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arvandus · 3 years

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The Sound of Silence (18+ Aizawa x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After once again being stood up for a date at your favorite jazz club, you decide to give up dating entirely in favor of watching and fantasizing about your favorite jazz musician, Aizawa Shouta. You had assumed you’d never meet him face to face. You had assumed that he didn’t even know you existed. You’re about to learn that your assumptions are wrong.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/NSFW; reader wears a sexy black dress (minimally described); minor sexual harassment; slow build; praise kink (if you squint); hand kink (probably); fingering; ‘baby’ petname.

Special Note: A few days late, but here’s my contribution to the BNHarem January Collab ‘Making Beautiful Music’ posted by @kingexpl0sionmurder. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but this particular piece got a mind of its own and will at least have a sequel. If we’re all really lucky, it may become a multichapter series in the far and distant future, when my life is less crazy (I have ideas, ok??). In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Word Count: 9486

Recommended Song: No specific song at the moment, but this was what I listened to while writing this.

Lesson 1

It was crowded tonight, the air of the small club Midnight hot and heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and booze. The noise of conversations and laughing voices filled the air like the buzzing of a hive, as bodies mingled about like busy bees, each looking for their own bit of nectar. Some looking to win romance. Some looking to win money. While others were simply winning by enjoying the company of friends. Their movements were carried on the music that filled the space, upbeat jazz played by a three-person band. It was comforting in its familiarity, developed over multiple visits – some with friends, some with coworkers, and some with potential love interests.

You sat at the bar, a drink held protectively in your hand as your eyes searched. You checked your phone for messages but found none. It’d been a full twenty minutes and you were pretty sure by this point that your date wasn’t going to show up. It was supposed to be your first date in over a month, and you’d had high hopes for it - you’d clicked well with the person on your dating app (or so you thought), talking over the course of a couple of weeks before finally deciding to meet. So tonight, you’d put in a little extra effort into your appearance, donning a black dress that showed off your curves and putting careful attention into your makeup.

Damn. You were genuinely interested in this one.

You sent them a quick text in the hopes that you’d get a response. Give them an extra ten minutes… You thought. Maybe they were caught in traffic or something.

But by the time you hit the 45-minute mark with no messages, you’d officially given up. A half-hearted sigh fell past your painted lips. You weren’t really too surprised by this point. You’d been having terrible luck in the dating scene for a while now. Sometimes it was them. Sometimes it was you. But for whatever reason, each attempt ended in failure.

Oh well. It was likely for the best. At least you would be able to enjoy the rest of your evening in solitude instead of enduring a potentially disastrous date. And as for your attire, it certainly didn’t hurt to feel sexy, even if you had no one to share it with.

You loved this place. The atmosphere, the music… you’d even managed to make friends with the bartender Hizashi to the point that he’d walk you to your car on the nights that you stayed until closing.

Your eyes scanned around the room, observing. Wooden tables littered the main floor, where small lit candles cast yellow light on observing faces, eyes trained on the musicians. Booths lined along the far wall, filled mostly with men who puffed cigars over a game of cards, their raucous laughter carrying through the din. Closer to the bar was an arrangement of tall, round tables with matching bar height chairs. A group of women, likely on a ladies’ night out, filled the table closest to you, taking shots and laughing, their heels perched on the rungs. Waiters zigzagged their way through the crowd with expert precision, platters held high with drinks and snacks, while patrons milled about, waiting for an open table.

And, of course, there was the stage itself, where the jazz band finished their final piece before collecting their instruments and leaving the small stage. All that was left from their departure was a black baby grand piano, property of the club. Your pulse quickened as you checked your watch. Was it that time already?

Not a moment later, there he was. Long, black, wavy hair pulled back into a half ponytail, the hint of a 5 o’ clock shadow dusting his jawline and framing his lips. He was dressed in simple clothes, as always… a black v-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and dark jeans. He entered the stage without so much a glance towards the busy room, instead making his way to the piano with his hands in his pockets. He sat down and from your position at the bar, you could barely see his long fingers arrange themselves at the keys, gently curled.

As soon as he began to play, the mood in the club shifted slightly from buzzing to relaxing. The flow of his fingers across the keys drew a lazy melody reminiscent of rainy days and hot coffee; of snuggling under warm blankets, feet intertwined with a lover who danced their fingers across your skin, gently tickling your flesh the way his fingers tickled those keys.

Aizawa Shouta.

Of course you knew his name. The first time you’d heard him play, you’d felt weightless, your body going numb as every sensation coalesced into your chest like the forming of a star. The question of his identity had fallen from your lips before you’d even realized it, and it had been Hizashi who’d answered you, a chuckle on his lips.

Fuck. It felt like he was making love to you through the notes, each key meticulously selected like a carefully-worded love letter. It made your palms sweat against your glass, your breath hitching in your throat as that familiar sensation took you over, holding you hostage.

This. This was probably why none of the people you dated ever seemed to work out. You’d tried… God, you’d tried… some of them were nice, good people. But you couldn’t help but search for that feeling – this feeling – each time you met someone new. And every single time it fell short. It was an impossible standard, an invisible bar that no one was able to jump. Deep down you knew this, yet you couldn’t figure out how to let it go. It was just music, right? Played by a handsome man who didn’t even know you existed. But you didn’t want to let go of this feeling, to settle for someone that made you feel only an inkling of what he made you feel. Or worse, to let it go and be left with emptiness.

You had no solutions. You were trapped in Aizawa’s maze of music, unwilling to find your way out as his notes weaved a cage around your heart.

You lost yourself to his melody, the club around you fading away. Time lost its meaning as you watched his hands dance along the keys, his fingers nimble. His half-lidded eyes were fixed on the instrument before him, his expression neutral. To anyone else watching, he would look almost bored; but you’d seen him play often enough that you’d grown accustomed to reading the nuances of his body language, even across the smoky haze. You knew his look of boredom was really a look of focus as he submerged himself in his art, his hands playing on instinct, a direct link between what he felt and what he expressed.

He loved what he did.

And you loved watching.

Hizashi’s voice interrupted your hypnosis. “Another night solo, huh?”

You took a look at the bartender as he prepped some cocktails for some waiting patrons. He had his wire-framed spectacles on again, the orange tinted ones, the color visible from the white backlight of the bar. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he wore a pinstriped shirt adorned with a black waistcoat.

You chuckled and took a sip of your drink. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You got stood up again?” You shrugged and Hizashi shook his head slightly. “If they ain’t willing to show up, then they ain’t worth your time.”

“Probably more like the other way around, don’t ya think?” you replied wryly.

Hizashi scoffed. “Don’t let them get to you. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

You grinned and set your glass down. “Are you flirting with me, Hizashi?”

He grinned back and winked at you through his spectacles. “Always, darlin’.”

You chuckled and returned your eyes to the stage. “It’s okay…” you said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I stopped trying.”

“Mhm…” Hizashi watched you stare at Aizawa and he raised an eyebrow. “Y’know, I can get you an introduction if you’d like…”

“What??”

“Don’t play coy with me, darlin’. You know who I’m talking about. If you want to meet him, I can introduce you to him. We’re good friends, he and I. Known each other for years.” He commented.

You weren’t surprised by this news… you’d seen Aizawa join Hizashi at the bar on rare occasions after his performance was done. But you’d always been occupied at a table with company when it happened.

Watching him from a distance was one thing. But actually meeting him? Up close? Where you couldn’t hide your girlish infatuation?

You felt your pulse quicken with dread, heat flooding your body. “No, it’s okay. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.”

Hizashi gave you a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses before he shrugged. “Suit yourself, darlin’.”

The blonde stepped away, a new group of customers hollering for his attention. You took a large gulp of your drink hoping it would quell your nerves at the thought of meeting the man on stage. No. You definitely didn’t want to meet him. The last thing you needed was for your interaction with him to be a dud just like it was with all the others, destroying your own secret little fantasy. He was handsome to look at. And you fantasized about his skilled hands when you were in the quiet of your bedroom. But that was all it was; just harmless daydreams over someone you didn’t really know or plan to get to know. Besides, if you’d ever thought you had a chance with him, you certainly wouldn’t be trying to meet people through a dating app.

Gradually the time ticked by as you enjoyed watching the dark-haired man play, Hizashi stopping in to check on you from time to time and place fresh drinks in front of you. You were content for the time being, enjoying the steady buzz you were maintaining as you enjoyed the ambiance. Occasionally you people watched or engaged in conversation with Hizashi when he wasn’t busy… but for the most part, you relaxed as you observed the raven-haired pianist, letting his music ease the tension in your shoulders as the alcohol warmed your bones.

A few hours later, as you were busy talking with Hizashi, the final note on the piano rang out, signaling the end of Aizawa’s shift. The sudden silence hit you like a bucket of ice water, and your eyes darted towards the stage, your heart pumping panic through your veins. You had planned to leave just before his shift ended, just to make sure you didn’t run into him. Maybe it was the daydreaming, or the conversations with Hizashi, or the alcohol... but you’d lost track of time. Now you could only watch and wait to see where he’d end up, hoping beyond hope that he’d disappear like he usually did. Only rarely did he linger for a drink. What were the odds, right?

Tonight was one of those rarities, and you held your breath, your posture going rigid, as he sat himself a mere two seats away from you. He never once looked at you, instead, addressing Hizashi.

“Old Fashioned.” He requested, his voice deep. It sent a shiver down your spine as the blood in your veins turned molten. You knew instantly that that sound was now committed to memory.

“Do you even need to ask?” Hizashi replied with a grin as he slid the drink to him.

You disciplined your eyes to stare at your own drink as if it’d open up a portal for you to escape through. But as much as you struggled to control yourself, the simple gesture of Aizawa reaching for his drink made you break eye contact with your own. Your eyes caught how his fingers circled around his glass, long and surprisingly manicured. You couldn’t help but watch as he brought the drink up to his lips to take a sip, and from there your gaze followed the curve of his mouth, the stubble that framed it, his jawline, his eyes…

Your eyes made contact with his briefly and you quickly looked back down at your drink, your heart pounding in your chest.

Shit. He caught you staring.

You took a couple of deep swigs, forcing the alcohol down your tight throat, letting the burn of it act as a punishment for your violation. This. This was why you didn’t want to meet him. No words had even been shared yet and you were already making a fool of yourself.

“Long night?” Hizashi asked him. In the background, the next performer entered the stage and began to play, and you couldn’t help but strain your ears over the music to listen for Aizawa’s answer.

“I’ve had worse…” Aizawa replied. “You?”

“Busy, but I’m in good company at least.” Hizashi replied. Your heart pounded in your chest as your fingers tightened around your glass. Your eyes darted up to lock with the bartender’s and you caught him smirking at you, his small, pointed mustache following the curve of his upper lip.

He wouldn’t…

Suddenly another customer called for him from the other end of the bar. “Duty calls, friend. Be back in a sec.”

And just like that, you were left alone with him. Aizawa. Your mind froze as it warred with itself between actually talking with him or grabbing your things and running away. Surely Hizashi would understand, right? And you could always pay back your tab later. You took another deep gulp of alcohol in the hopes that it’d burn away some of your cowardice.

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the unwelcome sensation of an unfamiliar hand on the curve of your back made your body go rigid, every muscle poised to fight. A second later, the scent of hot breath laced in the stench of alcohol choked the air around you as an unfamiliar man slid into the open seat between you and the object of your affection.

“Hey there beautiful…” he slurred. “You’ve been by yourself all night… you in need of some company?”

You covered your hand over your glass and shifted away from him slightly, your demeanor cold. “No.”

“Aw, c’mon doll… don’t be like that…” he grinned. “You don’t come here dressed like that for no good reason…”

The man’s hand was still on your back, its presence making your skin crawl. It made the fog of your buzz lifting slightly, your senses suddenly heightened in the presence of a potential threat. Your eyes searched frantically for Hizashi. He had a way of handling drunken idiots. But he was stuck at the other end of the bar still, a drunk woman trying desperately hard to flirt with him.

You were on your own, and this creep clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Your brain started to fabricate worst-case scenarios and planning for them, a million options running through your mind. Screaming. Throwing your drink in his face. A well-placed kick to his shin. Your pepper spray.

Your free hand slipped into your purse, fingers closing around you’re the plastic cylinder. The feel of it gave you a sense of security, even if it might be a last resort. You didn’t really want to use it, especially with Aizawa sitting behind him… you never had to use it before, and you couldn’t guarantee your accuracy, especially in such a tight space.

You watched from the corner of your eye as the man’s free hand reached forward to grasp your own that covered your drink, and your grip around the cylinder tightened, a warning beginning to fall from your lips. But your words were cut short as the man’s hand was suddenly grabbed by familiar, long fingers and bent back at an uncomfortable angle that made the drunk cry out.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the man demanded.

Aizawa took a casual sip of his drink with his free hand while maintaining his grip on the offender, before pinning him with a dangerous glare. “She said no.”

The man’s hand left your back as he struggled to free himself from Aizawa’s grip. “Let go!”

“First you will apologize to her.” Aizawa ordered.

The man sputtered. “For what?!”

You watched in shock as Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. His thumb positioned itself on a digit and began pushing it slowly backward.

“For touching her without permission. For insinuating that her attire makes it acceptable for you to ignore her boundaries. For being a disgusting pig.”

With each statement, he pushed the finger back farther and farther, until the man was buckling to his knees under the pressure in an attempt to alleviate the pain and prevent the digit from breaking.

“Ow ow ow! Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man begged.

Aizawa held him for a moment longer before finally releasing him. “Good. Now get out.”

The man scurried away until he was out of reach before turning around to glare daggers at him. “Hey, fuck you man!” He shouted. But for all of his drunken bravado, he stormed out of the club clutching his sore hand to his chest, as heads turned to watch him leave.

The hum of voices within the club fell silent for a moment, with only the band continuing their music. After the front door closed, the noise of people chattering slowly returned, countless sets of eyes turning back to their tables. Aizawa turned his gaze back to you, the lethal look gone from his dark eyes.

“You okay?”

You nodded mutely, swallowing the dryness in your throat as your sweaty hand released the pepper spray in your purse. Sensations warred within you, momentarily leaving you a confused mess. The speed at which he came to your defense and his willingness to resort to violence on your behalf fueled a carnal need you didn’t even realize you had. But even as hot arousal pooled deep in your gut, your heart still raced from the threat that had been quickly neutralized.

His eyes caught the movement of something over your shoulder and he cursed. “Shit.”

“SHOuTA!” Scolded a feminine voice.

He turned back to his drink, hunching his shoulders. “I told her not to call me that in public.” Aizawa muttered under his breath.

You spun on your stool to see the owner of the bar, Nemuri Kayama approaching, clad in a deep purple business suit with a dangerously low-cut black blouse. She was next to you in a matter of seconds, a cloud of strong perfume enveloping you as she snatched Aizawa’s drink from his hand as he began to raise it to his lips.

“What the hell was that?!” She demanded. “What makes you think you can attack my customers like that?”

“Your customer was harassing this customer.” Aizawa pointed out.

Nemuri looked at you with her lavender eyes as if seeing you for this first time and paused in her verbal assault.

“Is this true?” She asked you.

She had a presence about her that instantly made you find your voice again.

“He was being handsy and wasn’t taking no for an answer.” You confirmed.

“Can I have my drink back now?” Aizawa asked.

She stared back and forth between the two of you for a moment before slamming the glass down in front of him, half of the contents spilling over the side. “Ugh. Fine. But next time ask for one of my bouncers. Or Hizashi. Or me. Anyone but you.”

Aizawa’s mouth curled with a sly grin as he wiped at the spill with a napkin. “And why is that?”

“Because you scare away customers.” She growled.

Aizawa stared into his drink, swirling its remaining contents. “Well maybe you need better customers.” He took a sip.

“I’ll take whoever is willing to pay. Unfortunately for you, this club doesn’t survive off of chivalry.” She crossed her arms. “Besides… it’s less about losing that drunken idiot and more about losing those who saw you almost break his hand.”

“I wasn’t going to break his hand. I was going to break his finger.” Aizawa said.

You stifled a chuckle with a bite of your lip.

Nemuri rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Don’t try to make it sound like that makes it any better. And you!” She pointed at Hizashi, who had conveniently shown up not a minute before. “You know better than to leave him alone like this!”

“I can either be a bartender or a babysitter, love. I can’t do both.” Hizashi replied as he polished a glass.

Nemuri grumbled under her breath before turning her gaze back to you. “I apologize for Aizawa’s violent behavior.” “Oh I didn’t mind…” you confessed with a small smile, and you could feel Aizawa’s eyes flicker to you briefly.

“And I apologize for the inappropriate customer. Alcohol is no excuse for harassment. I guarantee he won’t be returning to this club any time soon.” She looked at Hizashi. “Get her a fresh drink.”

“Already on it…” He replied, sliding a new glass to you and removing your old one.

She looked back at you. “And your drinks are on the house tonight.”

“Thank you.” You replied.

Nemuri gave a satisfied nod. “Now I need to go schmooze the rest of our frightened patrons, which is exactly how I didn’t want to spend my evening.” With a final glare at the two men, she stormed off, her pointed heels clicking on the hard floor.

You stared at your new drink for a moment, the desire for it lost now. “Hizashi, can I have a glass of water?”

“Sure thing, darlin’.” Hizashi replied and placed a chilled glass in front of you.

You thanked him and took a sip followed by a long, deep breath. Aizawa moved into the now-vacant seat next to you, and you welcomed the closeness. The gesture felt protective, a warning to anyone else who was dumb enough to try their luck with you after that display. Noticing the closer proximity between the two of you, Hizashi quickly made himself scarce again.

“Thank you…” you said to Aizawa as your finger traced patterns into the condensation on the glass.

“It was nothing…” he replied. There was a long silence before he spoke again. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

You looked at him with surprise then. Scared? No. Aroused? Definitely. The dampness of your panties were evidence enough of that, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Not at all.” You confessed. “I actually really appreciate it.”

Aizawa’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you asked. “You were so fast…”

Aizawa gave a small grin. “Piano isn’t the only thing I’m good at…”

You had no difficulty believing that…

“Were you a bouncer or something at one point?” you asked curiously.

Aizawa chuckled. “Yeah, something like that…” he took a swig of his drink, the ice in it clinking. The amber colored liquid was nearly gone now.

His response only gave you more questions, but you forced them down. There was a fine line between being curious and nosey, and you were too worried of crossing it, thus ending your conversation with him.

“You’re a regular here.” He commented.

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement. He recognized you. You averted your eyes away in embarrassment, feeling suddenly exposed, your anonymity blown. How long had he noticed you’d been coming here? Did he know how closely you watched him?

“Yeah.” You confessed, as you took another sip of water. The alcohol next to it was calling to you, promising to ease your anxiety, but you refrained for the moment. You wanted to keep your wits about you while you talked to him.

“No company tonight?” he asked.

Oh. He watched you more closely than you ever realized. You weren’t sure whether you were feeling embarrassed or aroused. Was it possible to feel both?

“Not this time. I got stood up.” You replied.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.” He said, looking into his empty glass.

You gave a dry laugh. “True. I’ve dodged lots of bullets lately.”

Aizawa chuckled. “I believe it…”

Contrary to his outward aloof demeanor, he was nice. You could feel the tension in your body start to dissipate as words came easier.

“If you ever think you want to try a dating app, don’t.” you commented. “It makes for good stories, but sometimes it really makes you want to give up on humanity.”

That earned an honest laugh as he looked at you with a grin. “Well now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. This actually wasn’t so bad…

With amusement, you began to recount some of your more outlandish dating disasters with him, letting him in on the world of online dating from a woman’s perspective. Aizawa listened with quiet interest, making the occasional wry joke or, for the more serious cases, wearing a deep frown of disapproval. He was a good listener, and the conversation flowed easier than you had expected, words falling from your mouth without a second thought. It felt natural. Comfortable. And for the first time in a while, you felt like yourself. After you ran out of stories, Aizawa offered a couple of his own, and you found yourself laughing at his own tales of dating woes. As Aizawa talked, Hizashi stopped by to quietly replace his empty drink before disappearing again, a pleased smile on his face. His brief presence reminded you of your own glass pooling condensation on the paper coaster beneath it, and you returned to sipping its contents, once again finding the buzz you had been enjoying as you listened to Aizawa.

The time passed by as the two of you talked about the stress of dating and relationships. You’d learned that Aizawa rarely dated, but would occasionally have to endure awkward matchups thanks to Hizashi and Nemuri. You learned how much of a private person he was, how he generally avoided dating culture entirely in favor of letting life play out on its own. Everything about him exuded a man of experience and maturity, a man comfortable in his own skin and content with his life. You couldn’t help but admire him as you soaked in every little detail that you’d wanted to know, committing every little bit of information he offered up to memory. He was everything you’d imagined; kind, respectful, and serious with a sly sense of humor that he only shared once he was feeling comfortable.

Once the topic was exhausted, you sighed. “I think I’m done with dating.” You confessed. “I’ll just resign myself to my singlehood.”

Aizawa pinned you with a pensive look. “Is that what you want?”

Something about the tone of his voice made your pulse race with excitement.

“Well… It’s better than being repeatedly disappointed.” You gave him a side glance as you took sip of your drink. “But if the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Hm… the right guy…” Aizawa muttered as he returned his gaze to his glass.

Your statement was a bold one, filled with invitation. You hadn’t exactly planned for it to come out that way, but it was too late to take those words back now. You quickly tried to turn the topic back to him. “How about you? Any special someone for you?”

He chuckled. “No. No special someone. Not yet, at least.”

The words fell from his mouth like breadcrumbs leading to a secret as he eyed you over the rim of his glass. You felt lightheaded and warm, the tips of your fingers buzzing with numbness. Maybe it was the half-finished drink in your hand. Or maybe it was the look in Aizawa’s eyes that made you feel drunk, the Earth spinning under your feet as you mentally struggled to find some sort of purchase to keep from falling.

Was he…?

Hope held you captive and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close you were to him. Your eyes traced the scruff on his jawline, the stitching of his shirt, the slope of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. A stray strand of hair had come loose from his half-ponytail and was hanging over his forehead, begging to be touched. Your fingers twitched. If you reached out to tuck it back into place, would he let you?

You couldn’t muster the courage and averted your eyes. You were filled with alcohol and infatuation, you reasoned. Your defenses were down, your judgment potentially impaired… what if you were reading into something that wasn’t there? What if you were wrong?

You watched Hizashi close out a tab for an older couple as you took a sip of your water.

Warmth pressed against your forearm and looked down to see Aizawa’s arm resting against yours. All of your attention honed in on the softness of his shirtsleeve and the warmth of his skin as his hand fiddled with a paper coaster, flipping it over and over with each tap on the counter. The contact was intentional, calculated in its subtle intimacy. It was a silent question… a tentative invitation, absent of assumptions or expectations. Your doubt evaporated like mist and you understood.

He was interested. In you.

Your heart did a somersault in your chest as you sat there, stunned. Time froze as everything that’d transpired throughout the evening flitted through your mind. It was a perfect amalgamation of circumstances, leading to this single moment, giving you the one thing you wanted most. You held your breath as you stood on the precipice, uncertain if your next step would make you fall or let you fly.

You stared at the contact and carefully… slowly… brushed your pinky along the back of his hand. It traced the vein that stood out there, following it to the knuckle. His own hand let go of the coaster his was holding, his own pinky linking with yours in affirmation.

You couldn’t help the elated smile that spread across your face in that moment and when you looked up at him with a shy glance, he had a smile of his own, small and secretive as he stared at your linked fingers. Slowly the rest of his fingers followed, twining themselves into yours until he held your hand, his thumb brushing sensually against your skin. That single action alone was enough to reignite the fire in your loins, your blood racing through your veins from the epicenter of his touch.

Hizashi’s voice crashed through your private, titillating moment. “We’re closing up, lovebirds…”

Your hand pulled away from Aizawa’s on instinct as you looked around the now empty club. Only staff remained, finalizing the last bit of cleanup and arranging the furniture for the next day. How had it gotten so late so fast?

“You want me to walk you to your car?” Hizashi asked, a knowing grin on his face.

In all that had happened that evening, you’d forgotten about that little arrangement. But you weren’t ready to leave just yet…

Aizawa’s voice answered before yours could. “Leave me the keys to the place. I’ll walk her tonight and lock up when we leave.”

“Suit yourself.” Hizashi replied with a shrug. He placed a set of keys on the counter. “Don’t tell Nemuri, though. She’ll kill me.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, friend.” Aizawa replied.

With that, Hizashi gave a small salute, grabbed his coat, and left. You watched, your heart pounding as the door closed behind him, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

You were alone with Aizawa. Completely and utterly alone.

Your turned back to face him and froze. Aizawa still sat on his stool, but he faced you now with an elbow propped against the counter, and that simple distinction made his presence fill your space. He stared at you, the look in his eyes unfettered now, deep and hungry. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” He complimented.

With the way the words fell from his mouth and curled warmly into your chest like a cat, you believed him. You felt beautiful.

“Thank you.” You said with a soft smile. “You look handsome yourself, Aizawa.”

He took your hand again and slowly began to lean forward, closing the small distance between you. “Call me Shouta.”

You swallowed. “Shouta.” You whispered, feeling the name on your lips.

His dark pupils dilated and you felt his other hand on your jawline, warm, long fingers wrapping towards the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft as his stubble tickled your skin, and you leaned into it fervently, your hands finding their home on his chest. You could feel his toned muscles beneath the black cotton and a purr found its way to the back of your throat. Shouta took it as an invitation, coming off of his barstool to stand between your now parted legs, his arm wrapping itself around your waist as his tongue slid along your lips. You opened your mouth eagerly to taste the bourbon there, to feel the wet muscle dance and slide against your own. Every touch, every taste, every smell enveloped you further and further in the essence that was Shouta until your entire body was singing, teetering on the edge.

Oh God… you were not going to let yourself cum just by kissing him.

You pulled out of the kiss slightly as your hands pressed gently against his chest, and he retreated from you just enough for his eyes to search your face, a silent question in them.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…” your words fell pitifully from your flushed, wet mouth, your voice shaky with pent-up arousal.

One second longer. One second longer is all it would have taken…

Shouta’s hand on your back began to rub soft, slow circles. “Would you like some water?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before handing you your glass. You drank greedily before handing it back to him, half-empty.

“Have you ever been kissed like that?” he asked curiously, as he placed the glass back down onto the counter.

You gave a small laugh and shook your head. “No… not like that.”

Your confession left you feeling embarrassed, even as your chest felt it would burst from this latest turn of events.

You kissed Aizawa Shouta.

Actually, he kissed you.

You needed a moment to collect yourself, to process everything you were feeling.

So, you completely changed the subject.

“How long have you been playing piano?” you asked.

Shouta didn’t miss a beat, returning to sit on his stool to give you the space you silently needed. But his hand still held yours, resting on the counter as his fingers twined with yours. It gave you a sense of reassurance, that everything was okay, despite your awkward hesitation.

“My grandpa had one when I was a kid. Used to mess around on it.” He explained. “He finally got me lessons from a guy he knew, and I’ve loved it ever since.”

You smiled as you watched his thumb trace across each of your fingernails. You returned the gesture, tracing the details of his own hand. It was like living a dream, to see them up close and feel them, every fingernail, every vein, even the pads of his fingertips. The number of times you’d fantasized about these hands…

“I always wanted to learn how to play, but my family could never afford lessons.” You confessed. “But my mom used to have all of these old jazz albums, and I used to sit in my room and listen to them for hours.”

“I can teach you.”

Your fingers stopped their tracing. “What?”

“I can teach you.” He repeated.

You shook your head. “Um, no it’s okay… I’d probably be a terrible student anyway.”

“A student can only be as bad as the person teaching them. Follow me.”

Before you could protest further, Shouta’s hand closed around yours and pulled you from your seat. He led you up the steps of the stage and across it until you reached the black piano sitting forlornly in the empty space.

It felt strange being up on the stage, especially with the club being completely empty. The stage light was bright and warm on your shoulders, and the silence sounded different there, affected by the difference in acoustics.

Shouta sat at one end of the black bench and pulled you down by your hand until you were sitting next to him. The bench was small, meant for only one person, so you had to press yourself against him to be able to sit without feeling like you were going to fall off. Even then, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but you endured, if only to be close to him.

He released your hand and began his instruction.

“First thing you should know is how to find middle C. Everything else will center around this.” He pressed the white key with the thumb of his right hand, the note singing out into the empty space. “Then, it’s D, E, F, G, A, B, which brings you back to C. That creates an octave, also known as a scale.” He played each note as he spoke.

“What about the black keys?” you asked curiously.

“Those are the half notes. Don’t worry about those right now.” He arranged his hand back how he initially had it, his thumb on the middle C key.

“Now,” he continued, “First, you must learn how to move your fingers along the keys. Like this.” Shouta demonstrated the motion again, his fingers playing each note slowly in a steady rhythm. “The switch of the fingers is important. It will help you flow quickly and easily without having to watch where your hands are, which will be important for reading sheet music.” He repeated the motion again, the sounds once again ringing out. Then, he removed his hand. “Your turn.”

You bit your lip and placed your hand how you’d seen his arranged and tried. The notes were clumsy, lacking in rhythm and falling together as you forgot in your nervous haze where the switch of the fingers happened. Embarrassment flooded you and you withdrew your hand.

“Don’t expect to get it right on the first try.” He reassured. “Let’s try it again. Try to keep your fingers loose, curved like a bowl.”

Shouta modeled it again. You watched, but your focus was muddled with anxiety, attraction, and likely alcohol. It was a poor recipe for learning, but you knew he was trying to make you feel comfortable, and you didn’t want to turn down his kindness. You arranged your hand back on the keys again and tried again, with little improvement.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered as you clutched your hand in your lap protectively.

His hand covered yours and you looked up at him to see him staring at you with warm patience. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to do this, we can stop.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open as you thought about it. You knew he wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to quit. And sure, you felt silly being so poor at it when sitting next to someone who’s skills you idolized.

But did you really want to stop? How often would you get an opportunity like this?

“No, it’s okay. Keep going, I want to learn.” You replied.

Shouta watched you for a moment longer before he placed his hand back on the keys. “Place your hand over mine.”

You followed his instructions, your hand looking small compared to his. His skin was warm, and it calmed the shaking in your fingers.

“Watch where the fingers land. Feel how they move.” He played the notes, and you could feel the tendons of his hand tense and shift, his fingers rising and falling like a wave.

“It’s like they’re dancing.” You said. “You switch to your thumb on this key… E?”

“Yes.” Shouta replied in approval. “Your turn.”

This time you focused, remembering the feel of how his hand had moved under yours as you played the keys, switching your fingers at the right time. The improvement was noticeable.

He smiled. “Good. Now, for the other hand. You’ll start one octave lower. Can you find it?”

Your arm crossed Aizawa’s chest to press the white key, letting the sound ring out.

“Perfect. Only this time, your pinky will sit on this key, with the others following after.”

You placed your fingers across the white keys. “Like this?”

Shouta nodded. “Now you’ll try the same progression with your left hand. The middle finger will follow after the thumb plays the G note.”

You removed your hand so he could place his own and demonstrate it for you. You followed after him, imitating his actions, but this time your attempt was worse than your first, your hand angled awkwardly due to limited space as you pressed yourself against him.

“That was terrible.” You laughed. “I can’t reach very easily.”

A small mischievous smile formed on Shouta’s lips and he slipped his hand around your waist.

“Come here.” He said.

You didn’t fight him as he pulled you into his lap. His right hand settled itself against your stomach as his legs parted slightly to make room for yours, your knees drawn together between his. The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, weaving a tight knot of desire deep in your core that made your body go rigid as you tried to keep yourself from melting against him.

“Is this okay?” He asked, leaning slightly to see your face from his position behind you.

You licked your lips and swallowed, giving a nod. “Y-Yes…” you answered shakily. “Are you okay…? I’m not too heavy?”

Shouta gave a soft laugh. “No. Not at all.” His breath was hot against your skin and you could feel the scratch of his stubble as he spoke, sending goosebumps over your body. “Let’s continue.”

He placed his left hand on the keys again with ease, regardless of how poor his view of the piano was with you in front of him. He knew this instrument like the back of his hand; could probably play it with his eyes closed and never miss a note.

He played the simple notes again, C through B, fingers tip-toeing across the keys as he said their names out loud, helping you to remember them. You watched carefully for where the shift in finger arrangement happened, the middle finger following after the thumb just as he’d described.

“You try.” He instructed, his right arm still wrapped around your waist, holding you close against him. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back now, feel the strength of his body beneath you.

You loved this. The lap-sitting, the lesson, the praise. Each time Shouta praised your improvements it sent a thrill through you from your head down to your toes. To be complimented by him, even for something as simple as pressing a few keys… it only made you want to please him more.

You played the progression of notes with renewed motivation, once again showing improvement from your first attempt.

“Good.”

Your spine straightened against him slightly. The thumb of his hand caressed your abdomen where he held you.

“Now you need to learn to do the same but in reverse, until you’re back where your fingers started.”

You moved your hand away to let him demonstrate and his right hand left your stomach, leaving an ache in its wake. You watched both of his hands play the simple notes up and down, working together with ease. But you knew it was all a ruse… he made it look easy, but if you tried to do the same, you’d fumble clumsily.

“I don’t know about this…” you chuckled.

“It takes practice,” he replied, “until it becomes muscle memory.”

Shouta demonstrated it again, up and down. And again.

You placed your hands over his, wanting to feel the touch of his hands under yours more than the actual pressing of the keys. All you wanted was his arm around your waist again, his hand on your lower abdomen. His touch was tantalizing, and you wanted more of it.

He completed the simple scale progression two more times with your hands on top of his.

“Do you want to try?” he offered.

His hands left the keys to hold you again, his arms wrapped more tightly around you this time. You leaned against him, reveling in being held in his arms.

“I’m going to mess up.” You warned.

“Just take it slow.”

You shook your head a little and let out a small breath, shifting your position in his lap slightly as you leaned forward to focus on the keys. His arms loosened around you, his hands shifting to your thighs.

It was likely an innocent action, intended to give you the freedom to move as you made yourself comfortable. But as soon as the tips of his fingers touched the bare skin below the hem of your dress, that sharp zap of arousal tingled the ends of your nerves, causing you to suck in air and part your knees slightly, your walls throbbing in hopeful anticipation.

It wasn’t intentional. Your body just… reacted. But Shouta noticed instantly.

There was silence at first, his hands still on your thighs, waiting. Finally, he spoke. “Y/N….” his voice was huskier now. “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for?”

Embarrassment flooded through you. Embarrassment at your sensitivity to his touch, embarrassment at the answer to his question... You hesitated a moment before words fell clumsily from your mouth. “I, um… a long time.”

A low hum rumbled from Shouta’s chest as his fingers brushing gently along the inside of your thighs until they dipped just beneath the black fabric. The action was experimental, a testing of the waters, and it brought immediate results. Your thighs widened the slightest bit more as you failed to fight back a whimper, your hands grasping his arms in need. Not a moment later you could feel the growing firmness of his cock begin to press against your backside, despite the restriction of Shouta’s jeans. Shouta’s hands halted again their movement, waiting. He was miraculously under control despite his obvious arousal, and you envied him.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice low.

Of course you did. It was obvious you did. Why else would your legs be parting like the red sea as if he were Moses?

But for some reason, your body language wasn’t enough for him. He needed to hear it. A sense of urgency filled you, desperate need driving you. At this point, you’d give him whatever he wanted…

“Yes.” you begged. “Please, Shouta... Please touch me.” You leaned back against him, allowing the angle of your hips to tilt as your hands guided him further beneath the skirt of your dress.

With you draped onto him, your head tilted back, Shouta kissed the curve of your neck as his hands gently gripped the insides of your knees, pulling your legs apart until they were draped over his own. You were open for him now, your skirt hiked halfway up by the spread of your legs.

Your heart pounded in your chest with so much excitement that you could feel your own pulse in your neck and between your legs. This was happening… This was really happening… How many times had you fantasized about this very thing? How many times had you longed for this man, whispered his name on your tongue only to be met by the empty silence? And now here he was, freeing you from the shackles of your loneliness in the best way possible.

Shouta’s hands pushed the fabric up the rest of the way until it was pooled around your hips, exposing your panties. The thin cotton fabric did little to protect your aching cunt from the cold air, and you sucked air through your teeth at the sensation. His fingers traced invisible lines up the inside of your thighs, leaving nothing but singing nerves in their wake that cascaded into a shiver that rolled over your flesh, leaving goosebumps. Your body was already moving of its own volition, hips rolling, eager for Shouta’s fingers yet simultaneously attempting to grind down onto his restrained cock. Your breaths were already coming in hot and ragged, every inch of you frantic for the release that it had been denied all evening.

Shouta gave a low growl, his left hand holding down your hip, halting your movements. “You better stop that…” he warned.

No doubt your girating was making things difficult for him on his end. But you didn’t care. You were an unfettered, horny mess now.

A whine escaped your lips at his restriction. In response, Shouta’s left hand trailed up the length of your body, caressing over your breast before finding its home on your neck. His palm was against your voice box now, his fingers long enough to wrap around your throat and reach your jaw. There was no force in his hold, but it still held power over you, ushering your body into stillness while your chest heaved with heavy breaths.

“Patience.” He whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Shouta followed up his words with more gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulder… wherever his lips could reach with you on his lap. The feel of his hand on your throat was a reminder of who was in control. But it was also a promise - a promise to ensure your needs would be met.

Once Shouta was sure he had your compliance, his right hand travelled the remaining distance of your inner thigh to arrive at your panties, where moist heat greeted him.

A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your back. “You’re so wet.”

A pitiful “yes” was all you could muster before the tips of his fingers brushed gently against your clothed sex, stealing your voice and replacing it with a gasp.

Slowly Shouta pet you, his fingers stroking gentle circles over the wet cotton, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath. With his hand still on your neck, you kept your body torturously motionless as he gradually increased the pressure of his digits, reducing his speed as he passed over your clit to drag the pads of his fingers over the bundle of nerves.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, the action causing your throat to press against his hand. “Please…” you begged. “I can’t…”

Shouta was strict, but not cruel. He obliged, slipping his fingers beneath the cotton to swim his digits into your juices, never breaking his circular, rhythmic motion over your slick entrance. The scent of your arousal surrounded both of you, thick and heavy.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he growled against your skin.

Two of his fingers dipped into you then, slow at first, allowing you to stretch around him as your walls quivered. Your thighs tensed at the intrusion, welcoming the stinging pressure as your core burned with fire. He withdrew his fingers slowly and you lifted your head to watch in carnal fascination to see his fingers shining wet down to the knuckles. He pushed them into you again, curling his fingers towards the sensitive, spongey tissue along the top of your walls, his thumb pressing down on your wet clit. A zap of stimulation fired from your core before fizzling away, a teasing warning of what was to come.

“Oh-Oh fuck…” you gasped as one hand reached back and grabbed a fistful of Shouta’s thick, dark hair.

He picked up his pace then, his thumb driving firm circles around your swollen pearl as the sounds of your wet hole being finger-fucked filled the silence of the empty stage. With each pass of his thumb, with each curl of his fingers, the heat grew hotter, your cunt swollen and burning with the need for release. Your thighs were tensed so tightly now that it made your legs lift and you had to brace your feet against the piano, discordant notes ringing out to join the sounds of your heavy pants and wet squelching in a lewd song. Shouta’s hand left your throat to hold you under your thigh to keep you steady as his other hand worked fast and hard to unravel you. With the absence of his touch on your neck, you were free to move your hips, grinding hard into his hand, his lap, whatever part of him you were touching. Your grip on his hair tightened, mirroring the tension building within you, clinging to him like the boughs of a tree knowing that any second the flood would come.

Shouta was your lifeline, your rock, your destroyer. You were the waves and he was the shore, and your body tensed to prepare itself to crash against him.

“Come on, baby…” Shouta whispered gruffly. “I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

You came with a cry, loud and frantic as your walls clamped down on his fingers. The ball of heat that you had been carrying like a stone exploded within you, incinerating every nerve from the inside out, leaving nothing but sweet, sharp, euphoria in its wake. Your walls spasmed repeatedly, sucking greedily on Shouta’s drenched fingers, as you cried and moaned, bucked and arched. Shouta’s arm was around your waist, holding you against him to keep you from sliding off of his lap as you rode the high of your orgasm, tumbling like a waterfall over and over again to finally become a puddle in his strong arms.

Shouta held you silently against him as your body twitched with aftershocks of pleasure. Once your spasms subsided and he was sure you wouldn’t fall from your perch, Shouta released his hold around your waist to draw his fingers up and down your arm, creating goosebumps under his gentle touch. His fingers were still in you, his hand cupped between your legs. The warmth of his touch on your tired cunt was comforting, and it brought forth a content moan from your parted lips. Shouta smiled as he planted another kiss on your shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that with him. But you finally made yourself sit up when you felt sleep starting to drag you down into its murky depths, your limbs feeling heavy.

Finally, Shouta spoke. “Better?” he asked.

You gave a laugh. “Much.” You looked down at yourself in amusement. “You made a mess of me, though…”

Shouta gave a satisfied hum and stared at his hand that held you. “I like you messy.” He stated.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” you teased.

He laughed and withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick coating them onto his jeans. “As much as I like that idea, no.” He adjusted your ruined underwear and the hem of your dress back into place before turning you around in his lap. His hands were planted on your rear, keeping you securely and comfortably in place. “It’s late. We should get you home.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. “What about you?” you asked, your eyes glancing down to his lap. Your hands began to trail down his chest to reach the button of his pants, eager to reciprocate.

Shouta smiled at you and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to plant kisses on your palms. “Tonight was about you. There’ll be more opportunities for both of us later.” You pouted and he chuckled. “Don’t give me that face.”

“It hardly seems fair…” you muttered. You were looking forward to enjoying more of him… you didn’t want tonight to end.

He hummed as he began to trail kisses along your jawline and you arched your neck to allow him better access. “We both… need sleep.”

Sleep? With his mouth on your skin, sleep was the last thing on your mind. Shouta pulled his lips away to look into your eyes again and you could see the fatigue there, dark circles framing bloodshot eyes. He really did look incredibly tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder how late it really was. You brushed the errant strand of hair off of his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

“Okay...” you softly agreed.

“You should come back tomorrow night.” He mused, the mischief back in his eyes. “We can continue our piano lessons.”

“I’d like that.” you smiled.

You couldn’t wait.

#aizawa shouta #Shouta Aizawa #Aizawa x reader #Aizawa x you #shouta x reader #Shouta x you #bnha smut #mha smut #aizawa smut #bnharem collab #Jazz Aizawa #Jazz AU #Music AU #BNHA music AU

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

A Wife For Thor Pt.01

10/12/2020

Arrivals and Departures

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 6,990

Warnings: language, talks of death, angst, talks of sex,

A/N: This is seriously...I mean, I don’t even know where this came from. Credits to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor because Roo gave me the idea and I kinda ran with it. Like omg, y’all. Blame Roo. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo Dialogue from Thor Ragnarok has been used in the beginning of this story.

Please do not REPOST my stories anywhere. Reblogs are most welcome!

He stands with his arms crossed in what appears to be a small sitting room with a large window that opens to the sublime sight of the black space beyond. Sterling silver, radiant red, and brilliant blue stars twinkle into infinity.

This is a sight that Thor had seen many times before and yet, for the first time in an age, he felt hopeful for the future.

His fight had ended. With Ragnarok, his journey had reached an end. Not the end, but certainly that of a chapter I which his battles might rest.

He imagines that this might be how his father felt when he had taken charge of the nine realms.

However violent that takeover might have been, his father had lied about many things—his sister for one—it had been the beginning of a quieter reign. A new formative time for his father. He may not have been a perfect man, but he’d grown wiser in many ways. Still not the best father, but his father, nonetheless.

Thor can almost picture his life on Earth, a time of peace. A time to rebuild. He will be able to give his people a good life there and he’s certain that his friends will appreciate having him closer. Friends from work they may be, but friends.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to Earth?” Loki asks, standing beside him with his hands held gently at his front.

Thor looks at him, waiting a moment to allow him to finish speaking.

“Yes, of course.” Thor assures him. “The people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”

Loki takes a breath, looking out the window as he quickly accepts his brother’s reasoning while simultaneously realizing he must word this differently to get his point across.

“Let me rephrase that.” Loki begins, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”

Thor knows that Loki has a point. His history with Earth is…not perfect. To say the least.

“Probably not, to be honest.” He admits, noting Loki’s apprehension.

Loki smiles, a little knowing.

“I wouldn’t worry, brother.” Thor tells him, both turning back to the void outside. “I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”

The moment seems endless, the two of them waiting as if the something should or might happen after Thor’s optimistic sentiments.

Then the moment passes and Loki sighs.

“Right, well, I’ll start rounding up the people who will be of the most use once we arrive.”

Thor gives his brother one parting smile but doesn’t watch him leave.

Thor doesn’t know exactly what has changed in him, what makes him so confident in this decision, but he knows it’s the best decision he could have made. And if he’s honest, though he’d never admit it out loud, the possibility of finally being on the same planet as Jane…well, he’d be a fool not to consider the possibilities.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something feels different today.

As you wake, turning onto your side to stare across the small room at the blinking line on the blank word document on your computer screen, you can’t quite put your finger on what is making you nervous.

Your stomach is rolling, making you queasy, despite the fact that you have no reason to be anxious.

Yesterday was like the day before and today will be just like yesterday. Nothing in your life ever changes, and that’s become so much of who you are that whenever you have even a doctor’s appointment your heart begins to race in dreaded anticipation.

With trembling hands you clutch your blanket, trying to find a reason behind this mood. Your breath quickens as your heart panics, your mind scrambling to make sense of these emotions but nothing comes to mind.

So, you get out of bed. You get dressed choosing a simple knee length black dress that fits loose enough to keep you comfortable throughout the day. Then you head into the kitchen and start the coffee pot.

Halfway through the brew you shut the machine off and rush to dump out its contents into the sink.

“Fuck.”

You sigh, realizing you should really invest in decaf coffee for morning just like this.

“Tea. Tea is better.” You rationalize and pull your kettle off the warmer and fill it in the sink.

You replace it in its dock then turn your back to it, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you lean against it.

Your fingers stroke the smooth and unvarnished wooden countertop, suddenly going rigid around the lip as your heart goes frantic again.

The island counter directly in front of you is made of the same unvarnished wood, a slightly mismatched chair on the other side, tucked in beside the open shelving that holds your pots and pans. Along the center of the island sits a small vase with nearly completely withered flowers.

You’re filled with relief as your hands are given new task and you hurry forward and take the clear glass vase, toss the flowers—which crumble as they hit yesterday’s empty cereal box—dump the water in the sink and quickly refill it.

Setting the vase aside, you pull open a drawer and pluck from an array of contents a small packet of flower food, a pair of small pruners, a long piece of twine, and head out the back door to your modest backyard.

There isn’t much in it, and it’s unfenced. A large tree at the back-left corner provides shade and pecans. In the center of the yard sits a set of antique iron work garden furniture. Twisted and shaped into what reminds you of lace. Two smaller chairs and one long bench with curved backs.

You’ve been of a mind to buy cushions for them, but you haven’t found an excuse to justify the expense.

In between the garden set sits an outdoor coffee table made of wood and painted white. It’s fading and will need a new coat soon but again the expense can wait. At least until you sell another story.

Apart from this set and a small wooden shed beside the pecan tree, your yard is mostly overgrown grass and carefully cultivated flowers lining the length of your narrow back porch.

You smile, noticing the length of your grass, grateful for another something to keep you busy today. Something to keep your mind off this mysterious and anxious premonition of something to come.

Quickly you move to a large blooming bush at the end of your porch and cut from it several bunches of pink and blue garden phlox.

You admire the shade of the blue flowers. The color reminds you a pair of blue eyes you’d once seen on a woman who’d come to your school as a child.

She’d been beautiful and kind, but she hadn’t picked you. Still, you’d never forgotten the color of her eyes.

The pink is pastel at the edges of its petals and vibrant magenta at the center.

As you head back in, the kettle only barely beginning to steam, you quickly arrange the bunches you’ve picked and wrap them up with the twine. You set the bushel aside and with the vase pulled close, you tear the packet of flower food with your teeth and pour it in.

Replacing the flowers, you give the kettle one more look before you race back into your bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for cutting the grass.

You decide on a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Pulling them on, you pause with your shirt hooked around your arms as your eyes find your laptop screen, annoyingly black still.

With a groan you pull your shirt on and from the kitchen you hear the whistle.

Breakfast is simple. A store-bought muffin and a cup of breakfast tea do the trick and while you’re still chewing your last bite you head out to cut your grass.

It doesn’t take you too long and you lament the last bit as you cut it, the machine vibrating violently in your nervous grip.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself, this feeling of something terrible coming will not go away and you’re about to go out of your mind when a shout from your back door pulls your mind from it.

Standing there is an older man with an unconventionally handsome face. His lips are thin, cheekbones prominent, brown eyes sunken, and his nose long and defined. His dark hair slicked and parted, neatly kept to match his crisp navy suit.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” You shout at him as the whirr of the machine dies into silence.

The man moves towards you, a smile brightening his face.

“I was just at a meeting.” He explains.

“Do you ever stop working?” You wonder, pushing the lawn mower towards the shed as he follows.

“Only when I’m on vacation.” He tells you, amusement in his voice but subdued and you only hear it because you’ve known him for years.

“You don’t take vacations.” You sputter, almost laughing.

“Precisely.” He agrees.

He waits for you to shut the door and when you turn, he greets you with open arms.

“How have you been?” He asks, holding the hug for longer than you’re used to which only adds to the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning.

What’s going on?!

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, ignoring his question in favor of satisfying your curiosity.

He doesn’t answer but holds the hug a moment longer before pulling back to look at you.

“We have to talk.” He tells you, making your heart pound.

“Okay. You want some breakfast?” You offer, and swallow hard as your fear mounts.

“Sure.” He says and follows you inside.

You make him a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and buttered toast with a cup of coffee. Just because you can’t stand the idea of being hyped up on caffeine today doesn’t mean David won’t.

He digs right in while you stand on the other side of the island, sipping on your second cup of tea in hopes that it will ease your frayed nerves.

For a few minutes he gobbles down your food but when you shift on your feet for the fourth time, he clears his throat, takes a drink of his coffee, then puts his fork down.

“It’s not exactly bad news.” He assures you, easing you a little but something tells you that you still won’t like it.

“Just tell me, David.”

“As your lawyer,” He begins, sitting back in your old wobbly chair. “It’s my duty to inform you when there are developments with your family’s estate.”

“Right.” You agree, remembering the day he’d found you when you’d turned eighteen to tell you that you weren’t exactly as poor as you’d thought.

You’re not really rich either. You have a little money that your parents set aside for you. Old money that you hadn’t really touched. You use it mostly for bills when you can’t sell a story fast enough and most of your wealth is in this cottage. A family home that you’d had no idea was yours until David brought you here.

Finally, a home, after living in that school all those years.

“Well, I think it might be time to reveal a little more of that estate’s history.”

“Why?” You put down the floral porcelain cup and wrap your arms around yourself, afraid of what he’ll say.

How did you know that something was coming? What kind of sixth sense do you have?!

“After all this time, why would it matter?” You sigh, moving to pull out the second chair to his right on the shorter end of the island.

“Don’t panic.” He tells you, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Let’s keep our heads. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“You say that, but why do I feel like that’s not exactly true?” You sigh.

He blinks, gathering his thoughts before he nods.

“I think I’ll tell you all at once. Like ripping a band-aid. Might be the easiest for you.” He realizes.

You don’t disagree.

“Your family comes from a very small people in Europe. Their origins are hard to trace but we know that they travelled between France, Norway, Denmark, Romania, Belgium, Sweden, Austria, Greece, and even spent a large amount of time in hiding in the United Kingdom.”

“I get it, they were nomads.” You sigh, your mood taking a turn from the anticipation of clarity.

“Yes. Nomads.” David agrees, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. “I only mention it because there are many questions as to where they had originated from. No one seems to know. Unfortunately, I don’t think that question will ever be answered as all records before their stint in France have been lost.

“What we do know is that your ancestors, your bloodline are royalty.” David says, as easily as if he were telling you your age. “Even though the titles have long since been lost, you are technically—though you have no country to rule over—a princess.”

Slowly his words sink in and your face begins to relax. You look down at his hand over yours and without warning you laugh once. Then again, and again, until you’re leaning on your chair, head thrown back as your whole body shakes with it.

“What is so funny?” David asks, unamused but he goes back to eating.

“This is a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg.” You gasp, breath shallow.

“Not one little bit.” He shakes his head. “If we knew what country your ancestors came from, you would very much be in some palace or castle, reigning over your people. Your parents, were they alive, would have been King and Queen.

“You may not think it possible, but that is your legacy, Y/N. You are of royal blood.” David insists which sobers you a little, but you think it’s so silly that this is what you’d been so scared of.

This is what you’d been dreading?

“Okay. Fine. I believe you. But what does it matter? You said that if I still had a country then I would be princess, but clearly, I don’t. So, I’m not. What’s the point of telling me this when it makes absolutely no difference to my life?

“I don’t feel any different and it’s not like that makes me any richer? I’m still sitting on a decently sized fortune to assure that I don’t want for anything at least until my forties. What could this possibly change that you felt it necessary to tell me?”

David wipes his mouth with his napkin, finishing up the last bit of his coffee before he gets up and with his dirty plates moves towards the sink.

“Leave it, David. I’ll clean up later.” You watch him, sitting up a little straighter as that anxious feeling begins to grow again with his extended silence.

He washes the plate and as he does, your nerves begin to fray again. You anxiously pick at a small splinter in your island, waiting for him to speak.

He turns towards you as he finished washing his plate, then meets your eyes.

“You weren’t just revealing my heritage, were you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt I needed to reveal your heritage because someone has reached out with the hopes of setting up a meeting with you.”

“Why would anyone wanna meet with me simply because they know of my lineage?” You wonder, slouched, hands moved to your lap to rest limply as you stare at David, fear increasing with every moment that passes.

“May I ask you a personal question?” He says, moving to stand closer as he dries his hand on your dishtowel.

“David, you know everything about me.” You sigh.

“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? I’m not sure I’ve ever asked if you-?”

“To be honest, I don’t know either.” You shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Not even as a child?” He wonders.

“I was too busy wishing for parents as a kid.” You clarify. “I didn’t have time for crushes or any of that stuff.”

“Are you opposed to a relationship?” David asks, dropping the towel then moving around to sit back down in his seat.

“Opposed?” You ask, shaking your head. “Not exactly opposed. I’ve just never known anyone worth caring about like that. I’m mainly here at home. I do go into town when I need to get my packages but there isn’t anyone there that…I don’t draw attention like that.”

“You’re a pretty girl.” David tells you, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. “When you aren’t sweaty and covered in grass clippings.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“It’s not something I really worry about.” You admit.

“Would you ever want to get married?” David asks, and your heart is suddenly pounding.

The idea of being someone’s wife had crossed your mind once or twice. Mostly when you’d been jotting down ideas or plotlines for your books. In the end, because you didn’t think you had enough insight, you’d opted to remove all romance. You write mysteries.

“I don’t know that I’d be any good at it.” You confess. “I’m not…I can’t exactly picture myself being someone’s wife.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I don’t even know what I’d be like in a relationship, sharing space and time, much less sharing an entire life?” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that I haven’t thought about it but it’s only ever been in passing.”

David goes silent, tapping his index finger against the island.

“David, please. You know I can’t take the suspense.” You plead.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He nods then reminds himself, “Band-aid.”

You take a deep breath and turn to face him a little more in your seat.

“Well, you are aware of our planet’s newest inhabitants?”

“Th-The Asgardians in Norway?”

“Yes.” David nods. “Well, as a sign of good faith, to ensure that they will abide by Earth’s laws and to assuage any ideas from panicked world leaders that they might try and overtake the planet and make it their own, they have decided that marriage to someone from Earth might be the best way to do that.

“The Asgardian known as Brunnhilde has reached out to all families of royal blood and asked to meet with any eligible women, preferably—as she so tactfully put it—maidens.” He explains. “Which I take it you are?”

You swallow hard, your lungs rubbed of oxygen and yet you somehow manage to quietly acknowledge, “Yes. I’m a virgin.”

How can you not be after spending your whole life unconcerned with romance?

“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” David suddenly says; however, you can see the ‘but’ in his eyes. “But if you don’t and the Asgardian king cannot choose from the women he does meet, you will probably be hunted down and forced to meet with him anyway.

“All world leaders are in agreement that this is the correct and only way to ensure the safety of the planet. They will not give up until every woman meeting the Asgardian’s requirements have been given the chance to meet with Thor.”

“Thor?!” You gasp, rising to your feet as hundreds if not thousands of images flash through your mind of the Thunder God and the Avengers fighting side by side.

“Yes.” David affirms, rising to his feet with you. “With the death of his father, he is now King of Asgard.”

Of course, Thor is going to be King. You already knew this. It’s common sense.

For some reason though, the confirmation made out loud, vocally…how the fuck are you supposed to marry Thor? An Avenger? That’s not…this cannot be real life!

“David,” You begin, apprehensive.

“I know. I know it is a lot to ask but as I said, I don’t believe we have much of a choice. He might very well not pick you.” David adds, rushing to comfort you and point out how unlikely you’d be the one Thor chooses to wed. “There are plenty of other women that he’s already met with. Women that are more suited to life in a palace than you are. The Hungarian princess is so eager to be Queen of Asgard that she’s been sending the other women bribes to try and convince them to refuse.

“It won’t make a difference, since they cannot refuse should Thor choose them.” David admits.

“A-all I have to do is meet with him?” You stutter, heart in your throat.

“Just a quick one-hour meeting. He’ll ask you questions. Get to know a bit about you. See if you are suited for life as Asgardian queen and then it’s over.” David assures you.

“I’m…There are lots of other women better for it, right?”

“Loads of them.” David promises.

New fears begin to take hold in your heart and mind.

It conjures up the last time you’d seen Thor, strutting from a massive spaceship docked over the ocean by New Asgard. He’d risen from its depths all wide shoulders and biceps. Heavy steps thudding as he’d stopped at the end of the massive ramp, waving at the cameras as his people had filed out behind him.

His hair cropped short as opposed to the long tresses he’d had when he’d last been on Earth, one eye missing with a sleek black and gold metal patch over it the absence.

You’ve never been threatened by him before. He’s a hero. But the prospect of being his wife and having wifely duties...

Your mind flies into panic as it shifts that large body over you, crawling towards you with his hands prying your legs open. The years of sexual experience radiating off of this fantasy Thor and all of his bulging muscles.

You almost want to throw up at the prospect of having to consummate a marriage. You haven’t exactly been eager to be with anyone since you haven’t met anyone special, but you’d at least imagined something more intimate. More personal.

“David I-they won’t choose me though, right?” You reach out for him because your legs are suddenly weak.

He takes hold of your arms and helps you stand still.

“They won’t.” He tells you, sounding convinced. “There are better candidates. Women with actual titles.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He has to be right.

“It’s just a quick meeting.” He promises. “Then it’ll all be over, and you can come back to your cottage and live just as you have been, with no one to bother you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving your little place is difficult. After spending years without a home to call your own, now that you have your cottage, tearing yourself away from it is like pulling splinters.

You like your little yard. You like your flowers. You love your bed and its white sheets, little pink and yellow flowers printed on the soft fabric.

You’d made it more feminine. You’d brought flowers back and frills and lace. You’d made it everything you thought a cottage at the edge of a wood should look like and as time had gone by you’d brought in more personal touches.

After several years, your home is finally completely you.

This place, this massive Asgardian structure is less gold and more wood, stone, and iron. Silver steel polished so bright it gleams even in moonlight. This place is not you. It’s him. It’s Thor. His home.

Right now, with the day almost over, the palace takes on a warmer tone. The wooden structures and gray stone pillars are bathed in orange light, giving the place a pleasant glow and despite yourself, you can almost picture Thor meandering through these Nordic halls, a long crimson robe around his thick form.

It isn’t an unpleasant image now that you’ve given yourself some time to get used to the idea of him.

When you arrived you were greeted and seated in a large round room, the lower quarter of the sturdy walls made of ornate stone brick, the rest of the wall beautiful dark oak. The floor is also stone, massive carpets underneath several pieces of obviously Norse inspired furniture.

Well actually, the Norse was probably derived from Asgardian styles. There’s a difference in them that you can see but don’t understand. The coffee table in front of you has ornately carved legs, golden embellishments, and a black coat of paint.

The sofa you’re sitting on is mostly wood, painted gold, with plush and soft satin covered cushions in wine red.

There are two other tables around the room, a collection of books on one and an array of fruits, foods, and drinks on the other. There are several different statues and stands. Lamps that look as if they should have flames instead of the electric bulbs they now hold.

Small touches of modern design filter through the room complimenting the more traditional décor.

“Hello there.” Says a lilting voice.

You recognize it and turn to find Loki, slipping through a narrow opening in the large set of doors you’d been escorted through almost half an hour ago.

He’s dressed in a black suit with a plain white t-shirt underneath dressing the look down.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, surprised by his appearance.

You stand, knowing well that he may not be King but for Asgard, Loki is still a prince.

“No, please. Do not get up on my account.” He gestures at your seat and you settle back in as he crosses to the table with all the books. “I forgot some papers in here, I only came to retrieve them. Do not mind me.”

You avert your eyes, afraid to see something you shouldn’t and sit just as stiffly as before, hands fisting the royal purple dress you’d chosen to wear. It’s simple, quarter sleeves, high neckline with a small V at the center. Just above your knees in length, it rises as you grip it.

“Nervous to meet my brother?” Loki asks, stopping by the doors as he eyes your tight grip.

“This whole situation is a little stressful.” You admit. “I’m…I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Ah, you’re the one with the lost lineage.” Loki realizes, moving closer with interest. “A hidden princess. You could have refused to come, you know?”

“I would have been forced eventually.” You point out. “There are a lot of people who want this marriage thing to happen.”

“True.” Loki agrees, “My fault, I’m afraid. I make them nervous.”

“You did very nearly destroy New York.” You point out, remembering the carnage reported that day. The aftermath had taken forever to clean up.

“I did.” Loki agrees. “Do you fear me?”

“No.” You admit. “If you weren’t safe, Thor wouldn’t have brought you back here.”

“He could just be too trusting.”

“Maybe.” You agree. “But with the fate of his entire people tied to the successful acclimation of Asgard and Earth, if you were really a threat, I think he’d have cut you out before coming back.”

Loki’s lips slowly curl up into a smile before breaking apart into a toothy grin.

“What is your name again?” He asks, a sparkle of something in his eyes.

“Y/N.” You tell him. “Why?”

“No reason. This has been very illuminating, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” Loki says then with a quick bow of his head, he leaves you to your solitude.

Confused, you sit there completely at a loss for what just happened.

Had you taken too many liberties with Loki? What had that smile meant? You’d been made aware that Loki was also involved in recruiting women of royal blood into marriage meetings for Thor, but you hadn’t expected him to know you by the description of where you live.

Maybe because it’s so unlike anyone else’s?

You sit there stewing for another twenty minutes, wondering if maybe you’re being stood up when the large doors open once again.

You shoot up onto your feet, so damn nervous your body reacts without your permission. Through the door this time comes the man of the hour. The massive Thunder God dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain gray t-shirt crosses over to the table with food and pours himself a stein of what looks like beer from a sloshing brown pitcher.

“Estrid, is this from the new batch of ale?” He booms loud enough that he can be heard even outside of the room as he takes a quick sniff of the liquid.

His voice is so deep.

Licking your lips, you watch him drink the entire stein without taking a breath or waiting for an answer, and then refill it before grabbing it and taking an apple with his other hand.

He turns, holding the fruit up to his mouth and freezes with it pressed to his lips as he meets your eyes, realizing he isn’t alone.

You’re not exactly sure what to say or what to do, completely taken aback by this strange and sudden exposure to candid Thor. Both of you unprepared to see each other despite the fact that you’ve literally been waiting nearly an hour for him.

His confusion mounts as he lowers the apple, looking around as if expecting an explanation or to see if he’s in the correct room.

“What time is it?” He suddenly asks, meeting your gaze again.

“N-Nearly six.” You tell him, and his one good eye goes slightly wide.

“Oh!” His lips curl up into an easy smile. “I did not think it was that late.”

His smile makes you feel a little more at ease, but you’re still on edge.

“You’re my meeting.” He tells you, as if you don’t already know that. “Y/N? Y/L/N, right?”

“Yes.” You nod, then before you can stop yourself… “You’re late.”

Thor blinks. Startled it seems or maybe just surprised, but then he smiles again. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you can be as late as you’d like. This is your meeting. Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know why I said that.” You rush to say.

“No, no.” Thor turns to put down his stein of beer and the apple replaced in its bowl. “You’re right. I am late. We were supposed to meet at five, weren’t we?”

When he turns back to you, you nod.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have much you could be doing.” Thor says, moving towards you and gesturing at the spot you’d been in before sitting down at the other end of the sofa.

“No.” You confess. “Not really. I’m actually one of the only people that probably doesn’t have much to do. Well, I mean, I could be writing. Or cleaning house.”

“They tell me that you had no knowledge about your lineage before Brunnhilde reached out to your lawyer?”

You nod. “It’s not really important. Or…no. That’s not the right-what I mean to say is that it isn’t significant to my life.”

“Don’t you want to know who your family is?” Thor wonders.

“I know who my family is. I had a mom. And a dad. Both died just after I was born. That’s my family.” You explain. “Apart from getting to meet you, the news that my family was once royalty doesn’t change it in any way. I’m still just as insignificant today as I was before.”

Thor narrows his brow, watching you for a long torturous moment as he considers what you’d just said.

“Tell me about yourself.” He suddenly says, turning to lean back against the arm, his own thrown over the back, right leg bent up onto the sofa.

“There isn’t much to tell.” You admit. “I was born, my parents died in an accident. I was taken to a school for orphans where I grew up and aged out. On the day I had to leave, Mr. Valis found me and gave me my inheritance which is a good amount of money and a small house. I’ve been living there ever since.”

“You didn’t take any additional schooling?” Thor asks, relaxing. “All the other young women I’ve met have made it a point to tell me about the universities and colleges they’ve attended.”

“I took a few correspondence classes.” You tell him, “But I’ve only ever wanted to write, and I didn’t feel that I needed a higher education to do it. I mean, it would probably look better on my resume, but my writing should speak for itself.”

You can’t really tell what he’s thinking with the way he’s watching you, his hand playing with a thread on the back of the sofa.

You take it as a good sign that many of the other women have a degree of some sort. They must want someone respectable with a good education, right?

“How do you feel about political marriages?” He asks, and you’re stunned for a moment.

“Um…”

“Be honest, please.”

“I guess I don’t like the idea?” You admit. “Being forced to marry someone you don’t love because duty demands it? Feels archaic. If you love someone, whether they fit into whatever political standards are being demanded or not should not be a reason to get married.”

Thor sits up, shifting a little closer as he leans towards you.

“If you were asked to go along with a political marriage in every way but the heart, could you?” He wonders, much more interested than before.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“Well, let’s say for example, you and I were to marry. We’d be expected to have children. You’d be bound to do your duties as Queen of Asgard, but you would not be required to love me. Would you be able to fulfill these requirements?”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” You realize, seeing the eagerness in his eyes. His shoulders slump. “If you don’t want to get married, why don’t you just say something?”

“I must do what I can to ensure the future of my people.” Thor says, sighing deeply.

“I’m guessing there’s someone else you do love that you can’t marry?”

“Not that I can’t but won’t. She isn’t ready for marriage and I don’t feel right making that kind of demand from her when she clearly has other things she’d like to be doing with her life. And…yes, maybe a little bit can’t. A royal marriage would make the most sense. I need a Queen.” Thor says.

You can’t find the words to tell him how fucked up this all is so instead you sit in silence.

“I know this is not ideal. I’ve tried to find other ways of assuring Earth of my commitment to this planet but nothing I’ve suggested is good enough.”

He needs a Queen. This gives you solace. No one is less of a queen than you are.

“I’m sorry.” You finally tell him. “It’s not fair. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who checks all those boxes for you. I hear the Hungarian princess is pretty eager.”

Thor ignores you, stroking his beard as he watches you. “What do you want from a marriage? Let us say it’s many years from now and you have found someone you love beyond all reason. You two decide to get married. What does that look like?”

You’re a little surprised by the question but you humor him and take a moment to really think about it.

The man you picture has no face. There is no one you care enough about to imagine. So…because he’s the only option, you take Thor’s face and give your imaginary husband a face.

“We’d be partners.” You tell him. “Open about everything important. We would respect each other’s individualities. If something is troubling me, I would like to know that I could turn to him and if he had something on his mind, I’d hope that he could turn to me too.

“We’d be honest about even the unpleasant aspects of our life together. If we disagreed, we would talk about it openly. We wouldn’t hide from each other. We’d spend as much time as we could together and always make time for each other.”

You picture Thor sitting at your island in your comfy cottage. He’s so massive that he’d take up so much space. You’d have to squeeze past him, and he’d turn to wrap his arms around your waist as you pass.

He’d trap you there, not letting you move.

“We’d make breakfast together. Cramped up in my little kitchen, it would turn into play.” You smile. “We’d lounge around the house, reading and listening to music. In the evenings we’d move out to the backyard and watch the sun set then watch the stars until I’d fall asleep on his shoulder.”

As if you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be, you startle yourself out of your daydream and feel your neck heat up.

You’d crossed from rational marriage into sentimental and you’re a little shocked at the detail in which your mind has gone.

You’re also a little startled by the pleasant feeling that picturing Thor in those situations has given you.

For someone who has never had a crush, you’re startled by the butterflies it gives you.

“But I’ve never been into anyone like that before.” You tell him, looking away from his intense gaze. “So, even if that’s what I picture, it’s not like it’s ever gonna happen.”

“It might.” Thor says, sounding as if he might be trying to comfort you.

“It won’t.” You assure him. “I hope your girl changes her mind.”

There’s a bitter ache in your chest as you say it, and you’re certain it’s only there because of the little fantasy you just allowed yourself to have. You should have picture someone else.

“I hope they relax on the royal blood thing and let you marry someone you love instead.” You hope.

“You say that as if you already know that I won’t pick you.” Thor observes.

You smile wide, laughing even as you bite your lip. “Well, I’m nothing like the girls you’ve met with. I don’t have endless amounts of money. I don’t have a prestigious education or extensive family. I don’t know anything about being royalty. The others have been doing it their entire lives. I’m the least likely candidate. I don’t fit the requirements, except for the bloodline thing.

“I only agreed to meet with you because I knew that the likelihood of you picking me was almost non-existent.”

“Ouch.” Thor says.

“No!” You rush to say. “You’re very…I mean, you’re kind from what I can tell and honorable. You’ve saved Earth a couple times and you’re a little self-centered but only in a superficial way that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.

“I honestly don’t know why your girl won’t marry you but I’m not right for this.” You nod. “I wouldn’t make a good Queen for you.”

Thor nods slowly, thinking for a minute before he straightens up and turns to rise, slapping his hands on his knees before he moves back towards the table of fruit and beer.

“You’re probably right.” He agrees, and for some reason, you’re disappointed.

Not so much that he isn’t picking you, but rather that he sees you aren’t enough. You’re lacking in some way. Which you already knew but…knowing he thinks that makes you feel a little lousy despite that being something you wanted.

“I suppose I’ll just have to pick someone more suitable. Someone who knows better about ruling a people. All the same, thank you for coming.” Thor says, dismissing you.

He picks up his stein again and turns to look at you as you rise.

“It was a pleasure to meet you.”

You nod, “Likewise.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give him a wave and move for the doors, trembling hands reaching out to yank the doors open and make your escape.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been weeks since you met with Thor and you’ve completely forgotten the whole thing. Life has gone back to normal and even though you now know that you’re from royal stock, nothing, as you expected, has changed.

The only plus that has risen from this whole situation is that you can now picture marriage a little better, however inexperienced and cliché it might be, you can make something up now.

Your little fling with the idea of Thor had given you fuel to slip a little romance into your writing and your fingers are flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you type up a new and promising mystery about a set of lovers and the body they discover in the attic of their new home.

You hate to be interrupted during a writing session, but you must have forgotten that about yourself because your phone starts to ring.

Normally you mute it before you even sit down to write.

With a growl you reach over and take a quick look at the number.

David flashes on your screen and quickly you swipe to answer.

“Hey, can I call you back in like an hour? I’m in the middle of a chapter and I’m on a roll.” You plead, fingers still flying across the keys.

“Y/N, Thor chose you.” David’s voice says and your fingers freeze.

There’s a pounding in your chest and your head is full of white fuzz. Your legs are numb, and your stomach is swirling with both flutters and nausea.

You can’t have heard that right.

“What?” You ask, voice shaky.

“Thor. He chose you. I just got off the phone with Brunnhilde and she wanted to let me know so that I could call you and let you know that she’ll be by tomorrow to pick you up.”

This can’t be happening.

“She said to pack only what you absolutely need. Everything else will be provided for you.”

“David…I…I can refuse, right? I don’t have to marry him.” You plead desperately.

“Y/N…” David sighs. “You agreed to this before you went to see him. I’m afraid the time to back out has come and gone.”

“But I can just not do it.” You argue. “They can’t force me to do it.”

“The government will seize your assets if you refuse.” David explains. “They want this done. I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s no backing out of this now.”

“But…But he loves someone else.” You tell him and even though your mind knows that this should be the last thing to concern you, it should not be the first reason you can think of why marrying Thor is a bad idea, it is.

As your eyes focus on the little blinking line of your word doc, your heart gives a painful ache knowing that your husband will be loving someone else.

#thor x reader #king!thor x reader #royal au #arranged marriage au #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfiction #a wife for thor #a wife for thor pt01

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obeymeluv · 3 years

Text

Random Lipstick Headcanons

I like red lipsticks and I like wearing lipstick when I want to feel like a bad bitch. Or when life’s being a badder bitch than me. I can at least struggle pretty ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is the bros reactions to you wearing a very complimentary, alluring lip color. Or power lip color. I don’t know what to call it. I guess this is gender neutral? I’m not trying to mention gender specifically.

They TOTALLYYYYY have a crush on you at this point. They just haven’t owned up to it. May take a crack at writing a second part for the Undateables. I’m at chapter 21/22 and feel like they’re not really mentioned :/. Not enough for me to really know what they’re like.

Lucifer

Is very surprised to see you wearing lipstick. In fact...it’s the first time, isn’t it?

His heart stutters, almost as if the color scares him.

It doesn’t. It excites him. More than he imagines. There’s something about the pop of color that draws his eyes in immediately, like a moth to a flame

Or so he thinks. Lucifer thinks that sounds nicer. In truth, it’s like a magnet trying to drag him closer. Your lips are just suddenly...very enticing. He’s thought about kissing you a few times before now but he certainly doesn’t want to feel his resolve crumble because of some color!

And yet, it is the essence of beauty itself. He feels as if you should be immortalized in a painting. You exude a classic kind of charm that makes his dusty heart squeeze.

He’s a bit behind on human fancies, but is this an attempt at courtship?! You certainly have his attention!

Mammon

WOAH, WHAT’S THIS? WHY YOU BEING ALL FANCY, HUMAN?!

It doesn’t even have to be a glossy lip. No matter how tsundere Mammon acts, he’s INCREDIBLY perceptive when it comes to you. He notices the minutest of changes.

THIS IS A BIG CHANGE! IT’S BASICALLY A BEACON!

Your new lip color makes you a cool, shiny thing and Mammon LOVES shiny things.

He’s gonna be stealing so many glances!

You don’t even have to be trying for a sexy vibe to be sexy in Mammon’s eyes. You take his breath away with this lip color. He just---boy has to turn around and bite his lip.

His heart’s doing stuff it hasn’t done in centuries and oh baby, he wants that lip color all over him!

Will either act like you wearing lipstick is nothing special (like he doesn’t notice) or goes into mild interrogation mode. It’s not for some other demon, right?!

Wants to touch your lips and see what it feels like, but doesn’t.

Might try to drag you along to be a makeup rep for one of his photoshoots. Then you can try on lots of lipsticks and pose with him. They can do a kiss photo for swatches, right? Prove it’s transfer-proof or something?

His attention’s on you AAALLLLL day--especially your lips

If he notices it’s smudged, he’ll try to wipe it away or fix it with his finger. Might almost out himself with how gently he does so.

Levi

He’s no stranger to watching people do makeup--he’s a big fan of cosplay makeup and body paint transformation

There’s just...something different about when you do it. He tries to tell himself it’s because you live with him, but that doesn’t feel quite right

His eyes light up when he sees the way the color compliments your skin. It makes your eyes twinkle but he’s really focused on your lips

It wakes up something ancient and irrational in him; he wants to give you a pretty shell or rock for some reason??

He just gets all excited and wiggly. Even his tail wants to wiggle!

You’re just pretty, okay?! Not that you’re gonna know, dummy!

Subconsciously, he thinks it reminds him of beautiful, vivid scales. Then that sends him down a rabbit hole of how pretty you’d look if you had scales

In general, I headcanon that Levi can see the slightest differences in colors. He and Asmo are basically tied in this, and they far outpace the other brothers.

He’d be extra stoked if the color is from the blue or purple family because those can be hard to pull off but they often make really good looks

Being Levi, he can’t outright compliment you. He’ll just say ‘it’s probably good for a normie human lipstick, but have you seen THESE?!’ and shows you some of the flashier Devildom ones

HE SHOWS YOU A BUNCH AND GOD HE HOPES YOU GET AT LEAST ONE BECAUSE HE WANTS YOU TO WEAR IT! DON’T THINK HE’S WEIRD BECAUSE HE SAVED MAKEUP, OKAY?!

Get one with a slight shimmer or color change. Or better yet, do a gradient!

Levi would absolutely explode if you wore his colors!

If you do a TSL-inspired look, he’s going to die. And have dreams of you saying sweet things to him, the yucky otaku, with your pretty, pretty lips

Satan

Much like Lucifer, he’d want to wax poetic about how the lip color gives you an enchanting aura

Quite stricken, very flustered. He can hardly muster a witty remark.

Satan is basically grasping at straws and hoping his usual cool, toothy grin hides the fact that he’s ready to blush himself straight into a sunburn

Mild teasing, all of it good natured. He’ll pepper in comparisons to Helen of Troy or historical figures that resemble you. It’s mostly to see you blush, but it’s his way of saying it indirectly

He hasn’t quite come to terms with how much he likes you yet but he knows when he sees that lip color, he wants to smear it all over your cheeks and down your chin.

The idea of making a mess of something so pretty and carefully crafted just really gets his blood going. It’s a wicked thing, isn’t it? Symbolism for a demon corrupting a human? You could be his pretty human, yes.

If he wants to think or make a coherent sentence, he can’t look at you when you’re wearing lipstick

Subtly moves one of the books from a nearby stack into his lap because boy has a boner.

If you decide not to hang around or get pulled away by one of his brothers, Satan will disappear to indulge his fantasies of you wrapping those pretty lips around his cock. He’s not even mad about it. Not in the moment; he feels bad a few days later.

Asmo

His darling human is spreading their little beauty wings? Oh be still his beating heart!

He’s the first to compliment you and actually takes an analytical approach before the idea of genuine compliments pop up in his head. It’ll take him an hour or two to start getting a little flustered by you ‘dressing up’ and silently tormenting himself with ‘Is it for me? Is it for someone else?!’

Asmo can’t help but coo over how well you know your color wheel and how you match your undertones

The type to hold your face in his hands and pat your cheeks or squeeze them a little

Teases you about making lipstick swatches on his lips or his arms (”Or, you know, wherever. You can kiss me anywhere you like!”)

Wants to drag you away and see if any of his colors will look good on you

You will soon have a matching lip color! He’ll make sure of it!

BEGS you to let him swatch his lip colors on you, or apply them. He’ll make sure to take care of your lips in between--a lip mask, exfoliation, the works! (”I’ll even kiss them for you!”)

He wants you to try on all his lip colors because he wants to memorize how breath-taking you look in all the colors. Even if it’s platonic with some lusty teasing, Asmo has a genuine love for bringing beauty to people

In some ways, it makes his heart ache. It reminds him of when he was Heaven’s Jewel.

But now he’s here in the Devildom, and he doesn’t really regret it because he met you. You can be his jewel now, and maybe he can be yours. Maybe it all starts with some lipstick, hm?

Beel

He notices it but doesn’t really get the significance of it

Is there a reason? Is it for an event? Is this a dominance thing? An attraction thing?

Demon can see from a great distance, far greater than humans, and there’s a chance he sees you before you see him

In all honesty, he probably thinks you have something on your lips, like a sauce or something

It isn’t until you get closer that he realizes it’s some kind of lip product

If you’re happy, he’s happy

You always look cute but this color seems to make you happy and it gives you this bouncy glow about you. That makes Beel all warm inside, to the point where he wants to purr.

Sometimes when he gets really excited his wings want to buzz. They kind of want to buzz.

Doesn’t mean to, but can’t stop staring at your lips. It’s a color he’s not used to seeing on you and his brain recognizes that change

Wouldn’t be against you kissing him. What? It might transfer? He gets food and crumbs all over his face on the regular so it’s not a big deal.

You might be shy about it? Don’t want him to get teased? Well...you can always practice. You know, somewhere he can hide it. Just to test it, that is.

KISS HIS STOMACH! He’d be so damn close to a nut Beel would have to bite his own tongue or shove something in his mouth before you do it

Would wear your little kiss marks like a badge of pride so slap ‘em on wherever you want!

“Do they have orange lipsticks?” he asks. Blushes deeply immediately, not realizing he actually said it out loud. You should try one of those, he thinks. You know, because that’s his color and it’ll match his nails. He thinks that’d be neat.

Just wants you to kiss all over his chest and stomach.

Belphegor

Wary of the lipstick. Doesn’t trust it

Looks like a nightmare for his pillows. Paranoid about you getting it on his sheets

If he’s half asleep and notices it, the color change will jolt him awake long enough to really observe it

“For me?” he teases as he rolls over or pull himself from under covers and pillows to really look at you

It’s pretty, for sure, but you’re not coming anywhere near his bed unless you can prove it’s not coming off on fabric!

What’s that? You can?

Belphie probably says something sarcastic and mildly asshole-ish but you defend your precious lip product, talking about human reviews and tests and things. “People have kissed their boyfriends and girlfriends on camera! It works!”

He makes you kiss your arm (he’s a fucking idiot, should’ve asked you to kiss HIS arm) to prove it won’t rub off before he lets you rest on his bed with him

Snuggles into you like he always does, playing with your hair just the tiniest bit.

Belphie hopes it’s subtle but he’s slowing twining and inching his fingers closer to your face. Your lip color is almost mythical and he kind of wants to touch it after all the fuss he made.

Does it make your lips feel different? They look different. Would it react differently to demon skin?

Will tell you it looks nice and that you look pretty but if you ask him about it later, he totally denies it. Insists he must’ve been talking in his sleep

He dreams of you kissing him awake or kissing him to sleep with gentle cuddles and pretty lips

#Obey me!#Obey me! x reader #Lucifer x reader #Mammon x reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Beel x Reader #Levi x reader #Leviathan x reader #Asmo x reader #Asmodeus x reader #Satan x Reader #Belphegor x reader

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fattuccini-afraido · 2 years

Note

Helloo! I hope you are doing fine <3.I would like to ask for a creepypasta match-up (romantic relationship) please!

I am A Campaigner (ENFP) and The Adorner (EFVL) and 7w6 (The Pathfinder) I am 159 cm. Female amd straight!

Some things about me: I like to study until at one point I would just stay up until 3 am, im such an idiot ahaha. I also would even drink coffee after 12 am. I have a RBF and i might act like I have apathy. I am very over-protective of those who i care about . And I will fight, with words ahahha. I am usually very independent to the point i don’t realize i need help :P My phobias are trypophobia and atychiphobia. I am very afraid of wasps and bees. I have Generalized Anxiety and Body Dysmorphia (more to my face actually). So basically, i get anxious a lot about some things and my looks. My personality: (uhhh mostly people find me complicated) But to me, I am independent, neutral chaotic, smart, stubborn, dense on some topics, very curious, brutally honest and I have a bit of an anger issue but I am chill tho. I can be serious, only when I want too ahah. Interests: I like to debate, study, draw, listen to music, watch Youtube, Twitch also I like anime and a fan of BTS. I go to boarding school and i can speak Japanese and Malay. I also play archery. What do I where?? At home i would just where a T-shirt and a blue jacket and some cozy pants. If I feel ‘fancy’, I would where a short sleeved dressed with said jacket :D My favourite colors are black, midnight blue and gold. Stuff that i like: + tall people + food (homemade at shop-made lmao) + drinks (favs are coffe and colaa) + people who like to spend time with me in any sort if way + art + M U S I C (any) Stuff that i dont like: + slow people + annoying people that waste my time (if they are annoying in a fun way then thats fine) + bugs

What do I look for in someone to love? How do i act with someone I love? Love language? I would look for someone who is both intellegent yet challenging. Charmingly sarcastic? Someone who is hard on the outside, soft in the inside! When I love someone, my dedication and patience seems infinite. As well as affection, care, attention. My love language is quality time and physical touch? Appearance? + dark brown eyes + dark brown hair (it looks like brunette-ish under sun). My hair is short and it looks like this:

Zodiac: Aries, moon is Taurus, Rising is Aquarius. Aesthetic? Dark academia, Grunge (modern and 90s- ish, E-Girl) RIGHT, thats all from meee. Thank you for your Time <3 TAKE YOUR TIMEE i dont mind :D

hi, I'm so excited, this is one of my firsts asks. I'm glad it's finally happened. Hope this lives up to your expectations, and if not, I'm sorry and you can totally ask for a new matchup <3

I ship you with

Helen Otis aka Bloody Painter.

He's an introvert, yes, but I really think you'd get along!

On the outside, Helen seems apathetic and selfish, on the inside, however, he's a scared boy who does not know how to transmit his feelings properly, since his entire life he has been given to understand that his feelings do not matter to anyone else, and he most definitely has thought that kindness always comes at a price. That nice people have a goal in mind and plan to use him for it. This cynical mindset is the reason he hides under this apathetic, self-absorbed mask, who, while acting polite, still behaves like a massive asshole.

All he ever wanted was to be understood and loved, so if you're willing to give it to him, he'll very slowly begin to open up his true self, though it is quite likely that he doesn't know who that is. I believe it's a charmingly sarcastic guy. One that loves to share his passions with you.

He's quite thoughtful when it comes to you.

He'd bring you chocolates when you're sick or on your period. Every time.

He'd paint you a lot.

Sometimes he'll ask you to model for him, but others he'd just think you look stunning and start painting out of nowhere.

He's less polite with you, he's more natural.

His love language is quality time and forehead kisses.

It doesn't matter to him who gives it to whom

He'd smile and talk much more when he's with you, though when someone else appears he'll abruptly stop.

If you don't do art, he'd still talk to you about it all the time.

He feels safe to do so with you.

He's a couch potato, so you'd often drag him outside with you.

He'd roll his eyes but ultimately enjoy it.

He still has a very hard time opening up.

He becomes a bit aggressive and defensive when he's down.

So, he's a bit hard to date at the beginning, but if you have patience, it'll be a beautiful relationship. He loves you more than anything, and he'd always listen to your problems and will always be there for you, especially when you have body insecurities because while genuinely doesn't understand why you don't like your body or face, since he believes you're the most beautiful woman he's seen yet, he has those insecurities himself, due to his past.

Overall, he's a complicated person who's tough on the outside, and warmer and fuzzy on the inside, if you look deep down enough.

#helen otis #bloody painter #creepypasta matchup #helen otis x reader #bloody painter x reader #helen otis x fem reader #bloody painter x fem reader #creepypasta #creepypast x reader #creepypasta x fem reader #y/n #creepypasta reader insert #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #helen otis headcanon

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mangolover · 3 years

Text

Creature of The Dark part 2 (Theodorus van Gogh x reader)

Find part one here

Title: Creature of The Dark (part 2)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire / Ikevamp / Ikevam

Pairing: Theodorus van Gogh x gn! reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: nightmares, not eating properly, mentions of losing job, mentions of being homeless, argument, dark thoughts, mentions of a unhealthy relationship (lack of comunication), depression(?), swearing, mentions of harassment (posibbility of if reader sleeps outside), mentions of alcohol

Spoilers: Theo’s route

Word Count: 2000+

Description: He broke yet another promise and you cut ties with the whole mansion, trying to live on your own in city. Losing your job and getting kicked out, you didn’t know where else to go but to the art gallery.

Part 2: Going to the gallery was a bad idea and you become aware of that after the same mistakes got repeated and sparked an argument. Now you are sitting on a bench in the park, feeling hopeless until a faimilliar figure comes to your aid.

This has some first person perspective, but it’s mostly 2nd perspective.

Dark thoughts are going to be present throughout whole series, so proceed with caution.

Only argument is explored a bit deeper, everything else is pretty much just mentioned, but if anything is triggering to you, please skip this one.

Also, when somthing is writen like this ('example'), it's from the suitor's point of view or their thoughts, not reader's.

I am making this in multiple parts, temptation won this time.

Enjoy!

Nightmare flooded your sleep and woke you up with a start. Your heavy breaths could be clearly heard in the silence of the upstairs room in the art gallery where you were currently resting on a couch. You looked around slowly while trying to calm down your breathing, but the memories and promises returned.

That is until your eyes fell upon the painting that Vincent made of you and Theo all those months ago. Two figures walking towards their bright future. But the more you look at it, the less you can see the second figure, instead realizing it’s just a shadow casted by the sunlight.

‘No. Your mind is playing tricks on you, stop it. This is a painting of a happy time when Theo made a promise. A promise he couldn’t keep.’

“Ah, you’re awake Y/n” quickly turning your head around in the direction of the voice, you saw Theo holding a tray with a mug and a plate. “I assumed you would be hungry so I fetched you some breakfast.”

Pancakes with just enough syrup and coffee, both just like you like it, were placed on a table to your right and you looked down. “Thank you” was all you could mutter out.

“You should eat before it gets cold.”

“I-I should go now but thank you for letting me sleep here. I promise I will repay you” your search for your shoes and jacket in rush to get out was blocked by Theo’s stern voice.

“Eat Hondje. You look like you’ll faint any second now. When was the last time you ate?” his blue gems demanded an answer and yet all you could do was avoid them while picking up the tray and putting it on your lap.

You ate the breakfast in silence while Theo just stared at you from a nearby chair. The silence was something you were used to, after all you were isolated for months. But this one felt heavy, to both of you. It was sad to say the least, you both went through so much together and yet neither could find the words to shout to other, both of you standing on islands with a burnt bridge in between.

‘Should I ask him to stay here? Or how everyone is doing? How’s the work going? Or maybe I should just keep quiet and wait for Theo to speak.’

Theo cleared his throat before speaking, prompting you to finally meet his gaze, “we should, err… talk about some things…” the word ‘talk’ sounded so heavy rolling off his tongue that you had to swallow the sudden lump in your throat.

“I-“ you wanted to apologize. For leaving and making him worry when you didn’t show up for months ‘if he even was worried’. For crashing into his life unexpectedly when you needed something from him. For not even trying to work out the problems that appeared in your relationship. But you couldn’t. The words didn’t want to be spoken by you. Instead, you opted to asking about your leave. “When does the door open again?” your voice was small and quiet, fitting the silence perfectly, yet you didn’t dare glance at vampire in front of you.

“I could ask Comte if you want to know?” his tone became colder, you both know this is not what he meant when he said that you need to talk. But is there anything to really talk about anymore? You just expressed that you wish to leave as soon as possible and never return.

‘Come on Y/n! Get your shit together and talk with him. Stop acting like a stranger!’

You placed down the tray after you emptied the plate and the mug and finally sat down properly, you made up your mind.

You opened your mouth, but Theo cut you off before any sound came out. “Where were you this past, what 4 months? Some residents tried to look for you, even Comte, but no one could find you. You made them worry.” (‘You made me worry when I couldn’t find you…’)

“I found a job at a café and a small place to stay on the outskirts of town. I’m not surprised you couldn’t find me; I never saw any of you guys while being out in the town either.” The conversation was running along far more smoothly than either of you feared it would. There was even a small smile on your face as you remembered your independent days. However, the bliss was cut short by Theo’s next question.

“Why are you here?” the words were not coated in venom like some may believe nor were they spat out. They were filled with confusion and you found yourself staring at the wooden floor once again, ‘how pathetic, huh?’

After a pause filled with unbearable silence, you decided to just come out clean. ‘I have nothing left to lose anymore, do I?’ You took a deep breath, “I lost my job two days ago and got evicted yesterday. I didn’t know where else to go, you were my one and last option. I’m sorry if I caused any inconvenience, I’ll see myself out of your life as soon as possible.”

“Hondje, you” he let out a sigh and reached out his hand, before quickly pulling it back, “you didn’t cause my any inconvenience. If anything, we are finally talking.”

“That’s something we were never good at” you let out a humorless laugh and shook your head a bit.

Theo suppressed a laugh with a smile, “yeah, I guess that was our biggest problem.”

And like that silence fell over you two again, soon fading from a comfortable one like an embrace of a mother, to a cold one like a winter breeze that was blowing outside.

“Why?” your question broke the silence and took both you and Theo by surprise. ‘What are you saying?’ But as you looked Theo in the eyes, you felt tears well up in yours, your lower lip trembling. “Why did you have to break my trust Theo? Why did you never rely on me? Why was I always just your useless shadow!?” your voice became increasingly louder with every question, every word painted in all the colors of confusion and hurt. Maybe you hoped Theo would feel guilty, and maybe he did, but he was always so damn good at hiding his emotions, always wearing a blank canvas as an expression.

“Why did you never trust me?” this time you looked at him with wide eyes as he slowly got up, his voice raising in volume. “Why did you always suspect me for anything and everything when you haven’t even asked me what’s wrong? Why did you expect of me to turn a whole new page when you knew damn well Hondje that I needed some time, but that I am trying?!” He was yelling at you now and before you knew it, you stood up as well, getting in his face and raising your voice to match his.

“Oh, were you trying? Because to me it never seemed like that Theodorus! You always neglected me for your work, and when I would ask you, you just brushed me off!” The raw emotion in your voice caused Theo to suck in a sharp breath. For the first time, he may finally see just what he did to you. “You promised! You promised me you wouldn’t do things on your own anymore! You promised Theo! I was with you through everything and you never had one ounce of trust in me!”

You were screaming at him now and his expression hardened, tears drowning your vision. The argument would continue if the familiar blonde man didn’t rush up the stairs and called out to his brother.

“Theo!” his voice was raised just slightly so he could snap you both out of your trance and you finally saw the angel of the mansion, after so long. Vincent van Gogh was standing in front of you, a panicked and worried look on his face, he seemed almost uncomfortable and you couldn’t blame him. “I heard you two screaming downstairs so I wanted to make sure everything is alright.”

He didn’t even acknowledge you, for better or for worse. Guilt washed over you when you realized what you and Theo just did. You didn’t talk once again. You repeated your mistakes. You communicated poorly and got defensive over everything, throwing it all away instead of working it out.

“Sorry boer. My temper got out of hand.”

“Sorry Vincent” you apologized, but before any of them had a chance to say anything, you quickly snatched your belongings before excusing yourself. “Thank you both for letting me stay here once again, I’m sorry for causing you trouble. Goodbye!” Vincent called out after you, but you bolted down the stairs and out of the gallery. You couldn’t stand being there anymore. Memories were like fresh wounds and your lungs were burning from the familiar scent.

Blending into the crowd, you started walking aimlessly. ‘You are out options. And out of money. If it weren’t for Theo, you would’ve starved and froze to death. But maybe that would’ve been a good thing. You wouldn’t be forced to relive all those painful memories you longed to forget. I wouldn’t be forced to struggle for one more day.’

Maybe your old friends really did look for you. And maybe they now know you are alright. But can you really expect them to welcome you back again? Even if it is for a really short period of time?

‘Hopeless. You were feeling hopeless. You are hopeless.’

But can you do anything about it? ‘No. No I can’t.’

Tears started sliding down your cheeks again and you welcomed them this time. They were with you always these past few days when you hit even lower point in your life. If you had some money, you could’ve at least drowned your monsters in a drink. But that wasn’t an option either anymore.

Dejected, you sat at a bench in a nearby park and pulled your jacket closer around your form. This bench will have to do for tonight. You look too miserable to go and look for a job. And all you want to do is just lay down and sleep forever. But you can’t even do that. You need to wait for night to fall so people wouldn’t stare and even harass you. 19th century France was no easy place to live, you’ve been warned about that when you first came here.

You put your head in your hands as you let out a long sigh and replayed that bitter scene in your head. ‘Did I really never show trust in Theo? Have I really been the problem from the start but actively chose to ignore it?’

Starting to replay all the time spent with Theo, you did ask a lot of him. But you were there with him for every step of the way he let you. He’s a secretive person and he always cared for your safety. Even now. But he did mess up. ‘Both of us did…’

He pushed you away and kept you at arm’s length probably to keep you safe from the threats of L’Académie. But in the process, he hurt you. He tried so hard for you to be worthy of you. This was all just a bad misunderstanding. But until you both learn how to talk; everything will only lead to misunderstandings.

You sighed as you wiped the tears from your face with the back of your hands, looking up, you saw sun starting to slowly set. It was truly a beautiful sight and you wish you were gifted by God to be able to paint just like Vincent so you could enjoy the scenery forever. Crossing your arms over your chest, you mentally prepared for what’s coming while sleeping outside, until you heard someone clear his throat next to you.

Turning your head around in surprise, your fight or flight response kicking in before you saw a familiar figure with a small, warm smile on his lips.

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1-800-smash · 4 years

Note

Oh wait I just realised we could ask for the whole alphabet for a character,, could you for Dabi?

「 next time won’t you sing with me. 」

feat. dabi.

summary: learning the alphabet with dabi is easy, as long as you can still remember what he taught you afterwards ;)

warnings: nsfw content.

word count: 1.9k

request: @inanabsentia — ❝Oh wait I just realised we could ask for the whole alphabet for a character,, could you for Dabi?❞

@anon — ❝Can u do a, c, d and I with Dabi pls 🥺🥺❞

@anon — ❝Omg pls could you do BFKO for Dabi (for the alphabet thing) 🥺🤲❞

@guijh103 — ❝Hii, could you make B,E,F,H,N,V,X,W,Z for Dabi pls.❞

@anon — ❝a, f , i, y on dabi please? 🥺💞❞

a/n: oh my, it seems everyone wants a piece of this beef jerky :0 don’t worry, i see you guys! i’m doing bakugo next, so be on the look out for that one! i hope you enjoy it! ♡ — shelbs.

submitted — [09.20.18]

nsfw under the cut.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

⚘ he’s not that big on aftercare.

⚘ if you want to be pampered after sex you’re looking at the wrong person, hun.

⚘ anything you want you can just get it yourself, at least that’s how he sees it.

⚘ you’re a big girl who can take a big cock, so that means you can do the rest by yourself.

⚘ he’s knows it a dick move but he just doesn’t care.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

⚘ he likes your ass, especially when he’s spanking it until its a nice red color while he fucks you from behind.

⚘ he loves to knead the soft flesh there when your making out and things are getting heated.

⚘ or on the rare occasion he lets you ride him he’ll love to grab your ass and slam you down on his cock.

⚘ the surprised scream that comes out of you makes his mouth twist up into a proud smirk.

⚘ your being impaled on his cock and he fucking loves it, he might even let you do it more often just to hear those sweet sounds of yours.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

⚘ he LOVES to cum on your face.

⚘ when you go down on him, right as he’s about to cum he’ll pull out and paint your entire face white like it’s a canvas.

⚘ doesn’t mind cumming on either the insides of your thighs or your stomach.

⚘ but do NOT ask him to cum inside you, that’s a huge no no.

⚘ “eat shit i’m not putting a demon inside you” vibe.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

⚘ he gets off being the dominant one.

⚘ he likes having control over the situation and being able to decide what will happen.

⚘ he’s still having trouble with his own past and trying to distance himself from what happened.

⚘ but now, in this situation, he can take back control.

⚘ and you’re so willing to hand it over to him, you trust him.

⚘ and it makes him just the slightest bit contented to know that.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

⚘ he has experience, but if i’m being honest here he doesn’t see sex as a big deal.

⚘ he wouldn’t be out there looking to get laid every day of the week but if shit happens, it happens.

⚘ but don’t be discouraged, you obviously mean something a little more to dabi than some random fuck if he keeps showing up uninvited.

⚘ he might not admit it out right, but even though he doesn’t think sex is a big deal he’s still not going to sleep with just anyone.

⚘ remember that next time he’s eating your pussy out until you can’t see straight.

⚘ because no other girl could be this lucky.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

⚘ likes fucking you doggy style the most, his hand forcing your head down into the mattress while he just pound into you relentlessly.

⚘ or maybe taking you against a wall, that’s always fun for him.

⚘ your legs wrap around his hips nicely while the wet sound of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the room.

⚘ he thinks face to face is a too personal.

⚘ and no matter how much he loves having sex with you, he’s not ready to open himself up to some things yet.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

⚘ he takes fucking your brains out to be a very serious matter.

⚘ he might make a sarcastic remark or a cruel joke here and there.

⚘ but don’t expect him to be lighthearted about it.

⚘ every word that comes out of this man’s mouth is dripping with sin.

⚘ he doesn’t have time to joke around when he’s too busy making your pussy twitch deliciously on his tongue.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

⚘ he’s surprisingly well groomed.

⚘ he says he doesn’t like when gets too unkempt, so he keeps it trimmed.

⚘ his pubes are the same charcoal black as the hair on his head.

⚘ same texture too but a bit softer.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

⚘ he’s not intimate at all, this is just sex for him.

⚘ he might slip up and for just a second you can see a softer look in his eyes when he thinks you can’t see him.

⚘ when he realized what he was doing he went a little harder on you than usual that day.

⚘ he wasn’t mad at you but more at himself.

⚘ in a different world maybe he’d be a more loving partner, kissing you all over and whispering sweet words or love and admiration.

⚘ but that is not the case, and in this world he’s still dabi.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

⚘ he doesn’t jack off often but when he does he’ll think of you.

⚘ won’t ever admit it but goddamn he has the best orgasms when he does.

⚘ and it gives him ideas on what he’ll do to you later.

⚘ but to be honest, he doesn’t see masturbation as a necessary thing and can go quite a while without doing it.

⚘ no nut november, who?

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

⚘ what kinks doesn’t he have, is the real question.

⚘ deep-throating is his absolute favorite, he loves watching your swollen lips envelope around his cock.

⚘ spanking is one he’ll do quite often too, especially if you’ve been an absolute brat.

⚘ i’m not kidding, your ass will be so sore after that you won’t be able to sit for few days.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

⚘ he doesn’t have a preference.

⚘ if the need arises he’ll fuck you up against the wall in an empty alleyway if he wants to.

⚘ and it’s not like you’re complaining either.

⚘ but he would prefer a bed over anything else, he doesn’t like how cold it can be outside.

⚘ especially on his balls.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

⚘ nothing turns him on more than seeing you sitting there waiting for him so seductively.

⚘ he knows you want him he just wants you to show him how much.

⚘ he’s not used to getting this kind of attention with the way he looks so seeing you wanting him this badly will definitely turn him on.

⚘ he’ll take this with him to the grave, but he’s grateful he had someone to spend time with even if it was just sex.

⚘ and you mean a little more to him than most.

⚘ but you didn’t hear that from me.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

⚘ he will admit that even he can go too far sometimes, he knows that.

⚘ and you know that, at least you should by now at the very least.

⚘ but even he has his limits.

⚘ nothing that is too gross or dehumanizing.

⚘ he still sees you as a person, and from his own past experiences he tries to remember that.

⚘ he would expect the same from you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

⚘ he prefers to receive, remember what i said about loving to cum on your face?

⚘ but if he goes down on you, just know that you’re special.

⚘ dabi just doesn’t give a fuck when it comes to sex, but when he’s actually trying to make you feel good then you know he likes you.

⚘ in his own twisted way, of course.

⚘ but that still won’t stop him from absolutely destroying you inside and out, no in fact, it just gives him more incentive to.

⚘ so if you want him to go a little easy on you, make sure to open that pretty mouth of yours nice and good.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

⚘ two words: FAST and ROUGH.

⚘ do not expect anything less from him.

⚘ he’s the dominant one when you in this arrangement and he’s not going to give that up for no one.

⚘ not even for you.

⚘ he’s going to be fucking you so hard into the mattress until your absolutely screaming his name.

⚘ and be warned that if you’re being even the slightest bit bratty, he’s going to punish you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

⚘ he really likes them and sometimes even prefers them over regular sex.

⚘ just fair warning though, he’s not going to be gentle at all.

⚘ this will mostly be about getting him off, so if you don’t get much out of it that’s not his problem.

⚘ any feelings of guilt won’t stick around for long though, and if your a good girl he might even fuck you again that night.

⚘ just to how that while he may be a villain, he’s still looking out for you in his own way.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

⚘ oh he loves to take risks.

⚘ he sees it as kind of pointless if there isn’t at least some risk involved.

⚘ he can’t help but love the way your eyes shrink in fear a little if his hand puts just a little too much pressure on your neck.

⚘ you know he wouldn’t actually kill you, at least not like this.

⚘ but the thought still lingers in the back of your mind...

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

⚘ he can last a few an hour or two at most with how many rounds depending on how long the first was.

⚘ but it’s also important to note that while dabi loves to fuck you, he doesn’t want to spend all night having sex.

⚘ he’s fine going a couple rounds but when he’d done he’s done.

⚘ even if you didn’t get to finish or not.

⚘ but let’s not kid ourselves here, you most certainly did.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

⚘ be expected to be introduced to toys at some point if you guys continue to see each other.

⚘ he owns all kinds with every intention of pleasure and punishment.

⚘ noting gets him off more than watching your thighs quake around him as he fucks a vibrator into you.

⚘ but he’s quick to turn your pleasure into his own when he over-stimulates you until you’re on the verge of tears, your knuckles turning white from how hard you’re grasping onto the sheets underneath you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

⚘ it depends on his mood.

⚘ sometimes he wastes no time and just wants to bury himself into your tight cunt already.

⚘ other times, he’ll make you beg for his cock on your knees like a good girl.

⚘ you’ve got to earn it.

⚘ but don’t even think about teasing him, that’s one mistake you won’t ever make again.

⚘ trust me.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

⚘ he doesn’t make a lot of noise.

⚘ slight hisses and groans are expected, he doesn’t like to moan a lot.

⚘ but he does get nosier the closer he is to cumming.

⚘ he prefers to make you moan more than he ever will, it’s just so addicting to hear.

⚘ he’ll do whatever it takes to draw out those sweet, sweet noises from that sinful mouth of yours.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

⚘ the two of you have definitely done anal, i mean come on.

⚘ he already loves your ass as much as it is.

⚘ would definitely tell you to get on your hands and needs as he aligns himself with your hole.

⚘ he’d get the lube out of the side table and pour it over his cock, he’s not that cruel.

⚘ it feels so fucking good to him but whether or not you like it is a whole other story.

⚘ if you two have been seeing each other for a good time now he’d respect it if you didn’t want to do it again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

⚘ he’s a solid 6.1 inches, circumcised.

⚘ and jesus christ does he know how to fuck you with it.

⚘ would it be too much to say that you love his cock?

⚘ what am i saying, of course it wouldn't.

⚘ saying anything less would be a crime punishable by death.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

⚘ it surprisingly isn’t that high.

⚘ now don’t get me wrong, he loves to fuck you and will happily do so.

⚘ but like i said, sex isn’t a big deal to him.

⚘ if it were he’d have a bigger sex drive then he does now.

⚘ not to mention most people don’t want to have sex with someone who looks like he does, and he’s accepted that.

⚘ now that he’s found someone that does though his sex drive might increase more.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

⚘ he’s not very quick to fall asleep.

⚘ more than likely he’ll go outside for a smoke after you’ve both finished.

⚘ or lie in bed and just get lost in his own thoughts, but sleeping isn’t on his mind that’s for sure.

⚘ he’ll be more likely to fall asleep if you’ve taken a lot out of him or if he was more rough than usual.

@cocoa-bitter @micchikari @cherrymyeon @tiaraowens @dane-1212 @tenaciousgothstudentauthor @kac-chowsballs @cockaimeruben @fandomwhoresblog @shoutosteakettle

want to be added to my tagslist? click here.

#dabi #dabi x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha x reader #BNHA Headcanons #my hero academia #mha #mha x reader #mha headcanons

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1-800-roflmao · 3 years

Text

Wash Day Delight Pt. 1

Fandom: Undertale (Video Game)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader

Characters: Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Original Characters, Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), reader is poc, reader is mixed, Reader has curly hair, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Friendship, Wholesome, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, I’m Bad At Summaries, Not Beta Read

*Felt a need to write a fiction about a reader with thick, curly hair. And the Papyri in her life wanting to get their hands in it.

“Girl, you’ve got a lot a hair!” She could feel the corner of her mouth tweak up in amusement beneath her mask. It would not be the first or last time she heard those words. Yet they always brought her amusement, especially considering the move she was about to pull next.

“What if I told you this was only half of it?” she challenged the woman, eyes lighting up mischievously, while her client’s eyes widened only a fraction before narrowing in suspicion. Oh, she loved doing this. Not another word could be uttered before she laid the papers in her hands down neatly against the counter and was digging her fingers gently into her curls. She threw her client a sly wink as she lifted her curls up from her nape and turned her face to the side. An intricate undercut was now fully on display. She had gone with a diamond pattern this time. They laid like neat scales, stretching and repeating from her temple down to her ear, and back to her nape before looping back around. Some were painted with a gold mica for a little accent.

She couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped as she heard the woman’s dramatic gasp. “You weren’t kidding!” She could hear the smile in the older woman’s voice and it warmed her that her antics and hair could bring joy to some. “Oh, I wish I had hair like yours…” She wouldn’t be saying that if she knew how much work this hair was. Plus, her hair had to be finicky to boot. “I’d never cut it! Oh, the things I could do with it!” The novelty would wear off she was sure. A wig would probably be a more practical option. Letting her hair fall back into place, she gently finger combed it and pulled on the ends to help situate it. “Was it..” she lifted a brow at the pause, her fingers releasing a curl and watching as it bounced back into place, hiding it’s true length as it coiled back up. “... oh… hard? Yes, hard to choose to cut it?”

Oh, that was an easy question to answer. “Nope.” The answer was short, but not curt. Her voice warm and her eyes curving with mirth at the other’s disbelieving look. “I’ve had my hair much shorter than this at one point. Actually had it shaved all around for a good bit,” she admitted with a shrug. She was pretty sure her client was pouting under her mask and that made her smile more beneath hers. She finally took this moment to look over the other. She saw nothing wrong with the older woman’s beautifully white hair. It was obviously well taken care of and so long as you weren’t looking for flaws, you couldn’t tell that the senior’s hair was thinning. Effort had been put in, most likely with rollers, layers, and hairspray, to fluff and shape the thin, delicate strands into a soft coif. “Your hair is beautiful as well. I can only hope mine looks as good as yours when I’m your age.” The compliment was just as genuine as it was meant to comfort.

She watched as thin shoulders dropped and the crows feet at the edge of her client’s eyes eased. “You’re too kind,” the old woman tittered. Hands just as thin with joints a little swollen from arthritis lifted to bashfully touch her hair.

“A friend of mine says one can never be too kind, Mrs…” the young woman rebuked lightly while letting her voice drift off towards the end, fishing for a name.

“Mrs. Ida Thomas,” the elder filled in, smile reaching her eyes. Those eyes dipped down to look for a name tag, but found it missing. Her eyes darted back up, flustered, after hearing a little chuckle from the young woman across the counter. She was spared any more embarrassment as the other provided her name with a hand outstretched over the desk, palm open and fingers gently splayed. Her darker skin tone stood out against Mrs. Ida’s nearly translucent hue as they shook.

“Now, Mrs. Thomas, why don’t we get back to why you initially came in here?” she prompted, releasing the other’s hand and picking up the papers she had put down earlier. It was back to business after those words as she lead the consultation.

It would be nearly two hours later before she would finally be showing Mrs. Ida out politely. The two had gotten off topic again, but the tinkling of the little bell from above the front door of her office broke through their conversation. If that hadn’t done it, the cheerful and unmistakably loud call of her name in a familiar voice through the small space would have certainly done it. She smothered a chuckle as Mrs. Ida lightly jumped in her seat at the volume and suddenness. “That would be my friend, Papyrus,” she stated like it provided all the answers needed.

Mrs. Ida only nodded, currently turned in her seat with a curious gaze locked on the doorway. They could hear sure steps getting closer and closer as he marched his way to the inner sanctum. “He is quite… enthusiastic,” the older woman carefully chose her words and the younger held back a snort in response. Oh, she had no idea. She counted the seconds down in her head before finally the door to her private office was thrown open and the towering figure of the monster skeleton stepped inside with a flourish and yet another loud call of her nickname. She was sure if he was wearing his battle armor that the little cape on it would have been blowing in the nonexistent wind. How this monster managed to break physics always astounded her. Instead, he was dressed in blue training shorts and a loose pastel sweater over top his usual black tights that clung to his bones. On his feet were thankfully a pair of bright red trainers, rather than his fire engine red boots. Atleast they matched the just as bright red gloves.

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS HERE TO FULFILL HIS DUTIES AS THE GREATEST FRIE-” his monologue broke off as he finally took in the additional, apparently unexpected occupant of the office. “OH!” he jolted, empty sockets widening comically before he gathered himself and cleared his nonexistent throat, “Oh.” His volume dipped to what could be considered an “inside voice” considerately. The poor old woman had at first been in awe at the tall skeleton monster, but that awe had been replaced with a strained expression at the booming voice bouncing and filling the small space. The young woman was sure the skeleton had noticed and being the sweetheart he is, he had lowered his voice for the old woman’s comfort.

Before the moment of silence could stretch into something awkward, she gently tapped a nail on her desktop and then pushed herself to stand with one palm pressed flat to the smooth wood. With her other hand, she waved to the skeleton monster, “Papi-rus,” she greeted, having to stop herself from saying his nickname at the moment. She pouted under her mask as she noticed the little quirk to his teeth that gave away he was very much aware of her slip. She powered on and nodded her head to her client, “I was just finishing with Ms. Ida here,” she informed, introducing the two at the same time.

Ms. Ida seemed at a loss for words as Papyrus bounced back with a gloved hand thrust forward enthusiastically for a handshake. “Consider Yourself Lucky To Have Met THE GREAT PAPYRUS This Day, Hu- MRS. IDA!” She held in an inelegant snort at her friend’s efforts to keep his volume under control. Bless him. And bless Mrs. Ida who seemed even more starstruck, but thankfully had recovered just enough to lift a hand and take his. The old woman was now blinking at their hands as the skeleton’s much larger one gently gripped hers and was soon joined his other, sandwiching hers. She still hadn’t said a word and it took the young woman finally releasing a giggle to knock her out her stupor.

“Oh, goodness me! I have been so rude,” Mrs. Ida gasped, eyes lifting to look up at the skeleton who had leaned down with a concerned tilt to his teeth and scrunch to his surprisingly malleable eye sockets. “And I’ve worried you, I apologize, sweetie,” she went to hide behind her free hand, but seemed to think better of it and instead patted his hands that were still gripped around one of her own.

“Nyeh Heh Heh! It Is Quite Alright.” Papyrus’s words, but mostly his genuine laughter as his features brightened up seemed to melt the tension from the elder. “Afterall, That Sort of Reaction Is Expected-” the younger watched her client blink as the skeleton monster struck a pose. He stood tall, head held high, and one hand pressed to his purposely puffed chest with fingers splayed dramatically. His expression couldn’t look more smug and proud… then again, this was Papyrus. He could find a way and considering she had met some of his cousins, she knew it was possible. “-When One Meets A Skeleton As Cool As I Am! Wink!”

She could see her client’s eyes crinkling as she was undoubtedly smiling under her mask up at the monster. If it wouldn’t ruin the moment, she’d have taken a picture of the wholesome moment for memories. Instead, she gently tapped at her phone’s screen and it illuminated, displaying the time. Eyes widening briefly, she glanced up at the clock on the wall as well before sparing a glance out the window. The sun was not visible, but the world wasn’t quite dark yet. It was the cool colors of twilight that dominated the world outside. “It’s later than I realized,” she commented, mostly to herself, but the other two occupants still heard her and broke from their idle chatter.

Mrs. Ida peeked out the window as well before looking at her own wrist watch with a chuckle. Papyrus nodded in affirmation with arms crossed, not bothering to look outside or look to any clock. No, his focus was acutely on the youngest human in the room. Though his sockets lacked any eyelights, she could feel his gaze on her as those sockets narrowed. Leave it to Papyrus to scold her without saying a word; though she’s sure he’s practically vibrating in his metaphorical boots to lecture her. The reason he did not expect any guests in her office was because she should have been closing up a good hour ago and been ready to go by the time he stepped through her door. He was always punctual and most times early.

Subconsciously, she twirled and pinched a curl at the nape of her neck as she looked away guiltily to the oh so interesting texture of the wood floors.

Mrs. Ida giggled at the silent exchange. Just what had she interrupted? Had they had a date planned? As amusing and precious as it was to watch the two, she would take pity on the girl. A smirk curved her lips under her mask as she decided to help the young agent out. She released a dramatic sigh before looking over and up to Papyrus. “Mind giving an old woman a hand? These joints of mine get stiff when I’ve idled too long,” she beckoned with an outstretched hand. It worked like a charm as the skeleton’s attention was immediately focused on the old woman. Once again, her hand was swamped in his gloved digits and with surprising care for someone so boisterous, he helped her stand.

“Stiff Joints Are Never Fun. I Would Know!” he joked, beaming as he earned yet another soft titter from the frail looking human before him. She looked so small and her hand, it felt… fragile. Like if he gripped too hard or moved too harshly, she would break. He offered his other hand for her to grip as well as she straightened up and steadied herself.

“I’m sure you do,” Mrs. Ida playfully replied. Her eyes moved back to the young woman who had finally left from behind her desk and now stood before the duo. “I’m sorry about taking up all your time like this,” she dipped her head to the young woman who quickly responded with raised palms and a shake of her head.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Mrs. Ida,” she assured. “It’s not your fault you make such good company,” she complimented, a teasing lilt to her voice as her eyes crinkled due to her hidden smile.

The old woman hushed the younger with feigned embarrassment. “Flatterer,” she accused lightly and didn’t bother to hide an unlady-like snort as her agent just wiggled her eyebrows in response.

Papyrus hummed as he listened to the exchange. He spared an anxious glance out the window and resisted tapping his toes in impatience. Not that he didn’t enjoy meeting new people--new potential friends--, he simply wished to spend time with his already established friend for their usual outing. “I Feel I Need To Remind You Two Of What Time it Is.” The statement did not have the intended affect as the two women simply laughed after a small lull to stare up at him. “NYEH!” His little burst seemed to only make their mirth worse, “THIS IS SERIOUS. WE HAVE PRIOR ARRANGEMENTS TO GET TO!” he was pouting and he knew it, but another glance at the clock and his sockets were narrowing as he leveled an accusing glare on his human friend. “CORRECTION! WE SHOULD ALREADY BE THERE!”

Mrs. Ida was thankful for the serotonin these two had blessed her with this evening as even the skeleton’s loss of volume control couldn’t bring her down at this point. “You two are just adorable!” she was practically cooing. After taking a deep breath in and slowly releasing, she felt the giggles dissipate. “Apologies, Papyrus, Dear, but it’s a southern thing.”

A beat of silence, then. “WHAT DOES A CARDINAL DIRECTION HAVE TO DO WITH THIS?” Yet another snort left the woman and she had to bring a hand up to hover in front of her masked mouth to suppress another bout of laughter.

Fighting her own battle against a bout of giggles, the young woman managed to speak up. “She’s referring to a geographical region, Papyrus,” she clarified, “It’s a running joke that southerners don’t know how to say goodbye since they take forever to part ways.” Both women watched the monster take in the information and sighing as he nodded firmly, indicating he understood. Not a moment later they were jumping as he straightened up, one hand on his hip, and the other pointing to his roof before swinging down. Once his hand stopped, the humans found themselves staring down his finger as the skeleton somehow managed to aim an even toothier grin at them.

“AS THE ONLY ONE HERE NOT A ‘SOUTHERNER,’ ALLOW ME TO BESTOW ON YOU HUMANS THE MOST EFFICIENT WAYS TO SAY GOODBYE!” Papyrus declared, his tone exuberant, but unable to completely mask the sassy, sly lilt from his friend. Mrs. Ida, though, was none the wiser and just found the whole idea of being taught how to say goodbye entertaining. She nodded, agreeing to play along. “PERFECT! STEP ONE! LOOK AT EACH OTHER.” The two human women humored him as they made eye contact. Mrs. Ida gave the young woman an admonishing look as she wiggled those brows again. Thankfully, their teacher did not notice, or maybe he was just ignoring their antics. “GOOD! NOW, STEP TWO. REPEAT AFTER ME: GOOD NIGHT!”

It was such an abrupt order that both women just blinked in disbelief. The younger recovered first with a meager shake of her head and a giggle, “Good night, Mrs. Ida!” With a little nod to her client, the old woman replied with a just as enthusiastic farewell.

Papyrus nodded in approval with only a small narrowing of his eye sockets at the two as they giggled. “FINAL STEP: PART WAYS!” he stated with a flourished wave of his hand to the doorway. A tap on his arm brought his attention back to his friend who was gesturing for him to bend down. He did so with minimal complaint, but only completely quit his grumping as she set a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his metaphorical ear.

Mrs. Ida had only glanced at the doorway and just barely gotten to take a step before she was jumping in place as a loud gasp filled the room. Before she could question what had happened, she felt as if she was floating for a moment as she was quite literally swept off her feet and into Papyrus’s arms. She couldn’t have been more thankful for the mask mandate as it hid most of her quickly reddening face. She hadn’t been held in years, much less lifted so effortlessly. She was too stunned and flustered to utter any sort of protest.

“Sorry about that, ma’am, but with it getting dark outside, it would ease my mind if you allowed Papyrus to escort you to your car?” The old woman simply blinked at her junior and then up at the lad who currently had her suspended. Escorting was one thing, but to be carried?

“AND I FELT IN MY INFINITE WISDOM, IT WOULD BE MOST EFFICIENT IF I CARRIED YOU,” the skeleton interjected, reminding her that he had been aiming to teach them “efficient goodbyes.” “YOU ALSO STATED EARLIER THAT YOUR JOINTS GET STIFF. THIS WAY YOU DON’T HAVE TO STRAIN!” he added, proud and eager, “NO WORRIES ABOUT ME. MY BONES AND JOINTS ARE IN TIP TOP SHAPE! AND YOU, HUMAN IDA, ARE NO CHALLENGE TO HOLD!”

The elder just nodded along. “You were right, I was pretty lucky to meet you today,” she recalled his introduction fondly. With a final wave goodbye and short parting words, Mrs. Ida found herself being swept out the room, through a short hall, small waiting area, and finally out the front door.

That tinkling of a bell signaling to the young woman currently straightening her office and filing away papers that her client was gone and she now had until Papyrus got back to finish up.

Papyrus eased his impatience by thinking of his current task as training. A very easy warm up. A very unexpected, unplanned warm up. The elderly human’s… Mrs. Ida’s weight in his arms was no challenge; and despite the buzz in limbs begging him to move faster, the memory of her frail hands and aching bones helped keep him grounded. He settled into a steady, swift pace. His long legs covering plenty of ground with each step.

At first, the two had been chatting idly and he had been quick to get her to point out where she had parked. It was alarming to learn she had not parked anywhere and he had been confused until she mentioned she had “caught” a cab. Her little giggle as she took the time to explain what she meant and that she had not literally CAUGHT a cab. He admits he is still figuring out humans’ rather creative use of words or language. She’d even taken the time to explain “euphemisms” to him as he brought her to the nearest bus stop after a quick google to check the schedule and location.

“EUPHEMISMS SEEM LIKE SOMETHING MY BROTHER WOULD ENJOY,” he had commented. Mentally, he added on that his brother would probably catch on to them easier as well. Sans, along a couple of his “cousins,” was a walking dictionary, considering his preference for crossword puzzles. Maybe his puns would improve in cleverness if he introduced him to the world of euphemisms. One could only hope. Thankfully, he had plenty of that. The conversation had continued, easy and casual, until finally the bus stop came into view and the bus just rolling up.

Papyrus picked up his pace just a bit and secured his grip on his passenger. Mrs. Ida managed to loose an arm to wave as both called to the driver to wait up. The bus remained idle thankfully and once they slowed to a stop before the door, it slid open to a rather plump man sitting in the driver’s seat who simply tipped his hat to them. “Lucky I saw you two in the rear view,” his words brought forth yet another little giggle for the old woman.

“Today is just my lucky day, it seems!” she boasted, tapping Papyrus’s shoulder as he eased her onto her own feet. The driver had gotten up and stood on the steps, hand held out to help his elder up the steps.

“Goodness, all of you are going to have me spoiled by time I get home,” she teased, taking the young man’s hand and letting him guide her up onto the step. She could feel Papyrus kept a steadying hand at her back. What a sweet gentle monster.

“Oh! Before I forget,” she chirped and turned to look over her shoulder at the skeleton. Said skeleton didn’t bother hiding his widening smile as she still had to look up at him despite her standing on the top step at this point. She had simply huffed and set a hand on her hip, “Go easy on her, big guy.” If he had eyebrows, one would have been raised at her warning tone. Before he could even part his teeth to ask her to elaborate, she was speaking again, “Unless that’s what you two are into.” If his tongue was summoned, he’d be choking on it. The driver was doing so for him as he could hear the portly human coughing and beating at his chest. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Papyrus,” she finished with a wink and her tone was so cheeky, even his dense skull knew what she was implying.

It wasn’t until the doors of the bus had closed that he could practically feel his skull burning with excess magic summoned to surface in his embarrassment. He buried his face in his hands, trying his best to muffle his flustered screech. It didn’t do much. As streets down, some poor soul was wondering if they had left their tea kettle on.

#mrs ida stole the show #she ships it #curly haired reader #thick hair #this part was mostly a warm up #meat/plot is next #papyrus #papyrus x y/n #papyrus x self insert #papyrus x reader #poc reader #skin color is only mentioned once #but feel the need to tag it despite it being vague #mrs ida is just pale #papyrus is a golden retriever #a sassy one though #fanfic #fanfiction #undertale

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enigma-im · 4 years

Text

Hooked on a Feeling

Prompt #8

Subject: Water-based sex Monster: Merman

First time kisses, Loving embraces, and near drowning is what makes a romantic evening.

------------------------------------

Since the first day, I've been captivated by him. His beautiful colors of red, purple, and orange in his scales. The hard angles of his fins. Even his strange nearly human face. It's all been so alluring and thought-provoking. I can barely rip my mind from ideas of him.

When he first showed up to the facility I was iffy. Not on him, never on him, but how he ended up here. Though he made it clear to all around that he was here of free will, I still pondered about it. He came here because of typical injuries that most aquatic species face. Some torn scales and slashed fins that made it damn near impossible to swim. Though he has long since healed, he sticks around. I have asked countless times after I gained the courage to speak with him but he has yet to give me a complete answer. In my opinion, I think he enjoys the easy life.

I wonder about this thought as I sit along the edge of his cage one night. I kick my feet in the water as I rest my elbow on my knee. He swims below in large lazy circles, the sight just barely registering as I stare into space. Why would this wonderful creature still be doing here? He is strong enough to go back out there to his home. He has to have family waiting for him so what is holding him back? Perhaps he is honestly lazy, enjoying the sweet life of luxury in a highly funded rehabilitation center. Living off the generosity that no one will force him out. As possible as the idea is it just doesn't sit well.

He emerges from the depth silently, watching me with his barely submerged head. I catch his eyes, watching him back. He swims closer, his long tail propelling him. His webbed hands grab the metal grate I'm resting on, framing my thighs with his arms.

"Hello," he smiles.

"Hi," I answer back. Though my smile is curter than his. I feel too worn today to give back his enthusiasm.

"Penny for your thoughts," he rests his head along his arm, tracing a claw over my knee. I watch him for a moment, fighting the urge to jerk my knee at the ticklish feeling.

"Just thinking about something that's been bugging me," I mumble. His finger stops tracing over a long healed cut on my thigh. He instead flattens his hand, leaning up to rest his chin on my knee.

"What would that be," he asks. His tail lazily swishes behind him. I take the moment to admire it. The fade from red to purple with blotches of orange near his waist is beautiful. Sometimes when I look at him I feel the urge to paint though I lack the talent for it.

"Nothing exciting," I grab his hand, playing with the webs between his fingers. He allows me, lingering on the sight before saying anything else.

"Humor me anyway," he flips my hand over to trace over the lines on my palm.

"Alright," I grab his hand again," I was thinking about you."

His head snaps up to me," oh? I thought you said it was nothing exciting." his smirk brings a smile to my cheeks. I shove him playfully in the shoulder.

"Specifically I was thinking about why you choose to stick around here," I clarify," like, you don't need to be here but you stay. I can't imagine this place is as appealing as the great wide ocean."

"I'd argue differently, this place has something the ocean doesn't have," he shrugs.

"yea? What would that be," I humor him. The ocean is full of such wonder and beauty while this building has gray walls and dozens of aquarium tanks. Though the view is beautiful near the cove, it's only that small window that offers a glimpse of the true view. I look over towards the open barn doors, catching the rising moon.

"Well," he hesitates," for starters, it has you." I snap my head from the view to him.

"what," I huff in amusement. I meet his flustered gaze, realizing the sincerity of his words. "You think I'm more beautiful than the ocean," I scoff," you have been in here too long."

He snorts," you clearly must be blind because I've spent my entire life in the ocean, and only you have been able to steal my breath away."

I open my mouth to dispute his claim but his warm smile and tender looks make my heart throb. I look between his eyes, lost in thought for another time this night. He doesn't allow me to stew as he grabs my arms and swims out a bit, tugging me softly.

"Why not come for a swim," he asks with a gentle smile. I roll my eyes and tug back away, a rejection on the tip of my tongue. He interrupts," please, I wish to try something with you." I stare, conflicted but mostly curious. I've swum with him before, gaining great enjoyment from it.

"Fine," I sigh. He grins in triumph, ready to tug me into the water. I yank my hand back before he could, "Let me get these clothes off first. I don't have a spare set." his setting pout switches to blushing glee. I still can't figure out what he sees in me but I will soak up the admiration while I can. It's not every day someone says you are a more beautiful view than all the sights in the ocean.

I quickly discard my clothes, keeping a makeshift bikini set of a bra and underwear on before hopping into the slightly above room temperature water. The rush of being submerged makes me kick to the surface quickly. As I push the wet hair from out my face I'm greeting with his handsome face. His flat nose and sharp pearly whites. He swiftly grabs me, leaning back and swimming further into his pool. I rest against his chest, feeling his tail wiggle near my legs. Once we are far enough out he rests, holding me close to his body as he strokes along my sides.

"Is this what you wanted to do? Come out to the middle of your pool and cuddle," I tease. He looks down at me, raising a hand to moves a wet strand behind my ear.

"No but it's a perk," he grins," what I wanted to do was this." he straightens, letting my body slide off his, before cupping my face. My heart lurches at the immediate implication. It doesn't help when his thumb pet over my cheek. Before I can ask he leans forward and brushes his lips to mine. The strange wet, bumpy, warm press of his skin to mine is startling at first. Though I was fairly warned I still wasn't ready. He is shy in his attention, just testing the waters before pulling back.

"I think we could have done that without having me get undressed," I bite back a smile.

"Just taking the opportunities when they arise," he leans back down for another kiss. I react this time, grabbing his waist to secure our bodies closer then molding my lips to his. He gasps at the more forceful attentions, letting me lead with a soft hum. Our lips fit together well enough for what we are, feeling electrical in its pleasures. I try to introduce my tongue to the mix but he startles away. He leans back, licking his lips as he regards me.

"Kissing is strange," he chuckles," I didn't know you guys use tongue as well."

I huff with a confused furrow of my brow, "does your kind not kiss?"

"No, I just saw a lot of people around here doing it and I'll admit I grew very intrigued by the idea of doing that with you," he blushes.

"You saw people kissing and thought of me," I trail my leg along his tail. I feel his muscles twitch, moving us a bit as his body flicks.

"Y-yea," he stutters, " and I will very much so like to do that again."

"With or without tongue," I poke fun. He merely rolls his eyes before pressing his mouth to mine. This go around, he is more confident in his skills, introducing his tongue first. I show him the wonders of French kissing with slides of my tongue against his and sucking his before thrusting mine into his mouth.

As the heated make-out session progresses I feel the water around us move, swooshing along my legs. His tail flicks back and forth as he bumps his pelvis into my thighs. I adjust accordingly, matching my crotch to where I assume his is. I grind on him, relishing in the groan he lets out. Very quickly a protrusion pokes against my crotch before it slides along the cleft of my thigh. I pin it between our bodies, pleasuring him while I take in his moans.

He rips away from my mouth, dropping his head back as he pants heavily. His tail swishes quickly, rubbing his scales on my skin. Though surprisingly smooth it does begin to chafe. His groans grow rampant along with the grind of his hips to the point that I worry of an impending climax. I stop my grinding and grab his head, forcing him to look at me.

"You alright," I ask. His hazy eyes finally focus on me, his fingers tightening on the back of my neck.

"Oh," he comes back to himself, "Apologies, I got very lost there for a moment. Your body is extremely tempting, I shouldn't have rushed us like that." he drops his hands from around my neck, making to depart. I dig my fingers into his hips, dragging him back and keeping him near with my legs around him.

"I didn't say I didn't like it," I purr," just got a bit worried there. You seem to be enjoying yourself a great deal."

He chokes on his laugh," yea? It's hard not to. Your kisses were too erotic, a lethal weapon truly. Though if you are so inclined, do you wish to continue?"

Instead of answering, I trail a hand down between us, grabbing at his cock. His lusty grin goes debauched as I squeeze the base of him. His tail flicks again, pumping himself into my hand.

"By the gods," he grunts," you aren't even doing much and I'm completely ready to be your slave."

I pump his shaft lazily," my slave? Making too many promises and you haven't even gotten inside me yet."

He perks up at my words, "Inside you? Is this possibly going to be the best night of my life?"

"Keep saying those mushy words and it will be, big boy," I thumb the head of his cock with an immodest grin. He groans with an all too willing roll of his hips. I pump him, all too eager to watch him fall apart because of me. His eyes don't know where to go, lost between looking at me or my hand. Soon he settles on my clothed chest, a light-catching in his eyes as he brings a hand to my straps. My hand slows as I wait for him. He pulls the strap, snapping it against my shoulder with a questioning quirk of his brow.

"Ask and you shall receive," I joke as I peel the wet clothing off. He watches with rapt attention, lighting up when I'm fully presented. Without missing a beat he cups my chest, making me laugh at his over-eagerness. He gropes with glee, pleased as all can be. I enjoy the attention but enjoy stroking him even more.

I jerk him off as he plays with my chest, tweaking my nipple when he finds my actions stutter. We both test the other's resolves while enjoying our exploration. He soon rips my hand from his cock to lean down and bring a bud into his mouth. His sharp teeth glide along the erect bud, soothing the small scratches with his tongue. I find myself slowly sinking lower in the water, his attention never wavering as he submerges.

I brush my palm over the fin protruding down the back of his head, panting with a silly smile on my face. He goes from lathering my chest to smooshing his head between them, groping while he mashing my tits against his cheek. I can't help but chuckle, pulling him up for a kiss. He impatiently delves his tongue into my mouth as his arms wrap around my waist. He pulls me in close, aligning our bodies just right that his tip prods at my folds. He grinds in short bursts between them, taking his turn to relish in my groans against his tongue.

I grow impatient at the teasing, reaching down to grab his cock. He grunts, parting from my lips. He rests his head at the crook of my neck, watching between us as I line him up. With a short buck of his tail, he nudges inside, slowly gliding in with a small bit of resistance. With every gasp and grunt from me, he pauses only to continue when I nuzzle his head. Soon he is to the hilt, panting near my ear.

"Are you ok," he sighs, baring his teeth to my jaw. I ripple along him making him seethe at the sudden squeeze.

"I'm good, how bout you," I kiss his shoulder.

"I'm good," he sucks in a deep breath," I'm going to move now."

"Alright," butterflies jump around in my stomach in anticipation. He holds me firm against his chest as his tail arches back before snapping his hips forward. This sudden thrust makes me cry out. He pauses at the sound, only repeating the action when I reassure him with a kiss to his shoulder. I rest against him as he begins to plow into me, forgoing the languid bucks for frenzied thrusts.

I feel on fire because of him, crying out into the nearly empty room. I can hear the splashing of the water between us as his hips meet mine. I tilt my head back to keep from catching the drops in my mouth. I flutter along his cock, grinding into ever meeting. My nails dig into his back, wanting him as close as possible. His cock feels like a god sent, too perfect for someone like me. As I listen to his own cries of pleasure do I understand what beauty can exist outside of the ocean. I can't help but climb so fast upon the hill of climax. He is too much- just exactly enough- for me.

As my body ripples with its nearing orgasm that he leaves from the comfort of my neck to attack my lips in a crushing kiss. His teeth scrape against my skin, perhaps ripping open the delicate layers. It's when I taste copper on his tongue do I get my answer. The taste and his rough handling nearly push me over the edge. I pull back from him, screaming out my enjoyment as he returns to the crevice of my neck.

As I begin to pulse around him we start to sink under the water. I have half a mind to take in a breath before I become completely submerged. Though the danger of the situation is but a fuzzy note in my brain I find myself transfixed by the trust I have in him as I squeeze him in a tight grip. I fight back the urge to cry out my last breath as I cum on him. His thrusts become frantic as he rides out my high, reaching his in the process. As he pulses and throbs, his teeth sink into my neck, clamping down hard as he cums. I can't fight the urge any longer, arching back and letting out a wail into the water. The bubbles rise to the top as my hair frames the last breath I have.

He stills, arched around my and buried to the helve. His teeth slowly release me but don't completely let go. The moment is too perfect though my body begins to fight the need for breath. I take in a few moments of having him buried inside me and holding me so dear before I nudge him.

He snaps away from my bleeding neck to catch my eyes. Realization dawns on him as he pulls out then swims up. As we break the surface I take in a greedy breath. He watches me with worry while I catch my breath.

"I'm fine," I pant. He doesn't take my words seriously as he pulls me closer.

"I'm so sorry," he pets my back," I didn't even think, it just happened." his worried eyes stabs at my heart. I grab his head as he flutters about me. I press a quick peck to his lips before leaning back with a smile.

"it's ok, I'm fine," I peck him again for good measure. He seems to relax before he looks down towards my shoulder. His worry ramps up again.

"Oh, I have made a right mess of your shoulder," he brushes the hair away. The sting of the action makes me wince.

"You bit me," I find myself laughing," that was unexpected." he flinches at the comment, still observing the bleeding wound. He leans down in what I assume was a closer look but was instead to lick it. I stiffen at the suddenness of having his tongue cleaning my wound. I then shiver when he does it again, ridding the area of blood. Once he is done he presses a kiss to it, soft and caring.

"Though I enjoy the sight of my mark on your neck I do apologies for going so overboard. Scaring you and drowning you in one go was not my intentions," he catches my eyes, sincerity written all over his face. I can't help but pull him in close and kiss him.

"All is forgiven," I lean next to his ear, "I liked it." he shivers with a groan, pulling my hips against his.

"What did you like," he asks with a cheeky grin.

I play along, "I liked having your cock buried inside me and trusting you while you had me underwater."

"You liked almost drowning," he asks in slight disbelief.

"Yea, I trust you to not let me drown. Even if you were distracted," I kiss his cheek," and what a feeling that was. You are quite a skilled lover if I do say so, but I think I can show you a few more tricks."

"yea," he asks," are you open to showing me right now?"

"Perhaps," I answer. He growls as he leans in for a kiss, swimming towards the nearest wall to press me against.

"No drowning this time," he mumbles against my jaw.

"Maybe a little," I tease. He nibbles my ear, tugging it in protest.

-------------------------------------

I don’t know why this one is my favorite. Something about nearly drowning just gets to me i guess. One more story left for this weekend!

Complete series

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

#merman #monster boyfriend #exophilia #Enigma-IM #Prompt series #prompt 8 #fluff #this is my favorite

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tessxblxckthorn · 3 years

Text

you’re more to me

@juulies and again: happy holidays love!! (2/2)

a short juke soulmate au cause meg wrote that she likes the trope so i thought why not... english isn’t my first language and I haven’t written in quite some time so please have mercy and enjoy!

It took her an entire day to realise. Julie could see colors. Actual, vibrant colors. Not the dull, grey-ish colors she had seen her entire life but the bright red of the painted dahlias on her bedroom walls, the vivid blue of the Los Angeles sky, the deep violet of the string that was still braided into her hair from yesterday's performance in the Orpheum.

It had all been so chaotic that Julie hadn't had a minute to breath and, well, realise that she had met her soulmate.

Her soulmate.

Of course she knew about soulmates and that, after finding yours and having direct skin contact with them, you could see every beautiful color that exists. But she also knew that many people never, ever found theirs. Sure, her parents had been soulmates, but they were lucky. Flynn's parents weren't soulmates, Carries definitely hadn't been.

While there were a lot of soulmate-couples, people just didn't want to get their hopes up just to never find theirs. So that's why, at the young age of 10, Flynn and Julie had stopped believing that they would eventually find their perfect match, simply because this wasn’t a perfect world.

And now, at age 16, Julie was laying in her bedroom on her bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how on earth she could’ve missed meeting her soulmate. Because that was what had happened, right? She must have bumped into them at the show or while running out on the street when she thought the guys had died...or stopped existing or whatever...or when she went home with her dad and Carlos or-

There was a loud bang coming from her closed door followed by a groan and a curse.

“Come in!”, Julie called out, sitting up and pushing her messy hair out of her face.

“Damn it”, Alex groaned and closed the door behind him. “Still haven't adjusted completely to being alive again, thought I could just materialize through the door.”

Julie laughed softly. “Yeah, I heard that.”

“Pretty sure your dad thinks we’re absolute weirdos now, Reggie just said good-bye in the kitchen and then jumped up before realising he couldn't poof out.”

Jup, that sounded like Reggie.

“Anyway, the boys and I wanted to drive back to the Orpheum, you wanna come?”

“Weren't you at the Orpheum this morning?”, Julie asked confused, while starting to fold her costume from yesterday's performance.

“True, but...Lukethinkshemethissoulmatethere”, Alex muttered under his breath, looking at the, suddenly so interesting, blanket that was thrown over Julie's bed.

Said girl froze up. Had she heard correctly? “Uhm Luke- he- what?”

Alex sighed and pushed his blond hair back, a habit he did a lot when he was anxious. “Ok, so- I mean- Luke- He- he can see colors now, like the kind of colors you can only see after you met your soulmate? And he can see the colors since this morning so he thinks he met them while we were back at the Orpheum to meet with Willie.”

“Oh…”, Julie said, dropping her hands that were still folding into her lap. No, it was stupid. Of course she hadn't thought or hoped her soulmate would be Luke. He was dead. Well, now he was alive again, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Luke Patterson couldn't be her soulmate. Eventhough, for some dumb, idiotic reason, her heart apparently had wished he was.

“Yeah…”, Alex agreed, awkwardly fingering at the blanket. He wasn’t dumb, in fact, he was probably the most observant of the three boys and it wasn’t difficult to identify the way Luke looked at Julie. Not only at the performances but all the time.

“Uhm- I- Flynn’s coming over so…”, Julie trailed off. “We’re having a girls night.” More like a “freaking-out-about-who-could-be-Julie’s-soulmate”-night or a “crying-over-the-fact-that-Luke’s-not-her-soulmate”- night. She hadn’t decided yet, but judging by the lump in her throat it seemed that the latter was more possible.

“Oh ok. Yeah, sure.”

Julie nodded slowly.

“Okayyyyy”, Alex scratched his neck. “Then I'm going to go now. With the boys. To the Orpheum.” She nodded again.

By the time he had closed her bedroom door again, after softly smiling at her with his annoyingly nice “I-know-what’s-going-on-and-you-can-always-talk-to-me-but-I-don’t-want-to-push-you”-look, Julie was fighting the tears.

The last two hours, after she realized that she could see colors, she had spent thinking about every person that could or couldn't be her soulmate. It couldn't be anyone she actually knew, because she had had direct skin contact with all of them at some point before yesterday. All of them except Luke, Reggie and Alex. Not Alex, because he’s gay and terribly in love with this Willie she had yet to meet. Not Reggie, because he was like a brother to her and he still couldn't see colors.

And not Luke, because he had met his soulmate this morning. And not last night like she apparently had, simply because she hadn’t left the house since then.

So it had to be some stranger, right? And still, everytime she thought about her soulmate, she thought about Luke’s piercing hazel eyes, his perfect smile and his soft brown hair and-

“Oh my god”, Flynn shouted, slamming the door shut behind her. “You can’t just text me that you met your soulmate without any details!”

Julie flinched and instantly shushed her. “Flynn! No one else knows! Shut up!”

“Oh Julie, I’m not stupid. Ray and Carlos went grocery shopping and the boys just passed me, saying they want to go to the Orpheum or something? Whatever, I need the details!”, Julie's best friend threw her bag beside Julie’s desk and jumped onto her bed.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Flynn laughed loudly and then looked back to Julie. She went quiet. “No”, she said. “No, no, cause I thought I just heard that you said you didn’t know who your soulmate is but I must have misunderstood.”

Julie sighed and layed back down next to Flynn. “You don't know? How can you not know? You met your soulmate, are able to see colors now and tell me you don't know who it was? How can you not know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Julie…”

“Seriously, Flynn. I don't know, okay? And it's horrible! I didn’t even realize I’m able to see colors now till this morning. I don’t remember suddenly being able to see colors after touching someone, okay? It was all so chaotic yesterday. The performance. The boys missing. Then I thought the boys were gone. Then they weren’t. Then they nearly died of those jolts in the garage. Then they were suddenly alive again. Then I had to explain to my dad why the hologram band from Sweden is in the garage. It was all messy and chaotic and I must have missed it.”

“Breathe, Julie.”

“I am breathing!”, Julie cried out, hiding her face in one of her pillows.

She felt Flynn soothingly patting her shoulder.

“So it isn't Luke?”, the girl said softly after a while. Julie choked and pushed down her tears. She shook her head, still buried in the pillow.

“But you thought he would be.” Julie went still and then shook her head again. “I guess I hoped it would be him.”

“Oh…”, Flynn mumbled and went back to rubbing her best friend's shoulder. While she had been against bonding with Luke and more one Team Nick, she knew that Julie had fallen for the ghost-boy. And, well, she’d mostly been against Luke because he was a ghost...which he wasn’t anymore.

“So did you tell the boys?”, Flynn asked hesitantly when Julie showed her face again and sat back against the headboard.

“Nope”, she croaked and cleared her throat. “I wanted to think and then tell the boys. But then they were busy trying to find Luke’s soulmate.”

Flynn opened her mouth and closed it again. “Wait so Luke met his soulmate too? When?”

“This morning at the Orpheum apparently”, Julie answered bitterly.

“This morning? Is he sure?”, Julie shrugged. “I don’t know, that’s what Alex said.”

“Ok, so you haven’t talked to him or, you know, touched him? I mean, what if he only realized this morning he could see colors? Touching him-”

“would either dull or brighten the colors.”, Julie finished, looking at Flynn wearily. “I forgot about that part to be honest.” Flynn was beaming. “But, Flynn, I really don’t want to get my hopes up just to be disappointed again, okay? And who knows, maybe Luke found his soulmate already.”

“Nuh-uh, you gotta be optimistic, okay? Everyone can see the way you two look at each other!” Julie frowned slightly. God, how she wanted to believe Luke could be her soulmate...she just didn't want her heart to be crushed when reality set in.

“Anyway, we gotta change that topic because we can’t do anything about it right now. But before we start the Netflix marathon we gotta go to the kitchen or I’ll starve.”

Julie laughed and rolled her eyes but followed her friend.

The two girls were in the middle of topping off their tortilla chips platter with cheese when the front door was opened.

“So, let me sup it up”, they heard Alex's confused voice. “You don't actually know you met your soulmate this morning, you just didn't realize before then that you could see colors? So you meeting and touching them also could’ve been yesterday. Which actually seems more plausible, if you think about-”, the blond boy stopped abruptly, Luke next to him, when he saw the girls sitting at the counter frozen up and...listening.

“But the only person you touched yesterday, other than us, is Julie so- ohhhh”, Reggie bumped into Luke and shut up when he saw their faces.

There was silence for about five seconds in which everyone in the room realized what Reggies statement meant before Flynn hopped from her chair. “Reggie, Alex, you have to help me pick out a movie upstairs. Now.”

And Julie and Luke, still frozen up, were alone.

“So-”

“I-”, they started at the same time. Julie blushed. “You go first.”

Luke nodded awkwardly and walked towards her, sitting down on the chair opposite to her.

“I didn't realize it till today. I don’t know why i thought it might’ve been someone at the meeting with Willie today but I thought you couldn’t see colors and I didn’t want to get my hopes up, and-”, he was cute when he rambled, Julie thought, but stopped him from any more talking by reaching out and taking his hand that was on the counter in front of her. Every color in the room seemed to get even brighter momentarily and Julie gaped. Luke did too.

“So, that was fool-proof.” Luke laughed lightly and slowly took her hand in his. Julie couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

“I didn’t realize it till this morning either. And i wanted to think first but then Alex told me you had met your soulmate this morning but i had to have met my soulmate yesterday so I thought- wait, did you just say you didn’t want to get your hopes up?”

Luke grinned but blushed. “I kinda thought it was obvious, you know, that you mean a lot to me.”

Julie’s heart seemed to beat faster and she squeezed his hand. “Well, apparently everyone but me realized it but...it’s mutual, Luke.”

The boy smiled widely and pressed a shy kiss to their joined hands. “Good to know.”

Julie swore she never smiled that hard ever before.

#netflix #jatp #jatpdaily #secret santa #julie and the phantoms #Julie and Luke #jatp julie #juke imagine #luke patterson #luke jatp #julie molina

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deejadabbles · 3 years

Text

Crimson Portrait (Seto Kaiba x Reader)

So as I said in my drabble a couple days ago, I’m wanting to write some short fics to get back into the swing of things and I wanted to gift said drabbles to some mutual I adore. Next on my list is @ohyema the top Vampire and Yugioh enthusiast on this site! I’m sure you’ve all seen her amazing art floating around already, but in case not please check out her stuff (and reblog the heck outta it!), the way she colors her pieces and adds dramatic flair is something I aspire to tbh <3

For this fic I decided to spread my proverbial wings and write Seto for a change (don’t get used to this though, Kaiba fans, I’m still not a Kaiba stan lol) and I hope you enjoy our dark, mysterious blood thirsty, CEO ;)

You gulped, eyes traveling up the metal and glass of the building as though counting each towering floor would make it any less intimidating. It wasn’t just the size, of course, it was the marble path spread out in front of the entry, it was the literal red carpet on the other side of doors- it was the gold etching and suited man around said doors! You found yourself clutching the portfolio case under your arm even tighter to your chest. Subtle lights brightened the edges of the building, though you were sure they were meant to make it shine like a beacon of wealth at night, rather than give it any cheer or levity.

This was by far the fanciest place you had ever been and the doorman casting a glance at you made you tug at your clothes for probably the seventeenth time since heading here. The outfit was fine, you reminded yourself; professional, but simple. Nothing that would impede your movements and work, all while still being close enough to your true fashion to offer you some self assurance. And you needed every ounce of self assurance possible right now.

After taking in a long, deep breath and straightening your posture, you started for the door. Despite the high chance that he was suspicious of you, the doorman pulled on the finely crafted handle and allowed you entry with a polite bow, nothing less. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to acknowledge him, but you returned the silent respect automatically. Then again, it didn’t really matter if you broke etiquette, you weren’t the high-class that lived here anyway.

The lobby was just as fancy as the outside. Your shoes clicked on more marble floors, and rich colored walls wearing frames of fine art surrounded you. There was a large wooden desk to one side, and the receptionist behind it clocked you as a non-resident, because she instantly greeted you with a “can I help you, miss?”

“Um- yes! Yes, I’m here to visit Mr. Seto Kaiba?” you followed the claim with your name and silently praying that was all you needed. The only way you were getting passed the front desk was if Kaiba (or his assistant) left your name with the attendant.

With a polite smile plastered on her face, she nodded and typed something quick on a computer obscured by the large backing of the desk. “Ah yes, Mr. Kaiba is expecting you. Please take the center elevator, he’s on floor 40.”

She waved her hand to the other side of the lobby, where three elevators with doors as clean and reflective as new mirrors stood. You gave her a quick thank you before following her instructions. The inside of the elevators were just as polished, the metallic sides reflecting your image.

As the floors passed by, you checked to make sure the journey here hadn’t ruffled your appearance any, tucking hairs back into place, swiping your hand over the pristine portfolio briefcase, tugging at your hems yet again. You almost jumped when the elevator dinged, announcing your arrival at the top floor. You waited a few heart beats, long enough to start worrying you had the wrong floor- until it finally slid open.

The apartment was dimly lit, all the ceiling lights set to a dull, intimate glow one might see in a fancy bar. Then a different wave of nerves overcome you, hopefully this guy didn’t have the wrong idea of what service you were providing.

“Are you going to come in, or continue wasting my time?”

You did jump that time, especially with how impatient the deep rumble of a voice sounded. With hurried steps you entered the apartment and ventured down the short hallway, following the voice. The hallway quickly opened into an expansive room, a couch, coffee table, TV, and desk on one side, and a kitchen, breakfast bar, dining table, and wet bar on the other. On the living room side, where the desk’s back sat, there was a large floor-to-ceiling window, the curtains pulled back to reveal the spiderweb of city lights and life beyond.

Of course, what really drew your attention was the man standing in front of the window.

He hadn’t turned from the view to look at you let alone greet you, hands tucked in his pockets as he watched the pulsing city life. He wore a white suit, with a blue button-up shirt and a dark blue tie, making for nice, clean lines for your portrait. Seto Kaiba. A household name in most countries, the secretive CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world who’s fame for innovation was only matched by his notorious hermit tendencies. He appeared on magazines often enough, but many pointed out that they were likely deliberate presentations to the world. Deliberate to alleviate rumors because, besides them, neither Kaiba nor his younger brother were ever seen out in public and even rather rarely in their own corporate buildings.

You weren’t exactly someone who bought into that celebrity gossip, but it was still rather surreal seeing him in person like this.

“You can set up on the other side of the desk,” he started, still not turning from the window. “This is the background I want, I expect you to be able to handle it considering the portraits on your online portfolio.”

You tried not to gulp, “Of course, but it may take me an extra session or two to get the details.”

“As long as it’s done before I return to Domino,” he answered in a drawl, then, finally turned to face you. He placed a slender hand on the back of the leather desk chair, and you quickly made yourself busy with setting up.

You felt that nerve-wracking, almost burning sensation of eyes watching you, and you could just imagine the icy blue of the eyes, remembering how Kaiba’s gaze always pierced through the magazine covers and into the viewer. Instead of thinking of how hawk-like he was watching you, you focused on how challenging and fun it will be to capture that quality in your painting.

Once your blank canvas was set up and your tools were spread out, ready for use, you finally locked eyes with the man. “I’m ready when you are, Mr. Kaiba, please take whatever pose you feel most comfortable with.” You had to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine, especially when he held your gaze for a moment more before finally shifting his stance.

After some verbal redirecting so his pose looked the best and got the key parts of the cityscape behind him, you actually got started on the canvas. Tokyo Tower stood like a sentinel behind him, making for nice framing, and he was a natural at posing, of course choosing one that was strong and commanding to the onlookers.

It was quiet as you worked, he wasn’t playing any music, nor offering any chitchat. It was only then that you realized just how alone you two were in the penthouse, didn’t rich dudes like him have platoons of bodyguards?

Within the free seconds you had between maping your piece, your mind wandered back to the rumors surrounding the Kaiba family and their reclusiveness. Tales of Kaiba insisting on specially tinted windows for all his buildings and never being seen in the light of day led to some interesting ones. Mostly conspiracies about him being the secret illegitimate son of royalty, and inheriting hemophilia from said parentage. Now, noting how pale he looked against the background of vibrant city lights, you could slightly understand buying into that rumor.

Not only that, but, the more glances you took while working, the more you noticed just how...sickly the man looked. His cheeks were a bit sunken, made worse by the dark circles under his eyes And on top of that, there was a sore redness around his eyes that was seeming to get worse every time you peered passed your canvas. None of his magazine pictures ever showcased these...unwell qualities. He must just be tired, you decided, being a CEO likely didn’t allow for much sleep, and here he was posing for a portrait late at night.

You were just finishing up his outline when you decided attempt conversation. If he didn’t like it he would just tell you to shut up, after all.

“I was actually pretty surprised when you hired me, most people don’t bother with traditional portraits any more.”

There was awhile of silence, where Kaiba’s eyes flickered towards you before staring off to the other side of the room again. Your were just taking the mental note not to try a conversation again, when-

“It was my brother’s idea. I always look ahead, and cut out traditions and old ways that no longer serve me. But, he made the point that there are some classics still worth something. Besides, improving things like canvas portraits with modern settings was appealing.”

You found yourself smiling and nodding along, “Yeah, I really like the idea of having the city in the background, it’ll make for a really unique piece!”

After picking your next brush, you peered over to refresh your mental image of the scene, only to find him staring at you again. His expression was rather indecipherable, and though his eyes were almost hooded the rest of his features were as blank as an empty page. Your heart was practically beating in your ears as you stayed transfixed in his gaze, which you swore were actually hued in red now, instead of solid icy blue.

A sound similar to a squeak, and you finally broke the contact to flick your gaze down to the hand resting on the back of the desk chair. His fingers were a sickly white, seeming to have no blood in them as his nails dug into the leather with a grip so strong he might be on the verge of puncturing the fabric.

Feeling that nervous heat again you quickly averted your gaze back to the canvas, even going as far as to shuffle behind it just slightly as though you could hide.

That didn’t help, much like when you were setting up, you could feel his gaze burning into you. Maybe he was offended, upset that you stared back at him, but he had no right to judge considering he was staring first! Seriously what was with this guy?

You weren’t sure how much time passed after that, it felt like an eternity but you were sure it wasn’t much longer than a half hour or so. You only stole glances at him when you absolutely felt like you had to refresh your mental image of the scene before giving another stroke of the brush. You avoided any eye contact even then and managed to skim over his face only once, during which you noted any previous color in his cheeks had vanished completely, but that was beside the point. You were just telling your brain to stop conjuring up theory’s on why he looked so sick and biting your tongue to keep from asking if he was alright when-

“We’re done for the night, you can continue tomorrow.”

If the sudden dismissal wasn’t enough to snap your attention back to him, the heavy breath within the words was. Your eyes snapped up to Kaiba and before you even registered his movement you were jumping from a harsh thud! He had removed his hand from the chair so swiftly that it spun and thudded into the desk with enough force to crack furniture of a lesser quality.

Now Kaiba was pacing around his desk, gaunt jaw clenched so tight he might very well chip a tooth. Not wanting to argue with someone who apparently had the mood swings of an angst-ridden teen, you planned to start packing up without a word. However, just as he passed the coffee table, Kaiba took in a sharp breath and doubled over so fast he barely caught himself on the glass top.

Empathy won in a heartbeat and before you could reconsider you were by his side saying a frantic, “Are you okay? Mr. Kaiba you look sick, should I call a-?”

The concerned questions died in your throat and so too did a scream when something too red and too luminous to be eyes flashed up at you. The next moment something was wrapping around the prison that held your words and scream. The third moment your back was slammed none too gently into a wall you could have sworn was half a room away and a body colder than any you had felt before was pressing into you.

Eyes wide, body held still with fear, all you could do was take in a few shallow breaths as Kaiba’s mouth hovered over your neck. One heart thundering in your ears, two heartbeats, three-

But nothing happened.

The hand pressing into your clavicle hadn’t tightened, and the mouth hovering dangerously close had not moved in for the kill (proverbial or otherwise), rather, Kaiba’s body seemed to be as frozen as yours.

Or at least you thought it was. A moment later you finally registered that Kaiba was shaking. Not violently by any means, hell, it was barely notable, but he was definitely shaking, as if he was trying to keep sickly shivers from wracking his body. His other hand moved up to grip your upper arm then, and his fingers were tight but not quite painful as he held you there.

“I shouldn’t have kept our appointment.”

The words were so shocking to your reeling mind that you almost didn’t register them. They were said lowly, in something akin to a growl or rumble.

“I should have told you to get out the moment I-”

Something on the other side of the condo sounded, a ding you had heard when first arriving on the floor, and not a second later footsteps were thundering.

“Seto!”

The youthful voice almost snapped you back to your sense enough to move, maybe even break free of his hold, but in that same moment you felt something sharp graze the skin of your neck as Kaiba’s face turned to meet the newcomer.

Thankfully your recovered control wasn’t needed, as the moment Kaiba locked sites on the newcomer, he released his hold on you. In a fearful blink as you recovered your balance, you saw Kaiba make his way across the room faster than any human possible could.

That’s when you saw who had intervened; Mokuba Kaiba, the youth of the Kaiba empire. He was looking pale and worried, looking between his brother and you as Seto snatching something out of his hands.

You caught the sight of something encasing red as Seto tore the package open, but he halted long enough to growl another command, “You need to leave, now.”

Your legs were finally able to move again, when you caught site of something that confirmed the impossible theories running though your head: sharp, pearly fangs were flashing between Seto’s lips.

#I got a bit carried away with this one #just bc I was invested in setting the mood #also pro tip while writing dialog for Kaiba:#if you're wondering if he sounds mean enough just automatically make the wording meaner #seto x reader #ygo

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yukiobeyme · 3 years

Note

For the MammoBarb bartender AU!

The bar is a joint project, owned by both Diavolo and Lucifer. And Barbatos is their best (and only) bartender. His skill’s are absolutely top notch, and none can compare. But he is also only one person, and business has been booming.

Diavolo starts to worry for his friend, that the stress of it all might be too much. But Barbatos insists that the tips alone are well worth all of the effort. Still, he can’t help but tell Lucifer about his concerns. And Lucifer agrees.

Mammon is a troublemaker, in every sense of the word. He often gets into fights, and gambles away most of his money. (His prized possession is his motorcycle Goldie!) And one day, after bailing him out of jail yet again, Lucifer has had enough.

He tells his brother that he’s going to be a bartender at his bar until he can pay off all of the money that he owes, to both Lucifer and the debt collectors. It seems like an impossible task, but if Mammon could get tipped as well as Barbatos...

It’s up to Barbatos to get Mammon, his new coworker, into tip top shape. And Barbatos isn’t easily pleased. When he first meets Mammon, he definitely isn’t impressed. Yet despite that, he’s determined to turn him into the perfect bartender.

And maybe they start hanging out after his lessons. Maybe sometimes Mammon drags him out on that motorcycle (which Barbatos insists is a death trap). It’s only natural for them to drink together, and to chat. It’s all in the name of teaching him... right?

And if Mammon becomes a waiter at times, and walks around the bar wearing bunny ears and a tail, he definitely isn’t starting. (Despite what Lucifer and Diavolo may think).

~ s8ncake 💚🎂

@s8ncake you spoil me so much! (and I love it) looking back now I guess my hand spilled I hope you enjoy and feel a little spoiled too?

Mammon is known for his bar fights, loud mouth, and Goldie. He has a record as long as he is tall, starting from age 18. Though if his record was wiped when he turned 18 it would probably be twice as long. Most of the stuff is minor, usually just consequences from bar fights or his motorcycle being too loud, but it’s enough that he has spent a night or two. The cops, Simeon and Solomon, are use to Mammon’s antics and they usually let stuff slide or just give a warning. Though Simeon will always goes to Lucifer to let him know when Mammon gets in trouble. I also imagine him having tattoos, especially hand tattoos.

Mammon is now an apprentice bartender for Barbatos to pay off debts. And honestly Barbatos is equal pissed and nervous. Barbatos knows of Mammon through stories from Lucifer and Diavolo but also from other bartenders. None of those bartender stories are good, they paint a picture of a man that is rowdy, loud, and disrespectful to anybody who has authority. Though Barbatos decides he will raise to the challenge and sets to work.

Mammon is clumsy and dropped bottles while doing drinks, which hurts Barbatos’ soul. But the sheepish look Barbatos gets makes him forgive him instantly. Mammon is in awe whenever Barbatos does a trick and Barbatos just rolls his eyes.

Mammon gets about two weeks of intense training from Barbatos before his first real shift. Barbatos might not have been impressed when he first saw Mammon but Barbatos can’t lie, he cleans up nicely. A black button up with his sleeves rolled up, his tattoos on full display and tight black jeans. Mammon might not be able to do all the tricks Barbatos can, but he definitely is a hit with the ladies and the men (and the non-binary folks). Barbatos is quite impressed by the end of the shift, Mammon didn’t break anything and he made all the drinks correctly, though he had to ask Barbatos twice what a drink was but Barbatos let it slide.

They know only have intense lessons twice a week and just meet up two hours before the bar opens where Barbatos tests his knowledge and teaches his some simplier tricks. And on Sundays after the last person leaves at 3am and they are closed after three full swing days, they each make a drink and toast to surviving the weekend crowd. Mammon goes for a simple rum and coke and Barbatos a gin and tonic. The chat about everything, or that’s what Barbatos thought. He just didn’t think there was much to Mammon but he was wrong.

It was about month of Mammon being a bartender before he got into his first fight. Barbatos was shocked and surprised to watch Mammon get out from behind the bar before picking a fight with a patron. Barbatos is furious as he watches the patron getting kicked out and Mammon being dragged to the back by Lucifer, Diavolo following close behind. What surprised Barbatos the most though, when he hears that the person Mammon just beat the crap out of was a creep and making unwanted moves on someone and even talk about a tampered drink. It leaves Barbatos wondering and he makes a note to ask Mammon about it.

Barbatos leaves the bar unattended to check on Mammob, bringing ice from the cooler. Mammon is in a heat debate with Lucifer, telling Lucifer exactly what Barbatos heard from the patrons. Mammon was defending someone. Barbatos doesn’t know what caused him to say something but he speaks up and defends Mammon and thrusts the bag of ice for him. Gesturing to Mammon’s brusing face. Lucifer freezes, not knowing Barbatos was there and shocked to have someone stuck up for Mammon. Lucifer leaves with reminding Mammon, that he can’t throw the first punch. Barbatos waits half a second before realizing he has left the bar unattended, so he ducks out the room and makes his way back to the bar. Mammon is still a hot topic, most wondering if he will come back out or not. Barbatos tells them he has the rest of the night off but would be back the next night.

That night when they finally close, Barbatos finds Mammon standing awkwardly at the bar before making his way to clean up. They work in silence before Barbatos finally asks, if that’s how Mammon usually gets into fights. Mammon seems to light up in anger and before Barbatos knows it Mammon is talking about how people don’t pay attention. That it takes one second and something bad can happen. Or how it takes one second and a creep in trying to make a move on an unwilling person. He hates it and won’t stand for it, and if he doesn’t do something no one will, bystander effect. Barbatos feels something shift inside him, he realizes he growing a soft spot for Mammon. Mammon didn’t fight because he was drunk, he was fighting to protect. Barbatos makes sure he doesn’t condemn Mammon’s choice. Because Barbatos has been a bartender long enough he knows that. Lucifer’s words from earlier makes sense, Mammon throws the first punch which is what gets him in trouble. Then why Simeon and Solomon seem okay with just giving him warnings and not making it so charges aren’t pressed. Mammon is trying to do good, justice.

After the first fight, Barbatos makes a code system with Mammon. Let him know through drinks what’s going on. Giving Barbatos a heads up what’s happening in his bar and let’s him contact security. Which successfully keeps Mammon out of trouble. While Mammon seem to fume a bit and needs to walk away for a few moments, he always comes back without having to throw a punch and each time Barbatos has pride flowing through his veins.

The longer Mammon works at the bar, the more Barbatos learns about him. Mammon isn’t shallow and easy to read, he is an ocean and complex. Barbatos finds himself wanting to understand. Something Barbatos knows is Mammon has some angry issues and some days are harder than others. Those days Barbatos finds Mammon at the bar before their lesson, in old clothes and messing with his motorcycle out front. Barbatos has learned to not talk to Mammon but just sit near him and watch him work. It’s therapeutic in its own way, Mammon knows his way around this death machine and it’s attractive. Mammon moves so fluidly and eventually Mammon will start narrating what he doing, whether it’s just checking fluids, readjusting his seat or handles, or just purely messing with the engine. Then about thirty minutes before their lesson Mammon will head in and try and clean up the best he can. He mostly grease free and Barbatos says as long as his hands and arms are clean, he can mix.

It’s on a summer day when Mammon is working on his motorcycle and they are sitting in silence, when Mammon mentions he made enough money to pay off all his debts. So he is free to leave, but he is holding off until he decides what he wants to do. Barbatos felt his heart dropped, he wasn’t ready for Mammon to leave yet. He doesn’t want Mammon to leave, he forgot it was a temporary employment. Barbatos tries to shove away all his emotions. Barbatos is unusually quiet that night and Mammon notices and doesn’t know what to think of it.

After two weeks, Mammon breaks the news to Barbatos that he won’t be bartending with him... full time anymore. At first Barbatos is heart broken but then it hits him, full time? Mammon tells him, he going to be helping Beel with the kitchen being a waiter. He even grumbles about having to wear the stupid bunny outfit. Mammon tells Barbatos he hopes he doesn’t mind, but tells him he still willing to help during the busy hours.

The first time Barbatos sees Mammon wearing bunny ears and a tail, he looking respectfully. When Diavolo and Lucifer come to watch, grab a drink and catch up with patrons. They make a comment about how Barbatos seems distracted by something. Which is by far ridiculous. Barbatos isn’t staring, and he sure isn’t staring hard at the white tail that matches Mammon’s hair color perfectly. At some point though, Mammon notices and definitely starts throwing winks and exaggerating bending over for Barbatos, which leaves him hot and bother and flushed.

The patrons catch on to the show and while some are disappointed the great Bartender and the hot assistant are not only taken but taken by each other. Which Mammon never denies and only fuels that rumor through a red face, while Barbatos is barely holding composure. Though when Lucifer and Diavolo catch on, Mammon completely denies everything, which only makes him seem more quilty in their eyes. And on the nights they flirt the most, if there is an increase in tips, they don’t speak about it.

Mammon asks Barbatos if he wants to ride on his motorcycle with him and Barbatos instantly says no. It takes another month before he says maybe and by the second month he says yes. At this point, they are completely dancing around each other. Awkward pauses and staring at each other’s lips, brushing fingers, and blushing and avoiding other eyes. Barbatos hates he agreed to go on the death trap, but it’s their first day off in a while and he doesn’t want to be away from Mammon. Barbatos makes it known and Mammon flashes him a dangerous smile and tells him to hold on.

Barbatos squeezes the life out of Mammon, brushed flush against his back and tries to hide his face in Mammon’s neck. After what feels like forever, Mammon tells Barbatos they have arrived. It’s to a cliff side that over looks city and it’s dark now so there are city lights. Before Barbatos can say anything, Mammon pulls him close and clashes their lips together. It’s a messy first kiss, too much teeth and their noses kept getting in the way. They pulled away flushed, swollen lips, and panting. The second kiss Barbatos leads and isnt as urgent but expresses the same amount of emotion.

Now the bar is more lively and fun, and if Lucifer or Diavolo had to pinpoint why, it was because it seemed a strict and uptight bartender fell for a no good troublemaker. Though they can’t say they are too happy when those two start work with the outfits already askew or if during the night they both disappear for a few moments. Though Barbatos says Mammon is still a trouble maker, just in a very different way.

#long post #super long post #I world built way too much #like i should have just written the damn fic #yuki rambles #yuki writes #mammobarb #obey me mammom #mammon obey me #barbatos obey me #obey me barbatos #s8ncake i love you

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naturaldaisaster · 4 years

Text

thesoulof-hp: Oooo Can you write one about when they get back to present day and what their next move is as a couple?!

Sure can! Thanks for the prompt :)

I’m a bit out of the loop on what people think things are gonna look like when we get back to present day/when the show ends but this is one of the possible futures that has been bouncing around my lil head!

On AO3

drew insp. from peace by t swift

(I’d give you my sunshine, give you my best

but the rain is always gonna come

if you’re standing with me.)

peaceShe can’t stop painting the walls. They were all grey, when she moved in. If Daisy knew anything about renting apartments, her want list for this one may have included something like “doesn’t look like a bunker” in addition to the only other detail she cared about — which had been proximity to the house Jemma bought. Unfortunately, apartment renting was not a life skill taught either by the nuns or by SHIELD. So after closing the deal, she’d come to the place with her new keys, her backpack, and one single box of belongings. There were no furnishings yet, and she sat in the middle of the empty would-be living room, staring at the dark walls.

She wished someone would have told her it would be so quiet.

When she couldn’t sit any longer she went to open the blinds. They were jammed, and old, and bunker-y. She sent soft vibrations through the screws holding up the blinds, until the entire contraption fell to the carpet with a muffled clunk. The glow of the streetlights streamed in to add a new shade of beige to the darkness.

Someone, a neighbor, was walking their lab down the sidewalk. It was this that made her pulse race and her heart constrict. It was all too still, too quiet. Too normal.

She called Sousa— he was getting better at the phone, but still refused to text — on principle, he said.

“Did you guys like, paint shit? In the dark ages?”

“Did we… paint?”

“Like, walls.”

“Sure.”

“Wanna come help me paint mine?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“On my way.”

That first night, they drove to the hardware store together. Sousa hovered at her shoulder while she fingered through the paint swatches. She had never done anything like it before, and the choices were overwhelming.

“You should do yellow,” Sousa offered unhelpfully.

Daisy wrinkled her nose.

“Yellow?”

“I like yellow,” he defended, but he was grinning softly in defeat. “Reminds me of you.”

She ended up picking a purply blue called “french lavender”. While the paint mixed they got brushes and pans and a few other tools that the employee who finally wore them down with his offers of “help” directed them to. Sousa listened intently to the man’s painting tips, brow furrowed and folded. Daisy wanted to tell him to relax — it wasn’t that big of a deal. But she didn’t. She didn’t even say it when they got back to her apartment, and he carefully taped the molding as directed — even though it was going to double their work time.

With him around, the quiet wasn’t so bad. She gave him her phone to play Spotify — he had put up with only so much of her music before he put his foot down and insisted that for every new artist she introduced him to, he got to introduce her to some of his music. It was an easy pattern for them to fall into, trading off turns. She wasn’t sure if it really was his turn tonight. It didn’t matter.

It was past 1AM when they finished. He had opened the window at some point along the way, and the playlist had long since died out. Warm night air mingled with the fresh scent of paint. She was lying on her back on the carpet beside him, playing absently with his calloused fingers, rested on her stomach. Laying there with him, staring up at their wall — it was perfect.

When she woke with warm sunshine streaming over them, her head curled into the warm, steady rise and fall of his chest, his breath in her hair, their fingers still tangled — it was perfect then, too.

After she started moving in furniture, she realized she hated “french lavender”.

And so it began. “French lavender”, turned to “Robin’s egg blue”. “Robin’s egg blue”, turned to “cotton white”.

“Your walls are going to start peeling off in rainbows,” Simmons muttered whenever Daisy asked her opinion on different swatches, “honestly, Daisy, no one repaints this much. Daniel, tell her no one paints this much.”

She can’t stop herself — it still doesn’t feel right. She practically avoids the apartment most days. The quiet emptiness is like electricity in her veins. The stillness makes her heart pound in anticipation. She can’t relax. When the wall looks right — then, she’ll be able to breath.

She has a bed now, and a couch, and a table and chairs — plenty of things to sit on, but she sits on the floor a lot anyway, staring at the wall. Mostly uninterrupted. So she is surprised when her phone rings.

“Daniel?”

“Can I come over?”

They are firmly “dating” now. It feels like a silly word for it, like “boyfriend” seems like a silly word for him — this man that she’s plucked out of time. These words don’t fit right, they don’t quite match - a shade off from whatever it is that they are.

When she opens her door to him, she immediately notices the can of paint.

“Just give me a chance,” he defends, brushing a kiss to her forehead above her raised eyebrows as he steps over the threshold.

“Jemma put you up to this,” she gives in dry response, and he laughs.

“Nope, all me.”

“I’m not going to like it.”

“That’s fine.”

He moves past her into the living room and is already heaving the couch back away from the currently dark blue wall when she follows behind him, arms crossed over her chest. She makes no move to help him — in fact, she feels frustration bubbling up in her chest, threatening to take hold.

“Stop,” she says, but it is under her breath and he doesn’t hear over his own heaving of the couch. “Daniel,” she says louder now, “stop.”

“Daisy-“

“Dammit, just…” her breath catches, “just stop.”

She means to turn on her heel and storm out of the room, but she feels all of a sudden like the wind has been knocked full out of her, and all she can do is stand perfectly still searching to get her breath back.

Daniel has stopped now, and he stares across the room at her with a furrowed brow and eyes full of worry.

“Daisy,” he mutters, taking a few steps closer to her. “What’s wrong?”

She is still focusing on her breathing, because if she doesn’t she doesn't know what she'll say. She squeezes her eyes closed tight and counts as she breaths in, counts as she breaths out. Then, she carefully unclenches her teeth to speak.

“I’m not going to like it,” she says, enunciating each word carefully and fighting to remain steady.

“So then we’ll paint it again. Relax,” his eyes are soft and worried, “its not that big of a deal — what is this about?”

Her eyes are burning now. It isn’t the paint, of course it isn’t. But she doesn’t know how to put into words what it is.

“I don’t… this isn’t… fuck,” she is falling out of her own control now, a stray tear escaping her eyes and plummeting down her cheek. Daniel is close enough to mindlessly thumb it away.

“I lived in a van — a car,” she finally manages, “with carpet for walls. This,” she waves wildly around them, and a couple more tears knock themselves loose, “god, I don’t know what this is. I don't know how to be like this. It is just so…” a sob is strangling her, “It is all so goddamn quiet that I can’t breathe.”

When the sobs finally do overcome her, he is already holding her tight against him, burying a kiss on top of her head.

She wants this, wants him, wants normal walls that don’t feel like they are strangling her.

“After the war,” he says into her hair, “I slept on the floor. For… longer than I care to admit.”

He hesitates. Holds her tighter. She presses her forehead against his shoulder, breathes his warm sunshine-y scent, focuses on re-steadying herself.

“I was used to a sleeping bag on the rocks, at best. My bed… I felt like I was drowning in it.”

Steady enough now, she pushes back off of him and takes a step back rubbing roughly at her eyes.

“I wasn’t a soldier.”

“Yes, you were.”

The certainty of his words, the sureness in his eyes, stills her.

“And no one, least of all me, expects you to just… move on. Okay?”

She presses her lips together and breathes in slowly, counting. Then out.

“It is chaos,” she finally manages, voice still cracking. “This place is chaos, I can’t help it, I can’t stop it. I just… I want it to be peaceful and quiet and I want you to be here and not worrying about if I’m having another goddamn psychotic break about the color of the wall. But I’m never going to stop having psychotic breaks about dumb shit like the color of the walls.”

He smiles, just a little twitch of the corner of his lip, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“Daisy, I don’t give a damn about the walls. I just want to be with you.”

“I just want…” To have something normal? To give him something normal? He is watching her with those wide, dark eyes, his perpetually furrowed brow. The silence sits comfortably now, that its between them. Her heart gives a stutter. “I just want to be with you, too.”

(He brought "Daisy Yellow", and a flyer from their trip to the museum a few weeks prior. They move the couch and use the map of the constellations on the flyer to begin stenciling bright yellow stars into the deep ocean blue. She is sock-footed on the arm of the couch working on the upper corner, and he is sitting below her, so that when she sinks to a seat to dab more paint onto her brush, his head lolls comfortably backwards against her thigh.

Yellow paint has dried into her fingers, she notices as she runs a hand through his soft curls.

“We’re never going to finish this,” she says, eyeing the hundreds of thousands of pinpricks of stars on the flyer they are trying to emulate.

He laughs, low and deep.

“No rush.”

She slips off the arm of the couch, settling onto the floor beside him. It is still, and silent, and peaceful.

“Maybe you should stick around. For the wall.”

Soft — his eyes staring back at hers, the carpet under her socked toes, his lips against hers, the couch pressing into their backs, his hair tangled in her fingers.

“Okay.”)

#dousy #aos #daisy johnson #daniel sousa #agents of shield

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kanene-yaaay-o-retorno · 3 years

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The Colors of my Soul(mates) [1]

[Second oneshot]

[AO3 link]

Kanene’s Notes:

Nope, I do not regret the pun. Okay, okay! I’ve plaining this AU for almost an year so I’m pretty excited to post it!! dfghjsdfrtyucfvgbhjv yaaaay!! Thank you very very much @olliedollie1204 for such a positive feedback and awesome ideas. it helped me a lot!!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Virgil, Logan, Patton and Roman (only a brief mention of Remy) in a platonic relationship (yet), but it can be viewed as romantic, if you wish.

* Warnings: A bit of swearing and depreciative thoughts. It’s mostly fluff and hurt/comfort, tho.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 4.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Say to someone important how much you love them, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

What can do a creature if not, between creatures, love? - Carlos Drummond de Andrade

- What the fu-

Virgil only discovered he had more than one Soulmate when he was twenty years old, more specifically the exact moment he took a wrong turn and kept going even knowing he was in the wrong way because one hour it would lead him to somewhere Virgil would recognize before his mortal being inevitably starved to death in the middle of nowhere and his eyes got dragged from the visions from thousands of futures created by his mind to a Teddy Bear Store - they seemed to replicate worse than bacteria during Valentine’s Day - and two bears from the crimson shelter suddenly dyed themselves in two milliseconds as he slightly glanced at them.

Two of them. Virgil felt his entire face burn in hot shades of embarrassment with drops of disbelief, almost as if all the people running, stumbling, locked in their own worlds and swearing while walked in the sideway because ‘some stupid teenager decided to just stop and block their way’ could, by only looking at him, stare deep into his soul and realize the one staring astonished the store already carried in his fate another one more Soulmate at home.

One completely different in shape and form, even if also blue, however in a light, sky blue completely opposite shade from the new navy one staring him down - Virgil knew plentily their link wasn’t bonded yet, albeit he was equally sure that the person behind those black glooming teddy bear’s eyes were already judging him, - wondering why, between all the people, he was their soulmate. The other red one was very much likely crackling in his face when an employee came and pointedly turn the adult’s attention to the sign in big, graphed words clued in front of their store:

“You dye, you buy.”

Virgil signed, pushing his hoodie down further, wondering how much time it would take of him hitting his head on the wall to finally pass out. This option sounded much more attractive when he realized that this new ‘discovery’ about himself would cost all his month’s saves.

He asked, to the Universe, the stars, the Earth and whoever was seeing him in that exact moment: why?

Was it a kind of prank? A punishment from fate when, years and tears ago, Virgil lifted his chin up and dared the Universe to give him more soulmates as he locked all his uncolored – although never really free of some weak drops of paint from what one day they came to be – simply stuffed animals, - and nothing more, anymore, - away and promised he would never, ever allow himself to go all through this shit again?

But… That had been… years ago. Almost a decade since that soft voice he got to know so well, the impulsive acts, long conversations and warm feelings.

But…

Time has passed, that is true. Nevertheless, deep down has he really changed?

Virgil stared at the bag carried so close to his chest since his bare hands were sweating and shaking way too much for this task. Yes, he knew his Soulmates won’t feel anything until both of them decided to ‘give the First Step’, accepting to link their souls and fates, for the longest as it lasts. However, he didn’t want to risk it, because what if they felt? What if he in some way broke the Soulmate System when got two at the same time and now everything was messed up and they could already feel his touches even through the bag and the first impression Virgil would gave to them was ‘That anxious, weird boy and his creepy, sweaty hands’ and-

A girl almost hit him as she passed running at his side, making his arms protectively hug further the teddy bears closer to him, arms protectively involving them, the soft touch somehow calming his tumulted thoughts. The lost man took a deep breath.

Clear your mind. Rational thoughts. Focus on the two sides of the coin. Three people wouldn’t be able to break a millennial, unknown system, don’t matter how good he was in screwin… No, a voice that sounded suspiciously a lot like his psychologist calmly pointed, not like that. Virgil huffed, trying again. He was a magnet of problems and bad…Okay, also wrong. Neutral thoughts, focus on neutral thoughts. Come on. Come on.

It was okay.

They wouldn’t feel him until they gave the first step. Right, that… sounded like a start. He didn’t do anything. Now, what Virgil needed to do was go to his house, clean his bed in order to find a good place where he could put and ignore them and then he would get his headphones, listen his playlists and wonder where the fuck his life was going.

It was okay. Everything would stay okay as long as he didn’t give the First Step.

Virgil unconsciously hugged tighter the teddy bears, his fingers finding way and drowning themselves in the soft, cozy fur, combing them in light, soothing touches as he continued his way.

Okay. Everything was okay.

[~*~]

Plurinfanto, or Multiple Souls, it’s the nomination used for the cases when a person has diverse soulmates at the same time and in a same period.

The first known case was with Pharaoh Cleopatra when multiples of her woolen fabric started to dye themselves in various colors and shades. In Ancient Roman, it was believed that the occurrences were blessings from Venus in a sign of prosperity and abundance. Grand, longstanding parties were executed through days nonstop in order to get together those intertwined souls. When the connection broke and the colors disappeared, it meant that days of pain and foreboding were waiting forward.

It is not known for certain the exact moment when the meaning changed, albeit researchers believe it was around the fall of the Roman Empire, when all the invasions resulted in a cultural reconstruction which led to the loss from much of their costumes.

CLICK HERE TO DISCOVER HOW TO HAVE THE SOULMATE OF YOUR DREAMS!!!!

[~*~]

The computer made a soft ‘click’ as Virgil closed it and sat on his bed, adjusting slightly his position to stare the three vivid, brilliant stuffed beings contrasting to the general dark theme of his room.

Virgil growled, resting his back on the cold wall, the shivers calming his flowing thoughts about all the variants this whole thing had. No to mention that people change with time, leading to the souls who they “relate” to change as well, meaning that you can have someone in your life for years and then, one month, or weeks or the next day, you can wake up only to discover you and the said person don’t “match” anymore.

And NO ONE talked about this just because it was a freak tabu to doesn’t have ‘an only one soulmate who will be with you until the end of your existence’. Oh, for fuck sake. Virgil ran his hand through his hair, wincing when he accidently pulled some tangled strands. That sounds like a line of commercial, does anyone believe that bullshit for real?

“Hello dear, newer fellow!!” The popping thought broke his line of reasoning, jumping excitedly in his mind and automatically pulling him out of his wanders. It has a strong and full of… about everything, tune demanding attention. Virgil felt a warm kiss on his forehead, meaning one soulmate – a deep part of him turned his attention to the red colored teddy bear, - had given the First Step. The one who in some moment changed his position so now he was sitting on the floor felt his face get hot again, heart thumping strongly in his chest as his arm moved, fingers stopping inches away from the fur, questioning if he was ready to retribute the gesture.

[~*~]

Many history icons have reports of being Pluriers, as shown in the book ‘The Romance in the History of Those Who Wrote It’, by historian Henry Senyura. The subject is also beginning to gain more visibility after the protest from the teacher Joan A. in 2010, who got touched towards the situation of some of her pupils being forced to choose only one among their Soulmates for the six-month annual exchange, by the end of that period most of them lost or weakened their bonding due lack of communication, small changes of personality and continuous absence. She held a protest at the front of the school, stating that no one had the right to interfere in ‘matters of the heart’.

A lot of fiction works are beginning to address the topic more frequently, as in I’m Not One, a movie directed by Devon Stan; The Seven Colors of Rainbow, a book written by Lílian Lee and the psychological analysis Life’s Watch, recently found between drafts by the famous writer Robin Green, published after their husband’s authorization, Josué Green.

[~*~]

Logan hummed. As it seems, this was a relatively common thing, since the concept of Soul Mates surpassed the barriers of unity and time, being ‘souls who in a way or other intertwined themselves in some part of their life. Sometimes it didn’t necessarily mean a romantic relationship, as the majority of society and media pointed, but it also didn’t hold any assurance that all of them were platonic.

He massaged the bridge of his nose. Remy wasn’t in the dorm so everything was silent enough for him to hear his own thoughts.

It has been a remarkable amount of years since he got his last soulmates, - except for Remy, however they both considered this occurrence as a separate incident - well, until, of course, this day. At least it was a good thing he always carried in his bag extra easy manageable stuffed animals or else maybe the System would dye one of clothes, what would be less than ideal for him in the middle of his philosophy debate. But things got even more interesting when, after his classes, as he arrived at the small, pleasantly well-organized store next to his university, one more stuffed animal colored itself right before him.

He didn’t exactly understand why. Logan considered himself an owner of a… quite strong, strict personality, this added with his difficulty in managing his and one another emotions usually tended to bring some complex tribulations in his rela-

Anyway, that is beside the important matter. The one laying his chin on his crossed fingers undid his pose for a bite of time in order to adjust his glasses, barely fixating his gaze on the two plushies in the desk before him, his third – Pat - resting a few centimeters away, closer to Logan’s fingers, who were barely touching. Mind running. Asking, reflecting, wondering what was the exact amount of time to be acceptable to give his First Step?

‘The First Step’.

Logan never really understood from where and how that expression emerged. It didn’t come from the words’ etymology nor some semantic detour. His most concrete hypothesis consisted of the phrase being derived from old romances.

“Did you know it used to be called the ‘First Kiss’?! But that confused a lot of people who really believed that, to be able to talk and interact with their soulmates they would have to kiss each other, like the Sleeping Beauty! I always got confused in this movie when I was a child, by the way! That ended up messing with a bunch of relationships before they even started, since a lot of peeps don’t feel comfortable enough with strangers kissing them. However, they also speeded up a bunch of them as well…” Logan blinked, his attention escaping from his previous thoughts to the light sky blue plushie of Baby Yoda, for a moment surprised with the sudden input. He felt fingers carefully holding his arms and a bit of ghost movements as Pat probably moved his representation to somewhere else, a hug and warmth engulfing the one yet absolving the new information moments later.

“That was… enlightening.” His voice danced across the room. Even though he was completely aware they could chat telepathically, the childish act of saying the words out loud still comforted him, in a way. “Thank you for your contribution.”

He took a deep breath and closed the tab of research on his cellphone, internally thanking from the escaping of his turmoil of thoughts, his free hand carefully combing the Baby Yoda’s head fur, almost methodic.

“Looo, no!” The other protested with no heat in his tune, leading a toothless smile to resurface in Logan’s features. “Stop doing this. You know I end up sleeping every time!”

“Oh no, what a tragedy.” He deadpanned, already plugging his phones and changing to a most relaxed position on his chair, his eyes traveling across the countless movies on the device before him. “In which episode did we stop?”

“I’m going to fight you.” Pat sounded like he was pouting.

“How so?” Logan asked, trying to hide his amusement.

Silence followed his words.

“Pat?”

“What is the skeleton’s favorite instrument?”

“Pat, don’t you fucking da-”

“Language! It’s a xiloBONE!”

Logan audible growled, fast in his final decision. “I’m going to drop you out the window.”

“I’m going to hug you!” And immediately the one rolling his eyes felt himself being squished in a strong bear hug, huffing only half annoyed.

“You are an incorrigible heathen, let me go in this exact instant.” His answer was a ‘butterfly kiss’ – as Pat was fond in calling them – on his forehead. “Urg, affection.” Yet he smiled and mirrored the act, lightly poking the other’s side.

“We’re on episode 19.”

[~*~]

Roman stared the paper, his pencil’s tip stopped in the middle of the biggest petal’s flower, his eyes narrowing in the hope of a clearest way of how to convert the vague idea he had in transforming the night full of stars in a flower. No to tell he also would need to choose a good pallet of colors indication for it, later, and probably re-do all the process over and over and over until got the best result as possible. A yawn found its way from his lips and the designer stretched, getting up to drink a bit of water and rubbing his eyes, wondering if it was really worth it to make a black tea to help him through the night.

A glimpse of color caught his attention. The navy blue teddy bear on his couch, the main inspiration of his newest tattoo. Roman wondered why it wasn’t resting in front of him while he drew. A corner of his brain, obscured by the tiredness, telling he had a previous good reason for this choice although his actual self carried absolutely no idea of why.

Well, if he couldn’t remember it, it means the reason wasn’t THAT good, right?

Roman held the stuffed animal, spinning with it across the room for a couple of minutes, imagining who would be the person behind it. A king, a queen, a non-binary royalty? Did they like Disney? Musicals? Sing? Would they chat for hours at first with a few words exchanged or would they take a bit to warm at each other? Was navy blue their favorite color or…

Or…

Navy blue.

Oh.

He fixed his glare on the plushie, his hands feeling and slowly drawing in the soft fur of it.

Navy blue, huh? A humorless chuckled flew in the air. It could have no significance, it could be a world of it. It probably didn’t mean what he, for a moment, a so silly, stupid moment, wished it meant. Of course, one day this would happen, right? It was something normal, something expected. Not the magical, right out of the story books or his old daydreams, occurrence.

This wasn’t a second chance. The Universe doesn’t give you second chances. He wasn’t the same boy from eleven years ago, holding his own costumed teddy bear crying his eyes out, hugging he – No, it – the closest as possible, wishing with all his heart and soul for the color, the voice, the thoughts, the rambling, their bickering, the forgiveness to come back again.

No, he grew up. He moved on. He got better.

Then why did a part of him still felt this way? Like he was about to hear the excited giggles, the soft reprimand, that lovely, deep and so truly -and sometimes boring, Roman had to admit – questions? Why would a part of him still say that he could have it all again if he just… waited long enough, hoped high enough, dreamed long enough…

…If he was enough.

There aren’t more than seven billion colors in the world. Roman would be stupid if he really believed there was a path where he wouldn’t stumble in that so (un)fortunate well-known shade of blue again.

Roman growled, his forehead making a loud, dry thumping sound as hit his desk. The one who should be asleep hours ago had absolutely no energy to battle against those thoughts, again. At least for now. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the teddy bear laid on the cold tabletop before him. Well, what a better way to get rid of your own means thoughts than put some stranger’s unpredictable thoughts in the middle of it? Roman slightly pushed the bunch of flowers and some warmup sketches he had out of the way, carefully carrying the representation next to him, nodding. Honestly, that was the best idea he had for a while, why did he even put the lovely thing away?

Awake Roman was so silly, thinking that… something he couldn’t quite recall right now would be a bad idea, he pointed as snorted softly, pressing his lips on the teddy’s forehead, the quote he knew by heart flying from them in a natural flow.

“It is not immortal, since it’s flame. But let it be infinite while it lasts.”

A warm sensation rested on his own forehead moments later, leading the sleepy form to hum happily.

“Is it… poetry?” Oh shit, Roman widened his eyes. His soulmate heard that?? Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Roman mentally facepalmed himself. So that was why he usually said it before the First Step!

“Uhh, yeah. Of course. Fidelity Sonnet by Vinícius Moraes.”

“I see. Classicism, I presume. A literature of very soundly pleasant rhymes, indeed. The first sonnet was probably created by the humanist Italian poet Francesco Petrarca, although it got even more known in the western literature after the works of Camões, who- ”

“He is from Modernism, actually.” Roman didn’t know why he suddenly sounded so defensive. Logan felt a cold feeling run his body when the other’s hands let go of him, for a piece of second wondering if it was supposed for him to do the same with the red narwhal plushie on his hold.

“A very common mistake to make due the lack of context.” He retorted, unable to formulate another answer. He had, of course, thought, balanced options and chosen the best topics to discuss with his new soulmates when they bonded. However, his fingers firmly gripped the pen, its tip tapping on the first topic written in the notebook partially forgotten in front of him, the poetry figuratively threw him out of his tracks, leading the decision to be the most impartial as possible due his… not so impartial past memories with that specific shade of red an even more difficult task than it already was.

“Yes. Sure. Sorry, I- I’m just… very tired right now.”

“You should go sleep, then.”

The other snorted with the direct, immediate response. “I should, shouldn’t I? Gotta work, though.”

Some part of Logan’s brain registered the new fact, separating and keeping it in a special place so he would remember to write it down in the new folder he bought, later.

“I see.” … poetry? That wasn’t a hard topic to talk about. The one now nervously cleaning the very clear lenses twisted his mouth. He could talk about this for hours. No, correction: he already had previously talked about this for hours non stop.

Logan strangely felt the urge to rub his face and scream. It has been years, - eleven years and 10 months to be precise – and exactly eight years since the one wearing glasses learned poetry because of him. Because of his constant habit of reciting Shakespeare before they would go to bed, until Logan brought himself to research and decorate all the poems he could muster, taking the task to now wake Prince – the name still carried a strong taste in his tongue – in the same way every single day. Before they realize, that becomes something between them. There were times when both didn’t talk, content in only reciting some verses and hear the other complete them. A part of Logan, that illogical and unfortunately full of feelings one wondered how their rap battles would be if they found each other right now.

Did Prince even maintain his liking the same things he one day did? Does he still recite poetry? Does he maintain the same dreams? The same habits? Does he even remember about him?

Highly improbable.

“You can call me Lo.”

Roman slowly blinked, getting out the fog surrounding his brain to realize he was mindless staring at the pan’s boiling water, surprised the other still there. Well, it seems like he hasn't screwed terribly everything yet.

“Lo? Like Lowrance?”

“Even though my name does contain ‘Lo’ in it, no. It’s ‘Lo’ like Logic. I came to believe it’s a good idea the nomination after a predominant characteristic, since we can’t actively exchange our real names through the Soulmate System.”

Roman’s breath hitched, a memory with yellow-ish edges and nostalgic smell unrolling in front of him.

…

‘I think we should choose you a name with more personality in it, ya know?’ He threw himself on his bed, kicking his legs on the air before immediately scoping the plushie and laying it on his stomach. ‘Like a characteristic!’

‘I don’t see what is wrong with the nickname I choose.’

‘No, no! There is nothing wrong with it! But that could be something just between us!’ Then he gasped, picturing that, if he was inside a movie there would be a lamp shining right above his hair in this moment. ‘We could call you Ro!! You wanted to be a robot, right?’

His soulmate growled and Roman felt a few pokes on his arm, the verbal protest doesn’t taking long before accompanying it. ‘I was three years old!’

‘And I’m never letting you live this down.’ He beamed, both knowing the annoyed scoff he got as response held no real heat. ‘Besides, we could even match our names!!’

‘That would be very counterproductive.’ Roman felt his hair being softly smoothed, a usual indication the other was losing himself in his thoughts. ‘Nicknames are supposed to help us. Having two equal names is not the most efficient thing.’

Roman dramatically scoffed, picking the stuffed animal and half hugging it, his free hand occupying itself in making a couple of gestures to no one, since his soulmate couldn’t exactly see them. ‘It’s not about being productive, Bear! It’s about feelings!!’

‘And since when,’ a light poke was delivered on his belly, making him squeak and mess with the teddy bear’s hair in revenge ‘Everything isn’t feelings for you, your highness?’

…

“Okay,” Roman and his self past disappearing with the fading memory said, in synchrony “You shall call me by Prince, then.”

Suddenly he felt himself falling, his hands quickly holding on the tabletop as the cold, nauseous feeling took over his stomach, more like a punch on it, his veins being filled with amounts of adrenaline for a glimpse of a second.

“Excuse me? Warn a guy next time you decide to just drop his representation, dude! Damn.” Roman shook himself, trying to bring his body to calm down.

“Sorry, I got… startled.” Logan gulped. The word ‘Prince’ echoing on his mind as a broken vinyl disc. What were the chances? That couldn’t be such a common nickname, right? Nor color. Nor interests. What were the chances? What could be the chances? Maybe he was just projecting, being played, tricked by a dangerous partnership between his own brain and emotions. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions due the nostalgic feeling fogging his actions, his thoughts. Perhaps-

“Hey, Lo? Are you there?”

“Yes.” Logan answered, his fingertips colliding quickly with the fabric of his pants as he visualized his options. “Yes, I am.”

“Hm. Okay, then. I’m… glad to know.”

Silence. Logan took a wobbly breath.

“Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back; Wherein he puts alms for oblivion; A great-size monster of ingratitudes:”

“Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd; As fast as they are made, forgot as soon.” Roman continued without even noticing until the words danced in the air, just like the years haven’t passed.

Then he understood.

His heart stopped for a second, his eyes widening and his voice disappearing, as if his whole being was afraid to break the moment, the spell; as if this was a dream and a miscalculate step would make everything fade.

“Bear?” Roman felt a light poke on his cheek.

“Hello, Prince.”

Roman choked a laugh, quickly crawling the teddy bear next to his chest, hugging it both firmly and yet so caring, curling around its - no, him - feeling an equal warmth involve his form as he hided his face on the soft fur, giggling and hugging, feeling so happy, so alive and right and good and he would never, ever, ever again let him go.

“I missed you, bitch. Never scare me like this again.”

“I… missed you, as well.” Logan tried to not let the emotion take over his tune, his hand petting the narwhal plushie softly, the words had abandoning him, as it seems. “This reunion is a… good surprise.”

“Oh, shut up, I know you’re having a blast somewhere in that logic soul of yours, too.”

Logan huffed, grinning. “Stop crying on my hair, your troglodyte.”

“Make me, I dare you.”

“Always so dramatic.” They both rolled their eyes, letting the moment be bathed in the deep waters of a comfortable silence.

“Eleven years.”

“We have so, so much to talk about!! Oh, my goodness gracious, I’m going to get my tea. Do you remember about that play I wrote about zombie princes and a dragon witch? You will NOT fucking believe what happened with it!”

“Good thing I have you to explain to me then.” Roman stopped, a gigantic smile taking over his features as he closed his eyes to feel everything even more.

“Yeah, I agree.”

Somewhere in the world Patton and Virgil smiled during their sleep, unable to control themselves when a gigantic wave of pure joy and delight filled every corner of their hearts, coloring it on the most brilliant gleam, just like their stuffed animals resting peacefully on their grip.

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