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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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hi 💜💜 i got a prompt about ian x body image a while ago (my inbox is a hot mess and i may have deleted the prompt lol, but i did paste it into my phone notes)- and i was feeling some feelings today & had some spare time amidst my travels & ended up writing this!!

prompt: can you write about ian and his relationship with his body image, esp post-canon when they move to the westside

(tw for body image/eating disorder/food mentions)

He didn’t really even think about it the first times that he did it— skipping a few meals that went unnoticed in the morning clamor of the Gallagher kitchen. He noticed his skin growing tauter and tighter around his abdomen with every passing day, a hollow absence sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

He did it for a reason—he’d been getting more lingering looks under the flashing lights at the club, more unwelcome fingers pressed against the now-present ridges on his stomach, tracing his toned upper arms. The less there was of him, the more they wanted him.

The thing about Ian is that he was always disciplined; the middle child, the one who was overlooked and ignored and blended in until he decided that he had to make a name for himself. He and Lip and gotten into hair-tugging, jaw-smashing fights about this very reality; Ian was completely, totally, absolutely ordinary. Until he made himself extraordinary—until he burst through the storefront labeled “ARMY” at a strip mall with smudged windows and said with a tall chest: I want to enlist.

Everything had led up to this— every push-up on the creaking slanted floor of their childhood bedroom, every jog at the crack of dawn. He was going to make something of himself, he was going to be a hero.

He was going to get the fuck away from Mickey, and his wife, and whatever else kept pushing him down and holding him back.

When Ian came back from the army, when he was sleeping on exposed floorboards and working at the club all night—that was when it all actually started. When he decided that less of him meant more—when he decided that he should give people the best show he could, because everything else was fucked up anyways. This was all he was good for.

But then Mickey came through the door, pale skin flashing in the strobe lights, wearing that fucking dark button-up with sleeves folded to his forearms and smelling like nice cologne that he’d almost definitely stolen from one of his brothers’ bathroom shelves; and for a brief moment after the initial shock set in, Ian was proud— proud of how much negative space surrounded him, proud of how he could press his thighs into stretched golden spandex better than any of the other men thrumming to the beat beside him on the podium. Proud of how much other people wanted him, when Mickey didn't.

It was only later, after Mickey carried him home (easily, too easily) after he’d passed out in a snowbank, and Ian had woken and waited for Mickey to burst into his bedroom door at the Gallagher house while he leaned against the wall and scribbled on a notepad— later, when Mickey was about to curl on the floor and sleep using one of Liam’s balled-up t-shirts as a pillow— that Ian noticed Mickey’s eyes lingering on his uncovered torso, a second longer than the quick glances of admiration from the well-dressed men with greased-back hair and grubby fingers at the club. It hit Ian, then, when he saw Mickey’s gaze that was soft around the edges, the same fuzziness and confusion of Fiona’s stares when he would chatter on for too long in the mornings:

He’s worried about me.

But Mickey played along— Ian was back, and Mickey stayed beside him this time, and chuckled when he walked down the stairs to the sight of Ian cutting off the bottom half of his old ROTC pants, now multiple sizes too big and hanging baggy even at the hips. Mickey curled beside him on the twin bed, silently stroking hair back from his forehead and cradling his cheeks with a feather-light touch as Lip and Liam’s even, sleeping breaths swirled around them. And Ian kept doing pull-ups, and told Carl that he liked the way that Mickey smelled. Mickey came out for him. And for a while things were really, really fucking good, and Ian didn’t even think about the gnawing hollow feeling in his stomach at all any more.

Until a grey morning came, quick and silent, and kept him frozen under the sheets for days.

In the months afterwards, Ian trained harder, faster—he met up with Fiona as she pushed Liam in the stroller and jogged beside them, ran before and after shifts at the club, did push-ups on Mickey’s grimy floor while he was out handling Rub N’ Tug shit.

I’m not Monica. This wasn’t going to happen again. His body could do this. His body could fix his brain.

It couldn’t.

Most of what happened on the “road trip” with Yevgeny (that was the only phrasing that Ian could really mentally use to name the incident, the only semiotic filler for “kidnapping” that didn’t want to make him burrow even deeper under his tattered blankets) was a blur—Mickey feeding him fistfuls of pills and room-temperature Gatorade, luring Mickey to the dugouts where he tried to do a pull-up and felt a quivering in his limbs, a weakness rather than a familiar and fulfilling burn. Slamming Mickey in the face with a fist that was too flimsy, too weak—a fist that still left the blooming of a bruise on Mickey’s jawline, a splatter of blood caking into his eyebrow. But still weak, still not enough. Definitely not strong enough to fight off two MPs with loaded guns, tangling his hands behind his back and forcing him into the backseat of a car.

More blurry days— on the road with Monica. Breaking up with Mickey. Getting a job at Patsy’s. Withering away, purple bags sagging under his eyes. Becoming less, always less.

Then, a glimmer of light— he met Caleb. He studied to be an EMT. He got a call from Mandy, got to wrap her in his arms in less-than-ideal circumstances.

“I got tired of starving myself to fit in that golden thong.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud.

He started to run again—and he started to not miss it, the hollow feeling gnawing at his insides, the twisting lack. He met Trevor, he went to brunches, he ordered mimosas and muffins and kept himself in shape, but didn’t push himself too far.

So it surprised him, really, when once again his body and mind weren’t in sync.

That was the biggest thing he’d think about, in the idle hours of he and Mickey’s prison cell, months later—that for once in his life, years after the nights at the club or the hazy early mornings at Patsy’s or in a baggy janitor uniform, he was actually doing really, really fucking good. He had a following. He was strong. Or at least he thought he was.

But something about being near Mickey pulled him out of his head and into his body, centered him— it always did. Mickey had always liked his body; Ian remembered how Mickey’s eyed at lingered that night at the dugouts, when they were two kids doing pull-ups and Mickey watched his muscles clench in the moonlight, two sets of shining eyes and bodies warm with beer leaning closer to each other in the muggy air. But Ian never felt a need to flaunt his body, or change his body, for Mickey— and in so many ways, those first days in prison were like his body was coming home. Sometimes it was hard, and fast, and filthy words whispered into each other’s skin—and sometimes it left them grasping for breath in an entirely different way, in fingertips lazily skimming over collarbones and fisted into roots of hair, of breathed “Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful”s escaping Mickey’s parted mouth that Ian mentally stored but never brought up again, because he knew in the best case scenario Mickey would just roll his eyes and call him a “soft bitch,” and in the worst he would just flat-out deny it. But Ian felt balanced in a way he hadn't in months, with all the "Gay Jesus" bullshit pressing in. He took his meds, he did his nightly sit-ups, he counted down the days—until the hourglass was slipped out from under his fingertips and he was teleported back to the Gallagher house, back to the place where so much of this began and so much was about to end.

The hollowness, the hunger, didn’t really need to be there anymore once he was out— it was only a dull murmur. A ghost, a memory trapped in dreams of strobe lights and prying hands.

Mickey got out, and they got married—and in the moments before Ian called Mickey an “ugly motherfucker” as he let a smile crack onto his face—and he knew Mickey felt it, knew Mickey heard: I have never known anyone as beautiful as you.

And Ian’s fullness just kept blooming and compounding and radiating after the wedding; they fought, and then they didn’t, and it didn’t matter anyways because they were fucking married. Ian kept doing sit-ups before they went to bed, even though he felt like he didn’t really have to anymore. Something big had shifted; something had settled and given way, had filled in all the cracks.

So he’s surprised, when they move to the West Side, and that feeling starts to stir again; faint, fuzzy, like some sort of invasive and shapeless amoeba in the dark corners of his brain, whispering and hissing that there should be less of him. On their first morning in the new place he heads to the gym, wearing a camo t-shit that covered his torso and shoulders—and of course he ends up making a fool of himself next to some guy, some guy that he could have been, with sweaty toned abs and bronzed skin and rippling muscles. He doesn’t know why it gets to him, that small interaction—he’s so much happier now, so fucking happy he’s buzzing with it, but there’s also something churning in the faultlines of transition; that aching for hollow absence and stretched skin and interested eyes, that feeling that made him woozy and lightheaded as a kid but also sickeningly proud, like every moment of standing tall, of dancing, of staying alive was a statement, a challenge, a test of how much he could push his ability to be desired.

He immediately pushes the thought down. He doesn’t fucking need that anymore to keep his head above water; he’s stable, he’s loved, he’s fed. He’s growing organic tomatoes, and definitely developing a farmer’s tan from his days hunched over their way-too-tiny community garden plot tenderly watering and pruning the vines and brambles. He is desired. So it doesn’t make fucking sense that the hunger, the clawing in his stomach for the absence, doesn’t really stop.

“Okay Gallagher, spill.”

Ian felt his eyebrow raise instinctively at Mickey’s tone. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at this fancy fucking chicken thing you made for, like, twenty minutes. Stop staring at it and eat your goddamn dinner.”

He felt a twist in his gut. I don’t want to.

“M’actually not really that hungry.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck’s up? You stressed about work shit?”

Ian huffed out a breath of relief. “Nah. It’s not that.” He fiddled with his fork on the plate, drawing lines into the sauce pooled under the tomato-basil chicken he’d made. It was healthy, it was good, he’d worked out today; he could stomach a couple bites of dinner if he fucking had to. He just had to work up to it. Even the smell was making his stomach twist— it had smelled good while he was cooking it, placing fresh-scented basil leaves into the simmering sauce, but now it just was too much.

Mickey’s boot nudged against his calf from under the kitchen island. “Ey. Is it a tired thing? Or a… sick thing?” His eyes darted to their kitchen cupboard, where Ian kept his meds on the bottom shelf by the water glasses. “Or, like, a food thing?”

Ian felt his fingers go slack around his fork. “A food thing?”

“Yeah, man, y’know. When you get all weird about food.”

A tightness in his chest. “What the fuck? I don’t get weird about food.”

Mickey’s eyes flickered to meet his—and Ian would have gotten more pissed off if he didn’t see the soft concern bleeding into Mickey’s gaze, how cautiously Mickey was trying to broach the topic. Ian blew out a breath. Of fucking course Mickey noticed this shit— he always did.

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re usually good, especially compared to when you were fucking starving yourself when we were kids. But, uh… I don’t know.” Now it was Mickey’s turn to play with his food, scraping his fork along the remnants of sauce on his plate that was nearly clean. “You got kind of weird about working out and shit in prison. And then at the house, with all the quarantine bullshit the first few weeks. Eating fuckin’ cereal all the time, then not eating at all. You’ve been normal since then, or whatever. Lookin’ healthy.” Ian felt Mickey’s gaze drag over him. “Just don’t want you getting stressed out and not eating again or whatever.”

Ian felt a muted warmth blooming in the hollow of his stomach, filling in the cracks of where the jagged feeling continued to claw. If it was anyone else laying out this fucking analysis of his habits Ian would’ve gotten defensive—or at the very least annoyed, that someone was pinning down yet another one of his behaviors, putting them under a fucking clinical microscope.

But of course, this was Mickey— and the difference with Mickey was that he cared, he cared so much that it made Ian’s body ache every time he realized it. Those words wouldn’t have come tumbling out of Mickey’s mouth if they hadn’t been building for a while, hadn’t been gnawing away at some corner of his mind over time.

Ian raised a hand over the table to clasp into Mickey’s warm palm—reaching over the empty plate, the plate of uneaten food.

“It’s, uh. A food thing.”

Mickey’s eyes met his—open, listening.

“You’re right about all the starving myself shit from forever ago. And the not eating. And the… quarantine stuff. I guess I just thought that now that things were good, it’d go away? And I feel so fucking good right now. But sometimes I just have weird days.”

Mickey huffed out a breath. “I fucking know you do, dumbass. M’just saying that I notice that shit. And we can figure it out.”

Ian felt the corner of his mouth tick upwards. “I really thought it was gonna go away. I’m a fucking adult.”

Mickey shrugged. “Sometimes shit doesn’t work like that, Gallagher.” He chugged a sip of water from his glass, apparently glad that this heavier part of the conversation was over now that he knew what was up. “It’s like what you tell me about my shit with Terry. Trauma doesn’t just magically fucking disappear.”

Trauma. He’d never really thought about it like that before—he had plenty of childhood shit to work through, between abandonment and raging mental illness; and he’d never really thought that his body image issues made the list.

But maybe they did— maybe this was another wound, one that he could learn to heal.

Mickey kicked his shin under the table. “There’s cereal and stuff in the cabinet, I got the Fruit Loops shit you like. Want me to wrap up the chicken and shove it in the fridge?”

All he could do was nod— and once again feel that warmth on his insides that Mickey was this good, that he knew how to make shit like this easier.

And he snuggled into the couch beside his husband, a bowl of soggy cereal in his hands.

#idrk what this is but i wrote it at LIGHTNING speed #can u tell that i reached the destination of my childhood home & am having lots of thoughts and feelings about body image LOL #i was like !!! i have a prompt about this #love u all xoxo #gallavich #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ixm #tw eating disorder #tw food mention #tw ed #tw body image

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bakugou-tm · 3 years

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Master Knows Best (18+)

Bakugou x Maid Cafe Reader

plot: You’ve gone almost a full year working at a maid cafe with none of your friends finding out, which is exactly how you liked it; but thanks to a certain friend your beloved hot headed boyfriend found out your secret and planned on teasing you the whole time. In a stubborn attempt to get back at him, you realized exactly what would happen if you disobeyed your master

warnings: suggestive NSFW, swearing, a shit ton of teasing

wc: 5200+

mood song: worst behavior

a/n: I was supposed to post this on valentine’s day but it’s better late than never right? I perhaps may make a part two depending on how this does but I’m also a s s at NSFW so we’ll see. For now just enjoy (especially my fellow brats out there)

You liked things to be simple. You were a simple girl, with a simple life.

Sure you had your secrets, but thanks to your overall simplicity, nobody even bothered to uncover them.

That’s just the way you liked it too. Each different part of your life was separated as they should, for if they intertwined your life would becoming a living nightmare.

You never dreamed that living nightmare would become a reality. Who knew all it would take to crumble the reputation you built up for so long...

was a simple text.

Sweat trickled down the ash blond’s toned arms, his ragged breath becoming more steady as he slumped down against the wall while his friend took a few rounds at the punching bag.

The sound of his phone buzzing beside him didn’t drag him out of his exhausted mindset quite yet, but when his crimson eyes glanced across the words on the screen he felt everything come to a halt.

electric dunce: remember that day time job (l/n) said she had during the weekends? i think i found it bro..

electric dunce: 1 attachment

Bakugou’s red haired training buddy noticed the change in spirit with his blond friend, noticing how his heavy breathing suddenly stopped.

Wiping his gloved hand across his forehead, Kirishima glanced down to his friend only to see Bakugou’s eyebrows knit in a deep focus.

“You uh... You okay bro?” Kirishima questioned with a raised brow, trying to control his own ragged breaths after he attacked the swaying back before him.

Before he could question his friend once more, Bakugou let out a breathy chuckle, one filled with mischief and even excitement if Kirishima listened well enough.

“Training is cut short today shitty hair.”

“Come onnnn (L/n), how could you tell us you have a job then not tell us what it is?” The pink haired girl whined as she slid her upper half onto your lap and sighed dramatically.

Giggling slightly your eyes flicked to Kaminari across from you as his lips doubled over into a pout, “The whole point of having a job is so your friends can come crash it!”

“And to make some money dumbo.” You sneered, flicking his forehead gently while glancing down to Mina’s attempt at puppy dog eyes, “Besides, I didn’t want to tell you guys. You forced me to tell you where I went after school or you said you would doxx me.”

Your friends let out a sigh of defeat as Kirishima glanced to your boyfriend beside you, “C’mon Baku-bro not even you know where she works?”

Smirking slightly you placed a gentle palm on your boyfriends cheek and winked to him tauntingly,

“Not even Katsuki~”

Bakugou simply clicked his tongue and smacked your hand away, “I don’t know because I don’t fucking care.”

Oh but he did care. It ate away at him everyday that you refused to reveal where you worked. You claimed it would be “embarrassing” for him to see you working and wearing a uniform but he failed to understand why it would be. He brutally antagonized you all the time and you never bat an eye, why would he care if he saw you wearing a ‘Mini-Mart’ uniform?

You simply hummed at your boyfriend’s denial and leaned against his side.

“Say whatever you need to make you feel better love,” You purred, grinning at his scowl before you looked to your group of friends,

“Because you will never find out where I work, ever.”

Bakugou felt like he was in a state of euphoria as he stood before the quaint wooden doors, decorated with all sorts of pastel ribbons and paint.

It was almost as if he was entering the doors of heaven, the ultimate satisfaction of knowing he was about to beat you and your stupid threat.

And better yet, of all the places to find out you worked, it was here?

Oh he was going to enjoy this, even beyond getting revenge.

“Never find out my ass.” Bakugou sneered with a smirk, letting the soft breeze flow through his spiky locks as he tugged open the door into the unknown.

Meanwhile you were attempting to gracefully, yet quickly, get your uniform back on since your break ended in about thirty seconds. You hated how good you had gotten at putting on this stupid uniform, soon enough it would be second nature to you.

Working at a Maid Cafe wasn’t exactly where you planned to end up. When you stumbled onto the small podium in kindergarten to announce your future career, you surely didn’t say “I want to be a server at a Maid Cafe!”

And yet here you were pulling up the thigh high socks to your frilly, bow covered maid dress.

Admittedly when you were searching for jobs, you were surprised to find no luck. Any job that paid well required university years, and any left over job wouldn’t pay enough for your time to walk there.

It wasn’t until your aunt came to you in your troubles and recommended the job of your nightmares.

“My sweetheart why don’t you just work at my niece’s Maid Cafe? You’ll get to work with very sweet young girls about your age, and they pay very well since they have a very diverse clientele!”

Immediately you threw away the idea before you could even process it, the thought of having to serve gross old men and pretend to be excited while doing it didn’t sound appealing, let alone possible.

With that said, that didn’t mean your aunt was going to give up just yet. Without telling you she scheduled an interview for you, telling you if you didn’t show up it would make your family look bad.

Feeling the inevitable guilt throughout the day, you submitted into your aunt’s wishes and at least showed up to the interview.

Who knew? Maybe they would just let you be a janitor or something.

Sure enough they wanted you as a maid, but before you could even deny they offered double what any job had offered you, even the high paying ones.

“We know the job isn’t ideal, which is why we pay so much. A young girl like you would be just perfect here!”

Push came to shove, and somehow you ended up working at the cafe for a year and a half now.

You couldn’t lie, dressing up all cute and getting to hang out with a bunch of sweet girls was pretty fun. It beats mopping an empty grocery store with creepy co-workers.

With that said, the dread of having to deal with pervy customers and the existential fear of one of your friends walking through the door almost outweighed the pros of the job.

Luckily you had been able to escape doom for this long, so what are the odds that would change anytime soon?

The sound of the bell charming brought you back to your senses, quickly tying the silk bow behind your back you stumbled out into the break room to see your boss awaiting.

“Phew I thought you almost ditched us (L/n).” Your boss said with a wink.

Rolling your eyes you began walking backwards towards the swinging doors that led to the dining room.

“Have I ever failed you Miss Manager?” You purred with a grin.

Satisfied with her laugh you danced through the double doors, putting on your cute act once again. Only two hours left and you could go home and pig out on what was left in your pantry.

If that’s truly all it took, you didn’t mind turning on your “anime girl” side for a few hours.

Smiling at all the guests you made sure to check on everyone’s table before making your way towards the greeting podium. The doorbell went off so that meant some sort of customer was waiting to be sat.

Giving one last wink to a customer you whipped your head towards the front doors and gave a small bow before looking up.

“Welcome back to Maid Cafe master, would you like me to show you to your se..AHHHH!”

The moment your eyes met the sturdy figure before you, all senses jumped out the window as you screeched and jumped backwards defensively.

How.. How could this happen? This couldn’t be happening. All your intricate planning and anxious working to make sure no one you knew would ever catch you on the job.

And out of all the people in the world... it had to be Katsuki Bakugou.

Your ever so taunting boyfriend.

Sure enough Bakugou had a shit eating grin on his face, his eyes glowing with excitement for probably more reasons than you could count.

“Well well well, don’t you look familiar.”

At this point words weren’t even an option in your mind, you couldn’t tell if the cold spike of fear shooting up your spine was worse or the overwhelming heat that flared along your face.

Your little outburst didn’t go unnoticed by the guests and maids, all eyes moved to the two of you as you stumbled over your own words.

“Y..You- I.. but I.. and you! I can’t...”

“(L/n) is something the matter?”

The sound of your boss’ sweet voice from behind you caused you to shriek again as you now jumped to face her.

Feeling your face grow even warmer you avoided eye-contact with her, trying to use what was left of your slowly deflating brain to come up with an excuse to fix this entire mess.

“Yeah princess, is something the matter?”

Between the chilling tone and the pet name you physically shuddered, your head slowly peaking back to the problem at hand.

Bakugou couldn’t help but notice your reaction, sneering cockily as he looked down on you with pride.

“Zip it Bakugou-”

“Ah ah..” Bakugou started before you could even finish your threat, “I believe you are supposed to refer to me as master.”

If your brain wasn’t broken before, it sure was now. Your internal mix of equally enjoying this and hating this had officially clashed and broken any sense at this point. All you could feel beyond anger at this point was complete and utter embarrassment.

“(L/n) you’re not having any trouble greeting our guest, are you?” Your boss questioned sternly.

You’ve honestly never heard her get so serious with you, given this was far from her angry side, but you hated disappointing your superiors.

Glancing around you still noticed some eyes on you along with your suspicious boss’. At this point there was no escaping the situation, and like hell were you going to give this bastard the satisfaction of your embarrassment.

“N..No ma’am, no trouble at all!” You said back in your sweet work voice, offering the best smile you could muster before twitching back to your smug boyfriend.

“Let me uh... let me show you to your table...” You stuttered out, grabbing a single menu before looking up at your expectant boyfriend’s expression. You knew exactly what the little shit was waiting for, and if you didn’t say it your boss would surely drag you to the back.

“Master.”

Bakugou sighed in dramatic satisfaction, clasping his hands together sarcastically and bending down to your level, “Fucking splendid.”

Gritting your teeth you glared into his crimson orbs before spinning on your heel, plastering the cute smile on your face so your boss could get off your back.

Once she seemed to notice you returned to your old state, she let out a gentle sigh and walked away to serve her tables.

At the very least you felt a bit less tense knowing she wasn’t following you like a hawk, but she was far from the problem at hand.

Quickly b-lining towards a table in the corner, you slammed the menu down and pulled out the chair, offering the most sarcastically pleasant smile you could.

Bakugou gladly took his seat, making sure to drag his hand along the small of your back on the way down. He throughly enjoyed each time you shivered from his touch, or even words.

First you decided to take his order, making sure all eyes were officially off the two of you. Once you decided the coast was clear, you quickly grabbed the collar of his tank top, as you bent down to be eye level with him.

“How did you find out about my job Katsuki.”

Bakugou grunted in surprise, catching himself quickly before he smirked back to your fuming expression. Oh how adorable you were when you were mad.

Your thick eyebrows would knit together in a deep focus and your plush lips would pinch into a perfect pout that drove him crazy.

As the blond smugly glanced over your features, his eyes flicked up only to notice other eyes were facing the two of you once again, only this time they only seemed to be on you. On your backside.

The way you were bending down seemed to perfectly expose your backside to the world, and your dumbass was too oblivious with him to even realize it.

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou placed a firm palm on the edge of your spine before shoving you down to your knees so the back of your dress would cover your backside once again.

The action caused a small yelp to escape your lips, you assumed he had done it to embarrass you which made you that much more mad.

“Answer. My. Question.”

Once the ash blond was satisfied with your state and he glared at any that dared to still look at you, he glanced back down to your fiery orbs with an unimpressed look.

Rolling his eyes he slapped your hand away causing you to huff before he shoved the photo Kaminari sent to him.

Glancing over the photo you eyes widened to see a photo of you through the window of the Maid Cafe assisting a customer.

Your cheeks began to glow red again as you worriedly looked up to Bakugou, “You guys actually doxxed me?!”

Bakugou raised a brow and snatched his phone back with a sigh.

“I didn’t, I can’t speak for that stupid dunce but I’ll deal with his reasoning later,” He explained before his dreadful smirk returned as he cupped the edge of your chin, “Back to the elephant in the room, how come you hid such a delicious fucking secret from your master.”

As much as you would’ve loved this behind closed doors, to be openly embarrassed in public made your head feel like it was going to explode.

“S..Stop acting all smug you idiot!” You snapped, smacking his hand from your chin and standing up straight, “I hid this from you so you wouldn’t act like an egotistical dick.”

At this Bakugou barked out a laugh, the booming sound causing you to jump a bit as he slouched back in his chair, folding his arms with that smug grin.

“I think we’ve already come to the conclusion that my fucking ego is backed up, or have you forgotten doll?”

His piercing red eyes narrowed to your own, the sight making you blush as you jerked your head to the side and huffed.

“Can you order already idiot? I’ve got plenty of other orders to take.”

Bakugou simply smirked and picked up the menu, glancing down the options before shoving it in your arms.

“I’ll get two of the shitty rice bears,” He explained, grinning when he saw you look up with a raised brow, “I’ve got a hungry maid coming home soon waiting to please her master.”

Your confused expression turned into a flushed angry one as you snatched the menu from him and turned on your heel. You didn’t even remember what he asked for but at this point you didn’t care. You just wanted to hide from the customers so you could collect what dignity you had left.

The moment you brushed by the double doors you let out a sigh of relief as you rested your head against the back wall. Maybe if you closed your eyes and pinched yourself hard enough you would wake up from this horrible nightmare?

You could only imagine the things Bakugou was thinking. Does he think you’re some ditzy pushover maid girl now? Is he texting your friends telling them that you work here? Honestly Kaminari has probably already done that.

It was so nice having the upper hand on him for once, but now that he took every last bit of dignity and laughed in your face, you were doomed.

“Rough shift huh?”

Raising your brows you peaked an eye open to see one of your coworkers with a concerned expression. Standing up straight you fixed a piece of your hair and nodded.

“Yeah I guess you could say that..”

“How come you were acting so weird with that customer (L/n)-chan?” Your manager called from behind, carrying a bunch of plates as she walked beside your coworker, “Is it because he’s crazy hot?”

Folding your arms you let out a huff as you pouted your lips out,

“Try boyfriend.”

Both girls gasped in shock, your boss nearly dropping the plates in her hand as they looked two you in disbelief.

“Wow sorry for calling him hot, I never knew you had a boyfriend (L/n)! And a hunk at that~”

Letting out a slight chuckle, both your eyes fell on your coworker when she spoke up.

“You know this same thing happened to me with my boyfriend,” She spoke while tapping her finger against her cheek in thought, “I didn’t want him finding out about my job because I knew he would make fun of me, then one day he showed up and sure enough started making fun of me.”

Frowning you let out a sigh as you rubbed the side of your face exasperatedly, “My dumb boyfriend is doing that too! What did you end up doing with yours?”

Your coworker grinned as she shrugged.

“I simply fought fire with fire. Since he was making fun of me, I made him eat his words and watch me serve the other customers. He ended up getting so jealous he left!”

The advice she had given you finally brought warmth back to your numb body, you felt a grin rise to your face as you quickly wrapped your arms around your coworker.

“You are a lifesaver woman! I owe you so much for that advice.”

Your coworker simply laughed and hugged you back, happy to see you back in your normal cheerful state.

“Yeah have some fun but don’t ruin the experience for our other guests!” Your boss called out before walking out the door with the plates.

“I should probably get out there too, let me know if you need any help (L/n)-chan.” Your coworker said with a mischievous grin before dancing out the double doors.

Your mind was rushing with ideas, how could you of not thought of this before? Your explosive boyfriend could get jealous from a rock on the street, this would be the perfect pay back for you!

If he was going to come into your workplace and wreak havoc, you would do the same for his inflated ego.

Fixing up your dress you grabbed the two plates and narrowed your eyes towards the dining room.

“Bring it on Bakugou Katsuki.”

Oh did Bakugou feel pleased with himself.

Normally he hated skipping out on a workout, but this was worth it.

He couldn’t let the image of your adorable flushed expression and tense body escape his mind. Let alone that maid costume on you was divine on your plush skin.

The fact that you refused to wear a maid costume in the bedroom made it that much better, no wonder you were trying to hide this job from him.

The way the black silk hugged every curve, just tight enough to where your skin was overflowing from the material. And those thighs squeezing out of those adorable thigh highs drove him wild.

If he hadn’t made the best discovery of his life today, he would almost be mad you were strutting around in such a costume for anyone other than himself.

Deciding to wait another day to deal with that, Bakugou simply enjoyed the scenery and awaited for his girlfriend.

Just like clockwork he saw your form dance out of the backroom a bit too peppy. The thought of you “collecting” yourself in the back only made him sneer with a sadistic grin, he would simply break you all over again when you served him the food.

Just as you sauntered over to his table, the ash blond looked you up and down with a smirk, opening his mouth to say something truly condescending until your body turn away from him and towards another table.

“Here’s your panda shaped muffin and honeydew boba masters!” You spoke to the two customers at the table in front of him, “Is there anything else I can get for you my handsome masters?”

Bakugou felt his heart drop at the sound of you calling another living organism your master. Were you doing this on purpose? Is this usually how you talked to the shitty customers here?

His answer was confirmed when a small squeak escaped your lips and you bent down towards the table, your chest surely giving the two guests a show given their cherry lit cheeks as your thumb grazed across one of the customer’s cheeks.

“Silly master, you have some icing on your cheek.” You said with the most divine giggle he had ever heard. Gritting his teeth his entire world froze when you stuck the finger in your mouth and licked the white cream off clean, “No worries, I got it for you~”

The man before you looked like he was going to bust on the spot, his friend watching with his jaw dropped and eyes filled with jealousy.

Smiling sweetly you gave them one last bow, “Let me know if you need anything else masters!”

Just before you danced away from their table you glanced to Bakugou, giving him a small smirk as you looked him up and down with unimpressed eyes before sauntering away, leaving your explosive boyfriend on the verge of a breakdown.

You truly had a death wish. It was the only explanation for your actions. For almost a full hour you kept that act up, leaving the many guests within the cafe speechless and ogling over you. You knew exactly how jealous Bakugou could get, and you knew he hated admitting it.

Of course Bakugou also knew what a little tease you were. He didn’t miss the delight in your glistening eyes each time you taunted him, waiting for the repercussions of his wrath. But this...

This crossed the line of his sanity.

The ash blond tried to wait til your shift was over, he really did. As furious as he was with you, he wasn’t irresponsible enough to make you lose your job. But the moment your finger tips danced along the shoulder of a guest, any bit of restraint the male had left in his body had snapped like a twig.

The sound of him storming up from his table caused the immediate guests around him to look up, his silverware clanking against the pink trimmed plate as he made a direct line towards you.

Unfortunately for you, the scene your boyfriend caused went over your head as you continued to jot down the order from the customers before you. Focusing on your blossom shaped ordering pad you didn’t notice the horrified expressions on the customers before you as the saw an angry Bakugou storming up behind you.

“I’ll get those orders right up for you masters~” You exclaimed with a cute wink as you began to walk off until a firm hand wrapped around your wrist in a vice grip.

Bakugou could have loosened his bit a grip he realized when you let out a small yelp but he had already committed and like hell was he going to let you flirt with another damn customer right before his very eyes.

Your sweet words, gentle touches, suggestive actions... they weren’t meant for him and him only.

Immiedetly you recognized your boyfriend’s sharp hold and tried to tug your hand away so not to make a scene, but the ash blond simple spun your wrist around and pinned it to your back, giving him full control of wherever you walk.

With a squeak he shoved you forward, causing you to stumble over your own feet as he quickly pushed you towards the backroom.

You briefly met gaze with your boss as he shoved you by, your eyes pleading for help as they were filled with regret. Your boss opened her mouth, not sure what to even do.

“E..Excuse me sir? You can’t touch the-”

Before she could even finish her sentence Bakugou flashed a sharp glare to the woman, his crimson orbs thin from lack of patience and absolute fury.

Your boss was smart enough to know your boyfriend was truly about to go feral, for her life and your own she decided it was best to turn away and pretend she saw nothing.

You let out a small pout when you saw her attempt to serve the shocked guests, leaving you to be shoved into the backroom by a surely pent up Bakugou.

Once you reached the back you saw your coworker, the one that had given you such brilliant advice before, shoving a pastry in her mouth as she was on her break. Her eyes first fell on the dark lidded ones of your boyfriend before falling on your pleading fearful eyes.

Her mouth opened, unsure of what to say before closing.

“I’m uh.. gonna take my break outside.” She muttered softly, politely pushing the chair in and offering the best smile she could before she quickly shuffled out the back doors.

Once the room was clear Bakugou let go of your wrist, giving you a chance to stretch your arm back in it’s proper position before the sound of the back door slamming to a close caused you to shriek in surprise.

Bakugou couldn’t help but smirk as you jumped, as angry as he was he loved seeing you so on edge thanks to him. Returning to a serious expression he watched as you turned around, attempting to put on a serious face of your own.

“Bakugou you know I still have thirty minutes left of my shift-”

Trying to speak was hard enough as is with the thick tension in the room, but when the ash blond slammed his hands on either side of you against the wooden break table you let out a shriek and quickly sat back against the ledge attempting to gain some more space between you two.

The action made him chuckle dryly as he looked you up and down.

“You’re still going to act like a fucking brat huh? After the show you just put on?” Bakugou spoke lowly, his eyes drinking in the sight of your costume only swirling more pent up feelings within him, “Someone’s feeling spunky today?”

You bit at the corner of your lip, swallowing what left of saliva was in your dry mouth as you tried terribly to avoid eye contact.

“Hiding such a naughty job from me, and then when I catch you red handed this is the treatment I get?” Bakugou hisses with clenched fists, “You should’ve been at my fucking heel all day for keeping such a delicious lie from me and yet you taunt me like you’re the one in charge?”

His harsh words made heat rise to your cheeks as you looked down at your frilly dress, trying to find anything to look at besides his face. Surely you knew that wasn’t going to pass with him.

“Look at me when I fucking speak to you brat.” Bakugou growled, his eyes narrowing when he saw your lips pinch together stubbornly.

Letting out an annoyed sigh he grabbed your wrist roughly before shoving you back against the thin wall and grabbing your jaw harshly shoving it against the wall with a hard knock, forcing your eyes to meet.

The sight of your cheeks being squished together by his large palms and your wide glassy eyes forced to look into his own, he couldn’t hide his smug smirk as he felt you lightly tremor beneath him.

“Much better doll.” Bakugou cooed, voice laced with sarcasm as you both knew the next chain of events were about to get quite violent.

“Now, I was planning on patiently waiting for you to get off so we could take this conversation in private...” Bakugou spoke, eyes narrowing down to yours as he let out a sinister laugh, “Hell I even bought you a treat, I’m such a generous fucking boyfriend aren’t I?”

Your breathing was ragged as you stared up into his crimson eyes, your brain was so fogged by the situation that you hadn’t even realized what he asked until his grip on your jaw tightened.

“I asked you a fucking question.”

Blinking back to reality you nodded deserpatly, not daring to look away from his gaze as you let out a slight whimper that shot directly to his pants.

“Good.” Bakugou said with a dark smile before continuing on, “But now I cannot go along with that generous plan because you can’t go two seconds without acting like a fucking slut.”

The filthy words spewing from his lips caused your face to grow warm, the entire situation already had your silk underwear drenched, but his words alone caused you to brush your plump thighs together desperately.

Your actions didn’t go unnoticed by the ash blond as he roughly shoved a knee between your legs causing a whine to escape your lips when he refused to put any friction on your aching core.

“Even now you can’t help but act like a brainless bitch in heat.” Bakugou sneered with a grin, his hand on your jaw lowering to now grip on your neck gently so not to cut off any air.

“Because you’ve disobeyed me multiple times today, I’m going to have to set you straight right here in public so you know who truly has the power here.”

Your mouth opened to rebuttal as your eyes widened at his idea, but his hand only gripped tighter around your throat causing the words shove back down your throat.

“And then,” Bakugou hissed, “If you perform like a good little maid, I may give you what you want when we get home. Maybe.”

You let out a shaky breath as he narrowed his eyes down to you, trying to read what you were feeling right now.

“Now you’re going to be my good little slutty maid and serve me until I’m satisfied, you fucking got that?”

As Bakugou’s grip on your neck loosened, your posture relaxed a bit as you nodded to his question, only for the grip to return as he growled down to you.

“Try again.”

Biting your lip your thighs attempted to squeeze against his knee for any sort of friction at all as any conscious thought was clouded with ashamed lust for the man before you.

“Y..Yes master.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugou #maid cafe #maid cafe au #maid au #maid reader #maid cafe reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha #reader is a big ole brat #this kinda segsy tho #anyways enjoy

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enthusiasticharry · 4 years

Text

The Secrets You Keep

summary: you're a stripper, and you meet Harry off shift. what happens when he finds out?

request: hiiii would you be able to do something like stripper y/n? not where they meet at the club or anything but something natural like at a cafe or something but she keeps it from him bc she thinks he’ll leave her? then he has a guys night at the strip club and sees her perform? but he loves it and she’s a bit embarrassed? idk but that kinda vibe if ur up for it! X

word count: 8.3k words of fluff, smut and angst if you squint (and i really mean squint) also not proofread, sorry!

masterlist | asks

It never occurred to you that once you left full time education you’d end up becoming a stripper. It wasn’t the occupation you had envisioned for yourself, but it was the one that paid the best money and even though it shouldn’t be — money was the thing that you needed the most. You lived in a small, one bedroom flat that you shared with your Grandma who had no income and little pension meaning that you was the only source of income for the two of you. Obviously it was hard upon you, but your Grandma had done so much for you when you were younger that you wanted to help her as much as you possibly could. Granted, finding a job as an eighteen year old that was enough to help pay the bills and for the treatment your Grandmother needed wasn’t the easiest, and that was how you stumbled across the club and the jobs there. Your Grandma didn’t know how you received your income, and you planned to keep it that way for as long as you physically could.

“Have you got any private dances today?” Jocelyn, also known as Sapphire amongst the people in the club, asked as she started fixing her makeup in the mirror next to yours.

“I don’t know.” You sighed, spraying a small amount of hairspray upon your curls, “I haven’t spoken to Elliot yet.”

“Apparently some big shot businessmen are coming in tomorrow.” Ruby adds from the other side of you, applying a lipstick that matched her name to her lips.

“Ugh.” Sapphire groaned, “That means old men with small dicks wanking to us instead of being with their probably very lovely, loving wives at home.”

“They lust after the taboo.” You add, applying a small amount of lipgloss to your lips, “They want what they can’t have, and brag when they get it.”

“They have money though.” Ruby shrugged, “Haven’t had many tips this week. I’d probably do anything for a couple hundred quid tomorrow.”

“Not anything Ruby.” You turn to look at her, shaking your head at the younger girl, “Stand your ground. Don’t let them take advantage of you.”

“I won’t.” She smiled, “I learnt from the best.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

As a fresh eighteen year old, just as Ruby was now, you could’ve only hoped for someone to help you and guide you through the trails and tribulations you endured at the club. That’s why you sort of took the younger girl under your wing and helped her as much as possible.

It wasn’t a lot. Granted, with what they did the majority of it was on their own upon the stage or in a private dance but you wanted to make sure she had small tips to help her handle herself in any situation that could occur and that she someone to talk to if she ever needed it.

“Are you working tomorrow, Emerald?” Emerald was your stage name.

“No.” You sigh happily, “It’s my day off.”

“Enjoy yourself, you deserve it.” Ruby smiled.

You certainly did.

The next morning, after helping your Grandma get ready and to the hospital, you make your way towards the small café you usually went to during your Grandmother’s chemo sessions. They usually lasted around three hours, and whilst you offered to stay with her, she usually forced you to leave and spend some time on your own, claiming she didn’t want you to see her at her worst.

The spring days had just started to warm up, so you dressed yourself in a summer dress you had picked up for cheap at a charity shop. You carried your tote bag with your book in over your shoulder as you pushed past the people on the street.

It wasn’t usually this busy, and looking around you saw no free tables but a few free chairs dotted around. Your favourite table, tucked away in the far right corner by the window had been taken by a man sat reading, just as you would’ve been. You toy back and forth with the idea of going to sit over there as you walk over to the counter.

You order your usual, a peach iced tea, and wait for the kind barista to make it. Your free days, usually, landed sporadically. They normally occurred when your grandmother either had chemo or a hospital appointment and that’s only because she can sometimes be really ill after them and needed you to look after her. Even though Elliot was not a good person by any means, he understood your situation and did help as little as he could.

“Excuse me.” The man looked up from this book at you, “Is this seat taken?”

“Uh. . .”

“It’s fine if it’s not!” Your quick to add, “There’s just no other seats.”

“No.” Your smile falters, “No! I mean that the seats not taken. It’s yours.”

“Thank you.” You drop your tote bag down on the floor, holding your hand out to the man, “I’m YN.”

“Harry.” He shakes your outstretched hand.

There was something oddly familiar about him, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on why. He dressed quite casually, a punny t-shirt that said something about health on it and you didn’t want to seem too weird and bend down to look at what he had on his bottom half but you suspected it was something just as interesting.

You take your book out of your bag and place it on the table in front of you, flicking through the pages until you found the page you had left off at.

As a child you loved to read. Your grandmother always read you a bedtime story before bed and it lead to English being your best subject at school. Whether it be the creative writing aspect, or the analytic — you were just good at it. It was your highest grade at GCSE, an A, and your highest grade at A Level, a B.

You didn’t exchange any more words with Harry the entire time you were there. Periodically you looked up at him, and somewhere deep down you hoped that he did the same for you but you couldn’t be too sure. The book that he was reading seemed interesting enough, something about watermelon, you had noticed. You had a slight suspicion that it wasn’t about watermelon but you could never be too sure you supposed.

A whine almost escaped your lips when you realised that you had to go pick up your Grandmother and your book had just gotten interesting. That was the problem when you read, you could sit and do it for hours and not even look up. It was something so interesting to you that you could immerse yourself in a world different to the one you lived in and slip out of reality for however long and return back to normal as though nothing had happened.

“Thank you for letting me sit here.” You smile as you pack your bag up, “Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

You left feeling sort of fuzzy inside. You hadn’t spoken to the man at all really, but he was kind and certainly handsome with his tousled brown hair and gentle smile. That was probably going to be the last time that you saw him, and you probably should’ve asked for his number at least but you didn’t and that was why you walked away with him laying heavy upon your mind.

The next day, you wanted nothing more than to leave in the middle of your shift and curl up on the sofa. Instead, you were stood in a private room in the back of the club swirling your hips for a man sat upon a chair in the middle.

“You’re fucking fit.” He moans, and you almost throw up in your mouth.

“Thank you.”

You move yourself so you’re hovered over his lap, twisting your hips to beat of the sultry song spilling out of the speakers. If you didn’t need the money, or have a bills to pay you certainly wouldn’t be doing this.

“Fucking sort.” That’s when his hand drops down upon your behind, squeezing the flesh harshly.

You stand up, flipping around so that you’re looking at him, “Hands off.”

“Babe.” He throws his head back, “C’mon I’ve paid bags for this dance.”

“And you pay for a dance, and the rules state no touching.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again, babe.”

“Better not.”

It does, and that’s when you get up and leave. He still has to pay, which is a plus but it just isn’t the best feeling. The job you do isn’t one that people necessarily respect you for, but there are rules in place to help with that. You and the other dancers within the club were human beings and deserved the rights that any other person has.

“You okay?” Ruby presses her hand to your shoulder as you powder your under-eyes, “I heard he was touching.”

“Yeah.” You smile at her through the mirror, “Started behind and they he just full on groped me.”

“Men are pigs.”

“I second that statement.” You laugh, “But you know what they’ll say.”

“That we teased and antagonised them to do it.”

Throwing her a deadpan look, you nod. It was something that you had dealt with for the past six years of your life and even though you did hate it and wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you up every time it happened — you had gotten used to it.

“Did you have a nice day off yesterday?”

“I did thank you.” You smile, “Read a bit. Spent some time with my Grandma.”

“Sounds lovely.” Her face then twists into one that you can’t quite pinpoint, “You didn’t miss much here.”

“The businessmen not up too much?”

“No they paid well.” She nodded, “We just had to watch them wank their micropenises at us.”

You curl your nose up at the thought, “That sounds pleasant.”

“Totally.” She snorts.

“Emerald. Ruby.” Elliot sticks his head into the room, “Get your asses back out there.”

Ruby rolls her eyes and you laugh. Your job certainly wasn’t your favourite but some of the people around you made it more pleasant.

Two weeks later you find yourself sat in the corner of the café down the road from the hospital, your book open in front of you and a peppermint tea sat upon the table in a pot. Your Grandmother’s second round of chemo was slowly coming to the end of its stint and even though you wanted nothing more than for her to be back to the epitome of health, you would miss spending time at this small café.

“Hi.” You lift your head up to see Harry stood there, slightly breathless, “Is this seat taken?”

“It’s yours.” You smile, watching him drop his book on the table.

This time you could see his entire outfit. A white t-shirt with some writing on that you missed, a floral shirt over the top paired with red corduroy flares. You were right the last time that you met him —he did have an amazing sense of style. You, however, bought whatever was the cheapest or on sale that seemed acceptable to wear in public.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been okay.” You smile, “You?”

“Good, thanks.” He scratches the base of his neck, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh.” You have to stop yourself from smiling too much, “I only come when my Grandma has an appointment and they’re usually two weeks apart.”

“Ah.” He nods before his face curls, “I’m sorry if that seemed creepy.”

“It didn’t.” You can’t help the butterflies that erupt within your stomach, “I just thought I wouldn’t see you again.”

“Couldn’t let that happen.” Heat rises up your neck as he beams.

“No complaints about that from me.”

“That’s good.” He rests his hand upon his chest, letting out a deep breath, “Thought I was punching a little over my weight.”

“You’re not.” You cheeks hurt from smiling, “It’s cute.”

He looks down at his book. He seemed so shy, as though he had a confidence to talk to people but once they complimented him or something to do with him it completely changed. It was intriguing. He was already nicer to you than most people you’ve met of the opposite sex in your life and you’re let to learn anything about him apart from the fact that he reads Bukowski and likes black coffee — it certainly wasn’t much to go on.

“How long do we have until you have to go back to your Grandma?”

“Not long.” You sigh sadly, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand, it’s okay.” He flashes you a small smile, “Can I walk you back to the hospital?”

You ponder his offer for a second, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You walk back to the hospital brushing arms with one of the nicest people you’d ever met, and you couldn’t be happier.

“Has your Grandma been having treatment for long?”

“It’s her second round.” You explained, “They originally removed the tumour and it went away but it came back. They caught it quickly and she’s back in bay 11 for three hours every two weeks.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighs, “That must’ve been tough.”

You shrug, “She’s a fighter, I know she is.”

“I don’t doubt she is.” He smiles, “She’s got an amazing granddaughter to stay alive for.”

The walk to the hospital isn’t long enough in your opinion. You speak about a few things, and you learn he does music and that’s when you put two and two together and realise that he’s actually Harry Styles from One Direction. Harry wished he could’ve recorded your reaction when you realised.

Harry had never met someone like you, and he had met a lot of people in his life. You were sweet, and kind and so gentle but also confident and held yourself in such a strong way that he couldn’t help but want to know you, the real you.

“This is it.” You stop in front of the entrance closest to the chemo ward, “Thank you for walking me.”

“It’s no problem.” He smiles, “I hope this doesn’t sound too weird, but can I get your number?”

“Uh. . . yeah.”

“Great.” He beams, “At least now I won’t have to hope you show up at the café.”

You swear you felt your heart burst.

During your shift a couple of weeks later, you don’t notice your phone light up a message. You actually don’t notice at all until you arrived home that night. You had already checked on your Grandma, who was sound asleep in bed, and that’s when you allowed yourself to drop down upon the sofa with a sigh.

Seeing an unknown number pop up on your screen at first had confused you, but once you had looked further into it, your palms started sweating.

Hi YN. It’s Harry. I know it’s been a while but I’ve been trying to figure out what to say. I hope you and your Grandma are well.

Your heart starts to beat faster. The message you had awaited for weeks was here and you had no idea how to act, never mind what too reply back with. The only thing that spiralled around within your mind was that he had been thinking about you.

In your head, you imagined him pacing around in his large house trying to figure out what to send you, just like they do in the movies. You at least hoped that was what he had been doing over the past couple of weeks.

Hi Harry! It’s lovely to hear from you, sorry it’s late. I’m okay, Grandma’s getting there. How are you?

You throw your phone down on the sofa next to you, trying not to giggle like you did as a schoolgirl whenever you were messaging boys. You nearly cried whenever you phone ran out of credit and you’d end up having to run to the store to get a top up in the morning with your spending money and explaining to them what had happened. You were thankful that your upgrade didn’t need that.

I’m okay. Glad to hear about your Grandma. I know this is probably really weird and totally out of the blue, but are you free this weekend? I’m leaving next week for a little while and I really want to see you before I do.

In your head, you ignore the end of the message about him leaving and focus on the fact that he wants to see you. Harry Styles wants to see you. You hoped it was a date, everything pointed it to be a date but you didn’t want get too ahead of yourself.

You haven’t had a boyfriend since your first year of Sixth Form, and the first date you were going on since then was going to be with Harry Styles of all people.

If you pull some strings, work an extra long shift on Saturday and please some of Elliot’s special clients — you may be able to get Friday night off. It was a maybe, but over the next two days you could make it a yes. You hoped that you could make it a yes.

You’ve never, in your six years of working at the club, missed any of your shifts for anything other than your Grandma suddenly falling ill, and those were on rare occasions. You certainly deserved this day off.

I’ll have to check with my boss but I think I could do Friday night? If that’s not a problem for you.

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from internally freaking out.

Sounds perfect. How about I pick you up at 8?

You wince. It wasn’t as though your were embarrassed of where you lived because you weren’t. You’ve worked hard to be able to pay for the flat and everything in it but there was something about showing it to someone who you’ve only just met and had no intention of explaining your situation to wasn’t on the top of your priority list.

Is there any chance I could meet you somewhere?

Of course. Where do you fancy eating? Italian? Thai?

Italian sounds good.

Great. I’ll send you details over.

Thank you :)

See you then, YN. Sweet dreams.

Night, Harry.

You slept well that night.

“I just don’t think I can spare you Friday.” Elliot sighs, “I’m sorry YN.”

You have to stop yourself from wanting to cry. You don’t use up all your holiday days, and you work way more than you should or that you’re paid for but you don’t complain and you just get on with it. The one time you ask for a shift off, his stubborn ass says that he cant do it.

“Please, Elliot.” You sign, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I just need this day off.”

“And I need my best girl on the floor. Need the best of the best.”

“There are plenty of other better girls than me working here.”

He shakes his head, “You’re the favourite, YN. Need you to be there.”

“Elliot.” You sigh, leaning forward in the uncomfortable seat you were sat in, “I’ve worked for you for six years and I’ve never asked for a day off like this before.”

“Yeah but—”

“—and! I’ve never asked for a day off apart from going to the hospital and you know that.”

“I couldn’t exactly say no to you—”

“I’ve worked every shift you’ve ever asked me to, covered for people when you need it.”

“Stop it!” He holds his hand up to silence you, “Just shut up for a second.”

You clamp your lips shut. If you didn’t need to stay on his good side to get Friday off you probably would’ve said something about how rude he was being. He’d always been rude, but he paid you and the rest of the girls so you all chose to ignore it.

He ponders, and you know the cogs are turning within his brain as he scrolls through his laptop, typing a few things. He takes his glasses off his face and drops them dramatically down on the table in front of him.

“Ruby will cover your shift.”

You let out a sigh of relief, “Thank you!”

“Don’t be thanking me too quickly.” He points his finger, “I need a favour from you.”

“Anything. Well not anything.”

“In a few weeks times there’s a big birthday party coming in.” He explains, “I need you to be the star of the show, do private dances and all the good things like that.”

“Just that?” You ask, knowing that it could be a trap knowing Elliot’s track record.

He nods, “Just that.”

You look at him sceptically, “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He holds his hands up, “A few big names are coming, that’s all. A list celebs that have asked to use the back exit.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Let me know the date and I’ll do it.”

You stand up, happy that you’ve managed to get your shift tomorrow off and that you can go on the date you have been excited for since you met Harry and was introduced to the world with him in it.

“Have fun at your thing Friday.”

“Thank you. . .?”

You don’t think you like Elliot being nice to you.

Friday night rolled around quickly and you were thankful for that. After helping your Grandma with her own dinner and into bed, you start getting ready. You curl your hair, brushing it out until its in what looks like effortless waves but are actually quite hard waves to achieve. You do natural makeup, something completely different to makeup you usually wear in one of your shifts. You try to keep all of your features soft, different to how you usually look on a day to day basis. You dress in a long white polka-dotted maxi skirt, paired with a thin long-sleeved jumper that would keep you warm due to the ever changing British weather.

You had done a little bit of research on the restaurant Harry had sent you the address for and learnt that it wasn’t the most expensive restaurant ever, but one that was way out of your price range. It meant that you had to dip into the fund that you keep for occasions where you need a little extra money or you will use in the future when you eventually move out and busy your own place.

The tube was crammed, seeing as though it was a Friday night and the majority of people were either coming home from work and stating to go out for end of the week drinks. You knew that the club would start to become heaving as the night grew and a part of you was thankful that you didn’t have to work today, and you were given a small break from the hell that is working at a strip club.

The restaurant, when you arrived, definitely looked fancier than it had online. The bar stood against the corner wall, the right hand side of the restaurant had booths covering the walls whilst stand alone tables scattered around the rest of the room.

You were surprised when you saw Harry, already sat at the booth in the far right corner. He lifted his hand up in an awkward sort of wave and you couldn’t help but beam at him. He had a shirt, an expensive looking white shirt with a yellow and blue jumper over the top. You hand felt so excited to see someone since when your Grandma went into hospital for her tumour being removed and you couldn’t see her for a few days.

“YN.” He sighs, “Hi.”

“Hi.” You smile, slipping into the booth across from him.

“Was starting to think you wasn’t going to show up.”

“I’m sorry.” You tuck your hair behind your ear, “I underestimated how bust the tube was going to be.”

You can tell he wants to pry but instead he says, “It’s okay.”

His nails were painted yellow, a few of them painted lilac as well. There was something so simple about his nails that you just loved, and if it wasn’t weird you probably would’ve stared at them for way too long for it to be acceptable. You knew he had tattoos, and you could see the cross on his hand and the the anchor peaking out from underneath his shirt and you wanted to see more.

“I like your nails.” You smile, running your own fingers over your own nails underneath the table.

“Thanks.” A blush creeps up his neck, “I did them last night. Sort of calmed me down, I was quite nervous.”

“Nervous for what?”

“This.” He nods, “I haven’t been as nervous for a date in a long time.”

“You don’t have to be nervous.”

In your twenty four years of living, you’ve never had someone say that they were nervous to see you. You’ve been nervous to see and do many things in your life and you hoped that somewhere along the line it would’ve been the same for somebody else and yourself but you had the slight suspicion that wasn’t the case. Hearing those words out loud, coming from someone who you’d never expect it too was special, and you were going to keep that for as long as you physically could.

“I did.” He looks down at the table briefly, “I’ve never liked a girl as much as I like you before.”

“You don’t really know me.”

“I’d like to get to know you.”

That’s what you do. For the rest of the date you don’t stop talking. Even though you’re starving and could eat your fist, it takes you the longest you’ve ever taken to eat your food because of how much you spend it talking.

You’re just about to dig in to your desert when your body physically halts, “Why didn’t you want me to pick you up?”

“I, uh, I—”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t what to! I know I can be pretty invasive sometimes.”

“No, it’s fine!” You take a sip of your drink to swallow down the dryness within your throat, “I don’t live in the nicest building, or in the nicest area and I guess I was embarrassed.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“But I was.” You drop your eyes to the plate in front of you, “I know I shouldn’t have been and that it was stupid but I just didn’t want you judge me before you truly knew me because of where I live.”

“I hope you know now that I wouldn’t have done that.”

“I do.”

You let Harry drive you home. Even though you would never admit it to his face just yet, you really liked him. He was kind, sweet and funny and everything you could ever want in your person. You haven’t said this in a long time but you love the person you are around him and you wouldn’t change it for the world if you didn’t have to.

He stops in the car park outside the building of flats you live in and you can tell he’s thinking deeply about something but you try to not concentrate on that too much.

“I would invite you up.” You laugh, “But I don’t think the sofa in the middle of my Grandma’s flat whilst she snores in the next room is the most romantic.”

He scrunches up his nose, “I can’t say that it is.”

“I’m sorry.” You drop your head to look at your hands that are tested on your knees, “I really wish I could offer you something. Anything.”

“It’s okay, YN.” He uses his finger to move your head up so that you’re looking at him, “I don’t expect anything from you. I hope you know that.”

“I know.”

He hesitates for a moment, and you can feel the finger that was rested upon your chin move upwards so that its upon your cheek. You flicker your eyes closed and just mask in the feeling of his touch against your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

You eyes open as you nod your head, letting out a shaky breath at the sheer surprise you feel at his words.

“Want your words, darling.”

“Please kiss me.”

You close your eyes again and you feel his lips touch yours. It's light at first, but you can’t contain yourself and you end up pushing closer to him, relishing in the feeling of his lips upon yours. Your fingertips grip the collar of his shirt, trying to pull him closer without hurting himself too much on the centre console. Even though you both don’t want to, you pull away as you start to loose breath.

“You okay?” Your chest heaves up and down as he speaks.

“Never been better.” You sigh, resting your forehead against his.

“Good.”

You kiss again, this time its more passionate and you can’t help but let out a small whine as he pulls away. The smug look on his face after hearing that sound was enough to send your stomach doing flips.

You really didn’t want to do this, but you had too: “I have to go.”

“It’s okay.” He smiles, “I understand.”

“Okay.” You reach for the door handle.

“I have to go away for a bit.” He sighs, “I’m writing some music over in America but when I get back, do you want to maybe go on another date?”

“I’d love to.”

He presses one last kiss to your lips and you leave the car, muttering a small, “Bye.”

You feel giddy. As though you’re sixteen again and just come back from your first date with your first boyfriend. It was something you hadn’t felt in a long time and in all honesty, you had no idea how to handle those feelings. You certainly wouldn’t admit that you screamed quietly into your pillow in excitement that night.

You couldn’t wait for him to return home.

Two weeks. Harry was away for two weeks and even though you had only kissed him once, twice if you actually count how many kisses there were, you missed him more than words could explain. You weren’t one to usually message first, so you did end up waiting until Harry had a spare moment to message you which wasn’t as often as you would’ve liked but you couldn’t complain.

You almost felt as though you had been drip fed this new life with Harry in, only to have it taken away quicker than you could blink. It wasn’t forever, and that was probably the thing keeping you sane. This had all happened in such a short amount of time but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

The only thing that limited how far you could take this was your job.

Harry had obviously been curious and during a text conversation in the first week of his week being away — he asked what you did. After having a small freak out you decided to say that you worked in a bar. It was a small, white lie and you hated yourself for it but telling him that you were a stripper just didn’t feel like the best thing to do at that time.

You just weren’t ready to tell him, and that was totally okay.

Speaking of your work, tonight was the night of the big party that Elliot made sure you could come to. The club had held celebrity parties before, so you weren’t entirely nervous but every time someone mentioned it you could feel your heart speeding up slightly.

“Emerald.” You turn to look at Elliot who’s trudging towards you, a bag in hand, “Here’s your new outfit for tonight.”

“New? I thought I’d just wear the one for special occasions.”

“This is a special, special occasion Emerald.” He dropped the bag down in front of you, “Wear this.”

Taking the material out of the bag, your mouth dropped open at the sight of the emerald green lingerie in your hands. It was delicate lace that you feared you’d rip if you weren’t too careful. Putting it on, your breasts slightly spilled over the lace, and whilst your front was covered, the thong back of the lingerie left your ass on full display. It was beautiful, you couldn’t dismiss that but you just hadn’t ever worn something so skimpy before. You pulled your black silk robe over your shoulders, fastened your black heels onto your feet and made your way towards the side of the stage.

The skimpiness of the new lingerie did send more butterflies to the pit of your stomach than you were originally hoping for but it was only another hurdle for you to get over which you knew you’d be able to do.

You heard the music start to play, you slipped your hand through the gap in the curtain and opened it, revealing yourself to the room.

Here goes nothing, you mumble to yourself.

Harry’s jaw dropped at the sight of you on the stage. It certainly wasn’t his usual scene, a strip club, but it was a friend of a friends birthday and he had kindly been invited and he wasn’t about to turn it down. He wasn’t in the band anymore, and certainly didn’t have to hide that he went to places like this anymore, even though they weren’t his favourite.

He couldn’t bare his eyes off of you. The way your body moved to the rhythm of the song, your darkly manicured nails pushed the robe of your shoulders, exposing the delicate lingerie you were wearing. Harry would be lying if he said that his cock didn’t start to stir at the sight.

You. The girl who he thought spent her days reading, and looking after Grandma had a secret persona that he only wanted to explore more.

“My word.” One of the men in the group spoke, loudly so that everyone could hear him, “She’s fit as fuck.”

“To get my hands on her.”

Harry clenches his jaw, and his fist that rested on the arm of his chair. If he wasn’t in a very public place where people could record him, he’d give that man a piece of his mind. He probably would but he’d do it when nobody was around so the man could truly understand what he was saying to him.

“Do you think I could get a dance with her?” The birthday boy asked.

“It’s your birthday.” The dickhead with no morals spoke, “She might give you something special as a present.”

“The rules say no touching.” The words slip out of Harry’s mouth before he can stop them, “So I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sure you’d be saying something different if you were in his position, Styles.”

Harry rolled his eyes and focused his attention back on the stage, watching as you seductively bent down to pick up some of the tips that had been thrown on the bottom of the stage. The song was slowly finishing and Harry couldn’t help but feel a little bit of disappointment bubbling within him.

Harry watched your lean legs as you strutted towards the side of the stage, flicking the long wig on your head over your shoulder, seductively running your tongue over your bottom lip as you pulled the material of the lingerie down from your breasts.

Harry bit his lip, his leg bounced, he ran his hand up and down his thigh. He tried to do everything in his power to distract himself from the rousing within his trousers but he just couldn’t do it. The flimsy material dropped to the floor, your red painted lips curled up into a smirk and you made your way behind the curtain, not showing any of your truly bare skin.

If you hadn’t been imprinted on his brain before, you certainly were now.

You could hear the grunts and groans of happiness, and a few cheers whilst on stage but the lights were so bright that you couldn’t see anything past the first row or so. The tips you had received were good, and you were pleased about that.

You received your robe and bra back from the stage and pulled them back onto your body. Your solo dance was always a hit for Elliot, and you supposed that was why he’s kept you on for so long and if you were honest, they were the easiest to do. Private dances always made you too uncomfortable, and in the six years you’ve worked there there had only been a handful of people that made you feel comfortable when it came to private dances.

“Emerald.” Elliot walks in smiling and you assume everything is swell on the floor, “They fucking love you.”

You nod your head, muttering a small and awkward, “Thank you.”

He hums, “You’ve been requested for a private dance, and he’s promised to pay you accordingly.”

“Really?”

Another hum, “Room Two. I think he’s already there.”

“Thanks.”

He leaves the room, a bounce in his step. You suppose that this is a good thing and he’ll finally get off your back for the time you took off for the date with Harry. You at least hoped.

You checked yourself. You made sure your makeup still looked flawless, your breasts sat perfectly within the material and your arse looked good. You brush through the wig once and make your way towards room two, the smaller of the three private dance rooms which helped it be more intimate.

You smiled at the bouncer at the door, Gerry, a man who looked as though he could kill someone with a single punch but was actually a massive teddy bear. He was good at his job of keeping everyone safe and making sure that the bad eggs that came in left just as quickly.

Watching the door slowly open, Harry felt his heart stop. He had been pacing up and down the room ever since he had walked in, and only just stopped when he heard the creek of the door. He couldn’t believe that you were in front of him, and you certainly couldn’t believe that he was in front of you either.

“YN. . .” He sounded breathless.

“Harry?” He could see your chest rising and falling at a quick pace, “What? How? I thought you were in America.”

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “I got back last night.”

“Why are you here?” He can hear the lump in your throat as you speak, your eyes glossing over.

“A Birthday party.”

“Yours?”

“No!” He’s quick to interrupt, “A friend of a friend. It’s not mine. Mine’s in February, and I certainly don’t think I’ll be having my party here. Not that there’s anything wrong with here! It’s lovely! You’re lovely! I’m rambling.”

He was so gosh darn cute and if you weren’t in the middle of a break down, you probably would’ve laughed or at least reacted to his little word vomit. It was probably the quickest you’d ever heard him talk, not that it was hard.

After a few minutes of contemplating what to say, you sigh, “I’m sorry.”

His voice is soft, his features falling, “What are you sorry for?”

“Lying to you.” You drop your gaze to the floor, trying to suppress the tears, “I didn’t want to.”

“Hey, hey.” He walks over to you, placing his finger underneath your chin just like he had done in the car weeks ago, “No need to get upset, I’m not.”

“You should be.” You bottom lip quivers, “I lied to you and I had no intention to retract that just yet.”

“YN.” He rests his palms on your cheeks, “I’m not angry. I’m not upset. I just want to know why.”

“I was scared.” You admit, trying to do anything but look up at him, “I didn’t know what you’d think or if you’d change your mind.”

“Change my mind about what?”

“Wanting too, you know. . .?”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t. There’s no reason for me to.”

“I’m a stripper Harry, it gives you full reason to not want to be associated with me.” You lift your hand to wipe your under-eye.

“I’m not judging you, YN, I said I wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t be upset if you did.”

“YN.” His voice is stern, more so than it had been, “I don’t care that you’re a stripper.”

“You don’t.”

“No.” He smiles, “I don’t.”

“Fuck.” You let out a breath of relief, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs, “If you didn’t want to, you didn’t have to.”

You had never met someone like him, and no matter how many times he surprised you that was just fact. Granted, you hadn’t had time to date anyone with looking after your Grandma but another reason you didn’t was because of what they would think of you.

You knew that not everyone would be was understanding and lovely as Harry had been, and that was just because of the lovely person he was inside and out. That was the reason you didn’t tell him, because even though you had an inclination that he was accepting but you didn’t know whether that was just a façade or he was like that in real life. You loved that he was like that in real life.

“Can I be honest?” You nod, “I enjoyed it.”

You bite your lip to suppress the smile that threatened to cross your lips, “You did?”

He hums, beaming a smile at you.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” The corner of his lips tugs upwards, “I’d still love to get that private dance.”

You roll your eyes and thwack his shoulder playfully, “If you must.”

“I’ll wait for you.” He nods, “Until your shift is over, if you want.”

“Please.”

“I’ll see you then.”

You hadn’t even made it completely into Harry’s house before his lips were on yours. He pushed you up against his front door before he’d even shut it properly, his lips falling upon yours with a hunger you hadn’t felt since you last kissed him.

Maybe it was his hands rested upon the small of your back, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Can I offer you a drink?” He smirks against your lips.

“Not the priority.” You reply, not bringing your lips away from his.

“Noted.” He places a kiss to your jaw, “Upstairs?”

“Upstairs.”

You follow him up the stairs, your hand rested firmly in his. You’re too distracted by the man in front of you to take any notice of the house or where you were going.

Harry had kept true to his word and waited for you. You secretly wished that you could have recorded the group’s reaction as you walked towards him, a small smile on your face. After bidding them goodbye, the two of you jumped in a taxi that Harry had ordered and made your way to his house, or what you expected to be his house and you weren’t disappointed.

The second you step into the plushly decorated room, you’re kissing again. His hands slide down to rest upon curve of your ass, his ring-clad fingers immediately squeezing the flesh. You groan lightly into his mouth, allowing his tongue to slip through her parted lips. You grip his bicep as he leads your backwards into the room, your calves hitting the bed as he does so.

Your lips part, you fall back onto the bed. You look up at him through your eyelashes, your fingertips reaching to pull the shirt he was wearing over his head. You almost swoon there and then at the sight of the tattoos littering his skin. You lean forward and place a kiss on his lower stomach, just before his happy trail that slips into the band of his trousers.

You bite your lip, grinning up at him.

“What are you planning?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, “What do you want me to be planning?”

He groans, “Anything at this point.”

You reach forward, taking the button of his trousers in your fingers. You look up, “Is this okay?”

“More than okay, baby.”

You unbutton his trousers, wrapping your finger in the waistband and pulling them down. You can already see the tent in his boxers. You wondered how long he had been like this, you wondered if it had been since your dances.

You blush slightly as you hook your fingers now into the waistband of his boxers, looking up at him. You can’t handle the look on his face, the slight blush but the boyish grin mixed with his curls that had fallen forward upon his forehead. You pull the fabric down, exposing his hard cock. You watch as it hits his stomach briefly, the tip swollen. You lift your hand up, wrapping it around him before giving him a few pumps. His stomach quivers as you do so, a groan escaping him as you wrap your lips around his tip. His eyes flutter closed as you start to bob your head, his fingers reaching forward to grab your hair into a ponytail.

“Fuck baby.” His hips involuntarily buck forward. You sink further down, going as far as you could.

Harry couldn’t believe how good he felt. It had been a while since he had been with someone, and it was worth the wait. You pulled away too soon in his opinion, but the sight of you, all teary eyed and sloppy sent his mind spiralling.

“God.” He bent down and wrapped his arms around your thighs, lifting you up so he could move you further up the bed, “You’re fucking killing me here.”

“Good.” You giggle.

He’s quick to remove your shirt, allowing you to pull your jeans down at the same time. He didn’t expect you to still be in the lingerie from earlier, and if it was physically possible, he swore his cock hardened even more.

“Fuck me.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours again as his fingers fumble with the latch of your bra. You bite your bottom lip as he wraps his around your nipple, flicking it with his tongue. He uses his hand to knead the other one. You can’t help but grind your hips forwards, a feeling bubbling deep in the pit of your stomach that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Harry.” You moan, withering under his touch.

He kisses down from your lips, to your jaw, down your neck until he’s littering them all the way to the band of your underwear.

“Is this okay?”

“More than okay.” You whine as he lets out a breath upon the thin material.

He pulls your underwear down, teasing you by placing kisses across your thighs and pubic bone. He’s so close, yet so far from the place that you need him the most. He licks a stripe across your centre, until he wraps his lips around your clit. You can’t help the moans that escape your parted lips as he nibbles and flicks your sensitive nub, her thighs starting to shake as he coaxes her closer and closer to her orgasm.

“Don’t stop.” You thread your fingers through his hair, “God! Harry.”

He pulls away, and you let out a shaky breath as he does so.

“No fair.” You whine.

“Life isn’t.”

“Just shut up and get a condom.” He does as you request, placing a small peck to your lips as he reached over to grab a condom from the drawer beside the bed.

You watch as he rips the packet open with his teeth, pulling the rubber down his length. He presses another kiss to your lips, catching her eyesight once more.

“Are you sure?”

“More than okay.”

He hovers over you, rubbing his tip up and down your wet folds to coax a moan out of your lips. He groans into your shoulder as he pushes in, biting down briefly to suppress the sound.

“Don’t.” You moan, scratching your nails down his back as he starts to thrust in and out of you, “Let me hear you.”

“Fuck.” You squeeze him slightly, “Do that again.”

He speeds up, catching your lips as your hips meeting quicker, the only sound in the room being your skin slapping each others. You slip one of your hands between the two of you, your nimble fingers rubbing your clit.

“Where have you been all my life?” You can’t help the pleasurable giggle that escapes your lips.

“Feel so good, H.”

After a few more thrusts, a couple more circles of her clit and she’s comes around his cock, squeezing him tightly as she did so.

“Fuck, shit, oh god.”

He continues to thrust in and out of you, coaxing you through your orgasm and towards his. He seems to go deeper and deeper until he’s spilling inside the condom, his moans louder than any you had heard before.

“God.” He collapses on top of you, taking a few seconds to collect himself and let you collect yourself, “Haven’t felt like that in a long time.”

“Glad I could be of some assistance.” You push the hair that had matted to your face off.

“You should keep secrets from me more often.’

“I’m never doing that again.”

“Good.” He pecks your lips.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic

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putseraphinaonthaphone · 3 years

Text

Groupchat pt. I

CW// recreational drug use, group sex, poly dynamics, virgin reader, queer reader who uses she/her pronouns and feminine descriptors, intoxicated sex

It was an interesting group of friends that you had. Well, 'friends' was a stretch, but you had a groupchat. The name was simply 'fuckers' because for some reason Bakugou was allowed to name the chat. You had the same group of stoners you ended up partying with every weekend, getting high off the strongest shit you could buy and letting loose to work off the stress of the week. It was cliche but true, you blew off steam getting high and dancing like a slut-- self care. Somehow it had evolved to more of a four person party that wasn't really a party, but you played music, smoked, and the boys watched you dance while devouring the healthy but tasty food you prepared because when you're high everything tastes 100 times better and you'd been on a restricted diet because of your chronic health issues since you were a teenager. When you'd explained this in the group chat, the most concise response you got was "so you'll cook for us?" Stoners were just your people honestly. Or maybe it was these stoners.

Bakugou mellowed out considerably after a few blunts, and he offered to blow up whoever made you cry the first time you met coming out of a party to smoke after you had a call with your best friend from back home. He'd told you that your dynamic as friends only worked if he was single. You didn't know if you'd ever have another friend like him. And there was Bakugou, offering you a blunt and violence that seemed like just the kind of friendship you craved in that moment.

Shinsou was one of the few people who came to the party simply to find people to smoke with. He rarely talked, but he was really good company you thought. He always brought indica strains-- your personal favorite as well as his you found out. Sometimes you guys talked about how it was cruel to have so many dreams but so little energy to pursue them. Sometimes you guys went back to his place and smoked yourself into a sleepy haze that always ended up in the warmest cuddles you've ever experienced.

Dabi had a viper's tongue and an even worse attitude than Bakugou. But he was cool, you bumped into him at a party when you were looking for another smoker to borrow a light from. You were feeling caustic after a phone call from home. "You got a lighter bro?" He seemed a bit amused by your masculine energy wrapped in a lush femme presenting form, like he was relieved to finally seeing someone interesting. "You look like you got all sorts of daddy issues, why haven't we met before?" His tone was both flirtatious and condescending at the time. "Whatever gave it away?" You snorted as you lit up your blunt, white grape game wrappers. But your tone was flirtatous as well as you handed your blunt to him, "We're meeting now. To shitty dads who deserve to sleep in the bed they made."

Shoto was the anomaly. You saw him around your department, guessing he was an upperclassman in your major. And one day he was at Dabi's place when you all got together to celebrate finally getting an off campus hangout spot. Apparently Dabi was an old friend, kind of like an older brother to Shoto. They definitely had a thing going on, but thinking about it too long made your face burn. His preppy appearance was shattered when he wore a short sleeve shirt instead of his usual button downs, and you saw the traditional japanese tattoos that made a full sleeve in white ink. You also noticed his silver gauges that were almost hidden by his white hair and when he pushed his hair back you saw more piercings on his ears. But when he smoked you under the table you decided you were almost in love.

If you happened to hope that one day at least one of the hot but dumb fuckers you smoked with took the hint of your many personal dance shows and fucked you, that was no one's business but your own.

You worked through the week, bullshitting assignments- but well because you were a fucking genius in your field, and on friday you decided to just wear a bra, shorts and an over shirt to the party with a beanie on your shaved head to complete the look. The pregame was at Shoto and Dabi's place this time, a short walk if you thought about the liquor and weed waiting for you. You weren't prepared for the brisk wind to meet you when you stepped out of your dorm.

"Hoes don't get cold." You chanted under your breath as you started walking. Your construction boots kept your feet warm, but the black booty shorts that were frayed at the edges left your lush thighs and your entire legs exposed to the cold wind. But after a few more minutes of walking you gave up- you weren't a good enough hoe, and you were cold. So you bit the bullet and put into the group chat:

smokerdeepthroat 11:19pm

Someone come pick me up, I'm freezing my literal ass off.

blueflamer 11:22pm

Walk bitch.

boomboi 11:24

Cash gas or ass, you know the drill.

smokerdeepthroat 11:25

Y'all can run a train on my ass if someone just picks me up before I freeze to death.

sleepystoner, icyhot, boomboi, blueflamer | read

Shit. You hadn't actually meant to send that. And of course the one time Shinsou checks the chat had to be now. "Fuckers," you grumbled under your breath. At this point it was almost like calling them your boys in a fond tone, and that thought had you almost puking onto the concrete. The fact that you were blushing was completely irrelevant.

Before you could freak out too much- internally of course, you were not going to be caught simping with one of them on the way to pick you up- you heard the familiar roar of Bakugou's car coming down the street. The bass of his emo ass rock music shook the street and you were climbing into the car before he could yell at you to get your ass inside.

You might have moaned at the heated seats, rubbing your hands over your freezing thighs. "Thanks Bakubro. It's cold as fuck and I was too excited to pregame to bring a jacket."

"A jacket isn't the problem. Your ass is hanging out." His words as usual were followed by a plume of smoke. His crimson eyes trailed over your body and a heated smirk curved his lips. "But that just means easier access for us."

"Y'all dusty ass hoes know I was joking-" You tried to bluff, tried to deflect with bravado as you took the blunt from him. But your hands shook, and Bakugou met your gaze with a quiet intensity that was somehow worse than his explosions.

"You dance like you need a dick in you. And only for us. We waited for you to make your choice, but this is less complicated." Damn it, he was smoking the horny weed. But if you were honest all weed was horny weed to your squad. There was an eroticism in the craving just one more hit. Just one more epic high. Just one more shudder of pleasure, as touching yourself to the thought of the boy's eyes on you when you got back to your dorm was as much a part of your friday night ritual as the weed.

Whenever you started smoking you felt yourself happily descending into hedonism. Bakugou's voice certainly wasn't helping. Your throat was impossibly dry- from the smoke, from desire- as you admitted quietly,

"I'm a virgin." You weren't going to apologize, compromise or argue. It was a statement and he could take it or leave it.

Bakugou wasn't an idiot. But he also was a possessive bastard in a way that made you wet even though you rolled your eyes at it.

"I'll make it good for you when I pop your cherry. I met you first, I'll take you first. I got you." It wasn't a promise, it was confident statement you knew he would stop at nothing to make a reality. His relentlessness was something that drew you to him in the first place if you told yourself the truth. He shifted gears smoothly and rested his warm hand on your bare thigh as he drove you back to the off campus house. You smoked half the blunt listening to his music and getting wet from his hands wandering higher and higher up your thigh.

You walked in to the house and realized how much you'd underestimated how serious Bakugou's words were. It seemed like it was a long time coming when you walked into Dabi's low lit living room to find him with his hand on Shoto's dick, Shoto's hand on his, and Shinsou lazily palming himself.

"It's about time you got here, you can't just drop shit like that in the chat when you're not here to bend over for us." Shoto's white and red hair was a mess, and given that it looked like the two of them were edging each other (sadists), his fucked out face made sense.

"She's a virgin, Icy Hot, you're gonna have to wait. I gotta open her up first." You in the mean time were going to start the music while smoking a bit hurriedly, hoping you were well and truly high before they actually started to run a train on you.

"Play the dick down playlist." Shinsou rasped from the couch and you wanted to cry at the head assery you had to put up with from these morons. (/s) But they're your morons, some lonely part of you whispered.

"It actually better have good music on it." You griped, but yeah, you were feeling the impact of whatever Bakugou had given you to smoke because your words weren't as harsh as you meant them to be.

"I call dibs on her ass cherry." Dabi's low voice cut throat the soft grunts from Shoto.

"Next time." Bakugou muttered watching the way you started to dance, having shed your overshirt to simply dance in your shorts and bra. None of the boys danced with you, a rule you'd had to put in place when they literally started fighting like children over who's turn it was to dance with you. Somehow it hadn't gotten better, these jealous bitches would sulk if you didn't give them all equal attention during your provocative performance. You solved this by closing your eyes and not looking at any of them while you let your body follow the nasty beat of the playlist. Sometimes you murmured lyrics if you remembered them and all four men were enraptured by the sight of you surrounded by smoke and dancing like a ancient goddess that could command them all in an instant.

It was moments like these that made you think maybe you were all a little more than friends by now. More than just groupchat contacts. But friends. Maybe more?

The blunt you finished yourself, until you were light headed and craving more. More music, more bass to move your hips too, maybe something to move your hips against. You didn't hesitate when Bakugou patted his thighs.

In fact, the weed in your system convinced you it only made sense to take your shorts off before straddling him. Better that than having to stop just when you're finally getting what you want right? You forgot you were just wearing some lace boyshorts with pale pink roses framing your luscious curves and dusky skin until you heard;

"Slutty girl." It was a groan as Shoto's grip on Dabi's cock tightened from the view of your fat ass sitting on Bakugou's lap.

"Nah, not yet. She's just needy." Katsuki smirked when you blushed from his words, even as you started grinding down on him in revenge. The choked moan that escaped him and the cocky glare you turned on all of them made all of them crave you that much more.

"You're needy to fuck me too, you all are. Don't forget that, explosion bitch."

"Point made. But watch it, little girl. It's gonna be a long night." His words were low and raspy from smoke, and even thought it should have been a threat your pussy gushed and soaked your panties anyway.

Four pairs of eyes watched your every move, drinking in the sight of you half naked, boldly staking your claim on all of them-- which only made them want to return the favor. Claiming you over and over until you wouldn't deny you belonged to them.

A long night, huh?

To be continued.....

#bakugou x reader #shinsou x reader #dabi x reader #shoto x reader #tw dubcon #tw dark content #tw: dubcon #tw: pseudoincest #tw: recreational drug use #tw: degradation #tw: kink

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black-dragon1998 · 3 years

Text

Ghost Capatain Chapter 1

Summary: After years of abuse from Hydra reader and the twins escape to New York City and try to survive in the only way they know. Becoming the new top dogs in the American criminal underworld is just a bonus that helps them help people in need. The Avengers, however, aren't that pleased when they by a rough bach of Vibranium and bust into their Club and arrest the reader.This set a whole rollercoaster of events in motion, that not only racked up old memories for the reader but also Bucky and Natasha.

I suck at summaries sorry.

This is a non-canon and just a figment of my imagination that I couldn't get out of my head. at the moment I have a pretty good idea where this fic is going but that could always change. Don’t like don’t read.

Warning: non at the moment but will most likly be added in further chapters.

Ghost Captain Masterlist

You were leaning against the bannister of the private second floor overlooking the club. Your men around you were preparing everything for the deal going down tonight. All were nervous for it, for you, it was just another day at the office.

Your interest at the moment lay with the green-eyed brunette wearing red at the bar. The two of you were having a silent stare down that nobody was paying attention to. You had found her easily enough, even in this sea of people you were drawn to her and it had nothing to do with her psychic powers.

It had taken her a long time accepting her powers, but when she finally did she was a real powerhouse. People always thought you were the scary one, well than they hadn’t ever seen Wanda angry. Even Pietro didn’t trifle with her when she was and he pissed off everybody all the time.

When she was having a bad day because of the burden of her powers put on her or just because of you and Pietro were there for her. The three of you were family and you would die for each other. More importantly, she was your moon, the reason you were still sane after everything Hydra put you through. When the three of you were finally able to escape Hydra you had fled to America and done what you did best. Survived.

After a couple of years in America, the three of you had made a name for yourselves. Now nobody trifled with you anymore. The business you had set up both legally and illegally were run by the three of you in the shadows. Parts of the money you earned was invested back into companies and projects you had running in Sakovia. Never having lost the connection with your home country.

Taking a sip of your drink your eyes drifted back to Wanda. The glass nearly broke form the tension you suddenly put on it. Their next to Wanda was a sniffling little bitch that had the audacity to put his hands on her. He would quickly learn nobody touched your girl and got away with it.

Wanda was sitting at the bar enjoying her drink. She for one liked being on the ground floor, unlike you who mostly stayed on the second floor overlooking the club. Being surrounded by so many people in a controlled environment gave her a certain feeling of normality.

At the moment though she was regretting not being on the second floor with you. The guy to her right was getting closer and closer. The way he was looking at her made her want to throw up. She tried ignoring him and found you looking at her from the bannister.

You looked so dame hot with your burgundy three-piece suit. Just enough buttons of your shirt were undone to be sinful and it sends her mind spiralling. Wanda could also see the numerous women around her trying to get your attention but you had only eyes for her.

Everybody thought you were this big bad mobster with no heart. Well, you were a big bad mobster but Wanda knew you would die for the people you called family. Only they got to see that side of you. Wanda even called you her teddy bear behind closed doors.

“well aren’t you particularly beautiful, sweetheart?” Wanda’s attention was called back to the guy to her right. Now he was leaning against the bar far closer than Wanda would have liked. She decided to not give him any attention, that usually ended with the guy on the floor bleeding.

“you know I have never seen you here before. Us meeting must have been fate.” Wanda could smell the alcohol on his breath. Instead of acknowledging him she turned away and took a sip from her drink. If he kept bothering her for much longer she would call the bouncers to throw him out, before you could deal with him.

Then he made the fatal mistake of putting his hands on her.

“Not to brag or anything but I may know the owner of this joint. If I put in a good word we could go somewhere private.” This made Wanda laugh before she pulled her arm away. She felled your anger burning as she felled you nearing. This time she did face him.

“I don’t believe you know anybody in this club, let alone the owner. You don’t seem to be made from the same material as they are.” Her statement seemed to anger him. He roughly took her by the shoulder this time. His hand, however, was quickly removed by a furious you.

You had a fire in your eyes when you looked at the asshole who dared to put his hands on Wanda. He seemed to link back at your anger trying to pull his hands back.

“you think it’s okay to grab a lady just like that?” it wasn’t a question but he still seemed to want to stammer out a response. He was quickly shut up by you.

“I don’t want to hear your sorry ass excuse. I heard the last part of the conversation you had. I have to say to make such a bold statement you either have to be incredibly tough or incredibly stupid. So tell me what is it. Because believe me I have never seen you before.” His eye became comically wide.

“More importantly I would like to know where you would have gone to be ‘private’ in my club with my girl.” The full realisation hit him and all colour drained from his face. He started blabbering incoherent words together with apologies when one of your waiters showed up. A young woman in her mid-twenties. A good worker never had any problems with her.

“I am so sorry Captain. He is my brother and I let him in. I told him to behave, didn’t know he would go after Wanda.” The girl sounded distressed. You looked her over with a critical eye and she shrunk back into herself.

“Please don’t fire me. I really need this job. I promise I won’t happen again.” The girl stood with her hand hanging down, not meeting your eye. You felled Wanda nudge your mind.

“you can’t fire her. It’s the only job she has and has to provide for her idiot brother and sick mother.” Leave it to Wanda to play on your emotional side. Turning to the sibling Infront of you, sighting internally.

“I don’t want to see his face here again if I do you won’t like the outcome.” Your voice is cold, leaving no room for arguing. Not that they would try anyway. Soon after the bouncers arrived and took him away.

The girls turn to you with watery eyes.

“thank you. I wouldn’t know what I would have done if I lost my job.” You clapped the girl's shoulder to ground her.

“We can’t be held accountable for what our family does.” Your voice is hard but caring, something Wanda is going to tease you about later. Finally, she met your eyes and gave you a small smile. That is when your eyes caught something, a small bruise around her eye.

You felled the girl stiffen again, trying to get out your grasp.

“I fell this morning.” her lie wasn’t convincing at all but you didn’t correct her. Instead, you took a card out of your back pocket and put it in her hand.

“When you are ready go to this address. Tell them I send you and everything will be sorted out for you.” She put the card in her pocket and went back to work. You only hoped she wouldn’t wait until it was too late.

The attention that was on you quickly faded when the song changed and people went back to drinking and dancing. Turning around you were met with Wanda smiling at you.

“you are getting soft in your old age my captain.” She smirked at you. Quickly snacking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

“Who are you calling old baby. If I recall correctly I’m only two years older than you my little witch.” You whisper in her ear, not denying her statement. Wanda knew you were soft for her. You did nip her ear as small reprimanding. She only giggled and hugged you close.

“I love you, my Captain.” She told you kissing you deeply.

“love you too my little witch.” after a long passionate moment your break apart and remind her that you have a meeting in half an hour and that you should prepare for that.

Normally you and Pietro make the deals with when they are done in the clubs, Wanda being in the back pretending to be eye candy. In reality, she was scanning everybody for trouble but Pietro was with Zrinka at the moment. So you would do the deal on your own, with Wanda as a back-up.

For today's deal, you were glad she would be staying on the background. Ulysses Klaue was a pig and you despised having to work with him and after the shit that went down with Ultron, he wasn’t happy to work with you either. But he wanted to do business in the city so he had to go through you to do it.

“would you look at this, the street rat made it big.” Klaue laughed when he was let into the room and saw you sitting at the desk. Your facial expression didn’t waver. You had long ago learned to never let verbal assault get to you.

“I would say it’s nice to see you again Klaue but we both know that would be a lie. So why don’t you tell me what you came here with and we can both go on with our life’s.” his smirk quickly disappeared and was replaced with a scowl.

“watch who you are talking too. I have an appointment with the leader of this joint.” Now it was your turn to laugh.

“I know. You are talking to them.” You see him want to make a smart-ass comment but cut him off.

“I would watch the tone you take on with me. Everything that is said here will determine if the big boss wants to do further business with you. So I would watch your words.” He grumbles under his breath but sat down.

It quickly became clear he wanted to get rid of his last batch of Vibranium. Apparently, the Avengers were closing in on him and he hopped getting rid of it would get them off his case. You thought that was highly unlikely but weren’t about to tell him that. T’challa had asked you and the twins to look out for rogue Vibranium and get it back to Wakanda.

“so if I’m understanding this correctly you want to sell me your last batch of Vibranium.” You slumped a little in your seat and intertwined your fingers.

“why would you do that?” you knew why but wanted to be sure and hear it from him.

“I think you know why. The Avengers are hunting me for months and there are only so many places one can run to before being sick of it.” He spat out, already angry enough he had to deal with you. He was also apprehensive cause last he checked the Avengers were just breathing down his neck.

Feeling you had desperate enough for negotiation you put your poker face back on.

“Alright, we might be interested in buying it from you. You saw hope flicker behind his eyes, even though he further showed no emotions.

“at the right price of course.” You smirked.

“1 million dollars.” He started. You razed an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

“750 000” you countered.

“900 000”

“I thought you wanted to get rid of it to get the Avengers of your ass.” You questioned.

“850 000” he tried again.

“800 000, with the promise wrap this up tonight. That is my final offer.” You reached your hand out to close the deal. He seemed to contemplate for a moment but finally shook your hand. After that things were finalized quickly. Seemed he wanted to get rid of it. Within the hour the crate with Vibranium stood in your office and you were eight hundred thousand dollars lighter but it was worth it.

Klaue didn’t waste any time to leave with his eight hundred thousand dollars and put as much distance between him and the treat as he could.

When you were sure he had left you called Wanda to join you in the office. Completely slumping into your chair suit jacket open, happy that that deal was over. Wanda sauntered into the office with a massive grin on her face.

“look at you my big scary mob boss handling things so smoothly.” She pulls you out of your chair and into a big messy kiss. When you eventually part for air you stroke the side of her face.

“come on gorgeous let’s go home so I can show you what a real badass I am.” She giggled. If other people would see you like this they wouldn’t believe her but luckily you were already hers.

“yes, lets so I can spoil you for a job well done.” She giggled when a little blush appeared on your face.

Leading her toward the back garage, not feeling like waiting for your driver. Beside you liked to drive once in a while. Picking the keys to the Lykan sportscar. Having let the Vibranium being placed in before. You lead Wanda to the passenger door when alarms began going off.

You quickly turn around and look at the monitors placed in the garage. What you see makes you curse, the Avengers were busting down the door of your club. Subtlety apparently wasn’t something they did.

“I thought some of them were ex-assassins.” Wanda had to chuckle at your comment. Turning toward her you give her the keys. She looked at you confused.

“go now. I will cover you with my powers.” Disbelieve filled her eyes.

“(Y/N)! no, I am not leaving you behind.” At moments you find her stubbornness adorable, not right now.

“Wanda we don’t have time for this. They are after the leader of this club. That is me, so that means you can get away.” The ‘you can get me out later’ going unsaid.

“promise me you will be careful?” you gave her a reassuring kiss while opening the driver’s door.

“I promise. Now go may we meet in Sint-Pietersburg.” You saw her understanding before she got into the car, setting up a mental link with you. As she drives out the garage you reflect the lights around the car so it seemed to be invisible. When you know she is out of reach you start thinking about your own escape.

The moment you think about slipping into the shadows you are hit in the back with an electric shock that made your knees buckle and fall to the ground. Twisting with aftershock you see pair of black combat boots come closer. Looking up you see a woman with red hair wearing a SHIELD tactical suit.

“shit!” you mutter before she hits you with another round of electrical shock before you pass out.

Chapter 2

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spkothdvldotmp3 · 3 years

Text

so remember last july when i thought to myself, "haha, wouldn't it be cool if i made a mechsona?"

well, turns out a year of living with that thought in the back of your head will only get you 4,977 nearly 5,000 words of backstory and a spotify playlist, so, solid 7/10 experience

(okay look, Day 2 of the Mechtober prompts was the most coincidentally perfect overlap of "Mechsona" and "Blood," so I finally decided to stop being a coward and actually let people who aren't my classmates see this. ALSO, quick warnings for violence and death, if you're a bit squeamish about those sorts of things. So, with that said, the story itself...)

Introducing!

La Vie en Rouge

Dear Reader:

In this strange world, so bright and so bold

You may, somehow, find a Tale Yet Untold

You could read one now, if you so choose

This Tale- of the Blood-Red Dancing Shoes.

It had started like any other day. And not even an interesting kind of “any other day,” like a Saturday, which always promises adventure, or a Thursday, which has a tendency towards mystery. No, this was a Tuesday kind of “any other day,” which merely meant inescapable boredom.

At the very least, that’s how it started.

However, as Adeline Troffea was leaving her house, she heard the trumpets that signaled Lord Vitus’ arrival. She groaned. A visit from Vitus- sorry, His Most Esteemed Lord Vitus, she snorted as she mentally corrected herself- never went well. He was a deeply unpleasant person to be around, as he looked like a spoiled child and acted twice as bad. Additionally, he was usually about two seconds away from screaming nonsensically at any townsfolk who bothered him, like some sort of Saturday-morning-cartoon villain. Sometimes Adeline was sure he must be doing it on purpose- his ridiculous moustache (twirled oh-so-carefully at the ends), his pale skin and delicate hands (that had clearly never done anything harder than gesture dramatically from the shade provided by his servants), the too-fine crowns and jewels and capes his draped himself in (who even needed more than one crown? Isn’t that too excessive, even for Vitus?)- he couldn’t be for real, right?

Reader, Lord Vitus would prove himself to be more real than Adeline could imagine before this story’s end. But we’ll get to that in time.

Hopefully, Adeline thought to herself, walking down the well-trodden path into town, I can be in and out of the market before Vitus takes a single dainty step out of his carriage. Fabien, her best friend (practically an older brother, really) as well as the town’s shoemaker, had promised her something special today- an early birthday present, he had called it the day before, as the birthday in question was “an entire week and a day away” and he didn’t know if his “poor, old heart” would hold out that long.

“Fabien, you’re barely 30!” she had protested, shaking her head.

“I know, Addie, I’m ancient!” he’d moaned, before adopting the affectation of what was probably supposed to sound like an old man, but instead sounded more like a wheezing duck. “I can feel my brittle bones crackin’. They ain’t what they used to be, I tell ya. You know, when I was just a boy, I had to walk to school every day? Uphill! In the snow!”

“Both ways!” Adeline joined in before they both dissolved into laughter.

So now, here she was, in front of Fabien’s shop, feet tapping on the ground in a sort of nervous excitement. Gingerly, she opened the door.

“Hello?” she called. The response came from somewhere in the back of the shop.

“Ah, Addie! What a surprise! What sort of thing-that-I-totally-don’t-know-about brings you here today?”

She rolled her eyes as she began to make her way through the shelves and around the cobbling stations to the back of the building. “You know, it’s a funny story actually, but my best friend- well, former best friend, I should say-” she was cut off by a sharp laugh as she turned the next corner and came face to face with Fabien, holding a beautiful red box.

“‘Former best friend?!’ Is that any way to treat someone who’s gotten you such a spectacular present?” he asked, schooling his face into an over exaggerated pout.

“It is if they’re going to be stupidabout it,” she replied, yanking the present from his hands with ease. Fabien made a wounded sound, and Adeline stuck her tongue out in response before opening the lid of the box.

Inside was the most beautiful pair of tap shoes Adeline had ever seen. The leather they were made of was white as freshly fallen snow, and the perfect balance between flexible and sturdy. She turned them over in her hand and gasped, brushing her finger over the engravings on the metal taps.

“Roses,” Fabien smiled softly, “because I know they’re your favorite.”

Overwhelmed, Adeline could only set the shoes aside for a moment and tackle Fabien in a hug. And for that one shining moment, everything was perfect.

“Oh, I simply must have these!” a haughty voice sang out behind Adeline, who jumped at the sudden noise. Standing there was none other than Lord Vitus himself, bedecked in his finest golden cape, and holding- oh no, absolutely not. Before she could even register her own movements, she yanked her shoes back.

“No, you simply mustn’t have these, actually,” she quipped in that same snooty tone, stuffing the shoes back in the box, before suddenly realizing what exactly she had done. Refusing the Lord? Taking things right out of his hands? Mocking him to his face? How could she possibly get out of this?

Clearly, there was only one answer.

She bolted.

She heard Vitus’ petulant cry of “After her!” ring out from behind, and then the heavy sound of soldiers’ footsteps, but she dared not look back. Instead, she ran harder, her mind racing almost as fast as her feet. There had to be someplace to hide. She turned a corner, onto a smaller side street. She couldn’t go home, it was too far away.She burst out onto another street before turning abruptly, one hand wrapping around a streetlamp to keep her momentum as she flew back where she’d just come from, the soldiers falling over themselves in their confused haste. But there were so many soldiers, and there was no way she could outrun them forever.

She ducked into a dark alley for a moment, throwing herself behind a couple of barrels just as the men appeared at the mouth of the alley. She held her breath as they hurried past her, trying not to catch their attention with her heaving gasps. And this is why I’m a dancer, not a runner, she thought, half delirious on a cocktail of exhaustion and adrenaline. Could it have been minutes? Hours? All the streets had blended together long ago, and her muscles ached with exertion. Unintentionally, she closed her eyes, just for a moment.

A strong hand clamped down on her shoulder and Adeline’s blood turned to ice in her veins as her eyes shot open again. Her despairing cry was cut short as another hand covered her mouth. She shook her head wildly, terror taking over, before she caught the gaze of her captor.

Fabien.

Adeline felt her entire body sink back in relief with his appearance. Slowly and ever-so-softly, Fabien removed his hand from her mouth, making a shushing motion before Adeline could even open her mouth to ask what was going on. He carefully undid the buttons of his cloak, taking if off of himself and wrapping it around Adeline. It dangled loosely from her small frame, making her look even smaller. A disguise, she noted distantly, hiding in plain sight. Once he’d secured it around her shoulders, Fabien began to explain.

“Everyone’s pretty proud of you, you know, standing up to Vitus like that. I know you’ve always been a bit of a wildcard, but that was even better than expected. You should have seen his face when you ran, oh my-”

Adeline made a small noise of distress. She hadn’t been making a statement, she’d been making a mistake! It was all a big misunderstanding, and now she was going to be killed, or worse, and she hadn’t even had the chance to wear her beautiful birthday shoes, and-

Fabien shook her gently, murmuring comforts, and she took in a shuddering breath, focusing back on him.

“You’ve been brave enough today. Let me take a turn, okay?” he said softly, gesturing at the shoebox. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed it from her still shaking hands. In seconds, he had pried open the lid, taken the shoes out, and tucked them into the inside pockets of the cloak Adeline now wore, continuing to talk as he did so.

“The village has been giving Vitus the run-around all day, trying to keep him off your trail, and honestly, I’m not sure he’s noticed. That man is so far up his own ass that I genuinely think he can’t even comprehend the thought of people working against him.” Fabien smiled a bit as Adeline giggled weakly. “Just keep a low profile. We won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

For a moment, Adeline was so overcome with emotion that felt like her legs might give out underneath her. Instead, she threw herself forward and hugged him, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could.

“Thank you, so much. For everything.”

Fabien squeezed her in return.

“Nothing to thank me for, Addie.”

It was at this moment the sound of soldiers came rushing back, hurling them both back into reality. In a flash, Fabien pulled the cloak’s hood up, casting Adeline’s face in shadow. He gave her a little push towards the other end of the alley, nodding reassuringly. Adeline took a deep breath, steeling herself, before walking, confidently as she could, back out onto the crowded street.

There were soldiers everywhere, knocking on doors, stopping bystanders and asking them about Adeline’s whereabouts. A customer just coming out of the bakery- Monsieur LeClair, she noted- was having one such conversation… if one could call “a man taking obnoxiously large bites out of a muffin and then speaking with his mouth full, spraying bits of food directly into the soldiers’ faces” a conversation. As the soldiers hurriedly excused themselves, disgustedly wiping the muffin bits from their faces, Monsieur LeClair caught Adeline’s eye and winked. She smiled and bowed her head in return before scurrying off again. As she made her way to the town square, she passed at least a dozen or so variations on this conversation- townsfolk left and right making excuses, even outright lying to the soldiers, distracting them long enough for Adeline to slip away, towards the town square.

Vitus was exactly where she thought he would be- right in the middle of the town square, complaining loudly to anyone who would listen (and all those who wouldn’t). She leaned against the brick wall of the closest building, trying to make herself look as small and unassuming as possible. She bit her lip as she thought through possible escape scenarios, keeping Vitus in her peripheral vision, right up until-

“We found the shoemaker, Your Lordship, but no sign of the girl or the shoes.”

Adeline felt her heart stop as her head turned on autopilot. A crowd had gathered in the square, following three figures that Adeline loathed to recognize as Fabien and Lord Vitus’ men. One soldier shoved Fabien down roughly, while another threw the shoebox down with such force that it popped open, revealing its empty inside.

Vitus rolled his eyes at Fabien, looking bored out of his mind. “Where are they?” he sighed.

“Where are what, My Lord?” Fabien asked through gritted teeth.

At this, Vitus seemed to revert to an overgrown toddler.

“My shoes! They were so very pretty and I wanted them, but that little wretch stole them from me and ran off and I want them baaaack!”

Fabien, still on his knees, snorted.

Vitus blinked, clearly surprised. Suddenly, another laugh joined in, and another, and another, and in seconds the entire crowd was laughing at this grown man’s tantrum. Even Adeline found herself giggling, albeit shakily.

It was as though Vitus had only just now realized what kind of a predicament he was in. No one was going to give up the shoes, or the girl, and to make matters worse, they weren’t going to take him seriously either. He glanced nervously around the crowd for a moment before his lip curled and his nose scrunched up, as though he had just smelled something particularly unpleasant. Standing to his full height, he raised his voice.

“You have one week to hand over the shoes! If you do not, there will be, shall we say… severe consequences.” He turned around dramatically, which reignited the snickering, and quickly made his way back to his carriage processional.

As the carriages rattled away, Adeline was struck by an idea. It was a bad idea, she knew, and probably too risky, but she had already defied the odds once today, and with the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, she felt unstoppable. She nimbly climbed to the roof of the nearest building to pay her respects, so to speak, waving in the direction of Vitus’ window. She ripped off her hood dramatically, snorting when Vitus’ face contorted in rage. And as her heart sang with love for her town and her people, her feet were helpless to dance along for all the world to see. From her perch on the roof, she watched the other townsfolk join her in celebration, dancing in their own little ways. Madame Beaumont lifted her son Jean into the air, spinning him around as he giggled. Michel Rousseau was doing a little shoulder shimmy. Even Old Lady Coralie was dancing a little two-step. Adeline beamed at them all before turning toward Fabien. Several people were still gathered around him, making sure he wasn’t too hurt, and Adeline almost climbed right back down to join them. But, as though he could sense her worry, Fabien looked up suddenly at met her eyes. He smiled at her before winking conspiratorially. Relief flooded through her as she winked back- a sign that everything was going to be okay, and one she believed wholeheartedly.

Just before she climbed back down to go home, she chanced a glance back at Vitus’ carriage. For a second Vitus met her eye, his glare an ice cold promise of revenge. Adeline shivered under the threat, before gathering herself just enough to make a rude gesture back at him. The distressed shriek that followed was music to her ears.

That pompous man-child had it coming anyway, Adeline thought, and resolved to put the matter out of her mind. Of course, Reader, it wasn’t so simple as that, but let it not be said that she didn’t try her best to hide her misgivings from everyone, even herself.

After what was probably too many hugs goodbye, even for her, Adeline finally made her way back home with her new shoes. The moment she closed her door, she slumped against it and slid down to the floor, exhausted and terrified. Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she recalled the look in Vitus’ eyes as he took his leave. She was no fighter! She had no money, no strength, no prospects- no hope. How could she possibly try to stand up to the army Vitus would surely bring back with him? And she couldn’t- wouldn’t- put her people in danger like this, not after they’d already done so much for her. That’s it, she thought, rubbing her eyes, she would go right back to the village and work something out with everyone else, something to keep everyone safe and out of harm’s way before Vitus could return.

But as she opened her eyes again, her gaze fell upon the shoe box, lying on the floor beside her. The shoes themselves had tumbled out from her little outburst, and they almost seemed to be calling to her, begging her to at least try them on, to dance in them. And after so much trouble, how could she possibly refuse?

The shoes were a perfect fit- of course they were, they were literally made for her, she thought as she snickered a little under her breath. Watching herself carefully in the mirror, she raised her right foot ever so slightly before kicking it forward in a test shuffle. She smiled. The sound of metal against the waxed wood floor was perfection. Unable to help herself, she hummed a little tune, matching each note with another step- a cramp roll here, a paradiddle there, a set of triple time steps- she was in her element as she lost herself to the dance.

Dancing in the shoes filled her with such joy that she really could almost forget about the whole thing with Vitus. Adeline knew he wouldn’t take this lying down, and with his power and resources- she knew she had to be prepared. First thing in the morning, I promise I’ll figure out a plan, she reasoned. It’s not as though he could even attack tonight anyway.

So she danced and danced and danced, until the day finally caught up with her, and she quite abruptly fell asleep, not even bothering to take off her new shoes.

That night, Adeline had the strangest dream. She- no, the whole town, was dancing to song unlike any she’d heard before. It almost… hurt, in a way, to listen to, and yet she was sure it was the most beautiful melody she had ever heard. It felt as though it had wormed its way into her soul, her very existence, and intertwined itself so deeply that it might never leave. For a moment, Adeline felt fear, the likes of which she’d never known. She tried to wake herself up, to scream for to someone to help her, to do something, anything to stop this, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop-

And then Calm washed over her completely, every other thought and sensation lost to the ocean of the strange melody as it lulled her back to sleep.

When she opened her eyes the next morning, it was to find that the song had followed her into the waking world. She knew something was wrong, but as she tried to figure it out, every thought was just out of reach. She stumbled out of her room, towards the front door, but her limbs felt almost disconnected from her, almost as if they were being of their own. She slammed face-first into the door, and, for a split second, the ringing of her ears overpowered the music enough to. I need… help, right, that was it, I need help because of…

Because of……

The music, the music, the music- it consumed her every thought. Every step and every breath taken in time with that exquisite, unending song. Every note whispered sweet nothings in her ear, asking, pleading, begging her to join them and become beautiful too, until she was helpless to resist any longer. Until finally, she began to dance.

And dance, dear Reader, she did.

She found herself completely at the mercy of the music as it maneuvered her around like a marionette. She was only vaguely aware that she had somehow made it to the town square, and that several of her concerned neighbors were trying to talk to her, but nothing could break through the haze of the music.

As the day went on and on, passersby occasionally stopped to try to rouse her from her state, all to no avail. It seemed there was no way to reach her, and as night fell, they stopped trying. The light of the moons illuminated her as she danced, and were it not for the sound of the metal in her shoes they might have assumed her some dark spirit. Perhaps some still did. But the fact remains that all the townsfolk, save one, eventually found their way to sleep, secure in their ignorance of the events to come.

The next morning, as the suns rose over the horizon, the people of Strasbourg woke to the sight of not one, but two figures dancing in the square. By breakfast, it had been made a dozen. By lunch, it was nearly half the town. And by 8:46 pm, on the dot, all 398 residents of Strasbourg had found themselves unwilling victims of the dance.

Reader, there are many things I wish I could tell you.

I wish I could tell you that the dancing stopped just as strangely and suddenly as it began, and it became a scary story told for many generations. Or else, I wish I could tell you that the townsfolk found a way to weaponize their dancing and rose up against Lord Vitus, and discovered the cause of their dance- a machine of Vitus’ cruel creation, designed to transmit an almost imperceptible signal into the minds of those who heard it and drive them to madness. Picture it now, Reader: Vitus, stroking a gloved hand down the side of the machine as its whistles blew and the steam that rose from the spouts shrieked, the sound of his dastardly laughter barely audible over the chaos, until it was suddenly cut short by the doors to the hall as they opened with a BANG, and Vitus would finally come face to face with the consequences of his actions.

But more than all that, I wish I could tell you Adeline never remembered what happened as she danced. That for the seven days and seven nights that she danced in the town square, without food, without water, without rest, she was never aware of the fact that everyone she had ever known lay dead or dying at her feet.

None of these things are true, of course. The dance continued, the machine was not destroyed, and as the days passed Adeline slowly became more and more conscious. She watched, helpless, as all around her, her friends, her family, fell to the ground to dance no more. She yelled, screamed, pleaded to anyone who would listen, to anyone who could help- and the only response she got was the answering cries of her village, getting smaller and smaller.

By the sixth day of the village’s dance, there was only one other person still dancing beside her. It was Fabien, because of course it was Fabien- she didn’t know if this was supposed to be a blessing or a curse, though she was leaning heavily towards the latter. His steps had been slowing and his wheezing had increased exponentially in the past few hours, and Adeline knew what was coming, even if she couldn’t bear to say it aloud. Fabien, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

“I did warn you,” he rasped, after a coughing fit had nearly sent Adeline into a heart attack of her own, “That I wouldn’t make it to your birthday. My heart is just so-”

“God, shut up, please, for once in your life just shut up!” She screamed, her voice breaking. Her outburst seemed to shock him, and she turned away before she could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. She took a shuddering breath before barreling on.

“Fabien, this is all my fault, I’m so sorry, I should have-” he made a sharp noise and she cut herself off, choking back a sob.

“Don’t you dare think, for even a moment, that this is your fault,” he whispered, sounding more serious than she had ever heard him. “We all made our own decisions, you and me and everyone else. This is not on you, even a little bit. It was my choice, and I would choose it in a million lifetimes, okay? I just-” Fabien dropped to his knees, gasping, legs shaking almost imperceptibly, and Adeline felt her heart shatter.

“Addie, I’m so sorry,” his every word sounding like it had been ripped from his throat, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

And with that, he, too, was gone, and Adeline’s last remaining hope had died with him.

Oh Reader, what could she do but cry? So she cried. She cried for Fabien, for Monsieur LeClair, for Madame Beaumont, for Michel Rousseau, for Old Lady Coralie, for every lost soul of Strasbourg, until only one remained- and only then did she cry for herself, dancing alone once more.

The tears still streamed down her face when Lord Vitus returned with only a small squadron the next day, a full week after Adeline’s dance had begun. Towering over them from atop his horse, Vitus called out to his men.

“Oh ho, what have we here? An entire village, destroyed by some sort of plague, it seems. What a tragic end… But look! It seems one still suffers. Let us put the poor thing out of its misery, shall we?”

The largest of their number stepped forward, an axe readied in his hands. An executioner, Adeline realized tiredly. He made his way towards her, gingerly maneuvering around the corpses littering the town square, and Adeline wished she still had the strength to huff out a laugh. To show respect for the dead, on the path to kill another? How utterly ridiculous! Without a sound, the executioner raised his axe above his head, and Adeline closed her eyes, prepared to meet her end.

“Wait!” Vitus’ whining cut through the air. “Bring her to me first! She has something of mine that I want back.”

The executioner shrugged, before lunging towards the unsuspecting Adeline and hefting her over his shoulder with a grunt. She struggled against him, as much as one can struggle with a body that refuses to stop dancing, but it made no difference- he was simply too strong. Within moments, she was set down before Lord Vitus.

“The shoes,” he demanded. “Hand them over.”

“Are you kidding me? All of this for some shoes?” Adeline whispered hoarsely. “Hundreds of people, an entire town, dead, because you couldn’t stand the thought of someone else wearing these stupid fucking shoes?”

Vitus sneered at her. “On the contrary- I’m killing you because of the ‘stupid fucking shoes,’ as you’ve so crassly called them. Everyone else was… shall we say, collateral damage.”

Adeline’s breath caught in her throat. Her village, her friends, her family- they weren’t even some kind of fucked-up punishment for her, to drive her mad with grief and guilt. They were just “collateral damage,” not even worth an afterthought in the mind of their murderer. Her rage boiled inside of her, and had Adeline been able, she would have killed the man herself just then.

“Oh no, look!” Vitus sounded so genuinely miserable that for a moment Adeline was taken aback. “You’ve gone and ruined them!”

She glanced down as Vitus gestured towards her shoes and saw it was indeed true. The once-pristine white was long gone; now the leather was completely stained through by her own blood.

Reader, do you know what she did then? Why, she did the only thing she could.

She laughed, Reader. She laughed for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, all her frustration and sorrow and fear and anger and fatigue welling up from within her as she faced this utterly ridiculous man. She laughed. And as Vitus’ disappointment turned to shock, then to an angry pout, she laughed even harder. Even the dance, for a moment, seemed to laugh with her, each shuffle taking on the tone of ha-ha, ha-ha.

Finally, Vitus had had enough. He struck her, clean across the face, and for a moment, the laughter ceased as she gasped in pain.

“You know, I think they look better this way,” she drawled after catching her breath. “The red really brings out my eyes.”

Lord Vitus, clearly having expected Adeline to fall to her knees and grovel for forgiveness (fat chance, she thought, even if I hadn’t been cursed), puffed up like a particularly unpleasant frog as he spluttered through some sort of retort. Even his stupid moustache seemed to puff up with him, Adeline noticed in tired amusement, as he finally settled on, “W-W-Well, I never!”

He turned away from her sharply and caught the eye of the executioner. Adeline’s stomach dropped as Vitus’ face returned to that arrogant smile. He looked back at her, malice gleaming in his eyes, and addressed her once more.

“I do soapologize, it seems that I have forgotten myself for a moment. I am, however, fully prepared to make it up to you. You see, I do, in fact, possess the antidote to your little ‘Dancing Plague,’ as it were, and I would be delighted to offer you the cure.”

Adeline couldn’t see it, but as she felt movement at her back, she knew what was about to happen. In one final act of defiance, she spat at Vitus, who squealed as he tried, and failed, to avoid it. He huffed once more as she laughed at him, before screeching his final command.

“A PERMANENT CURE!”

And with that, Adeline felt pain explode in her legs, near blinding in its intensity. For a moment, a scream overpowered the music, and it took a moment longer to realize the scream was her own. She blinked though unnoticed tears to look up -when had she fallen- at Vitus, but she couldn’t quite focus on him -or anything else. She felt so -tired sick- dizzy, and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and –die- rest. But the pain in her legs screamed for her attention, and as she dragged herself up, she realized why.

At its simplest, a cure is just a way to remove a problem. It doesn’t need to be as advanced as a vaccine, or as complicated as the witches’ remedies of old. In fact, Lord Vitus’ antidote was both exceedingly simple and remarkably effective.

The permanent cure for the Dancing Plague? Simply remove the problem.

Namely, the legs.

How strange, she thought, in that last moment of lucidity, as she stared at the legs- her legs- lying on the ground a few feet away. I almost expected them to keep dancing.

And with that, she fell, lifeless, to the ground.

But Reader- she did not die.

#look im still working on uploading this to ao3 but for now we're stuck like this #ill reconfigure this later once ive got that up. or maybe ill just make a new post. whichever is easier.#mechtober #the mechanisms #i cant believe im maintagging this but you know what im proud of it #my writing #also no im not late what are you talking about

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chalkrevelations · 3 years

Text

Huh.

Well, this is not the next episode reaction you were expecting, but a while back, in the middle of the night, while I was ready to cry from working on a pharmacology paper, out of nowhere, Youtube threw up Street Dance of China S3 Ep1 at me. And yeah. I am, admittedly, f’kn weak for a dance show. (There are enough SYTYCD episode reax on my old Livejournal that I feel there’s no point denying this.)

So – no, actually, wait. FIRST of all, I do NOT believe the “towel vote” we ended up being given for the opening routines from the four captains. That was the most blatant bit of bullshit chicanery I’ve seen in my LIFE, and I say this as a person with a ton of SYTYCD episode reax on my old Livejournal, and I also say this not because Wang Yibo ended up last (well, not entirely), but because I saw Wallace Chung’s routine. As someone closer in age to him than to the other three captains, I have to give him props for trying, but come on, man. The critique that Yibo got from random contestants – if the subtitles are to be believed, so I realize this needs a grain of salt - basically boiled down to “it was too good for the stage lighting.” :hands: Also, I saw your face at the reveal, Wallace, and you were as shocked as I was. No way you got more towels/votes than Wang Yibo. Not unless there’s some super wild undercurrent of nostalgia propping you up, which, I guess could happen, because literally all I know about pop culture in China, current or otherwise, is filtered through Tumblr and Youtube, both notoriously suspect, but … anyway. There’s got to be a TON of behind-the-scenes manipulation going on for Yibo to be rock-bottom with last pick of teams but then also to end up with THAT pool of possibles. Are you kidding me with this?

ANYWAY, what I wanted to say is that I actually really like Wang Yibo here, and it’s not just because he’s the only captain I have even a sliver of familiarity with, and it’s not just because Lan Wangji was banging Wei Wuxian. I do realize all of this is influenced by whatever edit they’ve decided to give a particular captain or contestant, but I’m impressed with the way Yibo immediately starts team building by getting his group into a warmup, getting them dancing together, getting them dancing with him before they have to worry about dancing for him. (I mean, come on, Jackson Wang. The way to get people to stop being nervous is not to say “Stop being nervous! It will make you fuck up!”) The way Yibo immediately recognized and responded to his group’s concerns about that one dude copying someone else’s routine probably also bought him a lot of return investment. He’s dressed to work it, in his sweats and his flannel (what IS that fake-leather TAC vest and random leg holster-looking thing, Jackson Wang?). He’s convincing me he really loves to dance, he can’t hold still while he watches the contestants, he’s wandering over into other captains’ turf when it sounds like there’s a dancer performing who he might like to see, he’s being the best Yibo he can be, and I’m grooving along, wind in my hair, totally down for this ride. He’s also adorable at the beginning when all the other captains are like, my goal for this season is to slaughter the competition and dance on their graves! And he’s like, well, I’d like to … make some friends? And learn some new stuff? I don’t know if the perpetual Humble Student schtick is natural or persona, or whether it’s general or specific to dancing, but it’s working for you, my dude. This is also made better (read: ironic), by the fact that it’s immediately before the towel reveal, when he flips over to utter disbelief and gets all sulky for a while over the “fact” that his dance routine got the least votes.

Also, OH WAIT. This is where that clip of Yibo dancing with his crew ALL OVER HIM came from that I saw floating around a few months ago, isn’t it? You’re telling me those guys had never danced together before and had like, three minutes to throw together that routine? I’m even more impressed than before. Meanwhile, the towels symbolize courage and challenge, Mr. Emcee? OK, fine, cheesy reality show blah blah whatever. Can we get to the dancing now?

I’m going to put the rest of this behind a cut, because it got super long, because it turns out, when you watch in 5-minute increments, it takes two and a half weeks to get through a single episode, but you actually can see and have opinions on all 5,328 contestants, plus every single one of the captains’ battles. Meanwhile, I’m trying to convince myself this is not going to be another series of episode reactions, but 1) I do have the benefit of not having a ton of hometown media giving me a next-day play-by-play, so even though this is six months old, everything’s a surprise; 2) I am, admittedly, f’kn weak for a dance show; and 3) it’s easy to watch in 5-minute increments between researching drug interactions in hypothetical hypertensive patients with stable ischemic heart disease, erectile dysfunction, and seasonal allergies. So, I guess we’ll see. It’ll be slow going, though, because I don’t ever have two and half hours to sit down and watch an ep cover-to-cover – if it happens, it will likely keep happening in 5-minute increments. Meanwhile, there is a metric shit-ton of nattering below the cut, so caveat lector. No, seriously, I kept adding to this little by little until it became a monster. Hashtag long post (remorseful).

OK, I am generally out of my depth here, as this is not at all my area of dance not-really-expertise, but some reactions:

Team Wang Yibo: I can see why he didn’t want to choose between Colin and Dian Men – Colin might have been a touch better technically and a better showman, but Dian Men didn’t seem to have a single wasted move – but, also, my dude. Yibo. You maybe should look a little bit less stunned and overwhelmed by the mere presence of Colin, it’s giving me ideas about your taste in men. Continuing with the powerhouses, I probably shouldn’t even attempt to critique Klash, but I did feel like he was a bit stiff in some of his footwork; that final V kick, though, shit, that’s what having that kind of upper-body strength is for. Bouboo … I mean, excellent flexibility and control, of course, but mainly I’m just terribly amused that Yibo got last pick of teams but somehow ended up with the guy who’s literal world champion, and who’s just as useful for getting into the other captains’ heads – without even trying – as he is for his talent. And then there’s a montage of Yibo giving out towel after towel after towel, and my dude, you cannot keep up this pace. There are still too many dancers to see, and you don’t have that many towels. AAANNNND Towel Battle #1 (See Footnote 1).

Team Jackson Wang: I do like Gai Gai, although that may be influenced by the fact she’s working in the twilight area between hip-hop and contemporary that I have more familiarity with - but also, I suspect she’s pretty good in her genre. I thought Xiao Jie was inconsistent and didn’t stick the landing on his initial attempt, so I have to give you that hesitation, Jackson, even though you’ve somehow ended up the villain in my inner narrative for this show, for no particular reason I can yet discern. Maybe it’s that you’re the direct competition for Yibo’s team in the towel battles. Good enough. Anyway, Xiao Jie definitely stepped up his game for the battle with Bingo, so I can kind of see why both of them got a towel, but we’re not even halfway through this, and most of y’all are giving away towels like you have an endless supply. Yang Kai is a fucking menace with fantastic musicality, and I’m just gonna say it and take the fallout - I think he gave a better performance first time out of the gate than any of Yibo’s powerhouses did. Whatever power Klash has got, whatever skill Bouboo has got, Yang Kai feels more explosive and engaging, at least in these initial showings. He’s going to be one to beat, I’d hug him too, if he was on my team and was going to help me WIN. Yibo’s probably lucky that happened during his little stroll over to check out the competition, so that he can see they’re definitely competitive and be prepared for it. Also, Jackson, I have to admit - that face you made when Chao really kicked in? That was the same face I made, because wt actual f, you have a literal secret weapon – secret because he CAME FROM NOWHERE and NO ONE EVEN KNOWS him, how is that even possible, how did he get that good – fluid, creative, controlled, incredible musicality - without anyone having any idea who he even is? And then there’s a montage of Jackson just giving out towel after towel after towel, and my dude, you need to slow down. You can’t just be like, “THEY LOVE DANCE WITH ALL OF THEIR WHOLE HEARTS!!!!1111!!!!11!” I get it, but everyone there loves dance with all of their whole hearts, and there are not enough towels to send all of them on to the next round. ANNNND, Towel Battle #1 (See Footnote 1).

Team Lay Zhang: lol at how diplomatic you’re being, Lay Zhang – your team’s fierce roar startled you, OK. At this point, I suspect you’re the street most likely to have a knife fight break out before this is all over. I do like Alex, I think he’s got a lot of interesting, super-clean details in his moves, and he’s engaging - I cannot BELIEVE you made him battle that dude whose moves were so mushy, Lay Zhang, it leaves me doubting your ability to judge this thing. At first I thought maybe you were just looking for an excuse because you wanted to see Alex freestyle, but then you actually said something about both dancers being equal, and my estimation of you plummeted, and also sadly, my sound dropped out for the actual battle, including the part where the clearly inferior dancer fell over and then accidentally POPPED ALEX ONE IN THE EYE, and I TOLD YOU SO. I do agree it’s a good idea to make dancers in the same genre do some battling, so you can kind of plan out your towels and put together a team with broad strengths, instead of giving out towels like you’re making it rain for the first 20 contestants, and then you have 1,375 more people to get through, with 3 towels left, as EVERYONE ELSE seems to be doing, so it’s nice that at least one of you guys is thinking – if not actually acting - strategically. That was clearly not even a contest, though, GIVE ALEX HIS TOWEL and send him to the next round. Xiao Bao is hilarious, with his concern that his team captain, who’s into krump, which is “beating,” isn’t going to appreciate his waacking, which is “slapping.” I also don’t know a whole lot about waacking, so thanks for the primer, Xiao Bao, and don’t worry, your performance is just as engaging for those of us who don’t know what we’re watching as you are generally. You deserve that towel for your ability to interact with and engage your audience, alone. Lingo is a good solid performance, although he’s got his team captain strategizing edited over some of it, and here’s the thing: we are 1:56:00 into this, at this point, with another half hour to go, and all of you are starting to disappear into the sea of dancers who are very good at what you do, but at generally the same level? Anyway, Lingo, I approve of your ability to interact with your audience (read: your captain) to ensure engagement, too, so keep that up. Annnd, we actually haven’t seen that much of you guys, but it’s time for Towel Battle #2 (See Footnote 2).

Team Wallace Chung: I’m glad Su Lian Ya insisted on performing, I thought she started off slow but warmed up, and that ending was creepily fantastic and had me spontaneously grinning at the screen in delight. Then we lose sight of this group for a really long time, actually. We go back to find Wallace putting through a couple of urban dancers who we barely see, but who apparently claim to have some choreography experience, and he really likes that. TI shows up, and they’re solid, but honestly, not as good in this performance as they were in some of the stock footage the show threw up to introduce them, but Wallace remains super-excited about the idea of choreography and sends at least choreographer Zhang Jiang Peng through to the next round. And then, we really haven’t seen that much of you guys, either, which maybe doesn’t bode well, but it’s time for Towel Battle #2 (See Footnote 2).

FOOTNOTE 1, aka TOWEL BATTLE ONE, Team Yibo vs. Team Jackson, 3V3 freestyle: First of all, I have to say, I love Yibo - Mr. I Just Wanna Make Some Friends And Have Some Fun - being all, “I have three crappy white towels I’m stuck with for coming in last place that I can’t use to send dancers to the next round and that I DO NOT DESERVE, and I am getting BACK the colorful towels that ARE RIGHTFULLY MINE. I am coming for whoever is in my way.” Team Yibo is Bouboo, Klash, Dian Men, and OK, given what we’ve seen so far, that’s the safe choice, but honestly, I think we’re just taking some things for granted right now, and I’m not sure they actually have given the best performances so far. Yeah, I said it. Team Jackson is Yang Kai, Chao, and Xiao Jie, and … ok, on that last one, I think you probably could have substituted Bingo, but all right. Yang Kai is a definite yes. Chao will be great if he can stay out of his own head and not psych himself out, but given what we’ve seen so far, he’s an obvious pick. First round, Yang Kai vs. Klash, and Yang Kai is still a fucking menace, with super lines. Klash definitely stepped up his game for the battle, and I can’t get over the upper body strength he’s got, to get that kind of airy bounce in his moves, but to be honest, I can’t even be mad the first round went to Yang Kai and Team Jackson. Second round, Yang Kai is still … y’all, the beautiful lines from this guy in his poses, I can’t get over them, but I think he doesn’t have the stamina, his footwork is getting sloppy. Bouboo also steps up his game for an actual battle, his fluidity and control is amazing, and yeah, round to Team Yibo. Round three, Xiao Jie gives it a decent effort, but the polish isn’t there; meanwhile Bouboo is still in champion mode, and I was kind of surprised this was a split vote and went to another round. Xiao Jie absolutely surprised me, coming back stronger on his second try, although I suppose a more familiar genre helped, but Bouboo continues in champion mode. Round four, Chao looks like he’s going to throw up right before he steps out there, and then as soon as the music starts, it’s like, he doesn’t even think. The music just moves him. I feel like his dance vocabulary is more limited than Bouboo’s, though, and Bouboo’s flow is amazing at this point, so I feel like the judges just want to drag this out and see more dancing when we go to one more round. Strong effort all around, but yeah, round four and two towels to Team Yibo. I can’t really complain about that. I do feel like Yibo’s powerhouses have been holding back until now, though, and I’m not sure how I feel about THAT.

FOOTNOTE 2, aka TOWEL BATTLE TWO, Team Zhang vs. Team Wallace, 3V3 w/ captain: lol, Team Zhang really wants someone to pick the Sailor Moon song because they know Xiao Bao and his waacking will tear it up. Anyway, Team Zhang includes Lingo and Xiao Bao, who does not get his Sailor Moon song and continues to be hilarious in his disbelief about being chosen to participate in this battle, when he’s not looking almost as sick as Chao from Team Jackson before HIS performance. Team Wallace includes Su Lian Ya – and honestly, despite how I’m getting ready to bag on him for the entire rest of this battle recap, I like that Wallace put one of his female dancers up there for the battle - and some dude named Ba that they haven’t given us any footage of, up ‘til now, at least that I can remember and who I … don’t even know has been formally given a towel and sent on to the next round, yet? Oh wait, he must have, because there’s talk in the pause for choreography about somehow using the towels during the battle. Wallace relies on Su Lian Ya and Zhang Jiang Peng to choose Ba, and then Ba ends up choreographing a lot of the performance, at least from the edit we see. I continue to feel you may be in over your head, Wallace. This feeling … is not assuaged by your performance in the first round, which is fine, but not really up to the level of almost anyone whose name I’ve bolded so far in this entire recap. Also, using the towels was a cute idea, but it doesn’t translate well, and Team Wallace has a lot of wasted time throwing the towels around instead of actually. You know. Dancing. Lingo gets a credible solo during Team Zhang’s performance, and even though Xiao Bao is clearly lost during a good bit of his backup dancer duties, he manages not to throw up, which – given this team’s general skill level – should be enough to give them the first round, EXCEPT SOMEHOW Team Wallace gets the point from the judges, who then try to justify this inexplicable decision by saying Team Wallace had better interaction, I guess because of the hot mess with throwing the towels around, but adding that Team Zhang was more scattered, which what? More scattered than the hot mess with the towels? I’m not buying this. I can’t tell if they’re propping up Wallace or fucking with Lay Zhang’s head, but I’m having bad acid flashbacks to the many and varied ways dance show judges will try to gaslight you, telling you that things you just saw with your very own eyes did not actually happen when it’s right there! On camera! Visible, despite whatever edit bs you’re pulling! ANYWAY, they’re definitely managing to fuck with not only Lay Zhang’s head, but Xiao Bao’s, and Xiao Bao still doesn’t seem to have his choreography down, but they manage to pull it together enough to take the second round, which to be honest is kind of a muddled mess on everyone’s part. The only one who really stands out to me on this go’round is Su Lian Ya, but OK, Team Zhang might have had it slightly more together as a unit. And then, yeah, OK, I think they were fucking with Lay Zhang’s head, because we then find out that, holy shit, the song the show powers-that-be chose for the tie-breaking third round is that gd Sailor Moon song, and we can all see the writing on the wall. Poor Team Wallace is no match for Xiao Bao, who frankly, carries this entire round on his shoulders without breaking a sweat and barely needs any backup dancers to do it. There’s some ridiculously dramatic reveal of scoring, with the judges dragging out their decisions like this was any actual contest - I’m beginning to suspect that some of them grew up with Wallace Chung posters on their bedroom walls - but finally, round and towel to Team Zhang.

Cut to a little bit of Next Time On, and wow, the first two-and-a-half-hour episode is over, and we aren’t finished with the initial round yet. It’s gonna be Christmas before I make it halfway through this season.

#street dance of china #sdoc episode reax #should i put yibo in the tags for this?#sure #i guess #wang yibo #anyone else?

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

Neighbors

Neighbors - A Hawkeye Fanfic

Character pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 3568

Warnings: Smut (MF, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, phone sex, oral sex, vaginal sex)

Synopsis: You move into a new apartment and discover you have a fantastic view of your very good looking neighbor. A neighbor who not only is an Avenger but who also seems to have a very playful side.

A/N: This is a rewrite of one of my old RPF fics, so if it’s familiar that’s why. I just liked it a lot and it worked well with Clint. Also, normally I kinda write Clint and when I’m thinking about him I flick between comic and MCU Clint. In this one, I was absolutely thinking about 6′4 blond dumbass Clint.

Neighbors

It had taken far too long for you to move into your new place. It had been exhausting and awkward. There was no elevator in this building and you were on the fifth floor, so all day you had been carrying boxes upstairs again and again. You were finally done now, thank god. All your stuff was still in boxes and you were eating pizza straight out of the box as you sat on the floor of your new apartment.

Things hadn’t been going great for you lately. You’d been downsized and ended up taking a job that paid half as much. Which meant you had to move to a smaller apartment in a worse part of town. You’d broken up with your boyfriend. You were trying to stay positive. At least you had a roof over your head, even if it was water stained and only had views of the big ugly apartment block across the alley.

You finished your dinner and took a shower, washing away the sweat and muscle pain from the day. When you got out you wrapped your towel around you and went into the bedroom. You were about to drop your towel when you glanced out of the window and noticed there was a guy in the apartment across from you.

He was stunning and also just wearing a towel. He was tall and muscular but in that way gymnasts were. Lithe and slim but with defined abdominals and pecs. His arms were amazing with the kinds of muscles men had who actually needed strong arms rather than the kind built up through lifting weights. He looked both strong and flexible though he also wore a collection of scars and bruises that started on his cheek and went right down to his calves.

You both just stood staring at each other for a moment. It was like you were looking in some kind of weird alternate reality mirror where your other you was a fucking sex god because you both bit your bottom lips at the same time, startled suddenly, and then rushed to pull the blinds closed.

As you got them closed a sudden realization hit you.

That was Hawkeye.

You kept seeing him from time to time in the apartment across from you. You would try not to stare - or at least you’d be subtle about it if you did. The next time you both really noticed each other, you were mostly moved in. The few remaining boxes were stacked in the corner and you had started to think of the place as your own. You were in your bedroom putting away one more box when your favorite party song came on your playlist. You tried not to dance. You really did. You failed and started shaking your ass as you spun around the room. You were having a lot of fun until you spun around and saw Clint Barton holding a cup of coffee and laughing.

He put the cup down and gestured for you to continue and you shook your head. He made a pleading gesture and you decided to have a little fun. If Hawkeye wanted to see you dance then you’d give him a show. You started to gyrate your hips slowly, popping them with every few beats. You slid your hand down from your throat, over your breasts, and took the hem of your t-shirt in your hand as you looked over at him. He nodded enthusiastically and you lifted it over your head and tossed it to the side. You continued to move around the room and started to play with the buttons on your pants as you kept eye contact with him.

His eyes darkened and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. He leaned one hand against the window frame and he shoved his other hand in his pocket. He nodded at you to continue and you unbuttoned your shorts. You then grabbed the cord to your blinds and pulled them closed. Just as they flipped closed you saw him throw his arm in the air and yell, ‘Oh, come on!’ You couldn’t help but laugh.

The next time you saw him you’d been out drinking and you’d come home very late. You didn’t even bother turning any lights on, you’d just stumbled into your bedroom and flopped on the bed. The light from the apartment across from yours was on. You looked over with your eyes narrowed. The light coming through was annoying but not annoying enough to get out of bed and close your blinds.

Clint was lying on his own bed. He was completely naked and stroking his cock. It was weird. He was so far away but it was like you were seeing everything in high definition. You could see the scar on his bicep shift as his muscles flexed and released. You could see the head of his cock appear and disappear as his hand pumped it. You could see the veins and tendons of his forearm twist and flex as he moved his hand up and down. You could see his chest rise and fall as his breathing got shallower and shallower. You could see his face distort with pleasure as he brought himself closer and closer to orgasm.

Your cunt flooded and you found yourself toying with your clit without even realizing it. Just when you realized how fucking creepy you were being and that you needed to stop what you were doing and go and close the blinds - he came. White ropes spilled onto his hand and stomach.

You had never felt as simultaneously terrible and turned on in your life.

A few days later a heatwave hit the city. There was no air conditioning in your apartment and you opened your windows to the sounds of the city, coaxing a breeze in. You spent the day in your underwear in front of your only fan, wishing you were anywhere else on the planet right now.

You weren’t the only one. You had been dozing in front of your fan and when you opened your eyes you saw Clint looking over at you. He was dressed in a pair of boxers with Deadpool on them and that was it. He was glistening with sweat and holding a glass of ice water. He smiled and waved at you and you raised your hand in return.

He mouthed the words ‘it’s futzing hot’ to you and fanned his face with his hand.

You mouthed ‘you are’ back and pointed at him.

He laughed and shook his head, pointing back at you.

Your face somehow got hotter than it already was.

Clint took an ice cube from his glass and ran it over his collarbone and down between his pecs. You didn’t think he was doing it for your benefit, it’s just that it was really fucking hot. But even still, it made you bite your bottom lip and your cunt tingled.

You saw him laugh and you let your lip go. He pointed at you. You knew exactly what he wanted. You held up your finger and padded off to the kitchen, getting yourself your own glass of ice. When you returned to the window, you took out a cube and sucked on it before sliding it down your neck and over your collarbone. The water from the ice ran down your skin and into your bra making your nipples harden.

Clint nodded and you took another cube and ran it under your breasts and over your stomach, swirling over your belly button. His eyes stayed glued to you and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

You took the last remnants of the cube and ran it over the top of your bra. You reached behind your back and looked at him. He nodded just once and you unhooked your bra and slid it off. You both just stood there staring at each other. His underwear was beginning to tent due to an obvious erection but it was like neither of you knew what to do now. He suddenly jumped and grabbed a t-shirt from the floor. He looked at you and mouthed the word ‘sorry’ as he pointed to the door.

A couple of days later you got home from a work dinner, kicked off your shoes, and headed to your bedroom. You took off your jacket and hung it in your wardrobe and you saw Clint lying on his bed, eating some pizza.

You went to your light switch and flicked it on and off. He looked over to you and grinned, getting up off the bed. He leaned against the window frame and crossed one leg over the other. He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt with a purple target on it. He waved and raised an eyebrow at you.

You started unbuttoning your blouse, keeping eye contact with him. He smiled and pulled his shirt off over his head. You tossed your blouse to the side and shimmied out of your skirt. You didn’t know why, maybe you’d been hoping for this, but you’d dressed in matching black lace underwear with a garter and sheer black stockings. When he saw you his eyes went wide and you could clearly see him say the word ‘fuck’.

Clint pushed his sweatpants down and kicked them aside and you both just stood staring at each other. You began to tease your fingers over your breasts, flicking your nipples through the lace of your bra.

Clint mouthed ‘take it off’ to you. You gave him a half-smile and unhooked your bra, tossing it to the side. You started squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipples. Clint just watched you, his tongue poking out between his lips.

You pointed at him and mouthed ‘your turn’.

He teased his hand over his cock through his boxers and gave you a look like he was asking for permission. You ran your tongue over your bottom lip and nodded. He pushed his hand under the waistband of his underwear and began to stroke his cock.

You slid your hands down your stomach and slipped one into your panties, rolling the tip of your fingers over your clit. He smiled. Once again it was like you were looking at a weird mirror to a parallel universe. You were both leaning your head on your arm, pressed against the window staring at each other. You were both stroking yourselves. Your hands moved quicker and quicker. You both came simultaneously, tensing up and relaxing as one. You stood staring at each other for a minute.

Clint took his hands from his pants and wiped it on his boxers. ‘Good night’ he mouthed at you. You laughed and mouthed ‘good night’ back and went and got ready for bed.

You don’t see Clint for a few months after that. You tried googling him but nothing really popped up. You were a little worried but you figured because he was an Avenger, shit probably came up from time to time. You went about your own life as normal. Work, home, hanging out with friends, the occasional bad date.

It was a Saturday when you saw him next. You got home from brunch and went to change into something more comfortable and he was in his bedroom packing away his bow. You went to the window and waved. He looked up beaming at you and waved back. He was a little beat up. His eye was black and he had a plaster on his nose. He made a gesture at you like he was holding a phone to his ear.

You went to your desk and wrote your number on a sheet of lined paper with a sharpie and held it up to the window. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed in the number.

Your phone rang and you answered it.

“I missed you,” he said.

“Where have you been?” You asked.

He smiled. “Had a mission. You been behaving without me, dirty girl?”

His words made you squirm and you rubbed your legs together.

“Oh, you like when I call you that, huh?” Clint asked. “That’s what I’ve been calling you in my head since you danced for me. That dirty girl from across the street.”

“Why don’t you come over?” You asked.

He shook his head. “I’d love to, but not today. How about you give me a show instead?”

“You gonna tell your dirty girl what to do?” You asked.

He chuckled and you watched as he rubbed his hand over his thigh. “You’re my dirty girl, are you?” He asked. “I do like that. How about you take that pretty dress off for me?”

You switched your phone on to speaker mode and put it on your bedside table. You returned to the window and pulled the straps of your dress down and shimmied out of it.

“Good girl,” he purred. “You’re pretty hot, you know?”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you replied.

He laughed. “Thank you. Let’s see the rest of you then.”

“You’re not going to undress for me?” You asked, fiddling with the cups of your bra.

“Not today,” he said, looking at you with a half-smile that said he’d devour you if you let him. “Today you’re my dirty girl. Today you’re gonna behave for me.”

“Come over,” you breathed.

“Ask me again and the game’s over for today,” he growled. “Now take off your underwear.”

You shivered. How could you possibly be playing this game with a complete stranger? You don’t even know the guy. Just because he was an Avenger and you’d been flirting at him through a window didn’t make this okay.

Your hesitation must have been obvious. He walked over to the window and put his palm on the glass. “Sorry,” he said, gently. “I thought that was what you wanted. We don’t have to do that. I just… I can’t actually come over right now. Fuck.”

“No, it’s fine,” you quickly assured him. “I just had a minor freak out. Let’s play.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” He said, slipping back into his role.

You unhooked your bra and tossed it aside and then slowly unhooked your stockings from the garter belt. You turned and dragged your underwear down. His hum came through the phone faintly as he watched on.

“Leave the stockings on,” he said.

You turned to face him again, stepping out of your panties.

“Touch yourself,” he growled.

You slid your hand down your stomach and between your legs. You slipped your fingers between your folds and stroked them up and down. You rolled your clit between the tip of your index finger and thumb. As pressure built inside you and spread out, you pushed a finger into your cunt and stroked it inside yourself.

“Talk to me,” Clint said. “Tell me what it’s like. Are you thinking of me?”

You stared across the street at him. “I always think about you. It feels good. Warm. I wish it was you.”

“Next time, dirty girl,” Clint hummed. “I promise. How about you taste yourself? Tell me what you taste like.”

You pulled your fingers from your pussy and stuck them in your mouth, slowly sucking them clean. You hummed as you did and heard Clint take a harsh breath in on the other end of the phone. You gazed over at him and he adjusted his pants.

“Salty, a little sweet. Acidic. Like eating lychees on the beach,” you said.

“Do you have a toy you can use?” He asked.

You nodded.

“Go get it and hop up on the bed. I want your pussy facing me,” he ordered.

You went and got your vibrator from your closet. It’s a simple silicone rabbit in pale pink. You sat down on your bed facing the window and leaned back on your elbows with your legs spread.

“Fuck, you look amazing,” Clint purred. “You know what I’d do if I was there?”

“Tell me,” you hummed.

“I’d fucking eat that pussy out until you couldn’t walk straight,” he growled. “Get yourself off for me.”

You lubed up your vibrator and turned it on. You slowly ran it up and down your labia before pushing it inside you and letting the ears rest on your clit.

“That’s it, my dirty girl,” Clint groaned. “Fuck yourself for me to watch. Are you imagining that it’s me?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Oh, fuck.”

As you brought yourself closer and closer to orgasm, Clint kept talking to you. Telling you how much he liked watching you. How it would be him fucking you next time. How dirty you were and how much he liked it.

“Come for me, dirty girl. I want to watch,” Clint growled.

You were sitting pretty close already but his words acted as a trigger. You came, crying out and twisting on the mattress. Your legs snapped shut around our vibrator and you pulled it away panting, and curled up on the mattress.

“That was beautiful,” Clint praised. “I promise next time it will be me. Are you alright?”

You sat up and switched off the toy, looking across at him. “More than alright.”

“I gotta go, I’ll call you later, okay?” He said.

You waved at him and he gave you a guilty-looking wave in return before heading out.

The following day you hadn’t really seen Clint around at all. It was just after nine at night and you were stacking your dishwasher when your phone buzzed. It was a text from Clint. It just said; ‘Don’t say anything’.

The next thing you knew there was a knock on your door. You opened it and Clint pushed you against the wall, his mouth immediately on yours. You kicked the door closed and wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands slid down your back to your ass as you became light-headed from lack of oxygen.

He lifted you suddenly and for a split second he broke the kiss and you gasped for air before he was on you again as he carried you to your bedroom. He tossed you unceremoniously on the bed and wrestled with your fly. When he got it open he roughly yanked down your jeans and threw them to the side.

For one split second, you thought this might be the craziest fucking thing you’ve ever done and then his face was between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your pussy. Two fingers entered you and you gasped and bucked up underneath him.

He expertly used his tongue and fingers on you, sucking and licking at your clit as he stroked your g-spot again and again. You came apart, twisting and arching off the mattress, crying out incoherently as your orgasm crashed down on you.

He stood and fished a condom on his pocket before dropping his pants and sheathing himself. You just managed to scramble back up onto the bed and he’d caught you again. Before you even had a chance to think, he was deep inside you, kissing you hungrily.

He fucked you hard and fast. You clung to him, your nails running down his back. His mouth moved to your neck and he bit you - marking you. You couldn’t even think straight, all that you were was what was happening to you. A second orgasm hit and you spasmed under him. He pulled out and flipped you over. You pulled your knees up under you and he was inside you again, pounding into you from behind. You scrambled for leverage at the headboards and his hands slid down your arms. When he reached your hands he linked his fingers with yours.

The room echoed with the sound of your joint moans and grunts. He tensed against you, his hands squeezing yours and he came. For a moment he just stayed inside you, his cock twitching and his head pressed into the middle of your back.

He got up and just left the room. You rolled over blinking, unsure of whether or not that was it. Had he just come in, fucked you without saying a word, and left? Before the panic really set in he was back, and he flopped down on the bed beside you.

“Hey,” he said, grinning. “Nice to meet you. I’m Clint.”

You burst out laughing and gave him your name.

“I feel all jittery now. That was pretty full-on,” he said snuggling down into your shoulder. “What do you want to do? I can stay. Or if you hate that, I’ll go. I mean, I dunno.”

You put your finger on his lips. “So you don’t do that often then?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Fuck...” he dragged the fuck out several beats and ran his hand down his face. “Just seemed like something you and I should do.”

“I liked it. You can stay,” you said.

“Good,” he said, laughing. “‘Cause I wanted to. Can I take you out for breakfast in the morning? I think maybe we should not only be crazy deviants.”

You giggled and nuzzled into him. “Yeah, I’d like that. But maybe a little bit of crazy deviates still.”

He laughed and pulled you into his arm. “Of course.”

#clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #neighbors

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ayellowcurtain · 3 years

Text

I can be your lover

Part 5

6 months later

Robbe bites the corner of his bottom lip while staring down, pulling the skin of his thumb until it hurts, ripping it off, brushing the dead skin to the ground carelessly. He grew used to just sitting here and being watched, it doesn’t bother him anymore, not too much at least.

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s been coming to therapy every week in hopes it would help him figure himself out but he feels the worst he’s ever felt.

“I feel useless.” Robbe answers the question that he didn’t get today yet. It’s always the first one so he decided to spare them the trouble. He looks through his eyelashes, finding his therapist staring at him in disapproval of using words such as useless to describe himself.

“I feel like everything is out of my control so there’s no point in trying, really.”

There’s a long silence, a slow breath out and Robbe sighs, relaxing on his chair, meeting his doctor’s eyes, finally even if he doesn’t feel completely comfortable doing so. He feels uneasy, exposed and it bothers him to have to deal with it.

“What happened?” Robbe looks at the notepad on her lap, all his stupid insecurities and mental problems probably written down for anyone to read if given the chance.

“Me and Sander had a fight.” It was the worst fight ever, with them talking over each other and loudly. Robbe loves Sander the same but it feels like it’s really the end this time. They can’t go on like this anymore, Robbe is really at the edge. “I don’t want to do this anymore but I still love him so it’s just...fucked up.”

He does some of the breathing exercises he grew used to doing in the past few months like she suggests he to do often when he’s feeling like this but he knows it won’t help this time, he’s too deep inside his head to let the anger and frustration go every time he breathes out, pretending he’s also letting go of the negative thoughts about himself. He should have cancelled this session because it’s not working, not even talking about it makes him change his mind, see things differently.

He should have stayed home and studied for his finals, it would be a better use of his time. She gives him a notepad and a pencil to do whatever he wants with it: write, draw, scribble. She doesn’t say that but it’s obviously her way to keep him from pulling more skin off his fingers. It’s already a little too late, most of his fingers are burning already but he tries to keep his hands busy anyway, drawing random shapes and lines.

Robbe puts his pencil down when there’s no more room in the page to draw.

“I need to walk away. It’s for the best for both of us. I’ll block him everywhere so I can’t see things and I’ll just let him be while he’s away. And if he ever comes back, maybe we’ll talk if he also feels like it.”

“I think you should calm down, think about it for a few days and not make a one way decision when there are two people involved.” Robbe looks at her and gives back the notepad, “I think he would like you to hear what he has to say about your decision. You two have been in an intimate relationship for a while. Not just romantically but as very close friends.”

Robbe shakes his head, putting his hands inside his pockets, closing his fingers around his thumb until it hurts, “I can’t talk to him or I’ll change my mind.”

12 months later

Robbe drops his keys on the little bench he bought to put right next to his door, the exact same layout as it was when he lived with Zoe and Milan (and then Senne. And Sander.). It was another long day of college and work, the last one of an endless week. He turns the lights on and takes his shoes off, kicking them under the bench. Tomorrow he will clean and organize properly. For now, he’ll leave everything as it is. The good side of living alone. The rest sucks but Robbe will never tell anyone about feeling like that. He never thought he was the type to need people around him every day, all day until he had to come home to an empty apartment every night.

It doesn’t happen that often, especially on the weekends, considering his friends are all over the city these days but it happens too often for Robbe’s liking. Zoe and Milan are out of town together, Senne offered to keep him company but they would be two grumpy and tired men so it would be useless. Jens is out of town too, Aaron and Amber are not an option - Robbe can’t have a disgustingly in love couple around anymore - and Moyo is with Britt and Noor. It’s good to be alone sometimes, he tries to convince himself as he reaches the kitchen, opening the fridge. Nothing other than the beers at the bottom excites him so ordering something for dinner it is. Robbe is starving so he makes a very quick search of his phone and decides for the italian restaurant that promises to deliver his food in less than half an hour.

Robbe opens his first beer of the night and throws himself on his couch, looking around, feeling like it’s a new place all of a sudden. Sometimes it hits him that he has his own place now. And that he’s alone. Therapy has been helpful and he can tell the difference when he’s about to have some pretty bad days in the worst possible mood and when his reality is just underwhelming in his eyes and he’ll get over it soon enough. He never thought this would be his life. It’s not a bad one but it’s not what he had planned.

He forces himself to get up once he manages to change his mindset and he takes his clothes off, leaving it on the living room so it’s closer to the laundry machine once he’s clean. He turns some music on and puts it to play all over the apartment, putting his phone down, singing along to Bowie as he shaves the scruff that was starting to get out of hand on his face, he takes a quick shower and while he’s putting his clothes to wash, his food gets home.

Robbe rushes down to grab it and thanks the delivery boy, rushing back inside, lighting some candles just because they’re there, getting dusty and old. He never bothered to buy a dinning table because there’s a small island right there. He sits on the stool and eats, staring at his food and the candle in front of them. His instagram isn’t as updated as it used to.

A long time ago Robbe decided to give himself more time offline, focusing on college and his internship and he’s been good at keeping that mindset most of the time, afraid to spend too many hours per day online, looking for what he’s still having to choose, day in and day out, to keep his distance from so he doesn’t hurt Sander even more.

But he doesn’t care as much tonight, so he takes a picture of his dinner for one and the sad candle in front of him and posts it to his stories, locking his phone instantly, putting it down to eat in peace.

He keeps glancing at it, careful like it could burn if he dared to grab his phone and check. It would be a lie if he said he doesn’t miss Sander but he has learned to live with it. Long distance wasn’t going to work. Robbe is happy for the ones that can jump out of their comfort zone but he can’t and he’s okay with it by now, after months and months of therapy. The only thing he can do is not drag other people into living life this way too if they don’t feel like it.

Sander is happy somewhere else and Robbe is happy that he’s happy. Easy as that.

He eats his food and washes the dishes he left this morning right after or else he would get too tired to do it before going to bed and he doesn’t feel like waking up to a sink full of dirty dishes. He washes his clothes and folds them once they’re dry and warm out of the drier. Plays some video games, and finally crashes into his bed, searching for some comfort movie to watch as he falls asleep. He doesn’t last half an hour watching it, he’ll have to start again if he really wants to watch this movie some other time, but thankfully he had already scheduled his tv to turn off after one hour and a half.

He miraculously wakes up only once in the middle of the night and almost as an afterthought, like he would do so often when he was younger, Robbe grabs his phone to check for any new notifications. Robbe read a lot about algorithms when he had nothing better to do one day because it felt like it’s a theme lately so he knows it doesn’t mean shit but he can’t help but stare at the first name on the list of people who watched his sad dinner stories.

earthlinggoddity

There’s the red-ish circle around his name but Robbe puts his phone down, the screen still bright staring at his mattress as he rolls to the other side, pulling the heavy comforter to wrap around him like a tight burrito, and he closes his eyes again. If he’s still thinking about it tomorrow, with an awake and fully functioning brain, he’ll watch whatever Sander posted if it’s still there. He shouldn’t do it now, half asleep or Robbe won’t be able to go back to sleep thinking about how badly he misses Sander.

He can’t remember his dreams when he wakes up, it’s like he blinked and it was morning already. He feels rested but still mentally tired or empty, one of the two.

His phone is still right next to him, under the pillow he never uses and so he grabs it, checking the notification that just popped on his screen a few minutes ago from Moyo.

What are you doing today, my friend? Felt like we could go skate, smoke a little bit, for old time’s sake.

Robbe sighs, clicking on it, opening his conversation with Moyo.

That sounds like a perfect Saturday to me, my friend. Meet in one hour? I’m still in bed…

While he waits for the answer, the three dots already dancing on his screen, Robbe shakes his head. It’s still somewhat early, just now past eleven so he wonders if Moyo had any sleep. He does sound in a great mood though, Robbe is happy for him but also envying his enthusiasm about life, so early on a Saturday morning.

Jesus Christ, bro. You used to be an early bird. Working your ass off isn’t paying off, huh? One hour and don’t be fucking LATE!

Robbe knows what changed that he’s not an early, happy-chappy human anymore but he won’t bother anyone else with that conversation again. He pushes himself up to put some clothes on and go meet Moyo, making a pitstop for a quick breakfast on his way there.

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe #robbe x sander #sobbe fic #a little shorter and a little sadder

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cesabutterflywrites · 3 years

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Prince in the Storm: Chapter Sixteen

Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Virgil was sensitive. Most people saw him as some “spooky, broody dude”, when in reality he was just a private person. Teachers tried to open his mind up with a figurative crowbar. Everyone tried to get him to open up. Well, everyone except his best friend Talyn. They were the only one who understood his personality and inner workings just enough to be his friend. However, they haven’t seen his Marking. No one other than his parents have. Contrary to popular belief, Roman was sensitive. Most people saw him as a fanciful, dreamy, somewhat egotistical thespian who wanted nothing but to be the best of the best. Everyone cheered him on in his performances. Everyone praised his original works. Anything he made others enjoyed. People would whisper about his Marking, wondering where it was and when he would reveal it. He had a whole circle of friends, yet no one except his best friend Joan understood him. Joan was the only one who saw Roman’s insecurities. As students of Kingston High School, with zany principals and try-hard superintendents, it is up to Virgil and Roman to stay alive enough to fulfill their destiny. Ao3

Word Count: 6129

Chapter Warnings: none

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen

Bonuses: Immune to Change

Roman woke up with his head at the foot of his bed, hugging his pillow, and his notebook open on the floor. He didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't remember dreaming. He definitely didn’t remember why he had drool stuck to his cheek. He rolled over to shut off his alarm on his nightstand. That's when it dawned on him.

He didn't remember dreaming.

He shot upwards. His heart was pounding. Was this a sign? Were he and Virgil on the right path? He hadn't believed that mumbo jumbo about Soulmate Magic and dreams when Joan told him in the beginning of the school year. When Roman talked about his weird nightmare that Virgil had started to play a small role in. Was that only 6 weeks ago?

But why would they stop when he finally felt comfortable around Virgil? What did it all mean? He really needed to ask Joan for those articles again. Maybe they weren’t mystical mumbo jumbo after all. He should have been paying more attention to them when he was obsessing over the nightmares in the beginning of the school year. After all, internet articles weren’t always unreliable sources, right?

Roman sat at his vanity mirror. His reflection had changed from what he’d been seeing for the past two weeks. He looked brighter. It was like the depressive haze since their first kiss was thinning. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel. His eyes looked crinkled from the wide smile on his face as he gazed into his reflection’s eyes.

Humming a tune from Tangled, Roman combed through his hair. Linda didn't seem up to her usual antics. That rebellious strand of hair was actually laying down with the rest of his hairdo.

He looked...good. Not quite like his old self. This confidence was more...genuine. Happiness looked good on him. Is this what other people saw in him when he walked through the halls? A young man who just radiated the energy of sunny attraction? Or was this a new sight in general? Was he seeing himself clearly, or for the first time?

His hair was caught in a beam of early morning sunlight, bringing out the strands of gold and red that only appeared in the purest of lighting. He resisted the urge to blink as he inspected his eyes. Had the golden brown always been so rich? Was the sun just in a good spot in the sky shining through his window, or was he finally seeing himself the way he’s wanted to since he was a child?

Closing his eyes, Roman took in a deep inhale through his nose. He tried to remember that stormy night when Patton spoke with an anxious Virgil. Smell the rose?

He opened his eyes on the exhale. The morning so far tasted sweet to him. A beginning. A fresh start.

With bold proclamation, he recited his affirmations to his reflection. He sang

them to the tune he’d been using since he first came up with them in the eighth grade.

“ I am pretty

I am a star

I am an artist

I am perfect

I am a prince ”

When he had first written those affirmations down, Joan teased him because he used ‘Prince’ instead of ‘King’, like his last name. Roman explained it to them as best as he could. Princes were at the beginning of their journeys. Princes got to perform, they got to explore. He told Joan all those years ago that he’d change it to King when he was older and had enough life experiences under his belt. Or when he was ready to settle down with his true love.

Roman sighed as he remembered that day while getting dressed. He wondered if Joan actually did understand, or if they had just nodded to get him to shut up.

No, that wasn’t true. Joan was the only person who understood him. Even though by now Joan had probably forgotten about the affirmations. They didn't know he still did them five years later. It wasn’t something that really had a place in everyday conversation.

Half an hour later, Roman was pulling up to the student parking lot earlier than usual. That’s what happens when one gets decent sleep , he supposed. There were a few students milling about. The air was getting crisper. The summer humidity had changed to a fall humidity (the difference only noticeable to a long time resident of Parkwill, of course). Roman was glad he had decided to leave his jacket at home. Any rain that came wouldn’t be too bad. It would probably be more misty than anything.

He made his way to his first class on the second floor, English with an old man named Mr. Richardson. He needed to ask for an extension on his essay. He had been ignoring most of his homework in his depression since Virgil kissed him. He wondered how he’d be feeling after their date. Would he be in such a joyous high that he’d continue to ignore his studies? It was a worry for him. His deal with his parents was good grades as a trade for continuing theater. Briefly he considered even telling his mom that he had a date tonight.

Roman paused in the doorway of the classroom as the realization hit him. He was going on a date. A date! He was going to be taking Virgil on a date. That Virgil initiated! Virgil, distant Virgil, handsome Virgil, with a mouth that tasted like the heat of a summer bonfire and lips that felt like plug outlets.

Roman felt tears prick at his vision. Happy ones. Virgil had asked him on a date. Did this mean they were ready to move forward? No more nightmares?

No, he wouldn’t get his hopes up yet. He needed to go slowly. He had always planned from the beginning that his soulmate would be the one to reveal himself, or Roman would after he was done with his travels. When he was ready to settle down. Also, just because Virgil wanted to go on a date, it didn't mean they were ready to jump into the thick of it. Roman needed to be patient.

Patience is a virtue, but I’m not a freaking nun or anything, Roman thought as he walked down the hallway.

Roman walked into the room with a strange feeling of electricity dancing over his arms. He looked at the desk his English teacher usually sat in during the morning. Instead of Mr. Richardson, though, there was his favorite teacher and a man he had only seen twice before, but had never been introduced to.

“Oh, Roman, you’re a bit early, aren’t you?” Mr. D asked. What was that look on his face? He was...smiling. He only did that when he was looking forward to something special.

“Uh, yeah, I got decent sleep.” Roman was eyeing the two men. He couldn’t help but feel off-kilter as the sparks continued shooting up his arms.

“Good, good.” The drama teacher patted Roman’s shoulder absently. “By the way, no rehearsal tonight. We all need a night to relax and regroup, right?”

Roman nodded. He knew that the teacher was implying something, but he didn’t know what it was exactly until he spoke up.

“Wow, Princey, you always look this good?” a gruff voice called from the back of the classroom.

That explained the weird feeling in his arms. “Oh, hi, Virgil!” He ran his hand on the back of his head, which most likely would wake Linda from her slumber. “Sorry I didn’t see you there...in the shadows.”

Virgil rolled his eyes as he walked forward. “Whatever, I’ll see you later.”

Then he did something Roman didn’t expect. Virgil embraced him, not even minding the awkwardness of the backpacks they both wore, and then kissed his cheek.

“See you at lunch, Roman.” Virgil winked at him before he left.

Roman was frozen from the weird pain/not pain feeling in his abdomen. He jumped at the sound of Mr. D chuckling.

“That’s the action I want to see from you when we get back to rehearsals. Pull on that feeling okay?” The theater teacher pat Roman on the shoulder again as he walked out.

Roman stared at the superintendent, who was grinning like he had just won a goldfish- or a freaking puppy-at the fairgrounds. What was that all about? Virgil must be scheming something, and the superintendent looks like he’s expecting something from me.

Roman did what he did best, he played it off cool before he died of stage fright.

“How rude of him not to introduce me to you, I’m Roman. Roman King.” Roman stuck his hand out politely. He hid his relief that the buzzing had stopped vibrating on his skin.

“Yes, of course, my nephew hasn’t always had the best manners.” The man shook Roman’s hand. “But that’s why you like him, isn’t it?”

Roman let out one of his ‘Noble Noises’, a name that Joan gave to the sounds he couldn’t help but let out when he was at a loss for words.

“Wh- I- ha-”

“Relax, Roman.” Thomas chuckled. “Mr. Richardson is going to be out for the week. Due to the lack of-” he clenched his jaw- “stability in this school, Principal Duke hasn’t set up any substitute teachers to be on our call list. I could have had other teachers work on their off periods to cover the class, but I have free time.”

“Isn’t being a substitute a bit below your paygrade?” Roman asked without thinking.

“I was a sub before I was anything else.” Thomas held his arm out to direct Roman to take his seat.

A group of students wandered in as the bell rang. Mr. Sanders smiled warmly at Roman. A bit too nice, as if he knew a big secret.

Jeesh, was Roman getting too paranoid for his own good? Or was he getting his hopes up?

Roman made his way to his desk, excited to see how the Superintendent of the entire district would teach. He knew that Mr. Sanders was taking the fall semester to exclusively monitor how Kingston High was improving, but he didn’t know that he’d be this involved. His reputation for caring about education seemed to hold more truth to it than Roman thought. Hopefully it meant that he'd leave the drama department alone.

The second bell rang. Mr. Sanders walked up in front of the whiteboard to write down his name. Not that he needed to, he did just introduce himself to the entire school just a short time ago.

Roman pulled out his English notebook. He was sure that Mr. Sanders would make them continue their assignments. Mr. Richardson had them working on learning about the various types of essay formats. The unit was difficult, especially since he wanted them to do three different essays in different formats as a way to show how well they understood.

Mr. Sanders’ demeanor had changed now that he was in front of the classroom. Roman recognized that shift. It was the type of body stance that actors took right before getting into character. The tension in his stance to fend off the stage fright.

“Hello class,” Mr. Sanders greeted. He sounded like a car salesman rather than a substitute teacher. “Mr. Richardson will be out for a week. I will be your teacher while he is gone.”

He turned on his heel to the whiteboard. He wrote out a phrase on the whiteboard:

“Soulmate Magic: Myth or Fact?”

Roman felt himself about to choke on his own spit. He hated the Universe sometimes. He had just been wondering about that this morning.

“Who here believes in Soulmate Magic?” Mr. Sanders asked the class while he drew out a chart of some sort on the whiteboard.

Roman felt his arm lift up without his permission. He hurriedly looked around the rest of the classroom. There were a few students also looking around with their hands in the air too. One guy in the back of the class was chuckling to himself.

“Mr. Flannigan, what’s so funny?” Mr. Sanders asked as he turned around.

The boy shrugged, causing his bulky headphones to shift on his leather jacket. “This is English class in high school ,” he emphasized with a sneer. “You can’t expect us to believe that fairytale bullshit.”

Roman and the others had put their arms down by then. If he had been asked this before meeting Virgil, he would have been on the fence. However, since the first day of school there were just too many coincidences and feelings and experiences he had noticed. After all, he did start believing the Dream Theory enough to go with Virgil to his house when they had barely known each other...and also kiss him that next morning.

Mr. Sanders didn’t even acknowledge the cuss word from the bold student. He looked amused. “I take it the rest of you feel this way too?”

The class all seemed to shift uncomfortably. Gabrielle, the girl who sat behind Roman, spoke up first. “It’s not that I think it’s bull, it just feels like something we say to kids.”

“Oh? Then do you know why Markings exist?” The Superintendent looked like he was holding information no one else had. Roman had a heavy feeling in his stomach at that look. His smirk was an older version of Virgil’s.

Gabrielle frowned. “No one does. They’ve been around forever. They’re just...something that’s natural.”

“Would you be willing to argue that point as passionately as Mr. Flannigan in the back?” Mr. Sanders asked.

Gabrielle blushed and looked down at her desk as a few kids snickered. “Well, maybe, I don’t know.”

Mr. Sanders went back to the whiteboard and labeled the columns he had drawn out. On the left he had written “Myth”. On the other side he had written “Fact”. Underneath “Fact” he started writing the names of some of the students who had their hands raised earlier. Roman felt sweat start to form on his forehead as his name was written in the “Fact” section.

As he wrote, Mr. Sanders spoke. “Your teacher was doing a unit on the different types of essays in academia. I’m sure you’re all familiar with the traditional thesis statement. For the first half next week you’ll be spending class time working in groups on finding research online supporting your side of the argument. We’ll spend one day in the school library looking for books as sources too. Then the second half of the week you’ll each write your own essay about why you think Soulmate Magic is or isn’t real.”

Roman sighed. Could he use personal experience as his only source?

Mr. Sanders had finished writing their names on the board. He uncapped a pink marker. He looked behind him at the class and asked. “Who here has met their soulmate yet?”

Roman gulped. He didn’t want to jump the gun. There was still a chance he was being set up for disappointment despite the other ‘signs’. Maybe this project would help him find the truth-or as close as he can get-about what the hell was going on with Virgil without actually talking about it. Obviously he'd need better sources than Buzzfeed's 'Six Signs You've Found Your Soulmate' article he had seen floating around.

Mr. Sanders put a pink asterisk next to the names of the students who had found their soulmates. There were a few on each side of the chart. Roman felt a lump in his throat. There were more people who found their soulmates while young than he had thought. That didn't help with the whole "not getting his hopes up about his career" thing.

They spent the rest of the class being assigned to their study groups. They were sorted into groups of four. Roman was assigned to work with Marissa Falcon, Andrew Harrison, and Mercy Fenton. They had changed their seating to make sure they were all sitting together. They had moved their desks to face each other close to the door.

Marissa was definitely excited about this project. Her tight red curls bounced around her face even when she was still. She was one of the students with a pink asterisk next to her name on the board. The only one in their group, actually. Meaning that she had already found her soulmate.

“So, putting aside the weirdness of the superintendent of the entire school district being here, can we just talk about how cool it is to learn about this?! Much better than what the old man was doing.” Her voice reminded Roman of bubblegum and the color pink. She was excitable, bright, and definitely had the glow of someone who considered herself an expert.

Roman was just glad he wouldn’t have to take the lead on the project. Maybe working with someone his age who had already found their soulmate would help him out with his personal life as well as give him an edge on his essay. The other two in the group barely participated in the rest of the conversation. He got the feeling that Marissa and he were the ones who were going to take the assignment seriously.

It was too soon that the bell rang for his next class. Disappointed, Roman packed his backpack. He waved goodbye to the substitute. Mr. Sanders gave him a smile in return as he pulled aside Gary Flannigan. Probably to talk to him about the cussing earlier in class.

Roman went to his next class. Thinking to himself, I hope this is a sign I’m on the right path with Virgil .

-------

“Jeez, Talyn, don’t tug my hair so hard!” Virgil griped. He was trying not to flinch as Talyn precariously combed the dye through his hair.

“Well, do you want me to be thorough or no?” They responded tersely. They were trying - unsuccessfully - to hide their smile at Virgil’s pain and suffering.

“Remind me to never let you dye my hair in a bad mood, Talyn” Joan snarked as they read a book at Virgil’s desk. The Chrome Borne was the title that Virgil caught.

It was weird, Virgil admitted to himself, to have his maybe-boyfriend’s best friend hanging out with him without Roman being there. Not bad, just weird. It made Virgil a little annoyed that he couldn’t have one on one time with Talyn as much anymore. Still, Joan was fun to have around. They were able to keep Talyn from smacking Virgil upside the head quite a few times.

“Don’t make me flick some of this on your stupid face,” Talyn muttered so only Virgil could hear.

“Why are you being so rough with my precious head? I don’t need a concussion on my first real date, Tal.” Virgil winced as Talyn purposefully tugged on his bangs.

“You can’t get a concussion from hair pulling, smartass.” Talyn responded sweetly. “Besides, maybe next time you’ll give me more time to prepare to do this. I know I’m magic but I’m no miracle worker.”

“Not my fault I’ve been busy!” he whined. “You don’t want me to fail classes do you?”

Talyn huffed as they clipped up the section they had finished. Their movements were more gentle now. “No. You need all the help you can get.”

“What does hair dye have to do with failing classes?” Joan asked. They set down their book and spun in the desk chair to face Virgil.

“Virgie has finally decided to take school seriously. So he’s gotta learn how to do homework for the first time.” Talyn was starting to trail off as they poured their focus where it should have been - making sure Virgil’s hair dye wasn’t fucked up.

He rolled his eyes. “What they mean to say is that Mr. Charles has been helping me after school twice a week to get my homework done. I’m in a stupid deal for the first half of the semester to actually try to be a good student.”

Joan’s eyebrows raised. “Never took you for a hard worker, no offense.”

“None taken, neither did I.” Virgil grinned. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Joan made a show of rolling their eyes and groaning. “How dare you burden me with trying to find answers to the universe?” They put their wrist against their forehead and leaned over the side of the spinning chair. “It’s so hard being an oracle. Haven’t you heard of google?”

Virgil and Talyn snickered. “I see where Princey gets his theatrics,” he remarked.

Joan immediately shot up, leaning their elbows on their knees and looking at Virgil with mighty curiosity. “Why do you call him Princey? His name is King.”

Virgil shrugged impulsively, causing Talyn to flick him for moving. “I dunno. It slipped out one day and kinda stuck.” There was more to it than that, but there was no way he was going to give that information to Roman’s right hand.

“It’s just kinda funny to me,” Joan’s eyes looked lost in thought, “That you’d choose a nickname for him based off of his affirmations.”

“Roman does affirmations?” Virgil asked, surprised. “Isn’t that for people who don’t like themselves or something?”

Joan frowned at Virgil, and in a reprimanding tone said, “Not necessarily. Sometimes people do it to control how they view themselves. Sometimes it’s to remind them of their goals.” Joan sounded sad when they added softly, “Besides...Roman doesn’t exactly have a very high view of himself. He probably doesn't even know that I remember he made affirmations all those years ago."

Virgil snorted. “The guy’s got an ego the size of the Chrysler Building.”

Talyn paused their work and shared a look with Joan. Joan shifted in the seat, looking down. Their voice a near whisper, “Not really. He’s just a good actor, ya know?”

Oh.

“I get it now,” Virgil looked down as Talyn pushed his head forward. “He did seem really...hollow...after something-”

“I know what happened, Virge, you don’t need to go into it.” Joan didn’t sound like they had fake disinterest. They truly weren’t digging for information and wanted to respect Virgil’s privacy.

Remembering that fuck-up was hard for Virgil. It was still so fresh in his mind. “No, it’s okay, I want you to know my side.”

He didn’t wait for an acknowledgement. He told Joan about Roman meeting him on the bus, their walk home, the panic attack, the family dinner, Roman spending the night, the morning, the kiss, him running away, and the talk with Uncle Thomas.

Joan helped fill in some blanks for him, too. He heard about how Roman had been so distraught when he visited their house right after. Joan mentioned something about a song, which led into the trio getting sidetracked into Joan’s history of creating with Roman. It was nice hearing stories about Theater Camp. Hearing about Roman’s softer side was way better than hearing constant praise from people who barely knew him.

“So, what was your original question?” Talyn nudged while they put the shower cap on Virgil’s head.

Virgil thought for a moment. What was the question he had?

“Oh! Right! Hey Joan,” Virgil reached for his phone in the pocket from his jeans. “Could you tell me if Roman would like this surprise idea that I have?”

Joan took the phone that they were handed. Their face slowly grew more mischievous and they were laughing a creepy, sinister laugh by the time they were done with it. “Yes, yes he will love this.”

“Really?” Virgil asked as he stood up to stretch his legs. “I hope he’ll understand what I’m trying to say.”

Joan bit their lip in thought. Talyn sat on their lap in the small rolling chair, which creaked under the weight of them. Virgil just sat on his bed while waiting for their response.

“I think,” Joan started in a more serious tone, “that it’s a sweet idea. He’s always said that he didn’t want to know his soulmate before he was ready with an established career.

“But I don’t know, he’s changed a lot in the past two months. He may not be willing to commit to it no matter what you say. He’s been down pretty bad, Virge.” Joan started rubbing their finger up and down Talyn’s forearm while swaying back and forth. “I say, go for it. You’ve got most of it all planned out. I will say that if you go through with this, maybe prepare yourself for him to not be understanding of what you’re asking for. Because it is a lot.”

Virgil nodded slowly. “I’ll see how the date goes tonight. I don’t really wanna jump the gun, you know?”

Talyn got up to sit next to Virgil and rub his shoulder. “Your date is going to go fine. You already know he’s in love with you. You’ve just gotta clear the air on some things. This is a time for honesty.”

“And really, this surprise you’ve planned out, Virgil?” Joan giggled. “I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure this happens.”

“Yeah, watching you two dance around each other is better than any soap opera.” Talyn agreed.

The trio talked for a bit more before the timer on Talyn’s phone went off for Virgil to rinse out his hair. He rushed to the shower so he could be ready on time for his date.

Virgil was in the shower rinsing his hair when it hit him. Roman would be going on a date with him. It wouldn’t be just a normal date, though, but a chance for Virgil to be vulnerable about everything. He needed to come clean about his side of what happened. Especially hearing about how Roman was so empty after that first kiss.

The water was cold, which normally didn’t bother Virgil, but he found himself shivering at the thought of hurting Roman again. Was he ready to try? What if he was just doing this to make himself feel better? What if, when he explained himself, Roman thought he was toxic? What if Roman just couldn’t be with someone who won’t reveal their Marking? What if he fucked up again ? What if he can't open up after all?

Once the water was running clear in the tub, Virgil stepped out to dry his hair off with his “Trash Towel”. It’s the towel he used when his hair was freshly dyed. He didn’t want to ruin a bunch of different ones with leaky hair. This was a white towel with stains of all the different hair colors he had done over time. He probably should have replaced it long ago, but that meant ruining another towel again.

The sound of the hair dryer wasn’t enough to drown out his thoughts. His fingers felt numb as he worked on his hair. Once that was done he returned to his room to get dressed. Talyn and Joan were downstairs. It sounded like his dad was home and talking to them. That was good. He needed some time to gather himself for what he was about to do.

He didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, but he didn’t want to look like he didn’t care either. He wondered if Roman would be dressed up all fancy for their first date. No doubt the boy was at his house fretting over what he’d wear. That image of Roman freaking out over what he’d be wearing comforted Virgil a bit.

Virgil was glad that Mr. D had agreed to cancel the club meeting for that night. He was a weird teacher. He kept his distance but it was obvious he cared deeply about his students, especially Roman. The few times Virgil talked to the mysterious teacher, he always held a fond sparkle in his eye when Roman came up in conversation. It was really cool of him to give special treatment, and as Virgil changed he figured that Roman must be really special to his teacher. Which was good, considering that he needed Mr. D’s help with his surprise later on if his date went well.

After Virgil was mostly satisfied with his appearance, he went downstairs to see that it wasn’t just his dad who was home.

Logan was sitting on his couch, with his arm over Patton’s shoulders. Patton leaned into Logan like he was relaxing after a long day. They were talking to Joan and Talyn. The four of them were laughing at something his dad must have said. Virgil felt his chest start to warm. It was such a natural sight, except for the empty loveseat in the corner. It was easy to see himself laughing along with them, with Roman’s head on his lap as they talked.

Hope swelled within him. Could it be that he could make this work? Maybe he wasn’t going to fuck up after all.

He walked into the room. His dad saw him and stood up to meet him. “You look so handsome, kiddo!" he squealed. The pride was so evident on his face. “My baby’s first date! So exciting.”

Virgil pretended to frown. “C’moooon dad. Don’t embarrass me in front of my friends.” He tried to not laugh.

Talyn stood up, playing along by stomping their feet. “Young man, I worked way too hard to make your hair perfect. The least you could do is let your dad take pictures of my masterpiece.”

Virgil lost his composure by then. Talyn calling him ‘young man’ was just the cherry on top. “Sure, go ahead!” he called out through his hysterical laughter.

Logan spoke up, nervously grinning. “I have my camera in my car. It would produce a better quality for pictures than our phones.”

“Need some help?” Joan asked excitedly. They didn’t wait for an answer as they made their way to the door. Logan just chuckled to himself as he left after the excited teenager.

“Talyn, don’t tell me your soulmate is a photography nerd! You hate taking pictures of yourself.” Virgil teased.

“Shut up,” Talyn grumbled, though their grin was noticeable. “Joan’s only got a passing interest in it. They haven’t asked me to be their muse or anything.”

Patton chuckled. “Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Artists are very serious about their work.”

“Dad, have you been modeling on the side?” Virgil asked. He wasn't teasing, but genuinely curious. That hadn't talked bunch about Logan or the galaxy tattoo since that fight.

Logan had walked back in by then and made his way to Patton. “Your father has a very symmetrical face, and when he smiles I want to keep it with me forever.” He kissed Patton’s suddenly red cheek.

Virgil noticed the way his dad stiffened as he waited for Virgil to react. It was weird to see another man lovingly touch his dad. He faked a reassuring smile to the pair. He didn’t want to think about the prickling in the back of his head. He needed to get used to Logan being around in a more casual manner. He'd have to get used to the fact that Logan was here to stay.

He made sure to put all of his focus into watching Talyn and Joan from there on out. He tried not to blink when the camera flashed in his eyes. He fought within himself to keep that earlier hopeful feeling from flying away from him. He wouldn’t let his pessimism win.

This night was about coming clean. It was about asking for forgiveness, giving context, and taking his next step to be a better man. It was about searching for compromise in good faith. It was for finding faith in the opportunity for fresh starts. After tonight, he’d be able to see a brighter future for himself.

It was when they were still taking pictures that there was a knock at the front door. Talyn let out a squeal that seemed out of character. Virgil raised his eyebrow at them, which welcomed another click, flash! from the camera. He walked away from the staircase to open the door.

His forearms felt like he was being pricked by static shocks all over when he saw Roman standing there, the beginning sunset behind him looking like something out of a movie. Virgil was speechless. He couldn’t think of anything flirty or sarcastic to say. Had it only been at lunch period that day he last saw Roman? He looked like royalty.

Roman had his hair combed back. It was a bit longer since he hadn’t gotten it cut, so his hair had some flow to it. He had worn a long sleeve button up with black slacks. The shirt was a deep red color, bringing out the hazel eyes and white teeth. He was wearing a small bit of brown eyeliner and mascara, nothing obvious, but enough to bring out the features of his face. The rosey blush that Virgil loved so much was starting to form the longer he stared.

“Um, I didn’t know where we were going, so I figured I’d make myself look nice.” Roman looked Virgil up and down. “I’m glad to know we had the same idea.”

Virgil looked down at what he was wearing. He had chosen his only pair of slacks -a gray pair that his grandmother got him for his birthday - and a deep wine-purple button up. He had chosen a dark gray necktie with black stitching to look like spiderwebs. Just to keep a little bit of his dark personality obvious so he wouldn’t feel completely out of his depth.

“Oh, right, yeah.” He responded lamely. His voice cracked and he felt like he wanted to shrivel up in embarrassment.

“I got you this. I hope it’s not too cliché or tacky for you.” Roman handed Virgil a single black rose. It was plastic, and the stem was dark purple with glitter. It was definitely something cheesy, but Virgil smiled anyway.

“Thank you, Roman, I love it.” Virgil heard his dad clear his throat loudly. He rolled his eyes. Feeling more normal now that his bubble with Roman had burst, he swept his arm behind him. “Come in. We’re just taking pictures as if it’s fucking prom or something.”

Roman laughed at that. “I’ll never say no to a photo op!”

Joan and Talyn gave hugs to Roman when he was in the room. “Looking as royal as ever, your highness.” Joan remarked.

"Wait, isn't Highness for a prince?" Virgil asked. "I always call him Majesty."

Roman chuckled. "Majesty and Highness can be either, depending on the situation. Majesty is more formal, and Highness is a sort of catch-all."

Virgil didn't have a good response to that. He didn't know anything about royalty and all that fancy shit. He was itching to go, but automatically he pulled Roman by his waist. "Let's get our pictures done quickly, I'm starving."

Roman and Virgil took a few pictures at the bottom of the staircase. Roman didn’t seem bothered by the blinding flashes. Virgil kept his arm tight against his date’s waist. After he felt he was thoroughly blinded, he ended the photo session. “Alright, if I want to be able to see Roman’s sexy face I need the flashes to stop.”

Roman whined behind him as he made his way to his jacket by the door. “But I wanna make sure all of my sides have been captured…”

Virgil just ignored him. In a rush to leave, he gave hugs to everyone except Logan, and walked out the door while Roman gushed his thanks to Logan for taking pictures.

The pair settled into their seats in Roman’s car. The silence was nice as Virgil adjusted to it after the noise of the living room. He looked at Roman nervously. He seemed relaxed. His handsomeness seemed never-ending. “Alright, Captain Cranky, you ready to go get some fancy food?” he quipped, too giddy for Virgil's own good.

Virgil rolled his eyes and huffed. “Only the best for you, your Majesty .”

Roman chuckled. They pulled out of the driveway as Virgil plugged in the aux cord to his phone as if he had done it every day.

By the time they arrived at Marina's, Virgil had educated Roman with every song on the Welcome to the Black Parade album. They got out of the car laughing as Roman gave the keys to the valet.

With a warm blanket of joy between the two, they entered the restaurant to start the first part of their date. Virgil tried not to think about the nerves bundling up in his abdomen, or even consider the coincidence that his Marking was warmer than usual.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Fluff and worldbuilding? Fluff and worldbuilding.Thank you for reading and supporting this story. I didn't mean to drop off the face of the earth everywhere, but for about a year now a family member of mine was getting sicker and sicker until he passed a few weeks ago. It's been a hard time, but he's at peace now & I feel like I can refocus my life.So, we're looking at an update every other month here. I don't want to promise more or less than that. I can say that I think about this fic ALL THE TIME and I want to just publish my rough drafts of the chapters and speed through it, but I know these boys love to take their time, so I will too.I hope you have been doing well, readers, and let me know what you thought of this chapter! And maybe comment your guesses on how you think the date will go ;)also, I have a discord server join for updates, bonuses, and talk with other readers!

@404-morality-not-found, @k1ngtok1, @lovelivingmydreams

let me know if you wanna be on the taglist for my stories

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mythiccheroacademia · 4 years

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Hello, Can I request headcanon for Todoroki, Shinsou and Midoriya who is dating Aizawa's daughter? She is in class 1-A but has a Quirk different from his.

hey honey! i’m assuming you want Y/N to be “Aizawa’s Daughter” so i’ll write it from that perspective. hope you enjoy this one and thank you for your patience

A/N: There’ll be a variation amongst Aizawa’s daughter’s bloodline. She’ll either be adopted or biological. Either way, it’ll be noted.

Warnings: none!

Todoroki Shouto:

Quirk: Dream Manifestation

Origin: Biological

when you had gotten your acceptance letter from U.A., your father was equally happy and terrified

your path to heroism became all the more real and he couldn’t help but worry

he had single-handedly raised you ever since your mother passed and it was difficult considering how much of a mental backlash your quirk had on you

you could create a reality of anything you had previously dreamt

all your dreams, whether they were good or bad, stayed with you and replayed in your like an ongoing mantra--you barely slept because of it

he knew it wouldn't be easy and with him being your teacher, it just put that much more pressure on him

but you looked at him with sternness he recognized as his own

“i’m doing this. i’m strong and i’m going to prove it to you. so, don’t you go easy on me.”

he gave you half a laugh. yeah, you were his kid

but that would be kept on the DL to avoid favoritism so you went by your mother’s maiden name instead

you adjusted well to class 1-A

they were much nicer than the kids at your previous school, even if they did give you a bit of hard time about how you looked like you never slept

the quiet boy in the corner caught your attention though

he looked like some anime character created by a 12-year-old boy, but he was cute

after the sports festival, he opened up and you noticed that he was easy to talk to

he was straight forward, ambitious, and kind (underneath the hard exterior) so you took a liking to him

you found out, through an odd push from Uraraka, he liked you too

that’s when the secret dating started

because, as much as you loved and respected your father, he was always...weird when it came to boys

the first time you expressed an interest in one, it turned into an hour and a half lecture about planned parenthood and you just about died

Todoroki didn’t quite understand why you wanted to keep your relationship a secret

when you revealed that you were Aizawa’s daughter to him, he became a little more hesitant

but, he got over it. he loved, adored, and respected you too much to be scared of your father’s reaction. he was never one for attention, but he couldn’t help but want to show the world what you and he had

so, imagine your surprise when he showed up at your house with your father blankly staring him down

todoroki bowed and said,

“Forgive me for showing up unannounced. I am dating your daughter, Mr. Aizawa, and I feel that you should know this.”

you: rip

but he kept going

“I want you to also know that I love and cherish Y/N with everything I have. I will always protect her and you can trust me to be her equal in all things. I hope we can have your blessing on this relationship.”

Aizawa stared before he nodded. “Fine. Do you want some dinner before you go?”

And that’s how you had your first family dinner with your boyfriend. It seemed like the two men were having a great time and you could barely keep your love-struck eyes from Todoroki

what a man

Hitoshi Shinso

Quirk: Time Manipulation

Origin: Adopted

even before Shinso was moved into the hero course, you two had made a strong friendship

he spent so much time with Aizawa that you around one another a lot

that’s when he found out you were his daughter, you were just adopted

if there was one thing you two connected over, it was the difficulty of having a mental quirk

your quirk wasn’t very flashy, in fact, it wasn’t anything anyone could see at first

whenever something was of a danger to you, in a 100 foot radius, time would slow down and you had five seconds to figure it out before time relapsed

it was sort of like a junked-up sixth sense

sometimes, the days were long and if it occurred too much, it made your mind lag behind your body

with the help of your adopted father, you had gotten good at analyzing your surroundings enough to control the duration of your quirk within those five seconds before entering U.A.

when shinso had moved into class 1-A, you spent even more time together

you’d eat together, train together, and study together

your classmates starting teasing you two

Aizawa started getting suspicious

when he confronted you about it, you felt your body flush from the realization that you like liked shinso

“so, are you and shinso dating?”

“uh...error.exe. y/n can’t come to the phone right now”

“but you’re right here--”

“i’m only here so i don’t get fined”

“....what?”

the next day, you texted Shinso to meet you before class

before he could even say anything, you blurted out

“so i might have just convinced my dad’s theory in thinking we were dating. how do i fix it?”

he blinks before going, “huh?”

“that’s all you have to say?”

“i mean--”

“do you even care about your life? my dad’s cool and all, but he could crush you if he wanted to. shouldn’t you be more scared? ugh, men, i swear”

“...i wasn’t planning on asking you out behind the gym, but why not? Be my girlfriend?

that took you by surprise. “huh?”

“that’s all you have to say?” he teases back

you take a minute to ingest that he just asked you out and all you can do is give an amused sigh

“you suck. now i have to go tell him he’s right”

shinso pats your head before interlocking fingers with you

“i think we’ll be alright. between you and me, i think i’m his favorite”

“but, i’m his daughter”

“did i stutter?”

you punch his shoulder and he laughs it off

when you tell your father, he’s not even upset. he’s just smug he got it right

Midoriya Izuku:

Quirk: Aura

Origin: Adopted

becoming a hero wasn’t easy

midoriya could write an entire novel on that

that’s why, after so many failed attempts to prove yourself, he had cheered the loudest when you had won the sports festival during their second-year

it was a wonderful display of all your hard work as your bow glowed with yellow light, the life energy of your will power illuminating your shot as it shined brighter than the sun

midoriya couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you truly were

it was a beautiful finish and you were able to reign in the success of your win before you passed out

you were in and out of consciousness for three days

you had won, but it had hurt you tremendously

izuku was by your side whenever he could be

one time, way past curfew, he had snuck his way into the clinic only to see Aizawa there. he was at your bedside, pushing the hair out of your resting face

before izuku could make a quiet escape, aizawa called out to him

“you need to work on not being so flat-footed. i heard you before i saw you”

“i’m sorry, Mr. Aizawa”

“come in, midoryia. i have something to ask.”

he stumbled in and hoped you wouldn’t wake up because of his clumsiness

it would also be hard to explain why he and their teacher were over her in the middle of the night

“Mr. Aizawa?” he asked

“am i wrong to assume you’ve taken an interest in my daughter, one that goes further than a platonic friendship”

izuku almost fell over his own two feet

daughter?

interest? damn it, how’d he know?

better yet, you're his daughter????

Izuku was stuttering and blushing mess. his hands danced in weird patterns as his words failed to express his confusion and embarrassment

luckily, Aizawa was there to cut him off

“i’ll take that as a yes”

“um--I...well i just--”

“if you plan to act on your feelings, then i only ask one thing”

that’s when izuku calmed down. the change in his teacher’s tone made him blink. “yes?”

there was a vulnerability in his teacher’s eyes that made midoriya feel sympathy. his next words made him smile

“tell her she’s proved herself more than capable. there’s no need for her to end up like this by her own doing...perhaps she’ll believe you more than me”

the boy understood why you pushed yourself so hard. perhaps out of worry, your father had made you think you couldn’t be a great hero. but that was never the case

he was just being a dad

izuku nodded. “of course”

“thank you”

but before he left, Aizawa’s eyes started to glow a threatening red

“treat her well otherwise, we'll have issues, problem child”

“y-yes sir!”

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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The Leithian Reread - Canto IX (Lúthien Defeats Sauron)

The first thing to remember for this canto is that Finrod and Beren have been imprisoned in Tol-in-Gaurhoth for a long time. For a long while I had the impression of them being there for maybe a couple weeks, and a wolf eating one of the companions every day or so. But it’s been much longer than that:

First, they were already captive when Lúthien asked Melian about what was happening to Beren. Then there’s any days before she told Daeron about her plan to go rescue Beren, and then all the time she was imprisoned in Hirilorn, including spinning and weaving her hair into the cloak. Then any time travelling until when she met Celegorm and Curufin, then the (deliverately slow) journey to Nargothrond, and then her imprisonment in Nargothrond. Moreover, Lúthien goes in Melian to ask about Beren at the start of autumn (“the summer turns...”), and at the start of the canto after this one, after she’s rescued Beren, it’s winter already. So Beren and Finrod were most likely captive in Tol-in-Gaurhoth for the better part of three months. That is a long, and very impressive, amount of time to hold out against Sauron.

So when Beren is thinking of giving in to save Finrod, and Finrod makes the mistake (in dissuading Beren from this course of action via the obvious point that there’s no way either of them are getting out alive) of saying his and Beren’s names aloud and being overheard by Sauron, it is probable that neuther of them are in a particularly lucid or rational frame of mind. They’re very close to the breaking point by now. (This is something else I only caught onto when it was pointed out by The Leithian Script.) Fortunately - and it can be attributed to nothing other than fortune, or Providence - Finrod does not state their goal outright when he states their names, or the Quest would likely have been doomed:

Nay more, I think

yet deeper of torment we should drink,

knew he that son of Barahir

and Felagund were captive here,

and even worse if he should know

the dreadful errand we did go.

Sauron shows surprisingly little interest in the fact that he’s captured Beren (‘Twere little loss if he were dead, the outlaw mortal) given that he’s the one Beren was fighting in Dorthonion/Taur-nu-Fuin and given that Beren has a price on his head the same level as the High King of the Noldor. But Beren’s guerilla career ended at least a year ago, and maybe the bounty has lapsed; or maybe he’s distracted by the greater prize. When Sauron speaks of inducing Nargothrond to ransom Felagund, he is probably thinking of similarly draconian terms to the ones he will offer to Gandalf at the Black Gate two Ages later.

And here we get the battle between Finrod and the werewolf (which is not, as memetically, him ‘biting a werewolf to death’, but throttling it; though the Silmarillion says “slew it with his hands and teeth”, so there’s some flexibility):

Lo! sudden there was rending sound

of chains that parted and unwound,

of meshes broken. Forth there leaped

upon the wolvish thing that crept

in shadow faithful Felagund,

careless of fang or venomed wound.

There in the dark they wrestled slow,

remorsely, snarling, to and fro,

teeth in flesh, gripe on throat,

fingers locked in shaggy coat.

And what kills Finrod isn’t only the wolf itself, but also the sheer power it takes to break the chains; it’s beyond his normal physical ability (even prior to being imprisoned and tortured for three months):

Here all my power I have spent

to break my bonds, and dreadful rent

of poisoned teeth is in my breast.

And I’m going to quote this next bit, even though I’ve quoted a fair bit already, because the transition from dark to light imagery, and the way the word choice, not just the meaning of the words but their sound communicates that, is exceptional:

Silences profounder than the tomb

of long-forgotten kings, neath years

and sands uncounted laid on biers

and buried everlasting-deep,

slow and unbroken round him creep.

The silences were sudden shivered

to silver fragments. Faint there quivered

a voice in sound that walls of rock,

enchanted hill, and bar and lock,

and powers of darkness pierced with light.

Note all the deep o and u sounds in the fist half - profound, tomb, long-forgotten, buried, slow, unbroken - and contrast with shivered to silver fragments. This is more than description, this is the sounds of the Lay outright creating the phenomenon that they describe. Remember Tolkien’s intense interest in how words sound even irrespective of meaning (‘cellar door is the most beautiful word in the English language’) - here he’s masterfully chosen words where both the meaning and the phonetics are in accord to create the dramatic transition from dark and silence to light and music. And The silences were sudden shivered to silver fragments is such a marvellous line in and of itself.

And Lúthien’s song spiritually transports Beren - a night of stars, nightingales, piping, and Lúthien dancing - a memory of the night they met. And this gives him back the strength to sing and to defy: old songs of battle in the North, of breathless deeds, of marching forth to dare uncounted odds and break great powers and towers, and strong walls shake; and over all the silver fire that once men named the Burning Briar, the Seven Stars that Varda set about the north, were burning yet, a light in darkness, hope in woe, the emblem vast of Morgoth’s foe.

This is the moment that Sam is thinking of in the Tower of Cirirth Ungol, when he sings and Frodo answers. They’d just been talking about Beren and the Great Jewel, on the steps of Cirith Ungol, and even the imagery is similar: nature, the stars, birdsong (though Sam goes for the homier finches rather than nightengales). And defiance even in a seemingly hopeless situation.

Sauron, like many others in thus story, underestimates Lúthien and is more amused and pleased than intimidated. When he finally realizes that Huan is killimg all his werewolves, he decides to manipulate prophecy and make himself into the most powerful wolf that has ever existed. Possible even more powerful than a pre-Silmaril Carcharoth, since the text says as wolf more great than e’er was seen from Angband’s gate to the burning south. Lúthien, nearly fainting from the wolf’s poisonous breath, uses her cloak and a whispered spell to throw it off balance, and Huan defeats it in a fight and keeps his grip on its throat even as Sauron shapeshifts.

And here’s the interesting bit. Sauron is almost about to abandon his physical form (nigh the foul spirit...shuddering strayed from its dark house) when Lúthien gets up and threatens him with precisely what he was already going to do. And she makes the threat of Morgoth’s reaction intimidating enough that he changes his mind, hands over they keys, and gives her the spell to destroy the fortress. Which, one would think, would be something Morgoth would be even less pleased with. This raises the question, for me, of whether Sauron ever went back to Angband (especially given that his failure to provide his master with prompt intel led to a humiliating defeat and the loss of a Silmaril) or whether he just spent the rest of the war hiding out in Taur-nu-Fuin. If so, it certainly adds some context to why he’d consider surrendering to Eonwë after the War of Wrath - even the times when Angband’s power was at its height wouldn’t have been very good ones for Sauron.

Lúthien casts down Tol-in-Gaurhoth and frees its captives, and then seeks Beren, who is so absorbed in mourning Finrod that he apparently doesn’t look up even when an entire fortress collapses around him. At this point, he would still recall Lúthien’s song and his own as something that happened in a dream, not reality. He finally looks up and sees her, and they are reunited in the pits of Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

If you want some fanfiction of this canto, Philosopher at Large, author of the Leithian Script, has also written some prose pieces. Betrayals, Renunciations covers the final days of Beren and Finrod in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, from the beginning of this chapter; Shadow and Silver covers the confrontation between Lúthien and Sauron, the destruction of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the reunion, and the aftermath.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #the lay of leithian #leithian reread #lúthien #beren #finrod #sauron

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blogging-time · 4 years

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When I Kissed The Teacher

Dialogue Prompt List – Long List My Fic Masterlist

Prompt: “Let’s drink wine and trash talk our co-workers.” - Logan and Roman. (Friendship) - Submitted by @louisthewarlock

Summary: Roman Crowne has just been dumped by yet another co-worker. Logan Sanders makes it his personal mission to console the heartbroken Spanish teacher while also convincing him to turn off that godforsaken ABBA soundtrack.

Warnings: Post Break-Up (Not Logince), Alcohol Mention.

Pairings: Platonic Logince/Foreshadowing Romantic Logince, Past Royality, Past Prinxiety, Past Roceit, Background Intruality.

Word Count: 1,688

~ ~ ~

“Well this seems like a perfectly healthy and not at all counter-intuitive way to conduct oneself post break-up,” Logan remarked as he slowly entered the almost vacant looking Spanish classroom.

The sight awaiting him was that of his co-worker – Roman Crowne – sitting slumped over a rather busy looking table, his unusually messy head of hair tucked uncomfortably between his hastily folded arms. Surrounding him were various pages that Logan couldn’t quite decipher, as well as some familiar looking textbooks that Roman would use to teach his sophomore classes when the school board once again forbid him from making “Pan’s Labyrinth” an official part of the school’s curriculum. The most notable item at Roman’s disposal however had to be his mobile phone, as it was currently playing “When I Kissed The Teacher,” repeatedly on Spotify.

“You know most people actually knock before inviting themselves into a colleague’s classroom, right?” Roman half-heartedly muttered against the cheap plywood.

“Well you should know that most teachers actually prefer to work at their own desks instead of downgrading to a small student’s table. I guess we’re both just feeling a little unconventional today.”

With a heavy sigh and even heavier limbs, the Spanish teacher finally mustered up the energy required to pry his face off the aforementioned table. As soon as the pair made eye-contact, Logan couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at Roman. No matter how many times he found the man in this heartbroken state his tearstained face simply never failed to upset him.

“There’s a window,” Roman responded vaguely before Logan could even make an awkward attempt to console him. Then, upon recognizing the science teacher’s confusion, he unenthusiastically waved his hand and explained, “There’s a window embedded in the door to this classroom – I’m sure you’re well aware of it. Had I chosen to lay about and wail over my lost love at my own desk then surely any old passer-by could have caught me in my moment of lament.”

As sympathetic as Logan was towards his friend’s situation, he still couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how dramatic the man was being.

“Janus Marshall merely terminated his relationship with you, Roman. He himself is not deceased.”

“Hark! For his love for me is dead at least – dead and buried beneath the heels of some younger, prettier thing! Its ghost takes the form of the man I once danced with, and it taunts me as I pass him by in the corridor on my way to lunch.”

“Would you kindly stop and think rationally for five minutes instead of writing another soliloquy?” Logan may sound exasperated, but in reality, he simply hates seeing his friend’s thoughts spiral out of control like this. “Janus made it abundantly clear to you months ago that he would be migrating to England at the end of the year in order to teach Psychology at Oxford. Since neither of you were ever interested in long-distance relationships, I thought this break-up would seem inevitable to you.”

Roman visibly deflated upon hearing such a logical argument, yet somehow Logan didn’t feel victorious.

“I know… I suppose I just got a little carried away again. Deep down I’d honestly hoped we’d be able to make it work.”

“But why?” Logan asked, “Why would you allow yourself to get your hopes up time and time again? Every time you’ve dated a colleague your relationship has ended within six months or less.”

“Now hold on just a moment, Charles Rush-In! Just because I happened to date – and consequently was dumped by – a few of my colleagues doesn’t mean having a relationship with one is inherently flawed and destined to fail.”

“While your current statistics would highly suggest otherwise, that isn’t the part that concerns me the most. What concerns me the most is that you’re clearly upset or made to feel uncomfortable every time you’re forced to work with an ex-partner.”

“Name one example.”

“Patton Hart.”

“You mean the Home Economics teacher? I love Patton! Well… not in that way… not anymore at least… Yeah things were a little awkward at first… and then things got awkward again eight months later when he asked if I would be okay with him dating my brother… but both of us are on very good terms now!”

Logan quirked an eyebrow at that, but ultimately decided it was Remus’ responsibility to tell Roman about his current engagement plans.

“Okay then, what about Virgil Rae?”

“Ah yes, the English teacher who never stopped reading too much into things.”

“You and him seem to argue a lot.”

“To be fair we also argued before and during our relationship too.”

Logan clicked his tongue in perfect time with ABBA before naming, “Janus Marshall.”

“That’s a fresh wound! It’s hardly fair for you to twist the knife in that!”

“I can’t help but disagree considering you’re currently spending your lunch break marking papers and crying in your classroom just to avoid encountering Janus – something you wouldn’t have to do if he wasn’t your colleague.”

Roman couldn’t deflate anymore, so instead he was forced to sink further down in his admittedly rather uncomfortable plastic chair. Mentally he made a note to stop by the thrift store and his aunt Dot’s place after work to see if he could somehow acquire twenty-six cheap cushions that would make hour long lessons in these chairs more comfortable for his students.

“Why are you so determined to prove the successful office romance trope is unattainable?” he asked in a voice that already sounded so defeated.

“Why are you so determined to prove me wrong?” Logan countered.

Roman met Logan’s eyes for just a moment before completely averting his gaze. Logan coughed into his elbow for just a second in a manner that conveniently covered both of his cheeks. A minute passed, and neither man acknowledged either his or his co-worker’s sudden actions.

Eventually Logan decided to break that uncomfortable minute of silence with a sigh of his own.

“Do you have another class immediately after lunch?”

“Not today. I was supposed to be teaching Freshman Spanish for the next hour, but apparently Principal Sanders has called in a public speaker. I won’t have a class again until last period. How about you?”

“It appears I’m in a similar situation. I typically have the hour free after lunch on a Thursday until my Juniors come in for their Chemistry class at 2PM. If the circumstances today were any different then I would undoubtedly use this time to either grade my students most recent homework or to formulate a lesson plan for next week.”

“If the circumstances were any different?” Roman asked with a raised eyebrow and an only slightly watery eye.

“I have a bottle of Chardonnay in my car,” Logan answered. Then, upon recognizing the Spanish teacher’s concern, he quickly waved his hands and explained, “Your brother gifted it to me a few weeks ago, stating that it may help me to ‘loosen up around handsome men,’ - only he used far more vulgar phrasing than I. I can assure you that I would never drink and drive. I’ve simply never felt the need to consume alcohol since receiving the gift, and so I let the bottle sit forgotten in my car until now.”

“What? I haven’t driven you to drink already have I?” Roman joked, but Logan didn’t miss the way another silent tear disobediently slid down his still reddened cheeks.

Again, neither man acknowledged the sudden presence of emotion.

“Believe me, Roman, if any Crowne were ever going to drive me to drink then it would most certainly be that unfathomable brother of yours. My idea was more along the lines of… well…” The science teacher paused for a moment as he remembered how much more important Roman was to him than his reputation. “Let’s drink wine and trash talk our co-workers.”

Upon proposing the idea, Logan let out a nervous breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. Despite the simplicity of their plan, inviting Roman to share a glass of wine with him during work hours just so that they could say negative things about their generally very respectable colleagues to him felt so deeply personal and borderline exhilarating.

Roman must have recognised how much the offer meant to Logan, as he too seemed shocked that the usually oh-so calm and collected science teacher would propose something so unorthodox.

“You want to share a drink with me now?”

“Well encountering your colleagues won’t be an issue after work hours – Perhaps if we start highlighting all of their potential flaws now, you’ll be less inclined to test fate and pursue another doomed relationship with one of them later.”

“Hey!” Roman shouted incredulously, but he was genuinely laughing now.

The sound was so infectious that his co-worker soon found himself chuckling quietly to himself.

“I’ll ask the canteen staff if they can spare two small cups so we don’t drink too much,” Logan offered, “Plus I keep more than enough spare change in my wallet at all times to ensure we can afford a cab ride home. We won’t be stranded here at school if you accept. All I ask in return is that you turn off that infuriating song – I’ve heard it more than enough times now, thank you very much.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr Berry,” Roman responded, his lips forming a playful smirk as he pretended to mull the proposition over. “What album would you suggest we listen to in its place?”

“How about ‘The Wall’ by Pink Floyd? I believe I still have that cassette sitting in my car right now, along with ‘The Dark Side of the Moon.’”

“Oh, wow…” Roman drawled as he blinked his eyes rapidly in only semi-feigned surprise. “I think you just aged ten years for every word you just said, Lograndad.”

“Of course, you can always just sit here and listen to the sound of Janus’ voice instead.”

“On second thought-” Roman announced, standing up rather quickly as he grabbed his nearby coat and bag, “-Pink Floyd sounds like an excellent choice. Why don’t you lead the way?”

~ ~ ~

General Tag-List:

@sholaghhh (Formerly @lunamay2006) @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @saphael-malec102 @anastasialestina @seraphlies

Additional Tags:

@sympathetic-deceit-trash

Note: It’s been a long time since I’ve posted a fic, so this tag-list may be a little outdated. If at any point you want to be added/removed from my tag-list then feel free to let me know!

As always, feedback is much appreciated! I was pretty out of practice here, so I’m sure I’d benefit a lot from constructive criticism!

For spelling, punctuation and grammar I followed Microsoft Word's English (UK) rules. Feel free to correct any errors you may find in the comments, but please keep in mind that some words are spelt differently here in the UK!

I hope you’re all have a fan-der-tastic day!

~ ~ ~

#Thomas Sanders #Sanders Sides #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #Logince #Background Characters:#Remus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Background Relationships:#Intruality #My Fic #Post Break-Up #Alcohol Mention #Reblogs > Likes

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turtle-paced · 4 years

Text

Revisiting Chapters: Brienne VIII, AFFC

This post is also available on my wordpress.

The story so far…

Having done what a true knight does and saved the children at the Inn, a wounded Brienne is taken to receive her just reward. The catch being it’s Lady Stoneheart’s idea of just.

Fever Dreams

The chapter starts with Brienne incapacitated. Aside from the fact that someone’s tied her up (so tightly that it cuts into her wrists, we find out later) and slung her across a horse, she’s very much not well. She’s in a lot of pain and she doesn’t understand what’s going on. Pod’s somewhere in the background.

Cue successions of horrible dreams, swapping back and forth with reality. Brienne revisits the bear pit, calling out for Jaime, and then for a maester. She dreams of Renly’s murder and Vargo Hoat with an infected ear. She replays the fight at the Whispers and loses, because she cannot fight without the magic sword Jaime gave her.

The reader understands as Brienne does not at this point that what’s going on around Brienne is very, very bad for her. When Brienne mistakes a girl who speaks to her for Sansa, a man nearby laughs. Some time afterwards, she’s moved and given medicine. The girl administering said medicine gives us a rundown of Brienne’s injuries. Aside from the nasty wound on her face from Biter’s bites, she’s got a broken arm and some cracked ribs.

Brienne’s with it long enough to hear the confirmation that yes, Gendry killed Biter at the end of the previous chapter. The girl treating her is definitely not Sansa Stark, though. Instead, she appears to be the innkeeper, now revealed to be Jeyne Heddle (and her sister, back at the inn, is Willow Heddle). Her status as a prisoner is confirmed by a dark-haired man Brienne keeps mistaking for Renly (it’s Gendry). She’s being taken to Lady Stoneheart.

“M’lady means to make you answer for your crimes.”

Ominous! Brienne is quite sensibly afraid. She asks after Pod and Ser Hyle, though she also thinks that Septon Meribald and his dog are there. That’s about the end of that bout with lucidity. Next up, she’s taken across a river. No Gendry, he’s gone back to the Inn to protect the children. A man in a yellow cloak and wearing the Hound’s helm threatens to kill Brienne.

Finally, Brienne dreams of her encounter with Ronnet Connington. Her father promises to bring her a rose, but Brienne needs a sword. She bites her own tongue off in her nervousness, spits it out to lie next to the useless rose, and as her dream suitor expresses his digust with her, Ronnet turns to Jaime.

The overarching themes of Brienne’s dreams here are sex and romance, violence, and failure. Each of Brienne’s dreams ends with her failing in some way - to win a fight, to protect Renly, to even speak. In several of her dreams, she’s missing her sword and wants it back. This particular bit I find particularly telling:

“He will bring a rose for you,” her father promised her, but a rose was no good, a rose could not keep her safe. It was a sword she wanted. Oathkeeper. I have to find the girl. I have to find his honour.

While it’s a sweet notion, it also makes me sad. The only person who can find Jaime’s honour is Jaime. It also shows us how Brienne has come to see her quest - not just for Catelyn, but for Jaime as well.It’s not hard to see how the recent events of Brienne’s life have resulted in this traumatic mishmash of images. I don’t think they’re prophetic in any way, just reflecting her own rather poor state of mind. She feels like she’s failed, and she feels helpless.

The Broken Brotherhood

The first sign that this is, for sure, the Brotherhood Without Banners again is the presence of this man:

One of the shadow men shoved the girl aside. He was clad in rusted rings and a studded belt. At his hip hung longsword and dirk. A yellow greatcoat was plastered to his shoulders, sodden and filthy. From his shoulders rose a steel dog’s head, its teeth bared in a snarl.

Lem Lemoncloak. Compare to his first good description in Arya II, ASoS, where his armour is steel but not rusty and his cloak is only worn and stained instead of absolutely filthy.

The fact that the Brotherhood Without Banners has been taken over by undead Catelyn Stark was the subject of the epilogue of ASoS. As GRRM does with the epilogues, though, that was a one-off PoV character who doesn’t survive his experience with perspective voice. It’s a reveal for the readers. This is the internal reveal to our surviving and continuing PoV characters. Not the big reveal yet. But part of it.

Lem says that they’ll be hanging Brienne, to which she protests that she should have been covered by guest right, back at the inn.

“Guest right don’t mean so much as it used to,” said the girl. “Not since m’lady came back from the wedding. Some o’ them swinging down by the river figured they was guests too.”

This is not the same band that was doing their best to protect the peasants of the Riverlands. This tells us that nothing is sacred in how this new Brotherhood pursues their revenge against the Freys and Lannisters. Brienne, being ill, conks out again and doesn’t wake up for a while.

She wakes up again in what’s basically a grave.

The air was cold and heavy, and smelled of earth and worms and mold. She was lying on a pallet beneath a mound of sheepskins, with rock above her head and roots poking through the walls. The only light came from a tallow candle, smoking in a pool of melted wax.

And if that wasn’t making the point enough:

The flickering light cast queer shadows. Shadows of the slain, she thought, dancing all about me, hiding when I turn to look at them. Everywhere she saw holes and cracks and crevices, but there was no way to know which passages led out, which would take her deeper into the cave, and which went nowhere. All were black as pitch.

Brienne’s not alone down here; there’s an “old grey man” in rags as well. He helpfully flags for Brienne that their current location is representative of the Brotherhood’s moral slide. The man checks Brienne’s fever (broken) and tells her the status of her face (badly scarred, once it heals). He was not the one who treated Brienne, though. That was the girl from earlier, Jeyne.

Brienne asks why she received treatment if they’re just planning to hang her. He tells her that it was Lem’s screw-up that made the fight at the inn necessary - Lem was baited into charging off after the Bloody Mummers, but the man considers that Lem should have known better. Then we get to the key question: who are these people?

“We were king’s men when we began,” the man told her, “but king’s men must have a king, and we have none. We were brothers too, but now our brotherhood is broken. I do not know who we are, if truth be told, nor where we might be going. I only know the road is dark. The fires have not shown me what lies at its end.”

I know where it ends. I have seen the corpses in the trees.

Then it clicks for Brienne. This is the Brotherhood Without Banners, and she’s speaking to Thoros of Myr. Who clearly has his doubts again. Beric Dondarrion is dead. The Brotherhood has a new leader, who Thoros describes as “grimmer”. He goes to get her some food.As in her dreams before, Brienne finds herself looking for a weapon. She finds none.

When Thoros returns, he does so with some pretty lousy food. No milk, no honey, which is absolutely representative of the stores of human kindness on offer. Thoros says so himself, when Brienne asks for Pod to receive pity. If kindness is not available, what about justice?

“Justice.” Thoros smiled wanly. “I remember justice. It had a pleasant taste. […] We were king’s men, knights, and heroes…but some knights are dark and full of terror, my lady. War makes monsters of us all.”

Ah, wordplay! Thoros sees how the cause of the Brotherhood has turned from justice to revenge, and frankly he preferred the justice. This moment here with Thoros is for the reader to reconcile the somewhat morally ambiguous band of Merry Men who tried to look after Arya, tried to give to the poor, and try to conduct trials with the people who’ve been hanging and hanging and hanging people throughout the Riverlands.

That’s when Thoros hears company arriving. Brienne half remembers them from her interludes of lucidity. Once again Lem Lemoncloak is the most noticeable figure. He took the Hound’s helm from Rorge’s corpse. Lem does not deny it when Brienne identifies him as “the Hound”. By taking up the helm, Lem becomes the man. With consequences:

“There is nothing good about that helm, nor the men who wore it,” said the red priest. “Sandor Clegane was a man in torment, and Rorge a beast in human skin.”

“I’m not them.”

“Then why show the world their face?”

Fear, basically. But literally, though, there are those in the Brotherhood who are becoming the evil they fought. Who’s going to be able to tell Lem Lemoncloak apart from the previous men who wore the Hound’s helm? Who’s going to be able to tell the Brotherhood Without Banners from the other groups terrorising the Riverlands, now that they’re not a brotherhood and they’re all out of kindness and justice?

Heart of Stone

Once Brienne is brought to the main cavern (to answer for what she’s done, leaving her rather confused as to what it is she’s supposed to have done), she gets her first look at Lady Stoneheart, recently returned from Fairmarket.

A trestle table had been set up across the cave, in a clef in the rock. Behind it sat a woman all in grey, cloaked and hooded. In her hands was a crown, a bronze circlet ringed by iron swords. She was studying it, her fingers stroking the blades as if to test their sharpness. Her eyes glimmered under her hood.

The readers know several things that Brienne does not, in this moment. The obvious one, that this is undead Catelyn. Then there’s the less obvious. This crown was last mentioned back in Jaime VI, in the possession of Ryman Frey (in point of fact, Jaime told Ryman that Ryman shouldn’t take the crown when he left the camp). Sure enough, in Jaime VII, we’ll learn that Stoneheart’s men ambushed Ryman Frey and company two leagues out of Fairmarket. This is Robb’s crown that Lady Stoneheart now has.

The accusations against Brienne are quickly made clear. Association with and loyalty to the Lannisters. The evidence for this? She was calling out for Jaime in her fevered state. Not great evidence. But then they bring out Oathkeeper. Valyrian steel. Though it’s noted that Lady Stoneheart is focusing only on the lion pommel. Plus the letter Jaime gave her, signed by Tommen, claiming that Brienne is about his business. Better evidence.

All Brienne has to counter that is the truth. Jaime Lannister, famously dishonourable, gave Brienne a Valyrian steel sword and sent her to find Sansa Stark to protect her. Actually protect her, not the ‘move her to Cersei’s dungeons pending trial’ protection. The problem is…

“Are we supposed to believe the Lannisters are handing out gold and ruby swords to foes? That the Kingslayer meant for you to hide [Sansa] from his own twin? I suppose the paper with the boy king’s seal was just in case you needed to wipe your arse.”

It’s frankly unbelieveable. Unbelieveable to anyone who wasn’t in Jaime’s PoV for the duration of ASoS. To make matters worse, Pod and Hyle are brought forth too, described as “the Imp’s own squire” and “one of Randyll Bloody Tarly’s bloody household knights” respectively. Brienne can see the way this is going and pleads for them to be left out of it.

At last Lady Stoneheart speaks. Not well. She needs a young northman (Harwin, not that Brienne knows his name) to translate her words. She asks the name of Brienne’s sword.

“Oathkeeper,” Brienne answered.

The woman in grey hissed through her fingers. Her eyes were two red pits burning in the shadows. She spoke again.

“No, she says. Call it Oathbreaker, she says. It was made for treachery and murder. She names it False Friend. Like you.”

Again, the reader knows something that Brienne does not. Some of the last words Catelyn Stark heard in life were Jaime Lannister sends his regards. What this looks like to Lady Stoneheart is that Jaime had a hand in arranging the Red Wedding, then bribed Brienne to go after Sansa as well.

In the meantime, Brienne is confused about why Lady Stoneheart is making such a personal accusation, and this at last prompts the reveal.

“Lady Catelyn?” Tears filled her eyes. “They said…they said that you were dead.”

“She is,” said Thoros of Myr. “The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And…she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”

So the classic zombie look, really, but a zombie retaining Catelyn’s last traumatic memories and plenty of will. Brienne’s narration refers to her as “the thing that had been Catelyn Stark.” As Brienne is absolutely adamant that she never broke faith with Catelyn, Lady Stoneheart demands she prove it.

“What does she want of me?”

“She wants her son alive, or the men who killed him dead,” said the big man. “She wants to feed the crows, like they did at the Red Wedding. Freys and Boltons, aye. We’ll give her those, as many as she likes. What she asks from you is Jaime Lannister.”

Note the simplicity of this agenda. Lady Stoneheart wants the one impossible thing - her murdered son, not to have been murdered. Failing that, the next best thing is lots and lots of dead people. She wants to do the same thing to the Freys as the Freys did to her. There’s no suggestion of retaking land, or dealing with administration and supply. She just wants everyone even tangentially involved with her son’s murder dead.

This is all very well and good if we’re talking about your Walder Freys (any one of several options) or your Roose Boltons, but now we see Lady Stoneheart lashing out at Brienne, and Pod, and Hyle. Brienne’s situation looks bad, but the reader knows that she’s right when she says Jaime’s not the man he was. Pod’s backstory as revealed in Brienne’s own chapters show his lack of options. Even Hyle, who’s undoubtedly an asshole, is clearly not responsible for Catelyn’s suffering. This is why Thoros was bemoaning the general lack of justice he was seeing around the place.

Lady Stoneheart then offers Brienne a choice. Her own life for Jaime’s. The sword or the noose. Brienne refuses to pick. So Lady Stoneheart orders Brienne hanged. Hyle and Pod too. Brienne tries to bargain for Pod’s life, using the same ‘sapphires’ line Jaime tried, but Lem (now referred to in narration as ‘the Hound’) tells her he wants his wife and daughter back, and starts the hanging. Brienne is focused on Pod. Just Pod.

The chapter finishes with Brienne screaming a single word.

Chapter Function

This chapter is our first proper look at Lady Stoneheart, who’s as tragic as she is terrifying. GRRM’s used Brienne’s PoV well to get both these things across. While Jaime’s storyline necessarily deals with the effects of Lady Stoneheart’s actions, it’s Brienne’s that makes you feel for her victims. It’s also Brienne’s storyline that makes the reader feel for Catelyn herself, who was wronged and murdered and brought back to more pain.

This is the true emotional climax of Brienne’s AFFC arc. Not the fight. The choice. We’ve seen Brienne decide good and honourable things all throughout her storyline, but here she’s put in a situation where there is no good and honourable decision. Take the sword to kill Jaime, betray the trust of a man who saved her life. And, though Lady Stoneheart doesn’t believe it, betray the mission Catelyn gave her. Take the noose, and Pod hangs with her.

Sometimes there’s no way to keep every vow. Brienne has the best of intentions. We’ve seen her good character. But there’s just no good solution to this problem. It’s the point Jaime made, way back when. Brienne’s vows are less important than doing what’s right, and allowing Pod to hang when she could prevent it isn’t right.

Now to see how she handles Jaime. The climax of this AFFC arc lets us know how things will be progressing in TWoW, because now we need to know how Brienne’s going to handle the choice, while also knowing that Lady Stoneheart won’t be backing down from hers. More trouble for the Riverlands is ahead.

Miscellany

Thoros notes that Long Jeyne Heddle treated Brienne as well as a maester could. I doubt she’s had much formal training. Which means that what Jeyne learned, she learned from experience. There’s a nasty thought.

It’s worth thinking twice about Lady Stoneheart and the crown. While Catelyn believes that Arya, Bran, and Rickon are all dead, she has no idea where or whether they were buried. She knows for sure that Robb is dead, but again, it’s not clear where or whether he was buried - given the desecration of his corpse, and what happened to Catelyn’s own body, it doesn’t seem likely that he received a respectful funeral. The fact that Sansa’s vanished without a trace is rather important to Brienne’s storyline. This crown is all Catelyn has left of her children.

Clothing Porn

In her final dream sequence, Brienne wears a silk brocade gown with blue and red quarters and decorated with golden suns and silver moons. Out of dream flashback, she’s wearing a brown woolen shift. Thoros wears the remains of an old robe, red faded out to pink and white.

Food Porn

Onion broth. Cold, greasy stew. Hard bread and harder cheese.

Next Three Chapters

Jon VII, ACoK - Jon IX, ADWD - The Princess in the Tower, AFFC

#ASoIaF #valyrianscrolls #revisiting chapters #cw: violence #a feast for crows #brienne of tarth #catelyn stark

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