s jabbing finger.

“It bloody well isn’t,” John growled, trying to pry Sherlock’s arms apart for some unfathomable reason.

Sherlock tried to shift away, but his back pressed harder into the railing. Flustered, he snapped, “What exactly are you trying to do here?”

“I don’t know!” John said, his voice rising as he threw his hands into the air. “God! You really are the most annoying bloke alive, aren’t you?”

Piqued by the insult, Sherlock hissed, “At least I’m not desperate!”

John frowned. “Who is desperate?”

“You!” Sherlock bit out, jabbing a finger toward John’s face. John leaned back, his frown deepening.

“Excuse me? How, exactly, am I desperate?”

“Oh, I don’t know, John, let me think.” Sherlock’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Maybe because you’ve lived with me all of one month, and you’ve already managed to drag half of London’s female population through our flat while trying to get off.” He hissed the last, pushing as much disdain as he could summon into the words.

John stared at him. He stared at him so long that Sherlock thought his eyes might burn two twin holes into his face. Just as he began to shift from one foot to the other, John burst.

“This is about me dating?” He sounded confused now, caught on the defensive by Sherlock’s revelation. “What do you have against me dating?”

Pushed to his breaking point, Sherlock snapped, “Everything.”

His confusion only growing, John blinked. He tilted his head to the side. “But why?”

The words poured out without cessation, Sherlock at the mercy of both his frustration and a month of suppressed emotions. “I hate it. I hate every single one of them, every woman that you parade through our flat. It’s never-ending, John! I swear, if you’re doing it just to punish me, then well done! You’ve succeeded — I’m properly sorry for rejecting you. Is that what you’d like to hear? Shall I say it again? Sorry, John, so sorry.” His voice was hard and acerbic, pushing the apology toward mockery instead of anything genuine.

He opened his mouth to go on, but John held up a hand, clapped it over Sherlock’s mouth, and said, “Alright, shut up a bloody second. Let me catch up.”

His lips mashed against John’s palm, Sherlock stared daggers down at him.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” John began slowly, looking at Sherlock from beneath a furrowed brow. “You’re angry because I’ve been dating, and you don’t like that I bring them back to the flat? No, shut up, I’m not finished yet.”

Sherlock scowled. He considered biting John’s hand before dismissing the idea and subsiding.

John’s eyes searched Sherlock’s face as he went on. “So you don’t like that I’m dating, and you’re sorry for rejecting me? Also, you think I’m punishing you?” Frowning, John shook his head. “But when have I ever…” he paused, going deadly still as their eyes locked. “Are you talking about Angelo’s? That first night?”

Sherlock didn’t move, didn’t so much as breathe, refusing to validate the guess. But John figured it out on his own.

“Sherlock,” he said slowly, bemusement spreading over his face, “you rejected me. Remember? You said—”

“I know what I said,” Sherlock growled, shoving John’s hand away from his mouth.

John’s confusion only seemed to increase. “Then what are you—”

“Nevermind, John!” Sherlock turned his head away, frustrated that the lift wasn’t moving and he couldn’t escape.

“Oh, no, I’m not gonna do that,” John replied, his hand dropping to Sherlock’s arm. “Not until you explain what’s going on here.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together and glared at the wall. He felt John’s gaze on his face, still searching, and his jaw clenched.

“Hold on…” Something flickered in John’s face, the rising glimmer of realization sparking in his eyes. “Sherlock… do you…” He paused and wet his lips in a nervous tick Sherlock caught from the edge of his vision. “Do you have feelings for me?”

“Feelings,” Sherlock repeated in a hiss, pushing a depthless disgust into the singular word. “What sentimental rubbish, John. As if I—”

Before he could spew more ire and venom, John grabbed him by the lapels and tugged him down, cutting off his words. Rocking forward, Sherlock opened his mouth to ask what John was doing, but then John’s lips were on his, and Sherlock’s brain ground to a halt.

He took in the sensory input through a narrowing sense of awareness. Each thought struggled to make its way into his mind. The first thing he thought was soft, and the last was wet, because John opened his mouth and swept his tongue over the seam of Sherlock’s lips, and the rest disappeared beneath a rush of physical reaction.

By the time his brain finally rebooted, John was leaning back and breathing heavily with his eyes fixed on Sherlock’s mouth.

“You utter git,” he breathed, the warmth of his exhale hot against Sherlock’s lips. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dazed and still several steps behind, Sherlock blinked. “I,” he tried and had to clear his throat, to John’s visible amusement, “I thought it might be too late.”

“Well, speak up sooner next time, then,” John teased, the sheer 180 degree shift of his mood making Sherlock’s head spin.

Frowning, he said, “I thought you were mad.”

“Oh, I’m furious,” John said, eyes flashing. His fingers wiggled, grip tightening on Sherlock’s lapels. “And I think you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

“Oh?” Sherlock’s voice wavered, nearly wheezing from his lips. “How am I going to do that?”

John’s eyes dropped to his lips again, half-lidded and lingering. “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he murmured.

This time, when he pulled Sherlock back down for another kiss, Sherlock was ready.

#johnlock #prompt fill #first kiss #angst with a happy ending #prompt #Anonymous

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somegirl29 · 3 years

Text

Sherlock X reader- a romance to killing it (second chapter)

Synopsis: Sherlock falls in love with a girl, but what he didn't know was that she was a murderer sent by moriarty to kill him

Author's notes: this is a continuation of the first fanfic I wrote

initially it was to have a single chapter but my friends insisted that I continue

there will probably be 2 more chapters after this

I made a pun for the title because I couldn't think of anything better

I may have a spelling mistake because I am Brazilian and my English is not very good

if you haven't read the first chapter here is the link: chapter 1

Feeling a little relieved, Sherlock can actually stop and think for the first time in the past few hours.

he couldn't tell if he was impressed, hurt or had admired the girl even more

sentiment was really something dangerous, that was the final proof he needed.

And he doesn't really understand who that girl who accompanied him for months was, and now he needed answers.

he needed the truth

‘’ Tea? ’'The girl returns to the room where he sat and holds out his cup‘' I can assure you that I didn’t put anything unusual this time ’’

he takes the cup and (y / n) sits next to him, both keep silent for long minutes without much courage to start the matter but they both knew that an hour would be necessary.

‘‘How?’ 'He asks and she stares at him without understanding what he meant ’’ I need to know how I didn’t notice you’re a murderer, this is the kind of thing I would never let go of , and you know ‘'

'' Aren't you the amazing detective Sherlock Holmes? Solve my incredible crime '' she smiles at him defiantly '' Watch it coldly as if it were a game''She explains '' You don't pay enough attention to anything that doesn't benefit your work, or rather, anything that you don't think it benefits, that's your biggest flaw ‘'

‘’ I didn’t notice the game starting for the first time in my life ’’ he completes

‘‘Exactly, I think from that you can gather the information in your mind palace and decipher how it all happened’’

‘’ I could ..’’ he starts ‘‘but I want you to tell me, this between us is not a game, at least not for me ’’

She takes a deep breath and gives up thinking about what words to use to explain everything in a sincere way but without hurting him using then in the wrong way. One thing she and sherlock were very much in common was not understanding human emotions very well and ending up saying things that hurt others accidentally.

‘‘Ok I’ll tell you the truth, since you seem serious about it. It all starts with that murder that you unveiled when we first met, the clue that I presented that you had not seen before was the key to everything, for this not to be a boring monologue and to kill me with boredom say your guesses ’’

'' You came up with a clue, a hair that went unnoticed, it makes me think that you already had it and implanted it at the crime scene ‘'

'‘Once I heard the phrase ‘ Perfect crimes don’t make suspects ’ I have a different point of view about it, I think perfect crimes are those where there’s a suspect but not the real one‘'

‘’ Who is the man who was arrested after all? ’'

‘'An incompetent, I got evidence of his other crimes, the real ones that were much worse’'

‘’ You threatened him to take up his crime, he would be arrested in any case but assuming that crime the penalty would be less ’'

‘'And in the meantime your attention was diverted, you began to doubt yourself and at the same time to be instigated about me that I treated you as someone with average intelligence unlike everyone who idolizes you as a genius’’

‘‘ I look so predictable with you saying it like that ’'

'' This is how most people who speak to you feel every day, my dear ''

‘'So that must be the defeat feeling of being a normal person’'

‘‘ Don’t worry you don’t match other ordinary beings, playing with you was fun ’'

'' So much fun that it made you fall in love with me '' he plays with the cup watching the liquid spin in the glass

she looks at him with pity

'‘I don’t want you to feel used’

‘‘ You called it a game yourself ’” he points out

‘'And it was, in the beginning’’

‘’ And when did it stop being a game? ’’

'' In the moment I started to see you as a human being and not as something that I should destroy, that afternoon when you were so bored that you almost overdosed and I finded you almost dead, in for a moment I thought I was only concerned with losing the fun that would be killing you, but then I realized it was more than that, sentiment is a funny thing isnt it ? ‘’ She laughs at herself

He sure remembered the overdose, they dated for two months, she had an appointment and he had no case to solve and John was working. She found him out on the floor when she got home and it was a matter of seconds before she called for help and he was put in an ambulance, he came very close to death that time.

He wondered if John had missed him in the past few hours, but he remembered that his best friend had finally made peace with his sister and went to visit her for the rest of the week.

Sherlock analyzes the place around him, it was a mansion decorated with dark furniture, everything had black and red colors, as windows were made of a material that made it almost impossible that you opened it from the outside by someone without the key and the door too, could be seeing dust everywhere and some cobwebs, it shouldn't come here very often.

‘'This is the house where I grew up‘

'' What? ‘'

‘'I saw that you were analyzing the place, everything is dirty and kind of old because I haven’t come here in the last five years‘

''And your family ?''

'' Dead '' she says without giving much importance

It was the first time they had talked about her past, and he wanted as much information as possible.

‘'If it isn’t too impolite, could you talk more about that?’’

"It is just a boring story, but if you insist on knowing I will tell you" he pays attention in detail to every word she says, it is rare that she talks about such things and it cannot be a missed opportunity "" at 17 I ran away I ended up meeting dangerous people, great criminals with incredible murderous skills '' she gets up from the sofa, placing the farm on a nearby table and starts walking around the room, standing still for a long time was something that bothered her '' I was tired of an ordinary life, I was about to go to college and just thinking about ending my days as a social ornament like my mother, or being an ordinary worker, made me anxious'' she takes a knife and analyzes it “With this knife I killed one of the men in that gang, it was a thoughtless and miscalculated act by a rebellious teenager, but it attracted their attention to me, and to my surprise they thought I had the skills, they trained me as a murderer and sent to kill other criminals ’’

'' What does this have to do with your family? ‘

'' Enemies found them and they were killed, the house and all my family's assets were given to me as an inheritance, I was practically rich, but it seemed like a futile and boring life and I, like you, run away from boredom, in some moment the group that trained me was dissolved and i followed the path of hired killer, but killing only big criminals, after a while you notice that these types of people have a lot of information about other dangerous people and with that information I had power, it was a matter of time before I met Moriarty ''

‘’ About Moriarty, what do you think about doing now? What's your plan ’’

‘'Killing Moriarty, getting a copy of his contacts if we have Moriarty’s data, we can serve terms in jail, and whoever comes along midway I’ll kill’’

‘'You talk about kill as if it were something common’’ (y / n) approaches him and looks him in the eye with an air of guilt

‘’ I’ve always believed that everyone I was sent to murder committed crimes as ruined as the ones who hired me committed, that’s until I met you and now I’ve started to question everything .. ’’

‘’ After your plan to kill Moriarty, what will happen? You are a murderer and I am a detective '' he stands up slightly by the wrist and looks into her eyes

‘‘ Mycroft ’’

''My brother? ’’

"Negotiate my freedom in exchange for all the information I have collected over the years and the information we are going to steal from Moriarty,we can also negotiate your freedom since at this hour they must have found a body in your house and due to his suspicious disappearance you may think that you killed him and ran away ‘'

‘'I hadn’t thought about that last part’'

"I kind of didn't give you much time to think today, it's a lot of information and you have emotional involvement, it's normal to be a little stunned, anyway the point I want to get to is ..." she holds his face affectionately and smiled '' even though part of a disguise solving crimes with you was one of the best things in my life, not everything was false, after the first crime the rest were not outlined by me, and maybe you still need my help ''

And he hugs her around the waist, pulling her closer and she kisses him deeply.

When they separate his foreheads lean against him and he says:

‘’ Your help will be helpful in getting my plan right ’’

‘'What plan?’'

‘’ The plan to keep you with me for the rest of my life ’'and upon hearing that she kisses you again

Perhaps that was the end of the life she had for all those years, but she would have him and a completely new life to explore.

And he would have a lifetime to discover everything about her that was now tired of games and disguises. She would never pretend again, at least not for him.

#Sherlock #Shelock holmes #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock x oc #sherlock tv series #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #Sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x reader angst #sherlock imagine #x reader

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britesparc · 3 years

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Weekend Top Ten #474

Top Ten Characters Who Came Back from the Dead

I am stunned – stunned! – that I’ve not done this one before. I mean, come on! It’s right there.

So there’s obviously a thematic resonance going on here. This weekend – the weekend you’re meant to be reading this – is famous where I come from because of a story where someone came back from the dead. Unlike other holidays – Christmas, Halloween, the release of a Star War – I’ve actually been a little slow off the mark in making lists that celebrate Easter. I’ve done eggs and bunnies, but incredibly I’ve never done resurrections, which really is the day’s whole deal. I mean, if you get down to brass tacks, it’s kinda the big selling point of the entire religion really. I hesitate to say “USP” because, well, it’s been done elsewhere, but it’s still supposed to be one of the big Christian takeaways (there’s definitely a chain of Christian takeaways in the States, isn’t there?).

Anyway, resurrection. It’s actually more common than you might think. Certainly in terms of comics there are probably more characters who’ve “died and come back” than have never “died” at all. But! And this is where I get pernickety. Most characters who “die” don’t actually die. Take Batman for instance: he’s shot in the face by Darkseid, and then Superman ups and finds his charred corpse, but – shocker! – he’s not actually dead, he was just sent back in time, where he Quantum Leaps his way back to the present day, accumulating enough Omega Energy with each leap that by the time he reaches the present day he’s blow a hole in reality. Or something, I’ve not read that story for quite a few years. Anyway: he wasn’t dead. Neither was Sherlock Holmes, or for that matter Dirty Den. Generally speaking, if someone dies in a story and then reappears, they’re not dead. Not really.

So this list here is supposed to be people who actually died. Now, even here, it’s debatable; I mean, is E.T. dead, or does his body just go into some kind of hibernation? If Optimus Prime’s brainwaves survive, does he ever really die? Is a clone someone coming back to life or not? It’s all a bit wishy-washy really, which kind of makes sense when you’re talking about resurrection. And let’s not get onto the chief resurrector, the Doctor; do they die every time they regenerate? Or is the regeneration itself a way of staving off death? When David Tennant turned into Matt Smith, did the Tennant-Doctor die? “I don’t want to go,” and all that; there’s always a subtle (or not-so-subtle) change in personality. Does that count? Well, for the purposes of this list, I’ve kinda decided it doesn’t. But it’s an interesting discussion to have, if you’re a big old nerd like me.

So yeah: people who have died – properly, I suppose – and then come back to life. That’s the list. No fakery, to mistaken identity, no alternate universe shenanigans; they were dead but they got better (no Chev Chelios either; sorry, Stath stans). No zombies either! Or vampires! They’re not undead; they were dead, and now they’re alive again. That’s the rule. Also I’ve seriously tried to limit comic book characters. And I’m sure there are some big omissions (like, I know there’s one from Game of Thrones that’s not on here, but that’s because I’ve not seen that far into the show yet; I know, I know). But I reckon these are the best at being back.

Optimus Prime (Transformers franchise, from about 1987): OP is the OG when it comes to coming back to life. Dying and then stopping being dead is pretty much his thing. Technically the first time he came back from the dead was in the original animation; famously being offed by Megatron in The Transformers: The Movie (1986), he came back to life a year later. Subsequent media have frequently killed him and brought him back, even in the live-action movies, but I want to talk about the comics. Because the original Marvel run killed off Optimus at a similar time as the cartoon; he’s blown up in slightly contrived circumstances, but his brain is saved on a floppy disk. Two years later he has his body rebuilt and his brain restored and he’s off to the races once more. Then in 1991, when facing down planet-eating mega-bastard Unicron, he sacrifices himself again, but this time his personality has begun to merge with that of his ostensibly-human companion Hi-Q. Hi-Q/Prime is converted/rebuilt into a new body, and he wins the war. So there you go: even in this one sliver of continued continuity – not including off-shoots or spin-offs, let alone other iterations of the overall franchise – Optimus Prime died and came back to life twice. Beat that, Easter.

E.T. (E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, 1982): not much to say here that we don’t already know from the Book of Spielberg. E.T., doddery little alien magic-man, grows sicker and sicker as he’s stuck on Earth, until in a thrillingly-edited set-piece he seems to expire, human doctors unable to help him. “I know you’re gone,” says best bud Elliot, “because I don’t know what to feel.” But then! His heart glows! His colour returns! And he positively yells, “E.T. phone hooooooome!” – and Elliot’s euphoric laugh is just devastating. The whole sequence – what is it, ten minutes? Fifteen? – is masterful in every way, from the technical to the performative to the emotional. Bloody magic is what it is.

Gandalf (The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, 1954): Gandalf the Grey famously leads the Fellowship of the Ring across the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, where he faces off against a Balrog. After a bit of “you shall not pass” and all that, they both fall from the bridge, battling each other on the way down, before both perishing at the bottom. Gandalf, though, is not really Gandalf, but Olórin, one of the Maiar – basically a kind of angel, I guess. He is returned to Earth by the powers-that-be to complete his mission, and is promoted to Gandalf the White, supplanting the corrupt wizard Saruman. This new iteration of Gandalf is a bit more serious and steadfast, although he does retain his fascination with hobbits. Regardless, he gets a terrific death scene and a triumphant resurrection, and how it ties into Tolkien’s wider mythology is interesting.

Superman (DC Comics, 1993): comic book characters die and come back all the time; it’s pretty much a staple of the medium. I guess Jean Grey/Phoenix is probably the most famous, but they’ve all done at some point (even if, like in my Batman example earlier, sometimes they don’t actually die). Anyway, Superman died, very famously, after getting into a tremendous barney with genetically-engineered super-git Doomsday (as famously, and atrociously, depicted in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice). The whole “Death of Superman” arc is interesting and entertaining as an example of mid-nineties big-panel EXTREME storytelling: as the issues tick down to the fateful scrap in Metropolis, the number of panels-per-page is reduced until the final issue is basically just full of splash pages. It’s a terrific, exhilarating rumble, really selling the heft of the confrontation. Interestingly, the comic spends a lot of time afterwards dealing with life without Superman, as a raft of imitators/wannabe successors emerge from the woodwork; these include the best-ever Superboy, Conner Kent, and Steel, who’s basically Superman meets Iron Man. Eventually, of course, Superman comes back, his body essentially having been sent to a Kryptonian day spa to recuperate; he emerges clad in black and with a mullet, so death obviously has some lasting repercussions. Overall, it’s a whopping arc with long-term consequences, and whilst it’s easy to make Christ parallels when discussing Superman, this story doesn’t really hew that way (unlike the Snyder-verse which really goes all-in on that plot point, much to the films’ detriment). One of the better aspects is how, even in death, Superman is an inspiration, which in itself has a long trail; leading, eventually, to Batman’s famous withering diss, “the last time you inspired someone was when you where dead.” Anyway, I’ve gone on about this far too long.

Spock (Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, 1984): let’s start by acknowledging just how great Spock’s death is in Wrath of Khan. As a plot point within the film, as a piece of staging and performance, and as a landmark moment in this franchise, it was seminal; a death for the ages (as an aside, it’s crazy to think Star Trek as a whole was only sixteen years old when Spock died; the MCU was eleven when Tony Stark clicked the bucket). Anyway, they built an entire film around how to bring him back, and Spock as we know him is absent for much of it; a presence looming over everything as he rapidly ages, going through his Vulcan super-puberty and everything. It’s actually a rather sombre film as Kirk’s son is killed and the Enterprise blows up; bringing back Spock comes with a very real cost. Trek III is not one of the top-tier films – in the loose trilogy that comprises Khan, Spock, and The Voyage Home it’s certainly the weakest – but it’s still pretty good, often underrated. And, of course, it brings back Spock, which is nice.

Agent Coulson (Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., 2013): Coulson’s death in Avengers comes as a huge shock, one of the fan-favourite characters being brutally offed in surprising fashion. In a film chock full of super-people, it’s the ordinary guy who buys it tragically. However, did any of us really think he was dead-dead? And so barely a year later he pops back up in the TV series Agents of SHIELD. However, his reincarnation became a recurring plot point; his references to spending time in Tahiti (“It’s a magical place”) becoming increasingly sinister as we come to understand even he doesn’t know how he’s back up and running. The eventual truth – Nick Fury using painful and transformative alien tech to basically bring Coulson back to life – may be a bit underwhelming, but it gave Clark Gregg a lot of meat to chew on dramatically speaking, and it underscored a lot of his character development going forward (especially when he, yes, died again, and then sort-of came back, twice).

Buffy Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 2001): full disclosure: I never watched Buffy religiously. I think I just missed it at the start and it was only when all my friends were talking about how great it was that I started tuning in more regularly. Weirdly, I think the most I watched it was around the time Buffy died and came back. It’s fascinating, really, and full credit to the show for the way they explored it; in a series full of magic, the afterlife, and the undead, bringing a character back to life isn’t too shocking. Willow, Buffy’s witchy mate, resurrects her with magic; but in an excellent twist, it turns out that she was in Heaven, and is super pissed off to be pulled out of paradise and stuck back on Earth, leading to her feeling depressed and alienated all season. That’s a great hook for bringing a character back, and leads to some meaty stuff for Sarah Michelle Geller to do.

Agent Smith (The Matrix Reloaded, 2003): do you ever feel that The Matrix has slipped from popular culture a little bit? Twenty years ago it was ascendent, rivalling Lord of the Rings for the title of “the new Star Wars”. Everyone was copying it. but now hardly anyone talks about it. probably because it hasn’t had a multimedia shelf-life comprising dozens of games and spin-off shows. Maybe the new film will change that. But I digress; Hugo Weaving is tremendous as Agent Smith in the first film, and is exploded at the end (spoilers) by Keanu Reeves’ Neo. Unsurprisingly – especially as he’s, well, just bits of code – he’s back in the sequel. However, he’s now been corrupted; he becomes, basically, a virus, self-replicating and threatening not just our heroes but the Matrix itself. This builds across two films, as Neo has to fight dozens of Smiths in the famous “Burly Brawl”, before the final conflict in The Matrix Revolutions when it seems everyone in the program has been Smithed. It offers Weaving a lot of scenery to chew on and makes for some great set-piece battles, even if the films themselves are a little disappointing.

Olaf (Frozen II, 2019): let’s not beat around the bush here – Olaf carks it in Frozen II. Okay, maybe Elsa dies; maybe Anna dies in the first film. They’re frozen, right, but I feel like it’s “magic ice” and there’s something going on there. Do they come back to life or were they ever really dead? Anyway, Elsa is effectively “gone” but we get a protracted death scene for the comic relief talking snowman. He literally fades away, slowly dying in Anna’s arms, and melts into a flurry of snow that blows away. People talk about Bambi’s mum all the time, but mark my words; “Olaf’s death” is going to be cited as a major traumatic incident for twenty-year-olds in 2030. His resurrection, truth be told, is slightly less great, Elsa just straight-up bringing him back to life, reminding us that “water has memory” to let us know that it’s the same Olaf and he remembers everything (including, presumably, dying? That’s creepy). And that, to be honest, is where I draw the line; sentient wind and rock monsters I can handle, but we all know homeopathy is bollocks.

Emperor Palpatine (Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, 2019): look, I hate this. But let’s deal with it anyway, because I have a funny feeling it’s going to lead to some quite interesting stories being told in spin-off Star Wars fiction. I personally feel quite strongly that Palpatine should have stayed dead. And maybe he did? We are led to believe that the Palpatine we see in Rise is a clone; there are jars of stilted Snokes floating in the background. He’s all knackered and broken, eyes blackened and fingers dropping off; clearly he’s not well. So is he really the same character at all? Is his Sith essence somehow fed into this new body, the way Prime’s mind is downloaded from a floppy disk (“run prime.exe”)? Let’s say it counts, let’s say he’s the same slimy Palps we know and love. He is, at least, a sinister presence, and like I say, the whys and wherefores of how he came to be back is quite interesting. There’s a fascinating story to be told about the rise of Snoke and the seduction of Ben Solo – a more interesting story than anything told in The Rise of Skywalker, for starters. Moff Gideon in The Mandalorian seems to be researching cloning and seeks to extract midichlorians from a Force-sensitive being; are we to conclude that this in service of making a new body for the Emperor? All this – stuff hinted at but not explored in the film itself – is, like I say, interesting if not outright fascinating. And I agree, there is a certain degree of circularity in bringing back the series’ Big Bad for the final instalment. But I still feel, hand on heart, that it undoes a lot of the victory of Return of the Jedi (as did The Force Awakens, if I’m honest), as well as throwing away all the development of Rey and Kylo in The Last Jedi. So: Palpatine is cool, his presence and backstory in Rise of Skywalker is suitably creepy and interesting, but on the whole it’s crap and they shouldn’t have brought him back. The end.

Ten people who definitely died and definitely un-died! What could be more Easter-y? Honourable mention goes to the episode of Red Dwarf where Rimmer changes history and ends up not being a hologram, only to accidentally blow himself up in the final seconds.

#top ten #dead characters #alive characters #easter #back from the dead #resurrection

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