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thr-333 · 4 years

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Just Another Class Trip :)

Part 1

No, no ignore the smily face i assure you it means nothing foreboding, nothing foreboding at all.

Next >

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“It’s suspicious,” Marinette glares as they leave customs.

“What would that be, Mari?” Chloe yawns, not bothering to dedicate her limited remaining brain power apparently.

“Lila,” She whispers back, “She’s been so quiet all the way here,”

“What about how she weaseled her way into first class?” Chloe yawns again, sleep mask resting on her head.

“Or tried to steal your bag,” Kagami says with venom, her having saved Marinette from that disaster.

“Accused you of giving her the wrong flight time,” Adrien adds, somehow being full awake even after their long flight.

“Slipped metal into your pocket so security would go off,” Chloe downright glares at Adrien, but would never admit to the bags under her eyes.

“Came by and woke you up every time you fell asleep,” Kagami looks at her pointedly, shadows under her eyes being her only give away.

“Too quite,” Marinette whispers, the list going largely ignored as they approach the security scan.

“Just relax Mari,” Adrien pats her shoulder, not enough to break her concentration, “Lila will be so distracted by being in Gotham she won't have time for you,”

Adrien was wrong.

Of course he was wrong.

This is Lila they're talking about.

“Oh Marinette!” Lila all but yells as Marinette is placing her bag in a tray, “I’m so glad you didn’t go through with it,”

Marinette cringes, the security guards all looking her way as Lila dances off. She just sighs as she is escorted away by the airport security, to the protest of her friends and not much else.

“No sir I am not holding any firearms or weapons,” Marinette answers as monotone as possible, the security guard didn’t deserve her ire not matter how tiresome this was getting.

“We interview the source,” Oh no “Apparently you were discussing terrorist activities,”

“I was not sir, Lila must be mistaken,” Yep big mistake, I’m sure that's all it is , “I’m simply here for a class trip,”

“You’re wearing a bulletproof vest,”

Yeah probably should have left that one at home

“My parents are protective, they know how dangerous Gotham can be,” They were not fans of the horror stories Aunt Selina used to tell her from this city, “They insisted I have it as protection,”

While they most certainly wanted her to be safe the vest was more her idea. It was also more for enabling trouble than avoiding it. At least she was trying to be safe about secret crime fighting.

“Makes sense,” He sighs from across the table, checking through some paperwork, “You’re seventeen, here on a class trip right?”

“Yes sir,”

“Well if you’re here on a Wayne funded trip they probably did and extensive background check,” He pauses for a minute looking deep in thought, “Alright then, you can go,”

That seems kind of lax

“Are you sure?”

“We literally have super villains walking through here every other day,” True that, “You’re holding no weapons and have been endorsed by the Wayne's that's better than most people that have been in here,”

“Well if you’re sure,” Marinette stands awkwardly walking to the door as he waves her off, “Is there anything I need to sign, or…”

“Unless I want to fill out extra paperwork, no,” He seems so tired, Marinette wished she could get back at Lila for making his job harder.

“Have a good day then!” She smiles brightly, getting a small one in return.

She leaves, the security guards handing back her bag, fortunately not mentioning the miracle box or her Kwamis. She smiles brightly, even with Lila trying to ruin her trip she could still enjoy her time here in Gotham- and her phone buzzes with an Akuma alert.

With a sigh, Marinette ducks into the nearest bathroom, locking a stall behind her.

“Kaalki,” The Kwami zips out of her bag, “Tikki, Combine,”

With a flash of light followed by another she appears in Paris dropping Kaalki’s transformation.

She looks over the city, some Akuma attacking the Eiffel tower. At least they didn't seem to be the brainwashing type, she didn’t have Chat Noir there to help with crowd control.

With a flip she jumps, planning to kick the Akuma on the way down. They dodge and she lands in front of them instead.

“Well, well if it isn’t the bug,” The Akuma, in a horrible patch work costume mocks, a purple mask appearing over their face, “Hand over your miraculous!”

How about you come and make me Hawkmoth? I promise to stick that cane up your ass

Oh how she wishes she could say just that, but it wouldn't be very Ladybug of her. Why did the younger her have to have a stick up her butt?

“Not today Hawkmoth,” She says instead, making sure to put the practiced amount of enthusiasm into it, “Or any other day for that matter,”

“How are you going to save Paris without your little kitty cat?”

How are you going to beat me with that terrible fashion sense

Besides Chat Noir deserved a break. At least she hoped he was taking a break, he couldn’t tell because of secret identity reasons. It wasn't like she had any right to stop him, she was having a vacation in Gotham right now, and she was out all the time for work. She could manage without Chat for a while, he deserved that much.

“I will do whatever it takes to protect the people of Paris,” Ladybug remembers to answer the question.

“Hand over your miraculous now!” The Akuma lunges at her

I should have chosen a different persona

She dodges the beam of light that can’t mean anything good. Jumping back to get some distance.

Chat Noir had the right idea

She bites back the cutting remark on the tip of her tongue. Instead throw out her yo to wrap around their arm. The Akuma pulls it forward, sending her through the air. She leans into it swinging around to get a better vantage point, studying the monologuing Akuma below.

Maybe I can for Starling

She has created Starling as a vigilante identity to use in Gotham, if the class was ever in trouble. No not if, when . With a sigh she summons her lucky charm getting a table tennis paddle.

Although I’m only meant to use that identity as a disguise to protect the class

The only thing that stood out was the Akuma's hand, she'd have to gather more information before striking.

Maybe Starling can have a word or two with Lila, that could be fun

She drops down in front of the Akuma. They seemed to like monologuing, maybe all she had to do was probe a little bit.

“Why would you want to side with Hawkmoth?”

“This is my family's greatest heirloom it has been passed from generation to generation for centuries, some fool broke it and I was crushed having disappointed all my ancestors!” The Akuma holds up a broach type jewel, “But Hawkmoth- Hawkmoth brought it back and now my greatest and dearest treasure will forever be-”

Ladybug smacks it to the ground, crushing it underfoot.

The Akuma looks at her shocked, letting out a long drawn out gasp. Marinette does not meet their eye as she catches the Akuma. She throws the paddle she used to smack it out of their hand into the air to cast the cure.

I must be really jet lagged, I’m usually at least a little more creative than that, but it worked

She pretends not to see the reporters coming in for interviews, seeing the victim and their broach in one piece. She makes a speedy exit, needing to transport back to Gotham before the class get too ancy.

“I’m sorry the rented bus left a long time ago,” The attendant informed her, looking sorry for the dishevelled teen.

Marinette groaned, so much for running around the airport for thirty minutes with a dead phone. Thanking the attendant she sulks off to collect her bag instead, she’d have to figure another way to the hotel.

She spends another hour hunting down her bag. Chasing after leads of people who might have mistook it. Checking again with Airport security, who again pulled her aside for having a suspicious missing bag. Luckily the security guard before defended her, she brought him a coffee and two for herself.

“Maybe someone will return it?” Tikki whispers, her and Kaalki hidden in the folds of her scarf.

“It’s fine Tikki,” Marinette sighs, halfway through her first cup in under a minute, “I have replicas of all of them anyway, I’ll just grab some samples from the MDC fashion show,”

She’d have to stop by later, the outfits should have been transported last week along with most of her recent catalogue. The only problem was all the other necessities she lost. But that wasn’t a problem, she carried the miracle box in her backpack and that's all that really matters.

“And some of my… special outfits when we go back home,”

She had altered her current outfit to transform into her vigilante disguise. Her scarf pulled up and could be turned inside out into a mask. Her skirt could be transformed into a cape and hood combo. A zip down the middle of the skirt to split it for the cape and a zip up hood that lay flat along her skirt. She simply turned it inside out and wore it around her shoulders. Combined with a bullet proof vest it wasn't half bad, her belt full of weapons could always be hid under her skirt which was a big plus.

She sighs waiting for a taxi in the cold Gotham air, hating it more than most. Although she supposed superhuman strength was a fair exchange for extra cold fingers. Marinette fought to stay awake, she had also been holding Kaalki for so long she was starting to develop the ability to sleep standing up and would doze off randomly. Certainly helpful at times, but not right now.

“Hello,” Marinette is startled out of her drowsiness.

She looks at the hesitant young man before her, looking just as tired as she is.

“Hello?”

“Is something the matter?” Something sparks at the back of her mind, a feeling she often gets from Chloe whenever she is helpful.

Do I look that bad?

“Just a mix up with transportation,” She smiles, he clearly knows it’s fake.

“Do you need a ride?”

“No I’m-” She sighs, what could go wrong getting in the car of a random person in Gotham, “Yes, I do thank you,”

“Over here, I’m Tim by the way” He stifles a yawn, leading her towards a limousine, the door being opened by a driver.

“Marinette, here,” She hands over the extra coffee, “You look like you need it just as much as me,”

Tim looks at her like a god sent, taking the coffee as they reach the limo.

“Good call Alfred,” Tim whispers to the driver, slipping into the car.

“Hello miss, I am Alfred Pennyworth,” She shakes his hand, something stronger fires at the back of her mind, a true holder perhaps? But Chloe was a true holder right?

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” She smiles, trying to assess what miraculous would suit him.

“Best get inside Miss Dupain-Cheng,” She climbs inside at Alfred's behest, “Gotham is awfully cold for a Lady,”

She gets the feeling that is not chivalry.

“Where to Miss Dupain-Cheng?” Alfred asks, already in the driver's seat.

“Wayne hotel please,” She pulls her backpack onto her lap, still regarding Alfred suspiciously.

“Traveling alone?” Tim asks absentmindedly, still nursing his coffee cup.

“I’m here with my class, they left without-” No that's no good , “I got held up they went ahead,”

“Class… staying at the Wayne hotel…” Tim mumbles to himself.

“I believe what Master Tim is trying to ask is if you are part of the Martha Wayne foundation trip,” Alfred informs from the front seat.

“Yeah that,” Tim takes another scalding gulp of coffee.

“Yes I sent in the submission, I’m still surprised we got it,” Marinette had been thrilled at a trip to Gotham, it is where her Aunt Selina lives after all.

“You seem very responsibility Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Alfred complements, “Almost as if you could shoulder the weight of Paris,”

“I didn’t say where I was from,” Marinette tenses getting more than a little unsettled, he seemed to know something more.

“Not to worry, I have close connections with the Wayne's and was aware this years class was from Paris is all,”

“I see,” Marinette nods along, the possible meaning behind the comment still being concerning.

“We forgot your bags!!!” Tim suddenly yells, jumping up and making Marinette jump, they both curse in sync as they spill coffee on themselves.

“It’s alright!” luckily the coffee landed on her black tights, so no noticeable stains, “My bags were stolen,”

“Oh…” Tim relaxes back, “Wait… that's not alright at all!”

“It’s fine, I already have a plan to get some spare clothes and I just need to run to the store,”

“Right… to the Wayne hotel was it?” Marinette nods and Tim starts tapping away at his phone.

She fishes out some wet wipes from her bag, passing them to Tim, who looks confused until she points out the growing coffee stain. With a smile and a few more taps at the phone he takes them off her.

“Left behind and bags stolen, doesn't sound like your Lucky day,” Alfred presses, and he needs to stop, it could be chance, surely its just chance.

“I guess not,”

You don’t know the half of it.

“Well I hope the rest of your day is much better,” Tim bids as they pull up to the hotel.

“Thank you, and thank you so much for the ride,” Alfred opens the door for her to get out.

“Not a problem,” She waves them off, watching them disappear down the street.

They’re nice, probably wont ever get to see them again, thats a shame

“Dick! Holy fuck!” Tim kicks down the door of his brothers room, “I just met the nicest girl who's had the shittest day on earth,”

“First of all welcome back, how was your trip?” Dick greets hanging from the ceiling as Tim takes his desk chair, “Second, what are you talking about?”

“Met a girl at the Airport who didn’t have a ride, she gave me coffee,”

“That's enough to buy your loyalty,” Dick grins, Tim flips him off.

“Listen, she's part of that Martha Wayne Foundation trip and her class left her at the Airport!”

“What?!” Dick drops from the ceiling onto his bed, “Thats so dangerous, especially in Gotham,”

“Right?! She even had her luggage stolen!” Tim pushes the chair over to Dick, “And she was still so nice, even after an eight hour flight!”

“You said she was part of the Wayne foundation trip?” Dick asks, getting a nod from Tim, “Yeah, we are definitely seeing her again,”

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127-mile · 3 years

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Kiss and tell.

Pairing: Sicheng x female reader.

Genre: College!au, babysitting, horror | Fluff, angst, mature content.

Warnings: Fingering (it’s not detailed, I don’t know how to write smut), orgasm denial, kind of fear inducing phone calls, mention of Sicheng selling drugs, strong language.

Plot: You have to babysit on Halloween night, and invite Sicheng to join you. But something feels wrong when the phone starts to ring.

Word count: +5.1k.

A/N: This is part of the 90′s love collab by @quokkacore and formely by @/etherealereine | This is inspired by an urban legend. | The title has nothing to do with the story, I came up with the idea after.

"What are we doing tonight?"

You are startled when you feel hands on your waist from behind, and if you were not so acquainted with the perfume immediately intoxicating your sense, you would have freed yourself from the sudden embrace. "I don't know what you are doing, but I am working tonight."

The warmth against your back disappears, and you meet your boyfriend's gaze. "Working? It is Halloween, you can't work." he answers, and you scoff, pushing him away when he tries to grab your book. "Care to tell me how I am supposed to pay for food if I don't work?" he seems to think about ir, running his fingers through his hair.

"Why don't you ask your parents? You'll go back to work next week." you knew what he was about to say even before he opened his mouth. Not that he is an open book, but because it is a recurring conversation between you. "You think my parents are going to give me money to cover what I didn't get today, just because I preferred to go party and spend my saving in alcohol?"

"Why not?" you heave a sigh, you love your boyfriend, of course you do, but you are tired of this kind of conversation. It leads to the same ending every time. "Because my parents are not yours, Sicheng. If your parents can take care of all of your expenses despite you being an adult, mine can't."

"They do not cover all of my expenses! I work too, I have money of my own!" he says, a hand on his heart in faux offense. "Selling bad quality drugs is not a job, Sicheng, it is false advertising and tricking naive kids who think they will become cool if they get high before class."

"Now you are just being mean, Y/n." Sicheng sighs, and you shrug. "I just need to you to understand that I need to work, I can't call my parents for money when I feel like it. So I'm sorry, but you'll have to find something to do tonight, because I am not going out."

"Alright, whatever." he answers, and even though you were expecting him to leave and sulk, he stays. "I'm sorry, baby, I just wanted to have one last Halloween with you, that's all." you roll your eyes, and you put your hands on his cheeks. "You need to stop being dramatic, Sicheng. This is our last Halloween as students, not our last Halloween as a whole, except if you plan on breaking up with me once we graduate."

When he pursues his lips, and seems to think about it, you hit his shoulder. "Eh! Do you really have to think about it?" he tries to stay stoic, but he fails, because a smile brightens his face right away. "Of course I do not need to think about it! Why would I break up with you? Dummy."

"You are an idiot, Dong Sicheng." you mumble, and he leans to kiss the tip of your nose. "I am your idiot." he whispers, and you pretend to gag. "That's disgusting, what is wrong with you?" he rolls his eyes and he takes a step back. "So there is nothing I can do, or say to have you by my side tonight?"

"Nothing, I'm sorry." you are not really sorry, because you know your work is way more important than whatever party he was planning on bringing you to. "But," you start, and he straightens up. "maybe you could stop by around 10pm, to spend a little bit of time with me, what do you think?"

Sicheng's eyes widen and he cocks his head to the side. "Wait, really?" you nod, and you wonder when he is going to jump in place from the excitement you can see in his eyes. "You never asked me to come!" of course you never did, and for many reasons, but why not? "I know, but at least we'll be able to spend Halloween together. Okay, there will not be alcohol, or music, but we'll be together."

"I don't care about the alcohol or the music!" he exclaims, and you chuckle. "Alright then, come at around 10." you take a pencil out of your bag, and Sicheng hands ou his hand so you can write the address on the palm of his hand. "Don't lose it, I don't know their phone number so I won't be able to call you to give it again."

"Do not worry, I'm not going to use my hand at all!" he answers, and you heave a sigh. "You have class this afternoon, and you use this hand to write." he shrugs as he looks at the black ink bleed a bit onto his skin. "I won't write then, I'll listen, and remember everything." this is impossible, especially for Sicheng who can't focus for more than five minutes at time, but you trust him.

"Sicheng, we are going to be late, are you coming?" the young man turns around when he hears Johnny's voice behind him. "Yeah yeah, I'm coming." he gets up from the bench and he swings his backpack onto his right shoulder. "I have to go practice, but I'll see you later, alright?"

"I don't think I'll have time to wait for you after class, so you'll see me tonight, at 10. You better be on time, or I'm going to bed without you, alright?" he nods with fervor, and he leans to kiss you gently on the lips. "I'm never late."

"Careful with your hand!" you yell as he starts to run towards his friends who wolfwhistle at the public display of affection. "Promise!" he answers, and you are pretty sure you hear him curse at his friends before disappearing.

You put your book back in your bag, and you get up. Your afternoon classes are quite boring, but now that you know you will see Sicheng tongiht, it does not sound so bad.

"Alright, let's go over the rules one last time," the older woman says as she walks around the house to pick up random things off of the floor. "the kids have to do their homework, take their shower, and be ready to eat by 7 o'clock." you know better than to follow her around, so you hum to let her know that you are listening.

"I trust you to make them something healthy for dinner," she adds, and for the first time in five minutes, she finally stops walking. "you can take whatever you want from the fridge if you are hungry, or thirsty, make yourself at home."

"They are not allowed to watch television, candy either. They have to be in bed by 8:30, and because it is Friday, you can let them read, or play until 9, then you'll put them to bed and turn off the lights." she reads over a list of numbers she hands you. "This is the number of the restaurant, and the emergency numbers if you ever need them, which I hope you won't have to use."

"You can watch the television when the kids are in bed, and if you want to sleep, you can use the guest bedroom next to the downstair bathroom." the woman takes her coat, so you get up from the stool. "You can give one piece of candy per kids coming tonight, and I'll try not to come home too late."

"You need to relax," you say, and the lady takes a deep breath. "this is not the first time looking over the twins, I know what to do, I know the rules, and you can trust me, I'll respect them. Enjoy your date." the older woman puts her hand on your shoulder, and she nods. "I trust you, good evening. Kids, be good with Y/n!"

The two kids agree from the living room where they are playing, and the lady opens the door before disappearing in the car who's been waiting for her for at least ten minutes now. You close the door, and you join the boys in the living room.

"Alright kiddos, it is time to do your homework!" they both whine, because "it's friday, we can do them sunday" but in the end, you succeed, and you watch with a certain pride as they work on their calculus worksheet.

You, and the twins jump when you hear the doorbell, and you turn on your seat. It is probably children trick or treating, and you feel bad for leaving the twins alone, because they are not trick or treating, they are doing their homework, and it is sad, they should be allowed to be outside, in their little costumes instead of doing math.

"I'll be right back." you say as you stand up. You grab the bowl of candy, and you open the door. Three little vampires are watching you expectantly. "Oh my, I almost had a heart attack!" you gasp when they hiss and you try to stay quiet as the young man walking them around the neighborhood looks ready to die of embarrasment.

"Here you go." you drop candy in each of their little basket, and you close the door. Before putting the bowl back near the door, you pick a couple of candy and you put them on the table. "Let's make a deal, if you do not say anything to your mother, I'll let you have these candy."

"Deal!" the twins shout together, and you chuckle as you hand them the candy. "If you finish your math in the next five minutes, you'll have time to take a shower, and watch tv for a little while before dinner."

You know you should listen to the mother's rules, but you want to see them smile. You want them to feel comfortable around you, and how do you get kids' trust? You break one or two rules, and you let them do what they are usually not allowed to do.

Pretty quickly, the math homework are done, and the kids are in the shower. They are old enough to be left alone in the bathroom, you know they won't flood the room, well, at least, you hope they won't. You do not want to have to wipe the floor.

You soon find yourself busy cooking something for the twins that you forget all about Sicheng probably getting ready to meet you, if he did not lost the address like you said he would. At least, it gives you the opportunity to focus on what you are doing, and when the twins are back in their pajamas, the meal is not burnt, which is a victory.

"Veggies?" one of them says with a wince, and you sigh as you put the plates in front of them. "Your mother said to eat something healthy, it's good, trust me." you do not trust yourself on your cooking skills, but you can't say that to the kids or they'll end up spitting the food back into their plates, and thank you but no thank you.

During the meal, you have to stand up a few times to open the door to give candy to the children, and sometimes to college students trying to see if they still can get candy. Spoiler alert: they can.

And before you know it, the kids are in bed, and you are on the couch, all alone in this big house. A horror movie is screening on the television, but you barely watch it, your eyes are stuck on the clock above the doorframe leading to the staircase.

Ten more minutes, you think, smiling to yourself.

10:42 pm.

Sicheng is either late, lost, or could not read the address on his hand after practice. You wonder if you should sleep until the twins's mother comes back from her date, or if you should wait a few more minutes to give Sicheng the benefit of the doubt.

But when then more minutes pass, you stand up.

You grab the almost empty bowl of candy, and you settle it on the kitchen island, and you walk to the front door to make sure it is locked, and you are startled when you see two eyes looking at you through the window, but you heave a sigh of relief when you recognize Sicheng's smile.

"You are late, I shouldn't even let you in." you mumble as you open the door, and the young man takes a step forwards, until he is close enough that his nose almost touches yours. "I am late, you are right, but I am also crazy handsome tonight, so I know you will not leave me hanging in the dark and the cold. he answers, and you hate how right he is.

"What were you doing? Drinking with the boys? Hooking up with a mysterious disguised girl you found in Taeyong's basement?" he shakes his head, and you push yourself away from the door to let him pass. "I did drink a beer with the boys, but there was no mysterious girl in Taeyong's basement, just a rat."

You roll your eyes and you close the door. "We can't make noise, the twins are sleeping, and as much as I love you, their mother pays me well, so I don't want to lose them." you explain, and when you turn, you find yourself pressed against the wooden door. "You are the one who has to stay quiet, not me."

"I'm always quiet." Sicheng scoffs but before you can say anything to defend yourself, he kisses you. The kiss has nothing sweet to it, but you don’t mind one bit.

"Couch." you say after breaking the kiss for air, but Sicheng shakes his head. "We've done it once against the door, never again!" Sicheng seems to remember, and he starts to laugh so you hit him in the chest until he takes a step back.

"There is absolutely nothing funny about it! It was painful!" you mumble, but he thinks otherwise. He falls down on the couch, and before you can join him, the phone rings and you jump. The ringing comes from the kitchen, and it is so loud. It echoes against the walls, so you run to pick up, not wanting to wake up the twins.

"Are you even allowed to answer the phone?" Sicheng asks, shoulder pressed against the doorframe leading to the kitchen. "I don't know, maybe." you let a sigh of relief when the phone stops ringing, and you tense for a second when Sicheng wraps his arms around your waist. "So where were we."

You are about to turn around when the phone rings again, and you pick up right away. "Hello?" the other side of the line is silent, and you wonder if you should hang up, but soon, you hear a heavy breathing that brings shiver down your spine. "Hello? Can I help you? Miss Lee is absent at the moment."

"Have you checked on the kids?" the voice asks, and you frown. "What? Who are you?" feeling Sicheng's breathing against the back of your neck is not helping right now, and you try to shug him off of you. "You should check on the kids."

"But why?" before you can get an answer, the person hangs up. "What the fuck." you whisper, putting the phone back on its set. "What's up?" Sicheng asks, and you shake your head. "I don't know, someone asking me if I checked on the kids."

Sicheng hums, and you turn on your heels to face him. "That's probably a prank, you know, it's Halloween, and teenagers like to scare their neighbors." he is not wrong, you both did this kind of prank when you were still in high school.

"Come on, forget about it." he takes your hand, and he leads you back to the living room. He pushes you gently on the couch, and you settle on your back, Sicheng hovers over you, one leg on the couch, and the other on the floor for stability. His lips are close to yours, and you break the distance by taking his lower lip between your teeth, and he groans a little too loudly.

"I thought we had to be quiet." you say, and he rolls his eyes, his finges wandering underneath your top to feel how warm your skin feels against the coldness of his fingertips. "yeah yeah, whatever." his lips slide along your neck, mouthing at your jaw, and each bite is soothed by his tongue right away.

You close your eyes, trying to lose yourself into the feeling of Sicheng's mouth and fingers, but you can't quite get rid of the feeling in the pit of your stomach. You can't seem to forget about the sound of the breathing on the other side of the phone. Teenagers or not, it was scary.

When Sicheng opens his mouth to speak, you realize that you completely zoned out, and you look up at him. "What?" he sighs, and you feel his fingers against the button of your pants. "Can I?" he asks, and you nod. You definitely need to change your mind, and you know Sicheng's fingers are going to do wonders.

He prompts himself on one hand, and he uses the other to pop open the button of your pants, and to slide the zipper down, way too slowly for your liking. "Come on, don't be a tease." you whisper, and he chuckles. "Eager, aren't we?" little shit.

Sicheng likes to tease, but he decides otherwise tonight, as his hand slides inside of your pants and panties, fingers already through your folds. "Don't worry, I'll make you feel good." he whispers against your ear, and you bite your lower lip. His voice is so low, you would give everything you have to hear it more often.

(I’m bad at smut, so we’re leaving it at that, sorry.)

"Don't stop, please, I'm- I'm so fucking close." you say, and he tries to move his fingers deeper, but with your pants and panties around your thighs, it is hard for him to move as much as he would like, but he makes do. "Sicheng, Sicheng, Sicheng." you repeat his name, and he smirks. This is the most beautiful song he has ever heard.

You open your eyes wide when Sicheng stops moving, denying you of the orgasm you've been chasing for the past five minutes. "What the fuck?" you exclaim, and you notice how Sicheng's eyes veered towards the front door. "Did you hear?"

"Hear what?" you ask with clear annoyance in your voice, and you feel like crying when he pulls his fingers out and clean them on your pants, which is disgusting. He stands up, not even bothering to help you and he stops in front of the door. "I heard something."

How did he hear anything over your moans? You straighten up, buttoning your pants back and when you feel like your legs are back to normal, no longer shaking and feeling like jelly, you join him. He has his ear against the door, and he puts his index finger against his lip for you to stay quiet.

Once again, the phone rings, and makes you jump. Your heart misses a few beats, and it is honestly ready to jump out of your ribcage. "Do I answer?" you ask, your breathing quickening. "Yes, go." so you do just that. You go back to the kitchen and you pick up the phone.

You hear the heavy breathing right away this time, and even a chuckle when your own breathing hitches in your throat. The voice is masculine, there is no doubt. "Who are you? What do you want?" panic can be heard in your voice, and you do not even bother trying to sound calm.

"Did you check on the kids?" you close your eyes, trying your hardest not to hang up and lock yourself in one of the rooms of the house for the rest of the night. "It's just a prank, nothing more." you tell yourself, and when the man laughs, a real hearthy laugh this time, you realize that you said it out loud.

"Come on, this if your job as a babysitter, making sure the kids are alright. You wouldn't want anything to happen to them, right?" you shake your head even though no one is here to see it. "Check on the kids!" this time the voice is louder, and as cold as the bead of sweat rolling down your back.

"How do you-" before you can ask your question, you hear the beep signaling that the person has hung up. "Sicheng?" you turn around, but the young man is nowhere to be seen. You wander in the living room, and in the bathroom, but he is not here. "Sicheng, where are you?" you ask in a loud whisper, but you get nothing.

A kick on the living room window makes you scream, you cover your eyes with your hands, as if not seeing what happens would make it stop. "Please, please, please." you do not want to fucking die, not here, and not after being denied a fucking orgasm. When a hand lands on your shoulder, you turn and attack without looking at who or where you are hitting.

"Stop, Y/n, it's me!" Sicheng whines, taking a step back. When you open your eyes, you see him holding his stomach. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asks, shaking his head. "What? You were gone, and someone knocked on the window, so I got scared!" you say, frantic.

"I was in the restroom and I didn't hear any knock." he answers right away, letting his arms fall back on his sides. "What was the sound you heard?" you ask, tilting your head to the side, you need to know, or you are going to cry on the spot. Well, you are already crying, you can feel tears running down your cheeks.

"Calm down baby, it was nothing, just a loud engine. I'm sorry if I scared you." he takes a step forwards, drying the tears on your face with his thumbs. "Calm down, it's okay." you shake your head, looking around. You came here so many times, and yet, this is the first time you do not feel comfortable in this house.

"This is not okay! Some madman is calling me, asking me to check on the kids, someone knocked on the window, this is not fucking okay!" he takes a deep breath, and he tries to smile, but he realizes that it might not be enough to reassure you. "It's just kids playing a trick on you."

"Well, they need to stop because it's not fucking funny, Halloween or not!" your voice breaks into a sob, and he pulls you against his chest. "Don't worry, if they call back, I'll answer and I'll tell them to stop before I find them and kick their ass, I do not care what age their are, I'll do it."

"Sit down." you sit down on a stool around the kitchen island, and he opens the fridge to pour a glass of water that he hands you. "Take a dreep breath, it's fine, alright?" you nod, sipping on the water. You are honestly surprised none of the kids came down to see what was going on after you screamed.

Wait.

You know the twins, and you know they are light sleepers. They would have woken up by now, you stand up, maybe a little too quickly because you see stars dancing, and Sicheng is quick to be by your side, trying to help you find your balance. "What is going on?" he asks, he sounds genuinely worried this time.

"The kids. There is something wrong with the kids! I screamed, they should be up, they never sleep over loud noises!" Sicheng stops you when you stry to walk to the staircase. "The man on the phone told me to check on them, what if he found a way in, and did something to them and that is why they are not waking up?"

"Come on, don't be silly. They are probably sleeping, they probably did not even hear you scream. This is a prank, Y/n, just a prank!" he sounds angry, and you frown. Sicheng is hard to anger, so it is not normal for him to react so quickly. Well, it is maybe not anger, but it is definitely impatience that you hear.

"Stay here, I'll go check on them if that makes you feel better. I won't wake them up, so they'll never know I was here." he forces you back down on the stool, and in less than twenty seconds, he is gone. You can hear the floor creaking under his weight, and you know when he stops to check the multiple doors.

Of course, of fucking course, now that Sicheng is gone, the phone rings again. You try to ignore it, you really try, but the sound is awful. It is loud, and it hurts your ears, so you have no choice than to stand up and picks up. "What the fuck do you want? The kids are fine! Who are you?"

The man giggles, and you hear nothing else for a minute or so. "Did you check on the kids yourself? Because you definitely should." you can't take it anymore, you have to know. You hang up, and you go up the stairs, you do not mind if you die, you just need to know what the fuck is going on, and who is playing with you.

One thing is sure, if you survive, and find whoever decided to play this little game, you are going to make his life a living hell.

Once you are upstairs, you stop in front of the kids' door. The door is closed, and once again, Sicheng is nowhere to be seen. You really wonder what he is doing, but of couse, you do not think he might have anything to do with what's been going on.

"Come on, you can do it." you push the door open, trying not to make it creaks, because you do not feel like explaining what is going on to two scared kids. The room is dark, but it is quiet. You hear their regular breaths and you could cry ouf ot relief. Sicheng was right, it is nothing but a prank.

You close the door, and start to go down the stairs. Something feels off, you think. You know the feeling of being watched even when you are supposed to be alone? Yeah, that's what you feel right now, but when you look over your shoulder, you see nothing but a long dark hallway. Maybe that's the problem. The constent darkness.

"Fucking hell." you almost trip over your own feet when a scratching sound is heard against one of the walls. You jump the last few steps, and fortunately, you fall back on your feet, but the pain in your ankles is almost too much.

"Have you checked on the kids?"

You turn your head so quick towards the voice that you know you'll be in pain tomorrow, and your eyes meet.."Johnny? What the fuck!" you exclaim, and the man laughs. This is the laugh you heard on the phone, but you did not recognize it with the constant sizzling. He is not alone in the living room, your friends are all there too.

"What?" you turn and see Sicheng halfway down the stairs, smiling like an idiot. "Happy Halloween my love!" you frown, and you let yourself fall on your butt. "You couldn't be there for Halloween, so we decided to bring Halloween to you."

You want to cry, but you also want to beat them. "I hate you all so fucking much. You have no idea how scared I was!" you look up at Sicheng who crouches down in front of you. "Is this why you were late? Is this why you disappeared earlier?" he nods, unable to stop smiling.

"Yeah, I had to open the back door for them." he leans in to kiss your forehead, and you close your eyes at the contact. You should be mad at him right now, but you are too tired for that. That's a problem for future you, and also for future Sicheng. He is going to regret that.

"I hope you had fun, because it is over." you mumble as you stand up. You open the door, head tilted to the side, glancing at your friends one by one. "It is time to go home, you too Sicheng." Sicheng's eyes open so wide it is almost comical. You need to be alone to recover, because you are pretty sure your heart has not beat normally for an hour.

"What? Why?"

"Because I do not want to see you right now!" he nibbles on his lower lip, probably waiting for you to laugh, but you stay still. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you would freak out so much." he tries to explain, but you shake your head. He needs a taste of his own medicine. "I don't care, Sicheng, we'll talk about it later."

If Johnny sees you smile when Sicheng lowers his head, he says nothing about it, he just winks at you. They all get ready to leave the house when the phone rings, and they all stop dead in their tracks. "Oh come on, you are going to wake up the kids at some point, that's not funny."

"That's not us." you heave a long sigh, of course it is one of them. They probably asked another basketball player to help them out, so you walk to the kitchen and you take the phone. "What?" the breathing sounds different this time, and the voice is too. Lower than Johnny's, raspier even. "I think it is time for you to really check on the kids." you roll your eyes. "The kids are fine."

You turn to watch your friends when you hang up, and this time and you see something you have never seen in them: fear.

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv scenarios #winwin imagines #winwin scenarios #sicheng imagines #sicheng scenarios

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lemonlushff-iy · 3 years

Photo

Posted a few teasers for some Writer Asks, so...

Inuyasha burst into the men's bathroom, bracing his shaky hands on the ledge of the sink.

This...This couldn't be happening. Could it? It...He knew it was possible...That it would happen one day...But...now?

He reached over the sink to turn on the faucet, splashing cold water onto his face and dampening his silver bangs. He'd hoped it would help...But...He still felt light headed. Shaken. Trembling. His breathing was ragged, and he looked...about as big a mess as he felt.

Because the shirt he was wearing...

His shirt was red.

"It's...it's ok," he mumbled, looking at himself in the mirror - the bright red of his cotton button down glaring back at him like a beacon in the night. It was the most jarring thing in his world. His hair was still the same silvery grey it had always been. His eyes the same shade of grey.

The rest of his world...it was still...

Grey.

But his shirt...

No. His fucking shirt.

It was bright fucking red.

The first color he had ever seen that wasn't grey scale.

He ran his clawed fingers through his bangs, trying to get a hold of himself, but it was hard. It was like his thoughts weren't connecting in his brain, and everything had just gone...blank. He should be excited. Thrilled. Instead, he was fucking terrified.

Because his soulmate was nearby...

...And today was the fucking biggest day of his professional life.

The door to the bathroom burst open, and Inuyasha could smell Sesshomaru before he could see him.

"What the fuck man? Why the hell did y--" he demanded, stopping mid sentence when he could smell his younger brother's nervousness. See the water on his face and clothes. "Yash...what...Are you ok?"

Inuyasha slowly shook his head swallowing. He tried to open his mouth and tell his brother, but the words caught in his throat and he was left floundering. His lips were trying to form words he couldn't actually articulate.

"Inuyasha, what happened," Sesshomaru pressed, taking his shoulders between his large hands. It should have felt comforting...but all it did was make him feel smaller. Like he was a child again, needing is older brother to protect him from the kids at school that made fun of him.

Because he was color blind.

They'd called him a freak. A weirdo. Strange.

All because he couldn't relate to simple questions, like - What's your favorite color? Can you pass me the yellow marker? What do these four things have in common?

Hint - it was the color blue.

Something he couldn't see.

Because he hadn't met his soulmate yet.

But now...now he was seeing red. Literally.

"My shirt," he breathed, and Sesshomaru's face furrowed in confusion.

"What about it? Did you spill something on it? Rip a hole in it? Do we need to trade?"

Inuyasha rapidly shook his head, running his hands down his face.

"It's red," he muttered, and Sesshomaru blinked slowly at him.

"Yeah? So? You knew that when mom gave it to you. What's the big deal?"

"I...No. Sesshomaru. My shirt. It's red."

That time when he said it, really stressing the word "red", he could see it click in his brother's brain.

"Oh...shit..."

"Yeah. I know."

"...Shit!"

"I know!"

"What are you going to do?"

"I have no fucking idea Sessh! How the hell am I supposed to go out there and try to sell myself and my art in this fucking show, when my fucking soulmate is here!"

"Shit..."

"I know!" he repeated, his ire growing the more they stood there in the bathroom. He was starting to panic. He needed to mix and mingle and socialize...but he had zero desire to do so. Now that he was at least a little calmer over the absolute fucking shock of seeing color for the first time in his life, he only had one desire.

Find his soulmate.

But...if he fucked this show up, his might never be invited to show at this gallery again. He'd spent his entire career as a painter working to get into this place. It was known for its exclusivity. You couldn't be just anyone to show here. You had to be someone.

And he was finally someone...And it had been a hard fucking road to get here. He couldn't fuck this up...but...He also couldn't lose whoever his soulmate was.

Inuyasha watched his brother's lips press into a thin line as he tried to think of a solution, before finally coming to a decision.

"Trade shirts with me."

"I...What?"

"I'm going to pretend to be you," Sesshomaru explained, untucking his shirt from his pants. "You're going to pretend to be me. Just for now. We look almost the same anyways. That's what mom and dad always say."

"We do not! You have a fucking moon in the center of your head, and two stripes on your cheeks - I only have the one. And then there's the ears..."

"I know but...Most people aren't going to remember that shit anyways," he continued, handing his brother his shirt. "If someone knows who you are, what are they going to say? 'He's the dog demon in the red shirt.' I can be the dog demon in the red shirt. It's the best we've got right now...And you haven't been formally introduced yet. You said you never even met the gallery owner!"

"Only assistants," he nodded weakly as Sesshomaru started unbuttoning his shirt for him.

"Perfect. I think we can pull this off for now. It's going to be fine. You just...Need to try and find her. Fast."

Inuyasha nodded numbly as he shrugged his shirt off, handing it to his brother. Sesshomaru's shirt felt warm as he slipped his arms into it. It was an odd thing to notice, but...it felt oddly comforting, as did the scent of his brother enveloping him. It was like a layer of comfort while his entire world was being turned unexpectedly upside down. Even if they couldn't pull this off...he was thankful for his brother and his crazy idea. It was making him feel calmer, at least.

"It's going to be fine Yash...Alright?"

He nodded numbly again.

"Hey. Look at me," Sesshomaru repeated, taking his brother's chin between his fingers. "Let me hear you say it."

"I-it's going to be fine."

Sesshomaru nodded and the corners of his lips quirked up into the slightest of smiles.

"Good."

FUN FACT. This one was inspired by Bob Ross. Go figure!

#inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyashafanfic #inukag #indigo hues

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hansoulo · 3 years

Text

lay back in cloying sin

part three of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW-ish; references to marks and bruises, kissing, probably inaccurate descriptions of ballroom dancing, fluff, mentions of alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.3k

Gif Credit: (x) by @/ktfhett

A/N: boba & reader: [tyler the creator voice] oh no i hope i don’t fall

༓ series masterlist ༓

Dinner was a tedious affair, filled with hollow pageantry. It was one last hurrah before the send off of the honored guests, one of which you’d never talked to and the other who was nowhere to be found. The former, Lord Vader, sat at the head of the long table and made for very unamusing company. You had the distinct impression that he’d rather be anywhere than here, having to listen to his uniformed subordinates squabble in grating voices and your father simper about mining collectives. That made for two of you.

But the cavernous banquet hall was always beautiful, if a bit ostentatious, and the food never disappointed, so you consoled yourself with a loosened corset and the promise of a second dinner by servants who pitied your forced small portions.

You floated into the large room, shuffled through by the compounding procession before an older man offered to help you into your seat. The ornateness of your evening wear made you grateful for the help, watching in sincere thanks as he pulled out the high-backed chair.

“Thank you, um…” the color of his robes and the softness of his hands signalled high rank and you chanced a guess. “Duke...?”

“Sagcock,” he finished for you. “Jovron Sagcock.”

He has got to be joking.

Evidently, he wasn’t.

If the man saw you choke on a laugh, sputtering it into a hiccup as you sat down, he pretended not to notice. After all, princesses knew better than to be unbecoming or crass or know why any part of that exchange could be fodder for humor.

Fighting down one last cough, you attempted to regain some sense of decorum. What a wonderful start to the evening.

The arrangement of persons on this particular night was strange though, even disregarding the title of the man now seated beside you. There were more people than usual filling out the hall tonight, all fancily clad and buffed to shining. Boba wasn’t anywhere to be found.

The supposed importance of the occasion probably necessitated a shuffling of seats to soothe egos and encourage conversation, but you weren’t used to being so close to the head of the table, near parallel with your mother. Usually your elder sisters sat higher and provided you the benefit of distance. Of course, they were all gone now. Your brother was still too young to be at evening dinners, so there was no buffer between you and your parents’ ire.

Maybe this was the Maker’s way of getting back at you for your tiny tryst. Maybe they all knew about what happened in the garden and were just waiting for the shoe to drop, branding you as a harlot and finally letting you free. Vader’s static words travelled down the table and mingled with your father’s but you were too busy entertaining worse-case scenarios to understand conversation.

People were observing you, you realized partway through the first round of courses. Watching you with strange eyes as if you were the last scrap of halfway-spoiled meat for imperial officials and all the nobility that had come to pay their prostrate respects. No one had really given half a damn about you before, which made it all the more strange.

A heel foot softly kicked at yours underneath the table, breaking you out of your glazed thoughts. The fork you had been mindlessly moving across your plate stopping mid-swirl. Looking up, you met the quiet glare of your mother and cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you asked. Your question was punctuated with a smile too large to be genuine. The queen’s head jerked towards the grizzled man seated to her right and you turned towards him at her behest, face open in trained invitation. “Oh, hello, General.”

General Enes, current commander of the army of Quas Killam. Not strictly Imperial, but aligned close enough to have him in the king’s good graces and to reside permanently at court. He was also a Duke and probably a cousin thrice removed, but who was counting?

“No need to stand on pleasantries, your Highness,” the gray-haired man assured you, one large hand resting over his stomach as servants replaced the dirtied plates in front of you with new ones. You only sipped delicately at your algarine as he chortled and remembered, “It seems like yesterday that you were running around the palace with your sisters. A little sprite of a thing, weren’t you?”

Was he drunk already? “Yes, I remember,” you tread pleasantly; carefully.

The general settled and let out one last chuckle before his eyes grew hawk-like again, trained in the jewelry and accoutrements that signified your being old enough to marry but young enough to have not yet been taken. Like a prize. Or a charity donation. “You’ve grown into quite the young woman, you know.”

So that’s where this was going. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and tried to look gracious. “Thank you, sir. That’s a high compliment.”

“How old are you again, dear?”

Masking your surprise at the forwardness of the question, you supplied your age to a nod of approval from both him and your mother.

“A good age, I’d say. ‘Round the same as my youngest.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you shot a look down the table and caught a glimpse of cropped flaxen hair, its owner sitting enough seats down to prevent any shared conversation. You counted your blessings for it and smiled, tight-lipped. “Your son and I shared company when we were children.”

“Well that’s very nice,” the queen interjected quite loudly and looked around the long table with a light laugh but cold eyes. “Isn’t that nice?”

Your father looked at you for the first time all evening as if on cue, boring a hole into your face with the words he seemed to be telepathically trying to put in your mouth.

The taste of bitter wine on your tongue made your thoughts fevered, though not borne out of alcohol so much as the memories of someone else’s touch in the same places. “Yes,” you repeated vaguely. “Very nice.”

Darth Vader apparently didn’t remove his helmet. You wondered why he came to dinner at all.

The remaining evening hours had been whittled away by dessert and drinks. Everyone who cared to stay shuffled into the ballroom, a behemoth of a thing filled with inky windows and sparkling artifice. It was a blur of waltzes and predetermined couplings with boys you’d been ignoring since you were old enough to kick them in their shins, but you didn’t care enough to go to pains to avoid it. They broke up the monotony of introductions, at least, and let your mind and body be somewhere else for a while.

All compounded, the night left you flushed and tired. You needed alcohol. Or air. The latter was probably the more reasonable choice of the two.

Being in the midst of ballroom theatrics allowed for an easy enough escape, and a side entrance to a balcony overlooking the palace grounds became the object of your attention.

The tall double doors lay open in their glass encasings and spilled out lamplight refractions on the guests’ gaudy clothing and gaudier jewelry, everything sparkling and warm. But you were far enough away from it to still be chilled by the night air, a balm for your flushed cheeks and fizzling temper.

Usually guests ignored it in favor of staying indoors, so you were fairly confident in the promise of solitude and an undisturbed breeze.

But someone apparently had the same idea as you.

“Hello,” you ventured out a greeting to the silhouette not yet fully in your vision. You stepped closer and the heels of your shoes echoed on clay tiles. “I’m sorry, am I bothering you?”

Royal Highnesses shouldn’t really care about whether or not they were disturbing strange party guests, you could make them leave if you felt so inclined, but something in you was feeling magnanimous tonight. You tried not to think about why.

The figure didn’t turn back towards you, still facing out towards the blurry glitter of urban lights far off in the distance. It looked pretty this far away, all glowing masses and amorphous buildings that scraped the sky. You’d never been close enough to see all the dinge and smog that made its home in places not populated by princesses. Marble felt more familiar than metal.

The man wore metal too, and his voice scraped at your chest when he answered. “You’re not bothering me, princess.”

Oh.

You ventured cautiously towards the balcony’s edge, next to the man you now could recognize as Boba. The thick stone railing was cool to the touch. “Hello.”

His helmet tipped to the left, which was probably his way of saying it back.

“I didn’t see you at the dinner,” you noticed quietly. Would it be presumptuous to assume he was avoiding you? Intellect said yes, but ego didn’t listen. You leant forward, the speckled marble digging into your elbows as you mirrored Boba’s sightline out into the city. “You know, you wouldn’t have needed to make conversation. Lord Vader was the guest of honor and all he did was sit there.”

“I don’t like crowds.”

“Ah.”

A silence lapsed between you, awkward as if you were strangers. You were though, weren’t you? Strangers. Not friends. Not lovers. Not really.

But if he asked you to crack yourself open for him, you would. You would rip apart every satin petticoat and snap the boning in your corsets until your hands were raw if it meant he would touch you; skin to skin. You’d run away and cite a hidden fountain as the reason why.

You didn’t know what he’d give up for you, if anything. Boba didn’t seem like the type to have much in the first place. Either by choice or by necessity.

The garden afternoon nagged at you after having time to form coherent thoughts, and the fizzy shine of palace lights reflecting off his helmet reminded you of what you’d been meaning to ask.

Night made you softer-spoken. “Why did you let me take off your helmet?”

Night made his edges sharper. “Why did you want to?”

“I asked first,” you volleyed back as reason enough to get an answer first.

Boba wasn’t a Mandalorian in the true sense of the word, at least that’s what gossip told you, so it didn’t really matter if he took the helmet off or not. But he kept it on in front of everyone else.

The hunter gave you visor-silence and your impatience made you concede. “I just wanted to see you,” you breathed out, still not looking at him. The admission sounded much more naive than you intended.

His words held their characteristic aloofness but were edged by gentle teasing. “What if I said the same?”

That he wanted to see you?

You still didn’t understand half of why he did what he did and what he wanted, but you turned to face him head-on anyway. Cold moonlight fell on your neck and the air cracked with fever. You tried to reply in jest. “Then I’d say that you were being stupid.”

“You’d be right.”

A swallow bobbed in your throat. He always seemed to take up your vision; fill it and suffocate you with seemingly no effort. “And then I’d ask you to do it again.”

“Do what, princess?”

He knew. He just liked seeing the words come out of your mouth.

“Let me take your helmet off.”

This time, he guided your hands up himself. They were slow and almost careful running across your palms, placing them on the mechanisms your fingers found in quick memory. Set on the balcony railing, the helmet seemed to be a prop. An upside down bucket filled with all the things you had yet to say to each other, spilling out onto the ground in a fog.

“I like you better without it,” you decided when he turned back towards you, his weight still resting on the railing with one cocked hip. Everything about the way he looked was dark: inky black curls and scarred brown skin and eyes that pushed the air in your lungs with a stall and a catch. They looked even darker next to tan clothes and green armor.

His voice wasn’t entirely lacking in humor. He did that. Humored you. “Do you now?”

“Mhm.” you nodded with fake seriousness, slightly giddy and slightly too brave. You blamed it on an excess of wine and good company. “Better-looking.”

He only scoffed, a flash of pearl-white canines serving as one half of a smile. A smile that had been wider when it was against your collarbones, your neck, your mouth. A smile that you wouldn’t mind being in other places.

You nudged Boba’s shoulder with your own when a waltz kicked up in the background, faint through the open ballroom door. “There’s music,” you implied, half-joking and half-expectant. There had been this whole time, of course, but acknowledging it now seemed better than never. “You should ask me to dance.”

“I’m not one for dancing, your Highness.”

The title made you roll your eyes, a commonplace formality that you usually insisted on but now found overly facetious. Coming from him, that is. “Clearly not,” you almost snorted. Pushing away from the marble ledge with a finality that seemed almost comical, you held your hand out and waited, eyebrows raising and fingers beckoning. Well? your face seemed to say, Are you coming?

His sigh was bone-deep and settled in your chest like chunks of black plaster, but it felt good. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” you replied, as if it’d be ridiculous to expect anything else. Princesses danced with men at parties. You were a princess. Boba was a man at a party. In a roundabout sort of way. “It’s easy, I promise,” you assured, wrapping your hand around his wrist and pulling him away from the balcony. His glove slipped down a bit; just enough that your thumb could press one soft circle against the tan skin over bone.

Uncomfortable wasn’t really the correct word for how you thought he felt. You doubted Boba could ever be uncomfortable. No. No, the right word would probably be… bemused. Like he was in a menagerie watching a creature, something exotic and pretty, with mild interest while it still had his attention. But you did have his attention. That was something.

“You put your right hand on my waist,” you moved to reposition the large fingers more accustomed to blasters than they were to bodices. Boba smirked, almost boyish, when you caught his hand wandering someplace else. “Not that low,” you chided with quiet exasperation, placing your palm atop his and guiding it back up.

The pale leather was warm underneath your skin and you bit down a smile, almost awe-struck at how strange your hand looked next to his. Yours was polished, weighed down by heavy gold bangles and softened by years of idle play. His, you suspected (for you didn't actually know; hadn’t yet actually seen), was anything but.

“That’s good,” you supplied lightly. “And then I do this,”your other hand reached to rest on Boba’s shoulder. “And then- no, no you give me your left hand. Hold it out- good.”

Still looking down, you were careful not to trip over your skirts or his boots. “And now we just-” you breathed out and glanced up, surprised to find his expression strangely careful. Almost tender. You gulped down the quiet notch in your throat. “-now we just um… sway. Like this.”

You eschewed complication in favor of a simple rhythm, just letting your feet fall wherever they liked so long as they didn’t tangle in themselves. Now wasn’t the time for anything laborious; you didn’t have faith enough in Boba’s footwork. But he actually wasn’t too bad all things considered. A bit stiff and a bit gruff, but those were part and parcel. It was a bit like dancing with a tree trunk. A very handsome, very broad, very taciturn tree trunk. It was easy to let yourself sink into it a little with how solid he felt.

The man arched an eyebrow when your fingers stretched to thread together with his. “Just sway?”

“You’re welcome to do a jig instead if you’d like,” you replied wryly as your weight shifted from foot to foot. The hand around your waist stiffened at the prospect and a grin escaped your face.

“Nevermind.”

The amusement that had previously only been in your throat escaped in a quiet laugh. “Thought so,” you whispered, victorious. Tension, bunched up in your shoulders and collected in your bones, melted completely when he pulled you closer and let your head fall against the space of his neck. Sinew fit against silk like puzzle pieces and warmed the quiet moment that followed. Neither of you spoke for fear of disturbing the fresh peace.

You found yourself dwelling more and more on hypotheticals. Unrealistic and stupid, you knew, given who you both were. But still you dwelt, unable to fathom a reality outside of the last nine hours and inside a reality within which Boba was gone.

Would he fit here, with the stucco and plaster and ivy? With all the sheltered society of an insignificant court? With you?

You wondered if he dwelt on hypotheticals, too.

Swallowing cold air as Boba thumbed the collar of your dress, you felt the light scatter of broken blood vessels from hours before smart again. Your cheek pressed against the pauldron of his beskar, but neither of you were really dancing anymore. “I- I wanted to talk,” you began quietly. “About earlier.”

“Did you not like it?” Did you not like me?

��No! No, I…” you shook your head, trying to rid yourself of his assumption. The crystals hanging from your headpiece tinkled with every soft movement. “No, I… I liked it. I like…” The lump in your throat seemed to travel down back into your stomach. “You,” you finished, swallowing the final word and leaving all its implications to settle in the night.

He could feel the rise and fall of your chest; delicate and airy and resigned. You spoke again. “But you’re leaving tomorrow and... and we could’ve been caught. And the more I think about it the more I really am not looking forward to the idea of some court scandal or being cloistered up like a nun because I—”

He called you your name.

He’d never used your name before.

You lifted your head off his shoulder, desperate-eyed and looking for answers you both knew he couldn’t give. “Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

You barely breathed out an okay before the arm around your waist tightened, crushing you against cold metal and a warm body.

He kissed you how a lover would. Like how a first kiss should’ve been.

It was gentle. Warm. Tender-mouthed and aching, placing promises down your throat with a soft hand and closed eyes. It was… It was…

It was broken up far too quickly.

A voice called out your name from somewhere far-off, regally accented and not at all welcome. It called your name again, first middle and last with all the titles in between with much less patience. Your mother, queen consort.

The groan of displeasure that escaped you was muffled in Boba’s mouth and swallowed up before it could give either of you away. He recovered much faster than you did, peeling back from your body with eyes already alert and scanning the shadows for passersby. There were none. For now.

“It’s my mother,” you whispered, letting your eyes roll seemingly out of your skull. “They’re probably doing some send-off for Vader’s entourage.”

Neither of you mentioned the fact that Boba was part of that entourage too.

Your last words were rushed before the footsteps became too close and the mercenary pulled away. You didn’t really want to stay to hear the answer. “Will I see you again?”

Boba Fett, you’d come to learn, wasn’t the kind of man to offer more than what he knew he could give.

The helmet went back on. “I don’t know.”’

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x you #boba fett imagine #boba fett oneshot #star wars fanfiction

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minor-solemnity · 3 years

Text

Curiosity pt.6

“Are you implying that I’m not good enough to blackmail?” Which well, that maybe isn’t what you should be annoyed by.

A month passes. You don’t talk in class, just keep your head bowed low, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. You ignore Tom in the hallways and in the lessons you share. You suppose that you should probably revert to calling him Riddle, but referring to a man you’ve had sex with by their last name, even in the comfort of your own head, makes you feel dirty.

He tries to talk to you twice. He doesn’t try a third time.

You don’t tell Marie or Stephanie what’s transpired between you and Tom and eventually, they stop asking. You’re content to let them believe that whatever courtship or relationship they thought had been budding between the two of you had died. It’s easier to pretend that you’re just sad that you’ve missed your chance with Hogwarts’ most sought after bachelor. The truth is so much more complicated.

The last of the bitter Scottish winter gives way into Spring and with it comes blue skies, crisp winds, and luscious greenery. Stephanie’s attention is fixed firmly on the final quidditch matches of the school year and Marie begins her yearly fretting over exams. You’re left in blessed peace to ruminate on and stew in your own misery.

It’s far too early on a Saturday for you to be up, but the Great Hall is always empty until at least nine on the weekends and you’ve taken to avoiding large crowds lest you accidentally run into him. As expected, you’re alone save for the ghosts this morning. You’re stirring honey into your tea when a shadow falls over you. You don’t look up. The shadow coughs politely. You glower at your tea. The shadow sighs and there are footsteps and the sound of someone taking a seat opposite you. When you finally look up, Tom is watching you intently. Merlin, it’s so frustratingly easy to get distracted looking at him. The first thing you notice (and you hate that you do) is that he looks somewhat tense. His expression is a mask of polite indifference and his hands rest casually on the table in front of him but there is a tautness to his posture, as though he’s steeling himself for a fight.

You think that that should please you. At one point, it definitely would have done, but right now you’re still too raw from the events of a month ago to feel anything other than resigned fatigue at his appearance. “You’ve been ignoring me.” He says, and though his tone is placid you can detect a hint of something hard lacing his consonants.

“What good observational skills you have. Though that’s hardly a surprise, seeing as I’ve been on the receiving end of your interest for months at this point.” The anger at your own stupidity and his manipulation rears its head once more and you’re somewhat taken aback by how much venom has crept into your voice.

“Perhaps, if you’d let me explain-”

“No.” You cut him off, gathering your things and shoving them into your bag with more force than is strictly necessary. “No, I will not let you explain. I think you made yourself perfectly clear the last time. You have what you want, your curiosity is sated. You have your own blackmail material on me, should you ever feel the need to use it, and all it took was-” You can’t finish the sentence. All it took was a little flattery and his clever tongue touching and playing with you until you’d… Really, it had taken nothing at all. “I don’t know what else you could possibly need to explain to me. I understand what I am to you and what this entire thing was about. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you just leave me alone.” You don’t hang around to see understanding dawn on Tom’s face, nor do you hang around to see resolve settle firmly on his shoulders.

Fifteen minutes later you’re sat with your arms wrapped tightly around your knees underneath a yew tree by the lake, your bag thrown haphazardly a few feet away. You stare at the lake and determinedly blink back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks. A horrible mix of embarrassment and anger is bubbling in your stomach and your hands shake as you reach down and tug blindly at strands of grass as if they are what your ire is directed at. Merlin, you’ve been stupid. Incredibly, horrendously stupid. You’d known that Riddle was bad news. You hadn’t trusted him from the moment he’d smiled down at you that evening in the dining hall. Almost every meeting between the both of you since had been a constant push and pull, neither of you willing to back down or give way… And now…

Now he has the information that he wanted and the game is up. You’ve lost. And all because somewhere along the line you had forgotten exactly why it was that he’d been interested in you in the first place. You’d let your imagination get the best of you and for a moment you’d let yourself believe that it wasn’t about Mr Larkins anymore. That he was there because of you. Just you and not the secrets that you had tried so hard to keep.

Merlin, what was he going to do with you now that he knew. Blackmailing a teacher (and you have to admit to yourself now that that was exactly what you had been doing) was a serious offence. Enough to get you expelled for sure. Muggles went to prison for blackmail, didn’t they? Would you be sent the Wizengamot? Or would Tom just hold it over your head for eternity? Surely not. He had no use for you now, after all; you can’t keep kidding yourself that he liked or wanted you. You can’t keep kidding yourself that that was part of why this was so painful.

Beyond the fear you feel for your future, rejection is a bitter pill lodged in the back of your throat.

“You might appreciate it if I left you alone, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped running away from me.” Tom’s voice is conversational, cheerful almost. You let out a strangled scream of annoyance. He hums a soft little laugh in response. He settles himself down beside you, long legs stretching out in from him, crossed over at the ankle. You notice he’s holding the folder. “You honestly think I’d blackmail you?” He asks, still in that conversational toned and you feel your hackles rise.

“Are you implying that I’m not good enough to blackmail?” Which well, that maybe isn’t what you should be annoyed by.

“You seem intent on misunderstanding everything I have to say, I see.” He says and, at last, something approaching annoyance enters his voice. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s frowning slightly. As in the Great Hall, his posture suggests he’s at ease, he’s taken his tie off and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. But something is lurking beneath his relaxed exterior that suggests he’s nervous. “I have no intention of blackmailing you. At first, perhaps, but not any longer. And…” You drop the pretence of not looking at him entirely and turn full to face him. He doesn’t look at you and you get the impression that whatever he’s trying to say does not come easily. “I apologise if that’s the impression I gave you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise at the apology, which whilst stilted, appears genuine. Then, almost immediately after narrow in suspicion and indignation. “What other impression could you possibly have given me? Apart from, maybe, toying with me for your own amusement.” You ask acidly.

His jaw clenches and you notice dimly that he’s making hardly any effort to hide his emotions. He’s almost an open book. Which is… strange. You’re reminded of all the times that Tom’s treatment of you has left you feeling confused. Confused because he doesn’t act the same way around you as he does with the rest of your peers. He’ll put on a facade of politeness, sometimes, but it usually unravels within minutes. You’ve watched him charm and flatter the worst of your professors, that small careful smile never faltering until they’re putty in his hands.

He’s tried to intimidate, taunt, and seduce you but he’s never tried to charm you. The realisation hits you harder than you’d like. But so what that Tom doesn’t seem to think you’re worth the effort? Does it matter that he drops his perfect little persona around you? Yes, the quiet, treacherously hopeful voice in your mind whispers, yes it matters. Of course, it matters.

“That we were having fun, perhaps?” He says at last and he looks pained just saying it. As though telling you that some part of him had enjoyed your company and had assumed that you enjoyed his is physically uncomfortable to admit. Maybe it is. “That I believed you and I had some level of understanding regarding our relationship?”

You ask incredulously, “Has this been your way of flirting with me, Tom?” At the sound of his name on your lips, he turns to face you and you can practically see him come undone. His throat constricts around a swallow and you can’t stop yourself from tracing the column of his neck to where his collarbones, surprisingly delicate and sharp protrude from the collar of his open shirt with your eyes. He follows your gaze intently. “You never tried to charm me.” You murmur, finally bring your gaze to meet his.

“I’ve only ever been honest with you,” He replies, his voice equally soft. An admission that his persona is mostly a lie, used to trick and manipulate everyone else. Maybe that should put you off, make you turn away from him for good. It doesn’t. “You can’t blame me for wanting to know you when the few things I did know were so interesting. You can’t blame me for liking you more when I found out the rest.” It’s strange, knowing that the parts of you that usually stop people from liking or trusting you are what draws him to you. Then again, maybe it isn’t strange at all. You’re remarkably similar in so many ways, after all. “I thought, perhaps, that you regretted it.” Regretted me, is what he means. Is what he won’t say. Is what you hear nonetheless.

You’ll need to talk more later; you need to know what he intends to do with the knowledge of your blackmailing schemes but later. Right now… You lick your lower lip and you don’t miss the way he tracks the movement. “I don’t. Regret it.” He nods once, a short decisive shake of his head. You’ve made up your mind. “You should kiss me now.” And he does. He shifts and suddenly you’re being dragged to his side, one large hand curving around your waist and another cupping your jaw, his fingers tangling in your hair.

You feel like maybe, you’ve just won the best kind of game there is.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #minific

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

let my mind reset (2)

happy holidays, i brought everyone's favorite gift: high tension plot & tragic backstories!

warnings: imprisonment, mentions of death/mass murder/genocide, involuntary drug use, antagonist original character, panic attack, flashbacks, mild injury, taser

Roman wasn’t sure how long he’d been stuck in the holding cell.

His first idea had been to mark the cycles on one wall, to gather his bearings by the sky’s map, but there were no window ports, no view of the universe outside at all. Not even the greatest Crav’n navigator could’ve worked without a single star to go off.

He knew he was on a vessel, at least. Unlike his crewmates, Roman was more than familiar with the difference between artigrav and genuine gravity. They didn’t really understand it when he attempted to describe the sensation, but then, they didn’t seem to get headaches from low-quality antigrav systems, either.

Gods above, his crew. He hoped they were safe, hoped that at least that Human was good for something and would keep them from venturing onto the same moon that Roman had been so underhandedly abducted from.

No, with any luck, they wouldn’t be able to get involved. The way he’d been abducted-- drugged and dragged off-- it reeked of black market smuggling. Whatever they’d nabbed him for, it was probably his species they cared about, not his crew. He tried not to think too hard about what that meant for him, but...

There wasn’t much to do but think, in a cell like this. He had enough space to take three strides, from one wall of bars to the next, and no more. Nutrient gel packs were dropped through the slot of the back wall with alarming irregularity. The neighboring cells were empty, and everything was alway eerily, lifelessly silent.

Roman wasn’t sure how long he’d been stuck in the holding cell, but it was long enough that by the time he heard a distant cacophony, he was instantly alert, scales prickling in anticipation.

The noises grew closer and closer, and a piercing, glowing alarm lit the connecting corridor moments before the door to the cell block was being slammed into. Roman backed up, trying to figure out what sort of internal invasion he’d gotten caught up in.

On the third blow, the door crumpled inward like cheap plating, and an undeniably Human figure stood in the empty frame, panting. Familiar eyes immediately locked onto his cell.

“Virgil?” Roman squawked in alarm. He took a daring step toward the bars, barely believing what his own mind was perceiving. Was this another dream?

“Roman! You’re alive.” Virgil’s shoulders slumped dismissively, as though he wasn’t the one who had apparently boarded an enemy ship to find him. Despite all the questions he had, Roman felt immediately and irrevocably offended.

“No need to look so disappointed,” he growled, making the Human’s face scrunch up unpleasantly.

“What? No-- Never mind. We can chat when you’re out of there.” Virgil hurried down the hall to his cell, gripping the lockbox as though he could pull it apart. “Where’s the key?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Roman hissed, attempting to glance over his shoulder to the open hall the Human had come from. It was empty, for the moment. “I haven’t even seen another person in this place, let alone the vital instrument to my escape!”

Virgil pulled back, freakish eyes strangely wide. “Seriously? You’ve been alone this whole time?”

There was something oddly strained about his voice, but Roman didn’t exactly have the luxury of attempting to interpret whatever the Human was implying at the moment. He felt his tail thumping the floor anxiously. “Can we please focus?”

“Right.” Virgil shook his head sharply, releasing his deathgrip on the lockbox. “Right, uh, maybe I can li-- ghk.”

Abruptly, the deathworlder seemed to freeze up, jaw clenched, limbs rigid, chest still. To Roman’s horror, he spotted a trickle of red spill from the corner of his lips. “Virgil!”

As though the spell had been broken, the Human staggered, and then fell forward, knocking clumsily into the bars and gripping them for support as his breathing started up again, twice as ragged as before. The overhead alarm went utterly quiet.

Now that Virgil had half-collapsed, Roman could see past him, to the door frame.

There was another Human standing there at the threshold.

They were tall, with pallid skin and rust-colored hair cropped shorter than Virgil’s, wearing well-fitted clothes, and with a finger on the trigger of a black, boxy weapon that Roman couldn’t identify. Thin, barely-visible wires connected it to Virgil. Virgil, who had taken four paralyzers at once and managed to keep fighting, but was barely stirring after one hit from this.

He opened his mouth to speak, not knowing what would come out, and his eyes caught on the emblem sewn onto the Human’s outfit.

He knew it.

It felt like his every scale was on end, unfiltered terror coursing through him.

“Found it,” the Human said, completely composed. Their free hand was raised up to an ear, pressing against the communicator there. “Ended up at the Crowned’s block instead of an exit. Should I take it to the reinforced cells?”

There was a pause as whoever was on the other end replied, and the Human glanced to Roman with nothing but ice in their gaze. “And the Crowned? … Of course. Right away.”

Clicking the comm off, they stepped forwards and yanked the wires free, ignoring the way Roman flinched. They poked at Virgil’s leg with the tip of their shoe, and then easily hauled their fellow Human to his feet. Virgil’s eyes went wide at the sight of them, but only for a moment. He immediately bared his teeth, gripped the other right back and dug his fingers in. “Let go.”

“Vicious, are we?” They muttered, unconcerned. “You can’t win, so don’t even try. I’ll be nice and warn you in advance: anything you do to me, I’ll double back onto your Crowned friend over there.”

At the gesture to Roman, Virgil went still, his hold loosening. There was something off about that, Roman thought, but his mind seemed to be working through a thick fog, everything hazy and slow. The unfamiliar Human only nodded, as though they’d confirmed something, and pulled open the cell next to Roman’s before half-shoving Virgil towards it. “In.”

Still unsteady, Virgil stumbled heavily as the door was swiftly shut and locked behind him. The Human turned away, hand already returned to their communicator.

“I need two reinforced cells prepared for our lady. Clean up whatever’s left in them.”

They stepped past the shattered door, out of the room, and were gone. Roman felt his frozen posture thaw slightly, but there was no sense of relief. His pulse continued to race.

A cell over, Virgil leaned heavily against the bars, a sheen of sweat across his skin.

“That rescue attempt,” he said, voice rough, “went less than good.”

Ire rose in Roman hot and fast, like boiling water. It was as good a distraction as any. He turned to Virgil sharply, arms spread aggressively. “What were you thinking?”

“What?” Virgil asked, going still with surprise.

“You shouldn’t have come here. We’re both trapped here now.” He grabbed his own arm tightly, claws digging in. “This isn’t some low-grade smuggling ring you can slaughter your way out of!”

“Roman, I--,” Hurt, and then frustration flashed across Virgil’s face. “Come on, I came to help you--!”

“Oh, what a joke.” Roman snarled, his breath coming faster. “Help me? All you’ve done is gotten us both stuck in an even tighter trap.”

“I wasn’t trying to--”

“Oh, yes, I’ll believe that, coming from a Human,” Roman scoffed, ears flattening back aggressively. His head pounded in rhythm with the painful buzz of the artigrav.

Virgil stood up a little stiffer, eyebrows drawing in. Roman felt an odd vindication. The Human had certainly never made this harsh expression around Patton. “Me being Human doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Roman’s laugh caught oddly in his throat, coming out bitter and shattered. “It has everything to do with this. You think it’s a coincidence that this is the first Human that we’ve run into since you? That they abducted me for no reason?”

Virgil stared at him, glancing at the open doorway the other Human had vanished through. “You know this place.” It wasn’t a question.

“I know these Humans,” Roman corrected sharply, trying to keep the chill from his bones as reality set in. It was harder, now that the heat of his anger was fading out.

“How?” Virgil asked, apparently doing his best to stoke those dying embers. He glanced at the door to his cell, assessing. “If you know something that could help--”

“Nothing can help us!” Roman snapped, breaths harsh and gasping. The walls were drawing closer, pressing down on him. “These Humans took everything from me! Everyone I ever knew, gone in a single night! I’m the only one left!”

There was no sudden ringing silence, no perceptible shift in the universe now that he’d admitted the truth. There was just him, and the Human, still in cells, still doomed.

“I’ve lived-- all this time for-- for them, and Humans,” his lungs were beginning to ache, “Humans can’t even-- won’t let me do that right.”

Virgil moved closer to the bars, slow and uncertain. “Hey. Roman, hey, easy. Roman, you have to breathe. Breathe, okay?”

His voice was lower, softer. Coaxing, like he was luring a small animal out of hiding. It was like watching a Human pretending to be an ally, like watching a Human using the voices of other victims, like watching a Human turn and slaughter his tribe-- his friends-- his family.

The past and present seemed to overlap, an insignia burnt into the Human’s clothes where it hadn’t been before. Roman snarled at him, but the noise came out choked and small, like he was a kit again.

Virgil-- his mother’s murderer-- the Human was still talking, the words echoing and rolling over each other until the noise was indecipherable. There was an undertone of urgency to its voice as Roman backed further away-- pushed himself deeper into the hidden crevice-- hid away like a coward.

When he finally blacked out, it was almost a blessing.

---

When he woke, his cell was different.

It was narrower, and composed entirely of thick, interlacing bars, no solid back wall to lean on. No food slot, either. The space was lit from above, and in the cell next to his, he could see Virgil pacing like a caged animal. The rest of the room was too dark to make out.

The moment he shifted to sit up, the Human’s eyes were on him. “Roman!”

Roman steeled himself, but Virgil was oddly muted, and he stayed firmly on the side of his cell furthest away. Even that meager distance wasn’t far enough to keep Roman’s pulse steady-- or enough to hide the bruised swelling on one side of Virgil’s face. “What happened to you?” he asked, pressing a palm to his own headache. The non-Human one.

Virgil’s hand drifted up to the injury absently. “Made some trouble when they were moving us.”

Roman stared at the injury for a moment longer. If this was how brutal these Humans were to one of their own, he didn’t even want to think about how they’d treat him.

“I called their bluff,” Virgil continued, as though Logan had connected their minds. “Whoever they answer to explicitly instructed them not to let you get hurt.”

“Not yet, at least,” Roman replied darkly.

Virgil just nodded, face tight with stress. “Not yet. That gives us time.” He paused, working his jaw for a moment. “If... if they’ve been keeping you here for this long, maybe we could find other survivors—“

“They’re dead, Virgil,” Roman cut him off, voice flat and toneless. His anger had burned out. “The bodies— I was the only one left to perform the wake afterwards.”

Virgil went quiet. Roman felt his mind slipping back to thick smoke and burnt flesh, and shook himself harshly, one loud rattle of his scales to try and ground himself. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Virgil replied, and then paused before Roman could demand a less vague answer. He pressed a finger to his mouth. “Hang on. Footsteps.”

There were a few beats of silence, and then a door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. For a moment, the hallway beyond was enough to cast a dim light over the rest of the room. Roman could make out rows of these narrow, empty cells, enough to hold more Humans than he ever wanted to see again.

It was the same Human from before, and Roman was surprised to find that their lip was split, though perhaps he shouldn’t have been. It was vindicating to see that Virgil had given as good as he’d gotten.

Any semblance of calm fled Roman’s body as the Human walked into the circle of light shining down over their cells, right up to the meager barrier between them. Human limbs were thin enough to reach through the bars, and the thought was enough to make him shift back, flaring up aggressively with every threat display he had.

“Don’t worry, your highness,” the Human said, their eyes rolling strangely in their skull. “I’m not here for you, not this time.”

Almost against his will, Roman’s gaze flickered to Virgil, who was standing stock-still in the middle of his cell, chest rising and falling only fractionally. The Human popped open the cell casually, and then waved when Virgil didn’t move.

“Come on, come on,” they chided, “you have a doctor's appointment to keep.”

Like the words were an igniting spark, Virgil took two running steps forward and launched himself at them.

It was barely a fight. The Human didn’t even hesitate, smoothly catching Virgil by the upper arms and twisting until he went down with a cry of pain Roman had never heard from him before. Even half-pinned to the floor, he continued to writhe and twist, a guttural hiss escaping him.

“Relax,” they ordered impatiently, shaking him once, “they know how to properly sedate here. Anesthetic and everything. You won’t feel a thing.”

Contrary to their attempt, Virgil’s struggles doubled in intensity, thrashing with a strength that seemed to surpass anything he’d displayed in front of Roman or the others before. “No! No!”

The Human swore offhandedly, grabbing something from a pocket. “Damn. Thought that would work, with reports on how you came in.”

In one simple movement, they wrapped their hand around Virgil’s neck, and waited as his struggles became heavy and leaden.

They were killing him, a tiny, panicked voice in Roman’s mind screamed.

He didn’t realize he had crossed the short length of his cell until he was already gripping the bars, rattling against them. “Stop! Let him go!”

The Human glanced up, eyebrows raising slightly. When they lifted their hand, the distinctive white square of a tranq patch was left behind, pressed firmly into the skin.

Not dead. Roman felt a shocking amount of relief, his scales drooping with the force of it. He just… didn’t want to see another person murdered by a Human, that was all.

The Human slung Virgil over a shoulder, recapturing his attention.

Right. Not dead. Just drugged into unconsciousness, about to be dragged off to who-knew-what.

“Wait!” Roman reached out, barely able to fit his wrist past the bars. There was white noise rising in his ears. “Look, it’s me you want, right? To-- To finish what you started, tie up the loose ends. That Human doesn’t have anything to do with this. So don’t do anything-- he’s not involved.”

“Oh, now that’s funny.” The Human laughed, the sound caustic, and leaned in. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, your highness. It doesn’t matter if he’s involved or not. Out here, the only thing a rogue Human needs to do to be targeted is exist.” They paused, mock-thoughtful. “Kind of like you, actually.”

Roman felt his entire being prickle with white-hot fury, a low growl rumbling in his chest. To say that his people deserved to be slaughtered for just existing… Human cruelty really knew no bounds.

“Speaking of,” the Human continued languidly, “I'll be back soon to show you to your own appointment.”

Roman felt his insides turn to ice.

“The boss has finally called for you.”

#sanders sides #wibar #lmmr #let my mind reset #ts virgil #ts roman #original character #writing #my writing #im not exactly happy with how this chapter turned out so im going to say please donnt be too rough on it #also the original character is not a side just 2 be clear #this chapter is a little heavy take care of yourselves #but also remember things get better! promise

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stevesharrlngtons · 4 years

Text

adam, carved from the rib of eve.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: godfrey industries throws a party in the honor of their new ceo. roman is less than thrilled to be attending, but at least he has you.

word count: 3.4k (a shortie)

a/n: i am such a slut for the “i hate everyone but you” trope as you can probably tell and that’s basically this fic lol. i ended up not loving the ending to this, but i like the beginning so i’m posting it anyways lol

Roman’s hand hadn’t left the small of your back for hours. His fingers widened and drummed and stroked and squeezed you through the slinky fabric of your dress, to both soothe himself and to keep you intune with his moods throughout the evening. His nails would probe into your skin when someone would approach him that he disliked, telling you with his fingertips of his distaste. Leaving small crescents in your dress and the smooth skin underneath kept him from showing his true loathing for an employee on his face. At certain points during the evening, you were worried that Roman would draw blood from his ministrations, fearing little lines of crimson would blot your dress and force you to tie his suit jacket around his waist like some midwestern mother. During these moments, you’d reach out to stroke his lapel or lean your temple to his shoulder in a show of affection and warning. Roman would ease his prodding and smooth his fingertips over his marks in sweet apology.

Tonight was a big night for Roman. Tonight was the night that he was being officially inducted as the new CEO of Godfrey Industries. Large posters had been unrolled from the ceiling that pictured his signature pout and chilling glare; a slideshow that was being projected on a far wall of the rented ballroom showed pictures of Roman, Pryce and JR; napkins were leafed across tables with a congratulation message for Roman’s succession. Tonight was a momentous night in the history of The White Tower and the Godfrey legacy, and Roman was miserable.

He hated that everyone wanted to talk about his father and Norman and his mother and Pryce and what he would do for the company in the future. He hated that he had to put on a neutral face and hob knob with men and women he deemed to be serfs and peasants. He hated that men eyed you up and down and women tried to grope him and he hated that anyone thought they were worthy of your combined presence. If either of you were forced to shake another hand he’d blow his brains out (hyperbole, unfortunately, because he could see a fat man with a wet upper lip approaching him).

But, he thanked whatever higher power that was out there that you were by his side, looking gorgeous and regal and supportive. Roman Godfrey said a silent thank you to every God his mind could name that you loved him and he loved you back, because he could not fathom attending this party without you. Without you smiling when he couldn’t conceal his hatred, without you lightening the mood with sweet anecdotes and pretending to look interested when his employees talked to you.

You nodded and hummed and asked thoughtful follow up questions that left the impression on his lessers that Roman Godfrey and his girlfriend were good people; the kind of people who cared about the lives of their workers. He would be utterly lost without you, a thought that crossed his mind every time he glanced down at you, huddled into his side with a glass of champagne cradled in your dainty hand.

Well, that and how much he wanted to fuck your brains out when you both returned home. You looked down right delicious in your evening gown.

Unfortunately when there is a party thrown in your honor, people are interested in talking to you. Soaking up your presence without any regard for how the honoree might feel. The mouth breathing attendees wrapped in their rented Men’s Wearhouse tuxedos didn’t care that Roman just wanted one minute alone to cozy up to his girl, as they formed a line to congratulate him and try to perform for him as a way to prove their keep. Little did they know they were just doing the opposite, only fueling his ire for them. Thankfully, the line had diminished for the first time that evening, leaving you and Roman to your own devices by the bar.

“Thank fucking God,” Roman murmured as he order a bourbon and another glass of champagne for you.

“Just try to grin and bear it. We can leave in an hour.” You reply, squeezing his hand that still resided near your backside.

He groaned, “An hour?”

“Yes, an hour. This party is for you. You don’t want to seem ungrateful or stuck up.”

The bartender placed your drinks in front of each of you. Roman took his quickly and took a long pull from the glass.

“You my PR director now?” He muses.

“Hell yes I am, and you better be thankful,” You say, quite matter a factly, “I make you look good, approachable, the boy next door. Not the playboy who snorts coke off of hookers tits. I am the Persephone to your Hades. And people love it.”

Roman chuckles, “I can’t say I don’t like that comparison.”

You smile at him over the rim of your glass. Roman takes a drink from his own glasses and swallows thickly before speaking again.

“You know I am thankful for you, right?”

Your grin softens at the uncharacteristic confession and you place your glass back on the bar so you can cozy up to him, “I’m thankful for you, too.”

Roman stared down at you, love and appreciation pooling in his green eyes as his hand loops around you to link with his other. You place both hands on his chest and kiss his chin chastley as Roman melts into your embrace. You make him feel so needy and weak in a way he had always chased away and feared. But you made him love it, revel in it, look forward to the feeling. Though, it made his guard fall, you and your sweet kisses and sweeter touches, and right now, while he was in a room full of judgmental employees that he was trying to make see him as their alpha, probably wasn’t the best time for him to be turning to honey and sun shining warmth.

Luckily (or not so luckily) the haze you two were in was broken by an onlooker.

“I believe congratulations are in order.”

Roman’s glare hardens within seconds as he looks away from you to Pryce, who stands behind you, hands clasped behind his back.

“I don’t need them.” Roman replies, letting you untangle yourself from him.

“Well, I offer my sincere pride and happiness for you, anyway.” Pryce says with a tight lipped smile.

Roman doesn’t respond, just raises his eyebrows at the other man.

After a beat of uncomfortable silence, Pryce moves his attentions to you, “(Y/N), you look stunning tonight.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” You respond politely.

“I’ve heard from many patrons tonight that you have bewitched them, they are all fat and happy with the care you’ve shown them.”

“I do what I can.”

“I would enjoy it if some of that good will would rub off on you, Roman. It isn’t becoming for any of us for you to look like a tyrant.”

Roman scoffs, “I don’t want them to like me. I want them to be fucking scared of who I am and what I can do.”

“I believe Mussolini said something similar.” Pryce quips back quickly.

“I’ll be their fucking Mussolini if I have to be.”

“Let’s hope you’ll be more effective.”

And again, there is a tense pause between the three of you. You sip the bubbles from your glass and try to burrow into Roman’s side to calm him. You knew Roman was capable of explosive outbursts, and you really preferred if he didn’t have one tonight in front of all these people. Especially at Pryce, when they were supposed to be creating a united front for the company.

“Well, unfortunately I didn’t just come over to offer my congratulations,” Pryce begins.

“It’s never just one thing with you,” Roman responds spitefully.

“I came over to inform you that you are expected to give your speech soon.”

Roman’s jaw ticks, “What fucking speech?”

“The speech we discussed last week.”

“We didn’t discuss shit.”

“Believe me or not, we discussed a speech last week. Though, I suppose I am not surprised you don’t remember, as you seemed less than thrilled with the news when I gave it to you.” Pryce lamented.

“I am less than fucking thrilled about it now.” He snapped.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Roman. This is a part of the job; addressing the troops.”

“I don’t address the troops, I delegate someone to do that for me. Which is you, in the scenario.”

“I am already giving a speech tonight, Roman. The one before your own that introduces you.” Pryce informs.

Roman doesn't retort, just clenches his jaw tightly, you could see his muscles pulse through his skin. The glare he was giving Pryce would have made a lesser man quake, make them sweat and tremble with fear. But, the good doctor was used to Roman’s stares.

“Go fuck yourself.” Roman spat, his face so close to Pryce’s that you could see flecks of spit freckle his skin.

Roman then stormed off, pushing his way through the crowd and disappearing.

Pryce gives a deep sigh, taking out a handkerchief to wipe his face while you simply shrug.

“I can’t say it doesn’t worry me that a bonafide child will be taking over this company.”

“Easy.” You say, reminding Pryce who he is talking too, “He’s just overwhelmed. He’s not much for public speaking.”

“But public tantrums he has no problem with.”

“He’s very passionate. Something that will take this company far. Don’t forget that he is JR’s son, who himself was a very passionate man.”

Pryce eyes you, “Will you continue to spin his outbursts into good omens?”

You shrug again, this time with a budding smile, “I don’t mind.”

He snorts, “What we do for love.”

“Tell me about it.” You reply, before leaving Pryce by himself at the bar and going to search for Roman.

You found him in a back hallway of the ballroom, back pressed to the wall with his knees to his chest, a lit cigarette between his lips.

“You look very modelesque right now. Very sexy,” You smirked and Roman looked up at you, “Like this in black and white? Boom, Vogue cover guaranteed.”

You walked toward where he sat and smoothed your dress against the backs of your thighs so you could do the same. You faced him and rested your cheek to his bent knee.

“You’re very funny,” He replied sarcastically, taking another drag from his cigarette, “Maybe I’ll just quit now and work on finding an agent.”

“Well, you have the bone structure for it.” You played, but Roman still seemed less than amused.

“I’m serious. What if this is a sign?” He said, twiddling the filter between his thumb and forefinger.

“What, the speech?”

“Yes, the speech. What if me fucking it up, forgetting about it, is some sign from the business Gods that I’m just bound to mess this all up in the end? That I’ll embarrass myself and my father…” Roman’s voice shook at the periods.

He was terrified, but had done a good job at hiding it. Over the last few weeks, you had been asking him how he felt about taking over at Godfrey, and everytime his answer was succinct and indifferent. Each time he told you that he was perfectly fine with the idea, as it was something that had been promised to him since birth. You never pried or pushed, but you made sure to keep a closer eye on his feelings than you normally did. You had a feeling the other shoe was going to drop and Roman would feel the weight of this decision lay on him, you were just waiting for when.

“Baby, hey,” You cooed, snuggling closer to his folded up form, “None of that is going to happen, and you forgetting some stupid speech doesn’t mean anything. It means that you forgot, that's it. You’re human, you’re allowed to make human mistakes.”

“Not in this job. Not when everyone is already waiting for me to fail.” Roman said.

“Well, you still are, because I’m telling you. You are allowed fuck ups and mistakes. It makes you seem more relatable.” You pluck the cigarette from between his fingers and take a drag.

“I don’t want to relatable to those people,” Roman spits, “My God, nothing sounds worse.”

You giggle, “Good thing you will never be like those people out there. Because those people, the ones out there desperately searching for your approval? Those people were born to worship men like you, Roman. You were born the man to be worshipped, the man to be followed.”

Roman looked at you with his big doe eyes, both filmed with unshed tears as his lips pursed. You moved to place his cigarette back between his pouted mouth and let your thumb sweep across his bottom lip as you did.

“You, Roman Godfrey, will be amazing. You will shock and awe any and everyone. You’re not going to fail, because you don’t know how, baby. You are the man that I love, and no matter what, that won’t change.”

A few tears had fallen on his cheeks as you spoke and Roman sniffled quietly, “You promise?”

“I do.” And you leaned forward to slot your lips with his.

The kiss was gentle and reassuring, you could taste the salt of his tears and the bourbon and smoke on his tongue. Roman’s hand came around to rest on your side and you purred at the contact.

When you parted, it was because you could both hear the muffled sound of Pryce’s booming voice over the microphone.

“Fuck,” Roman groaned, thunking his head against the wall, “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“This is what you’re going to do,” You leaned forward and took his face in your hand, “You’re going to go up there, thank Pryce for his words about you. Then, mention how much this company meant to your father and how proud you were of him, and how proud he would be of you. Then say something about how much you love the company, how much it means to you and the world of medicine, blah, blah, blah. Then round it out with something light hearted, maybe make a joke? Then you’re done, you’re out of there.”

“Are you sure that’s enough?”

“It’s gonna have to be.”

Roman nodded, before crushing the remainder of his cigarette under his dress shoe and pulling you into his side. You both sat in silence as you listened to the faint sound of Pryce’s speech. He was a well spoken man, which you knew made Roman nervous.

“You know,” You said, breaking Roman from ruminating on what was to come, “I heard this couple talking shit about us.”

“What?” Roman barked, snapping his head to look down at you.

“Yep, when I was coming out to look for you, I heard them.”

“What in the ever loving fuck did they say?” He fumes.

“They were talking about how we were eye fucking each other all night, and how are PDA was inappropriate for the event.” You snort a laugh.

“Who were they? Did you get a good look?” He was angry, you could feel it in the rigidity of his body. Your plan was working.

“Nah, just overheard them.”

“Well, they better fucking hope I don’t find out who the fuck they are. Fucking rip their fucking eyes out for looking.”

You giggle and Roman looks down at you again, anger and curiosity in his eyes.

“I just love it when you get all riled up, it’s hot, baby,” You reach out to press a lingering kiss to his pulse point, “Love it even more than when you show everyone that I’m yours.”

Roman’s expression changes on a dime and pure hatred shifts into a sauve look of arousal, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” You hum, leaning to give more kisses to his throat, “I love how your hands feel on me, love that everyone can see, love how possessive you are, baby.”

A moan rips from Roman’s chest and he quickly grabs you and forces your legs around his hips to straddle him, “You like it when I show everyone you’re mine, huh?”

He subtly bucks his crotch into your own and you whimper at the contact, “I love everything you do to me, baby.”

His lips descend on yours once more, but this kiss is anything but soft. It’s hot and passionate and intense and fucking raw. His teeth clanging against your own, his tongue pushed deep in your mouth, both his hands groping your breasts. He occasionally broke apart from you to curse or to whisper an obscenity. You loved when he got like this, and you knew he needed it. He needed to feel in control, he needed to feel desired and strong. He needed to know he was still powerful; a protector.

“You wanna know what you’re gonna do?” You moan, pushing his face to mouth at your neck.

“What, baby?” He asked breathlessly as he covered your skin in filthy kisses.

“You’re going to go out there, and fucking nail this speech. Show them that you’re the fucking boss, that you are in charge. That you own them and this fucking company. And you’re gonna do it knowing that I am in the audience, watching you, waiting for you to take me home and fuck me so good I can’t see straight.” And you pulled him away from you.

His pupils were blown, his mouth red and kiss bitten and he panted as he gazed at you.

“What the hell? Your plan was to give me blue balls then throw me on stage?”

“A little, but mostly make you remember who you are. Roman Godfrey, the most powerful man I know, the only man who gets me soaked in seconds.”

“Damn right I am,” He kisses you hard once more before you pull him off again.

“Now go give your speech so we can go home,” You patted his shoulders firmly then stood from his lap.

“I fucking hate you, you know that?” Roman complained, standing as well.

But he didn’t, he really fucking loved you. Because somehow you knew every part of him, every nook and cranny of his twisted brain, every emotion and feeling before he had it. You knew him, and you always knew just what to do. He had been preening at your earlier praise and then fully immersed in your kiss and had totally forgotten about the speech altogether, along with his nerves. You had pumped up his ego with acclaim and hot touches and suddenly he wasn’t so scared anymore. Because all those stupid fucks out there, they didn’t matter. Like him or not, he owned this company, he owned them. They would learn to fear him, to want to be him, and that was something Roman knew was true (something that you had helped remind him). He fucking loved you so much, for always knowing what to do when he felt lost and helpless in the dark. Roman knew that taking over Godfrey Industries was the first in many steps he would take for the rest of his life to take care of you, and guide you through the blackness when you needed it.

“Sure you do,” You laugh.

“I’m supposed to go up there with this? You gonna let that happen?” He gestured to the bulge in his pants.

“Think about baseball.” You shrugged and started back to the ballroom.

Roman groaned loudly before catching up to you.

As you both came through the double doors to the event, Pryce seemed to just be finishing up, catching Roman’s eye in relief that he hadn’t bounced. You reached down and gripped his hand as Pryce introduced Roman and gestured him to the stage.

His face fell as all eyes moved to him, but you were there to plant a strong kiss on his lips and whisper, “Just giving that couple somethin’ to talk about.”

Roman couldn’t help the cocky smile that spread over his face after that. He walked to the stage and you took your seat at one of the head tables.

Roman cleared his throat and shook his blazer over his shoulder to resettle it as he looked out over the sea of his new employees. The sea of his new employees and you: who gave him an excited thumbs up and a wink.

And Roman knew this would be a piece of cake.

i really hope you enjoyed!! if you did, i would love to hear any and all feedback <3 also, bear with me for a while, i am not sure when my next story will be out bc the ones i have working on rn are kinda long, but! until next time (:

#roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey imagines #roman godfrey x you #roman godfrey fanfic #roman godfrey fanfiction #roman godfrey reader insert #bill skarsgård x reader #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgård imagine #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard imagine #hemlock grove fanfic #hemlock grove fanfiction #hemlock grove imagines #hemlock grove imagine #stevesharrlngtonswrites

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Elizabeth Debicki - Gorgeous

A/N & WC - Back again with Elizabeth and Taylor Swift. Reputation is my favourite album currently, with evermore as a close second. Two incredible women in one yes please. Listen to 'Gorgeous' while reading for the feel of it. 2.8k exactly.

Warnings - Legal alcohol consumption, mild cursing once.

Summary - Elizabeth is gorgeous, just look at her, the world can see it. A drunken night leads to some tipsy confessions, but does Elizabeth feel the same?

“YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS…”

“What was that?” Elizabeth swiftly cuts in.

Your eyes grow wide in an instant, looking down intensely at the black table, sticky with spilt drinks, and turn your attention away.

“Nothing…” you trail off. Frankly, you hadn’t realised you were thinking aloud, but if you said what you were thinking, then tonight's girls night out with your best friend is gonna be a whole lot harder.

“So as I was saying, this guy from Bumble, he comes and he looks nothing like his profile picture, right?” Her eyes are so animated when she speaks, her jaw agog in a remembering shock, she taps at her glass with ebony painted fingernails. “Like his picture was a solid eight outta ten, but in person, not even a four. But there was something about him, you know? That little twinkle in his eye, so I gave him more of a fair shot than I do other catfishes.” You hum noncommittally, not necessarily listening to the words, but the soft undulating animation in her beautiful accent is worth listening to any day, even if just hearing about her going on a date with someone riles you up intensely. “No personality,” she gapes, smacking her lissom hands down on the table with a slight thump, causing some of her wine to spill. “Absolutely none! It was like talking to a brick wall for half an hour. Can you believe it? And he asked what part of Australia I was from, and when I said Melbourne, you know what he said? ‘Is that in New Zealand.’”

She scoffs, and downs the last of her wine. Her magnetic field is so strong, so alluring, you can’t help but feel drawn to her even more. She really should think about the consequences of her charisma or else you might snog her and ruin everything before the nights even over.

“What a dick,” you play along.

“Ugh, I know. Refill?”

“Please. Whiskey—”

“On ice. I know, hon.”

She smirks, shooting you a wink before standing up and practically gliding across the room to the bar. Your eyes twinkle with hope, with sinful want, as you watch her, and you’re sure that with your wistful expression and flushed cheeks and the way your mouth suddenly goes dry the second she says or does anything that could be construed in the least bit flirtatious that she knows how much you like her. Your whole body tingles, your words and sense swallowed up by an intense fire the second she touches you, it’s beginning to make you furious that she’s able to make you feel this way and still acts so coy about it if she even does have the first clue how utterly besotted you are with everything she does.

Over at the bar, Liz has to hunch to lean her forearms on the countertop, kicking her feet back a little, her short dress showing off her long, shapely legs with grace. She looks so sultry, with her leather jacket shrugged so casually over her pale shoulders. But your mind and illicit thoughts plummet and die the second you peer around her and capture a look at the bartender she’s talking to. Tall and that muscular build of slim that only comes from years of sport, a pinched waist and full chest, tanned skin—perhaps of Filipina descent, dark inky hair falling in tendrils from her work ponytail, no makeup and she still looks stunning. And exactly like Shay Mitchell. And she's flirting with your Elizabeth. Not that she’s yours or anything, that would be absurd, unless…

This woman is gorgeous, and you’re already jealous of her, of the attention she’s receiving from Elizabeth; the suggestive touches, the coy laughs, the revealing tug of her dress, the tentative tilt of her head, the run of her slender hand through her choppy blonde locks. But because Liz is single, it’s actually worse, because she’s been a lot more open and experimental with her sexuality recently, not labelling it but trying more out, trying more partners out. And you don’t fault her for that for even a moment, but why she can’t experiment with you, a raging queer, is beyond your grasp. It’s almost undoubted that she’s going to be taking this incredibly scorching hot bartender home at the end of the night, and if you weren’t out with Elizabeth, you’d be making the same move. But Liz… she desperately needs to think of the consequences of her touching this romans hand in a darkened room. That should be you.

You can’t get too possessive, though, as Liz has done her fair amount of touching you all night on this signature girls pub crawl, but it’s not the same, it’s not… enough. She’s been holding your hand, hooking her arm through yours to do shots, hugging you with her lithe arm around your waist as you totter down the high street in heels too high. It’s all been too friendly, though. And now it’s getting late, your final destination of the night. You’re practically the only patrons with a conscience at this point. You’ll be turning in soon, the bar will be closing soon, it’s inevitable. Liz will have a warm bed, and you’ll be left to go home alone to your cats. She’s so gorgeous, you can't blame the bartender, but she can’t blame you wither; love made you crazy.

You’re busy brooding over the ice slowly melting at the bottom of your glass, condensation forming in droplets on the rim when Liz casts a glance over her shoulder, a bright beaming smile etched upon her face, every line drawn up to match her glee. She points a long raven-painted digit at you, and prompts you to smile back, which you do—without even half as much fervour—and ensure you incline your head towards the bartender, whose dark hazel eyes are now fixed on you, before turning back, pretending to have found something of interest on the table.

“That’s y/n,” she says in a happy, furtive whisper, “my best friend.”

With her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, your mind is all scrambled, and with the intense feeling you might sink and drown and die, you know you need to get it in order before she returns, so you push your own stool out and head to stand in the doorway, fresh air hitting you like a brick wall.

The smell of the city instantly prevents it being worthwhile.

The sun set long ago, and you can see vines crawling up the building across the road from you, even in the dim street light and shadows. Even in a tucked away corner of the city, down back streets in a quiet quarter, the incessant incense of exhaust fumes and chippy food and pigeon shit never quite leaves one alone.

Everything’s winding down, quietening, muffled by an indelible blanket of night. A soft mist fills the air, an impending storm infiltrating your senses, roiling you a little. The walk home will be made worse by the rain soon to fall, ire digging at you for more reasons than one.

Elizabeth… She can make you so happy with one simple look that it turns back to sadness the moment you see the flicker of friendliness in her eyes, never anything more, never anything deeper, not once. What can you say? She’s gorgeous, she’s everyone else's for the taking, whoever she deems rakish enough to take home for the night.

The silence of the night, of your thoughts, is hewn by a sharp siren whizzing past you, so you push your pain away, and sidle back through the doors, shutting the slow drizzle of rain out as you close the door behind you.

Once you return inside, your thoughts slightly more reordered, you see her back at the table, fiddling idly with the hem of her dress, her cheeks tinted a soft red.

“So?”

“I got her number,” she confesses, barely able to bite back a smile, even as her perfect white teeth graze her lower lip. “She gets off shift in an hour.”

You were right, then.

“That’s nice. She’s hot.”

“I know,” she replies dreamily, “and looks exactly like Shay Mitchell, can you believe it? I fancied her so much when Pretty Little Liars first came out.”

“Yeah, I did too.” you admit quietly, clasping your hands around your fresh whiskey.

“You okay? It’s getting late, we can head off now.”

“Nope, absolutely fine. In fact, I think I’ll have another. Tell me something.”

“But we haven’t talked about you all night, I wanna know how your life is going. Love life too.” she protests.

What, your life with the monotonous job and the zero romantic prospects so you spend all your free time sitting at home reading and the nights with your vibrator and Liz in your head? How the hell are you supposed to tell her that.

You simply shrug, and keep a mask of cold, hard resolve in place. “You know my life. I’m interested in yours. Go on.”

So she does. And you do order another whiskey after your first, to the point where you’re verging on the highest restraints of merely tipsy and if you have another you’re heading fast for straight out drunk, which you shan’t do. But you’re merry, and Liz’s words all sound weird, slurred a little from the alcohol, her Australian accent bending to accommodate the vowel sounds she’s making with the occasional slip of a Polish or French word in there. She gets like this when she’s drinking, and it’s one of her most endearing qualities very few are able to see.

“Your voice sounds really weird,” you chuckle, leaning back in your chair, “you’re talkin’ all funny.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Am so not!” She’s persistent, she never did back down easy.

You half heartedly shrug, knocking your glasses into one another on the table. You tug your jacket further around you, and purse your lips readying for battle.

“You know, you really should take it as a compliment that I’ve got drunk and I’m making fun of the way you talk.”

She allows her precisely plucked brows to dance over her face in surprise, though quickly schools her features into a plain mask.

“Alright, what’s up?”

“Nothing, Liz. I’m fine.” you say adamantly, and take another swig from your drink, savouring the tang on your tongue. Your glass makes another thud when you slam it down with unplanned and unnecessary force.

“You see, your mouth says that, but your… mouth is telling me something else?”

Before you can help it, your fingers are clutching the edge of the table, your cheeks heating softly, “I haven’t kissed you yet, how can that be?”

A chill slithers down your skin as her eyes grow wide, her pale skin blanching a shade further. “I didn’t mean, um, what? I—” she breaks off with a cough. “I ju— just meant that, um, you’re… sulking.”

“Oh.”

You can’t ignore the way your stomach plummets into the core of the earth, embarrassment taking over every other rational thought within your mind and body. Your soul is already brittle, but this? Your pride has certainly taken a knock enough for you to down the rest of your whiskey in one gulp.

“I’m gonna take off,” you say at last, across the curious blanket of silence, ignoring the way her angular face—limned with hope—falls a fraction.

“Please stay.”

You don’t think you hear her correctly, if at all. For all you know, her words could just be a whisper in the blustering breeze beating outside, the storm you predicted arriving early. In the dim bar, you’re away from it all, sage, until the bartender gets off shift and snatches Liz away for yet another night.

“Beg pardon?”

“Please stay,” she repeats, louder this time, but her blue eyes don’t meet yours across the table. “Tell me what’s up.”

She’s not backing down, so you brace yourself, allowing brazenness to fill you with courage, allowing your alcohol to eddie around you, summoning the words at long last.

“Nothing…” you say at first, because really, it is nothing, but she cocks her head at you that authoritative way. God, she should be a teacher with her assertive glances. “Just that you‘re so gorgeous I can’t say anything to your face…” you snatch her cup across the table, and take a deep swallow before shrugging and casting your gaze outside to spare yourself the mortification of being rejected. “Sober at least.”

You’re met with a beat of silence, “Why?”

“Look at your face!” you shout, utterly exasperated. You’ve got a good mind to pull a compact mirror to remind her how drop-dead stunning she is. “I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.”

“Why, baby? What way?” she croons.

Too caught up in your momentary lapse of judgement and rant, you fail to notice her edging closer to you, moving your glasses out the way, letting her forearms rest on the sticky table just so she can watch the way you lick your lips with nerves.

“Crazy, because you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts.”

“R—really?” she stammers.

You turn back to her, all thoughts evaporating with her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, driving you insane. Her pretty lips are all parted and awaiting, how much you want to kiss her… So instead, you pout, and begin to throw a strop in your tipsy state.

“Tell me more.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” she teases, a smirk toying at her mouth, giving her cheeks subtle dimples. “Don’t leave me hanging. “Tell me what you really think. How I make you feel. I wanna hear,” her voice drops to a purr, leaning over the table to husk in your ear, “every little thing.”

“Ok then,” you concede. “You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much.”

“I don’t see how,” she snorts, “but continue.”

Her attention never once fails you or turns away, enamoured with your every mere breath.

“You’re gorgeous. Your magnetic field is too strong for me to cope. Your energy draws me in. You’re all I want.”

“More.” she coaxes, a single word, but a whisper, and yet it stokes the embers of desire in the pit of your stomach, your forehead creasing to attempt to draw some concentration back from the depths of your mind where your fantasies about her saying that exact word in that exact breathy way linger.

Perhaps your adulation is excessive, but you don't miss the sparkle in her eyes at each compliment you dole. This is your final card, though, and you’re going to play it right, so you forget about the consequences of touching her hand in a darkness room, and simply intertwine your fingers, drawing your noses to meet over the table.

“You've ruined my life, by not being mine,” you profess, ensuring that your hot breath fans over her lips. You can feel her shudder. “And you know there’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have.”

“I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

And just like that, the world stops turning around you. Your heart lilts, your mind prattles on about all you want to say, all you want to do. But then it stops. And all of a sudden, you’re intrepid, desperate to ravish her and ruin her for all other women, eager to kiss her voraciously until you can scarcely breathe, yearning to feel her words of reassurance wrap around you, if only she agrees to your proposal over that of the hot bartender.

“Well, I’ve told you what's up, so I guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats. Alone... unless you wanna come along.”

You push away from the table and stand with a slight shrug, turning your back on her, making strides for the door and the storm bristling outside. Only, you barely make it to the door before Liz’s slender hand is wrapped around your arm, and is turning you back to her, tugging you closer, chest to chest, nose to nose.

“Fuck yes, księżniczka. After that, of course I’m coming.”

Your lips meet in a fiery kiss, a desperate battle of will, and her tongue slides over the seam of your lips. You grant her entry with an open mouth, heat skittering over your skin as she holds you tighter, closer, with a deeper urgency you don’t hesitate to match.

Her crystal eyes simmer as she withdraws, her forehead on yours. Her lips brush yours as she breathes, and she grabs your hand, heading out into the night with Liz, at long last.

“For the record, you’re gorgeous and perfect and drive me crazy too. Everything you said tonight, I echo. What can I say?”

You’re gorgeous.

#elizabeth debicki #elizabeth debicki x reader #elizabeth debicki imagine #jed roper #jed night manager #elizabeth debicki tom hiddleston #liz debicki #elizabeth debicki fic #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki angst #wlw fluff #Spotify

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fullmetalscullyy · 3 years

Note

Royai prompt: Are you flirting with me, Colonel?

thank u sm for the prompt!! it was so fun to delve into this even if i can’t flirt to save my life lmaooo hope u enjoy some royai banter and roy just trying to make riza smile uwu

rated: t | words: 1991 | tags: wedding, alcohol, romance, flirting

read on: ao3 | ffnet

The atmosphere in the room was electric as Roy made his way through it. The party was in full swing and the dancefloor was filled with people, dancing their cares away and having a good time.

Roy watched as Edward danced with Winry in the centre of the dancefloor. Alphonse and Mei were beside them, all four laughing together as they moved in time to the music. Havoc was trying to impress Catalina with his “moves” but they weren’t very impressive. He looked quite hopeless, unable to find the beat properly, but he was still having a good time and that was all that mattered. Catalina laughed with him though and the way she hung onto his arm told Roy that it didn’t really matter. She was impressed by him despite his awful timing with music. Fuery and Breda were deep in conversation with Falman and his wife, talking animatedly with red rosy cheeks, flushed from the alcohol and their amusement.

It was a wonderful scene to witness. It made Roy smile widely as he wandered over to where his companion was waiting for him, a glass in each hand.

Riza was sitting at the table they’d been allocated for the meal, opting to remain there and watch, pleased, as everyone had fun and celebrated Edward and Winry’s wedding.

The dress she was wearing was high backed and formed a collar around her throat. It was a pale pink colour and fell down to her ankles, swishing mesmerizingly every time she walked. It also revealed her shoes which matched the colour of the dress perfectly. The heel on them was small but it was still enough to give her an extra inch in height. On her wrist there was a silver bracelet she’d received as a gift “a long time ago”. Roy had bought her it for her birthday once. He’d been surprised to see her wearing it and Riza had just smiled warmly at him once he noticed and recognised the piece of jewellery, saying nothing more on the matter.

Taking a deep breath, Roy tried to collect himself as he approached her. She was the epitome of beauty and grace today and it was extremely distracting. But in the most wonderful of ways.

“Excuse me, Ma’am?” Roy grinned and dropped his voice as deep as he could, changing it completely.

The effect worked because Riza turned around at the surprised interruption. It was clear she didn’t recognise who it was who’d approached her. Once she realised though her shoulders fell, and she shook her head fondly at his antics.

“Is this seat taken?” He continued his charade, pleased to have gotten such a surprised reaction from her from his joke.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing. Roy did manage to catch the smile she tried to hide though once she looked away.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be left sitting alone at a party such as this,” he added, speaking lowly as he handed her the wine glass in his left. “You should shoot the bastard who left you all alone. How rude of him.”

“Are you flirting with me, Colonel?” The Lieutenant lifted a disapproving eyebrow that strongly hinted that he better not be. “Well,” she smirked, “are you trying to?”

“You wound me, Hawkeye.” He clutched at his chest for dramatic effect. “So what if I am?” His reply was nonchalant as he settled into his chair and took a sip of his whisky. It went down smooth, settling inside his chest and spreading warmth across it.

“I would have to disapprove, of course.” Her tone gave nothing away so Roy tilted his head so he could get a better read on her out the corner of his eye.

“You would ‘have to’, huh?”

“Of course, sir,” she replied evenly. Her wine glass lifted to her perfectly painted lips and Roy was distracted for a moment as he watched her move. “It would be highly unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”

Roy hummed noncommittally, pulling himself out of his distracted thoughts.

“In response to your violent proposal,” she added, “lucky for you, my weapon is concealed, and I don’t intend to remove it at a friend’s wedding, sir.”

That interested Roy. He hadn’t seen a weapon anywhere on her person. But then, Roy thought dumbly, that was the whole point.

Damn this alcohol and your ability to be so easily distracted by her. Not that he really minded that last part though.

“Like you said, it’s a wedding. It’s where people show their love for one another,” he shrugged.

“By trying poor pickup lines on me? Now you’re begging me to shoot you,” she deadpanned, and Roy laughed to himself as he watched the rest of the room. “At least if I do it will keep you quiet.”

“Well, I can turn it on more if you’d like me too?” He flashed an excited smile at her.

Riza groaned in response. She pressed a hand to her face. “Please don’t.”

“So, do you come here often, Ma’am?” His voice dropped to the same deep one he’d used before as he joked with her. It resulted in a sideways glare from Riza.

“That’s another poor effort. Even from you.”

“So, it’s not working?”

She scoffed. Loudly. “Not one bit.”

He sighed dramatically. “Darn.”

“I would’ve expected better than that from the likes of you.”

“Well, I thought it was funny,” he snickered, thoroughly enjoying their banter.

“You would.” There was no real ire in her eyes, nor irritation. Just fondness as she shook her head at him.

“All right,” he relented, lifting his hands in surrender, “I’ll stop.”

“I think that would be best, sir.”

Looking over, he was worried she really was annoyed at him now, but her expression was neutral. However, there was a hint of a smile on her face and she shook her head minutely as she placed her glass back on the table.

“Your flirting is so terrible that I cannot bear to listen to it any longer,” Riza added after a beat. One corner of her mouth quirked up into a smirk as she laughed at his surprised expression. “I can’t believe you actually use those on your dates.” She was enjoying teasing him.

His jaw had gone slack and he huffed in mock indignation. “It wasn’t that bad,” he joked, pretending to be sullen.

“It was torture.”

“Hush, you,” he glared at her.

“Is that an order, sir?”

The mood of the conversation shifted. Roy refocussed his attention on Riza as he picked up her husky tone. She looked at him over the rim of her glass. Her smile was playful and her eyes were sparkling with amusement. However there was something else in there too. Something that wasn’t completely innocent.

Roy swallowed. “Do you want it to be?” He was dumbstruck suddenly, left reeling by the wanting look in her eyes.

Her expression broke down and she started to laugh. Roy blinked and was snapped out of the spell she’d cast upon him with just a single look and one suggestive question.

“What?” He recovered quickly then frowned at her laughter.

“That’s how you do it, sir.” She’d leaned in close to speak to him softly and Roy was caught off guard by the wonderful smell of her perfume that wafted his way.

“You played me,” he cried as loudly as he dared. No one was around but it still wouldn’t do to draw attention to them both loudly.

She giggled. Riza actually giggled. Once more, Roy was rendered mute. All he could do is stare at her as she winked at him playfully and nudged his knee with her own underneath the table.

“I’m simply better at it than you. Clearly,” she snorted.

Roy huffed and crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Don’t feel bad, sir.” Her neutral tone was back however she still looked far too pleased with herself. “We all have our strength and weaknesses.”

He muttered to himself underneath his breath.

“But,” she sighed, “I suppose we should stop. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation any more than I already have.”

“You are relentless today, Lieutenant,” he muttered.

“You said it yourself. Call it payback for leaving a lady alone by herself at a party.”

He uncrossed his arms and sat up straighter in his chair. “I didn’t say that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him with a smile. “Yes you did.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I said a pretty lady.”

The skin of her nose and cheeks turned a shade pinker after his compliment. Riza coughed and looked away from him but Roy could see her hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass.

“And that was the truth,” Roy added, tilting his body over towards her and dropping his voice low. “I wasn’t joking when I said that.”

“Sir,” she scolded lightly.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Just telling the truth,” he defended.

Her mouth snapped closed and she was silent for a moment. “Hush, you,” she muttered finally, cheeks still pink.

“Are you telling me to lie, Riza?” He acted scandalised, opening his mouth in shock at her suggestion.

“Fine,” she relented, looking around their vicinity to see if anyone could overhear, but there was no one to be found. “I’ll admit, it is nice to hear.” She mumbled it so quietly that Roy had to lean forwards to hear her.

“I’ll just have to tell you at every opportunity I can then.”

A warning look was shot his way.

“And I’ll do it, too,” he grinned brightly. “You know I will.”

“Maybe I will extract my weapon.” She lifted a hand to her chin and tapped it with one finger as she pondered the thought.

The two fell silent, laughing quietly together as all joking was dropped for the moment. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment longer and Roy couldn’t look away no matter how hard he tried.

“Thank you, Roy,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“For being so good to me.”

“It’s what you deserve,” he replied simply. “If I could show you it every day then I would.”

“I know,” she reassured him with an appreciative look. “I would do the same.”

“You already know you own this,” he added quietly. He stretched above his head but as his hands lowered he tapped the left side of his chest above his heart, feigning that it was just a tic of his. “That will never change.”

Riza’s hand slowly moved underneath the tablecloth, as if she was moving to fix her dress. She tapped his knee with the back of her hand and Roy slid his own hand underneath it too. Riza latched onto it tightly, giving it a hard squeeze of gratitude. Roy smiled at her, lost in her eyes, and stroked his thumb over the skin on the back of her hand. Suddenly, everything else just fell away. The party, the noise, the music, it was all gone. It was just the two of them.

Subtly looking around one final time, Riza deemed it was safe to speak what was on her mind. Still, her glass was lifted to her lips so her mouth was hidden from the rest of the room, but Roy could still see it moving. She paused before she took a drink.

“I love you,” she breathed.

Roy squeezed her hand tightly in his. Then, he extracted it from her hold but didn’t let Riza move far. He guided her hand to rest flat atop his knee. The warmth from her palm seeped into his trousers, making him smile to himself. Maintaining eye contact, he drew a love heart on the back of her hand and placed his own atop hers, covering it completely.

“That’s a new one,” she commented softly.

He grinned at her. “I like to keep things fresh, Lieutenant. And I return your sentiment. Wholeheartedly.”

#ask #just-trying-my-best-everyday #royai #royai fic #royai oneshot #emma writes #fic request #royai banter for d a y s

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secretshinigami · 3 years

Text

Late Night Show

Title: Late Night Show Author: @complicatedmerary For: @fogspecs Pairings/Characters: Misa/Takada tease, Kiyomi Takada, Misa Amane, Hitoshi Demegawa (cameo), Light Yagami (mentioned only) Rating/Warnings: Teen and Up, alcohol mention, Demegawa being a gross boss, tabloid gossip nonsense, mean girl behavior, mild language, mild violence Prompt: Misa and Takada have romantic tension between them. Author’s notes: Misa and Takada, you say? Don’t mind if I do! As I was drafting ideas for the offered prompts, it occurred to me that the only time Misa and Takada met in canon was when Misa had no memories of being Kira. If we are being honest, that was a missed opportunity. Then, I thought, what if Misa has her memories intact, but Takada is not Kira’s spokeswoman? How will their dynamic change? Hope you enjoy!

______________________________________

“I’m telling you, Miss Takada, with your great assets and even greater personality, you will have my audience eating at the palm of our hands. My show has been craving a female perspective on scandalous gossip, you have no idea how much hate mail I receive for being unfair to these airheaded celebrities. If we get this right, no one will ever accuse me of having no substance, we are respectable journalists, dammit!”

Kiyomi Takada had barely started her first day of work and she already regretted every second of it. Truth be told, it was not a regular job, it was a weird hybrid of an internship that she had to fight to be eligible for credit and an arduous job that guaranteed humiliating tasks and low pay. The real reward is experience, she kept telling herself over and over as she reluctantly took this opportunity after being rejected by reputable news network stations. She had the nagging suspicion that Hitoshi Demegawa only chose her based on her looks rather than her impeccable academic record, but at this point it was too late to challenge this. No, she had to swallow her pride if she wanted to prove herself to be worthy of broadcasting intellectual journalism in the next few years.

“Hey, hey, what’s with the gloomy face?” Demegawa snapped his fingers close to Takada’s nose, startling her. “Celebrity gossip is supposed to be fun! Well, unless I report the usual actor breakdown, but that’s just show business, no one is truly getting hurt anyway.” He chuckled, holding himself by his belly.

Takada barely flinched.

“Come on, I’m just joking, don’t be so serious. We have something juicy coming up in thirty minutes and I need you to familiarize yourself with the news that has happened this morning.” Demegawa stopped speaking, gave Takada a nefarious grin, then patted her cheek as if she were a kid. “How about smiling for once? You will fit right in when people don’t see you as an ice queen.” He turned to the side and snapped his fingers repeatedly. “Everyone should be getting their makeup done, don’t you dare step out if your face is a mess!”

She took note of scrubbing her cheek raw until there was no trace of his dirty hand.

~~~

Takada looked over her script as her makeup artist fluffed some blush across her cheekbones. She wasn’t the type to focus on such frivolous things, but if she had to play the role of the tabloid host darling, she will gladly do so to keep Demegawa satisfied. Her credit and career depended on it.

She flipped the page with a lack of interest; Hideki Ryuga was out of the country for the third time this month? It wouldn’t surprise her if he ended up caught in a money laundering scheme, he seemed to be just that dumb. Next up, was A-list actress, Suki Aragaki, marrying his longtime beau, movie director, Kenji Ozu, after enduring a nasty love triangle that ended Ozu’s decade-long marriage. Congratulations, I guess, Kiyomi snorted, rolling her eyes at the absurdity.

She continued flipping until a familiar name made her stop on her tracks. Misa Amane. Without realizing it, her knuckles turned white as she gripped the script, and her jaw clenched painfully.

“Are you alright, Miss Takada?” The makeup artist placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Of course,” Takada let out a deep breath as her anger simmered down. “I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

The makeup artist nodded. “I understand. Don’t let Demegawa intimidate you, he is quite sweet once you get to know him.”

That was doubtful, but she was not about to argue, her attention was somewhere else. Misa Amane. The same silly model who appeared on campus and snatched Light Yagami away from her. To make matters worse, Amane randomly texted her out of nowhere months ago to let her and all of Light’s “other girls” know (which came as a disturbing revelation to her) that Light asked her to move in together and to back off. Why did Light love such an insecure, clingy woman? What could they possibly have in common besides good looks? And her classmates dared to call her superficial, how laughable.

As she kept reading the script, the gloom evaporated like a burst bubble. Misa Amane has been caught buying a pregnancy test despite declaring over the weekend at the premiere of her latest movie that she and her private boyfriend were waiting till marriage. Are we expecting wedding bells for the lovely couple, or did they marry in secret already to avoid the ire of her rabid fanboys? Unless there is something more sinister going on and her boyfriend is not the father of that baby. Perhaps that’s why Hideki Ryuga is out of the country, he is running away from his duty as a father! Those two have been fighting the persistent rumors of romance on set and that might settle it once and for all. Whoever the baby’s father is, congratulations to Misa Amane and her bundle of joy. We can’t wait to have more single mothers in the entertainment industry, such an underrepresented group in our society!

Takada tried to stifle her giggles between her fingers, but her amusement couldn’t be contained. For once Demegawa’s brutal commentary came in handy, there was no way Misa Amane could recover from this scandal. If there was anything juicier than an affair, it was a pregnancy resulting from the affair!

Oh, tonight’s show was going to be so much fun.

~~~

“It just does not make any sense, Miss Takada,” Teppei, her co-host, shook his head. “How can this movie be such a critical success when every review I have seen declared it the worst movie of the year even though we are halfway there? Who is bribing the industry to keep promoting it on television when no one wanted this movie to be made in the first place? It is a conspiracy; I am so sure of it.”

Takada pretended to act interested in the topic and simply smiled widely. She barely met Teppei today and she finally had the confirmation that she was dreading: He was a certified spoiled brat who assumed himself to be the greatest thing that has ever happened to comedy. The son of a politician, he got far enough to step into movies and television because his father left him a bottomless pit of money. He wasn’t good looking, so he relied on his short stature and misogynistic jokes to compensate for the lack of attention he never received in the spotlight. It worked perfectly enough to be perceived as harmless and now he got to hang out with late night show comedians and tour around the country. Takada wondered for how long mediocrity was going to be standard. If he were someone else, Demegawa would have no doubt chewed him out, but money and publicity ruled in his greedy heart.

“The real conspiracy is,” Takada pointed at the screen, a photo of Hideki Ryuga and Misa Amane on set, holding hands. “What is up with these two? They keep stating over and over that there is no romance, but I have yet to see her publicly with her supposed boyfriend. What exactly is she hiding?” The next slide showed a paparazzi shot of Misa Amane allegedly going to the pharmacy for a pregnancy test.

The audience gasped loudly, as expected, thanks to the teleprompter.

“Woah,” Teppei spun around dramatically. “Didn’t she say she was waiting till marriage?”

“It makes you wonder why Hideki Ryuga is out of the country for the third time this week,” Takada gasped. “What are the odds that he found out about her pregnancy and is panicking about the possibility of being a father?”

“If that’s not the case, then she married her boyfriend in secret to keep up with her indiscretion and avoid the ire of her fans.” Teppei covered his mouth and giggled like a schoolboy. “Sucks for him because if they were supposed to be celibate, then that’s Ryuga’s baby! Man, things are not going well for Misa Amane!”

“Congratulations to Misa Amane and her bundle of joy,” Takada recited the script with unnecessary enthusiasm. “We can’t wait to have more single mothers in the entertainment industry, such an underrepresented group in our society!”

The phone rang on the set, which meant that a fan of the show had the opportunity to give their perspective on the topic. This was Demegawa’s idea to encourage “respectful dialogue” on live television, but Takada knew better: It was to enforce the trashiness of the show with inflammatory controversy, and there was no doubt one of Misa’s fanboys was calling to defend her “honor and dignity.”

Yeah, you cannot defend something that never existed, Takada thought bitterly.

“Looks like we struck a nerve,” She hummed and picked up the phone, setting it to onset speaker. “Yes, how can we help you?”

“YOU DISGUSTING, UGLY BITCH!” A shrill voice echoed around the studio, creating some feedback on the boom microphones. “I ought to sue every single of you for defamation of character! I would never cheat on my boyfriend, especially not with Hideki Ryuga! You are all sick in the head for lying this bad!”

Takada couldn’t help the grin that was plastered on her face … No one could mistake that voice to someone else. So, Misa Amane was the type of celebrity who watched gossip shows to hear if she was relevant? This was just too hilarious and unsurprising for her.

“Sorry, Miss Amane, we are just reporting the news,” she said coolly. “We are not fond of frivolous lawsuits, so I ask you to respect the press.”

“YOU ARE NOT REPORTING ‘NEWS’, YOU ARE SPREADING GARBAGE!” There was a brief silence on the other line, and then the sound of chugging down a liquid echoed on the speaker. “You are just jealous that I’m in a committed relationship and you are stuck with your misery,” Misa’s words were slurred. “How about spreading some good news? Whatever happened to being kind?”

“With all due respect, Miss Amane,” Teppei had a smug grin on his face. “You are in the entertainment industry; we don’t owe you kindness. If you can’t handle criticism, maybe being a celebrity is not the job for you.”

Takada covered her mouth, hiding the twitch on her lips that she couldn’t contain any longer. Was this truly the end for Misa Amane? No one seemed to be on Misa’s side, and she was humiliating herself on live television. Things were finally looking up for her.

“Oh, shut up, Teppei, no one likes you, you are only relevant because of your daddy,” Misa shot back. “And as for you, Kiyomi Takada, my boyfriend will never be with you, he prefers me, he said so himself, so knock it off.”

The bombshell caused a murmur amongst the audience and Takada stiffened on the spot. No, she was not going to let Misa Amane win this fight, not now, not ever.

“Wow, Miss Amane, are you having a mental breakdown?” She chuckled. “Jealousy is not part of a healthy relationship, it’s not good that you are projecting your insecurities on me. We don’t even know each other.”

“That’s it! I’m going down to Sakura TV, find you, and kick your butt! You’ll be sorry for messing with me—”

“Like that’s ever going to happen.” And with that, she slammed the phone and there was nothing but the dial and laughter from the audience.

She wondered if she ruined her chances of ever being taken seriously, but one glance at Demegawa’s blissful face told her everything she needed to know: This episode was one for the books.

~~~

It was close to midnight when the show finally ended, and Takada stayed overtime to talk to Demegawa about the possibility of hosting the show by herself. He said he would think about it, but he couldn’t guarantee anything despite the reception. That was good enough for her. For now.

As she approached the parking lot, she heard footsteps to her left, but there were so light that for a second, she thought she imagined it in her head. She was tired and it had been a long and overexciting night, she couldn’t wait to go home and sleep on her bed.

“There you are!”

Takada turned around and she couldn’t believe what she saw: Staring at her with malice was Misa Amane, standing up straight with her legs apart, and clenched fists.

“I told you I was going to find you and kick your butt! Now, don’t you dare move!” Misa sprinted forward with so much velocity on her direction, her gaze still focused.

Takada panicked for a few moments, darting her head back and forth, looking for a way out. Instinctively, she raised her arms across her face to defend it and swung her leg on any direction her adrenaline asked her to do, her eyes closed.

It all happened so fast: As Misa aimed to kick Takada on the shin, she tripped on Takada’s swinging foot, and she landed on the concrete, stomach down.

Takada opened her eyes when she heard the agonizing whines below her and gasped at the sight of Misa laying flatly in the middle of the parking lot. Oh, God, I didn’t hurt her that bad, did I?

“Are you alright?” She felt pathetic; of course, she was not alright, she just tripped her with her foot, what a terrible question!

“Here, let me help you—”

“Don’t touch me!” Misa shrugged her off as she managed to stand on her own. Well, just barely, she couldn’t maintain her balance as she tried to step away towards the street.

Despite hating that woman with a burning intensity, she was not going to let Misa walk by herself with injuries all over her, especially in such a shady area. No, if she drove away and Misa ended up missing (or worse, dead) because she was alone, she could no longer call herself a virtuous person.

“You are not going anywhere. Come on, I need to take you home.” Takada dragged Misa roughly by the arm towards her car.

“Let me go!” Misa tried to resist her, but her balance betrayed her. “I’m not going to tell you where I live, you are going to stalk Light if you know!”

God, would she stop being so freaking loud?

“Either you tell me where you live, or you have no choice but to spend the night in this parking lot,” She pushed Misa inside the car and dropped her legs on the passenger seat. She then held her arms as she put the seatbelt over her body.

“I don’t have time for this, you are a grown woman, act like it—” She caught a whiff of cheap wine on Misa’s breath. “Ugh, so you are drunk. That’s it, I’m going to drive all around the city until you tell me where I should drop you. I’m not stopping until you get over yourself.”

~~~

The drive did go longer than expected; it was one in the morning and Misa refused to speak one word to her. Two could play the game, Takada did not say one word either. The only sound filling out the silence was the pop radio station playing the same song for the third time. At this point, she wondered if she will ever get peace for at least trying to help another woman out.

“I did mean what I said on the phone,” Misa murmured quietly. “Light does not want you, he never did.”

Why was she bringing that up now? Why did it matter after she ignored her this time entire time?

“I don’t care,” Takada rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to do this, you have him, why isn’t that enough for you?”

“It’s easy for you to say,” Misa snorted. “He dumps you and you act like it never happened. If Light were to dump me, I don’t think I would want to continue living.”

Good lord, this woman is insane.

“You want to know what the worst part is?” Tears suddenly rolled down her eyes. “The reason why I don’t want you to drop me to my apartment is because you will not find him there. He has been acting so weird since—” She shook her head. “No, he is a man, this is a man thing. It’s normal for your boyfriend to not spend every night together, right?”

Takada really wanted to say, no, it was not normal, but she didn’t know what she could possibly say that could make this situation better. She didn’t ask for this personal information, this was none of her business. And yet, why did she want to hear more about Light’s inability to keep his own girlfriend happy? What the hell was wrong with him?

“I’m not pregnant, you know,” Misa whispered, and Takada’s glanced at her, confused. “We have tried—Well, I tried my best to let that happen. I’ve been so hopeful that maybe if we have a baby together, we will be bonded for life. That, maybe, just maybe, he would look at me differently. Yes, I did buy that pregnancy test, and yes, the photos are real, but I’m not pregnant. Are you happy now? You got your little revenge by making fun of me, now I’m asking the media to do the same.”

It was hard to swallow, her throat was so dry. She couldn’t believe this, but she felt guilt. Guilt for even entertaining the idea of messing up someone’s life in such a public manner. Guilt for doing that in the first place for the sake of ratings!

Sorry was not going to be enough, she wasn’t even sure what was she apologizing for. Sorry I tripped you with my foot? Sorry I bullied you so badly that you had to get drunk to deal with the pain on live television? Sorry Light Yagami is not a perfect man? She felt nothing, anything that she could possibly say was going to be in vain if she didn’t mean it.

She suddenly stopped her car and parked on the side of the road. She turned off the radio and breathed out slowly, attempting to calm herself. Screw this, she had to do the right for once.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea that you are left drunk in your apartment.”

“What?” Misa’s eyes widened.

“If Light is not there to keep an eye on you, then—”

“What are you trying to say?” Misa was instantly furious. “I can take care of myself, I’m not a child. When Light comes back in the morning, he won’t even notice I was drunk, it’s like it never happened, we are back to being a normal couple. If you are suggesting that I would do something drastic … I’m not stupid! What do you take me for?”

“Please listen to me,” Takada pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed in and out slowly again. “I’m not saying you are stupid; I’m just trying to say that you are not in control of your emotions, and I don’t trust you to be by yourself for now.”

“I am in control of my emotions.”

“You literally cried to me that Light is not spending every night with you.”

Misa kept her mouth shut.

“All I’m saying is that I need to keep an eye you.” She regretted the words once they left her lips. Was it the guilt talking? Was she considering taking care of Misa until she got over her drunkenness? What the hell was going on here?

“I know what to do now,” She restarted the engine and shifted to drive.

“Where are we going?” Misa asked with suspicion.

“I’m taking you to my apartment and give you the chance to rest there.”

“YAY!” Misa hugged her suddenly and kissed her cheek, almost causing Takada to let go of the steering wheel. “We are going to have a girls’ night, we could stay up all night, tell each other stories—”

“Not happening,” She cut her off, but she smiled despite herself.

Misa giggled. “You know, your numbers just switched, it’s like they moved up.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing that you should ever worry about.” She said in a sing-song voice.

Takada rolled her eyes. It was going to be a longer night than anticipated.

#fanfiction #death note #submission #misa amane #kiyomi takada #hitoshi demegawa #complicatedmerary #fogspecs #Near's Bday Finale 2k21 #ratings: teen

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kiss-my-freckle · 3 years

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8x16 Rewatch: Nicholas Obenrader

IRS storyline. Red’s friendly thief talks about someone going to Boston University. Another one going to college. Agnes will tie into their college storylines somehow. I love Red’s comment about Ressler. “Black shoes, cheap suit, flat stomach, regulation cut - don’t get me wrong, he’s bent, just not as bent as we’d like him to be.”

“Why must you always be early?” This ties in Ressler’s comment to Liz in Brothers. “Not on my watch.” Whatever happens, he’ll be early. Ressler informs the team. He knows a great deal about the Yakuza because of Mako Tanida.

Espinosa was building his golden parachute like The Director did. He takes a 10% cut from the 40% cut the crew is supposed to get. Red’s friend informs Neville. He’s boxing Espinosa just like he did Rudigger. Neville’s people have no reason to doubt Liz. He already knew she was an agent.

“She’s really good. But I think we’ll all be a lot better when this is done.” A nice hit to the note the woman from Paris left for Red. “You’re good. I’m better.” The worst has yet to come. “Liz’s mom abandoned her. She would never do the same to Agnes.” Aram has no clue why Katarina gave Liz up for adoption. She had no choice. Liz will realize this soon enough when her own child ends up in danger because Neville wants to kill her. Katarina didn’t make a mistake, Liz did.

The whole brother of Charles at the lake house reminds me of Liz’s comment about Ressler’s lake house when she spoke to Laurel Hitchin in 4x19.

Liz is so disrespectful. Anyway... Cooper sent Aram to Paris because he’s still unofficially working with Liz. Ressler last week, Aram this week. Cooper basically knew Aram would be meeting with Liz. I will blame the entire task force along with Liz for whatever happens to her and/or Agnes and/or Jennifer because they failed to arrest her and chose to work against Red instead. He’s their CI. Liz is not. Red put her on the blacklist for a reason. Panabaker put her on the wanted list for a reason.

“If I were you, I’d like the finish line.” Red’s comment is a nice kick back to his comment to Liz in Devlin’s episode, S5. “Our sprint to the finish. The bag is just out of reach now.”

I love Aram’s care for Agnes in this episode, but I laugh at Liz’s comment. “Where we live is quiet and peaceful.” A nice kickback to the scene cut in 7x13 for their War and Peace theme. Ressler's "But maybe this will help us." US being Keenler. A hearing aid that blocks out sound. Cut to Agnes' name on her passport meaning Peace. “Your daddy just always taught me to be ready for a rainy day.” This runs through The Freelancer in 8x5. “There's a number pre-programmed. You ask for Charlotte. You tell them you got caught in the rain and need to dry off.” It won’t be quiet and peaceful for long. Charlotte’s web is about to get tangled.

“I’ve done some awful things.” Liz kicking back to S3... again. “I have done... so many terrible things. I have hurt so many people."

“Whoever said crime doesn’t pay wasn’t very good at it.” When crime nearly costs Liz her daughter... she’ll understand what that truly means. It’s a dialogue that kicks back to The Ethicist in S6. “He did a cost-benefit analysis on these people, figured that the cost outweighed the benefits, and killed them because of it." Liz believes the benefit outweighs the cost. It doesn’t.

Finally, some Ressler action in a lake house.

Sikorsky’s official name is Ivan Stepanov. Red’s friend in the East. Officially, he’s SVR. Unofficially, he’s a high-ranking member of Zaslon. running black-ops around the globe. “Mobilize assets.”

Red doesn't expect Obenrader to reveal anything meaningful about Neville's organization. Obenrader knows the blowback it’ll have on his loved ones if he does. This is what Liz will have to worry about later. The blowback on her loved ones. More specifically, Jennifer and Agnes.

Whoever their inside man is, it’ll be a low-level agent like The Director’s friend in Zal Bin Hasaan’s episode. I’m expecting someone outside the task force, but close enough to tap the phone. They know Liz is using burners, so they had to tap Ressler’s. Yeah, another kickback to S3.

The task force can’t arrest Stepanov, so they’re letting Liz extract him. Because they chose to work with Liz and Ressler contacted her about Stepanov while having a tap on his phone, Neville’s own people got their hands on him first. Precisely the point. They just put Liz in the direct line of fire because Katarina was N-13 and she’s very much alive. I thought it’d be Paula who got into his line, but it was Neville’s people. Guarantee Stepanov can prove Katarina was N-13, and knows the identity of imposter Katarina. This knowing will be Liz’s downfall. He’s going to protect Red at all costs (tortured or not) because he and Red have been working on this project together for the past 30 years.

“Oh, my stars” is a common quote from Red. He used it in Lord Baltimore with Yaabari. "Let me guess, I stole something from you. A painting, jewelry.... your heart." Red’s new asset is gorgeous as hell. Priya Laghari.

“I want to be your angel.” - Red

Red pulls a fake shooting on Ressler and Park so as not to look like a CI in bed with the FBI. “Of course, a mystery is only as good as the story around it.” Red saying exactly what I’ve been saying about his real identity. It has to fit the story around it.

Alina Park is pretending to read Just Fly Away by Andrew McCarthy. “A powerful story about family secrets, first love, the limits of forgiveness, and finding your way in the world.”

“Like taking candy from a kid.” A hit to Rizal’s episode. This is where Agnes falls in, along with the dialogues about spoiling her rotten.

“You think you’re giving her a rope to hang herself. I fear you may be giving her a rope to hang all of us.” A nice hit back to 8x14. “I’m responsible for Mary Bremmer’s murder, Dembe’s torture, and I got nothing to show for it, except for another reminder that no matter how tight the noose, Reddington will always cheat the hangman." To be clear, Liz fully accepting responsibility for the murder of Mary Bremmer, so what comes to Jennifer will be on her. That whole washer necklace choking Mary through Liz’s Cyranoid. She didn’t specify that it brought her good luck, only that it brought her luck... because Tom Keen is bad luck.

A noose for Jennifer Reddington. Then Liz will have something to show for it.

Red is worried about Priya. He hired her to assassinate Neville.

He should be worried. This focal shot is a kickback to Roy Cain's episode in S7. His "knock on wood" will push back to Liz and her fate.

Purposeful stuff.

A kiss of death... like the woman from Paris kissing Red before injecting him. It also makes me think of The Apothecary, the Scotch. Just throw it in the bottle while he's gone and be done with it. While she may not kill Neville, I do think she’ll be the reason Red’s friend Ivan will survive. She’s a thief. "Items” include people. That's what Neville wants Priya to steal. She's gonna steal Ivan Stepanov. "Item" is how Red referred to Raymond’s bones in S5 and how they referred to Karakurt when he came in country in S2... items. Rakitin wasn’t worth the save.

The Stranger by Albert Gamus. The book Dembe was reading that Red starts to read. The novel is famous for its first lines: “Mother died today. Or maybe it was yesterday, I don’t know.”

"Katarina Rostova was N-13. And Katarina Rostova is dead." Ivan Stepanov speaks truth. Red is N-13 because he's Katarina. SHE has been dead for 30 years. Of all people, the person who created the archive can prove who stole it in 1990. Expect Neville to be pissed because he's been chasing the wrong woman for 30 years. Ivan can reveal it all without revealing Red's real identity.

Neville’s comment about her innocence. “But Katarina Rostova was framed. Which means I dedicated my life to the hatred of an innocent woman.” This pushes back to Red’s comment in 8x2. “Is that the story she told you? She's a victim? An innocent wrongly accused?" What Ivan will be revealing to Neville. The real Katarina Rostova was no innocent. He knows Red is Katarina and he knows he’s dead either way because he created the archive that took Neville’s family. "Do you know who I am? Because I know who you are. You're the one who created the archive that destroyed my family." He’s gonna put Liz on the chopping block. "And I asked you to fly here so I could look you in the eye and tell you: I agree... for now." Because he has no idea she’s Katarina’s daughter, which means he has no idea she’s Red’s daughter.

Full drive through the rest of the season. The first person Neville would kill... is Liz.

#Anti-Tom Keen #Anti-Keen2 #Rederina #rewatch

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lemonlushff-iy · 3 years

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Chapter 1

Inuyasha burst into the men's bathroom, bracing his shaky hands on the ledge of the sink.

This...This couldn't be happening. Could it? It...He knew it was possible...That it would happen one day...But...now?

He reached over the sink to turn on the faucet, splashing cold water onto his face and dampening his silver bangs. He'd hoped it would help...But...He still felt lightheaded. Shaken. Trembling. His breathing was ragged, and he looked...about as big a mess as he felt.

Because the shirt he was wearing...

His shirt was red.

The rest of his world...it was still...

Grey.

But his shirt...

No...his fucking shirt.

It was bright fucking red.

The first color he had ever seen that wasn't grey scale.

Because his soulmate was nearby...

...And today was the fucking biggest day of his professional life.

The door to the bathroom burst open, and Inuyasha could smell Sesshomaru before he could see him.

"What the fuck man? Why the hell did y—" he demanded, stopping mid sentence when he could smell his younger brother's nervousness. See the water on his face and clothes. "Yash...what...Are you ok?"

Inuyasha slowly shook his head, swallowing. He tried to open his mouth and tell his brother, but the words caught in his throat and he was left floundering. His lips were trying to form sentences he couldn't actually articulate.

"Inuyasha, what happened," Sesshomaru pressed, taking his shoulders between his large hands. It should have felt comforting...but all it did was make him feel smaller. Like he was a child again, needing his older brother to protect him from the kids at school that made fun of him.

Because he was color blind.

They'd called him a freak. A weirdo. Strange.

All because he couldn't relate to simple questions, like - What's your favorite color? Can you pass me the yellow marker? What do these four things have in common?

Hint - they were all blue.

Something he couldn't see.

Because he hadn't met his soulmate yet.

But now...now he was seeing red.

Literally.

"My shirt," he breathed, and Sesshomaru's face furrowed in confusion.

"What about it? Did you spill something on it? Rip a hole in it? Do we need to trade?"

Inuyasha rapidly shook his head, running his hands down his face.

"It's red," he muttered, and Sesshomaru blinked slowly at him.

"Yeah? So? You knew that when mom gave it to you. What's the big deal?"

"I...No. Sesshomaru. My shirt. It's red."

That time when he said it, really stressing the word "red", he could see it click in his brother's brain.

"Oh...shit..."

"Yeah. I know."

"...Shit!"

"I know!"

"What are you going to do?"

"I have no fucking idea Sessh! How the hell am I supposed to go out there and try to sell myself and my art in this fucking show, when my fucking soulmate is here!"

"Shit..."

"I know!" he repeated, his ire growing the more they stood there in the bathroom. He was starting to panic. Inuyasha needed to mix and mingle and socialize...but he had zero desire to do so. Now that he was at least a little calmer over the absolute fucking shock of seeing color for the first time in his life, he only had one desire.

Find his soulmate.

But...if he fucked this show up, he might never be invited to show at this gallery again. He'd spent a good chunk of his career as a painter working to get into this place. It was known for its exclusivity. You couldn't be just anyone to show here.

You had to be someone.

And he was finally someone...And it had been a hard fucking road to get here. He couldn't fuck this up...but...He also couldn't lose whoever his soulmate was.

Inuyasha watched his brother's lips press into a thin line as he tried to think of a solution, before finally coming to a decision.

"Trade shirts with me."

"I...What?"

"We do not! You have a fucking moon in the center of your head, and two stripes on your cheeks - I only have the one. And then there are the ears..."

"Only assistants," he nodded weakly as Sesshomaru started unbuttoning Inuyasha’s shirt for him.

"Perfect. I think we can pull this off for now. It's going to be fine. You just...Need to try and find her. Fast."

Inuyasha nodded numbly as he shrugged his shirt off, trading with his brother. Sesshomaru's shirt felt warm as he slipped his arms into it. It was an odd thing to notice, but...it felt oddly comforting, as did the scent of his brother enveloping him. It was like being wrapped in a calming layer of reassurance while his entire world was being turned unexpectedly upside down. Even if they couldn't pull this off...he was thankful for his brother and his crazy idea. It was making him feel calmer, at least.

"It's going to be fine Yash...Alright?"

He nodded numbly again.

"Hey. Look at me," Sesshomaru repeated, taking his brother's chin between his fingers. "Let me hear you say it."

"I-it's going to be fine."

Sesshomaru nodded and the corners of his lips quirked up into the slightest of smiles.

"Good."

They quickly finished dressing and gave each other a once over before deeming they were ready to face the world.

"Hey...Sessh?"

"Mmm?" his bother replied, before grabbing his shoulders. Inuyasha felt Sesshomaru's finger's in his hair - fixing his bangs, pulling his locks into a ponytail with the hair band he had been wearing...

"What...what if my soulmate...isn't a woman?"

Sesshomaru paused, tilting his head to the side.

"You mean if it's a man?"

"Y-yeah. I mean...I never really thought about a man before? Or was interested in one, but what if—"

"We won't love you any less, if that's the case. You know that, right? It's ok, if that's what happens. We love you. And if your soulmate isn't...what or who we always pictured...It won't change you for us, alright? We just want you to be happy, so stop worrying."

Inuyasha could only shakily exhale and nod his head, allowing his older brother to continue fussing over him.

"I feel like you might be a bottom though."

Inuyasha shoved him away and turned towards the door, ignoring his brother's laughter.

He had a unique way of pissing him off and calming him down all at the same time.

***

There were little hints of red everywhere he went now. He hadn't realized just how colorful the world was until he could see red. It was in the wine. The strawberries. The carpet near the glass doors. Outside he could see streaks of it in the distance from street lights and in flowers. He could see it in the glow of the exit sign near a stairwell.

It was distracting...but...it was also fading.

That meant he was losing her. Or him.

It made his stomach twist into knots.

Extended teaser on: Facebook | Instagram

Full teaser on: Patreon

#inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyashafanfic #inukag #indigo hues

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louiserandom · 4 years

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Of Punishments and Rewards

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara | Rating: M

Summary: The citizens of Konoha have long grown used to (and frankly bored of) the often destructive spectacle that is Madara and Tobirama screaming their lungs out at each other in the market district. During one such clash, however, Madara suffers an accidental concussion and proceeds to not-so-accidentally flirt with, grope, and expose his secret affair with none other than the white-haired Senju he's supposed to hate.

Now this has the whole village intrigued.

Read Chapter 1 on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 Ko-fi info is in the header!

The citizens of Konoha have long grown used to (and frankly bored of) the often destructive spectacle that is Madara and Tobirama screaming their lungs out at each other in the market district. So when today the Uchiha Clan Head, foul mood and all, stomps towards an unsuspecting Tobirama (who really isn’t bothering anybody and seems to be busy enough picking out oranges) and starts shrieking at the top of his lungs about some manner of ‘experimental bullshit' crawling out of Tobirama's 'death trap of a lab,' most of the passersby find themselves stifling a yawn.

Another day, another bout of fires and flooding from the two village founders whose hate for each other hasn’t diminished in the slightest in the two years of Konoha’s existence.

Grown stronger, if anything.

“BECAUSE I AM NOT,” Madara bellows at the end of his first public rant of the day (though surely not the last), “GOING TO STAND FOR YOUR BRAZEN INCOMPETENCE ANYMORE, SENJU!”

Of course, Madara accusing Tobirama of incompetence is also nothing new, although it is common knowledge that it’s the latter who often has to get the Hokage and his best friend out of ridiculously foolish debacles.

(Konoha still remembers how the two godlike shinobi somehow stumbled into quite the deep hole intended for garbage disposal and in their drunken stupor ended up forgetting that they could have simply jumped outーwhat with their immense chakra reserves no less. Tobirama, naturally, had been exceptionally cross that day.)

“Incompetence?” Tobirama only scoffs in answer. “Whatever problem you have with how I handle my duties, Uchiha, pales in comparison to the damage your complete lack of logic deals to society.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Madara snaps, fists clenching and chakra becoming visible alreadyーa faintly shimmering fire-cloak upon his form. That really never bodes well for the market’s survival. “And study the logic behind proper fucking sleep so your complete lack of sense and self-restraint doesn’t lead to more dangerous fucking jutsu that spiral out of fucking control!”

This does perk up a few ears; after all, what novelty of Tobirama Senju’s could appear more dangerous than his summoning of an undead army that past Obon Festival?

“I am conducting a perfectly safe study,” Tobirama says, though Madara doesn’t seem like he believes him at all. “And not of a jutsu but a living being. Though it’s unsurprising your handful of brain matter failed to distinguish the two.”

“A living being with nine godsdamned tails made out of enough chakra to wipe out the whole of Fire Country?!”

This perks up a few more ears but seeds no panic; it’s thanks to Tobirama, after all, that most of Konoha has seen much, much worse.

“It's a perfectly docile and friendly chakra fox,” Tobirama insists, crossing his arms. “Now for the love of all things holy and unholy, stop your shrieking.” He glances at the mostly disinterested crowd. “You’re embarrassing me. And yourself, though I doubt there’s any room to sink lower than you have.”

“I will fucking destroy you, you worthless piece of shit!” The crackles of a budding Katon flicker around Madara’s fists. “Now go and take care of your fucking experiment-living-chakraーwhatever bullshit, or I will fight you and there will be no remains left for your brother to cry over.”

Tobirama glares, straightening to his full height which has him towering above Madara’s bristling frame. “How so much fight can fit in so little a man,” he sneers, “I will never understand.”

Three things happen in quick succession.

Naturally, Madara attacks. A massive raging wall of fire sizzles straight at Tobirama, who matches Madara’s wild toothy grin with a smirk as he jumps out of the way with the usual easeーonly for Madara to charge at him, fist coated with white-hot flames, and unsurprisingly, Tobirama dodges yet again.

What does come as a surprise is Madara’s slight... miscalculation, it seems, as his eyes linger a bit too long in the general direction of Tobirama’s thighs for some reason, and he��s just slow enough to miss the giant crate of oranges that falls from a panicking store owner’s shelf.

“Madara-sama!” the salesman cries as the legendary Uchiha collides with the box headfirst and drops limply to the ground. “F-forgive me,” the poor man stutters, appearing quite a bit more worried about Tobirama than Madara’s squirming form.

After all, neither of the two are happy when their fights are interrupted before they can destroy at least one building, and as expected, the Senju in question frowns and visibly deflates.

“Madara?” Tobirama asks, tentative, banishing the spikes of ice he’s conjured with his jutsu.

“Mmm,” Madara articulates from the ground, face scrunched in pain as he squints at the sky as if it’s personally offended him. “Mm-wha?..”

In a yet unseen show of kindness, Tobirama walks up to him and kneels to check on Madara’s condition. Quite a few stares shift in their direction. Shouldn’t Tobirama be inclined to leave the Uchiha to suffer?

Apparently not.

“Madara? Can you hear me?” Receiving no answer, Tobirama coaxes him to sit up as he checks over his head. Though unwounded, it does appear he’s seriously concussed as he starts slurring nonsense and pointing at a part of the crowd mumbling something about ‘fute birdsies.’ “Listen, IーAnija will be really upset if you’re seriously hurt, so can you tell meー”

Madara slaps a gloved hand roughly over Tobirama’s mouth. Another uncharacteristic move that provokes many a frown. The pair usually avoid skin to skin contact religiously, even when fighting.

“Your lips,” Madara slurs, eyes unfocused as he stares dazedly at his supposed enemy, “could putーbe put to... much better use than talking.”

“W-what?” Tobirama stammers, shoving the hand away and scrambling to his feet.

“I said your lips,” Madara tries to clarify, before Tobirama cuts him off, “Shut the fuck up, you moron!” he grits through his teeth, extending a hand to the Uchiha as he flops back down to lie on the ground.

“And get up," Tobirama orders, "now. I’m taking you to Anija. Concussions are tricky to heal and I might not be able to avoid leaving lasting effects.”

Madara smirks, and for some reason that prompts a look of horror to settle on Tobirama’s face. For good reason, as the onlookers discover.

“It’s always up for you, Tobirama,” Madara’s slurring is mixed with a bit of a stupid-sounding drawl as he positively ogles Tobirama, eyes once again lingering a tad lower than appropriate. “The question is if you wanna play.”

“Madara!” Tobirama hisses, casting death glares at the crowds now circled around them as one unified and now definitely intrigued mob. “Stop this foolishness right this instantー”

“Stop isn’t our safe-word, Tobiー”

“ーand take my fucking hand!”

“I’d rather have it wrapped around myー”

“MADARA!” Tobirama is trembling with fury at this point, chakra radiating killing intent enough for shinobi and civilian alike to feel it wash over them. The people gathered only scuffle closer, disappointed that the rest of Madara’s sentence gets drowned out by Tobirama’s shout and their own collective gasp. Tobirama pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not. Here.”

“I kno-ow,” Madara whines, finally grasping for Tobirama’s hand only to use it to yank him down once he gets ahold of it. “This hand indefーit definitely needs to be reaching a lot lower.”

“Madara, gods fucking dammit,” Tobirama growls as he wrests himself from Madara hold, “people are staring.”

To be fair, the self-proclaimed honorable and pure-hearted citizens of Konoha make an effort to pretend they aren’t gapingーwhich really isn’t an easy task though, because the display is turning out to be more exciting than any of the village-wide festivities to date.

“Oh?” Madara seems to be trying to raise one eyebrow but ends up skewing his face into an awkward frown at best. “If yesterday’s anything to go by, you don’t mind a little voytriloquism yourself, koibito.”

Another round of gasps follows as Tobirama blanches, mouth slightly agape and lips trembling. Someone helpfully shouts, “Do you mean voyeurism, Uchiha-sama?”

“Yes-yes!” Madara pipes up, still squirming helplessly on the ground. “Voyagerism. That.”

“Uchiha,” Tobirama glowers, a sheen of blue energy wrapping around his limbs as his ire escalates, “I am literally begging you toー”

“Didn’t get enough earlier, eh?” Madara leers, finally managing to wriggle into a half-sitting position, sending a few oranges rolling on the ground. Intrigued and unperturbed by Tobirama’s spluttering (and what a strange sight it is, to see the usually composed Senju at such a loss for words), Madara picks up two of the fruits and proceeds to shock the bystanders to the core once more, “You know, they say fresh squeezed oranges are good for you in the morning, but I think your fresh squeezed diー”

“MADARA, NO!” Tobirama roars, this time quite evidently to drown out Madara’s words.

“Madara, yes,” the Uchiha moans, “that’s all I remember you saying to me this morning.” A few desperate “Kai” resound in the area as Madara Uchiha incarnate starts licking the oranges in his hands. He keeps eye contact with Tobirama all the while as he sucks on them, shameless and wanton, swirling his tongue over the fruits with such wanton enthusiasm one might think him a common harlot. “Remind you of anything, To-bi-ra-ma?”

Needless to say, the world plunges into chaos. Choruses of cheers and wolf whistles, sounds of both affront and confusion erupt from the bystanders as quite a few women rush to cover their husbands’ eyes lest they require the same astonishing level of skill from them.

Tobirama, meanwhile, seems to have finally regained his ability to act, if not speak, and proceeds to grab Madara by his collar and drag him into a wobbly stance, slapping a hand bathed in faint green glow against the Uchiha’s forehead.

"Get permanent brain damage for all I care.” Tobirama gives Madara a pretty hard shake. “Now will you stop fucking talking?”

"You don’t tell me what to do, Senju,” Madara grumbles, looking a bit steadier on his feet now even as his voice still sounds a bit shaky. “And how did I get here?”

Tobirama ignores him, directing one last glower at the excited crowd as he commands, “Don’t you dare speak a word of this to the Hokage,” before disappearing into thin air with Madaraーhis secret lover, something Konoha still can’t wrap its collective head aroundーin tow.

Granted, the younger Senju must have sensed his brother’s approach because the next second none other than Hashirama steps into the market with the usual wide grin on his face, flowers sprouting on each patch of ground he steps on. The crowd stills and grows silent but for a few moments as Tobirama’s order rings clear in their minds, and yet,

“What happened here?” Hashirama asks in childlike confusion.

In just a handful of moments, it proves too much of a temptation for Konoha prolific rumor mill to resist.

“Madara was doing what in front of my Otouto?!”

#madatobi #tobimada #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #humor #fanfic #lou writes #idiots in love #naruto

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five-miles-over · 4 years

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New Girl (High School!Commodus x Reader)

Summary: You are a new student at Institutum Romanus Educational (which is supposed to be Latin for “Roman Educational Institute”) and come across some fascinating characters (I mean classmates). Sort of based off a ‘Gladiator’ AU listicle. Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: A cheesy meet-cute scene

Word Count: 1,663

When you’d came to Rome to visit your father during your winter holiday, you had only hoped it would be a temporary break from your mundane life back in your hometown. Perhaps you’d get a chance to see the quaint streets covered in frost, or visit the Tiber River. And like most children, you would get a present - maybe new clothes, or a gadget. A brochure for a new school was certainly not what you were expecting as a gift.

Yet here you were, on your first day of the new semester in January, walking to your first period. All you were hoping for was nothing but a peaceful end to your 10th year. You were now to be a student at the Institutum Romanus Educational, or IRE as many playfully called it. It was perplexing to you why a school would insist upon retaining its Latin name, but your parents said it was reinstated by its current principal Marcus Aurelius. He was supposedly an admirer of the Classics and wanted his children to have a good understanding of ancient languages.

The first period of the day was Physics, which you never had a huge affinity towards, but were certainly not averse to. The teacher was kind, and he seemed to be quite enthusiastic about the content he was talking about. After being armed with two problem sets about electromagnetism, you had to walk across the entire building to your next class - English.

Throughout the hall, many of the sights weren’t very different from your old school - there were cliques of people talking to each other, and a few couples making out in front of the lockers. Campaign posters of a girl named Lucilla Aurelius were plastered across the wall. You were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her on your way to class and by gods, the posters did not do her justice. She was gorgeous.

Flanked by two “minions” or girls wearing blouses and skirts similar to the pink-and-white combination she was wearing, she held a box of buttons that said, “Vote for Lucilla, Vote for Rome” on them. With a charismatic grin, she was passing them out to various people and telling them to vote for her for their Student Body President.

Another voice rose from the cacophony in the hallways. “I wouldn’t even know if a rat had chewed off the ends of her thin strands, that’s how ugly that girl’s haircut is.” A bald boy wearing an Assassin’s Creed shirt loomed over a girl with a pixie cut, who was crying.

He was answered by a larger boy, a seemingly more bulky one. “Quinn, I don’t think that’s how to get over being dumped. Just leave her alone.”

“Hagen, you piece of meat.” Quinn grumbled, leaving the tiny girl to pick up her books from the floor. Hagen gave her the rest of her things and sent her off to class.

When you entered your English class, you heaved a sigh of relief that you were on time. The board saying ‘Hamlet’ assured you that you had reached the correct classroom. The seats were almost all filled except for one placed in front of a green-eyed boy with cropped dark hair.

He was probably the perfect mix of gothic and preppy - his bangs were long enough to fall over his brow, and he wore a barely noticeable layer of eyeliner. His crisp, black button-down, paired with his skinny jeans and black designer boots, served as a stark contrast to the sweat pants and hoodies many of the other male students wore.

You waved politely only to find him idly writing something in a journal. It looked like something in elaborate cursive, and you would’ve looked further if the teacher didn’t begin taking attendance. And if it doing so wouldn’t make you look completely creepy.

Within moments, the teacher began lecturing about one of Shakespeare’s most famous tragedies, calling upon various students to read scenes out loud for the rest of the class. A few kids named Gregory and Falcon read for the parts of Polonius, the chamberlain of Denmark, and Laertes, the son of Polonius.

You were nearly caught by surprise when the teacher invited you to read Ophelia’s lines in front of the class from Act 1, Scene 3 of the play. It wasn’t exactly on your agenda to attract much attention on your first day, but you decided to accept anyways. Standing in front of the class, you read Ophelia’s lines loud and clear while your green-eyed mystery, named Commodus, read Hamlet’s lines with passion. He seemed like he was born for this role.

“Thank you, both of you.” Your teacher applauded both of you after the scene was completed. When you returned to your seat, you saw a hand reach towards you from behind, holding a yellow sticky note. Quickly taking it, you tucked it under your knee before you could get caught.

“Commie’s passing notes in class again,” Gregory taunted, leading the entire class to laugh with him as the boy sitting behind you fumed with embarrassment. “Infatuated with the girl reading Ophelia, he seems to forget when the stage ends and when real life begins.”

The teacher’s eyebrows furrowed at Gregory’s remark. “Y/N, is this true? Did Commodus give you a note?”

“No, not at all,” you lied for him. “He didn’t give me a note at all, I just dropped my sticky notes and he gave them back to me.” Ignoring Gregory’s eye-rolling, the teacher reluctantly accepted your alibi and continued to lecture until the bell rung.

“Nice reading voice.” A boy in a burnt orange jacket offered you a kind smile as you both left the classroom. “You, uh, the new girl?”

“I am, thanks,” you nodded. “And you are?”

“The new boy,” he joked. “Sort of - I came here a few months ago from Australia. Actually Spain’s my homeland - I was born there.”

“So you’re a Spaniard?”

“No, I’m Max, but Spaniard works,” he winked, eliciting a laugh from you. “Want me to walk you to your next class?”

“If it’s not too much trouble for you,” you answered. “You wouldn’t by chance happen to know where World History is?

Max grinned. “That’s just where I’m headed. You looked confused when you entered - thought you could use a friendly face on your first day.”

“Thank you for making me feel a bit more welcome, Max.” You replied, letting him lead you through the crowd of students. Unbeknownst to the both of you, a pair of jealous peridot eyes followed the two of you until you turned the corner and disappeared.

Later that day, when lunchtime came around, your eyes widened at the color and variety of the flavorful dishes being served. It was almost like they were being prepared by gourmet chefs. You couldn’t help but smile at how pretty your tray looked; penne with a creamy tomato sauce, arugula salad with a balsamic vinaigrette, a piece of bread, and freshly cut fruit.

Deciding against the crowded cafeteria, you decided to take a chance to explore some of the other hallways in your new school. You wondered just how big your new school could possibly be. Did they have an indoor pool, a large gymnasium, a library,…or an auditorium? Holding your tray close to your chest, you walked into the large theater. In the center of the breathtakingly colossal stage, you found Commodus sitting cross-legged next to his shoulder bag and a thermos.

“Hello,” you quietly greeted him, approaching the edge of the stage and climbing up.

“Shouldn’t you be eating in the cafeteria?”, he asked, slightly perplexed, looking up from the book he was reading.”No,” you replied, placing your backpack down. “It wasn’t really my scene at my old school. I used to eat in the library or the music room.”

Commodus hummed in acknowledgment, returning to his copy of Dracula and his thermos of black coffee. “Where’s your lunch?” You asked, sitting next to him.

“I don’t usually eat any. I’m too busy.”

You pushed your tray towards him. “Would you like to share some of mine?”

“Yes, thank you.” He ripped off a piece of the bread and dipped it into the pasta sauce before chewing it. Commodus allowed himself a few more bites partially because he didn’t want to seem rude and…you seemed likable.

A few moments of silence took place while the two of you ate before you glanced at the clock. “Well…it’s time for me to go to my next class,” you commented.

“Oh…” His eyes looked slightly downcast when you told him you had to leave. “You look lovely!” You froze at his sudden compliment. “That…that was what I hoped to tell you in that note I gave you. That you look exquisite - your hair, your lips, your eyes- it reminded me of Lady Ophelia when you read her lines. You’re…you look more beguiling than she would be.”

“That’s quite sweet of you, Commodus.” You said with a small smile, flabbergasted. “Thank you, I…I’m quite flattered.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it. Most people don’t understand my references or my vocabulary.” Commodus stammered, relieved that you didn’t find him disturbing for comparing you to a Shakespearean heroine. “Thank you for sharing your lunch and your time with me, Y/N.”

“Of course,” you extended your hand, expecting to shake his. “It was nice meeting you, Commodus.”

Accepting your gesture, he clasped your hand and softly kissed your knuckles, causing you to blush. Usually, princes from fairytales would do something so chivalrous. “It was nice meeting you too,” Commodus replied.

“I’ll see you later, then.” You carried your tray and backpack and began leaving the auditorium. Commodus watched you leave, hoping that perhaps you wouldn’t be like many of the other new kids, pretending to be nice before getting swept away by the popular students. That perhaps you would be…just as special as he already thought you were.

#commodus x reader #gladiator 2000 #gladiator au #commodus #emperor commodus #commodus fic

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