#i think ‘sleep well today too’ is a bit awkward for this meaning but frankly im not sure how id translate it either | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miekasa · 3 years

Text

bad romance

+ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

+ genres and warnings: friends with benefits au, friends to lovers au (well i guess that’s open for interpretation lmao), modern au—college au?, explicit smut, mentioned/implied virginity

+ summary: friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school is probably a bad idea. friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school who you’ve also been in love with for the past seven years—all for the purpose of her gaining ‘experience’ so she’s not nervous to do it with some other guy she has a crush on—is probably a really bad idea. levi ackerman is not known to make great decisions.

+ word count: 3.5k

+ notes: truth be told, i don’t even know if i like this; i took this from an outline/draft of a series i’d planned but know i’ll never complete. it’s kind of unedited too heh, also if you’re a minor pls do not interact

Levi doesn’t think anything of it when he finds you on his doorstep on a rainy Saturday evening. It’s very much like you to show up unannounced and attempt to drag him into whatever activity you want to do that day. He’s fairly certain that Hange picked that up from you. Someone should tell her that it doesn’t work so well unless it’s you tugging on his arm sleeve and interrupting his otherwise peaceful evening.

So, for a while, everything is normal. You make fun of him for his use of, admittedly overpriced, organic butter when he toasts you a bagel; he makes jabs at you shuffling around his apartment like a semi-wet chihuahua, and all is right with the world.

Until it’s not. Because half-way into whatever stand-up comedy Netflix special you’d persuaded him into watching with you, Levi’s had enough of your nervous ticking. He doesn’t know if you think that he wouldn’t notice, but he does. And he knows it’s not the result of you still being wet or cold from the rain, seeing as you’ve long since dried off and warmed up.

You’re focused on the show (ironically, focused to a point of distraction), you’ve been twiddling your fingers since it started, and you’ve been fidgety since you stepped foot into his house. Quite frankly, he finds it insulting that you think he wouldn’t know something’s up by now.

So, he bends his knee, turns his body towards yours, lifts his elbow to rest atop the edge of the soft, and presses his cheek into his palm: “Alright, spit it out.”

“Huh?—What do you mean?” You look at him with wide, startled eyes. He looks back at you with unamused, expecting ones.

You crack a nervous smile, attempting to laugh off his command as incredulous, but instead, your voice comes out in what sounds like a pathetic attempt to cover up a lie—probably because it is, “What? Can’t I spend sometime with my favorite, surly psychology student?”

Levi scoffs at your batting eyelashes. The look he throws you seems to do the trick as you drop your facade with a sigh and shift yourself to face him on the couch too, your bent knees almost touching.

“Alright, fine, you got me,” you sigh, hands resting in your lap, “You, um... you know how you said you’d help me with, like, uh... sex and stuff?”

Levi raises an eyebrow. Of course he does. He watches as your eyes dart around the room waiting for his response. It’s cute as heck, and if the topic of conversation at hand weren’t about to get so compromising, he’d have probably teased you about it.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well… okay, so, you remember Jean, right? The guy I told you about?”

Levi hums. Yeah, he remembers Jean, but only because you can’t seem to shutup about him, not because he’s particularly memorable otherwise. He seems to be kind of a prick and a huge idiot, if you asked Levi; but, that’s kind of his default impression of most people.

“Jean and I hung out yesterday, and it was normal, you know? We just talked and ordered food and watched a movie,” you rub your palms along the fabric of your yoga pants—another nervous tick he’s been observing, “I don’t know if it was a date or not, because he didn’t say it was, and I don’t want to assume, but Marco keeps saying it was, and that Jean wants to actually ask me out.”

Levi blinks. “And?”

“And if he does ask me out—or even if he just… I don’t know, wants to try something the next time we hang out, I don’t want to look like a complete idiot!”

He refrains from letting a noticeable grimace take over his features; and washes away the unsettling feeling in his stomach with a nonchalant comment, “I doubt he’ll try anything on your first date.”

“But what if it’s not a date! People hang out just to hook up all the time.”

“I thought you wanted to date him?” Levi questions, but his it comes out as more of a deadpan statement.

“I do,” you answer, your response a little delayed and drawn out, “But, I wouldn’t mind just sleeping with him, either.”

“Bold statement from someone who’s never slept with anyone before.”

“Have I told you today that you’re an asshole?” you roll your eyes at him, “Come on, Levi, you know what it’s like to just want someone, but not want them, don’t you? You’ve had one night stands before.”

That’s true, Levi knows it, but it’s different. He wasn’t actively seeking advice from his friends about how to pursue and potentially please his one night stands because none of that mattered—well, the pleasing part, probably, but not the pursuit, or the feelings that came with it. Besides, Levi hasn’t felt the desire for any of that in a long time.

“That’s not the same,” he responds, trying to dismiss the muddy feelings crawling up his throat, “Look, if your Jean guy gets horny when you’re hanging out, just make out with him—make him jizz his pants or something.”

“That’s terrible advice,” you frown, “Plus, he’s probably done that with a million other girls.”

“Probably. Sex tends to repeat a few basic actions here and there.”

“For a psychology student, you sure are a terrible makeshift therapist, do you know that?”

“That’s not even the kind of psychology I study, never mind that I never asked to be your therapist.”

Levi takes great amusement in your huffing and the frustrated pout settling into your features, though he does his best to not let his own smile shine through. It’s probably futile; you can probably see through his facade, anyways.

“I just don’t want to bore him, Levi.”

Any trace of his smile vanishes as those words leave your mouth. Levi doesn’t retain much about this Jean guy you keep going on about, and he doesn’t care to in all honesty—but maybe if he did, he could understand why you’re so hellbent on pleasing the kid.

Levi doesn’t like it, not one single bit. His own feelings for you aside, he doesn’t like how Jean has managed to worm his way into your head and make you think that he’s deserving of any kind of affection from you, whether it be platonic, romantic, or sexual. Because he isn’t; Levi might not know him, but he knows that much.

Still, he sympathizes with you. He understands the pressure of navigating dating and hookup culture, especially in a university setting; never mind the additional expectations set on you as a girl. It’s shitty, all of it; the stupid feelings, the sense of uncertainty, the dumb-ass college pricks. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of that.

“You won’t,” is Levi’s simpler response, “Just don’t crush his dick in the process.”

“I wouldn’t do that, fuck you.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve never been the most coordinated person in the world,” he taunts, “If that’s what you came here today to ask me to help you with, it’s fine.”

“Really?—I mean, okay, I know we said that’s okay, and stuff, but I didn’t know if—well I don’t know what’s on the table or not? I do want to do that with you, but I also wanted to know if we could do… more? But I didn’t want to ask for too much and make you uncomfortable! Do we need a lesson-plan of sorts, because I can make—”

“You’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Stalling,” Levi tells you, “You know, how when you get all nervous and ramble, then run out of breath or things to say, then get super quiet, and let the conversation die and be awkward again.”

You throw daggers his way with your eyes, and Levi has the audacity to smirk. “Forgive me, it’s not every day I ask my best friend if I can suck his dick for practice.”

“You can,” Levi replies, a little too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “If you want. I don’t mind. As for a lesson plan, that’s weird as shit, so don’t do that.”

“Really? I can?” you question again, an ironic child-like glimmer of joy in your eyes.

Levi chuckles lowly at your enthusiasm—your appreciation is so genuine, he finds it nothing short of adorable. And oddly enough, he’s a little turned on by it, too.

“Yeah,” he nods his head shallowly, “You can.”

You still have that gleam in your eyes, but Levi can feel the hesitation creeping up on you, and offers his guidance before he loses you to a shell of yourself. He shifts over to you just a bit, loosely holding your right wrist in his grip; holding eye-contact, he carefully pulls you up to stand in front of him.

“You can start,” he says, slowly tugging on your wrist, “By getting on your knees and taking off my pants.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, you’re already kneeling in front of him, and the sight is already enough to have Levi semi-hard in his pants; an almost embarrassed flush washing over his body as he comes to terms with the fact that he’s thought about this visual more times than he cares to ever admit.

You fumble with the zipper of his jeans, pulling them, along with his boxers to pool around his ankles. Your actions are careful and calculated, but you seem comfortable—maybe not with your skills, but with Levi.

His eyes stay glued on you, when you finally hold his length with a single hand, the other resting hot on his thigh. He leans over again, this time to rest a comforting hand on the back of your neck, eager to wash away any remains of your nervous resolve.

“Start slow,” he instructs, feeling your thumb swipe along the head, “Just move your hand up and down a bit, like—ah, yeah, like that.”

You seem follow his words carefully, focusing on the way his dick jerks in your hand. Levi observes you carefully and mentally notes that while he’d have liked it, not making out with you before this was probably the right call—he’d probably have creamed his jeans before this could have begun.

“You can grip it harder,” he tells you. You listen, applying slightly more pressure to your grasp; and it makes Levi groan, short, but strangled, above you.

“Okay?” you question, the genuine concern in your voice enough to make Levi’s gaze soften.

“Yeah, that’s—you’re doing good,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the nape of your neck habitually, “Twist your hand a little when you go up, you can—fuck, okay, yeah, that, like that.”

You snap your head up to look at him when he lets a moan slip through; nothing but pure enthusiasm and satisfaction dancing in your eyes. Levi grits his teeth when you do it again, your thumb sliding over the tip when you reach the top of his dick, and, Christ, you’ve got to stop looking at him like that.

You work your way into a steady rhythm, letting Levi’s moans guide your movements. You feel him harden to full length under your touch; and when he does, you move your hand faster, twisting your wrist around the length and squeezing just a pinch harder at the tip, without instruction.

He watches through lidded eyes, using his thumb to press lightly into the back of your neck. You move your free hand from his thighs, eager to add it to the mix, but Levi freezes.

“Nuh uh,” he shakes his head.

It prompts you to stop your actions, tilt your head and look up at him, and Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so sinful. Your complete focus on him, neck craned obediently, eyes twinkling under your lashes; your position makes him want to kiss you or choke you or something in between.

“What—did I do something wrong?” you ask with wide and innocent eyes that make Levi feel bad for worrying you, yet send an erotic pulse throughout his body.

“Not at all,” he reassures you, fingers treading into the hair at your nape.

He’s setting himself up for failure, and he knows it, too—because, really, who agrees to teach a friend how to suck dick? Having you on your knees in front him, crane into his touch, and keen to all his desires, does nothing to mask the painful fire in the pit of his stomach.

It’s stupid to be this hungry, this possessive over you when he knows you come to him in hopes to learning how to please another man. But one, precious thought is enough to cloud over all of that, enough to put that sadistic smirk back on his face.

“You said you wanted to give me a blowjob, right?” he questions, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth at the shallow nod of your head, “Okay. Open your mouth for me, yeah?”

He barely pushes the tip past your lips when your head dips forward, tongue peeking out to lick the very top. Levi sucks in sharp air between his teeth, relaxing into the couch when your head bobs further, enclosing the tip of his dick in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice hoarse when his hardened cock rests against the velvet wet of your tongue, “That’s it—just keep going, like that.”

He watches intensely as your head bobs onto him. It’s hot and wet and so much more than he’d imagined it would be; and he’s not too shy to admit he’s imagined this with you. He moves his hand to brush away the flyaways of your hair, smoothing them back and tangling his fingers at the back of your head. He carefully guides your movements.

It’s slow and steady, and normally, it’d take him a while to cum like this, but with the visual of having you on your knees for him, Levi can feel a faint warmth of his orgasm already beginning to bubble inside of him.

“This is okay, right?” you pull back, a thin line of spit trailing from your mouth.

“Yes, yes,” he answers immediately, unaware of his tightening grasp on your hair.

With a shy smile, you continue, taking more of him this time and carefully gauging his reactions. You move your head further down, testing your own limits, until you feel like you’re choking. You pull back again, with an embarrassed cough.

“Don’t push yourself,” he says softly, rubbing soothing circles into your neck with his fingers, “Guys can’t actually tell the difference between a regular blowjob and being deep throated, no need to choke yourself.”

“Wait, really?” you ask, resting you bum against your heels.

“You seem so surprised.”

“That’s just so… disappointing,” you crinkle your nose, “Men and porn make deep-throating seem like the end all be all of giving head.”

Levi chuckles in genuine amusement, “Well, it’s not, trust me. If any guy insists on being deep-throated just to cum, he’s a fucking liar. He’s getting off on the submission, not the actual feeling.”

“The submission?”

“Getting someone to be willing to listen to them, telling them what to do, how to please them,” he shrugs, “Makes you feel like you’re in control.”

“And that… that works?”

“Yeah,” Levi says, “But, judging by the tone of your voice, and how willing you were to suck my dick three seconds ago, I’d say the idea of being dominant doesn’t really appeal to you.”

You scrunch your nose again, “Does it appeal to you?”

Levi pauses, thinking over his answer, before giving you a simple, “Yeah. Most of the time.”

“Oh,” you hum, “I… I don’t think I’d like that. I think I’d rather be told what to do, seeing as I don’t really know what I’m doing, anyways.”

“Ironic, considering you’ve never once listened anything I tell you do.”

“I was listening when you told me how to suck your dick,” you correct him, “You seemed to enjoy that.”

Levi pauses with a raised eyebrow. You don’t seem to back down, that matter-of-fact smirk on your face still mocking him. He leans over slowly, using his right hand to guide your head closer to him, and uses his left hand to grab your jaw between his fingers.

“You can be such a fucking brat, you know that,” he all but whispers, pursing your lips together in his hold, “Since you like listening to me so much, then shut up, and we can finish what you started.”

You blink, staring at him with a wide-eyed expression. He’s right that under any other circumstance you’d probably run your mouth off about him telling you what to do. But something about the way he knows what he wants and tells how he wants it makes you listen without an argument.

You nod, slowly wrapping your lips around the tip again, and bobbing along his length. Levi’s breath hitches when you hollow your cheeks slightly, a rough hand pressing down on the back of your neck.

“You’re really—god, okay, you’re good at this, you know,” Levi praises you, letting his right hand resume its position at the back of your neck.

If you had any doubts before about being submissive, the look on Levi’s face seemed to have wiped them away. Watching him throw his head back, his fingers gripping at your nape, his cock in your mouth—pleasing him seemed to be enough to please you, too.

“I wanna make you cum, Levi,” you voice your thoughts, letting a hand lazily jerk him off in the mean time, “Tell me what I have to do to make you cum.”

“If you keep going, I’ll cum,” he answers too quickly, a groan slipping through his words, “Trust me.”

“Come on, Levi,” you push, rolling your thumb over the slit of his dick. It makes him inhale sharply; you’re getting a little too good at that; at all of this. “Can—I mean, do you wanna cum in my mouth?”

“Shit, shit. Don’t say shit like that,” he curses, blunt nails raking and scraping at your scalp, “You don’t have to—I can just—”

“I want you to,” you tell him earnestly, “Please?”

Fuck, he was pretty fucking certain he’d told you to stop saying shit like that. Levi bites the inside of his cheek, paces himself; uses both of his hands to hold your head gently, while you use yours to wrap around his cock.

He grunts with a shake, and rolls his hips up, pushing himself further into your mouth, but not so much as to hurt you. It’s soon after that hot strophes of cum wet your tongue, and Levi lets you lazily jerk him off until you’ve milked his orgasm.

The room is silent save for his low moans and the squeaking of his thighs against the leather couch. When he’s finished, he slouches back, looking at you through hooded eyes, sweaty and panting, when you close your mouth and swallow.

You use your fingers to collect any remaining cum from his softening cock, and hum contented as you put your fingers in your mouth. Levi locks eyes with you again, cheeks flushed as you pull your digits out of your mouth, and he has to grip at his own thigh to gain the self-control to not get hard again.

You’re going to be the fucking death of him some day.

He shakes his head when you move backwards with a cute smile and pulls his boxers up, then his pants as best his can, not bothering to zip them up. When he’s done, you stand to your feet then straddle him on the couch, laughing lowly at his post-orgasm haze.

He doesn’t think twice about the way your hands clasp at the back of his neck, or the way his find their way to rest on your hips. You grab ahold of his jaw with both hands, holding his face in place. He thinks you’re going to lean in, but you don’t; just stay like that, your eyes roaming his glassy eyes.

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stare at me all day?” he questions, lips pulled into a knowing grin.

“Can I?” your question makes him frown in confusion, “Dunno, I heard some guys don’t like that after getting head.”

“Bunch a fuckin pussies,” he grumbles, leaning forward to close the gap between your mouths. He can feel you smile into it, and mimics your grin when you begin to press short, repeated kisses against his lips.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

He laughs when you continue to press quick kisses on his lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

You kiss him on the cheek, wet and dramatic. “Love you, Levi.”

Your face is right in front of his, but he averts his gaze, a different kind go warmth spreading throughout his chest when you flash a smile at him. He lets you kiss him again, longer this time, but still slow and sweet. He likes the feeling of you resting against him, affection lingering on your tongue when you kiss him.

It’s dangerous, but he likes the way you spark a fire in him. Sweet or sinful, it makes him feel boneless, wanted, loved.

Levi leans forward, rubbing his hands up your sides, and captures your lips in another languid kiss before pulling away to peck the corner of your mouth. “Love you, too.”

And he means it of course, but if Levi thought he had it bad before, he’s in deep shit now.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fluff #eren x reader

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leviiattacks · 3 years

Note

teacher!levi and teacher!reader headcanons please 🥺

author note :: i expected for this to be better but idk,,, um, you know maybe it’s just me who wishes i executed it better but i wrote this at 3am that’s my excuse. ANYWAY I HOPE U ENJOY ANON :-))) i know it’s not headcanons but here!! also my ask box is always open to feel free to drop by !!

word count :: 5.4k (after i had to severely cut the word count down because my tumblr wouldn’t let me post the longer version with more detail,,,,)

honestly you’ve never fit in well with the math teachers in particular but you’re still amicable with most

however, there’s one unbearable member of the group that happens to want to play jump rope with your patience constantly

and that person just so happens to be mr ackerman

every single staff meeting the both of you sit furthest away from each other whilst silently exchanging bitter glares

maybe it’s his stony disposition or his unrealistically harsh grading system that makes him seem so off putting to you.

or perhaps it’s your soft and gentle approach to teaching that drives him up a wall

but to make matters simple, the two of you have never got along. nearly everything he says you disagree with and nearly everything you say he has to rebuke.

every outlandish suggestion of his at meetings is met with firm disapproval from you and every time you bring up wanting to provide the children with more time for extracurricular activities he sneers in annoyance

today he’s proposing a plan to set exams as soon as possible

???

you wonder if he’s even thinking with his head attached to his neck because it’ll be impossible for the children to handle all of the content in the form of an exam paper so soon

the workload he’s been pushing onto his math class has become far too ridiculous for your liking and you want to put an end to the man’s reign of terror

it just so happens your classes are scheduled in the blocks next to each other meaning he always sees your students an hour before you do

it’s got to the point where your pupils trudge into english class completely EXHAUSTED

the other day a boy fainted because of lack of sleep and now mr ackerman has the audacity to put forward the exam dates???

“we need to instill these children with discipline. taking them by surprise will give them a much needed reality check.”

you groan at his speech and raise a hand

“may i interject?”

professor ackerman’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek the irritation is painted on his face but he nods although he seems reluctant

“these children do not need standardized exams to-”

“would you like for me to completely scrap exams from the curriculum?” without even allowing for you to present your argument he has to cut you off with a mocking grin

“levi, i think-”

“that's mr ackerman to you.”

his blunt correction has you rolling your eyes because YES!! you understand the two of you aren’t exactly the best of friends but he doesn’t even want to be on a first name basis with a colleague of two years??

his pettiness has your blood boiling in searing displeasure

“you have to stop going so hard on these children.”

he’s shuffling through some paperwork not even batting an eye in your direction.

“personally, we aren’t hard enough but of course the english teacher has trouble understanding that.”

the jab he makes at your job only causes the anger inside of you to bubble up again

why does teaching english have ANYTHING to do with this???

“you teach math yet you can’t calculate the reasoning behind your subpar love life. do not insult english.”

personal insults are your favourite to throw at him because he always gets so riled up

and actually for once you have the answer to a math question.

the reason why his love life is so uneventful has to be because of this :

his personality + his obnoxious humour + his looks = a good looking but undatable man

his jaw clenches and the grip he has on the stack of papers in his hands strengthens

ok,, that is kinda hot but that is not relevant at all

you’re able to make out miss ral one of the other math teachers make a move to speak and god you fight the urge to punch her every day because she’s always gushing about mr ackerman

seeing as you don’t want to punch her or anyone for that matter you turn to give her a “if you speak right now i swear to god i will lose my shit” look

she gets the memo incredibly quickly because her mouth closes shut immediately

mr ackerman takes a sip out of the cup of black tea next to him. “i would appreciate if you just sat back and let me do what’s best.”

“children fainting in my lesson is not what’s best.” your rebuttal catches him off guard and he seems more than a little surprised

“wait- fainted??”

you eyes flick over to mr zacharias, you had told him to pass the message on but the way he’s sheepishly looking at the floor avoiding your eyes clearly tells you all you have to know

“looks like someone forgot to pass the message onto you but the other day falco fainted in english.”

“is he- is he okay?? did he say why?”

eyebrows raising you’re quite surprised to see any sort of reaction from him let alone concern

“he stayed up all night completing your homework.”

lips pressing together into a fine line it almost looks as if he’s guilty

“i’ll talk to him about it later.” his voice is back to its usually plain tone and any trace of his previous worry has been masked.

an awkward silence follows. he coughs choosing to not continue the discussion about exams.

principal smith takes the hint and moves on to discuss planned school trips

HOORAH victory!!!

yet another day where you’ve saved your students

“who is fallacy and why are they pathetic?” a few snorts and giggles are heard around the class and you force yourself to laugh at falco's miserable attempt at a joke

you’ve noticed falco’s been cracking more jokes around his new seat mate gabi.

she’s small but feisty always willing to debate and she’s really a joy to teach although she can get a little bit aggressive with the others at times

honestly it’s quite obvious that falco has a fat crush on her. well, actually it’s been obvious from the moment she step foot into your class

and... you couldn’t just ignore the way falco looked at her could you?? and there was an empty space next to him too sooooo, what harm would there be in placing the two together?

it seems as if your attempt at getting the both of them to talk has worked. gabi and falco compete desperately for the top position in the class and are two of the best students you’ve had in a while

also after the day falco fainted in class gabi has been noticeably nicer. things like asking if he’s drank water or how much he’s slept

you have a small inkling that she may like him back

and the budding romance is adorable to you because you too once had childhood crushes

it feels rather nostalgic to see the two interact

but today you notice the two aren’t in

in fact, you notice half of the class isn’t?

“where are the others?” your question sends a jolt through one of your present students but he stays silent choosing to pretend to clean his glasses as a distraction

crossing your arms over your chest you walk over towards his desk

“udo, you can tell me what it is.”

“professor ackerman said not to tell.” udo looks petrified and you’re just kinda wondering what in the hell is going on

lucky for you his resolve is thin and he quickly cracks under pressure

“okay. you can’t say i told.”

nodding in agreement he looks around making sure no one else hears what exactly it is he’s about to disclose

“he’s kept some people back to talk to them about something top secret. i don’t know what but he asked for the students who like you.”

at that you feel a little bitter because if he asked for the student who liked you why on earth is half the class still here??

but oh well, you guess you can’t please them all

“oh no, no, no. you’ve got it wrong. we all wanted to stay but he didn’t let us.”

udo looks genuine so you let it slide

either way it doesn’t really matter as long as the majority prefer you over that sick and twisted math teacher you’re alright

“he does know he’s cut into my class time right?”

“falco told him that and he whispered something about how you’re bothersome.”

you???? bothersome???

WHEN HE’S THE ONE BOTHERING EVERYONE?/!:£:!/)

you don’t even look back as you walk out frankly furious at what’s happened

english is important

ACTUALLY!!!

ENGLISH > MATH

you will stand by that till the day you die

your knuckle meets with the wooden surface of your sworn enemy’s classroom door and almost automatically you’re able to hear the shuffle of chairs and padding of numerous footsteps approach

the door swings open and you step aside to allow your missing students to pass through

they look nervous but one look at your reassuring smile lets them ease up and relax

“well.” a voice behind you snaps “look who paid me a visit.”

“we’re talking about this later.”

you try your best to sound serious but you don’t know if you pull it off as well as he does because he just ends up giving you a disappointed sort of look

“y/n. stick to being the good cop it suits you better.”

“we are not on first name basis. you said it yourself.” is your narrowed comeback

finally turning to face him you’re surprised when your eyes travel to the triangle of space behind him and you’re able to get a peek of what looks to be a list of books on his whiteboard

pride and prejudice

wuthering heights

jane eyre

ville-

before you’re able to read the rest he moves in front of your line of vision

he’s got quite the selection but,, when did he of all the people on this planet start showing any interest in literature?

“the books on the board what’s that about?”

your inquiry flies over his head and he shuts the door behind him completely

his face doesn’t move and if it does it only shows the slightest hint of confusion

“what books are you talking about?” he replies and don’t know why your knees feel a little weak when he looks you straight in the eyes

snap.

out.

of.

it.

“i saw books on the board.”

“you saw wrong.” he barks back and he’s getting agitated now

maybe you did imagine it...

and you have to get back to teach your class so okay fair enough you’ll let it go because you do know you have a habit of daydreaming randomly

however that doesn’t stop you from giving him another skeptical look before you leave because there is NO WAY you imagined it, but it is you and it really could be a possibility

the click clack of your heels against the floor sound out as you remove yourself from the conversation

you assume he’s returned to his classroom

that’s why it catches you by surprise when you hear a hesitant voice behind you

“there were no books on the board.”

you don’t know why he has to tell you that again because it only makes himself look all the more suspicious

“but if they were a list of book recommendations then what would you recommend i read?”

the question is peculiar coming from him

are you in an alternate universe?

is this a dream?

are you talking to a clone?

a robot?

because this can NOT be the same man you’ve been working with for two years

maybe he’s having a change of heart?

but that sounds unlikely

maybe he’s planning to read the book and somehow with that big brain of his formulate a calculation to score it a measly two out of ten

yeah. that sounds more likely.

nevertheless, you still want to give him a recommendation, maybe he’ll find out he’s into books this way

“you should totally check out pride and prejudice :-)”

for once you’re smiling at him and he doesn’t know what to do because the change is sudden but he doesn’t say a word after that

instead he retreats into his classroom

god.

now you’re sure he’s just asked to form a stupid calculation or whatever the hell it is math teachers do.

“he likes you.” hange has a shit eating grin on their face and you can’t help but narrow your eyes and sigh in exasperation

no he does not like you but you don’t try to correct hange because you know they’re firm in their stupid belief

“would you ever date him?” hange fiddles with the last of their potato salad absentmindedly waiting on your reply

the question literally has you choking on your lunch

“i would rather fight for survival in the wilderness. thank you for asking.”

“oh come on... he’s got a thing for you. you read romance novels all the time you should be able to tell he does.”

“yeah and that thing he has for me is wanting to shove my head onto a pitchfork. you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.” shoving a piece of pasta into your mouth you sigh dreamily at the taste. it serves as a momentary distraction

you get one lunch break and you are not!!!! in the mood to talk about him whilst you’re on that break

he’s attractive

and you have to admit he looks handsome in his crisp white button up and pristine black suit AND his cologne is really...

okay, you are digressing from the point

none of what you just said means anything!!!

at surface level he seems like a catch but it’s what’s on the inside that matters and he said he finds english stupid

that’s more than enough of a reason to dislike the guy?

he thinks stuff like the pythagorean theorem and y = mx+c are entertaining

y = mx+c ??? over literature???

you read books to teach and you read books for your own enjoyment

it would be a complete travesty if you had a crush on a book hater

and levi ackerman most certainly can be classed as a book hater.

a pessimistic book hater if the specifics are needed

“OH! SORRY Y/N GOTTA BLAST MOB’S OVER THERE!!!!!”

you don’t even get the chance to say goodbye because hange makes an eager run towards moblit

hange and moblit are inseparable, both are the shared heads of the science department and since he’s been off on sick leave recently you understand why hange’s rushed off to greet him

you wish you had a teacher friend like that but the sad truth is you’re pretty much a lone wolf. the other english teachers are wrinkly old pickles and talk about antiques or quiz shows :-(

“this seat free?”

no way.

it’s not him

it can't be

what does he even want??

“um, well yeah it is free b-.”

“good.” he takes the seat without you even inviting him and now you’re stuck in an awkward situation you didn’t even expect to be in today

you're about to burst into tears because is it too much to ask for a peaceful lunch period???

mr ackerman clears his throat and places a book in the center of the table. “pride and prejudice although not my cup of tea was... mildly enjoyable.”

wait...

is this him...

admitting defeat!??

HELLLOOOOO

you are over the moon right now because you know he really had to have enjoyed it a lot and is simply choosing to withhold that information for his own reputation

“i’m happy to hear you took a liking to it.” you’re munching away at your pasta a little more upbeat now

“okay but the start of the book assuming all single men want a wife? no, all i want is a good night’s rest for once. also mrs bennet needs to calm down, elizabeth can marry who the hell she wa-”

“someone’s a little passionate aren’t they?” you giggle into your glass of water and you catch mr ackerman frowning

“i liked it okay.”

“i thought you said it was only mildly enjoyable just now?” grinning and looking at him through your lashes his cheeks become red

you guess he’s angry or something but that’s the usual with him

“yeah, whatever. i just wanted to play fair and apologise.”

“apologise?” oh wow, now your interest has really peaked because never in the past two years has he apologised to ANYONE

not even principal smith for the one time he flipped out and nearly cursed at a mouthy student at parent's evening

grimacing a little before he does it he finally speaks again.

“english is important. i’m sorry.”

your lips tug up into a bright smile

well???

this is a great interaction??

an apology coming out of levi ackerman of all people

“apology accepted! i’m glad to know you liked the book but now that we’re a tad bit friendlier with each other i wanted to ask for a favour.” your eyes gleam and he swears he can see specks of shining stars in them

“...okay, it depends.”

he’s warming up to you so he considers it

“please don’t cut into my lesson time levi.” his name slips out of your mouth but it’s so natural you don’t even care to correct yourself

“i’m sorry about that too y/n.” your name now ventures out of his mouth too as it tests the waters

wordlessly the two of you agree to first name basis

BUT more important matters are at hand such as how he’s issued you yet another apology?

this is satire surely

because why is he so willing all of a sudden...?

well, that's the power of pride and prejudice, wow you’re really thanking the heavens for blessing this world with jane austen’s existence

jane austen. a woman capable of remarkable things, she's even managed to make an unmoving book hater somehow become a lover

poking at your tuna pasta you and levi are now quiet.

“soooooo, any opinions on mr wickham?” you ask the question hoping to initiate a longer conversation than before

and luckily for you your attempt works

SUCCESS!!

levi pinches the bridge of his nose and the creases on his forehead show he clearly isn't particularly fond of wickham

“don’t get me started he’s so indescribably annoying?”

ok, ok, ok

you don’t even know how it happens but you and levi really hit it off

weeks have passed and you and him have even become lunch buddies

it was so shocking to moblit at first that he dropped his lunch on the floor when he saw you and levi enthusiastically exchanging words

then again, two mr wickham haters are bound to get along

you’re seriously wondering how the two of you ever survived as mortal enemies

yeah, you still disagree a lot but you’re getting there!!

sometimes he helps you out when your computer stops running and in exchange you’re willing to offer him book recommendations

he swears he doesn't want any recommendations from you but you know he enjoys it

yesterday he got microsoft excel out and showed you how useful it really was and you went :O because you never really understood the need for it at all

you’re a little bit of a granny when it comes to tech...

and just today at lunch you recommended he checks some plays out but his nose wrinkled at the mention of shakespeare so the both of you went through a long list of dramas and eventually you were able to interest him in j.b. priestely's an inspector calls

another victory for you!!

anyway, right now the two of you are sitting inside of the staff room seeing as it's that time of the month again.

time for the monthly staff meeting

it's the first one you've had since you and levi became friends and you're worried the both of you will be back at it butting heads

wait, are you friends?

well, you wouldn't mind if that were the case but to be honest you would like to be a little bit more than friends mayb-

no!!! no!!! no!!! stupid thought!!! you retract that statement immediately

no you do not want to be more than friends with levi ackerman, yes he's lovely to a degree but you are not going to elaborate on why it's a terrible idea to fancy him

okay wait, let's elaborate for the sake of elaborating

he's surprisingly charming and wittier than you thought he would be. the fun conversations are making your days now and to be honest it is nice to have someone to spend lunch with (hange usually skips out on lunch all together to tinker in the science labs and set up experiments)

wait... weren't you suppose to explain why you don't want to get with him?

you're an idiot and you don't notice how dumb you really are until everyone just kinda gawks at the both of you because it's so odd seeing you in the same room let alone within a three feet radius of each other.

fuck, you completely forgot you and levi sat at opposite ends of the room

principal smith enters and even he looks visibly shocked at the change in seats but he doesn't mention it and you're grateful he doesn't because you didn't purposefully sit here it just happened on accident

erwin turns in your direction and smiles

"would you like to start off with your proposition for extracurriculars?"

nodding your head you begin passionately.

"well, i'd like to say i don't think we offer the children enough. we have spare funding so why not open another club? cooking perhaps? i understand many of you may not understand the importance of teaching them how to cook but-"

"do you have an obsession for setting these children up for failure?" tensing up you notice it's levi who's spoke and he doesn't sound remotely happy

blinking once and then twice he realizes his tone isn't the best and he mutters an apology "sorry, go ahead i'll add in when you're done."

whispers travel through the room straight away

"did he just say sorry?"

"actually why are those two sitting together?"

"do you think they're you know...?"

miss ral who's sat a little further away is the next person to disagree with you

"i understand the intention but would it not be better to let them have extra math lessons?"

"oh, so you can get a pay rise?" the comeback you make is aggressive and dripping in displeasure

she sits up face burning up

"no- no- absolutely not i take pleasure in teaching all of my classes." flustered and trying to hide her nerves she takes a sip out of her water bottle

you want to pour all of the water out onto that ginger hair of hers

the reason why her interjection is getting on your nerves is due to the fact you overheard her and another one of the math teachers plan to bring this specific point up

and you are well aware that her reasoning behind it has nothing to do with the children

she couldn't care less about them

"do not make me repeat what you and mr bozado were chit chatting about earlier today."

the threat is enough to silence her and just when you think you've handled the situation levi has to give his input

"let's ignore petra's motivations and talk about how teaching these kids how to cook means nothing if they have no tradable skills to offer in the real world." levi's not looking at you. he's either too annoyed or too preoccupied with his thought process

at that moment you feel naive, you thought maybe he would try to understand your opinion seeing as he's been spending so much time with you as of recent but that looks to not be the case

murmurs of agreement fill the room at his statement and you feel pathetic

it's practically the entire room against you now

genuinely how is it these people can manage to be such spoiled sports about everything?

"recently, i asked all of my classes to write an essay about school stress. maybe you won't understand my views because you haven't read their pieces but they need a fucking break." the expletive flies out of your mouth without warning and you flush in embarrassment

that

was

not

professional.

"oh god, i'm sorry i got worked up i shouldn't hav-" fumbling over all of your words you feel even more mortified

the principal raises his hand signalling you stop and you clamp your mouth shut. you're in huge trouble that's for sure

but,,, in spite of the clear difference in opinion between you and the other teachers, soft and well spoken principal smith says the unthinkable

"i have the final say and i believe you are coming from a good place after reading your student's work. how would you feel about running the new cooking club?"

scanning his face for a second you can tell his question is legitimate and the wave of relief that washes over you has never felt better than ever

sighing contently you agree and as the topic of conversation shifts to something else entirely you sense your heart rate picking up

you feel like you're back to square one with levi.

it's yet another day where you’ve saved your students and you should be feeling overjoyed but if anything you feel a little deflated

you wish he would have come around and understood but you can't teach and old dog new tricks

again, the feeling of disappointment wears you down

two weeks have passed since then and your favourite time of year has come. it’s spring term meaning MACBETH

the english curriculum includes plays and it just so happens that today is your first lesson covering shakespeare

and you LOVE shakespeare

something about all the intricate foreshadowing always has you excited

but some children are missing

and it’s way too many to blame on sickness

so you wait for a few minutes but it's consistently radio silent

the last time this happened the culprit had been levi and he promised to never cut into your lesson time

but you could count on him to break his promise after the fiasco that was the monthly meeting

is he back to hating you and hating literature?

well, that's his loss if that's the case!! and no!! you will not upset yourself over the loss of the budding friendship

sighing you get to your feet making a beeline to the door but gabi and falco rush to stop you

awkward chuckles activated they wave their hands to get your attention “OH NO, they’ll only be five minutes!!” their sentence comes out as one big blur of words but you manage to understand them

now you’re doubtful because you know falco and gabi would usually ignore you and allow you to walk out

giving them a knowing glance the pair look between each other

their eyes are clearly communicating and asking if it’s alright to tell you

“i promise i won’t be mad.” you sigh

perhaps if you reassure them they’ll be more likely to spill the beans

“it’s not that you... i don't know. you might be upset.” gabi isn't one to care much for other's feelings so you're slightly anxious even though you shouldn't be

but you’re a tough nut to crack. so, absolutely not. you are not going to upset yourself over whatever it is

“i won’t be hurt. i’ve suffered through reading some of the most emotional classics to ever exist.” hitting your chest with your fist you wince a little because you hit yourself a little too hard

falco’s seems to be too shy to come out with it so gabi takes the lead as she normally does

“some students were talking badly about you so mr ackerman kept them behind to have a talk.”

oh.

yeah, actually you are a teeny weeny bit disheartened because you think you’re nice to all of your pupils but it’s nothing too bad, not everyone will like you

“if that’s all i’ll go get them. thank you for letting me know.” giving them two thumbs up you leave the class immediately

levi is probably scolding them to hell and back

not because he cares for you but because he hates disrespect in general

as you’re nearing the open door of his classroom you hear something you never thought would emerge from levi’s room

“final question. why does mr darcy say he doesn’t want to dance with elizabeth at first?” oh yeah, that’s levi’s voice for sure

an english question?

is he quizzing them on pride and prejudice?

you wait hoping your students don't fail you and are able to provide the correct answer.

“ummm... she’s not pretty enough!!”

levi hums “you answered all five questions right. do you all know why?”

you can’t see the children’s faces but they have to be confused if there’s no immediate response

he grunts in agitation “because your english teacher works hard to teach you every single day. have some respect because that teacher of yours is one in a million.”

taking your bottom lip in between your teeth you fight the urge to smile

“do you know how at every single staff meeting there’s only ever one teacher fighting for you all and what you want. i can assure you that teacher isn’t me, but i believe you can all guess who i'm talking about.”

your heart does a back flip in your chest and you feel jittery but in that really fuzzy good way

like that super duper fuzzy and hazy good way

he’s really very sweet for saying all of this and you're now smiling like an idiot

one pupil takes a chance to make amends “we’re sorry mr ackerman.”

but before levi can give them a response you clap your hands together and walk in unannounced

“apology accepted, now if you want to all be forgiven forever please return to class and answer the questions on the board!” directing them to the door with your hands you make sure they're conscious fo the fact you aren't mad at them

still, never have you seen them so eager to run off to analyze macbeth. you guess levi's deathly stare is the cause for it

holding back a laugh you clear your throat after the last student leaves

“thank you levi :-)”

it’s quiet for a second and you think to ask him about what has been gnawing at your mind

“you didn’t have to do that. you disagreed with me before so... why did you?”

“i say this at every meeting and you never listen but children need to be disciplined.” his unchangeable tone is unwelcoming

again it’s awkwardly silent and you sorta regret even coming over to see what was going on because now you and levi are just having an uncomfortable staring contest

then he scratches the back of his neck and heaves a heavy breath

“it may also be because i really fucking like you, but i look like an idiot saying that when we’ve been at each other's necks for two years.”

oh.

the sudden and brutally honest confession has the wind knocked out of you, you’re stunned

and then you get hit by it too. the realization hits you like rain hits umbrellas on stormy days. you like him too.

you like him for his witty sense of humour, his pure honesty and his hatred for mr wickham only serves as a bonus

yes, you have your differences. many of them. but you like him

he’s no longer a book hater and so by default you can fancy him. he goes against none of your guidelines essentially

you like him, he likes you back?’//’.;

[SCREAMS]

“well, what do you say? will you be this mr darcy's elizabeth bennet?” hearing the cheesy pickup line from him of all people has the butterflies in your stomach exploding in delight

“you sound weird, where's the grumpy math teacher from before?" now you and him are simply shamelessly flirting but HEY!! you have no complaints at all

he scoffs at your sarcastic question

"do you want the equation for a two dimensional heart on a graph beca-"

"can i just kiss you?"

wOWIE are you being bold today y/n???

thankfully you don't have to wait for his answer. levi’s right hand pulls your face in and he slams his lips against yours. he gives your waist a squeeze and you hold him tighter by the neck in response. he has a way of somehow making it all feel gentle and relaxed in the same breath

and... you know what? maybe you should have recommended pride and prejudice to him earlier

but oh well.

what matters the most right now is that you're kissing your mr darcy!!

and he’s kissing his elizabeth bennet

:-)

#levi #levi ackerman #aot #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan levi #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi headcanons #levi drabbles #levi scenario #teacher levi #levi fanfiction #aot fanfiction #leviiattacks #attack on titan x reader #levi fluff #modern levi #modern levi ackerman

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forthegothicheroine · 3 years

Text

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true. Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery. Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white. I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King. I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images. I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.) It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.) But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them. Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house. I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.) I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon. Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky. I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant. I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway. Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment. I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone. Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody. Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else. If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it. Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college. I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest. The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link. Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards. They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???” (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.) When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches. Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively. Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find. The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits. Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on. Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano. Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory. Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes. Is she mourning? Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King! Not on us!” She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz. The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color. The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips. It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits. The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others. It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance. Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask. The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask. Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged. As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd. I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint. Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock. It does not hide her for long. The King steps towards her and extends his hand. Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand. They walk away together hand in hand. The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene. The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand. It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd. I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true. It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste. I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent. Naturally, no subscription site has it available. Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it. Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.) I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night. It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks. I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco. I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents. I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month. I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other. I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means. I don’t mind the nightmares. In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it. I’m being mindful. I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head. I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it. My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness. I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again. I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive. The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze. It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it. During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

#the king in yellow #cw mental illness #cw disordered eating #cw institutionalization #cw suicide

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hpimaginesandblurbs · 3 years

Note

Hi! I loooove your writings.

Could you write a one for me where the war ends and Harry goes to Ginny to apologize after sometime, but being the stubborn woman she is, she picks up a fight with him and says she doesn't want to see him again. He needed the most comfort during that time and that is when our reader (who was also his best friend) enters 🎉, she stays with him during his nightmares and all his PTSD episodes and comforts him, and being oblivious to both of them, they fall in love. And when Ginny sees them together, she realises she shouldn't have let him go and she goes to talk with him, he calls her off but forgives her anyway.

P.S- Ginny sees the reader and James after she finishes talking with Harry and it breaks her?

I know it will take a lot of time, but I hope you can write it for me, please 🥺🥺.

pairing: harry potter x muggle!reader

warning(s): pg, hurt/comfort, angst

word count: 2.9k

a/n: i decided to make it a muggle, childhood best friend reader because it just started to flow like that. i hope you don’t mind and i hope this is everything you wanted it to be. i really loved the idea of writing something like this because it’s so different than my usual on her and it was really fun for me tbh.

1998

---

“Hi,” Harry said from the doorway, a boyish grin on his face as he looked at his girlfriend sitting on her bed. Well, ex-girlfriend. Maybe girlfriend? He wasn’t sure. But that’s what he was here to try and figure out.

“Hi,” Ginny replied back, a bit cold in her tone.

“Can I - Can I come in?” He asked reluctantly. He had expected a much warmer welcome. When she simply nodded, he slipped in the room and shut the door lightly behind it. He leant against the door, wanting to keep as much distance between them until he was sure she wanted him closer. “I- I wanted to apologize for what this past year has been. I know I couldn’t help it, but I just wanted you to know all I wanted to do was keep you safe. You’re one of the only people I thought of when I was out there, wondering how you were doing, if you were alright. A- And I know this probably isn’t a good time but-,” he started, but Ginny cut him off quickly.

“Then it isn’t a good time. You left me to go wonder about the woods for months. You didn’t have to do that. It didn’t change a damn thing. You never asked me how I felt about any of it. I just had to go along with it because you’re you,” she said angrily, a flush coming to her cheeks.

“I know that now. That’s why I wanted to apologize,” Harry said back honestly, hoping she could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, just how sorry he was.

Ginny let herself take a deep breath before looking up at him again. “You’re forgiven, but I won’t forget this, Harry. Ever. You hurt me and you can’t take that back easily.”

“I know,” he said with a resigned sigh.

He was just hoping…

All he wanted was…

He thought he could come to her…

“I think you should leave, Harry. I love you, I do. But we all need some time right now. I need to be with my family,” Ginny told him gently, but that stubborn fire inside of her was never burnt out.

“Y-yeah. Okay,” Harry agreed, immediately moving to open the door again. He had so much more he wanted to say to her, but he couldn’t stand the awkward tension for much longer.

As he departed from the Burrow, he didn’t really have a clue as to where he was going. He didn’t have a family. Didn’t have a home. But he had Y/N.

~~~

Later that night, Y/N heard a soft pop from outside her doorstep followed by a knock. When she opened it, she found her best friend Harry on her porch, staring down at his feet.

“Are you alright?” She asked, concern lacing her voice, no need for hello’s between the two of them any longer.

All Harry had to do was look up at her with tears swimming in his eyes to tell her no, no he was not alright. She immediately ushered him inside of her house and down the hallway to her bedroom, trying to bring him as much comfort as she could.

Silently, she passed him old clothes that he had left there on previous occasions and guided him to lay down on the bed as he fought his tears before finally laying beside him as they had done as children.

“What happened?” Y/N finally asked.

“She doesn’t want me anymore. I know it’s stupid, after everything, but I just though… I dunno,” he trailed off, unable to look Y/N in the eye.

She knew her childhood friend well as well as everything he had been through in his life, and she could see right through him.

“Tell me,” she said gently, trying to coax the words out of him.

“I just thought I could rely on her right now. I need her. She’s one of the only people who has ever brought me a shred of comfort and I need that right now,” he said quietly, for once in his life eloquently explaining his emotions.

Y/N looked at the messy haired boy, unsure just what to do with him. It had to mean something that he came to her at that moment. When he felt he had no one, he somehow knew he still had her by his side. And Y/N could only hope that she brought the same comfort that Ginny had to him.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay here. As long as you need. I’ve missed you,” she told him gently, keeping a well balanced smile on her face in case he finally looked up at her.

And thankfully he finally did, and he looked a bit less upset than when he turned up, so that had to count for something.

“I - I’ve missed you too, but I can’t just stay here,” he tried to argue.

“And why’s that?” She asked, her brows furrowing together.

“I don’t want to bother you,” he told her, a small blush coming to his cheeks.

“Harry, we’ve been friends since forever and you’ve never bothered me once. You need someone, and quite frankly, somewhere to be. Just stay here,” she replied easily, not understanding why he was even arguing this.

“I know that,” he said, frustration building in his voice. There was something he was hiding from her. After a well timed staring match, he finally broke. “I have nightmares.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to be completely unaffected by everything. That’s really not a problem, Harry. We’ll figure it out.”

After much more much needed reassurance and enough hugs to satiate him, the pair finally fell asleep side by side, Harry finally feeling at ease in his own skin.

~~~

One night turned into a week, and a week turned into months of Harry staying with Y/N.

Almost every night, a nightmare would rouse them both from their sleep, but Y/N never faltered. Every time it happened, Y/N was quick to wake him from his screams and wrap him up in her arms, holding him until the tears stopped. Cups of tea would be shared and many late night binges of their favorite childhood shows brought the smiles back to both of their faces.

And it wasn’t just difficult nights, the days grew hard sometimes as well. In his healing, Harry was paranoid, angry, depressed. Some days Y/N felt as if she was walking on eggshells around her best friend, but never once did she complain or feel put out by his behavior. She tried her best to understand what he had been through and the healing that came after that.

And Harry was infinitely grateful for her. Without her, he wasn’t sure where he would be. Sure, he had Ron and Hermione, but they were preoccupied with themselves and each other at the meantime. He knew he could go to the Weasleys’, but he felt as if they had already done more than enough for him. And he hadn’t even heard from Ginny since that evening in her bedroom, a hurt that grew easier over time.

As the months passed, the pair of friends only grew closer and closer. They practically knew each other inside out. And although there was another bedroom in Y/N’s flat, Harry always spent the night in her bed. Their bed. Both of them just argued that it was easier if a nightmare happened to leave it that way.

And something that was clear in both of their heads, but oblivious to the other one, was that they were both madly in love with each other. Harry loved Y/N. Loved the comfort she brought, the ease she put him at, the way she was the only one to make him smile after a hard day. And Y/N loved Harry. Loved his messy hair in the mornings, the blushes he could make cross her cheeks, his never ending sass that could always make her laugh. But neither of them wanted to tell the other, unwilling to break the one good thing they both had going for them at the moment.

~~~

It wasn’t until one day, on one of Harry’s particularly angry days, that one of them broke.

He had come in slamming the door so hard it made the flat shake, making Y/N’s head snap up from her book. She eyes him warily as he made his way into the kitchen, where she could hear cabinets slamming and teacups clanging against each other from behind the wall.

Slowly, she rose from her spot on the couch and rounded the corner into the kitchen, watching him carefully.

“What?” Harry bit out harshly, knowing she was there without even turning around.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Y/N asked, the same as she always asked him when he was like this.

“No. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know why you always insist on making me talk about things anyways,” he said, rounding on Y/N to face her.

She could see the anger in his eyes and knew she had to tread lightly. There had been a few cases of accidental magic within the past few months that she wouldn’t like to relive again and had no intention of pushing him that far today.

“We don’t have to talk about it. The only reason I ask is because I know it helps you sometimes,” she spoke carefully, keeping her voice decidedly blank despite her desire to scream in his face some days.

When she moved to leave him be in the kitchen, she heard him speak softly.

“I dunno why you even still want me here.”

It made Y/N stop short and her heart shattered all in one breath. In all the time had been there, neither of them had even questioned aloud why he was still here. Y/N had no desire to change their arrangement and she assumed he didn’t either. He had never said anything about it until today.

“Harry, look at me,” Y/N said when she reentered the kitchen, a determinism about her that he couldn’t question when he did as she said. “I told you months ago that you could stay here for as long as you wanted to, however long that is. And I sincerely hope I have never done or said anything to make you feel as if I think otherwise. But I will not sit here and let you question my words. I want you here because you’re my best friend and you shouldn’t have to go through this by yourself as much as you try and convince yourself you should.”

“I just don’t get it. It can’t be fun having me here when I’m like this. Your boss almost fired you because you keep being late because I keep you up because of my issues. You don’t get enough sleep because of me. You walk on eggshells half the time, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Why haven’t you just kicked me out already?” He asked, growing more and more frustrated as he spoke.

“No, it’s not always fun. But I didn’t expect it to be when I offered either. And I will never kick you out on your arse because - oh, it doesn’t matter why. You need to get it through your skull that people won’t just give up on you. I won’t,” Y/N told him, her voice beginning to rise to match his, the first signs of anger she had directed towards him since they were children.

“Tell me why,” he shouted, his hands planted firmly on the kitchen table as he looked up at her, a mix of anger and curiosity in his eyes.

In that moment, Y/N weighed her options carefully. She could tell him the real reason why she wanted him here, needed him here just as much as he needed to be here, but that risked him bolting right out the door. She could lie to him, give him some other reason, but he’d see right through that. Or she could keep this argument going until it was over and see where that left them. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes before opening her mouth to speak.

“Because I’m in love with you, Harry. I don’t know when it happened, or why, but I love you. That’s why I want to stay here.”

Silence filled the room as they both took in what she said, only the sound of their breathing echoing off the walls.

“Are you serious?” He finally asked, studying her face carefully. All she could give him back was a nod, too scared of the repercussions of speaking right now.

He must have seen something in her face, because suddenly he was rounding the table that had been separating them and approaching her quickly. She watched him move closer and closer until suddenly, his lips were on hers.

Y/N felt every nerve ending explode when his lips devoured hers, never thinking she would ever share a moment like this with him. Carefully, her arms came up so her hands could wrap themselves in his shirt while his held her cheeks between them gently. Neither of them were sure how long they stayed like that, standing in the kitchen devouring each other, but when they pulled away they were both panting.

Harry rested his forehead against hers, gently kissing her lips one last time before saying, “I love you, too.”

---

2006

---

Eight years. From that moment on, the pair of them had been together for eight years. Eight years filled with the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, but most of all, filled with an undeniable, unbreakable love that they shared for each other.

In those years, there had been weddings and children, some of those milestones being theirs. They had gotten married just two years after their confession, not wanting to waste anymore time than they already had. And a year after that came their first child, a son named James Sirius Potter that was the light of their lives.

And in those years, Harry had grown into the man that she always knew he would be. He was stable, had a job, and was still healing, albeit doing much better now than when he had shown up at her doorstep disheveled and in tears. He was the most loving husband and was completely smitten with his child, becoming the parent that he had always wanted.

The three of them were out at Diagonalley, a place that Harry was happy to have introduced Y/N to years ago and was elated to go there as a family now. They were eating ice cream at Florean Fortescue's when Harry saw an unmistakable flash of red pass by, stop, and come back around.

“Hi,” he heard awkwardly from behind him, causing his head to turn around to look at the source of it.

And there was Ginny Weasley in all her glory. A chaser for the Hollyhead Harpies now, and looked the roll too.

Harry immediately jumped into a quick reintroduction, knowing Y/N hadn’t had the time to have a proper one at there own wedding which, curiously, Ginny had ducked out early from. After a brief, and rather awkward, catch-up between the couple and his former girlfriend, Ginny made her move.

“Harry, take a walk with me?” She asked, addressing only him now.

After a quick nod from Y/N, who was occupied with James regardless, Harry took his leave to begin walking through the streets with his ex lover. As they began walking, the routine pleasantries were exchanged before Harry turned to her with an expectant glance, one that asked her ‘What are we doing here?’ without having to say the words.

“Look,” she began with a resigned sigh, “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your day but I just wanted to apologize for the way things ended between us back then. It was unfair of me to push you out like that and it’s been eating at me for a while now, and I just hope we can at least be friends now.”

“I appreciate that, and you’re forgiven. But I’ve clearly moved on and I’m happy now. I can only hope the same for you,” he told her honestly.

She gave him a forced smile and a nod before excusing him to get back on with his day, nothing more to say to him than what she already did.

She watched as he walked away from the window of the shop they had been in. Watched him walk back to his family and back into her arms. Something that could have been hers if she hadn’t been stubborn and angry at the end of the war.

She watched as Harry pulled his son into his arms, hoisting him up and laughing with his wife before placing a loving kiss to her lips. That could have been all hers. Should have been, she thought to herself bitterly.

It took everything inside of her to stop watching him with his happy little family and finally turned away from the window, leaving Diagonalley and hopefully any thoughts of rekindling things with him behind. She knew it was impossible now, but she had always held out some hope in her heart for him.

But as she apparated away, she could feel her heart break for what could have been. What could have been if she hadn’t been so cold to him eight years ago.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter blurb #harry potter smut #harry james potter #ginny weasley

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qslovebot · 3 years

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Nobody: Spencer Reid

Summary: After an accident on a case, the reader is left with trauma and anxiety. A miscommunication between her and the person she needs most (Spencer Reid) begins to eat her alive and he just so happens to be the only one there when she breaks again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings/Includes: mentions of kissing, mentions of traumatizing events (not specified), depictions of anxiety, fluff, miscommunication, angst to fluff

A/N: The song is Nobody by Mitski. Read with this for the ultimate experience.

Sometimes things felt too literal. Words start to sound weird and feel weird when you say them, clothes feel too much like clothes against your skin, the texture of any food in your mouth becomes too prevalent while eating.

These things started happening after you witnessed and endured something awful on a case. You wouldn't dare bring up the full memory in case it took over and killed you all over again. It wasn't PTSD, but it was the cause of your anxiety attacks most of the time when they occurred.

After that case, you spent a week in the hospital where they happened nearly every day and the doctors weren't much help, to be frank. The only people who really ever helped were your friends and the person you were so close to dating, Spencer Reid.

It was a long story. To dumb it down, the case event happened and you and Spencer thought you were about to die so he confessed his feelings for you and of course they were reciprocated. He asked, then and there through stuttering words, 'If we make it out of here please go out with me?" As his last bit of hope, and he kissed you before you were taken away by the unsub. He didn't endure nearly as much as you did which was why he wasn't as affected. But you had said 'yes' to that question and three weeks later, you still hadn't talked about it.

When the anxiety attacks happened, you often felt like you couldn't breathe, like the walls were pressing in on you. Sometimes you'd be with JJ when it happened. She would immediately ask you what you needed and often that would just be a hug.

Emily witnessed one at your house when she came over to check on you. She rushed over, caring voice and soft hands and told you to put your head between your knees, stroking your hair until you felt better.

Penelope made the 30-minute drive from her house every Friday night she wasn't working on a case to bring you dinner she had made and chat with you about anything you wanted.

Your friends cared for you, it was so prevalent. It was almost always that fact that was getting you through this as you continued to get better. You would return to work in two weeks because now the anxiety attacks were only once in a while and better controlled by you and Spencer still hadn't spoken to you since.

It was now nearly two weeks later. You would go back to work on Monday.

"He did come to visit you in the hospital before you woke up," Penelope said, stirring her cup of ramen. It was just another Friday and she sat across from you in your chair, cross-legged. "I don't know what's up with him if he isn't speaking to you, he seems fine at work."

You sighed, swallowing your bite. "I'm just scared that he regrets what he said and did before I was dragged away. It was those words and that kiss that got me through what the unsub did and I keep thinking about it and him..."

"It was romantic," she noted, waving her chopstick in the air. "I think you should call him, rather than just text him. It'll catch him off-guard and in-the-moment."

"Now?"

"Yes, so I can listen!"

You smiled a little, pulling out your phone as your heart began to race. What if he did pick up? What if it was awkward? What if he somehow didn't remember?

You pressed on his name, then pressed call. It began to hum quietly with pending rings. One ring, two, then five, then seven, then there was a small beep.

'You've reached Dr. Spencer Reid, uh, leave a message,' his voice said through the machine, still as sweet and youthfully scratchy. You bit your lip and nodded.

"I should have known that he didn't want to talk. Penelope, I can't stop thinking about him and he keeps ignoring my calls and I'm... frankly I'm afraid that nothing will ever happen and he'll ignore me forever."

Penelope cringed, "(Y/N), uh... there's... it's gone to voicemail and you're recording."

"Shit!" You panicked, looking at your phone. "How do I stop it?!"

"The red button!"

"That's the end call button I-" you pressed it by accident. Oh my god, the message went through. You just sat there with Penelope, both of you frozen in shock. That did not just happen... did it really just happen? Your one moment of self-pity and worry was one moment that Spencer would hear if he touched his phone on a Friday night.

The rest of the night was spent with you fighting off panic, pacing your room. Penelope agreed to stay overnight, but you could not handle the fact Spencer would hear what you said. It was humiliating to think about him hearing you stress over something like that.

This is what nagged at you all weekend, threatening the impending anxiety that was building up. Every second was agony, spent pacing and overthinking. Sleep was hard to get, so you took melatonin and your dreams taunted you with it all over again.

Monday morning you rushed to get dressed. You needed to see Spencer, no matter how hard it was to face him. You pulled on dress pants and a navy blue cotton v-neck shirt with bell sleeves. Laundry was forgotten through two days of panic, so this was pretty much the only shirt you had.

You brushed through your hair and applied your regular makeup and there, you were presentable and didn't look like you'd lost your mind over the weekend. You were going back, finally. It was somewhat refreshing if you dismissed the Spencer ordeal.

The drive there was fine. Music helped to calm you down and you listened as long as you could. Stepping into the BAU was different, it felt like you were being crushed the moment you stepped in.

"There's my girl!" Derek Morgan was the first to notice you walk in and he greeted you with open arms and a crushing hug. You smiled, letting him. It had been a while since you last saw him. He let you go after a few seconds, but his hands stayed on your shoulders. "We missed you here, things weren't as fun without you."

"I bet," you grinned, heading to your desk. You could hide your freakout well. "I missed the smell of coffee and paper in the morning."

"(Y/N), glad to have you back," Hotch said, walking down the steps. He did seem honestly glad to see you as there was a small twitch of his mouth when he approached you and Derek. "You're sure you're alright to work again? I assume today is a file day, but we'll be back out there soon."

You nodded, smiling back. "Getting there, but it's controllable now," He narrowed his eyebrows. "I'll be fine for the field and if I'm not, I can always stay at the precinct to work things out there."

Hotch looked to Derek, then back at you. "Sounds good. Again, glad to have you back, agent." Hotch shook your hand and passed you, heading into JJ's office.

"Morgan..." You started, fiddling with your fingers. "Have you seen Spencer?"

"Yeah, he just went to the washroom, why?"

"I need to talk to him..."

The day went on and of course, you saw Spencer, but he paid you no mind. Not even a 'welcome back' or anything. You were just there and it was like you never left, except Spencer didn't even look at you. He was busy with his work and you constantly found yourself watching him. Maybe he'd heard your voice mail, maybe not, but either way, he didn't seem to care anymore.

That month and a half you spent recovering- was it possible that he used that time away from you to get over you? The idea was haunting and tugged at your heart. To be the only one all-in was such an incredibly painful idea. What he said before you were dragged away into the depths of hell meant something to you and it kept you alive... and to think he probably didn't mean it...

You needed to stop thinking about it before it made you burst into a million pieces. To be surrounded by everyone who you loved and loved you back wasn't enough if you couldn't have Spencer, too. Selfish, it sounded so selfish, but it shook you to the core that he wasn't amongst them.

The day continued and more pain was endured. More overthinking, more fear, more insecurity. The day was nearing its end.

Everybody seemed like nobody when Spencer was out of the picture. You had spent so much time thinking about him in the hospital and at home in recovery, who were you without wondering you could make it work? Nobody. Without the fantasy you could be his, you stranded on some sort of island. You were nobody if not Spencer's.

So you were nobody.

It was that thought that keeled you over the edge in the parking lot of the BAU. So much fear, so much pent-up emotion, it was too much to contain and just... spilled over onto everything as your hands began to shake, followed by that godawful feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your knees gave out and you fell conveniently onto the curb next to your car.

There was nobody there, either. You were alone on the concrete curb, face in your shaking hand and the other shaking hand gripping the curb so hard your knuckles turned white. Too much, too little, everything was wrong and you couldn't face Spencer.

You looked up for a brief moment and there was a brief look at someone in a beige cardigan and khaki pants and your heart fell to the pit of your stomach- as if you were humiliated enough. Footsteps, closer.

"A-are you okay?" His voice was a little panicked, definitely not as bad as yours, though. Overall, you were just glad he was within six feet of you.

Of course, you were pretty much unable to reply. Your face stayed in your hands and you felt light fingers on your shoulder, his, and they were somewhat grounding. God, he was here and you couldn't even talk to him, you couldn't even raise your head.

"What do you need, I- what happened?" He cared. But to what extent? His hands felt frantic- they shook a little (again, not nearly as bad as yours) and they moved from your shoulder, to upper arm, to near your neck, to the side of your head. "If this is my fault, I-"

He stopped himself. How could he possibly know that it was the thought of him that sent this into motion? The voicemail didn't entail much other than he was on your mind. You hardly even noticed that you were crying from the anxiety attack until you felt how wet your hands were. Your words kept piling on your tongue and the panic rose again in an entirely new wave.

"Do you- do you need help? I can get Hotch or... Derek, Derek knows, I know, but I don't- I don't think you like me very much and I won't be of help-I-I-I-" His voice continued to ramble and you were flooded with new thoughts. How could he possibly think that you didn't like him? In those moments before you were taken, you had said yes to going out with him if you both made it out. You kissed him back then before the arms grabbed you and dragged you off. Where did the idea of you not liking him come from? It was you who was afraid he didn't like you back.

You wanted to speak, you wanted to say something but you were stuck in your own mind, desperately trying to fight this off, trying hard to calm your breathing. The most you could do was take your hand off of the curb and frantically grab his. You took his hand and you held it tight, trying to slow the sharp intakes of breath. That's when Spencer squeezed your hand and you began to feel better.

And when you did start to feel better and your breathing was still harsh, but better and you could finally move a little more, you did what you had wanted to do every day in the hospital. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Spencer, your arms resting around his shoulders. You needed it and apparently so did he, because he squeezed you back the same. Either it was that or he knew pressure helped. All you could do was hope it wasn't the latter.

Spencer of course buried his face in the crook of your neck like he had before and you knew now that this feeling was coming to an end. The tide was washing out and there was calm after the storm. No words, just your breathing becoming more natural and the wind over your ears. This was all that you needed.

He stayed like this with you for a good five more minutes before you could finally release him, pulling apart and your hand coming up to wipe under your eyes. He didn't speak then, either- he just watched, his face furrowed in concern.

So you spoke, "Spencer wh-" your voice cut out from still being in that state of anxiety. You coughed into your arm, tried again. "Why would you think I don't like you?"

"I-I- don't think that's the question, I- are you okay?" His hands went back to your shoulders bracingly.

You smiled a small smile, "I'm better, it's passed, but Spencer...' You slid into a whisper with the crying coming back. Had it really passed?

"Yes?" His reply was wary. As if afraid to break you, he tiptoed.

"Answer me, please."

He bit his lower lip into his mouth, sighing. "I don't know if I should, you're- you're upset."

You looked at him, dead-on, determined. "Please."

"You didn't call. Not once and I-I-I was worried and then I started to think about it and everything t-that happened before you were taken and that you probably only said and did that because you were about to-to-uh, die." He rambled, words spilling out. "So I thought maybe you didn't really like me and-"

"I was waiting for you to call, too," you actually let out a laugh. He smiled in realization. "Because I was afraid of the exact same thing. I was afraid you didn't mean it and I worked myself up- I called Friday night, though-"

"I didn't- I didn't know that-" he fumbled to bring his phone out of his pocket and he must have seen that he had a voicemail from you and nodded, a little smile appearing on his worried face. "So you did mean to say yes?"

"And you did mean to ask?" You inquired, head tilted.

"Y-yes, of course."

"Then yes," you replied, smile widening to a grin. "How is Saturday night? I think I'll be better by then."

He was positively beaming as he helped you back to your feet. "Saturday is... great. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Much better.... truthfully." You nodded excessively and Spencer began walking back to his car, but then came back quickly to kiss your cheek.

He was like a child excited to go run and tell friends, "Goodnight!"

"Night, Spence." You stood there, basking in the glory that was solved miscommunication. You weren't nobody, you were in fact, somebody. And you were soon to be Spencer's.

Tags: @ellyhotchner, @softhairedhotch, @laurakirsten0502

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lumosinlove · 3 years

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PREVIOUSLY ON RELIC KEEL:

We get our first glimpse of Finn, who is still in Saint Clair orphanage. Finn has worked out that Crucio is being given to the orphans because it allows them to see their families again and makes them want to stay at Saint Clair so they can keep receiving it—even if it means reliving memories every day that are not their own. Finn doesn’t want that at all, and he’s been in solitary for the last week because he refuses to eat, realizing that the drug is mixed in with the food.

Luke is struggling with his mother, who seems to be delighted that Luke’s father is gone. She has completely transformed into a woman Luke doesn’t recognize, offering him alcohol, and wanting to get rid of Luke’s father’s things. Luke escapes her words, retreating to his father’s study where he can take Crucio and re-arrange the events in his own mind, making it so his father never got taken away.

Remus and Sirius, at James’ house for a movie night, have an awkward exchange in the kitchen. Remus wants to ask Sirius if he wants to go sailing with him, quickly realizing the unexplainable but seemingly unavoidable crush he’s developed on Sirius, but they get interrupted by Saint.

Saint asks Remus to help him sneak into The Hogwarts History Museum, where Remus is working for the summer, but when Remus refuses, guesses he has to take matters into his own hands.

Saint finds Luke on the grasses with the others, watching a movie. Luke wants his father’s watch, which Saint stole, back, but Saint refuses. Luke can’t believe Saint has never seen many movies, but rudely puts it up to Saint’s “fucked childhood.” They argue, and it just makes Saint quietly angrier. Saint thinks more deeply about it than he lets on, though, reflecting on people’s need to control things—a need that Crucio plays on. Saint leaves, but not after stealing the keys to Luke’s car, deciding he can control things a different way—with ancient gold from an ancient pirate ship, perhaps.

Sirius follows Saint out of the house. He can tell that he’s more on edge than usual, that he has been ever since Logan arrived. Saint won’t tell him what he wants from the museum, though—a treasure map to the Voldemort. Sirius is hurt. He’s angry at himself for liking Remus. Both Sirius and Saint, it seems, have a hard time distinguishing pity and friendship.

Leo and Logan are waiting for Saint so that they can all go to the museum together. Leo asks about Finn and finds out that Logan and Finn are in love, that they’re everything to each other. It stings Leo’s slowly developing feelings for Logan.

Remus and Sirius go to the history museum to try and thwart Saint and find out he’s working with Logan and Leo, and that they’re all after The Voldemort. Saint confesses he’s trying to help Sirius, to Sirius’ surprise. Leo wants to finish his father’s work. Logan wants Finn—but no one seems willing to help him bust Finn out. When they find the drawer where the map should be kept in the museum’s archive room, however, it’s gone, having been taken out on loan by Luke’s father, Victor Deveaux. Victor and Luke loved the tale of the treasure, too. Perhaps it has something to do with Victor being sent to jail.

They go to Luke’s house where Saint climbs through Luke’s bedroom window. Saint studies a sleeping Luke, a strange, unexpected constant—a brooding, rude, beautiful one, that is. And oh, how Saint hates letting things surprise him. Saint wakes Luke, who has taken Crucio, and plans to use his father’s watch as leverage to get Luke to help them find the map.

*****cw: mentions of drugs, mentions of use of drugs, mentions of past deaths, mentions of past abuse, mentions of blood*****

part vii

Luke’s father was standing over Remus’ shoulder, flickering as the Felix wore off, and it was really fucking with Luke’s head.

“Some fellow treasure hunters,” his father said with one of his soft smiles. “Sounds fun.”

“Sober up,” Remus’ voice filtered in. “What makes you sober up?”

“I’m not drunk.”

Luke watched Remus just shake his head at him. His father’s flickering frame was looking closely at Saint, who was picking up everything in sight.

“We both know what you are,” Remus replied. “Now, come on. Coffee? Anything I can do without waking your mom up.”

“She’s not going to wake up,” Luke rubbed his eyes. “She takes these—sleeping things, I don’t know.”

“Well—“ Remus hesitated. Behind him, Luke’s father flickered out.

“I’m fine,” Luke said. “What’s going on?”

“We’re bargaining, remember?” Saint held up Luke’s father’s watch again. “Tell me about your father, Deveaux.”

Luke blinked. “What?”

“Well, Lupin’s already told us a little. You, him, and your treasure hunting days.”

Luke looked at Remus, who looked half-guilty and half-curious. “You mean—like when we were kids?”

Luke didn’t want to tell them about the time he had spent with his father in here, just the two of them, fantasizing about gold and pirates.

“We were at the museum just now,” Remus began slowly. “Your dad loaned out a map…it’s of the Cradle. Of a, what was it, a trading post?”

The tall, blond boy standing in a corner nodded.

Remus looked back to Luke. “Have you seen it? Here?”

“A map?” Luke scrubbed his hand over his face again. “What fucking time is it?”

“Oh, he’s swearing,” Saint said as he opened another drawer. “He’s back.”

“Fuck—” Luke clamped his mouth shut. He turned away from Saint and fully towards Remus. Sirius and another dark haired boy were standing near the blond one. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Treasure?”

Remus winced. “Like the Voldemort.”

“The—what? He was never serious about that stuff,” Luke replied. “It was just for fun.”

“And yet he takes it upon himself to acquire an ancient document,” Saint piped up from behind him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luke said again over his shoulder.

“Um—“

Luke looked towards the blond boy, who had taken a hesitant step forward.

“I know what it looks like. My dad had a copy.”

“A true father’s affair,” Saint mumbled.

“What?” Luke asked for what felt like the one hundredth time.

“If we could just look around—” the blond began.

“You come here at ass o’clock in the morning to look around may dad’s study? For a treasure map that your dad has?”

“Used to have,” the blond’s eyes went colder. “His version was lost with him and his boat.”

Luke swallowed, eyes drifting away from the other boy’s blue ones. He looked back to Remus. They used to spend hours playing pirate when they were younger. Remus looked like he was remembering those hours, too.

Luke only had to blink for that golden-edged memory to mingle with the hours Remus had held Luke close in Luke’s bed, letting Luke soak his t-shirt through when they’d taken his dad away.

“Why do you think my dad has it?” Luke said now. “What do you mean loaned?”

“We went looking for it at the museum just now,” Remus explained. “Well—not not we. Saint stole your car—”

Luke looked back at Saint. “I’m aware.”

Saint flashed a smile.

“—and went with Logan,” Remus pointed to the somber looking brunette, “and Leo,” the cold-eyed blond, “to more or less, God, break into the museum archives. If they’re going to find the treasure—which, in my opinion, they’re not—they need—”

“A map,” Luke said, then scoffed out a laugh. “You guys are fucking crazy.”

Remus ran a hand through his hair. “Look, none of this was my idea, but your dad’s name was on the loan card. If it’s here, it's here, and then they’ll take the picture they need and we can all leave. I mean, shit, I have work at seven tomorrow morning, guys.”

Luke let out a long breath. He was tired, from being woken up and from the Felix, and he frankly wanted Saint to stop messing with his father’s things.

He nodded at Remus. “You can look around. And I will. The rest of you, don’t fucking—” he snatched one of his father’s fountain pens out of Saint’s hands. “touch anything.”

Saint just tiled his head defiantly. Luke couldn’t help but hold his gaze for a moment, remembering waking up to those syrupy eyes and feeling—he didn’t know what. Like he was standing on the edge of the Howler cliffs, above a storm-warmed, rough ocean. Saint’s hand had been in his hair, and it had been ever so gentle, unlike the rest of him. His words were tough, and, from what Luke could tell by his own jabs at Saint, so was his skin. He guessed a kid didn’t grow up the way Saint had without at least a little armor—Saint was practically drowning in his own.

As if Luke could talk. Luke looked away and gestured towards Remus. “Let’s get this over with.”

Luke opened drawers and cabinets. He looked through stacks of paper and under dressers. He checked the den, even, just in case, but there was nothing. Everything was orderly—and even more, the police had taken so much. Any paper they could get their hands on. His mom wouldn’t tell him what they were looking for, and neither would the lawyers that occasionally came to the house.

But there was no map.

Luke began to double check, if only at Remus’ insistence, but he was at a loss. There were only so many places—

“What’s your birthday, tweedle?” Saint said suddenly.

“What does that have to do—” Luke began as he turned, but his words died in his throat when he saw Saint.

Luke’s father had had the old map of Hogwarts framed and hanging in his study ever since Luke could remember. He knew its markings as well as he knew the island as it was today. Saint had it tilted to the side, revealing a sliver of sleek steel. A safe.

“I told you not to touch anything,” Luke said breathlessly. He hadn’t known about that safe. He’d stared at that map a thousand times and he hadn’t known. Did his mother know? The lawyers?

“I bet you one of Leo here’s best breakfast sandwiches that the map’s in here,” Saint replied, nodding to the frame. “Little bit of an X marks the spot, don’t you think? Now,” Saint reached for the painting and unhooked it smoothly, setting it on the ground to reveal the neat square metal sunken into the wall with a dial in the center. “Tell me your birthday.”

“Why do you think the combination is my birthday?”

Saint rolled his eyes. “Because you’re his son. Fathers do that. Don’t they?”

Saint asked the last part like he was trying to be sure, but wasn’t.

“January first,” Luke replied.

Saint hummed as he leaned in. “New year, new you, huh?”

Luke just swallowed dryly as he listened to the dial tick. It felt so loud in the room that was now holding its breath. It felt like it lasted forever, but, finally, the safe opened with a gentle click.

“Damn, Saint,” Sirius said softly.

“I know, I’m so good,” Saint said, and made to push the door open when Luke pushed forward and grabbed his hand. Saint’s fingers were warm in his own. Saint raised an eyebrow.

“Like you said,” Luke still felt breathless. “I’m his son. I’m doing this.”

Saint raised his free hand in surrender until Luke let go, and he backed away. Luke faced the safe. He felt the Felix in him all over again, though it was long gone. He felt his father, smelled his cigars. Luke reached for the door, too aware of the four pairs of eyes on him, and pulled it open.

It was relatively empty. There were papers that looked like they had once bound money, but lay ripped and lifeless now. There was a case of expensive cigars.

And there was an envelope with Luke’s name on it.

“There’s a letter,” Luke said faintly, picking it up. “For me.”

He looked up at Remus, and Remus nodded.

“Like the clues he would leave us?” Remus said quietly.

Luke went for the seal—only to have it snatch out of his hands.

He looked up, eyes wide, and found the unfamiliar brunette—Logan, Remus had said—staring back at him, at all of them, with wild green eyes.

“Logan,” Leo said, voice filled with surprise. “What the hell are you—”

But Logan just backed up towards the door. There was a familiar click, and the flame of a lighter appeared in his other hand.

“Hey—” Luke stepped forward, panicked, but Saint’s palm pushed against his chest.

“Don’t,” Saint said softly, for Luke’s ears only.

“That’s mine,” Luke snarled, shoving Saint away.

“Yeah, well I have something I want, too,” Logan snapped, and then looked at Saint. He held the flame closer to the envelope. “You want to know what this says? Then—”

“So do you, Logan,” Saint said. “You need that money. You know you do. The Carrows know it, too.”

“You owe me something first. I want Finn.”

“I don’t owe you,” Saint replied evenly. “I don’t owe anyone. That’s kind of my general idea in life, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Logan faltered, and the flame slipped close enough to the envelope to make smoke trail, but when Luke stepped forward, Logan took another step back. He looked small, framed by the grand desk and leather chairs. Small and scared.

“You left us in there,” he finally whispered, and Luke thought he heard Saint’s breathing stop and hold, like a punch to the gut.

“He was seven years old,” Sirius growled, and Luke didn’t know what they were talking about, was done waiting.

“Do you know the last time I talked to my dad?” Luke said, voice raising. He glanced upstairs, careful of his mother despite her pills, and dropped it to a deadly whisper again. “He’s not allowed calls. Not until the investigation’s over. This could—” Luke hesitated at putting his wildest, most desperate hope into words. “This could prove he’s—”

“Do you think I give a shit about the last time you talked to your daddy?” Logan snarled just as harshly. “When’s the last time I talked to mine? Oh. Right.”

“Please,” Luke heard the word rip out of his throat before he could help it, but Logan wasn’t even looking at him. Logan’s eyes were on Saint.

“Help me get Finn out. The windows are barred now. There are alarms, I’ve seen them.”

“I didn’t use a window,” Saint replied.

“Then show me how you did it.”

“You won’t be able to get in the way I got out.”

“Then do it for me.”

If Luke was begging, so was Logan.

“Fuck, I’ll help you,” Luke shouted. “Just don’t. Please. My father—”

“You don’t know shit about Saint Clair,” Logan snapped, then looked back at Saint. “We both know where he is. Why I haven’t seen him. Saint—”

“All right,” Saint said, voice calm. His brown eyes reminded Luke of stormy seas, ruddy with stirred up sand. “All right, Logan. Just don’t burn the letter.”

“Promise,” Logan said.

Saint laughed, cold and clear. “What has a promise ever meant to either of us? I said I would. Take it or leave it.”

There was a terrifying moment in which Luke worried that the letter would go up in flames anyway. That he would never know what his father had wanted him to have, wanted him to know. He didn’t know Logan, didn’t trust him.

The lighter clicked off and Logan held out the envelope. Luke took it and gave Logan a shove towards the door for good measure.

“Get out,” he said. “Get out of my house.”

“What does the letter say?” Logan replied firmly. “It could be about the map.”

Luke laughed, and it rang a close twin to Saint’s in his own ears. “You should have thought about that before you held it hostage for your orphan friend.”

Logan took a step forward, mouth opening to protest, but Luke was bigger than him, stronger and taller. He met him chest to chest.

“I said get out.”

“Logan,” Saint sighed. “Listen to him.”

Leo stepped forward then, a gentle hand on Logan’s fiery frame. Logan simmered for another moment, but let Leo lead him from the room, lighter still clutched in his fist. Remus followed them with a whispered, I’m sorry that Luke barely heard.

He faintly heard Saint say something to Sirius, who followed Remus.

Saint, the only one left in the room now, looked at Luke steadily. Luke expected some sort of joke, or a snarky remark about the desperation Luke had shown—something he tried to never let slip through. He didn’t care what it was. He just wanted to be alone, to have this room feel like his father’s again. Instead of a crime scene. Instead of a lead, or a pin-point on a map. Just his father’s familiar room.

Instead Saint tossed him something that shone—his keys.

“Let us know, if you want,” Saint said simply, and held the gold watch out. Luke took it with shaking fingers, watching him go.

Then, he looked down at the letter, at his name in his father’s familiar scrawl. He peeled back the seal with a lump forming in his throat.

Remus’ steps slowed to a stop when he saw who was waiting for him at the end of his dock in the five-AM light.

Sirius had his flip-flops beside him, his feet dangling over the edge into the water, the Wolfsbane rocking gently in the early morning waves to his left.

“Sirius?” Remus called, more so that the first thing Sirius felt wasn’t the shaking of his footsteps than anything else.

Sirius jerked around, startled either way, and scrambled to stand.

“Hi,” he said. “Or, morning.”

“Morning,” Remus laughed a little, glancing at the boat. “I…is this you taking me up on my offer?”

Sirius ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Ah, well, I’m here to say sorry about last night. Dragging you into it and all. That wasn’t fair of Saint, but he’s…I don’t know what he is right now. I usually do but…not this time, I guess.”

Remus nodded, trying to buy himself time to figure out what to say. He stepped onto his boat and took a rope in hand, just for something to do. To hold onto. Sirius had spoken the words plainly enough. There was nothing about Saint and himself being together, but Remus still sensed some sort of intimacy that wasn’t quite friendship, just as he had at the museum.

“It’s okay,” Remus said. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

Sirius’ smile was a small, relieved one. “I guess so. Still. He was on some sort of mission. He still hasn’t told me anything, so.”

Remus leaned back from stowing his phone and keys securely in a hatch. “He doesn’t seem like the type of person you can really get things out of.”

“That’s true,” Sirius laughed, and it was easier this time. “Anyway, I’ll let you…I just wanted to say.”

Remus wanted to ask again, if Sirius would come with him, but Sirius was already backing away and so Remus just nodded.

“Thanks.”

He turned after he said it, breathing in the ocean air and trying to still himself, to let the familiarity of his boat and sails wash over him. He would find someone. Maybe they weren’t Sirius Black. Maybe they just weren’t here. Maybe he’d fall in love on the water, or in a classroom, or—

“Can I?” Remus heard Sirius say, and turned to look. Sirius had stopped half way down the dock.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

“Take you up on your offer?”

Remus smiled, even if his hope at Sirius’ words paired with the thought of Saint made his heart a little tender.

“Of course you can,” Remus said.

Sirius jogged towards him with a grin of his own, but he paused before he stepped onto the Wolfsbane, looking down. Remus wondered for a moment if it was the gap over the water, but Sirius had said he sailed, too, he’d said—

Remus understood. He unmoored the nose. “Get that rope back there if you finally want to do something other than watch.”

Sirius jumped to unknot the rope with ease, and then stepped onto the waves beside Remus, using one of his feet to push them away from the dock. Remus let them drift a moment, feeling for the wind. It was quiet for now, but he could see rougher waves out past the point.

“Is it just yours?” Sirius asked as he watched Remus with the tiller.

“Yep, birthday present,” Remus patted the side. “My baby.”

Sirius smiled. “It’s a beautiful boat.”

The wind began to pick up as they got farther from the land, pushing towards the open water. Remus’ heart seemed to pick up with it and, glancing at Sirius, who looked contemplative and—well, beautiful—Remus didn’t think it was merely the sea’s doing.

Remus had never thought too much about Sirius Black. Sirius had been there one day, gone the next, and in the run-ins at James’ house once Sirius had started working there, he had been a suddenly handsome face. Grown into himself and strong from his outdoor work. In turn, Remus always became suddenly awkward around the boy who obviously didn’t like Gods. He and James poked fun at each other, he and Luke were downright hostile, and Remus didn’t know where he fit in.

He hoped the water and the Wolfsbane would do some talking for him, and maybe some listening, too.

They didn’t speak as they began to fly. The pontoons skimmed the waves and the wind would have snatched their voices away, but Remus swore he heard Sirius laugh.

Sirius knew how to sail, too. He breathed it all in, just as Remus did, and they worked together, balancing and pulling and leaning out to trace their fingers along the water’s surface. It felt as warm as a bath against the cool air.

Remus didn’t let them go too far out, he had to be back, but he would have. He would have sailed right to the horizon with Sirius without looking back.

As the wind died down, as they turned around, Remus felt something different. Like a wind change between the two of them. They grinned at each other, flushed with it, and as the wind cut down more, as they past the point, Sirius’ turned self-conscious but it didn’t disappear like before.

The boat settled into a glide towards the shore. Remus let his feet dangle in the water.

“So, the treasure,” Remus asked, because Sirius looked hesitant to talk, sitting there soundly on the other side of the boat. “Do you think it’s real?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sirius replied, and Remus laughed. “But if Saint thinks it’s worth it…I’ll try to go along with it.”

Remus nodded, taking that in. Saint. The mention of him slowed his heart back to a glide along with the boat. Remus cleared his throat and Sirius looked back at him from the horizon questioningly.

“What was that thing with—Logan? I mean, you don’t have to tell me but…”

Sirius took a long breath. “Logan has someone, Finn, inside Saint Clair. Finn helped him escape. And I don’t know if it’s guilt that’s making him help to get Finn out, or something more, but…Saint's the one who can help.”

“Because he escaped.”

Sirius nodded. “Right.”

“Is it complicated?” Remus asked. “Like, is he worried he won’t be able to do it twice?”

Sirius shook his head. “It’s not complicated.”

He was silent for a moment, and Remus didn't want to push him. He waited, seeing if Sirius would continue.

“Saint walked right out the front door,” Sirius finally finished, and looked at Remus. “I think he’s worried because it wasn’t a grand escape, even if he tells it that way. Even if he makes it seem like he climbed walls or something. He’s worried because…because it was a fluke. Sometimes there are doors you can’t walk back through.”

Sirius said the last sentence heavily, as if he had a door of his own. Remus guessed that maybe everyone did.

“So, what’s he going to do for Finn and Logan?”

Sirius just shook his head again. “I have no idea. But I’ll help him in any way that I can.” Half a smile raised Sirius’ mouth. “If he lets me.”

“No.”

“Tell me,” Sirius demanded. Saint just rolled his eyes and popped a sweet potato fry into his mouth.

“Tell us,” Dorcas cut in from her place beside Marlene.

“Right,” Sirius said. “Sorry.”

“Saint,” Marlene sighed. “If you’re not going to tell us, it’ll make us think you have no plan at all.”

“Who invited the God?” Saint said airily.

“My girlfriend,” Dorcas scuffed the back of his head.

“Not for long she’s not,” Saint replied, and at Dorcas and Marlene’s expressions, waved a hand. “Come on. She’s going to college, Dor, you’re not…don’t tell me you haven’t talked about it.”

“We—” Dorcas began, but flushed and closed her mouth. Sirius glanced at Marlene, whose eyes were firmly down towards her burger.

“Stop trying to change the subject,” Sirius sighed.

“I’m not, I’m just telling everyone what to expect.”

“Saint,” Sirius leaned forward. “How are you going to get Finn out of Saint Clair? You said last time—”

Saint cut in quickly, “I say a lot of things to you that are just for you, Black.”

“Well, I don’t know what to do with what you said,” Sirius replied. “Come on. Please. Is it because you don’t know? Is that why you won’t say anything?”

Saint stayed quiet, looking down at his food. “I know. We’ll just have to see if it works.”

“Saint,” Dorcas leaned forward and Saint turned his palm up for her hand. He knew they were trying to help. “Babe, we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You mean you want to make sure it’s not too insane.”

Sirius nodded. “That, too.”

“Can’t you just rest assured that I’m doing this for myself, too?” Saint said. “I’ll get Finn out, Logan will calm the fuck down, and maybe Luke will let us know about the treasure.”

“Who gives a fuck about this treasure?” Dorcas said harshly.

“It probably doesn’t even exist,” Sirius added.

“You want off this island, like you said? Then you give a fuck.”

Sirius began to shake his head. “It’s not—” he said, but Saint pushed on, voice raising.

“We’ll get Finn out, we’ll get Luke’s help, we’ll get the map, we’ll find my mom—”

Saint stopped talking, frozen by the words that had ripped out of him of their own accord.

Sirius, Dorcas, and Marlene’s eyes were wide. Pity. The word seemed to hang in the air.

“The treasure, I meant,” Saint managed. “We’ll find the treasure and…”

“Saint…” Dorcas said, and when he looked at her…Pity. “Do you know where she is?”

Saint was furious with himself for the slip. He was looking for Sirius. He wanted the treasure for Sirius, he didn’t need it for himself. He didn’t need anything, especially not people who left. Not his mom, not Sirius.

“I don’t need help with Saint Clair,” Saint said and pushed his chair back, leaving them staring at each other across the table.

Saint hadn’t let any of them come. He didn’t want anyone here to see him tremble and shake at doing the one thing he had always promised himself he would never do. The one thing he didn’t think he could do.

But, thinking about it, the trick wasn’t getting out. Anyone could walk out the door. The nuns needed it that way, for business. For the appearance of normalcy. The real trick was getting inside without being let in. The way to keep secrets, after all, wasn’t keeping everyone out. Walls begged to be breached. The secret was to filter the truth. Let people see half, a quarter, or different parts at different times. The trick was getting in to see the whole picture.

Maybe Saint was half of Saint Clair, keeping his cards close to his chest.

The offices. He needed to get the the offices, and then he needed to get to Finn. In and out—just not through the door this time.

“What’s the plan?” said a voice just behind him, and Saint closed his eyes.

Sirius.

“I told you not to come,” Saint said.

“And I told me yes,” Sirius parroted. They rolled their eyes at each other even as Sirius rested a gentle hand over Saint’s where it was clenched over his own knee. They crouched beside each other, staring at Saint Clair in the darkness. It was two in the morning, maybe a little past it now, and Saint wanted everyone to be asleep.

He looked towards the chimney. It was wide and old fashioned. It would be too hot for them to be using it tonight.

“Jesus Christ,” Sirius sighed, following his gaze.

“The windows are barred. The doors are alarmed. I’ve cleaned that thing, I know it’s big.”

“Yeah, everything looks big to a seven year old,” Sirius countered.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“And getting out?” Sirius asked.

“Alarms don’t go off if you open the door from the inside. There’s a kitchen door around the back. We’ll use it. We just have to get in.”

Sirius nodded slowly, and then asked, “Your mom?”

Saint pressed his lips together. He needed to get to the office, and then to Finn, and then out.

He started forward towards the drain pipe, just like on Luke’s house, and didn’t look to see if Sirius was following him.

Marlene didn’t like seeing that contemplating look at Dorcas’ face. Dorcas was chewing on her lip, eyes staring at the movie playing on Marlene’s laptop, but she was somewhere else entirely. Marlene put her pencil down at wiggled her toes, which were in Dorcas’ lap. Dorcas blinked and looked at her.

“Don’t listen to Saint,” Marlene said. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

But even saying that ate at her. Marlene thought of the acceptance email, of California and Berkeley, buried in her inbox right now. Tell her, said everything inside, but Dorcas already had that look on her face. The worrying, I-want-everything-that’s-good-for-you-regardless-of-what-it-means-for-me-or-us look.

Marlene didn’t want to see that look. She’d seen it the first time her father had banned her from seeing a Salazar girl. They had been fifteen and Dorcas had offered to stop, and Marlene had kissed the idea right out of her mouth, right out of existence.

This was different. She couldn’t kiss college away. She didn’t want to. But she also wanted Dorcas, and California felt far, far away.

Dorcas chewed on her lip some more, then rubbed a soothing thumb over Marlene’s ankle. “We haven’t really talked about it, though.”

“I know,” Marlene said softly. She pushed herself up and set her sketchbook aside before reaching over to close the laptop, cutting the actor off in mid-sentence. “I guess I’m sort of…avoiding it.”

“We are, you mean,” Dorcas offered her a small smile. “I…I know we said we wanted to just have our summer, and I do want that. But I think I would feel better knowing what you think. About, you know…about when you do start hearing back.”

Marlene looked down as she whispered, “I got into Berkeley.”

A short sucked-out sound of silence filtered in between them for a moment. Marlene looked up.

“I should have said,” Marlene sighed. “I know I should have. I just…”

“Sweetheart,” Dorcas sighed, and then Marlene was pressed back onto the bed, Dorcas’ hard kisses bringing a hot blush to her cheeks. “That’s amazing.”

Marlene hummed against Dorcas’ mouth, a sad-happy sound, and wound her fingers into her hair as Dorcas kissed along her jaw. “It can be as amazing as it wants, but it’s really far away. And you like it here, and—”

“I like you,” Dorcas said, and pushed herself onto her forearms so she could look down at Marlene. “Marls, the question about us was never a debate about you following your dreams and going to college, just like you want. The question lies with me. I don’t know how to pull off following you yet, but I’m working on it.”

Marlene looked up at her and felt tears join the heat within, felt her voice wobble. “I’ll miss you. I want you to be safe, and I want you to be with me.”

Dorcas’ kiss was softer this time. “Me too.”

Marlene enjoyed it for a moment, relief bubbling in her chest, until Dorcas began laughing into her mouth.

“Maybe the boys will find that treasure and give me a piece of it.”

Marlene laughed, too. “God, if that’s our best option…”

They wound tighter together, snuggling down into Marlene’s quilt. Dorcas pressed her forehead against Marlene’s.

“Whatever I can do, I’ll do it,” Dorcas said. “I want you, wherever we are.”

Marlene just kissed her again.

Sirius was noisier on the climb than Saint would have liked, but they made it to the slanted roof without trouble, standing on its apex to stare down into the soot-dark.

“Is this really going to work?” Sirius whispered.

“It could.”

“Why not climb the fence? Maybe that door is open.”

“Too loud.”

“Why didn’t you let Logan come with us?”

Saint huffed out an annoyed breath. “Because if this goes wrong, what Finn did was for nothing. If this goes really wrong, at least there would still be one of us on the outside who knows what it looks like inside,” Saint stared out at the trees and bit of coast they could see by moonlight from here. “One of us who doesn’t return every night, that is.”

Saint went down the chimney first, one step at a time. The stones and rusted iron rungs provided easy enough footholds, they just had to hope no one was having a midnight cup of tea when they reached the bottom. He looked up once, blinking through the fine grit of ash that seemed to hang in the air, at Sirius’ face, the silver moonlight like a halo around his dark hair.

And Saint kept climbing down. He went slowly, listening hard. If someone was down there, they’d hear him, and then he’d hear them, and he could scramble back up the chimney and out of sight. Once he was down, however, who knew what they would do to keep him that way. He could practically taste the heavy sleep of Crucio, and his stomach rolled against the images it brought back. The many different families—fathers, siblings, and mothers. So many mothers that he didn’t even know which had been his own anymore.

He hated them for it. He hated them for thinking he wanted that.

Saint’s trembling foot slipped on the last hold and he tumbled out, only barely withholding a cry as the log holders scraped heavily across his side.

“Saint,” came Sirius’ harsh whisper from above him, and Saint waved a hand beneath the flue to show he was okay, then pushed himself up from the now ashy floor, gripping his side.

He knew this room too well. He knew it through the over-active eyes of a five year old. He knew it through the only slightly more alert gaze of his seven year old self.

It was smaller than he remembered. Shabbier than it had seemed then, with its hard couches and children’s books, its desk by the window that still held a letter opener that he had eyed a few times, wondering if he could fight his way out like heroes did in the books he read. Now, he willed all to stay quiet as he walked over and picked up the dull knife. He hated the sight of it.

Sirius came after him, more smartly, landing feet first.

“You could have fucking impaled yourself,” Sirius whispered.

“I didn’t, though,” Saint said, and looked at his ribs. The cuts stung, but the bleeding didn’t look too bad, just enough to dot uneven lines across his t-shirt.

Sirius lifted his shirt to see, and passed a careful thumb near the worst of them, his other a familiar weight on the side of Saint’s neck.

“Let’s go,” Saint whispered.

“Wait,” Sirius said, and turned Saint’s gaze gently to meet his own.

“We don’t have all the time in the world,” Saint began, but Sirius just shook his head, silencing him.

“Listen to me,” Sirius whispered. “All right? Just this once. Just listen to me.”

Saint closed his eyes briefly. “We don’t have time to talk.”

That only succeeded in bringing Sirius’ other hand to his cheek. “If something goes wrong, you just run.” Sirius reached down and took the knife, setting it back on the desk. “Don’t think about me. They can’t keep me.”

“They’ll give you to your parents,” Saint warned.

“I don’t care,” Sirius said. “They can’t keep me. They could try to keep you and I won’t let that happen.”

Saint looked up at Sirius. The only person he could ever remember caring. Saint didn’t like that a side effect of being cared about was caring back, didn’t like that risk…but he liked Sirius.

“You’re leaving anyway,” Saint said. “It doesn’t matter where I am.”

“I never said that and you’re wrong.”

“But you will say it.”

Saint turned away, keeping a hand laced with Sirius’ to pull him towards the dorms. He knew the words sounded accusing and regretful, but he only half meant them that way. Sirius deserved to go.

Sirius didn’t respond. It wasn’t the moment, and they needed to listen for other things.

The dorms came up on their left. Boys to one side of the hall, girls to the other. Saint paused, looking in.

You’ll sleep here with the rest of the boys, Sebastian. Be a good boy and make your bed every morning and you’ll get a treat with breakfast. Chocolate milk, how does that sound?

“Was this you?” Sirius whispered, and Saint shrugged.

“I slept all over this place,” Saint breathed to Sirius. “I’d sneak into the other dorms, the attic, the reading room. I was just…” Saint turned away, unable to stand the softly rising and falling chests of the boys within. “I was just trying to find a place where I felt like myself. Maybe it wasn’t the place, though.”

Maybe it was the dreams. Maybe the drug.

“Maybe it’s just me,” Saint said.

Grimmauld was the closest he had ever gotten, the most settled he’d ever felt. He loved the ocean, and his gold draped vanity, and Sirius always beside him. But there was still—something. A misplaced, tweaked something inside of him that was feeling around in the dark for a comfortable position. Saint didn’t even know what he was looking for, but he did know that it was too dark to find it right now. Sirius had been the first gleam of bright, a pin-prick of a star, a friend, a lover, and a safe place. But stars weren’t a moon or a sun. He needed light to see.

“Let’s go,” Saint said. “This way.”

They walked the halls carefully, listening after nearly every step. Saint knew that the nuns slept at the other end of the house, but that they woke to check in on the children. He couldn’t remember when, though. With the Crucio, his young age, and the late hour, the nights had felt the same and endless. He’d shuffled around like a small ghost, trying to escape the unfamiliar dream-faces. They’d only caught him a few times. A slap on the wrist. Solitary.

That’s why he nearly jumped when they heard the first footsteps. He was seven again, haunting this place and being haunted in return. Saint froze, eyes on the bend in the hallway.

“Here,” Sirius whispered, and together they ducked into a room—the offices, Saint realized—and behind the open wooden door. They huddled together, barely daring to breathe as the footsteps got closer.

“Sirius,” Saint breathed, and didn’t realize he was trembling again until Sirius’ arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Shh,” Sirius hushed him.

The footsteps passed right by them, towards the kitchen, Saint realized, and Sirius pressed Saint against him more tightly, no doubt feeling the dry pants that his breathing had turned into. They would be caught. They would be seen. Saint hid his face in Sirius’ neck.

Don’t be a waste of space, boy. Line up, after number six, come on.

He took up too much space here.

Try that again, Sebastian, and you know what happens.

Saint hated that name. He couldn’t remember who had given him that name. His mother? The nuns? What was a name if it was just a number, too? A way to keep track of him. A way to tell him what he was. Orphan boy. Five. Six. Seven. Abandoned. Good. Bad. Asleep. Awake.

Go to sleep now, there’s a good boy.

The hall was silent again and Saint felt Sirius’ embrace ease, felt his hand running soothingly along his spine.

“I’ve got you,” Sirius said the words so quietly they were barely words at all. “Let’s just go. Let’s get out of here.”

“Finn,” Saint rasped.

Saint looked up and saw the protest in Sirius’ eyes. It was wrong of Logan to make you come here.

“I told him to stay away,” Saint said softly. “I needed to come. I needed to come and get out again.”

Saint needed to get rid of some of this damned dark.

Saint pulled away from Sirius carefully and peaked around the door with a dry swallow before walking over to the cabinets. Records. They weren’t in alphabetical order, though. They were numbered.

Saint fingered his cross, looking towards 1-20.

He traced a finger over a key hole dejectedly, and tried the handle anyway. Locked.

“Saint,” Sirius breathed. “Your mom?”

Saint shook his head, clutching his necklace. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t know you wanted…”

“I don’t,” Saint snapped. “Let’s get Finn.”

The door to solitary was one that Saint knew well. It was a normal door, and the room beyond was a normal room. It was the memories that made it unbearable to see. Almost every kid Saint had known knew what it meant to be in that room. Alone, the wallpaper flowers withered, the bed turned cold, and the ever-changing family members flickered through your mind without anything to counter it. No reality. There was a glass window with the shade pulled. Saint hesitated for a long moment before lifting it up.

“Finn,” he breathed.

Finn’s red hair was fiery against the white bed spread. He was asleep, and Saint swore he could see Finn’s eyelids flicker from here.

Saint wrapped his fingers carefully around the door. The trick was getting in to see the whole picture.

Everything in Saint Clair felt locked from within. Everything in Saint did, too. It had taken years of wandering around at night for Saint to discover that he could open more doors than he had thought. He was still trying doors eight years alter.

The hinges didn’t so much as squeak, and Saint felt like a ghost again.

“Don’t let this close on me,” Saint whispered to Sirius. His voice shook and just one of his feet just barely breaching the threshold.

Sirius held the frame fast and shook his head, leaning forward to press a steady kiss to Saint’s forehead.

Saint crossed the small room in two slow steps and knelt beside the bed, the motion making the punctures on his torso ache. He pressed a hand to Finn’s cheek and stroked a gentle thumb across the freckles on his skin until Finn stirred.

“Bash,” Finn murmured, eyes barely open.

“Hi, Finn,” Saint said softly and gathered Finn into a sloppy sitting position. “Let’s get you out of here, huh? See if you’re worth all of this fucking trouble.”

“Crucio,” was Finn’s only half-spoken reply. “They make it.”

And then Finn went limp again in Saint’s arms.

All Logan could taste was sour guilt, despite the heaven Leo had placed on a plate in front of him not too long ago.

For Saint. For Leo. For the letter and even Luke. For the map. The treasure. The Carrows.

Finn.

His heart ached with the thought of seeing him. Of holding him.

“Why weren’t we allowed to go with him?” Logan asked Leo for what he knew was the tenth time, but he couldn’t help it. “I asked him to help me, not go for me.”

“It’s easier to get one person in and out than two?” Leo said. He was puttering around the small kitchen, had been for the last hour, and the entire house smelled like sugar and cinnamon now, replacing the herbs, lemon, and chicken. He didn’t look at Logan when he said it.

He hadn’t looked at Logan much at all since the night at the museum.

Logan watched him taste a bit of what looked like frosting and wet his lips.

“Are you mad at me?” Logan whispered.

Leo’s restless hands paused. Logan watched his chest rise and fall once.

“I’m not mad,” Leo said finally. The heat of the oven had fluffed out his hair. “I mean, I’m not sure if we reached a dead-end or not…and you could have told me you were going to do that. I said I would help you, didn’t I?”

“I needed Ba—Saint,” Logan replied. “But I also…I should have told you. And I shouldn’t have made Saint go. I just want…he’s my family. Finn is my…”

“I understand why you did it,” Leo cut in softly. “I probably would have done worse if I thought that there was something that could save my dad.”

That just made Logan feel even smaller, sitting at the table. Leo glanced at him, gave him a tight smile, then went to the sink and began scrubbing dishes.

“Hey,” Logan said, then rose and strode over to Leo. “Hey, let me clean up.”

“I just need something to do,” Leo said shortly.

“Me, too.”

They stood, their shoulders pressed together. Logan washed. Leo dried. He slipped cinnamon rolls into the oven and then returned. They kept close to each other at the sink and it felt…so normal. Like a home. Leo felt like a home.

“I never really thanked you properly,” Logan said into the now more comfortable silence. “For letting me stay with you. And—I just want to say, and now with Finn…I understand if you want us to leave. I mean, three’s a crowd.”

“You’re welcome here,” Leo said quickly. Logan watched his throat bob. He was looking away again. “You should do what feels best for you, but you’re both welcome here. Just—”

Leo paused, and Logan found himself suddenly desperate to hear what he had to say. He knew he hadn’t been friendly all the time. He knew he’d been selfish. Leo had been nothing but kind. He was funny and warm, teaching Logan how to weld two pieces of metal, talking about the latest book he was reading while he whisked batter and handed Logan different new recipes he was trying out.

Finn would like Leo, Logan thought, and glanced towards the door. Maybe he was about to find out.

“Never mind,” Leo said, and flashed a smile.

Logan went to protest, but then his phone began buzzing madly on the table and he all but lunged for it.

Luke stared down at his father’s handwriting.

Luke, it began. And then there was a name.

Pascal Dumais.

There was no mention of himself. There was nothing. Luke had thought this would make him feel better, make it easier. Only, now, he was frustrated to the point of tears. He couldn’t seem to ease the lump that was lodged in his throat. He clutched the paper in his fingers hard enough to tear, willing something else to appear on it. He thought of Felix.

“Well?” said a voice from his window.

“Oh—” Luke flinched, surprised, then cursed at Saint, who was stretched out on his window sill. “Come on. Are you kidding me?”

Saint’s mouth twitched up in a smile, but it was strained. He was sitting awkwardly, tense rather than his usual languid posture.

“What’s wrong with you?” Luke asked hesitantly, trying to discreetly wipe at his face.

“What isn’t?”

Luke spotted the blood between Saint’s fingers and rose. “You’re hurt.”

“I fell down a chimney.”

“Is that a joke?”

“No.”

Luke blinked. “That’s how you got into Saint Clair? And you climbed to my window?”

Saint pulled himself all the way through the window with a soft groan and Luke walked forward, hands hovering near Saint’s shoulders, unsure if he should help.

“The orphan?” he asked instead, then at Saint’s sharp look, “Finn?”

“Sirius is bringing him to Grimmauld.”

“What’s Grimmauld?”

Saint sat down heavily in Luke’s desk chair, hand still pressed to his side. He had what looked like soot on his hands and face. “A place.” He picked up a book. Jane Eyre. “Didn’t take you for a romantic.”

“You’re bleeding all over my room.”

“Lucky you.”

Luke tucked the note into the pocket of his shorts. “Fuck—come here. Jesus.”

He walked into his bathroom and jammed the light switch up, looking back when Saint didn’t follow him. “Come here.”

Saint rose, still holding the book. “I am coming!” Saint quoted, head tilted in a way that made his neck look long. “Wait for me! Oh, I will come!”

“Very funny,” Luke sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a reader.”

“Why?” Saint said as he stepped out of the darkness of the bedroom and into the yellow-lighted bathroom. His brown eyes took on the soft yellow, too, and he leaned forward as he pushed himself up onto the counter carefully. “Because I don’t buy my books and,” Saint looked down at the book, flipping through it. “Write all over them like you do?”

“Because you didn’t go to school,” Luke said with a raised eyebrow as he ducked for the first aid kit beneath his sink. It was good to have one near during the lacrosse season—or it used to be.

Saint rolled his eyes. “You Gods and your single paths in life. You’re all stupid.”

“Then why are you here?” Luke asked as he unlatched the kit.

“Because this is the last place anyone would look for me,” Saint replied. “And you’re mean.”

“Mean? Are we in seventh grade?” Luke scoffed as he wet a towel in the sink. “I don’t know if it’s healthy to want to be around people who you think are mean to you."

“I just don’t want to talk about it,” Saint said. “And that’s all Sirius will want to do. And I don’t want to. And we don’t have this shit at Grimmauld.”

“Is that where you live?”

Saint just set the book down and reached behind himself to tug his shirt over his head. Luke tried not to stare at Saint’s smooth, light brown skin. He swallowed, busying himself with the bandages and the wet towel again.

“For all the breaking into places you do, maybe you should invest in some band-aids,” Luke said, and glanced down at the finely woven muscle on Saint’s ribs, at the red edges of the slashes. “If you flinch too much, you’re doing this yourself.”

Saint smiled. “Mean.”

“Fuck off,” Luke said, out of reflex, and then pressed his lips together. Saint laughed and then hissed as Luke pressed the towel to the cut.

They were close like this, Luke leaned in to dab the blood away, and then dot it with disinfectant, all while Saint’s muscles jumped beneath the palm he had steadied low on his belly. He could feel Saint watching him, and remembered waking up to those eyes. Saint’s hand in his hair.

“How did you do it?” Luke said into the small space between them. “Get in and out.”

“The chimney.”

So, he was serious.

“What did the letter say?” Saint asked.

Luke glanced up at him warily, but wiped a hand on his shorts before fishing the letter out of his pocket and handing it over. “Do you know who that is?”

Saint read it quietly, and then met Luke’s eyes. Luke was stuck there, pinned like a tack in a map, marking the place to be.

“Yes,” Saint said, and smiled brightly. “I know exactly who this is.”

#relic keel lumosinlove #Harry Potter fic #lumosinlove ocs #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius x remus #dorlene #jily #saint #Luke deveaux #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #finn o'hara #o'knutzy #wolfstar

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catzula · 3 years

Text

dreams that smell of caramel

Hello, hello. I know I disappeared for a hot minute, i blame depression for everything. i think I’ll be more active from now on, and thank you for reading!

btw, I did take a break form my 400 followers event cuz I burned out really really bad sorry about it

pairing: Bakugou x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: cursing, 3.6k

synopsis: Really, who falls asleep in a subway? Apparently, you do, and Bakugou can’t help but feel protective over it. It’s because he’s training to be a hero, right? It’s not like he likes you, right? Right?!

Bakugou hated the subway.

There was almost nothing there to like. It was dirty, caused Bakugou to feel like he couldn't breathe, and frankly, ever since the day he read that the air in a subway was %30 pieces of human skin, he didn't want to breathe, either.

The traumatic effect that piece of information had on him was something he never got over. But it wasn't only how dirty the air was, either. It was dusty and dry, and it always caused his eye contacts to dry on his eyes, causing him to see blurry for a while, and there had been many incidents where Bakugou had furiously rubbed his eyes, and made himself blind for a good few minutes.

People there always seemed to be almost as rude and angry as him, most of them thinking they had the right to sit wherever and whenever, and people invading his personal space wasn't something unusual, either. And the smell, oh god, the smell. Some people obviously hadn't discovered what a fucking soap or deodorant was since he could sometimes feel the smell in his brain.

All this, even though he hadn't even seen the real torture. With the mean, scary look on his face and the way he stood that screamed, stay away from me if you're smart enough, people usually tried to do just that, so Bakugou didn't know what his space being invaded actually could be, or how bad the smell could get.

It was a warm day when he had met you. When he saw you barging in the last second, right before the doors closed behind you, he scoffed, slightly amused. You looked like you were running for your dear life, chest heaving, a thin layer of sweat forming on your temples, clothes disheveled, and hair messy, but you had a proud smile on your lips despite all that.

Crimson eyes followed you as you happily sighed when you noticed the seat across Bakugou was free, dropping yourself on the hard surface. You looked around, realizing there was almost no one around the 10-meter radius of you, the seats were vacant, but people were crowding a bit further down the subway. Your brows furrowed with confusion, and only then did you notice the ash-blonde across you, his gaze piercing through you, the mean scowl on his lips reminding you of a wolf.

The moment your eyes met, Bakugou had expected you to jump to your feet and run away since he had become well-known after the sports festival and many incidents that had forced him to the tv. And even if someone didn't recognize him, the slightest glare from him was enough to make people run with their tails between their legs, but not this time, apparently, since you dared to cock your head to the side and smile at him.

Smile at him! It was almost an insult! When was the last time anyone actually did that? Especially a stranger? Or maybe you weren't a stranger, was that it? Looking at it now, you did have a familiar face, and it felt like he had seen you quite a few times before. But the more he tried to remember, the more the memory of you went deeper into his brain, causing him to grit his teeth subconsciously and look at you even more intensely. Bakugou wasn't aware he was staring at you like he was trying to see your soul, red gaze never faltering a second away from you.

It was when you tilted your brows slightly upwards, your pretty smile turning into an awkward one, he realized he was staring for the past station. Bakugou's brows snapped together, annoyed at himself, but he was also aware of how his face felt warmer than usual. He gritted his teeth with an angry grunt, looking away from you and fixing his eyes on the stupid advertisement that was right across from him, and he could swear he heard a muffled laugh coming from your way. Bakugou was surprised at how much he wanted to look at you, but his pride wouldn't let him do so, and so he kept staring at the poorly made advertisement brochure.

Bakugou was a proud, smug man, and he always prided himself on the amount of control he had over himself. But that day, he had let himself down. What was this stupid force that kept making him flick his eyes your way almost every five minutes? It felt like his body was possessed, and it was impossible to suppress his curiosity and not look at you. Bakugou had looked around if there was anyone else looking at you and to try and see if this was a quirk of some sort since it made no sense.

He grunted in annoyance when he couldn't help himself once again and glance at you, but it wasn't a curt look this time. His eyes narrowed and widened when he took a glimpse of you, of your relaxed body, head falling back and eyes closed.

"What the hell?" He muttered to himself, leaning forward slightly to try and understand just what the fuck you were- were you sleeping? The realization of how you were, in fact, fucking sleeping had hit him hard, brows shooting upwards, his eyes were wide with confusion and a wave of slight anger.

Were you dumb? Did you have no rational part in your brain? General knowledge of some sorts? Who in their right mind slept in a fucking subway? Where criminals swarmed, thieves lurking in the corners, waiting for people to slip for a second so they could steal a watch, phone, or a wallet easily, and you were sleeping?

Bakugou had no idea why he was so fired up about someone he had seen only half an hour ago. He couldn't help but jump in his place, ready to fight, hand itching for a punch whenever someone as much as walked before you, growling and shooting a dirty, scary look when he caught anyone looking your way more than half a second, even the baby that stood in the corner.

He was a hero, after all, right? It was only normal he wanted to protect you, right? Right? God fucking damn it, when were you even going to wake up? He had no idea how you were so relaxed to be able to sleep in a subway, but it caused him more stress than he had felt the past ten years.

When Bakugou noticed you finally shifting in your place and opening your eyes the second the next station's name was announced, he took a breath of relief. You started to gather your stuff as if you hadn't just woken up from a deep ass slumber, yawning and checking your phone for the time. Bakugou was watching you dazed, shocked at how someone could even do that. If pulling his interest and gaze towards you wasn't your quirk, this had to be it.

You glanced at him, his gaze meeting yours, and you smile once again, causing his heart to make an odd fucking pause, a snarl appearing on his lips, and he scoffs. But instead of that making you furrow your brows and turn around, you laugh again and turn around.

~~~

Bakugou had replayed that day over and over again in his head and had arrived at one conclusion.

You were mad.

You had to be at least a bit mad since it wasn't the most normal thing to smile at strangers as if you knew them for years, especially with a smile as charming as yours, and it was straight-up insane to sleep in a public place, a dangerous place like a subway.

But whatever conclusion he ended up with, he still couldn't get you out of his mind. It was the stupidest fucking thing ever, made no sense thinking about a stranger you had seen once, but you somehow didn't feel like a stranger. Of course, he didn't feel like he knew you for years, (even though Bakugou thought everyone else but him were just extras, he never forgot a face he saw), but you didn't feel like a threat, either.

The alerting feeling that formed in his stomach whenever he was around people he didn't know, or sometimes even with the people he did know, wasn't there that time.

Maybe he was just overthinking.

Of course, he was over fucking thinking. He had been thinking about a stranger for almost two days straight. (And he hadn't seen you ever since.)

It was such an odd behavior of him that even his friends had noticed something was wrong. Mina had done her best to get a word from him but failed, and Kirishima and Kaminari had declared it their mission to try and cheer Bakugou, and it only meant more for him to deal with.

"Hey, Bakubro, I'm going to the mall today with friends, wanna tag along?" Kaminari asked him the 20th time that day, not even aware it was the worst thing to say if he wanted Bakugou to come. "Look at me you damn Pikachu," Bakugou finally snapped, "If you ask me that one more fucking time, I swear to god-"

"Hey, hey, let's not get violent." Kirishima interrupted before Bakugou finished his threat, thinking it was the best before he spat some illegal shit out. "Then make him fuck off." Bakugou snarled.

"Yeah, actually, Kami? What are you even trying to do, asking him to come to your date?"

"It's a fucking date?" Bakugou burst, but Kaminari had already sprinted out of the room. "Did he ask me to third fucking wheel? How dense is he?!"

"Calm down, Bakugou." Kirishima sighed. "What's up with you these days, even more irritated than normal?"

"Huh, what the fuck does that even mean?"

"I'm just sayin'." Kirishima shrugged. "You're acting extra grumpy these past few days. You know you can talk to me if you-"

"Ah, don't start with the cheesy shit, shitty fucking hair. I'm fine." Bakugou cut him off, but his frown was now a bit softer, voice calmer.

"If you say so," Kirishima shrugged. "Hey, by the way, I'm going downstairs to the general studies to change something about my costume, wanna come?"

"General studies? Why the fuck would I go there? You've been visiting that place a lot lately, too." Bakugou asked a little too aggressively, his brows raising when Kirishima grinned. "What, afraid I'll steal your fan?"

"My fan?"

Fan? Bakugou had a fucking fan? Not that he cared, of course, but it still did feel-

Kirishima shrugged with a grin. "You know, the cute student who helped with your gauntlets? Maybe pay a visit to them sometime, they seem to like you a little." Kirishima chuckled when Bakugou kept looking at him blankly. All Bakugou could remember about the person who did his gauntlets was just how pretty their eyes were since he hadn't seen anything but that. He remembered how they always had a flimsy mask on, so it could filter the dust that covered everything in their work station, including the open half of their face.

"I'm not gonna go see an extra just because they like me." He scoffed, but Kirishima could see how Bakugou was dying inside to learn more about this fan of his.

"Sure, whatever you say, bro." He grinned cheekily, gathering his bag and walking downstairs.

~~~

It was the third-day Bakugou had finally stopped thinking about you nonstop, and it felt like freedom. The third time was the charm, wasn't it?

Of course, not.

You just had to show up the day he was over it, didn't you? You had once again sprinted through the doors just before they closed, heaving in the dirty air, face flushed. You stood up, trying to regain your composure as you smiled proudly at yourself and looking around to find a free seat.

It didn't take long for you to spot the angry blonde, lips pressed together angrily and vermillion eyes looking directly at you.

A bright smile appeared on your face just then, and even though you hadn't expected him to do anything, you were surprised when he averted his eyes away from you with a curt nod and a grunt. It had to mean he had acknowledged your smile, right? Well, you hoped it did since you were grinning stupidly at yourself.

You sat on your spot across from him, noticing how people stood even further away from you this time. Glancing at the handsome blonde across you, you tried and couldn't catch his crimson eyes.

You sighed, frustrated, not aware that Bakugou was even more so. He had promised himself that he wasn't going to be a creep and stare at you like the last time, but your occasional side-eyes and those doe-like glances weren't helping his case the slightest. He wanted to meet your gaze, he really did, but Bakugou also had pride that forbade him from doing so, so he was left there, frustrated and confused.

He was able to keep that up for eight minutes (he had checked, eight minutes and 34 fucking seconds) before he had finally looked at you. Apparently, all it took was eight minutes for you, too, to fall asleep.

You had fallen asleep.

Again?!

"For fucks sake." Bakugou cursed, pressing his fingers on the bridge of his nose and clenching his teeth. He had already concluded you were mad, but a second time? Was this a fucking habit or something?

He grunted in annoyance, but he couldn't take his eyes off you. You looked so relaxed and calm, the smallest smile on your lips, your head moving along with the movements of the train, hands weakly clutching your bag and phone. He felt almost jealous of how reckless you were.

Almost being the keyword, though.

"Don't you fucking get close." He snarled at the man that had been watching you for a few minutes, and he had only taken a step towards you before he heard the blonde and immediately retreated.

His 'come a little closer and I'll bite your head off' look never once faltering, Bakugou was feeling exhausted when he heard your station's name announced, and you opened your eyes. (despite the earbuds that were in your ears? You couldn't have heard the station's name, so how were you able to wake up right on time?)

You gathered your stuff and raised on your legs, just as the train took a sharp turn and caused you to lose your balance, stumbling over to the blonde. "Fuck!" You muttered as you tried to gain your balance back, but the hand that caught you from your wrist did it for you.

"Th-thank you." You told him, sounding a bit out of breath. You chuckled when he grunted. "Be careful, dumb- just be careful." He muttered, eyes slightly widening when he realized he was about to insult you.

You chuckled once again, and Bakugou had to stop himself from smiling back. "See you later, Bakugou-kun." You waved a shy hand, expecting him to sit back in his place, but instead, he looked at you, baffled.

"How do you know my name?

It was hard to surprise Bakugou. Not only was he extremely smart, but he was also very cautious and usually thought almost everything that could go wrong or not.

But he was genuinely, very sincerely shocked when you had started laughing at his question. Out loud, too. You were bending slightly forwards as you laughed, and Bakugou was both amazed and afraid of the motion. You had one of the prettiest laughs he had seen or heard, but this was the most awkward time you could have shown him that.

He had asked you how you knew his name, and you were laughing? He was starting to think you were even crazier than he thought you were. "You're quite popular, you know." You told him. "It's almost impossible to not know about you, especially if- well, after the sport festival, I'd say." You shrugged, pressing your lips in a mischievous smile, and Bakugou had noticed how you stopped yourself before something had slipped out of your mouth.

"Of course, I am." He replied smugly, but his eyes were watching you now even closer as if he was trying to solve a puzzle.

"Well, I have to go now, thanks again!" You smiled and waved goodbye, and Bakugou couldn't stop his scowl turning into an awkward smile.

~~~

It had turned into an odd form of agreement.

As days passed, you found yourself sitting closer to him, and after almost a week of bumping into each other, you were now sitting next to him, and he had no complaints.

He thought it was a bit better, actually. Not because he liked, it, of course, he didn't like being so close to you that your shoulders brushed when you moved, your head falling on his shoulder after only a few minutes of riding the train, sitting so close that your smell filled his senses.

No, of course, he didn't like that, and Bakugou liked having you sit so close to him because that was more convenient, and nothing else. It was easier to scare people away, to track if anyone walking before you was picking and sliding your phone into their pockets.

And maybe, just maybe, he might be liking your conversations, too. It wasn't much since you were almost always asleep, but when you weren't, Bakugou decided it wasn't the worst.

"So, mr. future number one hero," ah, and there was that. You referred to him as that often, and even though he was well aware it was mostly teasing, he had to admit it did affect his ego. "How was your day?"

"Fucking long." He sighed, and you giggled. "You always say that!"

"That's cause every day is fucking long!" He groaned, but he had an odd, almost affectionate smile on his lips that just made your heart giddy. "Well, that's hero course for you." You chuckled, biting your lip as you debated whether he'd push you off if you dropped your head on his shoulder now.

This had become your favorite part of the day. Not only was his caramel scent addicting, and it caused you to have the best sleep of your life (you found yourself unable to sleep without caramel scent and the safe feeling it brought to you, so you had to purchase caramel-scented candles), but he was also always warm.

So you did, deciding to live the moment to its best, closed your eyes and dropped your head, half expecting to be thrown off. But he didn't, chuckled instead, the vibrations of his laugh sending chills through your body. "Sleepy already?" He muttered into your hair, surprising you since you thought he wasn't the type to be comfortable with intimacy much, but he looked relaxed.

You could almost feel him smirking when you nodded softly. "Your day was obviously fucking long as well."

~~~

"Ah, man! I forgot my phone downstairs." Kirishima cussed, rolling his eyes at himself. "Hey, Bakubro, I have to leave immediately, but could you pick my phone up for me?"

"Do I look like a fucking maid from there?"

"Please, please! I have to go, and maybe you'll see your fan, too!" Bakugou's brows furrowed, "Whatever, if it'll make you shut the fuck up." He sighed annoyedly, he wouldn't have agreed any other day, but he had nothing better to do since you had texted him about an hour ago that you were going to be late for the train that day. Something about the school, you had told him.

"Really? Dude, you're a lifesaver, thanks!" Kirishima sighed relieved. "Just wake them up if they're asleep! They're like a cat, almost always sleeping in a corner." He added before he left the room.

Somehow, that description sounded awfully familiar, Bakugou thought.

"Oi, is anyone fucking here?" He called into the dim litten room when he arrived, mumbling to himself something about extras and dumbasses. He had visited the room once or twice when he was having his gauntlets remade, and why did he feel like he was missing something?

"Oi?" He shouted one more time, red gaze stumbling on the figure that was in the corner of the room, almost hiding behind the table, sleeping. His eyes found a half-melted caramel-scented candle on the table, wondering if it was safe to have a candle in a workshop like this one. A mask and workshop clothes stood right next to the candle.

"Hey, I'm fucking talking to... you." His voice trailed off when they lifted their head, stretching their arms when their eyes found the dumbfounded blonde.

"Oh, hey Katsuki-kun!" You cheered, rising to your legs.

"What the hell are you- why are you... What the fuck?"

You kept your silence, a mischievous smile on your lips as you waited for him to regain his thoughts. You watched as he connected the pieces, a lightbulb almost visible above his head. "You're a fucking student here!" He yelled, and you couldn't help but giggle at how accusing he sounded.

"Guilty as charged." You raised your hands, teasing him, knowing this was a one-time chance.

"Ah, would you look at the time." You spoke, inspecting the nonexistent watch on your wrist. "We should hurry if we want to catch the next train, you know." You grinned, watching him as he tried to suppress the smile creeping upon his lips.

"I guess so." He muttered, frowning as he looked away, but it was only to hide the blush that was settling on his cheeks.

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 3 years

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🗣Tues 15 Dec ‘20🙊

Anyone order their daily with EXTRA DISCOURSE today? Lucky you, I guess, I'd send it back to the kitchen if I had the option but this is more a 'you'll take what you get and like it' kind of establishment so here we are! EAT UP we got Liam and Lou Teasdale making everyone mad, Louis and Harry's teams forgetting they're supposed to be mortal enemies, and Zayn?? Getting papped?? Omg is Z3 really coming this time? I've been burned so many times before (flown too close to the sun) but what if....... So first Gigi and zaby stroller were papped, then Zayn was papped in his usual way-- 'if you can get a good picture of me in the seconds it takes me to walk from my front door to the car have at it, that's exactly all you get'-- and then a fan reported seeing Zigi and zaby at a pizza restaurant. Zayn's hair is bleached white blond and that's about all I can tell you except that Z NEVER gets papped (or spotted really) for nothing so I am excite!!

Liam's back! He did the postponed-from-last-Tues hour long live for Stand Up To Cancer (and raised $16k!) and he's got a show in two days so I'd say his extremely brief breather is probably done with, whether he got the time he needed to be happy about coming back or not. He seems in good shape for the live though, even if he does say “its been a really long day, you don't even know, REALLY long” and that what he wants most for Christmas is “to have a little bit of time to reflect.” But he says he is going to take some time out and go away and write music “for the first time in a very long time,” in the new year, nice! He mentions how he went up to Sweden for recording recently and says it ”went really well I'm really really excited” about the new music and, uhhh, “got something sent through from Mick Fleetwood while I was over in Sweden writing, some guitar stuff, which was amazing, and he was dressed like santa at the time!” I...what??? I'll just... leave that there?? About other bands, he says that he's become a big fan of the Wanted over time, that “someone Zayn-ed out,” of Little Mix but “Zayn left for pretty much the same reasons and I do feel for them,” and “are 5SOS still together? Did they pull an us I thought they pulled an us?” He said yes, it's so great about Louis' show, and “it was great, and do you know what, like listening through those lyrics, it’s really nice to hear the truth in his music because obviously I mean I know all of the full story about him, and [pause].. and uh... his relationship with his girlfriend and whatever else,” SKLDYSSKKJ.

This long live also had him responding to screen comments he would usually ignore (though thank GOD he only reads but doesn't answer 'what happened with Niall in Japan' please tell me the questioner wasn't trying to get him to comment on the 'violently masturbating' story), anyway so we got Liam on touching his hair if larry is real-- “of course that's not going to happen don't be silly,” and on whether he thinks 'larry is disrespectful' “sometimes I do... actually that's not true, all the time I do.” Well he's not wrong though I'd expand that to 'all the fans' but if I had to wade through a million “touch your nose if larry is real” comments every time I was promoting my own material, for ten years, I'd probably get tetchy too! He didn't say it was or wasn't real, as he himself pointed out he never WILL do that for REASONS; tbh I'm with Liam can people PLEASE stop being so embarrassing on main and let him live? ANYWAY, moving on, his Advent Alarm clock today is the sleep story edited down to be just Liam laughing for like 30 seconds, aka the exact edit that I suggested they should make a couple weeks ago, which I find frankly extremely alarming (ALARMing HA) are they... listening to me?? Well if Liam's management are looking for ideas BOY HAVE I GOT SOME FOR THEM hit me up fellas PLEASE.

Harry and Louis both announced further postponements of their UK and Europe tour shows, like really the same announcement and just fully back to back, I can only assume that after weeks of intensive hashing out to match up dates their teams have arrived at some kind of plan and were like cool let's announce! Louis has added some new shows, while Harry's new schedule is undisclosed as yet. Harry says “I really hope to play these shows and will have news for you in the new year on when they will take place.” Louis' new dates include previously omitted countries (Iceland! Austria!), and those tickets go on sale Friday. Harry did not respond to Rob Sheffield's awkward attempt to link Watermelon Sugar and WAP as being similar but he did like Megan Thee Stallion's post celebrating her successful year, and Vulture ranked Adore You in its top 5 videos of the year with a much better take on what Harry is all about, saying that it “highlights one of the singer’s best traits: his willingness to be delightfully weird.” Kid Harpoon said that he and Harry “wrote a song in Japan that may yet see the light of the day,” and Harry continues to roast him, disputing his songwriter of the year award-- “they found 8,000,000 opposing ballots in a bin behind his house! FRAUD!”

And last but most discourse-y-est of all, The Sun made waves today, pulling the most salacious parts of a Lou Teasdale interview with the Sex, Lies and DM Slides podcast from last week and bringing it to wider attention. In the interview she talked at length about systemic discrimination against women working in the music industry and her own work experiences, which naturally include (very briefly) touching on her highest profile job- the years she spent traveling with 1D. In this context she says “you kind of can’t sleep with them [the band]- it’s quite important to keeping your job... some people would come in and like you know assistants and stuff and I think they would really think... that it was love and obviously it’s not,” and “it’s just the quickest way to lose your job- because then they’ve got a new girlfriend and she’s there and they don’t want you in the room.” She did not sell her story to The Sun she mentioned this in passing as part of an interview about her work experiences; she herself says, “I didn’t do an interview [with] the sun. I’ve never done that. I did a podcast with friends about loads of things.”

There is nothing remotely unlikely in this story, either in the concept that members of the band slept with girls casually (we know that certain of them did and there isn't even anything wrong with that in a situation of consent, the denial of it is as bizarre as scribbling out the beer bottle in a 28 year old man's hand), or that low level members (“assistants and stuff”) of the 150 person+ crew appeared and disappeared on a regular basis. The band were, to my guess, probably simply not paying very much attention to the serious ramifications of this carelessness and the consequences rather than demanding that people be fired, but I do very much hope they've learned over the years to be responsible for the kind of power that they have over other peoples' lives (something I really doubt they understood the extent of yet as very young people being dragged from one place to another who felt powerless themselves).

#liam payne #harry styles #louis tomlinson #zayn #lou teasdale #listen: people talk about wanting the 1D tell all but I don't think you guys do want it at all tbh #you know the whole point of that is that it will destroy the 'perfect angels' front that was created around the boys?#loving and supporting someone even though you know they are imperfect and flawed is not something to be ashamed of though #so I say bring it on #Liam has SO MANY reasons to be cranky right now and coming back online to everyone clamoring for him to comment #on Louis' record breaking veeps stream... honestly think it through?? have some fucking tact #Liam also said Freddie and Bear facetime which is just such clear nonsense I have no comment he just wants to make people happy #I DON'T KNOW if the Mick Fleetwood thing is real like – he seems dead serious??? I think it's serious?#How fucking Liam is that right he is as ever the most unrealistic I'm bringing back that tag:#Liam is a Gary Sue #Zaayyyyn is Z3 coming??? listen may I suggest sir-- LIVEZTREAM??? PLEASE?#I know you won't tour and wouldn't want you to but just consider how PERFECT this would be?? PLEASE SIR #lost in the shuffle: Lou Teasdale also addressed the old quote about keeping the 1D boys from looking 'too feminine'#(assumed to be @harry) saying 'it’s taken totally out of context. A clip from male grooming interview talking about grooming men.#I have no problem with men wearing make up or looking feminine it’s my profession. I apologise it sounds like that here.'#I feel like the truth is somewhere in between but I very much doubt she- the MUA- had final say over their images #and might well have not been the only thing standing between harry and his nail art and eyebrow grooming #I don't like her but like- dislike her for better reasons!#There are plenty she's very annoying but talking about sexism in the workplace and telling her story isn't one of them #Liam said he was very drunk watching Louis' show #I have a lot of things I'd like to say to Liam's management but mostly not publicly and some of them very rude #but I will say that while I guess the acknowledgement that young girls are the real drivers of the music industry and should be courted is #cool the continued obsession with only marketing these guys to that demographic was always ridiculous #and gets worse every year and Liam's team is simply throwing away money and fans by not marketing him so hard (heh) to out gay men #long post

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smaidjor · 3 years

Text

i know they're losing (chapter 3)

Hello everyone! Welcome back to your favorite(/j) hot mess of a fic. Sorry this chapter took a little longer to post, I thought I'd give you all a bit of time to recover from that last one. Plus, I was working on Scott's POV of this (which will be posted soon, don't worry!) Anyways, enjoy the fic!

(Once again obligatory disclaimer this is characters not people, don't ship real people, etc.)

(Also a disclaimer that I am not a medical professional and any medicine portrayed in this fic is likely inaccurate. Do not follow any medical procedures used in this fic, as I did absolutely 0 research to confirm any of this.)

Chapter Title: I turn at last to paths that lead home

Chapter Wordcount: 3214

Content warnings: blood, canon-typical violence

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Actual fic under the cut:

The next morning dawns bright, sunny, and with a looming sense of unease that Jimmy can’t seem to shake. Scott’s ring feels heavy on his finger despite the resolution they reached yesterday, and he shifts anxiously as he waits for his husband to wake up. The sun’s well over the horizon and Scott still isn’t up, which only makes him more anxious. Usually, Scott’s an early riser. Today, though, he’s sleeping like the dead, and the scar on his throat doesn’t help the effect. Something is wrong. Jimmy doesn’t know how or why he knows it, but something is wrong and why is Scott still sleeping?

Finally, Jimmy can’t take it any longer. “Scott? Scott, wake up,” he whispers.

Nothing.

“Scott! Wake up!”

His husband is still firmly unconscious, and Jimmy’s heart leaps into his throat as he begs one more time. “Scott? Please?”

Scott rolls over and blinks at him, thank god, his voice coming out thick with sleep. “Five more minutes, darling.”

“I think something’s wrong,” Jimmy urges. “It feels wrong. Really wrong.”

That gets his love to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. There are still dark circles visible under them, and Jimmy gets a rush of guilt for waking him. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s alright, go back to sleep.”

“No, no, I trust your gut.” Scott gets out of bed with only a slight stumble, sliding on his cloak in one graceful movement. “Let’s go look, and if it’s nothing then I’ll sleep more, okay?”

Jimmy nods, hurrying after him. “I have a really terrible feeling, Scott. Be careful, please.”

“I should be telling that to you.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten more careful!”

Scott laughs, looking more alive than he has in months, but quickly sobers again as they reach the front door. “You’re right, Jimmy. Something isn’t right.”

“I know, it feels awful!”

“Mhm.” Scott snatches up a frankly ridiculous axe from nearby, a shimmering pink monstrosity that’s twice the size of Jimmy’s head. “Stay behind me, just in case.”

The door creaks as it swings open, and the source of Jimmy’s unease becomes immediately clear.

Across the valley is the demon, standing next to Scott’s enchanting tower.

“That’s the demon!” Jimmy hisses, once he gets his racing heart under control. “Right there by the tower!”

Scott looks like someone just killed a cat in front of him, an odd sort of heartbreak flashing across his face before it’s replaced with determination. “That?”

“Yes!”

“Right. Okay. Jimmy, I need you to listen to exactly what I say right now. If I say get down, you get down. If I say run, you run and don’t look back no matter what you hear. Can you do that?”

Jimmy looks at the elf who very nearly broke his heart, and chooses to put that heart right back in Scott’s hands. “I trust you. If you say run, I’ll run.”

“Alright. Give me your engagement ring.”

“Wh-”

“Trust me. Please.”

Jimmy hands it over.

Scott slides it onto his finger. His hands are a little smaller than Jimmy’s, and it only fits on his right middle finger. Which would normally be cute, but right now Jimmy is just terrified. “Okay, Jimmy. I’m about to go out the front door, and when I do, I need you to go out the side door over there and run for the stables. When you get there, roll in the mud and then run for the village. Speed over stealth, corrupted elves track by smell and sound rather than sight.”

Jimmy nods.

“From there,” Scott continues, “I need you to track down an elf called Gilnar and tell them to lock down the kingdom and warn everyone of the danger. I also need you to tell them that Lord Smajor orders them to protect you.”

“What about you? Will you be okay?”

“I will, I promise.”

Jimmy knows Scott’s lying because Scott could never properly lie, not when it’s to Jimmy. He always looks away, no matter how steady his voice stays. Jimmy says nothing about it, but he grabs a spare sword and prays he’ll be quick enough to save Scott if it all goes downhill.

Scott hefts the axe. “Ready?”

Jimmy isn’t, but he nods. “Ready.”

Scott steps out the door, calling out something in some elven language that sounds like a challenge. At the same time, Jimmy bolts out the side door, sprinting for a low building which he thinks is the barn.

Somehow, he gets there without incident, and he throws himself into the mud without hesitation. The farrier gives him a deeply weird look, which Jimmy ignores in favor of sprinting for the village. The altitude means he’s out of breath by the time he gets there, hurrying inside the walls. The elves give him strange looks, a few seeming rather judgemental. Jimmy tries not to flush, remembering Scott’s instructions.

“Excuse me?” He asks the nearest elf. “I’m looking for uh, Gilnar?”

They stare him down, raising a single eyebrow. “For what reason?”

“Scott- Lord Smajor sent me.”

In the background, there’s a cry of pain, which thankfully sounds demonic rather than elven.

“Gilnar should be that way.”

“Thank you, uh, gentleperson!” Jimmy hurries that way, stopping another villager. “Are you Gilnar?”

The look he gets is even stranger. “Do I look like a captain of the guard to you? No. What do you want Gilnar for anyways?”

“Scott told me to find them.”

“Then that’s them over there,” the elf tells him, pointing out an incredibly short elf with neatly plaited brown hair.

“Thank you!”

Gilnar looks up at his approach, seemingly unbothered by the mud. “Lord Codfather, right? Scott sent ya?”

“He said to tell you to lock down the kingdom,” Jimmy reports faithfully. “He also said you should protect me, or something like that, but I don’t really need- I’ll be fine is the point.”

“Riiiiight. Calros!”

A tall elf appears behind them.

“Protect the codfather, Lord Scott’d be a bit put out if he died, I think. Alqualoth!” Another elf appears. “I need you to help me get everythin’ locked down.” With that, Gilnar hurries away, a few elves falling into formation behind them.

“So….this is awkward,” Calros, the tall elf, offers.

Jimmy ignores them in favor of running to the edge of the cliff the village is built on, trying to catch a glimpse of Scott. He’s rewarded only with the sight of his husband dueling a demon, which isn’t exactly what anyone wants to see at 8 o’clock in the morning. At least Scott doesn’t seem to be entirely overwhelmed, but the demon has far too much of the upper hand for Jimmy’s comfort.

“Whoa, whoa, let a girl catch up,” Calros yelps. She doesn’t seem very dignified for an elf, but Jimmy’s not very dignified for a human, so he understands. “So, uh...how’s Codland?”

Unfortunately for Calros and her well-meaning questions, at that moment, Scott starts screaming. It takes a moment for Jimmy to even register the sound as Scott’s voice; he’s never heard Scott scream before. It’s a high, broken noise, pure pain in every note as the demon pins Scott to the mountainside. Jimmy doesn’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t give to never have to hear that noise again, which is why he jumps the wall at the edge of the village.

“No, wait!” Calros yells.

Jimmy’s already gone, landing awkwardly on the other side. He hardly feels the pain of what’s surely a twisted ankle, sprinting for the scene of the fight. The sword flies into his hand, the gleam of enchantment shimmering bright. He doesn’t have a single second to think about what he’s doing as he opens his mouth to shout. “Hey, demon thing! Yeah, you! You’re ugly! And you probably smell bad!”

The being turns its head in a way that’s far too human for Jimmy’s comfort, and thank god, Scott stops screaming. “What did you say to me?” It hisses.

Jimmy’s heart is beating in his throat, palms sweaty as he scrapes together the few remaining bits of his courage. “I said you’re ugly! And you suck! Leave my husband alone!”

The demon loosens their hold, rage twisting their smile into something even more terrifying, and Scott backhands them across the face, kicking his way free. Jimmy watches as he struggles to his feet, the ring gleaming on his hand.

Scott cries something in some elven tongue, and the demon hisses.

He calls out another word, a command, and the ring glows with a light of its own as the demon is forced back, inch by inch. Finally, it flies backwards and vanishes entirely.

Scott sinks to his knees, cradling the hand with the ring on it, and Jimmy breaks into a run again.

“Scott! Scott!”

His husband looks up at him with haunted eyes, face bruised and battered, a little blood trickling down his brow. His teeth are bared, just a little sharp, and there’s something desperate about the way he whispers Jimmy’s name, his voice hoarse from screaming.

Jimmy kneels by him quickly, looking for any major injuries. “What’s wrong? Where- what’s hurt? I’ll fix it, I promise, I-” he’s cut off by Scott yanking him into a desperate hug, burying his face in Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Jimmy says weakly. He wraps his arms around Scott in return, running a soothing hand up and down Scott’s back as he feels the elf tremble. “It’s alright, Scott, we’re alright.”

“Jimmy,” Scott says again. “Jimmy, I can’t.”

“I-”

“I want it to be over. I don’t want elves or nations or politics. I just want you.”

“I know, I know,” Jimmy soothes.

‘Why does it have to be me? It wasn’t supposed to be! It wasn’t supposed to be me!” Scott sounds almost angry, but the words quickly dissolve into incoherent sobs and fragments of sentences. “I- please- shouldn’t have- Jimmy. Jimmy.” He repeats Jimmy’s name over and over, hands clutching the fabric of Jimmy’s shirt, and Jimmy has never felt so helpless. All he can do is whisper empty comforts, kissing the top of Scott’s head and holding him close.

Elves have begun to surround them, varying looks of concern or disgust on their faces. Jimmy glares up at all of them, daring them to say something.

“Uh, milord?” Gilnar starts, and that’s the final straw.

“Give him a goddamn minute!” Jimmy snaps, rage bubbling up under his skin. “He just fought a demon for all of you, let the man rest! I know you’re all elves and you’re all- all elegant and composed or whatever, but you can’t expect someone to be perfect! We’re all human, you know!”

One of the elves gives him a look of disdain. “You are human, Codfather. We are not. Lord Smajor knew the responsibilities and difficulties of ruling.”

“He’s too young for this,” Jimmy thinks he hears someone mutter, but he’s too angry to bother paying attention.

“I- well I don’t think anyone could have expected a demon! And probably even less people’d be willing to fight one! Scott’s one of the bravest, kindest, smartest people I know, so lay off him, will you?”

“You know nothing of the affairs of elves,” the same elf sniffs.

Jimmy’s about to open his mouth and inform them that he knows about the affairs of being a decent person, for goodness sake, but he’s cut off by Scott raising his head, his sobs subsiding into ragged breathing. “It’s fine, Jimmy. They are correct, I do have responsibilities.”

“They can’t expect you to be perfect,” Jimmy argues, but there’s no dissuading Scott as he staggers to his feet.

“Gilnar, get the village out of lockdown and make sure people are aware of the threat of Xornoth. Celebear, search the library for any books on corruption of elves, and Lauriel, translate any you find that are not Sindarin into it. Elder council, I need research done on any rings of power that are strong enough to counteract Vilya to that degree, that will narrow down what Xornoth has. Now, the Codfather and I need to negotiate wool and fish trades,” Scott adds, grabbing Jimmy’s hand. Jimmy yelps, startled, as Scott drags him off with inhuman strength.

They make it up the hill and into Scott’s house before Scott slumps, collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs. “Well, fuck me to the End and back,” he groans.

“Are they always like that?” Jimmy asks, worried.

“Pretty much. Gilnar’s okay, just tough as shit, and so are Celebear and Lauriel, but...I wasn’t- well, I wasn’t meant to inherit Rivendell, and the Council of Elders takes every opportunity to remind me of that fact.”

“Oh. Who’s Xornoth?”

Scott laughs, a bitter, exhausted sound. “My twin, also known as the demon that’s been terrorizing you.”

At first, Jimmy thinks he’s misheard. “What?”

“My twin. My older sibling. The person who was supposed to inherit the throne of the elves.”

“What?”

Scott sighs. “Let me start from the beginning. My parents were two elven monarchs, one of the Sindar, and one of the Noldor. With other bloodlines mixed in, but the Sindar and Noldor is the important bit since those two groups haven’t always gotten along. Somewhere around fifty-five years ago, they started trying for kids. What they didn’t expect was that Xornoth and I are identical twins, only the fifth set of elven twins ever recorded.”

“Whoa.”

“Mhm. Xornoth was- is- technically the older one, who was always set to inherit the throne of the elves and unite our divided people. They were compared to Elrond, wise and powerful leader of another land named Rivendell far in the past, and I was Elros, his twin. Impulsive, snarky, human.” Scott closes his eyes, looking as if it pains him to talk about this. “Our parents died when we were both quite young, and we were brought up expecting Xornoth to take the throne as soon as they came of age. I spent my time hanging out with mortals, instead, getting involved in things like mcc and 3rd life.”

“Ohhh,” Jimmy says intelligently.

Scott nods tensely. “When I was the elven equivalent of seventeen or so, Xornoth gave me a ring. This ring, specifically,” he says, tapping Jimmy’s engagement ring. “Vilya, an elven ring of power. They told me to leave Rivendell and not return.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know at the time, but they were being corrupted by a ring of their own, not to mention their own desire for power.” Scott’s voice shakes a little, and Jimmy takes his hand in comfort. “I returned after coming of age while away to find that Xornoth had fled and I was now the heir of Rivendell. Which absolutely no one wanted.”

“Why not? You’re amazing!” Jimmy protests.

“Remember when I told you that I’m not a very elven elf? That. I’m too human for their tastes, spend too much of my time with humans.”

“Well, I think you’re wonderful.”

Scott squeezes his hand tight, a faint, fond smile creeping onto his face. “Thank you, Jimmy. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jimmy replies, and then something Scott said catches up with him. “Wait. Scott?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Did you give me an elven ring of power for an engagement ring?”

“….Maybe.”

Jimmy’s torn between laughter and outrage. “Me! You gave me, little old Jimmy Solidarity, an elven ring of power?”

“You’re the most precious thing in my life. I gave you everything I could offer.”

Jimmy flushes immediately, feeling his cheeks heat with the compliment. It’s not fair that Scott can make him lose all his remaining braincells with just a simple sentence, it really isn’t! “Stop that!”

“Stop what?” Scott asks innocently.

“Saying that stuff and giving me that look, you know what I mean! That soft one that- that makes me all blushy and stuttery!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s smirking. He definitely knows exactly what he’s doing, and Jimmy would hate him for it if he was even capable of hating Scott.

“I’m trying to scold you for giving me a ring of power that’s super important, stop- stop flirting, for goodness sake!”

“You’re hot when you’re flustered, though.” The charming words would be a lot more effective if Scott didn’t also choose that moment to try and wipe the blood off his forehead, only succeeding in smearing blood everywhere and reminding Jimmy to be worried about him.

“Let me get that,” Jimmy offers, looking around for a rag. Scott patiently lets him fuss, and Jimmy dabs at the cut with a wet rag and bandages it carefully. He moves on to cleaning out smaller cuts and scrapes, then the bruises, handing Scott some ice to put on the largest ones. Even then, he’s not fully satisfied until he makes Scott count backward from 100 to prove he hasn’t hit his head too hard.

“Ninety-two, ninety-one, I swear I’m fine, Jimmy, ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight, eighty-seven, I literally explained elven rings of power to you, eighty-six, eight-five, can I stop counting now?”

“No.”

“Jimmyyyyyyyy,” Scott whines.

“Just a bit more? For me?” It’s a dirty trick, but Jimmy gives him the puppy dog eyes that he knows Scott can’t say no to.

He’s rewarded with a long-suffering sigh and “Fine. Eighty-four, eighty-three, eighty-two…”

Jimmy makes him count all the way down to seventy and then multiply together thirteen and twelve before he’s satisfied, ignoring Scott’s complaining about having to do math so early in the morning.

“I can’t believe my own husband made me do math.”

Jimmy laughs and bops him on the nose. “I’ll make breakfast to make up for it?”

“You better!” Scott says, but he’s smiling too.

Jimmy makes them both pancakes, firmly ignoring the lingering fear from the demon attack, not to mention all the revelations from this morning. Those are problems for future Jimmy. Present Jimmy is going to scold his husband for sneaking bits of pancake batter (“It doesn’t even taste good, Scott!”) and drink hot chocolate in a beautiful little kitchen with the love of his life. None of that demon nonsense, no thank you. Just hot chocolate and pancakes and the sound of Scott’s laughter as he teases Jimmy about smelling like fish. Which is a perfectly fine smell, thank you very much, Scott, why are you laughing?

Every so often, he pauses and admires the bracelet that’s still on his wrist, running his fingers over the elegantly shaped flowers. This must have taken Scott so long to make, and he did it all for Jimmy. He gave Jimmy a ring of power, for goodness sake! Jimmy doesn’t think he’ll ever be over the thrill of how it feels to be so loved and to know it, too. To know Scott loved him back in 3rd life and loves him now and will love him for the rest of Jimmy’s mortal lifespan and beyond. He can’t quite wrap his head around it, honestly, but it’s not a bad thing, not at all. How could having Scott in his life ever be a bad thing? He thinks- knows, as well as he knows his own self- that whatever happens next, he and Scott can face it together.

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #empires smp #my writing

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maira-writes-shit · 3 years

Text

You look cute

Tanizaki Junichirou x Tachihara Michizou

Tattoo parlor x Flower shop AU, meeting, fluff

Junichirou was a very simple person.

He loved his sister, his friends and his job.

He was a florist for one of the best flower shops in town.

Junichirou was currently working on a arrangement for one of their frequent customers. It was a old man that came by every week or so to get a small arrangement for his wife. They had been together for over 50 years now.

The redhead smiled down at the arrangement he just finished.

Their relationship is so sweet...I wish I could have that...

“Tanizaki! You’re back here, right?“

The man in question turned around to see his best friend Atsushi waving at him from the front of the shop.

The redhead nodded and walked out of the back room to the front the shop.

It wasn’t the biggest size wise and it was stacked with plants but it felt as much as home as the little apartment he and Naomi lived in.

„Aku is taking me out on a date. Could you cover my shift for today? Only if you're finished of course!“

„Sure thing, Atsushi! Don’t worry you’ll be fine!“

“Thanks you’re the best!“ the white haired boy then vanished into the back with a big smile on his face.

The older of the two looked at the closing door with a soft smile.

He had sadly been on the receiving end of most of his coworkers rants about this guy he constantly butted heads with but still somehow thought was kind of cute. It actually hadn't been that long ago when Atsushi had finally mastered the courage to ask Akutagawa out.

Junichirou was happy for him (also maybe because he wouldn't get random 3am calls of Atsushi screaming about said boy anymore...hopefully).

Since it was the late afternoon the shift didn't have many customers.

There was the old man coming to get his arrangement, a young man buying the classic (roses), a bride that came to check up on a few things and a mother and her little daughter who bought a couple of single flowers.

Junichirou helped them all and then sat back just scrolling on his phone.

He was just looking at the clock and realizing he should slowly start to close the shop, when the little bell above the stores door jingled.

The florist looked up to see a man standing slightly awkward in the door.

...a very handsome man.

He was around Junichirou's hight, with red hair some shades darker than Junichirou. The man wore a cropped green jaket and a white V-neck shirt as well as...a band aid on his nose?

Wierd fashion choice...b ut it doese look good on him.

He'd look good in everything.

Jun we don't even know his name!

I'm just saying!

Junichirou shook his head to get rid of his thoughts as he put on a smile again.

"May I help you?"

The man jumped a little but then went up to the desk at which the other redhead was sitting.

"Uh yeah. I think you can." Junicirou chuckled. "And how?"

The man rolled his eyes but his cheeks were tinted a light pink.

"I just need an arrangement for the front window of the place I work at." "Oh so you can say stuff that makes sense!"

Junichirou was usually not like this, especially to customers. He didn't know what it was about this guy that made it so easy for him to tease and joke but if he was honest...he liked it.

The redhead in front of him snorted and raised an eyebrow.

"So now that we've established that-" Junichirou stood up and grabbed his notebook and pen. "-what's the style you're going for?"

"Well it's a tattoo shop-" "The one down the street?" "-Uh yeah. Do you know it?"

The florist tapped his pen on the notebook.

"Yeah my coworkers boyfriend works there..." ,he mumbled as he walked over to some of the flowers in he coner that might be of intrest for the man.

"Oh-um well then if you've been there before you should know what type of aesthetic, I guess, we are going for, right?"

Junichirou hummed.

"'kay so I have some ideas. The thing is just you came very shortly before closing and frankly I have a sister at home that will beat the shit out of me if I'm not back on time so-"

The redhead went into the back to get his bag.

"_don't worry I'll have the arrangement finished tomorrow at noon. I'll just need you to write down your name and if you want it to be brought to the shop of course where the shop is. Please make it fast I can't be late."

The taller man in front of him looked slightly speachless but then seemed to regain his mind because he started writing the information down on the pice of paper JUnichirou had given him.

Tachihara Michizou, huh?

I'll remeber that...

Tachihara seemed to linger for a few seconds too long until he then turned around and walked to the shops door.

"Oh yeah by the way."

JUnichirou looked back up.

"You look cute." ,he winked. "Well see ya sometime, Red!"

JUnichirou just looked at the door closing with his mouth open.

"Wha-what the fuck just happned?!"

Honestly Junichirou was just confused.

He walked the short way to his and Naomi’s apartment without paying attention to anyrhing, nearly getting hit by a car.

He was so distracted that even completely ignored his sister who jumped to hug him the second he opened the door, which wasn’t good.

“Hey! Are you ignoring me?!“

“H-huh? Oh! Sorry Naomi!“

“Something must have happned at work today.“ the redhead could feel his cheeks heating up. „So I’m right!“

“Yeah ok ok you’re right.“ Junichirou walked around his sister into the kitchen, where he opened the cupboard to get out two bowls.

“So tell me!“

„You‘re a noisy one, aren’t you?“ „Hey! Don’t be mean to your adorable little sister!“

The siblings sat down as the water started to boil.

There was a comfortable silence between them even if Junichirou could practically feel Naomi‘s questions floating in the air.

“Ok it has to do with a customer.“ Naomi gave the happy little squeak she always gave when he told her, as she called it, „The tea“ from work.

“So I was just about to close where this guy came in.“ his sister seemed to visibly get even more intrigued.

„He was like really handsome. He was tall, had red hair, intense eyes and I’m pretty sure he wore eyeliner. He had an interesting fashion style and had a bunch of tattoos, because he works at the tattoo parlor Atsushi‘s boyfriend also works at.“

Naomi hummed with a smirk on her lips, as she held her head in her hands.

“Well he walked in last minute and asked for an arrangement for the front of their parlor. And of course I was like: „sure I’ll do it. It’ll be done by tomorrow just give me the name of the place and I’ll deliver it“, right?“ Naomi nodded.

“And everything is fine everything is normal.“ his sister raised an eyebrow. „Ok normal with a little bit more blushing.“

“Anyway! He walks out but just before he leaves he turns around to me and says, and I quote: „You look cute.“ and then he winked at me and left!“

The black haired girl in front of him gasped. „He winked?! No he didn’t!“ „Yes he did!“ „Oh god!“

The water was finally done boiling so Junichirou stood up to get it and finish their dinner.

“Well he seems to like you. Wait- did you get his name?“ „Uh- yeah I did. I need it for the delivery and everything, remember?“ „Yeah yeah. So what is it?“ „Tachihara…Michizou Tachihara.“

Even if Junichirou didn’t like the expression on his sisters face he just ignored it and sat down in front of her with the food.

„Good Morning Jun!“

„AHH Oh god Naomi don’t scare me like that!“

“Yeah yeah whatever. Come on I need to show you something!“

„Wait don’t I need to go to-wait it’s 6am. What the fuck Are you doing awake?“ „Pssst!“

Naomi basically ran through their small apartment dragging a very tried Junichirou behind her.

On the small couch the siblings own sat a girl with red glasses, long brown hair and tried looking green eyes.

Haruno, his sisters girlfriend.

„Good morning Haruno.“ „Good Morning Junichirou“, she said giving him a small smile. They suffered together by the hands of the one, Naomi Tanizaki.

“We found something out. Sit down.“ The black haired girl grabbed to open laptop sitting on the table in front of the couch.

With „we“ she probably mean Haruno, and she was just cuddling her half the time…

“Michizou Tachihara, 22 years of age, Tattoo artist. He’s currently single and a bisexual. He has been working at Port tattoo for about 2 or 3 years, not sure about that one. He’s pretty good friends with someone called Gin Akutagawa, but don’t worry they have a girlfriend.“

“Also before you ask: yes Gin is related to Atsushi‘s boyfriend. They are siblings“, Naomi‘s girlfriend piped up.

Junichirou was just stunned.

“Wha-what? When? How? Did you guys even sleep?!“

“No we did not but that is not important! What’s important is that we now know that he is single and probably attracted to you.“

He had no words.

Junichirou was distracted again.

He was just working on an arrangement for a handsome bisexual guy who told him he looked cute…

What the actual fuck?!

He took a step back.

The arrangement was beautiful, one of his best works he’d say.

A lot of dark blues and purples.

The hyacinths blending beautifully with the cornflowers. Just all in all pretty.

Sure he thought it was kind of embarrassing adding the cornflowers, he knew a lot about flower language after all but most of his customers didn’t really care especially for these types of jobs so the redhead bushed those thoughts to the back of his head.

Junichirou took a deep breath.

Lets do this!

Be confident!

He took the arrangement.

The walk wasn’t going to be long so it was fine for him to just carry it.

“Ok I’m off, Atsushi! See you in a bit!“ „Yeah sure thing, Tani!“

…

The walk to the tattoo parlor was blurr and now he was standing in front of it.

Oh fucking god-

Deep breaths Junichirou

Deep breaths

And he walked in.

“Hello how can I help you?“

The woman at the front was a little older than him, had blond hair that she had in a bun and had warm brown eyes. She looked nice.

“Uh I need to talk to uhm Tachihara?“

She eyed him a little bit visibly inspecting the vase in his hand.

She gave him a smirk.

“Yeah he should be free I’ll tell him.“

“Thank you…“

He had only ever been in here once. He had to wait in the front room as Atsushi and Akutagawa were at each other’s throats agin. Oh how happy he was they were dating now. Less fighting…less.

The place looked nice though.

Even if it had a rather cool color palette with a lot of blues, purples and blacks it still seemed very cozy and the seats were the softest things Junichirou‘s ass had ever touched.

Some of the work by the artist that worked here was displayed on the walls. These people were so goddamm talented.

#my fanfiction #tachihara michizou #tanihara #tanizaki x tachihara #tanizaki junichirou #bungou stray dogs

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kanri-tea · 3 years

Text

De-aged Jakurai

Jakurai gets de-aged via illegal mic.

You were born and raised in the darkness of the underworld. Death nipped at your heels even from an early age and you learned quickly to never be surprised.

Unfortunately, there are some things you cannot predict, and this is one of them. In front of you are two men, a blonde, sparkly looking man, and a red-haired, tired man.

“Sensei?!”

“Aaaaghh! How could this even happen?!”

You tilt your head. They aren’t familiar and they certainly don’t look like your handlers, but looks can be deceiving, so you stay silent, unsure.

“Is- is that a knife?!”

They’ve caught sight of your blades and they start screeching and yelling even more. It makes your head hurt. You want to leave, but you don’t know if they’re your handlers, but also, you thought you were on a break.

Turning heel, you walk away from them. They’re probably not your problem, and frankly, while you don’t know how you got there, you should most definitely be returning to base.

“Oh my god,” Hifumi hears Doppo mutter again. Which is kind of mean, it’s not like they purposely lost Sensei. They had looked away for, like, a second and poof! He was gone! How rude!

“Oh my god.”

“Doppo~! C’mon, enough sulking! We have to find Sensei before something bad happens!”

“Hi-fu-mi. We lost Sensei. We lost a child version of Sensei!”

Hifumi shrugged. Well, yes, they did, but no use crying over spilled milk, right?

“I doubt Sensei has gone too far, he’s tiny right now,” he chirps, glancing around the horizon for any hints of where Sensei could have gone.

“Aaaaggh. Why did we have to run into one of your stupid self-proclaimed rivals! Of course, they had to have an illegal mic!”

Okay, now Doppo was really being unfair, Hifumi thought, pouting, it wasn’t like he was actively making enemies. It wasn’t his fault his kittens loved him so much more than those brutes.

“C’mon, Doppochi, let’s go find Sensei! I think I saw him go this way!”

Hifumi started dragging Doppo along the path, ignoring the spluttering and heavy feeling in his stomach. The child version of Sensei was like 10, plus it’s Sensei. He wouldn’t stir up toomuch trouble… right?

“Uhhh…”

This was not what Ichiro had expected to see today. What was supposed to happen was him going to work and then going home to take care of his cute little brothers, a very typical and normal day.

Ichiro most definitely did not expect to see what seemed to be the child of his former teammate.

“Hey,” Ichiro started, rubbing the back of head. This was super awkward.

The kid stared back at him with wide, flat blue eyes.

“Uh, are your parents around?”

“I do not understand.”

Okay, this was new.

“Y’know,” Ichiro said, kneeling down, “Your dad or your mom. Shouldn’t you be with them? Not… not here in a dingy alleyway.”

The kid blinks, “I do not know where my progenitors are. I do not have memories of them.”

Okay, now the kid was just being difficult. What the heck did that even mean?

“Okay… What’s your name, kiddo? I’m Ichiro.”

“I am called Jakurai,” the kid replies and while its not exactly an uncommon name, what are the chances of a little kid that looks almost exactly like Sensei and having the same name?

Right on cue, his phone buzzes. It buzzes multiple times, actually, but more importantly, keeping his grip on the may-or-may-not-be-a-de-aged-Jinguji-Jakurai, there’s a message from Izanami.

Opening the message, Ichiro fights back a groan. Of course Matenro had to run into an illegal microphone, and of course Sensei had to be de-aged.

“Well, Se- I mean, Jakurai, I guess we’re stuck with each other for now,” Ichiro felt a migraine building.

The child version of Sensei stares back at him. Well, at least he’s not screaming or anything, plus he’s kind of a cute kid, Ichiro thinks, and begins leading the kid back to Yorozuya Yamada.

You don’t know why you let this boy drag you around. He’s so painfully civilian, it almost physically hurts you. Almost.

He takes you to his home and treats you like a child. You don’t understand. You are not a child; you are a weapon.

He even gives you a popsicle. You don’t really know how to react to this, so you take it. It’s sweet.

Ichiro seems to be calling people. An informant, you think, and the familiar label lets you relax a little bit.

You glance around the house. It looks more like an office than a house, but you since there are two floors, you assume the residents live on the second floor. Either way, even the office looks lived in. There are pictures of two other children with similar facial features to Ichiro, whom you assume are his siblings, and there are random items strewn about.

It feels warm. Like love, you think, but you don’t know what love is.

You glance back at Ichiro. He’s not facing you, and your blades feel heavy. You think about how easy it would be to kill him, how vulnerable he is. You don’t want to though, but if your handler tells you to, you know you must.

You know you wouldn’t want to kill Ichiro though.

You know you don’t want to kill at all.

It takes them nearly two hours to finally reach the Yamada residence in Ikebukuro.

Two hours way too long, Doppo hysterically thinks. Hifumi, as much as Doppo loved him, was a disaster and a half, from being distracted by the smallest of things and then being too terrified to move because of a couple of women, the trip had been a long one.

Greeting them at the door is the second member of the Buster Bros, Jiro, and the flat look that he gives them really does not help his nerves.

Did something happen?

“C’mon, your creepy kid leader is in the office,” Doppo hears Jiro mutter, and he pushes down on the instinctive feeling to apologize. This isn’t the time to fall victim to your shitty self-esteem, he thinks to himself.

“So,” Ichiro tells them, “It’s only supposed to last, like, a day or something. He’ll return back to normal on his own.”

It’s relieving to hear that, Doppo thinks, and beside him, he can tell that Hifumi thinks the same even without having to glance over.

In another room, along with Yamada Saburo, sensei is listening to the other boy ramble with blank eyes. There’s no movement or twitching coming from the child, nothing like how his brother was like when they were younger and had to sit still for any period of time.

Doppo would’ve attributed it as sensei’s nature, but there’s something unnatural about the stillness, something off about the younger Jinguji Jakurai’s perfect posture.

He can’t put his finger on it, but it unnerves him and from the looks of it, everyone else, even the youngest Yamada, has picked up on that. They don’t question it though.

It doesn’t take long afterwards to collect sensei and to return to their apartment. The child doesn’t question it, just follows them blankly and quietly.

It really is unnerving.

The siblings interact with you, but you quickly realize that you scare them. That you unnerve them.

Maybe it’s because they’ve realized that you aren’t human, something whispers in his mind, but he brushes it off. They are civilian and pose no danger to him.

The sparkly man and the tired man show up again. You’re not sure why.

Where they your handlers?

The youngest child, Saburo, tries to distract you while Ichiro talks to the sparkly man and the tired man. It doesn’t work, and you eavesdrop on their discussion.

De-aging. You don’t know what that means, and it makes you feel uneasy. A test, maybe? To prove his worth to his possible handlers?

You don’t know, and the uneasiness grows as you follow them to their safehouse. It warm and cozy and well-lived in, unlike most safehouses you’ve stayed at. It feels very off-protocol, but what do you know, you are a weapon.

They feed you and it isn’t poisoned for once.

They lead you to a room and they tell you to sleep.

You don’t understand.

Maybe, you think, things will make sense when you wake up. When you wake, there will be assignments to do, targets to kill. You are a weapon after all, not a child, not a human.

You fall asleep warm and comfortable for the first time that you could ever remember.

“Sensei!”

“Good morning.”

There is sunlight shining on his face in a way that doesn’t in his own home, and instinctively, Jakurai wakes up tense. It only takes a couple more seconds, however, to realize that not only is he not in his own apartment, but that he was also in Doppo and Hifumi’s apartment.

Why?

The last thing he could remember was a rap battle, and an… illegal… microphone.

Oh. Something had hit him, but Jakurai couldn’t figure out what.

It doesn’t take long before Hifumi starts spilling about the previous day, Doppo interjecting at times, about his child self, about the illegal microphone, and about the Yamadas.

You thank them for looking out for you and make a mental note to thank Ichiro as well. You dodge the questioning stares that appear when they start talking about your child self’s demeanor.

By the time you leave, unpleasant memories are drudged up and regret spills into your thoughts.

You aren’t a weapon anymore.

You don’t have to kill anymore.

You won’t kill anymore.

Your purpose now is to serve humanity, to save people. To be a better person.

What once was will never be again, not if Jakurai had any say or control over it. Jinguji Jakurai is the saintly doctor of Shinjuku. It will be the one thing no one can ever take from him, not Amemura, not the Chuuoku, not Hitoya.

But you know you will never be any less deadly.

You have sworn to never dirty your hands with lives again.

#hypnosis mic #jinguji jakurai #buster bros #matenrou #de-aged jakurai #child jakurai

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milkybonya · 3 years

Note

Can you make a best friends to lovers with Jinhwan?

[a/n]: this is one of my favourite concepts and i ended up combining it with Swimmer!Jinhwan and this became a big 3.1k word mess but i hope you enjoy~ i’m sorry for the long wait :(

HOODIE - Swimmer!Jinhwan

Warnings: food mentions

Summary: Meeting Swimmer!Jinhwan in high school after he transfers and becoming his coach leads to a friendship that lasts even after the two of you go to different universities. But when he transfers once again, things continue to change for the better

It was a regular school day and you were rubbing the sleep out of your eyes when you noticed an unfamiliar figure standing at the front of the room. He had a gentle appearance and you couldn’t help but notice the mole under his eye. It was cute...

He was a new kid. A transfer from… some place that you didn’t quite catch because it was 8am and you were tired.

By some cliché, the only free seat was the one next to you. So the boy, whose name you then learned was Jinhwan, took the seat.

Though it was awkward at first, you would soon be almost forced to know him. You, after all, spent every weekday evening working for the coach of the swim team. It was your job to time the athletes and give them warm-ups when the coach was busy.

And Jinhwan, after all, would soon become your school’s best swimmer.

A week after you first met him, he showed up at swimming practice for the first time. Confused, you still said hello before walking over to your usual spot by the pool. The coach called you over though, and you had to walk back.

“[y/n!] This is Jinhwan. He’ll be joining us from now on,” your coach said. You were in awe. Your coach, normally strict, was letting a new athlete join without trying out?

“His records are quite outstanding. Time him to make sure I haven’t been lied to and come show me the result.”

Jinhwan followed you to the lane furthest back in the pool and awkwardly eyed you, awaiting instructions.

“There’s no diving blocks here, so you’ll have to dive without it. The time starts as soon as I say go. Are you ready?”

You didn’t care how good this transfer student was. You were getting paid for your job, so you weren’t about to mess around.

“Yes!” he said, with determination. His diving stance looked good despite there being no diving blocks.

“Go!”

He swiftly dove in. Smooth, no belly-flopping. Dolphin kick for a good amount before he surfaced and began his stroke. You were timing him for a 50m sprint and by the looks of how fast he was already swimming back, it really did seem as though he would be setting a record time.

“27 seconds!” you shouted as soon as his hand met the wall.

He lifted his head out of the water, his hair dripping the liquid onto his goggles. As he pushed his goggles off, his hair was swept back, revealing a smooth forehead.

Why was your heart-

“Pretty good, right?” he asked you, grinning. You sighed. This was not proper athlete attitude.

“Yeah. Now get out so we can go talk to the coach.”

Still smiling from ear to ear, he quickly hopped out and joined you in walking towards the coach who was watching the rest of the athletes warm up.

“Sir, he swam the 50m in 27 seconds!” you announced, passing him the timer.

“Well I wasn’t there to see it, but I know I can trust you,” the coach said, quickly checking the timer in yours hands.

“This is really something… How are you at long distance?” he asked Jinhwan.

“I can do it all,” Jinhwan said, spreading his arms and looking up to the ceiling.

When you scoffed, the coach glared at you. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“I think you’re gonna be really important for this team, Jinhwan. This is where [y/n] will be especially helpful! They do a great job at coaching the athletes when I’m not around, so how about they coach you one-on-one? There are some athletes who really need me to be there for them.”

Jinhwan was still smiling, though his smile grew smaller when he noticed your shocked expression.

“But coach, I-”

“If you’re going to tell me you’re not sure if you can do this, then I’m not having any of it. You’ve been helping me out long enough. I’ll make sure to pay you extra, okay?”

“It’s not that, I just don’t know if I can coach someone like him,” you said, eyeing Jinhwan. “He’s… too good. He needs a better coach.”

“I’m fine with [y/n],” Jinhwan said.

“There we go. See? All sorted! Now get going.”

Defeated, you walked back to the last lane of the pool, Jinhwan following behind. You sat down on the pool floor and got your pants wet, but you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice.

“Do you have any pants to change into?” Jinhwan asked, still standing in front of you.

“Huh?”

“Cause you’ve completely ruined the ones you’re wearing now.”

You gasped as you realized that you just wettened your precious school uniform pants! Well, not precious, but definitely expensive.

Okay, [y/n], let’s focus. You can do this.

“Let’s worry about my pants later,” you said, standing up. “Jinhwan, get in the pool and give me 10 laps of front crawl. Take it easy.”

As he set off, you paid attention to when his strokes would get sloppy, but they just didn’t. Even after a long ten laps, his strokes were clean and smooth. He wasn’t taking too many breaths and finished with power.

“Feeling tired?” you asked him.

His cheeks were red and he was panting slightly, but he shook his head. You still grabbed his water bottle for him and passed it to him.

“Tired or not, you should still drink your water. After that, give me ten back stroke, then ten breast stroke. Do you have a stronger stroke?”

Putting his water bottle on the pool ledge, Jinhwan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m good at them all, but I’d say my breast is pretty killer,” he says. You chuckle, understanding what he means but still finding the way he said it quite funny.

You do have quite a nice chest....

“Okay, I’ll pay attention to it, then. Off you go.”

You were surprised by his control over his energy. He didn’t seem to be getting tired, even on his last lap. And he was right about the breast stroke: though it’s a slower stroke, he seemed to have a uniquely fast speed.

You made note of this in a notebook where you stored important info on the athletes like their times, strengths and weaknesses.

“You know, the coach was right about you,” Jinhwan says, having finished his last lap. You didn’t notice he was already done, so you jumped up slightly in shock.

“You really are capable of coaching me. You’re even keeping track of the stuff I’m doing.”

Feeling a bit embarrassed because of his compliments, you fought back.

“How do you know I’m not writing in my diary?”

“Diary? While you’re working as a coach? No way,” Jinhwan said, dunking his goggles into the pool to clean them.

After watching his dives and turns, you ended practice for the day and packed your things to leave. Just as you were about to go, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

It was Jinhwan holding a pair of sweatpants.

“Your pants are still wet and it’s cold outside. Bring extras tomorrow, okay?” he said, handing the pants to you before walking off.

They look so warm… you’re thankful that he gave them to you.

Okay, Jinhwan. Maybe we can be friends.

Despite finding him attractive and quite frankly developing more of a crush on him over time, that’s how your friendship with Jinhwan began. Everyday, you’d sit next to him in class and every evening, you’d coach him in swimming practice. You practically saw him 24/7, minus the weekends, but even then, Jinhwan would ask you to help with extra practice as swim meets approached.

Of course, he just wanted to use it as an excuse to hang out with you more, but you didn’t know that.

The two of you were inseparable from that point on, always seen hanging out together. But when the time came to apply to university, the two of you had to head on different paths, moving to different cities.

But you didn’t let that stop you from being friends.

“Do you have your food with you?” you asked Jinhwan one Friday evening. He nodded through your phone screen and held up a bowl of food on his end.

Every other Friday, you would video call and share a meal. Jinhwan often joked about how you were acting like a long-distance couple, but every time it made your heart pound.

“So how are things for you? Got a lot of friends?” Jinhwan asked, starting to eat.

“I’ve been trying to make friends, but it’s a little hard. This is cheesy but I don’t think I can find any friends like you,” you said, looking down to hide from your own embarrassment. You could hear Jinhwan chuckling on the other end and when you looked up, his eyes were shut tightly from how wide his smile was, pushing his cheeks up.

“I feel kind of nice hearing that, though,” he said, tilting his head to one side.

When you asked him if he had made any friends, he told you that he had met a few people and they were living in a house together now.

“The residences here were just terrible. My roommate got so drunk, he punched a hole in the ceiling! It was funny, but I got in trouble for it just because I didn’t stop him. So anyway-”

There were some loud yelling noises that blocked out Jinhwan’s voice, and he turned around in his chair as the door to his room opened.

“Junhoe, leave! I told you I was going to video call [y/n] today,” Jinhwan said. This Junhoe person didn’t seem to care, though, and proudly walked into the room while only wearing his pyjama pants. He looked into the screen at you closely.

“Ah, so this is the [y/n] you’ve been telling us about? Hello, [y/n]! I’m Junhoe,” he said, grinning and waving. You waved back, glad that your friend had made some new friends of his own.

“You know, Jinhwan doesn’t ever stop talking about you. You probably know that, since he’s going to transfer to your school because of how much he-”

“SHUT UP!” Jinhwan yelled, kicking Junhoe’s leg.

“I haven’t told them that yet!” Jinhwan whined, pushing Junhoe out of his room. Junhoe yelled goodbye and you started to process everything you had heard.

Jinhwan was transferring to your school in the middle of first term?

“Jinhwan, are you really transferring?”

He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh while still smiling.

“Yeah, but that kid just ruined the whole surprise.”

“Wait, why? You’ve already made friends!”

“Actually, this might sound kind of hard to believe but I got accepted to attend your school on a swimmer’s scholarship. And my roommates are all swimmers too, who all got accepted. Your school’s swimming program is notorious!”

“Wait, what? You all got accepted?”

“Yes! There were 10 scholarships and all seven of us got one. My swimmer friends are really good, you’ll see when we get there.”

You suddenly sat upright, excited.

“Wait, when do you get here?”

“We’re coming next week! Are you a coach at the swim team there, too?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “College varsity teams are no joke. They wouldn’t want me.”

“You’re joking! If you told them that you worked for one of the best high school coaches…”

“Well, maybe if you and your friends come here, I might consider it.”

And when they all came, Jinhwan dragged you to the swimming pool to talk to the head coach who accepted you immediately because of her ties with your old coach.

“He and I were on the same team throughout high school and into college! Of course I’d accept someone who worked for him.”

Once again, your days were filled with classes and your evenings with studying. Jinhwan’s student house that he shared with his other six friends soon became your second home, and you spent more time in there than in your own dorm.

“No, NO, NO! I SWEAR YOU WERE CHEATING!” you yelled at the TV screen and then at Chanwoo, one of Jinhwan’s friends, who was next to you.

He pretended to brush off his shoulders and sent you a wink.

“No cheating, I’m just that good.”

“Can you guys stop yelling? I’m actually trying to study!” Hanbin yelled from his room upstairs.

You and Chanwoo both tried to hold in your laughter.

Jinhwan walked up to where you were sitting on the couch and sat in-between the two of you, handing you a glass of water.

“Remember to stay hydrated, [y/n]!” he told you.

“Where’s mine?” Chanwoo asked, pouting.

“Get it yourself!” Jinhwan said, taking the controller from his hands.

“Now let me play a round!” he said.

“You could literally have taken the extra controller…” Chanwoo mumbled, going to grab it himself.

“[y/n] can you tell Jinhwan to stop only acting nice to you? He only listens to you anyway!”

“Jinhwan, be nice,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“Okay,” Jinhwan sang. “Wait, [y/n] are you wearing my hoodie?”

You pressed your lips together, realizing that you were caught red-handed.

“No…”

“You’re not getting out of this easily!” Chanwoo laughed, leaving the couch and running upstairs.

“That’s definitely mine, though. I’m taking a photo as evidence,” Jinhwan said, pulling out his phone.

You wrestled to take the hoodie off, but Jinhwan managed to take a photo of you too quickly.

He giggled while staring at it.

“Delete it!” you shrieked, reaching for the phone.

“Make me,” Jinhwan said, sticking his tongue out at you and running away.

While you were doing land training in the gym with the swim team, you stood next to the coaches and kept an eye on everyone.

“Okay, how about we split up and go cheer them on individually? We have a few important races coming up, so let’s give them some encouragement!”

You grabbed a towel and water bottle and quickly raced your way to Jinhwan before anyone else could reach him. He was sat at a chest press machine, huffing as he struggled to do more sets.

When you held out the water and towel to him, he stopped and smiled at you gratefully, taking the towel and water from your hands.

“You always rush in at the right time,” he said, wiping his sweat before he drank some water.

“That’s what coaches are here for,” you said.

“You’re finally calling yourself a coach? Wow, I need to record this!” he said, pretending to reach for his phone which was on the ground by his foot.

As he began to do more sets, you continued to cheer him on until his phone lit up with a notification and you noticed a familiar picture on the lockscreen.

“Is that me wearing your hoodie in your lockscreen?” you asked in bewilderment.

“No,” Jinhwan said nervously, quickly picking up his phone.

“That was clearly me, let me see! Why am I on your lock screen?”

“It’s a photo of me! You’re confusing it because I’m wearing that hoodie you borrowed.”

There’s no way…

You shrugged it off since he was training, but you spent all night thinking about it. This wouldn’t do.

You got up from the couch of Jinhwan’s house and paced over to Junhoe’s room, who you thought would have some answers.

When he told you that you could come in after knocking, you found him sat at his desk.

“Junhoe, is Jinhwan’s lockscreen a photo of me wearing his hoodie?”

Junhoe turned around to face you, as if scanning your expression would give him the answer.

“There’s two ways I could answer this…” he said.

“Just give me an honest answer!”

“Jinhwan will kill me…”

“So it is me, right? Thanks, Junhoe!”

“Okay, but I never explicitly said anything so it’s your fault!” he yelled after you as you trudged towards Jinhwan’s room. Yes it was the middle of the night and he was probably sleeping, but you needed answers now.

Maybe you were jumping to conclusions but if you were his lockscreen… then that meant he liked you, right? Would friends really do this?

You stopped yourself in front of his door. Yes, of course friends could do this. You once set a photo of Jinhwan wearing this really tall hat as your lockscreen because it was funny - but you also liked him. You like him…

You took a deep breath and knocked on Jinhwan’s door. Hearing a groan, you entered and walked right up to his bed.

“Who is it?” he asked, still half asleep.

“Jinhwan I know that I’m your phone background.”

Seeing his phone beside him, you picked it up and checked: it was true. You turned the phone around to show it to him.

“No, it’s fake! Fake..” he rolled over, trying to go back to sleep.

“Jinhwan I’m not going to let you sleep until I have an answer about why I’m your lockscreen.”

His back towards you, he sighed and rubbed his eyes. Then he sat up and faced you with puffy eyes.

“[y/n], do you really need an answer?”

“Yes!” you said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“I like you [y/n]. That’s your answer. I wanted to tell you later, not now when I’m half asleep and my face is a mess…”

You couldn’t hear anything he said after those first four words.

So it was true? So your love wasn’t one-sided? You thought you were just going to live in the friend-zone this whole time, but he really-

“[y/n]? Are you okay?” Jinhwan asked, waving his hands in front of you.

Your heart felt like it was swelling, bursting, in need of expressing its emotions. You stretched your arms out and wrapped them tightly around Jinhwan. Shocked at first, he also embraced you and rested his head in the crook of your shoulder.

“Jinhwan, I’m so relieved. Jinhwan I’ve liked you for all this time and I thought I would stay in the friend-zone for life-”

He pulled away from you, still holding onto your shoulders.

“The feeling is mutual?” He asked, grinning.

When you nodded, he got so excited that he gently brought your head down so he could kiss the top of it softly.

“[y/n] I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to move so fast I’m just-”

“No, it’s fine!”

Both of you were in such a strange, excited, heart-bursting, panicked state that you started to laugh.

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