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imagineyourworld · 3 years

Text

Peer Pressure

Kix x Fem!Princess!Reader

Summary: Kix finds himself giving the princess medical assistance, and even though the two of them hit it off, no one else seems to like the two of them together

Warnings: Mention of blood, mention of a bombing (happened prior to the story), people being a-holes towards the clones

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The first time Kix sa you he could have sworn time stopped for a moment. All his bleeding brothers, the destroyed droids and remains of the palace faded into the background the second he laid eyes on you. And when you ended up walking straight towards him his heart skipped a beat. Though he soon scolded himself for this when he saw that you weren’t exactly walking, but rather jumping on one leg, trying your best not to put any pressure on the other. Kix hurried over to you and without either of you having to say a single word he put his arm around your waist and guided you over to one of the makeshift beds along the tent walls. “Thank you”, you said. Those two words made Kix turn his attention away from your leg and to your eyes. Even though they haven’t been on this planet for very long, everyone in the 501st could tell that the inhabitants were not big fans of clones, most of them ignored them altogether while others were nothing but mean and cold. Your words might have been the first friendly ones he had heard since their arrival that didn’t come from one of his brothers. “You’re welcome”, he replied, trying his best to focus on your leg again and not your gorgeous eyes. “What seems to be the problem?” You shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. I was with my family, trying to escape the palace as soon as the alarms went off, but then there was this loud noise and next thing I knew I was all alone and the walls around me were nothing more than dust and pebbles. Kix nodded along while you talked. “Do you mind lifting your dress so I can have a closer look at your leg?” You did as you were told, lifting the hem of your dress inch by inch until Kix told you to stop. He could now see that your knee was at a weird angle and there was a long cut along your calf, which was still bleeding. He studied the dark fabric of your dress for a moment to see if there was any indication as to how much blood you’ve lost, but all he noticed that the dress, though now dirty and torn in some places, seemed incredibly expensive. You must be a very high up servant, or maybe even some kind of noble woman. “Your knee is dislocated and you have a cut on your calf. It’s bleeding a lot, but not deep, so you should be on your feet in no time”, he explained as he began to disinfect your wound before wrapping it up. “Try not to put too much weight on this leg the next couple of days, a day or two of bedrest would help as well, if that’s possible. And the bandages should be changed once a day until the wound is closed. As for your knee, this will hurt for just a second, you can squeeze my arm, it might help with the pain.” Once again you were a model patient and did as told while Kix tried not to let your warm hand on his arm affect him. He had put off parts of his armour a while earlier due to the hot climate and now there was only a thin layer of fabric between your skin and his. “What’s your name?”, you asked as Kix put his hands on your knee, whether because you were really interested or to distract you Kix didn’t know, but he found that it didn’t really matter to him. You had asked for his name, not his number as the few other people he had spoken to on this planet, one of whom had only asked so he could report him for daring to touch him while placing a bacta patch on him. “Kix. My name’s Kix”, he said and quickly followed up by asking for your name. “I’m (Y/N)”, you said, though you rather screamed the last syllable in the short moment it took Kix to relocate your knee. “It’s very nice to meet you, Kix. And thank you so much for your help. What can I do to repay you?” Kix, now finished with his work, looked at you in shock. Surely you had to be joking. “I... “, he began, not sure what to say. In all his time as a medic, this was a question he had never heard. “Maybe we could meet again for dinner and you could tell me what you’ve thought of”, you suggested with a bright smile on your lips that made Kix’s mouth dry. Did you just ask him on a date? Were you flirting with him? “I’d like that. Especially after the day I’ve had”, he finally admitted. Still smiling you leaned forward, placing your elbows on your legs and your head in your hands until your face was only inches way from Kix, who was still kneeling in front of you. “Go on, tell me about your day.” Kix scanned your face, looking for any trace of irony or cruelty, but when he didn’t find anything that might lead him to believe that you weren’t sincere he began. “Well, it was a long day and a short night. Jesse, that’s one of the brothers I’m closest with, woke me at the crack of dawn because Hardcase had dropped his caf and cut himself on the broken cup trying to pick up the pieces. Once his hand was bandaged Echo and Fives came running through the medbay, trying to hide from Dogma, who they had pulled some sort of prank on. And before that could be settled Rex commed us to get us over here because the palace was under attack.” Kix surprised himself with how much he had told you, how easy it was for him to talk to you and that you were smiling and laughing as he told his story. “That sounds like an eventful day, much better than mine. Maybe I’ll get to meet your brothers one day”, you said wistfully. Before Kix could reply to that he heard voices from the other side of the tent. As he looked over he saw you rolling your eyes out of the corner of his eyes. “Where is she? Where is our daughter? I demand you bring us to her?” He saw Rex trying to calm the screaming man down, but the woman next to him then began to yell at the Captain. Luckily just a moment later General Skywalker intervened and much to Kix’s dismay lead the couple over to him. “Kix, the King and Queen say that their daughter was admitted to the medical tent. Have you by any chance seen the princess?” Kix shook his head. He was pretty sure he would have noticed if anyone like the two monarchs in front of him would have been anywhere near the tent. “There you are! (Y/N), we were so worried. What are you doing here? You should be with our own doctors, not this... clone”, the Queen exclaimed while, to Kix’s surprise, put both her hands on your cheeks. Though he didn’t hear your reply, since his attention was now captured by the King who had picked up his wife’s yelling. “What do you think you were doing with my daughter? Were you trying to kidnap her? You better hope for your own good that you didn’t touch her, or else-”, he began before being interrupted by both you and Anakin. “Dad!”, you yelled while Anakin told him not to speak to his men like that. Though neither the King nor the Queen paid any attention to either of you. Instead they both took one of your arms and basically lifted you off the bed. All you could to before they all but carried out the tent was to turn around to look at Kix and mouth a single word. “Sorry.” All Kix could do was stare after you, standing completely still and not registering anything around him until he suddenly felt Jesse’s hand on his shoulder. “Well done, vod. That’s the princess you were just flirting with.”

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A short while later you were sitting in an armchair in the one part of the palace that, by some miracle, was still mostly intact. The room was smaller than what you were used to, and the clothes you were wearing were a lot less elaborate than your usual dresses, and yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead it felt rather like you weren’t yourself at all, like you could do things you usually couldn’t. The thought brought an idea to your mind. You looked very different in this simple black dress, with no makeup and unstyled hair, if you were to leave the palace no one would stop you, they wouldn’t even recognize you. Without thinking further about your idea you jerked into action, packing the small dinner on the table next to you in a basket you had found earlier and making your way out of the room and through the halls. No one stopped you, no one even bothered to look at you until you arrived at your destination. “Who are you? What do you want?”, a clone with the number five tattooed on his forehead asked. Though his voice was similar to Kix’s, he sounded a lot less friendly. “I’m looking for a medic. His name is Kix. We met earlier today and I-” “What? You’re gonna yell at him some more?”, another clone, this one without visible tattoos asked. You shook your head and lifted the basket in your hands. “I’m bringing him dinner as a thank you for helping me. And an apology for my parent’s behaviour.” It seemed to dawn on the clones who you were once you mentioned your parents. “You’re the princess!”, the tattooed clone exclaimed, though the other elbowed him in the side a moment later. “Kix should be in the mess. That’s the third door to the right”, the other clone said, his voice a lot friendlier now, before the two of them let you pass onto the ship. You soon found your way to the mess, though only once you stepped inside did it occur to you that finding Kix amongst all the other clones might be a bit more difficult than anticipated. As you began to look around the room you realized that one after the other all the clones had stopped eating and were now looking at you. You felt heat rising to your cheeks. Maybe you should have thought this through instead of assuming Kix would be around, waiting for you. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of you looking around the room and every single men inside staring at you, one of the clones walked up to you. He obviously wasn’t Kix, but introduced himself as Jesse, a name you were at least familiar with. “You must be the princess. If you’re looking for Kix, he just left for the barracks. Down the corridor, then left. If you might still catch him before he hits the ‘fresher.” Relief flooded through your body. “Thank you”, you called over your shoulder as you headed out the door to finally find Kix. You saw him just as he was rounding the corner and called his name. Though you hadn’t expected him to stop dead in his track because as soon as you ran around the corner you ran right into him. Luckily Kix had quick reflexes and caught you before you could fall down. “You weren’t just running, were you? What part of ‘don’t put weight on your leg’ didn’t you understand?”, he sighed, though there was a grin on his lips. You shook your head as you tried your best to catch your breath. How dare he talk about your leg now instead of appreciating your grand gesture? “I know, I’m sorry”, you said, even though you weren’t really, not if running was your way of catching Kix. “And I’m sorry for earlier. My parents... they’re... they can be... I’m sorry. I’m nothing like them, I promise. And look, I even brought the dinner I promised you as proof.” Without hesitation you thrust the basket in Kix’s hands. He looked inside before turning back to you. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to have dinner. Clearly there are a million reasons you should stay away from me.” You shook your head. How could he say that? Didn’t he notice how much you’ve grown to like him after spending just a few minutes with him and how that could easily turn into something more if he’d just agree to have dinner with you? Hadn’t he felt the sparks earlier? “Maybe I don’t want to stay away. Maybe I want to have dinner with you, no matter what anyone may say or think.” Kix simply handed you the basket, but before he could say anything else you tossed it to the side and stepped closer. “Tell me you don’t want to spend time with me and I’ll leave, but don’t blame it on other people. This isn’t about what my parents think, what your brothers may think, this is about you and me and the fact that I’ve never felt about anyone like I feel about you.” A loud sigh left Kix’s lips. He reached to take your hands in his and gently stroked along your knuckles. “You don’t even know me, mesh’la.” You spoke enough Mando’a for that little word to give you a bit of hope. “We can change that. We can take it slow, no pressure, no expectations. Just one question: Will you have dinner with me?” Kix looked deep into your eyes as his answer, one single word, left his lips.

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I might write two seperate part twos to this story, one in which Kix agrees to dinner and one in which he doesn’t, if that’s something you’d like to read.

As always, I’d love to hear some thoughts and feedback <3

#kix x reader #kix x you #kix x y/n #kix imagine

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jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 3 years

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Ah, your work is so cute and it puts me in a good mood! You also have the characters personalities perfected! I was wondering if you could do a fic where maybe Mammon and MC are hanging out and MC comes out as trans (Ftm), but on accident (like Mammon sneaks a peak at his phone and noticed pride stuff and asks). Recently figured out I was and it’s been a bumpy ride and I just need a fic to cheer me up. Thank you if you do

You sir have been Most Patient, and for that I cannot thank you enough! This is super late, but I hope all is going well with you and your journey. ^-^ I also hope you still get some enjoyment out of this fic, even if it’s oh so very late.

Like… a year late. Maybe more. Probably more.

Sidebar, the setup for this feels kinda long but I also personally think it’s funny so I’m leaving it. I don’t have an editor to tell me no sooooooo :p

Content warnings: Accidental outing as trans, the mortifying ordeal of coming out, but otherwise this is gonna be pretty fluffy.

Also, this isn’t a warning, but since I usually do gn stuff, I’m gonna be extra clear and say this fic is about a transgender male MC who uses he/him pronouns. Ladies and theydies, if you’d like your time, please wait until I’ve opened requests again and I’ll be happy to write ‘ya something.

Cis people who want to be transphobic? Why are you even here lmao

MC Comes Out as FTM By Accident (feat. Mammon)

It’s a (relatively) quiet day at the House of Lamentation. Satan is still firmly in the scheming phase of his latest prank; Lucifer is in some parlour somewhere, sipping Demonus and listening to a record that would “somberly vibrate the flesh off of your mortal bones, MC”; and Levi and the twins are livestreaming a bet about how many of the otaku third born’s figurines Beel can bench press (the latter two are under threat of 1000 years of torture if any of the merchandise is damaged).

This leaves Mammon and MC chilling on one of the House’s many frighteningly expensive couches, sometimes chatting, sometimes just silently sharing Devilgram memes with each other.

(Asmo had been with them, but left after declaring that the sexual tension Mammon constantly radiated while around MC had become more pathetic than amusing. MC had just rolled his eyes and laughed, but judging by how many pillows Mammon had thrown his brother’s way and the dark blush on his face, he was taking the teasing more seriously.)

Personally, MC didn’t get why Mammon’s brothers gave him such a hard time. Sure he can be abrasive and his refusal to be honest despite how terrible he is at lying could get… frustrating, to say the least, but all in all he isn’t a bad person. Maybe demons are just bad at expressing genuine fondness for each other. Or maybe it just runs in the family, so to speak.

“H-hey, what are ‘ya staring at?!” Oops. MC didn’t even realize he’d been eyeing Mammon for that long. Not that he minds getting an extra eyeful of Mammon...

“Sorry, just spaced out for a minute there,” he says.

Neither break eye contact for a long moment.

Shit, this is awkward. Think, MC, say something!

“So did you see this video of a hellhound on a trampoline—”

A glass-shattering shriek echoes through the House of Lamentation, followed by — oh that is actual glass shattering — and the plip-plap footsteps of someone running with bare, wet feet. Seconds later, a furious and appropriately damp Asmodeus comes flying down the stairs, with a weird orange and white towel on his head… Aaaaand nothing else on. MC doesn’t get to process any more than that before Mammon pounces on him, straddling him and covering his eyes with a hand.

“Asmo! What the hell are you doing, running around naked and screaming?!”

“I think you know why, you stupid scumbag!” Asmo retorts with an affronted flip of his hair. Or at least MC thinks it was his hair, all he knows is he just got lightly splashed. Why does he smell citrus?

“What are you even talking about?”

“I was going to take a nice, relaxing bath to scrub off your desperation for MC’s affections—”

“I am NOT desperate!”

“— but when I washed my hair, you know what happened?”

“...You confused orange juice for shampoo?” Mammon drawls. MC doesn’t need his vision to picture the smirk on Mammon’s face.

“How dare you,” Asmo hisses at much lower volume than before, “I would never confuse any of my bathing products.” His voice immediately returns to its regular cadence. “No, someone snuck dye into it, or replaced it, or cursed it or something! Because now,” a towel smacks wetly against the floor, “my hair looks like this!”

Mammon howls with laughter, prompting Asmo to make several sounds MC semi-confidently determines to be swears in Infernal… or whatever the native language of the Devildom is called.

He paws at Mammon’s hand obscuring his vision. If Asmo’s hair has been turned into a creamsicle by some prank gone wrong, he very much wants to see the damage. Unfortunately, Mammon doesn’t budge.

“Not that this isn’t extremely hilarious, but what does it have to do with me?”

Asmo squawks indignantly. “What does it— It was obviously you, you idiot!”

Finally, Mammon removes his hand from MC’s eyes to point an accusatory finger at Asmo and proclaim, “No way!”

The brothers’ petty argument fades into white noise as MC beholds Asmo’s hair. It truly is something else. The demon’s curls have gone from a peachy pink to a swirled mess of neon orange, with pieces of the original colour peaking through here and there. It cannot be played off as intentional or good in any way. There are even patches of his skin that are dyed orange as well. It’s pretty hilarious.

MC is starting to lose feeling in his legs.

“Uh, Mammon? You mind getting off of me?”

Eyes enormous, the Avatar of Greed does just that, and instead presses himself into the other side of the couch like a startled cat. Asmo rolls his eyes and turns his attention to MC.

“You’re not overwhelmed with the most poorly hidden crush of the millenia, right? Would you mind helping me sort this mess out?” he asks. “Think about it. It’ll just be you and me, all glistening and—”

“Not helping your case,” MC retorts, carefully keeping his eyes above Asmo’s waist, “but yeah, whatever cursed soda got into your hair stuff is probably close enough to normal stains that my tricks will help get them out. But! You need to put on some clothes first.”

“Spoilsport~ But if you insist…” Asmo smiles beatifically and saunters back to his room, making absolutely no effort to cover himself as he goes.

I’d kill for his confidence, MC thinks. He promises Mammon he’ll be back as soon as possible and takes his leave, following the trail of watery footprints.

~~~

Mammon remains folded into the corner of the couch, pouting. Of course Asmo had to come and steal MC away from him, he can’t have any time alone with him ever! There’s always some stupid shenanigans that interrupt it—

MC left his phone.

It’s sitting innocuously on the couch, face down. Unguarded.

Vulnerable.

He shouldn’t. He won’t! That’s MC’s phone. Mammon may be a demon, but he’s a demon with standards. He will totally respect MC’s privacy. He’s not even tempted. Who cares about some human’s phone anyway?

...What if it’s unlocked?

“Oh screw it.”

The phone’s in his hand before the indent it left in the couch cushion can spring back in full. It is, in fact, unlocked, and open on the photos app for some reason. The photos are organized in time based folders. Mammon scrolls through the more recent ones, which consist mostly of pictures of the brothers, some with MC, some not — hey, when did MC take that picture of him?! — until he comes across a folder simply labelled “Pride”.

“Tch, they have a whole folder dedicated to Lucifer? Gross!” Mammon remarks as he opens it.

Jealous as he may not be of MC dedicating a folder to Lucifer instead of him anyone else, new pictures of Lucifer could sell for a pretty penny on the Devildom black market…

Oh. Oh. These are not photos of Lucifer.

Mammon’s not the most knowledgeable about the human world, but he knows a Pride parade when he sees one. It looks like MC had a really nice time, smiling and laughing with a group of people in brightly coloured clothes. The album ends with a wide shot of MC and his friends in a line doing various corny poses. Each one has a distinctly coloured flag draped across their shoulders like a cape. MC’s is a 5 striped design of bright blue, pink, and white bars. The wrinkles on the flag/cape suggest it was recently unpackaged.

Something about those colours pings at Mammon’s memory, and with a bit of effort it comes to him: when MC first came to the Devildom, his phone background involved those colours! Asmo had seen it and asked him about the colour choice, to which he’d responded with some blustering nonanswer and then promptly changed the background.

Did MC… think that any of them would judge him for being trans?

“Okay,” MC declares as he re-enters the room, “Asmo’s given up and is bleaching his hair, apparently magic demon pranks go way harder...than…”

Mammon freezes. The pair stare each other down for a few interminable seconds.

“...That’s my phone.”

“So it is…!”

“You saw the pictures, didn’t you.”

“Piiiiiiiicturrrrreessssss?” Mammon extends the word into several more syllables than is necessary. “What pictures?”

MC’s mouth does not say “Dude.” But the expression on his face very much conveys the sentiment nonetheless.

“Okay okay, I might have taken a little peek at your phone while you were gone. But it was just to make sure you didn’t leave it on! I locked it right away, I swear!”

“You’re still holding it.”

“Kuh-K-Keeping it warm! Cold phones lose battery faster!”

“...”

“Ugggggghhhhh okay! I looked a lot and saw everything! That what you wanna hear?!”

MC braces himself. “So…?”

“So what?”

“You don’t have any… questions?” he asks with a gesture towards himself.

“Uhhh, no?” Mammon pauses. “Oh wait, yeah, I have one.” Here we go. “ ‘MC’ and he/him pronouns are the right junk to call you by, yeah?”

MC blinks owlishly. “Yup— Uh, yeah, they are. Been that way for a while now… You really don’t—”

“MC,” Mammon says with a sharp toothed grin, “you really think humans are the only ones who get unsatisfied with what meat vessel or titles they’re assigned by the big man upstairs?”

Understanding bonks MC on the head with the same delicacy that Mammon carelessly tosses his phone back with. “Wait, r—”

“Let me show you how cool the Devildom trans flag is.”

#mrsketchydude #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me imagines #obey me trans mc #mine #my writing #mammon #happy pride month everyone #except where i live the parade is in august so it's more like pride summer #hot demon summer indeed lol #all the brothers are trans and/or nb bc i said so #but especially mammon #PS: i do not have a design for the devildom trans pride flag in mind #but if someone else does I Would Like To See It

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writerpeach · 4 years

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Club Mimosa - [Ch. 6] Dangerous

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Read on AFF

Read on AO3

There was a lot to love about Tokyo’s winter season.

Barren trees swayed after being kissed by frost after the season’s first snowfall, making the entire city more beautiful as ever. The ground beneath your feet looked pristine as a thin soft white sheet blanketed the streets.

Tokyo looked and felt like an entirely new city during winter.

Perhaps your favorite part was the reduced crowds. Taking a subway to anywhere within city limits no longer felt like you were fighting for air to breathe with a hundred different strangers.

You loved the way the cool crisp air felt on your skin every time you left your apartment and the way you could visibly see your breath lingering in the air.

Winter was your favorite season, you anticipated it more each year since you could take public transportation and easily enjoyed it without worrying. Cold temperatures were your companion, and you welcomed the season with open arms.

The season also marked your third year living in Japan.

Culture shock became less of a shock and something you grew accustomed to. There was hardly any food you couldn’t eat without trouble. You had tried all sorts of delicacies that would have been seen as “weird” back in the west, and while you didn’t enjoy them all you never regretted experiencing them all.

Your favorite thing about Tokyo outside of its attractive women, delicious food, and incredible culture was the club that had become your second home. Club Mimosa was your favorite place to spend both your free time and money. Your name was known throughout the establishment from flirty hostesses to managers, to the sexy ladies behind the bar serving stiff drinks.

But there was still one person that hadn’t managed to meet you yet.

Minatozaki Sana.

Momo painted a vivid picture of her, but you hadn’t seen her in the club. You didn’t know what she looked like, what she acted like, you knew nothing but what Momo had described.

You got updates sent from Momo every couple of days, letting you know how things were progressing. Slowly, it seemed, which wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t easy, even with years of experience under her belt there were a plethora of things unaccounted for, hostesses to train, management to find, equipment to gather. Even with a small team helping her there was a lot to do. Momo was going to be staying in Kyoto for quite a while it seemed.

Japan was a relatively small country comparatively, but even on a one-way trip on a bullet train, you were looking at over two hours, which was hard to justify even to see such a beautiful woman as Momo. You kept in contact over the phone and video chat, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss those late nights with her, screaming each other’s names so loud you were afraid the neighbors were going to knock at her door.

That’s where Club Mimosa came in.

You had needs. Everyone had needs, and if those needs were talking to gorgeous women in expensive tight dresses for hours on end, well then, those needs were easily satisfied.

Those needs were harder without Momo there, sitting inches away from you, close enough to smell her perfume while she sipped on her drink and munched on whatever meat was on the menu.

You had spent time away from the club, feeling the distance away from Momo more than you thought you would. But if you trusted anyone to offer a suitable replacement it would be one Hirai Momo.

It all felt familiar to you as you stepped off the subway and walked into the snow-covered streets of Tokyo, feeling less smothered by the crowds thankfully. You could see the bright lights a mile away as if it’s neon lights were calling for you personally.

You entered the club and the first thing you noticed was everything seemed louder. You were surrounded by familiar faces and sounds and an atmosphere that could only be described as alive.

“Welcome back to Club Mimosa, sir!”

You didn’t know how you felt about being a regular in a place where you were liable to spend way too much money in one night, but there were worse problems to have.

“Do you have anyone specific you'd like to request? Or would you like us to find someone for you, sir?”

You hesitated before making your choice of words carefully.

“I’d like to request Minatozaki Sana,” you said. The manager looked at you like you’d just summoned something unstoppable.

“I”m sorry, sir, but she is no longer an active-”

“It’s fine, I’ve been expecting him.”

You didn’t know where the voice came from, but her words were like honey slowly dripping out of a bottle, every syllable full of seduction.

Stepping out of the shadows was the owner of said voice, a stunning young woman who took your breath away at first sight. Her hair was blonde, her legs were long, and her curves were deadly. Minatozaki Sana was an absolutely perfect woman. Her dress was tighter and shorter than anything Momo ever wore, as if she wanted to show her up now that she wasn’t here.

Momo saying she had a body to die for was putting it lightly and didn't do her justice.

“About time you showed up,” she giggled, placing her hands on her hips. “Momo has told me a lot about you.”

“Hopefully not too much, Miss Minatozaki,” you replied.

“Oh, you can just call me Sana, I’m sure Momo has her secrets. A woman never tells everything. Now, where should we take you? A normal booth won’t do, and you’ve already defiled - I mean visited our VIP booth…”

It was hard to find a response to that as your cheeks reddened.

“Yuki-chan!” Sana called over.

“Yes, Minatozaki-San?”

“Are the karaoke rooms occupied?”

“No, they haven’t been used all day. They were just freshened up this morning.”

“Perfect, thank you, Yuki-chan. Now, if you’ll follow me…”

When Sana asked you to follow her you didn't dare refuse, as she led you down a separate hallway you'd never seen before, her fill hips swaying with every step.

"After you," Sana said as she held the door open, leading you into one of the few rooms in the place you hadn't been in before.

Red couches lined the walls of the large karaoke room, spacious enough to accommodate several people. The focus of the room was the big mounted screen centered between two dark marble tables, large speakers, colorful lighting filled the room.

"Usually these rooms are used for multiple clients wanting more than one hostess, but I'll have you all to myself in here," Sana said flirtatiously, gesturing for you to take a seat.

"So, what does Momo's favorite client like to drink?" Sana asked as she sat down to your right, flashing a hint of a mischievous smile.

“Favorite?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, she hasn’t specifically said that, but I could see it in the way she talks about you,” Sana replied, biting the tip of her finger.

“And what does Momo say about me?”

“It’s not polite to ask a lady to reveal her secrets,” Sana teased, scooting closer to your body.

“But she does say you’re cute and charming, and that you have a nice body. I can certainly vouch for the first two, but the third, I’m not quite sure yet.”

There was a lot you could tell just from a person’s smile, and Sana’s smile was the cutest thing you’d ever seen. You could tell Sana wasn’t like the other hostesses, as cliche as that might be to say. While she had an immeasurable amount of sex appeal, there was an equal amount of cuteness mixed in that swirled together to create one incredible package of a woman.

“I think I’m okay with water for now,” you told Sana nonchalantly. This was your first meeting and you didn’t want to overdo it, surprised at how comfortable you felt around her already, not a hint of nerves.

“Water it is,” she replied as she got up and fetched two bottles of water out of a nearby glass cooler that you had somehow completely missed.

“Oh. I could have just gotten it myself,” you said with a hint of embarrassment.

Sana sat back down and shook her head as she handed you a bottle, grasping the other in her small hands.

“It’s my job to take care of you,” Sana said as she tilted her head back and opened her mouth, carefully letting water pour out without letting the bottle touch her lips. Even drinking water Sana looked incredibly sexy, although you sensed she was doing this on purpose.

The one thing you quickly realized about Sana was her vast experience. While Momo had confidence in her veins, she had her rare moments of awkwardness or when she suddenly turned nervous and stumbled over her words after something had been said.

But Sana, you could tell she had been doing this for more than just a few years. While you’d become a regular at the club, you felt at times you needed to pick your words carefully during a conversation, while Sana’s words flowed out of her lips automatically.

“So, Sana. Since you know a lot about me, tell me about yourself,” you said after a moment's pause. You were still so awkward with meeting new women, but you didn’t want this to come off as an interview. Sana could sense your own awkwardness, but her gaze calmed you down.

“Hm, where to start,” Sana said, running a hand through her silky golden locks.

“This is my sixth year as a hostess here. Although I’m not really a hostess anymore, I mostly train new girls and help run the place,” Sana said, keeping her gaze towards you.

“Sounds like you’ve put in a lot of work.”

“I have. We had a rough patch this year, but we made it through. I’ve been here since the beginning when we only had two hostesses besides me. Back then we struggled to get five customers a week, barely making enough money to keep the lights on. I ate a lot of ramen that first year.”

“And now look at this place. You’re the most popular club in Tokyo, and you’re opening a second location. You must be swimming in money.”

Sana smiled shyly. “I have Momo to thank for that. She volunteered to help run it, at least until everything is running smoothly. I miss her.”

“I do too,” you said, the words came out of your mouth before you had realized what you were saying.

“She told me you recruited her to come here?” you asked.

“That’s right. We met at university. We had different majors but ended up seeing each other almost every day. She needed extra money for tuition and I was already working here at the time, so I suggested she join me and put in a good word.”

“The rest is history as they say.”

“It is. God, she was so shy back then, she could barely look a man in the eyes. She spilled a drink her first shift and she was so clumsy for the first month. She almost quit the first week, but I convinced her to stay. And now she’s the most popular and requested girl.”

“That’s quite a success story.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less out of our Momo.”

Sharing glances with Sana you fumbled for words to say to break the awkward silence.

“Just talk to me like you’ve talked to Momo,” she said, and you abruptly felt her hand rubbing your thigh as she maintained eye contact.

“I don’t bite,” Sana said with a grin on her lips. “Unless you want me to.”

You didn’t know if you felt more at ease or more nervous, but her smile convinced you it was the former.

“I’ve instructed everyone to leave us alone unless called for,” she said, her smile turning into a smirk.

“Momo left you all to myself to play with, and I don’t want any interruptions.”

“Play with?” you repeated.

“Yes,” she replied with a flirtatious giggle, running her delicate fingers through strands of her hair again. Sana’s ways of flirting were about as subtle as a trainwreck, but you didn’t mind her methods.

“You know, for a karaoke room we’re not doing much singing,” you said, changing the subject.

“You’re absolutely right,” Sana said, leaning forward to grab the heavy book on the table, flipping through it.

“What do you want to sing?” Sana asked.

“Me? I’m not much of a singer, you should choose,” you said, deflecting the choice. You were terrified by the thought of sharing a stage with a beautiful woman, you didn’t dare display your terrible lack of singing prowess.

“Hmm, I’m not sure what to pick,” Sana said, flipping through several pages at a time.

“Then just sing your favorite song,” you replied. Sana paused, thinking about what she wanted for a moment.

“I don’t really have a favorite song,” she said, shaking her head as you furrowed an eyebrow.

“Everyone has a favorite song. Maybe something you’ve heard here a lot?”

“I hear a lot of songs here. There was this really cute song that I always sang during the first year I started here…” Sana said as she tilted her head, fingers fumbling through pages.

“Ah, here it is!” Sana said with excitement, her eyes widening as she keyed in numbers into the giant remote. The monitor in front lit up in response, flashing a white screen as the song started playing on the giant display. Sana stood with both hands on the mic, anticipating the start of the music.

The first notes were cheerful and bright as Sana sang along to every note of the bubblegum pop song, still remembering every lyric as if the song were personally her own. You had recognized the song, perhaps heard it during your time in the country in a mall or on tv. It was the perfect karaoke song, catchy and fun, and easy to sing.

Her duality here was something else. She even seemed to know all the choreography, all though it was rather simple. Her arms and legs moved in time with the rhythm and you were amazed at her still being able to dance without missing a step with such high heels on. With such full movements, singing such a cute song while wearing a tight dress that was designated to arouse was such a striking contrast.

Sana was most enthusiastic during the chorus.

“Fly so high, follow me, follow me, follow me, follow me, baaaby,” Sana sang along happily, a smile etched across her face as she used exaggerated movements and mimicked what she saw on the screen.

The song winded down and faded out completely, as the score tallied towards the end. After several seconds of anticipation, numbers spun and spun until displaying her final score an impressively high 98.

"Wow, you're amazing,“ you said as Sana bowed and sat back down, taking another swig of water as she handed you the microphone.

"I may have had a little training before I became a hostess. It wasn’t working out so I decided to apply here instead.”

She turned her attention towards you, mic still in hand.

“Your turn!”

Your expression betrayed your thoughts as you politely refused it, staring at it as if the object were suddenly lit on fire.

“You’re going to have to put a lot of alcohol in me if I’m going to start singing, Sana,” you said.

Sana pouted in response. ”Well then, I guess we better order a case,” she said. “But I won’t make you sing if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you, Sana.”

“Instead, I will ask you embarrassing personal questions,” she said, suddenly surprising you.

“Oh. That’s fair, I guess,” you replied, not exactly sure at what she was going to ask, but you figured it was a nice trade.

Sana didn’t waste any time wanting to get to the good stuff.

“When was the last time you and Momo…?” Sana asked, her voice trailed off deliberately as her eyebrow raised.

“Went on a date? A week before she left,” you confidently said.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Sana frowned.

“I don’t? What possibly could you mean then?” you teased.

“When’s the last time you know... You bent her over, pulled her hair, and made her scream?” Sana said, abruptly getting straight to the point.

She clearly wasn’t going to pull any punches. You took another sip from your water before attempting to answer.

“You really just expect me to kiss and tell just like that?”

“I do. I can't help that I'm nosy, " Sana giggled.

"Well, Momo never asked me to pull her hair, but the last time she and I got…intimate was the morning she left for Kyoto. In the shower."

"The shower, huh?" Sana repeated. “Some girls don’t like to admit they like their hair being pulled, but I think we all secretly love it.”

"I'm gonna need something alcoholic now," you said, embarrassed at your reveal.

"Coming right up," Sana said as she headed the intercom by the exit door.

"Send up the priciest bottle in the place!"

"Right away, Minatozaki-san!"

“Don’t worry, it’s on the house,” Sana said before you could voice any concern as she sat back down beside you.

"I always figured Momo was the vanilla type of girl," Sana said.

"Vanilla is still a good flavor.”

"There's nothing at all wrong with vanilla. But sometimes you want something a bit tastier."

There was a quick knock at the door, Sana voicing her approval to enter. The door swung open and a waiter walked in carrying a tray with several items, sitting everything down on the table and putting it in a bucket of ice.

"Please enjoy," the man said, bowing and leaving as quickly as he entered.

“Oh, we will,” Sana said as she opened the bottle. Putting a few ice cubes in each glass she filled them partway, handing you one as your glasses clinked.

"It’s been a while since I had a drink," you said, staring at the mysterious dark-colored liquid, swirling it around.

"Sip it, don’t down it.”

“Bottoms up,” you responded, putting the glass to your lips as you took your first taste. It wasn’t too strong, a mixture of sweet and sour, and a taste you quickly grew accustomed to.

“Well? How is it?” Sana asked, waiting for your review.

“It’s good. I was expecting it to be stronger by the way it looked.”

“We can’t get too carried away on our first meeting.”

“It’s really good.”

“Glad you like. Now, time for more questions!” Sana said, full of enthusiasm.

“I can’t wait,” you said half sarcastically.

“You don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to.”

“Okay.”

“What’s your favorite part of a woman?”

"Uhh," you quickly hesitated, sinking back into the couch before you could think of what to say, letting more alcohol into your system as you took another drink.

“Let me change up the question,” Sana said, getting off the couch as she hopped up onto the table in front, crossing her legs and leaned back, resting both hands behind her.

“What’s your favorite part of me?”

You were caught off guard as Sana practically presented herself to you like an art display. You tried to keep eye contact, not wanting your eyes to roam her perfect tight body as much as you liked to.

“It’s okay to look. It'd be rude if you didn’t,” Sana said, lips curling into that same sensual expression. You let out a deep breath as you respectfully looked at Sana’s body, taking a gander at her smooth milky skin, eyes wandering every curve of her deadly body.

“I don’t have nice big tits like Momo does,“ she said, a slight frown forming on her lips. “But I think I do pretty well in other departments.”

Sana uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, trying her best to bring out your arousal and you swear you caught a glimpse of something. It wasn’t going to take much. She was now the center of attention in the room, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were her prey, and she was a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

“You’re dangerous, Sana,” you blurted out. She reacted immediately with that familiar smile.

“That’s not the first time I’ve been called that,” she said, adjusting the straps of her heel. “I never get tired of hearing it.”

Sana was closer to you than you realized, and you felt the temperature of the room heating up. You had spent plenty of time with hostesses at the same club, but something about Sana brought out something in you, something you couldn't understand. A mixture of nerves, excitement, and fear, like the first time you had asked a girl out.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sana said, biting on the tip of her finger seductively as she straightened her posture.

“You’ll have to repeat it. I forgot it already,” you lied.

Sana knew you didn’t. “Tell me...what your favorite part of me is. What your favorite part of my body is,” she said, every word crystal clear as she stared into your eyes.

Honestly, how she expected you to answer her with just one thing was beyond you. You went for the classic, yet cliche response.

“I like your eyes.”

Sana was so taken aback by such a cheesy answer it took her a moment to find the words to respond.

“My eyes, huh?” she said, a chuckle alongside her answer. “That’s funny, because ever since I hopped up here you’ve looked at every part of my body but my eyes.”

Caught in the act. Who could you blame you though? You were being seduced expertly by a blonde vixen, you couldn’t have been expected to spend every second gazing at those brown beauties when the rest of her body was so delicious.

“I don’t mind though,” Sana said. “You’re paying to spend time with me, I’m not going to stop you from undressing me with your eyes.”

“Although I’d prefer it if you used your hands,” she said, biting her lip.

You nearly choked. Maybe dangerous was too generous of a word to describe her. But sometimes the rush of something or someone dangerous was worth the risk.

“You don't have to tell me, I’m pretty sure I can figure it out already,” she said, beaming with confidence.

“Oh, do you?” you asked, trying to call her bluff.

“I do,” Sana said, giving you one more deadly look, letting you see the color in her beautiful round eyes. In an instant, Sana’s legs parted and she spread them invitingly wide, leaving you with the perfect view between her thighs. Even better was the lack of any underwear underneath her tight dress, exposing her pink pussy that sucked the life out of you momentarily and left you breathless.

You tried to keep it together, even though you both knew Sana had the upper hand. Nothing could divert your gaze from in between her creamy naked thighs and the beautiful pink flesh of her gorgeous pussy, dripping with arousal from her actions already.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

“Maybe,” Sana said, still as playful as ever.

“Is that allowed, Miss Minatozaki?” you asked, falling back on formality.

“Of course it’s allowed. I help run this place, who’s going to stop me?” Sana replied nonchalantly. “As I said, it’s my job to take care of you.”

The room definitely grew infinitely hotter as Sana leaned forward, her legs still spread, and rested her hands on the inside of her inner thighs.

“You know, you’ve had a couple of drinks tonight,” Sana said. “But you must be starving. And what kind of hostess would I bet if I didn’t offer you anything to eat?”

If that wasn’t enough of an invitation, Sana hiked her dress up and spread her legs as wide as they could go.

“I am feeling pretty hungry,” you said, your mouth salivating at the pink flesh in between Sana’s spread thighs. “Aren’t there cameras here?” you asked, looking up at the ceiling.

“Yes, for your safety and mine. But I turned them off after I ordered our drinks,” Sana said, flashing a cheeky smile.

“You think of everything don’t you?”

“It’s my job to. Now, how about you bring that cute face over here and taste me.”

You didn’t need Sana to say another word as you scooted off the couch, resting on the edge of it, and tried to get comfortable.

Sana had already done most of the work for you, keeping her legs kept open as you touched her bare skin for the first time, feeling how smooth and soft it was as you ran your hands up her creamy thighs. Looking up for approval, Sana gave it immediately as you planted several kisses on the soft flesh of her inner thighs, earning a soft delicate moan for the first time.

Her breath hitched as you licked long stripes up her sensitive bare thighs, ending with wet kisses, looking up to see the reaction on Sana’s face and finding nothing but satisfaction.

“Are you going to tease me?” Sana asked.

“That depends. Do you like being teased, Sana?” you replied.

“I love being teased, but not here. You can tease me later when my hands are wrapped in your bedsheets. I’m warmed up enough,” Sana said, running a finger through her pink wet slit as held up her finger in the air, demonstrating her slick glistening in the light.

You were a bit disappointed. Part of you wanted to test Sana, to see how much she could take, to drive her absolutely crazy the same way you did Momo. But Sana was wired differently. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t scared to take the lead. Plus, you were about still in public, it was best not to dawdle.

That didn’t stop you from kissing Sana’s thighs one more time before you brought your mouth to her pretty pussy, licking against her wet slit in one slow long stroke. Sana moaned, a sound that was as pretty as it was needy as you repeated it, licking up and down her pussy several times as you had your first taste of Sana.

Sana tasted utterly delicious. If you had to describe her taste, it was a mixture of sweet with just a hint of tanginess to it, not unlike the expensive drink you had both indulged in. There was no doubt Sana tasted much better.

You wanted more of her taste as your tongue explored Sana’s silky wet folds, gathering up her nectar into your lips and ran your tongue aimlessly.

“That feels so good,” Sana moaned, running her fingers through the strands of your hair as your tongue roamed in between her thighs, wandering around her wet hole as if it wanted to get lost in her sensitive warm flesh.

You wanted more of Sana’s intoxicating taste, you wanted to taste as much of this sultry woman as you possibly could. Looking up at her satisfied expression, you licked through her cunt and latched your lips onto her clit, earning a mixture of whimpers and moans and the added pleasure of her warm thighs wrapping around your head, like a snake coiled around its victim and you were more than happy to be Sana’s prey.

It didn’t take long to turn Sana into what you wanted, a pretty squirming mess unable to control her movements on the karaoke room’s table. Her hips bucked as she tried to ride your face and you were thankful that the room you had chosen to devour her in was already designed to be soundproof.

“Mmm, fuck, that tongue is amazing,” Sana said as you felt both hands frantically pulling your hair harshly as you slurped on her swollen clit, trying to draw out more of her tasty juices.

The more you ate Sana up the louder she got, voicing her satisfaction. The louder she got the harder her thighs squeezed around your head, rubbing the sides of your face with her soft smooth skin. Her nectar quickly spread all over your lips and chin, coating your face with her essence.

“D-don’t stop, don’t fucking stop,” Sana cried out as you pushed her past her limits already, alternating between sucking and licking around her sensitive clit, and kept your eyes on her the entire time, watching her become an absolute writhing mess.

You could barely breathe but it didn’t become a concern, all you wanted at that moment was hearing Sana’s pleasure. You’d prefer being suffocated by her pussy and her aroma, patiently waiting for those three words that meant you had done everything right.

“I-I’m gonna cum!”

Perfect. With warmth surrounding your head and wetness spreading all over your face, you gave everything you had and feasted on Sana’s pussy, moving your tongue and lips together to obtain what Sana desperately needed.

The moment came quickly as Sana hit her peak. The competing sounds of your lips slurping around her clit and her loud erotic moans filled the small room as her juices bathed your face, the wetness already there intensifying. Her thighs violently trembled and her toes curled, her back arching as she held on to your head for dear life, hips bucking wildly and you did what you could to keep her centered on the table as she came all over you.

Sana was a beautiful mess during the entirety of her orgasm, and you loved watching every second of the pleasure that grew too much for her. Sana showered you in her sweet juices and you were happy to receive every drop. You kept the pressure on her clit until Sana couldn’t take anymore and pushed your face off her as you were able to breathe freely, wondering if it was worth the trade-off to not being smothered by her heavenly thighs.

You stared into the round glazed-over eyes of the gorgeous woman you had just pleasured to completion, gasping and breathing heavily and cleaned up her thighs of her stained juices, wanting to dive right back.

“Wow,” Sana said between heavy drawn-out breaths. “Momo was right, you really do know how to please a woman.”

“I do my best,” you responded, wiping the juices off your lips and chin and making a show out of licking your fingers clean.

“It helps when you taste as good as you do,” you said, causing the full pale cheeks of Sana’s face to blush.

The redness of her cheeks gradually faded, replaced by a mischievous smile as you waited for her next step was. It came right away as Sana lifted herself from on top of the table her backside was resting on. With the quickness of a cat, she climbed onto your lap and wrapped her hands around the back of your neck, focusing her seductive eyes on your own.

"Your hostess wants to know what else I can do for you," Sana said, with a hunger for more. You felt weak as your face was almost close enough to rest against her own, the tension in the air the only thing separating you.

“I think my hostess should do whatever she feels like doing,” you replied, Sana’s eyes beaming at your response.

“Leave everything to me, sir,” Sana giggled, falling back into her role, eyes laced with lust and desire. Her head lifted up, seeing the expression on your eyes as her hands fiddled with your shirt, slowing unbuttoning the first few buttons.

She kept constant eye contact and Sana seemed to enjoy slowly undressing you, tilting her head to the side and leaned in close, lips finding your own and crashing against them in a deep warm embrace as she loosened up more buttons until your shirt was completely undone.

The kiss was brief but you both longed for more as Sana pulled your shirt open, admiring your bare chest, and traced it with one finger, planting her lips just below the middle of your collarbone and leaving her lipstick stained on your skin.

She cupped the side of your face and you felt her lips on you again, soft as silk as her tongue found its way into your mouth, needing no invitation as you wrapped your hands around her slim waist, desperate to pull her your bodies closer.

You were rewarded with one more kiss before she dismounted your lap, slowly lowering herself on the room’s black and white patterned carpet as she got on her knees as if she had done this many times before.

Sana didn’t say much as she unbuckled your belt, letting her actions do all the talking as she unzipped your pants and tugged them down to your ankles. Her warm hands caressed up and down your thighs, sending blood flowing to all the right places. It didn’t take long for a bulge to form through your boxers, arousing Sana equally as she rubbed it through the fabric of your underwear, tracing the outline of your shaft.

Sana sought out the rest of your naked body, quickly stripping your underwear off and leaving you with nothing left but the shirt on your back. Sana gasped at your newly exposed throbbing cock, eyes lit up with hunger as she licked her lips to let you know she liked what she saw.

“So, this is what Momo has been hiding from me,“ Sana said, spreading your legs wide as she wrapped her slim fingers around your hard cock and gripping tightly, applying firm pressure and slowly pumping you.

“It’s all for me now, ” she said as her tongue ran along your rigid shaft, sending shockwaves of pleasure as she painted up and down your cock from base to tip. Sana swirled her wet tongue around your sensitive head, lapping up your leaking slit and kissed your tip, cleaning it off.

Sana couldn’t take her eyes off your cock, spitting on it repeatedly and jerking you off in her small delicate hand, the pleasure rising already in your body.

"I should get more comfortable," she said, giving your shaft just a few more pumps before standing upright. She knew your eyes were drawn to her as she slipped each black strap down each shoulder, wiggling out of it as it fell to the ground, leaving a black lace bra the only thing preventing you from seeing every inch of her beautiful body.

She paused her work on your cock, letting your eyes roam her tight body and you did so happily. Her legs went on for days, her body tight and slim in all the right places. You had already seen her beautiful pussy and explored it with your mouth, but you wanted to feel her all over, and wanted to make her gasp just at your touch.

You focused on her tight stomach, her abs weren’t as defined as Momo but you’d still eat off of them. Then there were Sana’s breasts, pushed up nicely, and wanting to escape from their constraints. Momo clearly had the size advantage, but Sana’s tits were shaped nicely, big enough to get your hands on.

“Help me out?” Sana asked, interrupting your scan of her body as she turned around, facing away from you as she presented to you her almost bare back and most importantly her plump round ass that looked delicious and so utterly squeezable.

You regretfully remained patient as your hands grasped the thin fabric that made up Sana’s bra, undoing the clasp and helped her out of it, running your hands through her soft skin and wondering how such a beautiful creature existed. Sana quickly spun around on her heels, lifting her arms over her head and letting you see her newly exposed breasts in all their glory. Your jaw dropped at them, the perfect combination of round and milky mounds, looking soft as possible.

Staring was all you had time to do as Sana got back to her favorite position on her knees, grabbing your shaft. One more kiss on your tip and Sana parted her lips with your cock, wrapping her mouth around the first few inches. Her lips were impossibly soft and warm and you moaned loudly as Sana began sucking your cock, moving up and down and applying pressure, hollowing her squishy cheeks.

You found yourself unable to speak as Sana’s head bobbed up and down, trying to process the pleasure you were receiving.

“It feels so good,” you moaned as Sana upped her pace, lips sliding up and down your shaft as her tongue played with your underside, swirling around it at the same time.

“Good. I hope I’m taking good care of you.”

“You are, Sana. Fuck, you really are.”

Sana smiled and continued her assault on your cock, slurping away as her lips went deeper, keeping her eyes on you the entire time. Her hands rested on your thighs, digging her nails in as her head bobbed faster, slurping on your cock and leaving it covered in drool and warmth. You loved the feeling of her sucking you off, as she went even deeper towards your base you melted even more.

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back in response, savoring the feeling of her lips swallowing up your cock, slurping loudly as her lips traveled back and forth, slobbering all over your shaft.

“Fuck, you’re so good at that.”

Sana got progressively messier and louder in response, and you opened your eyes almost involuntarily as you felt your cock hit the back of the throat, not gagging her even a little. Her lips rested at your base for several seconds before slowly retreating, fondling your balls as she took you in and out of her warm wet mouth with ease, rapidly bobbing her head more as you moaned in delight.

Sana loved nothing more than working her magic in between your legs, and you didn’t think there was a better feeling in the world as she gave the wettest loudest blowjob, but you knew the best was still to come. Sana’s messy slurps as she feasted on your cock was music to your ears, and you couldn’t help audibly sharing your satisfaction every time you felt the back of her throat.

“Don’t cum yet,” Sana teased, stroking your cock furiously as she sucked on your balls tenderly, latching on and slurping just as loudly. She released them only after they were equally given attention and covered in warm saliva, knowing what you wanted next.

“It’s time for the best part,” Sana said as she climbed back on your lap again, her thighs pressed on either side of your own as they wrapped around your hips. She took your hard cock into her hand again, stroking slowly and teased herself with it, running it through her very wet folds, the warmth radiating from it driving you insane already.

Sana found a comfortable position as she nudged your wet tip against her pussy, lining it with her soaked entrance up perfectly, the anticipation killing you both already.

“Ready?” Sana asked, and you gave a silent nod in response, although you weren’t sure if anything would be able to prepare you for what you were about to experience.

It took a few final seconds of teasing before Sana lowered her hips and sank down onto your cock, entering her for the first time as you both moaned in tandem at the initial penetration.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” Sana gasped, trying to work her hips back and forth, grinding and stretching herself out little by little. Her tightness was overwhelming, the wetness and heat smothering your cock like nothing else. You watched between her thighs as the tip of your cock disappeared and reappeared, the mixture of her saliva and juices from her pussy helping guiding you deeper into her hole.

“That never gets old,” Sana said, and you were inclined to agree. The feeling of entering a woman for the first time was one of your favorite things, and if that woman happened to be an insanely sexy hostess named Minatozaki Sana you loved it even more.

Sana took it slow at first, something that you were surprised by but you knew that wasn’t going to last if the way she gave head was something to go by.

You could tell by the greedy look on her face that she needed more as she lifted her body almost entirely off your cock, leaving just your sensitive tip drenched with her fluids inside.

Seconds passed as you both braced yourselves for what was next as Sana used all the force in her hips and slammed herself down on your cock, impaling herself to the hilt and moaning needily.

“Oh f-fuck,” she cried out, and you waited for any adjustment she needed as she held onto your shoulders, eyes half-lidded with pleasure already.

Taking a deep breath Sana began moving slowly, lifting her hips up as her warm walls hugged your cock. You held onto her slender waist, watching the erotic expression on her face as she began bouncing on your cock.

"You feel so big inside me. You're so fucking hard," Sana moaned as she stretched her tight slick walls out. Her tightness drove you crazy as she took you in and out of her body, establishing a rhythm.

You were content at the moment to let Sana do all the work, watching her eyes full of lust as she was expertly grinding on your cock, moaning loudly as her head tilted back.

"You feel so good, Sana," you said breathlessly, exploring her body with your hands.

"You do too. You feel so incredible inside me, I love your cock stretching me out," she said as the look on her face continued to be full of wanton need. Sana had seemingly all the experience with riding a cock, and she was proudly going to demonstrate it, grinding those powerful hips with purpose as her beautiful tits bounced up and down.

“I really wanna ride you harder,” Sana said, even though there was no need to ask for permission as she ran a hand through her messy hair as she bounced and bounced, covering your shaft in her nectar.

“Then ride me harder,” you replied, giving her ass a simultaneous slap on each cheek that echoed throughout the karaoke room. “Ride me as hard as you can, Sana.”

She bit her lip in response, flashing a devilish smirk as if preparing you for what you had just unleashed. Sana took a few moments to let you relax, letting you get ready for the calm before the storm was about to take place.

“Ride that fucking cock,” you taunted, making sure she wasn’t about to hold back. You felt her small hands around both sides of your neck as her hips began gyrating wildly back and forth, desperately trying to feel all of your hard cock inside her tight pussy.

Your hands roamed her lower back before finding her soft ass cheeks and squeezed them both, giving repeated smacks against the warm flesh, adding an extra oomph to the loud erotic moans already escaping from Sana’s devilish lips. Sana continued upping her pace little by little, bouncing her tight frame on your cock as you were hypnotized by her movements,

“I’m so fucking wet,” Sana said, her juices dripping down her thighs and leaking onto your body as she rode you balls deep confirming her every word.

You wanted Sana to be even wetter if such a thing were possible. You wanted her to lose yourself in the pleasure she was finding, as if riding your cock wasn’t enough for her, and it most certainly wasn’t.

Momentarily, you left your hands from the warmth of Sana’s tight ass and ran them up her back, pushing her body forward to grant you easier access to her delicious bouncing breasts. Sana was too focused on the hard cock impaling her tight cunt as you turned your attention elsewhere, teasing her hard pink nipples with your tongue, swirling around them as you latched and sucked harshly on her tits.

“F-fuck yes baby, suck on those tits,” Sana demanded, not that you needed any further instructions. You squeezed her sizable breasts, sucking on each of her rosy nipples with equal attention, biting and licking them one after another.

“That feels so good. You like my tits?”

“I love them. I love your body so much, Sana,” you said as you continued to hungrily close your lips around her swollen nipples, applying a firm but gentle pressure.

The harder Sana rode you the more sweat began accumulating on your bodies, which you responded to by licking between her cleavage. You wanted to lick her entire body clean, nuzzling your face in between her tits as your tongue ran across every surface you could find.

Sana lifted her arms up and put her hands behind her head as if she suddenly read your mind, and you licked the sweat off from her neck before diving down and licked her armpits, desperate to taste every inch of her naked body.

“You’re so fucking delicious, Sana. I wanna taste you all night.”

“I won’t stop you,” Sana said in response, continuing to harshly slam herself on your cock, driving herself crazy with the hard shaft between her legs constantly spearing her constricting wet walls.

You sat there in awe of the situation, savoring the way Sana’s dripping hot flesh wrapped around your cock while her thighs loudly smacked against your own as your bodies were drowned in a sea of pleasure.

“I-I’m about to cum again!” Sana said, finding the right words more difficult by the moment, her walls clenching more and more letting you know that her limits were once again being breached.

“Cum for me, Sana,” you said, grabbing two handfuls of her perfect ass, squeezing harshly. Sana paid no attention to your words, only focusing on using your cock for her pleasure, wildly riding you without any other thoughts as she took you inside her at full speed and riding you as hard as she possibly could.

Her arms snaked around the back of your neck again, locking her wrists together as she demanded her maximum amount of euphoria, chasing another climax greedily before you even had your first.

“I’m going to cum!”

Sana’s pretty voice echoed throughout the room as her walls pulsated around your shaft, squeezing the life out of your cock almost painfully so before releasing you in waves. She moaned desperately into your ears as she came on your cock, juices flowing like a river as her body shook uncontrollably and her movements were no longer her own as she turned to jelly and slowly rode out her orgasm to completion.

Her high went on for several moments and time lost all meaning for Sana as the aftershocks of her explosive climax took over. She held onto your body as she slowly came down, barely able to open her eyes as her hips rolled ever so slowly to ride everything out.

“H-holy shit,” Sana said, recovering her senses gradually as she attempted to make eye contact.

“I came so hard. I can still feel it,” she weakly said.

“I can tell. I’m really glad this room is soundproof,” you teased. Sana looked up with glazed over eyes, showing appreciation for her satisfaction as she brought her lips and pressed them against yours, passionately but softly kissing you.

“I want to taste myself on your cock,” Sana said, dropping such a filthy set of words so casually.

The lustful expression on Sana’s features never faded as she slowly slid herself off your lap and dropped to her knees, taking your drenched shaft between her soft lips again and took you inside her mouth again, slowly sucking her messy wet juices clean.

“You’re right, I am delicious,” she giggled, once again her cute and wild sides contrasting each other was the theme of the night.

“You must be close, how do you want me? Where do you want to fuck me?” Sana asked, stroking your cock as she kissed your thighs.

So many options. You looked around the small private area, weighing each one. There were a lot of easily accessible surfaces in this room. The couch was comfortable, but you’d spent plenty of time on it already. You stood up without another word as Sana regretfully removed your cock from her small warm mouth, and helped her to her feet, letting her be the one who was in anticipation this time.

You circled around Sana’s body, scanning her curves and eyeing every inch of her milky bare skin. Not wanting to waste any time, you pulled her towards the side of the karaoke’s marble table, spinning her body around so she was facing away from you and gasped at your suddenness.

Viewing her beautiful backside you grabbed Sana’s shoulders and bent her forward until she was at an angle that you liked, the upper portion of her body pressed against the table and her breasts mashed against its surface.

"Don't fuck me like you fucked Momo," Sana said, her words twisting your face in confusion.

“What does that mean?”

Sana paused as she looked over her shoulder. “It means you don’t have to be gentle with me. I’m not a delicate flower that bruises easily.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sana.”

She paused before answering. “Sometimes a girl likes being hurt,” Sana said, flashing a cheeky smile.

For the first time of the night, you were speechless.

“Be as rough as you want with me. It’s just us, and I want you to make me feel every inch of that amazing cock. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Well, you certainly weren’t going to as you gave her bent over body a quick lookover, focusing on her perfect round ass displayed for your eyes only, giving both of her supple cheeks a quick peek and stealing another taste of her delicious pussy.

In the meantime, Sana grabbed the karaoke remote off the table, pushing a few buttons on it as the television once again sprang to life.

“Random mode. Felt like adding a little bit of atmosphere,” Sana said.

Even though the place was supposedly soundproof, the added bit of noise to cover up the sounds your bodies were about to make was most welcome.

You ran your hands over all the warm soft skin you could find, spreading Sana's legs wide. You couldn’t wait to feel her warmth again before grasping a hip and lining your cock with her entrance, running your tip through her silky wet folds.

"Fuck me now," Sana demanded, pushing her hips against you to hurry things up. Her wetness nudged against your cock as you embraced yourself for the warmth your cock was about to enter again. You wanted her just as bad as she wanted you as you used your hips and slid inside the slippery tight walls of Sana’s pussy, filling her to the very hilt and earning a loud needy moan from her lips.

Warmth and wetness hugged your cock everywhere and you looked forward and caught Sana’s needy eyes, knowing no adjustment was necessary from her.

You held onto her hips and started moving, fucking Sana from behind with a slow deliberate pace as those tight wet lower lips wrapped around your cock gripped hard, keeping you inside the comfort of her body.

“You can do better than that,” Sana said, the disappointment obvious in her voice. You took her words as a challenge, squeezing her hips tighter as you picked up speed, sliding in and out of her wet hole with ease with the aid of her messy juices lubricating your cock.

You picked up the pace quickly, your hips moving faster and faster with each thrust as those delicious silky lips squeezed and squeezed your cock, letting you know your shaft wasn’t going anywhere. Sana’s moans grew more satisfied the faster you went, but she still needed more, and she wasn’t going to be content until you gave her everything she wanted.

“Harder. Fuck me harder!” she demanded, pushing her body against your hips again. You held on to her warm body and gave deeper thrusts, using more energy and starting smacking your body against her ass cheeks, causing her flesh to jiggle.

“There you go, was that so hard?” Sana taunted, demanding you give her even more.

Soon the sounds of your skin slapping against each other began filling the room, as you filled Sana to the hilt with each thrust, her wetness spreading over every inch of your needy shaft. Her walls squeezed every time you entered her, keeping a tight grip on your cock as you pistoned your hips and found a perfect rhythm.

“That’s it, fucking pound me. Make me take all of that big hard cock!”

You went even harder, encouraged by Sana’s loud lustful moans as you slammed into her pussy, causing a layer of thin sweat to form over your bodies again. You remembered her words from earlier as you ran your hands all over her sweaty back, collecting a handful of her blonde hair and tangling your fingers in it, forming a loose makeshift ponytail and yanked on it gently as you felt her walls clench in response.

“Fuck yes, you’re so deep! Keep fucking me just like this!”

You yanked back more carefully, pulling her torso upright off of the room’s table as she looked straight ahead into the screen in front, as if she were looking into a mirror. You had gone this far already, so you decided you should up the ante even more, giving her ass a smack.

“Mmm yes, slap my ass, baby!”

You responded by giving another slap to her soft supple cheek, followed by another on the opposite side.

“Harder,” Sana said. You gave two more slaps, adding more impact as her flesh rippled each time.

“I said harder. This isn’t the time for you to hold back. Slap my fucking ass like you mean it.”

You certainly weren't going to disappoint her for a second time. As you drilled into her tight hole you gave her delicious ass repeated slaps, each one harder than the previous one, making sure to not hit the same part twice. You slapped Sana’s tight ass again and again, the crack of your palm against her bare skin echoing as you gave in to her desires, turning her cheeks a visible shade of red and each smack against her bottom made her tight walls clench in approval.

While your fingers were entangled with the strands of Sana’s hair you pulled even harder and made sure you kept your pace steady as you fucked her from behind.

Hearing her gasps and moans of delight filled your ears as your cock plunged in and out of her warm wet hole, each time you withdrew the juices covering your shaft glistening in the room lighting.

“Is this what you wanted?” you growled at Sana as you drove your cock as deep as possible, her tightness smothering your cock with each entrance into her warmth.

“Y-yes! Don’t stop fucking me!” Sana said as her voice cracked, her whimpering moans escaped alongside her words as you gave into your needy urges. You make sure you didn’t stop your movements, pounding into her tight cunt as roughly as possible and fucked Sana as hard as your body allowed you to, the music blaring from the screen doing little if anything to dampen your combined moans.

Your hands found their way back to her perfect hips, saving your energy for the most powerful thrusts you continued to give Sana, returning the favor and using her pussy just like she used your cock earlier, caring little for much other than your own selfish pleasure.

“Are you going to cum soon, baby?” Sana asked, sensing your need for your own desperate release. You were surprised you had somehow lasted this long inside this impossibly hot woman. The juices collected on every inch of your shaft grew by the second, and the knot in your stomach tightened more and more with every deep thrust into her tight wanton body.

With the way Sana looked back at you, there wasn’t any way you couldn’t survive any longer, her needy eyes wanting your climax as much as you did.

“I-I am. I’m so close, Sana,” you blurted out to her delight, flashing a lustful smile in your direction.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear. I want you to cum. I need you to cum inside me. You’ll do that for me won’t you?”

“O-of course,” you replied, finding the air in the room harder to take in.

“Fuck me hard, and don’t you dare stop until you fill me.”

You’d never forget the erotic look of Sana’s desires as she made eye contact one final time. You kept your eyes on her bent over body, sweat dripping down her lower back as you pounded her pussy and plunged your hard cock deep into the warmth of her tight cunt, chasing the only thing that mattered to the two of you.

“Cum inside me. Please cum inside me, “ Sana pleaded with her words, and you had nothing left, eager to give in to her, to give her everything she wanted. All you could take was a handful more of thrusts, smacking your hot flesh against her own as you felt yourself being thrown over the point of no return.

There were no more words shared as you grunted loudly, moaning Sana’s name on your lips as you squeezed her hips so hard you didn’t even have time to worry about bruising her.

Your shaft violently throbbed inside her tight walls as you erupted inside her. You filled Sana to the brim with your warmth and coated her insides with your huge load, groaning with every spurt of thick semen that shot deep into her womb as your balls were drained deep inside her.

Sighing a sense of relief, your bodies stayed connected as your orgasm slowly ran its course. Sana’s tight pussy milked every single drop from you and you rested inside her while you recovered, struggling to catch your breath as you panted and gasped as you felt the most satisfied you had been in quite some time.

You didn’t remember how long you were inside Sana after you came. It might have been a few seconds, or half an hour as you regrettably withdrew an inch at a time from her warmth, leaving her body with a loud pop. As soon as she was empty your thick load slowly leaked out of her, dripping down her thighs and making a mess below.

“That was amazing,” Sana said, equally out of breath as she gingerly turned around, gripping your spent cock one more time and stroking slowly, making sure not a drop was wasted as she licked her fingers clean.

“You’re amazing, Sana.”

“Not bad for just a replacement, huh?” Sana said, cutely giggling.

“I think I might have to request you again. You really take good care of your clients.”

“Thank you. But you know you don’t have to come to the club to see me,” Sana said.

“Is that so?”

“Of course. I’m not really a hostess anymore. I don’t have quotas and I certainly don’t need the extra money. “

“I'll take you up on that offer then.”

“You’re certainly welcome to spend time and money here, but you’ve done so enough, so your wallet deserves a break. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll take you somewhere with some real privacy?” Sana smirked.

“And where might that be?” you asked.

“You’ll see. Somewhere where you’ll be able to see just how loud I can get.”

#club mimosa #twice smut #sana smut #twice #sana #male reader #reader insert #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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hyrule-kingdom-updates · 3 years

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🌼 any of them

Whoops, wrote a fic

Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

An optimist would look at the world of divination with wonder. The universe is a but a magnificent hall of tapestries, beautiful pieces of art woven into anything you could imagine. Tapestries where you are a hero, tapestries where you are royalty, tapestries where your people live with riches, tapestries depicting your eternal victory over your enemies. The universe is endless and bountiful, for in the future, all futures are possible.

This is how Astor usually can depict the good fortune tellers from the worse.

If they’re an optimist, they’re most likely a faker.

The only true divinator that he had met that was even a bit of an optimist was his mother, and even then, he had always had the sinking feeling that she hid a deeper sorrow behind her simple shoes of colorful flames and shining moon and starlight. No, it was quite hard to stick to true, unfiltered optimism in this field, as while it was true that all futures and choices were possible, that freewill ran its course through all who walked the vast possibilities of the universe, the issue came in the fact that you could not travel it to and fro.

There are futures where you live, there are futures where you achieve your wildest dreams, timelines where your childhood is happier, and timelines where you find true love and satisfaction.

But you aren’t in those timelines. The future you have is this one, and it is set in stone.

Walk all the roads you want, say all the words, read all the stories, but when a seer analyzed exactly what world we live in, exactly what end is destined for this string of the universe, there will be no holding back. There is only the unfiltered, raw, typically pessimistic truth of the end. Savor it.

“In truth, Elane, I hate my job. Fear it, even,” Astor set his teacup down, looking out the balcony towards the inky, midnight view. “I fear one day I will find the prediction—the true, ultimate glimpse into the night, that seals in the fact that we’re doomed.”

The Queen only cocked her head with a smile. “Well, I’m flattered that there’s still a ‘we’ in this scenario. Good to know I’ll be joining you in the lockup when my mother find our contraband cucco nuggets—“

“I’m serious, Elane.”

She only laughed quietly, before leaning back in her chair, and gazing out into the pleasant evening. “I know...”

There was a quiet between them, not quite awkward or stiffening, but quiet in the way that you might hold your breath after someone embraces you warmly. Quiet in acceptance, quiet to make room for the sounds of something rare and fickle.

“I swear, I might retire early,” Astor finally said. “Quit while I’m ahead. Head off to Hateno or Mabe and bury my head in the sand.”

“You might want to try Gerudo then, if sand is what you’re searching for. I’m sure Urbosa would be thrilled.”

“Tsk. I am inclined to disagree.”

Elane chuckled again, and she let the quiet embrace her for a moment.

“Eternal doom aside, for a moment, I would posit that there’s hardly anything to fear. You’ve foreseen my daughter’s growth, analyzed the future livelihood of the kingdom, and predicted our victory over Ganon. I’d say it’s hard to bargain with that.”

“Maybe, but I could be wrong.” Astor circled his finger on the lip of his cup. “It happens, people make a prediction, but miss one star, or slip up one word...or perhaps one cow suddenly dies, or one ember quickly fades, and suddenly we’re actually in an entirely different timeline than predicted.”

“Didymos Astor? Wrong about something? Oh my, I never thought I’d see the day...” Elane smiled to herself again as she lifted her cup for another sip.

Astor clicked his tongue. “Well. You should hope I’m not wrong about anything. If someone of my skill makes an incorrect prediction, it would probably be disastrous for everyone.”

Elane winked as she set down her cup. “Well, good thing you’re a prodigy, then.”

“Good thing, indeed.”

Quiet keep their third company once again. Astor still had not sipped from his cup, but Elane was already heading for her fourth refill, no doubt begging for any energy after tucking her daughter to bed. A young toddler with enough energy to power a Guardian army, Elane has always found it quite odd that she used up a lot of her energy to annoy the Royal Seer. It was charming to see him get put off by a Mallory’s boundless curious aura, but mostly relieving in the sense that the Queen could get a moments rest and trust little Zelda would be alright.

Elane looked back inside through the half open door, and smiled at a bundled sleeping figure, surrounded by an army of stuffed animals. She then turned back and finally noticed Astor’s continued silence on the next refill.

She sighed. “Although I would be saddened to see you leave,” she began, “If a retirement would make you happy, Astor, I would loathe to do anything to stand in your way.”

He looked up at her, analyzing her body language and expression. She was genuine, of course, as she always was in these sorts of talks. Astor finally let himself exhale in peace, as he smiled and shook his head.

“Unfortunately I don’t think it would do me much good, anyways. Location won’t let me escape my own thoughts and visions.” He took a sip of his tea—a bit citrusy this evening, a hint of apple—and relaxed. “I’d imagine His Majesty would miss me dearly, and I simply wouldn’t want to leave him in distress.”

“Ha! Oh yes of course, Rhoam would be crying tears if you left us...” she replied, sarcastically. “Tears of deep, deep sorrow.”

Astor looked out into the night in silence again, not touching his cup.

“But I’ll tell you what Astor,” Elane began again. “If you ever receive that world dooming prediction, whatever may happen that may instigate your view of the deepest hells,” she raised her cup. “You come find me, and we’ll have a drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A drink? What sort of drink?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like. Tea, wine, beer, water or juice if it’s your fancy. Whatever will keep your spirits high.”

Astor smirked, solemnly. “I don’t think you understand just how severe and dreadful certain predictions can be. When we say ‘all futures are possible,’ we do mean all possibilities.”

“And I understand, dear seer. I truly do.” She tilted her head as she kept her cup in the air. “But the way I see it, is that with divination or not, doom and hell come into people’s lives one way or the other. But it hasn’t really stopped the majority from loving their lives now, has it?” Her eyes twinkled like starlight. “Dearest Astor, if our destined doom is predicted one day, I command you to at least smile through our tea party.”

Quiet.

He finally sighed, the corners of his lips perking. His protests drowning in her expression.

“I suppose if you’re the one pouring, it’d be difficult to refuse.” He raised his cup and clinked it with hers.

She was dead eight days later.

With her death came the final factor. The final star.

“Your daughter is destined to fail us,” he said again. “The Calamity shall rise and consume us all, and she won’t stop it in time.”

Rhoam slammed his fists on the desk, but the seer did not flinch. “We’ll train her hard, we’ll start now, even! I’ll get those clerics from the temple to teach her the starting prayers!” he yelled.

“It won’t work.” Astor replied, simply. “Perhaps she might attain them down the line, but she most certainly won’t awaken her powers by Ganon’s rise. It’s over.”

“You told me we could do this!” Rhoam pointed a finger, accusingly. “You saw our prosperity, our victory!”

“That was what I initially saw, yes. But unfortunately we live in world where the Queen of Hyrule is dead, and thus the threads of our future weave accordingly.”

“You’re a liar!” Rhoam bellowed again. “You saw her death, saw our end and lied to us since the beginning, haven’t you?!!”

“Don’t you think that if I knew Elane would die, I would say something?! That I would give ample time for her to say goodbye to you and her daughter??” Astor finally raised his voice, met with equal silence. “I failed to correctly analyze our timeline the first time around, and for that I am sorry. But I can not control what pieces of the future fate allows me to see. It’s not an open novel for you to give me a bad book report grade on. It’s a museum of endless tapestries, of which I am task with analyzing one stroke at a time to identify which is woven to a singular man, and the fact that I have given you a complete enough answer now is a gift within itself, so don’t even try to accuse me forgery and lies.”

The two men clenched their jaws, staring angrily at each other.

Astor finally whispered. “Overtime I might gather more specifics, but overall—this is over.”

Rhoam balles his hand into a fist. “We’ll start a new schedule for Zelda first thing in the morning—“

“It won’t work, it’s futile—“

“We’ll make it work—“

“This is set in stone, this is the world you live in—“

“Well what if you’re wrong again?”

“I’m not.”

“But what if you are?”

“I’m. Not. I’ve read the signs again and again and again, in fact I’ve been reaching the same conclusions repeatedly for the last four weeks. It. Is set. In stone.” He tapped his finger on the wood with each syllable to emphasize. “Perhaps the futures of prosperity are accurate for the Rhoams and Mallorys that live in a different time, but unfortunately for us, we live in one where Elane is dead. This is our reality and you’re doing no good denying as such.”

Silence.

Rhoam made his way towards the door. “You’re a liar.” The seer scoffed. “You’re a liar and you don’t know what you’re saying! Borderline treason if I’m being honest! You’re pathetic, and a rotten fake—“

“If it pleases His Majesty to confirm the integrity of his humble subject,” Astor cut in, sarcastically, “It might be good to know that also I’ve predicted you won’t imprison me, or exile me, or execute me, given you’re still ever reliant on my uncontested skills for more personal matters. That, and you wish to try and keep me around to hopefully prove me wrong, in which you can then tell yourself you’d be in the right to truly punish me.” He stared the regent dead in the eyes. “But don’t worry, you won’t.”

Rhoam slammed the door shut as he stomped off.

That night, Astor has another dream. Or perhaps it was a vision, he wasn’t sure, as the details were so surreal and horrific and captivating that it would have surely been a blessing to chalk it up entirely to vivid imagination.

There were screams and the sound of rocks crumbling. Bones were cracking and monsters were squealing and shrieking. And be felt his arms burn, and he felt his soul drain, and he looked down to see his skin peeling into dark flakes, his muscles, sludge. And in the distance, a young woman with golden hair laughed at him, but her eyes were hollow and gold. And she laughed and laughed as his body was slowly broken to pieces, bones torn asunder, skin burned to smoldering malice, senses vivid until the final moment when he woke.

But the good thing about nightmares, was that...that was it. There was no where else to go. There was nothing left to offer. No more pain to fear.

It made sense of course. Of course, of course. He never went to the funeral, he never offered his sympathies. There was no longer anything to mourn, as he allowed himself to view the world in its true, disgusting form. The people were doomed, and the dead, well...perhaps they might have deserved it. Yes, that was the only way this all made sense, of course. He even stopped trying to warn other folk after a few too many dozen harsh rejections to his character. No, now in complete isolation and resignation of his path, there was nothing else that could possibly drag him back to—

“How do I die?” Zelda Mallory Hyrule asked, one day.

At first, he was confused, and he turned in his chair. “What?”

She was seven at the time, and it was truly an odd and concerning thing to be coming from a seven year old girl’s mouth. Or perhaps it wasn’t, given the circumstances.

“How do I die?” she said again. She was laying down on his worn carpet, fiddling with the frilled edge.

Was she truly that bored? Already out of other questions? Hmph, he had always warned her to stay away, as a seer’s office wasn’t really meant for childish entertainment. Yet still she always came and asked to hide away from her father, and, well...anything to spite that man...

“Why do you ask?” he finally replied. Had someone said something to her? A threat? He clenched his jaw. I swear, if that fool tried to force her powers by—

“You’re always going on about how I’m wasting my time with praying and stuff...but father says I still gotta to stop the Calamity or else we could all die.” She didn’t look up from the bits of carpet string she was playing with (and contemplating on popping in her mouth), “So I figured if you tell me how I die we can settle the debate for good!”

Astor just sighed. “Well, of course you d—“

He stopped himself, but not for the reasons a more put together person, might. Not because of the generally frowned upon action of telling a child how she dies, no, that was not exactly beyond him. No, Astor cut off his sentence simply because it had crossed his mind that—

“...I’m not entirely sure...” he whispered.

He suddenly stood. Walking towards the other end of his office, carefully stepping over the child. “E-Excuse me a moment.”

Why had he never considered this? Of course, he had seen the signs clearly enough, the visions, the stars. A girl cries over a corpse, a light vanishes in the night. Malice plagued the sky and dooms the day. But did the Calamity actually kill her? Does she drown in rubble and malice like the others? Slain by a demon or monster perhaps? Or if not, then, would that mean...?

The princess soon forgot about the question by the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next.

Astor spent nearly eight sleepless nights into finding an answer.

But he never truly did.

These things happened more times than one may think, when it came to predictions. Vagueness was commonplace, but specificities and straightforward answers were about as rare as a green sunset. Of course, he knew she would die, goddess blood or not, she lived the life of a mortal. But how? When? While it certainly wasn’t impossible to predict a person’s death, but whatever the circumstances of Mallory’s was made the process was infuriatingly impossible.

It was possible she would die of malice or suffocation under rubble, even circumstances where she dies at the Ganon’s hand himself. But then there were clear visions of her living, walking through a grassy field, ruins in the distance covered in leaves and moss, her turning and calling to a friend to keep up with her pace.

But no, nonono. She would die during the Calamity’s rise, that was the majority of what the futures offered to her were. That was the probable outcome.

But the factors and visions and signs and alignments were so fine and minuscule in difference, that Astor truly couldn’t a true statement, a true prediction, a true answer to the question. What timeline did we live in?

It taunted him.

Maybe it was better if the question was put to rest, did it even matter?

“Mallory?” he asked. “That’s a stupid name.”

“What?! No it’s not!” Elane laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Please, YOU’RE not one to talk.”

“Well as a victim of stupid first names, I think I’m qualified to speak accurately on the subject.”

“Aha! But it’s not technically a first name.” Elane tapped his head. “It’s a middle name, her first name would be ‘Zelda,’ of course.”

“Yes, and that is also a s—“

The queen shoved his shoulder into the wall before he even finished the sentence. “Oh would you shut up...”

He laughed, unconventionally carefree. Her Majesty’s happiness these days truly was contagious. Or perhaps that was a side effect of pregnancy? Did all expecting mother’s give off this aura?

“I think it’s a wonderful name.” Elane said. “Reminds me of a cute little duck, like a mallard!” She tucked her arms and flapped her elbows to imitate as such. “Quack, quack!”

“This is further adding to my argument actually”

“Hmph! Ok then Mr. Overseer of all names” She tapped a finger to his chest. “If it’s such a stupid name, then when she starts getting bullied for it around the castle, I shall expect you to take care of her in full.”

He scoffed. “Oh, I’ll be sure to do so. She’ll definitely need it.”

Elane pecked his head with a kiss.

“Good! I grant you my blessing lovingly tease her, as well. And I expect the best from you, Astor!”

His face suddenly warmed for some reason, and he couldn’t form words.

“What?”

“.....W...”

He was suddenly whack in the head with a rolled up piece of paper. Astor sprang awake from his desk. “...W...What...?”

“Morning, Mr. Astor!!” Princess Zelda-Mallory beamed. “And happy birthday!!! Sorry I woke you up early, but I needed to give this to you before the winter solstice festival later and—“

She continued to ramble on and on, but Astor simply opened the rolled up paper she had handed to him. It was simply filled with dozens and dozens, arguably hundreds, of hand drawn stars. In the corner was written, “You always look at the same stars so here’s some new ones!” in crude purple crayon. At the time, he failed to notice the accompanying note on the back that read “One for each year of how old you are!” Thankfully he was too busy looking through the different stars, with varying degrees of sparkles and smiley faces.

He finally looked back at the princess, who was still rambling on and on about her day, and her father’s day, and her newest stuffy dress, and her latest adventures with her stuffed toys, and—

“Why are you always here, Zelda?” Astor finally said. She stopped talking, looking at him, quizzically. “I mean...” he grumbled, “You know I don’t really like you, right?

“Eh, I don’t care. I think you’re neat!!” She held out her arms as she zoomed around his circular office. “Your room is so cool! And you got fun books!”

“Necromancy isn’t necessarily what I would consider ‘fun’ reading material—“

“Plus your outfits are cool, and you’re super smart, like my mom.”

He blinked.

“Plus, you’re the only one that’s not mean to me about my dumb powers. But really that’s just a chair on the top!”

“Do you mean cherry on top?”

“No! I meant chair! Watch me!! I’m gonna do a backflip off of this—“

“NO.” Astor immediately stood up, and snatched the girl off of the wooden chair. “NO. No backflips.” He set her down on the rug and pointed to a side of the room which held a broken table, stool, and a few old chairs—the victims of the princess’ previous acrobatic attempts.

She crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m running out of furniture, is what I am.”

“But I’ll let this slide since it’s your birthday! Hmph.”

She started pulling at the loose threads of the carpet. “Don’t know why you had to stop my birthday backflip! Who cares if I get a little scratch?”

“I do—“

“YOU DO?!” Mallory was immediately up and clinging to his robes.

Astor sputtered, instinctively waving his arms to free himself from the child’s grip. But then he finally processed her question, and...

“I...” He looked at her starlight eyes. She had that stupid, naive grin that he always remembered from her mother. A stupid, pathetic, horrible, terrible, optimistic smile.

He finally scoffed. “I just can’t have you getting hurt on my watch, as otherwise, I’d probably be a dead man. That’s all.”

The princess lifted her hands in a “hooray!” fashion, and yelled the exclamation, accordingly. She then resumed her zipping and zooming around the room, much to Astor’s unexpected relief.

That night, he visited the question again.

Why? He didn’t really know.

The question wouldn’t offer him anything, it wouldn’t relieve him of anything—in fact it really did just the opposite. If he found that died miserably, it would be another scream in the nightmare, another nail in the comforting coffin of despair. But if he someone found that she lived, that there was a day after the Calamity, where even a child such as her could possibly prosper...

Having hope and seeing it fail anyway would probably be the most torturous of all.

Again, he had a dream, of a world tainted by blood and malice. But this time he was floating. He was floating and watching the end of it all.

Castle Town was nothing but ruins and ash, and no colors existed but red, black, and grey.

He couldn’t hear anything but a shrill hum in his ears, but he knew there was screaming. He looked to his hand, expecting to see malice or blackened skin, but instead found a strange floating device in his palm. It spin slowly, pink constellations drifting across its surface.

The hum in his ears turned into a groan, and then a whisper. It said something familiar, but he was sure he had never heard it before.

It is time.

The next night he had a dream of a girl standing in a green field, calling out to her friends somewhere behind her. She rested under the ruins of a collapsed pillar, and ate a homemade sandwich with a memorable smile.

Astor reached a conclusion.

In most futures, the girl dies horribly. He wrote in his journal. To be expected, I would assume the rise of the Calamity isn’t exactly easy to survive from.

But what I have discovered is a very specific set of circumstances that lead to a more favorable outcome, at least for her.

I have no way of knowing if it accurately depicts the comings of our time, or another. There are too many variables and specifics. Too long I have spent trying to discern our fate, but the probabilities and possibilities for doom are so interchangeable that it really go either way. The only truth I know is that she lives if—

He paused, tapping the dry quill to the desk again in thought. He dipped it once more.

I’ve decided that if I ever find myself in the scenario where I can solidify her a more favorable destiny, I will take it. I can only hope dare to alter my existing nightmare into something different, there’s really nothing left to lose, is there?

Astor leaned in his chair for a moment, savoring the silence of his office. He looked out the window and took in the night. The stars were gorgeous this evening.

Although if it fails I hope it kills me.

Call it arrogance, but I don’t think I can handle being wrong again.

The seer sighed, then suddenly flipped to the next blank page, angrily.

If I had never met her it would have been fine. If I had just minded my own damn business and continued to work in being resigned to our fate, at least then I could have—

There was a soft knock at his door.

He knew who it was.

Astor pinched the bridge of his nose as he opened it. “It’s past 2am, Princess, what could you possibly have to tell me?”

She looked down and shuffled her feet. “I had a nightmare...”

“Yes, people do have those sometimes.” He immediately closed the door.

Another knock.

After a moment, Astor opened it again. “Don’t you have guards outside your room, how did you sneak up here?”

“Secret tunnel!” She grinned, proudly, as she replied with a sort of sing-song tone.

“That’s nice.”

The door slammed shut again.

She knocked once more. There was the longest pause.

“FFFFFFine!” The world was out of his lips before he even fully swung open the door, and Mallory happily scrambled inside. “But no touching anything, I’m working.”

“It’s ok, I just wanna stay up all night and read your books!” She was already scrambling for the necromancy section, again.

Astor sighed, and went to slump back into his desk. The princess was already sprawled across the floor, distracting herself with another stack of wondrous, ill-recommended book. He didn’t really care.

I don’t really care. He wrote once again. I know there are futures where I dedicate myself to the Calamity, and she dies anyway. I know it doesn’t really matter, I know it’s hopeless to care, and that’s why I don’t.

He looked back at Zelda, he saw her slowly blink back her tiredness. He knew in a few hours or so, he’d have to drop her sleepy figure back off to those useless guards, and berate then for letting her wander off again, as it always was.

If I do this and it’s all for nothing, he began, I fear it will be worse than if I had just stood to the side and perished. It’s already doomed, and this pathetic, foolish optimism might cause me to turn this nightmare into something even worse.

He sighed, and the hours passed as he just sat with his thoughts.

Zelda was using and open book as a pillow.

Astor opened the door, and went to pick her up.

I’m not living through another nightmare. He thought, as he descended the stairs from the observatory. The girl’s breathing was steady as she wrapped an arm by his shoulder.

If it fails I hope it kills me before I see it. He repeated again.

I can’t handle being wrong again.

#Didymos Astor #out of character #oc ask game #I’m actually really proud of this I might shove it into canon story one day

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Traffic Lights Are Burnin’

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @nebluus‘s birthday! She asked for some WFB, and of the options I gave she chose the next part of our Six Flags saga...only the beginning scene of that chapter ended up ballooning out into this so...it ended up being less Amusement Park Shenanigans and more Wholesome Boys Will Be Boys Content. I’M SURE MADI WILL BE JUST FINE WITH THAT TOO 😂

“Are you making an omelette?”

English is not, functionally, Mitsuhide’s first language. Not that he thinks of it like that-- first or second, third or fourth; there’s no ranking in his life, no moment in which one language followed another. There was English with Mama and quebecois with Papa; a plan quickly scuttled by Mitsuhide being the fifth Lowen sibling. Refusing to be pigeonholed into a single language no matter how many times Mama repeated consistency is key, his brothers mostly spoke a tossed salad of both and assumed he’d understand the lettuce.

Coupled with the fact that all his cousins lived in Toronto anyway, Mitsuhide had hardly begun talking himself before it became outside quebecois and inside English. Unless they left the province, in which case it was a free-for-all that left his few monolingual aunts and uncles dizzy.

Which is to say, Mitsuhide only becomes aware of the precise inner ranking of his languages in moments like this, where gut immediately kicks out a dry ‘j’essaie.’ The translation is vetoed on the grounds that although in quebecois he’s never met a word he couldn’t steep in sarcasm and smuggle in a sacre, he prefers to keep his English so clean it squeaks.

You’ve got it all backwards, Kihal had told him as he sweltered under the San Juan sun, English is fake, you can be as much of an asshole as you want it in, it doesn’t count.

It’s true, there’s something that’s more real to him in French, that’s more real about him, but, well-- there were far fewer cousins to tattle on his potty mouth this way. And now that he knows Obi...

Well, if Kiki ever made good on her threats to teach him any of his “church swears,” he’d probably never sleep easy again. So instead, he scrolls through his mental rolodex of possible appropriate replies before settling on, “Would you like one?”

Zen glances up from his array of pamphlets, glossy paper glaring beneath the overhead lamp. It matches the way Zen is looking at him. “We don’t have time for that.”

Mitsuhide frowns, giving his eggs one last vigorous whisk before pouring them into the pan. “There’s always time for breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

He glances over just in time to see Zen’s grimace. “Shirayuki really could be your sister.”

There’s really no reason he has to look so horrified by the idea. His brothers may all be broad shouldered, barrel-chested giants, but plenty of his cousins made pocket money in high school through catalogue modeling. And they’re all very nice girls.

He doesn’t mention it. A conversation never ends well if you have to whip out photos of female relatives to prove your point. “Would you like one?” he repeats instead, a safer tactic overall.

Zen’s nose wrinkles beneath some dubiously drawn eyebrows. “Are you putting spinach in there?”

“Kale,” he agrees. “And chicken.”

“In a breakfast omelette?” He clucks his tongue, just the way the Wisteria’s chef would when he attempted to cook at the estate. Quel dommage, he would say, sighing over the cutting board, why would you do that to perfectly good eggs? “Why would you do that?”

Because these muscles don’t come cheap; Mitsuhide chokes down a truly staggering amount of chicken in order to keep them. Roasted, of course-- boiled is technically better for protein, but even he has to draw the line somewhere. The eggs have less, but they are calorie efficient; he’d eat more of them if he could stomach the slimy, snake-like sensation of swallowing them down hard boiled.

But explaining his diet regime usually ended with glazed eyes, so he settles for, “I could always put something different in yours. There’s ham.”

Fancy ham, Obi calls it. It’s just from the deli counter, fresh sliced from whatever quality cut’s on sale, but considering how the first time Obi saw a charcuterie board, he shouted, Oh, Lunchables!--

Well, Mitsuhide can accept that maybe they have different benchmarks for fancy. And somehow just the simple act of calling it that does make it taste better. Or at least more satisfying when it’s shoved between a Hawaiian roll and deli cheese.

There’s a soft shuffle by the kitchen door, and a wild thatch of bristle peeps around the frame. Mitsuhide shakes his head with huff. That’s a new one-- just think the devil’s name and he appears.

Obi lopes into the kitchen, all long limbs and smooth movements, blurring right into the background without any effort at all. He’d gotten Mitsuhide a few times when he’d first moved in, popping up wherever it was sure to be the most inconvenient, grinning like a cat with feathers in its teeth. But once you knew the trick of it, well-- it’s no effort to keep the kid in his sights.

Which is why he has a full, uninterrupted view when Obi slips right up to Zen’s elbow, and asks, “Whatcha doing, chief?”

“Wah!” Pamphlets fly up, a glittering flock of wings swooping beneath the lamp. Zen slaps them down before they can skitter off the table’s edge. “Obi! Make noise for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” he sing-songs, not a sincere note in it. Two long fingers pluck a pamphlet off the wood, twisting it between them. “What’s all this? They starting to put theme parks on exams now?”

“No.” Zen scowls, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m just making today’s itinerary.”

Mitsuhide slides his omelette onto a plate, turning just in time to catch the glance Obi sends him. It somehow says is he fucking with me while also implying I’ll hold him down if we gotta send him to the doctor. “An itinerary?”

He leans a hip against the island, fishing out a fork. What was it Obi always said? Dinner tastes better with a show. Time to find out whether it extends to breakfast too.

Zen fixes Obi with a look that could have had trenches with all its affront. “You can’t go to an amusement park without a plan. How else do you get on all the coasters?”

“It’s only Six Flags New England.” A week ago, the name alone made Obi flee like a cat from a bath, but now every syllable drips with derision, like a sommelier reviewing boxed wine. “They’ve got what? Superman?”

Mitsuhide shoves a corner of his omelette in his mouth. It’s not as good as a sausage, mushroom, and cheese, but, well, it’ll do. “Bizarro.”

“Bizarro.” Obi scoffs. “See? Nothing. Besides, I thought you were the kind of guy to spring for fast passes, boss.”

Zen’s always been sensitive; the sort of kid who tended to pop off when a situation came to a simmer instead of trying to turn down the heat. When Izana had been sitting president, he’s spent half his tenure fielding tense calls, sometimes even climbing into a towncar at a moment’s notice to be taken back east. The school, he’s always say, lifting a shoulder, my brother is proving to be a challenge, and my mother is...unreachable.

He’d thought this Zen kid must be like the ones he knew on the ice, punching first and asking questions later, complaining about being put in the box. All temper and no temperance, Mama used to say when she drove him home, can’t talk when you got plastic between your teeth.

But then he’d met him, undersized and stick-limbed, living in that house with people paid to be invisible. A kid with too much on his shoulders and too many eyes to watch him stumble under it. He’s come a long way from there.

So when Zen squirms in his chair, red already starting to lick up his neck, Mitsuhide doesn’t enjoy it. On the contrary, Zen’s discomfort is his discomfort, a failure of him to keep the watchful eye on him that Izana asked him to.

But it also doesn’t stop him from adding, “Shirayuki believes that waiting in line is part of the amusement park experience.”

Obi looks as though he’s just been told it’s his birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one. “Of course she does.” His mouth sharpens to a wicked grin. “So you’ll be lowering yourself to the peasant’s lines today, huh, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, swatting him away. “No one’s being lowered anywhere. We won’t be running into any of them so long as we get there early and hit the coasters in the right order.”

Obi coughs. Or at least, makes it sound like he is. “Uh-huh.”

“Where is Shirayuki anyway?” Zen glares at the empty doorway, brows heaving like thunderclouds over the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said you’d get her.”

“I did.” Obi twitches his shoulders; as good as a shrug, from him. “She’s getting ready.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” Zen’s glare changes target to him, thunder rolling in the tone of his voice. “Shirayuki doesn’t take this long to get ready.”

When Mitsuhide glances up, chewing around another stab of egg, kale, and chicken, Obi’s eyebrows are already there to meet him. His head tilts, just the barest degree; this is your show, big guy.

Mitsuhide coughs, trying to clear his throat of leaf bits. “Girls,” he starts, the ground sinking beneath him with each word, “like to look nice. Especially when they are on, uh, dates.”

“This isn’t a date,” Zen informs him, more than a little put out. “Obi’s going.”

The sound Obi makes can only be termed as distressed. “I didn’t want to.”

For exactly this reason, is what he doesn’t say. Doesn’t even show it on his face, though it has to be lurking beneath it, considering how he--

Well, considering nothing Mitsuhide knows for sure. But certainly a few things he reasonably suspects.

“Chief.” Obi flips the chair next to him, straddling it. “You know, I really thought it couldn’t be true. I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But to hear you now--” he leans in, one narrow brow raising the same time his voice drops-- “you really do chicken out when it comes to getting chummy with Doc.”

Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his chicken.

Zen’s red all over, like someone pulled him from a boiling pot and put him on a plate. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” he says, so easy. “Doc told me.”

“She said that?” His skin’s so flushed Mitsuhide’s half afraid he’ll pass out, but instead he just collapses against the ladderback, head buried in his arms. “Shirayuki?”

“Pretty much.” Obi sighs, hands braced on the table. “I mean, is it so hard to say she looks nice when she dresses up? Or that you like her hair, or--” he stumbles, shaking his head-- “no, not the hair. Too loaded. But you know, one of her floaty little numbers. Her freckles. Something.”

“I have!”

Obi lifts a dubiously narrow eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Ah...” Whatever the answer is, it’s not helping his blood flow problem. Mitsuhide nearly opens his mouth, searching for a good way to make himself a target-- “The Big E.”

Well, there goes that plan.

Obi’s inquisition crumples into confusion. “What? When did you--”

Every word ekes into the air with the utmost resistance. “When she was wearing your hoodie.”

“When she was wearing my--?” Gold eyes round to coins. “Chief.”

For a solid minute, that’s the only reaction-- wide-eyed disbelief, earned from two sides. But Obi coughs, mouth twitching, and it’s a snort, a smirk, and--

And then Obi launches himself away from the table, both hands still gripping the edge as he falls apart utterly. The chair’s back keeps him from putting his head between his knees, but spiritually he’s there, tears tracking down his cheeks as his laughs wheeze out of him

One hand finally slaps the table, like he’s asking for a time out. Zen frowns down at him, red finally fading to a painful pink. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is,” Obi squeaks, and Mitsuhide has to shove his last bite of omelette into his mouth to stifle his own noises. It’s no good-- Zen whips around and gives him the same glare he’s been saving for Obi.

“If you don’t cut it out,” he says loftily, “I’m going to let a freshman stay in your room.”

Well, that brings Obi up. “Fine,” he coughs, voice still ragged from laughing. “But still. My hoodie.”

“The sleeves hung over her hands! It was cute.” Zen huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine, if I’m so bad, why don’t you two show me how it’s done?”

There’s a pause, long and loaded; enough that Mitsuhide glances up from his plate to see just what tomfoolery he should brace himself to break up--

Only to find Zen staring at him.

Intellectually, Mitsuhide is aware that Zen is a Wisteria. He met him through Izana, after all; he’s been over to the manor, he’s even met their prodigal mother on one of her rare stopovers between vacations. But when he thinks of the name, it’s Izana who springs to mind, the gears churning behind his eyes.

It’s not often that Zen reminds him of his brother; Cookie’s always said that Izana takes after their mother with that long and lean model build, while Zen has always been Kain’s child. But now, now--

He sees it, and it sends a shiver right through him.

With a quirk of his lips, Zen says, so like Izana that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t know any different, “You first, Mitsuhide.”

Obi’s mouth curves into a leer. “Yeah, Big Guy. Show us the skills that got you Ms Kiki.”

This probably isn’t the time to tell them that it wasn’t him who got her; Mitsuhide hadn’t been trying to do anything more than be the friend she needed, to be a person she could confide in, could trust. People like that were thin on the ground for girls like her; heiress tended to make men see dollar signs instead of personality. But Kiki--

Well, she had other ideas. Ones he’d only cottoned onto when she climbed on top of him and shoved him against the couch cushions with her mouth.

“D-Don’t look at me!” he manages, trying to busy himself with anything. But there’s only a plate to be put in the sink, and a pan to be wiped. Not enough to fake a decent amount of responsibility. “I’m not--”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Man. Don’t leave us hanging.” Obi leans back, grin so wide it practically splits his face. “Lemme paint the scene. You’re single, Doc is adorable, and she’s waiting there--” he gestures to Zen, who flutters his eyelashes in precisely the way Shirayuki doesn’t-- “for you to make your move. Go!”

He could point out he’s not single, and that he doesn’t have any plans to change that anytime soon-- but that only ends in one way: a two-pronged mockery with additional ridicule provided by the impending arrival of his better half. He could also point out that of all the people in this room, he’s the only one who hasn’t wanted to date Shirayuki, but-- well, the problems with that one were obvious.

Instead, Mitsuhide takes in a deep breath, learns on the counter, and says, “Why, Shirayuki! You’re looking beautiful this morning. Those shorts really flatter your legs.”

There is a long silence, and then to everlasting embarrassment, they burst out laughing.

“Her shorts?” Zen’s hand is pressed to his chest, like he needs support to keep upright. “That’s all you can think of? Her shorts?”

“Well, Obi said not to do her hair,” he protests. “Complimenting her dress seemed like low hanging fruit. I was trying to be unique.”

Obi doesn’t even bother to remain horizontal, sprawling himself over the long forgotten maps. “So you went for her legs?”

“There’s nothing wrong with legs!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Zen sputters out in an effort to keep his mouth straight. “Definitely a very neutral place to comment on.”

“Definitely not known for being attached to things like asses.” Obi’s mouth twitches, as much a sign for danger as thunder rolling in the distance. “Or puss--”

“I was not trying to comment on that.” He’d felt bad for Zen earlier, but the sentiment doesn’t seem mutual. “It’s not typical, sure, but Kiki never seems to mind when I compliment--”

“Kiki?” Zen squawks. “Kiki?”

“Well, I think we’re all learning a little too much about Big Guy today,” Obi wheezes. “Mainly that it’s Ms Kiki that chased him, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah.” Zen shakes his head, long and slow and solemn, like a doctor about to give a terminal diagnosis. “No game at all.”

Mitsuhide’s not a competitive man. Sure, he was forward on the ice, the kind of player that got sent to the box before the end of the first half and slid right into the captain spot when it was vacant. Aggression is part of the game, competition laced in every turn of his skate and lift of his stick, but that’s a different situation, a different language--

But it’s that part of him that surges beneath his skin right now, that makes him want to saunter over and put both hands on that rickety, painted wood until it creaks. That makes him want to take a full minute to bend down, showing off every centimeter of his one-ninety plus, and ask real low if either of them has made a girl beg on their cock lately, but--

He puts it in its place. That sort of talk always sounded better en français anyway.

Zen waves his hand, slipping his pamphlets out from under Obi. “Anyway, enough messing around. Are you still making omelettes, Mitsuhide?”

“Ohh, omelettes?” Obi spins to him with wide eyes. “Can I get mine with fancy ham?”

Mitsuhide blinks. “Wait, aren’t you going to do your take?”

“Nah.”

Zen shrugs. “Joke’s over.”

“So I just did that for no reason--?”

“I wouldn’t say no reason,” Zen wheedles. “It was very educational.”

Obi grins. “Mainly about how Big Guy likes legs--”

“Oh,” drawls a voice that makes his body go cold and hot at the same time. When he turns, it’s Kiki leaning against the jamb, a single elegant brow raised, excusing amusement and menace in equal measure. “Am I to take it that the show is over?”

“K-kiki,” he stammers. “How long--?”

“Hm.” She saunters over to the counter, slipping onto a stool with a casual grace that still leaves his mouth dry. “Long enough. I have to admit, I was looking forward to seeing a display of Obi’s fabled moves.”

“Ms Kiki,” Obi simpers, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’d be happy to give you a personal demonstration anytime.”

Both her brows raise. “Did I say I was desperate?”

He’s saved from Obi’s answer by Shirayuki padding into the kitchen, flushed and breathless. “Oh, you were right Kiki! Everyone is already ready. Sorry to make you wait.”

There’s a hesitation in the air, and Mitsuhide can’t figure it out, not until he sees-- she’s wearing shorts.

Shirayuki blinks. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kiki hums, sending him a gaze so wicked it should be illegal outside the bedroom. “Do you have anything to say to her, Mitsuhide?”

“No!” It comes out a little too harsh, a little too loud. “I mean, I, uh...like your sandals!”

“Sandals,” Obi snickers, a sound that’s only covered by Zen’s hushed, “Shut up.”

“Oh!” She blinks down. “Thank you. I got them at Payless. I, um, don’t think they make them in your size.”

“No,” he manages mildly. “I don’t imagine they would.”

“You do look real cute, Doc,” Obi chimes in, slinking out of his seat to circle around her. “Did you dress up for today?”

Zen makes a noise, somewhere between a choke and a gasp, but even with the pink brushing her cheeks, Shirayuki’s too used to his antics to do much more than sigh.

“Of course I did, Obi.” Her fists perch high on her hips, cocked as she talks to him. “It’s the last time we’re all going to be going out together, isn’t it? What could be more special than that?”

Mitsuhide may not be a competitive man, and especially isn’t a malicious one, but when Obi’s jaw goes slack, the tips of his ears darkening just the slightest bit, well-- he does indulge in the slightest bit of schadenfreude.

“Well,” Zen says, a little sharp. “Let’s get going.”

“Aw!” Obi whips around. “What about fancy ham?”

“I don’t think you need--”

“Oh, I haven’t had breakfast either!” Shirayuki adds, eyes wide. “Do we have time?”

Zen hesitates, and then with a sigh, relents. “We’ll stop at Dunkies.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #modern au #my fic #ans #mitsuhide gets so few POVs in the fic I can't help but let them get away from me okay #he's a gift #the actual six flags chapters are gonna have rotating POV #and it was just supposed to START with him #but then i was like WHAT IF I INCLUDED THE SCENE FROM BEFORE THE CANON DATE #and now we are here

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ladyideal · 3 years

Text

The Faceless Shadow: I

Word Count: 2073

Warnings: spoilers of s1 finale, mention of rape, mention of murder, Billy Butcher, language, alcohol

Summary: Five years later, you enjoy life after years of hardwork bringing NYC under one rule.

A/n: yeah... let's just yeah.

Five Years Later

$1.50

You frowned at the prices of the last stack of newspaper in front of the glass window. Billy Butcher's face smirking up at you from the front cover aggravated you. Sure it'd been some time since the Mallory incident, but you'd lost men to Lamplighter when Frenchie left his post. Begrudgingly, you threw in the needed money and snatched the old, wrinkly paper out of its casing.

Using people was what he enjoyed doing, and what he would continue doing in his quest for vengeance. Losing an associate was pitiful, but to one of your made men? There wasn't going to be a second chance. Zero wasn't happy, and you certainly were ticked off at the past still. Tucking the newspaper clip into your jacket, you headed back to the club.

Ten fronts. All ranging from clubs to restaurants. Mostly legitimate, in terms of paying taxes. New York City was divided into Staten Island, Queens, Manhattan, Bronx, and Brooklyn. Zero headed Queens, and your third took over Staten Island. Although your main headquarters was situated in Brooklyn, you enjoyed the sights and the skyscrapers of Manhattan.

Including Vought Tower.

Vought. The head of supes and all things capitalism. The main reason why you kept all business on the very down low, despite the very club that even some of The Seven visited regularly. Blackmail: A very old fashioned, but reliable form of silence.

Rounding a few corners, you slowed to a halt in front of the vip line. The DJ was in by now, and the lines outside grew by the minute as the sun dipped below the horizon. Two bouncers in black stood outside, flanking both sides of the entrance and refusing bribes for those wanting to enter early. The Vortex was a popular club, and business was booming. Noticing you, the two bouncers stepped aside. And with a polite nod, you entered the club, much to the dismay and protests from behind.

Music pulsate as lights from the dance floor shined and glittered within the dark. The DJ was in, and every body cheered. Rounded tables littered around the edges with plenty of people of all ages, drinking, grinding on one another, and flirting with the multitude of waitresses and sex workers. Smoking was prohibited within, but all was allowed on the outdoor spaces filled with recliners, a pool, and a jacuzzi.

Ignoring the cat calls thrown your way from those relaxing in the lounges, you headed deeper within the nightclub. Taking a few turns into a less populated section and nodding again at the bouncers standing guard at the bottom of the VIP stairs, you headed up. At the landing, all eyes nervously turned to you.

And rightly so.

Most knew you were high up in the family. You've made it that way for a reason. The less people knew, the better. Very few people knew who you truly were. With a quick wave, a smile, and a polite hello, you ducked onto another flight of stairs towards your office.

"Oi, dick face, what are you looking at them for?" Came from behind. Last you knew before you closed the door, was the sound of a brawl. Sighing, you plopped into your office chair and-

"Boss, I've got the year's expenses on your desk." Grace spoke from the speakerphone, effectively shattering your peace.

"Thanks Grace," You mumbled, pushing the stack of documents to the side. All you wanted was to grab a drink, keep an eye on the offshore accounts, and call it a night. Definitely didn't want a headache with the financial advisor on how to keep your fronts legit. Taxes could go fuck themselves, if you had a say in it. "I'll take a look at them later. Just log it in for next year's tax season."

"Oh and one more thing."

"Yeah?" You reached down into your mini fridge for a beer.

"Well- it's." A nervous pause. "There's someone on the line asking for you." Another pause.

"Who is it?" You asked, popping the cap off and leaning back into your chair.

"Butcher."

There was a long pause of silence as you tumbled the name on your lips. It had been years since you last saw him, much less even contacted. Ever since the Mallory incident, you immediately cut ties with the former SAS Special Force. Two of your men were burned by Lamplighter, and you haven't quite forgiven him.

"No. Tell him I'm busy. I don't want to speak with him. He can go find help elsewhere."

"He insisted."

Unfurling the newspaper from within your jacket, you laid it out on your desk, frowning down at the same man that wanted to speak with you. The small picture of Butcher himself scowled up at you on the front page, making headlines for brutally murdering Vought's VP. You sighed.

"I'm sorry, I tried. But he's a-" A nervous chuckle. "He's a weasel."

You waved the apology away. "Put him through. We'll talk about this later."

An audible gulp. "He's on line 2 whenever you're ready."

Green light above Line 2 flashed steadily on your landline. Rather reluctantly, you leaned forward and plucked the landline phone up, already regretting giving Butcher your office number. Leaning back once more, you dimmed the lights down and closed your eyes. "We agreed to never contact again."

"Hello love." A familiar voice spoke loudly against the backdrop of New York traffic.

"No. Whatever the hell you have planned, I don't want part of it. Things are finally looking up, and I'm not going to fuck up this chance. Vought's stocks are booming. I'm making money, don't have to worry constantly on anyone placing a hit on me. Zero is having the time of their life. I'm out of that mercenary life, found a different calling. "

An annoyed sigh. "How is Zero?"

"Married with their husband. Life is good," You shrugged. "If you've got nothing else to say, then I'm heading off to finish this fucking beer. Goodbye Butcher."

"Give me one fucking minute, love. I'll explain everything."

Got nothing to lose. "Forty five seconds and counting."

"Becca. I found Becca. Me wife has a son, Homelander's son. The cunt fucking raped my wife, fucking hid her away for so long. I was there. I saw her. Green lawn. White picket. I can find her with your help. You, mate, as a person of your skills." A pause. "Sitting behind a desk. Wasted."

"Look what Lamplighter did. Burned two of my men. Burned Mallory's grandchildren. Nothing to bring back home, not even their teeths," You hissed, slamming the beer onto the office table. Bubbles sloshed down the bottle, pooled, and dripped down onto the carpet. "It has always been about Becca with you. Becca this, Becca that. No, Butcher. Screwed up that one chance. I'm not doing it. You just don't care. You use your friends, then throw them to the side like fucking garbage when you're done."

"It'll be different this go. None of that "secrets and lies" bollocks. And that Mallory shit ain't gonna happen this time. I swear to God."

Drip. Drip.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, hating every syllable the man on the other line breathed out. With a shake of your head, you sighed, reigning in your anger and pulling out a cabinet for paper towels. "Alright, motherfucker. What did you do? The cameras at the club picked you up."

"We just dusted a supe." Butcher smugly spoke, confidence oozing through the line.

"Bullshit."

"Translucent."

That cheeky bastard. "How the fuck did you do it?"

"Well. Big lump of C-4, packed right up his fudger. Boom," He was excited. "Boom. Claret everywhere. Fucking diabolical."

"But…?" You cut into his amazement.

"He coughed up a solid lead. Spilled the beans in a big way. Now, we play this right, we could shake up the whole hornets' nest, bring down Seven and Vought at the same time. Y/N, you are the only one I can trust."

You raised an eyebrow at the mention of your name, dance so delicately on his tongue. It was as if the man was putting you on a pedestal. "Names are powerful, Butcher. You know this. However, since when have you ever trusted anybody?"

There was a sly pause on the other end.

Fights were less often nowadays. Since the fall of the fifth family of New York, there was no need for the heightened anxiety to be on the lookout. Nowadays with your tight grip, it was just petty gangsters that riddle the streets, pretending to be big and bad. Some killed, robbed, or graffitied, all in the name of trying to impress you. No action, no thrilling action that needed your every second of attention.

And if you were going to be honest with yourself, you missed the action, the absolute adrenaline pumping thrill of physically working towards a common goal. There was a camaraderie in that sense, where no place else could ever replicate, but neck deep in shit.

"Oh, fuck me," You mumbled in defeat.

Eats Everything: @asraime @aspiring-ginger @mournthewicked @bluesclues-1234 @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @groovyfluxie @keijibum @also-fangirlinsweden @mysoulshideaway @fandom-imagination-ss @your-sparklywinnercollection @yakuzussian-2nd @supergeekfangirl @mayday1284 @sayanythingcreations

Karl Urban: @fandomsfeelsandfamily @justa-traaash @yueci @writerdee1701 @hlabounty96 @lacychick

The Boys: @space-cowboy2227

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #the boys #billy butcher series #the faceless shadow #x mob boss reader #deb writes

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tamorasky · 3 years

Text

Rise to Me Chapter 11 - February 1947

Summary: 1947. It had been nearly four years since she had received a letter from her sister. Now with the end of the war and her impending wedding, Anna Rendelle is more determined than ever to find her sister.

1943. All her life Elsa Rendelle had been told to be good, know her place and to marry well. When an opportunity arises to make something of herself, finding herself in Occupied France as a part of a larger network of secret agents.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Elsa/Honeymaren, Anna/Hans (Briefly)

AO3

Note: Not the greatest chapter, I know. But we're starting to get the ball rolling with this one! My partner pointed out to me that Gerda is like a mix of Dwight and Angela from the office, so we're just gonna roll with thatAlso thank you all so much for the support, leaving kudos, comments and reblogging/likes on tumblr. It means so much to me to see support for this fic and I always look forward in what you guys think 💕 💕

Her auburn hair is tied up in a messy bun and is dressed in a green satin robe as she stands in front of her closet, pulling out various outfits and throwing them over her arm. At this point, Anna has removed most of her clothing out of her closet. She carries her clothes to the single bed with her arms straining, discarding the garments on the bed next to her suitcase.

Anna places her hands on her hips as she stares at all the items; there is no way she’ll be able to get all of this into one suitcase. But Kristoff had made her promise only to bring one reasonably sized bag.

“You won’t be able to get everything into that.” Gerda’s voice startles the young woman out of her trance. Anna glances over her shoulder to see the Norwegian woman entering her room, placing fresh towels on the dresser next to the door.

“I know.” Anna sighs. Gerda places the laundry basket, resting on her hip, onto the ground as she comes to stand next to the auburn-haired woman. The older woman looks at the pile of clothes.

“That blue dress looks better with a hat.” Gerda points at the dress second on the pile.

“I don’t have room for hats,” Anna responds with her hands on her hips. “Mr.Bjorgman said I’m only allowed one suitcase.”

The older woman hums in response. “Smart man, you have too many clothes.” Gerda steps forward, grabbing the blue dress she just pointed at.

“Hey, wait!? What are you going with that?” Anna’s brows rise as the other woman makes her way across the room, placing the dress into the closet.

“You agreed it looks better with a hat, yet you can’t bring one. So, this stays behind.” Gerda responds, meandering back toward the bed. Anna sigh, glancing back at her pile of clothes.

“I-I guess I haven’t done this in a while.” Anna giggles, embarrassed at her inability to pack for her journey.

Gerda shrugs her shoulders, grabbing any dresses or outfits that she’s seen Anna wear to work or formal gatherings. “I came to England on a boat with only my purse. No silk, you’re going to France with a man who is not your fiancé. You don’t want to look like a whore.”

Anna stares at her landlady, taken aback at the blunt insult. Although the older woman did have a point, it did reduce the number of her clothing. “Alright, no formal wear.”

Gerda shuffles back towards the closet, hanging up the pieces she had rejected on behalf of Anna. She returns to the young woman’s side, handing appropriate items to Anna.

“Take your brown tweed skirt and the olive blouse with foxes on them.” Gerda hands the outfit to Anna, who quickly packs the garments into the suitcase. She flattens the pussy bow on the blouse as Gerda passes her a navy cable knit sweater to match.

Gerda hands Anna an a-line tartan skirt along with a white blouse while saying. “You can match the navy sweater with this outfit.”

The younger woman nods, placing the second outfit next to the other. She is given a slim grey skirt which stopped a few inches below her knee along with a short sleeve light blue collared blouse.

They pack a few more pieces, mostly short sleeve and collared dresses; blue, mustard yellow and a tartan patterned. All of which would match with her navy and burgundy sweaters, along with a pair of grey slacks.

“So, this Mr. Bjorgman…” Gerda trails off, handing a pair of heels to the young woman. “Is he respectable?”

Anna raises a brow at her landlady. “What do you mean respectable?”

“I mean, you are a single woman and man travelling together. I worry about your reputation.” Gerda shakes her head, handing a pair of black flats to her.

“I’m not a single woman. I’m happily engaged, remember?” Anna sighs, placing them into the suitcase. Her gaze shifts to the large square diamond ring on her finger.

“Even still. You’re an engaged woman, travelling with a man who is not your fiancé.” Gerda shakes her head. Anna suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at the older woman. The notion of travelling with a man who isn’t her fiancé being scandalous is completely ridiculous.

“It will be fine, Gerda.” Anna sighs, placing her undergarments into the suitcase. Much to the young woman’s relief, the doorbell rings throughout the house. Gerda glances towards the door, shuffling out of the room without another word.

Anna shakes her head, placing her three pairs of stockings into the suitcase along with a few pairs of socks. With a sigh, she puts her hands on her hips, glancing around her room while contemplating what else she needs to pack.

The letters are in her purse, and she still needed to pack her makeup. Although due to Kristoff’s instructions, she couldn’t bring her hard makeup case. She had to pack them into the small side pockets in the suitcase. Even still, she had to limit herself to four lipsticks, one grey eye shadow for the evenings, her liquid mascara, powders and blush. However, she had cheated and packed three more lipsticks into her purse.

Her ears perk up at the sound of someone walking up the stairs, turning toward her door to not see her landlady standing in the doorway, but her best friend. Olaf gives her a toothy grin, taking off his hat as he enters her bedroom.

“Bonjour, comment ça va?” Olaf asks as he settles himself in the desk chair. Anna shakes her head, rolling her eyes as she places in a third pair of shoes; her oxfords.

“I don’t need to speak French until arriving there,” Anna responds, closing the suitcase and buckling it shut.

“Yeah, but you haven’t spoken it since you were in fourth year.” Olaf points out, opening the drawers in Anna’s desk. “You’re going to need to practice.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s like riding a bike.” Anna shrugs, sitting on her bed’s edge with a sigh. Her friend’s brows are raised in surprise, staring at her with amusement.

“I don’t think it is.”

Anna shrugs, unconcerned about her language skills. “I mean, if you’re more confident in French than I am, why don’t you join us?”

“I have a job. Besides, if you want someone to join you and your second yank, why don’t you ask Hans?” Olaf inquires, pulling out light green ribbons from the desk.

“Because Hans doesn’t speak French, and he’s busy trying to plan our passage to America,” Anna explains, resting her hand on the leather suitcase.

“And how does Hans feel about you travelling with Kristoff?” Olaf crosses his arms, leaning back in the chair. She shrugs, her fingers now running against the bag.

“He’s fine with it.”

“He is?” Olaf raises his brows, not entirely convinced.

“We talked it over, and he trusts me.” Anna shrugs.

“I wouldn’t.” He states bluntly. “Have you seen Kristoff?”

“Olaf.” Anna groans, throwing her head back in exasperation. “It isn’t like that, at all.”

The blonde man chuckles, staring at her incredulously. “No? because I’m not entirely convinced, and honestly, if Hans noticed anything around him, he should be concerned about his fiancé running away to France with a handsome man.”

“Ah yes, post-war France.” Anna sighs, rolling her eyes. “The most romantic place to run away to with a rude drunk yank.”

Olaf stares at his friend. His smile fading as he regards the young woman. “Why didn’t you ask Hans to go?”

“I just told you.” Anna’s brows furrow. “He’s busy here and trying to arrange our travel to America. I can’t just ask him to up and leave with me.”

“Anna,” Olaf stands from his chair, grabbing Anna’s suitcase and placing it on the ground. He sits next to her, slipping his hand into hers. “We’ve known one another since we were children.”

“And?” She questions, drawing out every syllable of the word. Completely unsure where her childhood friend is going with this.

“Why isn’t Hans going to France with you?” Olaf questions again, not convinced of his friend’s excuse for her fiancé. Anna’s gaze falters from Olaf’s going to the ground, staring at the brown knit rug.

“H-he’s just busy.” Anna insists. She didn’t want to get into it with him at the present moment, Kristoff would be here at any point, and Anna knows that the American would not take well to waiting for her.

“Alright.” Olaf nods. It falls silent between them, both of them knowing that she is lying. “So, when does Kristoff come?”

“He said he’d be here quarter to 10,” Anna responds, meeting Olaf’s gaze once again. “It’s about 2 hours to Portsmouth, so we’ll have lots of time to catch the ferry to Le Havre at 12:30. And then a 3-hour drive to Arras. We should be in Arras by 8:30 or 9 at night.”

“That’s quite a journey.” Olaf comments. He gives her a sympathetic smile, knowing Anna’s attention span did not fare well on long travel, as he recalls their road trip to Dover last summer.

“I’d rather spend 10 hours travelling with the grump than spreading it out into days. Something tells me that a lengthy road trip would result in the death of one of us.” Anna jokes, her heart swelling as Olaf chuckles.

“As long as your body doesn’t end up in the bottom of a steamer trunk, I’m happy.” Olaf quips back, nudging his shoulder against Anna’s.

She looks up at him, beaming. “I would also be very happy, if I don’t.”

“I’m going to miss you.” Olaf places his free hand on top of their clasped hands.

“I won’t be gone for long. Maybe only for two weeks at the most.” Anna shrugs, trying to reassure her best friend.

“Two weeks?” He questions, brows raised. Unconvinced that his friend would be able to complete this undertaking in only two weeks.

“Yeah, I mean. We know she deployed to Arras; it really shouldn’t take us a long time.” Anna explains as if trying to convince herself. She and Kristoff only have until the end of this month to find Elsa. She leaves for America at the end of the month.

“Well…” Olaf trails off, squeezing her hand. “I guess I’ll see you in two weeks.”

He smiles at her reassuringly. She leans her head against his shoulder. “You will.”

They hear a car honk from the street below her window. Olaf laughs, shaking his head. “Wow, he is impatient.”

“You have no idea.” Anna rolls her eyes, standing from her bed. She goes to pick up her suitcase, only for Olaf to slap her hand away and pick it up for her. She smiles, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Plus, you pack so much I’m not even sure you have the ability to carry this.” He jabs, stalking towards the door.

“I didn’t even pack that much!” Anna huffs, grabbing her purse and green reefer coat from the end of her bed. Olaf disappears through the door without another word as Anna places her reefer coat over her navy overalls and white-and-black striped sweater.

Her purse hangs on her shoulder as she walks towards the door. Anna sighs, glancing around her room, flicking off the overhead light and closing the door behind her. She makes her way downstairs, her hand sliding against the polished wood railing, expecting to see Kristoff standing in the foyer with his arms crossed.

Instead, Hans stands in the foyer next to Olaf, staring up at her with a grin and a bouquet of roses in his hand.

“Hello.” Her fiancé’s voice rings throughout the old house.

“Hi!” Anna beams down at the auburn-haired man, tripping on the last step of the stairs and catching herself on the bannister before falling on her hands and knees. Hans chuckles at her catch, shaking his head. “I wasn’t expecting you to show up this morning.”

“of course, I’m going to say goodbye to you.” He shrugs, taking a step forward. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, Hans lingers near her ear, whispering. “You left so early this morning; I didn’t get to give you a proper goodbye.”

Anna feels her flush at his comment as he flashes her a smile. “W-well I’m glad you came.”

“These are for you.” He hands the roses to her, which she takes, burying her nose into the flower closest to her.

“They’re lovely!” She beams up at him, somewhat saddened that she’ll have to leave them behind. “I’ll put these in water.”

Anna withdraws from the foyer, her fiancé following after her into the kitchen. She pushes on the swinging kitchen door with her shoulder, flashing a smile at him as she backs up into the room. Hans stands against the wall next to the door, watching Anna as she places the flowers on the counter temporarily.

“Is um…what is his name?” Hans pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to recall the other man’s name.

“Kristoff.” Anna answers, standing on her tiptoes to grabs a crystal vase from a high shelf.

“Right, Kristoff. Has he arrived yet?” The auburn-haired man inquires, folding his arms across his chest.

“No, he hasn’t. I thought I heard him honk, but I must’ve been someone else. I have the feeling he would be banging down the door if it had been him.” Anna responds, turning on the tap to fill the vase with water. Hans simply chuckles at that, glancing around the small kitchen as she unwraps the flowers and places them into the water.

“Well, I’m glad to see the Nazi will enjoy my flowers on her dining room table while you’re gone.” Hans comments, changing the subject. Anna rolls her eyes, turning to her fiancé to scold him. In the corner of her eye, Gerda stands in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. Her eyes narrowed at the young man.

“Anna, your other American is here.” The older woman announces, shuffling through the kitchen to take the flowers from Anna as she mutters. “Calling me a Nazi in my own home, fucking Yankee.”

Anna snorts in response to Gerda’s not so quiet mutterings, glancing back to her fiancé with a smirk. “You deserve that.”

“I know I do.” Hans sighs, opening the kitchen door for his fiancé, following after her into the foyer. Kristoff stands in front of the door, making small talk with Olaf as he waits. The blonde turn towards the couple, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

Kristoff offers her a polite smile, standing up straight. “Are you ready?”

“Yes…” Anna trails off, surprised that he didn’t immediately snap at her for making him wait. She and Hans inch closer to Olaf and Kristoff, preparing to say goodbye to her fiancé and best friend. “Hans, this is Kristoff. Kristoff, this is my fiancé Hans.”

“Nice to meet you.” Kristoff states, extending his hand out to Hans, who accepts the gesture. The auburn-haired man smiles at the other man.

“You’re American.” Hans states, grinning.

“Uh…yeah, I am,” Kristoff responds with an awkward smile.

“I’m from Arlington. What about you?” Hans inquires, clearly pleased with running into a fellow patriot, travelling with his fiancé.

“Ah, Sheridan.” Kristoff blinks, his gaze flickering at Anna briefly. He had tried to disclose as little information about himself to Anna as possible. She is about to insert herself in the conversation, not needing to know her escort’s personal life but is interrupted as Hans holds a hand up.

Hans’s brows furrow in confusion, trying to recall the name of the city. “I’m not familiar with that name. What state?”

Kristoff clears his throat, saying almost inaudibly. “Wyoming.” Anna stares up at Kristoff with knitted brows. She had no idea such a place could exist.

“Oh… I’ve never been,” Hans says politely, quickly adding. “But I’ve heard it is quite beautiful.”

“It’s nice…I guess.” Kristoff nods. The two men stare at one another quietly, neither of them knowing what to say. Anna glances between the two men, figuring out if they are finished with their odd exchange.

“This is very awkward,” Olaf announces to the room, playing with the buttons of his gray peacoat. Anna slowly turns to her friend with a small smirk, shaking her head in disbelief at him. She glances back toward Kristoff with raised brows.

“Are we all ready?” Anna clasps her hands together.

“Yes! We are.” Kristoff announces. She nods, walking over to where Olaf had discarded her suitcase. Kristoff is the first to leave the house, going to start the car for their long journey. Anna follows the large blonde outside, while Hans and Olaf remain in the foyer.

As she exits on the street, she glances to see Kristoff standing in front of a truck, an old one. Looking at Kristoff in horror, she begins to shake her head. “No, no, no, no. You did not tell me about that.”

She points at his green ford truck, the metal around the wheels beginning to rust and ready to break down at any moment. Kristoff glances back at the truck with wooden slates making up the truck bed’s edge. “What? It’s fine.”

“That is not fine. That.” She points to the truck, puttering. “Is barely a vehicle.”

“Oh, Jesus. It’ll be fine.” Kristoff takes the suitcase from her, carrying it to the truck. Anna stares at the car; she hadn’t been expecting this. He is about to place her bag into the bed, but she calls out to him. “Wait! Is there like a little space behind the front seats?”

“Why?” Kristoff cocks a brow as Anna takes the suitcase from him with force. Opening the door, Anna comes face-to-face with a large brown Irish wolfhound. The dog stares at the woman in front of him, lifting his head from the seat of the car.

“Oh, hello.” Anna greets, reaching out to scratch the dog under his chin. She begins to panic as the massive dog shifts forward, attempting to leave the truck.

“Sven, stay,” Kristoff calls, standing behind the woman in case the dog made his escape. The wolfhound looks at his owner with wide eyes before laying back on the seat. Anna raises her suitcase over the seats, placing her suitcase in a small space behind the front, which holds another bag.

Anna turns away from the car, nearly running into Kristoff, still standing behind her with his hand resting on the door. She stares up at the man wide-eyed. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, I’m…sorry,” Kristoff repeats, sidestepping out of the woman’s way. Anna walks back towards the building as Olaf and Hans emerge onto the street. She hears the car door slam behind her; glancing behind her, she sees Kristoff walking around the truck.

Anna approaches Olaf with a smile, throwing her arms around his neck without any hesitation as she states. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“Me too.” Olaf chuckles, withdrawing from his friend. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Absolutely!” Anna beams up at him, squeezing his hands before reluctantly letting go of her friend. She turns to her fiancé with a smile, allowing herself to be swept up in his embrace as he crushes his lips to hers. She gasps in surprise as he dips her slightly, making her grasp the lapels of his jacket in case his hold around her waist were to falter.

Hans pulls away from her with a smile, as Anna feels her head spin. He tucks her hair behind her ear as he cups her cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She responds, placing her hands over his. They stare at one another tenderly as Hans runs his thumbs against her cheekbones. “I’ll be home in 2 weeks.”

“I know.” Hans nods. “I’ll have our travel arrangement for home ready then.”

She nods, standing on her tiptoes to press another kiss to his lips, lingering as she doesn’t want to pull away from him just yet. But Anna knows she has to. Reluctantly, she pulls away with a sigh, peering up at him.

“Goodbye.” Her hand lingers in his for a moment as she walks away from him. Only detaching as she walks an arm’s length away from him. She opens the car door, glancing at the dog sitting on the seat next to Kristoff and her own.

Anna slips into the seat, closing the door hard with her purse on her lap. Immediately the interior of the car smells like the dog’s breath and is humid. Kristoff turns the wheel as Anna glances out the fogging window, waving to her fiancé and best friend as her driver pulls away.

As they pull onto Charlotte street, Sven whines, staring at Anna with wide eyes shifting closer to her until his head rests on her lap. Kristoff glances down at his dog, patting his bottom before re-focusing his attention on the road.

“You’re in his spot.”

“Oh, is that right?” Anna coos, scratching the hound’s head and behind his ears. “I’m sorry, but you’re such a good boy. Aren’t you Sven?”

Sven begins to wag his tail, hitting Kristoff in the process. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, rubbing one spot behind Sven’s ear. She stares out on the street, her heart pounding in her chest as it finally hits her.

She is finally doing this. She is once and for all going to bring Elsa home.

#kristanna #elsamaren #anna #elsa #kristoff #honeymaren #Rise to Me #Post WWII AU #WWII au #frozen #myfic

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imaginingsoftly · 4 years

Text

4 Times He Left You Behind and 1 Time He Didn’t - Matt Grzelcyk

Type: childhood friends to lovers, age progression, fluffy

Requested: No

Warnings: N/A

(Y/N = Your name)

A/N: I love these 4+1 fics, and thought I’d try my hand at writing one. Let me know if you’d like to see more of them!

1: 5 Years Old

Your small legs struggled to keep up with the boys. They were only a year older than you, but your brother and Matty were somehow flying ahead of you, one of their steps making up two of yours. Matty had promised you would play together today, but then your brother asked him if he wanted to play in the pool and he was gone. Your brother had yelled back at you to keep up, and you were trying, but they were too fast. They didn’t even notice you weren’t behind them anymore, and you trudged back to your mom sadly.

She looked at you and then at the pool, where your brother and Matty were now slapping each other with pool noodles. “He’ll slow down for you one day honey, you’ll see. They’re just boys right now.” You didn’t believe her. You were too small to play with the boys.

Matty came back to play with you when your brother began playing tag with the other boys, and you were both too young to understand the look your parents gave each other as Matty handed you a plate of dino chicken nuggets to share.

2: 10 Years Old

The boys were going down to the creek to build a treehouse, and your brother had promised you could tag along if you could keep up. They had hopped on their bikes and taken off, and you were left to try and catch up to them. They were better at biking than you, your mom not letting you go out and bike as much as your brother, and you were quickly falling behind.

“Matty, wait up,” you called ahead, hoping that he would slow down. He turned around for a second, and you saw him hesitate before one of the boys grabbed his arm and tugged. Matty turned forward again and began pedalling faster to catch up to the others, but he threw another look of regret back in your direction. “Sorry,” he mouthed. You slowly turned your bike around to head home again.

Your mom was waiting when you walked back in, a cookie and some chocolate milk waiting. She knew without you speaking that the boys had left you behind. “They’re boys, Y/N. I’ll talk to your brother about slowing down for you. One day they’ll be chasing you, just watch.” You rolled your eyes. No way would any of those boys be chasing you. You didn’t want them to; they were gross, and they were friends with your brother.

Matty came over for dinner that night, and he gave you his cookie afterwards. “Sorry, Y/N,” he said, “I didn’t know where they were going or I would have waited for you.” You shrugged, and split the cookie in half. As you handed him the larger piece, you said, “it’s okay, Matty. I know nobody wants a girl tagging along.” He didn’t have a response, you could see that, so you smacked his shoulder and jumped up, yelling “tag! You’re it!”

Your parents laughed as you took off running across the house, Matty laughing and jumping up as well. He tagged your brother, and then all hell broke loose. It was one of your favorite summertime memories.

3: 15 Years Old

Matty’s games were your favorite events to go to. Sometimes he invited a girl, and you’d become their go-to source of information on everything hockey when they didn’t know the rules, which was often. Most of the time they were cool, and spent a lot of the game asking you for embarrassing stories about him. This new girlfriend was your least favorite so far. She had a problem with you, for some reason, and she rolled her eyes every time someone made an inside joke. The group you were with had been together for years, mostly neighborhood kids that had been together in diapers, but she was from Belmont. She’d met Matty at one of the Belmont High School football games, when Matty went to go watch one of his teammate’s brothers play and she was cheerleading.

“So, like, why do you come to Matthew’s games if you’re not dating anyone?” You looked at her questioningly. “I grew up with Matty,” you said slowly, “I’ve been going to his games since he learned how to skate. He played with my brother.” That earned you another eye roll. She didn’t speak to you for the rest of the game, which made it more pleasant, and you and the rest of the group spent the third period yelling at Matty to shoot. It was one of his pet peeves, but you knew it would make him laugh coming from you guys.

Matty took longer to come out of the locker room than if you guys were going back to his house to watch a movie. For him that wasn’t unusual; he usually took longer when a girl came to the games, and actually fixed his hair rather than slapping his ratty old Red Sox hat on. The girl threw herself into his arms as soon as he appeared, and you made gagging noises behind her back. Matty saw and chuckled a little, which the girl took to mean he was happy to see her. She smashed her lips onto his, and you’d had enough of the horror show, preferring to greet the other guys to watching your best friend get his face sucked.

“You coming with us, Y/N?” You didn’t get a chance to answer before the girl was cutting in. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to spend some time alone together, Matthew,” she said in what you thought was supposed to be a seductive tone. She began pulling Matty away before you could even congratulate him on the win, and he barely turned around to look at you before turning back to the girl.

Your mom was sitting in the kitchen when you stomped back to the house, mumbling under your breath. “Boys,” you cut your mother off before she could say what she always said. “No, mom,” you shouted, “it’s not going to change! He’s always going to leave me behind.” Your voice broke on the last syllable, and she was sweeping you into a hug. “Oh, honey,” she whispered, “you’ll see. That boy follows you around like a lost puppy most of the time. He just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

Matty showed up later that night, climbing the tree outside your house onto the roof by your window. You were already sitting on the windowsill, waiting for him to show up. You didn’t speak when he sat down next to you, and you knew he could tell you were angry. “I broke up with her,” he said quietly. “She had a problem with us being friends. And she called me Matthew.” He made a face at the last sentence, and you giggled a little. It was hard to stay mad at him. Matty leaned his head onto your shoulders, and you reached down to grip his hand. You sat like that for hours, and didn’t notice when your mom opened your door quietly and took a photo.

4: 20 Years Old

Spending a year in Montreal was going to be good for you and your career, you knew that, but it didn’t make leaving home any easier. You were spending your last year abroad, perfecting your French and learning marketing from somewhere other than BU. Your parents held a party to celebrate your move, a going away and a congratulations party all in one, but really you knew it was just an excuse to get everyone together for a little while. Your friend group had spread out as the years went on, with moves and new professions and college and professional hockey. Matty had stayed nearby, at least, but now you were going to be apart anyway.

“What’cha thinking about, Y/N?” Matty bumped your shoulder with his own, and you almost fell over with the force of the bump. You shook your head, and he shrugged. “I’m gonna miss you, nerd. Who else is going to look after the rookies on campus this year?” You laughed, and bumped Matty’s shoulder back. “I’ve got something to make you smile,” he said mischievously. “Tag!” Matty smacked your shoulder and took off running, laughing like a little kid as he dodged people across the deck. You laughed and took off after him, chasing him like always.

The game took almost an hour before everyone called it quits, and by the end the entire neighborhood group had joined in, even your brother with your nephew strapped across his chest. As luck would have it, Matty was the last person who got tagged. You caught him on the ankle as he tried to jump into a tree, and he dropped back down in front of you. “Tie?” He held out his hand for you to shake on, and you grabbed it with a nod. “Tie.”

Your mom looked on and turned to Mrs. Grzelcyk with a smile. “They’ve been chasing each other their entire lives. It’s nice to see they can still be children about it.” Mrs. Grzelcyk laughed and nodded. You and Matty were too busy sharing dino chicken nuggets like you did when you were little to notice.

+ 1: 25 Years Old

It was sunny outside, and the breeze from the ocean was fluttering the curtain to your right. Your mom was adjusting your dress with a serious expression on her face, and Mrs. Grzelcyk was sitting in a chair trying not to cry. Today was your wedding day, and Matty was somewhere in the house waiting to go outside.

The Cape was shining in the sunlight, and the breeze knocked white fabric around your ankles gently. Matty stood at the end of the aisle of sand with all of your two sets of brothers, and you could see he was already tearing up. Your dad was definitely already crying next to you, and you were struggling to hold it together. Everyone in the chairs had been witness to the dance you and Matty had been performing since you were little, whether they knew it at the time or not. So many of them had said I told you so when you and Matty finally got together upon your return from Montreal, no one more so than your mother.

Your vows were short and sweet, more about reminiscing on your childhood than anything. “I left her behind more often than not when we were little,” Matty admitted to a crowd who loudly agreed, and you laughed harder every time he shared a story. “For some reason she always stuck around, although I suspect it was because of the dino chicken nuggets.” You leaned forward far enough that your head was resting on Matty as you laughed, and you felt his chest move as he laughed along with you. “I promise you, Y/N, that even when it feels like I’m leaving you behind, I will always come back to you.” You weren’t laughing anymore, but crying. Your story was one of him always coming back, and you hadn’t ever thought about it that way.

Later that evening your mom found the two of you, slipping a small box into your hands. “I took this when you were teenagers,” she said with a small smile, “and I’ve been saving it for your wedding day.” You looked at her incredulously. “I told you, Y/N, one day he would stop running from you. This is what I meant.” She hugged you both, and Matty slid the top off the box. Inside was a framed photo of the two of you sitting in the windowsill, a silhouette of two people joined in shadow, the moon illuminating only enough to see your outlines.

You had spent so long chasing Matty, and now, like the picture, you were connected to each other by more than just friendship.

#matt grzlecyk imagine #nhl imagines #nhl imagine

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lacielre · 4 years

Text

whiskey neat & whisking trips part i. whiskey neat

summary this is a story about the night you poured your heart out to your ex outside his apartment building as a stranger yelled at you to “shut the fuck up,” and that stranger, who was just as wounded as you, was taehyung, and he needed your help.

pairing taehyung/reader, seokjin/reader

genre fake/pretend relationship, post-breakup, infidelity, veterinarian!taehyung, baker!oc, an attempt to comedy, pillow-screaming fluff, eventual smut

rating mature

warnings swearing, alcohol consumption, a bit of second-hand embarrassment

parts prologue, 1

“HEAR ME OUT!”

There was one thing you promised yourself you would never do: chase someone who had told you at least once that they don’t feel the same way about you. Not even as a last resort. In this case, for that someone, it wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way about you, it was that he didn’t feel the same way about you anymore. There was a big difference. Or at least, you convinced yourself that there was.

That was probably why you chased after him.

Here, outside his building, under the downpour of the casted rain, with you screaming directly to his exposed window. Because plain screaming just wasn’t enough, rain had to be an accompaniment. It had to be movie-like but a blatant contradiction to your dreams of being swept off your feet and get married to him one day. Those dream-like scenarios ended up winding up somewhere else while you were stuck in their consolations, thinking they could still be possible.

“PLEASE!” was your shrieking scream. “I KNOW WE CAN WORK THIS OUT!”

Syllables being grazed against your throat like large tires screeching against rough asphalts on sudden halts weren’t enough for your boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend. But the tiniest hint of optimism, a rare feat of positivity within you, was sparking to its diligence.

“FUCK!”

In your head were the runs of thoughts, one being that he couldn’t hear you because of the deluge of heavy droplets.

That must be it.

“I’LL—I’ll call you!”

Even if you believed that it was the rain that drowned your voice, you still shouted an announcement for your impending call.

The simple act of fishing your phone and making a call had your entire body shaking. It was cold. No amount of layers of clothing protected you for the cascades that only found purchase in drenching all there was on land, including you. Because to them – to the gods or whoever was there – your tears were not enough.

“Pick up,” you muttered under your breath, false hope clinging onto your running nose and trembling figure. “Please. Pickuppickuppickup.”

First try.

Second try.

“Fuck. Please,” you sniffled, “please.”

Third, fourth, fifth. “Nonono. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Please.”

You dialed again, over and over. Sixth, seventh. Repetitive taps on your screen barely recognized your touch from the water infiltrating it. There was no clear indication in your head on the reasons for your tears. They were becoming too much.

Everything was too much; you couldn’t believe it was real.

Your boyfriend – okay, ex-boyfriend – ran off from your apartment after picking up all his stuff and choosing not to hear you out, despite your calm and disorganized rambles. To you, “falling out of love” wasn’t enough. You didn’t believe it. There was no way he suddenly felt that way about you because there was no point in your relationship that he made you feel that way.

Now it was your phone’s turn to create troubles with you through its glitches and unresponsive retorts. And you’d be spending a whole month of salary to buy a new phone. But fuck it.

With your boy—ex-boyfriend, it was ride or die.

“PICK UP YOUR PHONE!” you cried out loudly. “PLEASE!”

In rapid pace, you shook your head from side to side.

“NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME, SEOKJIN!”

It pained you to mention his name into his neighborhood but this was it. This was the last resort. It was either this or everything was over, and there was no space for empty fills of journey. You had to fill them up with risks. Risks like this.

“WE CAN WORK THIS OUT!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” one of the tenants shouted back.

You ignored him with tight-closed fists. “LET’S WORK THIS OUT!”

The sobs in between your shouts were as painful sounding to you. This was a level of humiliation you never thought you could fathom. A level of humiliation you presented upon yourself to dozens of lit-up rent-controlled apartments within an old, drenched building.

“I KNOW WE CAN WORK THIS OUT!”

For the last resort.

“WE CAN! WE JUST HAVE TO TALK!”

Some of his neighbors were already peeking from their wrinkled up curtains, eyeing you with either apathy, genuine concern, curiosity, or pity. Mostly the latter. Fuck. You were embarrassing, weren’t you?

“LET ME IN! PLEASE!”

Your teeth quivered, a desire to aid the cold creeping into your skin.

“LET’S TALK IT OUT!”

For the last resort.

“WE CAN WORK THIS… o-out.”

And he showed up to your vision finally, exposing himself on the curtain-less, bare windows of his dimly-lit apartment.

Yeah, he showed up to you alright.

For your last resort, the picture he – Seokjin, your boyfriend, your ex-boyfriend – painted to you was his naked upper body with a woman behind him wrapped in soft pink-colored cotton robe, loosely tied around her tiny waist. Her dewed up cleavage haunted you in all ways possible, good and bad.

She was looking at you with pity, too much of a hint that she knew about your relationship with Seokjin beforehand. Why would someone do such a cruel thing to you? You shook your head. It wasn’t entirely her fault; it was still mostly his. And yet, you still had a hard time believing it.

No.

No, it can’t be. But fuck.

“You…” Your teeth chattered in both the breeze tightly hugging onto your skin and the anger summoning until the tips of your fingers.

You wanted the next word to come out strong, not soiled up by the looming sobs from your heavy chest and aching stomach. This was it for you. This was your last resort.

“You…” was your repeated indulgence. “You f-f-fucking—”

Then you inhaled deeply, partnered with closed fists, nails biting into your palms too much they had bled.

“ASSHOLE! YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

Your knees were too close to giving up but you weren’t going to allow more humiliation to come out one by one at a single scene. This was your movie and you were only willing to show devastations to come up on the screen scene-by-scene. Not like this.

“FUCK YOU!” You swallowed. “FUCK YOU AND YOUR BIG DICK! I HOPE YOU KNEW HOW TO USE IT! BASTARD!”

With the last drops of grueling frustration, of anger and sadness, you permitted your gaze to melt into his for a fleeting moment. This was a picture that will forever be engraved in your head, even if you had a water-like memory.

Him, looking down on you with unfiltered emptiness that made you feel like vomiting. The woman behind him, mustering to attain the same gaze as though practiced, but failed to do so, as hers entailed ushered pity. The look that said, she will never hit rock-bottom, the same you did and you were still at. You were a debacle. But she could do better.

Then you let go.

The turns of your heels were both aching and liberating. It was as if your hands were in shackles for so long, and you had also been pulling for so long. And when your wrists were free, you were in pain. A pain accompanied by a sense of freedom.

That you will never be stuck with someone who was a lying bitch.

A fucking cheater.

“Yoongi, my usual,” you ordered as you slumped to the bar stool tucked under the counter.

“Sure—holy shit. What happened to you?” It was him turning that triggered the pause between his sentence and made you aware of the fact that you looked like shit on a Friday night. “What the hell, _____? You’re trembling.”

“I’m okay,” you breathed out almost emotionlessly, looking at your fingers splayed upon the counter. You tap them to create cheerful sounds, a forced contrast to your appearance before pulling your eyes heavenward, mustering courage to stare back at Yoongi. You repeated, “I’m okay.”

In any minute now, you would bawl. Again.

“Stop—stop tapping your fingers,” Yoongi said weakly, leaving the bottle he was once taking care of to the counter behind him. He rolled around a white towel around his palms, getting rid of the remnants of alcohol staining his hands. “What the hell happened out there, _____?”

“You got anything warmer in there?” you asked instead.

“Y-Yeah, shit, I’ll check,” he said, thinking if there were some dry towels or blankets upstairs at his cave. Then his voice was fleeting away. “Hey, Hobi, could you cover for me there? I’ll just grab some stuff upstairs.”

And his colleague was happy to, nodding his head and repeatedly saying “yeah” to Yoongi.

The simple image made you swallow. Fuck. You wanted to feel happy too but your chest only swelled painful verves, pumping endlessly into you to the point that Seokjin and the girl behind him were the sole picture in your head.

“Here you go.” Yoongi appeared out-of-nowhere, or it seemed like so to you, as he wrapped your body with a warm, thick blanket. “You sure you wanna stay here? You could just rest in my office. I don’t mind, _____.”

“I want to drink,” you simply mumbled.

“We can do that upstairs too.”

“It’s too quiet up there,” you probed.

“I can play some music,” was his fast counter.

“Yoongi,” you called his name almost as faint as a shy breath. “I don’t want to be alone with myself or with you. Everything keeps ringing in my head. So, can you please just serve me my fucking drink?”

Yoongi tested a few seconds for you to retract your statement but when you didn’t, he got back to his place behind the counter and fidgeted through his bottles of alcohol to serve you your drink – whiskey neat.

“Thank you,” was your weak appreciation as he slid the drink to your yearning hand.

“Is this because of Seok—”

“Don’t,” you sternly warned.

“You can talk to me.”

“Few more drinks.”

He nodded, giving up. “Okay.” Then he left your space to serve a newly-entered customer who sat with an empty seat between the two of you. “What you want, boss?”

“Whiskey neat,” was his succinct reply.

“You got it,” Yoongi said, picking up the same bottle he had used for you and pouring some of it for the gentleman next to you.

The gentleman next to you reciprocated your gaze. He nodded at your sodden self. “Rough night?”

You chuckled at his attempt of small talk. “Like you’ve never imagined.”

Taehyung’s night was supposed to be perfect.

He had a major work turn-out this morning to kick-off his day. The clinic’s pantry had donuts on the counter available until noon. From then on, he felt like everything was going to fall into place for him. He celebrated a few drinks with colleagues at a bar downtown. He had waited for things like this to happen to him. Simply, it was because he was a romantic. He believed in make-believes, the pretense of life.

Until at around 11PM that night.

Taehyung’s fiancé – ex-fiancé – had emailed him a night before and he had just opened it. He regretted doing so. He hoped he’d seen it sooner, so that today was perfect. No bumps. Just his – his movie.

Her email was a bad omen.

He should’ve known.

It said:

Hi, Taehyung.

I’m not sure if you’re willing to open this message but if you do and read it, then thank you, and I couldn’t thank you enough for doing so. For the longest time, I had been thinking that what you and I had was special. And maybe it was it being special that made it short-lived.

Taehyung scoffed loudly at that part. “Bullshit.”

I know that it was my fault why it was so short-lived too. Granted, I cheated on you. But that was fate’s way of telling us we shouldn’t be together.

“Bull—shit!” was his sonorous amen.

You will never forgive me and that’s not something I could change. And it’s valid that you feel that way about me. I still love you not in the same way as before but I love you, Tae. But this message isn’t about forgiveness or apology.

He took a deep breath before rolling his eyes and attaching them to the screen of his desktop.

This message is a message from me to you.

Again, he rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “What a dramatic fucking bitch. Get to the point already.”

I’m getting married in a month.

His heart dropped, and now he understood the depth of that expression. Still, it wasn’t enough. His heart felt like it was going to drag his entire body to the core of the Earth.

“What the fuck,” Taehyung had muttered under his breath. “I’m getting married in a month,” he repeated, not believing merely his own eyes to read it out to him.

And this is my formal invitation to you, Taehyung. I hope you’d come. If you can’t, maybe at least reply? That would be enough for me to know… something. Thank you, Taehyung. For everything. You taught me a lot.

And just like that, everything was washing down to him, his self-declared luck and the façade of what he thought was a movie – his movie. He slumped his back onto his swivel chair, allowing his lower body sag to the pulls of gravity, before rubbing his palms into his face, squeezing his eyes tightly. He wasn’t jealous that his ex-fiancé was getting married.

Fuck, he couldn’t care less about that.

What he couldn’t believe was that she was getting fucking married in a month. And he was not an inch closer to such a desirable feat. If it were his movie, then he would have gotten married first. Better yet, their engagement should not have been called off in the first place.

But the lingering prints of “in a month” in black Arial font on his screen was a blow.

Hell, he had not dated anyone for over a month. Casual hook-ups were his thing, he thought, until tonight, he felt like they were suddenly not.

“In a month?!” he yelled into his palms. “In a fucking month?!”

He needed to get somewhere, at some point near because there was no way he was going to attend that wedding without a date. There was also no way he was not going to attend that wedding.

His mantra went on. “In a fucking month? One month? Is this some sick joke?”

Taehyung counted his blessings, relishing on the impossible idea that his date should be someone who had been with him for at least over six months but fuck, the wedding day was in a fucking month.

“HEAR ME OUT!” was a roar that came from outside.

“What the fuck…” Taehyung mumbled, standing up to check through his window. He brunched up his curtains to the side and saw a blurry figure of a woman standing by the garbage bins, drenched in cold outpours of the unforgiving weather.

“PLEASE!” came another scream. “I KNOW WE CAN WORK THIS OUT!”

Taehyung chuckled. “Romance is fucking dead.”

He continued watching, finding the display of a woman in soaked covers of multiple garments quite amusing. He listened to you scream, curse, and lash out to the window about four windows to his left. To be honest, his heart was rooting for you to heal on its own because he felt how it was ripping itself apart, little by little each time you screamed, only to receive disturbing quietness.

But there were times when it was too much.

Taehyung couldn’t, wouldn’t tolerate screams at this time of the night.

Not when he needed some time to escape his mind, too, and your screams weren’t helping him at all. You weren’t the only one who needed the time and the sound of peace. It wasn’t a thing that only exists in your movie; it was also in his.

“WE CAN WORK THIS OUT, SEOKJIN!”

Taehyung had thought, oh, him. It was to an effect that his mouth formed an “o” at the realization that dawned him. He knew Seokjin at a certain extent, an extent that only bared itself to a standard of being at the neighbor status. Taehyung didn’t know Seokjin had a girlfriend, having seen different girls coming in and out his apartment. It wasn’t any of business. But seeing you now – fuck.

You were the girlfriend.

“WE CAN WORK THIS OUT!” you cried.

He heaved a sigh drawn from the bottom of his chest. You were a bit irritating and pushy. A fighter.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Taehyung shouted but he immediately regretted it, hiding from his curtain but you didn’t even try to look for his voice.

You ignored him. “LET’S WORK THIS OUT!”

More countable minute ticks on the clock and your voice suddenly drowned. He thought that there it was – the tranquillity he had been ready to give his legs out to to worship, to bless him and reward him another “perfect day” because he deserved it. Or he believed so.

He watched you silently ponder at a small spot of the concrete, standing straight, wordless, and unmoving.

But as the trickling hums of the noise brought by the rain became the only noise in the neighborhood, suddenly, you took charge of what people could hear – it was you. Only you.

“ASSHOLE! YOU SON OF A BITCH! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU AND YOUR BIG DICK! I HOPE YOU KNEW HOW TO USE IT! BASTARD!”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped at your second wave of lash out. His jaw plummeting was a testimony of your rage and that to aid his charmed disbelief over you, he picked up his jaw by forming a laughter as he shook his head.

You were a fighter.

And that deserved a toast.

It was not in Taehyung’s rule book of Watching a Woman Drown Herself in Tears and Rain to follow said woman on her stride to one of the closest bars within the area. Given that you began your voyage to the bar earlier than he did, your groggy footsteps were a giveaway to how he was able to follow you.

Taehyung entered the bar and it was just what he had expected from you. Quiet, a bit of a crowd – the moderate amount – and dimly lit. Most of all, vintage.

He sat next to you, leaving a seat in between, not to take up too much of your space as your energy, he felt, was creeping up to him.

“What you want, boss?” was the bartender’s swift service.

“Whiskey neat,” was his succinct reply.

“You got it,” the bartender said and got to work, pouring Taehyung a glass of a bottle of whiskey that was already encased in his hand.

If Taehyung would give a rate to this bar, he was already prepared to give it a five out of five.

Taehyung gripped the glass in his slender fingers before finally getting a scan of your face. Contrary to the loud, roaring screams you delivered outside the building, you actually looked quite soft on the edges, dare he’d say innocent.

“Rough night?” he asked with a bit of fear when he did.

But he was glad you took it well. Chuckling, you replied after taking a huge sip of your drink, “Like you’ve never imagined.”

#f: whiskey neat and whisking trips #bts smut #taehyung smut #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #fluff #angst #by:lacielre

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ariesrondeletia · 4 years

Note

can i req a oneshot for akaashi keiji from haikyuu with the “queen - if you’re with me. i don’t need anything else.” prompt with a female reader? thanks

I hope this is to your liking, anon. It’s a bit different than my other oneshot.

Yandere Akaashi x Reader: Queen

tw: blackmail, non consensual photography, suggestive themes

Word count: 1,273

Prompt: Queen

Your relationship with Akaashi was… unique to say the least. It seemed like he was always around, no matter what you were doing. It had caught you off guard the first couple times. It was surprising to watch him stand a few feet away, his gaze was intense and you had assumed he was just shy and had a crush on you. You invited him to sit with you and it had become routine for him to be by your side and nowadays you didn’t think anything of his presence. He didn’t have a crush, and he wasn’t shy, just quiet. When the two of you spoke, it was a mostly one sided conversation. He’d ask a question, you’d give a lengthy and descriptive answer, ask him what he thought and he’d say a word or two. You had asked if you were bothering him with your incessant talking, while he barely said anything. You remembered his reply.

“I love the way your voice sounds. I prefer our conversations to stay the way they are.” It was a simple remark, one he likely hadn’t put much thought into, but the sweetness of his words made you blush. You had grown closer to him and began to seek out the quiet boy of your own will. Although he never said anything about it, you noticed the way his gunmetal eyes lit when he caught sight of you waiting for him outside the gym for volleyball practice. You worked up the confidence to confess to him in your second year of high school. He accepted and the two of you began dating. Oh how you regretted that decision now.

Akaashi had become twice as clingy now that you had given him the go ahead. It seemed like you were never out of his sight. His presence began suffocating you. You just wanted some time on your own, without him glued to your side. He quit the volleyball club. When you confronted him, he said it was taking up time that he could be spending with you.

That was the breaking point. “Keiji, you can’t just get rid of everything in your life for me!” You had been trying not to cry, but it seemed impossible to stop the tears escaping from your eyes. If Akaashi was upset, he didn’t show it, casually regarding you with an unchanging expression. “That’s not the basis of a good relationship. I want to be with, but I need time to myself too. You keep trying to cut everything away but us and I need more than just a boyfriend in my life. I have friends that I need to spend time with too, and you keep trying to take me away from them. If this is how you’re going to be then maybe… we should just break up.”

He didn’t reply, merely taking note of your hurt expression. That was the end of your relationship. He stopped spending time with you, though you could see him watching you on occasion. You didn’t think anything of it at the time.

It was two weeks later that your friends began avoiding you. No matter how hard you tried, they would ignore you. You apologized for whatever you could have done to offend them, but it didn’t help. You spent your paycheck from a part time job on gifts to interest them, but they only looked at you with a pitying expression, one that turned to fear when they looked at the space far behind you, and left.

The loneliness you felt ate away at you and it wasn’t long before you craved any affection you got. You became clingy, following anyone who so much as complimented you. It was like you were a stray, constantly on the lookout for the tiniest bit of love.

It was then that you spotted Akaashi getting a soda from the vending machine behind the school. His eyes traveled across your figure before turning away. The guilt you felt was awful, things could have ended better between the two of you. You told yourself that this was your chance to apologize to him. You crossed the courtyard, grass brushing against your ankles.

“Hey,” you said. You wanted to sound nonchalant, but your voice gave away the desperation for human contact. “How have you been?” You bit your lip nervously, hoping he wouldn’t ignore you like the rest of the school.

“Good. How are you?”

You debated lying to him, but it seemed like he could scan right through you. He’d undoubtedly know if you did and it was quite obvious how everyone treated you. “Not the greatest… it seems like everyone hates me now.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, prompting you to go further.

“Yeah, even my closest friends avoid me. I don’t know what I did… It’s awful.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, (Name). You don’t have to worry about me doing that. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Really?” The neediness was clear as you shifted towards him. He smiled, opening his arms for a hug. You dove for him, clinging to his chest.

“Of course.”

Once you got back together, everything was good… for a while. The problems you had in the past came popping back up. Akaashi gained full control of your life. You couldn’t do anything without his permission. He even went so far as to install a tracking device on your phone. He invaded your privacy, became more touchy with you, getting himself a key to your house to come over whenever he pleased. You noticed him taking your things when he thought you weren’t looking and took photos of you even if you begged him not to. Any protests were quieted with reminders of how terribly you had been treated at school. Reminders of how he had been the only to take care of you. The breaking point was when he told you he wanted you to get married and give up any dreams that involved a career. He wanted you to stay in your shared house and never leave.

“I can’t believe you! You want me to give up everything for you, but what about my dreams? I don’t want to just be a housewife. My life could be so much more than that.”

“You resist everything I do, love. Your fate has already been decided, what’s the point of fighting back?”

“Who gets to decide my fate? Me! It’s my life, Keiji. I get to decide my future,” you said firmly.

“Let me convince you,” he said before grabbing his wallet. He produced a few photos, laying them out for you to see.

The first was a picture of you asleep, pajama shirt pulled up to reveal your chest, nothing covering you but a pair of thin panties. The second was you changing, sliding down your skirt to display the soft flesh. The third was of you lying back on your bed. An expression of ecstasy on your face as your fingers buried themselves below the waistband of some tight shorts. There were more, but you couldn’t bear to look.

“Now, you don’t really want to be a pornstar, do you? Which future would you rather have, (Name)?”

“How did you get these?” Your voice trembled with every syllable as salty tears hit the film.

“Does it matter?”

“Why are you doing all of this? How could you be so cruel to me?”

He leaned forward, taking your face in his hands. His thumb swiped away the tears. His face softened at your pathetic visage.

“Isn’t it obvious? If you’re with me, I don’t need anything else.”

#yandere #akaashi #reader #haikyuu!!#haikyu #yandere x reader #akaashi x reader #yandere akaashi x reader #haikyu x reader #yandere haikyu x reader #yandere haikyuu!! x reader #tw: noncon photography #tw: suggestive themes #tw: blackmail #prompt #queen

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sinfulfolk · 3 years

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On Writing: Technique & Characterization in John le Carré

John le Carré Obituary in the Guardian October 19, 1931 — December 12, 2020

David John Moore Cornwell began writing novels about espionage and spies when he was working as a full-time intelligence agent for the British foreign service MI6 – a group whose very existence was not acknowledged by the British government until 1994. He wrote under the pen name John le Carré (“John the Square” in French) only because foreign intelligence service were forbidden to publish under their own names. When his third novel The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1963) became an international best-seller, he left MI6 to become a full-time author, but obviously part of him has always stayed in the intelligence services – for all of his books concern themselves with secrets, lies, espionage and spycraft.

I’ve enjoyed reading John le Carré from time to time over the years, but only really became entranced with his craft last year, when I happened upon his masterwork Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and was enthralled with the subtle humor, the detailed characterizations and the incredibly slow pace of a highly suspenseful novel. How, I wondered, did le Carré manage to maintain tension in a novel that focused on a retired old bureaucrat named George Smiley? Smiley is pudgy, dowdy, old-school English, wears thick glasses, stutters when he talks at all, and when he does speak, expounds in soft syllables. He is a paper-pusher, an analyst, and has probably never held a gun in his life. But somehow, John le Carré makes this novel about Smiley crackle with suspense, and the novel kept me glued to the narrative for 100s of pages. It is a thick book, and a very complicated one, and I even know exactly how it ends, but I never once thought of putting it down. How did he do it?

There are many tools le Carré uses to build his work – like a pointillist master painter, every tidy English scene, every spare sentence and every bit of dialogue builds a gradual picture of enormous tension and incredible momentum. I can’t detail the volumes of education I gained about how to improve my own writing when I analyzed Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and more recently The Russia House, but I can illuminate a few bits of craft that le Carré is teaching me now.

First is the fact that le Carré paints a vivid picture when he describes any character. In fact, le Carré exaggerates when he paints a character. For example, he describes a new character entering a scene with metaphor (not simile) – writing “The first to speak was a distraught, floating man with baby-pink cheeks and baby-clear eyes and a flaxen jacket to match his straggling flaxen hair. His voice floated too” (40). The vividness of this character description stays with the reader for much of the rest of the book, and from time to time le Carré reinforces it with a slight nod towards the “floating” quality of this man’s look – what is interesting is that this very quality later becomes a plot point, as the Americans distrust this man for his qualities of not-quite-there. le Carré forces readers to see characters as vivid movement on the page, and uses these slightly exaggerated characterizations as a way of burning the character into the reader’s mind, so that there is no doubt what the character is like when he later references them. Painting brightly at the outset allows your characters to last longer in the reader’s mind.

The other thing I am beginning to learn from reading closely into le Carré’s work is that a character’s interior life will only take you so far. What I write well, without conscious effort, is interior psycho-drama in which you experience a character’s inner world as they see it, without the intervention of outside elements such as dialogue or even physical descriptions of the surrounding terrain. It is the one thing that literature can do very well that is nearly impossible to replicate in film. For in film, there is no true imaginative interior monologue, no way of seeing the world in terms of interior metaphors and interior voice. There is, of course, the filmic device of a voice-over, but even that doesn’t provide the scrim of dream-like narrative that we as human beings overlay on visceral experience to make a sense-story of life.

We constantly are making a story of everything around us, relating it to other things, and this sense of a world-being-made-of-metaphor is what literature does so very well. When I go out in the world, every person and thing I encounter reminds me of other experiences – I am constantly building a chain of connections between my past experience and my past imaginative life and the life I am currently encountering. I am never just “out of my head” (except perhaps in moments of focused physical attention, such as playing sports or sex). Many great novelists such as DeLillo, Faulkner or McCarthy, spend much of their energy creating a tapestry that resembles this inner life, and that is why their best work is nearly un-filmable.

However, the more I read novelists who are telling a compelling story and are writing for plot, the more I am discovering that good literature can do both psycho-drama and external plot. To establish the point that le Carré is not all about plot and character description, let me first show that le Carré also does the interior psycho-drama thing well. He demonstrates this skill in chapter 7:

She pictured him a waif… lying in semi-darkness on the top berth reserved for luggage, listening to the smokers’ coughing and the grumble of drunks, suffocating from the stink of humanity… while he stared at the appalling things he knew and never spoke of. What kind of hell must that be, she wondered, to be tormented by your own creations? To know that the absolute best you can do in your career is the absolute worst for mankind? (172).

This passage serves as a good synecdoche for the book’s treatment of inner life. It moves clearly from one character’s apprehension of another in the world, and a clear description of how she pictured this person in their ‘waifish’ environment, to her conception of the character’s mindset and concerns. The passage touches on particulars of experience, then implies dark secrets, and then moves naturally to the broader questions of their shared humanity and the big questions of human morality. It is a solid bit of interior monologue.

What le Carré is beginning to teach me though is how much more powerful such an complex and emotionally full interior space can be when it is prefaced and impacted by events and physical locations that are clearly described and that have action associated with them that has no “discussion” in the reader’s own head. Motion in the exterior world can be as suspenseful and entrancing as motion in the interior world. In The Russia House, le Carré writes mostly a straightforward narrative full of precise observations, character descriptions that are exacting and precise, and dialogue that sings off the page. Here is one sample passage that demonstrates his skill in this critical exterior narrative:

The woman was trembling. Not only with the hands that held her brown perhaps-bag but also at the neck, for her prim blue dress was finished with a collar of old lace and Landau could see how it shook against her skin and how her skin was actually whiter than the lace. Yet her mouth and jaw were set with determination and her expression commanded him.

“Please sir, you must be very kind and help me,” she said as if there were no choice. …. What happened next happened quickly, a street-corner transaction, willing seller to willing buyer. The first thing Landau did was look behind her, past her shoulder. He did that for his own preservation as well as hers. But his end of the room was empty, the area dark. “Got it with you then, have you dear?” he asked, peering down and smiling like a friend. “Yes.”

What I’m learning from le Carré is that very precise description that does not paint with emotion, but instead paints with detail – every detail in the woman’s description denotes terror, every moment adding fear, and the whole scene creates a moment of enormous suspense for both the reader and the characters. Then, le Carré also adds dialogue that has awkward language, but also implores, finished by a commanding note at the end. Finally, there is the rush to action, coupled with the caution of looking around at the crowd. The dialogue is masterful, because it is so spare, with few adverbs at all. Landau, the character, gives a very English reply – he asks about the manuscript, but the manners he use imply that he is trying to be casual, trying to act as if it is of no great concern. Even though we as readers know that the rest of this 400+ page novel depends upon this scene, and even though both characters act as if their lives depend upon what happens with this manuscript handoff, the exchange is a studied moment of casual conversation. This, for me, demonstrates something I could take to heart: casual “throwaway” moments can be just as dramatic – even more so – than moments that are overwrought with adverbs and emotion.

Overall, what is key to learn here for me is the necessity of moving vividly outside the character’s heads and into the world around them in a forceful way. The action can be constrained – as le Carré demonstrates with finesse in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy – but it must be external to the protagonist’s head-talk. If the writer makes the external world come to life in a very real way to the reader, then the internal landscape will matter even more when we return to that inner monologue. The truth is in the intersection between this outer world and this inner world – this is where the writer must make their art.

Since I wrote this post, I was inspired to complete my own spy novel, which is a bit of a twist on the Cold War and War on Terror espionage so well described by le Carré. My novel Wilderness of Mirrors will be released in 2021.

On Writing: Technique & Characterization in John le Carré was originally published on Ned Hayes

#Writing #sinfulfolk #books #writing #novels #book #bookshelf #sinful-folk #Sinful Folk #novel

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bokunohero-stories · 5 years

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Hey hey! Can you do one with Tamaki where the female reader confessed to him and he runs away and doesn’t talk to her for a while. She thinks he doesn’t want to be friends with her anymore but he does like her back but just doesn’t know how to face her. Maybe some angst but with a happy ending

Hello @a-single-uwo ! I would love to write for you. This is Mod Allie’s first time writing on this account, so let me know what y’all think of my writing! I put some of it below a read-more because it got a little long eheh… sorry I love Tamaki….

—————

It look a long time for you to get Tamaki comfortable enough with you to walk up to the front gates with you. He used to walk with Mirio and Nejire, but after the two of them caught a glimpse of you talking with Tamaki once while walking out of the school building after classes ended, they had been suspiciously absent for a handful of mornings. You suspected it was on purpose, to get him to talk to others more often.

You glanced over at him, smiling a little bit. Your cheeks were flushed at the idea of telling him the truth, telling him how you truly felt about him, both in excitement and fear. What if he rejected you? What if you push him away by telling him? The fear clouds your mind for just a moment, but when you see his barely-noticeable smile as he walks with you, comfortable and content, your heart flutters in your chest.

There was no way you weren’t going to tell him.

You open your mouth to speak, then shut it again after a second. You look away, fidget with the hem of your skirt in nervousness, then turn back to look at him. You clear your throat - your face feels like it’s on fire, and you briefly wonder how red it must look to him.

“H-hey, Tamaki-kun..?” You start meekly. You’ve never exactly been the shy type - at least, never to his extent - but today you were a mess.

He blinks, having been lost in thought at something, and he turns to look at you in curiosity. There was no nervousness or fear in his eyes, a complete turnaround to how he looked at you when you first met.

“Yeah, Y/N..?” He responded. You loved the sound of his voice calling your name. You look to every side of you, and once you’re absolutely sure there aren’t many students around, you stand in front of him and clasp your hands firmly in front of yourself. He’s clearly confused, a bit startled even, but he stands quietly and waits for you to speak.

“I think– you’re really–” You begin to stutter, face red as can be. You take a deep breath, then look up right into his eyes. “I really like you and I would like to take you on a date!” You nearly-shout all at once.

Utter silence.

For a moment, you’re deathly afraid that he didn’t even hear you and you would have to repeat yourself. When you open your mouth again, to re-declare your feelings for him, he seems to finally comprehend what you said. His dark eyes go wide, his face goes several shades darker than yours, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets. They sit at his side, shaking a little, and you begin to wonder if you should have said it a little quieter–

Before you can finish that thought, he turns around, and he runs off.

“Ah— wait! Tamaki!”

He says something as he runs, but it’s said too quickly and too rushed together for you to understand it. You don’t follow; you don’t give chase, or even wonder why he must have run away. You stand in silence for a moment, before your vision gets blurry and you suddenly become aware of the fact that you are crying.

The rest of the school day is bleak and simple; you don’t see your friend - is he still your friend? - Tamaki for the entire day. You ask Mirio about it and even he says he hasn’t seen Tamaki at school all day. That was that, then, you supposed. He was really willing to skip the whole school day at UA High just to not see you.

At first, you’re hurt but you want to give him the benefit of the doubt and simply ask him the next time you saw him.

Only - you don’t really see much of him for a while afterwards. He continues going to school after that first day, that much you know, as you can sometimes catch glimpses of him in the halls. The moment he notices you there, or sees you from a distance, he’s rushing away - even if he was in the middle of a conversation with Mirio or Nejire.

On the third day of this happening, you went right up to the two-thirds of the Top Three of UA and asked them what was going on.

Nejire gasped excitedly like she had the most interesting thing to say, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Mirio’s hands were clamped firmly around her face. She talks anyway, but it’s so muffled that you can’t understand a word of it.

“Haha!” Mirio laughs jovially, as per his usual self, but there is a hint of something underneath it. “Don’t worry about it! We don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m sure it’s fine!”

Before you can tell him that those statements contradict themselves, he’s speed-walking off while dragging a still talking Nejire with him.

The next two days of not speaking to Tamaki get to you the most. When he won’t meet your eyes in the halls anymore, when he refuses to be in the same room as you – they remind you of how he acted towards you when he wasn’t comfortable around you in the beginning of your friendship.

On the sixth day, you see him across the hall on your way to class, and when he turns around and leaves in the middle of whatever Nejire was saying, your eyes water and you feel like turning and running right then and there - running home, running away from here. Mirio clearly sees this, and he frowns. Nejire is mostly busy asking why Tamaki had been in such a bad moon lately, but he ignores her.

On the seventh day of him ignoring you, the last day of the week, you’re walking home on your own with your ladybug umbrella by your side. The weather was cool and windy, the clouds were dark but it had yet to start raining. You hear stomping footsteps behind you, but you ignore them, still too busy thinking about how drastic a turn your school-life had taken for one simple, stupid mistake.

Of course he wouldn’t like you back, you idiot, you told yourself in your head. He’s in the top three. You’re just a regular nobody. Why would he like you?

The stomping steps get louder, and when you finally turn around to see what the noise is, your eyes go wide.

Mirio, Nejire, and Tamaki were speed-walking their way towards you. Well - Mirio was speed-walking, Tamaki was being dragged by the arms, and Nejire was following along at her own pace with a wide grin on her face. She was patting Tamaki’s arm and speaking a mile a minute as she usually did.

It starts to rain, but you don’t bring up your umbrella. Mirio is frowning, and practically picks Tamaki up and places him down straight in front of you.

“You two are going to talk about this, and that’s–” Mirio begins speaking with a firm voice, but Tamaki mutters something about not wanting to be here. Your heart feels shattered all over again when he refuses to meet your eyes and willingly admits to not wanting to be around you. Mirio ‘pats’ Tamaki on the back hard enough that he stumbles forward with wide eyes, nearly collapsing onto you if you hadn’t backed away.

“And that’s that!” Mirio says louder, in an even more firm voice. Nejire giggles airily, then opens her mouth and says,

“Oh, oh! Hey, Tamaki, make sure to tell her what you told us the other day–” Mirio slams his hands on her mouth just as he had a handful of days ago, and they run off like that once more.

The rain is steady and cold, and you stare at Tamaki with damp, hurt eyes. Just as every time the two of you had been alone for this past week, there is absolute silence. Not the serene, comfortable silence you had gotten used to while you were friends and walked together. It was a cold, stabbing kind of silence, the kind of silence where you know there was something that had to be said and over with already.

After several long moments of silence, and of Tamaki shrinking away from your sharp gaze, he opens his mouth to speak first. He just barely gets a single syllable out of his mouth before you speak up with a wavering voice, “Am I that awful?”

The breath is knocked from his lungs like he’d been punched by a Villain. He still doesn’t look at you, he’s looking at the wet ground in absolute silence, his dark eyes wide.

“Am I that awful,” you repeat yourself, “That you would really prefer to miss class entirely than to be around me anymore?”

His mouth opens. It shuts again. You let out a sob, and reach forward to grab his face, to force him to look at you. Your clothes are soaked, your backpack of notes and writing utensils splayed across the wet road, your umbrella laying uselessly on the ground, but most of all, your face was wet from more than just the rain. You cried openly, and when he finally looked into your eyes with his own wide, beautiful, dark, shocked eyes, you shout at him.

“Am I so awful that you hate the idea of being near me?!”

He finally speaks something, quiet and barely noticeable from the pouring rain.

“You’re—” The rest of his sentence was drowned out in the rain. You shake your head, and look down. Finally your time to be unable to meet his eyes. He all but admitted that he hated you by now - just in the way he told Mirio that he didn’t want to be near you alone was enough to tell you how he felt.

“Just say it…” You mutter. “Just get it over with…” You want him to just admit how much he didn’t like you anymore, how much he must hate you - just get it over with now so you could finally have the closure of a failed friendship and a crushed heart.

“Y/N, you’re the–” He stumbles over his words again, then surprises you by reaching down to touch your face. He brings it up, forcing you to look at him in the same way you forced him to look into your eyes just moments before. His face is so red you almost feel worried for a moment, but his eyes are determined and set. He opens his mouth and says clearly and loudly over the rain - “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You blink once, twice. Silence for a moment. The best thing… that’s ever happened to him..?

After a moment, he seems to deflate, losing the confidence he had mustered up for that confession, and he looks away in shame. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I made you think… that it was your fault… God, I am such an awful friend to you…..” He turns around and puts his hands over his face. “I would understand if you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore…”When your arms wrap around his middle, he tenses up in shock. You cry, holding him close and trying to speak through your sobs.

“TAMAKI-KUN -sob- YOU ARE SUCH -sob- A JERK FOR MAKING ME THINK -sob- YOU HATED ME..!” You bury your face into the soaked shirt at his back, and cry openly - but happily. “I– I still like you, you jerk!”

Tamaki sniffles, and nods despite the fact that he knows you can’t see it. He sounds like he tries to say something, but he’s so overwhelmed with emotion that he can’t really get much out. The rain is louder than ever before, and you suddenly seem to remember that the weather is awful. You detatch yourself to rush over to grab your scattered belongings, and you hurriedly open up your umbrella over the both of you. When he notices he’s not getting pelted with rain anymore, he turns around, confused.

You look up at him with red, bleary eyes, still sniffling and red-faced. You hold your hand out to him.

“Do you wanna…. walk home together..?”

He only hesitates for a second before reaching over and grabbing your hand with a small, shy smile.

#Mod Allie #bnha #mha #my hero academia #tamaki amajiki x reader #boku no hero academia #tamaki amajiki imagine #tamaki amajiki #bnha tamaki amajiki #mha tamaki amajiki #mha tamaki #bnha tamaki #tamaki

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skvaderarts · 4 years

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Chapter Fifteen: Telemiscomunications

You can check out the Masterlist Here for more links to places to read!

Firefox decided not to work today, so I had to use Edge *shudders* between this and the app not working earlier this year, I think Tumblr just hates me.

Note: Hey everyone! Thanks for the comments once again! I tried to take the time to respond to them all. Talking to everyone always puts a smile on my face. This chapter and the next are shorter set up chapters, mostly due to the fact that the next few chapters will be longer as we reach the climax of the story, and I needed to flesh them out more. But don’t worry. This isn’t the end of the story; not by a long shot. This is just book one. At about chapter seven I realized that this wasn’t going to be a single book affair, so I started work on planning part two’s ending. The structure of the story didn’t work as one very long book, so there will be a second installment. More on that later. For now, thank you for your continued support and enjoy this chapter! I’ll keep writing for as long as you keep reading!

-~-

If it was somehow possible to sleep for almost a full day without trying to, Vergil had just done it. This was very much unlike him. The eldest Son of Sparda couldn’t remember the last time that he had slept that long, especially considering the fact that he was in an unfamiliar environment and didn’t generally drop his guard. Genuinely restful sleep wasn’t something that he experienced often, so he relished the opportunity despite the fact that he hadn’t intended to do so. When he had gone to check out the room that Dante had given him, it was as if the bed had called him into it. One moment he was standing in the doorway, and the next he was waking up at dusk the next day. The transition had been so seamless and sudden that he had thought it was the same day at first. But then he had stumbled into the main office and Dante had started laughing. Vergil had no idea what his younger twin brother found so humorous, but he had a feeling he was going to find out very shortly.

“I was starting to think you were dead,” Dante said as he sat at his desk eating pizza.

The Jukebox was blasting some song that the older twin didn’t recognize but didn’t really acknowledge enough to feel any sort of way about. It was just aimless background noise to him. Vergil glanced over at him, not really sure what to say to that. It wasn’t his fault that his brother hadn’t been smart enough to check his pulse if he thought that something was wrong. It occurred to him that Dante had more than likely checked on him multiple times in order to come to that conclusion. How odd that he hadn’t noticed. Did he really sleep that deeply? Surely not. He liked to think that he would notice if someone was that close to him, even if he was unconscious. Dante couldn’t be that sneaky, could he?

Vergil strolled across the room to glance out of the large windows that spanned the length of the walls, in need of something to idly pass his time. While residing within the same building as his brother wasn’t something he had come to dislike as of yet, he still found the need to have his own space. Right now, he was out of his element. The office didn’t quite feel like home to him just yet. While he never felt entirely safe and wasn’t very adept at dropping his guard (a lifetime in the underworld does that to you) he felt more at ease here than he’d like to admit. Although he wasn’t really sure quite yet why that was, he couldn’t help but notice.

As Vergil gazed out at the storm that raged just beyond the glass, he clasped his hands behind his back. He suddenly had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. The eldest Son of Sparda didn’t know what that premonition pertained to, but it was as clear as day. Or perhaps not the day, considering the current weather. The storm was quite… dramatic, wasn’t it?

“... You thought I was dead and didn’t think to check,” Vergil didn’t turn to look at Dante as he spoke. He was thinking, but about what, he wasn’t sure. It seemed that he might not be as awake as he initially thought.

Dante took a piece of pizza and leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on the opposite end of the desk from where the delivery box was. “Well, if you died, I guess we could just give your friend a call,” Dante said, clearly being sarcastic. The younger of the two obviously didn’t want Vergil dead. But even if he thought he was, there was no way in hell he was going to try to wake him up to find out.

Before Vergil could retort, the phone rang. The old rotary style phone had been through plenty of abuse in its lifetime, so it was a wonder that it worked at all. Much like the jukebox, it seemed to be determined to remain a part of the office. Vergil glanced over his shoulder at his brother as Dante groaned. Why did people always have to interrupt him when he was trying to eat?

“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you were avoiding someone,” Vergil said sardonically, a hint of amusement in his voice,” one your female companions, I presume?”

Dante pointed at him as if to tell him to watch it, resisting the urge to mock him childishly. Vergil was on a winning streak in regards to his behavior. It had been three whole days and he hadn’t stabbed anyone to death yet. That was truly something to cherish. Mind you, he had spent a third of that time asleep, but still. It was an achievement he didn’t want to actively sabotage. But Vergil was actually right for once. He was absolutely avoiding Lady, Trish, and Morisson at the moment. Or even worse… Patty. He had a lot going on right now. The last thing he wanted to think about was the money he owed the girls or the birthday party that Patty was never going to let him live down. There would be a time and a place for that later. Hopefully much, much later. As in never.

Half expecting to be cursed at the moment he answered the phone, Dante reached forward and snatched the phone off of the receiver. It had been a long time since he’d answered it. Before he could recall a single syllable from the English language, a woman’s voice spoke from the other side of the line. It wasn’t the girls. It was Magnolia.

“Oh thank heavens! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you lot all day! Where have you been?!” The woman’s voice held a note of worry as she spoke. She was clearly concerned and flustered but holding her composure well nonetheless. “I’ve been trying to speak to Vergil. Something is happening and I’m not sure what it is.”

Despite the fact that the phone didn’t have a speaker function, Vergil heard her loud and clear. The twins had a keen sense of hearing. Barely anything escaped their notice. Vergil turned away from the window and walked back over to the desk, interested in hearing what she had called them about. Dante glanced up at him as his brother leaned on the desk, tilting his head inquisitively. The Youngest Son of Sparda held the phone out so that they could both listen in.

“You wanted to talk to me, Magnolia,” Vergil said almost hesitantly, clearly out of his element talking to someone on the phone,” What is it?”

Magnolia sighed in relief, clearing her throat. “I may have bumped into that cult that everyone on TV keeps going on about. You’ve heard about them, I presume?”

Dante and Vergil glanced at one another. No. No, they had not. Dante didn’t exactly watch TV and Vergil had been, well, asleep for an entire day. There weren’t in the loop as far as current events were concerned. All they knew was that this storm didn’t seem to want to let up and that the naps had been in order. She seemed to glean her answer from their silence, shuffling slightly from the other end of the line. They both took a moment to think about her statement, not entirely sure yet as to if this turn of events should concern them.

“What about em,” Dante said nonchalantly,” Are they actually a threat?”

Magnolia nodded before considering the fact that they couldn’t possibly see her through the phone. “I believe that some of them, maybe. A few of them attacked me on my way to Fortuna,” She paused for a moment, thinking about the attack,” I couldn’t tell you how they pegged me as a threat. They had a summoner with them who presented a decent challenge. He managed to conjure a Kyklopse, but I made quick work of it. But that wasn’t the main reason for this phone call.”

The twins seemed to absorb the information given to them, Vergil seemingly more troubled than Dante though he wasn’t showing it. Kyklopse were native to Malet Island. How had this person managed to gain control of such a formidable and obscure demon? This didn’t bode well. As they thought in silence, Magnolia continued, conscious of the fact that they were listening intently.

“I’m at Nero’s house at the moment. Charming little place. I quite like it,” as if on cue, the children could be heard screaming in the background, Nico yelling something to them about piping down because an adult was using the phone,” Apparently your sons took an impromptu trip to Fortuna Castle in the Lamina Mountains. According to the lovely young ladies here, they were looking for something in the library? Either way, they’ve been there a couple of hours and haven’t returned. Everyone is worried, even the little lady who swears up and down that she isn’t.”

Nico cursed at the statement.

Vergil looked visibly uncomfortable and Dante seemed about two seconds from bashing his head into his desk. They had both had occasion to visit that place and neither of them had particularly enjoyed their stays. It was probably the most dangerous castle in the human world that wasn’t located on Malet Island. Why on earth would they go there, especially with the condition that V was more than likely currently in? This could be very bad. Vergil leaned forward further, sighing slightly before continuing their correspondence. “And this is the part of this conversation where you inform me that that isn’t the worst part.”

Magnolia sighed too. Vergil could still read her like an open book, even from the other side of a phone. “Yes. That isn’t the worst part. I believe the cult may have followed me here. I arrived a short while ago and snuck here as discreetly as I could, but I saw another boat approaching from the distance as I arrived. I don’t believe that they are after me, but I have a feeling they may go snooping around the castle. Call it intuition, but why else would a cult with summoners in their ranks visit this island?”

Without speaking Vergil stood up and walked down towards the back door of the shop. He opened it and disappeared behind it. Dante glanced at him before turning back to the phone. “... I think we’re gonna have to call you back.”

With that, he hung up the phone and turned his attention back to his brother. Where the hell had he just gone?

-~-

Magnolia stood in the entryway of the house holding the wall-mounted phone in her hand, staring at it as the dial tone blared loudly. They would call her back? What the hell did they mean they would call her back?! There was no time for that! For all she knew, the cult could already be at the castle and both Nero and V could be in terrible danger. While she was certain that Nero could handle himself, V absolutely couldn’t fight right now. It could take a week or more for his powers to begin to trickle back in. If he possessed healing abilities, he would be lucky if they had kicked in by now.

After a moment she hung up the phone and turned around. Kyrie stood just a few feet away, her hands clasped and her posture entirely too at attention. She wore a pleasant smile, but anyone with any basic level of comprehension of human emotions could tell that she was scared. She smiled gently at the young woman for a moment. A few seconds passed like this, the two of them locked in this silent understanding. Kyrie couldn’t bring herself to ask this woman that she had barely just met for her help, but she could tell that she could handle herself. Magnolia walked over to her and placed her hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle shake. She recognized what the young brunette with the large doe eyes was too afraid to ask.

“Don’t trouble yourself, dear,” She said in a firm, reassuring tone,” I’m going to go to the castle and see what they are up to. You just stay here and stay safe.”

Kyrie smiled wearily, unable to find the proper words for her relief. She didn’t know why, but the middle-aged woman before her made her feel safe. She opened her mouth to thank her but was stopped by a loud noise reminiscent of some kind of humming. A split second later, the front slammed open, bounding off of the wall. Although not quite hard enough to split the frame, it produced a loud, thundering boom that took the young woman by surprise, causing her to let out a terrified shriek. Nico scrambled down the hall, her hands clenched firmly around the neck of a lamp as the cord dangled uselessly. She had clearly just yanked it from the wall, desperate to come to her rescue. Magnolia glanced at her, her brow furrowing as she nodded to herself in approval. She liked this wily young lady. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in her.

The three ladies turned their gaze back to the door just as Vergil walked in, still in the process of sheathing Yamato. He had clearly left in a hurry as his hair was drenched from the rain. He’d made no effort to stay dry whatsoever. He looked grimly miffed and not at all in the mood for this. But, there was no anger in his demeanor. That couldn’t be a look of concern, could it? Magnolia shifted from the protective stance that she had taken and straightened her back, folding her arms. It was good to see that Vergil still took her seriously when she called him, even after all these years. It was rare that she needed to, but the fact that he had immediately shown up spoke volumes. She knew that he was aware of her capabilities. If there was a threat she didn’t feel comfortable taking on, he took it seriously.

Dante followed shortly after he, the look on his face somewhere between befuddlement and curiosity. He had never seen Vergil jump up and immediately race off to another location based solely on the testimony of another individual before. And he clearly took this potential threat seriously. Was it the mention of the Kyklopse that had irked him so thoroughly?

“... You were going to the castle,” He said rather bluntly, clearly ready to assess the situation for himself. Vergil was not the least bit pleased about this and it was very slowly starting to show.

Magnolia nodded, stepping forward to join him. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was just leaving. I didn’t expect you to come so soon,” She grabbed her coat off of the hook nearest to her and shrugged into it, flaring it out in order to adjust the fit,” I’d have you know, I’m out of practice. Haven’t been in a good fight for several years now. I’m a healer now. Do keep that in mind?”

“How fortunate for his opponents,” Vergil thought to himself,” She could piece them back together after he diced them into bite-sized chunks.” He had no idea who this cult was, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that they needed to die and they were going to, especially if any harm came to either of his sons. While Nero was quite capable, it was rather difficult to launch an effective offense against an opponent with someone who was essentially helpless in close proximity. There had better be a good reason they had taken a trip to that godforsaken death trap, especially with V in the state that he was in.

The eldest Son of Sparda stopped for a moment to consider his somewhat irrational but fully warranted response. Was he actually worried about them? No, that was preposterous. Vergil, the Darkslayed, feared no one (well, virtually no one) but here he was, stymied by the concept of his two very capable children possibly being in harm’s way? Where had this sudden concern for their well being originated from? He would worry about that later. For now, he needed to know where they both were. Precisely where they were. And they needed to take care of this “cult”.

“It won’t matter in the slightest,” Vergil said as he glanced at Kyrie before turning to go back outside. He couldn’t help but notice her change in demeanor, much like Magnolia had,” They will be dealt with soon enough.”

Vergil descended the front steps and set off, expecting that they would simply catch up. He wasn’t going to wait for them and he wasn’t going to ask for them to follow him. The eldest of Sparda’s twin sons had spent a lifetime in the underworld. Vergil would make quick work of these cultists, with or without the help of his companions. Magnolia and Dante shared an acknowledging glance before he followed after him, jogging lightly to catch up with his brother’s brisk pace. Magnolia turned to Nico, stealing a glance in the direction of Dante and Vergil. She would have to catch up with them after their sudden departure.

“You there, with the lamp,” She said firmly.

Nico brandished the lamp before lowering it, not entirely sure what she planned to do with it now that she thought about it. Tiffany lamps were heavy, yes, but they required getting in close to be effective as a blunt force weapon. She wasn’t getting that close to a potential summoner with a demon. But she hadn’t thought of that at the time. She had simply acted in what she assumed to be the best interests of the people she had come to care about.

“Y-yes? Wadda ya need?” She fumbled over her words for a second, her slight embarrassment intensified by the acknowledgment of how ridiculous she looked in this moment. This woman probably thought she was certifiable.

“... as you were then, dear. Keep up the good work.” Magnolia said pleasantly. She nodded to her, reaffirming her statement. Nico stared at her like she’d lost her mind for a moment before nodding back. She now understood what the older woman was telling her.

“Don’t worry, miss,” Nico said with certainty,” Nothing’s gonna happen to anyone here under my watch.”

Magnolia nodded and turned towards the door, sauntering away. She stopped in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder in Nico’s direction. She smiled as she spoke. “Oh, I know you will dear. Of that, I have no doubt.”

With that she stepped out of the door, using her food to push it closed as she went. As she stepped out into the rain, she noticed that Dante and Vergil were about a block ahead of her. She shook her head. They moved awfully fast, didn’t they. It was going to be quite the job to keep up with them. But then again, nothing having to do with Sparda’s descendants was ever easy. And she relished the excitement, although in the hopes that it would be short-lived. She had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

-~-

Okay, so this didn’t end up being any shorter than normal. LOL. Well, maybe like 100 words. How ironic. I guess that’s what I get for assuming I couldn’t hit my minimum word count with just a phone call scene. I’m kinda proud of myself. Toon in on Friday the 19th for chapter 16 and thank you as always for reading this chapter. We're all going through a lot right now, so it makes me happy to give you something to look forward to every week. Hopefully! And go listen to the song this chapter is named after. It’s good. There’s only one so it shouldn’t be hard to find. Take care, everyone!

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