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polka-popia · 15 hours

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Worth it (Part 2/4)

(A Huskerdust story)

An AU where Husk has had enough of watching Angel's abuse go down from the sidelines and challenges Val to a game. Winner gets a new soul...

Warning(s): Mentions of Abuse, Suggested SA, Cursing, Fluff, Angst, Happy Ending though...

Author's Note: Now, this is based off of an idea by "Maddie's Minis" on Tiktok. It sounded too good to pass up writing. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1

**************************************

**EARLIER THAT NIGHT**

Click.

The door was locked.

The sexy and sultry smile Angel had given to his fellow co-stars and camera crew could know drop from his face. With a deep breath, Angel was now left to his own devices. And all he wanted was his pig, and maybe a grumpy cat too...

Slowly sliding the red wig off his head and dropping it to the floor, Angel focused more on looking clean than anything else. Husk would never say it, but Angel knew he had a really good sense of smell. And coming back drenched in the scent of sweat, sex, and... Whatever else those damn hellhounds had left on him, didn’t exactly scream ‘put together’ material.

And how old was Angel anyways? 9? Why was bringing up what happened on his birthday so damn hard for him? He woke up in Husk’s arms, head pressed against his chest where he could actually hear a heartbeat.

No way the cold drunk actually had a heart, right? Wrong! Cause he did! Angel could feel it, count along with it, try and match his heartbeat to it...

The door was locked…

But in the next moment, a figure appears behind Angel in the mirror as he’s cleaning his face of all the heavy makeup.

“Angel, baby...”

Angel stiffens instantly but tries not to show the difference as he sets the wash rag down. He turns instantly to face Val, his third arm slowly reaching for the robe that was once tossed carelessly to the floor so that he could fully clean himself in the mirror.

Val’s eyes instantly narrow a bit. “Shy, mi amor? Nothing I haven’t seen before...” He teases a bit as Angel wraps the sheer pink robe around himself.

“Your hours are over. It’s my time now. So, yeah. I’ll stay covered.” Angel mutters as he stares up at the man whose height once made him feel safe...

God, Angel was an idiot…

Val clenches his jaw, but quickly relaxes his face. “Angie, honey, how long will you make me suffer before you stop this?�� He asks instead, pouting as he moves a bit closer to Angel who steps back a bit but tries to stand his ground.

“I was bad, I know that now. I’ve changed. The thought of losing you… Has made me change.” Val says and Angel stares up at him with a hard glare.

Did that shit really used to work on him?!

Angel shakes his head. “Val. I’ve gotta go. Charlie… Charlie’s got a strict curfew.” He lies swiftly as he moves away from the moth man and grabs his normal clothes from the drawer to change into. Fuck this. He’d just wash up at the hotel…

“This is why you shouldn’t have left, Angel, baby. A curfew?! We’re in hell!” Val laughs as Angel focuses on getting dressed. Val’s smile fades into a hard glare slowly as he realizes Angel’s no longer listening.

“Do you know… What I loved the most about you?” He finally asks and Angel wraps his lower arms around himself as his upper arms focus on grabbing his things from the nightstand.

That damn door was locked.

But in one quick motion, Val’s hand grips Angel’s shoulder hard and turns him around to face him. “It was your love. Oh, Angel, you loved so good. A natural, really. I knew the first time I had you, your skills had to be shared with the rest of hell. Face it, Angel, you can be so… Sweet...” Val whispers, arms snaking around Angel’s slim waist to pull him in closer.

On instinct, Angel drops the phone in his hand to place it on Val’s chest, wanting far from his scent of cheap cigarettes and fruity perfume from his arm candies.

“Val...” Angel warns quietly, looking up at him. He wasn’t above fighting the taller man off anymore...

Val ignores the warning, hand slowly going to the gold chain around the spider’s neck. He squints his eyes a bit before looking back at Angel. “After every shoot… When it was just us... Do you remember what you’d tell me?” Val asks softly.

“Are we done here?” Angel guesses flatly, trying not to remember the old times. The times where he felt seen by Val. Loved by him even...

“No no. You’d say that they get Angel Dust, but only I can have Anthony. How romantic of you. Made me feel so special. I got this side of you that no one else could see…” Val smirks smugly as Angel tries to move out of his grasp again, but Val shoves him up against the nearest wall.

“But now…” Val growls a bit, moving down to be face to face with his best talent. “You’re giving me Angel Dust. Who gets to see Anthony, hm? Who’s better than me?” Val whispers as he plays with the chain more, twirling it between his fingers so it tightens around Angel’s throat.

It’s just as tight as those damn chains...

“Anyone!” Angel grunts in anger, voice slightly shaky as he shoves back on the more dominating frame, and Val looks at him with no expression on his face and that’s the scariest thing Angel has ever seen…

The door was locked.

Yet Val was here. And he was mad. In one swift motion, he back hands Angel to the floor before kicking him hard in the face. The pain, the ringing in his ears, the numbness, it’s all normal for Angel.

‘Fuck him. He’ll leave now...’ Angel thinks to himself as he wipes the blood from his nose, struggling to get himself to sit up.

But Val doesn’t leave.

A hand slides between Angel’s hair on his head, gripping on tight and lifting him up by it. “Ah! Fuck! Val!” Angel shouts as he squirms, but Val is too strong, dragging him out to the balcony as Angel uses his top arms to try and pry Val’s hand from his hair and his lower ones look for something to hold on to. To keep him from being dragged outside in just his blazer and boots, but it’s all no use.

“You made me feel special. And now you plan to throw me away? Make someone else feel what I did? No. No, I’ll kill you before I let that happen.” Val snarls, grabbing Angel up by his neck as soon as they’re on the balcony. Effortlessly, Val picks him up by his neck and holds him over the balcony railings.

“Shit! No! No! H-Hey, Va-Val! Fuck! Stop!” Angel tries fast in a panic, seeing nothing but his own reflection in Val’s glasses. “Help! Help!” Angel shouts as best as he can when he realizes he won’t be able to reason with this crazy man. But the hand around his neck just clamps tighter. Angel’s top hands try to pry it off of him while his lower ones look for anything to hold on to, trying to reach the railing bars but he’s too far out…

The fucking door was locked!

So how did Angel find himself dangling about 800 feet in the air? Panicked, he looks towards the cameras located on every corner in this room.

There was one time where Val lost his shit, throwing things sporadically around the room and Vox had to come in to calm him down. Maybe he’d pop in again! Maybe he’d see Val hanging his favorite toy off the balcony and come rushing in! Remind Val that Angel was their biggest money maker. Remind Val that this would just look bad for the Vees if anyone saw this!

But as Angel made eye contact with the many cameras in his room, he watched as they all mechanically swerved away from the sight in front of them. Slow and purposeful.

Angel was on his own.

“Val. Don’t… don’t do this...” Angel pants out, feeling lightheaded and it could be from the fear, the choking, or maybe just the climate hitting him all the way up here.

“Do you still love me?” Val asks calmly and Angel clenches his jaw. Maybe he would survive a fall like this, actually… No! No.

He nods his head, hoping that’ll be enough for Val. “No! Say it. I need to hear you say it...” Val orders and Angel squeaks when Val loosens his grip.

“I love you! I-I love you... I still love you. You, Val. Only you.” Angel stammers fast. Val pauses in surprise. Like how someone does when they leave flowers for themselves to surprise themselves.

“You do? Still?” Val asks, his other hand touching his heart as if honored by the words he’s forcing out of Angel.

“Still! Still… A-And forever. I love you.” Angel agrees fast. Val pulls him back on to the balcony and Angel wants to kiss solid ground in that moment, but instead, his lips are met with Val’s. The kiss is sloppy and full of far too much tongue.

The fucking door was never locked…

And that’s why Val can hold his body right. Can kiss him passionately. Val pulls away and with a quick flick of his hand the necklace around Angel’s neck is ripped off and tossed off the balcony like it’s scrap. And it takes physically biting his tongue to keep him from objecting this.

Val’s hand grabs Angel’s face, making him look up at him, a wide grin sliding along his moth face. “I’ve missed you. My Anthony…” Val whispers before kissing him again.

And Angel has never felt more suffocated…

************************************

**THE NEXT MORNING**

Angel wakes with a start, usual fluffy fur matted with sweat. Looking around, he finds himself laying in Husk’s bed smelling of the usual thick scent of pine and bourbon. Husk was nowhere to be found though. Angel sighs. He was safe now. Far from that tower, far from Val.

With another deep breath to steady himself, Angel takes a second to shut his eyes. To really feel his surroundings. And in the next moment… It’s all gone. All the fear, all the pain, all the worry. He’s fucking Angel Dust! What’s he got to be panicked about?!

Hopping out of bed, Angel tangles himself in a bed sheet and then heads off to the door, cracking it open and peeking out. Nobody in sight. Quickly, Angel scurries from Husk’s room, finding his own and opening the door fast, finding Fat Nuggets waiting for him on the other side.

The pig squeals happily at the sight of his owner, making Angel scoop him up. “Nugs! Mornin baby. Daddy’s sorry he didn’t come to bed last night. Things were… iffy.” Angel mutters and the pet’s joyful manner switches to concern very fast at seeing the frown on his best friend’s face.

Last night had been rough. And for an addict like Angel… it was a bit too much. But he didn’t use alcohol, and he didn’t use drugs… Angel used Husk.

Was it right? No.

Did it feel good to at least replace the feeling of Val’s sliminess with Husk’s soft fur? Yes.

Angel pets Fat Nuggets softly before sighing, just wanting to forget about last night altogether. “Let’s get a bath goin...” He says softly, just wanting to make today normal…

*********************************

Today was not normal.

Alastor’s gaze trails along Husk’s frame, smile never leaving his face. “You’re serious.” He notes finally, voice always cheerful. “You came to bother me during my breakfast to tell me you want to challenge another overlord...” Alastor continues, smile somehow growing at the statement, as if finding that funny. Husk glares at the demon whose owned his soul for the last… who knows how many years now...

“I’m gonna do it no matter what you say to me. This wasn’t for no damn permission. This was a heads up.” Husk finally says. Alastor’s eyes narrow, smile still unmoving however as he sets his fork and knife down now.

“Why challenge him and not me?” Alastor finally asks, voice sounding curious.

“Because I ain’t got a plan if I beat you. But Angel does. He’s trynna get redeemed. Get out of here. And when I win-“ Alastor cuts him off.

“If.” He corrects smugly.

Husk growls lowly.

“When.” Husk snarls, much to Alastor’s amusement. “Angel can get his soul back. Get a move on with this whole redeem bullshit. I don’t believe in it. But Angel does. He’s tryin.” Husk states and Alastor hums pleasantly.

“So you care for our feminine friend. Enough to challenge an overlord. As an ex-overlord, you still hold some authority, sure. But you’ve been gone for so long… How will he take you seriously? Even if I do let you run around, saving poor defenseless souls...” Alastor taunts. “What do you have that he’ll want? I know you don’t expect me to just give you back your soul...” Alastor tisks at the idea as if to say ‘shame on you’.

“You’ve got more like me in your damn grasp. And where would I go after? Hm? I got nobody…” Husk reminds.

“Not the point, Husker. I worked hard for the souls I obtained. I don’t plan to let any of them go...” Alastor says simply as he leans back in his seat. “You know nothing about that though. You used to trade them like they were nothing...” He recalls and Husk looks down at that, hands gripping the seat in front of him since he’d refused to sit down when first interrupting Alastor early this morning.

Husk hadn’t slept much last night. Mostly because Angel kept crying in his sleep and Husk would have to whisper to him a bit to get him to calm down enough to continue sleeping.

“You sat so smug at your table…” Alastor continues as he watches Husk shrink back a bit under the weight of guilt for his past. “Loser souls under your feet. Now you want to help one. How the circle completes itself...” Alastor laughs joyfully as Husk grits his teeth.

“Does he know?” Alastor finally asks before Husk can speak. The bat/cat hybrid finally looks up to meet his gaze.

“Does he know what?” Husk finally asks slowly.

“You know. How you’d reap souls so casually. Promise them another chance to win it all back and when they had their hopes up, you’d play them so well. Always hard to read, Husker, my friend. Does he even know why I got involved with you in the first place?” Alastor’s voice begins to glitch a bit, smile turning sharp as Husk falls into the memory...

***FLASHBACK***

“Huh. You did it.” Husk smiles warmly at the shark in front of him who was now quickly gathering the chips from the table, still sweating and shaking. But he’d done it.

He’d beat Husk at his own game.

“How’d you do it? Hm? Hid cards? Had a Buddy glance at my deck from behind me? Counted cards? Let me know, because whatever it was that you did to win… you’re a natural at it.” Husk praises calmly as he leans back in his seat, watching the shark’s tense shoulders slump a bit.

“I uh... I was just lucky, I guess.” The shark finally says, and Husk smiles warmly.

Husk was a friendly man. At his casino, everyone was welcome. The stage always had live performances, jazz music always blasting, cigars and whiskey complimentary of the man of the hour himself. This wasn’t just a casino to Husk. This was his house. And everyone deserved to drink at his house. Everyone deserved to smoke at his house. And everyone deserved to win at his house.

As long as they weren’t winning against him…

With a swift motion, Husk pulls his gun from under the table and shoots the shark in the head. His body falls limp on to the table, and Husk sighs deeply at the mess his blood is making on the cards.

“Niffty, baby. Please.” Husk calls. The four foot cleaner of the casino runs over fast. She’d been found by Husk in an alleyway by the casino, and… Honestly, Husk loved how helpful she was while she loved how dangerous Husk was.

You could never read that man.

“Yes, Mr. Bad boy...” She giggles a bit, fixing her hair, making Husk smirk as he gently tilts her chin with his claws so she looks up at him.

“There’s a mess. Take care of it for me?” He asks politely. He had many souls working for him, but he had a soft spot for Niffty. Hence why she actually had a job at this casino as his personal cleaner.

She nods fast and rushes over to push the dead body from its seat. The large man falls from the seat to the floor with a loud thud that isn’t noticed from over the music. Niffty then makes quick work of dragging him away by his fin as Husk gets up from his seat to watch from over his balcony at everyone playing below. He was trying to find his next victim for the evening.

“Mr. Husk?” He hears and rolls his eyes at the voice before putting on a sly smile.

He turns and hums at the sight in front of him. “Mimzy, honey. You’re late. Why isn’t your sexy self on that stage singin? You forgot the guides of your contract already?” Husk teases as the plus size beauty fixes her blonde hair a bit and glares at Husk.

“No. But I came with a friend tonight. He was hopin to play you in a round of any game.” She smiles slyly as a tall figure emerges from the shadows, smiling down at Husk.

“Well, I’ll be damned. If it isn’t the Radio Demon. You’re coming up on the charts, my man.” Husk smiles warmly like always. He usually knew how to play this. How to act. The image he’d show off before finally dropping his cards. But this guy’s smile… it was definitely hiding way more than Husk’s.

It was doing it better too.

“The name is Alastor. It is a pleasure to be meeting the man who thinks owning a woman’s soul makes him a threat...” Alastor says calmly and Husk hums, fake smile slowly turning more into a forced smirk as he eyes Mimzy.

“What is this?” Husk asks flat out.

“Alastor doesn’t like that I’m a held woman right now. He’s gonna be playin for my soul.” Mimzy says smugly as she flips her hair over her shoulder again as if flattered over this princess treatment.

Husk eyes them both. He didn’t like this. A gambler like him could read people through and through. And he didn’t like the never faltering smile on Alastor’s face. “It’s real busy at the casino tonight, and-“ Alastor cuts Husk off.

“I get it. It’s not worth it to you. Let’s up the prize. If you win… You keep Mimzy’s soul. And you can also have mine.” Alastor says and Husk freezes.

Tempting.

So damn tempting.

The power trip of owning a soul like Alastor’s? He couldn’t say no.

“Then please,” Husk begins after a deep breath. “Sit down at my table. Put your mind at ease…” He recites his usual invitation as he grabs the cards to shuffle thoroughly.

There was no way he could lose…

***FLASHBACK OVER***

Husk’s throat feels as tight as it did that night when the collar first appeared around his neck. He growls louder now. Louder because of Alastor’s taunting, louder because of his own stupid pride letting him get caught, and louder because he knew his past was wrong. Deep down… He knew.

He knew if Angel had ever found his way into that damn casino, Husk would be the one owning his soul today without a second thought…

“I’m doin this! I don’t need your damn consent!” Husk snaps finally, and Alastor really looks at him. He smiles wider.

“Looking just as tall as the day you lost it all. Haven’t seen that stance in a while. Don’t worry, Husker. You have my blessing. It could be fun to watch you gamble everything away again. What will you lose this time, hm? Just a friend, a defenseless soul, a lover…” Alastor lists. Husk’s eyes widen and Alastor nods, showing that he knows all about Husk and Angel.

“He’s bringing this out of you. Honestly, you two together might not be such a bad thing. Might get you to stay in line a bit more. Since you’ll have something worth losing if you don’t...” Alastor says so pleasantly that the threat would go over most people’s heads. But it makes Husk’s blood boil.

“You don’t go anywhere near him, you psycho fuck. You understand me?” Husk whispers, the glare on his face completely serious, much to Alastor’s delight. He enjoyed these moments when Husk would fight back. Would remind him that he had an actual overlord in his mitts.

“Find something worth it for Val. And I’ll happily watch from the shadows. I won’t interrupt. I won’t get involved. Trust me.” Alastor smiles innocently as he holds out his hand to shake Husk’s.

“And you won’t care what I find?” Husk clarifies, eyeing Alastor’s hand.

“As long as it’s not your soul or any of mine? No. No, I won’t…” Alastor smiles. With a nod and shake of their hands, the deal is set. Alastor won’t get involved, and Husk won’t gamble his soul, or any other soul owned by Alastor.

“Now please. My breakfast is getting cold…” Alastor says finally. Husk nods and walks towards the door.

Now to tell Angel.

And that should be easy.

************************************

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!” Angel shouts as he sits on his bed, Fat Nuggets squealing in surprise at the outburst.

“Angel, listen to me...” Husk tries softly. “No! No no no. You’re not goin anywhere near Val. That’s first of all. Secondly, you’re definitely not gonna gamble away ANYTHIN on my behalf. Fuck that.” Angel says.

“You don’t understand.” Husk tries calmly.

“Oh, I don’t and I don’t want to try!” Angel confirms. “Matter fact..” Angel pauses and gets up fast, storming out of his room and taking the stairs down to the main area where the bar is.

Angel knew that’s where he’d find everyone. It was Tuesday! Charlie loved holding ‘Hotel Staff Meeting’s on Tuesdays…

“Angel! Angel, where are you goin?” Husk calls as he follows him quickly down the hallway.

Angel enters the room and finds everyone in there already. “Ay! Listen to this. Husk wants to gamble away the hotel to win my soul from Val. He’s crazy right?! Tell him he’s being crazy!” Angel says as he looks on at everyone’s faces.

Everyone is quiet and solemn in this moment, as if mourning something that is yet to accrue. Angel pauses at everyone’s faces as Husk finally enters the room, looking ashamed. Like he wanted to let Angel in on a secret everyone already knew.

“W-What’s goin on? Hey, radio fuck! Tell him that he’s bein crazy.” Angel demands and Alastor just continues to smile at Angel, unmoving, not speaking. But this smile… It isn’t smug. It isn’t even pleasant. It’s forced. Teeth sharp and clenched together.

Shaking his head, his eyes spot Vaggie on the couch, looking down at her dagger, gripping her cleaning rag tighter. “V-Vaggie? Come on. You know this is nuts, right?” Angel tries and she just shakes her head with a deep sigh.

“Afternoon, everyone.” Charlie says from the entrance of the main gathering room, and Angel sighs in relief.

“Charlie! There you are!” He says fast as Charlie finds her spot standing next to Husk with a small smile on her pale face.

“Husk is trynna gamble your hotel. Nobody’s sayin shit to him. Tell him somethin.” Angel says. Charlie eyes Husk and he silently shakes his head, as if answering an unspoken question. Charlie hesitates a bit.

“Uh… Hello?!” Angel snaps finally.

“Angel…” Charlie finally says. “Husk isn’t putting the hotel on the line. It’s just attached to the actual deal.” Charlie says softly.

Angel pauses.

“And... What’s the actual deal?” He asks so quietly as if whispering it would make the answer never come. It’s quiet in the room. The air is thick. And Angel finally notices something.

A paper.

In Charlie’s hands. Gripped tightly, showing her nervousness better than her actual face does.

And Angel knows that glowing paper all too well…

It’s a contract.

Angel feels the room begin to spin and his breath quickens as Charlie finally answers him.

“It’s me.” She says certainly before Angel’s world gets dark…

************************************

-Part 3 will be out sometime this weekend! I hope you enjoyed, and my mailbox's always open for any Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss story ideas!

#angel dust #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #huskerdust #angel x husk #angel dust x husk #hazbin hotel characters #vivziepop #vivziepop hazbin hotel #vivziepop helluva boss #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel au #chaggie

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cursedvibes · 4 months

Note

Okay, I just saw someone's post about Kenjaku, that got me thinking :

"He (Kenjaku) does not only make other people his guinea pigs, he also makes himself into one (imagine living as a guy for centuries, then moves to a woman's body where he experienced period/menstrual pain, got nutted in and impregnated by another guy, got pregnant for 9 whole months, breastfed and nursed a baby, and all those things simply because he thinks it's necessary to achieve his goal, the sheer determination 😂). He doesn't care if he dies along the way, as soon as he can achieve that goal of his...."

Thoughts?

Agree, except for the assumption that Kenjaku has never possessed a woman's body before Kaori. Even if we ignore all the heavy symbolism around pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood that precedes her, that focus on necessity op mentions would put Kenjaku in one at one point or another. Unless you want to tell me that over 1000 years no woman ever had anything Kenjaku needed be it cursed technique, goods, social standing or physical attributes. That's just unrealistic (and sexist honestly).

Aside from that I see no issue with this and I know what post this is from, I liked it overall. Especially that they pointed out that while Kenjaku has no death wish, they are very realistic about their mortality as we see confirmed in their last moments in ch 243. The "making themselves a guinea pig" thing is very true as well, after all I imagine it takes a lot of courage and preparation for death or debilitating failure to be able to transplant your brain into someone else's body and give up your original body, even if you felt no particular attachment to it. Figuring out their innate cursed technique required Kenjaku to make a test subject out of themselves in order to make use out of it. Already starts with cutting open your head and figuring out your brain looks different from everybody else's.

#asks #kenjaku

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

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Pairing: omc x omc Rating: Explicit Tags: oral sex (m! receiving)

Chapter 1: "Talk me into it"

The mornings were growing colder.

Lucas’ boots collected dew and pieces of wet grass as he traversed the short distance from the chicken coop back to the cabin, his breath visible on the crisp morning air. He came in through the laundry room, kicking off his boots and rolling his eyes at the mess of muddy pawprints Verne had left behind on the room's vinyl flooring from his run the night before.

He hung up his coat and went into the house, carrying the wire egg basket into the kitchen. Today the basket was full. The chickens were still producing near their peak. But there would be fewer and fewer eggs as the colder months set in, and out here in the mountains, fall could bleed into winter in the blink of an eye. Come November, they’d be lucky if they got a half dozen eggs every other day.

That wouldn’t be a problem for most people, but most people didn’t eat the way that Lucas and his husband ate. They had to produce the majority of what they consumed, because living out in the middle of nowhere like they did meant that spur of the moment trips to the store weren't an option. Supply runs needed to be planned out and executed with military precision. Good thing Lucas had married a soldier.

Verne was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a plate heaped high with toast and eggs and some of the sausage they’d pulled from the freezer. The cabin smelled heavenly of cooked meats, and Lucas felt his stomach rumble in anticipation. "Mornin'," he hummed, bending to kiss the top of Verne's head as he stole a sausage link off the plate. He bit down and groaned at the pop of skin and rich burst of flavor over his tongue. “Oof. Now that's tasty.”

Verne grunted and swallowed around his mouthful. "Got me this prettyboy husband, kinda knows how to cook."

Lucas snickered as he went to set the eggs by the sink. "Anybody I know?" He'd taught himself how to make linked sausages two springs ago. They always kept at least one of their goats dairy, but the rest were for eating, as were the pigs. Lucas was the one in charge of turning the animals they raised into the meat they ate, because even though Verne would never admit to it, his big squishy heart just couldn’t handle the slaughtering process.

The big lug wouldn’t hesitate to hunt down a deer in the forest and mercilessly rip out its throat, but give him a little barnyard piglet to slaughter and he'd suddenly start reconsidering the importance of bacon. It was equal parts ridiculous and endearing to Lucas, who knew that deep down his mate was a big old softie. He was just covered with an outer shell so thick, he might as well be calcified.

Verne was a hulking six-foot-two, two-hundred-twenty pound alpha werewolf. He was what Lucas liked to call "stupid big," which meant he was intimidating. The gnarly scars that slashed from cheek to hairline on one side of his face added to the effect. If people who met him weren't already cowed by his sheer size or his surly attitude, then the scars usually sealed the deal and guaranteed him a wide berth in public spaces—which was certainly Verne's preference. He hated going into town and only did so when absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, such a time had arrived, and he'd have to eased into the idea.

Lucas returned to stand behind Verne's seated form and began playing idly with the short crop of his hair. “I think I’m gonna try water glassing eggs,” he mused.

Verne grunted. “What the hell’s that?”

“It’s supposed to keep them fresh for up to a year. You just put them on a shelf, no refrigeration needed.”

“That sounds made up.”

“No, it’s a thing. There’s a whole chapter about it in my canning book. I’ll need lime to do it, though.” Lucas rubbed coaxingly behind Verne’s ear with his thumb. “Do you ... think they’d have that in town?”

Verne ignored him.

“We need a bunch more of the Mason jars, too,” he said. The root cellar was nearing its capacity with everything they'd harvested. “A lot of preserving to get through, these next few weeks.”

Verne stubbornly didn’t answer until he’d chewed through another huge forkful of his breakfast. “What makes you think I’m doing the next run? It’s your turn.”

Lucas bent down to nip at his ear, then squeezed his neck in mock dominance. He enjoyed the warning growl he got for his efforts. “Oh, I don’t know,” he purred. “I bet I can come up with a way to talk you into it.” He rubbed the inside of his wrist against Verne’s jaw, scenting him.

Abruptly, Verne pushed his chair back from the table, but he didn’t stand. He turned the chair with a long-suffering sigh and let his arms hang loose by his sides. Very pointedly, he spread his legs wider. “C’mere, then,” he said lowly. “Come ‘talk me into it’.”

Lucas’ pulse picked up, just like it always did when Verne bossed him around. He felt a familiar heat bloom low in his belly at his husband’s words, his tone, his arrogant stare, and most especially at the sight of Verne’s huge legs spread wide and presumptive, straining against the worn-thin flannel of his pajama bottoms. Verne sat there watching, looking smug and amused, but the dark gleam in his eye and the growing bulge between his legs betrayed his interest as he waited to see what his mate would do. Lucas licked his lips and sank to his knees right there on the kitchen floor. He rubbed up and down the tops of Verne's legs, then slid his hands inwards to squeeze at the massive muscle of his inner thighs, feeling the heat of his body radiating through the flannel. When Lucas peeked up at him, Verne was watching with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Go on,” he prodded, voice already slipped down to that lower register that made Lucas’ cock thicken in his own pants. "Take me out."

Lucas hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled, and Verne lifted his hips up just enough to be helpful. The pajamas got pushed down and kicked away, and Lucas’ attention zeroed in on his husband’s gorgeous, half-hard cock. He wrapped his hand around it and played idly, giving a few soft squeezes and strokes, thumbing the foreskin over the head as Verne grew harder. Lucas was a big guy himself and nothing to scoff at, but Verne was bigger than him in every way, including this. Cupping his heavy balls took up Lucas’ entire palm. He rolled them in one hand while he stroked his cock with the other, and eventually Verne lost his patience and started thrusting his hips up into it.

“Gotta say, Babe,” he sighed. “I’m not feeling very 'talked into' anything just yet.”

Lucas looked up, locking eyes with him in a purposeful gesture of dominance.

And Verne, of course, didn’t tolerate it. He grabbed him by the hair, giving a firm scruff. "Mind yourself, boy," he growled, though there was also a sly grin pulling at the edges of his mouth as he said it. He scruffed him again for good measure, making Lucas moan and his cock jerk hard at the show of aggression. As an alpha himself, Lucas was supposed to be wired to hate being dominated by anyone. And usually he did. But with Verne it was different. With Verne, his wires were crossed. Always had been, always would be.

He opened his mouth wide and sank down, taking Verne’s cock inside. It was just as much of a struggle as it always was, an all-consuming invasion of the senses that Lucas relished. He sucked on the head, tasting and teasing with his tongue, stroking the shaft with one hand and massaging the soft weight of his sac in the other.

Verne exhaled shakily from above, both of his hands coming to rest on the crown of Lucas’ head as his hips flexed upwards. “Fuck,” he sighed, pushing a little more forcefully. “Yeah, baby. That’s it. Take a little more."

Lucas did, allowing Verne to push him down until his cock hit the back of his throat. He choked for a second, drool leaking steadily from his mouth and making a mess in the thatch of dark hair at the base of Verne’s cock. Verne growled in satisfaction, his pelvis flexing up again and again, softly fucking Lucas’ face. “That’s it,” he kept muttering. “What a good fuckin’ boy. Fuck, Honey.”

Lucas let himself be spurred on by the deep rumbles and filthy strings of words that his husband threw down at him. He gave into the feeling of being used, those huge hands and flexing hips, the fat head of Verne’s cock bumping against the back of his soft palate every few thrusts. He rubbed Verne’s balls and massaged his half-blown knot, giving as much as he could until it became too intense. He whined, and Verne let him up for air, guiding him to lay his cheek against his thigh while Verne took over with stroking himself off.

“God, you’re pretty,” he husked as he jacked off hard and fast, fingers slipping over the head in a way that made Lucas want to get his mouth right back on him. But Verne held him down when he tried. “Uh-uh, Honey,” he said. “Jus’ hold still for Alpha. Lemme see that mouth.” He was staring down at Lucas’ face, eyes zeroed in on his wet and swollen lips. He used his free hand to thumb at Lucas’ bottom lip, making him smile. “Open,” Verne commanded, breathing heavier as he got close. Lucas did as ordered and parted his lips, presenting the flat of his tongue. Verne groaned and grabbed his hair again, using it to pull him in closer so he could jack off right in front of his mouth. Verne's cockhead and that one, worrying knuckle kept bumping Lucas' tongue. “Shit, Honey,” he gasped. “Oh, fuckyeah. Keep it open.”

Lucas did, and he watched as Verne’s brow pinched and his jaw slackened in pleasure. Seconds later he came, his knot swelling and spurts of hot cum landing all over Lucas’ tongue and lips and chin. He smiled and let his eyes slip closed. It lasted a long time, Verne’s balls jerking and emptying everything they had onto Lucas’ face. Lucas waited it out with one hand massaging Verne’s knot to milk it all out of him, and the other down between his own legs to try and provide some sort of relief.

When Verne was finished, he exhaled hugely and abandoned his cock to cup Lucas’ face. He smiled fondly down at him, not missing how his mate was already touching himself while he knelt there on the floor. Lucas turned his head and kissed his Alpha’s palm, then rubbed his cum-smeared face against the glands at Verne’s inner wrist, right where his registration tattoo was. He could feel the shudder that went through Verne’s body at such a submissive gesture. Lucas peeked up and smiled at him. “So?” he said. “Did I talk you into it?”

Verne laughed and shook his head, but he also reached down to haul Lucas up from the floor and make him stand in front of him. He started undoing Lucas' fly, intentions clear. “You always do,” he muttered wryly. Then he pulled Lucas’ dick out and paid him back in kind.

Thanks for reading! Until the Snow Melts will be available for purchase on Amazon Fall 2024 - L.T. Swann

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kygerbearr · 5 months

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i feel like i'm just in a constant state of having to hold myself back from expressing how i feel abt them because i dont want to make our ten year long friendship awkward for even a single moment which is STUPID because thats the kind of long term friendship you are probably safe doing but like there's sooo much to fucking unpack with it and too many internalized issues to get over

like. i might be agender but i'm still mainly male presenting, and she's female, and I don't want to take any steps that would A.i) reinforce some masculine stereotypes because A.ii) i don't know if she's comfortable around men so i don't want to be perceived as "a guy" whos putting her in an uncomfortable scenario if it IS uncomfortable, and B) we are BOTH asexual aromantic but I don't want her to doubt that about me (she wouldn't but i'm worrying anyways!) and i've always wanted to be a type of guy she didn't have to feel uncomfortable being around (which I am) but now I'm worried about anything that could ruin that. not only can I not take the first step for her sake but I can't take any steps at all. and she's openly been like "yeah i don't think i could ever make the first move" and in my head there's no way I could possibly take that as any kind of hint directed towards me. because how fucking dare i? am i so pig headed that i'd assume anyone let alone her of all people would even entertain the thought of whatever it is i think could be between us? no, of course not. that would be ridiculous.

these are all thoughts and feelings that come up every few years and every single time I just brush them aside because the risk is too huge. I care too deeply about her losing anything and I know that our friendship is something she appreciates so I can't do ANYTHING that could ever possibly jeopardize that. so they get pushed down again and again. but we're adults now, and the older we both get the more we realize that eventually there is a cutoff (there isn't, but there is a perceived cutoff) and because of that all the stuff we put off our whole lives gets pushed into the spotlight, because time is (perceived to be) running out and we have to address things eventually. which means i will need to address it eventually. i mean, i'm 23 now, she's like 26 or something, how many more years am I going to keep going without conveying how much i care about her and anything that happens to her. anything that's important to her is important to me.

and I worry because it feels like there's no one who cares about her to the degree that she deserves. i'm afraid that it will one day be too late to convey to her the sheer impact her existence has on everyone she knows and that everyone is so much better for it. i wish it was normal to express ideas like that.

and on paper all of that sounds fucking crazy and intense but that's just because i can't express exactly how it is for me. anything i feel towards her is subtle, but it's there, and it matters, and it makes me sad to think that i won't get to express that because she deserves to know, but the situation cannot allow for her to know. it's all an endless cycle

and like. i don't know. i'm hoping that writing it down will help me go back to ignoring it all and get my head back in reality, the reality where i'm aware of what's there and what isn't, and that the only way forward is to continue ignoring your feelings, that it's better not to risk it if it means ensuring no one is made uncomfortable. that even if all of it was true it wouldn't matter because she's in canada and when the fuck are you going to canada? your ass is staying in the desert bro get real

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karlheinz-sama · 2 years

Note

✍ - writing style

✿ - laugh

ask game

Of course, he’s one of those ambidextrous prats, he spent his childhood imitating his sister’s handwriting or whoever handwriting he found interesting and merged them together.

However, this means he learnt how to imitate other people quite easily, sometimes he instigate little feuds by sending out letters that were written by him, he likes large looping letters starting his sentences, then tiny letters written in cursive following it, finishing it with a flamboyant wing or slant to the letters, taking up space on the white space, forever immortalising his thoughts and words, over and over again leisurely signing.

Although he has completely different handwriting when he writes for himself, his journals and medical notices are a jumble of quick strokes, conjoined in a cursive that is never cohesive. Rows upon rows written, with messy scribbles, half crossed out words, stars to extend a sentence from 3 pages ago, his capital letters forgotten as he just keeps writing on the thin pages of the leather-bound journal.

Karl is an enigma there really is no way to describe how perfected, poised, and planned each move of his is. When he’s talking to someone particularly lovely, he flutters his lashes, looking down at them with hooded eyes as lips part as if stuck on a sentence then it breaks into a charming deep chuckle as he shakes his head at you strands of his hair floating around his angelic updo as he tilts his head now grinning in a boyish way his dimples on shows under the chandeliers.

There is the political laugh, as warlords taunt and heckle one another under pretences of nobleness. Usually, he doesn’t care for much choosing to observe but occasionally the atmosphere changes their ignorant child-like squabbling falls silent as the temperature of the room increases, their collars feeling too tight; as Karl leans onto the table his eyes crinkled into crescents a harsh laugh leaves his mouth and he stares down the table asking if they would like to actually attend to the matter of hand instead of acting like squealing pigs.

There's the laugh he let out when his first son was born that sounded like bells as he wrapped an arm around his wife, letting out the fondest of sighs, or the gasp that left him when his youngest finally walked from his mother to him and grasped his finger, breaking it with his sheer strength and he let out a giggle that developed into a full blown chuckle, grabbing his son and lifting him high in the air as his uncontrollable glee shone spinning him around, the pain in his finger a welcome feeling.

#karlheinz sakamaki #diabolik lovers #diahell #asks #iricathel

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the-firebird69 · 1 year

Text

Watch "10cc - I'm Not In Love" on YouTube

youtube

No this creep cant exist yeah he does he's one of the worst of you idiots but this is what your like, granted a lot of you don't do this kind of thing but you think stupid s*** like this. He killed his girlfriend and left to stay in the wall we shot her in the head and it's a breeze went all over and he covered with a painting after he wiped it off and she's still alive but without her brain she has a robotic brain that's what this fool is singing. Now I want him dead and ASAP and it's Tommy f

Hera

What a disgusting swine. I'm putting the hit on him, and he's been shooting at me in the past just a few years ago so we're going to shoot at him the same injuries until he's out

Zues

I hear my man and I love him and he's going to take care of this

Hera

It's nothing personal against you too it was an argument I had with a woman and she was too pushy and insisted that she told people so I took care of the issue and now she's obedient and I'm saying I'll make him obedient and he says thank you for saying something stupid like that and I don't understand it he says I will shortly so what's going on like this I sort of know the bath and I threatened it and it get hit and pretty soon I'll be out like he says probably should be that's as sick as it gets

Tommy f

Yeh your an animal and a dimented one. Women like to tell people if they found someone but you my friend are a dead pig because you abuse it your toy with them and then you kill them to have them do what you want and your new friend of mine and you never were you trying to attack me I'm going to kill you by hand just for the sheer pleasure of it

Zues

I noticed something you do you hate me he says who gives a s*** you don't have any feelings at all you remove them a long time ago you're just a homo I do get something a lot of people are calling me that you're nothing special tommy f all these cloners remove their heart too they just trash moving in the wind waiting to be ignited I sort of understand something it's kind of an attitude problem. It says I'm a pubescent f** and a w**** you're getting rid of my own people all the time and not feeling anywhere I just got no room for someone was just a piece of s*** I do follow something it's probably true but I don't want to put up with it anymore now it says he's hitting at all the people who are supposed to do stuff and I can watch him die he might fill the room up in the house up with heads so I can wake up encased with them says hes had this teams do that plenty of times. I did something too this man is so full of hatred for us he says no it's for you Tommy f and for people who demand themselves on purpose further than what they already are to try and do stuff and you have dead anyways faster it ain't worth it for humanity to keep people like you around and I'm starting to figure out something let's try to fight with him I'm just going to finish it he says why don't I try and eat my way out of the heads of my own men to escape now I don't want to be there I just want me to him and he says he says move go away you're just a stupid s*** routine and be happy to blow the smitherines... I sort of see something it's not entertained by a stupid shows watching a shoot each other here and there sitting here threatening him. He also says it's no lesson that we ever learned surround someone with heads they wake up and start screaming and need to be put down almost immediately so I'm starting to see something it's a distance and it's given it out plenty of times I don't believe him and I don't know what the hell's going on

Tommy

Won't save you lol ignorance ok Tommy f

Hera really I said it Zues

Now I see something you said I'm not going to do that yet to you but then I have to back off and I'm saying it's a retard that killed and it says you have to be s******* me. Yeah this is not a nice guy it's not something to bring home and tell your friends use your bud it's been acting that way, and he says he makes weapons that kill people not entertain people events other things but give me a break. So I know it's stupid and he says he has thousands of things he does to people to try and shut them the f****** and the idiots are chirping like little cable is 24/7 around him sitting there wiping your forces out taking everything you have and it won't shut the f****** I sort of get something we started a fight with him in a war with him and we're going to lose everything including Stone chips and he says thank you I forgot to put this out there

Tommy f

They are hardening and we mean some others and not just Trump the limestone that is in a similar area where the bridge is going it's not at the river it's one about 300 miles away when 200 and 1 350 mi away and all of them are kind of a different areas and they're all 200 miles plus away from the bridge and none of them are near the lay down area and they're hard to get down to test it and they're trying different methods below ground several of them say the results are stunning all of them say we got the method from Tommy f

Hera Zues I was saying this part Hera

We approved this message and tell me if you're a fruitcake we do millions of things like that and he's only got a few thousand because we've been doing to people like you for a long time and boy are you a slow piece of s*** and you people around it and forgotten who and what we are maybe you should tell people tell me if back off this is what they do for a living it's like those egotarians that you try to say you are on occasion in movies and it just doesn't come out right and it doesn't fit you and can't hold it it also old school and I have demons do stuff really it's sad what's going on here nobody cares what happens to themselves

Olympus

#Youtube

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taeyongtime · 2 years

Text

when the shadow meets the light

genre: hogwarts!au | fantasy | fluff | romance

featuring: hufflepuff!taeyong x slytherin!reader

word count: 15,703 words

a/n: a hogwarts!au collab with the awesome @chipsandwaffles! ofc any collab idea we do would be dotae lol

↳ 🚨: one tiny physical fight where punches are thrown and teeth may be broken, sprinkles of profanity

It is no surprise that the first thing you hear stepping into Hogwarts is a question asking if you were Kim Doyoung’s sister.

Soon after the Sorting Hat places you with the tables of emerald green robes, upperclassmen and students your year flock to your seat next to your brother, who simply offers a smug nod as he begins a spiel of how the family had expected nothing less (old-money purebloods such as yourselves were a shoo-in for the Slytherin House, no doubt about it). Chimes of agreement follow, an occasional joke on how your parents would have reacted if you had been sorted into Gryffindor or Hufflepuff garnering a gasp of shock from the crowd.

Imagining if you had been sorted into Hufflepuff brings about a budding headache and you politely ask for them to give you space to eat, your stomach famished from the long train ride and the sheer conviction to not let go of your purse strings to purchase snacks from the cart that rolled down the aisle every hour or so. Luckily they oblige, and your brother sighs as you dig in, piling your plate high with potatoes, meats—basically a little bit of everything you can reach within arm’s distance.

“You’re going to become a pig if you continue to eat at this rate.”

“Oh, shut up and eat your own food already.”

Doyoung scoffs and picks apart his bread, tossing bit by bit into his mouth. “I hope you won’t speak to any of the Professors here in that tone.”

“Please stop nagging me when I’m eating. It’s annoying.”

A dirty look sent your way, he adds a final word of putting some vegetables into your diet before leaving to find a different seat where someone would listen rather than provide a rebuttal to his every sentence. Naturally, you ignore his nagging and reach for another portion of potatoes, gravy dribbling down like a volcano had just erupted all over your plate. More meat, more biscuits, you eat until your stomach is at its limit, threatening to implode at everything you had just ingested.

Pushing your chair out, you search the sea of heads for your brother but fail to spot the lanky second year who was all the rage for the Slytherin house. Not wanting to look at all this food any longer and certainly not having the energy to sample any of the decadent desserts, you ask your neighbor on the right for directions to the Slytherin common room, heading out to find the entrance yourself without waiting for everyone else.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lady?”

Turning around, you meet the eyes of the headmaster, his hands clasped together as he waits for your answer.

“I… I think I ate too much,” you begin slowly, calculating each word. “I wanted to look for the way to the Hospital Wing.”

“The Hospital Wing will be to your right. Madam Pomfrey will have something ready for you by the time you get there.”

“T-Thank you… Sir.”

“Next time, find someone to accompany you,” he adds with a knowing smile, “Especially when you have yet to discover the way to the Slytherin Common Room.”

Spooked, you hurry towards the Hospital Wing and endure another bout of nagging from Doyoung when he comes running after hearing from an upperclassman that you had gone to see the school nurse after the feast.

—

Year One is over before you know it, and you find yourself back on campus grounds again once August ends, following your brother off the Hogwarts Express and into the Great Hall to be seated for the welcoming ceremony and accompanying feast. Once you find a spot along the green tables for Slytherin House, your brother slides in on your right and another quickly fills in the left, the dimpled smile offered your way a sight for sore eyes.

“How was your summer, Y/N?”

“Bo-ring,” you reply in kind, rolling your eyes as your legs kick underneath the table. “You should’ve brought me with you to France, Jaehyun.”

“Next time,” the second year says with a chuckle. “I don’t think you would appreciate the beauty that is Quidditch when you never showed up to any of my games last year.”

“It’s a pointless sport,” you refute. “Chasing a little golden ball in the air while risking getting your teeth knocked out by Beaters? No thanks.”

“You just haven’t seen a good game yet.”

“Shh!” Your brother’s sharp voice hisses in your ear. “The Sorting is about to begin!”

A hush falls over the table as the Sorting Ceremony begins. Just last year you were one of those children waiting in line to be sorted, the feeling of anxiety at your sorting still as palpable as ever as you watch each sortee be divided into one of the four Houses at Hogwarts. A few enter the ranks of emerald, but most make their way to the rich scarlet and gold of Gryffindor or warm honey of Hufflepuff, two of the most popular houses across the campus compared to your very own.

“Really, you’re so yappy whenever you’re with Jaehyun.”

“Okay, Doyoung, go find somewhere else to eat if you find me annoying.”

“I never said that.” Against your protests, he scoops some peas onto your plate along with some carrots. “Eat some vegetables, you need it.”

You immediately push the vegetables onto Jaehyun’s plate once Doyoung turns his head the other way, reaching for two slices of corned beef and a breadstick to fill the empty space next to the mountain of potatoes and gravy. Jaehyun finishes his plate before you and you split half of your breadstick, keeping the left half while handing over the right.

“Thanks.”

“Did you not eat anything on the train?” you ask incredulously, amazed at his second full plate when you barely made a dent in yours.

“I did earlier, but I’m starving now. Haven’t had a bite since they were sold out of chocolate frogs.”

“Pig.”

He oinks in return and you laugh, catching a glance from your brother and ignoring it once his attention is again captured by someone else calling his name. You were used to it by now, the wonder boy that is Doyoung being the pride of Slytherin House since he first set foot onto Hogwarts. It was the same pretty much everywhere–someone asking for Doyoung, wanting him to do this, do that, praising him for whatever genius accomplishment he pulled off this time.

You loved your brother, but sometimes you wished people would ask about you too rather than shove you under his shadow all the time.

Going to bed early after dismissal from the Great Hall, the next morning you return to the routine of classes, meals, homework, studying for exams, more homework, and so forth. It is still something that needed time to process after each leisurely summer, the never-ending cycling of academia that left little room for free time when there was so much to do. Not one to socialize much and not at all interested in going to see Jaehyun at his Quidditch games, you choose to spend most of your time in the library when you didn’t need to be in class, the peace and quiet comforting when you wanted to be alone (which was all the time).

Today, you find yourself not in the mood for Potions on such a fine sunny Tuesday afternoon, thus you make your way to the library once you finish lunch, courteously greeting the librarian before scurrying off to your favorite spot by the windows. Madam Pince was stern to all students entering the library, but your frequent appearance last year and diligence in following library rules made you more tolerable than most in her book. Hence, the blind eye cast when classes are going on is a gift you never take for granted.

Laying your bag and other things onto the table, you head over to the Care of Magical Creatures section and pull a few volumes off the shelves. Two hours easily fly by as people begin to trickle in, your eyes scanning the pages of information on fairies, elves, and other creatures of the like. Currently not enrolled in a Care of Magical Creatures class, you ponder on the thought of taking it as an elective next year as you return the books you had just finished reading in exchange for new ones.

After making sure everything is placed in the correct alphabetical order, your fingertips graze along the spine of each book, eyes locking in on a volume regarding dragons when another set of hands reaches for it at the same time. The physical contact catches both you and him by surprise, neither saying a word until you break the silence as you glare at the black-and-gold robed Hufflepuff who wanted the same book as you.

“Let go, I got it first.”

“I… Go ahead.” He gestures for you to take the book and you do so, letting out a huff of indignation at the audacity after. Mumbling an apology again, he reaches for a book on the upper shelf and you roll your eyes before turning tail to return to your table. Waiting until your Potions class was over, you pack up your things and head to the librarian’s desk, only to be stopped in the process of checking out the book on dragons you had successfully taken (stolen) off the shelves.

“The gentleman behind you had put in a request to reserve this book.”

Your eyes meet the Hufflepuff who you’d bumped heads with, a hesitant smile etched across his lips as he points at the book in your hands.

“I wanted to tell Madam Pince I found it on the shelf, but then you took it, so…”

“Fine.” You hand over the book gruffly and overlook the glare in Madam Pince’s eyes for your ‘rough treatment’ of school property. “Take it.”

“Have you finished reading it? If not—”

“Take it already.”

You flinch at the feeling of his fingers against yours and quickly pull your hand away, running out of the library without speaking another word. Tossing the encounter with the Hufflepuff out the window, you make your way back to the Slythern Common Room, where a certain Jung Jaehyun bounces up from his seat on one of the leather sofas the moment he sees you enter.

“You missed Potions today, Y/N.”

“Can I see your notes later?”

He nods without skipping a beat, grabbing your hand and pulling you after him. “Only if you come with me to watch one of my Quidditch games.”

“What,” you exclaim, “No, I don’t—”

“One game. That’s all I ask in exchange for my notes.”

“Ugh, fine!” Forgoing the resistance, you let him drag you out and towards the stadium, where the stands were already divided to parades of yellow and green respectively. Not sure where to go since Jaehyun was a Beater on the Slytherin team, you inch your way through the lines of already-filled seats when you part ways. Everywhere was full with people you didn’t recognize until you see Haechan, one of the first years you knew through Doyoung. Your best friend should have at least saved you a seat if he was going to drag you to watch his game, the nerve.

“Is this spot taken?”

He shakes his head and you sit, accepting the offered pair of binoculars when the game begins. You recognize your brother’s voice over the speakers narrating the events of the game and all you see are broomsticks flying left and right. Up, down, and back again while balls of every shape wiz by threatening to knock unsuspecting players off their brooms. Cheers and boos simultaneously sounding out across the stadium, the whole ordeal is chaotic and you roll your eyes at how people found this entertaining and worth the time.

“Here,” you begin, handing back Haechan’s binoculars. “I’m going to go back to—”

“The Snitch! Lee Taeyong has just spotted the Golden Snitch!”

A hush falls over the entire crowd and you snatch back the binoculars, intrigued by the sudden overcast of silence. Through the lenses, you spot a lean figure picking up speed while chasing what looked to be a small golden ball. Recognizing him as the Hufflepuff from the library, you watch him zoom around the Slytherin team, ducking just in time to avoid a Bludger to the head. He reaches his arm forward and seals the Golden Snitch in his grasp, spinning to a loop-de-loop and throwing a fist in the air triumphantly with the Snitch fluttering its wings in defeat.

“And that’s the end of the game! Hufflepuff wins, 150 points to 40!”

“That’s it?” you exclaim. “End game after he catches that stupid ball?”

“Y/N, the Snitch is worth 150 points,” Haechan deadpans. “It’s the fastest and hardest ball to see and catch out of everything that goes flying around. We’d be here all day if the game doesn’t end after someone catches it.”

“Okay, I get that. But he caught that thing in like… just 20 minutes. Aren’t games usually longer than that?”

“Taeyong’s the best Quidditch Seeker at Hogwarts in all of the teams! No one’s been able to take the Quidditch Cup from Hufflepuff since he joined his first year.”

Impressed by the statistics, you aim your binoculars down at the grounds where both teams had landed and were getting ready to change out of their robes. Spotting the Hufflepuff Seeker immediately, your heart warms at seeing the wide grin on his face, his teammates huddling around him to lift him up in the air to celebrate another win under their belt.

“Hey, can I get my binoculars back now?”

Snapping out of your trance, you hand over the lenses back to Haechan. Who would’ve thought the soft-spoken boy from the library was capable of such a stellar performance at a sport you always thought was stupid?

As the crowds begin to disperse, you push your way out of the stands again, hopeful of catching the Hufflepuff Seeker before his team leaves for the locker rooms. However, the one who greets you at the base of the steps is one of emerald green and not honey yellow.

“Did… Did you see me?” Jaehyun pants, wiping a gloved hand over his sweaty forehead.

“No,” you say pointedly. “Our team sucks compared to Hufflepuff’s.”

Your friend covers your mouth with the same sweaty gloved hand just in time to avoid the inquisitive gaze of the Slytherin captain. Squirming, you elbow his stomach and he winces, finally letting go after telling his teammates he’ll catch up soon.

“You did not just touch my face with your sweaty glove.”

“Look, I know you hate Quidditch, but maybe keep that to yourself and not say stuff like that in front of those who love it?”

“…Maybe I would like it if you guys played better. Look at how well the badgers did today.”

“Please,” Jaehyun laughs, clutching his broomstick. “They have Taeyong!”

—

The beginning of third year is spent buttering up to one of the upperclassmen on the Slytherin Quidditch team to learn more about your growing crush on a certain Hufflepuff Seeker, and you find yourself dismayed to discover that he was a year older than your brother. It would be hard to find a chance to talk to him when the chance to share classes wasn’t possible at all.

Yuta had figured it out after two minutes of answering your questions about Taeyong but promised to keep it a secret after you made a deal to buy him a pack of Chocolate Frogs each time you went to Honeydukes, which was growing to be your favorite place to go to in Hogsmeade after obtaining the needed signature on the permission slip given at the start of fall term. Clearly not in your favor when you went to Honeydukes at least once every weekend, but the empty coins in your purse were worth it if it meant you got to know just a little bit more about Taeyong despite only speaking with him once.

Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one who had fallen into the group of people who had “Taeyong Syndrome” (as labeled by your brother), but you certainly spoke nothing of it when his fans spanned across campus, not wanting to be teased when you were in Slytherin of all houses.

“Professor Slughorn sent me an invitation to a get-together tonight,” Jaehyun says to you one morning at the breakfast table. “Want to come?”

“No thanks,” you grimace. “I’m not interested in your little Slug Club parties.”

“But Doyoung said—”

“Especially not if Doyoung’s going to be there.” All appetite lost, you forgo finishing your plate of eggs and head off to Transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall was already waiting to begin her lecture on Animagi. However, your mind plagued at the thought of the stupid Slug party, you barely hear anything presented regarding the transformative nature of the professor’s feline Animagus and end up with two days of detention for not paying attention when the professor had asked you to identify her Animagus—the simplest question in the book to get wrong.

After your day finishes without any more trouble, you use the last hour before your meeting with caretaker Filch to take a walk around the lake. The fresh air into your lungs is a refresher after the stressful morning, and you find yourself recharged and ready to meet your fate of cleaning out the school bathrooms when you spot the immobile figure lying by the water. Panic settles in when you identify Taeyong, and you get no response after poking his shoulder or even his face.

Is he dead??

Ruling out the possibility of drowning when you take note of his dry yellow robes, you reach for your wand. One wave of the nine-inch vine wood wand and he is levitating in the air.

“Please be okay,” you murmur as you pick up your pace, eventually breaking into a run with the Hufflepuff Seeker floating above you. “Please…”

It feels like forever until you see the corridor leading to the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey is equally as surprised when she sees you together with the still-levitating Hufflepuff.

“What is going on here, young lady?”

You set him down and the nurse holds him steady while you nearly fall to the floor yourself.

“How is he, Madam Pomfrey?”

Noting that you had avoided the question, she rolls her eyes and you follow her into the Hospital Wing.

“He’s not… dead, is he?”

“Not dead, just overworked,” the nurse says briskly after getting him settled on an empty bed, “He’ll recover after getting food and a good night’s sleep.”

Relieved, you nod in thanks and she conjures another chair for you to sit at with her wand. It lands with a soft plop next to his pillow, and you collapse onto the seat from the strain of keeping your wand steady while running to get Taeyong here.

“T-Thank goodness you’re not dead.”

You don’t know how long you remained by his side, but you feel a shift in movement and find yourself slumped on the bed. Somehow you had fallen asleep and it is just your luck that Taeyong had caught you.

“Do I…” He waits for you to scoot back and frowns. “Do I know you?”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, “I saw you by the lake but you weren’t moving, so I thought you were dead and brought you to the nurse. But it turns out you’re not dead, just overworked and…”

Cut off by the warm laughter, your ears grow warm and he smiles once you look back at him.

“Thank you. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Is your schedule packed this year?” you ask bravely. “Madam Pomfrey said you’re overworked.”

“Ah, a bit? With classes, Quidditch, and prefect duties, it’s more than what I usually do.”

“Why don’t you just drop what you can’t handle? Life is short and should be spent in ease, not in stress.

“Sorry,” you mutter at realizing you were still speaking to an upperclassman, “That’s just my take on it.”

“That… That makes a lot of sense,” he muses. “I’ll think about it.”

“…Okay.”

“I’d better go,” you speak up after a moment of awkward silence. “Glad to see you’re okay.”

Without waiting for his reply, you turn tail and leave the Hospital Wing, holding a hand over your erratically beating heart after the brief conversation.

◇

[one week later, Hufflepuff Common Room]

“Catch.”

Taeyong looks up from his seat in the Hufflepuff Common Room, hand outstretched to catch the Chocolate Frog thrown at him just in time.

“Yuta, did you add something to this?”

“I did not,” the Slytherin insists, “How can you think of your good friend who has come all this way to visit you like that?”

“Where did you get a set of Hufflepuff robes?”

“The same source who provided me with the frogs gave me these robes to wear to sneak in here.”

“Should I be concerned in any way about a Slytherin having access to Hufflepuff robes?”

Yuta smirks. “Are you going to report me, Mister Prefect?”

“I quit already. It was too much to handle alongside classes and being promoted to Quidditch Captain.”

Taeyong slowly unwraps the Chocolate Frog in his hands, setting aside the card before biting into the sweet chocolate.

“This is good.”

“I’ll tell her you liked her chocolate frog then.”

“Who?”

“My source aka Doyoung’s sister,” Yuta answers. “I believe she was the one who brought you to the hospital wing last week.”

His mouth drops at remembering the Slytherin girl who had mistaken him for dead when he had fallen asleep by the lake.

“That girl is Doyoung’s sister?”

“And an avid fan of yours, from what I hear. Again, don’t ask me how she got these robes.”

The conversation at the hospital wing returns to his mind, a smile begins to form on Taeyong’s lips as he finishes the rest of the frog.

“I see.”

—

You try not to think about Taeyong after returning home at the end of your third year at Hogwarts, but the letter under your bedroom door one summer afternoon takes you completely by surprise when you glance at the returning address.

“Doyoung, where is this?”

Your brother turns around, the family owl letting out a hoot at seeing you.

“What, can’t you see I’m feeding Oliver?”

You shove the envelope into his face. “I don’t know where this is.”

He closes the owl’s cage and scans the envelope, head snapping back up with widened eyes.

“How does Lee Taeyong have our address?”

“I don’t know,” you retort pointedly. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

Grumbling, Doyoung takes the letter and squints. You can already tell from the frown on his face that he didn’t know where the returning address was, which further solidified your hypothesis that this was probably sent from a non-magical city.

“Let me ask my Muggle friend,” he says eventually, handing the letter back. “She’ll probably know.”

“You’re friends with a Mudblood?”

“Rival,” Doyoung corrects, “Did I say friend?”

“Yes, you did.”

Doyoung scowls and you finally break open the seal on the letter, ignoring the shifty eyes looking over your shoulder.

“He wants to meet me at the Three Broomsticks,” you say aloud, “Me. At the Three Broomsticks.”

“What?” Your brother yanks the letter out of your hands. “Why would he want to meet you?”

“Why can’t he?” you retort with a huff. “Move, I’m borrowing Oliver to send him my reply.”

◇

True to his word, Taeyong is easy to spot at the Three Broomsticks via his honey-yellow scarf. Two Butterbeers sit before his table by the window, no doubt growing colder the longer you stand by the door.

“Move out of the way, girl.”

One shove and you nearly trip if not for your quick reflexes. Wand hand ready, you start to make a move to take out your wand but retract when Taeyong stands up upon hearing the commotion.

“Over here!”

You head over to the window. Whoever pushed you was lucky to escape this time unscathed.

“You got my letter?” he starts, gesturing for you to sit.

“Sure did,” you quip, laughing awkwardly at the sudden question. “Did you get my reply?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

You grab the mug of Butterbeer and take a swig. The sweetness does little to calm the jitters in your stomach, but it’s good enough to allow yourself a moment to grab hold of your scattered attention.

“Have you been to Honeydukes?”

A hiccup leaves your throat before you can respond, and you proceed to take an even bigger sip out of embarrassment. Choking noises from drinking too fast echo across the pub and Taeyong quickly hands over a napkin for the bubbles and beer that dribble down your mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you wheeze, “Perfectly fine.

“Let’s go to Honeydukes.”

You hurriedly finish the rest of the Butterbeer without waiting for his answer. After drinks are done, you take the lead to the candy shop, unable to keep the excitement out of your skipping into your favorite spot in all Hogsmeade.

“The truffles are my favorite,” you tell him when you reach the truffles display. “Double chocolate, lemon sorbet, even the cherry-coffee swirl.”

“I prefer the chocolate frogs,” Taeyong admits, “They also have cards to collect.”

Throwing him the stinkeye, he offers a wide grin in response and you roll your eyes. Against your better judgment, you request the staff to add two chocolate frogs to your order of truffles to bring home. A thank-you gift for the Butterbeers, you supposed. Nothing more than common courtesy in returning the favor.

“For me?” he frowns upon receiving the frogs once the two of you left the shop. “Why?”

“As thanks for the Butterbeer,” you explain. “Take them.”

He takes the chocolate frogs and opens them immediately. Both frogs jump out and disappear around the corner, but his interest is clearly all for the cards at the very bottom.

“Look,” Taeyong gushes excitedly, picking up one of the cards. “It’s Salazar Slytherin!”

“How ironic.”

He pauses, worried that he had said something offensive until you point out the green accents on your robes. A smile tugs at his lips and he hands you the card.

“I don’t collect,” you scoff. “It’s pointless.”

“Well, you can always start now.” He tucks the card into your pocket and you shiver slightly at the sudden touch.

“Cold?”

“No,” you murmur, surprised he had noticed. “I’m going to burn this card when I get home.”

He appears to not have heard the last part, offering his free hand as he then proceeds to take you to the Menagerie to look at the animals. The remainder of the afternoon is spent hopping from shop to shop, a full-fledged Hogsmeade exploration in the company of a boy you had never expected to befriend. Zonko’s, Ollivanders, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, and even the Shrieking Shack (the outskirts of it, at least), then coming full circle back at the Three Broomsticks.

“That was fun.” You shiver outside the pub, rubbing your hands together in the growing cold. “I didn’t know there was so much to see besides Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks.”

“You should say something if you’re cold next time,” Taeyong says teasingly, handing you the bag containing the truffles from Honeydukes while draping his yellow scarf around your shoulders. “I didn’t bring an extra pair of gloves so you’ll have to make do.”

“Taeyong, wait–”

“Keep it.” He loops the scarf two more times and smiles. “You can return my scarf when we go back to Hogwarts in September.”

—

“Why do you have a Hufflepuff scarf in your trunk?”

You quickly bury the scarf deeper within your clothes and the school books required for fourth year. Taeyong had never asked for it back since he gave it to you when he first asked you out, insisting that you keep it even during all the subsequent times you met up with him at Hogsmeade over the summer. You had made it a point that you had your own scarf to wear, but the Hufflepuff vehemently refused whenever you brought the garment out to try and return it to its rightful owner.

Keep it. I’ll get it back from you when we see each other in September.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grumble, checking that you packed everything else you needed for the school year. “Why would I have a Hufflepuff scarf of all things?”

“I saw it,” Doyoung says pointedly, “Yellow and black when our scarves are silver and emerald.”

“Your eyes are malfunctioning,” you spit back, closing the trunk and sitting on it to prevent him from opening it to check. “Have them examined before you start accusing me of being one of the badgers.”

Wand hand at the ready, he extracts his wand from his pocket and you do the same with your own. The knock on the door breaks the staring session and both your wands fall to the ground. Whipping your head around, you meet the stern gaze of your mother and dip your head low.

“Get your luggage and other problems sorted out before we leave,” she snaps, “You two are siblings, for goodness sake!”

The door closes, and you turn to look at Doyoung. He returns the gaze and stoops down to pick up his wand, tossing you yours.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “I didn’t mean to point my wand at you.”

You grunt an apology as well. “Likewise.”

“Are you done packing?”

“Yeah.”

Doyoung helps you lift your trunk down and you follow him down the stairs to the parlor, where your mother was already waiting by the fireplace. By her feet are his own luggage and Oliver’s cage–the owl emitting a loud hoot when he spots you behind your brother.

“Ready?”

You and your brother nod, your mother flourishing her wand to lift the trunks into the air.

“Into the carriage, you two.”

The ride to King’s Cross station is mostly silent. Your mother is equally as quiet as she stares out the window, Doyoung fiddling with a book in hand while you wiggle a finger near Oliver. After a few minutes, the owl falls asleep during the ride and you find yourself bored again.

Hope we get there soon.

The carriage eventually rolls to a stop and your brother gently nudges your mother awake from the ride.

“Mother, we’ve arrived at King’s Cross.”

She nods, and you follow Doyoung out, your parental figure the last to exit the self-driving carriage. Once inside the station, you try to ignore the stares at the owl and follow your mother and brother to Platforms 9 and 10, where the Hogwarts Express waits behind the magical barrier that hid it from view of non-magical folk.

“In you go,” your mother gestures at the dividing barrier between 9 and 10. “Take care of your sister, Doyoung.”

“I will, Mother.”

“And listen to your brother,” she says to you especially, “He means well.”

“I’ll try, Mother.”

Before Doyoung can protest, you make a run for it and soon find yourself before the steam engine waiting by the tracks for students to board. You wave to some classmates in your house and Doyoung greets you with a pinch of your cheeks, fully aware of how much you hated it when he did that.

“Let’s find an empty compartment before all the upperclassmen get the best ones.”

Strolling down the aisle, Doyoung finds an empty compartment near the back of the train and enters, placing his trunk at the top and helping you with yours. Poking your head out the window, you see many more students still standing by the platform. Some give final hugs to family members while others wait for friends or significant others to board together. The feeling is both warm yet tugging at your heartstrings once you realize your parents or friends had never sent you off at the platform itself. Ever since you were old enough to attend, it was always Doyoung who accompanied you on the train ride to Hogwarts (Jaehyun usually sat with you halfway or met with you once you arrived at the castle). Not once did your mother step past her spot on the other side to send you and your brother off.

Hell, sometimes it felt like Doyoung acted more like a parent role than that of a sibling itself.

You stick your head back into the train after hearing the train whistle blow, and the steam engine slowly starts to move along the tracks. Eyeing the book in Doyoung’s hands, you peek at the top page and frown.

“Since when have you been taking Muggle Studies?”

“I’m starting it this year.”

“Why?” A smirk stretches across your lips. “Mother and Father don’t know, do they?”

“Of course not!” He lowers his voice in fear of being overheard. “Remember when I told you about my rival? I need to know more about the world of Muggles if I’m going to get top marks this year.”

“Your rival is a Mudblood,” you sneer, “How can she be any smarter than you?”

“She’s a Muggle,” he corrects, “But smarter than everyone else in our year.”

You roll your eyes at his so-called “rivalry” with this Mudblood girl. He had clearly referred to her as a “friend”, a term completely unexpected coming from a Slytherin pureblood. Imagine if your parents found out when they had preached the importance of bloodline in the wizarding world since birth, constantly berating you and your brother whenever either of you got close to those not of pure blood. Not that you didn’t listen to them, but oftentimes you discovered it was those of mixed blood who never put up a pretentious front or took to heart your bloodline whenever the topic came up. Bloodline was only important to those who chose to make it the center of their universes.

Take your brother, for example. Doyoung was everything a pureblood Slytherin could be, yet he had a friend who wasn’t even half, but was of pure Mud–Muggle descent.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” your brother says, getting up from his seat. “I just saw one of my Ravenclaw friends near the front.”

“Byebye.”

The compartment door opens and your brother rushes out, leaving you alone on the train. Thirty minutes pass and there is still no sign of your brother, who had probably found his friend and was now in deep talk of their new classes or other nerd things. Maybe he even found his Mud…Muggle rival/friend and was chatting her up about kicking her ass in the new school year.

“I thought I saw you in here.”

“What?” you snap, turning your head and flinching when you see Taeyong by the compartment door and not your brother.

“Is this seat taken? I couldn’t find space anywhere else.”

“N-No.” You move Oliver closer to your end and gesture at the available space. “Feel free.”

Nodding in thanks, Taeyong places his trunk overhead and takes the seat across from you. You find it hard to look him in the eye, and Oliver lets out a trill of hoots at your cowardice.

Shut up, you silly bird.

“Is that your owl?” Taeyong asks excitedly. “He’s so big!”

“His name’s Oliver,” you answer, scowling at the proud bird that shuffles in his cage at the mention of his name. “Doyoung and I share him.”

“I have a dog at home,” the Hufflepuff says wistfully, “School rules don’t allow for dogs though, so I only see her when I go home during the holidays or over the summer.”

He makes clicking noises at Oliver and you chuckle. Oliver is equally surprised and flattered by all the attention from this stranger, hopping closer until he is within reach to nibble on Taeyong’s finger.

“Your schedule’s not too full this year, I hope?” you pipe up, the memory of bringing him to the Hospital Wing returning to your mind. “I don’t want to see you collapse from exhaustion by the lake again.”

“No,” he laughs, “That year was tough only because I had just been promoted to Quidditch Captain.”

“Hufflepuff is going to win the House Cup again, I just know it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he winks, “Maybe this year Slytherin has a chance.”

“Tough luck when your house has won in the past six years and counting.”

Another knock on the compartment door and this time it is the witch who pushes the snack trolley down the Hogwarts Express. Eyes glowing at the sight of the pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes, you buy a little of each and (to no one’s surprise) Taeyong asks for two chocolate frogs. You watch as he opens each box, his disappointment evident at the sight of the cards nestled underneath each frog.

“Didn’t get the card you wanted?” you ask in between chews of your cauldron cake.

“No.” He holds up two cards: Celestina Warbeck and Morgan le Fay. “I’m missing Helga Hufflepuff for my set of Hogwarts founders and I’ve never pulled her in all my frogs.”

The thought of being unable to pull Hufflepuff brings about an eruption of giggles from your end.

“Sorry,” you snort at the sight of the pout on his face, “I find it hilarious that you’ve been failing miserably to pull a card of your own house.”

Taeyong tucks the two cards away into his robes and sighs. “Maybe it’s not meant to be.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll get the Hufflepuff card one day.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, letting out another sigh before turning back to Oliver. “At least I also have Oliver to comfort me.”

You bite back a retort of buying him all the chocolate frogs on the snack trolley if he wanted, opting to finish your cauldron cake while he plays with your owl. Once finished, you brush off any lingering crumbs on your fingers and find Taeyong fast asleep, head leaning against Oliver’s cage while the owl remains oddly still as to not wake his new friend.

Remembering his scarf, you quietly get up and pull down your trunk. Opening the lid, you dig up the scarf from underneath your clothes and wrap it around his neck, careful to not pull too tightly. Against your better judgment, you also take out one of your heavier jackets and put it on him like a blanket, thankful that he hadn’t stirred from the extra layers.

Sleep tight, Taeyong.

—

“Is it true? The rumors about you and Taeyong?”

You nearly spit out the chunk of toast still in your mouth, making sure to swallow before opening your mouth to speak. Classes had barely started on the first day of fourth year and you were already somehow entangled in rumors with none other than Taeyong?

“Where did you hear that?”

“I overheard it from Yuta,” Jaehyun responds, tucking another butter roll into the pocket of his green robes. “And Doyoung keeps giving glares towards the Hufflepuff table.”

Locating your brother’s fixated gaze towards the sea of golden yellow, you roll your eyes and sink low in your seat.

“He’s being dumb.”

“Then it’s true?”

“Well…” You turn your head towards the Hufflepuff table. It was difficult to pick out Taeyong among all the yellow. “We’re friends, for starters.”

“Friends,” he echoes, “A Slytherin, friends with a Hufflepuff?”

“Why not?”

Jaehyun finishes the remainder of his breakfast, picking his words carefully.

“I’d be on guard for people who might react negatively to this rumor if I were you.”

“Why?”

The answer arrives midway into your Care of Magical Creatures class, where you find yourself cornered while observing the nifflers running through the maze set up by Professor Kettleburn for this week’s introduction to the creatures currently looking for the shiny things buried underground. The trio of Gryffindor girls hovering above your crouched figure is anything but welcoming, judging by the look of disapproval in their eyes and the crossed arms of displeasure.

“Are you the girl who’s dating Taeyong?”

You push yourself up from the ground and give them a good look up-and-down. “What’s it to you if I am?”

“Someone like you doesn’t deserve him.”

The words taking a larger chunk of you than expected, you don’t realize you already had your wand out before noticing the three recoiled figures.

“What goes on between me and him is our business,” you begin slowly, twirling the nine-inch vine wood between your fingers. “If we’re dating, congratulations you hit the nail right on the head. If we’re not, then boohoo. There was never a rule that stated Slytherins and Hufflepuffs couldn’t be friends.”

“You snake, this isn’t—”

Three gold coins fly out from your robes and tuck themselves into the pockets of the three Gryffindor girls, catching the nifflers’ attention. Screams and sounds of ripping fabric echo in the air as the nifflers abandon the maze and make a run to dig for the shiny gold coins in the girls’ robes, the distraction enough for you to wiggle out of sight and run towards the lake. Finding solace in the quietly rippling waves and sunlit waters, you flop down onto the grass—face first—and relish in the silence.

Apparently being rumored to be dating the Lee Taeyong was a bigger deal than you thought.

It is not until you feel a poke on your backside that you roll over and sit up, wand pointed at the red-and-gold robed newcomer in defense.

“I thought you were dead,” says the Gryffindor girl who had interrupted the peace and quiet. “Just checking.”

You don’t recognize her as part of the trio that had been picking on you in class, scooting away from her only to find that you still weren’t alone after moving away.

“What do you want?”

“Do you know a Slytherin named Kim Doyoung? Tall guy, fifth year, kind of looks like a rabbit?”

A snort leaves your mouth. “I don’t know if he looks like a rabbit but I know him, yeah.”

“Can you give this to him?”

You let out a low whistle at the opened parcel in her hands, the folded cashmere sweater untouched with its tag intact. What was your brother doing, buying this Gryffindor such an expensive gift?

“So? Can you help me give this back to him?”

“Nope. Your gift, your problem.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “How hard can it be to drop this off to an upperclassman in your own House?”

“I won’t hand myself over to be nagged for an eternity on invading my brother’s privacy, no thank you.”

“You… Doyoung actually wasn’t kidding when he said he has a sister?”

You give a mock bow, not at all surprised that she knew your name when she was so well-acquainted with your brother.

“Forget it. I’ll give this back to that idiot myself. So immature, declaring me his rival since we first met at our Sorting but giving me a cashmere sweater like we’re friends or something.”

The puzzle pieces click at that moment. Rival. Gryffindor. Friends.

“Wait,” you speak up, extending a hand. This girl–without a doubt–had to be the Muggle that your brother was so obsessed over. “I’ll help you return it.”

She pauses, hands tight on the package. “You sure?”

“I’ll help you return the stupid sweater,” you repeat, beckoning for her to take it out. “Give it.”

The Gryffindor takes the sweater out again and you take it.

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to break your wand if you tell anyone I helped a Gryffindor today.”

A chuckle leaves her mouth, nonchalant at the threat. “Try me. It won’t be the first wand that’s been broken in my hands.”

You take a step back. Whatever your brother saw in this Muggle…

“Also, aren’t you the girl rumored to be dating Taeyong?”

The mention of the rumor brings a heat to your cheeks and she laughs at your reaction.

“Don’t worry, we’ve only heard good things about you in our friend group,” she muses, “He’s always talking about how much he enjoys spending time with you.

“If he likes you, then we approve too.”

You turn away from her, giddiness sparkling in your eyes at the thought of Taeyong potentially liking you more than just a friend.

◇

The Slytherin Common Room is practically empty once you return to the dungeons, but you find comfort at seeing Jaehyun’s furrowed brows before the chess set on one of the tables. He looks up after feeling the tap on his shoulder and breaks into a relieved smile, standing up and looking you over like an anxious mother figure.

“Where have you been?? Your brother has been looking all over for you.”

“Screw him.” Determination rushing through your veins, you grab Jaehyun’s face and look straight into his eyes.

“I need you, my best friend, to help me with two things.”

“W-What?” he mumbles through squished cheeks.

“First, I need you to get me a spot on the Slytherin Quidditch team.” You let go of his face. “Didn’t you say our Seeker is graduating this year? Should be time they start looking for someone to take over.”

“Yeah, but we can’t just–”

“Second, I need you to teach me how to fly on a broomstick.”

The look of disbelief on Jaehyun’s face is palpable to the point that you can practically pluck the shock straight off his dimples.

“Jaehyun,” you begin, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you get all of that?”

He nods. “In essence, yes, but–”

“I’ll find a way to get myself a broomstick and familiar with the rules of the game,” you cut him off, “You just need to put in a few good words for me and be my coach before the first match of the season.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in Quidditch? You’ve always hated it.”

The image of Taeyong diving after the Snitch and being carried by his team returns to your memory. You realize that was what you liked about him–how he was so passionate about what he loved and the extent of what he would do to be perfect at it. The respect, compassion, ultimately it boiled down to how he never treated others like they were underneath him when he was so popular. In your case, he never saw you as anyone else but you, and it never hit you how there could exist someone who chose to bypass all the other labels thrown your way.

Not as a Slytherin, not as Doyoung’s sister, but as you.

And he had told his friends how much he liked you.

“I,” you start slowly, courage affirming your decision to follow through with your plan. “I want… I want to at least try playing Quidditch when this is something the person I like loves to do.”

—

Quidditch is a stupid game. Stupid rules, stupid balls, and stupid teamwork with everyone else on the Slytherin team.

Jaehyun had done his best to convince the Slytherin Quidditch Captain to let you on the team, but it didn’t get anywhere when you were required to participate in tryouts just like everyone else. Even though you weren’t a stranger to Yuta (who you had practically bribed to get information on Taeyong during second year), as Captain, he apparently had to “play by the rules” anyway.

Stupid. Absolutely stupid.

But somehow, you had managed to outplay all the hopefuls who had attended the Seeker tryouts, avoiding the pointed Bludgers zooming around to knock players off their brooms and soaring high through the sky to find the tiny Golden Snitch. Maybe it was your determination to make it on the team, or maybe it was your brain remembering what you’ve seen Taeyong do from all the times you’ve sneaked into the Hufflepuff stands to watch his matches. Either way, no one dared to dispute your joining of the Quidditch team once the Captain gave his approval.

Perhaps your brother’s thoughts on it all was the biggest protest, Doyoung wringing his hands in disbelief at having to report your play as Quidditch Commentator once the season begins.

“I can’t believe you actually made it on our Quidditch team.”

You turn to Jaehyun with a scowl, punching him on the shoulder. He winces at the impact, still in awe that you of all people proved decent as a Seeker for the team.

“I mean,” Jaehyun says carefully, moving one of his white pawn pieces on the chessboard. “I didn’t expect you to catch on so quickly during our flying sessions.”

“It means you’re a good coach,” you correct him, maneuvering the black bishop next. “Be happy you managed to turn me, a Quidditch hater, into a passable Seeker.” Two moves later, your bishop eats Jaehyun’s pawn, defeat evident on his face when he pushes himself up from the table.

“Where are you going, my good friend?”

“To bed,” Jaehyun grumbles, “I’m not in the mood to play you anymore.”

Chuckling at how competitive he can be, you put away the chess pieces and bump into none other than Yuta on your way to the Girls’ Dormitory.

“Got a minute?”

“Yes?” you begin cautiously, “Already kicking me off the team?”

Yuta grins, patting you on the shoulder. “Why would I do that when you earned the position?

“Follow me, there’s someone who wants to congratulate you on becoming Slytherin’s newest Seeker.”

Beckoning, he leads the way to the Boys’ Dormitory. Once you enter, you have the surprise of your life when you see the splash of honey yellow among the green four-poster beds.

“Taeyong???”

The Hufflepuff offers a wave from his seat on what was likely Yuta’s bed.

“Hi.”

“H-How did you get in? Did Yuta give you our password??”

“So what if I did?” Yuta drawls, rolling his eyes. “Taeyong’s my friend.”

Taeyong smiles sheepishly and you cross your fingers behind your back to not say anything stupid on behalf of your growing crush on him.

“Yuta said you’re the new Slytherin Seeker,” Taeyong pipes up, standing up and offering a hand. “Congratulations.”

You slowly take his hand and feel your face grow warm at the touch.

“I-I tried. Somehow.”

“Go easy on her,” Yuta smirks, “She’s nowhere near your level, Mister Hotshot.”

“I’ll beat you fair and square!” you blurt out, shuffling back immediately. “I don’t need any handouts from you!”

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and he exchanges a glance with Yuta. Laughter begins to echo across the dormitory and you abruptly turn so they couldn’t see the look of embarrassment at saying something so brash to one of the best Quidditch players in all of Hogwarts.

When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

“Okay, party’s over,” Yuta snaps, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Y/N, walk Taeyong out and get some sleep. We have an early team meeting tomorrow.”

“Team meeting?” you grimace. “What for?”

“For next week’s match,” he says pointedly. “First match of the season.”

Suppressing a groan, you nod and gesture for Taeyong to follow. No words are exchanged during the walk to the Common Room and eventually the dungeon entrance, but you suspect Taeyong had done his best to drag it out from your observation of his slow pacing and frequent stops to study the paintings on the walls of notable Slytherins from previous years.

“This is it,” you say once you open the dungeon door. “Good night.”

“When can I see you again?”

It is direct, the feeling of your heart beating faster at hearing his question.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble. “I’m a Slytherin and this is the Slytherin Dungeon.”

“I mean, is there a chance for me to see you outside of Slytherin House?”

You openly stare at him, confused until he sighs and rests a hand on your head. Ruffling your hair, he steps through and you’re left in a daze at what just happened.

Close the door, girl. There’s a draft coming in.

Upon hearing the request from the painting directly above the door, you quickly close it and make your way back to the Girls’ Dormitory. Flourishing a hand at your roommate, you land face-first onto your bed, immobile even when she informs you of the darkened room once the candlelight is blown out. You finally sit up after what felt like fifteen minutes of silent thinking, brain buzzed yet heavy at the thought of waking early for your first official meeting with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

“I need a snack.”

You make your way down to the Common Room, but there are two people blocking the way to reach the kitchens. One being your brother, the other being his alleged rival. You’re too far to hear what they’re saying, but you watch in shock as the Gryffindor flicks her wand, an entire cake flying straight at Doyoung and hitting him square in the face.

What in the world?

He takes a handful of cake and throws it back at her. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed they were a couple based on the laughter and smiles on their faces. What happens next is the biggest shocker when he proceeds to hold her hand, laughing while she sheds tears and joins him in the laughter.

“... Never mind, I’m going back to bed.”

—

You had to admit, Quidditch had its perks despite being a stupid sport.

Introduced as the newest addition to the Slytherin Quidditch team during Slytherin’s first match of the season against Ravenclaw, the reception had been reluctant at first. However, your brother’s role as Quidditch announcer may have also played a part to change your peers’ perception of you via his unbiased reports on your flying and quickness in spotting the Golden Snitch. Not the fastest flier on the team, but you made up for it with sheer determination, unwilling to let slip the prize when you spotted it first. Sometimes you had help from Jaehyun to swing a Bludger at the opposing team’s unsuspecting Seeker. Other times, a few of the Chasers would “conveniently” gather together in a blockade when passing the Quaffle to give you room to freely fly towards the Snitch without needing to worry about having the other Seeker on your tail. Dirty or not, it was a strategy that paid off when Slytherin reportedly won more matches than it usually did this Quidditch season.

Of course, Hufflepuff was still the superior House team, your eyes following Taeyong more than anything else during matches against the honey badgers.

But as exciting as Quidditch may be, academia still took precedence at the school, hence the diminished hubbub at Slytherin’s unprecedented improvement when midterms rolled around. There were still some rumors floating around regarding you and Taeyong’s relationship status, but even that had to take a step aside as teachers started to assign hefty assignments before the winter holidays. The competitive streak resurfaced when you made a bet with Jaehyun that you’d do better than him on your assignments to motivate yourself to stay focused, your best friend just as eager to kick your ass where it hurts the most. Not that you had anything to prove when Doyoung already proved he had the superior nerd genes, but you find yourself holed up in your brother’s room during the following weeks nonetheless, his space one where you actually find yourself concentrating rather than thinking about other non-academic matters. If people were going to shove you under his shadow, you might as well show them you weren’t his sister without reason.

“Last one to turn in,” you sigh as you and Jaehyun run towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. “Whoever ends up getting a higher score buys the other person butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks for one whole week.”

“Deal.”

Remembering the Dark Arts was easy (signature of those in Slytherin), but the point of the class was to learn methods of defending against them, not executing said dark magic. It was always one of the classes you had the most difficulty in, not as easy of a cakewalk as it was for those in the other three Houses.

Not the last Slytherin to leave but certainly not the first, you sigh loudly in relief after the doors shut behind you, much to the amusement of the Hufflepuff standing outside with a chocolate frog in his hands.

“What are you doing here, Taeyong?”

He moves from his spot against the wall and shrugs. “Just wanted to see what you were doing since I have a free period.

“How was class?”

“Horrible,” you groan, “I made a bet with Jaehyun that I’ll score better than him on my assignments, but that’s a story for another day.”

“You can do it,” Taeyong chuckles, a warm sound in the empty corridor. “You’re so smart.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

He smiles and offers you the chocolate frog.

“Try your luck?”

“Are you still trying to get Helga Hufflepuff?” you snort, opening the box and peeking at the card underneath. “It’s Albus Dumbledore, if you don’t already have him.”

“Keep it,” he grumbles cutely, lips already forming into a pout. “I’ve got at least six copies of his card at home.”

“If you say so.”

You tuck the card away into your robes and ask him about his own assignments. The sixth year starts to ramble about History of Magic being his worst subject, Binns a poor excuse of a professor when he had already died alongside the many years of history taught in his class. It was endearing to hear Taeyong talk about his subjects, the distance between you and him drawn just a little bit closer during the walk down the halls and eventually the library.

“Keep me company while I work on my Potions essay with my friends?”

“Sure.”

You recognize Doyoung’s rival as the only girl in the group sitting by the Care of Magical Creatures section and slide into the empty seat next to her immediately, not wanting to be teased for sitting next to the open seat next to Taeyong when he was supposed to be working on his essay.

“Have you met all of them?” Taeyong asks quietly to not raise the attention of Madam Pince.

“I recognize Yuta and the Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor,” you whisper in turn, giving terse nods to each. They were all older–at least sixth year students and above–but you weren’t going to let that stop you from joining them. “Not the Ravenclaw though.”

“That’s Taeil, he’s Head Boy. He met Johnny in Muggle Studies and they’ve been friends since.”

“Are you done turning in your winter assignments before the break?” Taeil asks.

You nod. “Just finished.”

“That’s great. We’re not done until next week.”

“You’re in Slytherin, right?” Johnny speaks up. “Do you have any insider tips on what Slughorn prefers for his potion analysis essays?”

A loud cough from the front desk intercepts your answer, and you keep your voice down as you give your reply.

“I’m not sure, but I can ask Jaehyun since he’s in the stupid Slug Club.”

“Oh, I can tell you,” Taeyong chimes, handing over a notebook with circles and lists of potion names. “Professor Slughorn told me these ones are what will get more points since the ingredients are rare and the methodology for brewing is rather complex.”

“You’re in the Slug Club?” you exclaim in surprise. “Since when?”

Another loud cough serves as the second warning and you cover your mouth with two hands.

“Since my…fourth year?” Taeyong whispers. “I helped Madam Pomfrey make the Pepperup Potion once to treat all the colds that were going around during exam season and caught Professor Slughorn’s attention that way.”

“He’s the only non-Slytherin member of that Slug Club, too,” Yuta adds. “Right?”

Taeyong chooses not to answer, instead flipping open his copy of Advanced Potion-Making to continue writing his essay. The others snicker at Yuta being ignored and soon follow suit, each diverging to their own notes and textbooks. Occasionally one of them raises a question for clarification, but they remains in their own bubbles while sharing the same table in the quiet library. You glance over at your neighbor, who is heavily engrossed in looking up charms in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5–one version above your own textbook. It would be rude to interrupt when you were done with your own assignments, so you rummage through your bag and find a spare piece of parchment and your quill, cursing at the lack of an inkpot in your intent to at least do some doodling to pass the time.

“Here.”

You look over and frown at the silver object before your eyes. “What is this?”

“A pen,” your neighbor says in kind. “There’s already ink inside, so you don’t have to dip your quill every time.”

“Is this a Mud—” You catch yourself and rephrase to the more appropriate term for a witch with no magical background. “Muggle thing?”

“Sure is, and quite convenient too. Click the top and try it out.”

You do as she says and nearly jump back at the tip that pops out. Hoping none of them had seen how startled you were at the sight of this “pen”, you fidget a little in your seat before putting it to contact with the parchment. Your eyes widen in wonder at the black ink that follows your every sketch and line. No need to dip quills when the ink never seemed to stop. Once you fill the entire page, you find one of your notebooks and flip open to the first empty page, inked doodles of flowers, shapes, and anything you can imagine making their way onto the blank canvas that was their new home.

“That’s Taeyong, right?”

Yuta leans over and points his quill at a small figure at the top left corner of your page. “No one here has such big eyes other than him.”

Taeyong looks up and you quickly pull your notebook back.

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s definitely Taeyong,” comes the female voice on your left. “There’s even dog ears on his head along with those big puppy eyes the girls scream they’d die for.”

Not wanting to show him your scribbles, you shove your things on the table into your bag in one sweep, ignoring Madam Pince’s sharp shrills to not run in the library as you rush out in embarrassment. So what if you had unconsciously made a doodle of Taeyong in your notebook? It wasn’t like he was anything more than a friend.

To be fair, he didn’t even–

“Watch where you’re–Oh. It’s the snake.”

In your hurried escape from the library, you bump into a group of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw girls on your way out (the one in the middle you remember from your Care of Magical Creatures class). She sneers as she looks over the scattered textbooks and notes on the floor, the other girls eyeing you with scorn when you stoop down to pick up your things.

Ignoring them, you pick up all the scattered items and swing the bag over your shoulder, only to be blocked from every corner.

“Can you please move aside?”

The Gryffindor girl who was clearly the leader of the group extends a hand and shoves you against the wall. You wince at the pain that stings at your shoulders and hold your gaze, too prideful to show that you were scared at the sheer number of them surrounding you. The Ravenclaws don’t say anything, but you can see the disdain in their eyes when the topic of Taeyong comes up.

“We saw you sitting with Taeyong and his friends,” one of the Ravenclaw girls begins, “Are you really not his girlfriend?”

“For the last time, I’m not,” you insist, doing your best to not let them hear the fear and tremor in your voice. “I… At most we’re friends.”

“Friends?” the Gryffindor echoes. Harsh cackles emit from the circle, and passing students turn their heads to look at the commotion happening right outside the library. The girls lower their volume afterwards, but it doesn’t take away the malice in the upcoming threat when the Gryffindor leans in next to your ear, jabbing a finger at your chest.

“You can be friends with Taeyong over my dead body, you little bitch.”

Gritting your teeth, your hands curl into fists and swing. The punch lands squarely on her jaw, knocking her back and bruising her lower lip. A hush falls over the group; they look you over in renewed fear, no longer as daunting as they were before.

“Why you…!!!” She gets up and swipes a hand over her mouth. Blood is smeared across her knuckles, the punch carrying more force in it than you had expected. “You’re going to get expelled for punching an upperclassman!”

“You provoked me first!” you yell, rolling up your sleeves and taking out your wand. “I never did anything to your stupid face until you decided to–”

A hand rests on your shoulders before you can use a curse on her, and you look up just as Yuta eases your wand out of your hand. From behind him, Taeyong pushes his way into the growing crowd. Fury burns in his usually warm gaze and he heads straight for the Gryffindor who had started the entire fight.

“Did you provoke her?” he asks the upperclassman quietly.

She tries to make an excuse, but you can tell Taeyong isn’t buying it from the look of pure anger on his face.

“What makes you think it’s okay to pick on her, huh? Is it because she’s in Slytherin? You’re going to automatically label all Slytherins as bad people?”

It is silent to the point that you can hear a pin drop.

“Try her again and you’ll have to get through me first,” Taeyong hisses, pointing his wand right between her eyes. “I don’t care who you think you are; you don’t treat any of my friends like that, you hear?”

A pang of disappointment swirls in your stomach at hearing him call you a friend. To him, you were only a friend–nothing more.

“Get out of my sight,” the Hufflepuff finishes, putting down his wand arm. “I don’t want to see you near here ever again.”

She blubbers an apology and scurries away, her cronies close behind. As Head Boy, Taeil ushers the other students who had witnessed the scene to disperse, Johnny offering a helping hand while Yuta hands you back your wand.

“You caused quite a commotion,” the Slytherin smirks. “Luckily Taeyong decided to check it out.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter, thanking him for returning your wand. “I had everything under control.”

Taeyong turns his head at your comment and you try your best to avoid his gaze.

“Really. I was prepared for them to come at me ever since the rumor started.”

“What rumor?” Taeyong frowns. “The one about us dating?”

You refuse to elaborate and Taeil conveniently eases his way in between you and Taeyong once the corridor is now emptier than it was prior to the fight.

“Y/N, I will have to report this incident to Professor Slughorn and the Headmaster,” the Head Boy informs you. “You may have to serve detention during the winter holidays since this happened so close to the break.”

“I understand.”

“As Head Boy, I will also be deducting 10 points from Slytherin for use of physicality on school grounds against another student.”

You dip your head lower at hearing the loss of points. “Okay.”

Taeyong opens his mouth to dispute the sentence but a hand nudges at his side. Doyoung’s rival/the only girl in the group glares at the Hufflepuff to hold his tongue, shaking her head.

Noting that you and Taeyong needed some time alone, Taeil takes his leave, Johnny bidding goodbye while simultaneously pulling his fellow Gryffindor away. You still avoid looking Taeyong in the eye, neither speaking a word until he is the first to break the silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me people were giving you a hard time because of me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, looking at everywhere else but his face.

“The others already told me everything. Filled me in just before we came to intervene.”

You mumble under your breath to break the Gryffindor girl’s wand, feet picking up in pace only to be pulled back by a strong grip on your wrist.

“I thought we were friends, Y/N. Friends should stand by each other.”

The word ‘friend’ strikes a chord and you pry your fingers out of his grip.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t say we’re just friends when… when I don’t even know if we can still be friends anymore.”

His voice softens to nearly a whisper that you can barely hear. “Why not?”

You bite your lips, hard enough to draw blood. “All the times we met at Hogsmeade this past summer. Your scarf. Even…”

Reaching into your robes, you take out a chocolate frog card and show it to him.

“I’ve always kept the first card you gave me. Salazar Slytherin, a reminder of where my place is at Hogwarts.”

“That’s not why I–”

“Plus,” you interject, voice shaking, “With… With the stupid rumors about us dating, can you honestly tell me what you think of me? Right here, right now?”

“I like you,” Taeyong answers earnestly. “I’ve always liked you.”

“Surely you know that everyone here at Hogwarts doesn’t like that you like me.”

“But I know that I like you. Surely you feel the same way?”

What should have been a heartfelt confession brings only doubt in your mind instead of happiness at having your feelings returned.

“It’s not that simple, Taeyong.”

I don’t want you to be the laughingstock of the school by falling in love with a Slytherin.

“Then explain it to me.” He reaches for your hand again. “I can help you.”

You shuffle backward, turning your back on him. The chocolate frog card slips from your fingers, falling onto the floor face-down.

“Thank you for being my first friend outside of Slytherin, Taeyong.”

—

“You’re really not coming home for the holidays?”

A finger wiggles inquisitively before Oliver and the owl nibbles affectionately at your nail before letting it go to groom himself.

“No,” you tell Doyoung with a smile, “I got detention for punching that Gryffindor outside the library, remember?”

The open frown on Doyoung’s face doesn’t stop him from packing up his own trunk, stuffing in some spare robes and extra books. “I can’t believe you punched an upperclassman on school grounds. Thank goodness you didn’t get expelled.”

“People will hopefully learn to not pick on me ever again after this fiasco,” you joke, crossing your arms proudly. “I’m all bark and bite.”

“What am I supposed to tell Mom and Dad, then?”

“I don’t know, make something up. Remedial classes over the break. Jaehyun’s family invited me to join them in Germany for two weeks—that I know is happening for sure because he told me. Anything works if you’re the one saying it.”

You hover over the candy stash in his drawer and pocket the last two bags of ice mice.

“Come on, help your sister out.”

“I’ll do what I can, but no guarantees. They’re going to find out sooner or later and you know it.”

Doing your best to help him pack up his things, you walk him out towards the carriages waiting to bring students going home to take the Hogwarts Express. After a brief hug and final goodbye wave, you watch as the horseless carriages go, hands pumping in the air at the thought of serving detention over receiving expulsion for your misdemeanor against another student.

“Alright! Time to report to Filch at his office!”

Midway to the caretaker’s office, you receive the surprise of your life when you spot the Headmaster standing outside with Filch’s cat Mrs. Norris.

“Ah, Y/N,” the Headmaster smiles. “Just the person I was looking for.”

You give the Headmaster a low bow. “Good evening, Sir.”

“I have decided you will be serving your detention under my watch instead,” he informs you. “It’s the holidays, after all.”

“I’m not feeling well,” you lie, clutching at your stomach for good measure. “I’ll make a stop at the Hospital Wing first, Sir.”

The sudden growling of your stomach betrays you immediately and you duck your head in shame at hearing the soft chuckle from the headmaster.

“Come. Let’s see if I have any snacks lying around in my office before you start your detention.”

After the gargoyle allows entry into the Headmaster’s tower via password, you walk in slowly and are unable to keep your awe to yourself. The office is larger than you expected, windows covering nearly every inch of wall space alongside the multiple portraits of headmasters and headmistresses who used to run the school. Books of all sorts line the shelves placed across the room, and you take a seat before the long mahogany desk underneath the painting of the current Headmaster.

“It appears this is all I have.”

You politely take the offered chocolate frog and smile grimly at the card tucked inside the chocolate. Of all the cards you could have pulled, it had to be the one that Taeyong sought to collect for the longest time.

“Helga Hufflepuff,” the Headmaster muses, “How fitting.”

“Do you collect Chocolate Frog cards, Professor?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. But I’m sure there is someone out there who would appreciate getting this card to join his growing collection.”

“Yes, Tae… never mind.”

A sudden whoosh by your ear catches you off guard, and the book that flies by lands directly before you, flipping open to a page containing a photograph of Hufflepuff’s Quidditch team.

“In the middle, here.”

You follow the finger pointed directly at the young man in the middle who smiles up at you with a cheery wave.

“He… He looks just like Taeyong.”

“Muggleborn, but one of Hufflepuff’s best Seekers during his time here at Hogwarts.”

“Why… are you showing me this, Professor?”

“Your parents were young once,” the Headmaster begins, flipping through the pages. “They had their own lives as well and look where they are now.”

Your eyes widen at the page containing Slughorn and his prized students aka the Slug Club. Besides Taeyong’s father, your mother’s photographic self stares at you sternly before offering a taut wave after a ten second pause.

“Your mother and his father were both beloved by Professor Slughorn for their excellent aptitude for potion-making. While they were from different Houses and disagreed on many things, they were on good terms with each other until they graduated and went their separate ways.

“You are not your parents or your brother, Y/N. You have your own gift and carry power in making your own decisions.”

“Professor…”

The Headmaster holds up a hand and pauses, nodding before turning towards you.

“It seems I’ve forgotten I have an appointment to attend to with Madam Pince regarding expanding the library.”

You pick up on his cue. “What do you need me to do for my detention, Sir?”

“I seem to have misplaced a few volumes and would like them re-sorted into the correct alphabetical order. Do be careful with what you touch and I will return shortly.”

“That’s it? But Sir–”

Gone before you can say another word, you finish the rest of the chocolate frog and stand up from your chair, curiosity tingling at your fingertips to explore the office before going to reorganize the shelves. Looking to and fro, the first thing you see is the Sorting Hat. Oh, the Sorting Hat, the very device that had declared you a part of Slytherin during your Sorting Ceremony.

Instinctively, you pick it up and place atop your head; the crackling voice sounding in your ears startles you as you listen to the Hat speak.

Ah, if it isn’t the Hufflepuff Slytherin girl.

The combination of the two houses brings a look of confusion to your face. “What do you mean?”

Your brother was an easy one, Slytherin the moment he put me on. You, however, you were tricky.

“Tricky?”

The Hat bends itself over your eyes and continues after a moment’s pause.

Ambition, cunning, cleverness, determination. You have these traits that make you particularly suitable for Slytherin. Yet there were two things that weighed heavily in contrast: loyalty to your own heart and a strong moral code for right versus wrong. Very signature of a Hufflepuff student.

“Do you regret placing me in Slytherin, then?”

Regret? The top of the hat splits open to a hoarse chuckle. I’m just a hat! What I think is nothing compared to how you think about your own House and how you feel about those you value outside of Slytherin.

Spooked by the Sorting Hat’s uncanny perception, you abruptly take it off and place it back on its stand. The paintings on the wall murmur inaudibly as you make a quick job of reorganizing the bookshelves, not wanting to stay too long in such a private space. After twenty minutes, you find yourself done with the books and take your leave from the office, only to bump into the Headmaster again once you reach the entrance to the tower.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I’ve finished my chocolate frog, Professor. And the shelves have been reorganized to the correct order.”

He nods in understanding. “Thank you for your help, Y/N. I’m afraid I must also apologize for not having anything else to offer you besides the chocolate frog.”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you for overseeing my detention and for the conversation tonight. I did not know my mother was friends with Taeyong’s father until you showed me the photograph.”

“Good night, young lady. Please do not hesitate to stop by if you ever find yourself in need of more chocolate frogs.”

—

Your parents had been utterly disappointed at hearing about your detention, but you didn’t take their criticism too deeply to heart once spring term rolled around. Hearing the complaints from your brother about getting nagged for not taking good enough care of you was enough to tickle your fancy after so many years of living under his shadow.

Maybe there was more to it–Doyoung feeling just as much pressure for being your brother.

As schoolwork picks up again, you keep your distance from Taeyong and find it helpful in honing your Quidditch skills while balancing homework assignments. Yuta was especially impressed at your growth in catching the Snitch during practice, even at the speed in which you spotted any Bludgers Jaehyun or the other Beater sent your way and quickness in swerving away to avoid a nasty hit. It looked as if Slytherin was finally able to contest for the Quidditch Cup this year–or at least be fair contenders–next to the longtime champion that was Hufflepuff.

“Nervous you’ll lose to Taeyong?”

You scoff at hearing Yuta’s question. What a thing to ask right before the semi-final match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

He shrugs. “He’s been a mopey mess ever since the winter holidays.”

Clutching your broom, you shake off any excess jitters and turn to your captain with a sad smile.

“It’s better that I keep my distance from him. Someone as popular as Taeyong shouldn’t be hanging out with a bad egg like me.”

The stands come into view, and everyone mounts their brooms to enter the field. You follow your teammates as they kick off and make laps around the stands, dots of yellow and green decorating the audience amid the loud cheers from both Houses. Hufflepuff is next to enter, and your heart sinks at seeing Taeyong (the cheers growing significantly louder when he does his signature loop-de-loop entrance). All players line up in position, and you hover higher than the rest to remain in ample height of viewing the entire stadium.

“Welcome to the semi-final match of this year’s Quidditch season,” Doyoung announces from his Commentator stand. “Winner of this match will advance directly to the finals, where Gryffindor is already waiting for a chance to become this year’s Quidditch Cup Champions!”

His voice magically enhanced to be clearly heard across the stadium via the microphone, you watch as Madam Hooch steps out onto the field to start the game. The lock around the box holding the Quidditch balls is unlocked, all eyes fixed on the released Bludgers and eventually, the Golden Snitch. It flutters around your broom, lingering ever briefly before circling Taeyong and subsequently flying off higher into the sky.

“And the Quaffle is released!” Doyoung hollers once Madam Hooch throws the Quaffle high into the air. “Slytherin wastes no time flying straight for the Quaffle, a direct pass to Captain Nakamoto Yuta for an early goal!”

You manage to make eye contact with Taeyong and he opens his mouth, only to close it just in time to avoid the zooming Bludger that nearly catches the tail end of his broom if not for his quick reflexes. Looking away, you turn your focus back to the match and start circling the field, eyes peeled for any sign of the Golden Snitch.

“Alright there, Y/N?” Jaehyun shouts, arms taut before taking a swing at the approaching Bludger. The ball is punted high and far, hitting one of the Hufflepuff Chasers right in the neck.

“Fine,” you yell back, wincing at the Hufflepuff that takes a straight dive downwards onto the ground. “I think I saw the Snitch on the far left side!”

“I’ll cover you; fly up!”

You do as he recommends, making a beeline up. Veering towards the left, you grin at the speck of gold hovering above one of the Slytherin stands. Just short of landing on the head of one of the Slytherin first years, you accelerate and reach out an arm to grab the Snitch.

Or so you thought. Another hand reaches for the Snitch at the same time and ends up grabbing you instead of the winged ball.

“And it looks like the Hufflepuff Seeker managed to grab hold of Slytherin’s Seeker rather than the Golden Snitch! I’m afraid no points will be awarded for that one, Taeyong!”

“Sorry,” Taeyong shrinks back after letting go of you, “I didn’t mean to grab you.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, soaring even higher after losing sight of the Snitch. “Just leave me alone.”

He does not leave you alone, staying close to your tail the entire way.

“What do you want?” you snap, annoyed at his proximity. The stadium is far from view, only you and him up in the skies. “I’m trying to win here!”

“And you’ve been avoiding me like the plague since winter!”

His outburst catches you off guard. You look away and he flies close enough to the point that you could touch his face with one extended finger if you wanted. Taking a deep breath, you turn back and stare into his earnest eyes. It is now of all the times you’ve been in his company that you notice Taeyong has always looked at you like this–a straightforward gaze that stares straight in rather than glossing over.

“I like you,” he repeats, three words you haven’t heard since last winter outside the library. A smile follows, his eyes softening. “I’ve always liked you and only you.”

“Taeyong…”

“Now that you know how I feel about you, can you tell me how you feel? About me?”

You feel your face grow warm again and you shake your head.

“… You should know by now how I’ve always felt about you.”

“Please. I want to hear you say it.”

You refuse, and he coaxes it out of you with a sudden kiss on the cheek. The gesture takes you by surprise; he stammers an apology and you grab his face with your hands, tired of keeping up the charade to avoid him for his sake.

You have the power to make your own decisions.

“Fine!” you shriek, mouth aching at being unable to suppress the happiness at hearing his second confession. “I like you too, Taeyong! I’ve liked you since I saw you make that winning dive for Hufflepuff during second year!”

The growing grin on his face is contagious, and you find yourself smiling at how lovestruck he looked on his broom.

“... This means you’ll let me win, right? As a celebration for me returning your feelings?”

His eyes harden with a renewed vigor. “Never in a million years.”

Letting go, you blow a raspberry and zoom off, making the gradual descent to spot the Golden Snitch before he does. You’re already going as fast as you can, but Taeyong is faster. The seasoned Hufflepuff Seeker easily overtakes you, shooting a wink before accelerating even more until the stands come back into view.

What comes into view, however, is not the stands, but a Bludger that flies nearly just as fast in his direction. Without thinking, you reach for the extra wand you had nicked from the Headmaster’s Office hidden in your Quidditch robes for any last-minute trickery, yelling out the first thing you can think of to prevent the Bludger from hitting the boy you loved so much.

“Accio Bludger!”

The Bludger pauses right before colliding with Taeyong, instead swerving course to go around him and hit you smack in the forehead from your use of the Summoning Charm. Winded, you fight to keep your eyes open but it is inevitable–the dizziness and gradual slip of your fingers from the broom handle. You feel yourself falling, faster and faster towards the descent that will surely break all the bones in your body from such a height.

“Win… You better…win…”

◇

[from the stands]

No sign of either Seekers is present since they both flew out of range, Doyoung’s attention completely attuned to the moves of the Chasers and defending Keepers to prevent the opposing team from scoring more points. It is quiet, almost too quiet had it not been for the fearful shouts towards the blur dropping from the sky. He squints to get a better look and realizes it is a Quidditch player, standing up from his seat immediately when he sees that it is his sister who is free falling straight for the ground–no broom at all.

“Help!” He gets up, running down the steps with his microphone in hand.

“Someone, help! My sister is falling!”

All attention is turned to the falling Slytherin Seeker. The professors scramble to exit their seats, but before they can do anything to help, there are shouts in the audience towards another figure diving straight for her.

“Look, it’s Taeyong!”

“Taeyong’s making a dive for Slytherin’s Seeker!”

His heart leaping right out of his chest, Doyoung can only watch as the Hufflepuff Seeker accelerates even faster on his broom, arms outstretched and grabbing the falling Slytherin into his embrace. There is no time to regain the grip onto his broomstick, Taeyong rolling into a rough tumble and crashing onto the field from the unchecked speed upon descent.

“Move, move!” Doyoung finally reaches the field and pushes his way through the wall of Hufflepuff and Slytherin players from both teams surrounding the two fallen Seekers. “That’s my sister in there!”

They make way to let him pass and tears pool in Doyoung’s eyes at seeing his unconscious sister. Taeyong stirs, making eye contact with Doyoung and nearly losing his balance as he struggles to stand while holding the passed out Slytherin in his arms.

“H-Hospital,” the Hufflepuff croaks, “Take her…”

“You there,” Doyoung barks, flourishing a hand at the entire Hufflepuff Quidditch team. “Help carry my sister and Taeyong to the Hospital Wing! Now!”

—

“Look! Your sister moved!”

You open your eyes to see Doyoung looming over you, his rival unable to suppress the squeals of relief as she grabs his hands.

“How’re you feeling, squirt?” the Gryffindor asks.

“Uh…”

Your brother moves forward to help you sit up, fixing your blankets and adjusting your pillow while he is at it.

“My head hurts…what happened?”

“You fell,” Doyoung murmurs, unable to look you in the eye. “Straight from the sky like a rocket coming back from space. Thankfully Taeyong…”

Not understanding what weird Muggle invention he had referenced, you perk up at hearing Taeyong’s name.

“Did he win?”

“What?”

“Did Taeyong win?” you repeat, easing out of the cot and into the pair of slippers on the floor. “He caught the Snitch, didn’t he?”

Doyoung and her exchange a look. You ask again, not understanding why they were so silent on the matter.

“Neither of you caught the Snitch,” Doyoung explains, “So the game has been put to an official stalemate. There will be a rematch in two weeks’ time, right before the Easter holidays.”

“How did he not catch it when he’s the best Seeker in the entire school?”

“He decided to catch you instead. It must have been like, at least a fifty-foot dive when he finally crashed onto the ground while holding you in his arms.”

—

The Hospital Wing never caught a break even with visitors, Hufflepuffs and students from other Houses alike all wanting to pay Taeyong a visit since the fateful semi-final Quidditch match against Slytherin. You had no courage to stop by during early hours, hence only making an appearance by sneaking out after midnight to pay him a visit. He was usually asleep by then, but sometimes he would wake occasionally and frown when he didn’t see anyone around despite hearing footsteps and seeing the mountain of chocolate frogs by the nightstand.

Tonight was no different, but this time you freeze at seeing him hold up a hand when you step through the double-doors. The handful of chocolate frog boxes in your arms lands on the floor with a loud clatter and he hurriedly moves to help pick them up.

“No, wait,” you stammer, watching helplessly as he grabs everything off the floor, “I didn’t…”

“I knew it was you,” he smiles, returning to his bed and patting at the empty space next to him. “No one else brings so many chocolate frogs at once.”

You hesitate, but decide to sit anyway. He is still as cheerful as ever tearing open each chocolate frog, one after another just to see the card underneath. Once he’s gone through all of them, you reach into your pockets and pull out the Hufflepuff card you had received from the Headmaster’s office, placing it in his hands.

“For you.”

Taeyong’s mouth drops at seeing Helga Hufflepuff’s card, a wide grin on his face while gingerly extracting it from your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you add, “I didn’t know you would give up on winning the Quidditch match just to save me.”

He shakes his head, looking up at you with his familiar soft gaze.

“I couldn’t let you slip away so quickly when I just found out you like me too.”

After placing the card into the drawer, he reaches behind his pillow and hands over a box from Honeydukes.

“I meant to give this to you in the morning, but now is a good time too.”

You pull off the ribbon and open the box to find twelve truffles sitting in a bed of pink parchment paper.

“You remembered.”

“Mhm. Next time I’ll get you the 48-piece set so you’ll have one of every flavor.”

Clutching the box, you hit him lightly and he laughs.

“You do know we have a rematch to settle right before the Easter holidays, right?”

“Yeah, and?” Taeyong smirks. “I’m going to win, and then you’ll come home with me so I can introduce you to my parents.”

His cheekiness reaching no bounds, you silence him with a kiss and he smiles, pulling you into his embrace.

I’m going to win so I can bring you home to meet my parents, Taeyong. Imagine the shock on their faces when they find out their pureblood daughter is dating someone with “murky” blood.

—

How can you let the Slytherin off the hook easily, Headmaster?

The old man puts down the steaming cup of earl grey from his chair in the office, twinkling eyes gazing fondly at the photobook in front of him.

“I did tell her to stop by if she ever needed any chocolate frogs.”

The first painting to his left lets out a snort, unconvinced. That certainly does not mean she can steal from here. And a wand, of all things!

Flipping the page to the same photo of the Slytherin’s mother and the Hufflepuff’s father, the Headmaster watches the woman in the photo offer a wave before tilting her head slightly upwards to glance at her left. The action unseen by the man in the photo, she shifts closer towards the student on her immediate left and subtly turns her head completely towards him before regaining her composure, staring again once more towards the front where the camera is before the shutter went off to capture the photo.

Headmaster? I suggest taking sixty points from Slytherin for stealing from your office and nearly killing that Hufflepuff Seeker with her rash antics.

“That won’t be necessary.” The photobook closes itself shut, making its way back to its rightful spot on its shelf—curtains pulled on nostalgia for a previous pair of students that could have been but never were. “Why must we punish the shadow when all it did was do everything it could to embrace the light? He ultimately decided to risk his own life to save her, did he not?”

Headmaster!

“Fifty points will be awarded to Slytherin and Hufflepuff for achieving what their predecessors could not. End of story.”

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #taeyong scenarios #taeyong imagines #taeyong fanfic #hogwarts!au #it has been three long years

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kitacco · 3 years

Text

clouds.

pairing: fem!reader, gojo satoru.

genre: angst, smut.

summary: ignorance is a bliss.

cw: age gap, manipulation, violence, cursing.

wordcout: 2.7k.

! part two !

you and gojo met a long time ago, through mutual friends.

one of your friends was dating one of gojo’s friends. sheer coincidence, you thought.

you two would meet often, along your friends. for some reason, you and gojo happened to be intimate friends of each friend in common, so you’d often find yourself sitting by gojo’s side while the couple chatted and kissed lovingly. gojo didn’t talk to you at first, neither did you. he was older than you, much more, and you were too intimidated by his appearance. you’d rather stay in silence then talk to him and make yourself look like a fool.

but gojo wasn’t like that - at first.

that’s how the both of you started to look forward to these little getting-togethers, asking your friends for when the four of you would hang out again.

it’s actually pretty funny to think how the both of you became friends, even your friend joked about it.

one night, at your friend’s place, the two of you got a little overwhelmed with the lovey-dovey atmosphere your friends were putting up on the couch. gojo had left a few minutes before you, leaving you behind. you couldn’t take it, and decided to leave for a while too, entering the kitchen without noticing gojo sitting on the floor mindlessly. of course, his long legs and your silly feet met together, making you fall on the floor right next to him.

you hated when gojo would bring it up everytime people asked how the two of you became so close, telling them how red you looked.

your friends dated for three years, until, like every relationship, things started to get tough, until they broke up. you were devastated, but the two of them assured you that they’d get along for the safety of you and gojo’s friendship.

you didn’t mind it, gojo either. thinking the friendship would start to dissipate, the two of you continued to meet, this time just the two of you. gojo would invite you to his place, and you’d invite him to yours. like any other friendship, you guys would talk, sometimes drink, sometimes fall asleep on the couch while watching a movie, sometimes drive around, anything. you believed your friendship with gojo was pretty strong, despite the difference in age, he became really important to you, and so did you to gojo.

so then, when did things got crude?

you knew the answer, and so did gojo. but the two of you had erased the chapter long ago.

one night, you and gojo found each other in a rather large group of mutuals friends. he hadn’t told you he was coming, and neither did you. nothing was going on, the two of you had met just yesterday, but since each of your friends (at the moment exes) had invited you and gojo, you thought it’d be impossible to meet. yet there the two of you were.

gojo was bewildered when he saw you coming inside his friend’s place, your best friend by your side with a smile on her face. the two of you were quick to catch on what was happening. your friends informed you not too later, telling you the two had started talking again and were gonna try to make it work one last time.

you blamed it on the atmosphere, gojo on the alcohol. either way, the two of you locked eyes, following each other up the stairs.

the first time, the two of you agreed it was a spur of the moment. gojo hadn’t gone out in a while and neither had you, it was understandable.

the second time, the both of you thought the same thing; you were just in need of some action every once in a while.

but then, why the both of you met a third time?

“what do you think?”

you accepted his offer without hesitation. you trusted gojo, and you thought it’d be a good idea to help each other, after all, you were friends, right?

that’s how everything started.

gojo would come knocking on your door like any other day, the two of you would chat, maybe cook something, watch a movie, and then gojo would start kissing your neck, and you’d run your hands through his hair.

you thought you were so lucky. gojo was a handsome man, and you knew if he wanted, he could get in the bed of any other women he wished, yet he picked you.

maybe that’s why, through the time, your eyes started to see gojo in a different light.

you couldn’t be blamed, gojo did too. he was gentle, loving, making sure you had a good time, you almost believed he was starting to feel the way you did.

until gojo finally looked into your eyes.

he ignored it, since, there was no way you felt that way about him, right? it was the unwritten rules in this game the two of you were playing. it’s been years, why’d you see him like that at this point?

gojo ignored as much as he could everytime he rocked his hips into you, but in no time, it was impossible to avoid your eyes, watching him lovingly as your tongue dangled out of your mouth in pleasure.

the most smart decision probably would’ve been talking about it. it was simple, gojo just had to tell you he didn’t feel the same way, you were a special friend to him, but he didn’t see you in such eyes.

but gojo started to bottle those thoughts up. he’s met many women in his life, and he didn’t want things to end like that with you, he didn’t want to lose you too.

that’s what he told himself - even though, what gojo didn’t notice, was that instead of your company, he started to enjoy more your body.

gojo had a good time with you, you were sweet, you would take anything he offered you. everything gojo wanted to try you accepted it with puppy eyes, eyes that started to unsettle gojo.

because, who in their right mind would allow be touched under the table with all your friends around?

and who would allow a man like him call you names and slam you against a wall the second he entered your house?

you did, and gojo started to dislike it.

you were so naive, so utterly in love with gojo, and enamored at the idea of him loving you the way you dreamed he would, you started to accept more and more.

gojo would fuck you with your head hanging out the side of the bed, your body swinging and the blood rushing to your head, disrupting the pleasure you concentrated on feeling, because you should be enjoying whatever gojo did with your body.

you knew you didn’t, though. you knew you hated when gojo would ask you to suck him on the bathroom while your friends chatted outside, and you hated when he fucked you in a public bathroom in the middle of your friends wedding. but how could you complain? gojo loved you.

you should’ve stopped him the moment you stopped feeling the high he did. the moment the pleasure he was feeling didn’t reach you, but you didn’t. not because you thought gojo loved you, but because you loved him.

you brought it up one time, as gojo stripped you of your clothes, the blood rushing through your ears by the way he yanked your shirt over your head. “i think you’re being too rough.”

gojo chuckled, tilting his head as he planted a kiss on your mouth, assuring you’d eventually enjoy it.

you believed him, even the mornings after when your legs and arms were sour, and you were incapable of opening your mouth too wide. gojo would only laugh.

gojo hated it, though.

gojo hated the way you would continue to stick around like a lost puppy. he couldn’t bring himself to stop the situation, but why weren’t you stopping him?

after that comment, you never said anything else, and gojo knew you wanted to, he hoped you wanted to. because he knew you hated the things he was making you do. you weren’t that kind of person, hell, you hated that kind of attention. gojo knew the only reason you agreed to fuck without compromises the first time was because you wanted him to be happy. gojo knew that, and hated you for that.

why were you acting like a bunny? you weren’t like that. you weren’t docile like guinea pig, nervous like a deer, no, you weren’t like that. you were funny and straightforward, you never let anyone step over you, but then, why were you letting gojo step all over you like that?

gojo knew the answer at the bottom of his heart, but he, like many other things, ignored it. he wasn’t responsible for you, you were a grown adult and you could take care of yourself. if you wanted to, you’d easily get up and end everything. but why weren’t you.

things between you and gojo started to change. soon becoming a year, this dynamic continued between the two of you, yet, the connection was nonexistent. he wouldn’t call, nor text you, and the only time you two would meet was when he was feeling horny. he would come, fuck you, and leave right after finishing. at first, he’d tell you goodnight, he’d tell you to have a good day or he’d greet you before entering your place. but after a month, he would only come inside your place, fuck, and leave right after. you tried to get him to talk, trying to grab onto him everytime he finished, and gojo quickly picked on your behaviour.

you soon realized that probably the reason gojo continued to stick around you wasn’t because he considered you a friend, but because you were easy to control; you were his source of entertainment.

who would put up with gojo satoru? you laughed to yourself, would anybody allow to be treated the way gojo does to you? maybe that’s also the reason why he’s constantly knocking at your door.

once gojo noticed how much you tried to get him to stay a few minutes by your side, he decided the only way to stop you was fucking you dumb enough you’d pass out.

gojo knew you didn’t deserve to be treated like this. gojo knew he was a dickhead, taking advantage of the friendship you had built over the years. the thought of another man treating you like this was revolting. the thought of another man abusing your trust, betraying you like that, hell, he’d probably go after that guy and kill him with his bare hands if he could. yet there he was, growling onto your ear and violently pounding into you.

the fact you allowed this to happen, permitted him take you whenever and wherever, managed to hunt him. everytime he heard you panting next to his body, incapable of bringing yourself to your feet, gojo turned his back to you. and he wishes, he fervently wishes the image of your face in pain, silently begging for him to stop, could knock some sense into his head.

news flash: it doesn't.

everytime he notices your eyes close tight and your fingers fidgeting, gojo regains energy, taking in the noises coming out of your mind and reading you like an open book, only inciting this sick flame inside of home. the sick idea that if he treats you like this, you will walk out.

gojo folds your body and he knows you can’t take it, praying you will scream and push him away. you should. but then why are you putting up with this?

gojo doesn’t understand, that’s why you try to think.

but gojo knows what he’s doing is wrong. gojo damn well knows, and that hope slowly turns into loathing, because, are you stupid? can’t you take the hint?

this could be easily solved if he spoke to you. but gojo had long gotten bored of any form of communicating, he hated weak people.

gojo hated you and that sick love you felt for him.

gojo watched your friends reactions to your bruised neck. it’s not like he cared. he wished you did though. but you assured them you were alright every single team.

“your friends are fucking dumb,” he scowled in your ear while your body continued to shake, his hips yanking you forward and forward where the top of your head continously hit the headboard.

gojo started hating your friends, he would always remind you that. he hated them because everytime he grabbed your neck with all his force, they still wouldn’t budge.

how long were you gonna put up with this?

“there he is,” gojo hears coming from the door as heavy steps approach him.

he doesn’t react fast enough, and a hand lands on his cheek with such force he’s genuinely dumbfounded.

“babe!” his friend yells, watching his girlfriend take a step back, gojo’s cheek swelling at the hit.

“what is wrong with you?” she screams again, completely ignoring his friend.

gojo has a bad feeling, but he doesn’t say anything.

his friend is quick to grab onto his girlfriend, who suddenly feels like slapping gojo across the cheek again.

“you psycho! what is wrong with you?” she says again, and gojo knows what she’s talking about.

your friends had gone on their honeymoon, leaving for about two months. within those two months, gojo and you started to experience new situations. gojo would slap your face, your cheek, your mouth, every time getting a little more and more violent with you.

your friends never said anything, but he knew your best friend would.

still, he was hoping you’d try to stop her, so where were you right now?

“babe, calm down, what are you talking about?”

“well, your asshole of a friend has been doing whatever the hell he wants with my friend and i won’t let him get away with it!”

gojo’s friend is confused, but gojo doesn’t say anything, expectant of what you had probably said.

“she thinks i don’t notice but how can i ignore it? gojo’s been treating her like a bag of sand, like a lifeless doll he can do whatever the hell he wants to and i won’t let him any longer!”

“why doesn’t she come here and say it herself?”

the two other people are taken aback. gojo is wearing a contented smile, as if he was finding the situation amusing. your friend scoffs, genuinely dumbfounded.

“what?”

“if she’s having a bad time why doesn’t she tell me?”

“you dumb fuck, maybe because she loves you?”

“and what has that to do with me?”

your friend latches at his cheek one more time, but gojo traps her wrist in his fingers before she can hit him with her force. his friend comes into the argument, “i don’t think you’re being fair, gojo.”

“how is she being fair? i never force her to do anything, why are you putting the blame on me?”

gojo shrugs, walking out of the kitchen, leaving the couple completely speechless.

you jump on your seat at the banging of your door. is late in the night, still, you don’t expect gojo to be at your door, neither were you expecting him to treat you with such force.

“what’s up with you?”

his fingers wrap around your neck, completely enveloping his hand around it, with so much force your eyes are quickly seeing white dots.

“w-what do you mean?”

“if something’s happening you’re telling me, right?” he asks you, but you don’t know if he expects an answer, either way, you were unable to answer, barely fighting for the last of air in your system. “answer!”

“i can’t,” you whisper.

gojo’s cloudy vision finally clears out the moment he feels a tear run down his hand. you start sobbing, unconsciously losing air, but you’re incapable of stopping yourself. you can’t take it anymore.

gojo takes a step back and you fall to your knees, your fingers going straight to your neck as you exhale.

“we’re done,” is all he says.

“wait! wait, gojo, please wait!” you call out, running after him. gojo isn’t running, but his legs move faster than he’s ever walked, trying to disappear from your presence as fast as he can.

because he’s finally realized everything he’s done, and he finally realizes how much he genuinely loves you.

#gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #tw. age gap #tw. manipulation #tw. cursing #tw. violence

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

The Vessel [Pt. 3]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: While you are trying to figure out why the Witcher is so abhorrent towards you, he finally gives you a hint as to why he doesn't like you. Also, you realize something— Yennefer and her spells can never go wrong.

Warnings: Geralt being a dick is what.

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

It had been weeks since you slept with Geralt of Rivia, but you hadn't been feeling any different. If it were up to you to say, you would say that Yennefer's plan didn't work— although you couldn't muster the courage to ask her directly if it did.

What made you so sure that the plan hadn't worked was the fact that Geralt and Yennefer had been fighting about something since a few nights and you could feel the strain in their relationship starting to show up. This hunch that you had only strengthened when one day, you unknowingly stumbled upon an argument between the Witcher and the Mage.

It was almost a week after that night on the Great Mount. Geralt had been indifferent towards you since then— not even bothering to spare a glance in your direction when the four of you were in the same proximity.

You were now back at Redania— your home, but so were Yennefer , Geralt and Jaskier— staying at your place like unwanted guests who were exceeding their stay.

Jaskier held two heavy logs in either of his arms, while your own hands were stuffed with the eggs from your coop, that you were intending to cook up for dinner tonight, when you heard shouting from one of the rooms upstairs.

"It was you that said that the plan would work. It didn't work, clearly."

You could recognize Geralt's voice from afar; broody, low and devoid of any emotion.

"Aren't you going to go check in on them?" You turned towards Jaskier and frowned, your eyes shooting upwards, fixing on the topmost stair before you withdrew it and fixed it on him again.

"Me? Stuck between a broody Witcher and a scary Witch? God save my poor soul then." Jaskier commented back as he placed the logs by the fireplace and began to light it.

"Jaskier—" You couldn't help but smile at him, as you placed the eggs on the table and blinked, turning towards him, "Yennefer isn't a witch, she is a mage. Besides—"

Before you could complete your sentence, Yennefer's shaky voice reached the both of you, and you couldn't help but wonder what was actually going on between the two of them.

"I don't understand what's gotten into you, Geralt. These things take time. Why won't you let the spell take it's due course?"

"Yen, your spell failed. It's high time you realize that."

You shook your head to yourself as you busied yourself with trying to prepare the stew for dinner, but your ears were fixed on them.

"You don't question my spells, Witcher. I know what I'm doing. Besides— now to come to think of it, did you even fuck her right?"

Jaskier couldn't help but snort, but when he looked at how red you suddenly were, he immediately masked his expressions as he propped himself next to you.

"Did he, [Y/N]?"

"Jaskier, I'm not having this conversation with you," You shook your head at him, exasperated that he was still bugging you with this question, "Now can you please help me out? I need help with the stew, Jas'." Jaskier stood up, whistling to himself as he fixed himself next to the pot, stirring it while you began working on getting the bread ready when the door above slammed shut and heavy footsteps began descending down the stairs. Both you and Jaskier turned to see a very annoyed Yennefer walk towards the front door, without her Witcher in tow, just like he already was.

"I've got some business to attend to in Novigrad, Jaskier." She pointedly ignored you, and you couldn't help but bite back the words threatening to spill out of your mouth. Living under your roof, she was behaving like you were an outsider. Secretly, you were thrilled that she was leaving , even though it was for a short while.

You watched, through the window as a portal suddenly emerged just outside of your barn, and she disappeared through it, leaving you and Jaskier gawking at each other, Jaskier finally speaking, "I say, trouble in paradise?"

"It's none of your concern, Jaskier. You really need to stop meddling with other people's businesses. Now would you be kind enough and go ask your friend to come down? Dinner's almost read—"

"Jaskier, come on now. We're leaving." Geralt cut you off as he finally appeared, all dressed in his tunic and breeches, his sword peeking out from behind him. You parted your lips, ready to ask him where he was off to but it was like he had already anticipated that this was going to come, so finally he looked at you, but with the same indifference with which he had treated you so far.

"It's time we move on. Keep the coin. Seems like Yennefer's plan failed after all—"

The sheer coldness in his voice stung you like a thorn but you didn't let him realize that. Slowly, you lifted the cloth, wiping your hands with it, trying to act just as indifferent towards him— even though you felt like you had been betrayed, which you mentally cursed yourself for.

This was going to happen one day or the other— and wasn't it better that they were finally going to be out of your life now? And not later when they would mercilessly pull your babe away from a mother's breast and call it their own?

"Where are we going, Geralt? We can atleast stay for dinner, a man needs to eat—"

"We will roast a deer on our way, Jaskier." Geralt's irritation was evident from his tone, so the bard turned towards you, choosing now to ignore the Witcher with a sulk on his face.

"Oh Jaskier," you whispered, softly, "Don't you worry. I'll quickly pack some food for you, for the way."

"Oh hush, woman, don't go so soft on me, I would want to switch the roles with that broody gentleman over there."

Your cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire; and you were sure you had turned a tomato red. You instinctively looked away, quickly finding yourself a distraction at the table as you began packing some bread and ham in a cloth satchel for him to take along with him— fighting back the smile that craved to break out.

"Jaskier, you are free to stay here for as long as you want, the minute I get on Roach, I leave," grumbling, the White Wolf slammed the front door shut as he walked off, your eyes suddenly widening, as the smile was quickly replaced by a lingering hurt upon listening to his words. Why did he hate you so much? Was it because you couldn't give him— them— the child they so desperately wanted?

"Okay thank you for the dinner, and don't, like DO NOT mind him, he has always been a grumpy ham."

Jaskier took the satchel, flinging it over his shoulder, whilst at the same time grabbed his lute and immediately darted out, and by that time, the Witcher was already trotting towards the main path. You fixed yourself by the front door, watching the poor bard struggle to catch up with him and once the two of them were out of sight, you went back inside.

If there was anything that turned a bright way for you after the three of them stepped out of your life for good was the fact that you had enough coin on you now to last for atleast a year. You bought three new goats so you could milk them and sell the milk in the village, along with the eggs.

But the void remained—

The night's were the most difficult, because there were nights when you woke up to a dream where a certain white haired, amber eyed man was laying in bed with you, his thick palm resting on your waist, your back pressed against him as he spooned you.

Maybe it was because you couldn't sleep that night too, that you did not miss the strangled groan that you heard from outside your window. You forced yourself to sit up, rubbing your eyes as you leaned over the window to look out but you couldn't see anything. Just then, someone began pounding on your front door, startling you.

It didn't take you long to run down the stairs, still dressed in your chemise, your arms wrapped around your arms as the knocking became frantic and urgent. When you opened the door, you felt like someone had kneed you in the gut—

"Jaskier?" The bard looked a mess, his clothes were bloody and dirty, his hair slick and sticking to his face.

"I didn't know who else to go to nearby. Geralt needs—" Jaskier began, and the two of you turned towards Roach. Geralt was although perched atop, he was now arching forward, his body almost limp, his head resting against the saddle.

"What happened, Jaskier?" You ran out towards Roach, who whinnied at you, perhaps having sensed that something was wrong with her owner. You placed your palm on Geralt's shoulder, but the minute your palm came in contact with him, he grunted and looked up, and you saw how weak and pale he looked, "I told J-Jaskier — I'm f-fine.. Jaskier.. Jaskier..fuck.. Novigrad.. I asked you to take us to ... Novigrad."

Geralt of Rivia was injured, the flesh on his side had almost been ripped apart by what looked like claws, and yet he was being a stubborn pig. You grabbed him by the fabric of his tunic, balling the fabric as you began literally dragging him off the horse, paying no heed to his annoying murmurs.

"Jaskier, can you help? I alone cannot get him off, you know?"

Helping Geralt walk into your home was a difficult task but somehow, you and Jaskier convinced Geralt to do it. You sat the very injured Geralt by the fire and knelt down in between the space of his legs, using gentle fingers as you rolled up the torn fabric of the tunic. He hissed when your fingers came in contact with his clawed flesh and that's when you saw how massive the claw marks were.

"Who did that to him, Jaskier?" You let go off the big man as you stood up, your hands now caked in Geralt's blood. You ran up to one of the wooden racks that stood by the fireplace with a dozen glass bottles on it. You grabbed the mortar and pestle, placing it on the table in front of you, as Jaskier lowered himself on a chair, now wiping the blood off his face with a washcloth.

"I swear you should have seen it, it was the tallest harpy I have ever seen— well technically, it's the first harpy I've ever seen," he mumbled, and you couldn't help but give him a weak smile as you began to look for the ingredients to make a paste for Geralt's wounds.

"What are you looking for?" Jaskier asked, intrigued, as he watched you fiddle with the glass containers.

"Turmeric, Jaskier. It will stop his bleeding, although had he been human, that injury would have killed him— instantly," you pointedly stared at Jaskier, and he gulped nervously when your words finally registered into the back of his mind. You quickly turned away, resuming your search for the other ingredients. You pulled out two containers; one with lotus petals and the other one containing chamomile, placing it on the table, next to the mortar and pestle.

"Jaskier, while I prepare the paste, can you get Geralt to lie down by the fire? And take off his—" You pointed towards his tunic that was already ripped apart, hanging loosely by his side. Jaskier immediately nodded, getting to work.

You knelt down next to Geralt. His eyes were open, but his face was sweaty and his breathing was uneven; his lips tightly pressed together as he stared at the fire. Your fingers delicately moved over the gashes on his side, and he didn't flinch as much now.

"Can you sit up, Geralt? I need to bandage your waist."

That's when he turned towards you, regarding you briefly as he grunted, pushing himself up slightly and you quickly bandaged his wound with a cloth, securely tying it around his waist before he fell back against the makeshift bedding you had created for him by the fireplace.

You were finally done tending to the man's wounds so you stood up, moving to wash your hands by the sink, when Geralt's voice reached you, startling you.

"I told Jaskier not to bother you. Yennefer could have fixed this."

Your head sharply turned towards him, and you parted your lips, but it was as if your words were lodged to your throat, refusing to come out.

"You can't put all the blame on Jaskier. He could have left you to rot, stolen your mare and left, but he stuck around to ensure you were brought back to safety. You need to learn to swallow that thick ego of yours and give the bard some credit," you intentionally chose not to talk of Yennefer.

He grunted in response, shifting slightly so he could get comfortable, his body tilted at an angle towards the fire that you could see more of his back— full of old scars— this one will be adding to it soon.

"Are you a healer?"

His question pulled you off track.

You shook your head, wiping your hands with a clean cloth, reaching out for one of the blankets that you had stored for yourself as a winter supply, placing it over Geralt's legs— with half a mind that you will have to fight him for this act too— but much to your surprise, Geralt of Rivia accepted the blanket, pulling it over his chest.

"No, not a healer, just a woman with a passion to know things. You see, living alone you need to know certain things as you never know what life is going to throw your way."

"Hm," he fell quiet, and all the two of you could now listen to were the embers erupting from the fire.

The next few minutes, Geralt was quiet, so assuming that he had fallen asleep, just like the bard had; already snoring away to glory, you pulled your chair closer to the fireplace, lowering yourself against it as you began working on another blanket for Jaskier.

"You should have said no."

Startled to hear the low broody voice again, you looked up but this time found Geralt sitting on the makeshift bedding, the pads of his feet resting against the floor, his back turned towards the fire but his face turned towards you.

"Geralt, you should lie down—"

"You should have said no to Yennefer, but you agreed although you knew what she wanted to make you do."

"Says the man who makes a living slaying monsters. Would you say no to a good bounty if that meant being paid enough to last you a year?" You snapped at him, not meeting his gaze.

"You needed coin, there were thousand other ways to do it."

"Like what, Geralt? Don't you think I tried all these ways you are talking about?" The half done blanket now lay forgotten at your feet, and you were standing, towering over Geralt, your lips trembling with rage. How dare he?

"There are many brothels in Redania that I know of that would have gladly taken you in."

"You know what, Witcher?" You spat, "I'm NOT having this conversation with you. I don't like you anymore than you like me, so there's no point in even speaking. Once you are well enough, I would gladly have you out of my home."

You turned away from him, and then blinked, for you couldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, as a thick chunk of a tear rolled down your cheek. Swallowing bitterly, you began climbing up the stairs, rather loudly, when Geralt mumbled, "You won't see us when you wake up tomorrow, don't worry."

Ignoring him, you reached the topmost stair, but when Jaskier began speaking to Geralt in a low voice, you couldn't help but pause, inching your ear towards them so you could listen to what they were saying.

"Why do you insist on being like that with her, Geralt?"

Jaskier's words were followed by what sounded like a bitter laugh, and a cough.

"I knew you were awake. I wondered why you didn't jump in to defend her like you always do, Jaskier."

"That is not the point, Ger—"

"If you must know why I can't stop being the way I am around her is because every single time I see her, I'm reminded of the false hope that Yennefer gave me, Witchers are sterile, and that's how it is, I should have known than to fall into Yennefer's words."

He was hating for you something you hadn't even done. You gave him hope, or Yennefer did?

You would have stood there and continued listening to what more he had to say, but you couldn't help it— your face turning sour, when sudden nausea hit you. Your palm instinctively flew up to your lip; making you almost double over and your eyes lifted up, scanning the area for anything you could use to relieve yourself. Grabbing an empty basket that lay close by, you fell down on your knees, your knees scraping against the wood of your flooring and you began wretching out the contents of your stomach, sweat trickling down your forehead as dread filled you up. You were scared that Yennefer's spell had worked. Your palm flew to your flat belly and you pursed your lips together, blinking away the tears and wiping the corner of your lips.

Now that you had wished for the spell to fail, it had perhaps, worked. Maybe things weren't destined to go about the way you wanted them to— all you wanted was to watch Geralt of Rivia leave you alone for good and never come back [Wishful thinking]. But if, the spell had worked, it meant that you were probably carrying his Witcher baby, and that meant, you will have to see more of the white haired man with amber eyes, whether you liked it, or not.

The Vessel Taglist:

@kawennote09 @viking-raider @raspberrydreamclouds @pterodactylterrace @singeramg @historianwithaheart @ayamenimthiriel @crazynocturnalkiki @xxxkatxo @coffeebreathy @miss-emilia-cavill @little-jana @auds24 [I don't know why Tumblr won't let me tag you! 🙄]

Want to be tagged to my list? Please do let me know via Ask, Message box or via a comment. Thanks! 💗

#geralt of rivia works #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher #henry cavill #henry cavill x y/n

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littlesniggy · 3 years

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Hi! Idk if you’re already at Wano Kuni and if not please just ignore it but would you consider doing either nsfw headcanons or scenario for Kaido? Maybe some female pirate tries to take him down and he keeps her as a pet? You can make it dark if you want to!

Love your writing so so much!

There is always a first time for writing for a character and yes, I've almost caught up with the latest episode so I know enough about Kaido. It was a challenge to write for him though since I haven't really thought about his sex life, what he likes and what he doesn't, so I'm not sure if this might be a little ooc? But I hope you still enjoy it!

Warning: 18+, nsfw, dub-con!!, Master/pet, mention of humiliation, mention of violence

Pairing: Kaido x pet female! reader

Word count: 2.2k

“Worororo.” His deep voice rumbled through the huge cave, echoing from the cold walls and making you feel like you were standing in front of a monster. Well, technically he was a monster; especially in his dragon form and even like this was he simply a mountain of a man. What were you thinking when you decided to take him on? Did you really think you had a chance against the strongest creature? How foolish could you be?

The emperor was sitting on his huge throne, a bottle of sake in his hand, drinking it like it was water. You were amazed as to how he could drink this much and still be able to fight. When you tried to take him on you thought you had a chance once he was flat out drunk – but you were gravely mistaken.

“C’mon. Try again.” He laughed, his eyes watching you in amusement. You were panting heavily, stray strands of hair clinging to your face. You were sweating like a pig. If it was because of the heat or your futile attempts at hurting the man in front of you, you weren’t sure and you didn’t care. You got even angrier at his mocking tone; to the point he made you feel helpless.

Gathering the last bit of strength you had left in your body you punched him right in his face; there wasn’t even a slight crunch indicating a broken bone. But your hand hurt instead. “Fuck!” you cursed, holding your fist; tears of humiliation and pain gathered in your eyes and you averted your gaze, not wanting him to see your tears.

“So weak….it’s almost pathetic.” He chuckled, taking another huge sip of booze. “Is this all you’ve got?” when you didn’t answer, he let out a disgusted sound of disapproval, his expression changing from amused to displeased.

“No will to fight, no devil fruit power – I should just kill you to save you from this miserable life.” His hand searched for his huge mace, finding it and swinging it as a warning. You looked up, your eyes following the weapon warily but you suppressed the urge to flinch. You felt his eyes on your form, a contemplating look on his face.

Suddenly, he stroke out, the mace swinging towards you at an incredible fast speed, ready to strike you with full force. You shut your eye tightly, held your breath and waited for the impact that was sure to hit you – but it never happened. After what felt like an eternity you opened your eyes slowly, seeing the weapon only inches away from your face. Your whole body was trembling uncontrollably and your knees gave in, making you fall to the ground.

Fear clung to your body like a second skin and the tears you tried to hold back so bravely were now running down your cheeks, uncontrollable sobs leaving your body. I thought he’d kill me! You always thought you didn’t fear death; that you would welcome it like an old friend once your time came but GOD! – how much you had been mistaking! You didn’t want to die!

“Worororo.” The mace was slowly retreated and Kaido watched your sobbing form in front of him. “Are you scared of dying?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “I like the look of fear on your face. I want to see it more often.” His words made you shudder in fear. What does he mean? Didn’t he want to kill you?

He got up, weaving two steps to the side, the alcohol slightly clouding his senses. You didn’t date look up at the man in front of you, wishing he’d just somehow forget about you and let you leave but this was futile, you knew. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him reach for something out of your sight and shortly after something black was dropped in front of you.

“Put it on.” He demanded. Your eyes skimmed the black leather piece, decorated with small metal thorns. It was a collar! Incredulously, you took the collar in your hands, your fingers feeling the cold, stiff leather. Why did he have something like this?

“Put it on!” he got louder and you flinched at his demand. With shaky hands you put the degrading piece of ‘jewelry’ around your neck, the leather tightening around your throat and you felt like it was already choking you.

“Wororororo. Get naked. Pets don’t wear clothes.” Your body acted on its own and piece after piece dropped to the ground, exposing your over the years as a pirate trained body, some battle scars and slightly dried skin from the salty sea water. The emperor’s eyes wandered over your body while he took another huge chug of his sake before realizing it was already empty. Angrily, he smashed the empty bottle on the ground; you had to dodge some broken pieces that flew in all directions to not get hit.

“Bring me new booze!” he yelled at you, his furious eyes piercing you. Your body was frozen in place and you couldn’t move, even if you wanted to.

All of a sudden, you were choking in his grip, legs in the air, struggling for support, your hands clawing at his huge hand.

“Useless pet.” He growled, his grip tightening around your neck, the thorns of your new collar poking into his hand but he barely felt anything. Since his hand was so huge he was not only choking you but also crushing your upper body with his iron grip. You felt that your bones were about to break, pain rushing through your body. You couldn’t decide what you should focus on first; your lack of air filling your lungs or the quiet crunching of your body.

Kaido’s eyes narrowed at you, then they looked past you to an entering subordinate. “Kaido-sama, I-“ but he was cut off. “Bring me more booze!” the emperor ordered the man, walking back to his throne, your body like a doll in his huge hand. At least his grip eased a little, giving you room to breathe properly again.

He sat down and placed you on his thigh, his hand moving down from your neck and upper body to your hips, his grip holding you in place. You weren’t sure how to behave but you knew for a fact that any wrong movement would trigger this unpredictable man and you weren’t keen on finding out what else he would do to you.

The first time he took you it was hell. He took you to his bed and you knew what he wanted to do even without telling you. He ordered you to get on your knees on his bed. When you tried to fight him he simply pressed you down with ease. You heard a rustling noise behind you and out of the corner of your eye you saw how he took out his huge member and your breath caught in your throat. This is never going to fit! Your mind screamed and you just wanted to get away from him. But it was futile.

He wasn’t a big talker during sex and he didn’t appreciate it when you pleaded with him to let you go, to go slower and give you some time to adjust. It hurt like hell and after he was done your body was a giant ball of pain. Your body was covered in his cum and he just pushed you out of his bed, telling you to get lost.

The times after that were no better. Each time, he thrusted into your body like it was some kind of sex doll, pressing your face into the mattress to shut you up. His deep grunts were the only sounds that filled the room and to your dismay he wasn’t someone who came fast. It was an ordeal.

The first time you had to suck him off your jaw just locked and you couldn’t close it afterwards. It took a while and a lot or effort and pain to be able to close it again. Kaido just watched you in amusement, his cum dripping out of your mouth and dripping onto your exposed chest.

Kaido had also no shame in getting walked in on, just continuing with either fucking your mouth or pussy while his subordinates just awkwardly telling him the latest news. It was humiliating but there was nothing you could do about it.

Over time, you got used to his treatment and had learned to ‘always be prepared’, as bad as it sounded. You had realized that it was bearable when you stretched yourself beforehand. Was it humiliating? For sure. Was it necessary? Absolutely. Kaido once caught you stretching yourself and since then he had you do it in front of him. He liked the show.

You were on all four again, your rear exposed to the emperor behind you, your core already dripping. Kaido took his place behind you, his hand stroking his erect dick lazily. His other hand was holding the bottle of booze, taking a huge gulp. You felt his dick press against your entrance, pushing further and further until the tip disappeared inside of your pussy. You grabbed the bed sheet with your hands, trying to relax around his member.

With a fast snap he buried himself inside of your body completely, taking another gulp of his booze. Some of it dropped onto your back, the cold liquid giving you goosebumps. His hand found its way into your hair, grabbing it uncomfortably tight. His hips started to move against your body, hard and merciless. He was only chasing his own orgasm and he didn’t care if you enjoyed it or not.

A clatter echoed through the room and you saw the bottle burst into a thousand pieces. His now free hand found its way on your hip, pressing you against his body. His dick was filling you out and the sheer force of his thrusts made your body jerk back and forth on the bed.

Kaido let his nails rake down your body, leaving red and bloody streams on your skin. You arched your back, clenching around his dick in response. Kaido raised his eyebrow at your response and chuckled. His pace got faster and his hand on your head pressed your upper body down on the bed, his body leaning over yours, his other hand supporting his weight on the bed next to your head.

“Ah!” you panted, a seemingly long forgotten feeling spreading through your body – lust. The emperor’s fierce thrusts actually made you feel good! – and you didn’t know what to do. Never would’ve you imagined that this brutal man could actually manage to please you, even though it probably wasn’t his intention at all.

The small pants became more frequent and turned into moans, the sound of raw skin on skin slapping against each other made your stomach tingle in excitement and for the first time you started to actively move against him.

Kaido was moving inside of you like a wild animal, his animalistic instincts taking over and he took you like a wild beast in heat. Apparently, he was quite fond of your moans since he didn’t press your face into the mattress as usually when he wanted you to shut up.

“K-Kaido-sama!” you moaned, trying to look at him over your shoulder but he wouldn’t let you. He huffed, a low growl rumbling through his chest and his grip in your hair tightened. The good feeling inside of you grew stronger and stronger, a tight knot forming inside of you, threatening to burst with each thrust.

Even in his drunken and animalistic state he noticed how your pussy started to tighten around his dick and he knew you were close. “If you wanna cum, cum. But don’t expect me to stop.” He warned you. It was the first time he actually talked to you while he was buried inside of you. A desperate moan left your body and you tried your hardest to prolong your own orgasm but each thrust made it harder and harder.

With a specifically hard thrust he finally pushed you over the edge. Colorful spots spread across your vision, blurring your surroundings as you cam hard around his dick, your walls clenching and unclenching. A loud moan filled the room when you came, your body trembling due to the sheer force.

But Kaido wasn’t done yet. His stamina was impressive, really, but right now you hated him for it. The high you were just on slowly faded away and his hard thrusts brought you back to reality. You wanted to complain, to tell him to stop but you knew better. As uncomfortable as the feeling right now was, he was in a good mood. And you would be the most stupid person to try and change that.

When he finally came with a low grunt on your back he didn’t push you out of his bed immediately. He was lying next to you on the bed, his breath already even again. There was a silence between the two of you for a moment, before his deep voice broke it.

“Bring me more sake. I’m getting sober again.”

#one piece #op #op imagine #ns.fw #dub.con #kaido #op kaido #kaido x reader #straw hats #op x reader #master/pet #x reader #female reader #mention of violence

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shorthairedbrownqueer · 2 years

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hey, i'm an indian queer person (i don't really love labels) and just wanted to say thanks so much for having this blog. i've always been so stressed over my identity- i find most of my solace online and in fandoms- over 90% of us harmonizers and directioners are lgbtq so that helps- and it's nice to see other indian lgbt people. what advice would you give for coming out and helping people see that we are just as valid as people who are straight and cisgender?

Sameee online spaces are so important!

Well I don't know about advice for coming out because it always depends on your personal situation and there's no easy way to handle something as difficult as coming out. But personally for me, these are a couple of things that helped, especially with having my sexuality seen as 'valid'

1. Most of what other people say about this that's negative is sheer ignorance and a lack of any empathy. So anything they say needs to be treated like a toddler going on that the moon is cheese, it's just nonsense.

2. There is not one valid argument against being queer, every single one of them is pretty garbage and it always helps to have that counter statement to crap like "it's a phase" ready, even if you aren't going to to converse with the person, you know you're valid and right in what you're feeling and doing.

3. Being as pig headed as possible really helped. No one knows you better than you know yourself. No one knows what you're feeling better than yourself. Not even your friends and family, sometimes.

4. I personally do think this is an idealogical growth phase and more people, not just indians are getting to be more aware and sensitised to these issues. There's ups and downs and it feels like it never ends, but there is always progress. And you and I and anyone with a little empathy and understanding can be a part of that progress.

5. Its never our job to educate people and argue with them and against their homophobic and transphobic mindsets. If they wanted to truly learn, they would. They wouldn't argue, they would listen and maybe ask questions with your consent and comfort in mind. So take a break from doing that and just enjoy being you.

@directioner-harmony

#indian lgbt #lgbtqia #lgbt pride #india #desi #nblw #indian queer #queer asks #queer pride

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themurphyzone · 3 years

Text

PatB Oneshot: Poor Unfortunate Soul

Summary: Brain doesn’t think Pinky would be a very good villain. Pinky decides to prove him wrong (but mostly he wants Denny's).

AN: I’ll be honest, Dark Pinky isn’t for me. So how to compromise writing a villainous Pinky with normal Pinky? Well...you’ll see.

AO3 Link

Pinky gasped at the TV, crumbs of popcorn falling out of his mouth. Brain stopped chewing and looked away from the screen, unable to stomach the scene of Lupin and Sirius forcing Pettigrew out of rat form as he attempted to flee the Shrieking Shack.

No matter how many times he’d seen Prisoner of Azkaban, Brain always found it uncomfortable to watch Pettigrew transform into a pathetic, sniveling human who acted like he hadn’t sold his own friends out to a homicidal madman.

Sure, Voldemort was the villain while Umbridge was the personification of government corruption, but there was just something downright insidious about Pettigrew.

Pinky’s eyes were blown wide open as Pettigrew pitifully tried to plead his case. The simpleton was always so surprised about this plot twist no matter how many times he’d seen this movie.

The more he pondered, perhaps Pinky was the exact reason he found Pettigrew worse than the larger threats of the Harry Potter world. The man played into the worst of rodent stereotypes with his cowardly and backstabbing nature.

But Pinky?

Not a single disloyal bone in his body. It was a lesson Brain had taken to heart after his disastrous second birthday. Pinky was far too sweet and simple to even think about betrayal.

Tears flowed down Pinky’s face as Lupin transformed into an emaciated werewolf, so Brain discreetly nudged a pack of Kleenexes his way. Pinky flashed him a grateful, wobbly smile, then reached for a tissue and blew his nose.

Pinky always cried at this part. And while Brain found the scene emotionally gut-punching too, he considered himself above displays of crying during movies.

Mufasa’s death didn’t count. Dirt always lodged in his lacrimal ducts whenever he watched that scene. That was all.

Brain’s fists clenched as the cowardly Pettigrew abandoned everyone to die.

Though his escape was an essential plot point for the rest of the series, Brain wished the protagonists could’ve caught Pettigrew and delivered justice for betraying those who called him a friend.

He knew how the movie played out, but Pinky acted like he was watching it all for the very first time. Sometimes, watching Pinky when he didn’t care what happened on-screen was much more interesting. Especially when Pinky insisted on not skipping Order of the Phoenix.

Pinky hugged his knees, tail draped tightly around him as the Dementors attacked Harry and Sirius. The rest of the movie would be loaded with those undead abominations. Brain had learned from unfortunate experience that Pinky would have nightmares if he didn’t cut off the fear before it took root in his subconscious.

Slowly, Brain moved towards Pinky, careful not to make a sound lest Pinky catch him in the act. He took a deep breath to steel his resolve, placing a hesitant hand on Pinky’s back.

Pinky turned to look at him.

“Eyes on the screen,” Brain commanded. It was easier to do this when Pinky wasn’t watching him.

Pinky obeyed, humming softly as Brain patted soft fur. A long, flowing tail wrapped around a crooked one. Pinky sat up a little straighter.

The Dementors wouldn’t haunt Pinky’s dreams tonight. Not as long as Brain had something to say about it.

o-o-o-o-o

“-and I’m so happy Sirius and Buckbeak got away! D’you think I could ride a hippogriff? Why are they called hippos when they’re not hippos anyway? I don’t think wizards know their animals very well, Brain.” Pinky’s chatter continued into the ungodly hours of the morning. Only the people unfortunate enough to work early morning shifts on Saturday would be awake at this time.

Brain rolled onto his stomach, covering his ears with his pillow to block out all the extraneous noise. One con about taking nights off from world domination was that his body just didn’t want to sleep even when he was tired, and Pinky’s exuberance only amplified the issue.

“Troz! Prisoner of Azkaban is my favorite out of the Harry Potter movies. But my favorites are also Sorcerer’s Stone and Chamber and Goblet...oh! And Order has Luna Lovegood of course! Love her! What’s your favorite, Brain?” Pinky asked. “Ooh, you shouldn’t lay like that. You need to breathe!”

The pillow was completely ineffective as a sound buffer. Brain was sorely tempted to keep up his current position out of pure spite, but he had to give up and lay on his side so he wouldn’t suffocate.

“No favorite. Hippogriffs are fictional. Hippo is Greek for horse and does not refer to a hippopotamus in this context. You think cows cluck and chickens moo, Pinky. Now go to sleep,” Brain sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.

Perhaps he could trick his exhausted mind into believing Pinky wasn’t there if he couldn’t be seen.

He had an urge to stay awake though. If his subconscious latched onto hippopotamuses, he’d just have that nightmare with the rich hippo couple and Rockefeller baby all over again. He shuddered at that memory. The pain and humiliation from that hippo-sized booster shot had been oddly vivid.

“Okay. G’night, Brain.” The bed shifted as Pinky flopped onto his back.

All was quiet.

Brain curled into a more comfortable position, ready to drift off to a dream world where he was an emperor on a golden throne, Pinky was dressed in royal finery while leading a resounding chorus of We are the World, and all knelt before their authority.

“Brain?”

And there went the dream.

“What?” Brain snapped. Part of him wanted to knock Pinky out himself, but that would require moving his arms. He didn’t want to move out of his current position.

“Just pondering. Poit,” Pinky yawned. “Before sleep ponderings. Those kinds are the best, Brain. Cause they get weird and tangerine-y. Bet you get those too.”

It was true. When his plans weren’t derived from Pinky’s inane ramblings or current events, they were often the product of pre-sleep thoughts. While he wrote down all he could remember afterwards, the plans pulled from those tangents tended to be the craziest and illogical in hindsight.

He tried not to rely on them too much, but if his conqueror’s block was high or creativity levels were low, he didn’t have much choice.

“Yes,” Brain confirmed.

But his curt answer wasn’t enough to deter Pinky.

“Cause I was pondering about villains,” Pinky said. “Like Pettigrew. Cause what if I had something that makes me a villain?”

As much as Brain wanted to dismiss the idea of a villainous Pinky due to the sheer absurdity of the concept, he supposed it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility either.

But Pinky as a villain? A mouse who gave up his soul for the sake of Brain’s desires and argued against promoting harmful cigarettes to children?

It was just ludicrous.

“Pinky, you lack many prerequisites for proper villainy,” Brain said. “Except for the dramatics. That’s the only trait you have in common.”

“Oh. Well, I could certainly try,” Pinky replied.

Yes, and someday pigs would evolve and develop flight capabilities.

If he were in a clearer state of mind, he would’ve argued out of obstinance. But right now, it was incredibly early on a Saturday morning and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Discussions on villainy and world domination could wait a few hours.

“If you can prove me wrong, you can select the next restaurant we’ll go to,” Brain yawned.

Pinky rarely got to choose the restaurant, given Brain’s sophisticated palate, but at this point he was willing to try anything to get Pinky off his back.

Then Pinky went from figuratively being on his back to pressing against it, his tail curling around Brain’s. Pinky’s jaw rested against the back of Brain’s head. The added pressure released a tenseness around Brain’s shoulders, one that he’d been previously unaware of.

“Denny’s,” Pinky murmured, nuzzling the back of Brain’s ear. The sensitive appendage flicked. Nobody was around to witness that involuntary reflex, so Brain let it pass. “A Grand Slam with pancakes and syrup and bacon n’ eggs…”

Within seconds, Pinky was out like a light. He wouldn’t remember this conversation, too busy thinking with his stomach instead of properly pondering with that fluffball of a mind.

With Pinky’s warm fur against his back and soft narfs against his ear, Brain’s thoughts gently trickled away and yielded to peaceful sleep.

o-o-o-o-o

Though it was probably noon by now, Brain still didn’t want to open his eyes. Why bother? No scientists to pester them, no leftover plans or materials to hide away so they wouldn’t be discovered, no tedious mazes to run on Saturday.

Pinky had gotten up sometime before him, and the space beside him was empty, giving Brain room to stretch out in whatever way he liked.

Then he heard a harsh scraping noise, like someone was dragging something heavy across the counter. That wasn’t unusual for Pinky if an object caught his short attention span for some inane reason.

However, there was also the sound of laughter accompanying the noise. Pinky was giggly and bubbly to a fault, but this brand of laughter was different.

Almost malevolent.

A chill ran up his spine, but Brain ignored the feeling. Pinky’s evil laugh was still firmly in Saturday morning cartoon villain territory, he told himself.

Even if he sounded a little too good at being evil.

Apparently, Pinky had remembered the bet after all.

Brain slowly opened his eyes, about to find Pinky and tell him to knock it off, only to find that it was much darker than it should be for daytime. But it wasn’t dark enough to impede his vision. When he looked up, he found a sheet had been pulled over the entire cage. He couldn’t see anything outside the cage.

Pinky being secretive would surely spell disaster. And it hadn’t been there last night, so Pinky was the only culprit.

The wheel stood empty, a fresh oil can beside it. Brain rubbed his eyes, partly to wake himself up and partly out of disbelief. He was normally a light sleeper, but if he hadn’t heard Pinky maintain his wheel at all, then he must’ve had a deeper sleep than he thought.

He climbed out of bed and marched towards the unlatched cage door, though the corner of the sheet was pulled over it. He would’ve swept it aside, but an unopened cup of Rice Krispies with a half-empty bottle of milk, napkin, and spoon conspicuously placed next to the door gave him pause from leaving the cage.

His stomach growled.

“Well played, Pinky,” Brain admitted. A breakfast barricade to delay him? It was rather creative, not that he’d ever let Pinky know.

The Rice Krispies made satisfactory snap, crackle, and pop noises as Brain poured the milk inside. Then he scarfed down the cereal, half-expecting Pinky to come in and drag him outside for whatever he planned.

But Pinky seemed content to let him eat first.

Once he finished eating, he dragged the empty cereal cup and milk bottle behind him. But even his simple two-step plan of throwing his current load into the garbage and finding Pinky were laid to waste the moment he set foot outside the cage.

For Pinky had unleashed his inner interior designer and completely transformed the room in such a short timeframe.

Large, sweeping blackout curtains covered the windows, even the skylight. According to the digital clock atop the TV, it was 12:30 in the afternoon. But if Brain didn’t know any better, he would’ve believed it was midnight.

No wonder he’d been so inclined to sleep in.

Long strands of Christmas lights hung on each dark blue wall, which was otherwise untransformed. Other than the digital clock, they were the only available light source. But rather than their usual festive association, the unblinking reds, greens, and blues lent a rather ominous, otherworldly quality to the room.

Brain dispelled the fear. It was irrational when he’d traversed the dark lab at night a million times before.

Perhaps he was focusing too hard on dumping the leftover milk into the sink. With absolute concentration, he pushed the empty cup and bottle over the counter’s edge and into the garbage can below.

As he backed away from the edge, he saw a large mixing bowl with a stepladder set by it. Wisps of steam rose from the inside of the bowl. This must’ve been the source of the scraping sound he’d heard earlier. Curious, Brain climbed the stepladder and peered inside.

It was just warm water though.

He tried not to feel too disappointed. But even if it was mundane right now, surely it had to be here for a reason, right?

Or Pinky didn’t have any reason at all and he just wanted to fill a mixing bowl with boiled water. Both options were possibilities.

As he continued his search for Pinky, he walked past rows upon rows of test tubes filled with brightly colored substances. Electric green, dreadful purple, deceptively calm cerulean…

He wasn’t sure what kind of chemistry experiments they were running, but he wished someone had enough sense to label the test tubes.

Beakers and tubing distorted his reflection, a prickling sensation traveling down his spine and forcing his fur to stand on end. He smoothed it down so he didn’t bear a passing resemblance to a cotton ball. The slightly colder than normal temperature wasn’t helping.

The distortion was simply a natural refraction of light passing through liquids. That’s all. There was no reason to get worked up over natural phenomena.

That didn’t stop him from leaping back when a wide, smiling human face suddenly appeared as he navigated a sea of flasks.

His heart threatened to leap out of his chest, his breaths growing heavier.

There weren’t any humans in the lab right now, he reminded himself. And the smiling face was frozen and unmoving. It wasn’t real.

Brain cautiously poked his head around the flask, keeping it as a buffer between himself and the unknown threat.

Against the wall, several of Pinky’s Barbie and Ken dolls sat in a row. The one whose face appeared on the flask was on the far left, her blonde hair in a ponytail. All of the dolls were in colorful swimwear. One of the Ken dolls had a pair of sunglasses perched on his head.

The dolls were normal. No creepy alterations or missing body parts.

But as Brain approached and inspected the dolls closely, their positioning seemed...odd.

Yes, their plastic visages displayed smiles as if they were en route to a Miami beach party, but their arms were stretched above their heads or out to the sides in warning. Their legs laid flat against the ground. Duct tape trapped their legs to the ground and wrapped against their torsos, sticking them firmly to the wall and preventing them from falling over.

An interesting choice for decor, to say the least.

But enough was enough. Time to find Pinky and force a coherent explanation out of him.

One of the Barbie's arm pointed to the back of the room, so Brain followed her instruction. It led him straight to Pinky’s dollhouse, and Brain cursed himself for being so taken in with the environment that he’d neglected to check one of Pinky’s favorite toys.

The pink plastic door was wide open, a deadly invitation into danger. Brain’s ears pricked as a song floated through the air.

“Things are working out according to my ultimate design,

Soon I’ll have that little rodent and the planet shall be mine!”

The melody was accompanied by a sinister cackle.

Brain wanted to barge in and demand Pinky to cease his foolishness immediately, but his fingers curled against the doorframe instead, urging him to heed caution.

“I can hear you!” Pinky singsonged from behind a section of dollhouse that was curtained off with jingling Mardi Gras beads. “Won’t you come inside so we can talk properly?”

Brain rolled his eyes, sweeping the bead curtain away. “Pinky, I’m aware of our deal, but this is rather excess-”

Then his mind registered the scene that lay before him.

Pinky perched on a stool in front of a mirror as he applied a red coating of lipstick. That wasn’t unusual for him.

But he was also clad in a backless floor-length dress with thigh-high slits. The dress was dark as night, leaving his shoulders and arms exposed. His fur was dyed a light lavender, save for his messy white tuft, which was gelled so that it stood straight up.

A small seashell necklace sat just above the low cut dress, purple earrings hanging from each ear. Pinky didn’t turn around, blinking coyly at Brain in his reflection, which sported heavy blue eyeshadow.

He set the lipstick down, and Brain stared at the enchanting movement of manicured, polished red nails as deft fingers picked up a small brush and dipped it into a makeup kit. Then Pinky applied a beauty mark next to his lips.

The next thing out of Brain’s mouth was a very intelligent ‘um’.

“You shouldn’t lurk in doorways,” Pinky purred, his voice low and sultry. “It’s very rude. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

She didn’t have time to teach him a lot of things, given his kidnapping at an early age, but that wasn’t the point.

“Why in Ptolemy’s name are you Ursula out of all villains?” Brain asked, once his voice came back.

At least it explained why Pinky had redecorated the room to resemble an underwater cavern that doubled as a villainous lair. It was an excellent use of space.

And the Barbies and Kens...those were the stand-ins for the helpless sea polyps.

Pinky must’ve been deriving a lot of satisfaction at seeing that realization dawn on Brain.

“Why not?” Pinky shrugged. He puckered his lips and kissed his reflection, leaving a red lip-shaped mark behind. “Besides...isn’t there something you’re after? Something you want oh so very much, but haven’t been able to get?”

Brain scowled. “You know perfectly well that I’m trying to rule the world, Pinky.”

Pinky snapped his fingers. “And that’s what I can help you with! The only way to get what you want...is to become a human yourself.”

Well, he’d never considered that before in the pursuit of world domination. There was something about manipulating his genetic code and changing his species that didn’t sit well with him, even though he detested the challenges that came with being a lowly lab mouse.

But it made sense.

Humans only respected humans. Becoming a member of the dominant species would be an asset for sure!

But Pinky didn’t have the means to make that happen...right?

“You don’t know how to manipulate mouse DNA into a human one,” Brain said.

“Oh my dear, sweet Brain,” Pinky crooned as he stood up, slinking over to Brain. Brain crossed his arms, forcing himself to stare Pinky straight in the eye and not show any signs of yielding. He made a point out of not watching those sashaying hips and tail. “Helping poor, unfortunate mice like yourself is my one passion in life! Why, without it, I’ll have to slink away and become a crazy cat lady! And then who will those poor souls turn to?”

“A glass of alcohol, I presume,” Brain replied.

Pinky’s tail came to rest around Brain’s shoulders. The tip tickled Brain’s nose, and he held it away from his face as Pinky pulled him out of the dollhouse and back to the tied up Barbie and Ken dolls. “Maybe, maybe...but a real person they can lean on, I mean. One that knows a little...magic.”

He flicked his finger at a beaker filled with a lavender substance. The beaker sailed through the air, dumping its contents into the mixing bowl. A purple haze rose from the bowl.

“That’s telepathy, not-”

Pinky gently pressed a finger to Brain’s mouth to hush him. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he scolded. “It’s true that I did some rather — how would you phrase this gently — unsavory things before. But I’ve repented! Turned over a new leaf! Seen the light! And now I use my talents for those lonely and miserable enough to seek my services.”

Then Pinky moved away from Brain, flicking his tail against Brain’s nose to direct his attention to the wall. Pinky wrapped his arm around the Barbie with a red polka-dotted bikini. “You see, Barbie here grew up where she didn’t have much opportunity. Poor girl had to work two jobs to make ends meet, and hardly a cent to show for it! So I offered her a chance to get away from it all...and she took it.”

Brain gulped as Pinky moved onto the Ken doll next to Barbie. He was awfully convincing, even when the subject in question was inanimate. Pinky played with the ascot around Ken’s neck. “And this young man? Well, he wasn’t having much luck with the ladies. So I gave him a few pointers, maybe a knickknack or two to help speed things along. However…”

Pinky indicated the tape that bound the dolls to the wall. “I wouldn’t worry about this too much, since you’re a mouse of your word, but sometimes...they couldn’t pay me back in time. So I found a different way to collect their debt.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have much to gain from restraining children’s toys,” Brain said, tilting his head up to hide his uneasiness.

They looked less marketable and more like hapless victims wallowing in despair, despite their smiling faces. He chalked it up to the wall’s resemblance to a dimly lit marine cave.

“Oh, I get some odd complaints every now and then,” Pinky shrugged. “But alas, that’s what happens in this business.”

He plucked a purple sash from Barbie and wrapped it around his head, fluttering his eyelashes innocently.

Not that he was fooling Brain.

But he didn’t have time to process that nonverbal gesture, for Pinky threw the sash around Brain, his tail looping around Brain’s waist. With the sash locking his arms against his sides, he was helplessly corralled to the mixing bowl. He dug his feet into the surface beneath him, but it was no use. Pinky was far stronger than he.

In physical terms of course. He tried to keep his eyes on Pinky’s face and not his...well, he was a male mouse...he didn’t have...unless he padded...

Stop, Brain.

A finger slipped under Brain’s chin, tilting his head up. “Not to worry,” Pinky purred, and the room suddenly went from cold to sweltering. “I have your solution right here.”

To emphasize his point, blue and green test tubes poured their contents into the bowl. The colors melded together, the resulting haze forming a rough image of the world.

“Here’s the deal. I’ll make a potion that can turn you into a human for three days,” Pinky declared, dragging his finger along Brain’s chin. Now that Pinky’s grip had loosened, Brain ripped the sash out of Pinky’s hands and threw it aside.

The stroke of Pinky’s finger along Brain’s fur was enticing, and he pushed it away exactly for that reason.

“Before sunset on the third day, you’ve got to find someone of royal blood,” Pinky said. A golden liquid swirled out of a beaker and formed a crown in the center of the world. It was an image of which Brain had dreamed of for so long. He tried to touch it, but it was far out of reach for him. “Then this charming person has to fall in love with you.”

That sounded...feasible. Three days was a rather generous deadline. Most of the time, they were on a time crunch between eight to twelve hours.

Pinky produced a pink felt heart and held it between two fingers. “Then you have to seal your love with a kiss. And not just any old peck on the cheek, but a kiss of true love.”

A what?

Brain huffed. Of course this plan would have such a ridiculous stipulation. He’d gotten his hopes up for nothing.

...and why was he treating this like it was real?

Because Pinky.

Yes, that was the only explanation. And not even a rational one.

“Oh dear, don’t pout so,” Pinky smirked. The expression was fogging up Brain’s mind. “What else is there to seal amour but with true love’s kiss? It’s a tried and true method, after all.”

He chuckled at his own joke. Brain rolled his eyes.

“If this certain someone kisses you by sunset on the third day, you’ll have the world permanently. But if they don’t, you turn back into a mouse.”

Pinky tossed the felt heart into the mixing bowl, the solution emitting a pink puff of smoke.

“And you belong to me.”

A dangerous edge crept into Pinky’s tone as he whispered into Brain’s ear, and the appendage fluttered uncontrollably until Brain forcefully snatched it to cease its movement.

Pinky tossed a hair tie, penny, and eraser nub into the mixing bowl, then leaned against a long pencil case as he awaited Brain’s reply.

“Suppose I agree to your deal. What then?” Brain asked.

“Well, there’s the matter of payment,” Pinky admitted. He stretched his lower limbs and tail as he rolled onto his stomach, exposing his long lavender-dyed legs. Brain tried not to watch the motion too closely for fear of hypnotism. “If you want something so badly, something of equal value has to be given. Equivalent exchange, as they say.”

“And what exactly do you want?” Brain asked, though he knew the answer.

He’d seen the movie.

“Your voice.”

Pinky’s smile was too wide and manic for Brain’s comfort.

“In other words...” Pinky hummed as he leaned forward, his nose was just an inch away from Brain. “...no more talking, singing, zip!”

He popped the consonant and mimed zipping his mouth, throwing away an invisible key.

It was so warm that Brain couldn’t feel his face.

“Now, now. Don’t be alarmed, Brain.” Pinky stretched luxuriously as he stood up. His tail slinked around Brain’s waist again. “You have your pretty face. And you shouldn’t underestimate the importance of...body language.”

Pinky’s hip bumped into Brain’s, his leg sliding all the way out of the slit of his dress. He batted his eyelashes and blew a kiss to an invisible audience.

Brain covered his face, ears flat against his back. He was fine. Just had to think about...something. What was he trying to picture exactly?

No mathematical formula could save him from the horror that was stupid, sexy Pinky. Curse those mathematical miscreants! They abandoned him in his time of need!

Pinky climbed up and down the stepladder, tossing chemicals and liquids and all sorts of things inside. The bowl rocked back and forth dangerously, bubbles spilling down the sides.

Brain didn’t dare get close. The inside of the bowl surely were an unholy abomination.

But that didn’t stop Pinky.

“Now a dash of zort, a sprinkle of poit! Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble! Fire burn and cauldron bubble!” Pinky cackled, throwing his arms up in the air. “Abracadabra troz! Bibbidi bobbidi narf!”

The mixture now to his satisfaction, Pinky flicked his finger at a notepad and pen, sending them hurtling towards Brain.

“Just sign on the dotted line, you poor unfortunate soul,” Pinky said.

Well...playing along couldn’t hurt. Even when there was a biohazard right in front of him.

And no, the bowl’s contents weren’t the biohazard here.

Brain took a deep breath and signed his name.

The moment he finished, the notepad and pen flew out of his hands and into the bowl.

Pinky wiggled his fingers over the bowl, green smoke rising to the ceiling and seeping past the edges of the blackout curtains to the outside. No smoke detectors went off, though Brain wasn’t surprised. ACME was rather lax on safety protocols.

“Beluga sevruga, come winds of the Caspian Sea!

Larengix glaucitis

Et max laryngitis

La voce to me!”

With a wide grin that spread from ear to ear, Pinky climbed down the stepladder and placed one hand on his seashell necklace, the other tickling the base of Brain’s neck. Brain ducked his head instinctively to stop the ticklish sensation, trapping Pinky’s hand under his jaw.

“Now sing.”

It was rare that Pinky commanded. Brain hated taking orders, yet something compelled him to obey.

Those coy blue eyes demanded, so Brain willingly gave.

And he sang.

Though he was hoarse from surprise at first, Pinky’s finger traced the outline of his neck, up his chin, to the corner of his mouth. Brain imagined his voice growing stronger...could see his voice taking physical form, flowing out of him and into Pinky’s seashell necklace.

Pinky doubled over in laughter as an explosion rocked the counter. The bowl sparked and smoked, its base clattering against the surface with loud metallic bangs.

Brain broke out of his trance as a sludge-like wave with various melted objects slithered down the rim, creeping ever closer.

He wasn’t taking any chances.

Grabbing his maniacally howling companion by the arm, Brain quickly bopped him over the head to halt the laughter, then dragged him over to the window for a quick escape. Pinky recovered from the bop and shimmied past the blackout curtain. Brain took a moment to collect the ACME credit card he’d pilfered from an employee several weeks ago, then followed Pinky onto the windowsill.

Pinky jumped first, safely landing in the bushes below. Holding the credit card above his head, which was no easy feat since the card was about the same size as him, Brain jumped as an explosion rocked the building, and his ears flattened instinctively to shield him from the worst of the noise.

As predicted, he landed in Pinky’s arms.

And it was somewhat mortifying now that Pinky’s eyes had gone from coy to blindingly innocent, even with the heavy eyeshadow. Shoving the card between himself and Pinky’s face, Brain climbed out of his arms.

“Narf! So how’d I do, Brain?” Pinky asked. “Was I convincing?”

Brain dusted off a bit of lavender dye that had rubbed onto his arm. He hoped it was fur-friendly. “You created a dangerous biohazard, toyed with my perception of reality, and overall you were a flirtatious nuisance.”

Pinky’s tail stopped wagging.

“So yes. You were indeed a convincing villain,” Brain said. He tapped the credit card. “And to fulfill the conditions of our original deal, I shall now treat you to Denny’s.”

He was a mouse of his word.

“Hoorah!” Pinky cheered. He twirled around in excitement, his black dress swirling around him as he danced all the way to the sidewalk. “Let’s go, Brain! I wanna look at all the lovely pictures on their menu!”

“You’re going like that?” Brain called after him. Didn’t he want to change out of the Disney villainess ensemble?

“Well you’re naked! So there!” Pinky stuck his tongue out at him.

With a sigh, Brain joined his companion on the sidewalk. Pinky skipped over to a patch of white flowers blooming next to the sidewalk, gently cupping the petals and cooing at a ladybug which landed on a blade of grass next to his foot.

Truly a convincing villain.

And Brain’s poor unfortunate soul was helpless under his power.

End AN: I deny selecting Poor Unfortunate Souls over other villain songs specifically for the body language line. You can’t prove anything.

I HC that Brain would hate Pettigrew more than any other Harry Potter character. I was trying to write a villainous Pinky...somewhere along the way he turned into Pinky Suavo. I don’t get it either XD

There's some folks taking care of the biohazard the mice left behind. Don't worry, the lab's still standing. It's just their problem while the mice get Denny's.

#patb disney #patb fanfiction #pinky and the brain

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celestialtitania · 3 years

Text

A Midnight Shoot

Thanks to @botdennis for helping me come up with an idea for this prompt, I was able to write this fic. Written for Day 6: Midnight of Marichat May. Can also read on AO3. @marichatmay

Chat Noir yawned loudly. He hated solo patrols, they were exhausting and tedious to do. He'd much rather spend time with his Lady, though he had to admit that roaming the streets of Paris was always preferable to sitting home alone.

He checked the time on his baton and winced at the time. It was getting rather late and he had an early morning, having to squeeze in a photoshoot before school. Still, he didn't feel like going home right away.

Deciding to make a quick detour through the park, Chat hopped down from the roof, enjoying the sights from the actual streets of Paris.

He'd just entered the park when he saw the silhouette of another person in the corner of his eye. Fearing it was an akuma, Chat adopted his battle pose only to stop dead when he realized it was a pig-tailed girl holding a sketch pad.

A very familiar pig-tailed girl holding a sketch pad. He retracted his baton and sauntered over to her.

"Yo," he greeted, making her jump out of her seat, her pen going flying. "Woah!" Chat reached over to catch it before it could hit the ground. He straightened and offered it to her.

"Thanks, Chat. What are you doing here?" Marinette asked him with a warm smile.

He frowned at her. "Isn't that what I should be asking, Marinette? It's almost midnight, why are you out here alone?"

She didn't respond, staring at him with a peculiar expression on her face. "Marinette?" Chat tried waving a hand in front of her face and Marinette grabbed it.

"Stand here," she commanded, dragging him to a spot where the moon's light was especially bright. "Perfect," she murmured, scribbling away furiously in her sketchpad.

Every time he tried to question her, Marinette would simply look up with an irritated expression and hush him. Chat wanted to protest, he was a model that worked with photographers, not artists, but he slumped his shoulders, resigned to his fate.

There was clearly no interrupting Marinette when she was in the zone. So much for an early night.

After what felt like hours, but was in fact around 20 mins (a fact he only knew because he'd been constantly checking with his baton, out of sheer boredom), Marinette finally put her pen down.

"Look at this," she exclaimed proudly showing him her completed drawing.

Chat Noir squinted before his eyes widened in surprise. "Is that a Chat Noir-themed jacket?"

"Sort of," Marinette admitted. "It's a new commission for Jagged Stone. I've been trying to figure out a way to work with the leather and since I've never worked with leather before, I was completely lost. I think I had been staring at my blank sketchpad for hours before you showed up. Somehow, against all odds, when I saw you here with the moonlight shining on your leather suit, inspiration just hit," she mimed an explosion with her fingers.

"Look where it's light? I'm planning on having white sequins there on top of the black leather to mimic the effects of the moonlight."

"Woah, that's so detailed. If you can make it work that would be amazing and you could change the colour of sequins to try for different effects," Chat inferred. Even his Father rarely attempted projects like that, there was just too much of a chance for things to go wrong.

Her expression turned sheepish. "Sorry for commandeering you like that," Marinette apologized.

"It's fine! That jacket looks so awesome, Marinette. Jagged Stone is going to love it," Chat gushed, waving away any of her concerns. Sure, he hadn't enjoyed standing there as a model for her, but knowing he had a hand in helping her create something that cool? It more than made up for it.

"I'm pretty clawsome, seeing as you got so inspired by just the sight of me standing around," Chat joked, enjoying the way Marinette grinned at him even as she rolled her eyes at his punning.

"Yeah, I suppose you are," she admitted softly, a pinkish hue covering her cheeks. Chat tried his best to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat at her words, in favor of frowning at her in disapproval.

"Princess, I understand you needed inspiration but do you have any idea what time it is right now?"

Marinette blinked at him before scrambling for her phone. She shrieked when she saw how late it was. "It's a minute to midnight! How did I end up staying out so late?" She groaned.

"I guess what they say is true. When you're in the zone, time just flies by," Chat Noir shrugged,

"This is a disaster. If my parents hear me coming in this late, I'll be grounded forever," Marinette wailed. She pulled on her hair, clearly trying to find a way out of this mess.

"How about a lift?" Chat offered, a small smile on his lips. Marinette really was adorable for worrying like that.

She looked up at him from the crouch she had ended up in while panicking. "Really?" She squeaked.

Doing his best to repress memories of Multimouse, Chat nodded. He extended his hand to her. "Shall we, Princess?"

Hesitantly, she put her hand in his, his grip tightening around hers instantly. Pulling her closer to him, he looped her arm around his neck before wrapping his arm around her waist. Giving her a smile, he extended his baton, and then they were towering into the sky.

A few jumps later, Chat was safely depositing Marinette onto her balcony. "There you are," he sighed, perching on her balcony railing.

"Thanks, Chat," Marinette smiled at him. "Would you like a croissant for the road?"

"Would I?" Chat's eyes sparkled. He would never turn down a Dupain-Cheng treat if he could help it. She grinned at him, briefly disappearing into her bedroom before coming back with a bag of goodies.

"Croissant and passion fruit macaron for good luck," she chirped. "Have a good night, Chat Noir," she smiled sweetly at him.

Taking the bag from her, Chat gave her a mock salute before heading home, this time with a light heart.

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philliamwrites · 3 years

Text

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.1]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 2k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla," sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia's hands.

____________

Loosely connected chapters about you and Childe finding happiness. Maybe.

Notes: Part 2

Masterlist

***

childe? what a problematic asshole i hate him i- *trips* *thousands of pictures of childe spill from pockets* fuck those aren’t mine i swear i’m just holding them for a friend i- *slips on a pile of pictures* fu ck no they’re not mine i hate him i just- *more pictures fall out as i fall to my knees, desperately trying to pick them up* hang on a sec jUst LISTEN

Chapter 1

A cold gust of icy wind drives you deeper into the sheets and you swear by the name of Her Majesty Herself once you get up and find Alexei, you’ll smother him with a towel for leaving a window open in the middle of the night.

Somewhere outside, a rooster crows. Fine, not dead of the night then, but no one cares for technicalities like these when sleep is involved. Especially after a night like this one, when Alexei fucked you into oblivion and back, you need every minute of shuteye you can get before another day of exhausting missions in the Chechnaya Taiga of Snezhnaya claims your last strand of sanity.

It’s peaceful mornings like these that make it all worthwhile though—the quiet during the early golden hour when people slowly wake up to a brand-new day and get ready to do their chores, their factory work. The sheer number of possibilities stretching out before their hands, and hope rekindled every morning despite the harsh cold waiting at their doorsteps. You love how everything stands still, how even the uncaring universe seems to grant people a sliver of peace, allows them to be soft and vulnerable. To be kind to themselves by indulging in a freshly brewed cup of coffee or tea. Nothing can spoil this for you, nothing and no one—

An awkward cough sounds from the door. You close your eyes, willing him to disappear by simply ignoring him, but his eyes burn into the back of your head like two smouldering coals and eventually, you turn around to see Alexei standing in the door frame, shifting from left to right. “There’s someone out there who wants to talk to you,” he says.

Turning around, you try to disappear into your pillow. “Whoever it is, I’m sure they can wait until it isn’t such a damn unholy time.”

Alexei clears his throat. “It’s uhm … it’s someone from the Fatui.”

Your eyes snap open. Suddenly the warm, cosy blankets feel like a snake’s tight hold around your body, and you struggle out of its grip, grabbing for the dressing gown you carelessly threw around the back of your chair last night.

The sun hangs low in the east, painting the city of Kerch that stretches outside of your window a sheen of dusky gold. When the red-brown bricks of the dacha cottages come into view, you think of the gingerbread houses you used to make as a child every year in celebration of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa of the Zapolyarny Palace.

Cold already seeps into your bones even though the robe is tight around your body. You hiss when your bare feet hit the icy floor but can’t find your slippers. Time to die like a woman.

�� You brush past Alexei, who’s scratching his head, still just in his underwear and you think him crazy for walking around half-naked like that even though it’s minus 58F outside and the heating systems inside your barracks only start to work once outside temperatures drop to minus 75F.

Maybe what they say is true. People from around Noyabrsk in the north of Snezhnaya regularly dip into frosty rivers and you do remember him mentioning ice swimming is his hobby. It was one of the few things you thought attractive about him. Actually, it was the only thing you thought attractive about him.

Light streams into the floor from the kitchen, flickering once, twice in dangerous foreboding. It’s time to switch the lightbulb. Tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure, because that isn’t important right now. What’s important is Tartaglia sitting at your table, leaning back in a chair, both feet crossed on top of the table, and eating your leftover mayonnaise sandwich you saved up for breakfast.

His eyes slide lazily toward you, taking in your form—barefoot, shivering even though the fur from your bathrobe is of the finest white wolf fur obtainable on the market.

Tartaglia finishes your sandwich, smacks his lips and licks mayo off his fingers. He doesn’t even like it, and you know from time to time he can’t handle dairy all that well. He just eats it because he knows how it infuriates you.

“Alexei, huh,” he says in lieu of hello. “Didn’t know you’re into himbos.”

Behind you, Alexei makes a sound like a kicked puppy. You glare at him over your shoulder, then jut your chin towards the front door. “Out. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly fast for a guy this big, he bolts into your room, gets dressed in record speed and leaves your little one-bedroom apartment without so much as a Goodbye or “We’ll hear from each other,” and you prefer it that way. It saves stuff from getting messy.

Speaking of messy, you really wish Tartaglia would have sent you a note before coming. The smell of icy wind and snowy forests clings to his clothes. He must have come straight from a mission, not unusual in the slightest, yet in most cases he sends a message your way just to make sure he doesn’t run into one of your one-night stands and it doesn’t get ugly.

Like right now.

“I thought you had a little more class than that,” he says nonchalantly. His feet keep wobbling from left to right until you make your way over and push them off your table. Not that you actually sit there to take your meals, no. But this is your home, you have to assert dominance.

“Well, I’m not picky,” you say, taking the empty chair opposite from him. “The nights of Fyrva’snezh are really fucking cold.”

“I’m sure Fire-Water will do the same trick.” He’s sulking, yet he has no right to it and knowing Tartaglia, that’s why he sulks even more.

Your relationship can be summarised with one word: complicated. Which is funny, because besides martial arts classes (taught by a teacher that is a real ball of sunshine who could easily snap your spine like a twig) and infiltration tactics courses (led by a grumpy teacher who once woke you all up in the middle of the night to do a spontaneous quiz about infiltration steps and everyone who failed or fell asleep had to run a marathon through the forest in their underwear) you had to take at the Fatui military school of Zapolyarny, they also teach mathematics and molecular physics, and that shit was complicated.

Growing up in a small seaside village—bless little Morepesok; how much you miss babushka Katya’s refreshing botvinia soup—with only a handful kids your age, gravitating towards Tartaglia was the natural development. He loves ice-fishing, you love eating fish. You gag just smelling solyanka, he wolfs it down like it might be his last meal on earth. Opposites attract each other, as they say, and how true it is for you two—you, the morning person and he, the night owl; his will of iron and your nerves of steel. Your bow, his sword, even though Tartaglia is a masochist who likes to make it hard for himself by trying to switch weapons solely because you’re better at it than him and he is a sore loser.

His worship of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, your fear of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

“I don’t think you came all the way here just to call me a slut,” you say. He is in no position to do so anyway, because Camilla from the ptychy’moloko shop down the road that leads to the Sarov church didn’t shut up about blowing him for weeks until you sent her a liver of a pig and claimed that was the leftovers from the last girl that thought she could put a leash on the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Camilla quickly moved on to an inconspicuous merchant who sells matryoshka dolls for a living and all is well that ends well.

“What do you want?”

Tartaglia starts tapping a gloved finger against the wooden table, a nervous tick you don’t know he’s aware of.

“I’m leaving for Liyue first thing tomorrow.” His tone is low when he speaks, his earlier nonchalance replaced by a sense of urgency.

“Okay.” It isn’t the first time he’s leaving Snezhnaya by order of the Tsaritsa, but every time he does, something inside you leaves with him. “So, you want me to keep an eye out for Teucer and the others?”

“He’s really unhappy I’m leaving again already.” Tartaglia doesn’t mention the reason he was sent away just a couple of months ago to Inazuma was because he accidentally blew up an artillery factory belonging to a nobleman that secretly shipped orders to Fontain. The fallout from that was easier to handle with him not being anywhere nearby. Tartaglia is like a pair of hot tongues; no one is sure where to put him or how soon he would cool off, but if they just drop him, he might light the world on fire. Kid gloves are put on and a careful perimeter marked out.

“And what excuse did you make up this time?” You knock your foot into his leg, lingering on his calf just a second too long before withdrawing again. “Another business trip to promote your toys? You can’t hold up this charade forever, you know.”

“Why, your eyes feast on Snezhnaya’s greatest expatriate toy seller, now extending to the Liyue Branch of our Institute for Toy Research.” Tartaglia’s eyes have taken on a playful glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “You wouldn’t be so cold to break a little boy’s heart. That’s not you.”

You want to remind him that you have no problem to put an arrow between a man’s eyes, or rip out his fingernails, one by one, to get the information that you want.

“You owe me, toy man.”

“Put it on my tab.”

Tartaglia looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but as always, he decides to swallow those words even though they must hurt like swallowing needles. You know that feeling, and so you help him sort out his tightly entangled yarn of emotions by figuratively pushing him off the cliff.

“Don’t forget to bring condoms. I hear the women of Liyue are beautiful.”

Tartaglia goes a sickly grey colour, like the ashes of a dead fire, but he’s been the leading role of this play too long to fall out of character now. He gets up and stretches like a cat getting comfortable in a spot of sunlight. His jacket rides up, showing a stripe of skin, and you quickly turn your head away before giving into leaning over the table and mark him with your teeth.

Patting his left pants’ pocket, Tartaglia says, “I’m always prepared.” He carries a grin that is dry, humourless, and for a brief moment, you two lock eyes, trading a look that feels like a dare. You allow yourselves to imagine how he picks you up and carries you to your bed where you two would proceed to fuck without abandon through the whole day and the following night, leaving the bed only to get food until Tartaglia leaves for Liyue and you’d send each other love letters until his return. What an idea. What an utterly stupid, naive, wonderful idea.

“Well, lucky ladies,” you say, not bothering to hide the jealousy in your voice because jealousy is easier to handle than regret.

“Lucky indeed,” he agrees and dons his easy-going smile, one that he’s perfected after hours upon hours in front of the mirror until it accomplished what he wanted: to mock people, infuriate them.

On his way out, he stops to ruffle your hair in an affectionate way, one typical for childhood friends, but the distance between you is like the ocean separating Snezhnaya from Liyue.

It was on the very first day of your conscription into the military organisation, Number Six of the Ten Laws that the Fatui abide by: Any physical or romantic relationship between Fatui agents is prohibited. As thou would not exchange flesh with thy brother or sister, so thou shalt not with your comrade, for he or she is thy brother or sister in arms.

And everyone knows Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s word is law, and though the law is hard, it is the law.

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #genshin impact #genshin impact childe #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact tartaglia #reader #reader insert #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you

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vanderlindemorgans · 3 years

Text

Cross My Heart (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings: one scene takes place in a hospital, some medical talk, more heavy drinking, talk of death and alcoholism (specifically related to drunk driving), mentions of drug addiction, Whiskey being a dick, lotta heavy topics in general.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

“Alright, so the X-Rays have come back and as you can probably already guess your left arm has been fractured”.

The news hadn’t been a shock to you at all - it was only logical that the result of being thrown off the back of a horse was your arm breaking from the impact of the fall, nevermind the sheer amount of pain that it had already caused you was even more indication that something was definitely wrong there. All things considered, it still wasn’t a pleasant piece of news to receive, causing you to let out a low groan as you settled back into the hospital gurney they had allocated to you after the ambulance had pulled you in. Dressed in only a hospital gown, you felt the chill from the room's air conditioning prick the edges of your skin, the coolness of temperature making the whole experience even more foreign to you. Of course, it wasn’t like you’d never been to a hospital before - an unlucky bout of croup had sent you to the emergency room as a little kid when you’d almost stopped breathing. At the resurgence of that particular memory you felt yourself shudder, recalling the hours spent passed out in a brightly lit room and being forced to drink gross tasting liquid that was meant to clear up your airways. At least you weren’t choking on your own breath this time round.

“Well that’s just fantastic. How long will it take to heal? I kinda got a ranch to run” you asked the doctor, who was standing off to the side consulting the clipboard nestled against his arm. Sighing, he looked up at you with a look of sympathy while he ran through the information he’d jotted down on his notes. “Usually it takes twelve weeks for fractures to heal - given the fact that a good part of your arm has been displaced you’ll need to be put into surgery to shift the bone back into place, which we’ll have scheduled for you in the next twenty-four hours. Afterwards, I’ll be putting you in a cast for a couple of weeks and you’ll have to come back in for checkups weekly. I’ll also give you a list of rehabilitation exercises you can do to ensure the recovery process goes as smoothly as possible” he explained. “After your surgery and subsequent discharge, I heavily recommend a few days bed rest due to the concussion you have sustained”.

“So I’m guessing most physical labour is out then” you muttered under your breath, sighing once you realized how heavily this would impact your ability to keep things running smoothly back at the ranch. Yes, you had employees but without you to oversee everything things would slow down and descend into madness real quickly. You wished you had allocated some sort of second in command for times like this, a manager of sorts to keep things in place while you recovered but you’d just never gotten around to it, brushing the thought aside every time it sprung up with a simple “Why would I need extra help anyway? Nothing ever happens around here”.

“You’d be correct on that. Now, I have some other patients to check on but I will be back in about 20 minutes or so to prep you for surgery, though I will send a nurse to give you some painkillers so you can stop feeling the worst of the pain for at least a little while” he replied. You went to thank him but before you could you felt a light touch graze along your right arm. Your eyes glanced over to where Jack’s hand was placed, his touch delicate and comforting, sparking that same feeling in your chest that you’d felt when he’d stroked your forehead back at the ranch. His eyes met your own for a moment, deep cedar brown looking at you with nothing more than concern and worry, somehow pulling at a single string of your heart even though you wanted to fight against it with all your might.

Snapping you focus back into place, you nodded back over to the doctor and thanked him for all he was doing, listening to his reassurances that he’d have you fixed up as soon as possible as he hurried on out of the room to his next patient in need. Once he was gone, you exhaled in annoyance and went back to staring aimlessly at the ceiling, mulling over the inconvenience of your predicament.

“Everything ok, sugar?” you heard Jack ask you, feeling his enchanting eyes study your expression, his anxiety over your wellbeing plain as day. Letting out a small laugh, you returned his question with a small smile of your own. “Does it look like I’m ok?” you joked, gesturing vaguely to your fractured arm.

He chuckled at your sarcasm, always enjoying that certain fire you had to your character that refused to silence itself. Unbeknownst to you, that was one of things that drew him towards you in the first place - his own air of cockiness and confidence was equally matched by your spitfire and sarcastic wit. Finding out the sweet disposition that lay behind that harshness the first time round had taken him by complete surprise, but only did more to endear himself to you. God, he was such a fool for losing that. He was certain that your sweetness was still there, closed behind even more layers of hurt and pain that he’d caused such a large hand in.

From the moment the ambulance had arrived, Jack had stayed beside you, refusing to leave for even a single moment. It was quite endearing, truth be told, a feeling that attempted to worm its way through your steadfast reasoning against him. He’s a liar. Don’t fall for his shit again, you repeated to yourself. Though it was becoming harder and harder to continue regarding him as your greatest mistake when he was behaving so kindly and gentlemanly towards you. Just a part of his deceptive charm, I guess, you thought bitterly.

“Y’know, you don’t have to worry about things gettin’ outta hand down at the ranch. I’m more than happy to step up and help” he spoke up, snapping your attention back to his words and out of your own contemplation. You thought about his proposal for a minute, the temptation to say yes seeming very appealing towards you, though somehow that felt like admitting to weakness. The ranch wasn’t his responsibility, it was yours, left to you by your dear parents. It was your obligation to run it in their stead - there’d been difficulties along the way, sure, including the occasional nasty cold every now and then but you had pulled through without any trouble. You didn’t need help or any sort of handout, and you were more than capable of taking care of business by yourself, even with a broken arm.

Then again, it is gonna be kinda hard to run a business while being confined to bed rest. Briefly you thought about just closing the ranch for a couple of days while you got back on track yet once you thought about the loss in profits you discarded that idea quickly. It wasn’t like you were struggling to make ends meet but a dip in profits could cause a bit of issue.

“Yeah but...It’s my responsibility. I can’t just ignore that because I got a stupid broken arm” you rebuffed, though you didn’t sound entirely convinced of what you were saying yourself. Sadly, stubbornness was your nature and even if you knew you were fighting a losing battle, sometimes it was more about the principle of having a position rather than whatever thing you were debating over. Some would say that was quite a counterproductive way to look at things, and you’d agree with them, yet you still remained stubborn in spite of them, feeding back into the cycle.

“Darlin’, with all due respect, I think what’s best for you is that you take a step back and let someone else take the reins. You need to allow yourself to rest a lil. Tell me, in all the years of runnin’ the ranch by yourself, have you ever once taken a day off?”.

“No, but-”.

“Exactly as I thought. You’ve been doing an amazing job at keeping things together for all these years, sweetheart, but you gotta relax a bit. Let me help you” he interrupted, gazing at you with those heart-meltingly sweet eyes of his, a look which made you seize up ever so slightly in minor fake annoyance. Little shit, he had to be doing that on purpose.

“Fine, only if it’ll get you to shut up” you relented, rolling your eyes in a dramatic fashion and hitting your head back down into the pillow below, eliciting a playful smirk from him in return. “That’s my girl, stubborn as always” he jested.

To that you cocked an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “Your girl? Careful there, Jack, for a minute I thought you were capable of genuine compassion and care. I may have once been your girl, cowboy, but not anymore. Or did you happen to forget?”.

His own expression softened slightly in regards to your snide remark, his mischievous grin faltering while he turned his gaze to the floor, looking somewhat sheepish towards what you had said, a far cry from his usual air of arrogance. “Yeah, I guess I deserve that” he murmured. “Tell me, sugar, do you ever think one day you’ll believe me when I say that I’m sorry?”.

“When pigs fly, dearest” you smiled with a shit-eating grin, though you couldn’t miss that momentary flash of hurt in his eyes that made you pull back, a sharp pang striking through your chest that hurt harder than the agonizing ache in your arm, which really, was saying something. Could that be...guilt, perhaps?, you thought, searching Jack’s face for any further sign of offense. If he was feeling hurt, he was doing a pretty stellar job at hiding it. Maybe it was nothing, and even if he was hurt, well, he said it himself, he deserved it. Without giving you another minute to ponder your own feelings, a welcome interruption in the arrival of a nurse found you, shifting your thoughts towards the relief of finally getting some painkillers into you.

___

The surgery had gone over well, and after a grueling day spent hanging out in that hospital room hopped up on painkillers you were finally discharged late afternoon the following day. The worst of your concussion had cleared itself up too yet you were still confined to your bed for those first few days - the doctor was insistent on that fact, saying you could never be too careful. You’d begrudgingly complied, not wanting to cause any further problems to your health, and even if you had tried to go against the doctor’s orders, you knew that Jack would be there to send you off back to bed if you dared lift a finger.

Jack had doted on you the entire time, making sure you were well hydrated and cool enough in the midst of the hot Texas summer, fetching you snacks and whatever else you needed from downstairs. In his own words, what kind of man would he be if he didn’t take care of an ailing woman. You’d rolled your eyes and insisted that he didn’t have to go all out with looking after you yet he’d insisted. It was somewhat heartwarming, and it felt nice to be taken care of again after those last few years alone. It reminded you of when you’d come down with the flu back in third grade, staying home in bed lazily watching television and barely being able to keep your eyes open while your mum made soup in the kitchen. You could feel your heart drop at the mere recollection of your parents, pain that stayed beneath the surface rising up in full force. Usually you pushed those feelings down, not wanting to become distracted from the business, but today, you allowed yourself the indulgence of missing them. What would they think if they could see you now? Would they be proud, or disappointed?

Feeling your stomach grumble, you shifted over in bed and reached your only good arm out to grab onto the half-eaten grilled cheese Jack had brought in for you five minutes before, letting out a low wince at the pain that writhed through your other arm, which had been placed into a cast and sling for the time being. Already you couldn’t wait for the day you could get the damned thing taken off - you hadn’t been able to shower and you felt grotty and gross. It wasn’t like you had to impress anyone, it was just you and Jack lying about the place. Still, you could only take so many days of waking up with unwashed greasy hair. And it was itchy too. Oh dear god, it was fucking itchy. You’d heard about how itchy the plaster could get second-hand but you never anticipated it to be that bad.

Directing your eyes to the clock on your bedside, you took notice of the time and let out a small relieved sigh. You could finally take another one of those painkillers, the fourth and dismally last one for you of the day.

Your relief quickly fizzled out into disappointment when you realised the packet of painkillers that had been sitting by your bedside was empty. “Seriously? It’s only been a few days, I couldn’t have gone through them already…” you muttered to yourself in annoyance. Nevermind, there was another packet downstairs. You may have been perfectly capable of getting out of bed and retrieving it yourself, though you found yourself not wanting to be bothered with such a task. “Hey Jack, you there? I ran out of painkillers, could ya run some up to me?” you called out.

“Sure thing, sweetheart” you heard him shout back, and no more than two minutes later he was striding through your bedroom door, carrying exactly what you had requested within his palms. “How are you feelin’?” he asked.

“No better than six minutes ago when you last asked me that. Thanks for bringing these up though, fuck that stupid horse for bucking me off” you grumbled, sniping the blessed white packet out of his hands and into your fingers. “Pain making you grumpy, sweet girl? You seem a bit more full of spitfire than usual today” he joked.

“Nah, you’re getting the discounted version today. If I wanted to vocalise exactly what I was feeling right now you’d be obliterated in a second” you laughed, chucking a tablet into your mouth and washing it down with a large gulp of water, anxious to feel some semblance of relief.

“You don’t say. How’s your head doing, though? No dizziness or anything like that?”.

“I’m fine, Jack, I promise. You don’t have to fawn all over me just because I broke my dumb arm” you assured, rolling your eyes at him.

“I wouldn’t call in fawning, I only want to make sure you're comfortable and all that. Not only because of your arm and all” he smiled gently, reaching out to brush a stray hair off your forehead. It could have been the heat of the room but you could have sworn your skin felt on fire the moment he touched you. You could feel him press the back of his fingers against your head, unconsciously allowing your breath to hitch at his touch. And just like that, the warmth of his hand was gone, leaving an invisible searing mark in its place and your own head full of frenzied and confused thoughts.

“Like I said earlier, just call out if you need anything else, alright darlin’?” he said as he was leaving, words that you didn’t care to take notice of as he left you to yourself again. Blinking slowly, you couldn’t even fully begin to describe what had just taken place, or why one little gesture was throwing your mind into somersaults. Why did his mere touch have to affect you like that? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? Groaning loudly, you settled yourself underneath the sheet covering you and huffed at nobody in particular, cursing both yourself and him for even existing. For fucks sake...

___

Taking a sip of bourbon from your glass, you leaned against the side of the stairs of the veranda with your gaze fixated off into the distance, though you didn’t take any notice of what lay ahead, lost deep in your own thoughts that clouded your mind. It’d been a couple more days, and you’d finally been able to get out of bed and get back to helping out around the ranch - not that you were still of any use to anyone, given the state of your arm. It felt good to be back overseeing things, albeit a bit more behind the scenes than you had been in years. It’d be a good month or so before you were able to move your arm properly and have things back to normal. At first that fact did nothing short of irritating you, since you weren’t one to lie about helpless when work needed to be done. Over the last few days though, seeing the ranch go about with business as usual with Jack’s extra help had put you at ease a little. It still bothered you somewhat that you had to be asking any sort of help from Jack Daniels of all people, though really, he was the one offering it in the first place so you hadn’t so much as asked him to do anything, moreso conceding to his instistance at the behest of your stubbornness.

The pain was getting a little better too, though whether that had more to do with the painkillers or not remained to be seen. For example, you couldn’t feel anything now but you had just ingested two glasses of pure straight bourbon, so of course any type of pain would be numbed. Remember when it could numb more than just that? You let out a small snicker at the thought, sounding as hollow and empty as it felt. Once upon a time you might have been classed as relatively lightweight, a fact that changed after years of the trials and tribulations life had thrown your way. You still got drunk easy, but it took a good few glasses before you actually passed out.

“You know, you should let me sign that for ya”.

Hearing that familiar voice ring out from behind you, you swivel around so see its owner standing right in the opened doorway of your home, his hands casually resting in his pockets and his frame leant against the wall. “What are we, in middle school? I don’t want it getting dirty” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him for good measure.

He smirked right back at you, letting out a small snicker that mirrored your own. “Why not? It’s not like you're gonna have to be wearin’ it forever. A little scribble in permanent marker wouldn’t do ya any harm” Jack grinned, taking a large step forward to descend down to your level, seating himself right next to you on the veranda. You cocked an eyebrow at him, letting your fingertips trail over the edge of the glass in your hands while you stared at him with utter audacity. “And yet I know you’re only so persistent in signing it because you’ll write something crude or vaguely flirty” you snipped.

“How little you think of me, sugar. I’d never dream of doin’ such a thing. I am nothing if not a gentleman”.

“Oh, do cut the charm, Jack. What is it you want?”.

“Please, can’t a man share a glass of bourbon with a lady without being subjected to the Spanish Inquisition?” he asked, wearing his devilish and frustratingly charming grin as he spoke, the appearance of which you swore made your cheeks flush a little bit hotter. Probably because of the alcohol...and it is hot out here after all...

“Not this lady, cowboy” you stated, gulping down the last dredges of bourbon in your glass and placing it back down to the floor with a thud. You went to go grab the bottle from beside you but found Jack had already snatched it up, pouring you another glass. Mumbling out a small thank you, you considered asking him if he wants a glass of his own, however once you caught sight of his silver Statesman issued flask in his hands you dismissed the idea entirely. With nothing else left to say, you glanced back up to the sky above towards where the moon was hanging over you two, the delicate light illuminating the stretches of countryside around your property in a soft glow, one that was both enchanting and eerie at the same time. Every now and then you would be reminded of how beautiful the Texan countryside could look, whether it be bathed in the rays of that damned blistering sun or the enigmatic glimmer of moonlight. It could pull you back to moments lost in time, years ago sitting right where you were in that very same spot, seven years younger and with the exact same man sitting beside you, head rested on his shoulder and looking out into the vast expanse of midnight black. Funny how things change, don’t they?

Out the corner of your eye you saw Jack shake his head, his eyes quiet, the sparkle of stark confidence bordering on plain arrogance missing. It was a similar look to the one he’d given you at the hospital that night, before he’d tried to cover it up with a certain facade of indifference. “What will it take for you to believe I’m sorry? What happened between us, it was all-” he started before being unceremoniously cut off by your interjection.

“In the past? I’m well aware of that. Doesn’t change how I feel” you stopped him. You’d anticipated him throwing out that line from day one and you’d come prepared. Shut it down. Don’t let him try to swindle you for a fool.

His expression changed to one more serious, a hint of him being slightly miffed that you cut him off in the first place. “Let me finish, darlin’. I’m gonna level with you for a second - what I did to you was one of the worst mistakes of my life. Letting everything fall apart like it did, I never should have let it happen” he expressed, his tone straddling between being firm and also being gentle. Cocking an eyebrow at him, you turned back to your glass of liquor, swirling the liquid around idly in a way that reminded you of that persistent thought running round your head. Did he have a point? Were you being too harsh on him?

Don’t become soft on him. Don’t do it. You shifted back into focus, pushing those thoughts far to the back of your tipsy mind while you took a couple large sips of liquor as if it were a lifeline. “Worse than whatever mistake led you to showing up on my doorstep?” you asked, eager to direct the conversation right back out of that uncomfortable territory and into something a bit more easier to stomach. Maybe later on you could ponder the true depths of your perceptions of Jack. Right now, though, you wanted to get wasted and not have to think about anything anymore. And hey, it’s not like I wasn’t wondering about the events that led him here in the first place anyway.“You never did tell me what happened. I know you said it was none of my concern but...I want to know. Call it a spate of drunken curiosity, if ya want”.

The question alone was enough to draw Jack’s face from being merely serious to an expression more cold and distant. He looked away from you entirely and rested his gaze to the few steps below the two of you, his hand clenching in a subconscious act that alone was enough to tell you his own reservations regarding the topic. “Truth is, I’ve been fucking things up for a good couple of years. What happened to lead me here, well, it ain’t a pretty story”.

“I don’t care, Jack, I wanna know” you asserted, surging with a sense of fiery confidence. It might have been the alcohol giving you a bit more moxie to push the topic. One thing was for sure though: you wanted answers, and you didn’t wanna let this go. Stretching your legs out, you finished off the glass you had while you waited for him to reply, not wanting to cave to your request even if he was looking at you like you’d threatened to kill the President.

Finally, he let out a low groan of annoyance and leant against the side of the veranda, not affording you a single look as he launched into his tale. “Basically what happened is some agents from an English based secret service came over to the states as a last resort - their base got blown up by someone and the two guys that approached us were the only ones left alive. Well, them and this other guy we had at our headquarters, but that’s a whole other story. The people behind the attack were a group called the Golden Circle, and Statesman had already been investigating them for awhile. I was called in by Champ to partner up with the Kingsman fellas, do the regular secret agent spiel of espionage and savin’ the world and all that crap. But, me and these other agents, we had an...ideological disagreement. I was covertly tryin’ to hinder them until the older guy got wise to my shit and shot me in the head. Ginger managed to bring me in and revive me, I went over to Cambodia where the two agents were confronting the leader of the Golden Circle, and to make a long story short things got nasty pretty quickly. I barely escaped with my life” he explained.

You nodded along to his explanation, the load of information being a lot to take in the first time round. You were always somewhat aware of Jack’s position as a secret agent though you were never privy to the nitty and gritty details - in fact, the way you’d found out about it in the first place was by complete accident and Jack had to beg Agent Champ to allow you to become cleared on even knowing the basics of his true work behind the front of being a Statesman investor. “And these ideological disagreements were…?” you pushed.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know” he deflected.

“Try me”.

He didn’t reply to you straight away, instead staring at you with a stark look of confliction across his face, an inner turmoil brewing inside of him on whether or not he should tell you even more. Being cast out as a traitor, he didn’t have to worry about breaking any sort of rule of confidentiality, so if you had to wager a guess at what his dilemma was, then it must have been that he felt mildly ashamed, or even embarrassed about the whole situation. In your mind though, you’d let him keep his secrets for weeks now, but if he was going to stay in your house you wanted to at the bare minimum know what he did that was so bad that he simply couldn’t return back home anymore. “Well go on then, hit me with your best shot” you prodded further, hopefully enough to get his demeanour to crack and for him to spill what exactly the entire fuss had been about. And sure enough, crack he did.

Running a hand across his forehead, he let out a low exasperated sigh, one that would have been inaudible if you hadn’t been seated beside him, indicating the exact moment he finally decided to break his own silence and reveal everything to you. “The Golden Circle were primarily a drug cartel and terrorist organization based out in the hidden depths of the Cambodian jungle. Their leader had devised a plot that involved lacing their distribution of drugs with a new type of chemical she created that caused death. Since their supply was mass distributed over the globe, they were holding the entire populace of drug users and addicts hostage to their respective governments, demanding a payout for the antidote. They didn’t, however, anticipate the President and other world leaders not really giving a red hot shit about the lives of junkies. Being the noble men they are, the Kingsman agents as well as the rest of Statesman were striving to get ahold of the antidote to save all those people. And that, is where me and them disagreed” Jack elaborated, avoiding your gaze in what appeared to be a calculated move in order to refrain from seeing your reactions to his admittance. In the span of two minutes, your expression had shifted from intense curiosity to straight up bafflement at what he was saying. It didn’t make sense - why was he against distributing the antidote? He was a secret agent, wasn’t he meant to save the world and innocent lives and all that?

“Let me get this straight - you were assigned on a mission to try to save the lives of innocent people, and you chose...not to do that” you asked, your tone laced with judgment. Not that you had intended for what you said to have come across any different. If what he was implying was right, then that would mean...

“Well, when you put it like that, sure, it sounds awful. I will concede, it wasn’t my best move. But all the people who ingested those drugs did so willingly. They knew they were taking a gamble on their lives the moment they stuck a damn needle into their arms” Jack grumbled defensively, allowing you to gawk back at him in utter disbelief. “Jack, no, you can’t seriously believe that? So what you’re saying is that the kid that decided to get high with his mates one weekend at a party deserves to die? Is that right?”.

“No, no, I didn’t mean like that, I just…”.

“Really? ‘Cause it sounds a lot like you’re saying that innocent people should die for their poor choices” you cut in, shaking your head to further drive your point in. “Jesus, just when I thought you couldn’t be a bigger asshole you proved me wrong”.

“Sweetheart, please, I know. It was a mistake, you don’t have to keep rubbing it in”.

“You know it’s a mistake, but do you truly feel it? Do you really feel remorse? Because if you don’t then it’s just a bunch of empty words” you rebuffed, shooting him with a cold piercing glare that could make an entire continent freeze over. Around about this time, you really began to take notice of the dazed feeling clouding you, every glass of liquor draining straight into your brain and making you feel like your entire head was swimming. Maybe take it easy on the next glass, why don’t ya? With that thought, you shoved the glass off to the side with your free arm and bit your lip, debating whether or not you should even say what you wanted to next. That debate, however, did not last very long as you found yourself blurting out exactly what was on your mind within two seconds of your last thought. “Jack, look...maybe I’ll hate myself for saying this later, and maybe it’s just the liquor talking but I don’t think you’re an inherently bad person. I think you’re an arrogant son of a bitch who does cruel stupid things but probably has a decent enough heart. You just...you gotta stop with this shit. Stop with the betrayals, and the lies, and the false promises, all of it, and just be the real you. The Jack I knew may be a prick but he was never one to let an innocent die on his watch. What’s really behind all this?”.

He continued to glare from his position beside you, somewhat intent on making you recant and drop the whole subject entirely. You wouldn’t go down that easy though, and he knew it, for as stubborn as Jack was you were at least ten times moreso, so when he folded first and trained his eyes low to the ground, you knew that he’d finally conceded. You could feel a whole shift in his demeanour from where you sat, the mask of defensive anger slowly falling away to reveal what was truly underneath: hurt. Pure, raw, unbridled hurt. Anguish that felt especially familiar to you and spoke to a part of yourself that you’d been turning away from for years, and even before he said those words you knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Years ago, before I became an agent to Statesman, I was married to the young woman I’d fallen for in high school. I think I told you about her in passing maybe once, or twice, I don’t know…” Jack started, trailing off once he began to fully re-immerse himself in the past, heartache plainly sewn across his features. It was then that you felt an ache of your own in your chest, a heavy feeling of guilt descending upon you once you realised the gravity of what he was saying. “I remember. You said her name was Lily, wasn’t it?” you murmured, your voice small and unsure, with a hint of something else present too. Regret? Guilt? Whatever it was, you couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it was there, strong as anything and clearly wasn’t going away any time soon.

Jack let out a small hum in reply, everything about his composure presumably a million miles away from everything around the both of you.“So you do remember” he muttered, brushing his fingers over the edge of his silver flask that he had cradled in his handles, tracing the Statesman logo engraved on the side with the pad of his thumb. “I remember you askin’ me about her the first time you came back to my apartment in New York - you saw the photo of her I kept on my desk and asked who she was. I only told you briefly that she was long gone, but I never told you how. The both of us were only twenty-three, and she was pregnant with our first child, a baby boy. Last time I saw her she left the house to go to the convenience store a few streets over”. He stopped himself for a split second, the darkness of his eyes being the all-too recognisable sign of falling deep into his own recollection, feeling as if he was reliving every memory that he revisited in his mind. “Twenty minutes later I get a phone call from a cop, saying there’d been an incident. Meth addicts had robbed the store at gunpoint and she’d been caught in the crossfire. She died instantly, and I wasn’t there to say goodbye. I never got to meet our baby boy, I never got to hold her in my arms again and say how much I loved her, because she was taken from me by a couple of meth-addled scumbags”.

You were honestly at a loss for words, not knowing if saying something would be the appropriate option or not. He was right, you knew he was married before - the time with the picture that he mentioned was the most you had heard of her. He never brought Lily up again, and you never thought to ask, since in your mind it wasn’t any of your business who Jack loved before. Now, the pieces were falling into place, the interwoven connections of his past to his actions as an agent making all the more sense to you.

What you wanted to do most was lean forward and envelop him into your embrace, tell him that you understood more than anyone what exactly that felt like, and even permit yourself to pour out your own heart to him. Drunk as you were though, you couldn’t talk yourself into doing anything more than placing a reassuring hand on his knee, letting your touch be soft and hesitant in case he shrugged you off, since you did basically just goad him into revealing his own wounds in the name of having answers. “Jack, I...I had no idea, I-”.

“How could you have known? I never told you” he mumbled flatly. In the dim veranda light, all though it was faint, you could swear that there was a teardrop lingering in the corner of his cedar brown eyes, nudging the dagger of guilt further into your heart. Say something, you idiot.

Starting off softly, you let your hand rest firmer on his knee, trying to catch his eyes into your own. Tearing his glance away from the flask, he looked back at you with the same raw grief that you had seen on your own face so many times. “I know it must have hurt like hell losing her. And you have every right to feel angry, and hurt that she was taken, but that doesn’t give you the right to hate. Every addict in the world is not the same man who took her life. You can’t just-” you started, before the sound of Jack’s harshest tone cut through your words like a knife.

“How would you know? Do you have any idea what it feels like to hurt, to have lost everything because of someone else’s choices?” he spat, anger seething in his scowl that was directed solely at you. It had taken you by surprise at first - as a reflex you withdrew your hand quickly from him as if he were burnt, perplexed at his sudden outburst. That didn’t last long however, as soon enough confusion was replaced by your own flair of anger. Now it was your turn to get defensive.“I think I do know what it’s like to hurt and to lose. In case you’ve forgotten, dickhead, there’s two people who should be right inside this house that aren’t anymore and haven’t been for about six fucking years now!” you yelled back.

Shit. He’d forgotten about your parents. The anger that had been in him disappeared without a trace right then, being replaced by something close to resembling remorse over his behaviour. “I...I didn’t mean...fuck, sugar, I…I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say” he apologised. You didn’t say anything back to him. You didn’t want to dignify him with any sort of a response. First of all, how dare he? You were only trying to empathise with him, and here he was biting your head off for daring to suggest that he doesn't hate every drug user on the planet. Why do I even fucking bother?

The awkward silence between you hung for awhile, the two of you not wanting to break it for your own different reasons. You could feel Jack stealing glances at you, like he was trying to talk himself into saying something but never had the courage to follow through. Huffing to yourself, you took in your next glass fast enough to make your head spin. You’d have to turn in for the night eventually, and truth be told you were considering doing so right then when you heard Jack speak up.

“I never did ask...if you don’t mind me askin’ that is...what happened to your folks anyway?” he asked hesitantly, as if he knew the question was fat-witted to begin with. Not that you minded too much by then. Drunk you was a lot more forgiving than you were sober.

Taking in a heavy breath, you relayed your tale of woe to him, one hand placed steady to your side to keep you sitting upright. “It was late, and they were coming back from a friend’s 50th birthday party. Their friend lived in downtown Dallas, so they had a fair way to go to get from there to here. When they were almost on the highway, an out-of-control car barrelled towards them, smashing into the front of their windscreen and killing both of them instantly. The driver of the other car had been drinking - according to the local news he was a known alcoholic and had been out having a heated argument with his friend in the passenger seat. The only survivor of the entire collision had been his friend”.

You saw Jack blink at you in silent shock, the weight of your words falling heavily on him while he continued to process it all. “Shit, darling, I feel like an even bigger piece of shit than I already did. If you slapped me clean across the face and kicked me out on my ass after this I wouldn’t blame ya one bit” he replied to you solemnly in a way that didn’t leave you questioning the authenticity of his words - he was genuinely sorry this time round. Taking his apology in stride, you shrugged back at him and acted as nonchalant about the whole thing as possible, not wanting to ponder the topic further. As far as you were concerned, you’d felt enough things for one day and would very much like a break from it all.

“It’s fine. You had no way of knowing. But please, if you take anything from this, at least listen to my words: externalising hate towards random people only feeds your trauma. It doesn’t resolve anything, and the only person left suffering in the end is yourself”.

He furrowed his brow at you, most likely feeling a little defensive that the topic had circled back around to here, but considering his unruly display of anger earlier he wasn’t one to indulge in his own instinctual need to defend his position. “But...didn’t you want the man who took your parents away to suffer? Didn’t you look at every other drunk driving incident in the papers with a little more anger and rage than before?” he asked, earning a single eyebrow raise from you in return. “I mean...I guess what I’m trying to say is...it’s so easy to hate...why didn’t you fall into that trap?”.

“Well, I did, for a little. It was almost tempting to look at every person I saw struggling with alcoholism in red. Since the man who caused the collision was already dead as a result of his own mistakes, at times I’d externalise part of that pain I was feeling onto others, and sometimes that anger became so hot and so burning that it was almost impossible to ignore. I realised pretty quickly that hating alcoholics wasn’t going to bring my parents back and that I’d have to make peace with their passing at some point. Honestly, I still haven’t processed a lot of that shit myself yet I’m still out here living my life as best I can, and really, with my own drinking habits I’d be a goddamn hypocrite to even try to find any true hatred in my heart towards heavy drinkers” you explained. Taking one last sip of bourbon, you discarded your glass off to your side and chuckled lightheartedly. “God, If I drink another glass I’m gonna collapse on the fucking floor. Think it might be time for me to turn in for the night. At least it’s Sunday tomorrow so we can sleep in a lil”.

“Y-you’re goin’ to bed? You’re not telling me to get lost or anything?” Jack sputtered in disbelief, which in turn earned him a minorly strange look from you. “Why would I do that?” you asked.

“I quite literally just admitted to treason against my former organization to you”.

“So? You made a mistake. A pretty fucking big mistake, and a shitty one at that, but still, a mistake. You obviously have some of your own pain you need to work through, and I can get that. Doesn’t mean I agree with what you did, but I get it. I’m not gonna kick you to the curb just because you have issues”.Upon saying that, you hoisted yourself up by latching your free arm onto the veranda’s fenceline, stumbling a little as you fought to maintain your balance while being both drunk and unable to fully utilise one of your arms. Nevertheless, you��d managed to straighten yourself up, and once you’d determined that you were alright to take yourself upstairs you faced on towards the front door and grasped at the brass knob in your hands, taking a brief pause to turn back and nod softly towards the man behind you. “Night Jack, I’ll see ya tomorrow” you called out, leaving him to sit there and watch you disappear back into the house with a certain look of dumbfounded astonishment.

Tag list (lemme know if you wanna be added): @giselatropicana

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #Kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #cross my heart #Kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal

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