#i don't consider this complete so if i ever pop back with this same piece but shaded in the future....that's why | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imaginepostingonsideblogs · 7 months

Text

THE OFFICIAL (WELL, UNTIL I NO DOUBT ALTER ALL OF THIS COMPLETELY) GUIDE TO WRITING CASTIEL TOWNSEND BOFA TOWNSEND(????)

alright :) so.

first of all, i refer to him quite frequently as ‘cas’ in this. technically, its not a good move on my part, that, considering every iteration of castiel technically has a name that shortens to ‘cas’, and so if i go around taking about ‘cas’, i could mean, basically, uh… anyone. but through this guide alone, every reference to an entity called ‘cas’ is the one and only ‘castiel townsend(???)’ from the title of the text. that’s the guy in question. got that? great!

this focuses primarily on his dialogue and actions during said dialogue, in five sections ive labelled 'vocabulary', 'amount said', 'accompaniment', 'style', and 'tone', but that's just because he talks a whole bunch. anything additional about how he thinks and acts is in a last section called 'additional' (self explanatory name, innit) but i will probably add to that bit as we go!

so. without further ado, because this is already long enough:

VOCABULARY

cas's vocabulary is... like i've said, a weird mix between normal, comprehensible, though millennial-esque slang and more archaic or nonstandard terms and words. he's a big fan of 'remiss' and 'brogue', but will in exactly the same breath, call someone a boomer. the archaic side of his vocabulary leans more to the shakesperian, but anything poe-esque is absolutely not off the table. just go ham. sprinkle the longest and most complicated words you know into his vocabulary, and you'll be set. don't even worry about using them correctly.

he also uses lines like 'the jig's up' and then immediately gets bullied for it. as he should honestly.

he is also...frequent with his amount of pop culture references. basically, anything you know, you're absolutely entitled to make him know too. go wild. bonus points if it's a shit piece of media. books, films, tv shows-- whatever! go for it.

oh that's another thing. frequent user of 'whatever'. 'whatever' traditionally means 'this thing is impacting me but i can shrug it off enough to ignore it'. he's 'whatever'd murders. and the existence of the compound. basically, unless it causes him to break down on the spot, it's 'whatever'.

you can never use it too much. go wild.

he also uses a LOT of british terms. he's not a 'luv' kind of a man- he's not reached that far- but 'lawks' (exclamation of surprise? ish? somewhere between surprise and oh god) and 'git' and 'goit' and 'wanker' (all insults. we brits are an contentious bunch.) are very much on the table lmaoo

honestly anything goes! he is actively abusing these terms, so don't worry abt getting anything wrong you got this!

AMOUNT SAID

a lot. all of the time.

cas talks like its an olympic sport and he's going for gold. if you're ever sitting there thinking 'is this enough castiel dialogue??' the answer is no. write more. he rambles, he elaborates, he doubles back, he goes off on tangents- and it's ten times worse whenever he's nervous, which is more than he usually lets on. nervous? him? he'd never be nervous. not at all. honestly, it's ridiculous you'd think that. why would he be nervous? what would that possibly be about? don't be silly. he's never been scared a day in his life. except for that one time. with the crocodile. and that had really just been a log, so that one didn't count. <- like that. but ten times more.

oh, that's the other thing! he frequently trails into random stories about his past that have just. never come up before and never will again. make those up as you will. be wild! his backstory up to the age of 18 will never be fully ironed out i think, so you have total free rein.

cas will and does abruptly switch to very...clipped dialogue- like, 1-2 words max. this is a powerful tool, because its an indication that something is Very Very Horrifically Terribly Wrong. this is when he's terrified out his mind, or exhausted beyond reason, or has been through something absolutely abysmal. it is traditionally very rare, and a Very Bad Sign. unless you're trying to get him to do what you want, in which case this is the ultimate way of indicating that you're well on the way there.

this is the reason why fully docile compound cases will maybe say 1-2 words a year if they're feeling particularly chatty-- and the reason why that's a very big thing.

ACCOMPANIMENT

castiel is a man who cannot and will not stay still for long, particularly when talking. sometimes he paces, sometimes he gestures, sometimes he unscrews things or tries flipping items (books, knives, pens- anything in reach really) with varying levels of success. sometimes (if hes behaving or acting more nonchalant) he'll just go 'okay whatever' and go on tumblr mid-conversation. point is, even if you tied him to a chair, he's not staying still, particularly with his hands. go for it. make him do whatever. i will cheer you for it.

STYLE

when I said that 'he elaborates, he doubles back, he goes off on tangents', i meant he often does so m- i mean- thaaaat he often stops himself partway through a word or an idea just to start a new one. or he'll stop mid sentence just to-- just to reconsider the sentence and then continue going with it.

his mouth moves faster than his brain, and so often he'll say something like a lie or a comment or an analogy and have to decide whether or not to try and go back on it or stick with it to the end.

as i described it once to my good friend @heshemikey, 'if he's in a situation where he needs to not joke or not lie he'll often joke or lie and then immediately double back on it he can't ?? not say things? if you get what i mean??'

which is basically. just. cas in his purest form tbh.

TONE

i left this one til last because its the most(??) variable of the lot?

there is constantly a nonchalance, a lack of caring, a projection of being in control to what he says. he's not scared, he knows what he's doing, he's in charge. those kind of vibes. even though its highly unlikely any of the three are true, especially all at once. but depending on where he is in the timeline- where he is in his life, even- the actual terms of that can differ quite a bit. early cas- pre wbg cas-- honestly, pre OVER cas-- does this by acting like a little bit of an arsehole. he's not exactly a touchy-feely guy, he's not exactly open with his affections (though he does have them, and does show them. in his own ways.) and tends to act anywhere from a manipulative asshole to just a dude who Does Not Give A Shit Abt What You're Saying.

as my dearly beloved friend @felixcosm (expert of the early stages of cas) points out, when i say hes 'acting like a little bit of an arsehole', what i mean to say is that he is an extremely bratty, petulant kind of guy. he is…very frustrated, at w.bg, at his husband, at himself, and everything he says mirrors that. the manipulation he exerts is his own attempts to grasp some kind of control over his situation. though when that is inevitably not enough, or it slips through his fingers, he's prone to being a pissy little bastard about it <3

he argues frequently with a wide variety of people (particularly his husband, though anyone who opposes him is probably going to get an earful)- a little hot-headed, a little overconfident, and a lot in denial about it all.

i can feel him in the back of my brain denying it right now. that's how in denial he is. he's constantly in denial and he never stops– at any point in his life, really. if in doubt: make him in denial. great trick. works every time.

through OVER (which is where he's actually quite awkward, especially around people who're nice to him, like hunter) and experiences with the compound, and the flinchites- this begins to transition into the other end of the scale. which is a part of his life i call the pw era. pw era cas is... completely opposing. he's smug, he's amused, he's constantly finding things that Are Not Funny to be funny. he doesn't take anything- or anyone- very seriously.

he's also very, very touchy. he frequently puts his arm around people's shoulders, or pats them on the back, or offers to keep them warm at night, or basically anything that could border on being annoying or discomforting. that's the other thing- he- pw era, especially- delights in causing people discomfort. not horrific amounts, but anywhere from annoyance to pure upset is somewhere he's willing to stoop to. if he thinks something is going to hurt someone's feelings, he'll say it. there's a possibility, depending on their reaction, that he might double back and apologise, but first and foremost he's going to come out with the smugly snide comment in question

i think he's constantly trying to get under people's skin? if he causes them to have a flat-out breakdown, then he'll tune his annoyance levels down quite a bit, but his main goal is still always to get under the skin of the person he's addressing, and he'll stop at nothing to succeed.

ADDITIONAL (yayyy!)

so. this is a little about how he behaves, a little how he thinks and acts. ive been reading through how i write him and realising i really? do not dwell on those much? but let's see what we can do here :)

okay. so.

one of the first things you're ever going to know about cas is that he has a crap marriage. this is never not true, and he will never not bring it up if he finds an opening- honestly, no matter what point in his life he's at.

it gets to the point where he will follow various comments- 'they were not exactly being punctual', and 'the fact he might have been lying didn't once occur to me' are the two i can think off the top of my head, but it's a frequent occurrence- with 'story of my marriage', or something of the sort. sorry. that was dialogue again. point is, he's never not really thinking abt his marriage and how crap it was. you can ALWAYS make it abt his marriage. yippee. no matter how wild the line previous is, chances are he'll compare anything to his husband. he's like a character from a boomer comic but slightly less divorced. not by want of trying, though.

certain details of said marriage are things i still need to iron out but uhh. come to me for more on that baby. or ask felix. whatever you will.

in the same vein, he regularly fidgets with his wedding ring. never takes it off, no matter what- no, he'd sooner lose the whole hand than the ring itself- but he's a constant fidgeter. all of the time. he probably does it in his sleep to be honest.

that being said: VERY deep sleeper. usually goes to bed at a stupid hour of the morning and can't actually be woken until. noonish?

and i mean, like. deep. deeeppp. capable of sleeping through an entire tornado kinda deep.

he also drools :). funfact. probably snores too. loser.

OH! also. pw era cas especially has…weird levels of what he considers a friend (or, for that matter, a romantic partner). like. if you converse with him civilly for about three seconds, you're his best friend and he'd die for you. if you're someone who's skin he wants to get under (whether he succeeds or not), its about on the same level as a marriage proposal. that, and a few other factors. he's once offered to marry enigma simply because he didn't murder castiel in his sleep- the bar is like On The Floor Here.

he also defines marriage as a platonic ideal too. like he's fully capable of having a platonic relationship with someone and being like hey we're married now actually <3

basically? you have free rein on that one too. i don't know the exact standards of how he develops this relationship or why or what the difference is between who he considers a friend and who he considers a Possible Spouse. uh.

go nuts. show nuts. whatever. don't show nuts, actually. put your nuts away.

thank you. now, continuing.

has a knife on him. at all times. always.

okay, he doesn't have a knife on him at certain points, but we don't count those. just presume he has a knife on him. amazing. i keep presuming he has a knife on him and then realising he probably doesn't and having to hope nobody notices my mistake. so really you should be all good.

does not frequently shower. sorry. he's a bit of a greasy mess at any given moment. somewhere between it not being his top priority and not having enough money to pay for the water bill involved. SAD!

actually i will bribe you; whoevers reading this? please god make a fic in which he gets forced to shower. he won't listen to me and someone needs to get his ass in line here.

please. i'll give you my lifes savings. a whole twenty pence.

on that note (there's been a LOT of notes, hasn't there? sozzles.) he will do pretty much anything for money. if you can pay him a living wage, he'll stick with you. whether that involves the risk of bear attacks or, like, human experimentation or whatever, just offer him a couple of quid an hour and he'll probably go along with it.

there's rent to pay, man. you gotta.

sorely lacking in the moral compass department. freaks out about killing people, freaks out while killing people, but acts like he's totally fine with and good at murder- almost well enough for it to be convincing. the freakouts are more about the act of having to watch someone die over the implications it has on his moral standing, anyway.

okay, hes not sorely lacking. he's actually kind of a morally upright guy, if you ignore the murder and the being an asshole.

he doesn't steal, he doesn't, like– what's another crime? he doesn't do a lot of crime. that's the point.

he doesn't care, he's not morally impacted by any choice he makes, but he doesn't do illegal shit without a real, actual, genuine reason about it.

likes kids. unironically. he's a little awkward around them, but he's kind of a little awkward around everyone. definitely the kind of guy who speaks to and treats kids like they're just adult human beings, and honestly doesn't do too bad a job of it either.

he's actually never interacted with a child in canon yet. goddamn. right, another twenty pence for whoevers willing to do that. oo and it's a lovely shiny twenty pence too ooooooooo

he's canonically good at sleight of hand! mostly it's just stupid little tricks he's taught himself when bored- like vanishing coins, or cards, or anything small enough to realistically do that with- but he's proud of himself for getting so good at it, and honestly? so am i. maybe someday he'll learn how to do a whole magic trick. we can only imagine.

EXAMPLES:

i lied.

extra section, boys and girls. extra section. let’s goo!

basically, i'm realizing i've written an imposing amount of stuff to remember- none of which is really necessary, mostly just small details!- and it’s kind of going to feel like a right task now to put it all together.

not to fear though, because my most amazing companion tumblr user @heshemikey (who I constructed this guide at the behest of, though they know how to write castiel technically better than myself and do an amazing job of it (and are generally just a wonderfully cool dude!)) has been so kind as to provide me with examples of their depictions of pw era cas, which i’ve been able to annotate with comments about how much i love their ocs- er, i mean, pull apart to show some of these qualities i’ve been discussing and how it all fits together.

note the colour coding :). now. i am a lil colourblind, so you might have to correct me if i get any of these wrong, but let’s see…

orange is a quality i didn’t bring up yet, which is his tendency to place emphasis on more words than technically necessary– to make his words sound a little more dramatic, or flourishing, or emotional.

or, particuarly in the early days, to get a point across (fig 1. & 2.)

astounding. shut up, castiel.

moving on! light?? blue???? you’d call that a light blue, right?

that’s actions specifically to do with body and limbs– because castiel is very expressive with those, frequently when speaking- usually, almost more notably than he actually is facially. he isn’t a man to do anything by halves, yknow? he doesn’t stay still often, and he makes a point of the fact.

green is his weird, nonstandard terminology, or extended vernacular. like heshemikey says, he’s the kind of dude who ‘knows a lot of super obscure fancy words that he uses in normal conversation’, which is honestly so true. look up a list of fancy words and just sprinkle em in and you’re set.

PINK! pink is blatant denial of emotions. it’s not a pw cas fic without it! basically, every time he feels an emotion that isn’t ‘being a smug bastard’, he’s actually never felt that feeling before, never will again, and frankly, is not feeling right now. emotions? he doesn’t do emotions, babeyy.

teal is for his ramblings, his tangents, his going off-on-a-little-spree-iness. if you’re not sitting there writing his dialogue and going oh my GOD castiel shut the HELL UP!! then you’re probably missing a tangent or two down the line. they’re fun to write! they’re just also A Lot.

gray-bluey-purple is ‘whatever’. if someone ever writes castiel dialogue and uses the word ‘whatever’ i let out a little whoop whenever i read it! like YEAH thats his thing!! its a very important word x3

red is also something i haven’t brought up before, which is his habit? occasional frequent practice? of asking questions- whether that’s at the other person, himself, or the universe in general. he’s, uh, basically a big fan!

i WOULD pull apart a piece of text from his pre-wbg, pre-pw days, but alas i don’t have a snippet quite big enough or right enough to do this with– trust me, i’ve checked x(

i plan to keep this document up to date though so if i do get anything adequate enough ill give it its own little section and colour-coded notes and everything too! mUAHAHAHA. anyway. gnight. sleep well. good luck.

7 notes · View notes

haeroniel-doliet · 8 months

Text

Bonus content: heres the super speed summary of how I struggled through the dinluke big bang piece I started over 80 days ago! More thoughts and details on my process below to cut

- Overall wanna post this with all the flaws galore for my future self, not at all because I've just left the record function on, forgot about it and now I have this!

- Good reminder that the worst thing is blank paper and just getting something down okay, rough simple lines convey ideas its all good!

- Drawing on an airplane produces questionable results (the first more refined lines, not NEARLY enough references in use)

- Speaking of, never regretted following a reference over trying to improvise. I feel like it always looks better (that smoke is one good example!)

- Redrawing and redrawing sometimes is so worth it, other times you should just let it be and move on (those first trees before the yellow dotting were kinda okay honestly!)

- Less all sorts of different brushes is better, for consistency :')

- Theres many parts I'd forgotten that in hindsight maybe look better than the end result (like overall composition being bigger and with better feeling of space) but choices were made and I gotta choose to be happy with and proud of the completed piece, afterall its better than all the dusty never finished wips.

- Definitely didn't quite follow the big bang deadlines, I'm sorry :') in general I'd consider that greyscale to be 20% sure (proof of idea and a layout figured out!) But hilariously after what I posted for even 80% I went and redid all that work. (Maybe its not actually totally redoing if you're making the same just improved! All the ground work took its own time and I wasn't starting from scratch at all.)

- At the very end it gets abruptly cut off, despite asking the program to leave on the last frame for a bit... Then I remembered the panic I had just yesterday, because the file for these screenshots took up too much disk space and caused Krita to crash, losing all the progress of like good bit of little adjustments and corrections. I guess I never turned the recording back on, so the very final few hours are missing, but thats okay! This is not professional! (Spot the absolutely tiny differences with the final image posted :p)

-Also realizing after many a rewatch, there's been some glitch with it not recording me recolouring the characters entirely!! How sad, but you can see the difference from when they pop up around the time I'm redoing the trees and at 02.53 and when they return all redone at 03.07

- Theres a lot I don't love, theres a lot that could be better if done differently, but I really have to start being okay with being done rather than perfect!

- Really proud of myself for dedicating to doing a more involved and detailed background/scene than i've ever done before digitally. I've pushed beyond my comfort zone of just characters with a hint of a background, it will get better from here!

- Did I need to post this with all sorts of bits missing? No, definitely not, but hopefully someone will find this interesting, and my future self feels that this was helpful!

#Haeroniel draws #art timelapse #art progress #krita timelapse #anyway this is mostly a personal post for future reference and for venting out the struggles I had along the way #but hey maybe someone finds it interesting and thats cool!#kritas suggested settings would've made this timelapse over 30 mins long.... so you're welcome!#I won't even have a guess how many hours this all took #still have to go finish the other pieces oop maybe those timelapses will be better?

2 notes · View notes

coll2mitts · 1 year

Text

Top 10 YouTube Videos of 2022

I was asked to provide TV/movie recommendations from 2022, and honestly, I don't have a whole lot to say on traditional media this year. Instead, let's dive into something I'm trying to cut back on in 2023 - my YouTube obsession.

I am subscribed to over 500 creators, and I used to try to keep up with all of them. In the past few years I've realized that was a losing battle, especially with the gradual transition from short-form skit content to hour and a half long think pieces. Doesn't prevent me from trying, however, which has been to the detriment of my sanity and my sleep schedule. But now my debilitating addiction can benefit you! Here's a list of the top 10 videos that were released this year.

#10 SethEverman - metal drummer listens to ABBA for the first time

youtube

Starting off easy, here's Seth Everman playing drums to "Mamma Mia". I've listened to this dozens of times, it hits so hard.

#9 Scene Queen - Pink Hotel

youtube

Scene Queen is the perfect intersection of my musical tastes, blending pop and metal while embodying the antithesis of every pick-me girl. I wish she were around back when I was in college and that asshat Perez Hilton was drawing dicks on Lindsay Lohan's face, then maybe I would have processed my internalized misogyny wayyyy earlier. Also she's unapologetically gay as fuck, which we love to see.

#8 Ted Nivison - I Drove to Every Rainforest Café in North America

youtube

I haven't been subscribed to Ted long, but this was my gateway drug. This video is exactly as advertised, and it is a literal ride. As someone who didn't go to a Rainforest Café until I was well into my teenage years, I don't really have the nostalgia Ted clearly rode on for 10k miles in a Toyota Tacoma. But honestly, the Rainforest Cafes are the least interesting part of this masterpiece . Instead tune in for a tale of perseverance that tested a friendship to complete a truly innocuous quest.

#7 Pinely - The MrBeast-ification of Youtube

youtube

Onma island is buried a treasure chest.

Orr focuses on how click bait-y spectacle charity videos have overrun the platform, and in the creator's effort to keep high view retention, how they exploit the people they intend to help for internet clout. Its a subject I personally find fascinating as I struggle with consuming true crime content for the same reason - it's hard to shine light on a corrupt organization or violent perpetrator without exploiting the victims in some way.

His follow-up video, The MrBeast-ification of Money, analyzes the influence of these videos on how people perceive wealth and how MrBeast-esque content affects how children consider the value of a dollar. Awesome duo, check out both to get the full picture of Jimmy's influence.

#6 Worthikids - BIGTOP BURGER: DOWN

youtube

Back in 2019 before The Rise of Skywalker killed all the goodwill Star Wars had earned in my mind, I stumbled upon this video on twitter and lost my shit. "I will use the force to heal my broken body" is my inner monologue every time I drink coffee. I immediately found them on YouTube and subscribed.

Worthikids is so unbelievably talented, not only animating in their own art style, but recreating the old school stop motion Rankin/Bass aesthetic. Bigtop Burger is an ongoing series about a clown-themed food truck beefing with a zombie themed food truck, featuring the vocal talents of some of my other favorite creators like Chris Fleming and ProZD. It's completely chaotic and about the best thing I've ever seen. It was this video, however, that had me literally crying with laughter. I'm not going to spoil it because I want you to experience it fresh, but Chris' unhinged voice paired with the elastic animation style just fucking kills me.

#5 Todd in the Shadows - The Top Ten '90s Buses

youtube

Todd in the Shadows is no stranger to top 10 lists - I look forward to his annual Top 10 Worst and Top 10 Best Songs of the Year videos. When I saw this video show up in my subscriptions feed, I, for sure, thought it was a troll. I should have known better. This is legitimately a top 10 list of '90s busses. The Spice World bus makes an appearance. It's a gem.

Todd is one of my comfort youtubers. Sometimes when I'm working on stuff I'll boot up a Trainwreckords, One Hit Wonderland, or Cinemadonna playlist and just let it ride. His disgruntled analysis, while sometimes I don't always agree with cause musical tastes are unique and varied, is strangely soothing. It comes with side effects like knowing more about Cher and Gregg Allman than I ever wanted to know, like that they were married at all, but you take the good with the bad.

#4 Drew Gooden - I took Ninja's Masterclass and it ruined my life

youtube

Drew Gooden is one of the members of the conglomerate of media commentary youtubers that I follow (there are so many, legitimately, I have a problem, so much content, make it stop, I'm sure I'm going to forget some, it's inevitable, I watch too much YouTube, how do I get anything done?), but his analytical nature and sarcastic tone really resonates with me. I particularly enjoyed his retrospective on Lily Singh's talk show that addressed the struggle YouTube creators face when adjusting themselves to fit within the confines of traditional media and expand their audience while trying to keeping their existing fan base. He also has a knack of finding the weirdest movies.

This is one in a series of videos where Drew reviews educational scams provided by content creators. He had previously covered the pains some creators face with maintaining their relatability, and offering online courses seem to be the natural progression of how to transition that online success into corporate dolla dolla billz. It's depressingly hilarious how low-effort these endeavors are, which is only proven when Drew ultimately tries to follow Ninja's expert advice to become a Twitch superstar.

As someone who spent like 450 hours streaming on Twitch this year, Drew's attempt is a great encapsulation of how isolating that experience can be. If you are also a Twitch streamer, this is a must-watch.

#3 münecat - Web3.0: A Libertarian Dystopia

youtube

I found münecat a few years ago through other anti-MLM creators because of her thorough coverage of the LuLaRoe shit show. Her videos have only gotten more detailed since then, culminating in this mammoth summary on Web3.0. I have stayed willfully ignorant of all things blockchain since I was forced to listen to some dude talk about mining bitcoin at a party back in like 2017. Münecat has done all the heavy lifting here to get me up to speed on cryptobros pyramid scheme of their very own. Plus, her work always comes with a bonus music video at the end. Score!

Also, because of this gem of a video on Russell Hartley, I now own a "Gaslight me daddy" t-shirt.

#2 Jenny Nicholson - Evermore: The Theme Park That Wasn't

youtube

Jenny Nicholson has been one of my favorite creators on YouTube since I found a video of her roasting discount Halloween costumes. What her brand has evolved into is truly remarkable, providing commentary on books, movies, theme parks, fanfiction, and random finds like church Easter plays and whatever the fuck the Hallmark channel was doing on YouTube back in 2016. I now know more about The Vampire Diaries and Bronycon than any adult should. "My horny drawing of Twilight Sparkle is presented upon this long pillow with complete neutrality," lives in my head rent-free. Any topic she covers, whether I have any familiarity with it or not, is well-researched and presented in such a captivating manner that it makes you forget how long you've been watching the video. This one is almost 4 hours long and I've watched it in its entirety more than once.

Evermore is a "theme park" located in Utah that has undergone several changes since its initial announcement back in 2014. This video, which has a longer runtime than The Irishman, goes into acute detail about the man who cooked up the concept, the development process, its lackluster implementation, and the park's current operationally neutered state that leaves it with an extremely unstable future.

I don't know if YouTube is Jenny's main gig or not, but she should 100% be a script doctor or creative consultant. Her feedback is thoughtful and presented with purpose, not just for the sake of roasting (although she's also great at that). I'd want her to be my editor if my writing wasn't garbage lmao.

#1 Defunctland - Disney Channel's Theme: A History Mystery

youtube

If you're looking for exceptional quality YouTube content, look no farther than Defunctland. Starting out with videos focused on deprecated theme park rides, over the years they've expanded their repertoire to cover retro television shows, fast-food restaurants, and theme park management. Their series about Jim Henson is legitimately one of my favorite deep-dives on a creative. This documentary, however, may be their best work.

Defunctland has always done a phenomenal job balancing humor, history, and sentimentality in their videos. "Disney Channel's Theme: A History Mystery" is no exception, functioning as a love letter to unsung creatives whose impact is immense, but their identity hidden. By the end of this masterpiece I was crying for the legacy of a person I had no awareness of an hour and a half before. Kevin should be proud of his videos, because in the act of immortalizing the media and experiences that have influenced us the most, what truly stands out is their ability to tell the story in a way that is both effective and emotional.

Keep doing what you're doing, Defunctland. You're the best of the internet.

Also, for shits and giggles, my top-rated traditional media of 2022:

Movie: RRR

Music: Scene Queen - Bimbocore Vol. 1 and 2

Television: Shoresy

Game: The Frog Detective series and Psychonauts 2

Podcast: Ear Hustle

Book: If This Book Exists, You're in the Wrong Universe by Jason Pargin

Disclaimer: I follow a lot of excellent creators that did not make this list. If I posted every single video I liked this year we'd be here forever. If you want specific recommendations for creators in certain spaces, like crafting, beauty, animation, examining religious fundamentalism, etc, go ahead and ask me. But I think this is more than enough content to entertain you for the foreseeable future :)

#Youtube #unwarranted opinion

1 note · View note

the-lonelybarricade · 3 years

Note

Hiii!! I've been following your work since the beginning and i just wanted to give u a big squeeze of a hug for blessing us with all of your fics 'cause i feel like we don't deserve u for blessing us with all these wonderful feysand content that u are sharing.

I hope all is well with ur life and in ur studies, and if it's not too much to ask, would you consider writing a feysand au where Feyre & Rhys aren't mates, but are happily in love and in a relationship--when all of a sudden, one of them meets their mate (preferably Rhys..?) or something like that 😚. Won't lie to u that im dying to know what events would play out and how Feyre would react if this scenario happened. Really no pressure to write this or anything just wanted to try my luck with this idea :DD. Thank u!

Bestie, ooof. What are you trying to do to me? Can you imagine how heartbreaking that would be for Feysand to be happy and in love, waiting patiently for the mating bond to snap only to find out they were star-crossed lovers all along? Well you don’t have to imagine it, because I already have. And if I’m going to be in torment over Feysand angst, I’m (affectionately) dragging you all down with me.

P.s. thank you for the submission lovely, I hope you enjoy <3

The Chains That Bind Us

Word count: 1,956

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre and Rhysand were happily married. For 300 years, they had basked in what seemed like an infinite stretch of rapture, working alongside and complimenting each other with a grace and chemistry that had always felt predestined. They had always been certain they were mates, but time had flowed on and neither had felt the inkling of that special, magic bond.

They have resigned that perhaps the mating bond will never snap, perhaps that’s simply not what they were to one another, but that was okay. It was enough to be husband and wife, to be High Lord and Lady, to be happy and in love. They didn’t need a mating bond to reaffirm what they felt for one another. Things were already perfect as they were.

Until they weren’t. Until they had journeyed together to Illyria to oversee the announcement of the first all-female battalion. It had been a long term goal of Rhysand and his brothers to finally battle back the long ingrained sexism of Illyrian culture, and the visit was meant to be a celebration. A liberating ceremony, in honor of their mothers and all the females who had been victims of prejudice.

But when the leader of the battalion stepped forward to be acknowledged for her accomplishments, Rhysand had gone rigid at Feyre’s side, his breathing suddenly ragged. His pupils were blown wide, eyes fixed, riveted to the female.

Feyre felt her whole world had imploded in that moment. Especially when that female’s eyes had met her High Lord’s and had frozen just the same, the two bearing matched expressions of awe and disbelief.

She was certain she was going to be sick. Such a thing would be far from befitting of a High Lady, so Feyre had immediately winnowed back to their River House, back into their bathroom where she was instantly emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.

Rhysand was there not too long after, holding back Feyre’s hair. They said nothing to each other, not until Feyre had recovered enough to turn and face her husband.

She was entirely unprepared for the way her heart shattered to meet his face, to meet those lovely eyes she had loved for centuries. Eyes that had only moments before been staring at another female with so much blind devotion it had torn her open.

“Feyre—” he started.

“I suppose we should have assumed that something like this could happen,” she interrupted, because she couldn’t bear to hear him apologize. Not for something like this, something that was entirely out of either of their control.

“It doesn’t change anything,” he insisted, but there was a strain to his voice that had never been present before. A bite that Feyre was convinced was the result of Rhysand battling against his instincts to return to Illyria, to that female.

“It changes everything, Rhys.”

She was already weeping as she choked the words out, because speaking them made them true. Those few centuries of bliss between them, they were a bubble, a perfectly crafted delusion that had finally popped.

“I love you,” Rhys seethed, as though arguing with himself. “I don’t even know that females name—”

“It doesn’t matter, Rhys. She’s your—”

“Don’t say it,” he begged, his voice a broken rasp. “Please, don’t say it.”

Somehow, that made it impossibly worse. That Rhys had been gifted this incredible, Cauldron-blessed thing, but was scorning it for her sake. Most Fae dreamed of the moment their mating bond would snap, and here was her husband acting as if it was his worst nightmare.

But Feyre knew what it was like for males. She knew he was clawing against every instinct in his mind, screaming at him to go to his mate, to know her name, to claim her. Feyre stifled another sob. Rejected mating bonds could drive a male mad. How could she ever think to do that to him? How could she deny him this piece of himself?

What broke her heart more than anything is that Feyre knew he would. Rhysand would reject his bond, would let that intrinsic part of his soul be torn away, for her sake. If Feyre asked, he would stay. He would stay and be miserable.

“I can’t do this to you, Rhys. I can’t force you to stay with me out of duty. I will not be your jailor.”

“You are my wife,” Rhys choked, reaching for her hand. He drew her palms to his face, allowing her to caress his cheeks. He shut his eyes as he nuzzled into her touch, causing his unshed tears to fall, racing down to collect at her hands. “You are my High Lady. You are the only one I want to be with.”

That wrecked another sob through Feyre’s body, which came out as a harsh exhale as she tried to restrain it. “You’d be a broken male without her, Rhys. The Cauldron—” she sucked in a strangled breath. Some truths were just too difficult to confront— “The Cauldron didn’t intend for us to be together.”

“Damn the Cauldron,” he growled, reaching for her with newfound conviction. “No one and nothing can decide who I love. No one can tell me that you are not who I belong with—who I belong to.”

Feyre allowed him to bundle her in his arms, to press her fiercely against his chest. She knew moments like this were fleeting, where they could hold each other as husband and wife. Already, their love was tarnished. Tainted. Blood spilled onto white snow. How long would it take for this mating bond to seep, to spill into the cracks, to spread until it consumed them? She couldn’t see an outcome where they could stay together unblemished, where they wouldn’t come to resent one another.

“Rhysand, listen to me love,” Feyre said, and found that her voice was steadier than she anticipated. “I care more about you being happy than I care about that happiness being found with me. Do you understand?”

“I would not be happier without you, Feyre.” His voice was ripe with earnesty. When she turned those eyes to meet his, those violet depths were burning, the silver constellations completely eclipsed by molten amethyst. He swallowed thickly. “Do I… want that female? Yes.” Feyre cringed to hear her husband admit it outloud. “But, that is just my instincts. I will be able to manage them with time. This bond is nascent. My love for you? It’s endured for centuries. The cauldron is not faultless; my parents were mates and they were miserable together. I could never imagine someone so perfect to walk beside me as you, Feyre. I do not seek another, no matter what fate has to say for it.”

Feyre allowed the comfort of his words to wash over her. She rested her head against Rhysand’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent, letting herself lavish in the rhythm of him, the beat of his heart steady in his chest.

“I will understand if you change your mind,” she whispered. “I do not hold you to your vows. If you become unhappy, if one day you cannot resist the pull you feel towards her… I will not hold it against you. I give you permission to… to leave me.”

Rhys let out a small, rueful laugh before he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “How could I desert a love that is so selfless? The least I could do in the wake of such a declaration is promise to never see that female again.”

Feyre shook her head emphatically. “Don’t promise me that, Rhys. Just—just promise me that we’ll always be honest with each other. That we’ll always be a team, whether it be as rulers, or as lovers, or… or just as friends.”

“I promise,” he swore. “I vowed on my court and crown that I will love you for eternity. And I still know that to be true, even now. My soul… it might belong to someone else. But my heart, Feyre, it will always belong to you.”

There was something irreparably changed between them. They both knew it, could sense the way it lingered between them. The first crack, and possibly not the last. What they had was fragile now, but they had a gift for being delicate with one another.

The silence hung between them, a wretched, discomfiting presence that had never been there before. Both not quite sure what to say, not quite sure where this put them. She watched Rhysand’s lower lip quiver, understood that it was from the strain of not burdening her with his own turmoil over the situation.

Feyre tutted as she threw her arms around him, recognizing the signs of his crumbling. Rhys bowed his head in shame, burying his face into her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against her, releasing a sob of his own. “I’m sorry it couldn’t have been you. I wanted it to be you. I’m a failure of a husband, for putting you through this.”

“You are an excellent husband,” Feyre protested, threading her fingers through his hair soothingly. Her voice was still raw. “I don’t blame you for this, Rhys. I love you just the same.”

He lifted his head so their tear-stained faces were level. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, still glistening in silver. “What do we do now?”

They clung to each other so tightly, as if they pressed hard enough they could redirect fate, could mold their souls together and correct the misdeed of the Cauldron.

“I don’t know,” Feyre answered, burying her face in his shoulder as if it would hide her from the truth of the world. “I suppose we have no choice but to keep going. We’ll find our footing again. Together. And if we don’t… well, maybe we can wish on the stars.”

There was a huff of air at her ear. A laugh, she guessed, or something like it, something wry and humorless. Rhys moved underneath her, and Feyre pulled away to watch in confusion as her husband rose to his feet.

He extended his hand towards her. Curious, Feyre accepted, allowing him to pull her to her feet. In a blink, they were on the rooftop, beneath the stars. She hadn’t even realized the sun had set until she was staring up at the impossibly bright cosmos.

“Where better to find our footing than under those very stars?”

She turned to him, and Rhys was staring at her the way he had on starfall, all those centuries ago. Staring at her as if she were the brightest star in the sky, as though he looked to Feyre to cast his wishes.

“Will you dance with me, wife?”

Not convinced she was capable of speech, Feyre nodded. Using the hand he still held, Rhys twirled her into his arms. And though no music played, they found their own rhythm, lost in the cadence of each other, spinning endlessly under the stars.

As they swayed under the endless expanse of sky and starlight, Feyre mused how even the brightest of stars eventually burned out, but that didn’t make them any less worth wishing on. That didn’t mean they weren’t worth fighting for.

⟡⟡⟡

#ask #prompt request #feysand #acotar #feysand fic #acotar fic #pro feyre #pro rhys #angst galore #bittersweet as heck #acotar fanfiction

89 notes · View notes

apixrl · 3 years

Text

DROWSY.

levi ackerman x fem!reader

WARNING(S): none

word count: 3.4k

song: before i close my eyes // xxxtentacion

note(s): soft levi lives in my head rent free and that's perfectly okay he can stay for as long as he wants to

Your hand pressed against your back as you stretched, stifling a yawn that echoed through the hallway. You swore you could hear your joints wailing out in distress, every step feeling as though you were dragging a weight behind you that was five times your size. Your bed was calling out to you in more ways than you could count, the idea of snuggling under the covers absolutely heavenly.

It had been a long and tiresome day, to say the least. After waking up early and in bright spirits, you made the decision to go on a long morning jog. To ready yourself for a presumably easy day. But those words came back to bite you when Captain Levi dropped you and your comrades into an intense training segment that lasted all morning. Then proceeded a heavy clean of headquarters in the afternoon. Ordered to rid the underside of the tables of dust and to clear those sneaky corners of muck that had festered far too long. To put a long story short; you were about ready to drop dead on the floor by the time evening rolled on by.

You loved Levi with all your heart, but unfortunately, your relationship with him didn't come with any bonuses. Yes, you saw a softer side on occasion, but the man never allowed bias to take over during work hours. You were treated the same as the others; a soldier in the ranks. A member of Levi's squad. When you did right you were praised and when you did wrong you served the consequences. Levi would set you on a thirty lap run around the camp perimeter if he saw fit, and there was no getting out of it. As much as you could complain, you knew it was for the best. When it came down to it, Levi was your superior as well as his partner and there had to be some line between the two.

Plodding along the hallway, your bedroom door up ahead was your saviour. You could practically taste the sweet rest waiting for you on the other side. Though just before you could reach your salvation, a voice from the neighbouring room stopped you in your step and tore you away from it.

"Y/N,"

Levi.

It would be lying to say you didn't whimper, so close to a good night's sleep yet so far all in one go. But you weren't so selfish that you'd ignore your lover's call because you were simply exhausted. Yes, you considered it... but resisting the urge gave you credibility, right?

Regardless, you exhaled a sigh knowing it would be wrong not to respond. That man you called your partner had ears like a cat anyway. He probably heard you make your way down the hall or noticed your shadow under the door and had sensed your halt upon his call. So dragging your eyes away from the vision of your wonderfully made bed (Levi having been the one to tuck the sheets in that morning since he was the last one up. So no wonder you were fantasizing at the idea of collapsing on there) behind the door of your room, you set your gaze on the door to Levi's office instead.

You realised it was open just a tad, explaining Levi sensing your approach so easily. Pressing your hands against the wooden frame, you pushed it open and popped your head around the door, forcing your eyes open no matter how much they pleaded to close against the candlelight.

As expected, Levi was seated at the chair of his desk. Neck-deep in papers that he'd been working on most of the night. One shorter pile to the left and a taller one to the right - one pile waiting to be looked at whilst the other sat completed. You wondered which one that was... and prayed for Levi's sake it was the tallest pile to allow him a good night's sleep.

His greyed eyes didn't look up upon your entry, something you just managed to notice through the strands of wispy black locks atop Levi's head. That seemed to indicate he was focused on the task at hand, especially from the way his hand efficiently worked at the pieces of paper like it was on autopilot.

"Yes, love?" You asked, resting against the door for a brief moment as your tiredness caught up with you. If you had reacted to it a second later you believed you would have tipped over from loss of balance, and you were relieved when Levi spoke up once more - his voice jolting you upright.

"I need you to take some papers down to the Commander for me," Levi stated, a certain tone in his voice indicating his own form of tiredness. But you knew that rarely stopped him and his work, the man willing to stay up until the early hours of the morning just to get it finished.

His words made your body panic, unsure if it could muster a journey all the way to Erwin's whereabouts. You had barely walked up the stairs of headquarters well, let alone travelling back down them and then all the way back up again.

"It can't wait until tomorrow?" You tried, chewing the inside of your cheek gingerly. From the way Levi glanced over his wad of papers, grey eyes filled with doubt, you knew it was a longshot. "It's just late, that's all. You need to rest,"

"No," Levi ceased all action, slouching down in his seat briefly as his fingertips held the bridge of his nose. His version of a short break and a way to bury his annoyance down. It appeared to be one of those nights, where he was swamped with work and didn't have the opportunity to simply 'head to bed'. "I'm still nowhere near done, and I don't have the time to take the ones I've already looked at to Erwin because of that," It was there his hand propped up, elbow resting on his other which has splayed over his chest. He motioned you over, eyes skipping between you and the seat opposite him until you got the message.

You were delayed in realising, feeling guilty at your inability to proceed Levi's words. You heard them, but fatigue seemed to seize hold and throw them out the window before your brain could comprehend the meaning. You hoisted yourself off of the doorframe, letting the hinges squeak the door shut behind you as you made your way to Levi's desk. You then sat yourself down, hands pressed to the chair arms as your attention steered to your partner.

"Okay... so which pile am I taking?" Was your question, forcing a small smile to at least seem interested. The black-haired man straightened up, eyes skimming over the papers on his desk and seemingly on the floor too. That made your brow raise, head tilting to the side ever so slightly in wonder. What was behind the desk?

Levi proceeded to push his chair back with his feet, his head quickly disappearing under the table as if to grab something. You rested your cheek in your palm as you waited, a hint of a frown as you waited. Your assumptions were correct as, after a few seconds of scuffling around, Levi reappeared from under the desk - standing up to place yet another pile of paper wherever his desk had the space to hold it.

"This one," He addressed, exhaling heavily once he was comfortable in his seat again. Just when you thought that was it, Levi pushed the taller pile of papers forward as well, and it would be wrong to say you were joyful of the sight. In fact, you were very much dismayed, the sight of the multiple piles of papers meaning more than one trip.

Suddenly you wished the shorter pile was the finished one.

"And this one," Levi spoke with little character as per usual, gazing upon the piles of papers like they were nothing more than a pile of dirt. Clearly, he had experienced little joy going through them, but work never got done whilst complaining. The only words ringing in his mind to convince Levi to get his head down and focus. "You'll probably need to take two trips,"

"You don't say," You commented and sighed to yourself. For hours you had awaited your mattress and now look at you, even further away from reaching it as before. It was a big shame you woke up in such an energetic mood and was ending the day feeling like you couldn't lift a finger. "And if I cant find Commander Erwin?"

"He should be in his office," Levi returned. "But if not, place the right pile on his desk," He then gestured to the left, hand pressing on top for emphasis. "This one will need sorting, however. Just separate the tags in the stack and the drawer they belong in is on there. It shouldn't take you too long, just make sure the files are in the right place or Erwin won't be pleased. Oh, and try not to drop them, please? I'd rather not lose four hours worth of work because of your two left feet -," Levi was cut short by a sound he was not at all expecting. A snorting noise caught him off guard, but when he looked up at you in question the answers quickly came pouring in.

It appeared in Levi's ramble you had grown bored. As there you were, head lolling forwards as your arm tried to prop it up, eyes closed and snoring away to your heart's content. Levi quirked a brow at your behaviour, then scoffed lightly. The man couldn't say he was surprised, of course you would nod off to sleep exactly when he needed your help. At a time where he was swamped with things to do and an extra pair of hands wouldn't hurt.

"Y/N," He tried after a minute or so passed, Levi frowning at the lack of response. If anything, the snoring grew louder. It was there he tried again, a little more firmly and loudly but still, nothing.

Typical.

Levi sat there in silence and disbelief, watching your frame rise and fall with each intake of breath. Meanwhile, you simply slept on without a care in the world, but it's not like he could leave you there. Leaving you sleeping in such a way was bound to cause a nasty neck and backache the following morning. So with a sigh, Levi hoisted himself out of his chair and walked around his desk to your side. Then he knelt down to your level, hand landing on your shoulder to give you a gentle but firm shake.

"Y/N," Levi spoke, a little softer this time, all whilst trying to nudge you awake. It appeared you had only lightly nodded off, as, after three or four shakes, you stirred out of your little nap. Your eyes shot open to meet Levi's observing you closely, a hint of a frown to his face as he did. In your state you barely noticed though, too busy trying to shake off your drowsiness but failing miserably as your eyes merely drooped more.

"Levi?" You mumbled tiredly, lifting your gaze towards your lover, puzzled over why he was so close to you. "What is it?"

"You fell asleep," Levi said with hesitancy, glancing away from you for a second before he continued. "Is everything alright?"

"Hm? Yes... everything's fine," You reassured, sending him a reassuring smile. Levi narrowed his gaze, prompting you to keep going. "It's just been a long day, that's all,"

"I see," Levi nodded, noticing your lack of attentiveness and sleepy demeanour. All of which you tried to force back through your smile. But Levi knew you better than that. He could see straight through the façade just how you could see straight through his, acting as though you were fine when it was truly quite the opposite. That was enough for Levi to suspect something was up, and that little switch in his head that differed between his role as Captain and partner flipped in an instant.

"Sorry... y-you were saying something before I dropped off weren't you?" You asked and pointed to the papers on the table. "Something about them?"

Levi turned to look at where you gestured, seeing the papers that still needed taking to Erwin. He contemplated still asking for your help, but it was obvious from just the way you looked alone that you were long desperate for rest. So exhaling a small sigh, Levi reluctantly cast his gaze back onto you and shook his head.

"No, don't worry about it," He allowed his hand to leave your shoulder and moved it to your face. Where he tucked a few loose strands of your H/C hair behind your ear, continuing. "It can wait until tomorrow,"

"Are you sure?" You asked through a yawn, leaning into the hand that Levi proceeded to support your cheek with. The subtle graze of his thumb over your cheekbone relaxing you to the point sleep nearly stole you from him once more.

As much as he disliked tampering with his organised routine, Levi knew sending you on errands whilst so tired would do you no good the next day. Perhaps he had pushed you a little far without realising, the thought running through his mind later on in the morning. You'd been lagging behind your comrades more than usual. Much opposing to you typically being at the front of the group and urging them on over the other way around. Whilst it wasn't as obvious in the afternoon, the strain in your expression as you scrubbed the floors and countertops had peeked its way through to him. Levi knew you in and out, and the frustration displayed ran much deeper than that of germs and bacteria. That was blatant now more than ever, so the least you deserved was a good night's rest. Just because he could run on little hours of sleep didn't mean you could.

"Yeah," Levi admired you under the dim light of his office after he spoke. Your inattentive gaze somehow continued to hold such focus as you looked back at him. The way you smiled with such love and yearn. How your cheek felt warm in his palm like he was holding the entire world. Which he was really. He was holding his entire world.

"Oh... okay," You said and your eyes drooped shut, not reopening. That brought Levi to act, blinking out of his daze and pulling himself to his feet with a sharp inhale.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," He said and slipped his arms around you, lifting you into their secure hold. You didn't protest, too tired to make a sound as you adjusted to the new position. A comfier position that ensured security and safety. One hand supported your back as Levi's bicep acted as your pillow and his spare arm hooked under your legs. You could feel the ever so gentle thump of Levi's heartbeat close to your ear, much opposing to his regular temperament - curt and firm and even quite harsh at the most.

Levi carried you out of his office, using his foot to open the door as he proceeded to venture down the hall to your shared bedroom. The place you had been going to before you were called to his aid. You kept your eyes closed the entire time but didn't nod off just yet, the bobbing motion of Levi's walk both drifting and stirring you from sleep. It wasn't long before Levi was pulling back the sheets whilst he only just managed to hold you with one arm. You made it easier by wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, giggling lightly to yourself when you almost slipped. Somewhere in Levi's silence, he found it amusing. Perhaps not verbally placed, but you sensed it nonetheless. Still, he downplayed it with concern, his hand pressing against your back to hold you closely against his frame.

He placed you down with care, hand only leaving your back once it rested on the mattress. Sliding it out, it returned to the sheets as he placed them back over you. Meanwhile, you watched through half-lidded eyes, following where Levi's gaze trailed. Mainly sticking to the sheets he tucked in for you out of the goodness of his heart, though flickered back to you on occasion. His eyes contained a warmth that opposed their normal grey colour. A warmth that he usually failed to place into the spoken word and resorted to showing it rather than saying it.

Eventually, Levi finished, his hands stopping their skilful movement and pressing into the pillow on either side of your head. He was silent for a moment, observing your tiresome state and realising just how fatigued he was too. He battled the urge to collapse on the bed beside you, pull you into his arms and fall fast asleep. To ignore his duties for just one night. Give himself a treat and spend the night snoozing away like the everyday citizen. But Levi knew that was irresponsible. He had been irresponsible enough leaving the paperwork so late. It also wasn't the life he had been fated to lead, regardless of how pleasant the idea may be in the subconscious of his mind.

"I still have a lot of work to do," He uttered no louder than a whisper, exhaling deeply in an apologetic sigh and hating the idea of traipsing back to his office to work. "I'll have to join you later but I'm guessing you'll be asleep,"

"It's okay," You hummed, head tilting to the side as an innocent smile formed on your face. "Do I get a kiss good night, at least?"

Levi couldn't fight the small chuckle that escaped him, head proceeding to hang forwards and shake too and fro at your words. He truly felt he didn't deserve you and the love you gave him. Always so understanding, never complaining about his packed work schedule. How you made him feel steady and kept him sane. Perhaps it was because you were a soldier too and knew how time-consuming the job was, but Levi was grateful for all of it. The man met your eyes, a certain radiance in them that he'd refrain from showing to anyone else other than you.

"You're twenty-nine years old and you act like a child," He remarked with no ill intent, the laugh that elicited from you music to his ears.

"Yeah, and you chose to -," You were cut off, Levi leaning forwards to press his lips to yours in a tender kiss. You hummed in approval, forgetting the words you planned to say and instead enjoyed the display of affection. Levi lingered longer than usual, an indirect apology for the fact he had to leave you with the bed half cold. You didn't question it, knowing Levi's work never truly stopped and granted him a break. The fact he'd even paused just to tuck you in comfortably was enough to satisfy your needs, whether Levi would believe that or not was up to him. But your eyes fell closed, both from bliss and sleep catching up to claim control.

Gradually your lips loosened on Levi's, indicating you had nodded off. He opened his eyes and pulled back in question, watching your head tilt faintly to the side as your pillow held its weight. Levi exhaled deeply, leaning down to plant one final kiss on your forehead. Then he hoisted himself off of the bed and walked to the door.

"Good night, Y/N," He said once there, glancing back at you one final time. From where he stood, you appeared merrily at peace. Finally grateful for the embrace of your bedsheets after a dragging day of nonstop training. Levi did feel somewhat bad for being a cause for your tiredness, knowing that he could sometimes be cruel when playing his 'Captain' role. But he couldn't favour you just because of his feelings, and the fact you rarely made that an issue provided him relief like no other. Still, Levi's guilt asserted as he closed the bedroom door quietly behind him.

Why... it wouldn't be terrible if he let you sleep in a little bit past the wake-up call, would it?

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x y/n #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman fluff #fluff #x reader #anime x reader

187 notes · View notes

thunderheadfred · 3 years

Text

❄️Todoroki HC's🔥

Aged-up pro hero Shouto. NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - -

General

Might as well be tied with Bakugou for the #1 pro hero spot; they seem to pass the crown back and forth every other year. Everyone knows about their intense frenemies uber-rivalry. Well. Everyone but Shouto.

He's asked to speak at a lot of charity events. If he has time to prepare (and hire a speech writer) he is capable of stirring crowds to standing ovations. But if caught unawares... he gets cornered into hilarious on-the-spot interviews. He's been memed. Mercilessly.

He's an OP character, but unfortunately he rolled -500 in fashion sense. Eventually he wises up and hires a stylist. When he finally cuts his hair a slightly different and even more flattering way, it's a national event. People faint in the street.

Does god-awful sleight-of-hand magic tricks when he meets young fans, even though nobody asked him to. The second-hand embarrassment is palpable. But he keeps doing it. God, why does he keep doing it?

Has hovering arm syndrome in every fan photo.

Super into pop music. Not a fan of any particular group or artist, couldn't tell you the name of a single song. But every time he turns up the volume on the radio it's like... really? THIS? Probably pumps that shit through his hero agency to keep up morale. Has no idea what you mean when you tell him his music taste doesn't match his personality.

Similarly, he enjoys brainless romantic comedies and old silent movies. Doesn't laugh at jokes but loses it over physical comedy. Thinks Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd are the funniest people who ever walked the earth.

He's long and limber. Runs practically a hundred miles every day just to "relax." Doesn't even get sweaty doing it. A filthy yoga addict. He'll probably live to be 200 years old.

He can regulate his body temperature for quirk use but in everyday life he's always half a degree outside the Goldilocks zone. It drives him quietly insane; he has an epic love-hate relationship with his thermostat.

Has a therapy animal pet. Doesn't matter if it's a dog or a cat or a bird or an iguana or a teeny tiny rodent. It's the best-behaved animal in the country and speaks more languages than you. It has its own room and an instagram account with millions of followers.

Lives in a traditional Japanese estate that doubles as a national treasure. Probably has government-appointed snipers at the gate, and he's just like, "don't worry about it." You are afraid to touch anything. Fuck, don't even look at anything, just to be safe.

Has an outstanding personal chef who only gets to cook five things unless (thank fuck!!) company comes over. Impossibly picky eater. He rotates between a few "safe" foods and suspiciously side-eyes everything else. If you cook something unfamiliar for him it will be the most awkward meal of your life, because he'd never tell you he doesn't like it. But oh lord, just look at his face.

This clashes directly with his love of traveling. Frequently uses his hero earnings to visit exotic foreign locales over long weekends... but rarely tries the food.

- - -

Dating

A grey-ace demisexual disaster. You could count the number of people he's been attracted to on one hand. He falls madly in love every time and always gets his heart smashed to pieces when his crush can't magically intuit the meaning of his frigid longing glances and generically courteous romantic gestures.

Which is stupid, because he gets propositioned constantly. He can't walk out the door without being flirted with. People keep slipping him their phone numbers and he always directs them to his agency like a moron. It's a good thing he will never understand how attractive he is because that's the only thing keeping him from total world domination.

Conventional attractiveness does not compute. Shouto doesn't have a type, doesn't care that he's an eleven whilst you are merely mortal. He will fall for your personality above all else.

Probably falls head over heels because your schedules overlap in a completely ordinary way and he witnesses you doing something endearing or brave or most likely: utterly mundane.

Pick a favorite, because you're his favorite coworker, or his favorite barista, or his favorite random bystander in line at the grocery store. You made him smile once; then he spent the next three months daydreaming about your future together before you accidentally stomped on his foot, initiating your first real conversation.

He's big on healthy communication. HUGE. He goes to therapy and it shows. Will talk through literally everything to the point of delirium. Sometimes his dedication to resolving every issue right away can get overwhelming; sometimes you just need some frickin time alone. But it pays off, because the two of you have practically never have a "real fight." There's just no way for bad vibes to fester.

STILL, his family wasn't exactly... erm... verbally or emotionally supportive, shall we say. For that reason, he might not give you all the compliments you deserve, because it simply doesn't occur to him to do so. He assumes you know how he feels. If you're self-conscious or insecure in the relationship, it might take him a while to notice. But when he figures it out (or even better, when you tell him directly) he will make it up to you with enthusiasm.

Will take you on lavish dates. Spoils you rotten without actually intending to. He's clueless about money. If you wanted a sugar daddy, you just hit the fucking jackpot. But if the word valet makes you uncomfortable, perhaps suggest some romantic picnics instead. He can still go all out with the food and five-star location without making you see cartoon dollar signs.

Chronic Insomniac. Stays up too late watching YouTube every night. His viewing history is an incomprehensible blur of k-pop music videos, serial killer icebergs, and super girly crafty ASMR channels. When he's watching a video, he is unreachable. Please call back later and try again.

He's disgustingly cute when he sleeps. Doesn't snore, but drools. Sometimes the drool freezes and leaves frost trails on his face in the morning. Still sleeps with the giant stuffed cat pillow that his mother gave him when he was like, zero. He'll inadvertently suffocate you with it, and you will welcome death with open arms because awwwwww!!!!!

The first time he tells you he loves you will be after your traditional Japanese shinto wedding. You won't hear it again until you start a family. Honestly, it's a good thing he doesn't say it often and is always holding you when it happens. It's a knee-buckler.

- - -

Icy-Hot

I don't even need to say it. Shouto is as old-fashioned as they come. You will never open another door or pull out another chair for yourself as long as you live. He will ask before he holds your hand. He will ask before he kisses you. He will stop and check in if you so much as breathe funny during sex.

If you don't orgasm at exactly the same time while staring into one another's eyes, he'll consider himself a failed lover. God forbid you want him to pound you into the futon... cause you are going to have to present that scenario to him in writing first.

Physical intimacy rarely leads to sex. He loves cuddling, craves physical affection. He'll sprawl all over you and turn into goo while you hold him close. He's an amazing, astounding, phenomenally good kisser. And that's... nice and all... but sometimes you have to grab his face and say, "Shouto, I'm horny," before he's like so that's why you're currently dry-humping me?

Even if he isn't technically a virgin the first time (or the millionth time) you sleep together, you won't know the difference. He's a blushing violet. Every. Fucking. Time. This doesn't mean he's a bad lay, oh no. But there's always ten minutes of confused bumbling before he hits his stride and remembers oh yeah, I DO know how to fuck good.

Absolutely silent during sex. Focused. Intense. Sometimes you have to push him a little to make any kind of noise at all, just so you know you're pleasing him (oh don't worry, you are).

His cock is Just Right. Not to big or too small. Perfectly proportioned and symmetrical. Somehow pretty. Like a fucking factory prototype. It truly is not fair.

Gets handsy and restless at night, even if you both have work the next day. Seems to crave sex at three in the morning. You've given him more than one exhausted handjob.

Gets offended if you don't cum. Will go down on you for hours. Of course he uses his quirk to tease you. He doesn't typically use it during actual intercourse, but he's all about foreplay, and he'll use every tool in his arsenal.

His sex drive is completely fucking unpredictable. Sometimes he's all over you, other times he's an icy slab. His line of work leaves him busy and stressed on a near-constant basis, so you can't entirely blame his personality for this one. Just give him some time and help him take care of his basic needs. He'll come back around soon enough.

#todoroki shouto #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #gender neutral reader #todoroki headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #smut #fred writes #bnha #mha

182 notes · View notes

levis-little-nuggie · 3 years

Text

How the brothers would react to catching f!MC riding a suction-cupped dildo on the communal HOL washing machine

I didn't think through how much I hate this idea, but I fuckin ran with it so here we are and I'm not apologizing. However the title is still a work in progress. I am accepting ideas.

This first one is Lucifer's reaction.

Warnings: little bit of blood (in a sexy way), he calls MC some vulgar names >:( but he apologizes so I guess it's okay, fem!MC because I was feeling self-indulgent.

Rating: explicit 😌

Word count (so far): 2,628

Carrying the weight of the hamper on her hip, MC closed the laundry room for behind her and padded over to the oversized washing machine. It was laundry day for her and living in a mansion with seven demon brothers didn't make this any easier. Their keen sense of smell had her on edge about keeping certain articles of clothing cleaner, washing them more frequently than when she lived in the human world.

She threw in her load of pajamas, towels, and underwear, including the pair she had been currently wearing, leaving her in an oversized shirt she'd "borrowed" from Beel. MC mixed in the detergent and fabric softener, and started the cycle. As the hot water started pouring into the bin, MC double-checked that the door was closed before pulling out the suction-cup dildo she'd hidden in the laundry bin and stuck it to the top of the washer. MC nudged the step stool closer to the machine, applied a generous amount of lube to the toy, clambered on top of the washer, and positioned herself over the dildo.

Thanks to previous instances in the laundry room, MC was fully aware of both the machine's durability to hold her weight comfortably, and its vigorous shaking when loads were unbalanced. Asmo had winked at her when she came running to him for help for taming the large appliance. "You could say, with a bit of creativity, it'd be the next best thing to sitting on my face, hon."

He'd been right. Unfortunately, this also meant that Asmo knew what laundry day meant to MC and she already felt mortified sharing this dirty secret with Asmo so MC tried her best to schedule her trip to the laundry room for whenever he wasn't home. Luckily enough, it seemed the rest of the brothers were completely unaware of her sinful indulgence and this activity quickly became addicting.

Having already been wet from the excitement, MC's fingers slid into her, pumping and scissoring to stretch herself open. She pressed the tip of the toy against her opening, biting her lip to stifle the noises she wanted to make as her fingers moved to circle over her clit, squeezing her eyes shut as her hips lowered onto the toy. Taking a few moments to breathe from the size of the dildo filling her up, MC maneuvered her legs to shift from her kneeling position sitting on the machine, toy fully sheathed inside, her ass against the lid, and legs hanging over the top.

Her hands trembled from both the excitement and the warmth that stirred in her lower abdomen as she reached for her phone; the machine would be still for awhile as the clothes soaked, but MC loved to fantasize she was cock-warming any one of the brothers until they both gave in and he fucked her mercilessly.

Lazily circling her hips to feel the toy move around inside her, MC mindlessly nibbled on her thumb while flicking thru Devilgram. Scrolling down the feed, she stopped to watch a video Mammon had posted, the audio flowing through the DDD's speakers a teaser for an upcoming song he was releasing. Turning up the volume on her device, MC let the video repeat as she felt herself getting hyped for the track to release. After double-tapping to like the post and leaving an energetic comment, MC opened the music app on her DDD and shuffled the playlist she made of the brothers' songs to stream while she opened a game on her phone to complete the daily task while waiting for the washer cycle to start.

The above set-up will be the same for all the brothers. Below this point will be Lucifer's reaction.

Another prank from the Lucifer You S*ck team left the eldest with some ruffled feathers and an ever-growing coffee stain on his RAD uniform. A vein pulsed on his forehead as he sauntered to the laundry room.

What he wasn't expecting, however, was to hear MC singing along to Satan's song behind the laundry room door. The eldest brother hesitated, his grip tightening on the doorknob as he debated waiting for her laundry to finish but found his brows furrowing as she stopped singing, the machine started its spin cycle, and the faintest of moans floated through the door.

"What in Diavolo's name-" Lucifer opened the door to investigate but halted as he took in the scene before him. MC's eyes had widened, staring directly at Lucifer in a way that perfectly explained the human idiom "like a deer stuck in the headlights." Her mouth was agape but quickly snapped shut as she tried to stifle her panting, legs crossing themselves in an attempt to look innocent, but her white-knuckle grip on the edge of the washer had him feeling alarmed.

"MC, what's going on? Are you feeling unwell?" The machine had started rocking as it began its spin cycle, but Lucifer couldn't figure out why MC was sitting on top of the washer. Was she feeling ill? Her forehead had a sheen of sweat, did she have a fever? Lucifer dropped his clean uniform and crossed the room so he was directly infront of MC, reaching out to feel her heated face, completely disregarding her feeble attempts to assure him she was fine.

'Lucifer! I'm fine, just doing some laundry' was what she wanted to say. However, with the machine rocking, the dildo was rubbing right up against her g-spot and she was fighting the urge to grind her hips. She managed to sound out the first half of his name, but the way his gorgeous, ruby eyes looked into hers with concern, his facial features that were carved by God himself, and a single thrust against that spot had her shivering, finishing the rest of his name in a sultry moan.

The Avatar of Pride blinked as the cogs in his brain stuttered trying to piece together what was happening, his hand froze in mid-air as he had been reaching out to feel the temperature of her skin. The machine continued to rock and MC couldn't find the strength to pretend she wasn't riding a dildo on the communal washing machine and felt her control starting to slip. MC couldn't read the expression on his face and averted her gaze, trying to deny that him watching her like this was turning her on even more.

Seeing his hand stretched out, MC leaned forward the small distance to press her cheek against his palm, biting her lip as she stole a glance at the demon. His eyes remained transfixed, dazed, but he didn't pull his hand away and MC was feeling a little more daring than usual. Tilting her head, she pressed his thumb against her lip, her eyes flickering again to his own for barely half a second, and closed her lips around the tip of his thumb, running her tongue along the seam of the leather. His lack of response coaxed MC on to keep going. Her tongue drew the digit in further, lips gliding over the leather, the material fueling new fantasies she'd previously overlooked.

As the dildo continued its steady rocking, MC felt her control melting away and frustration slowly started to build. Why hadn't he moved? Surely it'd be better if the eldest had scoffed in disgust and turned away than to have him just staring at her like this. She swirled her tongue around his thumb, lips hollowing as she sucked, trying to illicit some sort of response from the demon.

However, he remanded unmoving. MC felt an array of emotions ranging from frustration, shame, embarrassment, anger, all mixed with the sexual desire raging thru her, MC felt tears prick her eyes. She released the thumb from between her lips with an audible pop and faced Lucifer with a snarl; which he found endearing and as threatening as the chihuahua.

"I don't do live performances. Either touch me or leave." MC made a show or grabbing her breast from under her shirt, letting the pleasure from the toy fill her senses and began grounding her hips against the toy as the spin cycle picked up speed. Getting ready to bark at him again, MC yelped as the shirt was torn open and a pair of hands gripped her hips keeping her still but the dildo continued moving with the machine.

"I didn't realize our little human was such a naughty slut. Really. Sticking a toy on our washing machine? Are you that desperate to be fucked?" Nails bit into her flesh as his voice called out her sins, all traces of her bravado gone, replaced with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and shame. MC tried hiding her face but he still saw the tears that threatened to spill over before crawl down her face and cooed.

"There's nothing to feel ashamed over, my dove. I apologize if I was too vulgar." Lucifer lifted her hips and she squirmed, not ready for him to see the full extent of the situation; the idea of the dildo coated in her juices waving about on top of the poor washing machine only intensified her embarrassment. However, before she could speak out, Lucifer dropped her hips causing her to slam herself back down on the toy. Stars erupted across her vision as the demon repeated the action, drinking in her reactions and felt his erection strain against his pants.

"This carnal desire is human nature. If anything, it's our own fault for not considering such a basic need." His fingers trailed along her neck, tapping against her pulse as if in thought. The hum of the washer broke through the moment and Lucifer clicked his tongue behind his teeth. He reached behind her to turn off the machine and lifted MC off the machine, and the dildo.

MC didn't get a chance to wince from the manhandling as her lips were immediately covered with his own and she felt him pulling her close to him, his hands urging her to wrap her legs around him. She couldn't match the fire he was pouring into her fast enough and he growled, simultaneously smacking her ass and grinding his erection against her folds. This new side of the prideful demon caught her off guard, but the smack brought her back with a fervor.

Her hands fumbled with the buttons on his collar and he kneaded where he spanked her, causing MC to mewl into the kiss. One of his hands moved up to hold the back of her neck as he walked to pin her against a wall. Her legs squeezed his hips tighter and he reached up to break open the collar of his shirt, shedding the clothing haphazardly somewhere else in the room. Meanwhile, MC moved to undo his pants, reaching into his trousers to palm his erection. Lucifer hissed and grabbed her wrists, pinning them to her stomach with one hand.

Releasing her lips, Lucifer latched onto her throat, biting down on the skin above her pulse and positioned himself at her entrance, hesitating for only a moment to allow her the chance to back out. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she braced herself, kissing the side of his head, and granting him permission with a soft, "please." Her voice turned into a wanton cry as he pushed himself into her. His tongue lapped at her throat, sucking against her skin as a feeble distraction to keep himself from fucking her before she was ready but the way her body was receiving him was making the demon tremble.

"Lu, please, I need you to fuck me," all shyness and mortification was gone and all that remained was the sexual desire and a sense of urgency.

"Do you know what you're asking of me, my dear? Do not underestimate me."

"Lucifer, fuck me or else I will invoke our pact and make you-" the rest of MC's threat was lost, replaced by a sob as Lucifer's restraint snapped and began thrusting wildly into MC. It didn't take long for him to readjust his position, turning them away from the wall. With his hands on her hips, the eldest brother moved her against his thrusts, bouncing her on his cock and slamming back into her. His rhythm would change randomly between fast and shallow to deep thrusts where he'd pull out to the tip and snap his hips to fully sheath himself. He'd felt her muscles constrict around him a few times, keeping a tally of how many orgasms he pulled from her, but he wanted her to make a mess and to make a mess of her.

Bending MC backwards, he continued drilling into her as he held her hips in-front of him. Her voice cried out in a scream as he relentlessly thrusted against that spot and she felt a wave building.

"Lu s-st, wait, I'm, you're gonna make, h-hold on-"

"I know MC, it's okay. Let go."

With Lucifer's words of encouragement, MC felt herself relax, giving in to the impending wave that continued to build. Reaching out, her hands found a shelf to stabilize herself, her mouth open in a silent scream as the dam broke and ecstasy filled her senses. The way she clamped down on his cock had Lucifer's hips stuttering through his own orgasm, filling her with his seed quicker than he had intended; the intensity of her orgasm having coaxed his to follow suit.

As the fog cleared in his mind, Lucifer's fingers twitched and he noticed the array of bruises littering her hips. MC lifted her head to look up at him, but the rest of her body was limp. She smiled sheepishly causing Lucifer to roll his eyes but his lips turned to shape a playful smile and MC giggled as he pulled her up. They winced as he pulled out of her, but she kissed his cheek and he brushed his nose against hers, humming as they basked in their afterglow together.

Lucifer grabbed a blanket to wrap around them and turned to leave the laundry room when he caught sight of the glittery purple dildo still mounted to the lid of the washing machine. He snorted and walked over to it. Having curled into the demon, MC had to turn to see why he'd stopped walking and groaned.

"Don't you dare."

"Hmm?

"You're going to say something really condescending and I don't want to hear it." MC snuggled closer into Lucifer's chest, pulling the blanket over her head in protest.

"I don't know about 'condescending,' but-"

"Lucifer, don't you fuckin do it."

"This had to been Asmo's idea."

"..."

"It just reeks of desperation and wanting to get caught."

"Lucifer!"

"Now if you had been a good human, and come to me with your situation sooner, all of this could have been avoided. But now, there's a big mess to clean up." Having lived with the demon brothers long enough and sitting thru many a famous Lucifer lecture, MC could hear the smirk in his voice. In retaliation, MC pinched the Avatar of Pride's nipple earning her a grunt and a thump on the back of her head. She hissed like a cat from behind the blanket and Lucifer sighed from the absurdity of the whole thing.

"Do you want to go get cleaned up?"

"....yes."

"Do you need me to keep carrying you?"

"...yes."

"Then be a good girl and hold this." MC pulled the blanket away from her head, curiosity having piqued her interest, but groaned when Lucifer handed her the aforementioned dildo. "I don't want the others seeing this in case the room isn't cleaned up by the time they come back from their classes."

Damn him for making perfect, logical sense.

"Besides, I might want to use it on you later."

"...I hate you."

"I know."

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #om lucifer #obey me f!mc #obey me female mc #om f!mc #om female mc #i don't want to hear anyone asking me why i didn't start with my husbando #listen linda #i couldn't figure out who i wanted to write with #and i kinda love how much i hate this idea #so i kinda want to write for all of their reactions #and i spent practically all day on this #thanks hyperfixation #OM lucifer thirst #the prideful firstborn #OM nsft #my writing no one asked for

223 notes · View notes

maplecornia · 3 years

Text

chapter 35

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.04K

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

"For your information, I am very against this."

"I thought you were looking forward to starting your training."

You glare at Namjoon when he makes the snide comment, and he has to struggle to keep his smile hidden at the reaction. Pouting in your chair, the stylist has to press her hand on your back to remind you to sit straight. At your reluctance, Namjoon's smile only grows and you struggle to ignore the rise of adoration in your chest.

Rolling your eyes you turn to your reflection in the mirror.

You're nearly unrecognizable.

With heavy lashes brushing against your cheek each time you blink, contour thinning your face, dark eyeliner helping your eyes pop out against the blush on your cheeks, you find it had to remember the way you looked before. Were your eyes always this bright? Did you always have this curl to your lashes? Were your cheeks this rosy, did you have that red hue to your lips? Did they always look so full and appealing?

Swallowing hard, you wonder if you're ready for this.

When Jin told you you'd be modeling today you thought he was joking. But BangPD wouldn't joke about something like this and when you got the call from him it only secured your fears. Biting your bottom lip, you fidget once more in your chair, the stylist sighing behind you.

Sheepishly, you go still, choosing instead to wrap your hands tightly around the arms of the chair. The stylist resumes their work silently, no doubt unaware of the insecurities rising in your chest. Namjoon is different, however, and noticing the way you've suddenly gone silent he glances towards you in worry.

"Is she ready?" Jin's voice breaks through the busybody chaos of the dressing room as he enters, the stylist performing the finishing touches to your hair.

Still holding forms of animosity towards him, you roll your eyes adeptly ignoring him. If he notices he doesn't show it, just angles past your retreating stylist and places his hands on the back of your chair trying to catch your eye. You raise your brow his way, refusing to return his smile. Noting the growing tension, Namjoon clears his throat, heading over to you as well and helping you out of the chair.

"I should hope so, doesn't she look ready?" He murmurs a bit nervously, and nudges you, clearly screaming at you to make nice with Jin and let bygones be bygones. You roll your eyes at the not-so-subtle signs and force a somewhat convincing smile towards the veteran. Jin nods in satisfaction before leading the three of you to the door, bowing respectfully to the rest of the staff.

Jin shivers in anticipation as he heads down the corridor. "Kind of nervewracking huh?"

Glaring him out of the corner of your eye, you scoff.

"Wasn't this your idea?"

Unfazed, Jin leans down peering into your eyes.

"Was it?"

Biting the inside of your cheek, you flick his forehead with your thumb and forefinger and he reels back, groaning in pain. You can't help but smile in satisfaction, but when you turn to Namjoon, his disapproving stare is enough to make the smile fade away.

"He started it." You mutter under your breath as you enter the shooting area.

Multiple set pieces and lights, bustling people hurrying from one set to another, sounds of photos being taken, bright flashes, and shouts from one side of the room to another. Models in flashy apparel, makeup artists, and stylists are ready to touch up anyone who needs it.

As you come face to face with the sight, you have to refrain from cursing underneath your breath.

"Ah Yen, good you're ready." At the voice, you blink out of your reverie only to find Sejin standing before the three of you. "Thank you for doing this again."

The head of BTS' management team, you've only met the man once before. He looks the same as he did then. Tall and intimidating, burly but with kind eyes. Graying black hair and signature glasses rest on his nose, a soft smile always playing on his lips. He puts you at ease, gives you a sense of familiarity and comfort.

"Of course, sir." You bow your head respectfully towards him, ignoring the incredulous look Jin makes beside you.

"Favoritism." He murmurs under his breath, and you wonder silently if Sejin will notice you elbowing him hard in his gut.

"They won't show your face that much, so all you have to do is stand there and look pretty for the camera. Simple enough, right?" Sejin explains, either pretending to be or completely oblivious to the exchange you and Jin just had. You nod as he turns away, picking up a call from his phone.

"Yeah..." You shakily look down at your hands, praying for them to stop shaking. "Simple."

Namjoon glances your way and reaches for your hand, prepared to offer you some words of encouragement, but another voice breaks through the chaos and he flinches away as soon as your head snaps up once more.

"Let's get going everyone!"

A man stands amidst the bustling crowd, with a clipboard in his hands and an earpiece secured in his ear. A couple of people are constantly trailing after him, asking questions and then darting away to carry out another set of tasks. He wears extravagant yet down-to-earth clothing, something that lets you know he's important but still a part of the background.

"Who's..." you start to say, but Namjoon, following your gaze, already answering your question as he folds his arms.

"That's the director for the shoot." He sighs, almost in exhaustion. Jin nods at his explanation getting the same worn-out look on his face at the sight of the man.

"He's just a little...eccentric." He adds to Namjoon's assumption, and you can't help but snort. Luckily, Jin doesn't seem to notice.

"That's rich coming from you." You mutter under your breath, holding your hand over your mouth to conceal your small giggles of laughter. Namjoon nudges you again to remind you to be respectful, but even he can't keep the smile off his face at the comparison.

"You must be Yen!"

At the shout from across the studio, you flinch as you turn to see the director just a few feet away from you. He takes your hand in his and shakes it excitably, and you have to resist the urge to remind him of personal space.

"My name is Deokhwa, thank you for filling in today."

You smile weakly at his enthusiasm, trying to read his excitement and understand why it's necessary.

"It's no problem."

Almost as soon as he was by your side, he turns on his heel and heads the other way once more calling out instructions to the staff members scuttling around.

"Can we get Taehyung and Jungkook into hair and makeup, please?! This should have been done ages ago!" With wide eyes, you watch him leave, your hand still outstretched where he had shaken it moments ago.

"Is he always like this?"

"Sometimes it's worse," Jin whispers in your ear, and you can't help it, you laugh, any hostility held against him now gone. There wasn't any reason for you to be mad at him, but it's just startling.

Aren't you supposed to be prepared for things like this? But standing here, you couldn't feel more out of place.

"Suga and Jimin, get into costume! Someone touch up Yoongi's hair please, he fell asleep...again."

Swallowing hard, you consider turning on your heel and running out of there. You wonder what they'd do if you just gave everything up now. You'd be okay, right? You've dealt with letting down people before. This wouldn't be anything different.

Then you remember.

The only person you'd be hurting would be yourself.

Clenching your jaw tight, you root your feet to the ground, refusing to let yourself get intimidated. Yes, you're not fully prepared, but you can do this. You have to do this.

"Hoseok!" Deokhwa calls for Jhope who's dawdling around near Suga. He turns at the sound of his name, Yoongi opening an eye, half-delirious and half annoyed. "Are you ready?"

"Yes sir!" He nods, a little too excited. Suga winces from his place beside Jhope, and pulls a pillow off the couch he was sleeping on.

"Then you and Yen can go first, alright?" Deokhwa decides, crossing something off of his clipboard. Jhope nods, saluting the director with a wide smile.

"Roger that!" He shouts once more, unbeknownst of Yoongi winding up behind him, and smacking the pillow straight into his back. Jhope shrieks, startled before turning to Suga and delving into a slight argument.

Namjoon, shaking his head at the encounter, almost forgets that you're right beside him. It's only when you take a deep breath to steady your nerves does he remember, turning to you. Biting his bottom lip, he considers reaching out to console you but pulls away hesitantly. Instead, he clears his throat, gathering your attention.

"Don't worry so much." He murmurs, glancing your way and sending you a slightly awkward but reassuring smile. "You can do this."

You return the smile, finding his concern to be comforting before turning to Deokhwa and heading over there to meet Jhope.

Maybe he's right, maybe you can do this.

Or maybe you're in over your head.

Standing in the middle of the set, you find yourself freezing, unable to move at the sight of so many eyes on you, so many cameras pointed your way. Ready to capture your every move, your every expression, your every misstep. You can't move, afraid that you'll screw everything up. Everything is so perfect, everything is set where it's supposed to be, what if you'll break it when you touch it? Anxiety growing larger and larger within your gut you try your hardest not to break down.

Why did they think you were ready for this? You don't even know what to do, much less how to do it even if you could figure out how to move again. Deokhwa tries his hardest to give you directions, but it's lost within the noise in your head. Static grows, mixing in with the bright lights and eyes staring at you, waiting to devour you and pick you apart as though you were a doll meant for their enjoyment.

When his hand wraps around your arm, sending warmth throughout your shaking body, you find yourself completely helpless. He pulls you to his side, his hands strong and sure behind you, making sure that you won't fall on his watch. You look to him, wondering if he can see how vulnerable you are at the moment, wondering if he knows that you aren't as strong as you pretend to be.

Jhope only smiles, brushing your hair off of your forehead and giving you a soft kiss in their place. You blink, shocked at the sudden show of affection, and equally as shocked when the camera flashes, taking a shot of the encounter.

Flinching, you turn to the camera, and the director, who's grinning from ear to ear. "That was great! Keep it up you two! And Yen, it's okay to be nervous at first, don't worry you'll get the hang of it."

Sheepishly, you nod, any fear or anxiety you had before quickly fading away in an instant. As the shooting commences, you turn to Jhope who has since let go of you and let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Thank you."

Hoseok glances at you from the corner of his eye, chuckling to himself as he takes your hands and leads you over to another section of the set. Dubiously still posing for the cameramen of the shoot. You notice, and can't help but smile. He really is kind.

"For what?"

At his question, you give him a look, but the innocent smile on his face only grows wider. It's a smile that tells you he knows exactly what he did, but he won't admit to it. You roll your eyes at the notion, finding it so like him, and yet so infuriating.

Instead, he picks up a bouquet and hands it to you. "There's nothing to thank me for, it's only right to help out someone new on set."

You take the flowers delicately into your hands, finding them to be an exquisite array of daffodils and sunflowers, a few peonies dotted here and there. You raise the flowers to your face, inhaling the sweet scent. As you do, Jhope smiles affectionately, multiple flashes from the camera capturing every second. However, the two of you are too distracted to care.

"Do you know what these flowers mean?" He asks you, and you look up at him, shaking your head silently. He chuckles at the curious spark in your eye and takes one of the daffodil petals into his hands, stepping closer to you.

"Daffodil's represent rebirth and new beginnings." He explains. "The first bloom after winter fades."

New beginnings. You wonder if there's any left for you to find.

"The sunflower is simple. A sign of happiness and good fortune. Peonies are difficult, however."

"How so?" You ask him, and he smiles, lifting a one from the bouquet.

"They mean something different all over the world. In Greece, they are known to represent bashfulness. In Japan, they're associated with bravery and honor." Looking up at you through his long eyelashes, he brushes his finger across your cheek as he tucks the flower behind your ear. "Generally though, they can be known to represent prosperity and love."

At the mention of the word, both of you look at the other. There's something in his eyes, something that reminds you of the way Jungkook has looked at you before. The same electrifying look that Taehyung has sent your way. The same connection you shared with the masked man.

He only pulls away from your touch long enough to set the flowers aside, then his hands reach for yours and they soon intertwine together.

Maybe it's the strange feeling of the set or the weird way the flowers have resonated with you, but you can feel your heartbeat increasing with every step he takes towards you. He presses his forehead against yours, and you find yourself avoiding his eyes, your cheeks flushing a bright red. Swallowing hard, you look up to find his eyes hooded, all traces of his once comforting smile now gone and replaced with something more sentimental.

"What?" you whisper.

"What do you mean?" This time, he doesn't smile innocently, instead, his warm hands tighten around yours, creating a cocoon around the two of you. You take a shaky breath, trying to refuse the loud pounding of your heart in your ears.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

He offers you no answer, only takes a step closer, your bodies now able to feel the other's warmth. A comforting feeling, one that lets you know that you still breathe and feel the same if not a bit different from the other. He presses his thumb against your cheek, rubbing it softly over your skin in a delicate motion. With wide eyes, you look up at him, wondering what is there that has entranced him so.

"Did you know you have a freckle here?"

Before you can move or even respond, Deokhwa's voice cuts through the cocoon, and the both of you are brought back to the harsh reality you had once escaped from in the arms of the other.

"Alright! That's a wrap, good job you two. Hoseok you can now get changed for your solo shots, and Namjoon get ready you'll be next."

When Jhope pulls away, you find yourself frozen, and confused.

Was that...was that all an act?

Watching him bow slightly to the director and cameramen, but still stay a considerable distance away from you, you can't help but feel a bit slighted. It all felt so real. Could he really have been faking it--?

And so what if he had?

Blushing profusely, you place your hands on your cheeks cursing and begging the rosy hue to erase itself from your skin.

Honestly, Yen, what were you expecting? He doesn't even know you that well, certainly not as well as Namjoon or Tae...

And why are you bringing those two into this?!

Inwardly, you groan. Having all of these idols around you 24/7 isn't doing any favors for your heart. Biting your bottom lip, you feel the darkness growing inside of you once more as you remember your promise.

Not now Yen.

Not yet.

Chuckling nervously, you turn to Jhope.

"You're good at this."

Hoseok looks towards you, once more feigning innocence. You almost want to strangle that puppy dog look from his eyes. It's as though he refuses to show you a real side to him. It's maddening, you can't seem to figure him out.

"What do you mean?" he asks, and you force a smile, beneath your grimace. Taking a deep breath, you pull the peony from your ear, smiling softly.

"You know...faking." You say the word before you realize how insulting it could be interpreted. At Hoseok's slight eyebrow raise, you grimace noting that he took it exactly that way. You stammer, scrambling for the right way to make up for your wrong usage of words. "I mean, you're a good actor! I almost believed that was real."

Jhope looks as though he wants to say something in response, but before he can, Deokhwa call from beyond the set, near a couple of stylists touching up Namjoon's makeup before he heads up.

"Come on you two! Come take a look at the monitor."

You nod, silently thanking God for giving you a weird and eccentric director. You don't notice the odd way Hoseok is looking at you, nor do you realize that he's taken a step closer to you. Placing his hand on your shoulder, you jump a bit, turning to him, but his lips are already by your ear, his breath hot and dancing on your skin.

You try your hardest not to shiver as he whispers his next words, the sound reverberating in your eardrums.

"I wasn't faking anything."

𝔞/𝔫: i feel like we have hardly any Jhope moments so here you go! i hope this is a nice one, even if it's kind of short ;-;

chapter 36 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

41 notes · View notes

wondernimbus · 4 years

Text

tired — regulus black

pairing: regulus black x female!reader

prompt: regulus loses himself to the dark lord, but she won’t let him.

requests are open. gif credit goes to @elioperl. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

The entire castle seems to be asleep. No sound pierces the otherwise complete silence aside from the occasional hooting of an owl or two in the distance.

But in the Slytherin dungeons, a girl paces restlessly, eyes darting to and from the grandfather clock in the corner of the common room as though in anticipation for something to pop out. Worry is etched deep into the lines of her face, tugging the corners of her lips into a frown and weighing heavily on her chest.

She wrings her hands nervously the same way she has been doing for the past ten minutes now, chewing on her bottom lip and barely even registering the fact that she is beginning to draw blood. No, she can't register much, actually—not right now, when all she can think about is—

"Regulus!"

The door to the common room slides open and reveals from behind it the very person [Y/N] had been so anxious to see. Letting out a breathless sigh, she rushes towards Regulus and, without pausing to even look at him, wraps her arms around his middle.

Relief. It's a wonderful thing to feel.

"You're okay," she whispers into his chest, closing her eyes as she nods compulsively to herself. "You're okay."

[Y/N] feels the vibrations of Regulus's voice in his chest, feels his warm breath on her hair. "I'm okay, love," he whispers, placing his hand on the back of her head as he strokes her hair soothingly. "I'm okay."

The pair of them stay like that for several more moments, basking in the feeling of each other's presence. [Y/N] feels as though a heavy, suffocating weight has been lifted off of her shoulders. He's okay is all she can think to herself; it's the only thought that grounds her to reality, that keeps her sane.

When she finally finds it in herself to pull away, she keeps her hands wrapped around his torso and looks up at him.

Regulus looks tired. He always does these days, but [Y/N] still can't quite get used to it. The hollow bags, the dull hue of his skin and the suddenly more pronounced lines on his face are all signs that something is out of the ordinary, but perhaps what is most alarming is the lack of warmth in his expression. The regular person wouldn't be able to see it, but [Y/N] knows every inch of Regulus better than she knows herself, and the vacancy in his eyes is what makes her grip on his torso falter.

"What happened?"

[Y/N] doesn't know why she'd even bothered asking. She knows that like every other night he left the castle, Regulus had probably stood by the Dark Lord's side as he murdered yet another innocent person. And then a part of her wonders—had it been Regulus who had done the killing this time?

Her arms fall to her sides and she steps away from him, blinking stupidly at the thought.

Regulus's eyes skitter away from hers; she feels a mixture of dread and uneasiness blossom in her stomach like a hideous, deadly flower. He reaches up to adjust the tie around his neck, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows and opens his mouth to say something—

"No, don't," [Y/N] cuts him off, sighing. "Just.. nevermind. I don't need to know."

And just like that, the night has turned cold and the relief of seeing Regulus alive and whole is gone. The tension between the two of them is palpable—or perhaps Regulus has gotten so numb to things that only [Y/N] can feel it. The idea sends a dull stabbing pain through her chest, and she swallows, bows her head briefly, and says to the floor, "I'll turn in for the night."

"[Y/N]—"

"I don't—" she purses her lips tightly, shaking her head. "I don't want to fight right now, Reg."

"I wasn't planning on it," Regulus mutters.

They fall quiet again. The silence is everything but comfortable; there are a million words between them that need to be said—that [Y/N] wants to say—but the cowardly part of her wants to hang onto the delusion that everything is as normal as it has always been. That Regulus isn't one of the Dark Lord's many ruthless followers—that he is the same Regulus she has always known.

But he isn't. [Y/N] turns around to head to her dormitory, and the thought reverberates through her head again like a plea begging to be heard: he isn't.

It's that thought that causes her to stop in her tracks, turn around and say in a pained voice—"What happened tonight, Regulus?"

He meets her gaze—and she almost wishes he hadn't, because the look in his eyes makes the answer clear even when he refuses to tell her.

"You don't need to know, [Y/N]," he winces. "I'll see you tomorrow—"

"What happened tonight?" she repeats, voice tight.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut like he's in pain. "[Y/N]—"

"Tell me what he made you do. I want to know."

But all he does is shake his head and turn his body away like he can't bear to face her. [Y/N] doesn't want to walk away from this like it's nothing—with tears of suppressed frustration prickling at the back of her eyes, she takes a deep breath and says quietly, "Did you kill someone?"

Regulus looks up at her, brows furrowed. "No—"

"Did you watch someone get killed?"

"I—"

"Or did you sell one of the Order members out?"

He exhales heavily. "Let me—"

"Or—let's see," her tone of voice rises into a near-shout as all of the frustration she has felt for the past few days builds up in her chest and spills out of her mouth in the form of words; "Did you torture an innocent Muggle? Which one, Regulus?"

Regulus runs an aggravated hand through his hair and groans. "Why do you need to know?"

"Because I'm SCARED for you!" she practically screams, hating the single angry tear that leaks out of her eye. "Do you even realize the risk you're putting yourself in? Do you? Because I do, and I can't stand the thought of you dying or—or worse, losing your head and becoming a mindless serva—"

"I've already told you I won't," Regulus cuts her off through gritted teeth, fists clenching as he turns away. "I know what I'm doing."

"You think you do but you don't—"

"I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!"

She pauses. Regulus has turned around to face her, eyes blown wide as his chest heaves with deep breaths. With his fists clenched painfully tight and his brows pulled in together at the middle in a nasty scowl, he advances towards her and jabs a finger at her chest—"Did you think I went into this blind? You are daft for thinking you know better than me—I know fully well what I've gotten myself into—I know that I'm putting my entire life on the line and I wouldn't have decided to take that risk if I didn't bloody know that I COULD HANDLE IT!"

She should probably back off at this point. A part of her thinks about apologizing—considers reigning it in before things get worse—but [Y/N] is tired. This isn't the first time they've argued about this. She's tired of it—arguing—but beyond that she is sick of having to say goodbye to him whenever he goes on his little quests with the Dark Lord, not knowing when she'd ever see him again or if he'd even be able to come back to her.

[Y/N] is tired.

And because of this, she doesn't back down. Instead, using as much of her pent-up anger as she can muster, she shoves him by the shoulders. It doesn't have its desired effect—Regulus is much too strong for someone her size—but he does stagger back a little.

[Y/N] is tired.

She shoves him again—and again, and again, until he stumbles and trips over the table behind him, falling on his arse. [Y/N] can't put the anger in her chest into words; all that tears its way out of her mouth is a scream of frustration, and at that moment she wants to grab Regulus by the shoulders and shake him to his senses—

But she doesn't even want to touch him anymore at this point.

"I'm doing this—" she cries out angrily, speaking through the tightness in her chest, "I'm doing this because I care about you! Do you think you're special to him? Do you think you're his—what—his right-hand man?" she lets out a mocking scoff, shaking her head. "You're just a fucking puppet to him—"

"I—"

"Something he can throw away anytime he wan—"

Getting to his feet, Regulus seethes, "You don't—"

With a pointed finger jabbing into the air at each word, she shouts in a voice so broken it's a miracle she's able to form words at all, "YOU—ARE—DISPOSABLE!"

Regulus's arm lashes out, but not to hit her—no, he grabs a vase on the table and flings it across the room, where it breaks with an ear-splitting sound into a hundred tiny pieces. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he fumes, eyes wide with an almost manic kind of anger, "He needs me—"

A humorless burst of laughter slips past [Y/N]'s lips. "Don't kid yourself, Regulus."

"He needs me—you don't understand, you will never understand but he needs me—"

Feeling frustrated more than ever, [Y/N] takes a step towards him, spurred on by the white-hot anger in her chest. "I do too!" she chokes out, finding it harder to speak as the raging emotions inside her chest threaten to swallow her whole. "I need you too—that's why I'm doing this—" She's pleading. Pleading with him to listen. To understand.

But he doesn't.

Regulus shakes his head. He doesn't even look at her; he glues his eyes to a random spot in the room, gaze stony. "Not as much as he needs me."

Silence.

Oh.

Her shoulders slump. Her fists uncurl. She feels as though all the fight has died in her—and it has.

That's it, then.

[Y/N] nods, taking a shaky breath, feeling a thousand words die in her throat. There is nothing more left to say—she's tired. And she has heard enough.

"Okay," she swallows, hands trembling at her sides. "Okay. We're done."

Regulus doesn't look up.

"We're done," she repeats, more to herself than to him, voice now void of any anger or frustration or sadness—now she just sounds tired. "I'm done. We're done."

And then, turning on her heel, she leaves the common room.

Regulus doesn't look up.

881 notes · View notes

fitzs-trained-monkey · 3 years

Text

Chapter One: Lonely Together

Jack Kline x OC

Rated: PG

~I might hate myself tomorrow

But I'm on my way tonight

Let's be lonely together

A little less lonely together~

Sent: 10:52 PM

Merry Christmas, stranger. I hope yours is as bright as new fallen snow. Stay warm.

I smiled down at my phone before clicking it off and slipping it into my pocket. I didn't know who I had sent the message to. It was just a number I had punched in at random. I didn't expect anyone to reply.

Wrapping my dark green cardigan tighter around my body, I pulled my knees in closer to my chest and pressed myself closer against the wall of the bakery. The wall was only slightly warmer than the frigid air around me. It was December 2nd and icy gales were blowing in from Lake Superior and stinging the skin of the city's occupants.

The sky hung dark, low, and flat over Copper Harbor, Michigan. Copper Harbor was an itty-bitty town at the northern most tip of the northernmost part of Michigan. You know that piece of land that's only connected to the mainland by a highway, that in-between place that really should be Canada, but isn't? That's where Copper Harbor is and that's where I was.

Copper Harbor was the sort of town where newcomers and visitors are as common as flying pigs and are treated with about as much scrutiny. It's not one of those small, friendly towns just off the highway; the ones that are pleasant to find yourself in if you've taken a wrong turn. It's quite the feat to get lost and turn up in Copper Harbor, considering its miles away from anything and everything remotely interesting, unless you're searching for Bigfoot or a drunk Canadian that took a wrong turn. Though those two things might just end up being one and the same. No, nobody came to Copper Harbor unless they had a reason. That's just the sort of place it was. And aside from the mind-numbing cold, it was exactly the sort of place I wanted to be.

The clouds were so heavy with the snow that now drifted down, dusting everything in a layer of fine white powder, it seemed that someone standing on even the lowest rooftop could reach up and touch them. The snowflakes raining down from those clouds gave the appearance of tiny shooting stars. Many would have found the sight beautiful. I didn't. I just found it cold and somewhat depressing. Some people say that shooting stars are angels, falling to the earth to bless the lives of people in need. I've never liked those sorts of stories. The stars belong in the heavens. The dust belongs on the earth. Collecting in puddles, the sparkling, sugar-like ice crystals did nothing to ease the bitter cold. I shivered and coughed, my breath fogging in front of me.

I should have frozen to death hours ago.

But I can't die. At least, not that way.

Suffering, on the other hand, I can do that to no end.

I put my head between my knees, hoping to retain what little heat my walking corpse had to offer. I struggled to remain conscious. The story of the little-match-girl was playing in my head. I'd never liked that story's ending. Hallucinations really weren't my thing, especially hallucinations about things I tried not to think about, the things I tried to burry in the farthest corners of my mind. I had to distract myself, to think about anything that would keep me awake. The problem was, there was nothing to distract me.

Pling!

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a text. I grasped it quickly, greedy for a distraction, but I paused upon seeing the number displayed upon the screen. It was that number I had texted the Merry Christmas message to. Whoever it was had texted me back. I unlocked my phone and peered at the mystery person's message.

Received: 11:18 PM

Merry Christmas to you as well!

The message read. I smiled a little, surprised that anyone would care to return my quiet Christmas wish. The screen of my phone lit up with another message.

Received: 11:19 PM

Who are you?

The question was a simple one. Though tone can often be difficult to infer over written text, the question seemed to bear no hostility, only innocent curiosity. I thought for a bit about what to say, the answer was not as simple as the question had implied.

***

Located quite literally one thousand miles away from Copper Harbor, was the small, out-of-the-way town of Lebanon, Kansas. Now, in the outskirts Lebanon there was a hill. The hill was modestly sized and carpeted with thick grass painted with a layer of frost. Although it was a rather pleasant sight for some stray hiker to find, the hill was really quite unremarkable. That is, if you ignored the hulking steel door built into the side of it that looked like the entrance to a post-apocalyptic hobbit hole. See, built under that hill there was a bunker. It looked like any ordinary bunker if one can ever describe a bunker as ordinary. But inside this ordinary looking bunker, sat something rather extraordinary and his name was Jack.

Jack Kline was quite happy where he was. Sitting with his legs crossed on a chair beside the bunker's fireplace, Jack held Sam's beloved lap-top between his knees. Sam let him borrow it on the nights he couldn't sleep. Those nights were many. Sleepless nights were one of the many side effects of being half-angel, but he didn't really mind. Jack wasn't overly fond of sleep, not like Sam or Dean who adored the few hours they got. Jack would much rather be awake because if he was asleep then he couldn't observe. He liked to observe. He loved learning. He loved taking in anything and everything going on around him, soaking it all up like a sponge with legs. He especially loved to soak up a story. Epic ones with heroes that defeat powerful villains. Jack loved stories.

So, no; Jack Kline was not overly fond of sleep. No, Jack preferred to just sit quietly and watch those epic stories as they played out in front of him on the screen of Sam's lap-top.

Currently, he was watching Star Wars: The Clone Wars. The computer had said he would like it, and the computer had been right. He had just finished season 2 and had begun on season 3. Some small voice in the back of his mind told him he should slow down and draw the series out a little longer, but Jack just couldn't find the will to do so. This story was just too good to stop. Jack shoved a hand full of popcorn in his mouth as he pressed the play button on the next episode. He had managed to sneak several bags of popcorn from the kitchen and into the secret stash in his room a few nights earlier. It was perfect, except popcorn needed to be popped and popping the kernels without attracting notice was a bit of a challenge. But he found that if he popped them during the day, when everyone was clamoring about and busy with whatever, the noise from the popping kernels wouldn't peak any suspicion. The only downside to his strategy was that it left him with cold popcorn. Though this too could be remedied via his angel powers, if he was careful about it, he could warm up the popcorn undetected.

Now, don't get the impression that Jack was being starved, or held in this bunker against his will, or something awful like that. As was mentioned before, Jack was very happy there. The Winchesters, Sam and Dean, and the angel Castiel, lived there with him and took care of him. They were his family and Jack loved them. The only reason he had a secret stash at all was because Sam was the only one in the bunker who cared about the importance of having a somewhat healthy diet. Whereas Dean let the boy eat pretty much anything he wanted and Cas- well in Cas's mind food was food and that's all there was to it. But Sam didn't like it when he caught Jack eating what he referred to as 'junk food'.

Somehow, Sam always caught him.

"That stuff’ll rot your teeth, Jack!" He'd sigh, as he'd flip on the kitchen light and catch Jack eating cereal sometime around midnight. Then he'd look at Jack with a disappointed look on his face until Jack threw the cereal away and went back to bed. Jack hated it when Sam looked at him like that, he just couldn't bear to let the Winchesters down.

But Jack loved to eat. Eating was enjoyable as it brought with it something new every time. Yet more things to absorb and to experience. Although the younger Winchester disapproved of the more sugary foods; Jack liked those a whole lot more than the salads Sam tried to get him to eat. Jack didn't like the salads or 'Rabbit Food' as Dean called it. No, Jack liked popcorn a quite a bit more.

He smiled as he brought another handful into his mouth. Yes, Jack Kline quite enjoyed eating.

Plip! Ploop!

Jack's head swiveled away from the screen to stare at the phone laying face-up on the arm rest of the chair in which he sat. The screen was alight with a text message. He picked up the phone and unlocked it. The message read:

Received: 10:52 PM

Merry Christmas, stranger. I hope yours is as bright as new fallen snow. Stay warm.

That was all. Jack was quite confused; he didn't know that number. Who had sent the text? What should he do? Should he say something back?

Curiosity and caution struggled in a match tug-of-war in his head. He wanted to know who the message had come from. He wanted to know why that person had sent it. He also wanted to know why he had a strange feeling that whoever had sent the message was horribly sad. But would the Winchesters be mad at him if he answered? Sam and Dean had given him the phone just a few days earlier.

"For emergencies," Sam had said as he laid the device in Jack's hand before resuming his packing. Jack had stared at it, rather confused as to its purpose. Castiel had been off somewhere doing something and Sam and Dean had been leaving for a hunt, leaving him alone which Dean was completely and utterly against.

"Only for emergencies," Dean had stressed, jabbing his finger in Jack's general direction as he inspected various articles of clothing before tossing them into a duffle bag. "That means don't text or call unless someone is breaking in or you're dying!"

Sam shot his older brother a warning look. Dean ignored it and pulled a pair of socks out of his dresser, sniffing them briefly before making a face and chucking them to the other side of the room. Jack looked back down at the small black rectangle in his palm.

"Okay so, only text or call in case there's an emergency. Got it." Jack clinched the thin black box between his thumb and forefinger, carefully lifting it up as if it might explode in his face. "But, one question, if something happens like-like you said, like somebody breaking in or me dying, how-how would I do that?" He asked, looking back at the two brothers. They both froze their hasty packing and pivoted to stare at him, their eyebrows raised with disbelieving question.

"What?" Dean asked the young Nephilim. Jack shrank away a little, not wanting to upset the older Winchester.

"How do I text or call you? I don't know how to do that," Jack had timidly replied. Dean just shook his head and returned to over-stuffing the duffle. Sam, however, was much more understanding.

"That's right, you-you don't, do you?" Sam asked, realizing his mistake. Jack turned his attention to the younger of the brothers, shaking his head in an answer to Sam's question.

"Unbelievable," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. Sam shot him another glare which Dean merely shrugged off.

"Well, come on then, I'll teach you," Sam had said. Jack watched as Sam set the contacts and explained how everything worked. He showed Jack how to send a text, how to dial and answer a call, and all the other things Jack would need to know. Jack just watched him and took note of every little thing. Watching and replicating was how Jack learned best.

"Now, if I don't answer my phone, you call Dean. But if he doesn't pick up, I want you to call me again, if I still don't answer a second time, I want you to call this number right here. That's Jody Mills, she's a friend of ours and she'll help you, alright? You get all that?" Sam finished explaining and looked for Jack to confirm his understanding. Jack nodded.

"I got it!" He said, enthusiastically. Sam gave the young boy a nervous smile.

"You do? Can you repeat it back to me?" Sam asked Jack the question the same way Sam and Dean's father had always asked them.

"If something happens, call you, and if you don't answer, call Dean. If Dean doesn't answer then I call you again, but if you still don't pick up, then call Jody Mills." Jack repeated all of Sam's instructions perfectly, grinning proudly at the younger Winchester when he finished. Sam laughed a little, but nerves twinged his voice.

"Good, yeah. Okay," Sam paused, thinking things over, "You know what, Jack? If neither of us answer your call and it's really that urgent, don't bother calling me a second time. Just call Jody right away if you can't get through to either of us. Alright?"

"Alright!" Jack nodded, grinning. Sam nodded back, stiffly.

"Alright." He seemed like he wanted to say something else but didn't know how to say it.

"You two done in there, Sammy?! We gotta go!" Dean called, walking in from another room. Sam stood and looked at his brother.

"Uh, yeah. I think we're good," He took a few steps towards the stairs that lead up to the door before pausing and turning back to Jack, "We're good, right? You're gonna be okay here by yourself?" Sam asked again. Jack grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

"I'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

Sam nodded and smiled with so much nervousness it almost hurt to watch.

"Okay, good. It's good. We're good," He said, nodding and trying to reassure himself more than anyone else. Dean raised an eyebrow at his overly anxious little brother, tugging his old leather jacket on over his shoulders, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he directed his remarks at Jack.

"Hey, kid. Whatever you do, don't do anything stupid," He'd said, half glaring, "We'll be back in a few days." Then they'd left.

Now, Jack glanced back down at the phone in his hands, remembering Dean's warning about not doing anything stupid. But his curiosity regarding the sender of the message was overwhelming. It couldn't hurt to text this person back, right? Was that what Dean had meant by his warning? Did this count as something stupid? What was the worst that could happen? Deciding that the benefits outweighed the risks, he texted back.

Sent: 10:18 PM

Merry Christmas to you as well!

Jack wrote.

Sent: 10:19 PM

Who are you?

No sooner had asked his question, he began to worry that he might have sounded rude. He waited with anticipation for the mystery person to reply. He didn't have to wait long.

Received: 10:20 PM

It doesn't matter, you don't know me.

I'm just someone wanting to give you a warm holiday wish.

Jack frowned. Again, he got the distinct feeling that the person on the other side of this conversation was deeply saddened by something. He desperately wanted to know what. So, he did the thing he did best. He asked and waited to see what would happen.

***

Received: 11:21 PM

If you don't know me, why do you care?

I don't mean to be rude. I'm just curious.

Why do this?

I read the person's question once, then twice, then three times and I realized that I didn't have an answer. Why did I care? Why was I texting some random person a Christmas wish? For all I knew, this person may not even observe the holiday. I had so many of my own things to worry about I was nearly drowning in them. I didn't know this person. I had nothing to do with them. So, why did I care about their holiday season? Why was I doing this?

I told myself it was just a random act of kindness. But deep down I knew what the reason was, and even if I didn't want to think about it, I felt it in my heart. I was doing this for the same reason I did everything. So, I took a few moments and came up with a reply.

Sent: 11:25 PM

I'm doing this because I believe that no one should ever have to be alone,

especially during the holidays.

I sent my reply and remembered to keep on shivering. I could hardly feel the cold anymore, I had gone almost completely numb. But I knew if I didn't keep moving, I would surely freeze in place and be unable to move until spring came. I vaguely wondered how cold it was. I remembered having heard on someone's car radio that this was supposed to be the coldest winter Michigan had experienced in the last decade. Though winter had only just begun, it was already cold enough for the district council to be suggesting face coverings to prevent citizens from getting frostbite and losing their nose.

I sneezed. I had no such face covering. Hell! I didn't even have a jacket! Let alone a coat or anything mildly warm. All I had was my oversized green cardigan, my black Star Wars t-shirt and my black jeans. That was it. Yet here I sat, outside a bakery in well below freezing temperatures, shivering myself into next decade.

I could go to a shelter. At least there I wouldn't have to endure the bitter biting of the wind as it gushed with double its normal force through these tight, abandoned alleyways. But if I went to a shelter then there was no chance of leaving undetected, I reminded myself. No, it was better to stay here, cold and alone, than to risk human contact.

I was pulled from my thoughts by another pling from my phone. Another message from that unknown contact.

Received: 11: 27

Are you alone?

Again, the question was simple. And although the mere thought hurt like a knife twisting in a fresh wound, I looked around at the dark, trash littered alleyway I sat in, watching the scattered rags of paper flutter and tumble in the winter gales, and I looked at the brutally beautiful puddles of speckled ice gathering along my body and melting on my skin, and I examined the bleak night sky, choked starless by the drifting dreary clouds; and the utterly silent stillness of the sleeping city revealed the harsh reality of my answer.

No one was here.

Nobody cared.

Not even the stars would keep me company. Because the stars never cared who I was.

So, with no reason to keep the truth hidden. I answered the question honestly.

Sent: 11: 29 PM

Yes.

Sent: 11: 30 PM

I am alone.

I was completely and utterly alone.

***

Received: 10: 30 PM

I am alone.

Once again Jack got the distinct impression that these words carried a heavy burden. It made him frown. What could he do to help a person he didn't even know? He wanted to ask this person if they had any friends, but something about those words told him the answer. When this person had said they were alone, Jack got the feeling they weren't just talking about the current moment. But maybe that's what this person needed. Maybe they needed a friend.

Sent: 10: 32 PM

Well, I'll be your friend and talk to you. There, now you're not alone anymore!

Jack smiled as he sent the text. The reply didn't take long.

Received: 10: 33 PM

Thank you.

You don't have waste your time on me but thank you.

It didn't take any special powers to read in between the lines this time, anyone could see the sadness in those words. Though Jack wasn't sure if it was his powers causing that strange feeling or if he was just imagining things.

Sent: 10:34 PM

I don't mind. Really!

Besides, I don't have anyone to talk to either.

Received: 10: 35 PM

Well, in that case, we can be lonely together!

Jack grinned. He'd made himself a friend. He couldn't wait to get to know them.

***

Received: 11: 36 PM

Since we're friends now, what's your name?

I smiled down at my new mystery friend's message. There was something about the words that made them seem innocent and earnest. It couldn't hurt to give my name, right? It’s not like he could find me. After all, I'm supposed to be dead.

Sent: 11: 37 PM

My name is Martina.

I sent my name and waited for the response. It came quickly.

Received: 11: 38 PM

I like your name Martina!

It's very pretty.

I flinched as I read the text. Something about seeing my name written in the text brought me back to a conversation with a different person a long time ago. It was a painful memory, and I didn't want to see it anymore. I didn't want another reminder of the still bleeding wounds in my heart. I remembered why I didn't let anyone call me that name anymore.

Sent: 11: 39 PM

Thank you.

But I would prefer you call me Marty.

I didn't want to be so sensitive to things like this, but I just couldn't help it.

Received: 11: 40 PM

Alright! I like Marty too.

It's a fun name.

I smiled; grateful they didn't ask why it was so important that they called me by a nickname.

Sent: 11: 41 PM

Thanks for understanding.

So, what's your name?

Received: 11: 42 PM

My name is Jack!

I grinned to myself. I'd made me a friend. I just couldn't wait to get to know him.

Sent: 11: 43 PM

Heya, Jack!

It’s nice to meet you!

I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

Received: 11: 44 PM

I agree, Marty. We are going to be great friends!

Sent: 11: 45 PM

So, what's your favorite movie?

And just like that, we talked until the sun came up. And suddenly, for the first time in quite a while, I wasn't completely alone.

***

"Hey, uh, Jack? We're back!"

Sam's voice drifted in from just outside Jack's bedroom door. Jack was surprised. He hadn't heard the brothers come in which, for him, was quite peculiar.

The door creaked open and Jack hastily attempted to pretend like he hadn't been using the phone.

He failed.

Miserably.

The device slipped from his hand and he fumbled to catch it before it smashed against the grey, polished concrete floor. He let out a sigh of relief as he snatched it just in time.

Sam peered around the door, checking in on Jack, who was now hanging halfway off his bed and clutching the phone. Scrambling to sit upright, Jack gave Sam a half-panicked smile.

"Hi Sam!" He waved a greeting, shoving his phone behind his back. Sam raised his eyebrows in a questioning expression and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He folded his arms and leaned back on his heels.

"Hey Jack," Sam seemed a little distracted, "Have you seen Cas?" He asked. Jack shook his head vigorously.

"He's not back yet," He answered. Sam nodded and started to leave before stopping and turning back. Only now seeming to notice Jack's odd behavior. Sam gestured at the phone hidden behind the boys back,

"So, what were you doing in here just now?" Jack's eyes flew wide as quarters and his gaze shifted rapidly around the room, focusing on anywhere but Sam. His mind was working overtime trying to find a viable excuse.

"Uhhhh...Nothing!" Jack tried; his brain had gone blank. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You sure about that?" Sam leaned forward a little, narrowing his eyes. Jack leaned back to match; his face scrunched up with the guilt he was trying very hard to hide. Everyone in the bunker knew how terrible Jack was at lying. He might be able to pass a few simple fibs by a stranger, but his family saw through him like he was made of glass. He couldn't deceive them. But that didn't stop him from trying, however.

"Yes..." Jack said slowly, his eyebrows pulling together in a rather sad attempt at looking sincere.

"Jack, what were you doing?" Sam asked more sternly. Jack looked at his feet and didn't answer. His shoulders moved up and down in a shrug.

"Do I have to go get Dean?" Sam pressed. Now Jack's head shot up. He stretched his hands out in a pleading gesture.

"No, no! Don't tell Dean!" Jack begged. Sam's expression shifted into one of concern.

"If you tell me, I won't tell Dean." Sam agreed, moving to sit on the bed beside Jack who shifted to give him some space. Sam waited patiently for the young Nephilim to speak. Jack kept his head down and rubbed his hands together nervously as he tried to think of how he should explain himself.

"Well, last night I was watching Netflix when I got this text from somebody wishing me a merry Christmas-" He started.

"Someone we know?" Sam asked, interrupting. Jack shook his head and continued.

"I asked them why they would do that, and they said it was because they thought that nobody should be alone this time of year. So, I asked if they were alone and they said, yes ─" Jack looked the younger Winchester in the eyes ─

"I don't know why but I just got this- this feeling, and they sounded just so sad, and now we're friends! But Dean said not to do anything stupid, and now I'm worried that I did! Are you mad?" Jack finished, worry coloring his features. Sam blinked. Once again astounded by the size of the half-angel's heart, he shook his head.

"No, Jack. I'm not mad," He said, softly.

"Really?"

"Really. I think you did a good thing. Everyone needs a friend." Sam patted Jack's shoulder and smiled. Jack looked down, grinning to himself as pride filled his chest.

Sam waited a moment before getting up from the bed. Stretching his back out and groaning a bit as he stood. It had been almost 48 hours since he last slept, and he was more than ready for a long nap. His hand rested on the doorknob and he paused a moment before turning back around.

"Hey, uh, Jack. Just one more thing. Do you by chance know this person's name?" Sam asked. Jack looked up briefly before looking back at the floor again, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping up to stain his cheeks.

"It's, uh, it's Marty," He replied. Sam nodded and moved to leave again but he stopped. His eyebrows pulled down with confusion before he turned back.

"And uh, is that a boy's name or a girl's name? Do you know?" Jack turned his head a bit to the side and picked at a thread in his jeans.

"Does it matter?" He questioned back. Truthfully, it didn't. Sam wouldn't make Jack stop if he didn't want to. But to say that the boy's current evasive behavior didn't pique his interest, would be a lie. Though, the kid’s flushed cheeks told him quite a bit about the answer.

"It doesn't matter," Sam said, shrugging, "I'm just curious is all." The tall man watched the boy's reaction. Jack nodded and shifted as if uncomfortable.

"Marty's a girl." He answered, trying to force his voice into sounding nonchalant. And failing.

"Okay, cool." Sam nodded, turning around again, and reaching for the handle. Jack's head whipped around.

"Wait, Sam!"

Sam looked over his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Don't. Tell. Dean!" Jack stressed. Urgency was evident in his voice. Sam huffed a laugh.

"Okay, Jack." With that, Sam pulled open the door and walked out letting the heavy steel swing shut behind him. Behind the door, Jack sighed with relief. He'd dodged a bullet with that one.

Walking a ways down the hall, Sam got to Dean's room where his older brother was now unpacking. The younger brother leaned on the door frame and expelled the laughter he'd been holding on to since Jack’s room. Dean turned around, holding a pistol and a pair of weeks old and hopelessly blood caked socks in his hands, he faced Sam with a questioning look.

"What's got you so giggly all of a sudden?" The older of the brother's asked.

Dean glanced at the pair of socks in his hand. He grimaced at the stench and held them further away from his face, trying not to breathe. It didn't work. The socks odor was so pungent, Dean could smell them through his mouth. There was no hope of washing them. Nope, those things would have to be burned. Though, taking another whiff of them, Dean wasn't sure that even incinerating the socks would do him much good now. The stomach-turning stink would be branded into his memory forever. Sam straightened up, shaking his head of shoulder length hair.

"It's just something Jack said." Sam smiled and laughed again before taking notice of the unholy stench wafting off the socks. He coughed. "Dude, those stink. Bad!"

"Yeah, it's a sad day, Sammy." Dean nodded solemnly. Sam covered his nose.

"Why?"

"These were my second luckiest pair of socks."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, they're not anymore," Sam pointed out. Now, they were just rancid.

"I think we should give em' a Viking funeral, something to honor their service. I mean, I remember one time when I wore these things for two weeks straight!" Dean reminisced, grinning. Sam looked mildly disturbed.

"That's, uh... nice... But, uh, is there somewhere we could put them before the funeral? Because they, uh, they reek." Sam was trying hard not to gag and couldn't understand how Dean could be holding them and remain unaffected. Dean smirked.

"You wanna go put em' somewhere?" He asked, waving the socks into Sam's face. Sam leaned away.

"Ah! God! No! Put those things somewhere! Please!" He choked out. Dean just grinned and moved to the other side of the room. Grabbing a cardboard box from off the shelf, he shoved the socks in there and sealed the lid. The stench quickly began to dissipate.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"We're gonna have to burn that box too."

"Yup." Sam still felt a little sick but at least the socks were gone.

"So, what was it Jack said that you thought was so funny?" The older brother asked.

"Oh, uh, nothing. It was nothing," Sam said. But laughter began to creep up on him again. Dean rolled his eyes and went back to pulling more dirty clothing from the duffle bag.

"Are ya gonna stand there or are ya gonna spill?" Dean pushed. Sam sobered up again.

"Well, I'm not supposed to tell you," He said.

Dean shook his head, mildly annoyed. He knew Sam was going to tell him whatever juicy information he had gotten, just like he always did when he got that sly look on his face. Sam could be a bit of a schoolgirl that way. Except, of course, when it came to the important things, the things Dean was supposed to know. Those things Sam always kept to himself.

"Well, Sammy, if you ain’t gonna spill─" he used the gun in his hand to gesture from Sam to the duffle bag─ "get workin'."

The younger Winchester moved to the bag and started unpacking, grinning his face off all the while. Dean knew his little brother was waiting for him to ask about the thing with Jack again, so he said nothing. He just waited for Sam to look over to him eagerly, which is exactly what Sam did.

"So get this!" Sam started.

'Here it comes.' Dean predicted internally. Sam kept starring.

'Yatzee.' Dean thought. He knew Sam like the back of his hand. Actually, he probably knew his brother better than that.

"Apparently, Jack got a text from some random person last night wishing him merry Christmas. And, well, you know Jack! So he─" Dean stopped his brother mid-sentence.

"What's her name?" He interrupted. Sam looked confused.

"I didn't say anything about a girl," Sam trailed off. Dean sighed and shook his head.

"Geez, Sammy! If you love drama so much, you should go be an actor. You ain't foolin' anybody. We both know where this is goin' so just cut to the chase!" Dean sighed, opening a trunk and tossing in the gun he'd been holding along with several knives. His small outburst had startled his younger brother, but Dean didn't really care. Sam wasn't the only one who hadn't slept in 48 hours. Sleep was calling and Dean wanted nothing more than to answer. Sam frowned.

"Marty. The girl's name is Marty," Sam stated, sounding rather put out that Dean had guessed at his not-so-cleaver ploy. The older if the pair turned to the younger with a perplexed expression.

"Wait, wait. Marty?" He clarified. Amused disbelief written all over his features.

"Marty," Sam confirmed.

"Marty?"

"Yeah. Marty."

"Like the zebra in Madagascar, Marty?" Dean asked, grinning. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, like that. But remember, you didn't hear anything from me!" He answered, smiling as well. Dean laughed as he turned his attention back to the mess of clothing and weapons surrounding him on the floor.

"Yeah, whatever, drama queen." Dean rolled his eyes and kept working. The room was silent for a moment before the older Winchester burst out laughing again. He couldn't help himself; he found the subject hilarious.

"Ah, man. Marty! Now there's a name!" He exclaimed as he started folding the few clean clothing items laying in the pile. "What? Did her parents just take one look at her and say: 'Look at our beautiful baby! Let's name her Marty!'" Dean scoffed.

Sam snorted and shook his head at his older brother's bad joke. Then he leaned his head back and yawned.

"Man, I think we need some sleep," Sam sighed. Dean smirked.

"Is it your bedtime already?" He taunted, expecting a playful retort. But this time, Sam didn't argue. He just nodded.

"Yeah, I think it is." Though worried about his little brother, Dean held his playful smirk in place perfectly, just like he had been doing for so many years.

"Well, you go ahead and hit the sack. I'll finish up here." He said, easily. Even though he was just as tired and Sam was, he would finish out like always. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, o'course. There's not much left anyway." That was a lie and they both knew it, but Sam took the offer of sleep while it was on the table.

"Thanks, Dean."

"You're welcome, Sammy."

Sam patted his older brother on the arm as he stood and left the room. Traveling down the corridor he got to his bedroom and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Meanwhile, Dean mouthed the strange name of Jack's mystery girl and chuckled about it to himself. Sitting on the floor in his room as he continued folding the rest of the clean clothes, cleaning out all the weapons and putting everything back in its place. The chore took him two more hours to complete but when it was done, he stretched himself out and laid back on his bed.

"Marty. Now, that's hilarious." Dean snickered to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

~I might hate myself tomorrow.

But I'm on my way tonight.

Let's be lonely together.

A little less lonely together~

Lyrics from: Lonely Together by Jasmine Thompson

25 notes · View notes

obeyme-kaidii-writes · 3 years

Note

Alright, this combination spoke to me. I personally am struggling to pick between Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, and Diavolo as my favorite, I love all of them. So Poly with the four, but with the angst prompt of "I don't know how much longer I can endure this." in response to the tortures of not being able to choose. Up to interpretation, but this resonated with me.

I may have gotten a teensy tiny bit carried away with this one. But I had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you enjoy it too!

Complicated

Diavolo / Lucifer / Satan / Beel x poly gn!MC

Words - 5330

Content warnings - some angst, lots of comfort and fluff, polyamorous relationship w/MC (no demon x demon relationships)

Prompt/Inspiration - anon request, “I don’t know how much longer I can endure this.”

Summary - You had managed to fall in love with not one, not two, but FOUR demons - and now you had to figure out what came next.

AO3

Complicated.

There really wasn’t another way to describe the current state of your life.

Beel was the first one to really take an interest in you. A genuine interest. You fell in love hard and fast. Perhaps it was the guilt over not being able to reveal what you knew about Belphegor’s situation, but you didn’t feel comfortable making your feelings for him known. It just seemed like something that would burden him, and you really didn’t want to risk losing the one friend you felt the most safe with while you were all alone in this new realm.

As your year progressed, the situation with Belphegor was finally resolved. But still, you hesitated to say anything. You knew how close he was to Belphie, and you convinced yourself that it would be best if you didn’t do anything that would come between them. It was obvious even to your own heart that you were just making excuses for yourself, too scared to take a step forward.

It was then you started growing closer to Lucifer. Your initial relationship with him had been...strained...to say the least. But after he realized the lengths you were willing to go to in order to help his brothers, he couldn’t help but fall in love with you. You had an inner strength that he honestly admired, though he would probably never admit that to you. And he enjoyed your company immensely, even if it was just having you nearby while he worked. Everything just seemed easier with you around, even Mammon’s shenanigans didn’t stress him out quite like they used to anymore. And you enjoyed his company as well - he was a source of stability for you in the chaos of the House of Lamentation. You would often take refuge in his study with him to recharge after a day of playing referee for the other overgrown children you had as housemates.

You had also managed to catch Satan’s eye, particularly after the whole dating sim fiasco with Levi. He liked the fact that you saw him as an individual - you never compared him to Lucifer, nor did you ever try to force the issue about them getting along. You just let Satan be...Satan. And he loved spending time with you reading together. It was like the two of you had your own private book club; he was always ready with a book recommendation for you.

It was Satan that had actually approached you first about the possibility of being in a relationship. You were surprised to hear that he had had such a strong interest in you, since he was always so reserved most of the time. Your initial reaction was of course to want to say yes, but the fact that Beel, and Lucifer especially, still held pieces of your heart made you feel incredibly guilty. You didn’t even have to ask to know that Lucifer was the absolute last person he’d ever be ok with sharing your affections with, even if you could get him to consider a polyamorous relationship.

So, you instead asked Satan for time. And he agreed to give you some space to think things over. You knew it was unfair to him to expect him to wait...but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him “no”. You didn’t want to tell him “no”, after all. It was just the only option you felt was available to you.

Hoping to avoid Satan, and delay the inevitable, you started spending more time with Barbatos at the Demon Lord’s Castle. He taught you all about Devildom teas, and showed you how to bake some of Diavolo’s favorite treats. And Diavolo was more than happy to sample everything you tried your hand at preparing.

At some point, you had just started dropping by even when Barbatos was busy, just to chat with Diavolo and he was always glad to see you. He’d ask you about your life in the human realm, and you’d ask him about life in the Devildom. You probably learned more about Devildom history and lore from these conversations than you ever did in class at RAD; and you eagerly soaked it all up, hanging on Diavolo’s every word, absolutely enchanted with his storytelling ability and his life experiences that spanned several millennia.

Unlike with Beel, or even Lucifer, you didn’t realize when you had started falling for Diavolo, or Dia as he asked you to call him now. One day you had just tried to stop by, only to learn that he was still stuck at RAD, working with Lucifer. And you were absolutely devastated. It shocked you honestly at just how upset you had gotten over the loss of one simple visit. But as soon as you felt that familiar ache in your heart you knew exactly what was going on.

It was the same thing that you had been trying to avoid dealing with with Lucifer and his brothers. And you had somehow managed to get tangled up in again. Only this time things were far more complicated than family relationships between brothers. There was just no way you’d be allowed to enter into a relationship with Lord Diavolo, crown prince of the Devildom. That is if he was even interested in you in that way, which you highly doubted. Why would he be? You were just a simple human. You didn’t have any great experience or insight to offer, your education wasn’t even that exemplary. There was nothing about you that you felt entitled you to ever expect to be more than just friends with the Prince, and you were lucky he even humored your attempts at friendship.

You weren’t sure how, but you did manage to make it home that afternoon and crawled into bed. The tears just started on their own, and you were powerless to stop them. You had fought them off for far too long at this point, your body simply decided it had enough repressing those emotions and they all came pouring out. How much longer would you be able to endure this? You honestly didn’t think there was much more your heart could take, and you had no one to blame but yourself.

————

When Beel dropped by to remind you of dinner, you pretended to sleep and choked back your sobs until he went away. When Lucifer stopped by to check on you, you told him you were busy with schoolwork. And when Satan asked if you would like to come over to his room to read, you said you weren’t feeling well.

You thought you had managed to throw everyone off the scent. But when Diavolo popped in to apologize for not being there when you had tried to visit him earlier, everything quickly started to unravel.

You opened your bedroom door, completely shocked to see Dia and Lucifer on the other side. He had never come by before just to see you. Maybe a few times to check on Lucifer, but he usually would send Barbatos to run any important errands or to issue any invitations. Seeing him before you now, you immediately became aware of how awful you must have looked. Your eyes still red, your hair a mess, your uniform all disheveled since you hadn’t bothered to change when you got home.

As you stood there, opening and closing your mouth, struggling to string together a single coherent thought, the unthinkable happened - Beel walked by on his way to the kitchen, Satan not far behind him, and they both turned to look your way as they walked past your door. Your eyes flicked from Beel to Satan to Lucifer to Dia and you instinctively tried to slam your door shut to escape, but Lucifer caught it before you could.

“Is there something the matter?” he asked.

And of course, once again, your body decided it had just had enough of containing your repressed emotions and let your tears flow freely. This was it, you thought. You were going to be forced to face what you had been trying to avoid and that would just be the end of it all. Since you had refused to make a choice on your own, your choice was about to be made for you and you were going to end up with absolutely nothing as a result.

—————

It took awhile for you to calm down. Beel was sitting next to you on the edge of your bed with his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. Satan was standing nearby, holding a glass of water for you. You thanked him quietly for his thoughtfulness, and slowly sipped the chilled water, trying to buy yourself some time before you would start being forced to answer questions. And Lucifer and Dia were sitting across from you in two plush, wingback chairs that they had dragged away from the wall.

Everyone silently waiting for you.

“I’m...sorry…” you finally mumbled out. Beel gave you a reassuring squeeze, and Satan sat down beside you, taking your free hand. What you wouldn’t have given to be able to freeze time and just continue living in that perfect little moment surrounded by your favorite demons. But this was reality. And it was about time you faced that.

“It’s ok, but what are you apologizing for?” Satan asked.

“I umm…” your lip started trembling and you took a deep breath to try to calm yourself. There wasn’t any way to run from this, not this time.

“Take your time,” Beel reassured you, rubbing your arm.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you guys, especially you Satan. I know that wasn’t fair.” You felt him tense up beside you, no doubt expecting the reason for your avoidance to have been due to the fact you were planning on rejecting him. But he didn’t let go of your hand either, which only made you feel more guilty.

“It’s just...I can’t...I can’t choose…” you started to fidget nervously in your seat.

Lucifer seemed to have caught on quicker than the rest, “You mean to say you have feelings for more than one of us?” You meekly nodded, keeping your head down and your eyes glued to the floor. You had absolutely no desire to see the expressions on everyone’s faces as they exchanged looks with one another.

By this point Dia was getting a bit uncomfortable. This didn’t seem like the sort of conversation he should be part of - it was between Lucifer and his brothers after all. Even though he treasured you greatly, he had never made those feelings known to you nor had you ever expressed more than friendly interest in him, so it didn’t even occur to him that he might also be involved.

“I think I’ll go ahead and head out so…”

“No..!” you called out, looking Dia right in the eye, desperate for him to stay. You were surprised at your own reaction, but you couldn’t let him leave without knowing how you felt. The only thing that would hurt worse than him knowing your feelings and rejecting you, was if he thought you didn’t care for him at all and preferred someone else to him. And you couldn’t let that happen. You at least wanted a chance to keep him as your friend.

“I...ummm…you’re part of...this…” you mumbled out as your eyes fell to the ground again.

Diavolo was caught completely off guard with your confession, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks. As was Lucifer, who for the most part had been unaware that you had been spending enough time with the Prince to have any sort of relationship.

The silence that followed was killing you. It felt so oppressive. All you could do was wait for someone else to decide to speak. You couldn’t understand why Beel was still holding you so gently, or why Satan hadn’t moved from his spot next to you, your hand still wrapped in his. It was only a matter of time, you thought, before they’d all leave one by one and you’d find yourself alone. Part of you wanted them to hurry up and go so you could wallow in your own self pity, because the other part of you wanted them all to stay and tell you how much they all loved you, and you knew that was never going to happen.

“Can I speak with them? Alone?”

“Lord Diavolo…” Lucifer had started to object, but quickly stopped himself. He could use this time to talk to Satan and Beel, and it seemed they had a lot to talk about, “Alright, we will be in my study. Let us know when you’re finished.”

Satan, who had been staring at you this whole time, glared at Lucifer for assuming he’d just go along with his suggestion. But even he could see the tender look in his eyes as he gazed at you. There was no doubt Lucifer cared for you immensely, and seeing as this was for your benefit, Satan decided to comply, giving your hand one final squeeze before making his way out of your room.

Beel was having a more difficult time letting you go. He could practically feel how upset you were, and didn’t want to leave you alone. But after looking at Lucifer and Lord Diavolo, he finally accepted that it would be alright to leave you be for just a few moments. So, giving you one last hug and a kiss to the top of your head, he followed after Satan, with Lucifer not far behind.

Now alone with you, Dia dragged his chair closer to your bed so that he was sitting right in front of you, knees nearly touching. He took the now empty glass from you and set it down on the bedside table before taking both of your hands in his own.

“This has been bothering you for some time, hasn’t it?”

“...yeah…”

“Is this why you started spending so much time at the castle?”

“Sorta. I asked Barbatos to help me learn more about Devildom baking so I could avoid everyone else,” you gave a self deprecating laugh, “But then I started spending time with you….and...well then that started to be the reason I came…”

“So you really enjoyed our time together?”

“Of course!” you replied, raising your head to meet Diavolo’s gaze. He was much closer than you were expecting, and you flushed in embarrassment. He chuckled at your reaction. You were just so cute when you got flustered, he had a hard time resisting the urge to tease you, but he’d have to save that for later.

“Then why were you so upset?”

“Because...I...realized it didn’t matter.”

“Didn’t matter? Why would you think that?”

“Because...I’m...I'm just me. A simple human. And you’re you. And I should just be happy you even put up with me or talk to me at all. And even if I told you how I felt, it wouldn’t change how I feel about them and it just didn’t seem fair to have to choose, not after Satan already confessed to me. And I know Lucifer hasn’t said anything yet, but I can tell the way he looks at me. And there is no way Satan would ever be ok with me having any sort of relationship with Lucifer. And Beel is like my best friend and I’m sure if I say anything it would just upset Belphie and I don’t want to hurt him or make Beel think he has to choose…”

You snapped your mouth shut, realizing what you had just done. You had just unloaded everything, all the secrets and worries that had plagued your heart for the past several months, you had shared it all. To say you were mortified right now would be an understatement. You truly wished the ground would just swallow you up. You’d wish for death if you thought it would make a difference, but with your luck you’d just end up right back in the Devildom.

“So what I’m hearing is you’re too busy worrying about how everyone else feels to worry about yourself?”

You nodded your head, averting your eyes.

“What do you want then?”

“...it’s selfish…”

“Then be selfish. We’re demons after all.”

“Wha…?” you looked up at Dia again and he was gazing at you softly, a small smile on his lips as he encouraged you. Was it really ok for you to just ask for that ? Would they really not hate you if you did? It didn’t seem possible for you to get everything you’d want, how could you be that lucky? Surely if you said anything, then you’d lose everything, right?

At least that’s what your human conscience was telling you.

But here sat Lord Diavolo, future king of the Devildom, telling you that it was ok to ask for whatever you wanted, in a way that suggested you just might be granted it. And you wanted so badly to believe that that would be true.

“Go on, love, tell me what you want to do.”

————

Lucifer took a seat at his desk, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in front of himself. Finding out that you had a close relationship with Diavolo had come as a huge surprise. He had suspected that Satan had taken a liking to you, and he wasn’t at all surprised to discover that Beel was fond of you as well. But Diavolo? He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“I assume you wanted to talk to us. So what is it?” asked Satan. He was agitated. He didn’t like the idea of leaving you alone with Lord Diavolo, especially not after it seemed that you may actually reciprocate his own feelings. But since, it appeared, he wasn’t the only one in your heart, he had to put your best interest first. And in this case that included letting you speak with Lord Diavolo while he discussed things with his brothers.

“Obviously.”

“Well?”

“First, I want to hear what your thoughts are on this matter. It’s clear that Satan has feelings for them, but what about you Beel? You’ve been quiet this whole time.”

Satan and Lucifer both turned to look at Beel who was seated in one of the large chairs near the fireplace. He raised his head to look at his brothers, before sighing and sitting back in his seat. He knew how much they cared for you. He had even started to realize when Lord Diavolo had begun to take an interest in you as even his casual interactions became more friendly. And he had decided that he was going to keep his own feelings to himself, not wanting to interfere in his brothers’ happiness. Never once had it occurred to him that he may have been causing you to suffer as a result.

“I love them,” he replied, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks. Of course he loved you. How could he not? You were just so bright in his eyes, and you brought so much hope with you. When you had told him that you wanted to help Lucifer and Belphie makeup when you had first arrived, he didn’t doubt you for a second. Even though he barely knew you at the time, he just had this feeling you’d make it happen. And the closer the two of you grew, the more deeply he trusted you, the stronger his love for you became, the more he wanted to protect you and your happiness.

“Then I suppose that makes three of us,” Lucifer said, clearing his throat.

“So? What are you suggesting we do?” asked Satan.

“That depends on them, of course. But it seems the primary reason for their struggle is because they feel unable to choose between us.”

“I already confessed directly, have you?” Satan asked, staring Lucifer down.

“I have not, and I don’t believe Beel has either,” Beel shook his head in agreement, “I think that’s irrelevant though based on the conversation we just had in their bedroom.”

Satan scoffed, walking to the other end of the room to put some distance between himself and Lucifer. Of course his brother was right. It didn’t really matter who said what first, or even who you fell in love with first. All that mattered was what you wanted. And right now, he wasn’t sure what you wanted at all.

He had to admit it did sting a little when he realized you weren’t interested in him alone. Particularly since Lucifer was one of the other parties involved. The idea of being in any sort of romantic relationship which also involved Lucifer just made his skin crawl. But despite that, the idea of losing you entirely was even more painful.

“I believe we need to decide what we would like to do if they express an interest in maintaining a relationship with all three...four...of us. Would either of you have any objections to that?”

Beel immediately shook his head. He didn’t have any issues with a polyamorous relationship, not if that’s what you wanted. He just wanted to see you happy, and he knew it would make him feel better if you were with someone else who loved you just as much as he did when he couldn’t be there. The only other concern that crossed his mind was how Belphie would react, but he knew that Belphie adored you too in his own way, and you enjoyed his company as well. So there really wasn’t any reason for Beel to say “no”.

“Satan?”

“No objections, so long as we get private time with them too.”

“Then it seems we are all agreed. We will wait to see what they decide.”

————

You wrapped your arms around Dia’s neck as he lifted you up effortlessly and spun you around, the both of you laughing. He was so glad to hear what you desired, and more than happy to do what he could to make that wish come true. You hardly asked for anything for yourself, something he found absolutely charming, but now that you confessed to him that you wanted to be his? He’d give you the whole Devildom if you asked for it. Maybe even if you didn’t.

You hid your face in his neck as you hugged him close. You were pretty sure you must be dreaming at this point, but you didn’t care. You were going to make the most of this dream for as long as it lasted. You still had the other 3 of your beloved demons to talk to, but having Dia on your side made that not seem nearly as scary now. He had given you permission to be yourself, and he didn’t shame you for it, or guilt you into changing your mind. He just listened, and accepted you with open arms.

“I want to suggest we make a break for it, and run off together, but I think Lucifer and his brothers are waiting for us.”

You pulled back to look Dia in the eyes, and smiled at him. He was even more handsome up close, and you couldn’t help but run your fingers through his hair before resting your forehead against his. You wanted to savor this moment for just a little while longer. After you left your room, there was going to be a whole host of things to discuss and negotiate. It might honestly be awhile before you’d get to have some alone time like this with him again, but you knew he was worth it. They all were. You’d figure things out one way or another, of that you were certain.

“Alright, I guess I’ve put this off long enough.”

“I probably shouldn’t carry you into Lucifer’s study, should I?”

“Probably not,” you laughed.

Diavolo set you down gently, only releasing you from his arms when he was sure you were steady on your feet. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead before offering you his hand, and entwining his fingers with yours. He beamed at you, when he caught you staring at your joined hands, lifting them up to kiss the back of the one he was holding. You blushed at the gesture, but couldn’t help but smile when your eyes met his.

“Shall we?” he asked, leading you to your bedroom door.

————

You peered sheepishly around the corner of Lucifer’s study door before entering the room, Diavolo slightly behind you, with one hand gently resting on your lower back to encourage you. As your eyes scanned the room, Lucifer, Satan, and Beel all turned to face you, various expressions of anxiety and excitement written on their faces. You turned back to look at Dia, and he just smiled and nodded at you, guiding you inside.

“Hey…” was all you managed to squeak out.

Not wasting a moment, Beel rose to his feet and wrapped his arms about your shoulders, pulling you to his chest. He kissed the top of your head, before resting his cheek against you.

“I love you,” he whispered, “and I’m fine with whatever you want to do.” You clutched at his shirt in return, relief washing over you. He didn’t ask you any questions, he didn’t pressure you to make a choice. He just supported you like he always did, the same support you gave him. You took a deep breath, breathing in his scent, before slowly pulling away so you could see his face. He smiled at you softly, and you just felt your heart melt. How could a demon possibly be this cute? you wondered.

“I love you too,” you replied, making his smile broaden. You hadn’t said it to him yet, and hearing those words in your voice made him want to jump for joy. Caught up in the moment, you briefly forgot about the others in the room with you, until Lucifer cleared his throat. You blushed heavily when you realized you were being watched, and you could hear Dia chuckling behind you.

Beel let you go, but immediately grabbed your hand and brought you to the chair he had been sitting in earlier. You took your seat, starting to feel a bit nervous again when he stepped back, even if it only was so Lucifer and Satan could have a chance to speak with you.

They were probably the two you were most anxious about speaking with. Their relationship was complicated enough as it was, you weren’t even sure they’d want to stick you in the middle of it.

“We’ll be outside if you need us,” Dia said, more to you than anyone else, as he offered you a smile. Beel nodded to you as well, before slipping out after Diavolo to give you some privacy with Lucifer and Satan.

Lucifer nudged the coffee table over so that it was positioned in such a way that both he and Satan could sit side by side in front of you. Even after he took a seat though, Satan remained a little ways away, silent and watching. Part of Lucifer wanted to chastise him for being stubborn and troublesome, but then he remembered that Satan was the only one to openly confess to you, and as such, probably had a lot more to discuss with you, preferably in private.

“I’ll keep this brief for now,” Lucifer began, returning his attention to you and holding the hand nearest him, “But I too, love you, deeply. And I hope you will accept me. I’m willing to do whatever is needed to insure your happiness.”

You had not been expecting such an open and forward declaration of love from Lucifer, of all demons, but you could see the unbridled passion in his eyes as he looked at you and waited for your reply. All you could do was nod your head, which made Lucifer smirk, pleased that he had rendered you speechless. He leaned forward, kissing you tenderly on the lips. It was only the briefest of touches, but it contained a promise of more that made your heart race.

“We will talk more later,” he said, as he gave you one final kiss to your forehead, turning to look at Satan before he left the room.

Satan kept his eyes trained on the door to Lucifer’s study until he heard the tell-tale “click” signifying it had been locked. He then sighed, his shoulders relaxing, as he turned to face you. His mask, the carefully crafted one he often hid behind in his attempt to control his emotions, crumbled away and you could see just how exhausted he appeared. Your heart ached knowing that you were to blame for that. He had been waiting for your response to his confession for several weeks now, and you had always managed to avoid answering him.

You knew you needed to apologize to him, before anything else, so you stood up and hesitantly moved to stand before him. Fortunately for Satan, even with as close as you were, you were unable to hear the way his heart thudded rapidly against his chest. Or if you did, you didn’t mention it. Instead, you simply reached out for his hands and held them tightly, rubbing your thumbs along his knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Satan. I was...I was scared. And I acted childishly and selfishly. I should have spoken to you…”

Your apology was cut short when you suddenly felt his lips crash into yours. Taking advantage of your surprise, he wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you close, and with the other he gently cradled your head, holding you in place. It took a moment for your brain to catch up with what was happening, but once you finally realized you quickly looped your arms around Satan’s neck and deepened the kiss. You could feel him smiling against your lips when you did so, happy tears starting to spill from your eyes.

“I love you,” you whispered, when you finally broke away for air, “I’m sorry for not talking to you.”

Satan rested his forehead against yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your neck, “I guess you’ll have to make it up to me,” he teased.

“I guess so,” you laughed, before pulling back to look him in the eyes, “Are you sure you’re ok with this? With Lucifer and everyone I mean.”

“I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t prefer to have you all to myself. But,” he paused, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear, “but I’m willing to work with you, to try to find a compromise we can all be happy with.”

“Really?” you could feel your tears threatening to spill again as your heart started to overflow with joy.

“Really. Will you promise me something though?”

“Of course, anything,” you said, wiping at your eyes, trying to fight off your tears.

“That you will talk with me if things change. And that we will be able to spend time together, just the two of us.”

Your vision blurred with tears, unable to hold them back any longer, “I promise. I’ll talk to you. About everything.”

“Good,” he whispered, gently kissing away your tears as they slid down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop smiling now if you even were to try. You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him as tight as you could manage, hoping to convey even a fraction of your happiness to him. When you felt him hug you back tightly, arms wrapped around your waist, you knew you had been successful.

Against all odds, and despite your fumbling attempts at dealing with your own emotions, you had managed to get everything you had wanted. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined things working out this way. Your arrival in the Devildom had been a lonely one. But you weren’t alone anymore. Not now, not ever.

#200 followers #anon request #request #gn!mc #poly mc #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me satan #obey me beel #lucifer x poly mc #satan x poly mc #beel x poly mc #diavolo x poly mc #obey me angst #obey me fanfic #poly angst #poly comfort

137 notes · View notes

dindooku · 3 years

Text

As a young student studying Criminology, Gotham was the perfect place to study the thoery of crime. But, that didnt come without it’s own risks. Without your intention, your life becomes intertwined with another’s; a life you had so vehemently tried to repress - and now it was within your grasp; the opportunity held upon a golden pedestal, just waiting for you to take it. In your own desperation to fend off the demons tormenting your soul, can you overcome the very thing your swore against? Or will you succumb to the darkness? When had being bad ever felt so good?

Rating: M/E (swearing, triggers, panic attack (not explicitly said) - alcohol abuse (OC isn’t an addict but doesn’t display healthy relationships with alcohol) - please read the tags. this fic is going to be very dark and twisted so please be warned in regards to further chapters

word count: ~5k

You needed this.

By fucking god you needed this.

You could blame it on your studies, your recent move to Gotham city to study your Masters in Criminology; the perfect setting really. And you could blame it on your stressful move; the house that you're renting not being anything like the photos you viewed online - the water-damaged walls and the odd-looking array of bullet holes in the front room, and maybe even the questionable red stain spotting along the cream-turned-brown carpet towards the bathroom.

But most of all it was this.

Moving to Gotham was the worst-best thing you have ever done. It'd do leaps and bounds for your research and personal evolution, but it was also becoming more and more apparent by the day as to why the little flat you lived in was so cheap; having an address with anything to do with Hell on it was probably a good indication.

Flat 221B, 36th, Hell's Kitchen, Gotham.

Yeah. That's why you fucking needed this.

It was an absolute shithole. You'd only been here for a week and you had experienced more crime than you had been privy to when studying at home. It was a catch 22, move to the most dangerous city you can think of and get 1-1 experience in crime, collecting data for your dissertation; or stay at home, go to a safe city and become some pansy police officer who refused to get their hands dirty.

You were always one for taking risks.

So, as you downed your last home-made margarita and stuffed your bits and pieces into your shoulder bag, you were off out the door.

Tonight was a field day; an excuse to go out and get absolutely trollied all in the name of science. It was just getting late, the sun had set a few hours ago and the Gotham nightlife brought the streets to life; ironically, considering the insanely high murder rates. Some would call you mad, a single, young, attractive woman walking unfamiliar streets at this time of night, in Gotham. And you supposed you were. See, the only reason you were studying crime was out of pure fascination. Fascination, yes. The theory of it, really - how the human mind comprehended such decisions and why you lived in such a society - who branded these rules? Desperation was a word you liked to play with. Its meaning subjective depending on your own reality, really. You had always seen the world differently... criminals weren't inherently bad people to you, they were just often misunderstood, brandished, acting out of desperation at someone else's greed. Obviously, you had the complete and utter fucking mentalists, but even then you could find an argument in their favour - like the Joker; he was misunderstood, torn and thrown around like a rag doll until he made a stand, a particularly violent one, but a stand nonetheless; a stand out of desperation to be heard, to be understood. And deep down you resonated with his actions, being driven to the extremes to be listened to.

You knew exactly how he felt. You had the scars to prove it.

Enough on that, though; you're here for a good time, right? Right. You're going out to forget about the stingy shithole you'll be returning to once the night bleeds into morning, to forget about the mountain of case studies you've yet to work through. It was all a bit overwhelming; thus solidifying your burning need to procrastinate and forget about it all, and what better way to do it than get black-out drunk in a bar you've never been to before?

You weren't an alcoholic by any means, you didn't rely on the sweet burn to see you through the days, but that didn't mean you couldn't revel in the double-ended spear of its toxicity - drinking so much to forget, but its effects only temporary. You were a student, after all, you had to live up to the stereotype?

You scoffed at the thought, murmuring out loud, "Fucking hell." Ok maybe you needed to slow down a little bit... you put the hipflask back in its pouch whilst you continued to walk to your third bar of the night.

You were on a pub crawl of sorts, embarking on your own little quest to scout out the best club in town for further investigation. You were just balancing on that fuzzy tightrope between bliss and blindness, the perfect haze to blur out the dangers of the night and warm your skin despite the bitter cold. You were in your own little world it seemed, and as a bright neon sign for a secluded back alley club came into view, you knew you had to investigate.

"Card." Came the burly voice in front of you. You had to crane your neck up to meet their eyeline, trying your best to pull a serious face and not laugh at the imaginary comedy sketch playing out in your mind.

"Card, you mean ID?" You ask, one eyebrow furrowing in question. You had all the relevant stuff, and deep down you'd be offended if they didn't ask, you'd only just turned 21, a few months ago in fact.

"No, Entry Card, VIP." He reiterates, crossing his hands in front of his chest. You scoff at the idea that a place like this required VIP cards to get in. 'Really? They'd have to pay me to not go in, ha' you humour to yourself, finding the joke a little too funny in your drunken state.

"What's so funny?" The man asks again, a bit more aggressively this time, like he knew you were mocking him in your head. And you were. You knew you shouldn't push your luck, his size easily outmatching yours. But fuck it.

"Nothin sweetheart, just surprised 'tis all," You tease, rolling your eyes as you put your ID away and prepare to leave the queue.

The bouncer can't help himself, "Surprised?"

"Mmm, yes, surprised, or disappointed? You choose." You smirk as you turn away, hips swaying in a drunken swagger that you would never normally possess. Something about you tonight just screamed fucking goddess - and 'don't fuck with me else it will be the last thing you do' - you didn't know why; you were in no state to start a bar fight and win. Maybe it was the tight, black faux leather flares and wrap around corset that filled you with a placebo pill of confidence; but by god did you have a stunning poker face, one that seemed to have caught the eyes of someone other than the bouncer you were antagonising.

A whistle stopped you in your tracks.

You stood on the edge of the pavement, back to the club, your hair flowing slightly in the wind. You tilted your head slightly towards the sound, your minimal movement the only sign of your acknowledgement. You really hated catcallers. It was one of the few things that would really wind you up, your short and temperate anger fizzing and popping under the surface.

"Let her in." Came a new voice. You turned around, eyes landing on an unfamiliar face. He was a tall guy, with an ice-white buzzcut and a sculpted face sporting scars; new and old - his brows knit into a harsh line and his piercing gaze instructing you with just his silent intention. You decide to play along, smirking back at him as you turn and saunter your way back to the entryway. As you walk past the bouncer you position yourself against him, slighting a faint touch of your body to his, sure to leave a whisper of your perfume lingering in the air as a sort of poisonous parting gift - a nicely packaged fuck you.

Your pupils instantly dilated to the sight laid before you. Ok, you take it back. This was no dingey club. Your skin was coated in an inciting shade of red; the coloured theme of the club. It was stimulating, the atmosphere - reigniting that previous cockiness you had been secretly harbouring through the night and twisting it into something still unfamiliar to you, the inner thrumming residing behind your naval indistinguishable from the music reverberating around the club.

The man who had whistled at you had disappeared, so you took this as your opportunity to grab a couple more drinks, to scout the club, of course...

You sauntered over to the bar and after a moment of getting yourself comfortable on the stool, locked eyes with the bartender. They didn't hold the same ferocity as the man before, and you felt your outer guard falling slightly at the soft tones lacing their eyes, their general aura giving off nothing inherently dangerous. They walk over, one hand wiping away at a newly washed pint glass with a rag.

"What can I get you?" They ask politely. They seemed young, too young in fact to be working behind the bar, but now wasn't the time for serious investigating - you highly doubted he was underage, just in fact sporting an inherent babyface. You smile sweetly back at the bartender as you purr your reply, "Whiskey on the rocks, please."

"Oh? Honey that's strong?" He questions, an eyebrow furrowing at your request. You giggle at his innocence.

"Mhm, make it a double." You smirk, and he only reciprocated, pouring a double and a little extra.

"You're new 'round here, aren't you?" He states as he passes over your drink, and you nod as you take a sip, soon following up with a further reply, "That obvious?"

"No, I just would've remembered a pretty face like yours if you'd been here before." He flirts, leaning down onto the bar, elbows sitting comfortably on the dark mahogany surface - it was a tactical move, you knew it, he was getting closer to you by the minute and you noticed his blatant interest the moment he locked eyes with you. You'd play along for a little while, it was good practice anyway, investigating.

You smile before replying, a brief pause between sips to sell your contemplation, "I can tell you're not one for wasting time..." You pause, implying silently for his name.

"Alex." He smirks, holding his hand out to you. You shake it, surprised by the dexterity. But as you thought things were going well, he pulls away sharply, his gaze dropping from you as he scurries back to the other side of the bar nervously. Your face scrunches in confusion, wondering exactly what you'd done wrong.

A firm hand around your waist answers your question.

The presence of another behind you makes you tense momentarily, their forward nature catching you off guard. A hand swirls around the small of your back, stopping at the natural curve of your waist, their palm sitting comfortably in the dip as their fingers latched into your exposed skin. The grip is tight, possessive - possessive for someone you didn't even know the face of. Your nervousness quickly turns into a tizzy, frustrated at the being behind you and their audacity to hold you so. You twist, turning your head to meet the side of their face, eyes rough with your bubbling anger.

The sharp-edged, stubbly profile of a man greets you, a little too close for comfort.

"Alex, two of whatever she's ordered on me, 'kay?" The man says. You roll your eyes at his cockiness, picking up your whiskey glass and downing the rest of the hot honey, burning your throat in the process - but you invited the pain, it's scorch momentarily masking the uninvited heat that was building elsewhere.

"I can order my own drinks, thank you." You scoff, sliding off of the barstool and away from his grasp, picking up your bag so that you can leave.

The man scoffs, using one hand to bring the red-tinted shades sitting on his nose sliding down, tilting his head to give you a better look. You turn and face him at the wrong time it seems, interrupting his very blatant scan of your form. You scoff at his actions, turning harshly to go, muttering to him as you walk past him and towards the exit, "In your fucking dreams."

Yeah - you tell him, girl. Too fucking right, that's what he gets for...that. Maybe you were overreacting, but the way your skin heated like wildfire at his unexpected touch, the way the previously dormant thrumming deep within your stomach tinged with a spark of something you hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling that was unfortunately not one of pleasure to you - you panicked. You'd never reacted like this, but something about his presence was just dominating your senses and you had to get away, to clear your head; maybe it was the alcohol, you didn't know - you didn't care, you just wanted fresh air and five minutes to get whatever the fuck has come over you out of your system.

"I see manners are not your chosen language," The man jokes, but he doesn't bother hiding the icy bitter frustration at your rejection. But you carry on, moving away from his ensuing footsteps.

"Neither are they yours," You retort, turning the corner towards the back exit. But you don't make it to the back exit. The scarred man from before moves from the shadows and grips your upper arm, swivelling you in one motion to face your incessant assailant. You don't give him the privilege of your attention, instead choosing to stare wide-eyed at the ground. Your bubbling anger evolves into something more pertinent, more feral, "What the fuck is it with you guys?" You spit, trying your best to yank your arm free. It was no good, every time you moved his grip on you tightened.

"That's no way to speak to a kind gentleman, is it darling?" The stubble-haired man chides, waving a hand in a dramatic swish as he talks.

"You and gentlemen is a bit of a reach, don't you think? And kind too, don't flatter yourself sweetheart -- hey! Let me go!" You scorn, yanking away harder. Your heart was starting to race now, the phantom ghost of familiar brutish hands that had hurt you before were blurring with your present reality. You couldn't go through that again, no. You'd moved away for a reason, even if it were disguised by your University Degree, the real reason was to get away from him.

Your change in body language seemed to shock both men, and soon the bearded man orders the other to let you go.

"Zsasz, let her go." He says sternly. As soon as his grip is off of you, you practically run to the bathroom, locking yourself in the stall. You close your eyes. You were trying so, so hard to help yourself, but it was just not to be. The last 12 months come crashing down on you, and you were helpless against the murderous gravity of it all. Your panic quickly turned into terror, and no matter how hard you tried to suppress the overbearing feelings blistering your heart, their clutch was now embedded into your conscious and they were working their way out, ripping and tearing, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake. It was brutish, the power of it all; how after all this time those short few moments held such a crippling power over you, a power no matter how hard you tried to overrule, decimated you each and every time. You're so caught up in your emotions that you don't hear the lock on the bathroom click, nor do you hear the faint rustling of a velvet suit making its way towards your stall.

However, you do hear the tap-tap of leather-coated knuckles against the door.

"Fuck off," You spit, not even attempting to mask the raspy panic between each word. The other person didn't say anything, and silence engulfed the room momentarily, only the occasional piercing sounds of your choked panic ripping the hazy-yellow neon light animating the bathroom. The clink of glass to wood brought your head up, your attention distracted and now upon the glass of whiskey being slid underneath the door.

"A peace offering," A familiar voice clarifies. You snatch up the drink and down it in one, desperate for a distraction; a controllable discomfort. You cough roughly at the strength, the new soreness from your rasped panic mixing distastefully with the burn from the alcohol - note taken; don't ever do that again.

You take a second to let the burn cool before speaking, "Thanks...for the drink."

He doesn't bother with a reply.

Another few moments pass and you feel you have yourself under control. You take in a deep breath and straighten your clothes out as you stand, brushing the stray hairs from your face and trying your best to look presentable despite the absence of a mirror. You unlock the door and move to step out, hand holding the empty glass out aimlessly for the other man to take.

He doesn't take it.

You furrow your brows and pause in your movements, and it is only now you chance a look into his eyes for the first time. The moment your eyes meet his, you regret it. Not because you're scared or frightened, no; you regret it because you know those are eyes you will forever see in your dreams. This man's eyes told you similar tales of the navy shores from home that you had often resided to in search of peace, the lighter hues telling tales of the midwinter sky you would doze under; and the occasional slash of cobalt reflected the darker depths of his soul, mirroring the light of unnamed stars. His eyes painted your soul in a colour you'd yet to see, a colour only he could grace you with, and it made you weak.

You were transfixed, held stationary by his unspoken authority. He raised an eyebrow at you, his understanding all too clear. You broke from your haze and scuffed, a hot blush creeping over your tear-stained cheeks.

Embarrassed couldn't even cover it.

"Fuck," you whispered, wiping away once again at the drying streaks of once warm tears on your cheeks. "FUCK!" You shout louder this time, chastising yourself as you come back to reality. What the fuck are you doing? You're stronger than this?

"How about we fix you another drink, hmm?" He says. You chuckle as you pinch the bridge of your nose, the heavy daze from the whiskey starting to mount its assault on your senses. Fuck it, you came here to get blackout drunk, so you're going to get fucking blackout drunk - for free by the looks of it.

You roll your shoulders and pick your head up, holding it high. "Sure, ugh--?" You say, holding out your hand to shake his as you hint for his name.

He replies with a smirk before turning you towards the door, catching himself before he places a hand at the small of your back, "Roman, Roman Sionis."

"Well, Roman, how about a pitcher or two?" You challenge, "Ever drunk with a student before?"

He didn't reply instantly, but you didn't let him, storming confidently out of the bathrooms and to the bar. You honed in on Alex, and at first he looked excited to see you, but as you approached he saw the darkness in your eyes and instantly knew you were'nt to be messed with. He poured a double shot of Vodka and Coke as quick as he could; it didn't even reach the counter before its contents were emptied by yours truly and slammed back onto the mahogany.

"Another." You growl, and Alex doesn't hesitate, the next drink landing in your hands within moments. You sink this one like the last, face maintaining the deadly glare it had held since you entered the room. Roman was soon at your side, marvelling at your drinking abilities; it was scary actually, how you managed to down your alcohol with such ease, expressionless. His grin faltered on your fourth shot and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, breaking your anamatronic trance and stealing your attention to him; that's better - Roman always got what he wanted, and he wanted you. He raised an eyebrow at your anger, wondering how he could capitalise on this and turn the situation in his favour. But for some reason, he hesitates; the thought of being cruel to you made his skin shiver in an unpleasent way - oddly. See, Mr Sionis was a criminal, a violent, feral monster who, if he did not get his own way, or was undermined or disrespected, made sure that those were the last things said person would inflict - for disrespecting the King of Gotham's underground was a penalty punishable by death. A slow, torturous death, courtesy of his own cynical ministrations. He was the Black Mask, and the Black Mask felt no mercy. Why should he sympathise when he could not receive such pleasures? Others can't have what he cannot, that simply is not fair, its preposterous. And like the narcissistic bastard he was, he reasoned with this part of himself, convincing the little golden figure sat perched on his right shoulder that he was doing the nice thing by not kidnapping you right now and keeping you for himself. Something about you was different, he could sense it - he recognised the brutal blaze swirling in the depths of your eyes. They reflected his own - murderous. And that's when the little red devil on his left shoulder made their attendance known, reinforcing Romans suspicions. This girl had the devil in her, the same devil within him.

"What?" You asked, incredulously. Roman had been staring at you for longer than was comfortable, and you knew he was deep in thought over something. His eyes flicked like an old VHS tape, his physical thoughts and their direction reflecting in the depths of his scrutiny over you.

Roman grinned at his plan. He had to have you, but he knew now that forcing himself was not an option - he had to wait for you to come to him. And what better way than to get someones attention by no longer wanting it? It was the ultimate power play he thought, his excitement at the idea of you being his under your own intention ignited a blistering fire of self admiration within him - Roman Sionis was a fucking genius he thought, no, he knew.

"Nothing Darling, ciao." He replied smugly, his lips stressing a shit-eating grin at his own devious plan. He waltzed away from you to find Zsazs, desperate to let him in on his incredible plan.

You scoff at your dismissal. The fuck was all that about?

Rolling your eyes, your turn to Alex. You take a second to allow the room to catch up with you, "Did you see that?" You ask Alex, moving your head slightly to the side in a nod towards the now retreated Roman. Alex scoffs, placing a pint of water on the bar in front of you. You cut him a look of displeasure but knew you should probably slow down if you wanted to get back safe tonight.

"That guy, my dear, is Mr Sionis." Alex said, lifting his brows as at your confused look.

"Mr Sionis...right, and he is...?" You say, waving your hands in a confused manner.

Alex looked stunted, but continued to serve a few orders before continuing his conversation with you, "Well, Mr Sionis is the owner of this club."

Your eyes widen at the realisation, "The owner?" You mutter.

"Mhm." Alex hummed, amused.

But the conversation took a new direction, a direction Alex was not expecting.

"Tell me about this Mr Sionis, Alex." You murmur, gliding into your soft, convincing voice you used to get information about men.

"Well, he's the owner of this club, and my boss. He pays well." Alex starts, trying his best to close of the conversation.

"Hmm, yes; but what about him? What type of person is he?"

"I don't think--,"

"Alex," you growl, darkly. Your face dropped the sweet smile it had held before and Alex visibly winced. He knew he couldn't say too much, and he didn't know much either, but he also didn't know you, and if living in Gotham had any perks; he knew those eyes - they were the eyes of someone you did not fuck with if you wanted to keep breathing. So, Alex moved across the bar, leaning in on his elbows so he could whisper to you over the loud music; where only the two of you could be heard.

"He, he has a particular personality - colourful, bold,-" Alex starts, his eyes shifting past your figure a few times to make sure he wasnt being watched, "-Possessive. He gets what he wants - always. And he will do anything to do so, there's no limits with the guy. You fuck up, you're done."

"Done?" You whisper back, leaning in closer to Alex, only a hairs breath away.

Alex stalls, trying to find a way to answer your question without sinking himself to that fate. But he doesn't get the chance to, as you're pulling away and turning towards an unknown figure behind you.

The next few moments were a blur.

The next thing Alex knew, there was a face being buried into the hard mahogany of the bar, and the loud crack of the mans nose being broken shook Alex from his trance.

You moved so effortlessly, your movements only so perfect through hours of repetition. You didn't even stumble, and with the effectiveness of your ruminations, practically no attention was drawn to the now escalating scene at the bar.

"On what fucking planet is it ok to grab anyone like the way you just groped me, huh?" You whispered into your assailants ear. They whined and coughed, shifting under the mounting pressure you were placing at their shoulder. You had grabbed them by the arm the moment you felt their hand sliding across your ass, and the quick pinch had you seeing red - moving through muscle memory and destabilising the man by using his own weight against him. He was now bent over the bar, head buried in broken glass, his shoulder ready to pop at any moment. He was at your mercy and your blood turned primitive. You'd had enough of creepy perverts tonight.

"The fuck is wrong with you lady? It wasn't anythin' bad," The man groans, blood pouring from his nose and staining the white shirt he was wearing.

You pressed harder, muffling the pop of his shoulder joint and his cry of pain with a loud laugh, "Say, Frank - how bout you walk out this club now under your own premise before I have you wheeled out in a bodybag?" You sigh.

"The fuck, how'd you know my name was Frank?" he growled, grunting at the pain.

"Not only are you incredibly rude, but you're also rather obnoxious too, you fucking loser." You sneer, shifting his dislocated shoulder further round. He screamed, but only briefly, as you soon shut him up with a face full of glass.

"Fuck off, Frank, and don't come back."

You release him and he instantly turns and scampers away like the injured hyena he was. Rolling your eyes you turn back to Alex, who's eyes are wide with shock.

"Alex..." You mumble, and he gulps, his eyes searching yours out of panic over what you'll do next, "Just fix me a drink and I’ll be off. Sorry for the mess." You say calmly as if nothing happened. And that's the way it seemed, as no one even batted an eyelid to the violent display from moments ago. Alex says nothing but does as he's told, making you up an extra strong rum and coke. You down the drink and place the glass down.

"Where's the emergency exit?" You ask Alex, and he points to the door behind the bar. You smile, sliding him a small tip - hush money - and exit the building.

You made it about five minutes down the road before things began to get weird - real weird. This wasnt the same type of blurry you got from alcohol, this was colourful, dazy.

"Fuck - that fucker drugged me!" You sneer, words merging together as you propped yourself up against a brick wall. You tried to run over the events in your head, wondering where you tripped up. And then it hit you, the pint glass - when you leaned in to talk to Alex, he’d slipped something in the drink.

"Fu-cckk" You mumble, eyes incredibly droopy now.

You needed to get back to your flat, safety - yes.

But you didn't, as when you tried to move your legs they gave out from under you. This was an incredibly dangerous situation for anyone to be in, especially a young woman on the streets of Gotham. But the drugs worked quickly against your system, and before you had any time to prepare yourself for your inevitable demise, you blacked out

#roman x you #roman sionis smut #roman sionis fanfic #roman sionis x you #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis #roman sionis fanfiction #black mask fanfic #black mask fan fiction #black mask x reader #black mask #ewanfuckinmcgregor #ewanmcgregor #ewan mcgregor

35 notes · View notes

professorsnape394 · 3 years

Text

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Nine: Letters, Lovers and Loyalties

A/N: This is the ninth part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 2185

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

Yet another letter dropped into the lap of Aria Dumbledore as she sat absentmindedly sketching. Dropping her quill back into the small pot of ink which balanced on the arm of her chair, a small sigh escaped her lips. She had been expecting another to arrive any day now.

Aria allowed herself a small glance in the direction of her desk where the ever growing pile of unopened letter sat gathering dust. Disregarding her drawing, Aria traveled to her desk, fingers fumbling with the edge of the envelope. Admittedly, Aria's mind had been focused on that small pile of letters the past few days, and consequently the man who sent them. She couldn't bring herself to reply to his constant inquiries, but she had considered there was no harm in opening a few of them. She longed to hear from him, though she had been in denial for so long now she wasn't sure what to expect from his most recent letters.

Waiting no longer she ripped the paper from its wax seal, her eyes quickly scanning every word on the page.

My dear Aria, Though I know you say you cannot reply to my letters, I write them all with the hope that you will find the time in your busy schedule to at least read them. As always things are quiet here without you. Too quiet. I miss your voice. I miss hearing you sing to yourself in the shower thinking no one can hear you, I miss hearing you hum as you wander aimlessly through the house, I miss watching you draw as I pose for you, but most importantly I miss holding you in my arms. I long for the end of the school year when we will be reunited and I will have nothing to miss except maybe writing these letters. I long for a response to my letters, my darling. I simply must know that you miss me as I miss you. In the mean time I will continue to write to you to keep myself distracted from everything terrible happening in the world, by simply thinking of you. All my love, S.

Aria couldn't help but feel a great pang of guilt in the pit of her stomach for ignoring the letters, but she couldn't bare the thought of reading them, while she was still coming to terms with how she felt when she decided to leave for Hogwarts. She knew immediately she would not be able to maintain a long distance relationship with him. Though he was the first man she had ever loved she had been too cowardly to confess her feelings for him in person, let alone on a piece of parchment. She knew she was a pathetic coward from the moment he told her he loved her and she could not find it in her to return the favour. Her cowardice was more than proven the day she left for Hogwarts. Aria had planned to break up with him, to avoid further heartbreak down the line. But she could not even find the courage to do that.

Instead she was living in denial. In her mind they had broken up, and refused to face up to whatever she was truly feeling until it was absolutely necessary. Her plan had been to distract herself as much as possible, suppress her feelings and just forget about the situation completely. And to be totally honest her plan had been working for her, with the exception of a few off days such as today. However when it came time to wake up and face the music she had no idea what her plan would be then.

Leaving the letter open on her desk she took a stroll around the grounds of Hogwarts to clear her mind. The time to figure out all of her problems was not now. She was still a young, carefree woman and she didn't want the burden of guilt stopping her from living her life however she so wished.

Arias walk led her to the village of Hogsmeade, and after working up a light sweat, the young professor opted to pop into the Three Broomsticks to quench her thirst.

Unsurprisingly for a late Tuesday evening the place was barren. Besides for a drunken wizard practically falling off his bar stood, a crazy witch whispering to herself and two well dressed men, sitting out of place in a side booth, the place was completely deserted. Planning to only stay for a pumpkin juice Aria took a seat at the bar and begun chatting to the same barmaid who had served her and Severus all those weeks ago.

"Busy night?" Aria joked, rolling her eyes at the drunk to her right.

The woman laughed in return, handing over a glass of pumpkin juice. "This is pretty much the standard, at this time." She shrugged, polishing off a perfectly clean glass, to keep herself busy. "That one over there doesn't even order anything, but its not worth the hassle kicking her out." She gestured to the old hag in the corner, her perfectly polished nails glistening in the dim bar light.

"I wish I could say I felt sorry for you, but a break away from the chaos that is Hogwarts is a slight relief." Aria sighed. She was still not used to being around so many people all the time having spent the past few years alone, besides her mother, she often needed time alone to breathe.

"Oh, then you must be new. I've had my fair share of lonely professors spend an evening behind my bar, and I usually remember who's spilled their whole life story to me. Though you do look familiar, what do you teach?" She finished up with her glasses, leaning her elbows on the bar to get a closer look at the younger woman, her breasts practically falling out her blouse.

"I'm just an apprentice for now. I'm the new Potions Mistress." Aria smiled, taking a small sip of her drink.

"Oh yes, now I remember. You came here with that Severus. He's not unfamiliar with our whiskey selection, if you know what I mean." Both women rolled their eyes in unison. "He doesn't seem to talk much though, I can't say I know anything about him. I must admit I was surprised to see him with a gorgeous young witch like yourself."

"You weren't the only one." Aria scoffed, finishing off her pumpkin juice.

"Well it makes a little bit more sense now." She laughed, a set of pristine pearly teeth emerging from her red glossy lips.

It seemed Aria was not the only one who had been admiring the woman's beauty, and almost right on cue the drunk decided to look a little bit more lively, demanding another pint. Reluctantly the barmaid obliged, shooting Aria an apologetic look.

Aria couldn't help but notice the gruff looking man practically throw himself over the bar in order to get a good gawk at the barmaids behind. The slightly older woman seemed unfazed by the mans actions, in-fact Aria wasn't entirely unsure she wasn't enjoying the attention. Choosing not to interrupt as neither party seemed to object to the altercation, Aria kept her mouth shut.

That was until the man's attention turned to her. The barmaid disappeared from view, presumably to refill the barrel the drunk had practically drowned himself in. "Haven't seen you around here before." He started harmlessly, though Aria did not miss the way his eyes seemed to scan the whole of her body.

"Just moved into Hogwarts, haven't seen much of Hogsmeade." Aria admitted, but made the conscious decision to turn away from him, hoping not to engage in any further conversation.

"You a friend of Ros'" He asked, intrigued, while downing a good half of his pint.

"Not really, no." Aria shrugged. "I didn't even know her name until just now."

"Rosalind Rookwood." He edged his seat closer to Arias. "Fantastic barmaid, though I wouldn't say it was her best profession." He winked.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Aria turned her nose up at the man, just praying he would leave her alone.

"Well, you know, bein' a barmaids fine an all, but it doesn't always pay the bills. Miss Rookwood's got her fair share of stories to tell, and not all of them her own." He laughed, the potent stench of his alcoholic breath suffocating Aria as he leaned in closer, wrapping a heavy arm around her shoulders. "If it turns out teaching isn't for you, just know you'll have a loyal customer in me." He hiccuped, his free arm, reaching down to stroke the woman's exposed thigh.

Instinctively Aria gripped onto his wrist, forcing it off of her. "What the hell do you think you are doing!?" Aria exclaimed, pushing the man away from her. "Don't you dare lay your hands on me again."

The drunk showed no sign of guilt or remorse, he simply chuckled to himself, revealing a shocking lack of teeth. Disgusted, Aria made to move but found herself cornered against the bar.

Fortunately the altercation had caused enough disruption to alert the two men having a casual evening drink. Instantly one rushed over to her aid, stupefying the old man. The second man followed suit and made it his business to remove the frozen figure from the bar.

"Are you alright?" The first man asked, his brow furrowing with worry.

"I'm fine, thank you for stepping in." Aria smiled, brushing herself down, as though she was riding herself from the drunks disgusting touch.

The man returned a boyish grin, his eyes bright blue and full of kindness. Aria had never seen anyone like him. His presence was almost cartoon like, with positivity radiating from him. Aria couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh, her smile growing just by looking at him. His energy was contagious.

"Is... is there anything I can do to thank you?" She tried your shake herself back to reality though remained entranced by him.

"Nothing at all. I'm just glad I was here to help." He extended a hand, almost nervously, introducing himself. "Alexander Turner, pleasure to meet you."

"You too." Aria blushed, unable to break eye contact with the man, and was now incredibly aware of how dumbfounded she must look. "I'm Aria" She stuttered, the sound of his friend retuning sending her back to reality. "I apologise for staring, but I just can't seem to take my eyes off you, you have an enchanting aura about you. I'm sorry if I may seem a little strange."

"There's no need to apologise, I get it all the time." He laughed, though not arrogantly, it was sweet and innocent. "My mother's a Veela." He added, almost embarrassedly, upon noticing the slightly look of confusion appearing on Arias face.

The couple shared an awkward smile, both at a loss for words.

Alexander's friend passed by the pair silently, slapping him encouragingly on the shoulder before disappearing behind the bar, Rosalind following closely behind.

Aria noted the difference in both attitude and appearance in the two men, finally able to distinguish between the two. The friend was tall and broad shouldered, his hair messy though not long. He gave off a sort of American football, "bro", fratbroy vibe. In other words kind of arrogant and full of himself. Clearly he saw himself as the one in control. Alexander on the other hand was more slim, but not skinny. Tall but not lanky. Innocent but not naive. His clothes appeared similar to his friends but presented more neatly and well put together. She assumed he felt sorry for his friend, knowing his Veela parentage would gain him lots of female attention, and in return Alexander simply allowed himself to get pushed around to boost his friends ego.

With a roll of his eyes Alexander practically confirmed her theory and Aria couldn't stop herself from laughing once more.

Knowing that while Rosalind and 'Braydon'; as he turned out to be, would not be returning any time soon, Aria and Alexander chose to occupy one of the booths and get to know a little bit about each other, where Alex truly confirmed all of Aria's suspicions.

Upon Braydon's return, he flashed his rather large biceps, kissing each one in turn as he flexed them, before letting out a hearty growl, presumably this was a display of male dominance among his kind. His kind being; douchebags.

With another roll of her eyes Aria bid farewell to the men, thanking Alexander once more for his heroic rescue.

"How about a date?" Alex called nervously as Aria had just about reached the door.

"I'm sorry?" She replies, caught off guard.

"A date, here, with me. What do you say?" Aria shook her head unable to look away from that damn charming smile of his.

"I'll agree to a few drinks." She clarified. "Just send me an owl, you know where I'll be." And with that she disappeared once more down the path to Hogwarts, the grey sky above all the while threatening to rain down on her.

Taglist: @ayamenimthiriel @lizlil

#severus snape #severus snape fanfiction #severus snape one shot #severus snape imagine #severus snape x reader #severus x reader #severus x oc #severus x y/n #Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter fanfiction #alan rickman #dumbledore #dumbledores granddaughter #potions master #potions masters apprentice #Severus Snape smut #severus snape fluff

45 notes · View notes