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ohbutwheresyourheart · 2 years

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You'll Be Free (If You Truly Wish To Be): Chapter 3 - Prepare For The Worst...

Having decided on a course of action, our intrepid heroes set out to recover Willy's possessions and get him back in business. During their trek across London, Madeleine hits upon the idea to walk Willy through the concept of a back-up plan. This, in itself, does not go to plan.

Publishing this on tumblr tonight so you can be the premier audience. I... may walk the ending on this back in the morning but right now I'm living for drama so here we go.

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Buoyed up by Madeleine's pep talk, Willy remained optimistic while they both got dressed. He was especially delighted when he unearthed a pair of burgundy velvet trousers from the depths of Madeleine's wardrobe. They were a charity shop find from months ago that she'd never gotten around to hemming; as a result, they fit Willy almost perfectly and he declared an immediate and passionate love for them. Maybe not the most practical choice for carting his worldly possessions across London, but Madeleine had to admit their height difference meant his options were limited. Paired with a black t-shirt that Madeleine vaguely remembered appropriating from a short-lived fling, and a pair of oversized sunglasses to hide his black eye, he looked — good, albeit in an unexpectedly androgynous way.

He certainly looked better than Madeleine, who had prioritised the end goal and gone for denim shorts and a Bananarama t-shirt, her hair as restrained as far as was ever possible with the help of an oversized scrunchie on the foundations of a dozen or so hairpins.

Madeleine tried not to eyeball him too much. He was off-limits, she reminded herself; if not for his sexuality then, more pressingly, because he was her friend, he was relying on her for a roof over his head, and she really shouldn't do anything to make him feel obligated to reciprocate.

(But she couldn't stop herself eyeballing a little... and wondering what being attracted to Willy when he looked feminine said about her own sexuality. A line of thought that was not entirely new but was, for the most part, buried under more serious and pressing day-to-day concerns.)

It was a bright, unseasonably mild spring morning and, since they had no other obligations that day until Madeleine's next shift at the bar that evening, they decided to walk. The latest hostel Willy had been staying at was south of the river, down in Battersea. He had been setting up his stall in Battersea Park, by the rose gardens, until the altercation the day before.

In the hopes of keeping him optimistic after seeing his reaction to rifling through her wardrobe, and remembering his drunken rambling about his clothes the night before, Madeleine took them slightly out of their way to go along Savile Row. Unfortunately, Willy seemed oblivious to the plethora of exquisite tailoring on display. He began to dwell on the events of the previous day, and his good mood rapidly evaporated. In fact, Madeleine wondered if it had ever been genuine to begin with. Willy was like quicksilver sometimes; mercurial, shifting from eager excitement to dramatic despondency in the blink of an eye. Or else he blanked out, putting up a stony front and refusing to engage.

"It was such a good spot," he complained. "Best I've had since I did that stint in Shepherd Market. I guess I'll have to find somewhere even better. Until someone asks about the business permits again..." Willy trailed off. "And that's if my things are okay. What if the hostel threw them away? You're not supposed to leave your stuff there. They have a sign."

"It will be fine," Madeleine reassured him, although she was aware she was speaking from little to no experience and was essentially crossing her fingers and hoping for the best. She had stayed in a youth hostel herself when she first came to London but it had only been for a few days until she rented her flat; she had never lived in one long-term, nor bounced around like Willy did as both money and goodwill fluctuated. Afraid of Willy's reaction if they got to the hostel and all was not well, she added, "Look, what's the absolute worst-case scenario?"

"I don't wanna think about that."

"I know, but if you think about it then we can make a plan for it, and if we have a plan for the worst-case scenario then anything else will be fine, right?" Madeleine, who had spent many sleepless nights writing lists and calculating how far she could make a very small amount of money stretch, was a very firm believer in planning for the worst.

Willy let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-whine. "Okay, fine, if you're gonna make me... The worst thing that could happen is... they've thrown out everything I own. My clothes. My recipe book. That really nice copper pan. All my chocolate moulds." He visibly wilted as he continued down the list of candy- and chocolate-making equipment he'd begged, borrowed, and bartered for over the years, counting the items off on his fingers. Suddenly, he cut himself off to add: "No, incinerated. They've incinerated them. Everything is gone. Unrecoverable. I'm penniless, destitute, and ruined. Plus, if this is meant to be the absolute worst-case scenario, I'm also dead. And now I'm even more upset. Happy now?"

Oh, so it was going to be one of those times. Madeleine bit her tongue and reminded herself that Willy had had a very trying twenty-four hours, was facing the potential loss of the sum total of his worldly possessions, and it was reasonable he was feeling anxious about it. On the other hand, while Madeleine might have significantly more patience for Willy than she did for most people, she wasn't a saint, and his sporadic tantrum moods were not the easiest thing in the world to deal with.

"Okay, let's... pull back a bit," she began. "Even if the hostel has gotten rid of your things—"

"Incinerated."

For fuck's sake, Willy. Madeleine took a deep breath, her knuckles going white as she dug her nails into her palms and reminded herself that she was the one who had asked him for the worst-case scenario.

"Okay, fine, incinerated," she amended. "Even then, you're still staying with me, so you're not going to be on the streets. You can stay as long as you need to. I can help you find a job, you can save up, and you can start over."

Judging from what she could see of Willy's expression around the sunglasses, he was not enamoured with that idea. He pursed his lips and looked away, falling into a sullen silence.

Patience, Madeleine.

"I know it's not ideal," she continued, trying to soften her tone. "But it's a plan and it will get you where you want to go. Sometimes, we have to do things we don't really like to get to what we really want to do. I can probably get you some shifts at the bar; it would just be as a barback, but it would be some money, and you'll get tipped out from me and Candy even if the others don't share. You were okay with that earlier—"

"Yeah, just for a couple of days," Willy interjected. He was still not looking at her, instead staring fixedly at his feet as they walked. "Not forever. Weeks, or months, or however long it'd take."

It was on the tip of Madeleine's tongue to point out she managed. "Weeks or months still isn't forever, Willy. We're not talking years here. Come on, where's that optimistic spirit I know and love?"

"What if I forget?" Willy burst out. He stopped in his tracks, finally looking up to meet Madeleine's eyes. "What if I just get used to working in your bar, or a factory, or an office, and one day I wake up and it seems easier to just keep doing that forever? And then before I know it I can't even remember how to make candy anymore? And then everything — everything I ever wanted to do is just — just... Gone. I'm just some other stupid nobody who was all talk and never did anything worthwhile, just like my da— like everyone thinks?"

And there it was, the moment frustration melted away and was replaced by overwhelming tenderness. The urge to give someone else what had never been given to her: to share the dream that dreams were possible, most especially possible against the backlash of parental disbelief (because she caught that bitten-off word and it only confirmed what she had already guessed about a boy who had run away from home in his teens). Maybe she ought to pop the bubble and bring him back down to Earth while he could still make something of himself, but Madeleine couldn't bear to. Not when she wanted to believe just as desperately as he did. Not when she had tasted his candy and knew he wasn't just a wide-eyed boy with dreams bigger than his capabilities. Willy was more than capable; all he lacked was opportunity. She could try to steer him towards a more practical road to his dreams but she couldn't bring herself to shatter them entirely.

Mindful of the fact they were in the middle of a busy street, Madeleine took Willy's hand and guided him up against a nearby shop window, out of the way of the pedestrian traffic.

"That's not going to happen," she told him firmly. "A passion like yours isn't going anywhere. You're going to do amazing things, Willy. You just... might have to take a bit of a curly road to get there. But you will get there. Vouloir, c’est pouvoir. That's something Monsieur Touissant always says: to want is to be able to."

Granted, it was in a far more exasperated context, as Marc rarely understood why anyone who wanted to be perfect failed to be perfect... but Willy didn't need to know that.

"I'll work," Willy insisted. "I'll work as hard as anyone. I just want it to be worth something."

"It will be, I promise. Besides, this is just the worst-case scenario, remember?" Madeleine glanced at the shop they were standing next to and smiled. "Hey, come stand right... here. Now look in the window. That's your best-case scenario. That's what we're aiming for, okay?"

They had, quite by accident, ended up standing next to a window display that featured a mannequin wearing a dark red suit, black waistcoat, and a colourful paisley shirt just peeping out at the collar and cuffs. It oozed decadent elegance and Madeleine nudged Willy into place until his reflection was in the right position to be almost wearing it.

Just as she'd hoped, as Willy took in the view, he straightened his back and shoulders and some of his usual confidence returned. He smiled at his reflection and Madeleine smiled along with him, his hand still in hers. He was sun-warmed and his hair shone like a ripe chestnut in the light. He was too skinny for his reflection to fill out the suit properly; it was the only reason Madeleine's clothes fit him at all, and it contributed to his androgynous appearance. Both handsome and beautiful all at once, or perhaps instead something in between the two. Especially his eyes - that striking colour, those gorgeous lashes - and his lips, which always looked pinker than they should, like he was wearing lipstick—

With some difficulty, Madeleine broke eye contact with their reflections and forced a small laugh. "All you'd need is your top hat and cane."

Willy grinned, thankfully oblivious to her inner turmoil. "Hey, you remembered!"

"Course I remembered. You were being very insistent about it." Madeleine nudged Willy's shoulder playfully, trying very hard to guide her thoughts back onto a platonic course. "So just keep picturing this, okay? And your shop, and all the rest of it. The ends justify the means."

Willy hummed thoughtfully. "...To a point, I guess. I don't think anyone gets their dreams by being miserable."

"You won't be," Madeleine promised. A reckless promise, she realised as the words left her mouth, but what else could she say to him?

In the back of her mind, she remembered the stash of hoarded coins and notes she kept under her bed. Her bulwark against disaster, added to as frequently as she could manage and only in the most desperate times taken from. Her insurance policy that no matter what happened she would not be left, as Willy had put it, penniless, destitute, and ruined. In her most anxious moments, when she came away from a shift with only the measliest tips, or when Marc threatened to throw her off the pastry course if she didn't learn how to make a millefeuille to his exacting standards, Madeleine would sit on her bed and count out the stash, soothed as the amount grew steadily higher.

If the worst-case scenario did come to pass, she could probably afford to replace everything Willy had lost. While she had opened her home, her heart, and even her bed (literally if not metaphorically) to him, however, Madeleine baulked at the thought of dipping into that treasure hoard. It was hers. It was her protection. It was her salvation.

Selfish, she knew it was selfish; the same selfishness that had driven her to build the original stash that had paid for her escape to London in the first place. The selfishness that had seen her abandon her aunt in that dismal, dwindling town as the recession took hold and Madeleine had not thought beyond clutching, desperately, at the one ray of hope she could see.

Selfish — but Madeleine had not gone down with the ship then and she would not now. Even if it did skewer her with guilt to think she was capable of encouraging Willy, supporting him, but withholding the one thing that would really help him. Could she afford to pay for a business permit for him? The first month's rent on a stall in Shepherd Market? Questions she was perfectly capable of finding the answers to but didn't because, if it was possible, she would have to confront the fact that her generosity was not so generous after all, but instead came with sharp, definite edges.

God, she needed to hide the stash more carefully. Not because she thought for a moment that Willy would take it, but because if he ever stumbled across it then all of this ugliness would come rushing out and he would never look at her the same way again. Best friend, her arse.

But she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to offer it. What if Willy squandered the money, or encountered some other misfortune, and it all went down the drain? Then they'd both be ruined. At least this way she could keep a roof over both of their heads and food in both of their stomachs.

"...deleine? Earth to Madeleine?" Willy waved a hand in front of her face and Madeleine started.

"Uh — sorry," she stammered. "I was... somewhere else for a second."

"Oh yeah? Where'd you go?"

"I—" Madeleine shook her head; impossible to be truthful and she didn't have a lie to hand. "I don't know. Look, um, I'm sorry. For... bringing all this up. I just thought it might help to have a plan for the worst-case scenario. I didn't mean to upset you."

Willy's expression was inscrutable - the stony front - and for the first time, despite not being able to see his eyes, Madeleine felt uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. Maybe it was just her own guilty conscience. Either way, she ducked her head and, when she saw their clasped hands, let go.

"We should keep going," she forced out. "Or we'll never get there."

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They walked the rest of the forty-ish minutes to Battersea in silence except for when Willy gave directions down one street or another. Madeleine noticed he kept glancing at her but, whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. For her part, Madeleine was too absorbed in her own thoughts to make conversation.

After coming off Savile Row, they circled the Royal Academy of Arts and then walked down Piccadilly. Fortnum & Mason rose up before them looking, above the mint green store front, more like a palatial townhouse than a department store. From across the street, through the throngs of tourists and Saturday shoppers, Madeleine glimpsed a confectionary display in one of the windows and her chest clenched.

That should be Willy.

Madeleine had haunted these streets when she first came to London, drinking in the images of the life she dreamed she would one day have: shopping at premium department stores, having dinner and cocktails at the Ritz, lounging in Green Park during the summer and having picnics in the shade of Buckingham Palace. All of the stereotypical pastimes of the rich that she had imagined in working class Yorkshire. All of it, she had been sure, within her reach - maybe not immediately, but eventually. She didn't expect life to hand her it all on a plate, she was willing to put the work in - but that was before she'd realised just how wide the gulf between her dreams and reality was.

Once, during the first month when she'd gotten particularly good tips one weekend, Madeleine had dared to set foot in Fortnum & Mason, determined to buy something just to say she had. She had come out with a tiny packet of nine marzipan fruits, just about the only thing she'd been able to afford even when she thought herself so wealthy, each one so exquisite she'd been half-surprised that the oranges, pears, and strawberries tasted of almond after all. She had savoured each and every one, parcelling them out over nine days. It would have been longer, if she'd had the self-restraint to bite each one in half.

How representative of the shrinking of her ambitions.

Madeleine had done her best to make her peace with it; she wasn't a genius like Willy, her fortunes were restricted by the scope of her abilities. All right, so she wouldn't be rich, but she could at least be comfortable. That was still a step up from where she'd been before. She could acquire a set of skills worth having; a career that would sustain a lifestyle something like she wanted; an income that would cushion her from the sharpest corners of the world. For a girl from a dying pit town, it was nothing to sniff at. In fact, she'd been extremely lucky to get as far as she had.

They cut through Green Park, which was indeed away with the picnickers of Madeleine's imagination taking advantage of the unseasonably mild spring weather. Madeleine raked her eyes across the families and young lovers and tried to ignore the hollowness she felt. She attempted to shove the feeling away, but to no avail. However hard she tried, she could not recapture the giddy happiness she'd felt that morning, dancing with Willy in her cramped kitchen. Even though he was right beside her, he seemed suddenly very far away.

Maybe because, when she stopped and thought about it, it was obvious that sooner rather than later he would vanish out of her life as suddenly as he had appeared, and life seemed much bleaker without him.

Victoria Station, Chelsea Bridge, and then finally the towering chimneys of Battersea Power Station came into view on their left, with Battersea Park an open, rolling ocean of green on their right. They passed the park, turned down a street of attractive red-brick apartment buildings.

Madeleine was pleasantly surprised when Willy stopped in front of one of these: it was visibly more run-down than its neighbours, but more to the effect of needing some minor repairs to the brickwork and the shrubbery in front of the building trimming rather than not being clean. Willy was often cagey about where exactly he laid his head at night and Madeleine, worried sick, had pictured him in rat-infested tenements.

The Battersea Youth Hostel, however, looked as if, at worst, it wanted some money spending on it. A wrought-iron fence surrounding the small front garden area, encircling the overgrown shrubbery and grass that was overgrown in some places and patchy in others. The front door had a sign on the front detailed occupancy and rates: noticeably cheaper, Madeleine noticed, than similar places in Soho, which might answer why Willy had chosen it.

Willy paused by the front door, peering through the narrow glass pane set into it. "Okay, how easy this is going to be will depend on who's on desk duty. Let's hope it's Daiyu; she likes me. Horace will probably be fine. Kathleen... does not like me."

Oh, good, they were talking again — and with a topic that distracted Madeleine, for the moment, from the inside of her own head.

"Why does Kathleen not like you?" Madeleine asked.

"Um..." Willy made a vague gesture with one hand. "She's, uh, very... traditional. I think she used to work with the Salvation Army."

Meaning, Madeleine read between the lines, Kathleen was a raging homophobe. She narrowed her eyes and squared her shoulders. "If you see it's her, tell me immediately and I'll deal with her."

Willy giggled. "Wow, you look scary. I wish you'd been with me yesterday."

"So do I. If I had been, that arsehole who punched you would have gotten far worse than just falling in a fountain." God, what she wouldn't give to get her hands on that bastard. "And so will this bitch Kathleen if she tries to start anything."

"They do have a policy about being violent towards the staff," Willy pointed out, but not in a way that made Madeleine think he was trying to actually dissuade her.

"And I have a policy about people being shitheads to my friends," she replied. "It wouldn't be the first time I landed a punch on an idiot for running their mouth off."

"I want to hear that story later."

Madeleine grinned. "Okay, but when I tell you his name was Prodnose, you'll have to trust me I'm telling the truth."

Willy broke into a torrent of high-pitched laughter at that, leaning against the front door — only to almost fall over when it suddenly opened, arms windmilling as he tried to regain his balance. Madeleine reached out and grabbed him in time, and both of them looked at the middle-aged Chinese woman standing in the doorway with an unimpressed expression.

This, Madeleine surmised, must be Daiyu. Despite her expression, her face looked like it was usually warm and caring, with wrinkles around her eyes and mouth betraying a propensity for smiling. Her grey-streaked black hair was braided loosely over one shoulder. She wore a lumpy green cardigan that looked handmade, a pair of worn jeans with colourful patches over the knees, and the kind of nurse's shoes that inevitably brought to mind the word sensible.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," she remarked, and Madeleine was thrown by the unexpected South London accent. "I thought I could hear you snickering."

"Daiyu," Willy cooed. "I was just telling Madeleine how nice you are, and how you're my favourite, and how much you like me."

Daiyu folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. "Is that so. I'm glad you remember that much, even when you forget other things."

Willy flinched. "Yeeeaaaah, about that..."

"Willy stayed with me last night," Madeleine interjected. As much as she had been prepared to fight Kathleen, she was trying for conciliatory with Daiyu, on the basis of Willy claiming she liked him, even if it wasn't particularly evident so far. "Then we decided that it made more sense for Willy to move in. We've come today to clear any tab that's outstanding and pick up his things."

At that, Daiyu's eyebrow rose even further. She looked Madeleine up and down - "You're Madeleine?" - before glancing back at Willy. "I thought you said she wasn't your girlfriend?"

Willy began to sputter incoherently, which at least took Daiyu's attention away from Madeleine as she felt herself flush scarlet.

"No! No, no, no, it's just — we're just — friends, it's a friends arrangement!"

"Right," Madeleine croaked in agreement. "We—We're just friends."

"Mm-hmm." Once again, Daiyu looked between the two of them, clearly unconvinced. Her gaze lingered on Madeleine for a moment longer than she was comfortable with; it felt, in that moment, as if Daiyu saw straight through her. "Fine, it's none of my business anyway what you youngsters get up to. Come on in and we'll sort out what you owe and get you your things. You're lucky you turned up when you did: Herself is due in half an hour and you know she'd have thrown the lot onto the back of the next bin lorry."

"I told you!" Willy exclaimed, in a bizarre combination of anguish and triumph. "I told you that was the worst-case scenario!"

"You said incinerated was the worst-case scenario," Madeleine reminded him. "And I said the worst-case scenario probably wouldn't happen anyway, and it hasn't."

Daiyu let out a sigh that could only be termed 'long-suffering' and held open the door, ushering them both inside. The interior of the hostel was consistent with the tone of the exterior: the walls were peeling magnolia, the floor industrial carpet in an indifferent shade of brown. A wooden desk that, despite its large size, looked like it would go down with one good kick sat at one end of the room that clearly functioned as a reception area. A staircase wrapped up along the left hand wall, presumably leading up to the rented rooms, and two doors lay behind the reception desk.

The room was dark, especially after the bright sunlight outside, and Willy squinted for a few moments before giving up and removing his sunglasses. When Daiyu looked back over and saw him, she let out a shriek.

"What happened to you, boy?"

"Huh — oh, my eye, I almost forgot about that," said Willy sheepishly. "Does it really look that bad?"

Daiyu uttered an oath under her breath, throwing her hands up in the air. Madeleine, for her part, had to admit that, yes, it really did.

"I'll get you some ice for that when we get home," she promised. She touched the tip of one finger gently to his other, unbruised, cheek. "I should have given you some last night, I'm sorry."

"Who have you been fighting?" Daiyu demanded. "Come on, through here, let me get you a cuppa."

As Willy recited the story of being attacked in Battersea Park the previous day, Daiyu herded the two of them through one of the doors into what passed for the hostel's staff room. It was part-kitchenette, with a row of counters and a sink along one wall, the former containing a slew of coffee- and tea-making equipment, and part-lounge with a battered couch and two stained armchairs. Daiyu set about making tea as she listened to Willy's story, gasping and shaking her head.

"What is wrong with some people? And the police - pah! About as much use as a chocolate fireguard. You're lucky it wasn't worse. And that you have such a good... friend."

Willy shot Madeleine an apologetic look and she shook her head, smiling, in return. The embarrassment, while still very much present, was fading slightly. At least she could be relieved that Willy was attributing her blushing to being simply embarrassed, rather than caught out.

"Daiyu," he pleaded, "You're embarrassing Madeleine! And me, but Madeleine has never done anything to upset you, so you shouldn't embarrass her for no reason."

The kettle boiled, shrieking indignation. Daiyu shook her head and muttered something under her breath. "At least tell me you're going to get a real job and help this poor girl pay her rent."

Willy visibly wilted and mumbled that Madeleine wanted him to work on his business.

"Which I do," Madeleine cut in coolly before Daiyu could say anything else. "We've come to an agreement that works for both of us. Willy is brilliant and he's going to do amazing things."

There was a tense silence as Daiyu poured hot water into three cups and the sound of clanking china as she set the cups on a tray seemed unnaturally loud. Thank you, Willy mouthed behind Daiyu's back. Madeleine winked at him in return.

"Well. As I said, it's none of my business. But you should remember you are very lucky." Daiyu set the tray on the coffee table that sat between the sofa and armchairs. By unspoken agreement, Madeleine and Willy sat together on the sofa; Daiyu took one of the armchairs. "Does that mean you're giving up on the other thing?"

"Oh, uh... no, I'll keep looking." Willy spooned sugar into his tea; his hand shook, spilling the granules across the table. "B—But we weren't having much luck, were we?"

The other thing? Not much luck? Madeleine tried to catch Willy's eye but his gaze was fixed firmly on his tea.

Daiyu shrugged. "You had an address from a decade ago. People move, all kinds of things can happen. It was always going to take time." Her expression softened, bringing truth to those smile lines. "You should keep looking. They'd want to see you and know you're all right."

"...I'll think about it," Willy conceded after a few moments.

"That's all I'm asking. If you need any more help, come back here and find me." Daiyu set her mug down and pushed herself to her feet. "All right, let me dig those things of yours out from where I hid them from Kathleen. Wait here."

As soon as Daiyu left the room, Willy let out an uncomfortable laugh. "See! What did I tell you? I told you she liked me."

"Willy—" Madeleine began, but got no further before he started talking over her.

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but she's all bark, no bite. Look! She even made us tea! How nice."

"Willy."

"Oh wow!" Willy pointed at the clock hanging above the row of counters that constituted the kitchenette. "Look at the time! We've gotta get back or you'll be late for your shift at the bar tonight. I'd better go help Daiyu find all those things so we can get out of here!"

"What, it's only—" Madeleine looked from the clock to her watch. "Willy, that's clock about three hours out — Willy?"

The only response was the bang of the door falling closed behind him.

Swearing, Madeleine set her own mug down and jumped to her feet. She wasn't angry that Willy had business she didn't know about - that was a given, really, they weren't exactly wrapped up in the minuteia each other's lives - but to go as far as to flee the room when she even tried to ask him about it? That was more than just something that hadn't come up in conversation before; it felt like he was deliberately trying to hide something from her. Who had he been looking for? His parents? Did he think she'd throw him out of her flat if she knew he had family around? Surely he knew better than that...

Madeleine pulled open the door and followed the sound of voices up the stairs to the first floor landing. After a brief hesitation, she hovered within earshot but out of sight.

"...didn't have to say it in front of Madeleine!"

"I thought you would have told her already. Why keep it a secret?"

Willy muttered something inaudible over the sound of moving boxes.

"That girl is doing enough for you already. The least you owe her is honesty." Daiyu grunted; something slid along the floor. "What do you keep in here?!"

"Uhh... clothes, spare pair of shoes, toiletries, all that kinda stuff. It has to all fit in that bag or I wouldn't be able to carry the boxes as well. Look, I'm not lying to Maddy! I'm just... I wanted to keep this to myself for now. It's my business."

"All right, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to drop you in hot water, I really thought she would already know." A pause. "...Speaking of things I think people should already know..."

"Oh, what is it now?"

Daiyu let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know if I should say this, but... knowing you - knowing boys - you can't see what's plain in front of your face. So. Be kind to that girl, Willy."

"I am! I'm really nice to her! She's my best friend!"

A laugh, hollow and weary, echoed down the stairs. "Oh, Willy. That's just it. She's not just your best friend. It's written all over her face whenever she looks at you. She's plum in love with you."

#you'll be free (if you truly wish to be)#willy wonka #willy wonka/oc #catcf 2005 #charlie and the chocolate factory #tim burton #johnny depp #willy #madeleine #there's technically another few paragraphs sitting in the draft but I am a simple woman. I love a cliffhanger.

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messyhairedhazeleyeddude · 4 months

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━━━━╝‘ I bet you think about me ’╚━━━━━

A Denji x Fem!Innocent!Reader | A little fluff + SMUT

Contents ; Innocent reader, pervert Denji (nothing changed), peer pressure, corruption, tons of suggestive innuendos, groping, heavy mention of titties, titty-sucking, PDA, guided handjob, thighjob, pornography, non-stop fucking, and obsessive behavior.

A/N ; MYYYYYY FAVORITE! This dude has been deep in my heart ever since I was introduced into CSM. And now, I place the dude above everyone on my preferred list of characters. Especially cause I relate to the man so much. He’s too careless for his own good at times, BAHAHAHAHAH. Okay, enough of me rambling, appreciate my boy and my fine story by reposting and commenting. Whatever you’re feeling for, little readers.

Dynamic ; Kind of FWB?? to Lovers

Sexual Dynamic ; Dom!Denji | Sub!Fem!Reader

P.O.V ; First & Third

Age range ; 18+

Music suggestion ;

[ Denji’s P.O.V ; ]

Today was supposed to be ordinary. Power talked her ass off most of the morning, I would chime in once in a while to joke, and Aki spouted shit at me for everything and anything I did. That’s how it went on in the apartment we lived in. In the middle of the day, we would head for the headquarters. Go back to the stressful life of a Devil Hunter.

But for me, that was nothing. I was more than happy to return to work. A lot of my co-workers complained on and on, sure you get your hands a little bloody, although most of us didn’t care about the slaughtering. It’s not like they were human. Not including the people that got in my way, that was not my fault!

All I knew is that if it meant I got to be entertained by a girl like Makima and fulfill the desires I’ve been dreaming about, that’s cool with me. And the power from Pochita was a huge plus.

Yeah, it was supposed to be another one of those days. Makima would’ve given me a case to solve had it been. But, instead, I was staring at her from across the room, talking to another girl who I didn’t recognize. Hell, was she beautiful though.

Her silky {H/C} hair looked recently done, styled into a braided half ponytail with bangs in the front. Long lashes framing her {E/C}, sweet eyes; the smile she had was enough for me to tell that she would spoil a man to his heart’s content. When my eyes drifted down her body, especially to her ass, I almost didn’t want to believe it. But, I was so sure of it. She passed Makima’s thickness by at least ten percent.

I bit my tongue and swallowed the build-up of spit before making my way to where they stood, pushing my hands in my pockets so nothing showed if I popped one. Often occurrence, do not recommend.

Keeping my eyes ahead, I tried to remain as respectful as I could be while addressing my boss, “Hey, Makima. And…” As soon as I looked over at the pretty girl, I paused so she could say her name, but at the same time, I was freaking out about how much better her appearance was up close.

My brain couldn’t keep up. She had clean, soft skin with a gradient to her cheeks and lips that made me want to go for kissing them, no hesitation. When she glanced back at me, I couldn’t pry my eyes away from hers, watching her reply to me in admiration, “Oh, my name is {Y/N}. I’ve transferred here from Special Division 7… Nice to meet you! You must be the Chainsaw boy she has been telling me about!” God, even her name fit her perfectly.

Wait. Special Division 7? A stopping record player noise sounded off in my head and I turned to Makima for an explanation. The auburn-haired woman was smirking at me like she found my reaction amusing, as always. She leaned forward from her sitting position, resting her chin on her palm, and introduced {Y/N}’s background, “Say hello to the famed Youth Devil, Denji. She’s a beautiful one, isn’t she?”

The Youth Devil? Oh, I’ve heard about her before. Aki talked about coming across someone from a division that had become the Devil that aged people, yet she apparently had no knowledge of anything outside of ‘safe-for-work territory’. Or whatever the fuck he wanted to label it as. Really, that just meant she has no idea how valuable those titties are and that gives me a high chance of getting a squeeze. Or… more.

My gaze had unconsciously drifted to her chest at the thought of that, the button of her white top barely holding because of its size as I forgot to answer Makima. So, being the Youth Devil included being incredibly busty too? Good to know.

It wasn’t until I heard the clear of her throat that I had snapped back into the present and responded without thinking, “Yeah, she is.” Turning red once I realized what I had been doing right in front of the two women, a bit of worry brimming the back of my mind.

{Y/N}’s face lit up at the compliment rather than furrowed and she was quick to thank me, “Awww, you’re so sweet! Thank you, Denji!” And for a minute, I was stuck wide-eyed, half-expecting a slap across the cheek because I was obviously checking her out. Well, I’ll be fucking damned. I guess what Aki was saying about her was true after all.

Before I could get out a ‘You’re welcome’, Makima interrupted by getting off of the desk she was using as a seat, nonchalantly dismissing herself, “I have some things to attend to, so I’m sorry to say, but I’m taking my leave. I hope you find yourself comfortable with Denji, {Y/N}!”

About to pass me up, her intimidating yellow eyes locked onto mine and she leaned to whisper into my ear, “If you want to play with her so badly, why don’t you make her your new toy? You’re strong, right?” Then she walked off as if she didn’t suggest what she just did. My eyebrows and goosebumps raising at the comment. She was encouraging me to do it?

Chewing on my bottom lip, my breathing slowly got worse as I was left with horrible thoughts and a growing erection. {Y/N} not making it any better because she lingered. Don’t get me wrong, I was fine in hanging out with her. More than fine. But, not with all of this also in mind now.

“What’d she say?” She asked, fluttering those long eyelashes at me, and I didn’t know why but when I looked into her {E/C} eyes again— it was like millions of memories were yanked out of my brain and put in them like a projector. Causing me to take a step back and rub away whatever was happening in startled confusion. What the fuck was that?

I blinked away the rest I could, however, I remembered everything so that didn’t help; coming to a conclusion from the look she gave. My head wasn’t the one messing with me, it was her. Or whatever the hell that fucking power is. And I was not cool with that.

Avoiding eye contact by glaring at the floor, I grumbled, “Was that you?” I wasn’t going to hang around for any longer if she wanted to manipulate my mind, especially if it was concerning something like my past. I didn’t want to be reminded. I came here to escape.

A gasp left her like she was frightened before I saw her in my peripheral vision; raising a hand and putting it on her forehead. She took a moment to answer me in a tired voice, “I was just trying to find out more about you… I got too curious, I’m so sorry.”

Hearing her say that was reassuring and gave me the go to stare at her again, my tone dropping back to that same inviting one from earlier, “Oh, shit.. Well, yeah. I don’t have that great of a life so I wouldn’t pry too far.” I tried to shrug it off, rushing to a solution so it didn’t get awkward, “You want to go get some ice cream or something, gorgeous?” It was a last minute suggestion, but that could work.

The {H/C}-haired girl seemed to be near crying before she nodded slowly, a smile rising on her face as she unexpectedly got close to me and intertwined her fingers in mine. Pulling me off along with her while chiming, “Who doesn’t?! I’d love to!” Easier than I thought. But, I’m not complaining.

──⇌• Switch in P.O.V ; Third •⇋──

On the way to the ice-cream shop, Denji stumbled on a couple of rouge devils with {Y/N} in an alleyway and as fate has it with them, they ended up having to chase them down into a field. Faced with the ugly things combining into a whole bundle of disgusting flesh and faces.

She had solved what they were dealing with as soon as they began merging while he did not. Denji didn’t care for details, he wanted to go straight into shredding. He gripped onto his pull cord and tugged, the chainsaws ripping through his skull and arms. Making the curious girl stay behind and observe how he handled the monstrous creature.

With a rush of adrenaline, the now transformed Chainsaw Devil tore into its body, piece by piece. Blood and guts splattered everywhere onto the ground from the relentlessness he had. Getting onto {Y/N} because of how much had sprayed.

He finished when he wanted to. Raging on the thing until it was nothing but a pile of mush left to pitifully sit in the middle of the empty space it sought out for safety.

Then he retracted his chainsaws back into himself, his skin latching and coming together when he did. Molding back into his handsome, worn face. Like nothing happened. Leaving {Y/N} to blankly gaze at him, soaked in red, and drift down to witness the true wrath of Denji.

No doubt was she intimidated by the boy, seeing for herself what Makima had been commending about him. He was the real deal. A true Devil Hunter.

Wiping off the blood from around her mouth, she began to smile and clap with a giddy cheer, “That was impressive! You’re really good to be able to take out a Devil that easily. How long have you been in the game?”

He raised a brow at how she was phrasing their work, confused that she was asking but deciding to respond anyway, “I guess as soon as I could survive on my own, I’ve been hunting. It’s all I’ve known.” Saying it so casually out loud was weird for him. No one usually asks about this type of stuff. Other than when Makima does. But, here was another girl doing it.

{Y/N}’s face twisted into a look of wonder, twinges of sadness in it as she thought about a young boy having to deal with that kind of stress. It made him charming somehow. She felt the need to praise him for it, “The dedication you have to helping people is inspiring.. I hope to achieve the same goal as you, Denji.” A small appreciative smile was sent his way right after she finished.

Although, his attention was completely misplaced. Guess where; her breasts. He was zoned, an idea coming to him when hearing her instead. “My goal? You could help me achieve that, {Y/N},” the blonde beamed. His brown eyes finally getting off of her chest to address her politely.

She moved forward, innocently egging him on, “Oh, really? How?” The way she peered back at him while waiting, that sweet look never leaving her face once, it gave Denji the confidence he needed to elaborate, “Ever since I’ve been thrown into devil-hunting, I only wanted one thing out of it.”

Walking closer, he leaned to where he almost touched foreheads with her, murmuring the last sentence, “A pretty girl who’d let me fondle her body, whenever, wherever…” He felt guilty after saying it, but the eagerness was too much. There was no way he would pass this chance up.

Thinking to herself, she concluded what he was hinting to and thumbed the bottom of her shirt; lifting it over her head and throwing it to the side like it was something natural. He held his breath at the sudden action, the full view in front of him because she wasn’t wearing a bra. ‘This was quick..! Why is she undressing?!’ Panicked thoughts went rampant as he tried to process what to do, glued to admiring her front half while also confused about what her reasoning for this was.

The {E/C}-eyed girl told him it with the purest intention possible, “You seemed to be interested in my chest so I guessed that this is the part of me you wanted to touch? And I was uncomfortable by the bloody mess. But, sorry if I got it wrong! I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” Even though she had no clue on what she was truly doing, she still managed to get it dead on. Making Denji chuckle out of excitement.

His sharp teeth poked out in a snarky grin at {Y/N}, his hand reaching over to palm one of her breasts and squeeze. Most of it filling the cracks of his fingers and fitting perfectly, if not a little bigger. That grin of his widened like he was off of his rocker as he got greedy; grabbing both of them to push them together. They were so soft. So fuckable. He wanted to stick his dick in them so badly.

A whimper slipped past her lips and Denji went from eyeing her breasts to looking at her brushing her hair out of the way for him. Butterflies erupting in his stomach at how considerate she was despite him taking advantage of her obliviousness. All he could do was commend and thank her with a red blush across his cheeks, “Thank you… so much. Fuck, I can’t even believe that you’re real right now. Your boobs are so fucking huge..!”

She would’ve laughed at the comment if his touches weren’t affecting her like this, his fingertips brushing past her nipples to mess with them, the perverted bite to his lip drawing a bit of blood to dribble down his chin. The girl arched into the feeling and moaned softly, struggling to speak, “Hah.. Thanks.! W-Wow! Why does that mm-feel good?”

They were out in the open, but Denji wanted to go for the risk. He didn’t care if anyone came across the two of them fucking like animals, he just wanted to do it. And nothing was going to stop him the moment he could tell that she wanted to do it with him too.

He pushed on what she said, using it as bait, “You want me to make you feel better? I can teach you a couple more things… Something that’d make us feel incredible.” And as she was about to reply, he leveled with one of her breasts and gave a lick to the bud; a squeal leaving her instead.

Repeating himself, he mumbled against her nipple, her breath hitching at his sharp teeth grazing it slightly as he talked, “Keep getting yourself undressed, pretty baby… I want to have some fun with you.” He sounded desperate, {Y/N} falling for it and hooking her fingers on her skirt zipper, unzipping it and letting it fall to the ground.

Denji grunted and wrapped his entire mouth around the bud after that, sucking at it while unbuttoning his pants. Digging in his boxers to tug out his throbbing dick so it was no longer suffocated. He made a fist around his shaft and began jerking off, pre-cum forming around his tip the more he tightened on the veiniest part.

She peeked over the side of him to get a look at what he was doing, holding her legs together when she was beginning to feel something wet between them, entranced at his lower half. It looked satisfying to do and he had mentioned playing so it seemed normal to go for. But, she was in for a surprise because as she attempted to replace his hand, he jolted back and huffed, “Woah, woah… I don’t think you want to get that serious. Who knows what I might do to you if you do…”

Honestly, {Y/N} really loved the sound of everything he was talking about and she didn’t want this to end. She wanted it to go further. Her curiosity wasn’t something to tease, she will figure it out, one way or another. So, she swiftly rushed back in front of him and pressed up against him, resting her chin on his collarbone while she barely rested her fingers on the tip. Begging at him for compliance, “Please, sir… I do want to find out…”

He sucked in some air through his teeth and tensed, almost driven crazy from the pleasure of her contact with him there. It was a noticeable difference between her hand and his dick but he could definitely make it work. And after her asking like that, she was in for a treat.

The brown-eyed boy grabbed her wrist to position her fingers at a better angle before he guided it down his shaft, watching her unable to wrap her whole palm around from how thick he was. He groaned, his own sexual frustrations leaving from his mouth as she got to savor them now.

Eventually, {Y/N} caught onto him pushing her to go faster and sped up her movements as best as she could. Joining her other hand to clasp around his cock to stroke everything rather than a portion. Until he ended up impatient and lifted her up with his arms underneath hers, holding around her ass to move himself in the middle of her legs. Slowly sliding in the correct position; his dick melting in between her pussy and thighs.

Denji lowered her onto him now, grinding their pleasure out while they locked eyes with each other in a half-lidded daze. She moaned vicariously, stuttering some words here and then to emphasize what she was experiencing, “It’s making me feel so… weak! Nnghh-ah ah! Chainsaw.. boy.. wait! I feel so weird..!” His hips began to collide with hers as he increased in speed, closing his eyes to pretend he was fucking into her. He didn’t want to get too ahead of himself out in public though. He had to be reminded about the consequences they could face if they were caught.

She was ignored and sputtered nonsense once she got close, “God! I think… I have to go! I have to go! Stop! I don’t- mmppph.. wanna..! DENJI!” The blonde figured it was because she hadn’t cummed before and knowing that he was the one that was gifting her— her first orgasm— made him spiral in a violent fit of thrusting hard into the folds of her pussy, right against her puffy clit.

Whines yelped out of her as her juices poured all over his length, creating sharper wet sounds and more friction for him. His tip swollen by the time he was close to falling off of the edge of cloud nine with her. Once Denji could feel the rush of his cum trying to spill, he gave a final ram and angled it around her hole to allow it into {Y/N} a little. She trembled in his hold, watching him leave her legs, bruised and messy. Satisfaction written all on his face at what he got away with.

They didn’t even clean up the cum when they went back for the office, deciding to do it a couple of hours later despite both of them feeling the slick in their underwear. Instead, they kept glancing at each other, exchanging a knowing stare until someone interrupted it to talk to either one of them. That sexual tension never stopped fucking with Denji. And {Y/N} was simple-minded as always, in her own little world.

But, she didn’t bat an eye when the boy randomly slipped hands into her shirt one day to get a feel or let her know he was horny by pressing his boner against her ass. He would whisper dirty words to her throughout it, coaxing her into doing things, just for him, “I want to go back to messing with you, babydoll… Can we go inside one of those bathrooms? Need to relieve this.”

{Y/N} would go into the bathroom and he would strip her down like she was a doll, his pants to his knees, her chest resting on the sink and displaying her in front of the mirror. He took her virginity in them. Forcing his cock to slam into her walls, reaching for her guts, all to get lost in her warm pussy. Denji growled loudly, echoing in the tiny room they were locked in while he demanded, “Spread yourself for me. I want to see my dick plunging inside that cute body of yours..!”

Only able to comply, she used both of her hands to pull her ass apart, exposed completely for him to see as he got worse in his constant pounding. Making the poor {Y/N} drool while she twitched in ecstasy, her orgasm running through her for the second time when he wouldn’t quit.

His honey brown eyes seemed so sweet at first, but now they were glaring deep at her expressions, resting into a melted one the second he neared his end. Denji released every drop inside without hesitation, her moans rocking out of her because of him slowing down as he humped it into her.

Then he started over in the same rough pace from before and she endured it as much as she could, her eyebrows knitting up into an exasperated, sweaty look. He was like a dog mating when it came to sex; stamina, aggressive, and having a bunch of cum to dump. {Y/N} was holding onto the sides of the glass counter once he had cummed for a second time, burrowing his cock deep like it was a ritual by now.

And he repeated. Leaving the girl to barely understand what was happening to her from the overstimulation. Denji wasn’t stopping. Even as she screamed for him to, “Fuck! Please! Please, master, I can’t handle anymore!” The pet name he directed her to say a regular word for her at this point.

After his seed was spilling out of her on its own and creating a puddle on the floor, after Denji was dry-cumming and making her unravel onto him like she was throwing a fit off of drugs; that’s when he finally gave up and got off of her. Slipping his dick out and shuddering a couple of words laced with dopamine, “Not so bad for our first hook-up… I don’t know if I want to wait for the others.” Was he hinting at going for more rounds? ‘Dear god..’ was the last thing she could think before she dropped unconscious.

Lil Special Extra // Denji’s P.O.V

Weeks had passed by after me and {Y/N} became a ‘thing’. Hooking up led to a lot more and now she was basically at my apartment almost every day. Sure, Aki and Power were annoyed at her presence, not wanting to hear or see any of the exchanges we gave. But, a man’s gotta live and how can he not without slapping his girlfriend’s ass?

However, there was one downside to her staying over and that was her availability in walking in on me doing lots of inappropriate activities. Whether that was jerking off to her or to… porn.

She bursted into my room late at night after having woken up from a nap in the living room and I was right in the middle of rubbing one out to my favorite fantasy porno. Jumping out of my skin when I heard her shout, “Darling, you miss-! Oh…” The small ‘oh’ quieter than the rest.

My hand and dick glistened with the lube I had saved for times like this, a blush covering my face as I snapped the laptop shut. The sounds of sex disappearing with it.

Anxiety raged through me at how she was going to react, completely forgetting that she barely had a grip on anything sexual until she squeaked out, “What was that? Can I… see?” As soon as I heard that, I quickly dropped the embarrassment and those dirty thoughts snapped back into my usual perverted personality.

Shit, I almost didn’t remember who I was and who she was. Beckoning for her to come sit down on my lap once she closed the door.

{Y/N} straddled me and observed as I opened the screen back up to the lewd scene of a woman being bred just like she had been. Her eyes going wide and a blush crossing her cheeks at the similarity. That innocence of hers was going to be ruined real quick around me. And I loved ruining it. Sliding my fingers down in between her legs like usual so I could welcome her to another sexual addiction I’d use for my benefit.

#csm denji #csm smut #smut #smut prompts #csm x reader #csm denji x reader #denji x reader #denji x reader smut #denji x fem reader #denji x fem reader smut #this boy crazy with the fucking #kinda kin the dude #corruption kink

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slasherstories123 · 2 years

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Hello again! Could you do how the Sinclair brothers plus Brahms would react to a bee stealing a noodle from their S/O's plate? Like in that one video lol. I think their reactions would be hilarious. I love your writing ❤

The Sinclair brothers and Brahms seeing a bee steal a noodle from their s/o plate

Parring: The Sinclair brothers (separate) and Brahms heelshire x GN! Reader

A/N: oh I know EXACTLY which video you’re talking about! I found it funny! And cute at the same time, hope you like it!

Tagslist: @brxwrvth @callmemeelah @fluffy-little-demon @early20sfailingplenty @slash3rl0v3r @the-anxious-youth @beanbagbitch @dootys @mehidktbh

Bo Sinclair🔧

You and Bo were both eating cup noodles outside, just enjoying the nice weather outside.

Bo was listening to you telling him a funny story, when he didn’t hear you speak anymore,he looked up to see you sitting really still. Seeing a bee flying right next to you

“Y/N what are you doing?”

“I heard that if you don’t move then the bee will go away.”

He shook his head, looking at the bee. Instead of the bee landing on your body, it landed on your fork, trying to take the strand of noodle you had on your fork. “That was my noodle ya know!”

The bee then flew away with the noodle, leaving Bo there in shock. You then looked at Bo, trying to hold back your laughter.

“Did that..”

You then burst out laughing, seeing the look on his face was priceless. “Did that bee just take a noodle?” It takes a lot for Bo to be surprised at something, and this was it.

A bee taking a noodle makes Bo Sinclair shocked, it was worth seeing too! “How does a bee steal a noodle?” Bo’s question did cross your mind, how is that possible?

But hey look on the bright side at least you didn’t get stung, and you got to see Bo’s priceless face!

It’s a win win!

Vincent Sinclair 🕯

You and Vincent liked to eat in the basement most of the time, you always joined him down in the basement if he was too busy to come upstairs.

Being the nice person you were you always made sure he was okay, including giving him snacks here and there and plates of dinner and or lunches you’ve made.

This time you made spaghetti for the two men, while you both were eating you decided to admire some of the art work he has done.

You didn’t even realize that Vincent was trying to get your attention, “Yes Vinny?” He then pointed at his ear, telling you to listen. You heard buzzing sounds, almost like a bee?

You turned your head, trying to figure out where it’s coming from, you then felt little legs crawl on your hand, Vincent pointed at your hand. A bee landed on your hand, where’d it come from? And how was it still alive?

If Bo sees an insect or a bee bee the first one to kill it without hesitation. This bee is a lucky one!

“Hello little bee!” You exclaimed happily.

The bee then landed in the corner of your plate, stealing the end of the noodle. Vincent tilted his head as the bee flew away with the noodle. “Hey, my noodle! You noodle thief!” You laughed, shaking your head slightly at the bee.

If Vincent could laugh, he could, he was confused but at the same time he found it oddly cute.

Great, now he wants to draw you with the bee in your hand. Not that he’s complaining m, he likes drawing you anyway!

He’s gonna have to hide it too, he’ll be embarrassed if you find it😟

Lester Sinclair 🛻

Both of you decided to go in the backyard since it was a nice sunny day, both eating ramen noodles that you made while watching Jonsey play with one of her toys,

A bee flew on the palm of your hand.

“Hey Lester look!” You exclaimed, gently moving your hand so he could see. He looked at you with a questionable look in his eyes, he then smiled when he saw the bee on your hand.

“Woah cool a bee landed on your hand!”

You put the bowl in your lap, giving the bee your full attention, the bee looked fluffy up close, it looked cute!

Before you could touch it, the bee flew into your bowl.

It took the last strand of noodle you had in your bowl, you then could hear Lester laughing.

“Ya know if you wanted the noodle you could’ve just asked! Noodle thief!”

“That bee stole a noodle! That’s hilarious!”

Unlike Bo, Lester likes insects and animals so he would be surprised to see a bee actually take something, but he was too caught up in his laughter to really think about it.

Jonsey didn’t pay attention to neither of you, she just focused on her toy, nearly ripping it appear with her teeth and nails. Tail wagging happily.

You eventually began to laugh along with the man next to you, you’re only laughing because you find his laugh funny.

And when Lester laughs, you laugh… that’s just how it goes 😭

Brahms Heelshire📚

Since the mansion is kinda old, there’s little cracks here and there so it’s easy access for many insects.

Brahms will kill them only for a kiss as a reward since you’re to scared to do it, especially ones that fly.

Sometimes you and Brahms will scream and run away from flying insects, (I don’t blame you cause I’d do the same thing😭)

You introduced Brahms to ramen noodles, seems like he likes it a LOT,

So you made it frequently when lunch time came around, both of you were sitting by each other by the table, talking about a book that you both got through reading from last night

Brahms has good hearing, so he was the first one to hear buzzing sounds.

“I hear some insect flying around,”

Sighing to yourself, you put your bowl of noodles down on the table. Listening to where the buzzing sounds are coming from.

The sounds got closer and closer, you then saw the bee fly to the table. “Oh it’s just a bee.” The bee flies onto the table right by Brahms

Surprisingly, he didn’t scream nor run, he’s never seen a bee up close before. “Bee looks fuzzy.”

The bee then flew to the noodle you had on your fork, taking the noodle off of it.

“Hey! That’s my noodle!” You laughed. Shooing the bee away.

Brahms tiled his head at the bee, he doesn’t know what bees actually does besides collect pollen from flowers.

“Bees steal noodles?” He asked. You shook his head at the question, laughing at what just happened. “No, bees don’t steal noodles.” All you could do was laugh at Brahms’s confused expression.

He then laughed with you, laughter filling the old, empty mansion.

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sluttbuttsstuff · 2 years

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Story: S/O found out she's pregnant and afraid to tell she is carrying a baby (or probably twins?) for two weeks and decided to keep it a secret. I would like to see Bucci gang's reaction being a little weirded out seeing their girlfriend silent or quick spoken, eating weird food cravings and would eat a lot, always going to the bathroom, then suddenly found a pregnancy kit, showing two strips.

All Characters depicted are 18 or older

(I didn’t include Giorno in this one, because depending on who you ask he either is or isn’t a part of Bucci gang. Hope you enjoy!)

Bruno was the first to know. Well, it’s debatable whether he knew or just really, really wanted it to be true. He saw you waking up at night for frequent bathroom trips, followed by unusual midnight snacks. He simply waited for you to come back to bed, starting a new nightly ritual-holding you from behind, placing his hands on your stomach. Bruno said you tasted differently; when he held you he felt something new, and yet something that felt so familiar, so much like the two of you combined. It was almost like welcoming a family member home after so long. When he heard the truth from you, he didn’t shout or jump up, run out into the streets passing out cigars. He simply smiled at you, nodding unsurprised. It was just right, and he was so excited for the both of you.

Leone, a former Policeman, could put the pieces together pretty quickly. He saw the way strong perfumes affected you, and the morning sicknesses were regular but not serious. He was actually the first one to convince you to visit the doctor-who confirmed his previous suspicions. Give him some credit: he might come off occasionally as callous, or uncaring- but those amber-lavendar eyes see EVERYTHING you do. And even though he’d prefer you didn’t know the depths he cared for you, and even though on your worst days sometimes you do, he CARES for you. DEEPLY. Deeply enough to give you nightly footrubs without being asked to. He tries to hide it, but he starts borrowing and reading child and baby care books he borrowed from Bruno. He separates a shelf in the fridge JUST for your own special food cravings. He will never bring it up, and might even try to deny it-but he’s very happy to be having this baby with you. It feels like a second chance on life, and he gets to live it with you.

Believe it or not, Narancia is the next person to realize you’re pregnant. Just because he has an elementary level of mathematics, and never finished school, doesn’t mean he’s a naive idiot. Don’t forget- this guy lived on the streets for most of his youth-he’s seen a lot of pregnancies happen to his friends and friend’s partners. He’s able to tell pretty quickly when you complain about nausea, and start eating food combinations you’ve never touched before. He brings it up to you before you bring it up to him-rather suddenly in fact. Narancia isn’t the type to think over his words carefully, and DEFINITELY doesn’t like the idea of keeping secrets between the two of you. He waits outside you bathroom, pacing back and forth waiting for the results. When you finally do come out with the positive result, he has to stop himself from picking you up and into a bear hug-he has to be careful around the two of you now. Narancia tries really hard to become a good father, although it isn’t easy to change overnight. If he hasn’t at least gotten a G.E.D. or Italian equivalent by this point, he makes sure to get that before his child is born. He also Goes on a shopping spree and buys baby clothes, toys, and other products every time he goes to a store-he just wants to give the child everything he never had. Secretly, he stays up at night sometimes worrying if he’ll end up being like his own cold, deadbeat dad, but he’s too ashamed to bring it up. Whether or not he tells you, YOU tell HIM that he’s going to be a wonderful father, and then he knows that you’re right.

Fugo takes a little longer, perhaps longer than you’d expect, to discover you’re pregnant. In fact, you might need to be the one to tell him, if not for the fact he notices your growing stomach and doctor appointments. It’s not due to disinterest in your life, or denial on his behalf. In all honesty, he just hasn’t had a ton of experience with women. His mom was cold and reserved with him at best, and though he tried to understand and sympathize with Trish, he never really got the chance to befriend her, at least not in canon timeline. When he does eventually find out though, he’s nervous but excited. He handles the news the way he handles everything-over preparing and researching the HELL out of it! He reads Bruno’s child rearing literature, takes Lamaze classes with you, hell, starts studying women’s health and OBGYN during his free time! There are a lot of scary, uncontrollable things about children and parenthood that sometimes scare him and make him question his ability to be a parent- but he WANTS to do this with you. And talking through his anxieties with you, and knowing that you will be doing this as a TEAM make him feel not only better, but happy.

Mista, bless his heart, is the last to know. Despite loving the ladies very much, he doesn’t necessarily pick up on your new ”quirks” as being related to pregnancy. You stopped drinking? Oh, maybe you’re trying to be healthier, good for you! You’re having odd cravings? Must be to replace the alcohol cravings! suddenly you start having sudden bursts of emotions and crying randomly that he begins to panic. Is this new health fad really good for you? What’s got you so upset? What? What do you mean he’s a ‘dense idiot’? Finally, when you spell it out for him, he takes about three seconds until…click! OH! That explains a lot actually. Hey wait a minute, you’re PREGNANT!! He’s so excited, hugging and kissing you excitedly, calling up his friends and debating with you over who should be the baby’s godfather. He’s very laid back about your pregnancy-not uncaring, just doesn’t know a lot as a first-time father. It’s important to communicate your wants and needs with him, but he’ll work with you, and takes on a lot more responsibility in preparation for your child. Actually, you miiiiiight have to talk him down a bit, he’s starting to consider having five or six more after this one…

#jjba #imagines #mine #sluttbuttsstuff #sluttbuttstuff #bruno x reader #narancia x reader #mista x reader #leone x reader #fugo x reader

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yuueee · 3 years

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𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 fire lord! zuko x fire lady! reader

authors note: Firstly I just want to apologize for the hiatus, I want to be more active from now on! I’m starting finals next week so I’ll thankfully be done with this semester soon and will also have more time to write. Anyways I hope you enjoy!! I also want to apologize if Zuko is ooc here.

requests:

First of all, your tumblr looks sooooo cool! I’m looking forward to reading all of your future work! Imagine this: Zuko is annoyed by people constantly asking him about a future heir, but when one day his friends also start to ask, and even his uncle and his own mother join the baby fever train, it’s too much for him so he complains about it to his wife who only reassures him with her lovely self and her understanding smiles, not telling him yet that she is in fact pregnant. What do you think ?

Can you write an imagine with zuko who is clearly, utterly and soooo obviously in love with the reader (outgoing, courageous, loving) and maybe with the prompt “So you...well...I mean...I could give you a massage?” Thank you a lot! ^^

As the current Fire Lord and Lady, it wasn’t uncommon for the citizens of the Fire Nation to be deeply invested in your relationship - it was to be expected especially due to the uncommon nature of your union. What you weren’t expecting were Zuko’s close friends and relatives being wrapped up in your business as well. Being outside of team avatar, you were naturally more welcoming to his friend's constant questioning, but Zuko on the other hand was not. He couldn’t understand why they cared so much all of the sudden. They hadn’t been as interested when he was in a relationship with Mai - so why did they care so much now?

It wasn’t as if you weren’t getting along with his friends or family - you got along with them quite well and were very loved by them in fact. Outside of them though, you weren’t always as welcomed, unfortunately, the Fire Nation was still coming to terms with having the daughter of an Earth Kingdom General as their Fire Lady. The arranged marriage was put in place to solve several different ‘problems’. After Zuko broke up with Mai several years ago, he hadn’t begun dating anyone else due to being so busy but he’d eventually be expected to have an heir in the next coming years.

Although they had gotten better, tensions among the Earth Kingdom Colonies were still high and both sides were having difficulty keeping them under control. Eventually, an agreement was made for the daughter of a high-ranking Earth Kingdom General to marry Zuko - that daughter being yourself. Arranged marriages certainly weren’t unheard of in either nation - but a union of this sort was definitely unique.

Though he certainly wasn’t thrilled about it, Zuko understood that it was for the good of the people - and it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it anyway. Even with his position as the recently crowned Fire Lord there still wasn’t much he could do.

On the other hand, you understandably had some issues coming to terms with your new situation at first. Despite being known by those around you as friendly and just a joy, in general, to be around - the woman Zuko had first met was quite the opposite. He could recall it like it was yesterday. Though it was awkward and stressful at the time, he now considered it to be the best day of his life.

“She’s in there.” A female servant whispered to the young man quietly, as if she didn’t want to speak loud enough for you to hear from your place at the balcony.

“Thanks,” he replied with a soft smile, bidding the elderly woman goodbye as she shuffled down the hallway. Turning towards you he was faced with a warm tropical breeze. His advisors had arranged for the two of you to meet a couple of weeks before that dreaded day, and for some reason, they thought Ember Island was the appropriate place. A combination of anxiety and general distaste for being on the island was causing him to be quite stressed - which led him to be more awkward than usual.

“Um, hello?” he spoke up faintly, as if not to startle you. He was sure you heard him come in, but you hadn’t turned around since he entered the small room. You stood several feet away with your hands placed on the railing, your [hair-texture] locks sifting gently with each gust of wind along with your predominantly red clothing. It was against what you had wanted to wear that day but it didn’t seem as if you had much a say in anything going on in your life recently.

You understood that doing this would be for the greater good of the Earth Kingdom and that your situation could technically be worse. You could have been married off to some old creep - but if you were being honest with yourself being married to the Fire Lord sounded just as bad. As you turned around though, you were surprised at the face you were met with.

He had a much younger face than you had expected, but the slight hollowness of his cheeks and the worry lines on his forehead told you that he had experienced things beyond his years. He also happened to be quite handsome - not that you wanted to admit it though. You had been bent on hating him ever since your father told you who you’d be wedding.

He was the leader of the Fire Nation, of course, you would hate him! The country that has had a century-long reign of terror on the world - and now you found yourself engaged to their leader. What had you done so wrong in your life to deserve this?

As much as you wanted to plan on running away the first chance you got, you knew deep inside that it would only cause tensions to increase and more issues to arise. You wanted the best for the residents of the Earth Kingdom, so you agreed to go through with it, but did so resentfully - which you had every right to feel that way.

But as you glared up at the young male next to you and tried to keep your attention off of the scar over his left eye - you couldn’t help but wonder what if this was the man who joined the avatar in defeating the Fire Lord? He wasn’t what you expected at all. Standing in full armor with his hair holding the fire nation insignia in a top knot - he looked awkward and out of place. You almost felt bad for him - keyword is almost.

“What do you need Fire Lord?” you questioned him, turning your gaze back to the rushing waters of the ocean.

“Um,” he faltered slightly, probably not anticipating your response. “I just wanted to introduce myself-“

“I know who you are.” you brushed him off, turning around and walking towards him - grabbing his collar and pulling him to your height. “We might be getting married but if you think for a second I will ever be nice to you, you are sadly mistaken.” you hissed at him before letting him go and walking out of the door.

Zuko couldn’t recall how long he stood there watching your form leave, all he remembered was standing there like an idiot with a red face. He hadn’t expected you to like him of course but he surely wasn’t expecting that.

As he reminisced on memories long ago while sipping his Uncle’s tea, he couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his features. As stated earlier, It may have been an unpleasant memory back then but now he considered the day he met you to be the best day of his life. Though your relationship had surely faired through many complications for a while in the beginning - surprisingly, you became fond of Zuko over the years.

It was certainly a long time coming but that strange friendship you two shared eventually evolved into love against all odds. That didn’t mean you weren’t constantly giving him an ear full (as you should tbh) your first months together. But as time progressed and you learned that he may not have been the evil prince that you had heard so much about, at least not anymore.

He wasn’t that same angsty teenager he had been years ago looking for the avatar, he was now a young adult growing quite well into the position of the Fire Lord - which was no easy feat. Taking another sip of tea, he watched his Uncle and Mother come to take a seat with him.

“How is it, Nephew?” His Uncle asked with a mischievous grin and a raise of two bushy eyebrows - albeit already knowing the answer.

“It’s great as always Uncle,” Zuko responded with a small smile, his Uncle's expression making him just a bit concerned, causing his Mother to chuckle. Though she had gained a few wrinkles over the past couple of years, she was still as radiant as she had been in her youth. She was also much happier being able to live with the family she had been apart from for many years without fearing Ozai’s intervention. It came with a price though - it seemed as if her relationship with her estranged daughter who was now on the run would never be resolved. She never lost hope though.

“Zuko,” his mother began speaking, catching the young Fire Lord’s attention with a raise of his eyebrows. “When are you going to give me a grandchild?” She asked teasingly, eager to see his reaction. In turn, her son had barely kept himself from spitting out the mouthful of tea.

“Why do you ask that?” He choked out in between a series of coughs with Iroh patting his back gently.

“You haven’t?” She asked in between chuckles, noticing how her son got bewildered at the mention of having children of his own. “You know you’ll eventually have to have an heir at some point right?”

“It’s not that I haven’t thought about it... but Y/N and I are just really busy.” He thought aloud, wishing he could run a hand through his hair - but was unable to since it was pinned in a top knot.

“Zuko, you never know when you’ll get this time of peace again. What better time to raise a child?” Iroh reassured, wiggling his eyebrows. Letting out a groan, the young Fire Lord attempted to mentally prepare himself to go through this same conversation every time he visited his family.

Over the next couple of weeks, the constant badgering he received from his friends and close relatives started to frustrate him further, so who could he turn to? You of course.

Being married for several years now, you were more than used to Zuko’s rants, so you simply just reclined on the bed with an eyebrow raised as he paced back and forth.

“I don’t get it! Why is everyone so concerned about when we’re going to have a child or not?” He questioned seemingly no one as you attempted to keep your face from contorting into a smile. It wasn’t as if you didn’t understand his frustrations, it was just funny to watch, especially since you were already pregnant.

You were surprised that he hadn’t noticed honestly, with you staying in for the past few days due to feeling sick. Who could blame him though? It wasn’t as if he wasn’t attentive and loving as a husband, he was extremely busy as of recent-and also just dense at times. After noticing his silence for a few moments as he looked over the balcony, you decided that maybe this could be the perfect time to tell him.

Getting up and sneaking behind him, you snaked your arms around his waist and turned so you could see his face. He let out an audible sigh of what sounded like relief before returning your smile and your hug.

“You want a head massage?” You questioned pulling away, wiggling your fingers playfully.

“Please.”

For the past couple of years, Zuko had been letting his hair grow out so now it rested around his shoulders.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” You started tentatively, but as usual, he was too caught up in the sensation of your fingers raking across his scalp to entirely understand what you were saying, so he just nodded in response. “I’m pregnant.” You stated plainly, ceasing your scratching. Not getting a response for a few moments, you turned to face him with a worried expression.

Much to your surprise he was grinning up at you and placed a warm hand on your cheek. “Really?”

“Yes. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell y-“ you were abruptly cut off by him pulling you into another hug and placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “So you’re happy about it?”

“Couldn’t be happier.” He responded sincerely, leaning into your shoulder so you couldn’t see the redness on his cheeks.

Maybe your family and friends would finally leave the two of you alone now?

taglist: @practicallylivesonline @chewymoustachio

#Zuko imagine #Zuko x reader #Zuko x you #zuko x y/n #avatar x reader #avatar imagine #avatar x you #avatar x y/n #atla #atla x you #atla x reader #atla imagine #atla x y/n #avatar the last airbender #avatar #Zuko

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bluarlequinno · 2 years

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ON HEATHERS THE MOVIE/MUSICAL

So I’ve been a fan of Heathers for quite a while now, I’ve seen this movie for probably more than 20 times in less than half a year and I’ve read multiple essays analyzing both the movie and the characters. Ive seen video reactions, opinions, interviews of both the actors and Daniel Waters and I’ve read the original script not to mention I’ve seen the 2014 musical.

I mention all of this because i wanna talk about why the 2014 musical is a complete piece of garbage and should have never existed at all.

I think to start explaining why the musical doesn’t work i have to explain the obvious shit.

Heathers is on nature absurd, the movie is absurd anyone who sees it and isn’t use to absurd satire will get the wrong impression of it as i have seen a million times in video reactions, people don’t understand it and see it as a chaotic nonsense and even though it infuriates me to no end, I don’t blame them after all not all of us are into this kind of humor and definitely not everyone gets it, but back to the point.

This movie is absurd and nonsensical at first sight, but that’s the point of it, you come in expecting another cheesy 80s movie and get out being thrown into a ride with unexpected turns and turns or whatever. The reason is very simple, its meant to cause a strong reaction on the viewers, is meant to make you feel something is not quite right, that can’t be all? There most be something deeper than lame jokes and dietcoke heads, right? Right? Well yes in fact there is, but most people don’t go that second step and is painfully obvious the musical writers didn’t reach the second step or just didn’t even care to reach it because their musical is awful, its like you put heathers in a blender, add completely different ingredients and then make your dog eat it and vomit it right after. Disgusting, annoying and just straight up shit., but back to the point.

Satire searches to make fun of a statement, wether it is politic, religious, social, economic etc. it feeds on polemic topics to create comedy, most cynical people enjoy it because it tells them what they already thought themselves, but gives them a good laugh about it and if isn’t obvious by now, Heathers is an absurd satire that searches to critique multiple things at once, but all surrounding one topic, adolescence and the absurdity of its culture.

Something’s it critiques is first the most obvious one, the glorification of suicide and the absurd level of god complex people who commit suicide are put upon, treated as innocent angels loved and adore by everyone also adding up how hypocrite people can be when it comes to suicide, but that one is obvious lets talk to another elements it also critiques.

>The romanization of youth and teenage years.

>A parody of teenage movies, especially cheesy 80s romance movies

>stereotypical tropes

>mental illness and its romanization

>the teenagers culture (you know like mean girls,jocks, nerds, geeks, goths etc.) More specifically American teenage culture (as a Mexican i can tell you there is a teenage culture, but it's pretty different)

And i could keep going, but this movie is a whole other level, it takes all those topics and makes a critique about it even if in a minimum level, it gives you a sense of absurdity because at the end of the day its absurd, how society treats this is absurd because at the end high school ends, you’re not gonna be in high school forever.

Not to mention it makes an allegory on power dynamics and how high school politics are a mirror of politics in society.

One thing most people don’t understand when seeing heathers is that this movie is about power, is how we use that power and how it affects the people around us.

As an allegory to capitalism, we complain about the injustice of salary and how the middle class and low class have to keep working like dogs to be able survive and how we wanna change this somehow, but most once they reach power (yk being famous and rich) they benefit from this injustice and take a role of a viewer, its not that they are classist they just decide is easier to adjust to the new gained benefit then do anything about it.

Those same dynamics are explored in Heathers as well, Veronica used to be best friends with Betty Finn, a way less cool girl, nerdy in a more stereotypical way and not exactly bullied, but not loved just yk your average girl, but once Veronica joins the Heathers is painfully obvious how their dynamic changes, Veronica gains power, but Betty doesn’t and that makes Veronica have a force of authority over her instead of a equal friendship, but a more explicit example is the parallel ex friendship between Heather Duke (green heather) and Martha, literally the most bullied girl in school.

Once Heather is one of well the Heathers, she gains not only power, but protections, this doesn’t mean the system doesn’t pray upon her (after i'll show why she’s also a victim), but she definitely is way more privileged than poor Martha.

Martha is made fun by the three heathers and all the school, shes ugly, fat, untalented, alone, has no friends and people assume she's stupid, but nobody does anything to fix this not even Veronica (our protagonist) because Veronica is the perfect example of, I don’t agree with this system or its rules, but I don’t do anything to fix it because it benefits me as well so is easier for me to stay in my comfort zone than risk getting thrown out to the lowest level of the food chain.

There’s more, but i think this (which is literally presented to us in the first minutes of the movie) represents a lot how Daniel Waters (script writer of heathers) plays with real life power dynamics and shows us how obviously parallel they are to teenagers school dynamics or at least American school dynamics, or yk how they are shown in media and perceived by the public.

Why am i saying this? Well because i wanted to leave extremely clear how this movie was made, why it was made and why the musical doesn’t work, but to explain why the musical doesn’t work first i have to explain why the movie works, so this is gonna be pretty, pretty long, maybe I’ll divide it in two parts, yk what I'll do because it's to long and most people won't read it if it's too long, this already is quite long.

Part one this one or more parts where i go deep into the movie and it’s construction and part two where i start explaining what goes wrong in the musical and if this actually has support i might as well do more personal analysis on characters, opinion about certain stuff etc.

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ticklefits · 3 years

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AO3 LINK! | tickletober 2021 day 1: CHASE.

voltron: legendary defender | klance | words : 2572

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. Keep singing.” With a tone much too amused and muscular figure leaned against the door frame, Keith’s eyes have locked on his boyfriend who’s settled at the countertop, chopping up onions for their lunch. His ears were previously graced with the melodic & upbeat notes of Lance’s singing before he halted as soon as he noticed Keith’s presence, cheeks dusting over in a soft shade of cherry at having been caught.

"You snuck up on me! Y'know, all that Blade of Marmora training has made you seriously light on your feet, you're too quiet when you walk up on people--" Lance complains, obviously trying to shift the attention off of his virtuoso vocals, but Keith isn't falling for the trick. He merely grants the other a shrug, stepping further into the kitchen to peer down at the meal he was preparing before the interruption. It was a newer dish, something that Lance had talked about trying to cook before and though Keith rarely indulged in foreign grounds when it came to what he ate, Lance was a decent cook and he's willing to try anything for him. After a once-over of the food, he twists to match his gaze with Lance with Lance again, a small smirk now presented half-cocked upon his lips.

"Being quiet has its advantages," is his rebuttal, arms crossing along the width of his chest as he gently knocks a shoulder against his love's. "You can keep complaining about it if you do it in song."

A silent curse leaks out with the sensation of heat that strengthens on the surface of Lance's cheeks, half-tempted to run into the next room and half-tempted to actually take Keith up on his offer. Complaining while singing truthfully sounds sort of hilarious and maybe Lance might've considered it had he not been ambushed by the other, but the abashment that's welled up in the center of his stomach has stolen the reigns from his usual confidence and is keeping his vocal chords locked and twisted. At this point, he's temporarily canceled prepping lunch and his new focus lies on a getaway. Sapphire sight slowly inches from where Keith stands to the archway that connects into the living room, calculating the distance to it from his own feet and weighing the risks. Keith, however, is a warrior, and a highly trained one at that, so as soon as he notices Lance's fixed stare towards the living room, his smirk widens and his own stance alters.

"C'mon loverboy, don't make me chase you down. You know I'm faster than you." There it is. A challenge. A challenge to his Leo boyfriend, who's neatly sculpted eyebrows perk and furrow and his lips twitch at the corners.

"You're funny, Keith. The only one way you'd be faster than me, is if you tap into that cat-like Galran side of you and get on all fours. Stronger than me? Sure, maybe -- but not faster." Lance knows he just spit some fighting words, and judging by the slightly surprised, oh no he did not just say what I think he said look, Keith was about to square up. It was silent for a moment that dragged on like an hour, until Keith cements a stare at Lance and for a split second, Lance could swear he saw his pupils slit just like a feline.

"You get five seconds."

"Wha--"

"Run."

Lance did not need to be told twice. As soon as he heard that single word practically growled from his boyfriend, he sprang into a nearly full sprint into the living room. Keith kept his words and after 5 seconds, rocketed off after Lance. By the time he had an open view of the room, Lance was nowhere to be seen. He paused, rummaging through his thoughts to figure out where Lance might have escaped to next. He figures their bedroom would be a good place to start, plenty of the places to try and hide in there; try, being the operative word there. He enters the shared sleeping space and, just to tease Lance thoroughly in case he was hiding in there, starts to tap his nails on the walls and other hard surfaces, knowing damn well the clicks and clacks will echo.

"Oh, Laaance.." the swordsman practically coos, feigning an innocent tonality all the while checking under the bed and in their closet for his prey. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you. I wouldn't ever hurt you. But you do need to be punished for what you said."

Lance can hear him. He can hear him and Keith knows that he can. Their apartment isn't very generous with running room and hiding spaces, so he's taken refuge in their master bathroom. He nearly scoffs at Keith's statements; he knows Keith wouldn't hurt him, not intentionally, but that's not what he's worried about. He knows what those clickity clacks mean. The surface of his skin is already tingling and he's biting back a grin, hands smoothing over the goosebumps popping up along his arms. He could speak lies and say he hates when Keith does this, but they both know the truth: Lance thrives on it. Every tap of his nails drives Lance insane and he can feel his body trying to gravitate towards the sound, but he refuses to give in and admit defeat. Keith challenged him, so it's on.

He's dragging his nails now, goddammit, and he's getting closer. Those silent steps aren't so silent anymore and Keith's doing that on purpose. He wants Lance to hear him coming; it's all part of the chase. Thankfully though, their bathroom contains a door that opens up to the hallway, so if he times it right, he can get past without him hopefully noticing. Slowly, nearly holding his breath, Lance scoots to the second door and ever so gently turns the handle to minimize any sound and opens the door. A quick peek tells him that it's safe, but as soon as he fully exits the bathroom and begins his quiet tread through the hall, Keith appears behind him from their bathroom, running towards him. Lance yelps and his reaction is immediate, making a break for the living room once again. He jumps onto the couch and grabs a pillow, deciding to fend off his hunter with a weapon instead of continuing to run.

"En guard!" Comes his battle cry as Keith reaches him and narrowly misses the swing of a cushion at his head.

"That's a dirty play, McClain!" He manages to say before he gets uppercut with a cushion and it's as if the world goes into absolute silence. Lance hadn't really meant to smack him like that, but the damage has already transpired, so all he can do is gently place the couch cushions back to their proper home, all the while observing with fright behind his eyes as Keith's visage lowers back down to look at him. He says nothing, amethyst sight blank, but he does start to move towards Lance, which has the taller scooting backwards on the couch, palm outstretched as if that were to quell Keith's wrath any.

"Keith -- Keith, babe, baby, look at me -- you know I didn't mean to do that, I swear--!" But Keith still doesn't utter a single syllable, even as he climbs atop and straddles Lance's hips. He then moves to grab some of the mini pillow cushions nearest Lance's head, one in each hand, and Lance's eyes widen, remembering a time when Pidge pulled this on him herself, except she used vinyl, elbow - length gloves. Keith's method is unorthodox, but Lance is sure it's gonna tire him out all the same.

"Keith! No! No, no, no, no--!" But his pleas are no use. Raising the small pillows into the air, it isn't a second later that Keith starts to rapidly smack Lance's upper body with them. It's a furious barrage, one arm raining down a strike right after it's counterpart. If this was an action movie, and pillows were bullets shot out of a gun, this would be absolutely brutal. Fortunately for Lance, these soft, fluffy pillows don't hurt anywhere near a bullet wound. In fact, he's grinning all the while, limbs held askew above his head as a shield.

"Now this is a dirty play, Kogane! Fight me like a real man!" And Lance is about to regret those words, because as soon as Keith hears him, he halts his assault and tosses the pillows to the side, eyes glinting dangerously.

"Oh, I'm just getting started." Now unoccupied hands shift to settle on Lance's sides and instantaneously, Lance knew he was fucked.

"Woahwoahwoah, no! No, now this is really foul--!"

"Sucks to suck."

"FIRST of all, I'm the one who taught you that saAAhahah--!" Keith's heard enough prattling out of Lance, it's time to hear some of that sweet, hilarious laughter now. Fingers scribble over the clothed flesh of his sides and waist and that already gets him into giggling hysterics. Keith will always be pleasantly surprised at just how ticklish Lance is. Nearly every inch of him is sensitive to something and it never fails to gift him with serotonin when he's got Lance beneath him, rosy cheeked, squirming around, and laughing his heart out - much like he is now.

"Nohohohoho! Keh--Keheheheith! Stahahahahap!" His pleas are broken apart by giggles that are only raising in volume the more his sides are attacked and he's only growing further sensitive by the second. Lance knows his religiously vigorous skin care routine is partly to blame for how ticklish he is, but can you blame him for wanting soft, youthful skin? And it isn't like Keith's complaining about it either.

"Nah, I don't think I can. My fingers are under some sort of spell." Such a blatant lie from the older pilot and the grin he dons is unmistakably teasing.

"Yo--you're suhuhuch a lihahahahahar!"

"What? I'm offended. I'm not lying at all. In fact, I'll tell you an easy way to break the spell and get me to the stop."

"Gohohohohohod! Fiiiiihihihine, OKAY, okahahahy!" Lance is really beginning to struggle, squeals forcing themselves free as Keith migrates from waist, to stomach, and then to his ribs, poking & scritching between each one in an agonizing manner. "Aaahahahahaha! Tell---tell mehehehehe alreadyyyy!"

"You really wanna know?"

Lance's strength is sapping quicker than he'd like it to, but he still possesses enough of it to gently smack at Keith's arm, his giggles evolving into full blown laughter once those dastardly fingers begin reaching towards his armpits in retaliation.

"All you gotta do is sing. Like, that one red-headed princess, to break a spell that was on her, or whatever." The fact that Keith really provided a Disney comparison to Lance's current predicament is hilarious all on its own, but Lance wasn't about to give into this torture, and deliver what Keith desired so easily.

"Hohohohow is -- i-is ticklihihihing me suhuhpposed to make me wahahahant to SING?? B-Besides, a kihihihihiss broke Ahahariel's spell, not -- not singihihihihihing!" Poor Lance, with his cracking voice and breathy, hollow words that could scarcely be understood through all of his laughter. Keith understood the gist of it though and contemplated his conditions. He still wanted Lance to sing to him, but a kiss sounded pretty nice too. However, he isn’t quite finished with his boyfriend’s torture; there’s still one last area he very much wants to explore before he allows Lance free. Spidering digits cease their actions, smoothing up and then down the expanse of Lance’s toned torso, granting him a desperately needed, albeit quick rest. Lance doesn’t speak, merely taking this opportunity in stride to gulp down as much air as he can, because a minute part of him knows Keith isn’t done and that something wicked this way comes.

Something wicked indeed. After some very short-lived moments of repose, without skipping a beat, Keith breaks into full force tickling all over the surface of Lance’s soft thighs. The first and last thing to run through Lance’s mind is a sharp curse to himself for deciding that today was a good day to wear shorts. Keith has an all access pass to one of his death spots and he is allowing no mercy. They’re certainly going to get a noise complaint from their neighbors ( not that Keith cares ), because the inhumane screech that burst from the tunnel of Lance’s throat could probably be heard blocks away.

“K---KEEEHEHEHEHEHITH!! NO! NOHOHO, NOT RIGHT THEHEHEHEHRE! PLEHEHEHEASE, AHAAAHAHAHAHNYTHING BUT THERRRRE--!” the couch has been shaved of all of its cushions by flailing, lengthy limbs and even Keith is having trouble keeping atop of Lance, what with all of his wriggling and buckling.

“Geez, Lance, you almost sound like I’m killin’ you.” Keith’s grin is now from ear to ear, more than enjoying himself, the view, and his love’s ridiculously adorable laughter.

“YOU AHAHAHAHARRRRE!! PLEEEEHEHEHEHASE!” But it’s only when Lance deflates into silent laughter, arms going limp against the couch underneath him, that Keith finally concludes his torture. Calloused hands remove themselves from the slender frame and he completely slides off of Lance, disappearing into the kitchen. Unbothered by Keith’s abrupt departure, Lance soaks up every single second of relaxation he can, until he glances up once he hears footsteps, and sees the water bottle Keith’s offering. Smiling a little weakly, Lance sits up, releasing a few lingering giggles as the movement of his still hyper - sensitive upper body brings forth some ghost touches.

“Alright, time to break your spell.” Keith’s statement is oh so cheeky and as he leans forward, waiting for Lance to close the distance, he half expects Lance to do anything but kiss him. A pleasant surprise is given to him when he feels those familiar, supple lips intertwining with his own, and he smiles into it. The kiss lasts for a couple of seconds before Lance pulls away and eyes Keith, brow rising along his temple.

“Guess whose job it is to prepare lunch now?”

A roll of lavender eyes, but he holds out his hand nonetheless. “Yeah, yeah. I tired you out, so I guess it’s mine. I don’t know how to make what you were making though.”

Lance takes the hand that’s offered and ascends from the couch, bending to start picking up the collapsed couch cushions. “Go on into the kitchen, I’ll be right behind you to boss you around.” Keith snorts a quickle chuckle, but does as instructed, making his way back into the kitchen. He nearly stops as something catches his ears, a heavy warmth blooming in his chest. Lance sings more than loud enough for Keith to hear him, even as he’s waiting in the kitchen. He continues singing, once all of the cushions are placed back in their proper place, and as he finally enters the kitchen. He saunters up to Keith, sight locked with sight, a hand on his chest, happiness brimming in the way he sings.

“♪ Maybe this love is mad, you're filling every thought I have. Now I've stayed too long, and there's no turning back. Might as well dance.~ ♪” As if on cue, Keith takes his hand and spins him, earning an even more brilliant smile from Lance, and he lands softly against Keith, arms coiling around his neck to bring him back in for another kiss. Suddenly, lunch doesn’t matter so much anymore.

#tickletober2021 #tickletober 2021 #voltron #vld #klance #tickle fic #tickling #lee!lance #ler!keith #ticklish!lance

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sweetcathedral · 3 years

Text

🖤Hero Academia — Aizawa🖤

Note: I thought I’d post an old work here. Also, b/c I’m seeing a lot of minors migrate to ao3, I’m thinking of switching all my works to here since it’s easier to monitor, which means I’m deleting my ao3.

⚠️: bulge, breeding, somnophilia, cnc

He’s late. Just as you thought, but that’s expected of Pro Heroes and you can’t blame him for being one. You knowingly accepted your common law conditions, so you can’t complain. You reached for your phone hoping to see his name tangled within the notifications.

NekoZawa: late

Was the only message that caught your attention with a little bit of disappointment. Deep down you already knew it’d come to this, but you still can’t help feeling let down a bit. As you were about to change out of your getup a series of sharp knocks startled you, catching you off guard.

“It’s mee!” shouted the familiar voice.

Midnight?!

You rushed to open the door.

“Kayama? You’re ba—,”

“Ahhhh! So cute, so delicate, just youth!” she huffed in excitement at the sight of your longline lace bra and single-ruffled panties.

“Ah! Wai—youth? You know we're not that far in age,” you said, as you try to hide behind the door.

“Please, I'd kill to be 5 years younger, and don’t even try hiding from me. Even though he doesn’t care much about looks this definitely falls within his tastes,”

You blushed at the compliment, wishing it had come out of Aizawa’s mouth instead.

“Anyways,” she continued, “how about some bubble tea? I got your favourite,” she whipped out a bag of drinks from behind her. You wonder if she knew of your plans and came to cheer you up.

Who am I kidding, she’s an R-rated hero. Her sixth sense is basically her sex sense.

“Yeah, I could use some company,” you smiled in relief, thankful for her sharp intuition.

Before you knew it, 9PM became 11PM in what felt like 30 minutes and that heavy feeling weighing on your chest left after a couple of laughs here and there. You couldn’t help but feel better in the presence of Kayama, you have no choice but to feel better in her presence.

“And after I showed his class a pic of you, that grape idiot said ‘ if that raggedy ass man of a sensei is able to snatch a woman like that then there’s still hope for me, right?! Right?!’ in that stupid lisp of his! I couldn’t help, but cackle in his face! Hahahahahahahaha!”

“Grape idiot?!,” you laughed, almost choking on your tapioca.

“It caused this huge uproar which took Aizawa an hour to settle down,”

“Sounds like an exaggeration to me,”

“Really? Then I’d have to ask Principal Nezu for permission to let you visit. Hmmm, maybe a surprise visit during his birthday, I’d get to see that purple shit bleed from his eyes again. Hah!” she said, her sadistic side twinkling in her eyes.

You could tell she wasn’t lying about the surprise visit as she hummed her thoughts between sips of beer. Although you know how much Aizawa likes to keep his private life separate from his professional life, your thoughts couldn’t help but ponder in curiosity at how he acts around his infamous class 1-A students. All he ever does is complain about them every time you ask, but just thinking about him acting like the strict teacher Kayama says he is . . . makes . . . you . . .

“Oi, oooii . . . I said OI!”

“Gah!”

“What the hell’s got you blushing like a dazed mess?”

“Blushing? . . . !”

You clasp your hands over your face, as if you’re trying to keep your thoughts and daydreams from escaping. You let your imagination run wild just from thinking about Aizawa as a teacher — his strict demeanour and cold eyes piercing through you . . . his deep growls muffled at the base of your neck as his grip tightens around your waist and hair . . .

“Oh! What time is it?” Kayama exclaimed, disrupting your thoughts.

You reach for your phone to check the time, seeing 11:17PM illuminating from the screen before flipping it to Kayama.

“Perfect!”

You cock your head to the side trying to think of what could make Kayama that excited, but before you could react, her quirk had already taken hold of your consciousness.

Aizawa let out a heavy sigh staring at the time on his phone. It wasn’t the first time he’d let you down like that, even though it’s out of his control he still can’t help feeling disappointed in himself. Pro Heroes always have unpredictable schedules, but still, he’d wish his schedule had gone his way today.

“Thanks as always, Eraserhead. I’ll send the details your way once we’ve confirmed the date,” Tsukauchi reassured, dismissing him for the day. Aizawa nodded in response, finally, he thought. As he walked out of the station, his phone vibrated.

Ugh, what now?

He reached for his phone and unlocked his screen.

Kayama? Probably just more cat pics.

But much to his surprise, the series of pics caused him to stop in his tracks.

Kayama: Bon appétit! *kissy face*

Was the only message that followed at the end of the series of pics. After Kayama used her quirk to put you to sleep, she happily cleaned the place up and settled you prettily onto the bed in an innocent, but also, somewhat tempting position. Who could blame her? She had a knack for setting up tempting situations for her best friends. Aizawa tapped on each pic, examining the details of your delicate lace bra and fluttery panties. He really wished his schedule had gone his way today. The longer he stared at each pic, the bigger his temptation and pent up emotions grew — frustration, doubt, confusion, jealousy, anger, greed, love, lust, it was causing him to lose all sense of logic. You were causing him to lose all sense of logic and he hated it. It’s his first time experiencing something like this, he’d never romantically loved anyone until you came into his life. At first you were just like any other Pro Hero he teamed up with in previous missions, but the mission you two took on escalated into an emotional high profile case, which caused him to spend more time with you. One thing led to another and now, you’re each other’s common-law spouse. Both of you could care less about the huge wedding traditions of planning a wedding day, banquet halls, invitations and all that, but unexpectedly, he did buy you a wedding ring — a customized designer ring at that. Not only does he not care about appearances, but he also doesn’t seem to care about prices, so long as it serves its purpose.

“Uh, Eraserhead? Everything okay?” Officer Sansa tapped on Aizawa’s shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, Detective Tsukauchi already settled on a date already?” Aizawa quickly locked his phone and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Um, no, he was actually worried about you . . . you’ve been standing still here for a while now, just staring at your phone . . .”

The logical Pro Hero himself didn’t even realize that he stopped walking and was surprised to see the station still behind him. Tch .

“. . . yeah, I think I should head home now. Someone’s waiting for me. Thanks, Officer Sansa.”

He waved at the cat officer before tucking his hand back into his pocket, unconsciously digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands in frustration. He hated this feeling . . . and he can’t wait to take it out on you .

Aizawa hesitates to open the door, unsure of how he’d react when he sees you for himself. He carefully turns the knob, making sure not to make a noise that’ll wake you from your peaceful slumber. You were just like the pics Kayama sent him — back exposed with the soft glow of the city night lights highlighting your dainty shoulder blades . . . arms clutching the pillow from underneath that pretty little head of yours . . . one leg hitched up to the side while the other was elongated and tucked half way into the sheets . . . As he reached to caress your face, he noticed his hand trembling from suppressing his temptation. Tch. He pulls his hand back in frustration.

“ . . . mmph . . . Shou . . . ta . . .” you murmured in your sleep in between heated breaths.

That was enough for Aizawa to let go of any sense of logic and common sense he had left, and before he knew it, he was hovering over you — the weight of his body sinking into the duvet. His eyes trailing over your features, watching your chest rise and fall with every breath you take — a reassuring feeling that you’re real and very much alive to him. He annoyingly hears his name from the teachers at UA all the time, but when it whispers out from between those pretty lips of yours, it made him experience a feeling he wasn’t used to controlling. He gave in, leaving trails of kisses that slowly turned into hickeys and then bite marks. He felt bad for leaving those marks on your supple skin, but he also wished they were permanent, as if the wedding ring doesn't speak for itself anymore. Aizawa’s grip tightened on your thigh at the thought of anyone else touching you, pinning your leg to your chest. His rough hand traces down your curves before slipping them in between your thighs — a wet sopping mess.

Ah, her panties are ruined . . . shame, he thought as he ripped a slit open, big enough for what you’re about to take in. Whoops . . . I’ll just get her a new one.

The temperature of your body was rising as he continued to press up against you, leaving marks on your collarbone and teasing your insides with his thick calloused fingers. A wave of pleasure ripples through your moonlight kissed skin, slowly pulling you back to your senses. You bat your eyes a few times to shake off the heaviness weighing on your eyelids.

“ . . . Shou—haa . . . !” your body twitched as another wave of pleasure came over you, shaking off your sleepy numbness, awakening your sense of touch as you grip his forearm trying to get him to slow down. It was no use given how enamoured he was with your reaction, your measly grip is as light as a feather against his strength.

“Haa . . . wait . . . slowdow—mmph!,”

Aizawa places his hand over your mouth, silencing your relentless begging. You finally noticed his flushed face and entranced eyes — a face you’re not used to seeing.

“Shut up, if you know what’s good for you,” his deep voice reverberated in your ear, sending a ripple of shivers down your neck. He was a completely different person in a completely different headspace. The only thing that can bring him back to his senses is your safe word, but you know that if you give in he’d completely stop and resist touching you for days as penance for losing control. But . . . you love it when he loses control along with his sense of logic, so you melt into your favourite position, signaling him to release all his pent up emotions in you — a mating press. You bite your trembling lower lip, begging with your wet eyes as a smirk played across his face. He gently kisses your forehead before pulling down his bottoms, revealing his thick throbbing cock. Your cunt twitched at the sight of it, squeezing out your fluids, dripping down like honey.

“How badly do you want it?”

“. . . badly . . . Shou~ta~ . . .” you cooed.

His cock twitched at the sound of your light and airy voice, precum drips onto the sheets.

“Not yet,” he said as he began stroking his cock on your clit, making sure not to let an inch slip inside you. The sensation drives you crazy as you whimper and whine for him to fill you up inside, desperately begging with your hips. But Aizawa’s firm grip on your thighs won’t let you, and keeps you from getting what you want. You miss the feeling of being bred full . His strokes were getting faster, his panting turning into growls. Your body tensed and toes curled as the feeling came closer, letting a desperate sigh escape from your mouth.

“Already? But I’m not done with you yet,” he playfully whispers in your ear before ramming himself inside you.

“Haa!” you yelped.

Your plump walls twitch at the sudden movement, tightening itself around his cock.

“That’s my good girl,” he chuckled, cockingly.

Tears well up in your eyes as you bite back your whimpering. He grabs your hand and firmly places it on your lower abdomen,

“Do you feel me? I’m right here.”

With your hand firmly placed on your stomach, you can feel his bulge every time he strokes his cock in you. He keeps it there, so that you have no choice but to feel it until the very end — up until his cum fills you up inside. His long strokes began to shorten, each stroke getting harder than the last and unable to hold in your pants and moans. Not only can you feel the warmth fill you up, but you can also feel his cock releasing globs of his milk from the bulge protruding from your lower abdomen. Your fingers dance around it making him twitch, his bruising grip tightening around your wrist.

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at the mess you both made.

Your cunt was swelling at the amount of cum it’s trying to keep from spilling, gushing out every time your sticky walls twitch. Before Aizawa was about to pull out, you grab his arm,

“Wait . . . not yet,” you must’ve been pouting when those words fell off of your swollen lips cause you’ve never seen his features soften like that before. He lowers himself, feeling his weight sinking into the bed as he tenderly kisses your forehead, brushing your slick baby hairs from your face . . . the warmth of his forehead resting against yours . . . the reassuring feeling of his hand gently cupping your flushed cheeks . . . You reach for his face, thumbing the scar under his eye, diving in for a deeper kiss and wrapping your arms around him. His heart begins to beat harder as you begin to feel his cock swelling up again from inside you.

#☕️.aizawa #Nanami’s gone for awhile #but Aizawa is back ☺️#Aizawa brainrot #ao3 no more!!#aizawa fanfiction #aizawa fic #aizawa smut #bnha smut #bnha fic #tw: cnc #tw: somnophilia #tw: breeding #Aizawa season 5

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kiwixlime · 2 years

Text

Finders Keepers - Chapter Thirteen

Warnings: More teasing, some jealousy, some tension, sad.

A/N: I just had to add a chapter like this and I think it fits perfectly before the next one. I promise you all the tension is gonna pay off after this chapter. I just need to keep building it up. Heh, sorry. Also! There’s a section in here where Bay reveals her real name to Joel. I don’t actually write out a name, so if you’d like to insert your name, please do! After all, this is still considered a joelxreader fic.

Dark clouds hover over Jackson, warning its residents that rain is on the way. The climate had shifted about mid-afternoon, sunny skies turning overcast, gloomy weather settling in. Everyone's just waiting for that ominous veil in the sky to rip, releasing the rainstorm that’s bursting at the seams.

Today, Bay’s stuck on guard duty. Normally, she’d complain, but when she saw the job board this morning, she knew nothing would bring her down, for she’s paired with Joel on watchtower eight. Sure, the weather sucks, but she’s bundled in warm layers, an old umbrella by her side, and rainboots on her feet. Outside might be dreary, but her insides are bursting with light.

Earlier she stopped by Joel’s to drop off his coffee. His reaction was just what she had hoped for, excited, impressed, thankful. He offered for her to stay and have a cup with him, but she politely declined, no matter how badly she wanted to stay. She truly despises the taste. And she had a few things to get in order before their shift started.

She noticed that he seemed just as excited to be on duty with her today. It could have been the coffee, but after their interruption last night, she was certain Joel was just as eager as her to pick up where they left off.

And that’s what Bay planned for. So when she got to the watchtower first and saw an unfamiliar girl standing there, her excitement dimmed. As if noticing Bay’s confusion, the girl smiled at her and held out a hand, Bay reluctantly taking it. She introduced herself as Courtney, one of the new recruits. Bay couldn’t help but analyze the young girl.

She had to be about nineteen, long blonde hair pulled back into two braids. Tan skin, freckles, blue eyes, and a southern accent that was almost as charming as Joel’s. Her youthful complexion was screaming with naivety and for a second, Bay felt jealous.

She misses the days of her innocence. She’s only 28, but it’s been a rough 28 years for her. Being only a kid when the virus hit, she didn’t really know life without infected. And though Courtney was clearly conceived after the world ended, she still had that glow about her, that glow that was full of hope and optimism. A glow Bay lost when she turned 16.

Those thoughts taunt her and she feels her anger intensify within. She hates that her best years were stolen from her by being with the wrong people, doing the wrong things. She envies Courtney and she doesn’t like it. So when the young girl reaches out to gently poke her, she snaps.

“I’m sorry,” Courtney squeaks out quickly. Her eyes are wide in a panic, hoping she hasn’t upset Bay. “You just kind of looked like you spaced out.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bay says apologetically. “I just, uh, wasn’t expecting to find anyone here yet,” she says, trying to hide her disappointment that this girl is here and not Joel. Where the fuck is Joel?

Courtney gives an awkward smile. She backs away and sits down in one of the chairs that’s been pulled out from the desk there. Sitting, she nervously twists at her braids. “Yeah, T-Tommy put some recruits with the guards today. He thinks we need a bit more help before we can split up on our own.”

Her quiet and shy mannerisms leave Bay suspicious. She recognizes her from the diner last night, one of the girls who looked disappointed that Joel had hugged her. She chalks it up to a teenage crush and brushes it off. As long as she stays out of Bay’s way, they won’t have an issue.

“So, how are you liking Jackson?” Bay tries to make conversation with the girl. She has no reason to hate her. Yet. She’s just jealous of her bubbly innocence.

“I love it,” the young girl giggles. She bites her lip and furrows her eyebrows in concentration. “Everyone is real nice,” she adds. “Especially Joel ‘n Tommy. And they’re from Texas, too! So it’s good to be around people from my home.”

Bay bites her tongue when Courtney mentions Joel’s name. That irritating feeling claws at the back of her mind, but she won’t let it out. She’ll be as pleasant as she possibly can.

“Yeah,” Bay nods in agreement. “The Millers are wonderful people. I owe them a lot.”

Courtney purses her lips as Bay speaks, clearly annoyed that she seems oh so close with the most powerful clan in Jackson. She plans to do something about that. “Yeah, I’ve been spending a lot of time with them. I think I’m making a good impression,” she giggles. “I think maybe I’ll be able to work with Joel one on one soon.”

“Hm,” Bay mumbles, a fake smile plastered on her lips. She wants to reach out and punch the bitch, but she stops herself. Stop thinking so violently, Bay thinks to herself. Jesus, he’s just a guy. He’s not even your guy.

Before the tension can grow anymore, a grumble can be heard from down below. Curiously, they both peek over to see Joel making his way up. Unexpectedly, they both smile at his presence.

Joel beams as he reaches the top step, knowing that he’s been paired with Bay today. He sees her first, not even noticing the other girl. He reaches for her hand and says a “good afternoon, sweetheart,” but Bay barely touches him. He doesn’t bother to hide his frown.

“Good afternoon, Joel,” Bay says formally. He looks confused until she points across from them to Courtney, who’s standing there with a blush on her face. “I believe you know Courtney,” she finishes.

Joel’s face goes blank. He nods in Courtney’s direction, a quiet “hello.”

“Tommy was kind enough to add her to our group today,” Bay snipes, still sporting her best fake smile.

“How thoughtful of him,” Joel scoffs in annoyance. Of course Tommy would do this. His brother is a huge fucking cockblock. On purpose! “Nice to see ya,” Joel politely acknowledges Courtney’s existence.

She laughs and shakes her head, looking down at the ground with rose tinted cheeks. Her flirtatious nature is not lost on Bay, or Joel for that matter, who just exchange an awkward glance.

In an instant, Courtney goes from shy girl to charming young Texan. She moves closer to Joel and reaches her hand out to shake his. “Joel Miller,” she says sweetly. “It’s such an honor to work with you. I mean, I know we get to on the big group outings, but this is more intimate and I’m real lucky to have the chance.” She drawls, enhancing her honey-like accent in an attempt to please Joel.

Bay laughs, covering it up with a cough, turning away from the two of them to hide her face. Oh, she’s trying too hard. Bless her heart.

“That’s nice,” Joel clears his throat, folding his arms and glancing back at Bay. He feels a smile tug at his lips. “I’m sure you’ll learn a lot from Bay, too,” he adds and takes note of the way Courtney’s smile flinches.

“Right,” the girl says, nodding her head excessively.

“I can’t believe they only gave us two chairs,” Bay breaks the awkward encounter with her observation. She frowns down at the two lonely chairs, both empty. Courtney immediately sits down in one, giving Bay a challenging grin. Joel notices.

“It’s alright, darlin’,” he says to Bay with confidence. “You can have my seat.”

Bay smiles, but shakes her head. “I couldn’t take a seat from an old man, Joel. My parents taught me to respect my elders,” she teases.

“Is that right?” He says with darkening eyes. He bites hard on his lip to keep his desires locked down, but he can’t help but get all flustered when Bay teases him. He wonders if she’s flirting…if she’s that playful in bed. He gets bold and sits down in the chair, patting his lap. “Then I guess you can just sit on my lap,” he chuckles.

Blushing, Bay swipes her tongue over her lips and looks away from him, ignoring that red-hot feeling pooling in her stomach. How dare he?

Chiming in, Courtney scoots her chair closer to Joel’s, deciding she needs to interrupt the conversation. She’s feeling left out and she doesn’t like it. “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” she sighs, batting dark lashes against her cheeks. “But I just think you are so handsome,” she grins.

Joel frowns and shifts in his seat and Bay squeezes her eyes shut to stop herself from laughing again. This girl is relentless. It’s funny.

“Thank you,” he says with a grin.

“Tommy, too,” she adds with a sparkle in her eye. “But I’d never say that to anyone else. Maria scares me,” she laughs.

Joel and Bay exchange amused looks. She’s unhinged, apparently. And she just won’t stop talking.

“You don’t have a wife do you?” She asks Joel, who looks absolutely stunned by her aggression. Even Bay looks slightly uncomfortable by the question.

“No,” Joel shakes his head. “Not married.”

“Good!” Courtney sighs in relief. She’s still got that chipper smile on her face that makes Bay roll her eyes. “Uhm, are you seeing anyone then?” She asks another question that makes Joel tense up.

He tries to keep a straight face as he says “no” but it doesn’t quite work. “I mean, not technically,” he adds, but before he can elaborate on what he means, Courtney is pushing another question on him.

“That’s great!” She winks at him and flips one of her braids over her shoulder, dipping slightly in a flirtatious manner to catch Joel’s attention. “Forgive me for being too forward, but would you maybe wanna grab a drink some time?” She smiles, running her tongue along her teeth seductively.

Bay scoffs under her breath and leans back against the window of the tower. She tightens her jaw and looks out ahead of them, hoping a trespasser or infected will show up so she can go down and take out her frustrations.

Joel, however, has a different idea. His face is red with embarrassment, put off by how brazen Courtney is. “Look, Courtney, right?” He confirms her name and she nods enthusiastically. “Right, okay, Courtney, I’m flattered…” He begins, and he really is. He knows the way women see him, or in this case a teenager, and he’s had some other incidents like this since settling down in Jackson. But he’s always been polite when turning them down. And he intends to keep up his grace. “I’m not seeing anyone right now, but there is a girl,” he admits. “And I intend on pursuing it.”

Listening to Joel’s words, Bay’s entire body ignites with passion. He’s talking about her, he has to be. And the fact that he’s being honest about it with a complete stranger makes her swoon. Her heart beats with affection, dancing inside her chest while she absorbs Joel’s words and picks them apart, one meaning at a time. And seeing Courtney’s face drop into a frown sparks a little more joy in her.

She feels bad, knowing the disappointment the other girl must be feeling. But she got an answer. It’s not Bay’s fault it wasn’t the one she wanted.

Nodding, Courtney sits back in her chair. She looks like she’s thinking something over before speaking again. “And if things don’t work out with this girl…” She muses and this time, Bay’s the one to pout.

“I’m hoping that doesn’t happen,” Joel answers her promptly. “But if that were to be the case, I’m sorry, you’re still too young. I’m not interested.”

Those words slice through Courtney like a dull knife. That sudden wave of heartbreak crashes against her harder than she had expected. Truthfully, she’s not used to getting turned down. So she wasn’t expecting Joel to do it so quickly, easily. She wasn’t going to give up, though.

“Well,” she shrugs, pretending his words don’t bother her. “I’ll be twenty this year,” she says with a smirk. “And I’m really good in bed. Think about it.” With a wink she gets up from her chair, leaving both Joel and Bay dumbstruck. “I’ll go grab us some sandwiches from Seth’s,” she claims, making her way down the tower.

When she’s gone, Joel stands and faces Bay. She has an impressed look on her face. Okay, so Courtney isn’t going to give up. That won’t be a problem.

She shakes her head and steps around Joel, jumping up onto the desk. She leans back on the heels of her hands, still in awe. For a second, she wonders if Tommy paired Courtney with them on purpose. Maria was obviously aware of the girl’s obsession with the Miller brothers. Maybe this was Tommy’s way of keeping Bay and Joel apart. But even that seems too evil. He wouldn’t do something like that. Still, she can’t help but think maybe…

Those thoughts are put on pause though when Joel steps over to her, nudging her legs apart just enough to slot himself in between. He raises a hand and brushes Bay’s hair behind her ear. He looks down at her with such adoration she practically melts at his simplest touch.

“We’re finally alone,” he whispers.

“I know,” Bay whispers back. “A shame though,” she clicks her tongue. “She seems like a real winner, Joel. She’s good in bed.”

“So I’ve heard,” Joel chuckles and places his hands on Bay’s hips. He slowly massages circles into her sides, reveling in the quiet moan she lets slip. He leans in to kiss her, but she stops him with a hand to his chest. He groans and grabs her hand with his, squeezing it.

“She’ll be back soon,” Bay says softly.

“So?” Joel counters. “We have time.”

“Joel, if you kiss me now, I won’t be able to stop,” she breathes out. She closes her eyes and draws in a breath. Her fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, testing all of her self control, but eventually, the sober part of her brain takes over the love drunk side and pushes the man away.

“I’m sorry,” she says with a frown.

“Don’t be,” he assures her, still holding onto her petite fingers. He gives her a soothing smile prior to stepping back from her. He stays standing between her legs, though. Not wanting to have too much space between them.

Silence slips between them for only a second before a question pops into Joel’s mind. He grabs her hands again, closing his around them. He gives her a quizzical look. “I have a question,” he states.

“I might have an answer,” Bay replies.

For a moment, Joel thinks maybe he shouldn’t ask, but he throws caution to the wind and does it anyway. “Is Bay your real name?”

She’s stunned at the question, it’s one no one’s asked her before save for Tommy when they first met and then Maria when she first arrived in Jackson. They’re the only two people alive in the world who know. But something tells her she can trust Joel. She wants to.

“No,” she says meekly, casting her eyes down to her shaking hands, catching Joel’s attention. He gives her a comforting squeeze to help ease her nerves. She’s quiet as she mumbles out her real name, a huge weight lifting off of her as she tells him.

He smiles and nods, telling her it’s a beautiful name. He then asks why she doesn’t use it and that question alone makes her lips tremble.

“M-my,” she starts, lips quivering, holding back sobs. Joel reaches out to hold her, but she stops him, a gentle touch to his chest. She smiles at him and tells him it’s okay. She wants to talk about it; she wants Joel to know.

“My father used to call me Bay,” she says softly. “He, well, he had some mental problems. And uhm, they got worse after…after my brother died. It started slowly, the way he unraveled. But eventually, he became really disconnected from everyone, everything. During one of his episodes he…he told me I was the only one who could bring him back.” She pauses, letting out a long, shaky breath. She listens for footsteps, but thankfully doesn’t hear any. Courtney’s not back yet.

“He said that I made him feel okay, I made him feel connected to something bigger, you know…Kind of like…a bay? How it curves towards the coast and yet still connects to the ocean. That’s how his mind described it, he said. I was his bay, keeping him connected.” She cries, bringing a trembling hand up and wiping at her eyes with her jacket.

“When the world ends,” she continues, “you don’t know who you can trust.” She pulls her gaze back to Joel’s, locking eyes with him, seeing such tenderness in them. She smiles. “After my parents died, I was on my own. Whenever I’d meet new people, they’d ask for my name. So I said it was Bay. And then when I…met a group…they wanted my full name. So I said it was Bay Rose because Rose was my mother’s name. And that was the day I died and Bay Rose was born.”

She finishes talking with tear stains on her cheeks. Joel’s heart swells with affection and he pulls her into a hug, holding her shivering frame against him tightly. He wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know where to start and Bay’s okay with that. She’s content just being in his arms.

And she could have stayed there for the rest of the day. If only Courtney hadn’t come back.

Masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou #kiwi fics

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

Promises You Made to Me

Chapter 1 out 3

Aragorn falls for Boromir on their journey. When they realize they share their affection, they also know that the time is not now to act upon them. Both promise to share love once they see the quest done, a promise that long seems a broken oath. Still, the horn was heard in more lands and the Elves have not yet forsaken this world

A Boromir lives AU where they fall in love before Boromir falls at Amon Hen, but Aragorn only learns of his survival after the defeat of Sauron.

On AO3.

Ships: Aragorn x Boromir

Warnings: thinking someone died, injury

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: I Can’t Promise You Fair Sky Above

It was hard not to like Boromir, Aragorn had soon found. Despite their introduction and the vast amount of unspoken issues between them, he could not help but like the Son of Gondor.

The man spoke of his home easily and with much enthusiasm, keeping the Hobbits entertained with stories from his youth and history. He walked without complaining, making sure everyone could walk with him and watching over them steadily when it was his turn.

He was always ready to lend a helping hand and Aragorn appreciated how he would help think about the next step and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and offer insight or protest when he thought a foolishdecision was being made.

Not only that, but he had taken up the duty to teach the Hobbits to fight. Merry and Pippin took the most interest in the craft and it was a joy to see Boromir in his element when he taught them. He would grin and a proud aura would surround him.

Boromir kept the spirits high and was unmissable when muscle was needed.

It didn’t hurt that he was not bad to look at eitherand Aragorn found his eyes often wanderingto Gondor’s finest. Though he would look away when their eyes met, for he felt guilty about the reason behind his gaze, since Boromir was a Lord and not someone for Aragorn to gawk at.

However, it didn’t come as a surprise that Boromir had noticed this. He was a trained soldier and was aware of how to read people at a court. So one day, he came up to Aragorn keeping watch and sat down, saying nothing for a short moment.

“I know I did not make the best impression when we first met, but I had not realized that my behavior caused this much strife between us,” Boromir opened. “I apologize. I hope we can move past this.”

Aragorn still looked up in surprise. He had not realized that this was how Boromir would interpret his gazes and it startled him for a moment. “Yes, I see your gazes,” Boromir chuckled sadly when he saw Aragorn’s reaction. “I’m no Ranger, but I know when someone is avoiding my eyes.”

Quickly gathering his bearings, Aragorn replied: “I- It was not my intent. I do not have hard feelings about our introduction, I know I cannot ask blind following when I have not been present in Gondor. Legolas gets ahead of himself.”

“Ah.” It was clear Boromir had not expected that reply and he took a moment to rethink his strategy. “Well, then I do hope we can come to some agreement in companionship. Unless there is another reason for your avoidance of my company...” he trailed off, not in question, but in request of Aragorn to speak up if there was something else bothering him that prohibited any further friendship.

“No. No, there is not,” Aragorn said, for there was no reason to deny Boromir’s friendship, save for his heart speeding up as he felt Boromir heat beside him.

“I am glad,” Boromir smiled and Aragorn thought to himself: ‘I had not yet seen him smile at me before now. I should change that. It is a very good smile. His eyes crinkle and the feeling of kinship comes to mind when I look upon it.’ And what else could he do, but smile back?

The smile still lingered on his face as he looked back out into the wild for threats and it did not seem to leave until sleep claimed him once his watch was over. Since Boromir had watch after him, hedecided to keep him company until that time came.

As they sat next to their camp, keeping watch in the day for they only traveled through the night, they talked of such normal things that the contrast with their mission seemed absurd.

Boromir, for example, recalled the drunken tale of him and his brother, who had left a farmer very confused as of why his goats had bows upon their horns. In turn, Aragorn told Boromir of his foster-sister Arwen using him in a plot against their brothers, for they dared not to turn against the youngest of them all, who they viewed as innocent and how the he and Arwen had used that against them for manyyears.

It was a merry hour and it saddened Aragorn to see it over. But he did not deem it wise to stay seated next to Boromir any longer, since looking at him with a reason, made it harder to look away when there was none.

The other man was hypnotizing in a way Aragorn had not encountered before. He was sturdy in his frame, open in his manner, both smiling easy, while hiding a thousand burdens in his eyes that Aragorn longed to understand, but did not feel entitled to unwrap.

Looking at Boromir seemed both simple and too complex.

Aragorn yearned for a friendship with the other, a relation beyond mere traveling companions, but he did not know how to keep it a friendship, nor how he should hold himself around Boromir whilst knowing that at one point in their journey, he might become Boromir’s King.

Was it wrong for a King to look upon one of his subject with more affection than platonic? Most Kings did not marry out of love, but politics. And in dark times like these,would allowing the possibility be wise?

Questions Aragorn did not know how to answer kept him busy while they marched ever closer to the Misty Mountains over which they would have to travel.

During their journey, Boromir was frequently closer than before, choosing to walk at the rear alongside Aragorn and sitting next to him during the small leisure time they had.

And when Boromir was close, he had the tendency to talk. It was something most of the Fellowship had noticed early on, but the Son of Gondor did not like the silent marches and would often strike up conversation or talk to everyone in general, leaving it up to his audience whether they would listen or tune him out.

When Boromir talked, Aragorn often found himself amongst the ones who listened. Boromir had a nice, soothing voice that was great for telling tales of splendor, while at times being near philosophical as he pondered the goings of the world in times like these.

Listening to Boromir was both stupid and smart, for if he listened, he would not have to talk and mess things up, but listening made the affection he already harbored for the other grow.

Where he had first believed Boromir to be more muscle than brain, he was soon disproven. From his tales it became clear that Boromir had a sharp mind. He was a sound strategist and he easily weaved in the social complexities of history into the tales he told of the valor of Gondor.

It was interesting to talk to Boromir and Aragorn did so gladly. He found himself talking of his own home and the Dúnedain as well as the way of the Elves that housed him for so long along with his days as a Ranger. And while he talked, Boromir listened.

That was another factor he had not counted on when he had first met Boromir. The man had seemed steadfast in his own ways, stubborn to a fault and unwilling to listen when needed. Yet, here he was disproven once more.

Boromir would remember little details conversations later and recalledpeople that Aragorn had mentioned sparsely before. Aragorn did not know this was a skill the Steward’s Son had picked up as Captain, for men are more willing to follow you into battle when they know you care about their well being and person.

So, they both talked and both listened, until Aragorn sought out Boromir’s company of his own accord. He had not noticed he did so, until he came back from gathering edible plants and found that the seat next to Boromir had been saved for him, since it was his usual place in the camp.

It made him still for a moment, before walking on and settling down, focusing more on dinner than his company that evening.

And that night as they walked, he was amongst the ones tuning out as Boromir started his talking again. At this point he must have recited his entire military career, moved through much of Gondor’s history of the Third Age and gotten to know everyone’s life. Aragorn now knew more of the Toby Leaf’s history than he ever thought was needed for one, but Merry had been happy to explain in detailand Boromir had listened equally content.

But Aragorn did not know which tales he graced them with that night, for his mind was wondering when he had become so close with Boromir.

He did not recall when he got used to settling down next to Boromir every day, nor when listening to Boromir became more important to him than listening for threats, but he found it to be true. The affection he had for Boromir had blossomed into natural closeness.

At first he thought that the embers of a crush he had before, were nowextinguished ashe got to know the other man and form a friendship with him. Upon closer inspection of his feelings, however, he found instead that the opposite was true.

The speeding of his heart had become normal whenever Boromir was near and he felt the heat upon his cheeks with every grin send his way. His feelings had shifted, sure, but they had shifted from attraction to a deeper affection. He had become more infatuated with Boromir through their friendship.

It was a startling discovery, for while Aragorn was used to appreciating the physique of those around him, it did not often happen that he was enthralled beyond their features.

Yet here he was and he had discovered that it was not just Boromir’s strong arms or handsome face that kept him ensnared. Instead it was the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, the gleam in his eyes when he talked, the softness when he listened and the comfort in his presence. He cherished their talks more than their practice fights.

He caught Legolas’ eyes and the Elf smiled quietly, eyes quickly flitting between Aragorn and Boromir, before turning away. It would seem others had caught on quicker to the will of his heart than he himself.

When Legolas held watch that day, Aragorn checked to see if those around them were asleep. With Boromir laid next to him, it was easy to determine his steady breaths as true.

“So there is still time for old friends, I see,” Legolas jested, mirth in his eyes when Aragorn sat down next to him. Aragorn looked away in shame, for he had not realized how much he had been ignoring the Elf.

“Do not be so dour, Aragorn,” said Legolas. “No one here blames you for being drawn to the Son of Gondor. And your oblivion has been my entertainment for the past weeks. It’s been long since a story like this has beenwritten.”

Aragorn glared at Legolas and huffed. “No story like this is being written, for it would not be just for a King to look upon his Steward like this.”

“I did not know you had accepted your destiny, my friend.”

“I- I don’t. I haven’t,” Aragorn protested. “But it is a path we might walk on, no matter our beliefs or desires and if that is to become my future, I should know better than to act like there is something owed to me that is not. I will not put him in a position where his choices are to ignore the wishes of his King or do something he does not want to.”

Legolas was quiet for a moment, mind processing Aragorns outburst. Then he smirked: “I do not think he’ll be doing anythinghe does not want to, if you were to ask him.”

“What?” Aragorn looked up in shock. He had not detected any reciprocation in the eyes of Boromir, just friendly affection that he shared with everyone of the Fellowship.

“You are blind,” Legolas sounded surprised. “For one who claimsElven decent and senses beyond normal men, you havenot seen that Boromir loves you too?”

He had not yet used the word love to describe his affection for Boromir, though the word had been echoing in his mind, but he did not think it wise to use that word, for it made what he had been attempting to avoid more real.

“I do not, nor does he,” he answered. “And we know my senses were not meant for internal factors, but threats.”

“If my Elf eyes are not mistaken, you have not been watching for many threats as of late, my friend,” Legolas had again that knowing look in his eyes and Aragorn found that he did not care much for that look upon his friend’s face.

“You do not know what you are talking about, Legolas.” It was a pitiful attempt at deflection and Aragorn knew it.

Legolas raised a pointed brow, but said no more of it, save: “We both know that is a lie, but I shall not further pressure you, for it is clear to me that you are not ready for it.”

And after that he stayed true to his word and said no more during his watch of Boromir, no matter if it was Aragorn, who opened up the topic. Instead choosing to comment on the landscape and the many nature wonders he had seen on this journey.

Aragorn did not try then, just taking the opportunity to talk to his friend, but the conversation had left much on his mind.

Did Boromir carry the same affection?

He did not think so. Still he watched Boromir carefully as they climbed the Caradhras. The man did not act differently than before, he walked with Merry and Pippin, making sure the two Hobbits did not falter. From time to time, he looked back, checking the rear like a good Captain would, smiling when his gaze met Aragorn’s.

Much to his embarrassment, he found that he smiled back without thinking whenever it happened. So, he focused on Frodo in front of him, the Ring-bearer should be his biggest priority.

Still it was hard not to let his gaze wander back every time. It was a strange thing to look to Boromir like he was a puzzle instead of his friend. He did not know which clues to look for, there were not tracks for him to read and he found himself thrust into unknown territory.

He started to wonder whether Boromir’s gaze on him was the same as the gaze he had for the Hobbits, a glance to ensure they were okay. Or if it were a gaze for Aragorn alone, one of special weight, with deeper meaning.

Aragorn could not decipher it. After all he had seen in his life so far, this was the mystery that stumped him. No matter what Legolas said, he could not see in Boromir’s eyes what had seemed obvious to the Elf.

It was a frustration, he did not know how to deal with.

Much to his chagrin, or maybe not (he did not know how he felt about it), Boromir noticed. It was even more frustrating that that was the only part he was able to pick up on in regards of Boromir, the fact that the man noticed he was watching him.

He loathed a confrontation that might come of it, so he kept close to others of the Fellowship, hoping that being with another person would discourage conversation about the topic.

Luckily, despite the misfortune, the topic was soon of the least import in their mind, for the evil will of the mountain had turned against them. Snow came down heavily and soon they had to cease their ascent and wait until they could turn back.

Boromir kept Merry and Pippin close, pulling his cloak around the three of them as they huddled close to the fire. Aragorn did the same with Frodo and Sam. Boromir had not lied when he’d called outthat this would be the death of the Hobbits.

If they made it through, it would be a miracle. This was a truth that was heavily felt throughout the entire Fellowship and it was not the moment to talk about trivial things as a few extra gazes. So instead Boromir tried to keep up the Hobbits’ spirits by telling them of the snow men he and his brother had build in the past and the epic snow battles they held.

As was custom, Aragorn couldn't help but listen, smile stretching over his face as the image of a young Boromir, already thinking himself a great Captain, leadinga charge in the snow came to his mind.

Soon the Hobbits’ slept, but the two men could not rest, for they feared that if they did not keep watch, their fickle lives would slip through their fingers.

So they sat in the cold of the mountain, counting the hours until the snow let up enough to turn back, a tactical retreat as Boromir called it. He also spoke again of going through the Gap of Rohan and again Aragorn had to refuse.

“The Gap is too dangerous a road to take now, Boromir,” he said.

“And this is not dangerous? Was it not folly to try this mountain? We are snowed under and our Ring-bearer might not make it through. Was this not a mistake?” Boromir countered. “And what other road can we take?”

Aragorn understood Boromir’s frustrations. From a tactical standpoint it would seem wise to seek out allies, for their road was already full of perils and a place to replenish strength would be a good place in the eye of any captain.

But they did not know how far the hand of Saruman had reached in those lands and they could not risk exposing more hearts to the clutches of the Ring. It would be unwise to think they would be safe in those lands.

Now just to make Boromir see that.

“Our road is dangerous, yes,” Aragorn said. “And this was a risk we should not have taken, but the Gap of Rohan is a risk we cannot take also. Saruman has betrayed us and it is not worth it to test how well he protects his borders.”

“I do not hear you offer another road. We also cannot risk staying on this side of the Misty Mountains. We have to cross.”

Aragorn had no answer to that, but he did not have to, for Gimli answered: “There is another road that we can take. We can go through the Mines of Moria.”

Both looked up in surprise. They had not realized anyone was listening to their conversation and having the private moment broken up startled them. So they said nothing as Gandalf replied: “I have told you before, Master Dwarf, that I hope to avoid that passage, but it will be up to the Ring-bearer to decide.” And both stayed silent after those words.

The next morning Frodo decided their fate and Boromir and Aragorn busied themselves with clearing a path back through the snow.

Neither said a word to the other, both too exhausted by their labor and unwilling to talk. Though, much to his dismay, Aragorn found himself getting distracted by Boromir doing his part and would sometimes have to be snapped back to work when Boromir looked his way.

Still, they made it off the Caradhras and safely down to the entrance Gandalf did not agree with, which made Aragorn uneasy, though he tried not to show it.

His unease was validated by the Watcher, lurking in the water. Yet, he was glad, for it was Boromir at his side when he charged and he knew Boromir would not falter in the face of this danger and have his back.

And in the darkness of the Mines, it was Boromir once more that eased his mind. He was there with him as they walked through thepitch black and while Gandalf had urged them to be quiet, it was the familiar steady footfalls of Boromir that kept Aragorn focused on the road ahead.

They had not spoken again since the Caradhras peak, but despite Aragorn’s attempts to avoid any lone conversation, it was during his watch that Boromir came to him once more. He was aware that Boromir used strategy of trapping him while on watch and he couldn't help but smile at the tactic solution Boromir had for such a simple thing.

“First you have been looking at me, then you have been avoiding me. I do not know what I have done to earn your suspicions, but any ill willed accusations you have of me, say out loud, for I am not welcoming of this backhanded wariness.”

Again, it would seem, Boromir had misinterpreted his gazes and again Aragorn found himself having to choose between Boromir’s hurt or opening a bit of his heart. It was an easy choice to make.

“I do not distrust you, Boromir. You are a dependableally and I am grateful for your presence.”

“Then why do you avoid me? Why do you first stare only to avert your gaze a moment later? You smile at me only to fight me then evade me after. What am I to think of that?”

Aragorn was glad for the darkness, for he did not think he could have lied, if he had seen Boromir’s gaze restheavily on him. And he did not think he could have been honest, when looking into those piercing eyes.

“It is not easy, Boromir. I might become a King one day, but I do not wish for that to be my fate, for my blood is that of a weak man, who gave in to corruption. Yet it seems that I am the one of my bloodline that is to reclaim the throne. It is difficult for me to know how to act around you and getting a glimpse of who my people are, is confusing at times.”

Boromir was quiet, the words churning in his head. The he hesitantly said: “Are you judging our people based of me? Am I an assessment to decide if you’ll go through with you destiny? Because I care not for being a pawn, when you have done nothing to protect Gondor and her beauty.”

This was not how Aragorn had envisioned thisconfrontation to go. His mind scrambled for something to say, so that he would not lose the companionship he had with Boromir. In that moment he cursed his cowardliness that had made him lie and not tell Boromir the truth.

“No, Boromir. No, that was not my intent with my words. I- Let me think how to explain,” he begged. “I hold you in high regard, but I know you do not wish to see me on the throne of Gondor. If more think like you, then I do not see why it is my destiny to take a throne no one wants me to have. I know not what you think of me nor how I am to act around you and it seems my attempts to try and figure it out have not been as subtle as I had hoped,” he finished helplessly.

Again Boromir was quiet and Aragorn braced himself for whatever reaction he would get from the Captain. Then, softly at first, then a bit chocked as Boromir tried to quiet himself, he started to laugh.

Relief washed over Aragorn at the first sounds of the joyful giggles, though confusion was on his mind for he knew not what humor Boromir found in his explanation.

“I- I apologize,” he finally got control of himself. “There is no humor in your attempts to try and better understand your position in the world. I merely find amusement in how we manage to misinterpret one another yet again. And the fact that a skilled Ranger such as yourself has difficulty with the subtlety of signs, you would think came normally.”

The latter part was obviously a jest and Aragorn found himself flushing at the teasing, once again grateful for the darkness that cloaked him.

He chuckled as well and said: “It would seem so. The tracks of people’s faces are quite different than those of animals in the ground.” Then he got serious once more. “I do not know, if I’ll fare well in a court with my skills.”

“I think you’ll fare as well as any man,” Boromir said. “Maybe even better. If you truly want to know my thoughts, then I think you have much to learn, or maybe much to show you already can do, before you are ready.”

“Aye?” While it had not been his primary reason, now that Boromir was offering, he was curious for any input to the other issues that had been plaguing his mind.

“It is clear that you are a great warrior, though I have not yet seen you in a proper battle, nor with men under your command. I have not seen you negotiate, though I have seen at the Counsel that you are willing to listen to those with expertise. I know not how you will be with the people of Gondor, nor that you know of her customs, but you seem to listen to my tales, so there must be a willingness to learn,” said Boromir. “For now, you are too much on an unknown, who has not been there for Gondor in her darkest days. I cannot judge you wholly, but you have earned my respect and I am also grateful for your presence.”

Aragorn thought that a just assessment. He had told Boromir that he did not expect blind following when he had done nothing to earn it and it would be fair to say that Boromir did not need to see him as King until he had proven himself worthy of the title.

“Thank you for telling me, I will try my best to get ready for the burdens that come with a title I might one day carry,” he said. “It is good to have you here, Son of Gondor.”

He could not see Boromir smile, but the bump of their shoulders was friendly and it was audible in his voice when he spoke: “You’re as much a Son of Gondor as I am, Aragorn, but I still welcome your efforts. I will not gift my City lightly.”

“Will you tell me more of her people?” Aragorn asked. He was not sure if the question came from genuine interest or because he wanted to please Boromir and liked listening to his stories.

Still the gesture was appreciated. “I will, but only if you promise to tell me more about yourself. I am quite curious about the Ranger of the North that dwelt in Elven courts.”

And to that, Aragorn agreed. There in the darkness of the Mines of Moria, with no other indication of the other beside light touches and the warmth that the other radiated, they talked softly.

Boromir told him of the markets, the people of the lands, the Lords in their mansions and the soldiers when in their barracks. In every word he spoke, Aragorn could hear the fierce love Boromir held for his people. He heard how Boromir was not just a prince in a castle, but a man of the people, who loved him dearly for that. He got swept up in Boromir’s tales and a part of him wanted to see the City as Boromir described it, instead of the one he had seen long ago.

Aragorn supplemented Boromir’s stories with tales of his own. Small stories of the people of Bree and his fellow kinsmen, who protected the North. It was easy to talk to Boromir as he had long since discovered. Boromir was approachable and likable.

In fact, it was hard to keep much from him. It was as if he subconsciously interrogated you, easing your mind while asking probing questions. And Aragorn found himself wanting to tell Boromir the less than proper thoughts that had been on his mind.

“Boromir, I-” He did not finished the sentence, unsure of what to say. ‘Boromir, I actually have been in love with you since Rivendell? I thought you were merely attractive at first, but you’re also kind and I cannot help but fall for you? I’m afraid to become King, because then it would be more stupid for me to love you?’

It seemed he had been quiet for too long, for Boromir inquired: “Aragorn?” with concern tinting his voice.

“Oh, uhm, well-” he started out once more, mind torn between telling Boromir it was nothing or confessing. He never got to choose, because the sound of a stone falling into the well came from behind them and soon the armies of Moria were upon them.

They fought, they won, they ran, they lost.

Gandalf fell and for a while grief and getting further was all that Aragorn could think off. Boromir was on his radar, but more as someone to keep everyone going and watch the rear as Aragorn now had to lead.

It was much later, in Lothlórien that they even considered talking normally again.

“Take some rest. These borders are well protected.” Aragorn did not like Boromir’s posture, normally so proud and tall, now miserable. He wanted to ask what was plaguing his mind, but he did not dare for it was not his place.

“I will find no rest here,” said Boromir, stubborn set of jaw, yet anxious in his speech. “I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me ‘even now there is hope left.’ But I cannot see it.”

Aragorn’s heart clenched for the utter hopelessness that was in Boromir’s voice and he wondered what had happened that had made Boromir so distrustful in the hope of others.

“It is long since we had any hope. My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing and our people loose faith.” It was clear Boromir was partially talking to himself and needed someone to listen to him more than someone to talk with, “He looks to me to make things right and- and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored.”

The burden that Boromir carried was clear, though he seemed to cover it up by want. As if he was proud for the weight on his shoulder, not willing to acknowledge that it was too much and Aragorn did not know how to ease it.

Boromir took a breath. “Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?”

“I have seen the White City. Long ago.” Aragorn sensed that Boromir needed a bit of familiarity, someone, who could understand his home. While Aragorn was not wholly that person, he longed to be it, so he tried.

“One day, our paths will lead us there and the tower guard shall take up the call: The Lords of Gondor have returned.” There was again that glimmer in Boromir’s eyes when he spoke of his home and Aragorn’s heart gave a fond beat, wanting to keep that look there. “One day we will,” he agreed, “but it might not be for many months that we may do so.”

Boromir looked desolate again. “No, it might not be.”

“Hold your head high, Lord Steward. Our road may not lead to Minas Tirith, yet we do serve her and her protection,” he said. “You’ll see your home in due time.”

“Aye, you are right, Aragorn. Still, my heart tells me that I will not see my home as it is now ever again and my fears would have me believe that the next time I see it, it will be in ruin,” Boromir confessed. “There is not much else to think now that our wisest member has fallen. What chance is there to succeed now?”

While he had not dared to ask what was plaguing Boromir’s mind, the man had offered up the answers himself. Now Aragorn was left with a raw soul that he could not soothe. He could only offer platitudes. “We will try our best to do what we set out to do,” he replied, knowing it was nothing.

“That is your answer? We’ll walk into our death, for there is no other road you’ll consider?” Boromir asked, bitter anger dripping from his tongue. “What more do we have to loose before you realize this is folly?”

On a rational level he could understand that this anger came from the grief of losing Gandalf, but his mind was not ready for the rational and he snapped back: “I am not a punching bag for your grief, Boromir, son of Denethor. I know your opinionsand just because you are hurting over the loss of Gandalf, does not mean that I am not. I miss him, he was my friend. But he is gone now and I will see his will through to the end, no matter how much I love yo-”

He cut himself off, eyes becoming big as he had realized the revelation that had plunged from his lips in his moment of upset. He had never meant to tell Boromir. He had decided so when the darkness claimed their leader. There was too much to loose and he could not risk getting more attached. It was only grief fueled anger that made him confess.

“…Aragorn.” Boromir had equally wide eyes as he reached out to him, but his fingers never touched the arm that was quickly retreated, for Aragorn fled.

Behind him Boromir called out again, but his attempts to follow were made in vain, since Aragorn was more familiar in Elven lands and his longer legs with long strides carried him away. He could not believe how foolish he had been, nor how he would face Boromir or the rest of the Fellowship again.

Swiftly he walked through strange, yet comforting woods, until a small alcove hid him from prying eyes that would notjudge his tears to be from something other than grief.

Today he had made another mistake to go upon his list of regrets. Boromir did not love him, he was still on trial to become a King, love would not be considered by Gondor’s favourite Son. It was but a wishful dream in his mind and now he would have to endure the rest of this quest, with painful distance and obvious rejection.

It hurt more than he had expected, even if he had prepared himself for loving in silence. Not knowing if it could ever be, was less hurtful than knowing that even if everything had been different, it still would not come to pass.

He curled up into himself, reminiscent of hiding in the halls of Rivendell when he had been upset as a boy.

Of course, in Rivendell Arwen or Elrond or even Elladan or Elrohir would come find him and cheer him up, but there was no one to cheer him up here. He was all alone once more and the crushing loneliness had never felt more prominent.

He had not wanted to tell Boromir, for he feared he’d get too attached that it would cloud his judgment. However, a part of him had known it was too late and he was already attached to the smile of Gondor’s finest. Now, he just had to bear the fact that the smile had never been for him at all.

Why had he let his emotions get the better of him? He should know better as Isildur’s heir, he should have learned that desiring something did not mean he got to keep it. Was he not meant to learn from the mistakes of his forebears?

What if this ruined the quest? What if his mouth got them all in trouble and the rift between him and Boromir would never truly heal? What if Boromir would not have his back anymore, now that he knew what was in Aragorn’s heart?

Aragorn let himself linger in the halls of doubt that were inside his mind, never realizing that he had never confirmed his rejection before he fled.

So it came to be that familiar footsteps broke Aragorn out of his exile of self-pity when it was already far too late to turn back. He still attempted to do so, but before he could flee, a heavy hand stopped him in his tracks. “Please stay for a moment, Aragorn.”

And Aragorn stayed, for he had not yet mastered the art of saying no to Boromir on the little things regarding himself.

He sat Aragorn back down onto his seat and took the one next to it. Boromir was quiet for one antagonizing moment, before in an unsure voice he spoke: “I do not know if it was but a trick you are playing on me, but your reaction to your own words seemed genuine enough that I am inclined to believe them to be true. Would that be correct, Aragorn?”

Boromir stayed quiet and it became clear to Aragorn that he was indeed waiting for an answer. After a moment’s hesitation, Aragorn softly confessed: “Aye.”

“Then why did you run?” Boromir asked.

Aragorn snapped his head his way and fixed Boromir with a glare. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Aye, I want to understand, Aragorn.” Why did he have to sound so earnest?

“Because, I might become your King one day, Boromir. Because you would have to choose whether you shall obey me or defy me, while you know not whether you shall accept me as a King at all. I cannot expect my feelings to be reproached when you still need to judge my worth. Not to mention the dangers of the road. I cannot love you only to loose you, Boromir.”

Once he had started speaking, he found it hard to stop and Boromir listened attentively as was his custom. For once Aragorn did not know whether he was grateful for the quality or if he wished Boromir would shut out the too honest words.

When all the words that had been bottled up inside him had deserted him, he breathed heavily and awaited Boromir’s response.

“You are a fool, Aragorn.” At this Aragorn winced. “You are a fool to think that I would judge my King by the same standard as my lovers. You have earned my respect long ago, my affections maybe earlier. And I am not of the kind that will do something against their will. As I offer myself to you, know that I mean it wholly.”

Aragorn looked up in shock and Boromir chuckled at his face. “Yes, Aragorn. I never indented to act upon it, but it is hard not to fall for your charm. The tales of your exploits in Lord Elrond’s Halls make me smile fondly and your tracking skills make me awe. You also are closer to being my King than you believe, I just wish to see Gondor in good hands. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

“Of course.” It was easier to react to the part least concerned with his heart while his mind spun to incorporate this new information. “I- I can’t- I can’t loose you, Boromir,” he repeated.

“I know, Aragorn. I know,” Boromir said. “It would kill me to see you gone as welland I know not how to proceed from here. I would have you as mine, if the time was so not dark and the hour not so pressing.”

He leaned his shoulder against Aragorn’s and Aragorn rested his head upon it, his hand clasping Boromir’s. If he could be granted a wish, he would have wished to be in that moment forever, his body warm against Boromir’s as he thought. Secure that in the quiet, Boromir loved him.

Then he slowly moved to loosen the clasp of his necklace, before gently gifting it to Boromir’s neck, fastening the clasp with tenderness. “This was given to me by Arwen,” he explained. “It is so that I would not forget the Elven Halls that were my home.”

“Aragorn, I cannot take this,” protested Boromir.

“It is mine to give to whom I will, like my heart. And Igive this to you as a promise,” Aragorn pressed on. “I promise that I will try to see this quest through alive and keep you alive through it also. I swear by this that once our land is safe, we can try to see what can happen between us in times of peace.”

There were tears pricking in Boromir’s eyes, for he knew Aragorn was right. While they were on this quest, they had not the time to act upon the affection between them, save the conversations that were already commonplace and their bedrolls besides one another.

He grasped the Evenstar brooch softly in his hand. “I swear to live to see your promise to me fulfilled.” Then he smiled and his face became less formal. “Still, I hope you’ll allow me one kiss, before we start our agreement.”

That Aragorn could most certainly agree to and he leaned in closer waiting for Boromir to close the gap between them. His lips were chapped, yet soft. They pressed firmly against Aragorn’s, but they did not demand more than Aragorn could give as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss.

It was a permission, Aragorn granted eagerly and he was swiftly carried away by a gentle hand cupping his cheek, while the other clutched at his clothes. He lost his breath in the kiss, yet he had never felt more alive.

When it was over and Boromir pulled away, he had to gather his wits about himself for a moment. As he did so, Boromir smiled: “That is one memory to keep me walking on long roads ahead. We should head to dinner now though, I do not think Pippin will forgive us, were we to miss a meal now that we have it. Hobbits are quite peculiar about food.”

Aragorn remembered four Hobbits wanting to stop for a second breakfast, now already ages ago and smiled. He would not let go of the memory of the kiss either, but he knew better than to linger on it while they emotionally could not. Instead he agreed: “They very much are,” before leading the way through winding paths.

At dinner it was only Legolas, who noticed the jewel now sitting on Boromir’s neck and raised a brow at Aragorn, who shook his head softly, urging the Elf not to ask.

And so they lived with the knowledge of a potential future held close in their heart. It might be war, but was war not the place for love? For if there was no love in war, who did they fight for?

The only indication of their newfound closeness that was kept platonic for the sake of the quest was their bedrolls that found their waycloser to each other when they camped on the shores and watchesspend together, gazing at the stars and the eyes of the other.

Yet not all things that were good, were meant to last. The darkness was ever growing and no matter the love Boromir held in his heart for Aragorn, he had long since learned that his duty came first. Andthe voice of the Ring had twisted that love for his people into something ugly beyond recognition.

Still Aragorn had not yet accepted the gleam in Boromir’s eyes as corruption, perhaps blinded by love and unwilling to accept it as something other than the proud stubbornness he knew the other man held as well, perhaps it was the Ring influencing him to be blind.

No matter their affections, there were points they fundamentally disagreed on. “Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know that. From there we can regroup. Strike out for Mordor from a place of strength.”

Aragorn pictured the Ring surrounded by hearts that had been corrupted like Isildur’s, the land that had been the origin of the weakness in his own blood. “There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us.”

“You were quick enough to trust the Elves,” Boromir shot back and Aragorn said nothing, while rolling his eyes mentally, willing Boromir to see his point of view. “Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that.”

In that moment Aragorn found himself becoming irrationally angry yethe did not want to snap at Boromir, even if he bristled at Boromir judging him to be less of his perception of men, when he already judged him if he was worthy of a throne he had not asked for. How much more judgment would Boromir need to pass on him?

However, Boromir was not done with him yet and gripped his tunic, his touch for once not comforting, but aggressive. “You are afraid! All your life, you have hidden in the shadows.” And Aragorn was trying not to react as he let Boromir rave. “Scared of who you are, of what you are.”

With that Aragorn wrenched himself free. He was not listening to this. He was trying so hard and Boromir knew that, Boromir knew what was stopping him, what scared him. He was being viscous on purpose.

He began to stalk off, but a small dark voice whispered in his mind to snap, to make Boromir feel that hurt pit in his chest that Aragorn felt now. “I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your City.”

That night their bedrolls were on opposite sides of the camp and neither held the other company during their watch. They did not speak the next day either.

As they peddled he did not look at Boromir, though his eyes wanted to stray over to see if the Son of Gondor was safe still. He fought it. While he might have said things to hurt, it had been Boromir who started the confrontation and took it too far. It had always been Aragorn apologizing or explaining himself on this journey and he would not be the one now.

So with clenching heart he kept to himself, hoping that this would not unmake whatever chance they had at an us.

“Where’s Frodo?”

Merry’s words snapped him out of his despairing thoughts and his eyes scannedthe campsite for their Ring-bearer. Instead of a Halfling, they fell upon an abandoned shield and a cold wave washed over him as he realized what it had been that made Boromir unnecessarily cruel yesterday.

When he found the Ring-bearer, his words made the cold that was already upon him, burrow into his bones and flow through his veins. Would Boromir ever recover from the corruption of the Ring or would he never again be the man Aragorn met and fell for?

It were not questions he had the time to ponder, because Uruk-hai were marching ever closer and he had to ensure he would see Frodo to safety for as long as he could. Still, he could not help but think of his promise to Boromir as he tried to stay alive on the hills of Amon Hen.

As he was driven back Legolas and Gimli joined him and he looked back frantically for Boromir, fear clouding his heart as he envisioned an out of his mind Boromir, encountering Frodo aloneonce more, or even the other Hobbits alone and unprotected.

Then a loud horn blow echoed over the hills and another outcome he had not considered gripped his heart and twisted it. It was undoubtedly Boromir’s horn, the same horn he had blown when they left Rivendell for he refused to be a thief in the night. The horn that meant Boromir was in trouble too large for him to handle on his own, while they were with three.

A new vigor he did not know he possessed settled intohis soul as he ripped through the forces of the enemy, trying to reach the sound in time.

Boromir had multiple arrows in his chest and a large Uruk-hai pointing a killing shot at his face when Aragorn arrived.

Laterhe could not tell how he got there, but soon he found himself dropping down next to the body ofBoromir, eyes filled with unshed tears and a thousand apologies upon his lips. If only he had talked to Boromir, if only he had seen, if only he had paid attention.

Still as he laid there, it was his Boromir. He knew that no Ring could ever care about the well being of the Fellowship, especially the Hobbits, the way Boromir haddone. And even if he laid there, pierced by many arrows, he said: “They took the little ones.”

It was not Aragorn’s concern for now, as he desperately tried to staunch the bleeding of too many wounds.

“Frodo?” Boromir was panicked, which was not helping his condition. “Where is Frodo?”

“I let Frodo go.” Aragorn would not lie to him in what might be his final moments. He squashed the thought, but it was still prominent in his mind.

“Then you did what I could not.” It was a laboring speech, lungs filling with blood. “You need not worry about your blood, for it was I, who was weak and gave into corruption. I tried to take the Ring from him.”

His words about Isildur reflected back at him in this moment soundedout of tune in his ears and he cursed himself for giving Boromir the idea that he was ever weak. Aragorn knew he had not been free from the Rings voice and it was mere luck that saved him from being its main target. “The Ring is beyond our reach now.”

“Forgive me. I did not see… I have failed you all.”

Aragorn hated to see Boromir like this. He had always been so sure of himself, relishing his history with the pride of a man, who valued his honor. He would not let him lie there and speak ill about himself, not while he was still breathing. “No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honor.”

He could not let it end like this. He would not let it end like this. They both made a promise and the jewel on Boromir’s neck was a token of this. He would not allow this to be the end of the tale of Boromir the Bold.

While he did not have much, he made the best attempt to bind the wounds, but it was a foolish attempt and cloth colored deeply and fast.

“Leave it! It is over… the world of Men will fall and all will come to darkness and my City to ruin… Aragorn…”

No, Boromir could not give up on Gondor. Aragorn knew the hope had been fading from Boromir’s heart for many years, but not a day ago he was telling him about the courage and honor of Men and when he spoke of the White City, he only spoke with love. Aragorn would not let him die, thinking all he loved was lost. “I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you… I will not let the White City fall, nor your people fail…” It was an oath he intended to keep.

“Our people,” Boromir corrected. “Our people.” And Aragorn could cry. He had stopped trying to tend to the wounds, but this made him try again. He could not give up on Boromir after he had given him so much of himself.

Still, when Boromir’s hand reached for his sword, he helped him even if he knew why the other reached for it. He chocked through the blood his final words: “I would have followed you, my love… my Captain, my King.”

And then Boromir was no more.

For a moment the world did not move. All was silent around him as he looked upon the fair and quiet face before him.

A bout of aggression came over him and he shook the limp form of Gondor’s favourite Son as he cried and raged. “You promised me you’d live. I promised you that I would protect you. I command you to live, Boromir. Do not make me an oath breaker. Do not make me loose you… love, please, come back to me.”

No matter his rage or cracking voice, there was no reaction.

Aragorn suddenly felt far removed from the forest, the hills, the stench ofthe dead. He was floating above it, not grieving, but pausing, as if he could make the world rewind until it was right again if he just distanced himself enough.

From above he saw himself kiss the forehead of his beloved, the skin still warm under his lips as it had been in Lothlórien, yet completely alien. “Be at peace, Son of Gondor,” he whispered and left athelas on his wounds, even if he knew it would not bring Boromir back. It was a waste of resources to make him feel like he had done something for Boromir when he had failed him so.

Behind him Legolas and Gimli appeared, both seasoned warriors and understanding what had just happened to their comrade. They fell silent. Legolas knew what Boromir had meant to Aragorn and Gimli had most probably put the pieces together as well.

Softly Aragorn brushed the hair out of Boromir’s face and straightened the jewel on his chest, before taking the bracers of his arms and strapping them to his own. It felt fitting, a piece of his home in exchange for a piece of Boromir’s.

“They will look for his coming from the White Tower, but he will not return,” he said, swallowing hard.

Yet he knew what he had to do. They had not the time to bury Boromir like the Kings of old and Aragorn vowed he would return for him. If not to bury what was left of him, then to build a monument in his honor where he had fallen.

For now he had a promise to fulfill.

“Boromir did not die in vain. I will not let him,” Aragorn said. “While Frodo, Sam with him, is beyond our help, Merry and Pippin still need us. I will not abandon this Fellowship so easily. Take only what you must. We travel light. Let’s hunt some Orc.”

Within minutes they had ditched all that they must and were on the run, an hopeless rescue mission that was mind-numbing in the chase, while vital for Aragorn’s heart. He would not fail Boromir, he would win in Boromir’s name and be the best King he could be for their people.

What the three hunters did not know was the soft beat in Boromir’s chest, for he had not been an oath breaker and he could not disobey a command from his King. Brought back from the brink, he lay there with athelas keeping him on the edge of life.

They also did not know about an Elven group, hurrying down the river to answer the call of a horn that demanded aid.

The three hunters could not know that slowly Boromir was heaved into a boat, loosing his horn to the river as the Elves rowed him to their forest, where the one who could heal him resided, if he were to survive the trip.

So, they fought for a friend they thought dead.

A/N:

Thisis not really based in canon, but I like the idea of Boromir talking during marches. It might have started as a way to ease the minds of the soldiers under his command, or just something to stave of the boredom and a habit he picked up after marching often.

Also I like the idea that Aragorn is a great King, who is v good at negotiation and stuff, but the moment it’s abt Boromir, he looses all chill and skills he has. He’s a gay disaster, ur honor and I love him.

It has not as much dialogue as I would like, but there seemed no place to fit it in and this style of story comes natural to me now and I am quite happy with it still :D

I tried really hard with Tolkien’s writing style and while some parts are better than others, I am happy with my attempt bc it was a bit of an experiment.

The title and chapter titles are from Hadestown, the number Promises, bc I have emotions about it.

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wristpockets · 3 years

Note

Can I throw some prompts at you? All fluffy but with potential for Deep Emotional Talks™ if that's what you're after. Anyway: 1. Essek and jester trying to cook/ bake for the first time (two rich kids who have never been in a kitchen while food has been made) lots of potential for comedy but also ways to explore the differences and similarities in their childhoods?? 2. Caleb and Essek teaching each other dances from their homelands, (I feel like Essek probably had to learn formal dances in his youth and absolutely despised them until he realized that dancing with someone you actually like can be fun) Anyhow, happy writing!

Thanks for the suggestions! Going with the first one!

(If anyone else has any fic prompts/ideas/requests feel free to send them my way!)

This kind of got away from me 😅 Ended up a lot longer than expected. Not going to spend too much time proofreading or editing bc this was supposed to be fun. Anyway

Essek is leaning over the railing on the Nein Heroez, a glass of wine in his hand. He can hear the party going on behind him - the rest of the Nein get together every month for dinner - but he needed to get away for a moment. He watches the moonlight reflect off the waves as he swirls the wine in his glass.

He doesn't notice Jester until she's right next to him.

"What's wrong, Essek?" she asks, her voice laden with sincerity and sympathy.

He sighs, takes a long sip of his wine, and says, "I feel inadequate."

"Oh no Essek," Jester says. She moves closer, until she can bump her hip against his. "You're so powerful. And!" She lowers her voice conspiratorially, "I saw the way you floated in Cognouza. You were faster than Caleb, which I think means you're even smarter than he is."

Essek actually smiles at that. Lets out a little laugh. "You're not wrong. But I'm not concerned with my power or intelligence."

"Then how do you think you're inadequate? In what way? Is it-" Jester cuts herself off, looking over at him while wiggling her eyebrows.

"No," he says quickly, his ears heating up. "Everyone else is so..." He looks for the word and comes up blank. "Caleb and I see Beauregard and Yasha for dinner quite often. Yasha will have freshly baked bread, or even cake. Beauregard works all day, and Yasha stays home and cooks."

"I think she's happy though," Jester says.

"I think so too," Essek says quickly. "Caleb works all day too, and I stay home and do nothing." He lets out a little laugh. "I cannot believe this is my problem. Feeling bad that I cannot cook dinner while my - while Caleb is working."

Jester's eyes light up. "Okay," she says. "Okay okay. For our next get together, we're making dessert. Me and you."

Beauregard and Yasha are hosting the next meetup. Essek had collected Jester, Fjord and Kingsley early that morning, to give Jester and Essek time to make dessert.

They sent Caleb and Fjord out of the house and set to work in Caleb's kitchen.

But when Essek takes the third batch of cupcakes out of the oven - burned on the outside, somehow raw inside - he's ready to give up.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," Essek says quietly. He floats there, uselessly, staring at another failed attempt at a fairly simple baked good. "Is this how you normally make them?"

"Hmm?" Jester says, looking over at him. She dips her finger into the frosting she'd been working on. "I've never made cupcakes before."

Essek turns toward her. "What? You've never-"

"Nope," Jester says, matter-of-factly. She puts the icing-covered finger in her mouth, tasting the frosting, before scrunching up her nose. "This is awful."

Essek deflates a little. "So we are currently lacking both edible cupcakes and edible icing."

Even Jester's smile falls. "I'm sorry, Essek."

"It's not your fault," Essek says. "We still have some ingredients - what do you know how to make? What could we make quickly that's simpler?"

Jester looks down at the floor. "I don't know."

"Anything," Essek pleads. "Anything you've baked successfully-"

"I've never baked anything," Jester admits quietly.

"Oh," Essek says.

"Yeah."

Jester turns so her back is to the counter, then slides down, sitting on the floor. "I know how you feel. I feel like I should know how to do this."

Essek floats over, then sits down next to her. He can't bear the look on her face. "Two powerful adventurers, brought low by mere cupcakes," he jokes.

"I wanted to do this," Jester says, still quiet. "I wanted to bake something for everyone, something delicious! Something everyone would eat and say, 'oh Jester, your baking is so delicious,' and then maybe I'm not just the girl who draws dicks on things."

"You're a lot more than that," Essek tries.

Jester nods. "I know. I just feel bad."

"I feel that way too," Essek says. "All this power and knowledge and ability - for what? What good is it doing me here, now? And I know it's not an either-or thing. Caleb cooks. Even Beauregard does sometimes. I've never so much as fried an egg."

"Neither have I," Jester admits. "When I lived at home..."

"I understand," Essek says, and he knows he does.

"It's just embarrassing," Jester says.

"Yes," Essek agrees.

They sit like that for a moment, until they hear the front door open.

"Essek? Jester?" Caleb calls from the entryway. "Am I allowed in the kitchen yet?"

"Not yet!" Jester yells. "Almost done! Fifteen minutes!"

Essek looks at her in shock, and she just shrugs her shoulders.

"I do not possess the arcane ability to create cupcakes," Essek says blankly. "And I am unsure of how else we might make a dessert in that time."

"I panicked," Jester says apologetically. "Maybe some of the cupcakes aren't so bad-"

"They are," Essek says as Jester leans over batch number two, tearing off a piece of cupcake and trying it cautiously. After a few bites she scrunches her nose, then spits it out into the garbage.

"It looked good," Jester pouts. "I can't believe cupcakes would lie to me."

Something connects and Essek can feel his eyes widen. "I have an idea."

Several hours later, Jester and Essek are ready to present their cupcakes to the rest of the Nein. At the very least, they look nice - frosting is apparently close enough to painting for Jester to have some skill at it.

"These look delicious," Caleb says, smiling up at Essek. The compliment in front of their friends makes Essek's cheeks heat up, and he's grateful his complexion doesn't let it show.

"I might need to get some pointers from you," Yasha says as she carefully peels off the cupcake wrapper. "I wish I could frost like this."

"Don't eat that!" Beau shouts, quickly leaning over to slap it out of her hand.

Everyone stops to stare at Beauregard, Yasha's mouth still open, the cupcake discarded on the floor.

"What's wrong, Beauregard?" Essek asks nervously.

"They've been tampered with," she says. She picks up Yasha's dinner plate. "These plates are enchanted. They change colour if any of the food on it is fucked with. A few crumbs fell off of it." She points to a few speckles of bright purple on the plate. "I watched the plate react to the crumbs."

"Tampered with?" Fjord asks. "Tampered how?"

"I don't fucking know, man," Beau says. "It doesn't like, tell me."

"Um," Essek says carefully. "Would a magical alteration to the dish set off that reaction?"

"I should fucking hope so," Beau says, "since that's the whole point."

"In that case," Essek says, shooting Jester a worried look, "then yes, they were tampered with. But they will not harm you."

"Essek," Caleb says, looking at him worriedly.

"It's just prestidigitation," Essek says hurriedly. "We used it to flavour the cupcakes and the frosting." He takes a bite of his own cupcake. "See? They're safe."

"But why?" Veth asks. "Surely it can't be any worse than that fish stew Fjord made us all eat last time."

Essek looks at Jester again, who looks resigned. He waves his hand, dismissing the spell. "See for yourself."

Caleb is the first one that takes Essek up on that, tearing off a piece with his fingers and tasting it. Essek can see Caleb trying very hard to keep his expression neutral. He eventually - with some difficulty - swallows the bite of cupcake. "Ja," he says, eventually. "It's not that bad." He offers Essek a warm smile.

"Well that's obviously a lie," Veth says, pushing her plate a few inches away from her.

"Sorry guys," Jester says. She's looking down at the table and looks absolutely lost. "We just wanted to make something nice."

"Have either of you ever baked anything, ever?" Veth asks, picking up a tiny piece of the cupcake and trying it. "This is awful. I love you Jessie, but who taught you to bake?"

Jester looks too crestfallen to answer. "Both of us are, ah, new to this," Essek admits instead.

"Maybe cooking lessons are in order," Fjord says. "I used to cook on the ship, back when I was getting started. I could show you a few things, Jester."

Jester nods, still looking down at the table.

"And I could teach you," Caleb says to Essek.

"That would be appreciated," Essek says.

"Okay," Jester says. She sighs, then looks up at everyone. Forces a smile. "Okay. Me and Essek are going to learn how to cook, and then we'll make something for next time."

"Maybe not cupcakes," Beau says.

"Maybe nothing for anyone who complains about my baking again," Jester retorts.

"There are some desserts from Rosohna I'd like to recreate, if possible," Essek says. "If I can find a recipe."

"That sounds nice," Caduceus says.

"I am not much for sweets, but I do like some of the ones in Rosohna," he continues. "They're, ah, made with cinnamon. I don't think they do that here in the Empire."

"They don't!" Jester almost yells, smiling. "I know! It's crazy!"

#essek thelyss #jester lavorre #shadowgast #i guess?

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Pretty Girl

Pairing - Flip Zimmerman X Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, swearing, smoking, crime, (eventual) smut, racism (no slurs), sexism, general views/language of the time.

A/N: Well, here’s the prologue to the multi-chapter fic I’m working on! I hope you enjoy, feedback welcome and appreciated, especially if you notice any over-description of the reader! This is a female reader based fic.

Flip Zimmerman sauntered into the Colorado Springs police department early Monday morning, his black hair in need of a trim, a bit of a shadow darkening his unshaven face. He’d had the previous week off, after wrapping up the Klan investigation with Jimmy and Ron. The chief had insisted they each take some time, and Flip ended up taking the whole week, though he knew his partner opted to simply take a day, and Ron only a few more than that.

But Flip had needed the break-the case had exhausted him. It had drained him mentally to pretend to be one of the Klan, to agree with their views and utter slurs as if they rolled naturally off of his tongue. No, he had felt each moment with them chip away a little at his soul. So he took the time off; went fishing, watched television, did some work on his home, and spent some time with his family, who rarely got to see him. He didn’t live far from his parents, but with the hours he took on, it had been hard to visit often. They understood, but Flip knew his mother wished he would settle down, start a family of his own. She hated that he came home to an empty house, with no warm meal ready and waiting. Flip didn’t mind it so much, he was too busy at work to notice the void.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Flip wasn’t at his desk for more than twenty minutes before Jimmy came in, all smiles for Flip’s reappearance.

“Flip, welcome back kid.” Clapping his shoulder, Jimmy sank into his chair and fixed Flip with a knowing stare from across their desks. Flip frowned, wondering what had his friend in a chipper mood early on a Monday morning.

“Jimmy, the fuck are you staring at?” Flip grumbled though the threat in his voice was laced with affection for the man he’d called 'partner' for years now.

More detectives and office workers began to filter in, coffees in hand, all greeting Flip with casual ease before they settled in and began their workdays.

Jimmy shook his head, “Nothing, just glad to see your miserable face back, it’s been an interesting week.” The mischievous glint in his eyes said otherwise.

Flip didn’t look up at Jimmy’s words, merely smirking in response. He noticed then a neat stack of files on the left-hand side of his desk. When he grabbed the first, curious, he saw it was a case file of his, only it had been organized, and some of the sections of the report had been filled out for him. He stared a moment, shocked, before glancing up at Jimmy-whole was, annoyingly, still watching Flip.

He held up the file, “You do this, Jimmy?”

But he was shaking his head before Flip finished speaking, “Nah don’t like you enough.” He didn’t elaborate and Flip was too stubborn to press the issue. Whatever.

Flip glanced at the other files and saw they were the same. Someone had taken his paperwork, organized it and fill in the sections that were mostly clerical information, before returning them to his desk for him to finalize and submit. He had come in early specifically to finish off these files, and now his two-hour backlog was reduced to maybe thirty minutes of work. Impressed, and grateful, he began to work through the stack with his notes. He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but the gesture-wherever it came from-was more than welcome. Paperwork was the least appealing part of this job.

At nine, the station was buzzing with activity normal for weekdays. Ron had greeted Flip warmly when he came in, advising him that Sergeant Trapp wanted to see them in his office in an hour, before moving to his desk and checking his messages. And while it felt like any other day in Colorado Springs, Flip, ever the detective, noticed the moment the atmosphere in the bullpen shifted. Every man in the room seemed far too damn chipper.

He glanced up from proofreading his work to find many of his colleagues glancing toward the glass wall and doorway that led to the hallway, beyond which and out of sight, was the front lobby and administration desk.

After a few moments, Flip turned his chair to face Ron, whose desk was behind his own, only to see his friend doing the same thing. He frowned, “The hell is everyone in a tizzy for, Rookie?”

Ron grinned, “Chief hired a new secretary for the front desk-“

“What, Donna finally got herself a helper?” Flip cut in, referring to the homely but overworked secretary that had been asking for a second in command for years, during which team the operation of the division had nearly doubled.

“Yep,” Ron nodded, “And Donna already looks like it’s made a world of difference for her, but wait until you meet, she’s incredible. Nicest lady I’ve ever met.”

Flip rolled his eyes at this proclamation and spun back around, stacking his files together. He was glad to hear Donna had the help she needed now, it was a long time coming and would certainly make a difference for the entire station. Donna was like the mother hen, taking care of everything from coffee to endless paperwork, dealing with the public that came in, and everything else they could throw at her. She never complained, but always made the point of saying things would happen quicker if she were two people. He wondered what it would be like to have another Donna type woman in the office, but intended on giving it no further thought.

That is until he heard the distinct click of heels coming down the hallway, and glanced up, half interested, at the sound.

He did a double-take when he saw her and felt himself freeze. Stunned into stillness, Flip immediately felt that Ron using the term ‘incredible’ to describe the new secretary was entirely understating this woman. Everyone’s heads in the room turned her way, and it wasn’t just anyone who could unknowingly conjure up that kind of reaction.

Dressed in a fashionably smart secretary dress, which was a shade of dark blue that perfectly accentuated her skin, the woman was breathtaking. Curvy, with long (Y/H/C) spilling down her back in soft waves, she wore kitten heels that gave her a small amount of extra height, yet she was still short. She walked with an air of peaceful grace, carrying a large basket in her arms. But it was her smile, dazzling and genuine, that captured his attention.

Flip had to shake his head slightly, dragging his eyes away from the beautiful creature dancing into the bullpen. He refocused on his files, hoping to look busy, all the while straining his ears to hear her speak.

“Happy Monday, boys.” She sang, and a chorus of good mornings and hello’s filled the air, “I hope you like banana bread because I’ve got two fresh loaves here, one plain and one with chocolate chips-Jimmy, I made that for you.” And Flip looked up in surprise in time to see her wink at Jimmy, who gave an appreciative laugh, then thanked her.

She had set the basket down next to the water station, where there was a small foldout table set up. Sure enough, she pulled out two loaves of bread, already cut and laid out in smaller basket trays for them. She made quick work of setting out the loaves, plates and napkins before reaching into the basket, pulling something out she had wrapped in sandwich paper, and spinning around toward Flip.

He dropped his gaze before she noticed him, now making work of organizing his desk-why the hell was he suddenly so nervous? From behind him, Flip heard Ron give a small groan, “Tell me you didn’t.” But he sounded delighted.

“Ron, of course I did, don’t be so silly, it’s nothing.” This captured Flip’s attention entirely, and he gave up the pretence of tidying his desk to turn around and see what she had passed him. Inside the wrap was a slice of pineapple upside-down cake. Ron pinched a piece off with his fingers and tried it, giving an appreciative nod.

“That’s just like I remember, thank you.” He noticed Flip watching with a frown and grinned, “Oh, now, you two haven’t met yet, Flip’s just come back from vacation.” He clapped his hands together.

Flip looked away from Ron and met the (y/e/c) eyes of the young woman standing a few feet away, who wasn’t much taller standing than Flip was seated. She reacted first, though Flip did notice her eyes widen slightly before she stepped forward, all smiles.

“Detective Zimmerman, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m (Y/F/N).” She stuck her hand out. Flip automatically grasped it, noticing how entirely tiny her hand was in his own.

He tried to smile, “It’s nice to meet you, miss. Please, call me Flip.” She smiled at his words and Flip suddenly felt like his brain might be needing a jump start, as it was the prettiest smile he’d ever had directed at him. He felt warm and craved a cigarette. Or a cold shower.

“Well, Flip, only if you call me (y/n).”

Ron had watched the entire exchange with a shit-eating grin on his face, “(Y/N) here is an amazing baker, in addition to her many other skills that Donna can’t stop raving about, so before you know it, Zimmerman, you’ll be sporting a few extra pounds.”

(Y/N) giggled. Truly giggled, and Flip found himself surveying her, trying to decide how old she was. She carried herself with a confidence and ease that seemed mature, yet she did appear youthful in many ways. “It’s what I’m known for, leaving heavyset men behind me everywhere I go.” She held up her hands, as if in defence of herself.

Flip snorted, “And you take special requests?” He asked, nodding at the cake on Rons' desk.

“Oh, well that was actually what I baked for Sunday supper for my sister and me,” She leaned against Ron’s desk, her hands neatly folded in front of her, “And when I told Ron here what I was planning, he asked for a slice because I make it like his aunt used to.” She shrugged, giving Ron a friendly smile.

“It tastes exactly like hers, (Y/N), you’re the best.”

“You two seem awfully, uh, close.” Flip remarked, and while Ron seemed unfazed and unbothered by the comment, he noticed that (Y/N) seemed to flinch slightly at the words, her smile disappearing.

Flip knew he was a gruff, grumpy son of a bitch, but he was also always like that, and no one ever seemed to care. Now though, the tone and accusation that she might have assumed from his observation seemed to hit a nerve, and her demeanour shifted, embarrassed.

“Oh, yes, well Ron’s been a gem, being pretty new here himself. He’s helped show me the ropes,” She murmured, “I should get back to it-nice to meet you, Detective.” And she hurried away, still taking time to greet those she passed, before disappearing down the hall.

“Man, Zimmerman, you have a way with the ladies.” Ron deadpanned, shaking his head at Flip, who was staring toward the hallway feeling both annoyed and guilty. He glared at Ron, who was shaking his head, a hand clapped dramatically to his face, “A real Romeo.”

“Fuck off, Rookie,” He growled. A thought jumped at him then, “Wait, is she the one who did all this-‘ He gestured at his files ‘While I was off?”

Ron rolled his eyes now, “Of course she did-she helps everyone stay on top of paperwork. When I told her you were off last week, she made a point of getting you all caught up.” Again, Flip stared down the hall, his mind working.

He just wasn’t very good at socializing, or making friends. He was gruff and sarcastic and his sheer size usually kept others at a distance. He had a hard time knowing the right thing to say, especially to someone as pretty and kind as (Y/N). He hadn’t thought his words would come out the way they did, sounding accusatory, and he wished he could take them back.

Over an hour later, Flip was still replaying the interaction in his mind, over and over. When he, Ron and Jimmy re-emerged from Sarge’s office, new assignments in hand, he had come to a decision. He had never been one to simply leave something unaddressed, not if it bothered him. And while he was certainly terrible at socializing, he would never stand for himself to be ungentlemanly. First impressions were important, and he intended to correct this one.

While Ron and Jimmy continued toward the bullpen, Flip turned right and stomped down the hallway, entirely missing his friends exchange a knowing look behind his back. As he approached the front desk, his eyes peeled looking for her (y/h/c) hair, he was surprised to notice how tidy and welcoming it now looked.

(Y/N) had made quick work of reorganizing and decorating, which was probably why Donna was nowhere to be found, no doubt in the files room making work of the backlog she’d been complaining about for years. Flip figured she must be in the best mood of her life.

The reception was empty, however, and Flip wondered where (Y/N) must be. He continued to march forward, considering if he should look around for her, or wait at the desk, when a door on his left, which led to the bathrooms, opened. Before Flip could stop, she was suddenly hurrying out of the doorway and slammed directly into his side, gasping in surprise.

Flip had just managed to turn his body slightly toward her before they collided, allowing his arms to shoot out and large hands to grab her shoulders as she bounced off of him and fell backwards. Steadying her, he peered, “Damn it, darling, I’m sorry-are you alright?”

She was wide-eyed, her head tilted back to meet his eyes. He released her, taking a polite half step back. “I’m fine, goodness, I should apologize, I ran out of there like a bat out of hell.” Her hands moved to her waist, where her dress tie sat, and began to redo the knot absentmindedly.

Flip raised a brow, “Something scare ya?” When her face flushed at his words, his eyes drank in the sight, heart rate speeding somewhat. He watching her curiously.

“I, um,” She sighed, her eyes closing briefly as if attempting to find the strength to speak, “It’s silly, I was washing my hands and noticed a big spider and I really, really hate spiders-I live alone and I can never kill them easily, I always get the broom so I can stay far back, so I thought I’d run out here and find a broom-“ Abruptly, she stopped speaking when Flip began to laugh, and after a moment of uncertainty, a smile spread across her face-dazzling white teeth on display.

“I can kill it for ya’, no need to resort to desperate measures,” He joked, happy to see his words cause her to giggle slightly, “But do me a favour?” He added, his expression becoming serious.

(Y/N) glanced up at him curiously, “What’s that, detective?”

Flip took a breath, “Accept my apology, for earlier,” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’m a grumpy S-O-B and my words came out harsher than I intended, I only meant to tease. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously as he spoke.

She seemed to consider his words for a moment, crossing her arms across her chest, a small smile on her pretty lips. Flip kept his eyes on her face, not wanting to be disrespectful by ogling her, but it was impossible not to notice the way her bust pressed out when her arms wrapped under them. He needed a cigarette. And probably a proper smack around the head.

“Of course I accept, detective,” (Y/N) was smiling properly now, “Jimmy warned me you were a mean lumberjack-his word, not mine. I just-“ She paused, “Worried I’d given the wrong impression, is all. I’ve got a good work ethic and don’t want anyone thinking I’m silly or chatty over hardworking.”

Flip was surprised at how serious her tone turned, her words heavy with concern. “You organized all my files for me, while I was off?”

“Yes-why?”

Flip laughed, “Darling, that knocked two hours of painful catch-up off my plate and we hadn’t even met before, I can already tell you’re impressive, so if anyone here ever tries to question that, you send them to me.” He huffed, glancing at the bathroom door, “I’ll go kill that monster in there for you.”

She had flushed again at his words, something that sent a jolt of electricity through his core. Flip realized he was well and truly fucked for this woman, and he’d only known her an hour.

“Wait,” He paused at the door to the bathrooms, glancing back. She was giving him her best little grin now, “Thank you, Flip.”

He merely nodded, before stepping through the doorway to kill the damned spider.

Although, he thought, maybe he should thank it instead.

Chapter 1

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#flip zimmerman x reader #reader insert #adam driver x reader #adam driver #fanfic #smut #multichapter #flip x you #Zimmerman x reader #fluff #friends to lovers #best friend #feedback appreciated #Fem reader #prologue

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ouyangzizhensdad · 3 years

Note

I just saw a post saying nhs has an inferiority complex and I'm?? Confused?? I always thought he was fine with being weaker in terms of cultivation, maybe I missed something

Hi anon,

I have to say, I struggle as well to figure out where people are getting this from the text. I think, oftentimes, people don't actually pay attention to what the text provides us in terms of characterisation as a whole, but take elements of what makes the character or which happens to them and simply extrapolate how they themselves would feel in that situation as a means of understanding the character. I can easily imagine how a reader would think: wow, if I had low cultivation in a world that values it (and within a clan that values strength even more so!) and a brother who was not only super strong and admired but who wanted me to fit into that role, and then found myself having to fill his shoes after his sudden death, I'd feel some sort of inferiority complex. I think that's the same reason you see so much people insisting WWX has self-esteem issues.

The thing about NHS is that, as a youth, we never saw him value high cultivation or "academic" achievements (not sure how to otherwise call his time at CR but there is probably a better word for it) or brute strength. He's afraid of consequences from his brother for failing at the CR, as we see here:

Although the brothers were not born from the same mother, their relationship was quite solid. Nie Mingjue had always taught his younger brother with extreme harshness, particularly caring for his studies. This was why, even though Nie Huaisang respected his older brother, he was the most scared of Nie Mingjue mentioning his schoolwork.

and here:

Although he didn’t understand a single bit as he listened in class, Nie Huaisang worked as hard as a slave when the date of the test approached. He copied Virtue two times for Wei Wuxian, and begged before the test, “Please, Wei-xiong, if my grade is lower than yi, my brother would really break my legs! Stuff like telling apart direct lineage, collateral lineage, main clan, clan branches… For us disciples from big clans, we can’t even distinguish our relationships with our own relatives, randomly calling everyone who are more than two tiers away from us aunts and uncles. Does anyone have enough capacity in their brain to remember those of other clans?!”

After thinking for a few moments, an expression of envy and yearning appeared on Nie Huaisang’s face, “To be honest, Wei-xiong’s words were quite interesting. Spiritual energy can only be obtained through cultivation and taking great pains to form a golden core (金丹). It would take I-don’t-know-how-many years to do, especially for someone like me, whose talent seems as if it was gnawed by a dog when I was in my mother’s womb. But, resentful energy are from the fierce ghosts. If they can easily be taken and used, it would be beyond wonderful.”

[...] . If disciple from a prominent clan forms the core at a later age, it would be a disgrace to tell other people of it, yet Nie Huaisang didn’t feel ashamed at all. Wei Wuxian also laughed, “I know, right? No harm comes from using it.”

The only moment that I can find that could tangentially be used to suggest that NHS has an inferiority complex could be this one, where NHS wants to avoid LXC's questioning about how his studies are going (and WWX picking up on his cues like a good friend to redirect the conversation). However, when you consider the whole context of the scene, it’s not because NHS feels self-conscious but because he’s afraid LXC is going to report to his brother that he’s not working hard at his studies:

Lan Xichen turned to him, “Huaisang, a while ago, as I returned from Qinghe, your brother asked of your studies. How is it? This year, will you be able to pass?”

Nie Huaisang replied, “Generally speaking, yes…” He seemed like a wilted cucumber, looking at Wei Wuxian in a helpless way. Wei Wuxian grinned, “Zewu-Jun, what are you two going out for?”

[...] Nie Huaisang also wanted to join in, but he had been reminded of his older brother as he met Lan Xichen. Cringing silently, he didn’t dare to have fun, “I’ll pass and go back so that I can review…” With this act, he hoped that Lan Xichen would put in some good words for him to his brother.

NHS seems very industrious at finding ways not to have to do anything that relates to cultivation or to leading a sect, and that is linked once more to the fact that he does not want to do these things (so not a case where we could say he’s self-sabotaging because he fears failure):

Lan Xichen took Nie Huaisang’s saber into his qiankun sleeve, “Huaisang has been using the excuse that he left his saber at home. Now he will have no excuses for lazing around.”

or here

“Nie Huaisang!”

Nie Huaisang fell at once.

He really did fall to his knees from the terror. He only staggered up after he finished kneeling, “D-d-d-da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue, “Where is your saber?”

Nie Huaisang cowered, “In… in my room. No, in the school grounds. No, let me… think…”

Wei Wuxian could feel that Nie Mingjue almost wanted to hack him dead right there, “You bring a dozen fans with you wherever you go, yet you don’t even know where your own saber is?!”

Nie Huaisang hurried, “I’ll go find it right now!”

[...]

In a hurry, Nie Huaisang dropped a few fans on the ground. Jin Guangyao picked them up for him and put them into his arms, “Huaisang’s hobbies are quite elegant. He’s dedicated to art and calligraphy, and has no propensity for mischief. How can you say that they’re useless?”

Nie Huaisang nodded as fast as he could, “Yes, Brother is right!”

Nie Mingjue, “But sect leaders have no need for such things.”

Nie Huaisang, “I’m not going to be a sect leader, though. You can be it, Da-ge. I’m not doing it!”

or here

Nie Mingjue was on the school ground, teaching and supervising Nie Huaisang’s saberwork in person. He did not acknowledge Jin Guangyao, so he stood at the edge of the field, waiting with respect. Since Nie Huaisang was quite uninterested and the sun was bright, he was rather half-hearted, complaining that he was tired after just a few moves. He beamed as he got ready to go to Jin Guangyao and see what presents he brought this time. In the past, Nie Mingjue would only frown at such things, but today he was angered, “Nie Huaisang, do you want this strike to land on your head?! Get back here!”

If only Nie Huaisang were like Wei Wuxian and could feel how great Nie Mingjue’s rage was, he wouldn’t grin in such a bold way. He protested, “Da-ge, the time is up. It’s time to rest!”

Nie Mingjue, “You rested just thirty minutes ago. Keep on going, until you learn it.”

Nie Huaisang was still giddy, “I won’t be able to learn it anyways. I’m done for the day!”

He often said this, but today Nie Mingjue’s reaction was entirely different from his past reaction. He shouted, “A pig would’ve learnt this by now, so why haven’t you?!”

Never expecting Nie Mingjue to burst out so suddenly, Nie Huaisang’s face was blank with shock as he shrunk toward Jin Guangyao. Seeing the two together, Nie Mingjue was even more provoked, “It’s been one year already and you still haven’t learnt this one set of saber techniques. You stand on the field for just thirty minutes and you’re complaining that you’re tired. You don’t have to excel, but you can’t even protect yourself! How did the QingheNie Sect produce such a good-for-nothing! The both of you should be tied up and beaten once every day. Carry out all those things in his room!”

The last sentence was spoken to the disciples standing by the side of the field. Seeing that they had gone, Nie Huaisang felt as though he was on pins and needles. A moment later, the row of disciples really did bring out all the fans, paintings, porcelain from his room. Nie Mingjue had always threatened to burn his room, but he had never actually burned them. This time, though, he was serious. Nie Huaisang panicked. He threw himself over, “Da-ge! You can’t burn them!”

Noticing that the situation wasn’t good, Jin Guangyao also spoke, “Da-ge, don’t act on impulse.”

Yet, Nie Mingjue’s saber had already striked. All of the delicate objects piled at the center of the field erupted in roaring flames. Nie Huaisang wailed and plunged into the fire to save them. Jin Guangyao hurried to pull him back, “Huaisang, be careful!”

With a sweep of Nie Mingjue’s hand, the two blanc de chine antiques shattered into pieces in his palms. The scrolls and paintings had already turned into dust in a split second. Nie Huaisang could only watch blankly as the much loved items that he had gathered throughout the years vanish into ashes. Jin Guangyao grabbed his hands to examine them, “Are they burnt?”

He turned to a few disciples, “Please prepare some medicine first.”

The disciples answered and left. Nie Huaisang stood at the same place, his entire body trembling as he looked over at Nie Mingjue, pupil encircled by veins. Seeing that his expression wasn’t right, Jin Guangyao put his arm around his shoulders and whispered, “Huaisang, how are you feeling? Stop watching. Go back to your room and have some rest.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes brimmed red. He didn’t even make a sound. Jin Guangyao added, “It’s alright even if the things are gone. Next time I can find you more…”

Nie Mingjue interrupted, his words like ice, “I’ll burn them each time he brings them back into this sect.”

Anger and hatred suddenly flashed across Nie Huaisang’s face. He threw his saber onto the ground and yelled, “Then burn them!!!”

Jin Guangyao quickly stopped him, “Huaisang! Your brother is still angry. Don’t…”

Nie Huaisang roared at Nie Mingjue, “Saber, saber, saber! Who the fuck wants to practice the damn thing?! So what if I want to be a good-for-nothing?! Whoever that wants to can be the sect leader! I can’t learn it means I can’t learn it and I don’t like it means I don’t like it! What’s the use of forcing me?!”

I'm not saying he didn't have a hard time during the first moment of him taking over a leadership role in the sect after the sudden death of his brother (ultimately we can wonder whether the yiwensanbuzhi persona originated then, as he could have felt overwhelmed and actually didn't have the answers needed for the position he didn't prepare for--or whether it was always a pure fabrication to serve his goals), but I don't think we can chalk it up to an inferiority complex.

In the past, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang studied together, so there were a few things he could comment about this person. Nie Huaisang wasn’t an unkind person. It wasn’t that he was not clever, but that his heart was set somewhere else and used his smarts on other areas, such as painting on fans, searching for birds, skipping classes, and catching fish. Because his talent in terms of cultivation really was poor, he formed his core around eight or nine years later than the other disciples of the same generation as him. When he lived, Nie Mingjue was often exasperated by the fact that his brother didn’t meet his expectations, so he disciplined him strictly. Despite this, he still didn’t improve much. Now, without his older brother protecting and supervising him, under his lead, the QingheNie Sect declined day by day. After he grew up, especially after he became the sect leader, he was often troubled by all kinds of affairs unfamiliar to him and looked for helpers everywhere, mainly his brother’s two sworn brothers. One day he’d go to Jinling Tower to complain to Jin Guangyao, and the next day he’d go to the Cloud Recesses to whine to Lan Xichen. With the two leaders of the Jin and Lan Sects supporting him, he still barely managed to settle on the sect leader position. Nowadays, whenever people mentioned Nie Huaisang, although they didn’t say anything on the surface, the same phrase was written on their faces—good-for-nothing.

And after NHS pieced together what happened to his brother and set out on a path to revenge, I don't see how someone who is so sharp and deceptive and able to reach his goals while hiding behind a facade the entire time would feel "inferior".

#anon ask #nhs #mdzs #mdzs meta

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taetaespeaches · 3 years

Text

“Want me to kiss it better?”

taehyung x reader (oc) genre: fluff word count: 2.8K

a/n: In honor of Tae’s birthday, let’s find out how our two little soulmates met, shall we? Back in March of 2013, Tae and Peaches/reader met randomly on the street, and well, look at them now. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! :))

p.s. and happiest of birthdays to the absolute love of my life, sir Kim Taehyung. Here’s hoping that the dearest boy has a happy year because he is so deserving of it <3

“I just got you a coffee,” you teased into the phone, Taehyung groaning on the other end, vocalizing his distaste for the stuff. Giggling at his reaction, you pushed through the café doors, the cold air hitting you with a gush of wind. “I thought you were outside,” you noted, looking down the sidewalk, peering through the crowds of people making their way to work.

“Huh?” He said, trying to pretend he didn’t hear you to cover up the fact that he was late.

“Tae,” you groaned, a passerby looking your way at the mild annoyance in your tone, you immediately shooting them a small smile and a bow. “How far are you?”

“Not far, just wait for me outside,” he told you, his breath becoming a bit bated as he must have started running to make it to you. “Don’t move,” he yelled into the phone, a smile overtaking your face.

“Stop running, you dork,” you giggled. “I’ll be here.”

“Good. Stay put,” he added.

“I just said I’d stay put,” you defended, looking at the two cups in your left hand, trying to figure out how you could take a sip of yours while holding the phone to your ear with your opposite hand. “I wouldn’t have to stay put if my boyfriend would show up on time,” you jokingly complained just before using your hand holding the phone to lower your face mask below your chin.

The man huffed through the phone before letting out a breathless yell. “I’m coming, Peaches,” he shouted. You giggled both at the sound of him but also the image you conjured up in your head of the man zipping through crowds of people, his dark locks flowing as he yelled into a phone.

Leaning down, you tentatively took a sip of your drink, immediately wincing at the hot temperature that startled your tongue, as well as the shockingly sweet taste. Inspecting the drink, you realized it was Tae’s hot chocolate. “I told you to stop running,” you commented into the phone, Taehyung’s breathing being his only response. “Do you want me to hang up so you can have a proper go of it, Usain Bolt?”

“No,” he breathed out. “Stay on the line, I miss you,” he said cutely, you scoffing at the affection.

“You wouldn’t have to miss me if you were on time, my Dearest,” you teased him.

“I’m sorry,” he whined, dragging the word out. “Let me live,” he added in complaint, you smirking.

Watching as people walked by, the sound of your boyfriend’s struggled breathing in your ear, your focus was suddenly pulled down the street when a loud, “Peaches,” rang out in both the phone speaker and the cold winter air.

Several people looked toward the man as he waved at you, slowing to a walk, but he didn’t acknowledge any of them, his adorable gaze set on you. The mask was covering the bottom half of his face but it did little to hide the rectangular smile he was hiding underneath, his happiness showing in his eyes.

Appearing in front of you, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his winded state. “Hi,” he greeted you happily, despite his current breathing troubles, leaning in to kiss your cheek but forgetting about the mask on his face.

“Hi, Dearest,” you giggled, holding out his drink for him. “Be careful,” you pouted as he took the hot chocolate out of your hands. “That burned my tongue.”

Pulling the mask under his chin, he gave you a wide-eyed look. “Want me to kiss it better?” He asked, leaning in to press his lips to yours, you giggling into the affectionate action as you kissed him back.

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, setting your hand on his abdomen as you held him at a distance. “You’re gonna be photographed kissing me and then we’ll be the couple of the new year,” you pointed out, the man pouting at you.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you held his gaze until he relented and took a drink of his hot chocolate, humming in satisfaction. Swallowing the drink with a gasp of content, he grinned. “You know, this is where we first met.”

“I remember,” you giggled, sliding your hand from the front of his stomach to the side of his abdomen, holding onto his coat.

Looking down to your feet, he nodded. “Your shoes are clean this time,” he commented, you rolling your eyes as you thought back to your first meeting with Taehyung, the hectic morning forever changing your life in the best way you could have ever imagined.

Missing the bus was really just the cherry on top of your shitty morning. Not to mention the iced coffee you bought just minutes prior was knocked out of your hand by a power-walking passerby, the drink falling to the sidewalk and splashing all over your combat boots.

Reaching down to pick up the near empty cup, the busy morning work crowd kicked it all about, causing you to chase it around in a hunched-over position, your gaze darting to trail the object, trying to follow it as it absolutely should be recycled. Finally tracking it down, you grabbed it quickly and stood up, your face immediately heating as you became very aware of all the people who just witnessed you chase down a to-go cup like a fucking dork.

Staring down at your coffee stained shoes, you made your way down the sidewalk, setting the cup in the recycling bin gently, your heart racing at the possibility that you were still being watched by someone. Judged.

All you wanted to do was catch your bus and go to class. It was only the second week of university and there you were, already missing lectures. After a restless night, you thought coffee was necessary for a much-needed caffeine buzz, but the line was so long and you felt awkward leaving the middle of it as your bus quickly approached on its route.

So, you missed it. And now if you went to campus, you would have to walk into that lecture hall and draw all those eyes on you, and that was just something you weren’t too thrilled about that particular morning. Being shy was one thing. You had been reserved your whole life; you knew how to manage your introverted nature. But there were days when you just felt more insecure than most, and it was definitely one of those days.

As you pondered over what to do, whether you should brave the staring eyes and go to class or just call it a day and head back to your apartment, you made eye contact with a young man, seemingly around your age, beaming brightly at you through the flow of people.

Quickly averting your gaze, you grabbed your phone out of your pocket, checking the time but mostly avoiding the man’s stare. He was cute and looked sweet, but he put you on edge. Not in a threatening way, but rather, it felt as though he saw through you. And that was intimidating. You didn’t want to be seen.

Trying to put him out of your mind but failing, you quickly realized that despite the way he looked at you as if he knew all about you, you would probably be seeing the kind face of the stranger in your dreams, forever imprinted in your memory. He was intriguing, which was saying a lot for you as people rarely made an impact on you, especially with just one glance.

But his smile was one of if not the best smiles you’d ever laid eyes on and suddenly, you found yourself sneaking a glance at the man to get one more look. However, when you peered up, he was nowhere to be seen, and weirdly, your heart dropped a bit. You just wanted one last look to ensure the image in your head was an accurate depiction.

Frowning, you scanned the crowd. On the verge of giving up and accepting that he was just a one-glance stranger, or maybe even a figment of your imagination, a voice suddenly greeted you from beside your form, your head darting in the direction, falling upon the adorable man. All he said was “hello,” but the tone of his voice took you by surprise, the timbre much lower than you would have expected from the youthfulness of his features.

“Hi,” you said tentatively, suddenly feeling shy by his presence.

“I like your backpack,” he randomly complimented, your hands instinctively gripping the shoulder straps and tugging it closer to your back. “It’s cute.”

A light, single breathy chuckle left your lips as you craned your neck to look back at the bag. What a strange compliment. “Thank you,” you spoke softly.

The man stayed silent for a moment, his smile wide and pretty as he stared at you. However, his eyes were scanning your features. Curiously. Appreciatively. Almost as if he was taking everything down in his mind so he could remember you for years to come.

“I’m Taehyung,” he told you, reaching his hand out for you to shake. Staring at the limb, feeling too shy to take it, he giggled boyishly. The sound was adorable and you were extremely fond of it instantly. Putting his hand down, he cocked his head at you. “Can I replace your drink?” He asked you, your entire body heating in embarrassment as you realized he witnessed you not only drop the coffee, but watched as you chased it around the sidewalk. “Are you embarrassed?” He asked you with wide innocent eyes, a small bashful smile forming on your lips.

“You could say that,” you said. Or you could say you wanted the sidewalk to open up and swallow you whole.

“Don’t be,” he smiled brightly. “It was cute,” he added. The compliment wasn’t spoken as a man trying to flatter you into bed or even on a date, but was rather a genuine thought that popped into his head, so he simply spoke it. His directness, and how unaware he was of it, was intriguing, and you quite liked it.

“It needed to be recycled,” you said softly, your voice quiet, due to the mortification.

Nodding enthusiastically, he beamed. “I know all about recycling, I’ve been doing it since I was born,” he spoke proudly, and though you knew he was joking, he said the comment so seriously it had you nearly bursting out in laughter. Holding it back however, you only gave him the satisfaction of your breathy chuckle.

“I’m sure it was amusing to watch me chase the cup down,” you commented with a smirk.

“I only laughed a little,” he said, lifting his hands up in mock surrender.

“A gentleman,” you teased, surprised by how quickly you were warming up to the stranger. Well, a sort of stranger. You did know his name.

Another youthful giggle left his lips as he nodded in playful confirmation to your statement. “Chivalry is my middle name. Stick by me if you want to be treated like a lady,” he joked.

“And if I don’t want to be treated like a lady?” You playfully retorted, you body heating in embarrassment at your own comment though Taehyung’s eyes sparkling in amusement, his smile only widening even more.

“Too bad,” he replied with a grin. “Now, can I replace your drink?”

“If you insist,” you nodded with a small shy smile, just before holding your hand out and telling him your name. “So you know what to tell them when you order my drink.”

“Right,” he nodded, taking your hand, his palm warm and soft against yours. As cliché as it was to believe it, it felt like his hand was meant to fit with yours. But no, that’s too cheesy. Dropping your hand suddenly, he started toward the café, leaving you standing there watching him. Turning around to face you, he gestured to the establishment. “Coming?”

And strangely, you were. Without a word, you simply walked toward him, and made your way into the café with him, shoulder to shoulder. Little did you know, you would be going with him anywhere and everywhere from that day on. Quite happily.

“And this time I’m buying you a drink,” you smirked. “Oh, how the times have changed.”

“Only because you insisted,” he frowned, the expression making your smile widen.

Bringing your hand toward his face, you booped his nose. “It’s your birthday,” you pointed out with a smile. “And I enjoy treating you,” you informed him. “Plus, I’m not a poor college student anymore, I’m a slightly less poor professional now,” you pretended to gloat, Taehyung giggling as he leaned toward you, pressing a couple quick kisses to your cheek.

“Damn straight you are,” he said proudly. Staring at each other, he watched as your smile gradually fell from your face, his eyebrows pulling together in question and slight concern. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, “I just-”

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you sighed. Taehyung watched you carefully but patiently, his tongue poking between his lips to wet them.

“About being a professional,” you cocked your head to the side. “What if I told you I’m not happy with my job and it’s not getting better?”

Taehyung’s expression morphed into one of consideration as he peered into your eyes. “I would say you’re young and if you want to try something else, what better time than now?”

“You think?” You asked, appreciating the way his hand found the side of your face, as his thumb gently soothed over your cheek.

“You should enjoy your work,” he told you. “You have too much passion in here,” he tapped against your temple to indicate your mind, “and in here,” he used his other hand that held the drink to poke a finger against your heart, “to not enjoy what you’re doing for a living.”

Giving him a small smile, you nodded slightly. “I’m scared though,” you whispered.

“I know, Peaches,” he told you understandingly. “But that’s ok. It’s ok to be scared.” You nodded quickly in agreement, Tae’s lips quirking up. “What’s not ok is for the most vibrant person I know to be stuck in a job that doesn’t fulfill her,” he added, locking his gaze with yours to ensure you felt how much he meant the words he spoke.

“You’re sweet,” you complimented quietly.

“I just believe in you,” he countered. “And I’ll be here through every step of the way as you’re finding what you truly want to do,” he assured you.

“I know, Dearest,” you nodded.

“You better,” he smirked, just before bringing his lips to yours and kissing you a little too passionately for the public setting. But as your fingers threaded into hair at the back of his head, you lost yourself in the affection, not giving a damn about where you were or who was watching. “I’m going everywhere with you,” he whispered against your mouth when he finally got ahold of himself and pulled back slightly.

“And me you,” you told pressing a quick kiss to his chin. Nuzzling your face against his neck, Taehyung smiled at the small pecks you left to his skin. “Happy birthday, by the way,” you giggled, lifting your head to look at him. “Sorry to be all doom and gloom on your day,” you rolled your eyes at yourself.

“You could never be doom and gloom, Peaches,” he assured you. “And thank you,” he beamed, kissing your forehead quickly. “This will be the only gift I accept today,” he held up his hot chocolate, “So don’t even think about surprising me with anything else.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” you teased. “You think you have a say in how I spoil you?” Glaring at you playfully, you scrunched your nose in response. “You’re really gonna like one of the surprises,” you noted, Taehyung’s eyebrows raising to show his piqued interest. “Want a hint?” You asked, your boyfriend nodding slowly as he wet his lips again. “It’s at my apartment and it involves lace and silk,” you whispered near his ear with a smirk, just before pulling your mask up.

“Well those kinds of surprises are ok,” he teased making you giggle at him.

“Of course they are you horndog,” you joked, Taehyung pulling his mask up as well before wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Only for you,” he continued teasing as you both started walking toward a nearby park to continue your simple date.

As you walked away from the very place you first met Taehyung, who was draped over you affectionately, you mentally thanked the asshat who knocked your coffee out of your hands back in March of 2013. For he changed the entire course of your life. And now you had Taehyung, right beside you everywhere you went. You would always have Taehyung.

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